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diff --git a/old/69972-0.txt b/old/69972-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 1009759..0000000 --- a/old/69972-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,19934 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The changed brides, by Emma Dorothy -Eliza Nevitte Southworth - -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 -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The changed brides - -Author: Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth - -Release Date: February 7, 2023 [eBook #69972] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading - Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from - images generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHANGED BRIDES *** - - - - - - THE CHANGED BRIDES. - - - BY - - MRS. EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH. - - AUTHOR OF “HOW HE WON HER,” “FAIR PLAY,” “THE BRIDES’ FATE,” “THE - DISCARDED DAUGHTER,” “HAUNTED HOMESTEAD,” “RETRIBUTION,” “THE LOST - HEIRESS,” “THE FORTUNE SEEKER,” “ALLWORTH ABBEY,” “THE FATAL MARRIAGE,” - “THE MISSING BRIDE,” “THE TWO SISTERS,” “THE BRIDAL EVE,” “LADY OF THE - ISLE,” “GIPSY’S PROPHECY,” “VIVIA,” “WIFE’S VICTORY,” “MOTHER-IN-LAW,” - “INDIA,” “THE THREE BEAUTIES,” “THE CURSE OF CLIFTON,” “THE DESERTED - WIFE,” “LOVE’S LABOR WON,” “FALLEN PRIDE,” “THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN,” - “THE WIDOW’S SON,” “PRINCE OF DARKNESS.” - - - ’TIS AN OLD TALE, AND OFTEN TOLD— - A MAIDEN TRUE, BETRAYED FOR GOLD.—SCOTT. - - - PHILADELPHIA: - T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS; - 306 CHESTNUT STREET. - - - - - Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by - - T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, - - In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States, in and - for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. - - - MRS. EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH’S WORKS. - - Each Work is complete in one large duodecimo volume. - - _FAIR PLAY, OR, THE TEST OF THE LONE ISLE._ - _HOW HE WON HER, A SEQUEL TO FAIR PLAY._ - _THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS._ - _THE MOTHER-IN-LAW._ - _THE THREE BEAUTIES._ - _THE WIFE’S VICTORY._ - _THE CHANGED BRIDES._ - _THE BRIDES’ FATE. SEQUEL TO CHANGED BRIDES._ - _THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN._ - _THE GIPSY’S PROPHECY._ - _THE FORTUNE SEEKER._ - _THE DESERTED WIFE._ - _THE LOST HEIRESS._ - _RETRIBUTION._ - _FALLEN PRIDE; OR, THE MOUNTAIN GIRL’S LOVE._ - _THE FATAL MARRIAGE._ - _THE HAUNTED HOMESTEAD._ - _LOVE’S LABOR WON._ - _THE MISSING BRIDE._ - _LADY OF THE ISLE._ - _THE TWO SISTERS._ - _INDIA; OR, THE PEARL OF PEARL RIVER._ - _VIVIA; OR, THE SECRET OF POWER._ - _THE CURSE OF CLIFTON._ - _THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER._ - _THE WIDOW’S SON._ - _ALLWORTH ABBEY._ - _THE BRIDAL EVE._ - - Price of each, $1.75 in Cloth; or $1.50 in Paper Cover. - - -Above books are for sale by all Booksellers. Copies of any or all of the -above books will be sent to any one, to any place, postage pre-paid, on -receipt of their price by the Publishers, - - T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, - 306 CHESTNUT STREET, PHILADELPHIA, PA. - - - - - TO - - MISS EDITH HENSHAW, - - OF WASHINGTON CITY; - - THIS - - WORK IS INSCRIBED, - - WITH - - THE LOVE OF HER SISTER. - - PROSPECT COTTAGE, - GEORGETOWN, D. C. - MAY, 1869. - - - - - CONTENTS. - - - Chapter Page - I. —ON THE EVE OF A GRAND WEDDING 23 - II. —AT THE OLD HALL 41 - III. —THE HOUSELESS WANDERER AND THE BRIDE ELECT 53 - IV. —A CHILD’S LOVE 57 - V. —THE CHILD MEETS HER FATE 71 - VI. —THE NEXT FEW YEARS 83 - VII. —THE GIRL’S FIRST GRIEF 94 - VIII. —FATAL LOVE 104 - IX. —BRIDAL FAVORS 113 - X. —WHAT WAS DONE WITH DRUSILLA 128 - XI. —JOY FOR DRUSILLA 142 - XII. —A REALLY HAPPY BRIDE 153 - XIII. —THE CHILD BRIDE AT HOME 162 - XIV. —THE WILD WOOD HOME BY DAY 167 - XV. —CLOUDLESS JOYS 176 - XVI. —A QUEEN OF FASHION 190 - XVII. —MORAL MADNESS 197 - XVIII. —A DARK RIDE 202 - XIX. —A NEGLECTED WIFE 211 - XX. —RIVALRY 217 - XXI. —THE SORROWS OF THE YOUNG WIFE 222 - XXII. —DIFFICULTIES OF DECEPTION 232 - XXIII. —SILENT SORROW 241 - XXIV. —THE SPECTRAL FACE 248 - XXV. —CAUGHT 255 - XXVI. —A MEMORABLE NIGHT 262 - XXVII. —A GREAT DISCOVERY 270 - XXVIII. —HIS LOVE 278 - XXIX. —HER LOVE 284 - XXX. —BREAKING 293 - XXXI. —FIRST ABSENCE 303 - XXXII. —BRIGHT HOPES 307 - XXXIII. —A SURPRISE 316 - XXXIV. —GONE FOR GOOD 326 - XXXV. —CRUEL TREACHERY 334 - XXXVI. —AGONY 346 - XXXVII. —SUSPENSE 355 - XXXVIII. —HOPING AGAINST HOPE 365 - XXXIX. —DICK HAMMOND IS ASTONISHED 372 - XL. —DICK’S NEWS 387 - XLI. —PROOFS 403 - XLII. —DRUSILLA’S DESTINATION 410 - XLIII. —THE DREARY NIGHT RIDE 419 - XLIV. —HOW SHE SPED 437 - XLV. —DRUSILLA’S ARRIVAL 445 - XLVI. —THE DESPERATE REMEDY 459 - XLVII. —EXPOSURE 478 - XLVIII. —BALM FOR THE BRUISED HEART 492 - - - - - THE CHANGED BRIDES. - - - - - CHAPTER I. - ON THE EYE OF A GRAND WEDDING. - - Blow, blow, thou wintry wind! - Thou art not so unkind - As man’s ingratitude; - Thy tooth is not so keen, - Because thou art not seen, - Altho’ thy breath be rude. - - Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky! - Thou dost not bite so nigh - As benefits forgot; - Tho’ thou the waters warp, - Thy sting is not so sharp - As friend remembered not.—SHAKSPEARE. - - -A wild and wintry night, in a wild and wintry scene! The old turnpike -road running through the mountain pass, lonely at the best times, seemed -quite deserted now. - -The old Scotch toll-gate keeper sat shivering over his blazing hickory -wood fire, and listening to the dashing rain and beating wind that -seemed to threaten the destruction of his rude dwelling. - -His old wife sat near him, spinning yarn from a small wheel that she -turned with the united action of hand and foot. - -“Ugh!” shuddered the old man, as a blast fiercer than ever shook the -house, “it ’ill ding down the old dwelling next, and no harm done! An it -were once blown away, the company would behoove to build us anither -strong enough to stand the storms o’ these parts. Hech! but it’s awfu’ -cold.” - -“Pit anither log on the fire, gudeman. Wood’s plenty enough, that’s a -blessing,” said the old woman, without ceasing to turn her wheel. - -“Wha’s the use, Jenny? Ye’ll no warm sic an old place as this. Eh, -woman, but whiles my knees are roasting, my back is freezing.” - -“Aweel, then gae away to bed wid ye, Andy, and I’ll tuck ye up warm, and -bring ye your hot toddy.” - -“Nay, Jenny, worse luck, I maun sit up to let the bridegroom through the -gate.” - -“The bridegroom? Hoot, man! He’ll no pass the road on sic a wild night -as this.” - -“Will he no, and his bonny bride waiting? Jenny, woman, what like o’ -wind or weather would ha’ stopt me the day we were gaun to be married? -So ye maun gie me my pipe, gudewife, for I bide here to open the gate -for the blithe bridegroom to pass through.” - -“But he maun see that no tender lassie can take the road in sic a storm -as this, and they were to be married by special license at nine, and gae -away in a grand travelling carriage at ten, to meet the steamboat at -eleven. But that can no be now, for the rain is comin’ down like Noah’s -flood, and the wind blowing a hurricane, to say naething o’ the roads -all being turned into rinning rivers,” argued Jenny. - -“It will be for _her_ to decide whether it can or canna be. It will be -for _him_ to take the road in the worst weather that ever fell from -heaven, if it be to keep his tryst with his troth-plighted bride. So gie -me my pipe, Jenny, for I’se stop up to let the bridegroom gae by.” - -“He willna come now, and so ye’ll see, gudeman,” said the wife, as she -filled his pipe, and pressed the tobacco well down into the bowl with -her big fore finger. - -“An he does na come through wind or rain or snow, or ony ither like o’ -weather the Lord please to send this night, and I were Miss Anna Lyon, -I’d cast him off in the morn like old shoes,” nodded Andy, as he took -the pipe from his wife and put it into his mouth. - -“But don’t ye see, gudeman, that it’ll be nae use. She _canna_ travel on -sic a night as this.” - -“I’m no that sure she will be called upon to travel the night. I heard a -rumor they had changed all that. And there was to be a grand wedding at -the old Hall, and a hall and a supper, and that the bonny bride and -bridegroom wouldna gae away till the morn. And I’se believe it,” said -Andy, taking the big tongs, picking up a live coal, and beginning to -light his pipe. - -“Hoot, man, that will be no decent. She’ll behoove to marry and gae away -like ither brides, but she’ll no be married and gae away the night. The -wedding maun be pit off,” said Jenny, resuming her place at the wheel. - -“Pit off! It hae been pit off twice a’ready, once when the old Judge -Lyon died, then when the old lady died. An it be pit off a third time, -it ’ill never take place. But it will no be put off. He’ll keep his -tryst, and she’ll keep her word. Worse luck that I hae to bide up to let -him through.” - -“An he maun come, pity he could na ha’ come sooner.” - -“Hoot, gudewife, how could he? The steamer does na stop at the Stormy -Petrel Landing until nigh noon, and it will be a good fifty miles from -here. And he travelling in his ain carriage without a change of horses -all the way over sic roads, and in sic weather as this? How will he come -sooner?” - -“Eh! but I wish he were here!” cried the old woman. - -“There he’ll be now!” exclaimed the old man, rising and listening, as in -a temporary lull of the tempest the sound of carriage wheels was heard -dashing, rumbling and tumbling along the road. - -“Take your big shawl about you,” said Jenny, rising and reaching down a -heavy gray “maud” from its peg, and throwing it over Andy’s shoulders, -as, with a lighted candle in his hand, he went to open the door. - -“Hech, sirs! what a night to take the road in! Naething but a waiting -bride should fetch a man forth in sic weather!” exclaimed the old -toll-taker, as a blast of wind and rain blew out his candle, and whirled -his shawl up over his head. - -“Shut the door, gudeman, or we’ll both be drowned in our ain house, and -bide a we till I bring ye the lantern. Ye’ll no be able to take a -lighted candle out there,” said Jenny, as she ran to a corner cupboard -and brought forth an old horn machine big enough for a lighthouse or a -watch tower. She lit the candle end that was in it, and handed it to -Andy. - -He having meanwhile, fastened his great shawl with several strong pins -and skewers, once more opened the door, and went forth into the pitch -dark night and raging storm. - -A spacious travelling carriage stood at the toll-gate, with two crimson -lamps glowing luridly through the dark, driving tempest. - -Holding down his hat with one hand and carrying the lantern with the -other, old Andy pushed on towards the carriage, and saw that its door -stood open, and a young man in a heavy travelling cloak was leaning out. - -“Be gude to us, sir! is it yoursel’, sure enough? Troth, I said ye would -come,” said Andy, with a welcoming smile. - -“Come! why, to be sure I would come. Did you think that any sort of -weather would have stopped me on such an occasion as this? Why, Birney, -I would have come if it had rained pitchforks, points downward, or wild -cats and mad dogs,” laughed the young man. - -“Sae I said, sir; sae I said!” - -“But, Birney, my friend, I must get out and stretch my limbs a little. I -want to be able to stand when I get to the Hall; but really, I have been -cramped up in this close carriage so many hours, riding over this beast -of a country so many miles, without seeing a single place where I could -stop for refreshment, that—that—in short, Birney, you must let me out -and let me in,” said the traveller. - -“Surely, Mr. Alexander! surely, sir! and much honor to my humble home,” -said the old toll-taker, smiling, and bowing respectfully. - -The young man, notwithstanding his “cramped” condition, leaped lightly -from his carriage, drew his travelling cloak closely around him, hoisted -a large umbrella, and unceremoniously preceded his host to the house, -where he burst suddenly in upon Jenny, who was in the act of taking a -kettle of boiling water from the fire. - -“Gude save us! Mr. Alick, is it yoursel’? I could hardly believe ony -gentleman in his sober sinses would take the road on sic a night!” - -“It is myself, Mistress Birney—that I know; but as to being in my sober -senses, I am not quite so sure. I see you’ve got some hot water there. I -hope you have also got a sample of that fine old Scotch whiskey your -husband used to drink in remembrance of your old country. If so, -Mistress Birney, I’ll thank you to make me a tumbler of hot toddy. It -would be very acceptable in such weather as this,” said “Mr. Alick,” as -he threw off his cloak and his cap, and dropped himself down into old -Andy’s own arm-chair, in the warm chimney corner. - -“Surely, sir! surely, Mr. Alick! I’se make it directly. I’se e’en now -just gaun to mix the gude man’s night drink for himsel’,” smiled Jenny, -hospitably. - -“All right! mix mine at the same time,” said the young man, stretching -out his feet to the fire, and indulging in a great yawn. - -“And mix it in the big stone pitcher with the zinc cover, so it will -keep hot while we sit and drink the bonny bride, Miss Anna Lyon’s -health,” said old Andy as he came in and closed the door to keep out the -driving rain. - -“Oh, look here! You know I’ve no time for health-drinking; I’m due at -the Hall these three hours; only this horrid weather, and these beastly -roads have delayed me,” exclaimed Mr. Alick, rising impatiently and -standing before the blazing fire. - -He was a very good-looking young fellow, as he stood there. He had a -tall, well-proportioned form, fine regular features, a fair, roseate -complexion, light yellow hair, and bright blue eyes—smiling eyes that -seemed to love all they looked upon. - -Quickly and skilfully Jenny Birney made the toddy and poured it into -large tumblers that she had previously heated by scalding them out with -boiling water. - -Once more Mr. Alick dropped himself into old Andy’s chair, while he -received one of the glasses from his host. - -“Eh, there sir; it’s as hot as love!” said the old man, as he passed the -pitcher that his guest might replenish his glass at his pleasure. - -“It is very good,” admitted the young man when he had finished his -second tumbler. “Many thanks to you, Mistress Birney for the aid and -comfort you have given me. I feel as if you had saved my life. I can now -do the distance between this and the Hall without breaking down. And now -I must be off. Good evening to you, Mistress Birney.” - -And the traveller put on his cloak and cap, took up his umbrella, and -escorted by Andy, left the cottage. - -“Oh, by the way, Birney, you may bring out some of that hot stuff to my -coachman. Poor devil! it will do him no harm after he has been perched -up there so long in the rain. But hark ye, Birney! don’t let it be too -stiff; I don’t want the fellow to see more mists before his eyes than -the night and the storm make,” said Mr. Alick as he got into the -carriage. - -Old Andy toddled back to his house, and after a few minutes reappeared -at the carriage with a mug of the same restorative for the man as he had -lately administered to the master. - -The chilled and wearied coachman turned it down his throat almost at a -gulp, returned the mug, and thanked the donor. - -Then he gathered up his reins, cracked his whip, and started his horses -at as brisk a trot as might be deemed safe on that dark night over that -rough road. - -The old turnpike-keeper hurried out of the storm into the shelter of his -own cottage. - -“Hech! it’s an awfu’ night! I’m glad he’s come and gone. We may pit up -the shutters now, gudewife; we’ll no be troubled wi’ ony more travellers -the night,” said old Andy, as he shook his shawl free from the clinging -rain drops, and hung it up in its place. - -“Now sit ye down in your own comfortable chair, gudeman, and I’ll brew -ye a bowl o’ hot punch. Eh, hinney, ye’ll be needing it after sic’ an -exposure to the elements,” said Jenny, as she replaced the kettle over -the blaze, and drew Andy’s old arm-chair before the fire. - -With a sigh of infinite relief, he let himself sink into the inviting -seat, kicked off his heavy shoes, and stretched his stockinged feet to -the genial warmth of the hearth. Andy did not rejoice in the luxury of a -pair of slippers. - -“Eh, Jenny, woman, it’s good to feel oneself at ease at one’s own -fireside at last,” said the old man, as he took from the hand of his -wife a smoking tumbler of punch. - -“‘It’s hot as love,’ as you say,” she nodded. - -“Eh, so it is; what’s the hour, gudewife?” - -“It’s gone weel on to ten,” she answered, glancing at the tall old clock -that stood in the corner, and reached from floor to ceiling. - -“And I’se gaun to bed immediately, no to be bothered wi’ any more -travellers the night,” said Andy, blowing and sipping his punch. - -But Andy reckoned without his host, as many of his betters do. - -Just at that moment there came a rap at the door, so low, however, that -it could scarcely be heard amid the roaring of the storm. - -Yet both husband and wife turned and listened. - -It was repeated. - -“What’s that?” asked Andy. - -“There’s some one outside,” said Jenny. - -The rap was reiterated. - -“Who the de’il can it be, at this unlawful hour o’ the night? Gae see, -Jenny, woman. And if it’s ony vagrants bang the door in their faces. -I’se no be troubled wi’ ony more callers the night!” cried the old man, -impatiently. - -Before he had well done grumbling, the old woman had gone to the door -and opened it, letting in a furious blast of wind and rain. - -“Gude guide us!” she exclaimed, starting back, aghast, at what she saw -without. - -“What the de’il is it then, gude wife?” nervously demanded Andy, -starting up and seizing his old musket from its hooks above the -chimney-piece. Andy was thinking only of thieves, as is usual with many -who have little to lose. - -“Pit up your gun, gude man, it’s no what ye think,” said Jenny, once -more approaching the door to peep out at the wretch that stood dripping -and shivering outside. - -“For the love of Heaven, let me in a little while. I will not stay many -minutes,” pleaded a plaintive voice from the darkness. - -“Who is it?” inquired Andy, coming cautiously forward in his stocking -feet. - -“It’s some poor lassie, as far as I can make out. Come in wi’ ye then,” -said Jenny, stretching the door wide open, though the wind and the rain -rushed in, flooding the floor where they stood. - -“Ay, come in, and ye maun, and dinna stand there like a lunatic keeping -the door open and letting in the weather,” growled Andy, as he toddled -back to his comfortable chair and dropped into it. - -Before he had half uttered his churlish invitation, the stranger had -entered, and now stood in the room, with the rain running from her dark -raiment, while Jenny shut and bolted the door. - -“Now then, who are ye? and what brings ye tramping on sic a night as -this?” sternly demanded Andy, as he turned and stared at the stranger. - -She wore a long dark gray cloak with a hood; the cloak completely -concealed her form and its hood overshadowed her face. That was all that -Andy could make of her appearance then. - -“Who are ye, I ask, and where are ye gaun the night,” he angrily -repeated. - -The stranger did not answer except by dropping her face upon her open -hands. - -“Andy, dinna ye see she canna speak? For the sake of our own poor lost -Katie, we maun have pity. Come away to the fire, my poor lass, and dry -your clothes, whiles I get ye something warm to take the chill out o’ -your poor shivering body,” said Jenny, kindly placing her hand upon the -girl’s shoulder and gently urging her towards the fire-place. - -“I’m of opinion that ye’d better find out who she is, and where she came -from, and where she’s gaun, before ye press upon her the hospitalities -of an honest house,” grumbled Mr. Birney. - -“Whist, gude man! I might speer a dizzen questions, but dinna ye see for -yoursel’ that she’s in na condition to answer ane?” said Jenny, in a low -voice. - -Andy growled something in which the words “tramping hizzy” were the only -ones audible. - -“Come, let me hae your cloak, hinny, to hang it up to dry. See, it’s -wringing wet. Nay, nay, dinna resist gude offices,” said Mrs. Birney, -with kind persistence, as she saw that the girl made some little, mute, -pathetic resistance to the removal of her outer garment. - -Jenny gently took it off her and hung it on the back of a chair to dry -by the fire. - -And the young stranger stood revealed in all her loveliness and sorrow. - -She was a young, slight, graceful creature, with a thin, pale face, dark -hair and dark eyebrows, long, black eye-lashes, and large, soft, gray -eyes, so full of pleading sadness that their glances went straight to -the heart of Jenny Birney. It was a child’s face; but ah, woe! it was a -matron’s form revealed there. - -“Wae-sooks!” exclaimed the good wife in consternation, as she gazed upon -the young thing, and saw that, child-like as she looked, she had been -married, or——ought to have been. - -Again the little, pale hands went up and covered the little, woe-forn -face. - -“Sit ye down,” said Mrs. Birney, kindly. “Ye are no able to stand.” - -And she drew her own low, cushioned chair to the chimney corner, and -with gentle force pushed the poor child into it. And then she took down -her little black tea-pot from the corner cupboard and began to make tea. - -Mr. Birney watched the process in strong disapprobation. - -His wife raised a deprecating glance to his face, murmuring, in a low -tone: - -“We maun be pitiful, Andy! for our poor lost Katy’s sake, we maun be -pitiful.” - -He answered that appeal by growling forth the words: - -“Aweel, aweel, Jenny woman, hae your ain way! hae your ain way! Eh! but -ye’ve had it these forty years and mair! And it’s no likely that ye’ll -gie it up now!” - -And so saying, the old man put his pipe in his mouth and resigned -himself to circumstances. - -Mrs. Birney made a cup of tea and a round of toast, and set them on a -little stand beside her guest. - -“Now eat and drink and ye’ll be better. Nay, nay, dinna shake your poor -little head! do as I bid ye. I had a child o’ my ain once. She has been -in heaven, I hope, these twenty years. Sae ye see I hae a soft place in -my heart for children, especially for lassies; sae eat and drink, and be -comforted and strengthened, and then maybe ye’ll tell me how ye came to -be out in the weather, and what I can do for ye besides giving you a bit -and sup and a bed to lie on,” coaxed the good woman. - -“Thanks, thanks,” murmured the girl, as she raised the cup, and with a -feverish thirst eagerly drank the tea. - -“Try some of the toast. It is done with milk; it will nourish ye,” -hospitably urged Jenny. - -“Please—I cannot eat a morsel, and—I must go now,” answered the young -stranger, rising. - -“Go now! Are ye daft?” exclaimed Mrs. Birney, in dismay; while Mr. -Birney took the pipe from his mouth and stared. - -“No, I am not ‘daft,’ though I know how mad my purpose must seem,” -calmly answered the girl, taking her cloak from the chair upon which it -was drying by the fire. - -“But—I thought ye came here for a night’s lodging, and——” - -“Oh, no; I had no such design,” sighed the girl. - -“But—an ye didna come for a night’s lodging, what _did_ ye come for?” - -“I was nearly spent with struggling on in the face of the tempest. I was -so beaten by the wind and the rain that I thought I should have dropped -and died; I almost wish I had. But I saw the light in your window and I -tried to reach it, and I did. I came in only to rest and breathe a -little while, and get strength to go on again.” - -“But where did ye come from, my poor child?” inquired the pitying woman. - -“I came from Washington by the stage-coach. It put me down at the Cross -Roads, ten miles from this place.” - -“Gude save us! and ye walked all that way through the storm?” - -“Yes, and was nearly exhausted; but now, thanks to your charity, I feel -refreshed, and able to pursue my journey,” said the young girl, as she -tied her cloak, and drew its hood over her head. - -“Indeed, then, and ye’ll no do onything o’ the sort. Eh, sirs, are we -heathen to let a wee bit lassie gae forth alane on sic a stormy -winter-night as this, when we wouldna turn an enemy’s dog from the door? -Sit ye down, my lass, and dinna ye mind the gudeman’s growling. His bark -is aye worse than his bite,” said Mrs. Birney. - -And here Mr. Birney took his pipe from his mouth, and spoke these -gracious words: - -“Bide ye here for the present, an’ ye will. I dinna like tramps as a -permanent institution in the house, but I’ll no turn ye out into the -storm, sae bide where ye be.” - -And having uttered this oracle, old Andy replaced his pipe between his -lips, and smoked vigorously to make up for lost time. - -“Ye hear what the gudeman says? Hark ye now to the wisdom of age, and -bide ye quiet till I make ye a bed, and I’ll wrap ye weel and pit ye -warm to sleep the night, and in the morn ye may gae where ye like.” - -“Thanks—a thousand thanks for your dear mercy! but in the morning it -will be too late. Ah, heaven, yes!” exclaimed the girl, as a sudden -terror wildly dilated her large gray eyes. “I must go on to-night, or -fail, where failure would be despair and death!” - -“Gae on to-night! Gude save us! gae on where?” exclaimed the wondering -woman. - -“To Old Lyon Hall,” answered the stranger, moving towards the door. - -“Stay—come back! Ye are stark daft! To the Hall?” cried Jenny, following -her guest. - -“Yes, to the old Hall,” said the stranger, pausing courteously. - -“Why, that’s where the grand wedding will be the night.” - -“I know it,” said the girl. - -“But—ye’ll surely no be one o’ the invited guests?” exclaimed Jenny in -bewilderment. - -“Oh, no,” replied the girl, with a strange smile. - -“Look ye, lass. Who be ye? What be your name, an ye have no objection to -tell it?” gravely inquired Mrs. Birney. - -“I have no objection to tell my name; it has never been sullied by -dishonor; it is Anna Lyon,” replied the girl, with her hand upon the -door-latch. - -“ANNA LYON! Sign us, and save us! that is the name of the bride that is -to be married to-night!” cried Jenny Birney, aghast. - -“I know it is,” quietly replied the girl. - -“And ye hae the same name?” - -“The very same,” said the stranger. - -“Gude save us! then ye’ll be kin to the family?” - -“No, no kin,” answered the girl, calmly. Then to herself she murmured, -“_I_—‘a little more than kin,’ _he_ ‘a little less than kind.’” - -“What are ye muttering to yoursel’? Ye say ye’re no kin to the family, -and if ye are no, what will be taking you to the old Hall the night?” - -“Something more than a matter of life and death! And oh, I must be -gone!” said the girl, with the same look of terror that she had shown -once before, now smiting all the remaining color from her pale face, and -leaving it white as marble. - -“Good-bye—good-bye, and a thousand heart-felt thanks for all your -kindness,” she added. - -While she spoke she deftly slid the bolts of the door, and as she ceased -she quickly slipped through it, and ran away like one who feared to be -hindered or pursued. - -“Stop! stop!” screamed Jenny, rushing after her, and looking out into -the night. - -But her strange visitor had vanished in the darkness. - -“Hech! she’s clean daft, and she’ll perish in the storm!” cried Jenny in -consternation, as she drew in her head. - -“Come away, gudewife, and shut the door!” bawled old Andy, provoked past -his patience. - -“Eh, gude man, rin—rin after her. Ye may catch her an ye start now,” -prayed Jenny, pulling down her husband’s shawl from its peg, and -throwing it over his shoulders—“rin, rin for your life, Andy!” - -“De’il be in my legs, then, if I budge a foot from the fire! I’m in a -condition to rin, am I no? wi’ both my shoes off and mysel’ soaking wi’ -sweat! I’ll no rin for ony daft lass or lad in Christendom!” grumbled -the old man. - -“But for the Lord’s sake, Andy!” pleaded the woman. - -“I would do onything in reason for the Lord’s sake, an’ He distinctly -called me, but I’m no conscious of any special call to pit myself -forward in this work. Sae just shut up the house, Jenny, woman, and come -away to bed. And I’ll no open again this night to man or woman, saint or -devil, so there, now!” growled old Andy. - -“I’se shut the door, but I’se nae shut the window. And I’se no gaun to -bed this night, I’se sit up and show a light, if the poor wandering -lassie behooves to come back,” said Mrs. Birney, firmly, as she fastened -the door, and sat the lantern on the little stand under the window, with -the light turned towards the road. - -“The more fool you,” observed Mr. Birney, as he began to draw off his -stockings, and prepare himself for his bed, that stood conveniently -near, in a recess curtained off from the other portion of the room. - -Mrs. Birney drew her spinning wheel to the chimney corner nearest the -window, where she had placed the light, and she sat down and began to -spin. - -“Ye’ll no be whirling that machine and keeping me awake, Jenny, woman!” -expostulated the old man as he got into bed. - -“But if I maun sit up, I maun na lose my time.” - -“Then knit or sew.” - -She good-humoredly put aside her wheel and took from the top of the -corner cupboard her work-basket half filled with woolen socks, which she -sat down to darn. - -Old Andy was soon snoring under his blankets. - -Jenny sat darning and sighing, and occasionally peering through the -window into the darkness without. The violence of the storm seemed to be -subsiding, though still it rained heavily. - -“It’s like murder,” she murmured. “And, if she be found cold and dead in -the morn I shall never forgi’e mysel’. I shall never be able to sleep -again. Eh! but I wish I had rin out after her mysel.’ But then the -gudeman would na hae let me. Hech! but they get hard and selfish wi’ age -and infirmities, these men. Eh! how he sleeps and snores, as if there -was no misery in the world,” she added, glancing at the bed. - -But the old curmudgeon’s rest was destined to be broken. - -There came the sound of horse’s hoofs dashing along the flooded road. -The toll-gate bar was cleared at a bound. Jenny heard the spring and -splash, and she started to her feet, dropping her work-basket. - -The next moment there came a loud rapping at the door. It aroused the -old man from his sleep. - -“What the de’il is that?” he exclaimed, angrily. - -“There’s ane without,” whispered Jenny, in a scared tone, trembling in -spite of herself. - -“Worse luck! Is it a Witch’s Sabbath and are all the warlocks and -witches riding to it by this road the night?” he growled. - -The knocking grew louder. - -“Who is it, Jenny?” he cried. - -“I dinna know,” whispered the woman. - -“Canna ye gae and see?” - -The knocking became vociferous, the horseman seemed to be hammering at -the door with the loaded end of his riding-whip. - -“Haud your noise out there, will you then!” bawled the old man, bouncing -out of bed, throwing a blanket around him and seizing his blunderbus, -while Jenny crept to the door and cautiously opened it, keeping herself -behind it. - -The rain had nearly ceased and the sky was clearing. - -A tall, stout, dark man, in a dark riding-coat, stood outside. With one -hand he held the bridle of his horse, and with the other the handle of -his riding-whip, with which he had just rapped. - -So much Jenny, cautiously peeping around the edge of the door, could -make out. - -The old toll-taker came forward, wrapped in his blanket like a North -American Indian, and carrying his musket in his hand, and growling: - -“Am I no to have ony peace or quiet the night? I’d as weel be keeper o’ -one o’ these new-fangled railway stations where the trains are aye -coming and going day and night, instead o’ this once quiet toll-gate. -Who be ye, sir, and what’s your will?” he growled at this second -stranger. - -“I am a traveller going to Old Lyon Hall; and I wish to know the nearest -road,” answered the horseman. But a sudden parting blast of wind drowned -half his words. - -“And by the way, how came ye on this side of the road, when the great -bar is up for the night?” angrily demanded the toll-taker. - -“Oh, my horse took it at a bound.” - -“An he had broken your neck it might hae been a gude job and saved the -hangman trouble,” growled old Andy. - -“Thanks,” laughed the stranger, “but there was not a chance of it; my -horse is a famous hunter. Will you direct me on my road?” - -“_Where_ did you say you were going?” - -“To Old Lyon Hall.” - -“To Old Lyon Hall!—Jenny, woman, here is anither one! It’s _there_ they -are holding the witches’ dance and no wedding, for the warlocks and -witches that flit by this way are no wedding guests,” said the old man, -turning to his wife. - -“Will you be so good as to direct me to the Hall?” courteously persisted -the traveller. - -“Oh, ay, I’ll direct ye fast enough; but be ye’ one o’ the wedding -guests?” - -“No, not exactly,” laughed the man. - -“Hark to him Jenny! how much he talks like the ither one! Then what’s -your business at the Hall the night? It’s unco late to make a visit, and -varry oncivil to go oninvited where they’re handing a bridal. Wouldna -the morn serve your turn just as weel?” mockingly inquired Andy. - -“No; the morning would be too late for my purpose. It is of the utmost -importance that I should reach the Hall to-night!” said the horseman, -beginning to grow restive under the influence of some hidden anxiety -that he could not entirely conceal. - -“Is it an affair of ‘life and death?’” inquired Andy, with a touch of -sarcasm in his tone, as he repeated the words that had been used by the -unhappy girl who had preceded this stranger on this road. - -“More—much more than life and death is involved,” muttered the -traveller, in a voice vibrating with the agitation that he could no -longer control. - -“Hark to him again, Jenny!” grinned the old man. “Just the way the ither -one talked. The de’il maun be holding a levee at the Hall!” - -“I beg you will not detain me; pray put me on my road,” impatiently -urged the stranger. - -“Oh, ay! ye see the road before ye. Ye’ll just face it and follow your -nose, and it will lead to the old Hall. Ye canna miss it. It stands off -about a quarter mile from the road, on the right. There’s woods before -it, and the Porcupine Mountains behind it. It will be the first grand -like mansion ye’ll come to, and the only one, an’ ye were to ride a -hunder miles in that direction.” - -“Thanks,” said the stranger, lifting his cap and remounting his horse. - -“And oh, kind gentleman,” said Jenny, coming forward, “an’ ye should -meet wi’ a poor daft lassie who gaed before on the same road, ye’ll no -let her perish for the want of a helping hand. For the love of the Lord, -ye’ll get her under shelter or bring her back here.” - -“‘A poor daft lassie,’” repeated the stranger, bewildered by the woman’s -words and manner. - -“Ay, sir; a poor bit child wha canna guide hersel’ to ony gude end.” - -“A young tramp, sir,” explained the old man. “A young tramp who passed -this way an hour ago; and ye should get her pit into a House of -Correction, ye might be doing her good service.” - -“I have no time to stop, but if I should see the young woman I will do -what I can for her. Good night,” said the traveller, putting spurs to -his horse, and galloping away as if determined not to be detained -another moment. - -“I’ll tell you what, Jenny, there’s something unco wrong up at the old -Hall! And now shut up the house and come away to bed,” said old Andy, -turning from the door, and dragging his blanket behind him like a court -train. - -“I couldna sleep a wink wi’out hearing what becomes o’ that poor -houseless child. I’ll sit up and sew, and show a light i’ the window, in -case she behooves to come back again,” replied Mrs. Birney, replacing -the lantern on the stand before the window, resuming her seat on her low -chair in the chimney corner, and taking up her work, while the old man, -for the last time that night, shut up the house and went to bed. - - - - - CHAPTER II. - AT THE OLD HALL. - - Yes, there thou art below the hill, - By evergreens encircled still, - Old hall that time hath deigned to spare, - Mid rugged rocks and forests fair, - And nightshade o’er the casement creeping, - And owlet in the crevice sleeping, - And antique chairs and broidered bed, - By housewife’s patient needle spread.—ANON. - - -Old Lyon Hall lay at the foot of the Porcupine, an offshoot of the -Alleghanies, in one of the wildest and most picturesque counties in -Virginia. - -It was built in the Tudor style of domestic architecture, very -irregularly, with many gable ends, gothic windows and twisted chimneys. -Its walls of old red sandstone contrasted gloomily with the dark hue of -the evergreen trees that bristled up above it, and gave the mountain its -descriptive name. - -Heavy woods, bare, gray crags, and tumbling torrents surrounded it, and -gave a savage and sombre aspect to the scene. Below the Hall a turbulent -little river, spanned by a rustic bridge, rushed and roared along its -rocky bed. - -The Hall was very old. It had been built nearly two hundred years ago by -a Scotchman named Saul Sauvage Lyon, who had received a grant of the -land from James the First. It had remained ever since in the family of -the founder, whose descendants had frequently distinguished themselves, -as soldiers, or statesmen, in every epoch of the country’s history, -either as a colony or a commonwealth. - -Some few years since, being the date of this story, the master of the -Old Lyon Hall and Manor was General Leonard Lyon, a retired army -officer, and a veteran of the war of eighteen hundred and twelve. - -General Lyon had married very early in his youth, and had enjoyed many -years of calm domestic happiness. But now his wife and children were all -dead, and his only living descendant was his grandchild, the beautiful -Anna Lyon, “sole daughter of ‘his’ house.” - -Added to the great sorrow of bereavement was vexation, that, for the -want of male heirs, his old family estate must at last “fall to the -distaff.” - -But there might be found a remedy to this lesser evil. - -General Lyon had a younger brother, Chief Justice Lyon, of Richmond. And -the chief justice had an only son. - -Young Alexander Lyon was a bright, handsome, attractive lad, a few years -older than his cousin Anna. - -Under all the circumstances, if it was not perfectly proper, it was at -least natural and pardonable that old General Lyon should wish his -grand-daughter to become the wife of his nephew, so that while she -inherited his estate, she might perpetuate his name. - -Quite early in the childhood of the boy and girl, the general proposed -their betrothal to the chief justice, who eagerly acceded to the plan. -And so the affair was settled—by the parents. It was not considered -necessary to consult the children. - -Alexander was sent to Yale College, where, for a few years, he led -rather a fast life for a student. - -And Anna was placed at a fashionable boarding school in New York, where -she had a great deal more liberty than was good for her. - -Twice a year the young persons were permitted to meet—when they spent -the midsummer vacation at old Lyon Hall, where the chief justice and his -wife also came on a visit to the general, and when they kept the -Christmas holidays at the splendid town house of the chief justice at -Richmond, where the general also went to pay back his brother’s visit. -This arrangement was of course very agreeable to all parties. - -But as the boy and girl grew towards manhood and womanhood, it was -thought well to change this routine. And so, sometimes in the midsummer -vacation, the whole party, consisting of both families, would go for a -tour through the most attractive places of summer resort. And at -Christmas they would keep the holidays in Washington. - -On all these occasions the young lady and gentleman, under the auspices -of their elders, entered very freely into the fashionable amusements of -the season, with the understanding, however, that they were not to fall -in love, or even to flirt with any one but each other. - -Miss Lyon and Mr. Alexander seemed at first to have no particular -objection to this arrangement. They had always been fond of each other, -much fonder than of any one else. But ah! theirs was not the love that -would excuse, much less justify marriage. - -It has been said that when two persons of like complexion and -temperament intermarry, wise nature and sacred love have had nothing to -do with the union. And the truth spoken to-day is as old as the creation -of man. - -Anna and Alexander were of the same complexion and the same temperament; -both were plump, fair, blue-eyed and yellow-haired, both lively and fond -of pleasure, and both, on the surface, and in matters of little moment, -were amiable and yielding, but below the surface, and in affairs of -importance, resolute and determined as destiny and death. In person and -in character they were as much alike as twin brother and sister. - -This similarity, while it made their association as relatives very -agreeable, utterly precluded the possibility of their becoming lovers, -in the common sense of the word. They did not know this, when their -hearts were entirely free from any other attachment that might have -awakened their consciousness. - -There was no immediate hurry about the projected marriage. It was -certain to take place, the parents concluded, and so they neither -worried themselves nor their children prematurely. - -Alexander had to finish his college course, to graduate and to make the -“grand tour,” as was usual with young gentlemen of his position. - -When he should have accomplished all this, he would be about -twenty-three years of age and his bride elect would be about -eighteen—both quite young enough to marry, the old folks argued. - -The plan was partly carried out. - -Alexander Lyon graduated with honors and embarked for Europe. He -travelled over quite a considerable portion of the Eastern Continent. He -was gone two years, at the end of which he returned to claim his -promised bride. - -Active preparations were made for the marriage. But fate seemed to be -against it. A few days before the one set apart for the ceremony, while -the whole of both families were assembled at Old Lyon Hall to do honor -to the occasion, Chief Justice Lyon was suddenly struck dead by -apoplexy. Instead of a wedding there was a funeral, and the family went -into mourning for a year. - -At the end of that time preparations were again made for the marriage, -which was again arrested by the hand of death. - -A malignant fever was prevailing, and Mrs. Lyon, the widow of the chief -justice, was one of its first victims. - -At length, at the close of this second term of mourning and seclusion, -the household awoke as from a nightmare dream and busied itself with -blithe bridal affairs. - -The splendid city mansion and the fine old country house of the late -chief justice were both renovated and refurnished in costly style for -the reception of the new mistress. - -It was settled that the marriage should take place early in November. In -accordance with the old-time prejudices of General Lyon, it was to be -solemnized, in the evening, in the great drawing-room of Old Lyon Hall, -in the presence of a large party of friends, who were afterwards to be -entertained with a ball and supper. The bride and groom were to leave -the next morning for a short tour, after which they were to go to -Richmond and settle down for the winter in their town house, where they -were to be joined by the general. - -Such was the arrangement. But “man proposes and”—you know the rest. - -The autumn weather that had been glorious with the “excess of glory” in -a genial, refulgent and prolonged Indian Summer, suddenly changed. The -wedding-day dawned threateningly. No sun shone on it. Heavy black clouds -darkened the sky; wild, mournful winds wailed through the woods; violent -gusts of rain dashed suddenly down at intervals and as suddenly ceased. - -The inmates of the old Hall watched the weather in hope and fear. Would -it clear up? Or would it grow worse? they asked themselves and each -other. Certainly there was no sign of its clearing; quite the contrary, -for as the day declined the storm thickened. - -Fires were kindled in every room of the old house. - -In the great drawing-room the two broad fire-places, one at each end, -were piled high with huge hickory logs, that were burning and blazing -and filling the long room with glowing light and genial warmth, all the -more comfortable and delightful in contrast to the tempestuous weather -without—shining on the tall brass andirons and fender; shining on the -polished oak floor, with its rich Turkey rugs laid before each -fire-place and sofa; shining on the wainscotted walls with their -time-honored family portraits; shining on the bright black walnut -furniture; and on every surface and point that could reflect a ray of -light. - -This fine old-fashioned drawing-room was as yet vacant, waiting for the -evening crowd of wedding guests, if indeed the state of the weather and -the roads should permit them to assemble. - -Fires were kindled in the long dining-room, where a sumptuous supper was -laid out for the expected company; and in all the bed-chambers which had -been opened and aired, cleaned and decorated for such of the guests as -should come from a distance, and need to change their dress and perhaps -to lie down and rest. - -In one of the most spacious and comfortable of these upper-chambers, -late in the afternoon of this day, sat the bride elect. - -She reclined in an easy chair, with her feet upon the fender and her -eyes fixed moodily, dreamily upon the glowing fire before her, and -listened to the beating storm without. - -Here in this room, also, the ruddy blaze shone on dark wainscotted -walls, relieved by crimson damask window curtains, and on a polished -oaken floor, bare of carpets, except for the rugs that lay upon the -hearth before the dressing-table and beside the bed. - -This was indeed a lonely, silent, sombre scene in which to find a maiden -on her bridal evening. The tempest raged without, and the wind and rain -beat against the walls and windows as if they would batter them down. In -the pauses of the storm she could hear the rushing of the swollen -torrents and the roaring of the rising river. She knew that the roads -must be almost impassable and the streams unfordable. In truth, no one -had bargained for such weather on the wedding-day. - -Of the hundred and fifty guests who had been invited, not one had yet -appeared; not one of her bridesmaids; not the minister who was to -perform the marriage ceremony; not even her bridegroom! And yet all -these had been expected at an early hour of the afternoon. - -Everything was ready for their reception and for the rites and festivals -of the evening. Every nook and corner of the genial old home smiled its -welcome in anticipation of the arrival of these expected guests; and yet -not one of them came. - -Nor, when she listened to the howling of the tempest without, could the -young bride elect wonder at their absence. - -Her rich and varied wardrobe and her rare and costly jewels were all -packed in half a dozen large travelling-trunks that stood ready for -removal outside her chamber door in the upper hall. - -Her wedding-dress of rich white velvet, her large veil of fine lace, her -wreath of orange-flowers, and all the accessories of her bridal costume -lay out upon the bed. Yet she doubted that she should be called to wear -them that night: and she sat still gazing into the fire, listening to -the storm, and making no motion towards her toilet. - -She looked a beautiful young creature as she sat there, with her -graceful form, her perfect features, her pure complexion, her soft blue -eyes and pale yellow hair. - -Of what was she dreaming as she sat gazing into the fire, and heaving -deep, heavy sighs? Surely not only of the storm and the trifling delay -of her marriage, for she must have known that it could only be a -question of a few hours, and that whoever might stay away, her -bridegroom would certainly keep his appointment. What serious subject of -thought had she? what _possible_ subject of grief? Idlest with youth, -health and beauty, with high birth, great wealth and many -accomplishments, about to form the most brilliant marriage of the year, -with a gentleman who seemed her equal in all respects, if not her -superior in some, about to preside over the most splendid establishment -in the city and the grandest old house in the country, and to reign -everywhere a queen in society, what imaginable cause of discontent could -she have? - -Ah, friends! did ever any of these things, in themselves alone, satisfy -the hunger of any human heart—make any living creature happy? - -The darling daughter, the rich heiress, the beautiful bride elect, sat -and sighed and gazed, and gazed and sighed as if her heart would break. - -There were secrets in the life of this motherless girl unknown to her -nearest relatives, unsuspected by her appointed bridegroom. Of that more -hereafter. - -She sat there without moving until dark afternoon deepened into black -night, and the raging of the storm became terrific. How long she would -have sat thus I do not know, for just as the little toy of a clock upon -her mantle-piece chimed nine her door opened, and her own maid, Matty, -entered the room. - -“I told you not to bring lights until I should ring for them,” said Miss -Lyon, impatiently turning her head. - -“I know, Miss Anna; I didn’t bring no lights. I come to tell you how -Marse Alesander has jus’ arroved.” - -“He has come—and through all this storm?” exclaimed Anna in a startled -voice. - -“Yes, Miss, which Old Marse as’ed if you was ready, and sent me up to -’quire.” - -“I can be ready soon, Matty. But—has any one else come?” - -“No, Miss.” - -“Not the minister?” - -“The which, Miss?” - -“The Reverend Doctor Barbar.” - -“No, Miss.” - -“Then I don’t see the use of my disturbing myself yet awhile. There can -be no marriage without a minister,” said the bride elect, with something -very much like a sigh of relief. - -“You may go, Matilda,” she added to the girl, who still lingered at the -door. - -Matty vanished, and Miss Lyon resigned herself to her reverie. - -A few minutes passed, and Matty reappeared. - -“What now?” demanded the young lady. - -“Please, Miss, ole Marse have sent Jacob, with the close carriage, to -fetch the min’s’er, and say he will be here in half an hour if you will -get ready.” - -“Matty, where is your master?” - -“In his study, Miss.” - -“Alone?” - -“Yes, Miss.” - -“Where is Mr. Alexander?” - -“He’s gone up to his own room, Miss, to fix hisself.” - -“Very well,” said the young lady, as she arose and left her chamber. - -She passed up the broad upper hall that was now ruddy and cheerful with -the light of many fires, that shone through the open doors of the -waiting bedrooms, and she went straight to the little room with the bay -window, at the front end, over the main entrance. - -She opened the door and found her grandfather seated in his big -arm-chair by his writing table, on which lay books, papers, pens, and so -forth. - -But the old gentleman was neither reading nor writing. He was simply -sitting and waiting. - -He was a very fine-looking old man, tall and stout, with a full face, -noble features, fair complexion, and snow white hair and beard. He wore -an evening dress of black broadcloth, with a white vest and white -cravat. His white gloves lay beside him, ready for use. - -“All alone, gran’pa?” inquired Anna, smiling. - -“Yes, my pet—yes, my darling,” said the old gentleman, rising and -handing his grand-daughter to a seat with as much courtesy as if she -were a princess. “But why are you not dressed, Anna? It is late, very -late.” - -“Oh, gran’pa, what an awful night for a wedding! And there is no one -here, and no one likely to come.” - -“Yes, my dear, but it is the night appointed, and your bridegroom is in -the house, and the minister will soon be here.” - -“Gran’pa,” pleaded Anna, leaving her seat and coming and sitting on his -knee, and putting her arm caressingly around his neck—“dear gran’pa, I -cannot bear to be married under these evil auspices, without witnesses, -without bridesmaids, and on a dark night and in a heavy storm. Why -cannot the marriage be deferred until to-morrow morning? What difference -can a few hours make? At least, what difference that is not very -desirable? By to-morrow the storm will be over. The ceremony can be -performed early in the morning. I can be married in my travelling dress. -The supper will do for a breakfast. And we can start immediately upon -our wedding tour. Say, gran’pa, may not the marriage be deferred until -the morning? It is awful to be married in solitude, on a dark, stormy -night. Say, dear gran’pa! _May_ not the marriage be put off until the -morning?” - -“My dear, no; it cannot be.” - -“But—why not?” - -“For many reasons. For one—Anna, I confess, old soldier as I am, to a -little superstition on some subjects. This marriage has been already put -off _twice_. If it should be put off a third time, it will never take -place. A marriage thrice deferred never comes to pass. There, my child, -go and dress. It is nine o’clock. You are two hours behind time. -Alexander is nearly ready, and the minister will be here in a few -minutes,” said the old gentleman, rising and gently leading his favorite -out of the room. - -“‘A marriage thrice deferred never comes to pass.’ I wish _I_ was sure -of that, and could defer mine just _once_ more,” mused Anna, as she went -back to her room. “And yet,” she added, compunctiously, “that is unjust -and ungrateful to Alexander. Poor Alick! I dare say, in all these years, -he has never even dreamed of any other girl but me, while I—while I—Ah, -Heaven have pity on us! Well, well, I will bury the past deep in -forgetfulness, and I will try to make him a good wife.” - -When she reached her room she found Matty and Matty’s mother, Marcy, who -was her own old nurse, in attendance. The fire was mended, the hearth -swept and the lamps lighted. The two on her dressing-table shone down -upon an open casket of jewels that blazed with blinding radiance. - -Anna went wearily up to look at them. - -“Mars’ Alic sent them in by his man, honey,” said Aunt Jenny in -explanation. - -It was a splendid set of diamonds, consisting of ear-rings, breastpin, -necklace and bracelets. - -“You will wear them, honey, dough dere ain’t anybody to see them?” - -“Except the giver! Yes, auntie, I will wear them. Poor Alick!” sighed -Anna, sitting down on her dressing-stool, and resigning herself into the -hands of her attendants. - -They went willingly to work. The task of arranging their mistress for -her bridal was with them a labor of love. - -Old Marcy standing behind the chair brushed and braided the beautiful -hair. Young Matty on the floor, encased the dainty feet in silken hose -and satin slippers. And then the beauty stood up and let them remove her -wrapper and put on her robes and her wreath, and her veil. But with her -own hands she clasped the diamond necklace around her throat and the -diamond bracelets on her wrists, and put ear-rings in her ears, and the -brooch upon her bosom. - -And when her toilet was completed she looked, if looks were all, a very -royal bride, fit to share a young monarch’s throne. - -She sat down again and said: - -“Matty, you may go and tell your master that I am ready.” - -The girl left the room to take the message, but in the hall she ran -against some one who seemed on his way to speak to the bride. And so she -turned back to say. - -“Miss Anna, here’s Jake asking if he can have a word with you.” - -“Certainly. Tell the boy to come in,” said the young lady. - -The son of the coachman, one of the younger grooms, entered, hat in -hand, bowing low. - -“Well, my boy, what is it?” inquired his mistress. - -“If you please, Miss, I telled her as she couldn’t, and she said as she -_must_, and I telled her as she shouldn’t, and she said she _would_,” -replied Jake, rather incoherently. - -“‘Would?’ what?—who? I don’t understand you, boy.” - -“Her, Miss. I telled her she couldn’t, nohow, but she ’lowed she _must_, -anyhow. And I telled her she shouldn’t then, there! and she ’lowed she -_would_, so there!” - -“Would what, Jake?” - -“See you immediate, Miss.” - -“_Who_ would see me?” - -“Her, Miss.” - -“Who is she?” - -“The young woman, which I think she is crazy, Miss, and not safe to be -seed.” - -“Oh, dear! dear me, Jake, what young woman are you talking of?” said -Miss Lyon, impatiently. - -“Her as runned in out’n the storm, Miss, and said how she must see you; -and I telled her she wasn’t fit to be seed herself, being drippen’ wet, -nor safe to be seed, being sort o’ cracked, and—oh my laws! there she is -now, a followed of me!” exclaimed the boy, breaking off in dismay, to -stare with wide mouth and eyes at the opening door. - -Miss Lyon turned her head in that direction, and saw standing there a -slight, pale young creature, enveloped in a long gray cloak, with its -hood drawn over her head and shading her face. - - - - - CHAPTER III. - THE HOUSELESS WANDERER AND THE BRIDE ELECT. - - They whispered—sin a shade had cast, - Upon her youthful frame, - And scornful murmurs as she past - Were mingled with her name. - - “She is not beautiful,” they said, - I saw that she was more; - One of those women, women dread, - Men fatally adore.—ANON. - - -And the homeless wanderer through the wild winter-night, she who had -called herself Anna Lyon, stood in the presence of the bride elect. - -“Drusilla! Drusilla Sterling! Is it you? Is it really you! Oh, my poor -child, how happy I am to see you!” exclaimed Miss Lyon, in the utmost -surprise and delight, as she advanced with extended hands to welcome her -unexpected guest. - -Drusilla suffered her cold fingers to be clasped, and she raised her -soft, appealing eyes to the young lady’s face; but she spoke no word in -reply. - -“Oh, my dear child, how sorrowful we have been for you! Why did you -leave your home? Where have you been? What have you been doing? Where -did you come from last? And how came you out on such an awful night? And -oh, poor girl! in what a state you have come back? Don’t try to answer -any of my questions yet! You must be warmed and fed first,” said Miss -Lyon, who in her excitement had hurried question upon question to the -exhausted girl, and seeing that she could not answer, repented her own -thoughtless vehemence, and turning to her servants, said: - -“Marcy, take off her cloak and hang it up, and sit her down in that -arm-chair before the fire, and remove her wet shoes. And, Jacob, go down -stairs and ask Mrs. Dill to send up a glass of hot port wine negus, and -some warm, dry toast. And be quick about it!” - -Jake hurried away to do his errand. - -And the young wanderer permitted the old nurse to remove her cloak, and -seat her in the chair before the fire, and take off her wet boots. - -Marcy had not failed to see the fact that had also been apparent to the -old woman at the toll-gate. And as she was passing out of the room with -the wet cloak over her arm, and the wet shoes in her hand, she stopped -and whispered to her young mistress: - -“Lord pity her, poor thing, I’m right down sorry for her; but she is not -fit to be in your presence, Miss Anna.” - -For an instant the pure and high-born maiden recoiled with a look of -pain and horror; but then quickly recovering herself, she murmured: - -“Hush, no more of that. Take those damp things from the room and hang -them before one of the spare fires, Marcy.” - -And when the woman had gone, Miss Lyon walked up to the poor wanderer -and laid her hand tenderly on her shoulder. - -The little pale face turned itself around to hers. The soft pleading -eyes were raised: - -“Yes, Miss Lyon, that is well. Send all your women from the room, for I -must speak with you alone,” she murmured, in a voice vibrating with -suppressed anguish. - -“Speak to me, then, my child; and speak freely. No mother could listen -to your story with more sympathy than I shall,” said the heiress, -drawing a chair to the fire and sitting down near the girl. - -“You are not yet married? the ceremony has not yet been performed?” the -wanderer inquired, looking wistfully at the bride. - -“No, certainly not, or I should not be here; we are waiting for the -minister. Did you want to see the pageantry, my child? If so, you can do -so,” said the bride elect, smiling, as if to encourage her desponding -protegée. - -“_I_ want to see it! No, Miss Lyon, I came here to-night to put a stop -to it,” exclaimed the girl. - -“To put a stop to it! Drusilla, are you mad, my dear?” said Miss Lyon, -in amazement. - -“I wish I was! I should have no duties to do then! Oh, Miss Lyon!” - -“Explain yourself, my dear Drusilla; for indeed I fear some great grief -has distracted your mind.” - -“No, no; but oh, Miss Lyon, I am about to give you great pain! as great -almost as I suffer myself. Would I could suffer alone! Would I could -suffer for both!” moaned Drusilla, in a voice full of woe, as she bowed -her head upon her hands. - -“Speak out; speak freely,” said Miss Lyon, gravely. - -“If I alone were concerned, I could be silent. If it were not to save -one from crime and another from misery I could be silent.” - -“Nay now, nay now, you do alarm me, Drusilla! To the point, dear child! -to the point!” urged Miss Lyon. - -“You are thinking ill of me?” asked the girl, raising those meek -prayerful eyes to the face of the young lady. - -“No, Drusilla! No one can judge you with more leniency than I shall, my -poor, dear child. Do not fear to open your heart to me,” said Miss Lyon. - -“I have no cause to fear on my own account, lady. You said that you -would judge me with leniency. You meant that you would judge me with -charity. But I am not a subject of charity, Miss Lyon, I am a subject -for justice,” answered the girl, with gentle dignity. - -“I am waiting to hear your communication, Drusilla, whenever you please -to tell it to me,” said Miss Lyon. - -But at that moment the door was opened, and Matilda entered with a tray -in her hand. - -“If you please, Miss, ole Marse say how the carriage hasn’t come back -long o’ the min’ser yet, and when he comes he will send and let you -know,” the maid announced. - -“Very well, Matilda; what have you got covered up on that tray?” -inquired Miss Lyon. - -“Please, I overtook Jake, awkward fellow, tumbling up stairs with this -in his hands, which he said he was ordered to fetch it up for some one -as was with you, and took it away from him to fetch it myself, because -if I hadn’t, he’d have fallen down and broken all the glass and spilt -all the wine,” answered the girl, turning a wistful glance upon the -stranger. - -“Quite right! Put the tray on that little table, and set the table here -by the fire, and leave the room,” said Miss Lyon. - -The maid obeyed orders. - -When she was gone Miss Lyon uncovered the tray, and pressed the -refreshments upon her visitor. - -Drusilla eagerly drank the warm wine and water, but declined the dry -toast. - -“I have so much thirst all the time, but I cannot swallow a morsel of -food, for it always chokes me!” she said, in explanation. - -When the girl had emptied the glass, she seemed somewhat revived in -strength, and Miss Lyon again suggested that she should make the -communication she promised. - -With a deep sigh, with her head bowed upon her bosom and her hands -clasped upon her knees, the girl began the story of her short life and -long sorrow. - -But perhaps we had better tell it for her, because, for one reason, she -suppressed much that would have vindicated herself; since to have -related it would have criminated another. We will, with even-handed -justice deal fairly by both. - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - A CHILD’S LOVE. - - It is an olden story, - Yet, yet ’tis ever new, - And whensoe’er it happens, - It breaks the heart in two. - —FROM THE GERMAN OF UNGER. - - -The late Mrs. Chief Justice Lyon had been a notable manager. She had -looked well to her household, utterly scorning the idea of entrusting -her domestic affairs to the hands of any hired housekeeper, until the -infirmities of age came upon her, and she could no longer rise early and -sit up late, or go up and down stairs a dozen times a day, as she had -been accustomed to do. - -Then she advertised for a housekeeper, who was required to be the -nonpareil of matrons and managers, and to furnish the most -unquestionable of references. - -She received, in reply, just thirty-three letters from applicants for -the place. Thirty-two were read, and cast into the waste paper basket, -without even the honor of an answer. - -The thirty-third was read and considered. - -It came from a highly respectable woman, the widow of a poor Baptist -minister. Her age, her character, her competency and her references were -all unexceptionable—so much so that old Mrs. Lyon seemed to think that -the Lord had created the Baptist minister’s widow for the especial -purpose of providing her with a housekeeper. - -But there was a drawback. - -The widow, Mrs. Sterling, had an “encumbrance,” as a child is cruelly -called—a little girl, aged six years, from whom she was unwilling to -part. In mentioning this “item,” Mrs. Sterling had said that, if allowed -to bring her child, she would consent to come at half the salary offered -by Mrs. Lyon. - -The old lady pondered over the letter. She was very anxious to have the -housekeeper, but she did not want the “encumbrance.” - -Finally, as she could not come to any decision unaided, she took up the -letter and waddled off to the old judge’s “study,” where he kept his law -books and documents, and where he read the newspapers, and smoked or -dozed the greater part of the day, but where he never “studied” for an -hour. - -She sat down and read the letter to him, and then said: - -“You see she is just exactly the sort of woman that I want—and a -clergyman’s widow, too—so respectable. If I were to advertise, and keep -on advertising for a year, I might not meet with another so suitable.” - -“Well, then, engage her at once,” said the Chief Justice with more -promptness of decision than he had often brought to bear upon his law -cases. - -“Yes, but there’s a difficulty.” - -“In what? Doesn’t she like the terms?—Give her her own; you can afford -it, if she suits you.” - -“She likes the terms well enough. Don’t you see she offers to come at -half what I give, if permitted to bring her child.” - -“Then where on earth is the difficulty? _I_ don’t see it.” - -“Why, about the child, Judge.” - -“Oh, the little girl. Well, let the woman bring her child; what possible -objection can there be to that?” - -“Yes, but she would be an encumbrance.” - -“On whom, I would like to know? Not on you, not on me, and certainly not -on her mother. Nonsense, my dear, let the child come; never make a -difficulty about that.” - -“But children are so troublesome—” - -“Especially when they are not our own. Tut, tut, if you don’t want the -woman, don’t take her; but if you do want her, take her, and let her -bring her little one. Bless my soul alive, haven’t we got five or six -dogs, and seven or eight cats, and half a score of birds? and if one -child can make a hundredth part of the noise that they do, I’m greatly -mistaken.” - -“Yes, but children are not like them; children are always eating cake, -or sucking toffy, and toddling about with nasty, sticky hands, laying -hold of your skirts—” - -“My dear, don’t say mine; I don’t wear any. Nonsense, Sukey, take the -woman and risk the child. Or stay—I see light at last. Take her on trial -with the child, and then, if it should prove a nuisance, get rid of it, -or of both.” - -“That’s just what I _can_ do. Thank you, Judge, you were always a wise -counsellor,” said Mrs. Lyon, turning to leave the room. - -“Don’t know. But hark ye, Sukey, my dear. No cutting down of the poor -woman’s salary on account of her ‘encumbrance.’ That is a reason for -raising it, not for reducing it,” called the judge after his retreating -wife. - -“Oh, I never intended to give her less than full pay,” replied Mrs. -Lyon, as she went to her room to answer her letter. - -The result was the engagement of Mrs. Sterling, with her “encumbrance.” - -The widow and her child arrived one cold day in December, soon after the -family were settled in their town house for the winter. She was the -least in the world like the “poor widow” of poetry and fiction. - -She was a little, wiry, muscular looking body, with no encumbrance of -flesh, whatever she might have of family, for she was rather thin in -form and face. She had a high color, black hair and black eyes. She was -cheerful, active and enterprising. She wore no widow’s weeds, because, -she explained, it had been three years since she had lost her husband, -and black was a bore, always catching dirt and showing all it caught, -and making everybody gloomy. She wore serviceable browns and grays, or -dark crimsons. - -She entered upon her duties with great energy, and soon had the house in -perfect order, and the domestic machinery moving like magic. It is -needless to say that she gave great satisfaction to her employers. - -“I do not know how I ever got along without her. I know I could not -now,” said Mrs. Lyon, adding, “I would rather have her, even with two -children instead of one, than any body else without any. And indeed the -child is _not_ a nuisance, after all.” - -No, the child was not a nuisance. And neither did she bear the slightest -resemblance to her mother. She was a delicate little creature, with a -pure, pale face; large, soft, gray eyes, and bright, silky, brown hair. -She was very quiet, thoughtful and industrious for such a mere infant. -Her mother ruled her with the same rigid discipline with which she -governed all the servants of the household committed to her charge. - -The little one was never allowed to go out of doors except on Sunday, -when she was taken by her mother to church, or sent by herself to Sunday -school. On all other days she was confined strictly to the housekeeper’s -room, where, after learning one lesson, doing one sum, and writing one -copy, she was kept stitching patch-work quilts from morning till night. - -The Chief Justice, who was an awful myth to the little girl, had never -once set eyes on her. - -But old Mrs. Lyon, coming occasionally to the housekeeper’s room to give -some orders, would see the demure little creature sitting on her low -stool in the corner of the hearth, and stitching soberly at her -patch-work, and she would say to the mother: - -“Mrs. Sterling, why don’t you let that child run out into the garden and -play in this fine, clear, frosty weather? The air would do her good.” - -“Well, I don’t know, madam. You see how delicate she is; she might take -cold.” - -“Delicate, and no wonder, Mrs. Sterling; kept mewed up in this close -room at needle-work all the time, as if she was sewing for her living—a -babe of six years old! If you are afraid to let her go into the garden, -let her run about the house; don’t keep her here always.” - -“Thank you, madam; but I cannot let her do so. She might grow -troublesome; and, besides, she _will_ have to sew for a living some day -or other if she doesn’t do it now. She can’t have me always to look to; -she will have to take care of herself, and so she must learn to be -patient and industrious by times.” - -“Poor little thing,” murmured the old lady. - -“Don’t pity her, if you please, madam, or put into her head that she is -ill-used, for she isn’t. I do everything for her good, and it’s not -likely that I would do any thing else, for I am her own mother,” said -the housekeeper, respectfully but firmly. - -“I don’t believe you know what is for her good, and if you are her own -mother you treat her worse than any stepmother would,” the old lady -thought and would have said, only that she was a little afraid of Mrs. -Sterling. - -“She isn’t the least like you. Who is she like?” inquired Miss Lyon. - -“Her father. See, here is his miniature,” said the widow, drawing from -her pocket a morocco case, and handing it to the old lady. - -“Yes, she is like her father. What a very interesting face he has. Has -he been dead long?” - -“Three years last March; he died of consumption. I suppose she will go -the same way,” said the widow, indicating her child. - -“You should not let her hear you say so; if she gets the impression that -she is to die of consumption because her father did she will probably do -so,” whispered Mrs. Lyon. Then aloud she spoke this truth: “Nobody need -die of consumption or of anything else except old age, unless they have -a mind to. Plenty of good food and proper clothing, and out-door -exercise will prevent consumption.” - -And with a parting glance of pity at the pale child, the old lady left -the room. - -“You mustn’t mind what Mrs. Lyon says; she is not like us. She is a -great lady, and thinks of nothing but taking her ease and indulging -herself, and she fancies that _we_ can do the same; but you know we -can’t,” said the widow, applying the antidote to what she considered the -poison that had been dropped into the child’s mind. “We must deny -ourselves, and bear our burden, and after all it is easy enough to do.” - -“Yes,” said the mite in the corner, repeating her Sunday school -Scripture text, for our Saviour said, ‘Whosoever will come after me let -him deny himself, take up his cross and follow me.’ - -“Yes, and if you don’t do it you know you will be eternally lost,” said -the clergyman’s widow. - -“Oh, but our Saviour will never let me be lost, no never; I know that -much.” - -“How do you know that? If you disobey him you will be lost.” - -“Oh, no! He will not let me be—no, never, not even if I was to steal -away from my work and go and play in the garden. He would forgive me -like he did Peter; and then I should feel sorry, and cry, and then he -would make it all right again,” said the quaint little infant Theologian -with an air of positive conviction. - -“Child! where did you learn such bad doctrines? Not at Sunday school, I -know,” said the widow, in dismay. - -“Yes, I did, in the Sunday school, in the Bible texts, and they are -good. Our Saviour was good and all that he did was good. Don’t he say -that he was sent to seek and to save them that were _lost_? And I know -he will never let me be lost, no nor the old lady neither, even if she -does take her ease, because she is so good-hearted.” - -“Miss! don’t you know it is wrong to contradict your mother? And you -have contradicted me several times.” - -“Yes, I know—but—I must say what is true about Our Saviour when we talk -of him.” - -“Well, you shall sew one hour longer this evening, as a punishment for -your disrespect to me.” - -“Well, mamma, I will sew all day and all night, if that will do you any -good, so you will let me say what is true about Our Saviour. Sewing is -easy enough, the dear knows—easier than being scourged and stoned, and -all that, like some of his poor friends were for his sake,” said the -child, as she carefully fitted the little squares of her patch-work -together. - -“Only six years old and to talk like that! She is one of the children -who are doomed to die early,” thought Mrs. Sterling. - -And indeed any one looking at that child, with her delicate frame, large -brain and active intellect, must have come to the same conclusion. But -they would every one have been mistaken. There was a wonderful vitality -and power of endurance in that little slight nervous frame. No one is -faultless. And if this little atom had a fault, it was that of being -just a “wee bit” self-opinionated. She was a very promising pupil in a -very orthodox Sunday school; yet from the very texts they had taught her -she had received impressions that the teachers certainly never had -intended to give her, and these impressions had become convictions in -defence of which she was willing at six years to suffer the baby -martyrdom of—“sewing all day and all night.” - -Meanwhile the Christmas Holidays were approaching, and the young son of -the house was coming home to spend them. And his uncle and cousin were -invited to meet him. Great preparations were made to entertain the -party. Old Mrs. Lyon’s visits to the housekeeper’s room became more and -more frequent as the time for the arrival of the visitors drew near. - -And whenever the old lady came, she inevitably found the quiet child -sitting on her stool in the corner of the hearth sewing for dear life. - -But old Mrs. Lyon took no farther notice of the infant. Partly because -she was too full of her own affairs and partly because she was -displeased by the housekeeper’s disregard of her advice. - -But the demure child, listening to every word that passed, with the -interest only a recluse could feel, heard a great deal about “Mr. -Alexander.” Whoever else might be coming, it was for this darling only -son that his mother planned. It was of his comfort and pleasure only -that she thought and talked. - -And the little listening child grew to look upon “Mr. Alexander” as some -young king of Israel—some splendid and magnificent Saul, or Solomon, who -was to be the glory of the house. And because hero-worshipping was a -necessity of her deep, earnest, reverent soul, she began to worship him. - -At length, two or three days before Christmas, the expected visitors -began to arrive. - -First came General Lyon, the fine, martial-looking old man with his -commanding form and snow white hair and beard; and his grand-daughter, -the beautiful Anna Lyon, then a fair, blooming, blue-eyed and -golden-haired hoyden of twelve years of age; both attended by their -servants. And next came Mr. Alexander, then a rollicking young man of -eighteen. - -The whole party was assembled in the drawing-room, and Mrs. Sterling -happened to be with them when Mr. Alexander was announced and entered, -in a great noisy bustle of joy. - -He shook hands heartily with his father and then with his uncle; and he -embraced his mother and his cousin, and then, before he knew what he was -about, he threw his arms around the housekeeper and hugged and kissed -her. - -“Oh, see here! you know I didn’t mean it, I didn’t indeed, ma’am; I beg -ten thousand pardons! but I am so much in the habit of kissing everybody -I meet here that—that—I kissed you by mistake. But if you don’t mind it, -_I_ don’t; or if you feel aggrieved, why, you may kiss and hug _me_, and -that will make it all square between us,” laughed the boy, when he -discovered his error. - -The clergyman’s widow curtsied very stiffly without moving a muscle of -her face. - -“This is Mrs. Sterling, who manages our house, Alick,” said his mother, -gravely. - -“Mrs. Sterling, I am very happy to have the honor of knowing you, and I -am persuaded that the house is managed to perfection,” said the young -man, bowing. - -The widow curtsied more stiffly than before, and then withdrew from the -room. - -“I say, Anna, I wouldn’t kiss her again for the best hunter in your -father’s stables; my lips got frost-bitten by that first encounter,” -whispered the young man, with a smile, to his cousin. - -“Served you right, Alick. You should look before you leap,” laughed -Anna. - -“That mightn’t always prevent my leaping, especially if the feat seemed -a dangerous one, though it would have done so in this case, I admit.” - -They were interrupted by the arrival of another guest—an uninvited and -unexpected, if not an unwelcome one. - -The door was opened by a servant, who grimly announced: - -“Mr. Richard Hammond.” - -And “Poor Dick,” the black sheep of the flock, entered the room, looking -rather sheepish, it must be confessed. - -And yet he was a very handsome and gentlemanly youth, tall, slender, -with a fine Grecian profile, with a clear brown complexion, black -curling hair and dark changing eyes—with a frank countenance and an -engaging smile that few, or none, could resist. - -But well he might look sheepish, poor outlawed fellow, for his entrance -cast an instantaneous chill over the family circle. - -General Lyon drew himself up haughtily. The chief justice looked grave, -his wife sad, and their son angry. Only Anna seemed pleased. And not -only pleased, but delighted. For the instant she saw him she bounced up, -overturning two or three chairs in her hurry and rushed to meet him, -exclaiming: - -“Cousin Dick! Oh, dear Cousin Dick, I am so glad you’ve come! It would -have been such a dull Christmas, indeed no Christmas at all, without -you!” - -And she gave him both her hands and pressed and shook his, and drew him -towards the group, and first instinctively presented him to the -kind-hearted old lady: - -“Aunt Lyon, here is Cousin Dick. Are you not very glad to see him?” - -“How do you do, Richard?” said the old lady, offering her hand. - -And the black sheep stooped and kissed her. - -“Uncle, here’s Dick. Isn’t it a pleasant surprise?” asked Anna. - -And uncle had to come and shake the scape-grace by the hand. - -“Grandpa, look here; you don’t see Dick. Here’s Dick waiting to speak to -you!” she persisted. - -And General Lyon had to turn and meet the engaging smile of the handsome -boy. - -“Alick,” said Anna, in a low whisper, giving her betrothed a sharp dig -in the ribs with her elbow, and a very vicious look from her angry blue -eyes, “if you don’t stop glowering, and come and speak to Dick, I’ll -never speak to _you_ again.” - -“Anything to keep peace in the family,” laughed Mr. Alexander, as he -cleared up his brow, and went and welcomed the new comer. - -And in two minutes more Dick was seated in the circle around the fire, -the life of the little company talking and laughing, telling jokes and -singing songs, and keeping everybody pleased and amused, so that they -forgot they did not want him, and almost fancied that they could not do -without him. - -There was nothing very wrong about Dick Hammond. It is true that he was -a very unpromising law student, being rather idle and extravagant—fonder -of play than of work, and loving his “friends” better than himself. You -know the sort of man—one of that sort of whom it is always said that he -is “nobody’s enemy but his own.” - -Dick had a neat little patrimony, but his relations said that he was in -a fair way of making “ducks and drakes” of it, and they discountenanced -and disapproved of him accordingly. - -His one fast friend was his cousin Anna, and every year she was growing -to be a stronger and more important one. - -At ten o’clock that night, Mr. Richard Hammond made a motion to go, but -the chief justice said: - -“Stay all night, Dick.” And old Mrs. Lyon added: - -“Stay and spend the Christmas holidays with us, Dick.” - -So Mr. Richard stayed, and sent for his portmanteau from the hotel where -he had stopped on his first coming to the city. - -And having the freedom of the house, he took more liberties in it than -any one else would dare to do—going into any part of it, and at any hour -he pleased; popping in and out of the chief justice’s secluded study, -and breaking up his naps; popping in and out of the old lady’s sacred -dressing-room, and startling her in the midst of the mysterious rites of -the toilet; and bouncing in and out of the housekeeper’s room, the -pantry or the kitchen, to the serious discomfiture of the manager, the -butler and the cook. - -Yet everybody loved Dick, so long as the influence of his frank manners, -sunny smile, and sweet voice was upon them. But when that was withdrawn, -and they were left to their sober reason, they strongly disapproved of -him. - -“Little pitchers have long ears and wide mouths,” says the proverb. And -the little pitcher in Mrs. Sterling’s private apartment was no exception -to the general rule. Sitting stitching at her patch-work, she often -heard Mr. Richard’s shortcomings discussed, and she pitied him, for she -thought that he had wandered away very far from the fold, and was in a -very bad way indeed. - -One day when poor Dick popped into the housekeeper’s room, to ask for -some brandy and salt to dip the wick of his candles in, to make “corpse -lights” for ghosts to carry, and scare the maids with, he found no one -there but the child, sitting in the corner and stitching patch-work as -usual. - -She looked up at him solemnly, and nearly annihilated him with the -following appalling question: - -“Young man, are you one of the lost sheep of the House of Israel?” - -“EH?” exclaimed Dick, starting. - -“I ask you, are you a lost sheep? They say you are a black sheep, and I -believe it is the black sheep that go astray,” she said, gravely, and -folding her hands and contemplating him. - -Dick burst out laughing, but when he recovered himself he answered very -gravely: - -“Indeed, I fear I am a lost sheep, little girl.” - -“Well, that is bad, but don’t be frightened. Our Saviour knows where you -are, and He will be sure to find you, and fetch you into the fold. -Because, you know, He came to seek and to save those that are lost. And -what he came to do He _will_ do, and nothing in this world can prevent -him.” - -“I’ll be shot if that isn’t an encouraging doctrine if it is a true one, -little girl. I sometimes wish somebody _would_ find me and fetch me into -a place of safety; but I fear I shouldn’t be worth keeping when found, -for I am a sad, foolish, naughty sheep, child,” said the young man, with -a self-mocking laugh. - -“Never mind, don’t make game of yourself. If our Saviour thinks you -worth looking for you are too good to be laughed at; and when He does -find you and fetch you into the fold, He will make as good a sheep of -you as—as—as—” The child seemed at a loss for a comparison, until her -face suddenly lighted up, and she said: “As Mr. Alexander himself!” - -“As Mr. Alexander himself! Oh, my eye! catch me, somebody! Only there’s -nobody to do it!” said Dick, rolling up against the wall and holding his -sides. - -“What’s the matter? Have you got the stomach-ache? There’s some rum and -molasses in the cupboard,” said the child. - -“No, oh no!” cried Dick, bursting into vociferous laughter. “You are the -solemnest little quiz! To hold up Mr. Alexander as a model for me! Well! -I’m bad enough, goodness knows, but—! Why, little one, Mr. Alexander -isn’t a sheep at all, either good or bad! He’s a goat, a rank black -goat, and never has been in the fold, and never would be let into it!” - -“Sir, it is very wrong in you to speak ill of a gentleman so in his -absence,” gravely asserted the little monitor. - -“So it is; you are right there, little girl,” admitted the scape-grace. - -And the timely entrance of Mrs. Sterling put an end to this strange -interview, and possibly saved the young man a serious lecture from the -little child. - -Dick got his candles, brandy and salt, and whatever else he wanted of -the housekeeper; for that strong-minded woman, no more than her weaker -sisters and brethren, could resist Dick’s irresistible smile. - - - - - CHAPTER V - THE CHILD MEETS HER FATE. - - “The sun himself is coming up this way.” - - -That night “a most horrid spectre,” wrapped in a long winding sheet, and -bearing a corpse candle that cast a cadaverous color over his -countenance, stalked through the lower regions of the house, frightening -the maids, and the men too, for that matter, from their propriety, and -raising such a row in the dignified residence of the chief justice as -might have brought the police down upon any house of a less assured -standing. - -And upon an investigation of the matter next morning, Mr. Richard was -discovered to be at the bottom of the business. - -And the quiet little girl in the housekeeper’s room heard again of his -delinquencies and pitied him and wished that he was more like Mr. -Alexander, that splendid paragon of youth whom his mother was always -praising. The child, closely confined to her mother’s chamber, had never -seen the hero of her admiration. But the hour was near at hand when she -was to meet him in an interview destined to determine the whole course -of her future life. - -It was on Christmas Eve. All the preparations for the Christmas festival -were made. The turkeys were already killed and dressed for the roaster; -the hams were in soak; the plum pudding was mixed; the pies and cakes -baked; and all the materials for the egg-nogg and apple-toddy laid out -on the pantry table; and the notable housekeeper might have taken her -ease but for one thing. - -There was to be a pantomime at the city theatres that evening. And the -three young people were to go. And as there were no reserved seats, they -were to go very early in order to secure good places, for it was -foreseen that the house would be very much crowded. And thus dinner was -ordered two hours earlier than usual, so that they might get off in -time. - -Mrs. Sterling, having finished her morning’s work, was putting off her -working gown of brown alpacca to put on a nice dress of black silk in -honor of Christmas Eve, when old Mrs. Lyon came in to give the -instructions about the dinner, and having given them, immediately left -the room. - -The housekeeper was in no plight to go all the way down to the kitchen, -so she sent the child to tell the cook to come up to her for orders. - -The little one went and delivered her message faithfully; and was -returning to her mother’s room, when, in passing through the back hall, -she suddenly met the god of her infant idolatry face to face. She knew -him at once, either by instinct or because there was no other young man -beside Mr. Richard (whom she knew by sight) in the house. She backed up -into a corner to let him pass. - -“Heyday! Who have we here? A child in the house? I haven’t seen such a -thing here for years! Or are you a fairy changling?” inquired Mr. -Alexander, in surprise. - -The child did not reply, but—I am sorry to say—put her finger in her -mouth, dropped her chin and rolled up her eyes in a shy glance at the -splendid youth. - -“Ah bah! that’s very nasty! Don’t stick your finger in your mouth and -stare, but hold up your head and answer when you are spoken to. Tell me -who you are, little girl!” said Mr. Alexander. - -Prince Solomon had condescended to issue orders and they were -immediately obeyed by his loyal subject. Down went the little finger; up -went the little face, and she answered: - -“I am Mrs. Sterling’s little girl.” - -“And a very nice little girl, too, to do as you are bid. Always do so, -do you hear?” - -“Yes sir.” - -“And so you are the housekeeper’s daughter?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“How is it that I haven’t seen anything of you before?” - -“Because mother never lets me go out of her room.” - -“Never lets you go out of her room?” - -“No, sir.” - -“Why?” - -“Because she is afraid that the——” Here the child lowered her voice to a -tone of mysterious awe—“_chief justice_ would be angry if he saw me -about.” - -“Bosh about his being angry! He is not a King Herod to hate the sight of -a child, or desire the death of the innocents. You don’t mean to tell me -that you are cooped up in the housekeeper’s room all the time?” - -“Oh no, sir, I am not cooped up anywhere any of the time; only the -poultry for Christmas was cooped up, and that was in the back yard; I -saw them through the window. But I sit on a nice little stool in -mother’s room and sew pretty quilt pieces.” - -“All day long?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“And every day?” - -“Oh, no, sir, not every day. I go to Sunday school on Sundays.” - -“But on all other days you are kept confined to that room all day long?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Well, you look just as if you were, you poor little pale thing, and -that is the truth. It is horrid. I’ll speak to my mother about it. Why, -you ought to be romping all over the house, you know, and going to -pantomimes o’ Christmas, like other children. Say, little a—a—What is -your name?” - -“Anna Drusilla Sterling, sir,” said the child, beginning to grow restive -under all this questioning, and to swing her shoulders from side to -side, after the manner of some children when saying their lessons. - -“There—don’t do that; it’s ugly,” said Mr. Alexander. - -And the swinging instantly ceased. - -“‘Anna Drusilla Sterling?’ Well, I have one Anna already, so I shall -call you Drusilla,” said the young man. - -“But my mother calls me Anny.” - -“Never mind what your mother calls you—I shall call you Drusilla. Well, -little Drusilla, wouldn’t you like to go to the pantomime with us -to-night?” - -“I don’t know, sir. Please, what is it?” - -“It is something got up to amuse little children like you, though big -children like myself find it equally diverting. Wouldn’t you like to go? -I should like to take you, and to see it through your great staring -eyes, as well as through my own. It would be a ‘new sensation.’ Come, -what do you say?” - -“Thank you, sir. Is it pretty?” - -“Beautiful!” - -“And good!” - -“It is heavenly!” - -“Then I think I should like to go, sir, if mother will let me.” - -“Oh, she will let you fast enough, for I shall make a point of it.” - -“What did you call it, sir, please?” - -“A pantomime.” - -“Oh, I know now,” said the child, with a sudden look of bright -intelligence; “it is something about Moses and the children of Israel, -isn’t it, sir?” - -“Eh? ‘Moses and the children of Israel?’ What put that into your little -noddle?” laughed the young man. - -“Why, sir, you know the books of Moses are called the -panta—panta—something; it’s a very hard word, sir.” - -“Oh, you are talking of the pentateuch?” - -“Yes, sir, a very hard word. I always miss it at the class, it is so -very hard.” - -“Very,” laughed the young man. - -And now, as the voice of the housekeeper was heard calling her child, -the little girl made her Sunday school curtsey, and ran away from her -new friend to join her mother. - -Mr. Alexander gazed after her as he might if she had been sixteen -instead of six, for he was fond of children, as well as of kittens and -puppies, and all small creatures. They amused him. He was now determined -that this quaint little child should go to the pantomime with himself -and his friends, for he knew perfectly well that to watch _her_, and -witness _her_ wonder and delight, would be as diverting as to see the -play itself—it would, in that way double his own entertainment. - -Mr. Alick was benevolent, but not very scrupulous, I regret to confess. -So, when he went to the housekeeper’s room to ask leave to take the -child to the pantomime, judging that the Baptist preacher’s widow would -set her face against all such exhibitions, he took a hint from the -child’s mistake, and was so unprincipled as to persuade that pious -matron that the spectacle in question was a historical affair, -illustrative of the Israelites, and very instructive and edifying to the -youthful mind. And so, with Mr. Richard to back him he talked the -housekeeper into consenting that her child should accompany them, -especially as Miss Anna was to be one of the party. And Mrs. Sterling -began to dress little Drusilla—we shall call the child by her second -name, for the same reason that Mr. Alexander did, to distinguish her -from the other Anna. - -Immediately after dinner the young party set out, and reached the -theatre in time to get good front seats. - -The pantomime was “Jack the Giant Killer.” But as Mr. Alexander kept -little Drusilla beside himself, and kept the play bill in his own hands, -he found it easy to persuade the simple child that the exhibition was of -“David and Goliath,” Jack was David, and Jack’s first giant was Goliath. - -And the child was exceedingly edified, as well as highly entertained. - -Mr. Alexander found it “as good as a play,” and much better than a -pantomime, to watch her. Her credulity was equal to her delight, and -both were unbounded. But she thought it was not exactly like the -Scripture story, after all. - -Mr. Alexander explained to her that they could not make it exactly like, -because things were so different now to what they were then. - -Little Drusilla accepted the explanation in full faith, saying in her -solemn way, that she supposed they did the best they could, and that we -must “take the will for the deed.” - -The pantomime was over a little after ten o’clock, and the youthful -party returned home. - -Little Drusilla, restored to her mother’s charge, would have rehearsed -for her benefit all the great spectacle of “David and Goliath,” but that -the good lady told her that it was time for her to be asleep, and made -her go immediately to bed. - -Notwithstanding the late hour at which the young people had retired on -Christmas Eve, they were all up by times on Christmas day. All was -lively bustle throughout the house. Everybody had Christmas gifts, at -which each pretended to be as much surprised as he or she was expected -to be. - -Miss Anna had a little set of diamonds, consisting of ear-rings and -brooch, presented by her grandfather; an ermine tippet and muff from her -uncle; a set of antique lace from her aunt; a diamond bracelet from her -betrothed; and from scape-grace Dick a real King Charles lap-dog, which -she openly preferred to all her other presents, because she said it was -alive, and could give love for love. - -The old lady had a new patent easy chair, a new pair of gold spectacles, -and a set of sables. - -And the gentlemen of the party were overwhelmed with embroidered -slippers, smoking-caps, dressing-gowns, penwipers, and so forth. - -The housekeeper was presented with a new brown silk dress. And there was -not a servant in the house but received a present. - -“And who has got anything for little Drusilla?” inquired Mr. Alexander. - -But nobody answered him. - -“Well, I’m dashed! Only one bit of a baby in the house, and nobody has -thought of her. And this especially a child’s festival, because it -celebrates the birth of the Divine Child, who also loved little -children! Say, mother, the shops are open in the city this morning, are -they not?” inquired Mr. Alexander. - -“Until ten o’clock, Alick; not after,” replied the old lady. - -“All right, it is only eight now—plenty of time. I’m off; but I’ll be -back to breakfast,” said Mr. Alexander, darting out of the drawing-room, -seizing his hat in the hall, and rushing from the house. - -“Ah, what a kind heart has this child of our old age, John!” said the -old lady, turning proudly and fondly to her husband. - -“Yes—yes; a good boy—a good boy,” answered the Chief Justice. - -“Ah, Anna, my dear, you will be a happy woman if you live long enough, -for you will have a good husband,” she continued, turning to her -intended daughter-in-law. - -Anna shrugged her shoulders. - -“You don’t seem to agree with me, Anna.” - -“Oh yes I do, Aunt Lyon, to some extent. I think Alick is really very -kind when it amuses him; but I don’t think he would be kind to any -living creature when it would bore him to be so. For instance, he would -bring me home a present, and be really delighted with my delight in it; -but he wouldn’t give up a skating party to take me to a wax-work show if -I were to cry myself ill from disappointment.” - -“Oh, I suppose you have had a tiff with him; that’s of no consequence at -all. ‘The quarrel of lovers is the renewal of love,’” said the old lady, -laughing to herself. - -But Anna had had no tiff with her betrothed, and her judgment of him was -a righteous one. - -Mr. Alick soon came rushing in with his arms full of packages, and -looking like a railway porter. He set down three large ones on the -floor, threw himself into a chair, and exclaimed: - -“Now then, mother, send for little Drusilla. It will be fun to watch her -eyes when she sees these things.” - -Mrs. Lyon rang the bell, and sent a servant to fetch the little girl to -the drawing-room. - -The child’s mother being in a particularly good humor since receiving -the new brown silk dress, made no objection, but sent her along in -charge of the servant. - -Little Drusilla entered the drawing-room, looking very pretty in her new -red merino frock, which suited well with her dark hair and dark eyes, -and clear, pale face. - -She made her little curtsy at the door, and then as Mr. Alexander held -out his arms she ran straight up to him. - -“Now, then,” said the young gentleman, taking her on his knee, while the -mysterious packages lay all around his feet, “if you could have your -wish, what would you wish for?” - -“Mother says it is foolish and wicked to wish for anything, because if -it is for our good, the Lord will give it to us whether or not.” - -“Well but suppose you were so foolish and wicked as to wish for -anything, what would it be?” persisted the young man, while all the -other members of the Christmas party looked on, smilingly. - -The child pondered gravely. - -“Come—what would it be?” - -“I think a work-box,” answered the child, looking up at length. - -“What! not a doll-baby?” - -“Oh, I would rather have a doll-baby, but I thought it would be _too_ -wicked to wish for that, because it is useless,” said the little one. - -“Well, look here, now! First, here’s the doll-baby,” said Mr. Alick, -unwrapping one of the parcels, and taking from a mass of tissue paper a -splendid wax doll, with rosy cheeks, blue eyes and golden hair, all -dressed in blue satin and white lace. - -“Oh-h-h! m-y-y!” exclaimed the child, in breathless delight, as she took -the doll and held it up before her, and gazed at it with ever-widening -eyes. - -Mr. Alexander laughed and squeezed her, he so much enjoyed her -enjoyment, and the whole party looked on, amused and interested. - -“Isn’t it a beauty?” asked the youth, giving the child another squeeze. - -“It is a love! it is a darling! it is as pretty as—as—as Miss Anna!” she -exclaimed, turning her eyes from the golden-haired doll to the -golden-haired girl. - -“Thank you, little one! That compliment is sincere, however flattering,” -laughed the heiress. - -“And now look here!” said Mr. Alexander, taking up another parcel; “she -is wearing her ball dress, you know, which is very proper for Christmas, -but would never do for every day. And a thrifty little woman like you -would never let her doll wear her best clothes for common; so you must -fit her out with a wardrobe, and here are the goods to do it with.” - -And he unrolled a second parcel, and displayed a yard each of pink, blue -and buff cambric, and several yards of white muslin, and some remnants -of ribbon and lace. - -“And now,” he said, as the child was contemplating these additional -treasures with increased delight, “now you will require something to -make them up with, won’t you?” - -“Oh, no; I mustn’t wish for anything more. This is too much!” said the -little one, with eyes dancing for joy. - -“Except what you wished for first of all, which I think was something -like this,” said Mr. Alexander opening a third parcel, and producing a -pretty little work-box fitted out with scissors, thimble, needles, -thread, and every requisite for sewing. - -“Oh, how much I do thank you, sir. Once before I dreamt I had pretty -things like these all to myself, and I was sorry I ever woke up. Do you -think I’ll wake up this time, sir?” inquired the little girl, evidently -perplexed between delight and dismay. - -Mr. Alexander laughed, and intensely enjoyed the pastime that he had -purchased at so small an outlay, but the old lady said, very gravely: - -“You have bewildered the child, Alick. She is not used to presents, and -you should have treated her upon the same principle as that upon which -the doctors treat their patients, who have been suffering from a long -starvation, and given her but a little at a time. And now put her off -your knee and come to breakfast; or if you can’t part with her, bring -her along.” - -Mr. Alexander immediately put the little creature down, and told her to -take up her treasures and run away with them to her mother as fast as -she could. - -Mr. Alexander could give the child presents and divert himself with her -delight in them, but he could not consent to be bothered with her at the -breakfast table, where he wished to give “his whole mind” to the -business there to be on hand. - -His mother, more considerate, touched the bell, and told the servant who -answered it to help the child to carry her presents to the housekeeper’s -room. - -The man gathered the parcels up and took Drusilla by the hand; but as he -led her from the room she suddenly looked back, impulsively broke away -from her guard, and ran up to her benefactor and took his hand and -kissed it. - -“Why, what a grateful little imp you are, to be sure! It is worth while -trying to please _you_; one succeeds so well and one’s efforts are -appreciated and thanked,” said the young man, raising the child in his -arms and kissing her, and then darting a half-merry, half-reproachful -glance at his cousin Anna. - -“If you meant that for _me_, Mr. Alick, I don’t see the point of it. You -never do anything to please _me_, unless it still better pleases -yourself. You are one of the sort of folk who would carelessly fling a -dollar to a strange beggar, but would not lose an hour’s rest by the -bedside of a sick friend,” said plain-spoken Anna. - -“Well, there’s somebody that will do both,” said Mr. Alexander, jerking -his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of Dick. “He sat up with -old Jerry Brown, who had the smallpox. I wonder if you would have liked -him so well, Anna, if he had taken it; as he might have done; and lost -his hair and eyebrows and been otherwise badly marked?” - -“Yes I would, Alick! But, thank goodness, Dick, darling, you didn’t get -it, and you are not marked; but just as good-looking as ever,” said -Anna, defiantly. - -“Come, come, this is pretty quarrelling among cousins on Christmas -morning, too! Put a stop to it,” said Mrs. Lyon. - -The young people laughed and obeyed. They were only “sparring.” And they -all sat down to the breakfast table in high, good humor. - -And little Drusilla went back to her mother, as happy as it was possible -for a child to be. And her happiness was all associated with the idea of -Mr. Alexander, that splendid being who had been the central object of -all her wonder, curiosity and admiration, long before she had set eyes -on him. She had never dreamed of such bliss as she now enjoyed, and all -through him! - -Up to this time her little life had been dreary enough, more dreary than -even she knew since she had known nothing better with which to compare -it. Her very earliest recollections were of her father’s sick room, and -his long and painful illness; and then came his death, and her mother’s -sorrow and their poverty; and finally, this situation in the family of -the Chief Justice, where the child had been led to believe that her -presence could be only tolerated for the sake of her mother’s valuable -services, and upon condition of herself being kept out of the sight and -hearing of the family. - -All these were very miserable and gloomy antecedents; but now they had -passed away like the shadows of the night; for now came this bright, -young Mr. Alexander, to bring daylight and sunshine into her infant -life. - -His kindness to the pale orphan did not cease with Christmas Day. So -long as the Christmas and New-Year’s holidays lasted, Mr. Alick insisted -on little Drusilla sharing all the young people’s amusements; because, -in point of fact, it greatly enhanced his enjoyment to have her with -them. - -When the holidays were over, General Lyon took his grand-daughter back -to school; Mr. Alexander returned to college; and the house was emptied -of its visitors. - -In taking leave of his pet, Mr. Alick had said: - -“And now, Drusilla, when I am gone you must be my mother’s little girl, -do you hear?” - -“Oh, how I wish I might! Oh, how I _do_ wish I might!” said the child, -weeping and clinging to her friend. - -“Mother, when I am gone, you’ll be good to the poor little thing, if -only for my sake, won’t you?” he inquired, as a feeling of real pity -moved his heart. - -“Indeed I will, Alick,” earnestly replied the old lady. - -“And you will not let old Bishop Sterling keep her mewed up in that -horrid room all the time?” - -“Not if I can prevent it, Alick.” - -With this promise Mr. Alick departed. - -And little Drusilla clung to the old lady’s skirts, and wept as if her -heart would break. - -For her the day had departed with the sun that had made its light, and -the darkness of the night had come again. - -You may depend upon it that the old lady sincerely sympathized with the -child who wept for _her_ son’s departure, and so she petted little -Drusilla, and took her out that day, when she went in the carriage to -purchase some articles that were needed in the housekeeping. - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - THE NEXT FEW YEARS. - - When she commenced to love she could not say, - Ere she began to tire of childish play.—WORDSWORTH. - - -The little girl grew to be a great favorite with the old lady; first, -for her beloved and only son’s sake. - -“Poor Alick was so fond of the child,” she said; though why she called -the gay and prosperous young collegian “poor,” only aged mothers can -tell. - -Afterwards she loved the little one for its own sake. - -“The child is such a quiet little creature,” she said, “and so -intelligent and obliging.” - -Little Drusilla had the freedom of the house. When her tasks were over -in the housekeeper’s room she might wander where she would, and was -tolerated like a pet kitten. - -She would creep into the old lady’s sitting-room, and nestle down at her -feet, ready to hold a skein of silk for her to wind; to pick up her -scissors when she should drop them; to ring the bell for a servant, or -to do anything else that her little hands and willing mind could -accomplish. - -And so it came to pass that she became useful and even necessary to her -benefactress. - -“You have no idea how many steps about my room the little creature saves -me,” said Mrs. Lyon to the child’s mother. - -“I am very glad to hear it, madam; it is her duty to make herself -useful,” replied the housekeeper. - -“And then she is so much company.” - -“I hope she knows her place, madam, and is not pert.” - -“She is a little dear, and I would not be without her for anything; so -don’t be troubled.” - -“I trust in you, madam, to send her away whenever she becomes annoying -to you.” - -“Quite right; when she becomes annoying I shall do so,” laughed the old -lady. - -Whenever Mrs. Lyon got letters from Mr. Alexander she read them to -little Drusilla; and in no one could she have found a more attentive, -intelligent and sympathizing listener. In almost every letter the young -gentleman wrote: - -“Give my love to my little pet, and kiss her for me,” or words to that -effect. - -Whenever Mrs. Lyon wrote to Mr. Alexander she would smilingly ask the -child what message she had to send; and little Drusilla would answer: - -“Please say I sent him a love and a kiss; and I ask our Father to bless -him whenever I say my prayers.” - -And the message would be faithfully transmitted. - -Sometimes when Mrs. Lyon chanced to be out of her room the little girl -would creep to the door of Judge Lyon’s study, and peep shyly in. - -And whether the old lady happened to be there or not the old gentleman -would call the child in, and pat her head, and talk to her, and feel in -all his pockets for stray pennies to give her. - -Little Drusilla had but one use for pennies—“to drop in the purse” that -was carried around on Sundays in the Sunday school. - -Mrs. Sterling, seeing how really welcome her child was, “in hall and -bower,” no longer tried to keep her confined to the housekeeper’s room. - -So the winter passed away, and the spring opened. - -Early in the season the family, with their whole establishment of -servants, migrated to Crowood, the fine old country-seat of the chief -justice, situated in the dense forest-land of the valley. Of course Mrs. -Sterling and her child went along with them. - -Among woods, fields, and streams, birds, shrubs and flowers, little -Drusilla seemed in her native element, and with her fellow-creatures. -Her enjoyment of nature was intense and her delight unbounded. Her joy -overflowed and communicated itself to every one in the family. Even the -old justice said: - -“The child makes me long to have my grandchildren about my knees; for, -after all, this little one isn’t ours.” - -“Well, if she isn’t she’s a pet of poor Alick’s, and that makes _me_ -think a deal of her,” answered Mrs. Lyon. - -The old lady was a great flora-culturist, and had one of the most -beautiful flower-gardens in the country. It was her pleasure to tend it -herself; and she passed much of her time in dibbling and digging, -weeding and watering, planting and transplanting her favorite specimens. - -And on these occasions the child was always at her heels, with little -spade, rake, hoe, watering-pot, or guano basket; and she soon learned to -know the name, and watch the growth of every variety of flower as well -and as carefully as her benefactress could. - -Mrs. Lyon was also a poultry fancier, and had some of the finest broods -in the neighborhood. Moreover, she chose to look after her hen-roosts -and nests in person. - -And whenever she visited her poultry yard for this purpose little -Drusilla would walk behind her with a basket, which she would carry full -of corn for the chickens, and bring back full of fresh eggs for -breakfast. And the child knew the relative merits of bantam, dominicho, -duck-legged, or Spanish broods, as well as their mistress. Shanghais and -Cochin Chinas were unheard of in that day. - -But Mrs. Lyon’s pride of prides was her drove of cows—unexcelled and -even unapproached in all the country around. And to these especially, -the old lady often gave her personal attention. - -And whenever she walked down to the cow-pen in the afternoon -milking-time, to see for herself that her cows were in a good condition, -and that her milk-maids did their duty faithfully, little Drusilla -walked behind her, with a little basket in her hand full of small, sweet -apples to treat the pets. And with her own little hand she would hold a -small apple up to the great mouth of some prize cow, and laugh to see -the long red tongue thrust out and folded around the morsel to be -crunched up by the teeth. And the child knew the name and pedigree of -every prodigious prize cow there, and could tell the distinctive points -of the Durham, Alderney, Ayrshire, or other breeds. - -In a word she became the old lady’s “shadow,” and she learned all the -old lady could teach her without giving her teacher the least trouble, -but on the contrary a great deal of assistance. She gained much -practical knowledge, if but little book learning. - -Strangers who saw them together invariably took the little girl to be -the old lady’s grand-daughter; and Mrs. Lyon was always rather pleased -by the mistake. - -And little Drusilla was “as happy as the day was long.” - -So passed the spring and half the summer. - -But in the middle of July the chief justice and his wife went to the -mountains, to old Lyon Hall, on a visit to the general and his daughter, -where they expected to be joined by Mr. Alexander. - -Little Drusilla wept over the departure of her friends; but when they -were gone she occupied herself with the commissions Mrs. Lyon had left -to her—left with the purpose of interesting and amusing the lonely child -during her own absence. These were to weed the flower beds, feed the -chickens, and take small sweet apples to the favorite cows at the -afternoon milking-time. - -All these pleasant tasks did the little girl gladly and faithfully -perform. - -Nevertheless the days seemed long, now that her dear old friends were -gone. - -But days and weeks, however tedious, pass away in time. - -At the end of six weeks, on the first of September, the chief justice -and his wife come back to Crowood. - -Mrs. Lyon could not enough praise the fidelity of her little handmaiden. -There was not a weed to be found in all the flower beds; the chickens -were fat, and the cows in a good condition (though this last item was of -course due more to the fine grazing than to the little treats of sweet -apples tendered to them by the little Drusilla.) - -The old lady and the child became better friends than ever. Mrs. Lyon -had a great deal to tell about Mr. Alexander, and little Drusilla was -never tired of listening. - -And so three more pleasant months were passed at Crowood, and then the -family went back to the city. They were comfortably settled in their -town house by the first of December. - -Mrs. Lyon went out in the carriage to shop, and took Drusilla, and -purchased for her pretty, bright colored merino dresses, suitable for -childhood. - -Christmas came, and brought General Lyon, Miss Anna and Mr. Alexander, -on their annual visit. And Mr. Richard Hammond came, an uninvited but -not an unwelcome guest. - -Little Drusilla was now always with Mrs. Lyon. The housekeeper had -fairly given the child up to the old lady. - -And Mr. Alexander, who, on this occasion was the first of the Christmas -party to arrive, found Drusilla in the drawing-room, neatly dressed in a -crimson merino frock, with a ruffled white apron, and with her pretty -hair curled and tied back with crimson ribbons. - -After affectionately greeting his mother and father, he turned to the -child. - -“Why—is this? No, it isn’t. Yes, it is actually my little Drusilla. Why, -what a bright little bird you have grown, to be sure!” he exclaimed, -snatching her up in his arms and kissing her boisterously, as she clung -around his neck, smiling in delight, and timidly hiding her face. - -“Well, I will say, mother, she does you credit. You have quite -transfigured her. What have you been doing to her to improve her so -much?” - -“Giving her a little more sunshine, that is all, Alick,” smiled the old -lady, greatly pleased because the son of her old age was so. - -“I declare I never saw such a change in any creature. I left her a year -ago, a dingy little chimney swallow. I come back, and find her a -brilliant oriole. Indeed, I didn’t know her at first, and I shouldn’t -have known her at all, but for her eyes and forehead; _they_ will never -change. I say, father, by the way, talking of her forehead, look at it. -If there be any truth in phrenology _she_ must have intellect.” - -“I don’t think it requires an appeal to phrenology to prove that the -child has rare intelligence,” said the chief justice. - -“Intellect is a snare as well as beauty; goodness is the quality most to -be desired,” remarked Mrs. Lyon, gravely. Then, speaking to the child, -she added: - -“Now run away into the garden and play for half an hour or so. This -clear, frosty air outside is good for little girls.” - -Mr. Alexander put his pet down, and then the little creature ran out of -the room. - -“I must beg you both, my husband and son, not to say such things as you -have been saying in the child’s presence again. I have too real a regard -for her to wish to have her spoiled.” - -“All right, mother; I wouldn’t do anything to spoil her for the world,” -said Mr. Alexander. - -And the chief justice also acquiesced, for the old lady was -queen-regnant in her own family kingdom. - -An hour later General Lyon and Miss Anna arrived. And at night Mr. -Richard made his appearance. And with the coming of Dick the holidays -really commenced. - -On Christmas morning a great many presents were interchanged. And while -rich jewelry, furs, shawls, dresses, laces, slippers, caps, gowns and -gloves were given and received, little Drusilla ran from one group to -another, deeply interested and sincerely sympathizing in the pleasure -and satisfaction of her friends. - -“I have not forgotten you this time, little one; see here, what a lot of -pretty stories to read these long winter evenings,” said Mr. Alick, -unwrapping a parcel from which he took a large volume of “Fairy Tales,” -profusely illustrated with splendidly colored engravings. - -What child’s heart does not dote on Fairy Tales and on colored pictures? - -Little Drusilla’s eyes fairly leaped with joy, and she caught the young -man’s hand and kissed it eagerly, and pressed it to her heart, and put -it on her head. Apparently she could not do enough to express how much -she was obliged to him. - -“Oh, nonsense; I’m not the Emperor of Morocco or Khan of Tartary, to be -worshipped after that fashion,” laughed the young man, “and my knuckles -must be knobby sort of kissing. Up here, crimson lips, and kiss me on -the mouth, if nothing but kissing will relieve your mind. Come, Miss -Anna won’t be jealous, not now, at least, though I don’t know what she -might be if you were seventeen instead of seven.” And he took her up in -his arms, and kissed her very fondly. - -“And now see here,” he said, as he put her down again, “here is -something else I have got for you—a pretty little _papier mâché_ writing -desk, furnished completely. See, here is an inkstand and a sand box, -here are pens of several sizes, and pencils of all qualities, and here -are envelopes and note-paper of every color and shade. Now I know you -can write a little, as well as read a great deal. So, when I go away -again, I want you, instead of sending me messages, to write me nice -little notes, and give them to my mother, and she will put them inside -of hers, and send them to me. Do you hear?” - -“Yes, sir,” said the child, gravely, as the tears stole down her cheeks. - -“Now, then, what are you crying for?” - -“Because you are so good to me, and—and you are going away again, and I -shall not see you for—for—for a year,” sobbed the little Drusilla. - -“Whe-ew! here’s borrowing trouble! Why, I shall not go for six weeks -yet, and who knows but the world may come to an end before that time, -and we may all go to Heaven together? Come, stop crying. What! you -can’t? Hey day! Do you love me as much as all that comes to?” - -“Yes, sir,” sobbed the child. - -“Well, then, if you do love me, mind what I say, and stop crying. It -blubbers your face all up, and makes you ugly, and I couldn’t possibly -love an ugly little girl.” - -Drusilla wiped her eyes by rubbing her fists into them, and then, little -woman-like, turned her head aside, and stole a furtive glance at the -mirror opposite, to see if she had made herself as ugly as Mr. Alexander -said, and finding that she _had_, she began to compose herself. - -And in a few minutes afterwards she seemed deeply interested in sorting -the contents of her writing desk. - -This was one of the merriest Christmas seasons that the young people of -the Lyon family ever passed. The weather was very fine. Everybody was in -good health and high spirits. Amusements were many and various. And -where-ever the young party went they took little Drusilla with them. She -was the family pet. - -Bright seasons must terminate, as well as dark ones, and the merry -Christmas holidays came to an end, and the happy Christmas party -separated. - -Again little Drusilla was inconsolable, until time reconciled her to the -absence of her friend. - -But she obeyed his order, given half in jest and half in earnest. She -wrote a little letter to him to be put in every one that his mother -sent. And real love-letters they were too, though scratched in the most -awkward of infantile hands. - -“I love you so; I do love you so much; I do love you more than anybody -in the world; every time I say my prayers I thank Our Father for making -you, and I pray to Him to bless you and to keep you good. And I do all -you tell me to do, and it makes me feel glad. And I don’t do what you -tell me not to do. And when anybody wants me to do anything well that is -hard, they speak your name and then it seems easy for me. I let mother -cut off all my long curls and did not cry, for she said that my hair -would grow out so much nicer by the time you come back. But oh, how long -it will be before you come back. But I won’t cry after you, for you say -it makes me ugly and you couldn’t love an ugly little girl. Mother says -I must not wish to be pretty; but oh, I do, because you like pretty -people. But if I am good you will always like me, won’t you? Is there -any little girl at college that you like as well as me? You’ve got the -little dog, I know. You took him with you. To think you could take the -little dog and couldn’t take me. It does seem hard, because I love you, -oh so much more than the little dog could. I’m not jealous of the poor -little dog; don’t think that, only it seems so hard, when I love you so -much.” - -Such was the sort of ardent nonsense the little child wrote to her big -hero; but after all, it was no worse nonsense than many of her grown-up -sisters write to the heroes of _their_ imaginations. - -Old Mrs. Lyon never looked into little Drusilla’s scrawls—or, if she -did, she never took the trouble to decipher them. - -Mr. Alick would smile over them; because they pleased him. He liked to -be loved. The preference of any dumb brute was pleasing to him; how much -more so then the worship—for it was little less—of this fervent, -earnest, enthusiastic little girl? - -“How devoted to me the little quiz is, to be sure. Christopher Columbus! -if this sort of thing should grow with her growth and strengthen with -her strength, what will become of me? Bosh! by the time she is seventeen -or eighteen some young prig of a parson will cut me out and there an -end.” - -And Mr. Alick laughed at the conceit, and thought of the black-eyed girl -he had danced with at the last party. - -But for all that he could not do without the child’s love or the child’s -letters; and he cherished both. - -This first year of Drusilla’s life with the Lyon family was a sample of -several that followed. - -Every Spring the family went to Crowood, taking the housekeeper and her -child and all the servants with them; and Drusilla renewed her -acquaintance with woods and fields and streams; and increased her -knowledge of plants, poultry, cows, and animate and inanimate nature -generally, from personal observation. - -Every midsummer she was left princess regent of the poultry yard, etc., -while her benefactors went to visit their relatives in Old Lyon Hall in -the mountains. - -Every autumn the family returned to Richmond to spend the winter. - -And every Christmas came the grand family re-union, in which, to the -child’s worshipping eyes, Mr. Alexander was the central figure. This -Christmas gathering became to her the crowning glory of the year, for -then she saw him. He became thus associated with all that was best and -brightest in her life. He brought her the books and pictures for which -already her intellect and imagination had begun to hunger. He always -examined into the progress of her education; though that was scarcely -necessary, for the constantly improving style of her letters to him -revealed her steady advance. I believe that with her bright -intelligence, she would have studied well from the pure love of -knowledge, even if Mr. Alexander had never patronized her; but now all -cooler motives were lost in the ardent desire to please her friend. And -indeed she did please him; he was proud of her, vain of her, not as if -he had been her father, but as if he had been her creator. He seemed to -think, as she grew in beauty and bright intelligence, that he had made -her what she was. To his apprehension, he was the sun and she the -sun-flower, ever turning towards him for light and life. - -Every one, who is not blindly selfish, likes to patronize where to do so -costs little or nothing. Mr. Alexander’s patronage of this child amused -and interested him; cost him nothing; but won for him a vast return of -love and gratitude. - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - THE GIRL’S FIRST GRIEF. - - One hurried kiss, one last, one long embrace, - One yearning look upon her tearful face, - And he was gone—C. H. W. ESLING. - - -At ten years of age little Drusilla met her first great grief; and very -heavy it was, for it nearly crushed out her life. - -Mr. Alexander being twenty-two years of age, and having completed his -college course, graduated with some honors, and returned home to spend a -week or two of the beautiful spring weather with his parents previous to -starting on his travels. - -The family had not yet left the town house in Richmond, where General -Lyon and Miss Anna, now a blooming young lady of sixteen, came to visit -them. - -During this visit it was arranged that Mr. Alexander should travel for -two years and then return and marry Miss Anna, and that the young couple -should take up their permanent abode at Old Lyon Hall. - -But in all the interest and excitement of arranging his own and his -promised bride’s affairs, Alexander did not neglect Drusilla. He had -come into a little property of his own, left him by a bachelor brother -of his mother; and so before he went away he said to the old lady: - -“Mother, little Drusilla is going on eleven years old and ought to be -sent to school. And I wish you, if you please, to look out a good one -for her, the best that can be found, and send her. I wish you to do this -for me at my expense. My money is in the City Bank, and I will leave you -a number of blank checks, to fill up as you may require them. Will you -attend to this for me, mother?” - -Mrs. Lyon hesitated and pondered, and then answered: - -“Yes, Alick. I can’t refuse you anything on the eve of a voyage. And I -don’t see any harm in this—a good common school education——” - -“Oh, mother, not that only; but the best—the very best—that can be got -for her. See what a bright, intelligent, industrious little creature she -is,” hastily interrupted Alexander. - -“What! do you mean that she shall learn languages and music, and——” - -—“Everything that a young lady is taught, mother. Everything that Anna -knows. Why not? Think how small the cost, after all, to me; how great -the good to her.” - -“That is true, Alick. You are really a very noble-minded young man. I -must say it, if you are my son.” - -“Bosh, mother, begging your pardon, I’m nothing of the sort. But I like -to do a good thing now and then.” - -“And this will be a good thing for her. It will enable her to get her -living as a governess.” - -“Not a bit of it, mother; Heaven forbid that my child should ever become -a governess, to be teased by stupid children and snubbed by insolent -mammas.” - -“Then I am afraid you and Anna will have to adopt her,” said the old -lady drily. - -“And what’s to hinder us? Think what a charming companion my child will -be for Anna, and how much more charming if she should be well educated.” - -“Why, you talk as if you were her father.” - -“Well, I feel as if I was!” said the young man, as a real tenderness -softened the expression of his face. - -The next day Mr. Alexander left home for his distant travels. - -No one took the parting hard but his mother and his “child.” - -His father and his uncle shook hands with him heartily, wishing him a -good voyage. His mother held him to her heart and prayed and wept over -him. Miss Anna kissed him with a cordial, cousinly smack, and told him -not to forget her in foreign parts. - -But when he lifted Drusilla up, as he had been accustomed to do, and -kissed her on the mouth once, twice, thrice, and said feelingly: - -“I cannot do this when I come back again, my child!” - -She clung to his bosom and gasped, but could make no reply, she was so -suffocated with grief. - -He set her down very gently and went away. - -The general and the judge looked for the morning papers. - -Miss Anna sat down to cut the leaves of a new novel. - -But old Miss Lyon took the hand of the pale, tearless, motionless child, -and led her away. - -Little Drusilla, sensitive, impressible and inexperienced, dropped under -the heavy blow that had fallen on her with all the force of a first -great sorrow. She fell ill, nearly unto death, moaning, in her -semi-delirium, snatches of her grief: - -“Oh, don’t go! don’t go! Two years—two long, long years! Oh! so far -away! His man could go with him, and not I—not I who will die about it! -Oh, come back! come back, or I will die—indeed I will die!” - -Mrs. Lyon soothed this distress as well as she was able, and when, after -weeks of illness, the little girl grew better, the old lady told her of -all Mr. Alexander’s plans for her welfare—that he had decided she must -be sent to school and educated like a young lady; that afterwards she -was to be taken to live as a companion to Miss Anna. - -Drusilla listened very humbly and gratefully to this communication; but -much as she loved knowledge, and anxious as she was to acquire it, she -felt too bereaved and sorrowful to take delight in that or in anything -else, as yet. - -As soon as the child recovered her health, she was fitted out and put to -one of the best boarding schools in the city. - -Her mother made no objection, only mumbled to herself this piece of -philosophy: - -“If we don’t know much of the future, of this we may be certain—when we -expect anything to turn out _this_ way, it will be sure to turn out -_that_. I thought the child was going to be a nuisance and a bore, and -behold! she is a treasure and a pet! And so it is with everything!” - -And meanwhile, with one great bond of sympathy between them, the old -lady and the little girl grew faster friends than ever. - -But her devotion to Alexander—it grew with her growth and strengthened -with her strength. It was her one faith, hope, love—her inspiration, her -religion, her soul; it was a part of herself—no, her _very_ self—this -all-absorbing, all-concentrating, all-devoting love to him. - -His bosom was her home, though he might never let her into it; what the -nest is to the bird his bosom was to her—the bourne of all her thoughts, -the safe and happy resting-place of her heart, though as yet she was an -exile from it. - -The sphere of study was around her; it did not govern her, but served -her, for all that she could get from it was drawn in to help the one -great moving power of her being. She loved learning so much for his -sake, that she did not know whether she loved it for its own. Her -expanding intellect seemed only her enlarging love. Her advancement in -knowledge seemed only to be progress towards him. - -She seemed to herself to belong to him—to have been made _for_ him, made -_of_ him, almost _by_ him. She was as the rib taken from her Adam’s -side, conscious of her dislocation, and longing to be put back again, -and made one with the life of her life. If Alexander had died at this -time, I think that Drusilla would have ceased to live. - -One other such case as hers I have seen in common life, and that must be -nameless, and one I have met in history, the love of the child-queen, -Isabella, for her grown-up consort, Richard II. And that there are many -other instances of such devotion, I have no doubt. - -Drusilla remained at the “Irving Institute” for nearly three years. With -her love of knowledge and desire for improvement, her quick perception -and retentive memory, her progress in education was both easy and rapid. - -As yet she had not seen enough of the world to know herself by -comparison with others, so there were some things in her school life -that gently moved her wonder; first, in the study hours, to see that the -pursuits which were pastime and delight to her, were labor and vexation -to most of her classmates; and second, at the school parties, to which -the younger brothers of the pupils were invited, to see girls of her own -age actually engaged in flirtations with boys who were no older than -themselves, and who seemed to her, to be children. - -With the great religion, idolatry—call the passion what you will—that -inspired her soul, she could not understand such silliness in her -companions, and therefore, pretty and intelligent as she was, her -reserve made her somewhat unpopular. - -She wrote to Mr. Alexander every week, because he had requested her to -do so and she had promised, and also because writing to him was the -greatest pleasure she had in this world except receiving his letters. - -She wrote to him regularly every week, as I said; and about once in two -months, on an average, she got a letter from him; but she could not -complain for his mother got one no oftener, and both made excuses for -him; he had “so much to engage his attention,” they said. - -At length, when he had been gone more than two years, the letters -ceased, or seemed to cease, altogether. Several months passed, and -nothing was heard of Mr. Alexander. His father opined that he had passed -over into Africa, where post-offices were few, and mails doubtful, and -hoped that he would soon return into a more civilized section of the -world, from which he would write to his relations. - -Old Mrs. Lyon grieved and complained. She was sure that he had been -killed by the Arabs of the Desert, or sold into slavery by the Algerine -pirates. - -Drusilla pined in silence, or if she opened her mouth to speak upon the -subject, it was to try to encourage her old friend, and herself also. -She told Mrs. Lyon that Bedouin outrages and Barbary piracies were -horrors belonging to the past. She showed her the modern map of Africa, -and pointed out how few and far apart were the points from which letters -could be sent home, and she sought to demonstrate that the absence of -post-offices and mail routes was the all-sufficient cause of the silence -of the traveller in Africa. Thus she succeeded in cheering the old lady; -and whenever Mrs. Lyon felt more discouraged than usual, she always -sought Drusilla to be comforted by her. - -General Lyon thought as the judge thought, that Alexander being in -Africa could not write home; and he wished as the judge did, that the -wanderer might soon return to Europe, civilization, and post-offices. - -Miss Anna never troubled her head about the matter. She was his promised -wife, and so his mother hoped that he might write to her, if to no one -else. And Mrs. Lyon often wrote to Anna, to ask if she had heard from -Alick yet. And Anna always answered—“I have not had a letter from him -for ages. _He has forgotten me._” And Anna’s “wish was father to this -thought.” And furthermore, she advised her correspondent not to be -uneasy. Alick, she thought, would come back safe in time, no doubt. - -People who are not anxious can be so rational! - -But at length suspense was ended. - -It was early in December. The judge and Mrs. Lyon were in their town -house, looking forward to the annual Christmas visit of the general and -Miss Lyon, when the old lady received a letter from her son. It was -dated from Paris, and contained the joyful news that he had returned -from Africa in perfect health and spirits, and was going over to -Southampton to take the first steamer bound for New York; and that soon -after they should get his letter they might expect him in person. - -Mrs. Lyon, after reading this letter to her husband, and receiving his -comment: - -“Well, I told you so. I shall be glad when he is safe at home, though;” -hurried off to the Irving Institute, to tell the joyful news to the only -one from whom she would be sure of perfect sympathy, in this her great -happiness. - -She sent for Drusilla into the reception parlor, and told her all the -news, and then read the letter to her. - -The girl clung to her old friend and wept with delight. - -“This letter came by the steamer that got into New York harbor on -Wednesday. This is Friday, and there is another due this week! He may be -in it!” said Mrs. Lyon. - -“There is another due now, and he will be sure to be in it. Think, -madam, the steamer that brought this letter should have been in last -Saturday. The steamer that should have followed it in order must be at -her pier now. We may expect Mr. Alexander by every train,” said -Drusilla, as soon as she had recovered her composure. - -“That is true! So we may! And, my dear child, you always say something -to comfort or delight me! And you shall go home with me directly, so as -to be there to welcome him when he arrives. There is nobody in the world -he will be gladder to see. And this is Friday afternoon, and of course -there are to be no lessons Saturday or Sunday, and so you can just as -well as not go home with me and stay over until Monday. I will speak to -the principal about it.” - -And she rung the bell, and desired the parlor-maid who answered it to -take her respects to Mrs. Irving, and say that she should be pleased to -see her in the parlor. - -“I told the judge to write to the general, and let him and Anna know -that Alick was expected every day, so they might hasten their coming. -But la! you know, my dear, these cross-country mails are so slow, it -will be impossible for them to receive the letter in time to get here to -welcome him on his first arrival. However, I know they will come as soon -as ever they can. And I suppose we may prepare for a gay wedding soon. -And no doubt you will be one of the bridesmaids. You are quite old -enough—nearly thirteen, and I like the bridesmaids to be much younger -than the brides.” - -And so the delighted old lady twaddled on until the door opened, and -Mrs. Irving entered the room. - -Old Mrs. Lyon soon told her news and made her boon. - -And the accomplished principal warmly congratulated her visitor, and -graciously granted the request. - -And Drusilla left the parlor to prepare for her ride, and in ten minutes -returned, ready to accompany Mrs. Lyon home. - -They reached the house in time for the old lady to hustle into the -housekeeper’s room, and order sundry dishes of oysters, poultry, game, -pastry, cakes and jellies added to the bill of fare for supper. - -“For you know he may arrive by the nine o’clock train—that is the first -one in,” said the old lady. - -“Who may arrive, Madam?” inquired the housekeeper, who had not heard one -word of the good news. - -“My son, to be sure, you stupid woman—who else?” exclaimed Mrs. Lyon, -delightedly. And then she poured forth the news of the letter she had -received from him. - -“Oh!” said Mrs. Sterling. And she turned and kissed her daughter, -inquiring: - -“How came you out of school?” - -“Madame brought me home with her to welcome—my benefactor,” answered -Drusilla, returning her mother’s kiss. - -“Oh,” said the housekeeper a second time. “Well, I’m going to be very -busy to get up all these dishes in time for supper, so don’t interrupt -me.” - -“Can I not help you?” asked Drusilla. - -“No, you would only hinder me. I have no time to direct new hands now,” -answered her mother. - -“Come with me, Drusilla, my dear, and we will go and see that his rooms -are opened and aired,” said the old lady, beckoning to her favorite. - -They went up stairs together, attended by Mary, the colored housemaid. -This girl herself could have done the duty well enough alone; or at most -with the instruction of either Mrs. Lyon or Drusilla; but both chose to -see to the work and make it a labor of love. - -The handsome bed-chamber, with dressing-room and bath attached, was -opened and aired. A fine fire of sea coal was lighted in the polished -steel grate. His rich dressing gown was taken out from the sandal-wood -chest into which it had been packed with sundry other garments he had -left at home: and it was shaken well and hung over the resting chair -beside the fire. His slippers were laid upon the rug. A complete and -well-dried change of clothing was spread out upon the bed. - -“For you see, my dear, his luggage may not be here for hours after he -arrives; and he will want to change his dusty travelling suit for clean -clothes as soon as possible, so as to be sweet and nice and comfortable -for the evening,” said Mrs. Lyon, as she laid a couple of fresh, scented -pocket-handkerchiefs beside his other personal equipments. - -Then fine soap and fresh towels were laid upon his wash-stand. And the -Bohemian glass bottles on his dressing-table were filled—one with -Cologne water and the other with Macassar oil. Finally the wax candles -each side the glass were lighted. And then, after a glance around to see -that all was right, Mrs. Lyon called Drusilla and the housemaid to come -after her, and left the apartment. - -She passed to her own chamber and put on her best black moire antique -dress, and her finest point lace cap and collar. - -And then she went down into the drawing-room to wait for her son. - -“And after all, we have no assurance that he will come to-night. We do -not even know that the steamer is in, or if it is, that he is aboard,” -sighed the aged mother impatiently. - -“He will come to-night, Madam. In one hour he will be here. I feel sure -that he will,” said Drusilla, cheerfully. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - FATAL LOVE. - - Childhood’s lip and cheek - Mantling beneath its earnest brow of thought; - And in the flute-like voice murmuring low, - Is woman’s tenderness, how soon her woe! - Her lot is on thee, silent tears to weep, - And patient smiles to wear through painful hours, - And sumless riches from affection’s deep, - To pour on broken reeds—a wasted shower! - And to raise idols and to find them clay, - And to bewail that worship—therefore pray.—HEMANS. - - -He came, even before be was expected. By some happy chance the train was -in half an hour earlier than usual. - -Old Mrs. Lyon had gone into the “study,” to have a chat with the judge. - -Drusilla was alone in the drawing-room, when a cab dashed swiftly up to -the street-door, the bell rang sharply, and was answered quickly; and -there was a pleasant bustle of arrival in the hall, and Mr. Alexander -burst into the drawing-room. - -He looked not fatigued or travel-stained, but flushed and excited with -exercise and anticipation. - -With an irrepressible cry of joy, Drusilla sprung to meet him, and then -suddenly recoiled, blushed and trembled between delight, timidity and -embarrassment. - -Alexander caught her hand, gazed in her face, and exclaimed: - -“Why—Who are you? I ought to know. Your face seems familiar, and -yet—DRUSILLA!” he suddenly cried, as he recognized and caught her up in -his arms, and covered her face with kisses. - -“Welcome! Oh, welcome!—I am so glad you have come at last!—I never was -so happy in my life!” she tried to say, as she dropped her head upon his -shoulder and wept with delight. - -“And my child is the first one to welcome me!” said Alexander, sitting -down on a sofa and drawing her upon his knee, where she sat, painfully -embarrassed yet unwilling to move, lest she should wound his affection -on this, the first day of his return. - -“All are well?” he inquired. - -“Quite well,” she answered. - -“Ay, so the servant told me at the door. Where is my mother?” - -“Just stepped from the room. I expect her back every instant.” - -“Why, what a beautiful girl you are growing to be!” he said, looking -down with earnest admiration at the long, black eye-lashes that, being -cast down, shaded and softened the crimson cheeks. - -“Come! look up at me; I wish to see if your eyes are changed. I never -could decide whether they were gray or hazel. Let me see!” he said, -putting his hand under her chin to lift her face. - -She looked up with a quick and quickly withdrawn glance, and her cheeks -deepened in their hue. She hated to sit on his knee, where years ago she -had sat a hundred times, and she hated to hurt his feelings by leaving -him; and she doubted whether she loved him now as well as she did then, -and whether her love was not turning into something very much like -distrust and dread; and she wondered why this should be so, and secretly -blamed and disbelieved in herself. - -“Am I so altered by travel that you don’t like to look at me?” he asked, -smilingly. - -“Oh no, sir, you are not altered, except to be—improved,” she forced -herself to say, with courtesy. - -They were interrupted. - -“She is too great a girl for that sort of thing now, Mr. Alexander, if -you please. Be so good as to put her down, sir.” - -It was the voice of the housekeeper that spoke, as she entered the room. - -“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Sterling,” said Alexander, laughing, and -releasing his favorite; “but it is hard to realize that my little pet is -growing up.” - -“She is thirteen, sir,” curtly answered the housekeeper. - -“Dear me! Is she so? Why I dandled her when she was a baby! What an old -man I am growing to be, to be sure!” - -“Not quite old enough to be her father, Mr. Alexander, and therefore too -young to make a pet of her.” - -“Come, now, this is a pretty way to welcome me home with a rebuke the -first thing.” - -“I am very glad to see you home, sir, however; and—Here is Mrs. Lyon!” - -The housekeeper cut her speech short, as the old lady entered the room. - -“Oh, my son! my son!” she cried, and fell sobbing for joy in his arms. - -The housekeeper withdrew, taking her daughter with her, and leaving the -mother and son alone together. - -Arrived in her own room, Mrs. Sterling sat her daughter down before her, -and began to lecture her. - -Drusilla—she preached—must not allow Mr. Alexander to pet her and caress -her _now_, as he had done before he went away. Drusilla was too great a -girl now, for that sort of thing. Truly, she was not a woman yet; but -she was growing into one, and so the familiarities that were quite -innocent when she was a child, would be extremely improper now that she -was almost a young woman. Such was the purport of the sermon. - -Drusilla trembled excessively, and wept a little over this exordium. In -her heart she agreed with it, but grieved over it. - -It was just such a lecture as any prudent mother might have given her -growing daughter under the circumstances. But Drusilla, while -acquiescing in its propriety, was shocked by its plainness. - -Their interview was interrupted by the voice of Mrs. Lyon, who came -herself in search of her favorite. - -“Where are you, Drusilla, my dear? Come and thank your benefactor for -all that he has done for you, and show him how much you have profited by -his kindness,” said the old lady, as she came in. - -Blushing and embarrassed, the girl followed the lady to the -drawing-room. - -Mr. Alexander had changed his travelling suit for an evening dress, and -was sitting talking to Judge Lyon about the voyage home. - -Drusilla, at a sign from Mrs. Lyon, seated herself near the talkers. - -“I want you to see how much your protegée has improved, Alick,” said -Alick’s mother. - -“Oh, I _have_ seen, Madam,” answered Alexander with a smile. - -“After supper I want her to sing and play for you. She has a wonderful -proficiency in music,” said Mrs. Lyon. - -“I shall be glad to have a specimen of her skill, mother,” said the -young man, turning to his father, and taking up the thread of the broken -conversation, in order to relieve Drusilla, who was embarrassed by all -this notice. - -What between her own half-consciousness and her mother’s severe lecture, -Drusilla was perplexed and distressed. The great pleasure she had -anticipated from the arrival of Alexander was mixed with strange pain—a -pain not the less poignant because she could not understand it. To -become the cold and formal stranger to him that her mother wished her to -be, seemed impossible; while to continue the familiar child-pet that she -had hitherto been to him was not to be thought of. If he had only been -her brother, so that she might have had a right to his caresses, how -happy she could have been, she dared to think. - -But as it was, she could scarcely venture to glance at him, because each -glance thrilled her soul with such strange, wild emotion, half delight, -half dread. Ah, friends, she was a child of the sun, fervent, earnest, -devoted in all her ardent soul. She was already, all unknown to herself, -deeply and passionately attached to Alexander Lyon. The budding love of -years had this evening burst into full bloom. And yet it was even more -religion than love, and more worship than passion. - -Supper was announced and every one arose. - -“Come, Drusilla, you are the only young lady present,” said Alexander, -taking her hand to lead her in to supper. - -He felt that small hand flutter and throb within his own like the heart -of a captured bird. He turned suddenly and looked at her. Her eyes were -cast down, and her cheeks were crimson. He gazed on her for a moment in -grave silence, and then slightly frowning, led her on into the dining -room, and placed her in a chair at the table. He paid her all due -attention at the supper, but with a certain reserve that he had never -used with her before. - -The evening meal was, notwithstanding this, a very happy one. - -The judge chatted gaily with his restored son, encouraging him to talk -of his wanderings in the old world. - -The old lady listened with pleased attention, and only once in a while -broke her silence to ask whether he had been presented to all the queens -in Europe, and which was the most beautiful woman among them, or some -such question as that. - -Her son answered that he saw no woman in Europe prettier than some he -found at home; and he glanced at Drusilla with a smile. - -The girl beaming in the light of his countenance, and drinking in the -music of his voice was intensely happy and—vaguely wretched. - -When supper was over they went back into the drawing-room, and Mrs. Lyon -made Drusilla sit down to the pianoforte and play and sing for -Alexander. - -He shrugged his shoulders at the proposition, but politely acquiesced -and prepared to be bored. Alexander was a connoisseur in music, and he -had heard the very best singers of the day. Consequently he had little -patience with the crude efforts of young misses. - -She, Drusilla, began with a very simple song—chosen in compliment to the -newly-arrived son: - - “Home again! home again! from a foreign shore, - And oh, it fills my soul with joy to meet my friends once more.” - -At first her voice trembled slightly; but the tremor only added to its -pathos; and as she went on it gained strength and volume. She sang with -much feeling and expression. And Alexander was surprised, and pleased -and profoundly affected. - -“My child, you sing well; I tell you so, who have heard the best singers -in the world. Your voice has reached the depths of my heart, Drusilla, -and awakened it to a deeper consciousness of its joy in home-coming,” he -whispered as she finished her song. - -She bowed her head, partly in meek acknowledgment of this praise, and -partly to conceal the blush that overspread her cheeks. - -“Oh, that little song is very pretty and very appropriate, but it is -nothing to what she can do. Sing Casta Diva, my dear,” said Mrs. Lyon. - -Drusilla raised an imploring glance to the old lady’s face, but met with -no reprieve there. - -“Come, my dear! the Casta Diva!” she repeated. - -With a deprecating look at Alexander the girl took down another volume -of music, and turned to the selections from Norma. The piece chosen by -Mrs. Lyon was a great trial to any immature and half-cultivated voice -like Drusilla’s, however excellent the quality of that voice might -naturally be; and Drusilla knew this, and thence her imploring and -deprecating glances. - -“You are too exacting, mother. She cannot sing that; I do not think any -woman under thirty years old could, unless she had had a very remarkable -and precocious experience,” said Alexander, laughing. - -“Ay, you say that because you know nothing of the intuitions of genius. -You must hear your protégée sing, and you will understand better,” said -Mrs. Lyon. - -Thus urged on, Drusilla began to sing. Her voice arose tremulously, as -at first, like a young bird fluttering out of its nest, but then it -soared and swelled, gaining power and volume, until it filled all the -air with the music of that wild, impassioned, agonized, terrible -invocation and appeal. - -Certainly Drusilla had never known remorse, anguish or despair, yet all -these wailed forth in her soul-thrilling tones. - -She ceased, and dropped her head, exhausted, on her book. - -Alexander made no comment, but took her hand and led her from the -instrument, and then went and resolutely shut it down. - -“There! what do you think of that?” demanded the old lady, triumphantly. - -“I will tell you some other time,” said Alexander, and he took and -lighted a bedroom candle, and put it into Drusilla’s hand, and said: - -“Good night! go to bed, my child.” - -Drusilla took the light and turned to the old lady, and held up her face -for a kiss. - -And Mrs. Lyon stooped and touched her lips, saying, with a smile: - -“I suppose I may kiss you _now_.” - -Alexander held the door open until the girl had passed out, and then he -shut it after her and returned to his seat. - -“Do you know, Alick, why I said to Drusilla just now, ‘I suppose I may -kiss you _now_?’” - -“No, mother.” - -“Then I’ll tell you. You remember how you kissed her when you went -away?” - -“I do.” - -“Ah, Alick! your departure nearly killed your poor little pet. If you -had been her own father, she could not have grieved after you more than -she did. She had a low fever, and after she got well she would not let -any one kiss her. She said that you had kissed her last, and that no one -else should touch her lips until you should return and kiss her again.” - -“Did she now, really,” exclaimed Alexander, with emotion. - -“She did indeed, and she kept her word.” - -Alexander reflected a moment, and then spoke: - -“Mother!” - -“Eh!” - -“Tell her teachers that I do not wish and will not permit, Drusilla to -learn opera music or love songs. Let her confine herself to sacred music -only.” - -“But Alick, my son, how absurd! I am particular enough, the dear knows, -but I don’t see any harm in good opera music. All young ladies learn it, -and you desired that she should learn all that young ladies do.” - -“I was hasty; and now I say that she must give up opera music and such -like. Let her learn and practice sacred music to her heart’s content and -her soul’s salvation. Let music be the means, not of drawing her -affections down to earthly follies, but of fixing them more steadfastly -upon heavenly things.” - -“Alick, you do astonish me.” - -“I astonish myself, sometimes.” - -“Pray have you got religion, as the phrase goes?” - -“No; I wish to the Lord I had. But I want her to have it. Mother!” he -said, with sudden energy, going towards the old lady, “you don’t know -_how_ I love that child; you can’t feel how I love her—how near and dear -she seems to me—how near and dear she has always seemed since I first -looked into her soft, sweet, patient eyes.” - -“I believe you love her as much as if you were her father.” - -“Her father! well, I suppose my affection for her has something paternal -in it, but fathers seldom love their daughters as I love her. Instance: -Fathers are willing to give their daughters away in marriage, but I am -very sure that I would rather see Drusilla dead than married.” - -The old lady stared at the young man, utterly unable to comprehend him. -He continued: - -“Mother, I tremble for that child. I trembled when I heard her sing that -Casta Diva as I never heard a good or happy woman sing it. There could -not have been _memory_—there must have been _prophecy_ in those wild, -despairing wails.” - -“There was intuition, and nothing more. But you have been to Germany, -and I suppose you have grown mystical,” said Mrs. Lyon. - -“By which you mean mad. Very likely. Perhaps my previsions are -illusions: but mother, I nevertheless must _insist_ that Drusilla shall -drop opera and take up church music. Let her teachers know.” - -“Certainly, Alick. And now light my candle and wake up your father; it -is bed time.” - -Alexander lighted and handed the wax taper to his mother, and then -gently roused his father, who had been comfortably napping in his easy -chair. - -And the trio separated and went to rest. - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - BRIDAL FAVORS. - - Love was to her impassioned soul, - Not as to others, a mere part - Of her existence, but the whole,— - The very life-breath of her heart.—MOORE. - - The world was not for her, nor the world’s art - For one as passionate as Sappho’s heart. - Love was born with her, in her, so intense, - It was her very spirit, not a sense.—BYRON. - - -On Saturday morning Alexander walked out to renew his acquaintance with -his native city. - -Mrs. Lyon said to her pet: - -“If you know any very fine sacred music, my dear, I wish you would -select some pieces and practice them this forenoon, so as to be able to -execute them well this evening for Alexander.” - -And Drusilla, glad to have her morning’s work laid out, sat down to go -over portions of Handel’s Messiah. - -Alexander came home to luncheon, and in the afternoon attended his -mother and Drusilla for a drive. - -They dined and tea’d together, and adjourned to the drawing-room, where, -at Mrs. Lyon’s command, Drusilla sat down to the piano and sang to her -own accompaniment on the instrument the all glorious “Te Deum.” - -Alexander was enraptured. It is scarcely too much to say that he was -transported—listening to the heavenly notes of her voice and gazing on -the inspired beauty of her face. As for her she seemed all unconscious -of everything around her, as though her soul were winging its way to -Heaven in those strains of divine music. - -When the last notes of her voice died away, there was silence in the -room for some moments. It was gently broken by Alexander murmuring in -her ear: - -“My child, sacred music is your forte. Consecrate your glorious gift to -the worship of the Most High.” - -Drusilla bowed her head; and after a few moments said: - -“They want me to sing in the choir of St. John’s church. Would you like -me to do so?” - -“My child, that must be as you please. Would you like it?” - -“Indeed I do not know until I hear your will,” she murmured. - -“Then I will you to sing there,” he smiled. - -“And I am sure I shall like it,” she said. “And now shall I sing the -Hallelujah for you, and will you help me? There should be four voices, -though.” - -“You shall sing no more to-night, my bird; but come to the centre table, -where I have some gleanings of travel to show you.” - -Alexander’s servant had in fact just placed upon the table a large -portfolio containing interesting views of natural scenery and of works -of art, collected in their travels. And in examining these the remainder -of the evening passed. - -On Sunday all the family went to St. John’s church together. But as -Drusilla was not yet a member of the choir she sat in the Lyons’ pew. - -On Monday morning, Mr. Alexander himself took his protegée back to her -school. He was known there as a “patron,” and his request that his young -ward, Miss Sterling, should confine her musical studies to the sacred -branch of the art, met with a prompt acquiescence. - -Leaving Drusilla under the charge of her teachers, he returned to his -home to find it very dreary in the absence of his “child.” - -“A letter from your uncle, the general,” said Mrs. Lyon, as she received -him in the drawing-room. - -“He says that Anna declines to hasten her visit upon ‘any gentleman’s -account;’ and so they will not be with us before Christmas eve.” - -“Humph!” said Mr. Alexander, seating himself with much indifference. - -“I do not know that I can blame her. Certainly it is not _her_ place to -run after _you_, Alick, even if she _is_ your promised bride. She must -stand upon her dignity, I suppose.” - -“Ah, well, just as she pleases; but I cannot but compare her with one -who consults her heart and not her dignity where I am concerned.” - -“Don’t be a coxcomb, Alick, my dear. You mean little Drusa? She’s a -child and has everything to learn yet of proper self-respect in her -association with gentlemen. But we are not talking of her just now. I -hate to send you from me, Alick; but I really do think you are bound to -pay Anna the respect of going to Old Lyon Hall. I would go myself, if I -felt equal to the journey, and take you as an escort; but as I am, I -must let you go alone. There is a coach leaves to-morrow at seven in the -morning. What do you think of taking a place in it?” - -“I would as lief as not.” - -“Upon my word! If Anna is as indifferent in this matter as you are, I -think it is a pity you two were ever betrothed,” said the old lady, -looking over the tops of her spectacles. - -Alexander laughed. - -“Our betrothal is such an old story, mother, and we are used to it. -Besides it rests upon such a solid foundation—having one foot upon -Crowood and the other on Old Lyon Manor—that we feel secure in it. And -wherever there is security there must be indifference.” - -“Where did you learn to sneer, Alick?” - -“I am not sneering. Heaven forbid. My Cousin Anna is a beautiful and -accomplished young lady, for whom I have great respect and esteem. When -I see her I shall press her to name an early day for the nuptials. And -no doubt we shall get along as well as most people.” - -“Humph! when _I_ was young lovers were in love. I suppose you have -‘changed all that now.’ Pray, Alick, did you see any lady in Europe whom -you very much admired?” - -Alexander laughed. - -“Why, of course, mother! Scores and scores! But they are last summer’s -leaves and blossoms, dispersed and forgotten. At least I shall bring to -my bride a heart single to her service. For if I am not madly in love -with Anna, I am not in love with any one else, unless you call my -fatherly fondness for little Drusilla—” - -“Nonsense!” shortly interrupted the old lady—“that child! Don’t be -profane, Alick. Have some reverence for innocence like hers.” - -Mr. Alexander fidgetted and made no answer. - -“But I didn’t mean to scold you, dear; only I would have you respect -holy childhood, and let a girl be a child as long as possible. I hope -and believe that you and Anna will make a happy couple. When you see -her, of course you will say everything that is kind to her from me; and -be sure you cannot say too much. You will either prevail on them to come -immediately to us, or you will stay with them until they are ready to do -so,” said Mrs. Lyon. - -Alexander agreed to everything she proposed. - -And then their interview was interrupted by the entrance of some -visitors. - -The next morning Alexander went up the country to old Lyon Hall, where -he used his powers of persuasion to such good purpose as to prevail on -Miss Anna, and of course on her grandfather, to return with him -immediately to Richmond. - -“If he will not go back with us, we must go with him, I suppose, -grandpa. It would be a pity to deprive Aunt Lyon of her son’s society by -keeping him here, so soon after his arrival from foreign parts,” said -Miss Anna, expressing a sentiment with which the old gentleman sincerely -sympathized. - -So the whole party reached the city by the following Saturday. - -The Christmas holidays were spent as merrily as ever before. Drusilla -was brought from school to join in the festivities of the season, and -she was loaded with presents and caresses. - -Mr. Richard Hammond also came, and was quite as much up to every species -of fun and frolic as ever he had been in his earlier boyhood. - -He was very much with Anna, but neither her lover nor her relations -seemed to take any exception to his attendance. She was so nearly -married now that there could be no danger of his supplanting her -betrothed, and besides, he was her near cousin, poor fellow, they -argued, and so Mr. Dick was allowed to dance attendance upon Miss Anna, -while Mr. Alexander amused and interested himself in his “child.” - -The wedding of the affianced pair was fixed to take place early in the -new year, at Old Lyon Hall, whither the whole of both families would -meet to do honor to the nuptials. - -“Anna, you have not invited me to the wedding,” said Dick one day, as -they stood together in the recess of the bay window. - -“Well, I invite you now, Dick! Come and be Alick’s best man.” - -“I’d see him drowned first, dash him! I’d sooner be his headsman!” said -the young man, grinding his teeth. - -“Then why do you wish to come to his wedding?” asked Anna, elevating her -eyebrows. - -“Did I say I ‘wished’ it? Don’t jump to conclusions, Anna. I don’t wish -it. I merely reminded you that I was not invited. You remember the fairy -that was not invited to the princess’s christening? She came all the -same, but her christening gift proved no blessing. I shall go to your -wedding, Anna, but the wedding present that I shall lay upon your table -will be no peace-offering,” he whispered between his white lips. - -She turned pale, and then red, and then she laughed to conceal her -agitation, as she answered: - -“Don’t be melo-dramatic, whatever you are. None but stage-struck -apprentices ever are so. All that sort of thing is obsolete. If a young -man is crossed in love, he had better marry for money. Alick and I must -marry and settle like other sensible people. He will devote himself to -improving the race of oxen and the growth of corn, and amuse his leisure -with politics; I shall draw prizes for poultry, butter, and perhaps -flowers. Life is prose, not poetry, Dick.” - -“Look at that child. _She_ does not think as you do,” said Richard, -bitterly. - -Anna raised her eyes and saw, at the opposite end of the room, in a -recess filled with row above row of blooming flowers, this group: - -Alexander was reclining in an easy chair, holding in his right hand a -small volume, from which he was reading in a subdued voice, and -encircling with his left arm the shoulders of his “child,” who was -sitting on a low seat beside him. His eyes were on his book, but hers -were on him. Forgetting her timidity, forgetting herself, her inspired -face was raised to his, with glowing crimson lips apart, and slender -black eyebrows arched, and large, starry eyes fixed on him, as she -listened breathlessly to his words. He finished a sentence, and then -turned to speak to her. And instantly her eyes fell, and her color rose -even to her brows. - -“Yes, I see; if she were a little older, or I a little more in love, I -should be jealous,” thought Anna within herself. But she said nothing. - -At the end of Christmas holidays Drusilla was sent back to school. - -Anna, under the charge of old Mrs. Lyon, did a vast deal of shopping in -the city, besides sending to New York for articles that could not be -procured in Richmond. - -When all this was done, she returned with her grandfather to Old Lyon -Hall, where they were soon to be joined by the judge and Mrs. Lyon, and -Mr. Alexander, for the wedding. - -The day after the general and his grand-daughter left, Mrs. Lyon said to -Mr. Alexander: - -“Alick, Anna wishes little Drusilla to be her sixth bridesmaid.” - -“I object to that. The girl is too young to have marrying and giving in -marriage running in her head.” - -“Nonsense, Alick, you can’t keep this affair out; of course she knows -you and Anna are about to be married.” - -“Of course she does, for she has heard nothing else talked of for a -month past,” said Alexander, in a tone of vexation. - -“Then let her be Anna’s sixth bridesmaid.” - -“No, mother, if you please. It would take her from her studies.” - -“But, Alexander, you forget. She must be at the wedding any way, for it -would never do to slight the child by omitting to take her to it.” - -“I do not see that. Let her know that it is by _my_ will that she is to -be left at school, and she will easily submit to the disappointment.” - -“Well, Alick, I think that would be cruel.” - -“But I know it to be necessary for her own sake, mother.” - -The next morning the father, mother and son, attended by their men and -maid servants, set out in their travelling carriage for Old Lyon Hall. - -Travelling by easy stages, and stopping at all the most comfortable inns -on the road, to eat or sleep, they at length arrived safely on the -evening of the third day at the old mansion. - -The house was full of company, and all alight from attic to basement. So -many young friends of the bride were staying with her for the wedding. - -Our city party was very cordially received. Anna herself took the old -lady to her room, and waited on her in person. But— - -“Where is Drusilla?” was one of the first questions she asked of -Alexander. - -“At school. Where is Dick?” he answered and retorted. - -“At his office in the city, I suppose. But—Drusilla! why is she not -here?” - -“I would not let her come. But—Dick! why is _he_ not here?” - -“I would not let him come. And—Drusilla was to have been my bridesmaid!” - -“And—Dick was to have been my groomsman!” - -And here the young cousins looked in each other’s faces and laughed. - -It was a merry party that gathered in the drawing-room that evening. -Young ladies and gentlemen were grouped in small circles around various -tables, engaged in diverting parlor games of one sort or another. - -The general and the old lady were playing chess together. - -The chief justice, only, complaining of cold and fatigue, excused -himself from joining in any game, though he declined to go to bed, and -sat in the most comfortable arm-chair in the warmest corner of the -fire-place, sipping hot punch from a glass on a stand at his elbow. - -When his moderate glass was empty he spread his white handkerchief over -his face, and lay back in his chair and dozed, undisturbed by all the -musical chatter and silvery laughter around him. - -At ten o’clock there was a tray of refreshments brought in, and handed -first to the old lady, who was served by the general. - -Next the tray was handed to the judge. The servant who carried it stood -in silence for a moment, and then said: - -“If you please, sir, his honor is asleep.” - -Mrs. Lyon immediately turned and playfully whisked the handkerchief from -her husband’s head and asked him what he meant by being so rude as to -fall asleep. - -There was no response by word or motion. - -She bent forward and looked in his face, and then screamed. - -Her scream brought all the company in alarm around her. Her hand was on -the old man’s pulse, and her face was pale and wild with fright. - -General Lyon gently replaced her in her seat, and went back to the -judge. - -And in one moment more it was ascertained beyond a doubt that Chief -Justice Lyon was dead. - -You may imagine what a terrible shock this sudden death gave. How the -wedding-party broke up in confusion and dispersed in sadness; how the -unavailing skill of the family physician was called in, to do no more -than pronounce upon the cause of death—apoplexy; how the funeral was -solemnized in his own old ancestral halls; and how his body was laid at -last in the family vault at old Lyon Hall. - -Drusilla, who had not been permitted to attend the wedding, had been -sent for to come to the funeral. She came, sorrowing bitterly over the -sudden death of one who had been the kindest old friend to her. - -She did not go back again to school. Mrs. Lyon, overwhelmed by the loss -of the life-partner with whom she had lived so long, needed constant and -affectionate attention, and entreated that her favorite should be left -with her. - -Under the circumstances of her bereavement Alexander could refuse his -mother nothing. So Drusilla remained in attendance upon her -benefactress. - -The widow, exhausted by grief and unable to travel, staid with the -general and his grand-daughter all the winter. - -Alexander, engaged in setting his late father’s family affairs in order, -preparatory to administering on his estate, went backwards and forwards -between Richmond and Old Lyon Hall. - -Late in the following spring Mrs. Lyon went to Crowood, taking Drusilla -with her. - -The first few days at the old country-seat, where she had passed so many -tranquil, happy seasons with her lost husband, renewed all her grief. - -But Drusilla, guided by a happy instinct, drew her out among her -flowers, and fowls, and cows and other pets and hobbies. - -Most fortunately, I say, all these had been grossly neglected during her -absence, as though under the circumstances of her bereavement, her -annual visit was not expected. And the old lady, the mourning widow, -seeing the condition of her favorites, ceased to weep like Niobe, and -began to scold like Xantippe. - -And of course she got better directly. - -It took her and her handmaid Drusilla, assisted by a staff of men and -maids, the whole summer to bring flowers, poultry and cows up to the old -lady’s standard of perfection. And by the time this was done her health -and cheerfulness returned. - -There was nothing, now that the chief justice was off the bench forever, -to call her to the city. So she determined to make Crowood her permanent -residence. With this view she wrote to the housekeeper, who had remained -in charge of the city house, to pack up her personal effects and forward -them to Crowood, and then to come down herself, as the house was to be -put into the hands of architects, decorators, and upholsterers, to be -thoroughly renovated for the use of the young pair, whose wedding-day -was again fixed. - -Mrs. Lyon was the more urgent for her housekeeper to hasten to Crowood, -because there was a contagious fever of a very malignant type raging in -Richmond. - -In answer to her letters, Mrs. Sterling sent down, by a wagon express, -about seventy trunks, boxes and bundles, and within a week followed -them. - -“I am very glad you have arrived, Sterling. I had not an easy hour while -you remained in the city, exposed to that terrible fever. And Drusilla -would have been as anxious as I was if she had known the danger; but I -kept it concealed from her. It was of no use to trouble the child,” Mrs. -Lyon said, in welcoming her housekeeper. - -But the poor old lady of Crowood congratulated herself before the danger -was over. - -Apparently, Mrs. Sterling had brought down the seeds of fever in her -system, for the day after her arrival she was taken with a shivering -fit, followed by a glow of heat, head-ache, nausea and prostration, and -in twenty-four hours she was in a raging fever and delirium. - -The old lady was not a coward; she was a conscientious Christian. Now -that the fever had come, she faced it. She sent for the country doctor, -and instead of trusting the sick woman to the care of servants, she, -with Drusilla’s assistance, nursed the patient in person. This course of -conduct was more magnanimous than prudent. - -Mrs. Sterling, “tough as a pine knot, and with no more nerves than it,” -as the country doctor said, survived the fever and got up, though with a -broken constitution, for all those whom that dreadful pestilence spared -to life it ruined in health. - -But Mrs. Lyon contracted the disease, and it made but short work with -the feeble old lady. - -In the beginning of her illness her son was summoned in haste from -Richmond; but though he used his utmost speed in hurrying to her -bedside, he only arrived in time to hear her last wishes and receive her -dying blessing. - -“You must not grieve after me, Alick, my dear. Think what a long and -happy life I have had up to this time. But think, now that your father -is gone, how lonely I must be. I want to be with him, Alick.” - -These were almost her last words. She fell into stupor and revived only -once more, long enough to lay her hand on her son’s head and bless him. - -By her expressed wish her body was carried to Old Lyon Hall, and placed -in the vault beside that of her husband. - -And the wedding was put off for another year. - -“There is a fatality in it. We shall never be united, or if we should be -the union will bring nothing but woe,” said Anna to her grandfather. - -“Wait until it is put off a third time, my dear, before you make such a -fatal prediction,” answered the general. - -After the burial, Mr. Lyon went down to Crowood, where his presence was -necessary to the settlement of some local business. - -There more melancholy news met him. Mrs. Sterling, whose brain had been -seriously affected by the fever, was now certainly losing her reason, -and Drusilla was almost broken-hearted between the death of her dear -friend and the infirmity of her dear mother. - -It is said that madness often reverses the whole moral character. Mrs. -Sterling who, in her proper senses, had been one of the most active, -energetic and domineering of women, was now one of the meekest, -gentlest, and most harmless of lunatics. Her illusions were all -innocent, and some of them amusing. Sometimes she fancied herself the -mistress of Crowood. At other times she imagined that Alexander and -Drusilla were married, and making a visit to her there. - -Her pleasing illusions did not prevent her from performing all her -household duties, only she discharged them in the capacity of mistress, -not manager. - -Mr. Lyon consulted the country doctor, who told him that in Mrs. -Sterling’s case there was a gradual softening of the brain that must -prove fatal. - -A part of Alexander’s business at Crowood was to take Drusilla back to -school. But it was now certain that she must not be separated from her -mother. - -For Drusilla’s sake, he wished that Mrs. Sterling might have the best -medical advice. So he decided to take her to Richmond, to be examined by -the faculty there. But as she persisted in imagining herself mistress of -Crowood, instead of the hired housekeeper of the master, to be directed -by his will, she refused to leave the place. - -Then Alexander, taking advantage of the hallucination in regard to the -supposed marriage of Drusilla and himself, let a day or two pass, to -enable her to forget the first proposal, and then invited her to pay -himself and her daughter a visit at their new house in the city. - -This the harmless lunatic readily consented to do. And she immediately -began to prepare for the journey with a regularity and dispatch not to -be excelled by the sanest mind. It was evident that her mental infirmity -did not incapacitate her for the functions of her office. - -They went to Richmond and took up their abode in the town house, that -had been thoroughly renovated and refurnished in honor of that expected -marriage which had never yet come off. - -Mrs. Sterling was delighted with all she saw, and complimented her -imagined son-in-law on his taste and liberality, and congratulated her -daughter on her excellent husband and comfortable home. - -Poor Drusilla could only throw an appealing glance at the master, which -seemed to pray forgiveness. - -But Alexander laughed and pressed her hand, as he whispered: - -“Never mind, my dear! Perhaps her imaginings are not _all_ lunacy. They -may be _second-sight_. Who knows?” - -He spoke half in jest and half in earnest, and drew her to his bosom, -and held her there for a moment. But when he felt the wild beating of -her heart against his own, and when he saw the deadly paleness of her -cheek as it rested against his breast, he suddenly released her, half -repenting his act. - -Mrs. Sterling seemed to think such billing and cooing very foolish, -though quite natural, between bride and bridegroom, for as she looked at -them she murmured: - -“Ah, poor souls, they think it is always going to be just so. La! look -at any middle-aged married couple you know, and see the difference.” - -Meanwhile Mr. Lyon, holding his “child’s” hand, stooped and whispered to -her. - -“Drusilla, my little darling, I hope I have not hurt your feelings, have -I?” - -She shook her head and tried to speak, but only gasped instead, and hid -her face in her hands. - -“You are growing out of all this now, I know. Almost a young woman, you -are, turned fourteen, but it is hard to think you so; you seem still to -be my own precious child,” he whispered gently. - -Still she did not answer, but wept softly behind her hands. - -“Drusa, my daughter, you are not displeased with me, are you? I would no -more willingly displease you than I would the highest lady in the land,” -he continued. - -“Oh, no, no, no! You could not do so. Don’t mind me. I do not know why I -weep. I don’t indeed. I am a fool, I think.” - -“That’s certain,” said Mrs. Sterling, dryly, “and so is he. Young people -are apt to be fools in their honeymoon, but time cures them.” - -There was a very dry method in the madness of Mrs. Sterling. - -The housekeeper took possession of her old rooms, but as they too had -been re-papered, painted and furnished, she scarcely recognized them -again. - -Drusilla had the little chamber that had been given her by Mrs. Lyon, -and was now renovated, as a spare room. - -Alexander had his own superb suit of apartments. - -Mr. Lyon called in the best medical science and skill to the aid of Mrs. -Sterling. But the unanimous opinion of the faculty endorsed that of the -country doctor, and there was little hope of the patient’s recovery. - -When the month of December opened, Mr. Lyon wrote to his uncle and to -his betrothed, inviting them to come as usual, and spend the Christmas -holidays at his house in Richmond, and reminding them that the meeting -would be one of a quiet family party, excluding all other visitors, and -abstaining from all gayety, in respect to the memory of the departed. - -Anna wrote back on behalf of her grandfather and herself, saying that -she could not make a visit to a house where there was no lady to receive -her, and she begged that Alexander would come for once and pass his -Christmas at Old Lyon Hall. - -Of course Mr. Lyon could do nothing but accept this invitation. - -And he dutifully went to pass the season with his promised bride. - -And these were the most dismal Christmas holidays he had ever known. He -missed his genial father, his loving mother, and yes, it must be -confessed, he missed his “child,” and he could not help contrasting the -warm devotion of his little “daughter” with the cool indifference of his -promised wife. - -His visit to Old Lyon Hall came to a sudden end. He received a letter -from one of the servants of the city house. - -Mrs. Sterling had died suddenly, if he pleased, and what was to be done -with Miss Drusilla? - -Mr. Lyon showed that letter to Anna, made his excuses to the general, -and set off at once for Richmond. - - - - - CHAPTER X. - WHAT WAS DONE WITH DRUSILLA. - - Master, go on, and I will follow thee - To the last gasp with truth and loyalty—SHAKSPEARE. - - -Alexander arrived at his town house early in the afternoon. He was met -by his confidential servant, Dorset, an old man who had been in the -service of the family for nearly thirty years. - -“Well, Dorset, so the poor woman is gone?” sighed the young gentleman, -as he entered the house. - -“Yes, sir; and not too soon, with reverence be it spoken. She had grown -very foolish and helpless within the last few days. She died without -illness or suffering, sir. She went to bed as usual one night and was -found dead next morning. Miss Drusilla, sleeping by her side, heard no -sound and felt no movement, and knew nothing of what had occurred until -she arose for the day.” - -“How shocking! The second sudden death in the family within twelve -months. And the third in all. Where is the poor girl?” - -“Miss Drusilla? She has not left the corpse, sir, since the death. She -is watching by it now.” - -“That is very wrong. It should not have been permitted.” - -“Dear sir, who was to hinder her? There is no one, or I should say, -there _was_ no one in authority here to prevent her.” - -“That is very true. But go now and tell the poor child that I am here, -waiting to see her.” - -“Will you go to your room first, sir?” - -“No, I came up by the boat and made my toilet just before landing. I -will wait here for Drusilla.” - -Dorset went away with the message. - -And in about ten minutes, Drusilla, pale, drooping and woe-worn, entered -the room. - -Alexander arose and took her in his arms and silently folded her to his -bosom. And she bowed her head upon his shoulder and wept softly. - -“My poor child! My poor, dear child, you don’t know how sorry I am for -you,” said Alexander, tenderly caressing her, and repeating the same -words over and over again, until at length through her sobs and tears -she answered them. - -“Yes I do; oh, yes indeed I do know how good you are and how much you -pity us both—poor mother, dying as she did, and—me too.” - -“My dear Drusilla, you shall never want a friend while I live, or a home -while I have one,” he murmured, smoothing her disordered hair with his -hand. - -“I know that too. It is not that. I am not afraid. But oh! if I had not -slept that night, perhaps she would not have died,” cried the girl, -breaking into fresh and passionate sobs and tears. - -“Drusilla, my dearest, you talk wildly,” he said, trying to soothe her. - -“Oh, no, no, no, I know what I am saying. If I had only sat up and -watched her that night, I might have seen the change and saved her -life.” - -“But, Drusilla, I learn that your poor mother was in her usual health of -body when she went to bed.” - -“Oh, yes, sir, so she was; else I certainly would have sat up with her. -Oh, I wish I had! I wish I had! I would give my life now to have done -it. Oh, my poor mother! my poor dear mother. I slept on by your side and -let you die—die alone, without help, without even a word of love. Oh, my -mother!” cried the girl, utterly losing her self-command, and weeping -and sobbing and raving as if her heart would break or her brain madden. - -Alexander let the wild gust of sorrow spend its strength, and then he -said: - -“Drusilla, if you had been sitting by your mother’s bed, gazing on her -sleeping face, you would never have suspected that she was dying and -never known the moment of her death. My child, she had a fatal malady of -the brain that was certain to end just as it did. She passed away -peacefully in her sleep. Hers was an easy death. Drusilla, do not add -causeless regrets to natural grief with these _ifs_. Nearly all persons -do so, however. I never knew any one to die whose mourning friends did -not add irrational remorse to rational sorrow by the means of these -_ifs_. _If_ we had done this; _if_ we had not done that; _if_ such a -doctor had been called, or such a remedy administered. These -retrospective _ifs_ are illusions. Do not let them deceive you.” - -These words he spoke, while with a gentle mesmeric touch he smoothed her -hair and her brow, and held her head close to his bosom. - -She had neither the power nor the will to leave her resting-place; but -her wild weeping softened into low sobs, that became fewer and farther -between, until at last they ceased entirely. - -Alexander looked down and saw that she was fast asleep. - -Like a baby she had cried herself to sleep on his sheltering bosom. She -was no longer pale; her long-curved eye-lashes, gemmed with tears, lay -on her flushed cheeks, and her slightly crimson lips showed the little -pearly teeth within; her dark brown disordered hair fell around a -forehead and down a neck as white as ivory. - -Even in that solemn hour, Alexander, looking down upon her, loved her -for her wondrous beauty, seen in its new phase of sleep. - -But he had grace to know that such feelings were sacrilege against this -pure maiden and sacred orphan; and so he gently arose and crossed the -room to a large sofa and laid her on it. And then he touched the bell. - -Dorset answered it. - -“Send one of the women servants here,” said Alexander. - -The man bowed and went away, and was succeeded by a fat, motherly, -middle-aged person who answered to the name of Molly. - -Alexander silently pointed to the form on the sofa. - -“Ah! Lors-a-messy! poor gall! So she’s gone to sleep at last. Well, sir, -that will be the first sleep she’s had since Sunday night, and this is -Wednesday. Night and day has she watched by the corpse and nobody to -hinder her,” said the fat woman, holding her sides and panting, as she -gazed on the sleeping orphan. - -“_You_ should have hindered her,” said Alexander. - -“Me! Lors-a-messy! I couldn’t ha’ done it except by main force, which I -had no right to use.” - -“Well; let that pass. What I wish to know now is, whether she can be -undressed and put to bed comfortably without being waked up.” - -“Lors-a-messy, yes, sir! When they’s been watching and weeping three -days and nights and then draps down and falls asleep, they might’s well -be in a trance, far’s waking up goes. Bless you, sir, you could hardly -wake her up if you was to fire off a pistol over her head.” - -“I’m glad to hear you say so, but I have no wish to try the experiment. -I will carry her up stairs myself. Do you go before and open the doors,” -said Alexander, tenderly raising the sleeping girl in his arms and -carrying her, preceded by Molly, up two flights of stairs, to Drusilla’s -own little room. Here he laid her on the bed, and leaving her to the -care of the woman, retired. - -He went to the dinner that had been hastily prepared for him. And when -he had got through with it he went into the late justice’s study and -called up Dorset to a consultation about the funeral. - -In answer to his master’s question, Dorset said that the late -housekeeper was laid out in her own room; that orders had already been -given for a plain, respectable funeral, which was fixed for the next -day. And Dorset hoped that Mr. Lyon approved of what he had done. - -“Quite so. You have saved me so much trouble, that I almost think my -presence here might have been dispensed with,” said Alexander. - -“If you please, sir, I only wrote to you to ask what should be done with -Miss Drusilla, seeing that this would no longer be a proper home for -her,” said the old man. - -“True; I must think about that after the funeral. Of course she can’t -leave the house while her mother’s corpse remains in it,” said -Alexander, musingly. - -And he mused so long that he forgot the presence of Dorset, until he -happened to look up and see the old man still standing respectfully -waiting orders. - -“Oh!—you may go now,” he then said. - -And the old servant bowed and retired. - -The next day at noon the funeral took place. The clergyman’s widow was -carried to her grave in the cemetery attached to the church to which she -belonged. - -Drusilla, the sole mourner, rode in a coach with Alexander. Her head, -heavy with sorrow, rested on his shoulder, and his arm encircled her -waist. She never thought whether this was right or wrong. She was borne -down with grief, and she leaned upon him who was her only earthly -support and comfort. - -She had never even thought of putting herself into “decent mourning” for -her lost mother. She was still wearing black for old Mrs. Lyon, and so -she really needed no new outfit, except the black crape bonnet and heavy -crape veil; and these the forethought of the women servants had provided -her with. - -Alexander sustained his “child” through all the last trying scene by the -open grave. And when it was closed he took her home. - -On entering the house he gave her into the charge of the motherly Molly, -with orders that she, Drusilla, should take a cup of tea, and go to her -room and lie down for the rest of the day. This was Thursday. - -On Friday Alexander wrote to his cousin, giving an account of the -housekeeper’s death and burial, and saying that henceforth he intended -to adopt Drusilla, and that he should take her back to school on the -following Monday. - -Could Alexander have foreseen the bitter mortification he was destined -to meet there he would as soon have plunged into a fire as entered that -school-house. - -Drusilla, grieving incessantly, kept her room until Sunday, when she -came down to breakfast for the first time since the funeral. - -Alexander received her as if she had indeed been his daughter or his -beloved younger sister. He kissed her and placed her in her seat. In the -course of the meal he told her that on the next day he should take her -back to the Irving Institute to resume and continue her studies until -she should graduate. - -Drusilla tried to express her acquiescence in the plan, and her thanks -for his kindness, but her voice faltered, and her eyes filled with -tears. - -He looked wistfully in her face and read her thoughts, and answered -them. - -“You weep at the idea of being sent away from——” He hesitated, and then -continued: “from all you have left to love at a time when you want so -much consolation. My dear child it is necessary for more reasons than -one. But I shall spend the winter here as usual, Drusilla, and I will go -to see you at the school at least twice a week.” - -“I know that you are very good and all that you do is perfectly right. I -do not question these. But I must weep a little, and I feel you will -have patience with your child,” she murmured. - -“My child never tries my patience,” said Alexander, tenderly. - -They arose from the table. - -Alexander was rather a negligent Christian, but on this day he attended -Drusilla to church. - -On Monday morning he ordered the carriage, and took her to school. - -When they arrived they were shown as usual into the visitors’ parlor, -where they waited while the parlor-maid took Mr. Lyon’s card up to the -principal. - -A longer interval than usual on such occasions passed before the door -swung open, and the stately Mrs. Irving entered. She bowed to Mr. Lyon, -and started slightly on seeing Drusilla, and betrayed as much surprise -and annoyance as it was possible for so cultivated and self-possessed a -lady to exhibit. She sat down, however, and waited for her visitor to -open his business. - -“I have brought your pupil back to you, Madam,” said Mr. Lyon, bowing -and waving his hand towards Drusilla, who immediately arose and curtsied -to her former schoolmistress, and then resumed her seat. - -“Ah!” said the lady, very coldly, “I regret to say that it is not -convenient for us to receive Miss Sterling.” - -Alexander looked surprised, not so much at the words as at the coldness -with which they were uttered. - -“I am sorry to hear you say so, Madam. Your house is full then, I -presume.” - -The lady hesitated for a moment, and then seeing that Mr. Lyon was -looking at her and waiting for an answer, she said: - -“No, it is not full.” - -Alexander was more surprised than ever. - -“Then, Madam, may I ask why—but I beg your pardon; you have certainly -the right under any circumstances to decline a pupil. I would be glad to -know, however, whether Miss Sterling’s tuition fees were in arrears at -the time she was temporarily withdrawn, or if they are so now?” - -“No, sir; Mrs. Lyon settled the account.” - -“Then why—Again I beg pardon; I have no right, perhaps, to ask your -reason for declining to receive my ward. But I will venture to say that -if there was any misunderstanding as to the cause of her withdrawal -twelve months ago, I am happy to assure you that it was from no -dissatisfaction with the school or its teachers, or its discipline; and, -in short, that no offence was meant, and I hope none was taken.” - -“None, I assure you sir; for we all quite understood that Miss Sterling -was taken from school to attend upon her guardian, Mrs. Lyon.” - -Alexander’s surprise grew into amazement. If the school was not full, if -the school-bills were punctually paid, if no offence had been given or -taken, why in the name of wonder should the school mistress decline to -receive back into her charge a profitable pupil. - -“Madam,” he said, rising to go, “I cannot demand an explanation of your -refusal to receive my ward—” - -“And I would rather not give one, sir,” interrupted the lady, forgetting -in her haste that it was not courteous to cut short a gentleman’s words, -and that she herself would have rebuked any pupil of her school for -doing such a thing. - -“I was about to say, Madam, that I could not demand such an explanation -as a right, but that I would ask it as a favor. I will take Miss -Sterling back to the carriage and return here immediately if you will be -so kind as to await me.” - -“But, sir—” commenced the lady. - -Alexander only bowed low in response, took the hand of Drusilla and drew -it under his arm and led her from the room and the house, and placed her -in the carriage. - -He told the coachman to stop there, and then he went back to the parlor, -where he found the principal of the school still waiting. - -“Madam,” he commenced, gravely but courteously standing before her, -“there is something more in your refusal to receive my ward than -appears. I respectfully ask you to tell me what it is.” - -“And I entreat you, sir, as you are a gentleman, not to press the -question,” said Miss Irving very coldly. - -“Believe me, Madam, if I only were concerned I would press no unwelcome -question upon any lady; but this is the case of an orphan girl who, for -no fault of hers, has received a mortifying repulse. Forgive me if I -still must press for an explanation.” - -“Sit down, sir, and if you must have it, I do not think Drusilla -Sterling a fit or proper associate for the young ladies who are under my -care.” - -“Madam! Is it possible that in a democratic country like this, the mere -fact that a young girl happens to be the daughter of a respectable -housekeeper should exclude her from the school where young ladies are -educated? Consider; her mother, though in some sort a domestic servant, -was still a most respectable person, the widow of a Baptist preacher,” -said Alexander, with ill suppressed vexation. - -“Sir, it is not the girl’s position, but her character, that is so -objectionable.” - -“MADAM!” exclaimed Alexander, firing up. - -“You have, by forcing me to an explanation, sir, brought all this -unpleasantness upon yourself. I would willingly have spared my own -feelings and yours by keeping silent,” said the lady, very gravely. - -“Madam, you have now said too much not to say more. Who is it that dares -to question the blameless character of my young ward?” - -“Common rumor, sir!” - -“Common rumor!” exclaimed the young man, starting up. Then controlling -his excited passion, and re-seating himself, he inquired grimly—“What is -the nature of this injurious rumor?” - -“Her name is associated with yours in a manner that must be fatal to the -reputation of any young girl.” - -Alexander stared blankly at the lady for a moment, and then exclaimed: - -“Heaven and earth, Madam, what is it that you mean?” - -“Sir, it is not courteous to cross-question me in this manner,” said -Mrs. Irving, blushing between embarrassment and anger. - -“Not courteous! Am I to be on courteous terms with one who is -stabbing.—Madam, if you were not a woman—But let that pass. I now -_insist_ upon knowing what you mean by saying that Drusilla Sterling’s -spotless name is associated with mine in a manner that must be fatal to -her,” indignantly exclaimed Alexander. - -“It is said, then, that you are her favored lover, with no intention of -becoming her husband,” coldly and curtly answered the lady. - -“Heaven of Heavens!” exclaimed the young man, starting up and striding -across the room in his excitement, “was ever such an infamous -calumny!—Your author, Madam! I demand to know your author!” he at length -said, standing before her, pale with fury. - -“I said common rumor,” quietly replied Mrs. Irving. - -“No, but that will not do! Common rumor is an irresponsible thing. I -must have your author—one who can be called to account, and made to -swallow the calumny, though it should choke the calumniator.” - -“Then, sir, I fear you will have to call my whole school, with its -patrons behind it, to account. For this rumor came in with the pupils -who returned to the school after the Christmas holidays. They heard it -at their homes, or in the social circles of the city where it was spoken -of. Of course, when this report came to the knowledge of the teachers, -they severely rebuked their pupils for such sort of conversation. I know -nothing of the truth or falsehood of this report; it is quite enough -that such exists to banish its subject, guilty or innocent, from young -ladies’ society.” - -Alexander resumed his hurried walk to and fro in the room in much -distress of mind. Then, pausing once more before the lady, he said: - -“Madam, I am wounded to the quick by these cruel and fatal slanders. But -would it not have been more womanly, more Christian in you to have -defended the good name of that innocent girl and friendless -orphan?—Friendless, but for my friendship, which seems to have been her -bane.” - -“Sir, you must please to remember that my position as the principal of a -young ladies’ academy is a peculiar one. Had I even known your ward to -be blameless, I could not, in the face of such reports, have received -her without breaking up my school. Every pupil would have been removed -by her friends, nor could I have blamed them. I regret to have pained -you; but please also to remember that you brought this pain upon -yourself by insisting on an explanation.” - -“And I was right! And I will drag the foul slander farther into the -light. _Some_ one originated it, and I will make it my first business to -discover and punish the originator. Good morning, Madam.” - -And with a very ceremonious bow Alexander Lyon left the room. - -When he entered the carriage, and seated himself by Drusilla’s side, she -turned to him with a sweet, bright confiding look, that smote him to the -heart. - -“Oh, do not smile on me so, my child! I have been too thoughtless of -your good. But you shall have justice—full justice—grand justice! By the -heavens above, you shall, cost it what it may!” he exclaimed. - -She looked at him now in much distress, and faltered forth the question: - -“Will you tell me what has so disturbed you?” - -He reflected for a moment, and then answered firmly, though kindly: - -“_No_, Drusilla—not for the world. To tell you would be to wrong you. -Trust in me, my child.” - -“Oh, I do, I do, as I trust in heaven!” she answered, fervently. - -“And I will never betray that innocent trust, and may the Lord deal with -me as I shall deal with you, my child!” he said, reverently lifting his -hat. - -In the meantime the carriage, bowling along at a rapid rate, brought -them back to the house. - -“You have forborne to ask me what passed in my interview with the school -mistress, (Satan fly away with her!” he muttered between his teeth,) -“and you have done well. If the conversation had been proper for you to -hear, I should have repeated it to you,” said Alexander, as they entered -the house. - -“But I trust in you,” Drusilla replied, as she bowed her head, and then -went up stairs to take off her bonnet. - -Alexander Lyon went into the morning sitting-room and rang the bell, and -then dropped, half dead with trouble, into his leathern arm-chair. - -Old Dorset answered the summons. - -“Come here—close to me,” said the young man. - -And Dorset; perplexed and disturbed by the looks and manners of his -master, approached. - -“Dorset, you are an old, faithful and very discreet servant,” commenced -Mr. Alexander. - -Dorset bowed humbly and silently. - -“I wish to speak to you upon a very delicate subject, which I would not -name to any other person in the house, or even to you, except under the -most urgent necessity. Dorset——” He paused, as if he found the greatest -difficulty in proceeding. And Dorset bowed again, and waited in -respectful attention. “Dorset,” he resumed, “while Miss Sterling has -been in this house, have you heard any rumor prejudicial to her good -name?” - -The old servant bowed his head upon his breast, and remained in a deep -silence of grief and mortification. - -“That is enough!” said the young man, grimly; “your silence is more -eloquent than words. But now open your mouth and speak, to tell me who -started these reports, for, by the father of lies, I swear to visit them -heavily upon the head of the slanderer!” - -The old servant shook his gray locks slowly and sadly, and then -answered: - -“Ah, my dear master! in that case, I fear, you would have to punish the -dead, and I scarcely believe that you would do that if you could, or -could do it if you would.” - -“What do you mean, old man?” - -“Ah, sir, you might almost guess. The report started with that poor, mad -woman’s fancies about you having married her daughter.” - -Alexander sprang from his chair, struck his forehead, and then sinking -into his seat again, murmured: - -“I might have foreseen this; I ought to have foreseen it when I humored -and almost encouraged the poor creature in her illusions. But how did -this get out?” - -“Well, sir, it was in this way: her church friends came to see her, and -she babbled to them about your fancied marriage with her daughter, -which, of course, none of them believed. If you remember, sir, in -speaking of the poor woman’s death, I told you she died easy and not too -soon, for that she had grown more and more foolish every day. It seemed -heartless to say so, sir, but indeed it was true; for from babbling of -your marriage with her daughter, she got to babbling about your wronging -of her daughter, in the very worst way a gentleman could wrong a young -woman.” - -“Good heavens! was ever such a fatal calamity?” cried Alexander, -starting up and pacing the room in great excitement. “Oh, my child! my -child! my lamb! my dove! my dear, dear Drusilla! Go on, old man! go on! -what next?” - -“Sir, they to whom she babbled believed this last lie, and took it into -their addled heads that the mother’s madness was caused by the -daughter’s ruin, and went and reported as they believed.” - -“_Who_ were they?” - -“Women, sir, more the pity! women of the church—old women who came to -take tea and talk scandal with the housekeeper.” - -“And did Drusilla—did my poor child hear all this?” - -“I think not, sir. Mad as the mother was, she had sense enough left to -send her daughter out of the room whenever she was about to babble. No, -sir; I feel sure Miss Drusilla knows nothing about it.” - -“Thank heaven for that! She shall never know.” - -“These reports, sir, caused me, in writing to you of the housekeeper’s -death, to ask you what should be done with Miss Drusilla; for I knew -that this house was no longer a proper home for her, as I took the -liberty of hinting to you, sir; for though Molly and myself and indeed -all the servants, did all we could to put a stop to these rumors, we -could not succeed in doing it. And so, sir,” repeated the old man, “I -made so bold as to ask you what should be done with Miss Drusilla.” - -“I know NOW what shall be done with her. SHE SHALL BE MARRIED!” said -Alexander Lyon, grimly. “And now, Dorset, you may go; and remember, not -one word of this interview to any living creature!” he added. - -“Surely not, sir,” said the old man, bowing himself out of the room, and -much wondering, if Miss Drusilla was to be married, where Mr. Lyon meant -to find her a husband. - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - JOY FOR DRUSILLA. - - Joy trickled in her tears, joy filled the sob - That rocked her heart till almost heard to throb; - And paradise was breathing in the sigh - Of nature’s child, in nature’s ecstacy.—BYRON. - - -While Alexander Lyon paced the floor of his study, trembling with shame -and anger, Drusilla sat in her little chamber, smiling with delight. The -same event that thrilled his soul with a sense of wrong and -mortification, filled her heart with joy. She was not to go back to -school. She was to stay home with him; and this was all sufficient to -her happiness. She neither knew, nor guessed, nor cared why she had been -declined, as a pupil by Mrs. Irving. She had a vague impression that the -school was full, or the staff of teachers incomplete; but she was too -entirely absorbed in the happy thought of being at home for good with -him, to speculate about the reason why she was so. - -During the last twelve months, while in attendance upon her late -benefactress, and also while with her lost mother, Drusilla had had the -entire charge of Alexander’s wardrobe. To keep it in perfect order was -with her a labor of love. So, on this morning, when she was so -unexpectedly and joyfully reprieved from banishment, she sat down with -her little work-basket beside her, and occupied the hours in darning -small holes in silk and lambs-wool socks; and so neatly she darned, that -it would have required sharp eyes to have found out where the recent -rents had been. She worked and sang at her work, for her heart was -overflowing with happiness. - -Ah! even her mother was for the moment forgotten. - -Late in the afternoon she was sent for to join Mr. Lyon at dinner. - -She merely smoothed her hair and put on a fresh collar and pair of -cuffs, and then went down into the dining-room. - -There had always been kindness and gentleness in his manner to her. But -now, as he arose to meet her, there was a tenderness in his expression -that she had never seen before. - -“My poor child! You are smiling; I really believe you are glad to be -back at home,” he said, as he placed her in her chair. - -“Indeed I am, very glad,” answered Drusilla, truthfully. - -“Well, then—so am I,” said Alexander, smiling on her; and then adding, -in a lower tone—“It is fate; who can resist it?” - -He helped her to the most delicate morsels, from each dish. And to -please him she tried to eat a little; but, in truth, joy as surely takes -appetite away as grief does; and added to her joy in being at home was a -strange, vague presentiment of something about to happen, something -imminent and momentous. All the spiritual atmosphere around her seemed -as full of this, as the air before a storm is full of electricity. - -Alexander ate no more than she did. And neither spoke often or much. - -At length, when they had lingered some time over the dessert, he arose -and said: - -“My child, are you too shy to withdraw, and are you waiting for me to -dismiss you? Go, then, into the drawing-room, and presently I will come -to you there, and you shall give me a cup of tea,” and so saying he -opened the door, and held it open for her to pass out. - -“Mr. Alexander—you _are_ glad I am not going back to school, are you -not?” she inquired, doubtfully and anxiously, as she paused in the -doorway and raised her beautiful beseeching eyes to his face. - -“Yes! by all my hopes of happiness, I am glad!” he suddenly exclaimed; -and then he added—(“I am always glad to have my fate decided for me,”) -and then again laughing lightly, he said—“There, go away, little love! I -will join you presently.” - -Drusilla went to the drawing-room; but she did not sit down; she walked -slowly up and down the room, strangely perturbed by that presentiment, -of which she could not yet know whether it was to be one of joy or great -woe. - -Alexander remained in the dining-room alone; not drinking wine, or -smoking cigars; neither of these small vices affected him. He was simply -trying to commune with himself; a difficult task to one so unused to -self-examination as Mr. Lyon. He had always loved his beautiful pet, -more than he had ever loved any other living creature; and always, as he -supposed, in a fatherly, or elder brotherly sort of fashion. But lately -this pure love had burst forth into a fierce passion. From the hour in -which he had soothed her sorrow, and hushed her to rest on his bosom, -and gazed on her sleeping beauty, he had longed to make that beauty his -own forever. True, from the very first, he had combatted this passion. -From the very moment that he found himself contemplating the beautiful -girl with other feelings than became the brotherly love he professed for -her, he put her from his arms, and tried to put her from his heart, and -made arrangements for placing her entirely out of his sight and out of -his way, in the safe refuge of her school. How and why she was rejected -by the principal of that school, the reader already knows. - -The very fact of rejection threw her back upon his hands, while the -cause of it appealed to his manhood in her behalf. - -When sinners can find no other excuse for sin, they plead fate. - -Alexander, sitting and gazing dreamily into the lights and shadows of -his glowing coal fire, said to himself that fate had set itself against -his union with Anna, and fate had thrown Drusilla into his arms. He -recalled the facts that his wedding with Anna, twice fixed, had been -twice stopped by the hand of death; that Anna did not love him, and did -love Richard Hammond: that he himself did not love Anna, but loved -Drusilla; that Drusilla loved him, and had most innocently suffered -reproach and injury on his account; that he had striven to overcome his -passion for the beautiful orphan, even to the extent of taking her to -school with the full intention of leaving her there, but that she had -been repulsed and thrown back upon his charge. - -He had decided that in all this was the irresistible hand of fate. This -and many other arguments he used to persuade himself that it would be -altogether right for him to give up his cousin Anna, and take to his -bosom the beautiful orphan Drusilla. - -And this would have been right, if he had only chosen to do it in the -right way. If he had written to his betrothed and told _her_ all that he -told _himself_, there is no doubt that she would have gladly released -him from his engagement; and then if he had asked Drusilla to be his -wife, and had married her in the face of all the world, his course would -have been upright and honorable. But he did none of these things. -Alexander Lyon was proud, and he wished to satisfy his love, without -sacrificing his pride, so he resolved that his marriage with the late -housekeeper’s daughter, should be a strictly secret one. - -Having made up his mind, he arose and walked into the drawing-room, -where he found Drusilla still slowly pacing up and down the floor. - -“Why, you restless little creature! One would think your thoughts had -been as perturbed as my own. Come, now! tell me truly, what you are -dreaming of,” said Alexander, possessing himself of her hand, and -drawing her down by his side on the sofa. - -Something in his look and manner, something that she had never seen -there before, startled and almost terrified her. For the first time, in -all their association, a swift, hot blush swept over her face and neck, -crimsoning both, so that Alexander, already half mad with love, thought -her more beautiful and bewitching than ever. - -“Come now! of what were you thinking?” he persisted. - -“Indeed, I do not know; I have forgotten;—of nothing, I believe; I was -not thinking; I was—trembling,” faltered the girl. - -“Trembling, my darling? Why should you tremble? No evil shall come near -you while I live,” said Alexander, tenderly. “Come, tell me why you were -trembling?” - -“It was—but you will laugh at me?” - -“No, indeed, my sweet——” - -“It was with a sort of presentiment that oppressed me,” said Drusilla, -in a tone deepened with awe. - -“A humming-bird is said to tremble before an approaching storm, though -no cloud be in the sky. You are as sensitive as a humming-bird, my pet; -do you tremble at an approaching storm?” smiled Alexander, gently -caressing her. - -For the first time in her life, she shrank from him, yet immediately -wondered at and reproached herself for doing so. - -“Come, my love, is it a good or evil presentiment that overawes you so?” - -“I do not know even _that_ much. I have felt all the evening as if -something was hanging over me—I cannot tell what. Yes, the air is full -of electricity,” she said, and stopped and shuddered. - -“My child, superstitious people say that dreams and presentiments go by -contraries. If you dream of a death, it is a sign of a wedding; if you -have a foreboding of evil, it is a sign some good is about to happen to -you.” - -“But I do not know whether _my_ foreboding is of good or evil,” she -said, softly smiling. - -“I will tell you, then, my darling. It is of _both_, since it -foreshadows love and marriage, Drusilla,” he answered, gravely. - -She started slightly, shrank a little, and raised her eyes timidly to -his face, but dropped them instantly, and blushed beneath the ardent -gaze with which he was regarding her. - -“Drusilla,” he said, panting and speaking low, “do you know how I love -you?” - -Had he asked her this question a week before, speaking in his usual -tone, she would have answered him promptly and sweetly and calmly. - -But now she only trembled very much, without being able to utter a word. - -“Do you know how I love you, Drusilla?” he panted low, stealing his arm -around her waist. - -“Oh, don’t, sir! please don’t!” gasped the girl, frightened at his -caress. - -“Don’t what, my darling?” he whispered, drawing her closer to his heart. - -“Oh, don’t! let me go, please!” she faltered, gently trying to free -herself. - -“‘Don’t let you go, please!’ I don’t intend to, my beautiful darling,” -said Alexander, passionately pressing his lips to hers. - -At that moment the door was pushed gently open by Dorset, who entered -with the tea tray, and stood still in astonishment. - -“What the—?—What do you want here?” angrily demanded Alexander barely -able to repress an oath, as he saw Dorset and hastily released Drusilla. - -“If you please, sir, it is the tea tray,” said the old man, in growing -wonder. - -“Hang the tea tray! What do you mean by bringing it here before it is -wanted?” - -“Beg pardon, sir, but it is nine o’clock, when I allers brings it.” - -“Then why don’t you knock before entering a room? You servants are -perfect vandals in your rudeness.” - -“Please, sir, I never was used to knock in the old Madam’s time, so I -did not know as I was expected to do it now; but beg pardon, sir, I will -allers knock for the future.” - -“Put the tray down and go.—No, stay and wait,” growled Alexander, -beginning to feel conscious that if his kiss was an indiscretion, his -fuss with the old man’s interruption of it was a still greater one. - -Dorset obediently sat the tray down on the table, arranged the tea -service, bowed, and stood waiting. - -“Drusilla, my little daughter, you must preside,” said Alexander, trying -to give a paternal aspect to his affection for the orphan. - -Drusilla, blushing deeply, took her place at the table and poured out -the tea. - -Alexander purposely kept his old servant in waiting until they had -finished. Then he bid Dorset remove the service. - -As soon as he found himself alone with Drusilla, he saw that the girl -was trembling excessively. - -“Don’t be alarmed, dear love, and don’t distrust me,” he said, drawing -his chair beside her. “I asked you just now if you knew how I loved you. -You did not reply, but I will answer the question for you. No, Drusilla, -you don’t know how I love, for I love you so much that I wish to make -you my own forever and ever. Drusilla, you must be my wife, never to be -parted from me again.” - -She looked up in his face, her arched brows, dilated eyes and parted -lips expressing amazement, delight, and even terror. - -“You will be my wife, Drusilla?” he whispered, drawing her towards him. - -And then her overwrought heart found relief in tears, and she wept -freely on his bosom. When at length she ceased to sob, and grew quiet, -he bent his head down to hers and whispered: - -“All this means ‘yes,’ does it not, my own?” - -“But—but—Miss Anna!” murmured the girl, scarcely trusting her voice to -speak. - -“Oh, Miss Anna——” He nearly uttered an oath consigning his cousin to -perdition, but he caught himself in time, and added: “Miss Anna and -myself are parted (by a hundred miles of space,”) was his mental -reservation the first. - -“She has broken with you, then?” said Drusilla, who never dreamed of -such a possibility as _his_ breaking faith with any one. - -“Yes, she has, (in effect,”) was his mental reservation the second. - -“Oh, how could—how could she do it?” inquired Drusilla, incredulously; -for to her fond, worshipping heart, it seemed that any woman who could -break faith with Alexander must be insane or lost. - -“She loves Richard Hammond’s little finger more than she does my -immortal soul! (Come that is wholly true, at all events,”) he added -mentally. - -“And you are grieved at this?” murmured the girl, mournfully. - -“I! I grieved at it? I never was so glad of anything in my life! My -child, I never loved Anna except as a cousin. She never loved me in any -other than a cousinly way. We were betrothed by our parents—a sure -process to prevent our ever falling in love with each other. Ours was to -be ‘a union of hands and a union of lands,’ but not ‘a union of hearts.’ -We really never wished to marry each other. She loved Richard as well as -she can love anybody, and I—I love you as I never loved any other. Come, -my darling, you are to be mine forever.” - -“But Mr. Alexander—a poor girl like myself—your late housekeeper’s -child—only half educated, too—I am not fit to be your wife,” she said, -raising her meek eyes to his face, and then suddenly dropping them. - -“Not fit to be my wife! If you are not, it is only because you are so -much too good for me!” vehemently exclaimed Drusilla’s lover, and he -spoke the truth. - -“Oh no! Oh no! please do not say such things to me. I am but a poor, -ignorant child, of very humble position. You are a gentleman of rank and -wealth. Indeed, sir, it is not suitable——” - -“Drusilla! You do not love me!” he exclaimed, as if he had been charging -her with a great sin. - -A year before, she would have thrown her arms around his neck, and amid -tears and caresses, she would have assured him that she loved him more -than all others on earth. But she could make no such protestations now, -though her love for him had in this year grown and strengthened, until -it absorbed her whole being. She could only raise a quick and quickly -withdrawn deprecating glance to his face. - -“Come, that means that you do love me a little. If so, let me be the -judge of your fitness to be my wife,” he said, looking tenderly down on -her bowed face. - -“I know you must be the best judge,” she meekly admitted. - -“Then, it is a settled thing. You are to be my own,” he whispered. - -“If you think that a poor girl like myself can comfort you for the loss -of Miss Anna—” - -“Bosh! I beg your pardon, little love. But I don’t need comfort for the -loss of Miss Anna. I require congratulations rather. Didn’t I tell you -that I never was so glad of anything in my life? And didn’t I give you -half a dozen reasons of being glad of it? I want you to be my love and -joy. Come, darling, will you be my wife? Try to answer—” - -She stooped and whispered— - -“I will be anything you wish me to. If you should tell me to go and be a -nun, I would go and be one.” - -He was not more than half pleased with this answer, which he did not -understand. - -“So you only consent to marry me because I ask you to do it; and not -because you love me, or because to do so would make you happy?” he -asked. - -Again her shy, soft eyes were lifted to his face with a pleading glance -and then cast down. - -“Answer me, Drusa,” he said. - -“It would make me happy to do anything you should ask me to do; for I -love to feel that I belong to you, to do your bidding; and that you have -a right to dispose of me as you please,” she murmured, in a very low and -timid tone, hesitating and blushing to utter her own pure thoughts. - -“This is devotion, this is submission, but it may not be the love that -makes happiness. Drusilla, apart from all this—your pleasure in pleasing -me. Will it make you in yourself happy to be my wife and spend your -whole life by my side?” he earnestly inquired. - -“As happy as an angel in Heaven,” she aspirated, in a low and fervent -tone. - -He caught her closer to his bosom and pressed her there; he pressed -kisses on her lips, her cheeks, her brow; he called her by every -endearing name—— - -There came a gentle, discreet knock at the door. - -“Well! Who’s there? Come in!” said Mr. Alexander impatiently, as he -gently put Drusilla off his knee. - -The door opened and Dorset appeared. - -“What now? I really believe you are wantonly trying my temper!” -exclaimed Alexander. - -“If you please, sir, I thought maybe you had retired, and I came to rake -out the fire and turn off the gas, as usual, before going to bed -myself.” - -“What! at _this_ hour?” - -“Beg pardon, sir, but this is the usual hour.” - -Alexander looked up at the clock on the mantle-piece, and saw with -surprise, that it was past eleven. - -“My little daughter, I have kept you up too late. You must go to rest -now. Good night,” he said, taking a bedroom candle from the side table, -lighting it, and putting it in the hands of Drusilla, who immediately -withdrew. - -She went to her room in a delirium of joy, every nerve thrilling, heart -beating, brain whirling with joy. To be Alexander’s wife! It was a -Heaven of Heavens she had never dreamed of. She dropped on her knees -beside her bed, and fervently thanked God for her great happiness. - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - A REALLY HAPPY BRIDE. - - How beautiful she looked, her conscious heart - Glowed in her cheek and yet she felt no wrong. - Oh, love, how perfect thy majestic art, - Strengthening the weak and trampling on the strong! - How self-deceitful is the sages’ part - Of mortals whom thy art hath led along.—BYRON. - - -I said that joy takes away the appetite as surely as grief does; and joy -as well as grief banishes repose. Drusilla lay awake, in a happy -reverie, until near morning, when she fell into fitful slumbers that -soon deepened into dreamless sleep. - -It was late in the forenoon when she awoke. - -Ah! how many of us have awakened from such deep insensibility to the -consciousness of some heavy but undefined and half-forgotten woe, that -all too soon takes shape and distinctness to confront and overwhelm us! - -Drusilla, on the contrary, awoke in the golden mist of some great but -vague joy, that soon shaped itself into the thought that she was to be -the wife of one she loved more than her own soul, and only less than her -God. - -But such exultation of the spirit seldom lasts long. - -Before the girl had finished her simple morning toilet, her joy was sunk -in remorseful tenderness that she could rejoice in anything so soon -after her poor mother’s death. And she wept; but though less exultant, -she was scarcely less happy. - -She went down into the morning sitting-room. Alexander had waited for -her, because he would not breakfast without her. He met her with a -radiant smile, and he welcomed her with a warm embrace. - -After breakfast, he spoke to her of his plans for the future. He told -her that he wished their marriage to take place almost immediately. - -She timidly expressed her feelings on this subject; the equal pain she -would feel in opposing his wishes on the one hand, or, in marrying so -soon after her mother’s death on the other. - -“But why should you feel pain at the thought of marrying so soon after -your poor mother’s death, my darling?” tenderly inquired her lover. - -“It would seem heartless; it would seem disrespectful to her memory?” -said the orphan. - -“Not at all, my love. Daughters are sometimes, when expedient, married -even beside the death-beds of their mothers. You have heard or read of -such cases?” - -“Yes.” - -“Then why should you feel any scruple in marrying, if expedient, within -a few weeks after your dear mother’s decease?” - -“But _is_ it expedient?” she inquired. - -“It is more. It is absolutely necessary. We must immediately marry, -or——PART.” - -This last word struck her like a shot, as he intended that it should. -She started, drew back, and gazed at him in consternation. - -“Drusilla, my innocent, ignorant child, does it not occur to you that it -would be wrong for you, a young girl, and I, a young man, to live alone -together, or with only servants in the house, unless we were married?” -he gravely inquired. - -She flushed crimson over face and neck, but had no word to reply. - -“Drusilla, we must be married immediately,” he said, firmly, striking -“while the iron was hot.” - -“But—so soon after my poor mother’s death. To be made so happy, when I -ought to be weeping for her,” faltered the girl. - -“My darling, you shall weep for a year if you like, so that you weep in -my arms, and give me a legal right to hold you there. Come, Drusilla! If -our wedding were going to be a gay one, with fine dresses, and fine -company and festivities, you might, indeed, object that it would be -showing disrespect to your mother’s memory. But I propose that our -wedding shall be a very very quiet one, as quiet as if it were -solemnized at a death-bed. Come, what do you say to that?” - -“Mr. Alexander, I know you would not lead me into the least departure -from the duty I owe to the memory of my dear, lost mother. Decide for -me, Mr. Alexander,” she said very sweetly. - -“Then I will. But leave out the ‘Mr.,’ my darling. I do not like the -formality of that word from your sweet lips. Shall I decide for you in -_all_ things, my pet?” - -“In all things, yes. Whom have I in the world but you?” she said, -lifting her dove-like eyes confidingly to his face. - -“No one indeed—thank heaven!” exclaimed Alexander, with triumph in the -thought of how entirely this delicate, helpless, dependent child lay in -his power and at his mercy. - -The thought should have awakened his magnanimity; but, unhappily, it -only flattered his selfishness. - -He did decide all things for her. He decided that their marriage should -be a strictly secret one; and he gave her plausible reasons why it must -be so; but she needed for this, no other reason than his will. He -decided that the house in Richmond was too gloomy in its associations of -insanity, illness, and death, for their habitation, and that they should -go to Washington to spend the winter. And he arranged that he himself -should go in advance to the capital city and secure a home; and that on -the receipt of a certain letter which he should write, she should -secretly leave the house and join him in Washington. - -To all this Drusilla readily agreed. In the fulness of her faith she had -placed her fate in his hands and left it there. - -This plan was carried out. The same day he told his old servant that -urgent business called him away from home, and that he should leave for -Baltimore the next morning. - -Dorset, prompt and punctual, had his master’s portmanteau packed and his -breakfast on the table by eight o’clock. - -And Mr. Alexander left Richmond by the nine o’clock train for Baltimore, -intending to take the next day’s train from the latter city to -Washington. - -Drusilla knew that she could not hear from him for three or four days, -so she waited three days and then went to the post-office, where, for -greater secrecy, her letters were to be left until called for. Here she -found a letter—the first genuine love letter she had ever received. She -had, from childhood, written many letters to Alexander, and received -many from him—all, his and hers, filled with love, but not such love as -this. Drusilla eagerly read it over in the office, and then, “all on -fire with joy,” she hurried home and locked herself in her own room, to -feast on her letter undisturbed and at leisure. - -Every day she went to the post-office, and every day she received one of -these ardent outpourings of love. - -Alexander had been absent about ten days, when one morning on inquiry, -she received a letter that summoned her at once to Washington. - -That night Drusilla quietly packed her carpet bag with a few -necessaries, and before day the next morning she slipped out of the -house and took the early train for Washington. - -The train reached Alexandria early in the afternoon, and Drusilla found -her lover on the platform at the station. - -“Come, dear love,” he said, “I have a carriage waiting. We must be -married in this town, and then I will take you to Washington.” - -In a flutter of delight and embarrassment she let him take her from the -train and place her in the carriage. - -He told the coachman to drive to Duke street, and as soon as the -carriage was in motion, he caught his bride in his arms and pressed her -to his bosom, amid the fondest caresses and tenderest words of -endearment. - -He was interrupted at length by the stopping of the coach, and the voice -of the coachman inquiring: - -“Where in Duke Street am I to drive, if you please, sir?” - -“To the Reverend Mr. Hopper’s—the new Methodist preacher’s,” replied -Alexander. - -And a few more turns of the wheels brought the carriage to the house -indicated. - -Alexander lifted his trembling companion to the sidewalk, and then led -her up the steps to the door of Mr. Hopper’s residence. - -A servant answered his knock, and showed him into a plainly furnished -parlor, where sat the preacher and the family, dressed in their Sunday’s -best, and apparently waiting the bridal pair. - -Mr. Hopper arose at once and shook hands with the bridegroom, and -presented him to his—the preacher’s—mother and sisters. - -Alexander, in turn, presented his bride to the ladies of the house. - -Then, as no time was to be lost, the young pair stood up side by side; -the ladies of the party arranged themselves as attendants and witnesses, -and the ceremony that made Alexander Lyon and Drusilla Sterling man and -wife was performed. - -When the blessing had been pronounced, Alexander saluted his -“child-wife” with the almost reverential tenderness due to her sacred -isolation. - -The preacher shook hands with both and wished them much joy. - -Then the ladies of the family came up with their congratulations. - -The old lady kissed the youthful bride with much feeling, saying: - -“May the Lord bless you, poor, motherless little thing!—And you, sir,” -she added, turning to the bridegroom—“Remember that her extreme youth -and her recent orphanage claim a double amount of tenderness.” - -“I know it, madam; I feel it; and I thank you for the interest you take -in my little wife,” said Alexander. - -He then slipped a hundred dollar note in the preacher’s hand, bowed his -adieux to the whole party, and led his bride back to the carriage. - -“I am glad the dear old lady gave us her blessing. It seemed to hallow -our union, as much as the ceremony did. But I wonder how she knew I was -an orphan?” said Drusilla, as they crossed the sidewalk to the carriage -door. - -“I told them as much of your circumstances as I deemed expedient to -account for your coming unattended by ladies, and in a black dress,” -said Alexander, as they paused while the driver got down and opened the -door. - -“In a black dress! So I was married in a black dress—a black bombazine -and crape dress, at that. The very deepest sort of mourning!” exclaimed -Drusilla, in a low tone and with a terrified look. - -“Well, my darling, what of that?” smiled Alexander. - -“Oh, it is considered a bad omen for any one, though but a guest, to -wear a black dress, even a black silk one, to a wedding. And for a bride -to be married in black, especially in deep mourning, is the worst of all -omens.” - -“Omens be—blessed! Are you so superstitious, little one?” - -“Ah! who is not? I never met any one in my life who did not believe in -this omen.” - -“You’ve lived so long in this world, you have! and you’ve met, so many -people!” laughed the bridegroom, as he put her into the carriage and -seated himself beside her. - -“Where am I to drive to, sir, if you please?” inquired the coachman, -touching his hat, as he held the door open. - -“Are your horses fresh?” demanded Mr. Lyon. - -“Quite so, sir.” - -“Can they take us to Washington? The distance by the river-road is nine -miles, I think.” - -“Bless you, yes, sir! why they can take you to Washington, which is nine -miles, and afterwards to Bladensburg, which is nine more, with the -greatest of ease.” - -“All right—drive to Washington.” - -The coachman closed the door, mounted to his box and started. - -An hour’s drive along the beautiful wooded road, following the south -bank of the Potomac, brought the travellers to the Long Bridge. - -They crossed the river by that bridge and entered the city. - -The near view of Washington from that point is not encouraging. - -Alexander felt this as he bade his young companion look beyond the flats -of the “island” and behold the distant and majestic hill upon the summit -of which rises our Capitol. - -The sun declined towards his setting, shone full upon the building’s -western front, whose walls of white freestone and windows of crystal -glass flashed back the rays, “in lines of dazzling light.” - -Drusilla uttered an exclamation of pleasure; but was interrupted by the -stopping of the carriage, and the appearance of the coachman at the -door, inquiring: - -“Where now, if you please, sir?” - -“To Seventh street north, and out by that road to the suburbs of the -city.” - -The coachman re-mounted his box and started his horses once more. They -crossed the canal bridge near the centre-market, and crossed -Pennsylvania Avenue, and as they went on, Alexander pointed out to his -companion, all the objects of interest within the range of their -vision—a nearer view of the Capitol, then the General Post-Office, the -National Patent Office, etc. - -A half hour’s drive up Seventh street north, took them beyond the limits -of the city, and into the wild, picturesque and beautiful suburbs. - -The wilderness surroundings of our National Capitol have often been -admired by strangers who are lovers of nature, and reproached by others -who can see no beauty in anything but miles of brick walls and busy -shops, or acres of ploughed fields and growing crops. We “to the manor -born,” love the wild woods and rocks and waterfalls so near, as to be -even within the limits of our city. A half hour’s drive from the Capitol -in any direction will take the traveller into solitudes as deep as he -can find anywhere west of the Alleghanies. - -A half hour’s drive up Seventh street north took our happy pair quite -into what seemed a country road. - -It was bordered on the western side by evergreen woods, through which -the last rays of the setting sun were shining and tipping every -dark-hued leaf and twig with golden fire; and on the north by groves and -fields and streams, with here and there a solitary, but cheerful cottage -from whose windows the “household fires gleamed warm and bright.” - -Presently, Alexander pulled the check-string and ordered the driver to -turn into an obscure road or lane, leading into the cedar wood on the -left. - -“You have never asked me where I am taking you to, my darling,” said -Alexander, when they had gone about a quarter of a mile into the woods. - -“No; because my trust in you is so perfect.” - -“Had you no curiosity?” - -“Oh yes; but I thought you would tell me when you should see fit; and I -knew that I should find out when we should reach the spot. I am very -much pleased, however, that our home will be in the country.” - -“Not the country, darling, though it looks so much like it; only the -suburbs of the city.” - -“It is all the same to me, and I am so glad we are to live among the -trees.” - -“I knew you would be, love, and so I chose our home in this -neighborhood.” - -“But shall you not be lonesome, so far from the city; you, who are so -fond of plays and concerts and operas?” - -“No, mine own. I shall be lonesome nowhere, with you by my side. -Besides, thirty minutes’ drive would take us any evening to any place of -amusement we might wish to attend in the city. But here we are at home!” -he said, pulling the check-string and stopping the carriage at a rustic -gate that crossed the lane in the very midst of the wood. - -Some one issued from a very small porter’s lodge on the right and opened -the gate. They entered upon a semicircular drive, bordered on each side -by cedar-trees, that led them up to the front of a picturesque cottage -ornée, built in a sort of composite style. - -From every pretty latticed window of this little dwelling, the lights of -fires and of lamps gleamed warm welcome. - -“Oh, what a lovely little wildwood home!” exclaimed Drusilla in delight, -as Alexander lifted her from the carriage and seated her on a bench of -the little rustic porch. - -“‘Business before pleasure,’ my darling,” he said, leaving her there, -and going back to dismiss the carriage. - -He was happy and therefore he was extravagant. He never asked the -coachman the price of his services, but put in his hand a twenty dollar -bank note, about twice the amount of his fare; and when the latter -fumbled in his pocket-book, said quickly: - -“No, I don’t want any change! It is now about five o’clock; you can -easily get back to Alexandria by seven. Good night.” - -The coachman was profuse in his thanks, and hoped to have the pleasure -of driving his honor often. And he mounted his box and drove off, no -doubt wishing that he could have a bridal party for a fare every day of -his life. - -And the bridegroom led his bride into the house. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII. - THE CHILD BRIDE AT HOME. - - His house she enters there to be the light, - Shining within when all without is night; - A guardian angel o’er his life presiding, - Doubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing.—ROGERS. - - -“Welcome, mine own dear love, welcome to your home,” fervently whispered -Alexander, as he led his bride across the threshold of the door that was -held open by a pretty and neatly-dressed negro girl. - -The young wife smiled gratefully upon her husband, and then looked -around with child-like interest. - -They stood in a cheerful little hall, illuminated by an antique lamp in -a stained glass shade, that shed myriads of prismatic hues over the -white and gilded wall and richly-carpeted floor. It was a hexagon-shaped -hall, with a staircase opposite the front door, and with four other -doors, two on each side, opening into the drawing-room and dining-room -on the right, and the parlor and library on the left. - -“This is your little maid, Pina, my dear, and she will show you to your -room, if you please,” said Alexander. - -Drusilla turned and smiled kindly on the bright-eyed negro girl, who -took up a wax candle, and stood curtseying and waiting orders. - -“Go on then, Pina, and lead the way; I will follow,” said Drusilla. - -And Alexander placed the carpet bag that contained all the bride’s -trousseau in the hands of the girl, who, with another curtsey, turned -and led the way up stairs to an upper hexagon-shaped hall, with a bay -window in the front end, and four doors, two on each side, leading into -bedrooms and dressing-rooms. - -Pina opened the front door on the right hand. - -“Oh, what a sweet, what a pretty, what a delightful little room!” -exclaimed Drusilla, on passing the threshold. - -The room deserved her praise. It had been designed by the hands of love -to please the eyes of beauty. Its colors were white and rose. The walls -were hung with a paper of a white ground, with a running vine of wild -roses over it. The floor was covered with a carpet white with the same -patterns of wild roses running over it. The windows were curtained with -white lace, lined with rose-colored silk. The dressing-table that stood -between the windows was draped to match them, in white lace over rose -silk. The bed was spread with a white crochet counterpane, lined with -rose satin. The chairs and sofas were covered with white damask -embroidered in roses. All the little stands and tables were in white and -rose enamel. - -It was a chamber to delight a child or a young girl. To crown all, a -clear, bright wood-fire was burning on the white marble hearth. - -“It is—it is a heavenly little room!” exclaimed Drusilla gazing around. - -“And here, ma’am, is the dressing place,” continued the maid, opening an -inner door, and showing her mistress into a smaller apartment fitted up -in a plainer style as a bathroom. - -The young traveller, who really needed ablutions after her dusty ride in -the train, opened her carpet bag, took out her dressing materials, and -commenced her toilet. - -Pina waited on her. - -But little change could the poor bride make. Her carpet bag could not -contain much. She had only brought a few clean linen collars, cuffs, -handkerchiefs, and other absolute essentials. - -Seeing this, her handmaid said: - -“Let me carry your dress down stairs and brush it, ma’am: it won’t take -me ten minutes. I will bring it up quite nice by the time you are ready -to put it on again.” - -Drusilla thanked the little maid, and accepted the offer. And Pina ran -away with the dress. And by the time Drusilla had taken her bath and -dressed her hair the girl returned with the renovated garment. - -“Supper will be served, ma’am, as soon as you are ready for it,” said -Pina, laying the dress over the back of a chair. - -Drusilla carefully but hastily completed her toilet, for she was eager -to see Alexander and thank him for the care and taste he had bestowed -upon the fitting up of her rooms. - -As she left her chamber she found Alexander in the hexagon-shaped hall -outside. He smiled, and took her arm, saying: - -“While they are placing supper on the table I wish to show you over our -little toy palace—for it is no more.” - -“And no less! Oh, how I thank you for the beautiful—” - -“Doll’s house!” laughed Alexander, stopping his bride in the outpouring -of her gratitude. - -“Oh, but the rooms are so very beautiful!” she exclaimed. - -“Why, you have seen but two! Come, let me show you the others,” he said, -taking her across the little hall, and opening an opposite door. - -The apartment they now entered corresponded in all respects to her -chamber, except that it was fitted up as a sewing-room, and its wall -paper, window curtains, chair-covers, carpet and enamelled stands and -tables were all in white and green instead of white and rose. - -“See here, my love! I remember what a domestic little creature you were, -how you liked to sit up stairs and sew by the hour or the day, and how -the very first thing you ever wished for was a work-box, and so I had -this room fitted up for you on purpose,” said Alexander, looking in her -face to read her satisfaction. - -“Oh, how good, how good you are to me! What can I ever do to please you -enough,” she said. - -“Love me dearly, and be very happy! That is all I ask you to do,” he -replied. “And now look here, dear, I knew your wardrobe would want -complete refitting, and I knew what a nice little needle-woman you were, -so I have filled these bureau drawers and wardrobes with dress goods of -every description—enough to furnish forth an Indian voyage or a country -shop,” he said, as he went to one of the bureaus and drew out the -drawers, one after another, to display their contents—rich silk, merino, -and cashmere dress patterns, all in black, purple, or gray, or other -mourning or half mourning hues; and whole pieces of fine muslin, linen, -flannel, and other “staple” commodities, and rolls of ribbon, tape, -gimp, and other dress trimmings. - -“You know I had no woman’s help in selecting these articles, and a man -in a milliner’s establishment is just about us much out of place as a -‘bull in a china shop,’ but I did the best I could.” - -“They are beautiful,” said Drusilla, in grateful delight. - -“And see here,” continued Alexander, opening the doors of a wardrobe—and -displaying several shawls, cloaks, circulars, mantillas and so forth—“as -these things fit almost any grown woman, I thought I could not make a -mistake in getting them ready-made. What do _you_ think?” - -“Oh, you—you are too good to me; you are extravagant—here are more than -I shall wear in ten years,” said Drusilla, between smiles and tears. - -“Not at all! There’s Anna will wear twice as many changes of apparel in -ten days,” he said. - -“Ah, but Miss Anna is an heiress.” - -“And you are the wife of a—_wealthy_ man, if not a _good_ one,” laughed -Alexander. “But come, I dare say supper is waiting and spoiling. I will -show you the rest of your little house to-morrow, and also your little -carriage and pair of ponies——” - -“Oh, _indeed_ you do too much for me.—I think I have not been used to -having such things—of my own,” said Drusilla, meekly and confusedly. - -“I _could not_ do too much for you, dear love——” - -“But, Mr. Alexander——” - -“Leave out the ‘Mr.’ from this time, sweet Drusa. What were you going to -say?” - -“I was about to ask you, please, not to make me so many presents.” - -“Oh, is that it? Why not?” - -“Because—I love you. And—I only want you to give me your love——” - -“I know all that, my pet. But let your conscience be at rest. Every -thing I seem to give you, as well as every thing you have of your own is -really not yours, but mine, because you yourself are mine.” - -“Is that so?” she smilingly inquired. - -“Yes.” - -“Then so I would have it!” - -While they talked they left the room, he leading the way down the -stairs, to the little drawing-room. - -This was a very elegant apartment, fitted up in crimson and gold -curtains, chairs and sofas, rich mirrors and rare paintings, and -recherché articles of _virtu_. At the lower end of the room a heavy -curtain of crimson satin damask, with gold bullion fringe and gold cord -and tassels, hung from the ceiling to floor. - -While Drusilla was still gazing with curiosity and delight upon the -various objects of interest in the room, this curtain was drawn aside as -by invisible hands, revealing an elegant little dining-room, where a -luxurious supper was spread. - -Alexander, with a laughing assumption of ceremony, led Drusilla to the -head of the table, bowed, and took his place at the foot. - -A handsome negro boy, so like Pina as to be recognizable at once for her -brother, waited at table. - -“My dear, this is your other servant—footman, coachman, and groom—all in -one. He is named Leander; but for convenience we shall call him ‘Leo.’ -Just as we call his sister, who exults in the imperial name of -Agrippina, simply ‘Pina,’” said Alexander, as he placed the breast of a -roast pheasant on Drusilla’s plate. - -It was a pleasant supper, as you may judge. - -And it was followed by a happy evening. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. - THE WILD WOOD HOME BY DAY. - - It is a quiet picture of delight, - The pretty cottage hiding from the sun - In the thick woods. We see it not till there, - When at its porch ... quiet’s especial temple.—W. G. SIMMS. - - -“I have the vaguest idea of the outside of our home—a pretty brown -cottage in evergreen woods—that was all I could make out as we -approached it in the twilight last evening; and that is all I can make -out now, while peering through that crimson curtained window,” said -Drusilla, as she sat at breakfast with her husband the next morning. - -“‘A pretty brown cottage, in evergreen woods.’ Well, that is all you -would make out if you were to inspect the premises most carefully every -day for a month. It is a new place, my little love. The house and stable -only are finished and walled in. The grounds are not laid out or even -cleared, as you may see by the thicket crowding up to the very windows,” -replied Alexander. - -“But, I think I like it even better just so. There is something very -fascinating to me in the deep, wild wood, where the trees may grow as -they please, without touch of ax or pruning knife, and where birds may -sing and rabbits run without fear of trap or fowling-piece,” said -Drusilla. - -“Then if that be so, not a tree shall be felled, though we should have -to send to the city market for all our fruit and vegetables,” laughed -Alexander. - -“Oh no, no, no; don’t ‘Woodman, Spare That Tree’ on my account. The -woods are very charming, but so is a garden with beds of growing -vegetables and parterres of blooming flowers; and so are vineyards and -orchards, and poultry-yards and cow-pens, none of which can be had -without the sacrifice of the woods. And you know what a good little -farmer your dear mother——” Here the tears rushed to the bride’s eyes, -but she quickly wiped them away and smiled, saying: “No, I will not weep -the day after our wedding. I will remember that she is in Heaven, -and—happy as we may be, she is happier still.” - -“But what were you about to say, love, when you broke off?” gravely and -gently inquired Alexander. - -“Oh, I was going to remind you what a skillful little farmer your dear -mother had made of me, and to tell you how well I can manage a little -place like this, with the help of the two servants.” - -“Yes, darling; but you will not need to do so. What? You worry with the -cultivation of cabbage and onions, and the rearing of fowls and turkeys, -and the feeding of cows and pigs? It is ridiculous, the idea!” - -“But your dear mother saw to all such things with her own eyes, and -often helped among them with her own hands.” - -“My venerated mother belonged to an old school of housekeepers that are -now obsolete, or fast passing away before the progress of civilization. -Machinery does the work of laborers, and laborers have become -intelligent directors of machinery. Nonsense! Even if this were not so, -do you think I would let you spoil your exquisite beauty in the way you -propose, Drusa? No, my darling, your beauty is too rare and rich to be -put to any such uses. I think that even if I were a very poor man, I -would rather labor day and night than you should soil your pretty -hands,” he whispered, lifting one of the little members of which he -spoke, and gazing on it with the eyes of a connoisseur and the smile of -a lover. - -“Oh, Alexander! dear Alexander!” said the little bride, earnestly, -“please do not prize my looks so much. It frightens me when you do so.” - -“But why?” smiled the bridegroom. - -“Oh, because—one’s looks——” - -“One’s beauty, you mean——” - -“Oh, Alexander, it is such an accidental and perishable thing to be -loved for. Illness or chance might destroy it in a day; and time will -certainly impair it in the course of years. And whether I lose it sooner -or later, what shall I do if I lose your love also?” - -This was spoken so gravely and feelingly that the bridegroom burst into -a laugh. - -“Why you solemn little quiz! You remind me of a little prig of a Sunday -school scholar that I used to see perched up in the corner of the -housekeeper’s room in my mother’s house in Richmond. A little ‘rum un’ -who used to sew quilt pieces and lecture lost sheep.” - -“But oh, tell me one thing. Even if I should grow ugly, you would love -me still, would you not, Alexander?” - -“_You_ grow ugly? impossible! Your beauty, if you take common care of -it, will last you until you are sixty years old, and by that time, I, -who am so much your senior, will be so blind with age, or love, or -habit, that I shall not know whether you are a Venus or a Gorgon,” said -Alexander, laughing, and rising from the table. - -“Till I am sixty! So many years to live together, you and I, if Heaven -should spare us. Such a long and happy life, if you only love me all the -time. Oh, what can I do to keep you loving me all these long, long -years?” aspirated Drusilla, in a sort of repressed fervor. - -“Be beautiful, be happy and love me—that is all,” he answered. “And now -put on some outer garment and come with me, and I will show you what -little is to be seen of our small place.” - -Drusilla took a gray hooded cloak from the hands of the maid who had run -and fetched it for her, and she wrapped herself in it, drew the hood -over her head, and took the offered arm of Alexander. - -He led her out of the front door and down the step of the porch to the -broad carriage drive that had been cleared through the cedars from the -house to the gate. - -It was a fine wintry day. A little snow had fallen during the night, -just sufficient to cover the ground with a white garment and powder the -cedars like coachmen’s wigs; but the sky was now clear and the sun -bright. - -They walked down the drive to the gate, and then, at Alexander’s -suggestion, turned about and leaned against the gate, and faced the -front of the cottage to take a look at it. - -“A mere toy palace, or doll’s house, as I told you,” said Alexander, -disparagingly. - -“It is a beauty. But perhaps you are comparing it with spacious Crowood -or lofty Lyon Hall; in which case it must suffer by comparison in size, -I grant you, but not in beauty,” said Drusilla, gazing on her home with -perfect satisfaction. - -“I am very glad you approve of it, darling, even in its half finished -condition. In another year I will see what money and taste can do to -convert it into a paradise for you,” said Alexander. - -“The sweet spot is Arcadia already. But how were you so fortunate as to -get it, dear Alexander? And have you rented it, or bought it?” she -asked. - -“I have taken it on trial for a year, with the privilege of purchasing -it, if I like it, at the end of that time.” - -“But why does the owner wish to sell such a pretty place, which he has -only just built?” - -“Ah, love, it is a common case. The place was commenced by a poor old -fellow, who was about to retire from business on a comfortable -competency. But he put off living too long, for just as he was preparing -to do it he died.” - -“Poor man! and he never enjoyed the pretty place.” - -“Let us hope that he enjoys a better one. Meanwhile we have the -privilege of purchasing it, if we like.” - -“Oh, I do like it so much!” - -“Then consider it purchased, my pet.” - -“Not on my account. Oh, Alexander, dear, please do always what you judge -to be best without thinking of me in the matter.” - -“But, darling, if I love you as you wish me to do, and as I certainly -do, I _must_ think of your pleasure in everything.” - -She looked at him, secretly acknowledging the truth of his words, yet -much perplexed by them. - -The house upon which they gazed, incomplete as were its surroundings, -deserved all Drusilla’s praise. - -It was a charming little cottage ornée, which, if the truth may be -spoken, was much more suitable as the home of a fresh young bride than -the resting-place of a worn-out old worldling. It was built after no -particular plan, and therefore perhaps all the more picturesque and -pleasing in its aspect. It was so irregularly and fantastically erected -as to defy all manner of description. From the outside it seemed an -eccentric collection of low walls and steep roofs, gable ends, twisted -chimneys, hanging balconies, bay-windows, porches, verandahs, and so -forth. Its dark gray stone walls and dark green Venetian shutters and -pillars and cornices, so harmonized in hue with the colors of the wintry -woods, as at a short distance to mingle with them and be -indistinguishable from them. Such was the outside of Drusilla’s little -home. - -The inside was a collection of hexagon shaped halls, chambers, parlors, -quaint closets, cosy recesses and sunny nooks. - -“Now I will take you round and show you the stable and the cow-house,” -said Alexander, drawing his wife’s arm within his own, and leading her -around to the rear of the house where, in a neat and well kept stable, -he showed her a pretty pair of gray ponies and a neat little carriage. - -She looked up in his face to thank him with her eyes, but when she would -have spoken, he stopped her with a kiss. - -Then he took her to an adjoining compartment of the same building, and -showed her a white cow with a young calf beside her. - -“I can not thank you enough; no, I can not—not only for all that you -have given me, but for the _beauty_ of every object and every living -creature you have placed around me—the beautiful house and furniture, -the beautiful carriage and ponies, the pretty white cow and calf. Dear -Alexander, I thank you so much for all the beauty with which you have -blessed my home,” smiled and faltered Drusilla, in a voice broken by -happy emotions. - -“Beauty! why who was it that, just now, begged and prayed me not to love -her for her beauty?” asked Alexander, quizzingly. - -“It was I, of course,” said Drusilla, blushing and laughing, “but that -was because I wished you to love me for something deeper and more -lasting.” - -“And so I do, darling; but come—confess that you like beautiful -things—that you like even _me_ better for not being ill-looking.” - -“Oh, Alexander, not you! it was never your looks, although I like you to -be handsome. But oh, dear Alick, if you were to be maimed by accident or -marked by illness, I should love you quite as much as I do now, and even -more tenderly, I think, as I know I shall love you when you are old and -gray.” - -“Bah! I would rather die than grow old and gray; but the time for that -is far enough off, thank Heaven!” said Alexander, as he led her back -into the house. - -He took her into the drawing-room and showed her three musical -instruments, each of the very best quality—a piano, a harp and a guitar. -Upon a stand near was a collection of old standard music, and of all the -best new pieces out. - -I suppose no one but a monomaniac in music can understand the delight of -sitting down and trying the tone of a new instrument of the very best -order. - -Drusilla placed herself at the piano, and ran her fingers up and down -the keys to test its powers. And then she turned over her music and sang -song after song, for hour after hour, without weariness. And Alexander -leaned over her, and listened to her without flagging. - -When at length she arose from the piano, he led her from the -drawing-room and across the hexagon hall to an opposite room, fitted up -as a library. Here, in the elegant book cases, were collected some of -the best standard works in English, French and German, also some choice -Latin and Greek volumes, and a few of the most popular publications of -the day. - -Here were neat writing desks, easy reading chairs, soft foot cushions, -and every means and appliance of comfort and luxury. - -And on the walls were a few very choice pictures, and on stands stood -statuettes and vases and other gems of art, to please a cultivated -taste. - -“No words—you leave me no words to thank you for all these blessings,” -Drusilla murmured. - -“I tell you they are all mine as you are mine, so there are no words -wanted for thanks,” smiled Alexander. - -“Ah! but I know you did all this for me; I feel it and I must say it, -Alick, dear Alick,” she murmured, with tears of love and joy in her -eyes. - -All the time they were in the library they heard the songs of birds—a -sound so unusual in that wintry season, that Drusilla had looked up once -or twice with a startled expression; but as Alexander had only smiled at -her surprise without attempting to gratify her unspoken curiosity, she -forbore to ask him questions, and waited until he should explain the -mystery. - -“Come now,” he said, “I have something else to show you.” - -And he led her down to the lower end of the room, to a green curtain -that hung from ceiling to floor, and from side to side, and -corresponded, except in color, with that one which divided the -dining-room from the drawing-room. - -He drew aside this curtain and revealed a scene of enchantment. - -It was a room of crystal glass, in gilded sashes, and it was filled with -the rarest and most beautiful exotic plants, most of them in full bloom. -Among these plants hung large gilded cages, in which were birds of the -most brilliant plumage and the sweetest notes, whose songs filled all -the sunny and perfumed air with melody. - -Birds and flowers of all the objects in nature had always been -Drusilla’s especial delight. Her love of them might have been called a -passion. And it had never been gratified until now. And here she had -them of the most beautiful sorts, gathered in one splendid crystal room -like a fairy palace. And as she looked a smile of rapture lighted up her -lovely face, and then she turned towards the giver of all these and -tried to utter her feelings; but instead of speaking, she burst into -tears, threw herself in his arms, and sobbed on his bosom. - -He had overwhelmed her with his gifts, as he had done once before. - -How smilingly he caressed and soothed her, until she lifted up her head, -dashed away her tears, and said, laughing: - -“‘I am a fool to weep at what I am glad of,’ as Juliet, or Lady Macbeth, -or Regan, or Goneril, or some one of Shakespeare’s women says.” - -“Miranda, my love; it was Miranda. Never misquote Shakespeare; never -even in your most confidential communications to your most intimate -friends; never even in soliloquy and in solitude!” said Alexander, -shaking his head in mock gravity. - -“Indeed I wasn’t even sure it _was_ in Shakespeare,” said Drusilla. - -“And now to the dining-room. I think we have earned an appetite for -dinner,” smiled Alexander, drawing her arm within his own, and leading -her from the library. - -This evening was spent in the drawing-room, where tea was served. - -And so ended the second day of their bright honeymoon. - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - CLOUDLESS JOYS. - - Oh, pleasant was her welcome kiss, - When day’s turmoil was o’er, - And sweet the music of her step, - That met him at the door.—DRAKE. - - -For the first few days of their honeymoon, the bridegroom stayed home -with his bride—walking, riding, or playing with her in the mornings, and -reading, singing, or conversing with her in the evenings. - -On Sunday, she asked him to take her to church, and he took her to the -nearest one of the sect to which she belonged. - -On Monday, he took her into the city, to show her the public buildings -and other objects of interest. - -On Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, they remained quietly at home. The -weather was very inclement. It had been raining three days, and the -roads were very bad. - -Alexander spent the time in doors, in writing letters, examining -accounts, and reading to Drusilla, while she worked with her needle. But -the gay young man of the world found this life “slow.” - -On the third dull afternoon that the poor little bride had tried her -best to enliven, while he sat reading to her as she sewed, he suddenly -threw the book from him, got up, yawned, walked up and down the room a -few turns, looked out of the window at the drizzling rain and gloomy -sky, and then turning to his companion, said: - -“Drusa, the weather is infernal, but—the German Opera is in Washington, -and our carriage is close. So what do you say to braving the rain and -the wind to see _Der Freichutz_ by the best troupe of artists that has -ever appeared in the city.” - -She looked up quickly, and saw that he was anxious to go. She replied: - -“I shall be delighted, Alick.” - -“You are not afraid of taking cold?” - -“Not a bit! I would go through Noah’s Flood to hear good music.” - -“That’s my girl! You’re a brick. I’m so glad you are not one of the -timid or sickly sort. That little pale face of yours is very deceptive, -Drusa. One would think to look at you that you were very delicate, but I -never saw or heard of your being sick my life.” - -“Except when I cried myself into a fit of illness, when you went to -Europe, Alick. Oh, I hope I shall never have another such a trouble as -that, as long as I live in this world. I remember it yet. Alick, dear, I -would rather die than lose you for another two years,” she said with -much feeling. - -“Little goose! I’m not worth a tenth, a hundredth, no, not a thousandth -part of the love you bestow on me,” he answered laughing. - -“Oh, Alick, I would not permit any one but yourself to say such things -of you. And I—I won’t let you say them either, sir; so there, now.” - -“Come, run away and get ready. I will order the carriage.” - -And Drusilla tripped up stairs to make her toilet. And Alexander -sauntered out of the room to give directions to his factotum. - -In less than half an hour Drusilla came down, dressed for the evening. - -The carriage was at the door. - -“I have no tickets, of course; and consequently no reserved seats. But, -on such an inclement night as this, I do not doubt that we shall be able -to obtain good places,” said Alexander, as he handed her into the -carriage. - -The roads were heavy, and so, a drive, that in good weather could have -been easily accomplished in thirty minutes, occupied them for -forty-five. - -It was rather late when they reached the National Theatre, where the -opera troupe were performing. - -The house was full, and the play had commenced. - -Upon inquiry at the ticket-office, Alexander ascertained that there were -no good seats to be had, with the exception of those in a stage box, -that happened to be disengaged. - -Alexander at once took that, and guided by an usher, led his companion -thither. - -On taking her seat in the box, Drusilla’s eyes fell upon what seemed to -her a scene of enchantment. - -The house was filled with a fashionable and well-dressed audience, and -the opera was in full play. Drusilla had never been in an opera before. -The Christmas pantomimes of her childhood comprised the whole of her -experiences in the theatrical line. Her artistic eye and ear at once -appealed to, she gazed with curiosity and interest, and listened with -wonder and delight. - -Her attention was fixed upon the stage, but her bridegroom’s was fixed -upon her. As once before, in her childhood, he had looked through her -eyes, and heard through her ears, and derived more pleasure from _her_ -pleasure, than from the performance on the stage, so now he experienced -a keener delight in watching and wondering at - - “The mind, the music breathing from her face,” - -than in listening to the most divine strains of the singer, who was -charming the whole house. - -How beautiful she looked in her enthusiasm! She was lovely always, even -when pale and still, but now her lips and cheeks glowed with that -delicate, transparent fire, kindled of emotion, and her eyes beamed with -light, her whole countenance was radiant and inspired. - -He was so much absorbed in contemplating her, that he did not perceive -she had attracted and was receiving a great deal of attention from other -quarters of the house. Next to the figures on the stage, the occupants -of the “private” boxes have the most conspicuous position; and if there -is a new beauty among them, she is sure to be discovered and stared at. -Alexander had not thought of this, or perhaps he would not have -exhibited his little beauty in a private box. - -At the end of the second act of the opera, however, he was unpleasantly -reminded of the fact. The box door opened, and one of his gentleman -acquaintances came in. - -Alexander arose and shook hands with him, but did not ask him to be -seated, although there were two spare chairs; and did not present him to -Drusilla, although the visitor looked enquiringly at her, and Drusilla -glanced timidly in return. - -Before this gentleman left the box, another came, and then another, -until the little place was full. And Alexander chatted gaily with them -all, but presented not one of them to Drusilla. - -When the curtain arose for the third act, they all bowed and withdrew. - -And Drusilla’s whole attention was once more given to the stage, and -Alexander’s to her. - -Yet, now that his notice had been attracted to the fact, he could not -help seeing that several opera glasses were still levelled at his box. - -“I will never bring her here again,” he muttered to himself, frowning -with a strangely blended feeling of gratified pride in the admiration -his beautiful bride had unconsciously excited, and of morose jealousy -that other eyes should gaze on her so publicly at will. There was -something of the sultan in Mr. Lyon’s selfish nature, and he felt as if -he would have liked to shut up his little beauty from all the world -forever. - -He was heartily glad when the play was over. And while the performers -were still curtseying and bowing, and the curtain was slowly rolling -down, he hurried Drusilla up from her seat, wrapped her cloak around -her, and took her off lest some of his unwelcome visitors should meet -them on their way out. - -When they were seated in their carriage, and the horses were moving at a -smart trot down Pennsylvania avenue towards Seventh street, Alexander -turned to his now quiet companion, and said: - -“You were very much pleased, my little love?” - -“Oh, more than that; I have been in Heaven!” she aspirated. - -“You little enthusiast! But what makes you so quiet now?” - -“I have scarcely got back to earth, I suppose.” - -“Drusa, you saw those visitors that came into our box?” - -“Yes; they were friends of yours, and looked as if they expected you to -introduce them to me.” - -“Yes, I dare say they did; but, Drusilla, did you wish me to do so?” - -“I? I had no wish on the subject. But any friends of yours, Alick, would -be always most welcome to my acquaintance.” - -“Not so, little one. A man may have many friends that he would not like -to present to his wife. And these—were roughs.” - -“‘Roughs?’” - -“Rude, unbroken colts, unfit for a gentlewoman’s society. But let them -pass. I only wished to explain why I did not introduce them to you. Now -as to the entertainment of the evening. How did you like Xitz?” he -inquired, mentioning the tenor of the troupe. - -Drusilla went off into raptures over the tenor. - -And they talked of the opera and of nothing else until they reached -home. - -Lights from the windows were gleaming through the trees as they drove up -to the house. - -“How bright and cheerful our little home looks,” said Drusilla, as -Alexander lifted her from the carriage. - -“I am glad you think so, love,” he whispered. - -Pina opened the door, and smilingly admitted them. - -She took her mistress’s hood and cloak, while her master relieved -himself of his cap and overcoat. - -And then she opened the drawing-room door where a fine fire was burning. -And while they stood and warmed themselves before its blaze she drew -aside the crimson curtain that shut off the dining-room, and revealed an -elegant little supper set out in readiness. - -And the evening closed as pleasantly as it had commenced. - -Alexander loved Drusilla; there is no doubt of that. But as the days -wore on he found life alone with her rather dull. They had been married -a fortnight before he left her alone for a day. But on a certain morning -he had his horse saddled to ride in to Washington “to get the papers,” -he said, and to make arrangements for having them sent to him every day. -As he kissed Drusilla good-bye he added that he should be back as soon -as possible. - -She begged that he would not hurry himself for her sake. She said she -would occupy her time with dress-making during his absence. - -“But you will be quite alone my poor little love,” he said. - -“I shall have pleasant thoughts for company,” she answered; and she -added: “Dear Alick, I do not wish to be a hamper to your motions; never -think of me as any obstacle to your freedom. Please don’t.” - -“As if I ever thought of anything else but you!” replied the bridegroom, -who was still a lover. And he kissed her again and rode away. - -As soon as Alick reached the city he put his horse up at a livery -stable, and gave himself a holiday by sauntering up and down -Pennsylvania avenue, and lounging into the various reading rooms of the -hotels. - -In one of them he heard that an exciting polemic duel was to come off -that day in the Senate Chamber between two distinguished Senators of -opposite parties in politics. Mr. W. of Massachusetts was expected to -make a speech, which Mr. C. of South Carolina was expected to answer. - -And Alexander determined to go with the crowd and hear them. - -He lost no time in hurrying to the Capitol, and making his way to the -gallery of the Senate. - -It was the very height of the Washington season, and the city was as -usual every winter, filled to overflowing. - -As many of the elite as could be pressed into that very limited space -was crowded into the gallery of the Senate Chamber. - -Alexander with much difficulty made his way into this crowd. But Mr. -Lyon was epicurean rather than intellectual, and would not endure -personal discomfort for the sake of hearing the grandest burst of -eloquence that ever thunderstruck the world. So after experiencing -something of heat, pressure, and suffocation he turned his back upon the -“Godlike,” and pushed his way through the crowd in the gallery to the -crowd outside who were trying to get in, and so slowly progressed to the -library, were the “population” was thinner and the air purer. - -He walked up to a table where several ladies and gentlemen were gathered -to look at some new illustrated volumes that lay there for inspection. - -One of the ladies turned around, and he found himself face to face with -his Cousin Anna. - -“_Good gracious, Alick_, who on earth would have expected to see you -here!” she exclaimed in astonishment, as she offered her hand. - -He turned red and pale; took and pressed the offered hand, and then -recovered himself and answered: - -“Or _you_, Anna. I thought you were still at Old Lyon Hall.” - -“And I thought you were at Richmond, or rather I had hoped you were by -this time.” - -“My uncle is here with you, of course,” said Alexander, wishing to avoid -a topic which he saw upon the lips of his cousin. - -“Oh, yes, certainly, my grandfather is here. Our coming was his act. He -fancied—it was only fancy—that my health and spirits were drooping in -the country, and that I needed a change, and so he brought me to -Washington. Of course being in mourning, we do not go to balls, only to -receptions where there is no dancing. But how is it that you are here? -Why are you not in Richmond?” - -“I hope my uncle is quite well?” said Alexander, persistently ignoring -her questions. - -“Yes, quite. I was asking you why——” - -“I do not see him; he is not with you this morning.” - -“No; he is on the floor of the Senate Chamber. But, Alexander, I asked -you why you are here.” - -“Oh, I too, needed a change,” he answered, smiling. - -“Ah! but surely, Alexander, can you know——By the way, what have you been -doing with yourself for the last month in which we have not heard from -you?” - -“Here is a catechism! Wandering about to be sure; trying to shake off a -very disagreeable companion—meaning myself.” - -While he spoke she was regarding him with a very grave face; but there -was more of pity than rebuke in its expression. - -“Alick, you _cannot_ know. When did you hear from your home?” - -“Not for four or five weeks.” - -“Then you _don’t_ know. Oh, Alick, do you think it was right to leave -your home without giving your address, in case anything should happen to -require your presence. Oh, Alick!” - -“Anna, since the death of my dear father and mother, in addition to the -grief for their loss I have been oppressed with the cares of the estate. -I wished to get rid of trouble for a little while. And so, to prevent -old Dorset from writing to me about business, I came away without -leaving my address.” - -“And suppose, Alick, something of importance should have required your -attention in the meantime? Some matter of life or death?” - -“Well, thank Heaven, no such matter has turned up. I see you before me -in health and beauty. And I hear you say that my uncle is quite well.” - -“And yet something has happened. Come with me, Alick, to the window -yonder,” said Anna, in a low voice, as she walked off to a distant part -of the room. - -“Have you really heard nothing from Dorset, Alick?” she inquired, when -they stood together at some distance from every one else in the library. - -“No; I hope nothing has happened to the poor old fellow?” said -Alexander, uneasily. - -“Oh, no, not to him, or to any of the servants. Oh, Alick, I am so sorry -to be the first to tell you.” - -“Of what in the name of Heaven, Anna, since you and your grandfather, -and even old Dorset and the servants are well.” - -“Was there no one else in whom you took an interest?” she gravely -inquired. - -“Richard Hammond? Poor Dick! Surely no misfortune——” - -“No, no misfortune has befallen Dick; and neither do I give you credit -for caring a straw whether there has or has not. Nothing has happened to -Dick but the inheritance of a large fortune from a bachelor uncle in -Brazil, which has caused my grandfather to look on him with more -tolerant eyes.” - -“I am very glad of Dick’s good fortune.” - -“I do not give you credit for caring a fig for his fortune, good or bad. -But oh, Alick, I am grieved for you. Was there no one else, no one else -you cared for, left at home?” - -“Indeed, I cannot think of any other creature in whom I could be -expected to take so deep an interest.” - -“Not—poor little Drusilla?” - -Alexander gave a great guilty start and stood gazing at his cousin. -Drusilla had not been associated in his mind with any one left at home; -so he had had no suspicion that Anna spoke of her; and now he wondered -whether Anna had any inkling of the truth. He doubted only an instant, -and then he felt sure by her words, looks and manners that she had not. -Yet he wished to know everything she had to say of Drusilla’s flight. - -“What of her?” he inquired. - -“Oh, Alick, poor little thing! I grieve so much to tell you. But after -you left home, it seems she became moody, silent, absent, and altogether -queer. She took to wandering off every day by herself. Dorset and Molly -thought that she was going deranged as her poor mother had gone. So they -watched her closely. But one day, about a fortnight after you left home, -she eluded their vigilance and disappeared from the house. And though -the most diligent search was made for her, she could not be found.” - -Anna paused, and Alexander tried to look as much shocked as she -evidently expected him to be; but he could not yet trust himself to make -any comment. - -“Old Dorset, nearly beside himself with distress, wrote to my -grandfather, telling him of what had occurred, and asking for your -address that he might communicate the matter to you. Of course, not -knowing it, my grandfather could not give it. But I did hope the old man -had discovered your whereabouts and written to you.” - -“No, he has not. Dear me! Poor girl, poor girl! how shocking! And no -trace has been discovered of her yet?” said Alexander, acting grief and -anxiety as well as any ordinary stage-player could. - -“None that I knew of.” - -“Bless my life, how dreadful! I must put advertisements in all the -papers and employ the detectives. What motive does old Dorset assign to -her act of leaving her home?” - -“Partial derangement, I tell you, inherited from her mother.” - -“Poor child! poor child! I will have inquiries set on foot immediately. -But—here comes General Lyon,” said Alexander, glad to have a diversion -from the very embarrassing subject of Drusilla. - -In fact, at that moment the old soldier entered the library, looking to -the right and left in search of his grand-daughter. - -Attended by Alexander, she went to meet him. - -“Well, my dear, ready to go back to our hotel?—Ah, Alexander, how do you -do, my boy? Glad to see you. How long have you been here?” he asked, -cordially shaking hands with his nephew. - -“I reached the city early this morning,” said Alexander, speaking the -_literal_ truth, but giving a false impression, as he meant to do. - -“Ah! by the first train, eh?” exclaimed the old man, jumping to the -obvious conclusion. “But where do you hang out, eh, my boy?” - -“I have not taken rooms yet,” replied Alexander, who found that he -needed all his presence of mind to answer these unexpected questions -without betraying himself on the one hand and perjuring himself on the -other. - -“Ah! left all your luggage at the station, eh? Well, I would advise you -to take rooms at our hotel. We are pretty comfortable there?” - -“How long do you propose to stay here, sir?” inquired the young man. - -“Oh, the rest of the season, I suppose.” - -Here was a dilemma. Of course, Alexander might have ended all his -embarrassments by candidly confessing his marriage with Drusilla. And -why did he not do so? Simply because loving and admiring his young -bride, as he certainly did, he was nevertheless ashamed of having wedded -his housekeeper’s daughter; and he lacked moral courage to face the -astonishment of his cousin and the indignation of his uncle, and to -defend his own act and stand by his own wife. - -Ah! but there is a sort of pride that is below contempt. - -While Alexander was wondering what he should do to get out of his -perplexities, his uncle changed the subject back to the other dangerous -theme by saying: - -“Ah, by the way, that was a sad thing—the fate of poor little Drusilla.” - -“Very sad, indeed, sir,” replied Alexander, lugubriously. - -“It must have shocked you terribly,” said the old soldier. - -“Ah!” exclaimed Alexander. - -“Well, well, it can’t be helped, I suppose.” - -“I shall do all I can in the premises, sir.” - -“Oh, no doubt, no doubt. Come, my dear Anna, let us get on. Alick, come -home with us to dinner.” - -Alexander would have made excuses. He was not dressed for dinner, he -said. He had no means of making his toilet. - -But his uncle cut him short. - -“Nonsense, man, nonsense. Who expects you to be in full dress to-day? -You are a traveller, just arrived in the city. You have left your -luggage at the station, and you have not even engaged rooms yet. -Besides—at a hotel table, who cares how you are dressed? Come along. -There! give Anna your arm, and take her to the carriage.” - -What could Alick do? - -He offered his arm to his cousin and led her down the many broad steps -leading to the east front of the capitol, where the carriage waited. He -handed her carefully in to her cushioned seat, and bowed and attempted -some excuse for leaving her. - -But Anna, seized with some inexplicable whim, perhaps inspired by the -Spirit of Evil for his torment, would not let him off; but insisted upon -his entering and taking a seat beside her. - -With a suppressed groan, Alexander obeyed. - -The old soldier followed them into the carriage. - -When he was comfortably seated and the horses had started, he rubbed his -hands and said: - -“This is fortunate. I needed some one whom I could trust, to take Anna -out in the evening. Who so proper an escort as her betrothed husband? -Now this evening there is to be a grand reception at the Executive -Mansion. I do not feel well enough to go out at night, so I must impress -you into the service, my boy.” - -“I should be most happy, sir,” said the young man, actually trembling -under his accumulating embarrassment. “I should indeed be delighted, -but——” - -“But what?—Oh, nonsense, you cannot make any excuse about your toilet in -this case; there is plenty of time to get your luggage from the station, -and get yourself up for the evening in the most unexceptionable style.” - -“Yes, sir, but——” - -“But what, again? You cannot possibly have any other engagement. You -have been in the city too short a time. Alexander, what has come to you? -You are not like yourself at all. I really think your betrothed has a -reason to feel piqued,” said the old man, gravely. - -“I beg your pardon and hers, sir—I am—if I must speak the truth, a -little upset upon the subject of that poor girl,” said Alexander, in -explanation, again speaking the literal truth, while intentionally -giving a wrong impression. - -“Oh exactly, to be sure, my dear boy, and it does you credit. I am -certain I ought to beg _your_ pardon, now, for doing injustice to your -good feelings. But Alick, my lad, your compassion for that poor child -need not prevent you from ordinary social pleasures. You really must -escort your cousin to the President’s reception to-night.” - -“My dear grandfather,” put in Anna, “I will not, if you please, have any -gentleman pressed into my service against his will, even though that -gentleman should be my affianced husband. Dick is in Washington. He -called on me this morning, and begged leave to attend me to the White -House this evening. I told him I would hold his proposal in reserve, and -let him know in time.” - -Now what was there in the name of his old rival, poor Dick, that should -have raised Alexander’s jealousy? Mr. Lyon was a married man, and had no -right to feel annoyed at the idea of Richard Hammond becoming the escort -of his cousin. Nevertheless he _did_ feel annoyed, partly, perhaps, -because he had once considered Anna his own property, and however -lightly he had valued the possession, he could not, even now, see her -pass over to another without a secret feeling of rage and jealousy; and -so he hesitated to answer: - -“No, my dear cousin; if you please, I claim the right of attending you -in person. I can not resign that right to Mr. Hammond.” - -“And _I_ claim the right of choosing my own escort,” said Anna, proudly. - -Alexander bowed. - -“Girl and boy, I will have no lovers’ quarrels here, Anna, you should -feel that there is an impropriety in an engaged young lady accepting the -attentions of another gentleman, when her betrothed is anxious to show -her those attentions himself. Alexander, you are to take Anna to the -reception this evening. Young people, both see that you obey me. _Some_ -respect should be paid to my gray head and my eighty years,” said the -old soldier, with dignity. - -Both the young people bowed and acquiesced. And so it was settled that -Alexander should attend Anna to the reception of the evening. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. - A QUEEN OF FASHION. - - Here high-born men were proud to wait, - And beauty watched to imitate - Her gentle voice, her lovely mien, - And gather from her air and gait - The graces of its queen.—BYRON. - - -Alexander went with his uncle and cousin to their hotel. - -“And now, my boy,” said the old gentleman, after he had dismissed the -carriage and taken his grand-daughter into the private entrance, “let us -lose no time in going to the office and securing your rooms. Guests are -arriving by every train, and the house is in a fair way of being crowded -if it is not so already. Indeed, I fear you may not, even now, be able -to obtain rooms here.” - -“Heaven grant I may not!” was the fervent, though silent, aspiration of -Mr. Lyon, who was almost at his wits’ ends with perplexity. - -In the strong hope that there was no room to be had, he let his uncle -drag him along to the counter of the office, which was crowded with -applicants for accommodations. It was some minutes before General Lyon -could get audience with the sorely embarrassed clerk of the house. When -he did, it was to receive the answer that the crowded state of the -office led him to anticipate. - -There was not a room nor a half a room, nor a bed nor a half a bed, at -the disposal of the house. - -“I thought so. Well, Alick, I am sorry; but you must try to get rooms as -near us as possible. I don’t think the Blank House is full yet. It is -too far up town for strangers. But hark ye! it will be full in an hour -from this time. ‘Make hay while the sun shines.’ Run, now; jump into a -cab and drive for life to the Blank, and engage your rooms before this -crowd gets there and tills the house.” - -Again, what could Alexander do? He saw at a glance that he must -ostensively live at Washington—that he must have rooms at some hotel, -though he might never, or very seldom, occupy them. And he was only too -glad that he was not obliged to have rooms in the same house with his -uncle, and so be always under the old gentleman’s eye. - -He thanked General Lyon for his advice, and said that he should avail -himself of it. - -And he went out and jumped into the first cab that offered, and drove to -the Blank House, where he happened to be in time to engage the only -bedroom at the disposal of the proprietor. - -He took the key of his room, which he meant only to occupy on his -occasional visits to the city, and then he drove to the “establishment” -of a fashionable tailor and gentleman’s outfitter, and he suited himself -with a full evening dress, including linen, gloves, perfumery, et -cetera. These he ordered to be sent to his room at the Blank House. - -“I am booked for his Excellency’s reception this evening, and so it will -be considerably after midnight before I can hope to get back to -Cedarwood. Poor little Drusa! I hope she won’t be anxious, and sit up -and lose her rest,” he said, as he hurried back to his hotel to make his -toilet for the evening. - -While waiting for his parcel from the tailor’s he lounged into the -reading room, and took up one of the evening papers; but its columns -could scarcely engage his attention, which was wholly engrossed by his -embarrassments. - -“It is now near sunset,” so ran his thoughts, “and poor little soul! she -has been watching for me for hours, is watching for me at this moment, -and will watch for me for hours longer, until long after midnight, -tormented by nobody knows how many fears and fancies concerning me. -Plague take the old man! what brought him bothering to Washington just -at this time?” very irreverently muttered Mr. Lyon to himself, as his -eyes ran over the news items of the paper without taking cognizance of -their meaning. - -His ostensible reading and his real reverie was rudely interrupted by -the clap of a hand upon his shoulder, and the ring of a laugh in his -ear. - -He turned sharply around and recognized Captain Reding and Lieutenant -Harpe, two young officers of the army, who had been among the visitors -to his box on the evening when he had taken Drusilla to the German -Opera. - -He bowed coldly in rebuke to their laughter, but they took no offence. - -“Hey, old boy! so here you are at last!” said Reding. - -“We have been looking for you for days—ever since we saw you at the -German Opera with that pretty little girl,” said Harpe. - -“Where have you been hiding yourself all this time?” inquired Reding. - -“And above all, where have you hidden that little beauty, you churlish -fellow?” added Harpe. - -“You never presented us to her,” said Reding. - -“Ah! we owe you one for that,” added Harpe. - -“Gentlemen,” answered Mr. Lyon, slowly and coldly collecting his -thoughts, “if you will be good enough to speak, one at a time, and -forbear a second question until a first is answered, perhaps I may be -able to satisfy your curiosity. On the evening to which you allude I -happened to be passing through Washington, having in my charge the -daughter of a clergyman. She was the very young lady whom you saw with -me at the opera. I made no stay in the city beyond that evening; but -took my young charge immediately to her home.” - -And in this statement also Mr. Lyon told something near the literal -truth, while intentionally giving a false impression. - -“Ah, well,” said Reding, “but why did you not introduce us to the little -beauty?” - -“If you must have it, I did not think two gay young blades like -yourselves very desirable acquaintances for a clergyman’s daughter,” -said Mr. Lyon. - -“And you were!—oh! oh! oh!” laughed Reding. - -“Deuce take it, what do you mean by that, Alick?” inquired Mr. Harpe. - -“Nothing against your honor, gentlemen. If my charge for the evening had -been any other young lady in the world, I would have presented you to -her.” - -“Much obliged,” said Reding; “but to tell you the truth, Lyon, whether -you like it or not, the young person in question did not impress us as -being a young lady.” - -“What do you mean by _that_?” exclaimed Mr. Lyon, in a low, stern voice, -as he glared at the speaker. - -“Oh, nothing against _her_ honor—nothing in the world. I mean simply -that the little creature seemed to us to be, not exactly of ‘low birth,’ -but of ‘humble parentage,’ as the phrase goes. She had not the manners -of good society,” answered Reding. - -“Heaven forbid she ever should have,” said Alexander, firmly. And yet -the criticism galled him; all the more, perhaps, because he felt it to -be the truth. His lovely young wife had not, as these critics said, the -manners of “good society.” Yet it was hard to say what she lacked. -Whatever it was, it was something in which Miss Anna Lyon, a very queen -in society, excelled. What was it, then? Drusilla was pretty, graceful, -well educated, and well-dressed. She excelled in many accomplishments, -and was conversant with the history of the past and the literature of -the present, and she conversed intelligently upon all these. She was -sweet, gentle and courteous in her deportment to all persons. What then -did she lack? I will tell you—self-esteem and self-possession—both of -which qualities are in high favor in “good society.” Drusilla’s manner -was that of one who had always occupied a subordinate position by living -among her superiors. She had too little of assurance and too much of -deference. - -And this delicate and retiring manner, which had been one of her -sweetest charms in the eyes of her lover, now suddenly became -objectionable in the estimation of her husband. - -“No,” he muttered to himself, “she has _not_ the air of a lady; she has -the air of a maid-servant. Poor little thing! I fear I shall never be -able to introduce her.” - -“No offence, I hope, Alick!” said young Harpe, good-humoredly, noticing -Mr. Lyon’s gloomy abstraction. - -“None in the world,” answered Alexander. - -“Because, if there should be, I am ready to fight or apologize, or to -give you any sort of satisfaction you may please to demand,” laughed the -young lieutenant. - -“I ask as a favor that you will drop the subject of this young lady; for -she is a lady by position, if not—according to your judgment—in manners. -And now, gentlemen, as I have an engagement, I must wish you good -evening,” said Mr. Lyon, bowing and withdrawing from their proximity. - -“No,” he said, as he went slowly up to his room, “I must not bring -Drusilla into public again. Her beauty excites attention and her -simplicity provokes criticism, and both raise questions difficult to -meet. Poor little Drusa, she must always be a hidden treasure, a secret -‘well-spring of joy’ to me. Well, she will not object to that, and she -will be all the lovelier and the sweeter for this seclusion,” he added, -in some self-satisfaction, as he entered his room and began to dress for -the evening. - -As soon as he was ready he went down to the dining-room, took a single -cup of strong tea, and then passed out to the sidewalk and called the -best-looking cab that he saw upon the stand. - -A short drive took him to the hotel where his uncle and cousin were -stopping. He was shown up into their private parlor, where they were -awaiting him. - -“You are late, Alick,” said Anna, advancing from the fire to meet him -half way across the room. - -“I had to wait for my parcels,” replied Alexander, bowing and smiling -apologetically. - -“Oh, your luggage from the railway station? Well, the porters _are_ -slow, that is certain; but then they have so much to do,” said old -General Lyon, drawing a natural inference. - -Alexander bowed in an absent sort of a manner, but did not reply. He was -gazing at his cousin. How grandly beautiful she looked, how graceful, -how stately! Ah! _she_ had the air, not only of “good society,” but of -the best society! And that upstart puppy, that good for nothing Dick -Hammond, to aspire to her. Ugh! - -Such was the tenor of Mr. Alexander’s thoughts as he stood for a moment -contemplating his beautiful and imperious-looking cousin. In fact, Anna -was at an age when every season added to her beauty. Always -well-looking, she had never in her life looked so well as to-night. - -She wore a deep mourning full dress of black crape, over a black silk. -It was made with a low corsage and short sleeves; both sleeves and -corsage were edged with a narrow trimming of fine white thule; and the -fairness of her perfect neck and arms were set off by a necklace and -bracelets of jet. Her golden auburn hair was in plain rolls at the back -of her head, and a band of jet above her forehead was its only ornament. -This simple mourning dress set off her blonde beauty more completely -than the most elaborate toilet could have done. - -“I am ready, Alick. What are you waiting for?” she inquired, breaking in -upon the spell that bound him. - -“Nothing,” he answered, with a slight start. “I am at your service this -instant.” - -And he stepped towards her, and fastened the glove on the hand that she -held out to him. And then he wrapped her opera cloak carefully around -her shoulders, tied the little hood under her chin, drew her arm within -his own, and led her from the room down to the carriage, wondering all -the way how it was that his cousin Anna, whom he had only known as a -rather pretty girl so long, should so suddenly have become so beautiful -in his eyes. - -Ah! Mr. Lyon, she had grown beautiful to you only in becoming -unattainable by you. A common case. - -Old General Lyon followed them closely, and saw Alick put Anna into her -seat, and tuck her wrappings carefully around her, and then get in and -place himself beside her. - -“Take care of her, Alick; the night is growing colder,” said the old -gentleman. - -“I shall take the best care of her, sir,” replied Alexander. - -“Anna, mind, you are not to stay late,” said Anna’s grandfather. - -“‘Late?’—Who stays late at a President’s reception? Everybody—that is, -almost everybody, leaves before twelve. I shall be back by half-past -eleven, sir. It is only to make one’s bow or courtesy to his Excellency -in the Reception Room, and walk once or twice through the East Room, and -come away,” laughed Anna. - -“Very well, I shall sit up for you,” said General Lyon, by way of -sealing the bargain, as he retreated from the carriage door. - -The coachman put up the steps, clapped to the door, mounted his box, and -drove off. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - MORAL MADNESS. - - And she was all forgotten, - Amid the dazzling hall, - Amid the thundering music - And maddening carnival.—ANON. - - -“I was so upset by what you told me, Anna, that I really forgot to ask -you how long you have been in the city,” said Alexander, as soon as the -horses were in motion. - -“We have been here just four days,” answered Miss Lyon. - -“You have not been out much?” - -“No; my grandfather has a crotchet that one must make one’s first -appearance in public at the President’s reception. This is the first one -that has been held since our arrival, and consequently the first evening -that I have been out.” - -“I am very fortunate in being here to go with you,” said Alexander, this -time speaking, to his shame, quite truly; for he _was_ glad to escort -his beautiful cousin, if only to prevent Richard Hammond from doing so. - -“Thanks,” she answered, very coldly, as if not believing his statement, -or not valuing it. - -The very short distance between the hotel they had left and the palace -to which they were going was soon accomplished, and the carriage was -drawn up in the rear of some fifty others that occupied the drive -leading to the doors of the Executive mansion. - -“There seems to be a great crowd here to-night,” said Alexander, while -they waited their turn to drive up to the door. - -“There is always a crowd here in the month of February, I believe. It is -in this month that the city is full of strangers—literally _full_, -Alick,” replied Anna. - -It was twenty minutes before their carriage slowly worked its way up -before the main entrance of the mansion. Then Alexander handed his -companion down from her seat, and took her up the broad steps leading -into the front hall of the palace. - -A President’s reception has been described so often that there is no -need of a description here. - -The reception of this evening in its general features differed from none -of its predecessors or its successors. There was the same crowd of -carriages on the drive, the same stream of foot passengers on the walk, -and the same crush of guests in the hall, in the cloak rooms, in the -corridors, in the ante-rooms, in the audience-chamber, in the reception -room, and in the east drawing-room. - -Having each deposited their outer wrappings respectively in the -gentlemen’s and the ladies’ cloak rooms, Alexander and Anna met at the -door of the latter. He drew her arm within his own, and they soon found -themselves in a crush of crinoline and broadcloth, and an atmosphere of -patchoula frangipani, being forced forward through the corridor and the -ante-room into the reception room. In due time they were pressed up to -the presence of the President and his suite; but they had scarcely made -their respective bow and courtesy, and touched his Excellency’s hand, -before they were carried onward through other rooms into the east -drawing-room, where they found a little more space and freedom of -motion. - -A military hand was playing a national march, to the measure of which -nearly half the company were promenading in a procession around and -around the saloon in a manner which, to a new comer, must have looked -simply idiotic. - -Others of the assembly were seated on the various sofas and divans that -lined the walls of the room. - -“Will you take a seat or a promenade?” inquired Alexander of his -companion. - -“Oh, a promenade, by all means,” replied Anna. “I like the perfect -vacuity of mind that falls upon one in that orbit.” - -Alexander drew her arm closer within his own, and they fell into the -procession. Immediately before them walked a foreign minister, in his -official costume, conducting a lady of high rank and fashion. -Immediately behind them came a general officer with a reigning belle -upon his arm. - -But the reign of this belle was over from this evening. Her successor -had arrived. - -Alexander and Anna had not made the circuit of the room twice, before he -saw that his companion was, “the observed of all observers” in the -place. He saw eyeglasses levelled at her; he heard whispered questions -concerning her: - -“Who is she, that beautiful girl in black crape and jet?” - -And he heard the whispered answers: - -“A new debutante in the beau monde, I fancy.” Or— - -“I don’t know, but that is young Lyon, of Richmond, who is escorting -her.” - -“Splendid woman!” - -“Magnificent creature!” Etc., etc., etc. - -As he saw and heard all this, Alexander was strongly affected with -contradictory emotions. If the beautiful girl by his side had been -undisputably his own, he might have witnessed the sensation she created, -with unmixed pride and pleasure. But he had by his own rash act, lost -his own once exclusive right over her, and even put himself beyond the -circle of ordinary aspirants for her favor. And now the universal -admiration her beauty excited, aroused his dog-in-the-manger jealousy, -rather than flattered his pride. - -And, upon the whole, not liking the situation, he stooped and whispered -to his cousin: - -“Shall I lead you to a seat now, Anna?” - -“If you please,” she answered. - -And he took her to a distant sofa, gave her the corner of it, and placed -himself by her side. - -But he gained nothing by the motion. On the contrary, he lost. - -No sooner were they seated, than up came Richard Hammond, confident and -smiling. - -Anna received him with the utmost graciousness. - -And he stood before her, talking and laughing with her very gaily. - -Other gentlemen friends, whom Anna had met on former occasions, came up -and paid their respects, and lingered near her. Her lady friends, a few -of whom were present, also sought her out, and greeted her with much -apparent gladness, and introduced _their_ friends to her. - -There was not room on the sofa for all these ladies. So Anna, deeming it -discourteous to sit, where so many were standing, arose from her seat -and stood up. And very soon a circle of the most distinguished men and -the most brilliant women in the assembly was formed around her. And she -seemed as a queen, receiving the homage of her court. - -Presently, a general buzz in the crowd announced some interesting event, -and before the little excitement subsided, the commanding form of the -President was seen passing with his suite through the room. - -In due course, he drew near the circle that surrounded Miss Lyon. On -seeing that young beauty, he immediately passed through the circle that -divided to admit him, and stood before her, holding out his hand, and -saying, in a fatherly and familiar manner: - -“How do you do, my dear? I am very glad to see you here, this evening. -But where is my old friend, the General?” - -Miss Lyon, with a deep courtesy, explained that her grandfather’s -precarious state of health deprived him of the honor of waiting on his -Excellency. - -The President expressed his regret at this. And then instead of passing -on and dispensing his courtesies impartially among his guests, he -lingered near the beautiful Anna, apparently as much fascinated by her -charms, as the youngest man in his presence. - -Full half an hour he stood talking with the beauty, and then reluctantly -bowed his adieux, and immediately left the room. - -This seemed the signal for the breaking up of the assembly. - -And then followed other leave-takings, and the pressure through the -corridors to the cloak rooms; and the confusion of tongues and of -properties there, and the crush in the hall, and finally, the escape -into pure, bracing air of the clear starlight night on the outside. - -Alexander and Anna had to wait the turn of their carriage to drive up. - -When, at length, they were comfortably seated within it, Alexander took -out his watch, and said: - -“Half-past twelve o’clock, and we promised to be home at half-past -eleven. We have kept your grandfather waiting for an hour.” - -And he thought with compunction of one other whom he had kept waiting -much more than an hour. - -They were driven rapidly to the hotel. On their arrival, Alexander -helped Anna out of the carriage and hurried her into the house, for the -night was sharp. - -They found General Lyon up, and expecting them, with much impatience. - -“An hour behind time, Anna,” he said. - -“The President detained me in conversation, to the envy of all his other -lady guests,” laughed Anna. - -“And you will forgive her delay,” said Alexander, “in consequence of her -conquest of our President. I consider it a great success.” - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII. - A DARK RIDE. - - As yet ’tis midnight deep, the weary clouds, - Slow meeting, mingle into solemn gloom, - The while the drowsy world lies lost in sleep.—THOMSON. - - -As soon as Alexander Lyon had bid good night to his uncle and cousin, he -hurried to the livery stable where he had left his horse, doubting that -it would be open at so late an hour. - -But it was not yet closed for the night; so upon Mr. Lyon’s requirement -one of the hostlers led out the horse, already saddled and bridled for -the road. - -“A dark night, sir,” said this official, as he put the reins in the -hands of the rider. - -“Yes, and a dark road before me,” replied the young gentleman. - -“I hope for your sake it isn’t a long one, sir.” - -“It is about five miles directly in the face of the wind,” laughed Mr. -Lyon. - -“Sorry to hear it on your account, sir. The weather’s sharpish. The -wind’s got round to the northud and blows up pretty keenish. I wish you -well at your journey’s end, sir.” - -“Thank you. Good night.” - -“Good night, sir.” - -Alexander rode briskly away. - -The night had grown bitterly cold; but his horse was fresh, and the -rider thought that in such weather as this it would do the beast no harm -to ride him hard. So he put him into a gallop, and soon left the -gas-lighted, populous streets behind, and found himself in a dark and -lonely road, where nothing was to be seen on either side but wintry -woods and stubble fields, frozen brooks and straggling fences, and at -long intervals some isolated dwelling. - -At length he came to the old turnpike road leading through the woods -towards his home. Here it was necessary to slacken speed; for the road -was obstructed in many places, and the sky was very dark. So he drew -rein at the entrance of the wood, and went on in a walk. - -Notwithstanding the rapidity with which he had galloped over the five -miles on the Seventh street road, his blood was half stagnant with the -cold. His face, after smarting fiercely in the wind had lost all sense -of feeling, and his hands were so numb that he could scarcely hold the -bridle. - -In addition to his physical discomfort he experienced much mental -disturbance; and both together made him irritable and angry with himself -and all the world. He was vexed with his uncle and cousin for being in -Washington: with Richard Hammond for being always at hand to wait upon -the beautiful heiress; with the old man in Brazil for dying and leaving -the young spendthrift a fortune to recommend him; and, above all, with -himself—not exactly for having married poor little Drusilla, but -certainly for having by his own act put it out of his power to marry -Anna; and _worse_ than all, he was vexed in advance with his sweet -little wife for the reception he felt sure she would give him when he -should get home. - -As he rode slowly through the woods he muttered to himself: - -“I _know_ she has been watching for me ever since noon to-day, just -because I said that I would be home then. She has been watching more -than twelve hours. And now of course she has worried herself into a fit -of intense anxiety, and most likely of illness besides. And there she -is, no doubt, sitting with a pale face and red eyes, weeping over a -smouldering fire, or an extinguished one. And she will meet me either -with tears or sorrowful reproaches, or both! And, after all, what can I -say for myself? Ah, bah, why will women take such things so much to -heart? As if it was not enough to have been driven almost to mental -distraction for her sake to-day, without being subjected to a scene -to-night.” - -So growling within himself, the culprit rode slowly onward towards his -home, and the nearer he got to it the more slowly he rode. He actually -dreaded to meet Drusilla. But ride on slowly as he might, he could not -put off forever the inevitable moment of arrival. - -He soon saw the light of his home gleaming through the trees. - -“There, I knew it!” he said to himself. “She _is_ sitting up for me. -There are the drawing-room windows all ablaze, and not a shutter closed. -I had a faint hope that she might have gone to bed and cried herself to -sleep, like a child as she is. But that’s all over now. I’ve got to meet -her with her red eyes and pale face. Confound it all, if she does get up -a scene, I’ll teach her a lesson she’ll not soon forget!” he growled, -trying to work himself up into a fit of rage in anticipation of the -dreaded meeting. And yet, in the midst of all his efforts, his heart -reproached him, and he relented a little towards his young wife. So now -it was half in anger and half in compunction he drew near his home. - -To give himself more time, to postpone the evil hour as long as -possible, he first rode around to the stable to put up his horse -himself. - -And then he walked slowly to the house and knocked at the front door. - -It flew open on the instant. - -And there stood Drusilla, warm, glad, beaming with delight, radiant with -welcome. - -“I heard you come,” she exclaimed—“I heard you ride around to the stable -first, and so I was here ready to open for you. But oh! how cold you -look. Come in quickly,” she said, taking him by his frozen hands and -drawing him into the hall, and then closing and bolting the front door -with her own nimble fingers. - -For an instant he was so “taken aback” by her unexpected manner that he -positively shrank from her. But the next moment he caught her and folded -her to his bosom, as he murmured: - -“My darling, darling child! My own dearest and best little Drusilla! how -could I ever leave you! Heart of my heart, I will never leave you again -for a whole day alone as long as I live in this world.” - -Rash vow! but he meant, at the moment, to keep it. - -“Yes, that is what I am,” she whispered—“heart of your heart. That is -the sweetest and the truest name you ever called me. And now let me help -you off with your overcoat, and then you can come into the drawing-room. -There is a good fire.” - -He let her assist him in taking off his coat, and then he followed her -into the drawing-room, where, as she had said, there was a good fire. -His easy chair was standing before it, and his furred slippers were -lying on the rug. And she had even brought down the boot-jack and laid -it by the slippers. - -Near the easy chair stood a small round table, covered with a white -damask cloth and laid for two persons. - -A bright tea-kettle sat singing before the fire, and two small silver -covered dishes sat upon the hearth. - -Seeing these simple preparations for his comfort and seeing the happy -little creature who had made them, his heart smote him, first for having -left her alone so late, and then for having entertained such hard -thoughts of her. - -“My darling child, how kind of you to do all this for me. But I am sorry -you took the trouble,” he said, putting his arm around her and drawing -her towards him where he sat in his resting chair. - -“But suppose it made me happy to do it? Suppose it interested and amused -me while waiting for you?” she asked. - -“Ah, ‘waiting’ indeed! how long you have waited! I was in hopes that you -had gone to bed and gone to sleep; but when I saw the lights in the -drawing-room windows, I knew that you were still up.” - -“I left the shutters open on purpose; I thought the light would look -cheerful to you as you rode home through the woods.” - -“Dear heart! I ought to have known your loving motive as I came along; -but I didn’t. Ah, weren’t you tired and sleepy with waiting?” he asked, -as he drew her on his knee. - -“Why no. It is not so _very_ late, after all. And I have sat up many and -many a night later than this only to finish a piece of needle-work I -happened to be pleased with, or book I was interested in. And wouldn’t I -much sooner sit up to give my dearest a good warm supper after his long, -cold ride?” - -“My pet, my love, my darling, my—oh! what can I call you that will be -good enough and dear enough for you?” - -“Call me no hard names at all,” she said, gayly, kissing him and -springing from his lap. “But take off your boots while I put supper on -the table.” - -Poor little Drusilla, these arrangements of hers were not according to -the usages of “good society.” Now, Anna Lyon would have let her husband -go up to the top of the house in the cold before she would have -permitted the boot-jack to be brought into the drawing-room; and would -have let him broken his fast in a dreary dining-room, or even gone -hungry and thirsty to bed, before she would have allowed a kettle to be -boiled, or a supper to be laid, in the drawing-room. And only a few -hours before this Alexander had been lamenting in his heart his little -wife’s deficiencies in the manners of “good society.” But now he was -hungry and cold, and so,—flagrant as her breach of etiquette was, he did -not seem to see it; he only realized that he was at this moment the -happiest man, with the loveliest wife, in existence. - -The supper was soon placed upon the table. Of the two silver covered -dishes, one was found to contain a pair of nicely roasted partridges, -and the other equally well roasted potatoes. Besides these, there was a -fresh salad prepared, as he thought none but Drusilla could prepare it. -And there were light biscuits and delicate jellies and fresh fruits. And -there were “schnapps” and lemons and loaf sugar, and all the materials -for the hot punch that she thought he would like after his cold ride. - -“Tell me, darling,” said Alexander, after he had refreshed himself with -these viands, and was taking his ease between the table and the fire, -“tell me how you have passed the lonely day. Were you very lonely and -very anxious?” - -“No,” she answered, “I wasn’t lonely. I was very busy, and I was -thinking of you, and looking for you. And—yes, I am forced to admit that -I was a little anxious.” - -“Poor child! I had promised to be home at noon. What did you think, and -what did you do when I failed to come?” - -“I thought something had detained you a little, and that you would be -home very soon; and—I took a cup of tea and bit of toast for lunch,” -laughed Drusilla. - -“And afterwards, when hour after hour passed, until our late dinner time -came, what then?” - -“Oh, I waited, expecting you every minute, until some hours past our -dinner-time, and then—I ate my own dinner and had yours put away to be -kept warm.” - -“Wise little girl.” - -“But I scarcely thought you would need the dinner. I fancied you were -dining with some friend you had met in the city, and that _that_ was -keeping you.” - -“Little witch! And then when it grew dark and late?” - -“Oh, _then_ I grew a little nervous about you, and had ever so many -foolish imaginations—that robbers had attacked you on the dark road, or -that the horse had thrown you, or some other fatality had overtaken you; -and so I was troubled with anxiety. But I reasoned and fought against -that anxiety. I said to myself how much more likely it was that you were -spending the evening with some friend; and then I recollected that the -Italian Opera was in Washington, and I thought it most probable that you -had gone there.” - -“Ah! well, and what next?” - -“Why, about ten o’clock I called in Pina and told her as the night was -so sharp, and the ride so long, you would need a warm supper when you -should arrive; and that we must get one up between us for you. And so -Pina dressed the partridges, and I made the salad and set the table, -and—that was how it was. And when all was ready I made Pina and Leo go -to bed, because the poor creatures have to rise so early in the morning. -And I told them to leave the shutters open, that the light might be a -beacon to you on this dark night.” - -“My darling, darling child! I always knew that your nature was as sweet -as a saint’s, but I never knew how heavenly sweet, until to-night! You -have given me such loving welcome! You have not even _looked_ a reproach -to me for disappointing you, and you have not once asked me why I did -it.” - -She stopped his words with kisses. And with her arm around his neck, and -her cheek laid against his, she whispered: - -“As if I hadn’t faith in you. As if I didn’t love you and trust you.” - -“Oh, you dove! I would not give you for Anna Lyon and all the fine -ladies that live, or ever did, or ever will live!” he said, warmly -embracing her. - -“I hope,” she whispered, softly, “that you would never wish to give me -up for any one; not that I am better than others; not that I am so good -as they; but because I am your own, and you love me. But what made you -think of Miss Lyon just then, dearest?” - -“Oh, because, you know, it was planned between our parents, that Anna -and I should marry, whether we liked to do it or not; fortunately, -neither of us liked to do it.” - -“‘Fortunately;’ oh yes, how very fortunately! I cannot bear to think -what I should have done, if you had married Miss Lyon,” said Drusilla, -with a shudder. - -Alexander wished to divert the conversation from the dangerous topic to -which he had so thoughtlessly led it, so he said: - -“And you thought I had gone to the Italian Opera, this evening, did you, -my little love?” - -“Yes, I thought you had dined with some friend, and then had gone with -him to see Lucia di’ Lammermoor. Had you not?” - -“No, my darling, no; I wouldn’t have left you alone all the evening, for -the sake of hearing the grandest opera ever written and played.” - -“Wouldn’t you, Alick? But you might have done so. I shouldn’t have -thought hard of it. I couldn’t expect you to be tied down to me all the -time.” - -“But, my darling, I wouldn’t have, broken faith with you and stayed -away, when I promised to be home, for any amusement under the sun. And -nothing but the most urgent necessity should have kept me away on this -occasion.” - -“Dear Alick, nothing disagreeable to you, I hope?” - -“Only disagreeable, love, in so far as it detained me from your side.” - -“Then I am glad.” - -“It was only—some unexpected business connected with my late father’s -will,” said Alexander, hesitatingly, and again speaking a literal truth -to give a false impression. For certainly his embarrassments with Anna -Lyon did grow out of his father’s will—will that he, Alexander, should -marry her. - -But Drusilla understood him as speaking in a financial sense only—as he -intended that she should; and she brightened up and answered: - -“Ah, well, Alick, dear, since it was not very vexatious business, never -mind if it _did_ keep you away from me a few hours longer than you or I -expected. I can not hope to have you always here beside me; but you are -here now; and all is made up to you, is it not?” - -“Yes, dear heart of my heart, all is made up to me now,” said Alexander, -folding her fondly to his heart. - -And the night that he had dreaded so much closed in this perfect peace. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX. - A NEGLECTED WIFE. - - He saw proud Clara’s face more fair, - He knew her of broad lands the heir, - Forgot his vows, his faith foreswore, - And Constance was beloved no more.—SCOTT. - - -The day and night described in the last chapter were the types of many, -too many days and nights that followed them. Alexander Lyon had placed -himself in a false position and had a very difficult part to play -between his wife and his betrothed. - -On the morning after that little supper the young couple slept late; -because on the previous evening they had found their bright fireside so -delightful that they had remained there billing and cooing like a pair -of lovers, as they still were, until the small hours, when at length -they went to rest. - -She was the first of the two to rise in the morning; for she was an -ardent little housewife, and she liked to have everything about her -small home in perfect order. - -He slept on until noon, and then awoke with a weight upon his mind, -though a very vague idea of what it meant. But presently, as his brain -grew clearer, he remembered all the perplexing events of the preceding -day and cursed his fate for bringing him into such an embarrassing -position. - -As he made his morning toilet he reflected that his uncle, an “early -bird,” like most old country gentlemen, had probably some hours before -this called at his room at the Blank House and found him absent, and -perhaps had been told by the servants there that he had not been in all -night. - -What could the old gentleman think of such irregularity on the part of -his nephew and intended son-in-law? - -Alexander scarcely dared to answer that question. But full of anxious -and perplexing thoughts, he finished his toilet and went below stairs. - -In the breakfast room he found a fine fire, a neat table, and his lovely -young wife in her pretty morning dress of white merino with black -trimmings. - -She put aside the book she had been reading and arose to receive him. He -kissed her in silence and then dropped heavily into his chair. - -She rang the bell and ordered breakfast served. - -“I hope you have not waited for me, dear?” he languidly remarked. - -“No; I had a cup of tea and a bit of dry toast when I first came down; -but that was nine o’clock, and it is after one now; so I am quite ready -to take breakfast with you. It will be my lunch.” - -Fragrant Mocha coffee, fresh eggs, smoked salmon, broiled chicken and -light muffins were soon placed upon the table; and the two sat down to -breakfast. - -But tempting as the viands were that stood, before him, Alexander could -eat but little. - -Drusilla noticed his want of appetite and said: - -“You are not well, dear. Have you a head-ache? Shall I order some strong -green tea made for you?” - -“No, Drusa; I never drink tea in the morning unless I am really sick. -And I am quite well now; except that I am a little disturbed in regard -to—to that business connected with my late father’s will,” said -Alexander, evasively. - -“Oh, then it wasn’t settled yesterday?” - -“Oh, no; and I fear it will not be for many days yet.” - -“I am sorry, Alick. But never mind. Everybody must have some little -thing to vex them; but it can’t last forever, you know. Try a little bit -of this smoked salmon. It is very nice.” - -To please her he tried the salmon, and found that it gave him an -appetite; and he made a better breakfast than he had expected to do. - -When he had finished, he rang the bell, which summoned Leo to the room. - -“Have my horse saddled and brought around here directly,” he said to the -boy. Then, turning to his wife, he added: - -“I shall have to ride into town to-day to look after that business; but -I will try to be back before night. I hope you won’t be very lonesome, -dear?” - -An involuntary expression of surprise and disappointment clouded her -face for an instant; but she chased the clouds away, and smilingly -replied: - -“Oh, no, I shall be very busy. But if you will tell me at what hour you -will be back, I will have dinner ready for you.” - -“Have dinner at the usual hour, my dear. I will be back in time for it -if I possibly can. But do not wait for me beyond five o’clock, do you -hear?” - -“Yes, Alick,” she answered, and again she had to chase away a rising -cloud of disappointment by a sunny smile. - -He went out to prepare for his ride, and as soon as he was ready he -kissed his young wife and begged her not to mope; and then he mounted -his horse, that stood saddled at the door, and rode briskly away. - -She looked after him until he was out of sight, and then with a sigh -turned into the house. - -Meanwhile Alexander rode rapidly into the city, and, after leaving his -horse at the livery stable, hurried anxiously off to the hotel where his -uncle and cousin were stopping, and sent up his card. - -They were both in, and he was soon ushered up into their private -sitting-room. - -General Lyon, reclining in his resting chair, was reading the morning -papers; and Miss Lyon, lolling on the sofa, was turning over the leaves -of the libretto of the opera of the evening. - -Alexander felt a little guilty as he walked into their presence. - -But he was instantly consoled and reassured by the manners of both old -gentleman and young lady. - -“Oh, is that you, Alick? Good morning. Sit down. Excuse me for not -rising. This is a shocking version of Il Trovatore,” said Anna, without -moving, or lifting her eyes from the pages she was studying. - -“Ah! how do you do? Glad to see you. Intended to walk around your way -this morning and see how you were getting on. But really, in such sharp -weather as this, it seems to require an effort to leave the chimney -corner. Hope you’ll excuse my not calling.” - -“With all my heart, sir,” said Alexander, feeling immensely relieved, -and blessing his stars that his uncle had not called on him and -discovered his absence after all. “With all my heart, sir! I could not -indeed expect, and would not wish you to take the trouble. It is rather -my duty always to wait upon you—a duty that I shall always be most happy -to perform.” - -“You’re a good lad, Alick, a good lad,” said the old soldier, frankly -holding out his hand to his nephew. - -“I hope I shall always be so happy as to deserve your good opinion, -sir,” said Alexander, taking the offered hand and bowing deeply over it. - -But as he lifted himself up again he encountered the laughing eyes of -Anna, who was regarding him with a mocking smile. - -“Now, really, Alick, you know you are growing so Joseph Surfacish, that -I am beginning to doubt your sincerity,” she said. - -Alexander’s countenance fell. But the old gentleman came to the rescue. - -“Never mind her, Alick. Who ever does mind Anna? But listen to me. I -have made an engagement for you this evening.” - -Alexander started, with an unpleasant sensation about his heart; but the -old gentleman, without noticing him, went on: - -“There have been several parties calling here this morning, to invite -Anna to go and hear this celebrated Italian Opera Troupe. But I excused -her to one and all, telling them she was engaged to go with you, and -also giving them to understand that she was also engaged for life to -you, so that they might not waste any attentions upon her. And I sent -and took a private box for you both, for this evening. Come! no thanks. -I don’t desire any. It was perfectly convenient for me to make these -arrangements, to save you the trouble.” - -Alexander was dumb-foundered; he could not have returned thanks if he -had tried. He dropped into the nearest seat, and wiped his face with his -handkerchief, while the old gentleman went on to describe the -attractions of the Italian Opera, and while Anna silently, with an -amused expression of countenance, watched both. - -“I—I fear, sir, that I cannot have the honor intended for me. I—” - -—“Cannot have the honor intended for you? What the mischief do you mean -by that, sir?” demanded the old gentleman, in surprise and displeasure. - -“A previous engagement, I regret to say, sir, stands in the way.” - -“What sort of an engagement, boy? What sort of an engagement?” - -“I had promised to dine with a friend—” began Alexander, speaking truly -as to the letter, and falsely as to the spirit. But the old gentleman -stopped him. - -“Oh, a friend! a gentleman, of course, for it isn’t possible that you -should have promised to dine with any lady. Bosh, boy! Send the man an -excuse; tell him here is a lady in the case; and take an early dinner -with us, and be ready to attend Anna.” - -“Really, my dear grandfather, I wish you would not press this matter -upon Mr. Lyon. You know that Dick is most anxious to be my escort,” said -Miss Lyon, in very justifiable displeasure. - -Mr. Lyon and Dick. She called Alexander “Mr. Lyon,” and Richard Hammond -“Dick.” Alexander noticed the distinction, and his blood fired; but -before he could say a word, the old gentleman, with a flushed brow, -struck in: - -“Dick? What the deuce do you mean, Anna? Do you suppose I am going to -allow you to be gallanted about by Dick or any other man, for that -matter, to set people gossipping? You an engaged young lady! And you, -sir!” he exclaimed, turning angrily to Alexander—“Thunder and lightning! -what do _you_ mean, sir, by your excuses and your hesitations? Do you -mean to slight your betrothed, sir?” - -“Heaven forbid!” answered Alexander, earnestly. “I told you the reason -why I hesitated—that I had an engagement to dinner, but that -engagement—every lighter engagement—shall give way to your will, sir, -and my dear cousin’s service.” - -And so saying he bowed to his uncle, and would have lifted his cousin’s -hand to his lips, but that she drew it away with a mocking smile as she -said: - -“Thanks, Mr. ‘Joseph Surface.’ As I am resolved to see the opera, and as -I cannot do so without your escort, I suppose I must accept it. Though I -tell you plainly that I would much rather have Dick’s company.” - -“Anna!” exclaimed the general, again breaking in before Alexander could -reply; “Anna, this is unbearable! to tell your betrothed husband that -you would rather have another man’s company than his!—But Alick, my boy, -I must say that you brought it all on yourself by your tardiness and -seeming indifference.” - -“I am very sorry if I have seemed to be indifferent, when in fact I was -very far from _really_ being so. I hope my dear cousin will forgive me,” -bowed Alexander. - -“Oh, of course she will. She spoke only from petulance—nothing else,” -smiled the old gentleman. - -But Anna said nothing. - -At this most unpropitious moment Mr. Richard Hammond was announced and -entered the room. - - - - - CHAPTER XX. - RIVALRY. - - And he was jealous, tho’ he would not show it, - For jealousy dislikes the world to know it.—BYRON. - - -For an instant the rivals glared at each other; and then remembering in -whose presence they stood, they lowered their eyes. - -Richard Hammond shook hands with his uncle and his Cousin Anna and then -turned towards Alexander, and the kindness of his heart overcoming all -his jealousy for the moment, he frankly held out his hand, saying: - -“How do you do, Alick? I hope you are well!” - -“Thanks, quite so,” returned Lyon, stiffly. - -The general, a frank-hearted old soldier, did not like the reception -that Alick had given Dick. He thought the successful rival, the accepted -lover, the promised husband, might well afford to be more generous; and -so to make up to Richard for the coldness of Alexander, he turned to the -former and clapping him on the shoulder, exclaimed: - -“Come, my boy! what are you standing there for? Sit down! sit down! and -make yourself at home. Stay and dine with us. We shall be quite a family -party!” - -Dick laughed, thanked his uncle and took the offered seat. - -And really soon his presence seemed to be a godsend to the constrained -party. His gay, good-humored manner and conversation soon raised the -spirits and warmed the hearts of all the little group. Even Alexander -had the grace to come out of his sulks, and to say: - -“I must congratulate you, Dick, upon your accession to a large fortune.” - -“Thank you, Alick. It came in good time, I tell you that. But Lord, -Alick, maybe after all this fortune is only so much more steam clapped -on the engine with which the demon is driving me on the road to ruin!” -said Dick, with his usual outspoken truthfulness. - -“I hope not; I hope not,” said Alick. - -“And I _believe_ not,” put in the general. “I am very glad to know that -my nephew Dick has given up all his wild companions, who having spent -one fortune for him, would be very glad to spend another.” - -“Ran away from them, uncle, ran away from them. I hadn’t courage to give -them up, so I gave them ‘leg bail’ and left them all behind in -Richmond.” - -“Right my boy! right! whatever may be said of the heroism of braving -bodily perils, it is much wiser to run away from moral danger than to -face it.” - -“Dick cannot bear to give any one pain. And if he had stayed among his -old associates in Richmond, he would have let them ruin him again, -rather than he would have hurt their feelings by cutting their -acquaintance,” explained Anna. - -“Exactly. Therefore I say it was wiser to run away, as it will also be -wisest to stay away,” said the general. “But here comes the waiter to -lay the cloth for dinner.” - -They all dined together; and afterwards, as there seemed scarcely any -way of eluding the engagement, Alick took Anna to the Opera. - -It seemed really discourteous, as Alexander had a whole private box to -himself and Anna, that he would not invite Dick to take a seat in it; -but in fact he could not bring himself to do such violence to his own -feelings of rivalry. - -Dick went to the opera, however; and he occupied an orchestra chair in a -much better position for seeing and hearing than was Alexander’s and -Anna’s private box. - -And when the curtain fell upon the first act, he came around to the box, -without seeming to think that he was intruding, and gayly and -good-humoredly talked and laughed with his cousins, until the curtain -rose upon the second act. And in the intervals of all the succeeding -acts he came round to their box. Though there were two vacant seats, -Alexander never once invited him to take one of them. Anna always did, -however, and pressed him cordially to sit down. But Dick always gayly -declined, and merely leaning over the back of one of the unoccupied -chairs, talked and laughed until the rising of the curtain warned him to -make his bow and retreat. - -The performance was a very long one, so that it was some time after -twelve o’clock when Alexander took Anna back to the hotel and gave her -up to the charge of her grandfather. - -And it was after two o’clock, when, half frozen and half famished, worn -out in body and harassed in mind, he reached his home. - -As on the evening previous the lights from the little drawing-room -windows, gleaming through the wintry woods, cheered him on his approach -and warned him that his loving wife was still up and waiting to welcome -him home. - -And there he found a bright fire, a warm supper and a happy face to -comfort him. As before she forbore to reproach or to question him, and -she received his voluntary explanation without hesitation and without -doubt;—but this explanation, while true to the letter as far as it went, -was false in the spirit—giving her the impression that still “the -troublesome business connected with his father’s will” detained him in -town. - -Much of his conversation now, while being true to the letter, was false -in the spirit. But how could this possibly be expected to last? - -Day after day Alexander rode in to town. Night after night he came back, -never earlier than one o’clock, sometimes as late as three or four; for -on these occasions he would have to escort his cousin to a ball where -the festivities were kept up until near daylight. And though Anna being -in half mourning refrained from dancing, she seldom retired from the -scene until one or two o’clock. - -For many days and nights Drusilla bore this state of things with -exceeding patience and cheerfulness; always accepting his excuses for -leaving her in the morning, and always having the lighted windows, the -warm drawing-room, the bright fire and the hot supper to welcome him at -night. But ah! worship him as she would, she was but a soul encased in -flesh and blood, and her health and spirits from loneliness and late -hours, long continued, began to suffer. There was another cause, too, -for the poor child’s failing strength, which had her husband known it, -should have appealed strongly to his tenderness. But to do him justice -in this particular, he did not know it any more than his wife did. She -became nervous and irritable, and she wondered what could ail her, to -make her so unlike her old self. She tried very hard first to overcome -her nervous irritability, then to keep it from annoying him. - -After he would leave her each day she would begin to occupy herself -diligently, so that her spirits might not droop. She inspected every -portion of her house from roof to cellar, and kept all in perfect order. -She did a great deal of needle-work, she read many books, she painted -some pictures, and she perfected herself in some of the most difficult -pieces of music. So at first she managed to get through her lonely days. - -When the day’s work was done, and the sky grew dark, and she knew that a -long, lonely night was before her, she would have a bright fire lighted -in the drawing-room and an exquisite little supper planned out for her -husband. - -And then, when bed time came, in her kindness of heart she would send -her servants to rest, and she would sit alone by the fire, reading and -watching until his return. Sometimes, in the loneliness of the place, -and of the hour, the stillness would grow almost awful to her, and she -would feel that she must speak to some human creature, or go mad, and -she would be tempted to go and call Pina up to sit with her. But there -again her compassion came in and saved her servant from being disturbed. -And so, rather than inconvenience another, she would sit on alone -“through the dead waste and middle of the night,” until she became so -nervous as to dread to hear the sound of her own low breathing, or to -see the reflection of her own scared face in the glass. - -But then how welcome the sound of his horse’s feet, which her listening -ears could hear in the deep silence even when he was riding along the -open road before he turned into the wood. - -Then in a moment all was changed. The flush of joy chased the paleness -from her cheeks; the light of love beamed from her eye; and she was -ready to welcome him with her happy face. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI. - THE SORROWS OF THE YOUNG WIFE. - - Yet for all this, let him stand - In my thoughts, untouched by blame, - Could he help it, if my hand - He had claimed, with hasty claim? - That was wrong, perhaps, but then - Such things be, and will again. - Women cannot judge for men.—E. B. BROWNING. - - -One morning near the last of February, when the young wife arose, -leaving her husband still in bed heavily sleeping off his fatigue, she -found that it was snowing fast, the flakes coming down fine and thick as -sifted flour, and promising a deep and heavy fall. And she was glad to -see it, for she said to herself: - -“Surely Alick cannot leave home on such a tempestuous day as this.” - -And if it had been possible for her fireside and breakfast table to have -been brighter and more attractive than they always were, she would have -made them so this morning for his sake. And the hope, the almost -certainty of having him home all day long made her face radiant with joy -and beauty. - -Presently he came down heavily enough. - -“What beastly weather!” he said, looking through the window at the -thickly falling snow. - -Her face fell a little, she scarcely knew why. But she touched the bell -and ordered the breakfast served. - -“And tell Leo to have my horse at the door in half an hour,” added -Alick. - -“You are not going out on such a day as this, dear Alick,” she said. - -“Yes, I am. It is that horrid business. Now, Drusilla, my little woman, -do try to be cheerful and don’t vex me by looking that way,” he said, as -he saw her grave face. - -“I am only sorry, dear, that you have to leave home in such weather, -that is all,” she answered, as she turned and busied herself with -pouring out the coffee that was just then set upon the table. - -And he ate his breakfast in haste, dressed in haste and then mounted his -horse and hurried off to town. - -The snow continued to fall and the day passed very heavily with the poor -young wife. Still her thought was for her husband. - -“Oh, what a night he will have to come home in,” she said to herself -again and again, as she saw that the weather grew worse and worse as the -day waned later and later. - -At length towards evening she could keep her anxiety to herself no -longer, and she said to her maid: - -“Oh, Pina, what a night for Mr. Lyon to ride home in!” - -“Indeed, ma’am, I don’t think he will come at all.” - -“Not come home at all!” echoed Pina’s mistress, aghast. - -“Why you see, ma’am, it will be dangerous. Only look out. The fences are -nearly all covered and the snow is still falling,” said the girl, -pointing through the windows of the kitchen where this conversation took -place. - -“I see,” sighed the lonely wife, and her heart seemed to sink like lead -in her bosom. But then she took herself to task and said: - -“Why should I feel so miserable because my husband must stay away from -me for one night? I would much rather that he should stay all night in -Washington than risk his life in attempting to return home in the -darkness, through such a snow-storm as this, in which all landmarks seem -to be lost.” - -And so she tried to reason with her longing heart. - -At night, however, it stopped snowing. But the wind came up from the -northwest and blew very hard, and the new fallen snow began to freeze as -firm as adamant. - -“What do you think now, Pina? Do you think your master can get home?” -inquired the master’s wife of her maid. - -“Lor, ma’am, why this is worse than the other.” - -“What is, Pina?” - -“This freeze is worse than the falling snow, ma’am; because it will make -the roads all as slippery as glass; so, even if his horse is rough shod, -master will hardly be able to get home.” - -“Well, Pina, I trust that he will run no risk. But, in case he should -come, we must have everything ready for him as usual. The worse the -weather, the more comfort he will want. So you must dress the wild duck -for the roaster, and I will make a little cabinet pudding,” said Pina’s -mistress, tying on an apron and tucking up her sleeves. - -“We may prepare for him, ma’am, but he will never return such a night as -this, you may take my word for that. It would be as much as his life and -limbs are worth to attempt it,” answered the girl. - -These words made the young wife very uneasy. Much as she wished for his -presence, she now prayed that he might not set out to return. And it was -with some comfort she reflected that Alexander never unnecessarily ran -any risk; that he would certainly be able to judge of the dangers of the -roads, and would as certainly avoid them. Still, in the event of his -returning that night, she was determined to have everything ready for -him. - -As night deepened, it grew colder and colder. Outside it was like the -polar regions. There - - “Dread winter spread his latest glooms - And reigned tremendous—” - -—all darkness, snow and ice. - -Inside, all was light, warmth and comfort. - -In the drawing-room a large bright fire was burning; the little table -was laid for supper; the easy chair and the warm slippers were ready. - -At ten o’clock, Drusilla, as usual, would have dismissed her maid to -bed, but the girl pleaded to remain up “for this once” with her -mistress. - -“If you please, ma’am, master will not be home to-night, I’m certain -sure of it. But you’ll sit up all the same. So please let me sit up with -you till you gives it up.” - -“As you like, Pina,” replied the young mistress. - -And the little lady settled herself in one of the easy chairs before the -fire, and the maid nestled down among the foot cushions in the corner. - -In less than an hour, Pina, overcome with the heat of the fire and the -heaviness of her own head, fell fast asleep. - -And Drusilla watched on, almost as much alone as if her maid had been a -hundred miles away—as very likely she was, in the spirit. - -Drusilla was hoping against hope, that her too much loved husband might -return home and in safety; but she could not justify this hope to her -reason, for certainly this was a night in which no man in his senses, -who valued his life and limbs, would take the road; and just as -certainly, Alexander had a wholsome regard for his own; so it was not -likely that he would risk them. - -Still, Drusilla waited and watched until the clock struck twelve. Then, -as her maid was snoring sonorously, to say nothing of baking her head by -getting it almost into the fire, Drusilla woke her up and ordered her -off to bed. - -Pina, too utterly wearied with watching, and too stupid with sleep to -make any resistance, stumbled off to her attic, finding her way as a -somnambulist might. - -And Drusilla was left quite alone. The clock struck two. And still she -watched on and on. She thought there was little use in doing so, but she -could not help it. She continued, at intervals, to stare through the -windows, and to listen to every sound without, though she saw nothing -but the darkness of the night, and the glimmer of the snow-clad, -spectral looking trees, and heard nothing but the howling of the wind -and the rattling of the icicles. - -But suddenly, through all deeper sounds, she heard the merry ringing of -sleigh-bells! - -And she started to her feet, for she knew in an instant, that her -husband had come home in a sleigh—a possibility that had never occurred -either to herself or her servant. - -She ran to the door and pulled it open. But Alexander had turned around -to the stable, and so it was some ten minutes before he returned to the -door. - -It flew open at his knock, and Drusilla threw herself in his arms; she -could not help this, she was so overjoyed at his almost unhoped for -return in safety that night. - -“Up still, my faithful little darling?” he said, kissing her. - -“Yes; and I hope you are very hungry this time, as well as very cold, -dear Alick, for I have such a supper for you!” - -“Yes? Well you may swear that I am famished, for I have not broken my -fast since luncheon,” he laughed. - -She helped him to draw off his overcoat, and hung it up in the hall; and -then she pulled him with affectionate solicitude and playful force out -from the cold hall into the snug little drawing-room, and made him -comfortable. - -“Dear Alick, your hands are almost frozen! You must have had a real -Laplander’s ride, and without the Laplander’s furs. How came you to -undertake it, dear?” she asked, as she pushed him down in his arm-chair, -and sat on a cushion at his side, and took his icy hands between her own -warm ones, and rubbed them. “Why did you come, Alick, dear?” - -“My darling, it is bad enough for me to stay away from you as much as I -do—as much as I am _compelled_ to do on account of that vexatious -business; but really it would be too bad to stay away all night, and I -never mean to do that,” he answered. - -“Oh, Alick dear, how glad I am to hear you say so. And I am so glad you -came to-night, since you have reached home in safety. The servants -thought that you would not come, that it would be too dangerous a -journey to undertake on horseback.” - -“So it would, my dear, and that is the reason why I bought the sleigh; -which, besides, I thought would be useful this winter.” - -“Oh, yes, indeed, so it will. And we are both so fond of sleighing. We -shall have some fine sleighing together,” she said. - -He made no reply to the observation, for he knew full well that he -should have no time to realize her anticipations. - -“Don’t you remember, Alick, the fine sleigh rides we used to have in the -Christmas holidays, when you used to come home to spend them; and when -you used to take Miss Anna out, and always insist that your ‘child,’ as -you called me, should go along, too? Do you remember, Alick?” - -“Yes, little Drusa, quite well,” he answered gravely, and with some -emotion, as he tenderly smoothed her hair with his hand. - -“Oh, can I ever forget all your kindness to me from that time to the -very present? Can I ever do too much—can I ever do enough for you?” - -“Poor little Drusa!” he murmured. - -“But there, your hands are warm now, and I will set the supper on the -table,” said the busy little housewife. - -When Alick was warmed and fed, and comforted and satisfied, he turned -from the table and the fire towards his little wife, and said: - -“Well, Drusa, as I had the sleigh I thought I might as well bring -something home in it besides myself. So I walked into several of the -book stores and picked up the best of the new books that are published.” - -“New books! Oh, thank you, dear Alick; where are they?” eagerly -exclaimed Drusilla, rising from her chair to look for them; for she who -had so few amusements—so few?—I should have said no amusements at -all,—was delighted at the mention of new books. “Where are they, Alick -dear?” she repeated, glancing around the room. - -“Sit down, my pet. Do you think I could have brought them in my hand, or -in my pocket? Why, they are an armful for a railway porter. I left them -in the sleigh in the stable. You shall have a glorious time over them -to-morrow; it is too late to look at them to-night even if we had them -lying before us; for, do you see what o’clock it is?” - -Drusilla glanced up at the Ormolu time-piece on the mantle shelf, and -saw, with surprise, that it was nearly two o’clock in the morning. - -And Alexander arose at the same moment to put up the guard and close the -shutters, saying, with a smile, - -“We have to be our own servants when we are so unreasonable as to sit up -so late, love.” And soon after both retired. - -The next day was intensely cold, but clear and brilliant; the ground was -covered deep with hard frozen snow, and the trees were clothed with -frost and ice, and the sun shone out of a bright blue sky, lighting up -all the scene with blinding radiance. - -Immediately after breakfast, Mr. Lyon had the sleigh brought around to -the door. The packages, left in it from the night before, were ordered -to be taken out and brought into the drawing-room. - -“Here, little one! here are some dozens of new books that will help you -to kill the time between this and my return,” said Alexander, directing -her attention to the packages. - -“Oh, thank you, Alick. But must you go to town again to-day?” - -“Of course I must; I must go every day for some time yet.” - -Drusilla suppressed the sigh that arose to her lips, but she could not -forbear the question: - -“And stay late, Alick?” - -“That is as it may be, Drusa. I shall return as soon as I can get away. -Now amuse yourself with your books, and don’t mope.” - -“Oh, no, I won’t mope,” said Drusilla. “You are so good to me, Alick, I -ought not to do so.” - -He jumped into his sleigh, and sped away to the ringing of the bells. -And she watched him out of sight, and then turned into the drawing-room -and sat down among her new books, and began to unwrap them. Most of my -readers know the delight of opening and examining a package of new -books. Drusilla was absorbed in the pleasure of opening package after -package, and examining volume after volume, until at length she selected -the book that she wished to read first, and laid it aside, and then she -took the others into the library and put them in proper places. - -She had scarcely completed this pleasant piece of work, before she heard -her maid calling to her: - -“Oh, ma’am, ma’am, come here, please, and see the snow-birds.” - -She who loved all living creatures, went into the kitchen and looked -from the windows, and saw hopping about upon the frozen snow several -hundred of these little creatures. - -Drusilla, who had always spent her summers in the country, but her -winters in town, had never seen, or, if she had seen, had never -particularly noticed, these birds before. - -“My! what a sight! What brings so many of them here, Pina?” she -inquired, in astonishment. - -“Why, you see, ma’am, the ground and the bushes and the trees are all -covered with frost and snow and ice, and they can’t find anything to eat -in the woods or fields or lanes, and so they look for food about -houses.” - -“Poor little things! What do they eat, Pina?” - -“Anything eatable, ma’am, that is small enough for them to -swallow;—grains of rice, crumbs of bread, specks of meat——” - -“Oh, throw out whole handfuls of rice for them,” said Drusilla. - -“That would hardly do, ma’am. It would sink in the snow and be lost -before the birds could get it. But if you will let me sprinkle food on -all the window-sills around the house, you will see the little creatures -come in scores to eat. And it will amuse you, like, ma’am, to sit and -see the art of the little rogues, how one will watch from a bush to see -the coast clear, and then notify the others to come and eat.” - -“Oh, then,” said Drusilla, with all the eagerness of a child, “crumble -up several loaves of bread, and sprinkle every window-sill of the house -full as it will hold.” - -“Would you like some traps set in the woods, ma’am?” - -“Traps, what for?” - -“To catch the birds, ma’am.” - -“To catch the birds?” - -“Yes, ma’am. They make excellent pies, and——” - -“Oh, hush—no!” - -“The boys will catch them, ma’am, if you don’t. They set traps in the -woods. And they puts food under them. And the little birds go to get it, -and are caught and killed.” - -“How cruel and treacherous! Poor little things, to be frozen out, and -starved out, and to come to us for food and shelter, and to be killed -and eaten. The boys shan’t trap them on our place, any way. So if you or -Leo find a trap in our woods break it up, and if you find a trapper whip -him!” said the little champion of birds, as she left the kitchen. - -That day passed with Drusilla less drearily than usual. - -When all her household duties had been discharged, she sat in her snug -little drawing-room, feasting upon her new books, and furtively watching -the snow-birds that were feasting upon the crumbs on the window-sill, -and which as furtively watched her, and flew away the instant they -caught her eyes, only to fly back the instant they saw them fall upon -her book again; for these little raiders did not yet know their -benefactress. - -So quiet was this place that the wild creatures of the woods feared not -to approach it; and Drusilla, looking from her window, could see the -squirrel seated on a twig and nibbling his nut, or the opossum curled up -in his hole, or the fleet little hare race across the frozen snow, or -the raccoon peeping from the hollow of his tree. It was well that this -child of nature loved nature with all her children so well, for not a -human being could Drusilla see from her window. - -Her beautiful wild wood home—beautiful even in the dead of winter—was -separated on all sides by many acres of thick woods from any public -thoroughfare. The road leading through the woods was a strictly private -one leading to her house, and nowhere else. - -Drusilla sat alternately reading and watching her favorites, until two -o’clock in the afternoon, when Pina brought in her mistress’s simple -dinner of boiled chicken and custard pudding. - -It was a solitary dinner; for things had come to such a pass now that -the little wife, instead of taking a luncheon in the middle of the day, -and waiting dinner for the husband who never, never came to eat it, -always now dined alone soon after noon. - -And now Drusilla consoled herself for the absence of her husband by -thinking of the supper she would prepare for him and share with him in -the evening. - -“Pina,” she said, as she saw the snow-birds fly away from the -window-sill at her slightest motion; “Pina, will I never be able to tame -these little creatures by kindness?” - -“Oh, yes, ma’am; you may make them so tame that they will come and eat -out of your hand.” - -“How—how can I do that?” - -“By just doing as you do now, ma’am. They will soon find out as you mean -them no harm but good, and they will cease to fear you and begin to love -you,” answered the girl, as she removed the dinner service. - -And Drusilla spent the afternoon as she had spent the morning. - -That night Alexander, for a wonder, came home as early as eight o’clock. -And the cheerful day was succeeded by a happy evening. - - - - - CHAPTER XXII. - DIFFICULTIES OF DECEPTION. - - Ah, what a tangled web we weave, - When first we venture to deceive.—SCOTT. - - -Alexander had his troubles too, and they were not the less trying -because he had brought them on himself by his own wrong-doing—rather the -more so, in fact, since remorse was added to regret, and the loss of -self-respect to the loss of domestic peace. - -He was learning by personal experience that “the way of the transgressor -is hard.” - -He found it very difficult to play two parts and live in two places at -the same time. - -This was the way his day passed. He usually arose at ten o’clock in the -morning, with a bad head-ache and a worse heart-ache, made a quick -toilet and a poor breakfast, then threw himself into the saddle and rode -away as fast as his horse’s feet could carry him. - -He always contrived to be at his rooms in his hotel by eleven o’clock in -the forenoon, lest his uncle should call for him and find him out. And -always on entering his chamber he would tumble his bed and slop his -wash-stand to deceive the servants of the hotel into the idea that he -had slept there; for he was in constant dread lest his uncle should -discover that he passed the night elsewhere. - -To carry on the deception, every day he breakfasted at the hotel table, -and he dined with his uncle and cousin. And every evening he accompanied -Anna to some place of amusement, where she was always the most admired -beauty in the room, and where he was the most envied man, because it was -generally understood that he was her betrothed husband. - -He seldom returned home before one o’clock, and sometimes not before -three in the morning. - -You perceive by this how little time he had to bestow on his young wife. - -Meanwhile Drusilla was more lonely than words can tell. - -Just think of it. - -It was the depth of winter. - -She lived in a lone house in a thick wood. She had no companion in the -house, no acquaintance in the neighborhood, and no correspondent in the -world. She never made a visit, or had a visitor, or wrote a letter, or -received one. Her one object in life was her husband; her one interest -in the day his return at night; and if he had given her a little more of -his company, if only an evening now and then, she could have been -happy;—or if, when he did come home, he could have been more cheerful in -her presence, she would have been less miserable. - -But, ah! friends, Alexander—as is always the case with an evil-doer—went -on from bad to worse. - -And when morning after morning he gulped down his coffee in hot haste, -and hurried away from his home, in eager anxiety; and when night after -night he returned in the small hours, too cold, tired and harassed to -notice the preparations she had made for his comfort, or to share the -supper she had kept waiting for him, or even to bestow a kiss or a -smile, or a look upon her; when, in fact, he seemed to have become -estranged from her; then, indeed, her heart failed, her beauty faded, -and she hung her head like a flower drooping in the cold. - -She tried very hard to keep up her spirits and preserve her beauty for -his sake and for her own. For more than all earthly things she wished to -retain his love. And she remembered how in her childhood, he had scolded -her for crying, telling her that it made her ugly, and that he could not -possibly love an ugly little girl; and how she had almost suffocated -herself then, in her efforts to suppress her sobs, lest she should grow -ugly and lose his love. - -Then he had been a mere thoughtless youth, teasing a timid child who -loved him; now he was or seemed a heartless man, torturing a sensitive -young woman, who had given her whole life into his hands. - -Yet these were not her thoughts of him; she did not blame him even to -herself; she was more ingenious in finding excuses for his conduct, than -even he would have been. But she was right in trying to be always bright -and beautiful, so as to retain his love, since she valued it so -highly—for he _did_ dislike ugly and sorrowful faces. - -And at length, when her powers of self-control were exhausted—when -loneliness, late hours, fatigue of body and distress of mind had done -their work upon her heart and frame, and broken down her health and -spirits—her pale face, heavy eyes, languid motions and faltering tones -irritated him, for they were so many severe, though silent and -involuntary reproaches to him. - -“As if it were not enough,” he sometimes said to himself, “that for her -sake, I have foolishly given up the most beautiful woman of the day, and -sacrificed the most brilliant prospects of my life, and worse than all, -placed myself in a false and degrading position, but that now, she must -make me more miserable still, with her moping manners.” - -But here his faithful conscience always rebuked him for his injustice, -and awakened his memory to remind him, that his poor young wife herself, -child as she was, had at the time of his proposal for her hand, set all -these possible regrets before him, and had warned him to pause and -reflect, before taking the irrevocable step of making her his wife; and -that he himself had been strong to overcome her hesitation and stubborn -to maintain his own will. - -And then in a fit of remorse, he would break out upon himself with: - -“I am certainly the most infernal villain that Heaven ever let live!” or -words to the same effect. - -In these moods he would go and buy something to take home to Drusilla, -some set of jewels, piece of lace, rich shawl, gay dress, or other -article of vanity. - -But soon he saw that his child bride, who was still wearing her first -mourning for her dead mother, valued these things not in themselves, but -only as proofs of his thought for her. - -And besides, how could jewels and fine clothes console the loving young -wife for the lost society of her husband? - -But Alexander was provoked, that his efforts to please her were so -utterly unavailing. He did not reflect that if she had been a vain, -selfish woman, and had loved herself more than she loved him, she would -have been happy in his _presents_, and indifferent to his _presence_. - -But as she was neither vain, nor selfish, as she loved him rather than -herself, she pined amidst all her plenty, because he was almost always -absent from her. - -This pining became evident in her appearance, notwithstanding all her -efforts to conceal it. - -And sometimes it exasperated him so much that it was with difficulty he -could restrain himself from reproaching her, and thus adding to the sum -of his own injustice and her misery. - -Often, also, his temper was severely tried in town by what _he_ called -the difficulties of his position, but what any one else might have -called the hardships of the transgressor. - -One day especially, when he rode into the city a little later than -usual, he found his uncle at his room waiting for him. - -“Where the deuce is it, Alick, that you gallop off to every morning of -your life?” inquired the old gentleman, who had somehow or other got a -hint that his nephew rode _into_ Washington every morning, but had no -suspicion that he slept _out_ of the city every night. “Where the deuce -is it that you go?” he repeated. - -Alick, taken by surprise, hesitated before he could summon the presence -of his mind, and reply: - -“Oh, I make a practice of taking a gallop through the morning air for my -health.” - -“Umph, umph, umph!” growled the old gentleman. “You look more like you -made a practice of sitting over your wine until four or five, or six -o’clock in the morning, for your illness.” - -Alick laughed rather lugubriously, it must be confessed, for he saw that -the old gentleman’s suspicions were aroused, although, of course, they -must have been of the vaguest character. - -“Well,” said the general, “you have got a busy day before you, Alick, -and no time to lose. First, you have to escort Anna to St. John’s -Church, to be present at the wedding of Senor Don Emillio Arayo, the son -of the Brazilian Minister, with Mademoiselle Marie de Courcey, niece of -the French Ambassador. All the world is going, and Anna is going with -them, of course.” - -“Satan fly away with the Spanish puppy and the French ninny!” was -Alick’s secret thought. But he bowed, and said: - -“Sir, I shall be most happy.” - -“And then you are engaged to dine at Major General Scott’s. And after -that to go and take Anna, to see the great new tragedienne, Mrs. Starrs, -in Lady Macbeth; after which you sup with me and Anna.” - -“What a fussy old Polonius uncle is getting to be, to be sure! I really -think the old man is falling into his dotage,” thought Alick within -himself. But he answered aloud: - -“A very pleasant programme, sir.” - -“Aye, I suppose you young people think it so. I confess I don’t. But, -Alick, my boy, I must beg you to forego your gallop to-morrow morning. -My old friend—and your late father’s oldest friend—Commodore Storms, is -coming to breakfast with me at eight o’clock, and, of course, you must -join us. It will be the only chance you will have of seeing him, as he -is only passing through the city on his way south, and leaves by the -mid-day train to-morrow.” - -Alexander stared in dismay, and then inquired: - -“Could I not see him to-day, sir?” - -“No, he is gone with a party to visit Mount Vernon. Besides, what time -have you to do any thing to-day but what is appointed for you?” - -“None indeed,” said Alexander with an involuntary sigh, which did not -escape the notice of the old man. - -“Does it afflict you so much then?” enquired the general. - -“What sir?” - -“The idea of your giving up your mysterious morning ride for a breakfast -with two old Revolutionary relics like the commodore and myself,” -answered the general, fixing a scrutinizing gaze upon his nephew’s face. - -“Oh no, sir! I—was thinking only how much rather I would see my father’s -old friend sooner than later,” answered Alexander, again true in the -letter but false in the spirit of his reply. - -And so Mr. Lyon concluded that there was no alternative for him but to -stay in town all night as well as all day. And he did so, fully carrying -out the programme sketched for him by his uncle, but feeling all the -while great pain from the thought that his poor lonely young wife would -sit up the whole night waiting anxiously for his return. - -The next day was quite as much taken up with engagements as any former -day had been; and so it was long past midnight when Alick got home. - -He found Drusilla wan and wasted with waiting and watching there two -days and nights of suspense and anxiety; but he saw no look of reproach -in her gentle eyes, heard no word of blame from her sweet lips. - -He perceived her sufferings and was angry with himself for causing them, -and he began some lame explanation of his absence. - -But she saw his embarrassment and stopped his faltering words with a -kiss, and she said: - -“Dear Alick, it is enough that you are here again to make me happy. You -do not need to render your poor little wife, who has not much wisdom of -her own, an account of your actions.” - -And she told him the little news of the two days at home, and she -laughed and jested and served his supper with her old cheerfulness and -alacrity. - -The next morning Alexander went to town with the deliberate purpose of -ending his own perplexities and his wife’s sufferings, by doing the -right thing and confessing his secret marriage, to his uncle. - -But ah! it always happened whenever an especial fit of repentance moved -Alexander to amendment, something occurred to throw him back upon his -evil course and confirm him in it. - -So it was on this morning. - -He strolled into a reading-room and sat down at one of the tables and -took up a paper to look at the news of the day. He had not been there -more than five minutes when he heard his cousin Anna’s name mentioned in -connection with his own. Impulsively he looked up and listened. - -The speakers, seated at a table near, were strangers to him, as he -evidently was to them, since they discussed his private affairs so -freely in his hearing. - -“I tell you there is not a word of truth in it. It is all a mistake. It -is a false report. The beautiful Anna cares no more for young Lyon than -she does for you or me. If she cares for any one on earth, it is for -that handsome fellow, Dick Hammond, who has just come into a great -fortune,” said the first speaker. - -“That may all be quite true. I am not saying who she cares for, but who -she is going to marry. She may not care a pin for Lyon, and she may -adore Hammond; but for all that she must marry Lyon and give Hammond the -goby, since such was the will of the two ancient landed proprietors, her -grandfather and granduncle, who long ago decided that their large -estates should be united,” said the second speaker. - -“Well, if I were the lady’s choice, Dick Hammond, I think I should set a -very serious impediment between the union of those said estates.” - -“And if I were the betrothed lover, Alexander Lyon, I would break Dick’s -neck for his presumption,” said the last speaker, as both arose from the -table and strolled away. - -Alexander’s anger and jealousy were both aroused, and his good -resolutions were put to flight. He arose and followed the two speakers, -but they had disappeared in the crowd. - -The days of duelling are past, thank Heaven; else Alexander would have -liked to have sought out and called out one or both of these male -gossips and exchanged a shot with either or both of them at ten paces. - -As it was he could only let his anger cool down and then acknowledge to -himself that they had really neither done nor said anything very wrong. -They had only unconsciously wounded his self-love and aroused his -jealousy. - -Anna Lyon, his beautiful cousin, had always been intended for himself, -he said, and Dick Hammond knew it. And even now, for all Dick Hammond -knew to the contrary, he, Alick Lyon, had the exclusive right to Anna’s -regards. - -How then did he, Dick Hammond, dare to set himself up as a lover of -Anna, and a rival of her betrothed? - -Yes! and how dared Anna, in the face of her parent’s will and her own -engagements, receive and favor him as such? - -Alick ground his teeth with rage and jealousy. - -“They must never know, they _shall_ never know, but that my claims to -Anna’s hand are as good as they ever were!—At least they shall not know -it until all possibility of Hammond’s union with Anna is destroyed,” -said Alick to himself. - -And that day he devoted himself with lover-like assiduity to his Cousin -Anna. And that night he remained in town all night. - -Alas, for Drusilla! She had fallen upon still darker days; for now she -never even knew when waiting up for her husband, whether he would return -or not. - -Still—still she strove against despondency and hoping against hope, -assumed some cheerfulness. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII. - SILENT SORROW. - - And the little lady grew silent and thin, - Paling and ever paling, - As is the case with a hid chagrin, - And they all said she was ailing.—ROBERT BROWNING. - - -The young wife’s faith and hope were sinking under the pressure of -coldness and solitude; and only her undying love survived in all its -strength and beauty. - -She was seriously ill, though she still kept up, moving about the house -to attend to her domestic affairs all day, and sitting up to receive her -husband half the night. - -And these exhausting duties of course made her worse. - -And oh, illness in woman is very repulsive to most men, and especially -to those of Alexander Lyon’s fastidious nature and self-indulgent -habits. Illness pales the cheeks and dims the eyes; and worse than all, -it frets the nerves and tries the temper. - -So it was with Drusilla: weary and anxious, suffering in mind and body, -when Alexander came home near morning she could not always welcome him -with the happy glances he had been accustomed to receive from her. - -And on these occasions her sad face and tearful eyes so displeased and -irritated him, that he would go off to his own room without touching the -refreshments that she had got ready for him, or even stopping to bestow -a kind word upon her. - -He meant, by this conduct, to punish her for what, in his thoughts, he -called “her sulks.” But this sort of punishment nearly broke her loving -heart. He caused her depression and then blamed her for being depressed. -It was as if he had crushed a violet and then blamed it for withering. - -It was a pity, too, that just at this time such a contrast should have -been exhibited between his brilliant, beautiful and imperious cousin and -his little, pale, drooping wife. - -He would spend the evening with Anna at some fashionable assembly, where -he saw her, in all the splendor of beauty and pride of place, the -all-admired belle of the season, the reigning queen of society;—and -then, full of the intoxication of her new charms, he would return home -to find Drusilla, pale, weary and depressed, and he would start off to -his own room to curse the fate that had so long blinded him to the -transcendent attractions of his high-born cousin, and bound him for life -to the insignificant daughter of his housekeeper. And the very bitterest -element in his misery was the thought that, sooner or later, his old -rival, Richard Hammond, must win the priceless treasure that he himself -had so madly cast away. - -It is to be feared that if at this time Alexander Lyon could possibly -have devised any means of secretly and legally repudiating his young -wife, he would not have hesitated to do so. As it was, he estranged -himself from her, and passed more nights in his rooms at the hotel than -in his home at Cedarwood. But he never gave the gentle creature a single -harsh word or look; with all his madness—and his mood was little less -than madness—he could not do either; he simply broke her spirit by -coldness, neglect and avoidance. - -And yet, notwithstanding all this, if he had but known it, in his heart -of hearts it was Drusilla he loved and not Anna. - -He had made no mistake in marrying this sweet girl; it had been a true -inspiration that had drawn him towards her when he was a youth and she a -child. She was the better half of his spirit, and the guardian angel of -his life, as well as the true love of his youth. And once he knew all -this to be true; but now he seemed to have forgotten. - -Besides, Drusilla—soul and body, beyond all doubt or question—was his -own; and therefore was she undervalued and despised as something of -little worth; while Anna was unattainable by him, and likely to become -the wife of his rival; and therefore was Anna over-rated as a pearl -beyond price, and desired with passionate eagerness. But whatever this -phrenzy was, for the girl whom he had known from his boyhood up, and in -his thoughts rejected as a wife years before—it was not love; it was -probably a hallucination made up of pride, jealousy, admiration, and the -fascination of the unattainable. Alexander Lyon had fancied many a -beauty in his life; but he had never once loved any other than the -young, devoted wife whom he now so insanely wronged and grieved. - -And ah! how severely she suffered in secret, how bitterly she wept over -the ever-increasing estrangement; never blaming him, however, even in -her thoughts; blaming herself, rather, for not being able to merit his -love and make him happy; never losing faith in him, but losing faith in -herself. - -Her love was without a taint of selfishness; but it was not without sin, -for it was idolatrous. - -She seemed to herself to have no life but in him. Failing as she -thought, to _merit_ his love, and failing to make him happy, she was -willing to die to set him free and give him peace. - -“Poor Alick,” she said, in her heart, as she paced up and down her -forsaken chamber floor, wringing her hands and weeping bitterly; “Poor -Alick, it is not his fault that we are both so miserable, it is mine. I -am not a fit wife for him; I never was; but I loved him so! I loved him -so. Ah, but if I had loved him rightly I never would have let him -shipwreck his life upon me—so unfit to be his mate. He married me out of -pity, and I let him do it, and now I deserve to be wretched. But he is -wretched too, though he don’t deserve to be so. Ah! what can I do to -undo all this?” - -And in the climax of her hysterical passion she was almost ready to lay -down her young life that her beloved might step over it into liberty and -light. - -“Oh, why, oh, why did he ever ruin his hopes by wedding me? Why? Oh, I -know too well why. Poor Alick! it was out of the goodness of his heart -that he did it! He was always so good to me from my infancy up, calling -me his child, giving me everything I needed, doing all I asked. And when -he saw me a poor little motherless and homeless girl, he took pity on -me, and raised me up and put me on his bosom and comforted me and tried -to love me; but he cannot, because I am not lovable; and now, even now, -he never gives me an unkind word or look, only stays away from me -because he cannot love me, and he is too honest to feign a love he -cannot feel. Oh, Alick! I would die to make you free and happy again, if -it were not a sin! I would, dear, I would!” - -Such was the burden of her lamentations in her hours of secret -suffering. - -No word of these sad plaints reached his ears. Her paroxysms of anguish -would have exhausted themselves, or she would have obtained some degree -of self-command before his late return home; so that though pale and -sad, and bearing the traces of recent tears, she met him with composure; -for she remembered, poor child, his abhorrence of an ugly, weeping face. - -But now he had no mercy on her; she seemed to him a fetter that galled -him, and he pitied himself and not her. - -Sometimes, when she looked even more than usually pale and ill, he -wondered whether she was going to die; but he wondered without alarm, -and even without pity. - -Drusilla spent the long winter evenings in reading. She read a great -number of books, but they were not always the most judiciously chosen, -or the best calculated to cheer her spirits or strengthen her mind. - -Among the new works that Alexander brought home one night and threw -carelessly upon the table, was Mrs. Crowe’s “Night Side of Nature.” - -And this book subsequently fell into Drusilla’s hands, and she seized -and read it with avidity. And worse than all, she read it in her lonely -night watches in that isolated country house. - -The work, written with great power to prove the reality of the -re-appearance of departed spirits in this world, and filled with -accredited stories of apparitions, haunted houses, marvellous visions, -presentiments, omens, warnings, dreams, et cetera, had a great -fascination for Drusilla, and night after night she pored over its dark -pages with a morbid fervor. - -There was another book that came in her way about the same time, and -exercised the same fatal spell over her impressible imagination. It was -that volume of De Quincy’s works containing the “Three Memorable -Murders,” and worked up with all the fearful intensity of the Opium -Eater. - -The effect of these books upon her excitable nervous system was -terrible. - -This was owing very much to the circumstances under which they were -read. In a solitary house, in a deep wood, in the dead of night, and in -the depth of winter. And often, her imagination would be so wrought -upon, that she would not dare to lift her eyes to the looking-glass over -the mantle-piece, lest she should meet there the reflection of some face -other than her own, nor venture to glance at the windows on her left, -for fear she should see some spectral form peering in through the -darkness. - -And so, in the appalling solitude and silence of the scene, and of the -hour, imaginary terrors were added to real troubles, and between them -both her nervous system was nearly broken down. - -It is true that she might have ameliorated her condition in more than -one way, but that she had too much consideration for others and too -little for herself. - -She might have gone to bed early each night but that Alexander had no -night key, and there was no one to let him in whenever he pleased to -return, except herself. - -Also, she might have made Pina sit up to keep her company; but she would -not deprive the girl of rest. - -Lastly, she could at least have closed the window shutters against that -imaginary spectral form she always feared to see; but she chose to leave -them open that the light from her drawing-room might cheer her beloved -in his late approach to the house—whenever he chose to come home; which -was not often at this period. - -But this state of things could not last forever; and a crisis was at -hand. - -One dark, still, winter night, when not a star was to be seen in the -sky, and the very air, as well as the earth and the water seemed -frozen—between two and three o’clock after midnight, Drusilla sat alone -in her drawing-room. - -To while away the tedious hours she had read until her eyes filmed and -her brain reeled. And then she had been compelled to lay aside her book, -and sink back in her resting chair. - -In the excited state of her nervous system she could not sleep, for she -was listening through the dead stillness of deep night, hoping to hear -the sound of the horse’s feet, that was always the warning of her -husband’s approach. - -And yet she had no means of knowing whether he would return that night -or not. - -As she sat there waiting and listening, she could but remember the -possible dangers of her position. - -The house contained much of the sort of property that tempt -burglars—property at once very valuable and very portable—such as silver -and gold plate, jewels and money. - -She had been living in it now some months, and secludedly as she lived, -her abode there, and the richness and defencelessness of the premises -might well have come to the knowledge of the professional burglars, -whose acuteness in discovering such rich mines of unprotected treasure -is much finer than that of the detectives who are always supposed to be -on their track. - -How easy—how perfectly easy it would be, she thought, for even one -resolute villain to break through those unprotected glass windows, and -murder her, and rob the house, in safety and at leisure. - -The cottage was half a mile from any other dwelling house, and a quarter -of a mile from any public road. The wildest shriek that might ever rise -from dying victim in its rooms, could never be heard by human ears -without. - -As Drusilla remembered these circumstances her very soul grew sick with -terror. And was it any wonder? - -She was a young, delicate, impressible woman. And on this dark night, -and in this isolated house she was quite alone. Her man-servant was in -his loft over the stables, where he slept, with pistols by his side, to -guard the valuable horses. And her maid-servant was in her attic over -the kitchen, in a distant part of the dwelling. - -Any determined thief could easily have entered the house and worked his -will upon the poor young neglected wife and the property. - -“Oh Alick, dear Alick, if you could know how much I suffer, you would -not leave me so,” she groaned, wringing her hands and rising in her -restlessness to walk the floor. - -But almost immediately her worshipping heart rebuked her for having cast -even a shadow of reproach upon her husband, and she hastened to add, - -“But it is my own fault. He has done everything for my comfort here; -given me a beautiful home, and attentive servants. And I ought to be -happy and courageous. Instead of that, I am sad and timid, and -altogether unworthy to be called his wife. I do not wonder that he -wearies of me.” - -So weeping and wringing her hands she paced up and down the floor, until -in turning around she faced the front, unclosed windows, and suddenly -uttered a piercing shriek and fell upon her face in a deadly swoon. - -And well she might. For peering in at the window, from the darkness -without was a livid white face—a man’s stern face. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV. - THE SPECTRAL FACE. - - I felt my senses slackened with the fright - And a cold sweat shrilled down, o’er all my limbs, - As if I’d been dissolving into water.—DRYDEN. - - And now the morning sky resumes her light, - And nature stands recovered of her night, - My fear, the last of ills, remains behind, - And horror heavy sick upon my mind.—IBID. - - -When Drusilla recovered from her deathly swoon, the cold gray light of -the winter morning was stealing through the unshuttered windows. - -She lifted herself upon her elbow and gazed around her in utter -bewilderment. Slowly, slowly came memory back to her. And with it the -sense of fear and the instinct of flight. But before she could command -her chilled and benumbed limbs, observation and reflection both assured -her that there was now no cause for alarm. - -The windows were still closed although the shutters were open. -Everything in the room was in its usual place. Nothing had been -disturbed. No intruder had been there. Whose ever the face had been that -had looked in upon her through the window in the dead of night, it had -done no harm. - -The feeling of relief with which Drusilla acknowledged all this was -speedily followed by one of extreme depression; for by all the signs -around her, she perceived that Alexander had not yet come home. - -The lamps were still burning brightly in the face of the broadening day. -And the untasted supper sat in its covered dishes on the hearth. But the -fire had burned out and the room was cold. - -Very drearily Drusilla arose; put out the lamps and then went up to her -own chamber, and rang the bell for her servant, to make her a fire. - -“Good patience, ma’am!” exclaimed the girl when she entered the chamber -and found the bed undisturbed, and her mistress in the dress of the -evening before. “Surely ma’am, you have never been sitting up all -night?” - -“I have not been in bed, as you see, Pina. Make me a fire as quickly as -you can, for I am very cold. And then bring me some warm water and get -me a cup of tea,” said Drusilla. - -When all these orders had been obeyed, and the unhappy young wife had -refreshed herself with a wash, a change of dress and a cup of hyson, and -reclined at rest in her easy chair, she said to her handmaid: - -“Pina—go and bring your brother here, I wish to question him in your -presence.” - -The girl started at this unusual order, and looked alarmed, as if she -supposed that herself and her brother were to be arraigned upon some -grave charge. - -But her mistress perceived her fears and hastened to relieve them by -saying: - -“Don’t be afraid, Pina; there is nobody in fault that I know of. I only -wish to question your brother upon a circumstance that occurred last -night. Now go at once and fetch him here.” - -The girl left the room and went to find her fellow servant, who was in -the kitchen eating his breakfast. - -“You must just leave off gormandizing this minute and come up to _her_ -directly. Something’s up; but I don’t know what it is. She says she -wants to question you about what happened last night, whatever that was, -if you know, for I don’t. I hope you’ve not been having unproper -company, and misbehaving of yourself up there in the stable loft,” said -Pina, breathlessly, as she stood before her brother. - -Leo, with his mouth full and his eyes starting, stared at his sister in -stupefaction. - -“Come, I say; come along with me up to the mistress,” repeated Pina. - -“What for? I haven’t been a doing of nothing!” exclaimed the boy. - -“Well, tell her so, then, and get her to believe it; but come along.” - -Leo reluctantly left his tea and muffins and bacon, and hesitatingly -followed Pina to the presence of his mistress, where he also expected to -be arraigned upon some charge of misconduct. - -But the first worst words of the little lady set him at ease. - -“Leo, have you seen any suspicious persons or any strangers lurking -about here lately?” she inquired. - -“Lor, no ma’am, no person at all, not a soul, except ’twas master and -you, ma’am, and Pina and me. The place is so out of the way, you know, -ma’am. And so lonesome! Awful lonesome I calls it,” answered the boy. - -“No sportsmen after birds or other such small game?” - -“Not a one, ma’am.” - -“Nor boys setting traps for snow-birds?” - -“No, ma’am. Bless you, ma’am, hasn’t I just told you how I’ve never seen -a human face about the place, except it is you and master’s and me and -Pina’s.” - -“Well, _I_ saw a man’s face between two and three o’clock after -midnight, peeping in at the drawing-room windows,” said the little lady -very gravely. - -“Indeed, ma’am!—whose could it a been?” inquired the boy in -astonishment. - -“That is what I do not know, and what I wished to ascertain.” - -The boy scratched his head and looked confounded. - -“A face a peeping in at the windows in the dead o’ night! Bless us and -save us!” he muttered to himself. - -“I shall be feared to stay in the house nights when the master’s not -in,” said Pina, turning as pale as one of her color could. - -“I hope there is nothing to fear. I shall speak to your master as soon -as he comes home,” said Drusilla, to reassure her domestics. - -“But there’s so many bugglers about,” said Pina, with a shudder. - -“And to be sure, the house is very unprotected like and lonesome, and -there’s a deal of silver and gold into it,” added Leo. - -“I don’t think the face was that of a burglar. If it had been, he might -have entered the house and killed me, and taken what he wanted. There -was nothing to prevent him,” said Drusilla. - -“Ah-h-h!” screamed Pina, “I shall never dare to sleep in the house when -master is away.” - -“I shall ask your master to allow Leo to sleep in the house when he -himself means to be absent,” said Drusilla. - -“But then they would steal the horses,” objected Leo. - -“Well, and if they do? Ain’t the mistress’s life, to say nothing of the -gold and silver plate, and money and jewels, a deal more vallearble than -the hosses, you——” - -Pina stopped her tongue in time not to call her brother bad names in her -mistress’s presence. - -“You may both go now. And, Pina, say nothing of what has happened. And -you, Leo, keep your faculties on the alert and try to discover this -mystery,” said the little lady. - -“What—what is it I am to do with my factories, ma’am?” inquired the boy, -doubtingly. - -“You are to keep your eyes and ears open and try to find out who it was -that looked into my window,” said Drusilla, smiling even in the midst of -her sadness. - -“Oh, yes, ma’am,” answered the boy, as he bowed himself out, followed by -his sister. - -That day, owing to the alarm of the previous night and the long swoon, -and the awakening in the cold room, Drusilla was unusually ill, both in -mind and body; she remained in her chamber, wrapped in her dressing gown -and reclining in her easy chair. - -But when evening came, from sheer force of habit, she roused herself and -gave orders for a fire to be kindled and lamps to be lighted in the -drawing-room, and supper to be prepared in case her husband should -return. - -And she dressed herself with care and went down and seated herself in -her usual place to be ready to receive him. - -But another long and lonely evening was before her, with an unusual -trial at its close. - -At ten o’clock, as usual, Pina came in to ask her mistress if there were -any more orders and to bid her good night. - -“No, Pina, I want nothing more this evening. You may go,” said Drusilla. - -“Won’t you let me close the shutters, ma’am, for fear that gashly face -will look in again?” - -“No, Pina, they must be left open to guide your master home. The night -is very dark, and here are no gas-lighted streets, you know,” smiled the -little lady, determined not to yield to her fears. - -“Well, ma’am,” said the girl, hesitatingly—“Brother Leo, ma’am, he says -if you would take the ’sponsibility to give him an order so to do, he -would stay in the house until master comes home. Shall I tell him to do -it, ma’am?” - -“Certainly not. Leo must not disobey his master; nor can I interfere -with Mr. Lyon’s arrangements,” answered the faithful wife. - -Pina looked distressed; and raising and rolling her apron and casting -down her eyes, she ventured to say: - -“Beg pardon, ma’am, but won’t you please be coaxed to let Brother Leo -stay in the house to take care of us instead of the horses to-night?” - -“By no means, Pina. Say no more about it, my good girl,” answered the -little matron, firmly. - -The girl looked up at her mistress to see if she was really in earnest, -and then burst into tears and sobbed forth the broken words: - -“Well, ma’am, if you won’t let Brother Leo stay in here to take care of -the house an’ us, plea—plea—please let me go long of him to the stable; -becau—cau—cause I should die of fright to stay here with nobody but you, -ma’am, please.” - -Drusilla looked at the maid in surprise and displeasure for a minute, -and then her beautiful benevolence got the ascendancy over every other -emotion, and she answered: - -“You poor, timid girl, go if you wish.” - -“And you won’t be ang—ang—angry long of me, ma’am, I hope?” inquired -Pina, half ashamed of herself. - -“No more than I should be angry with a hare for running away. It is your -nature, as it is the hare’s, to be cowardly.” - -“Well, then, ma’am, as Brother Leo is a waiting to know what he is to -do, I may go now, mayn’t I?” - -“Yes, go.” - -“Good night, ma’am, please; and I hope the Lord will take care of you.” - -“I do not doubt that He will, Pina. Good night.” - -And so the girl retired. - -And Drusilla was left quite alone, not only in the room but in the -house. At first she felt very desolate and depressed and inclined to -cry. But presently she reasoned with herself: - -“That timid girl was really no protection. I am quite as safe without -her as with her. I must trust in the Lord without whom ‘the watchman -watcheth in vain.’ One of our wisest sages said, to become heroic, we -must be sure to do that which we most fear to do. And I suppose his -words must be received in their spirit rather than in the letter. I fear -to jump into the fire, and I will not do so. And I fear, oh, how I fear, -to stay in this house alone to-night! And all the more because I fear to -do it, I _will_ do it, rather than break up my husband’s arrangements by -calling Leo from the stables to guard me, and rather than torture that -poor cowardly girl by making her stay here to keep me company. But I -will not touch De Quincey’s or Mrs. Crowe’s works to-night to add to my -morbid terrors. I will read the book of comfort.” - -And so saying, Drusilla took the Bible from its stand, and opened at the -Psalms of David, those inspired outpourings of the soul, that have -consoled and strengthened—how many millions of suffering and fainting -hearts, for how many thousand years! - -We must now leave Drusilla to meet the events of the night, and we must -turn to Alexander, and relate the circumstances that had kept him away -from his home these three days past—circumstances more ominous of evil -to his gentle wife than anything which had as yet happened at Cedarwood. - - - - - CHAPTER XXV. - CAUGHT. - - There’s danger in that dazzling eye, - That woos thee with its witching smile; - Another when thou art not by, - Those beaming looks would fain beguile.—FRANCES OSGOOD. - - -This was the short session of Congress, which would close on the fourth -of March. The fashionable season, therefore, was nearly over, and it was -ending in true carnival style. - -There were morning concerts, theatricals, receptions, etc., all day; and -there were evening concerts, theatricals, receptions, dinners, balls and -parties all night. And “everybody who was anybody” was expected to -“show” at all. - -The belle of the season went everywhere; and often appeared at half a -dozen different scenes of festivity or revelry in one night. - -Her constant escort, Alexander Lyon, had no sinecure. He went with her -everywhere; partly because his uncle willed that he should go with her, -and he could not well refuse without explaining his reasons for doing -so, and he could not explain, without acknowledging his secret marriage -with Drusilla; partly because he imagined himself in love with his -brilliant cousin; but mostly because he determined that Richard Hammond -should not supplant him in his office of escort. - -For two days during which he had not appeared at his home, he had been -on a “perpetual” round of pleasure with Anna. The first day he attended -her to a breakfast given at the Executive Mansion; to a _matinèe -musicale_ at the French minister’s; to an afternoon debate in the Senate -Chamber; to a dinner party at General Stott’s; and to the theatre to see -a celebrated comedienne; and, lastly, to a supper at General Lyon’s -room; all this in one day and evening; so, of course, he could not get -home that night. The next day he went with her, first to a wedding at -St. John’s church, and to the wedding-breakfast at the house of the -bride’s mother; then to hear part of a very interesting case at the -Supreme Court; next to the reception of a cabinet minister; then to an -exhibition of paintings; from that to a dinner party at the Brazilian -minister’s; and, finally, to the very grandest hall of the carnival, -given by the wife of a millionaire, who had taken a furnished house for -the season, and reserved herself for this final magnificent affair. - -It was considered a great distinction to get an invitation to this ball. -Only the “elite” were invited, and all the “elite” were there. - -Anna, restricted by her mourning to a certain style of dress was still, -as always, the most beautiful and the most admired woman of the -assembly. And Alexander was proud of her as his reputed betrothed. - -In all the success of the season Anna had never had such a dazzling -triumph as upon this evening. She seemed to turn all heads with her -bewitching beauty, until at length her own brain seem dizzied with her -conquests. She grew capricious and exasperating. Alexander hovered -around her; and he would not have left her for a moment that evening if -she had not, with a furtive and angry flash of her blazing blue eyes, -peremptorily ordered him to leave her. And to complete his mortification -and despair, she beckoned Richard Hammond to come to her, and she -retained him in her suite for the rest of the evening. - -Alexander was half maddened by this conduct of his cousin. His blood -boiled when he saw her smiling upon his rival; and when he saw that -rival basking in those smiles; and he would have liked to have throttled -Richard then and there; but he knew that it would never do to make a -scene in that place; so he stood scowling and muttering curses, and -planning vengeance. - -General Lyon, who for once had been tempted to come out in the evening -for the sake of being present at this great ball, and meeting many of -his old friends whom he knew would be there, saw the provoking behavior -of the young pair and resolved that as soon as he should have them at -home he would favor the coquette and the rival with a good sound -reprimanding lecture. But the festivities were kept up all night; and so -the old soldier, who broke down at about one o’clock, was forced to -retire and leave the beauty and her rival lovers to their own devices. - -Not, however, without whispering to each of the delinquents in turn: - -“I shall want to see you at my rooms to-morrow at twelve noon.” - -It was broad daylight when the ball broke up. - -Anna was at length under the necessity of giving Richard his congee, and -resigning herself to the charge of Alexander, who, having escorted her -to the ball, was of course obliged to take her home. - -On reaching her lodgings, Anna went to bed to sleep off her fatigue. And -Alexander, who had hardly spoken during the drive home, hurried off to -his rooms at the Blank House, to procure what rest he could before the -hour at which he was to wait upon his uncle. - -At twelve o’clock precisely, the old soldier, having breakfasted, was -seated in his private parlor waiting for his fractious young people. - -Anna was the first to come in. And her grandfather was just clearing his -throat to begin upon her when the door was opened and Mr. Richard -Hammond was announced. - -“Ah! very well, it is just as easy to speak to you both at the same -time,” said the old gentleman, turning around in his chair and facing -the culprits. - -And very imposing looked the veteran as he sat there with his majestic -person, grave countenance and silver hair and beard. - -And the young cousins were certainly awed by the dignity of his aspect -as well as abashed by a sense of their own follies. - -“Come and stand before me, sir and madam.” (This gentleman of the old -school, always on ceremonious occasions, addressed ladies, whether -married or single, by the title of “madam,” which in its true meaning is -simply _ma dame_, or my lady, and applies with equal propriety to maids -or matrons.) - -“Sir and madam, come and stand before me,” he said. - -And the young people, with the reverence they had been educated to show -to age, approached and stood before the old man. - -Their ready obedience mollified him to a certain extent; for when he -spoke again it was in a milder manner. - -“My daughter and my nephew,” he said, “your conduct lately, and -especially your deportment last evening, has shamed and grieved me. It -might be said of our ancient house, as it has been said of another noble -line, that all the men were brave and all the women pure. Let me not see -in you two the first exceptions to that proud rule.” - -The cheeks of the young lady and the brow of the young gentleman flushed -crimson with mortification; but neither spoke, and the old gentleman -continued: - -“No brave man ever tries to supplant an accepted suitor. And no pure -woman ever encourages the rival of her betrothed.” - -The flush deepened on the cheeks of Anna and on the brow of Richard, and -both cast down their eyes, but neither opened their lips. - -“And,” proceeded the veteran hero, “I should blush for the daughter of -my house who should prove a coquette, as I should blush for the son who -should prove a coward. My children, I hope I have said enough. Be brave -as all the men of our line, and pure as all its women.” - -“Richard,” said Anna, with eyes flashing through their tears, “Cousin -Richard, you must bid me farewell here, now, and forever.” - -He took the hand she extended to him, and holding it within his own, -turned to his uncle and said: - -“Sir, you _have_ said enough, and so has my cousin. What it costs me to -leave her, only heaven knows. But you have made an appeal that cannot be -resisted, and I bow before it. Farewell, sir! And Anna, my cousin, -good-bye! Good-bye! God bless you.” - -And after wringing Anna’s hand, he dropped it, bowed to his uncle, and -hastened away to conceal the tears that rushed to his eyes. - -Anna threw herself down upon the sofa, buried her head in its pillows, -and sobbed convulsively. - -The old man, with his hands clasped behind his back, and his -silver-haired head bowed upon his bosom, walked slowly up and down the -floor. At length, he came to his sobbing daughter, and laying his hand -tenderly upon her head, said: - -“I am sorry, Anna. I am sorry, my child. I would I could bear all pain -in your stead. But, Anna, I cannot bear this pang for you. And you know -that faith must be kept, though hearts be grieved—aye, or——” - -Before he could finish his sentence, the door was opened, and Mr. Lyon -was announced. - -On seeing Alexander enter, Anna started up from the sofa, and hurried -from the room. - -“Good morning, sir. I hope I have not disturbed my cousin?” said Mr. -Lyon, bowing, and shaking hands with his uncle. - -“Sit down, Alick,” said the old man, without replying to his -observation. “I wish to speak to you.” - -Alexander seated himself, and looked attentive. - -“Alick, I saw how much annoyed you were last night by Richard’s marked -attentions to Anna, and her seeming encouragement of them.” - -“‘Seeming,’ sir! It was more than seeming; and much more than mere -‘encouragement.’ Sir, she solicited those attentions,” said Alexander, -with scarcely suppressed indignation, and entirely forgetting that _he_ -certainly had no right to object to all this. - -“Tut, tut, tut, tut, boy, that is very strong language. However, I can -overlook it, as the provocation was very great. But, Alick, it was only -the mischievous spirit of a spoiled beauty on her part, and the vanity -of a coxcomb on his. I have had them both up before me this morning, and -spoken some words to them that they will not readily forget. Anna has -dismissed Richard once for all. And he has bid us good-bye, and is gone -for good.” - -Alexander looked up in surprise and pleasure. - -“Yes, it is so,” said the general. - -“Excuse me, sir, was that the reason why my cousin was so very much -overcome, and ran from the room as soon as I came in?” questioned -Alexander, his jealous doubts again awakening. - -“Um-m, well, you see I had said some pretty severe words to her and made -her cry. But it is well she is gone, as I have something to say to you -in private.” - -“Yes sir?” said Alexander, hesitatingly and with a guilty twinge, for -his conscience immediately awakened his fears. What was it his uncle -wanted to say to him? Had the old man got an inkling of the cottage at -Cedarwood and its inmates? Scarcely likely he thought, but still he felt -uneasy until the general said: - -“Alexander my boy, it is now nearly five months since the lamented death -of your dear mother, my esteemed sister-in-law. And I do not for my -part, see why your marriage with Anna should be longer deferred. Long -engagements are very injudicious indeed; and your engagement has been an -exceedingly prolonged one. And I think now that it should terminate in -marriage. Come, what do you say?” - -Alexander turned hot and cold; attempted to speak and failed. - -The old gentleman ascribed all his emotion to excess of love, surprise -and joy. - -“Yes, my boy, I really mean it,” he said, smiling. “To defer the affair -longer would not be so much of a respectful tribute to the memory of -your dear mother, as a superstitious observance. Come! find your tongue, -man! find your tongue!” - -“The question must be referred to my beautiful betrothed sir. It will be -for her to decide it,” said Alexander. - -“Oh, aye, certainly, to be sure; it will be for her to decide it; but it -will be for _you_ to induce her to decide it in your favor, my lad,” -chuckled the old gentleman. “And as you are to take her to see Saviola’s -new picture to-day, you will have a fine opportunity of doing so,” he -added. - -At that moment the door was again opened, and Commodore Staughton was -announced. - -And as the old naval hero entered the room, Alexander arose and bowed -and made his escape. - -But Mr. Lyon did not attend his cousin to the picture gallery that -afternoon. Anna pleaded excessive fatigue, and with good reason, and -kept her room until evening, when she went, attended by Alexander, to a -reception at the Executive Mansion, that was the last and greatest of -the season. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI. - A MEMORABLE NIGHT. - - ’Tis only the obscure is terrible; - Imagination frames events unknown, - In wild fantastic shapes of hideous ruin, - And what it fears, creates.—HANNAH MORE. - - -It was two hours after midnight, on a keen March morning, when Alexander -Lyon, in the face of a fierce northwest wind, rode on towards his almost -forsaken home. - -His frame of mind was not enviable. - -Never since he had entered upon his life of deception had his -double-dealing so much disturbed him. The discovery of his duplicity was -now impending. His uncle had proposed his immediate marriage with his -betrothed; and should the obstinate old gentleman persist in pushing on -the project, and should Anna raise no objection to it, there would be no -other course for Alexander to pursue but frankly to confess his secret -marriage with Drusilla, and so brave the old soldier’s roused wrath, and -bear the young beauty’s bitter scorn. - -Yet, still Mr. Lyon resolved to delay the degradation of such a -disclosure, and the shame of such a scene as long as possible, for still -he hoped, “out of this nettle danger to pluck the flower safety.” - -It was possible, he thought, that his uncle might not persevere in his -purpose, and it was probable that Anna herself would be the first to -object to a precipitated wedding, and would insist that the programme -should be followed, and that the full year of mourning for his mother -should elapse before Alexander should claim her hand. - -There yet remained nearly eight months to the end of this probation. In -this time, how much, he reflected, might happen to deliver him from his -disagreeable dilemma. - -_Drusilla might die._ - -He felt a pang of shame and sorrow as this idea entered his mind. Yet -still he entertained it. Drusilla was now declining in health, and she -might die. And in such a case he should be free from the trammels of his -reckless marriage, and from the necessity of making the humiliating -confession that he had ever worn them. - -Agitated by these evil thoughts, he rode rapidly onward towards -Cedarwood. - -As he entered the private road leading through the dark wood he saw the -beacon lights of his home in the drawing-room windows, shining out to -guide him on his way. - -“She is waiting for me, poor child,” he said, half in compassion, half -in contempt. “Still waiting and watching as she has been doing no doubt, -for the last three nights—the last three nights! Ah! and how many nights -behind them! Poor little miserable! I wish I had never seen her!” - -So muttering to himself Alexander rode around to the stable and put up -his horse, and then walked back to the house and knocked at the front -door. - -It did not fly open as usual at his summons, so he knocked again, louder -than before; but there was no response. - -Then he sounded an alarm upon the knocker, and waited for the result. - -But when the noise he made died away, all remained silent in the house. - -“What the deuce is the meaning of this, I should like to know?” he -inquired of himself, as he went down the steps and climbed up to the -sill of the front windows, and looked into the drawing-room. - -The room was brilliantly lighted up, but the fire in the grate had -burned low; the untasted supper covered up on the hearth had probably -grown cold; and the little guardian angel of the place was no where to -be seen. - -“Where the mischief can she be?” he asked himself; and having frequently -expressed annoyance that she should sit up late to let him in, he now -felt vexation that she should have gone to rest, and left him to get in -as he could. - -There was nothing now for him to do but to go back to the stable and -rouse up his man-servant, and get the key of the kitchen door, by which -that functionary always let himself in in the morning to make the fires. - -Leo slept in the loft over the carriage-room, which was shut off from -the horse stalls, and locked within. - -And it required considerable knocking and calling before the man could -be awakened. - -When at last he aroused he started up in terror shouting; - -“Who’s there? Thieves! murder! fire!—go away, or I’ll shoot!” - -“Coward, and fool!—come down and open the door!” loudly and angrily -exclaimed his master. - -But before Mr. Lyon had fairly got the words out of his mouth Leo put -his pistol out of the window, and pulled the trigger and blazed away. - -The ball whizzed past within an inch of the ear of Alexander, who -instinctively dodged and shrank out of the range of fire, as he shouted: - -“Stop that, you villain! What do you mean, you poltroon? It is I, your -master.” - -But the man was mad with terror; and even while his master spoke, fired -again and again, until he had discharged six shots from his revolver; -and then he retired from the window. - -“And now, you scoundrel!” again shouted Mr. Lyon, as soon as silence was -restored. “Do you hear me—do you know me now? I am your master. Come -down and open the door; I want you.” - -A minute passed, and then the voice of Leo was heard from above, calling -cautiously: - -“Marse Alick, Marse Alick! Is it you, sir?” - -“Of course it is I, you cursed idiot! who else should it be? And it is -very well for you that I am living to answer, and you are not a -murderer. Come down instantly, I say, and open the door.” - -“Lor, Leo, chile, it is marster; I knows his speech. So let him in,” -spoke another low voice, which Mr. Lyon, in astonishment, recognized as -belonging to Pina. - -Another minute passed, and then Leo came down, with his teeth chattering -from cold and fright, and opened the door. - -“And now, you villain! what have you got to say for yourself, that I -shall not have you committed to jail to-morrow on charge of assault with -intent to kill?” angrily demanded Mr. Lyon. - -“Oh, Marse Alick! I’m as much mortified at the mistake as ever I can be. -Indeed, sir, I thought it was horse thieves, and I was duty bounden to -’fend the hosses, you know, sir,” pleaded Leo. - -“Umph; well, you must be more careful another time, my man. Your mistake -might have cost you your neck, you know.” - -“’Deed, sir, I—if I had been so misfortunate as to hurt you I shouldn’t -a cared _that_ for my neck! I should a wanted to a’ hanged myself ’dout -waitin’ for the judge to do it,” said the boy, so earnestly that he at -once disarmed his master. - -“Very well, I dare say you speak truly. And now let me have the key of -the back door; I wish to get in the house and go to bed. Your mistress -has shut up the place and retired. I suppose she has given up all -thoughts of seeing me to-night. Where is the key?” - -“Here it is, sir; shall I go on to the house with you?” - -“No, there is no need. Oh, by the way—was not that Pina’s voice I heard -speaking to you?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“And pray how comes she to be sleeping down here in the stable loft, -when she should be in the house with her mistress? And now I think of -it, how _is_ your mistress?” - -“Ah, purty much the same as usual, sir,” said Leo, trying to evade the -‘previous question.’ - -“I am glad to hear it. But about Pina; how comes she to be sleeping -here?” - -“Well, sir, you see there’s been a ’larm at the house; and Pina, she was -feared—” - -“‘An alarm at the house?’ What sort of an alarm?” anxiously inquired Mr. -Lyon. - -“Well, sir, if you will please to let me walk along home with you I -could tell you as I go along.” - -“Come then and be quick.” - -“Oh lor, Brother Leo, ask master to wait for me, please. I don’t dare to -stay here all alone by myself!” exclaimed Pina, scuttling down from the -loft as fast as she could come. - -“Hurry then, you provoking fool; and mind, I have an account to settle -with you when you come,” said Mr. Lyon, as he stamped his feet and -clapped his hands to keep his almost congealed blood in circulation, -while the fierce wind whirled his riding-coat round and round. - -Meantime Leo quickly took down his own overcoat from its peg in the -coach-room, and put it on. - -“Now then! How dared you to leave your mistress and come down here to -sleep, eh?” angrily demanded Mr. Lyon, as Pina came to the side of her -brother. - -“Please, sir, it was along of the fright. And mistress said I might. And -no more wasn’t she angry long o’ me for it,” whimpered the girl. - -“Your kind mistress is never angry with anybody for anything,” answered -Mr. Lyon, doing justice to his neglected young wife, on this occasion at -least. “And,” he added, “I will hear what she has to say about the -matter before I excuse you. And now, Leo,” he inquired, turning to the -boy, “what about this alarm at the house? I hope it was a false one. Was -it of thieves?” - -“Well, sir, I don’t rightly know whether it was a false alarm or not, -nor likewise whether it was thieves.” - -“Tell me all you know of it.” - -“If you please, I don’t know anything about it personably myself. It was -not me as seen the face at the window, in the dead hour of the night, it -was my mistress.” - -“‘A face at the window in the dead of night?’” echoed Mr. Lyon, in -astonishment. - -“Yes, sir.” - -“What night?” - -“Last night, sir, about this hour, as I understand.” - -“Give me the particulars.” - -Leo began and related the story, as he had received it from his -mistress. - -“That is most extraordinary and it must be investigated,” said Mr. Lyon, -in a musing and anxious manner, as the boy finished the tale. “But,” he -added, turning sternly to the two servants, “how came you, you cowardly -brutes, to leave your young mistress alone in the house to-night after -such an alarm? I feel inclined to part with you both.” - -“Oh, sir,” said Leo, “I begged my mistress to allow me to stay in the -house to keep guard, I did, indeed, sir; but she wouldn’t so much as -hear of it. She said how she wouldn’t interfere long of your -arrangements, sir; and so she ordered me to go back to the stables and -take care o’ the hosses.” - -“And indeed, master, indeed, sir,” put in Pina, “I did say to my -mist’ess wasn’t her safety of more ’count than the dumb brutes; but she -wouldn’t hear to me, no more’r to Brother Leo.” - -“And so she sent you both out of the house!” exclaimed Mr. Lyon, -frowning darkly. - -“Indeed she did, sir,” answered Pina. - -“And remained in it alone?” - -“Yes, sir,” replied Leo. - -“Humph!” growled Mr. Lyon, and his anger was diverted from his offending -servants to his neglected wife. An insane suspicion took possession of -him, and he mentally connected the mysterious face at the window, with -the circumstance of Drusilla’s sending her servants from the house, and -he drew an inference which nothing but the madness of jealousy could -have inspired, and he hurried on at a pace which even his agile young -servants found it hard to keep up with. - -They went around to the back door and opened it, and Mr. Lyon, calling -his servants to follow him through the house, groped his way along the -dark back passages to the octagon hall and up the stairs to his wife’s -chamber, which was dimly lighted by a night-taper on the mantle-piece -and a smouldering fire in the grate. The room was vacant and evidently -had not been occupied since the morning. - -“Where can she be?” he inquired, and in an accession of anxiety he -hurried through the other rooms of the upper story; but found them all -empty. - -Then, still attended by his servants, he went below stairs and searched -the library and the bird room. But neither Drusilla nor any one else -could be found. - -“I looked into the drawing-room before I entered the house—looked in -through the unshuttered front windows and I saw that no one was in -there. But I will look again,” muttered Mr. Lyon, in extreme -astonishment and anxiety, as he passed into the apartment in question. - -It was still brilliantly lighted up and he could see into every corner -of it; but he saw, besides the usual furniture, only the neatly spread -little supper table; the untasted supper covered up on the hearth; and -the easy chair and slippers near the blackened fire that had quite gone -out. - -But his wife was nowhere to be seen in the room. - -“This is most inexplicable!” he exclaimed, in consternation, as he -turned and looked at his servants, who stood near him aghast with -terror. “At what hour did your mistress dismiss you?” - -“At ten o’clock, sir; but we didn’t go out of the house till nearly -half-past, as it took us some little time to rake out the kitchen fire -and fasten up the place,” answered Leo, while Pina fell to sobbing. - -“Stop that noise, will you, and follow me. I will search the rooms over -the kitchen; though I suppose it will be quite in vain,” said Mr. Lyon, -grimly, as there entered his mind the cruel suspicion that his neglected -and lonely young wife had actually left her home. - -They searched first the kitchen, pantry and laundry, on the first floor -of the back building. Then they went up and searched the servants’ rooms -on the second floor. But without success. - -“She is gone,” said Mr. Lyon to himself, as he led the way back to the -drawing-room. And in the strangely blended emotions of astonishment and -mortification, there was also a delusive feeling of satisfaction and -hope. If she was gone, he should be free. Her departure was his -deliverance. - -As he re-entered the drawing-room, still attended by his servants, he -saw the broad morning light streaming in at the front windows. He -ordered Leo to take away the lamps and to clear out the grate and kindle -a new fire. And he directed Pina to remove the supper service and -prepare his breakfast; for, under all the circumstances, he felt too -much excited to think of lying down to sleep. - -He walked up and down the room, while his servants quickly executed his -orders. And soon every vestige of the evening’s untasted repast and -extinguished fire was removed. And the clean hearth and glowing grate -invited Alexander to repose himself in his easy chair. - -After a while Pina appeared with the table linen in her hand, and -inquired, respectfully: - -“If you please, sir, will you have the breakfast laid here, or in the -dining-room?” - -“In the dining-room, of course,” answered Mr. Lyon. - -“The dining-room,” as the reader knows, was but a cozy, elegant, little -recess, curtained off from the drawing-room, and only large enough to -hold a small table and two chairs, for the young couple’s tête-à-tête -dinners. - -As Pina now drew aside the crimson curtain, she uttered a wild scream, -and stood transfixed and gazing down upon some object near her feet. - -Alexander sprang up to see what had frightened her; but as he put aside -the curtain, and saw what was under it, he started back with an -irrepressible cry of horror. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII - A GREAT DISCOVERY. - - Oh, fatal opportunity! - That work’st our thoughts into desires, desires - To resolutions; and these being ripe and ready, - Then giv’st them birth and brings’t them forth to action.—DENHAM. - - The means that fortune yields must be embraced - And not neglected; else if fortune would, - And we will not, her offers we refuse, - And miss the means of action and success.—SHAKSPEARE. - - -She whom they had sought so vainly, lay there, doubled up, on the floor, -and partly covered by the dropping folds of the curtain. - -“Oh, master! Oh, sir! She is dead! She is murdered! She is, indeed, sir, -and the thieves have been in and done it!” cried Pina, recovering her -voice and wringing her hands in grief and terror. - -And her dreadful words seemed to be true. - -Mr. Lyon could not speak. He silently lifted the lifeless form, and -shuddering to see how helplessly the head and limbs fell over his arms, -he bore it into the drawing-room, and laid it on the sofa. - -Pina followed him, and stood sobbing and wringing her hands. - -He knelt down by the body and gazed on the marble face, the half-open -eyes, and the rigid lips drawn tightly from the white and glistening -teeth. - -He hastily unfastened the front of her dress, and put his hand in her -bosom to feel if her heart yet beat. It seemed still. - -He put his ear down to listen if her lungs yet moved. They were -motionless. - -He felt her hands and feet. They were cold and stiff. - -Then he arose and stood gazing upon the body. - -“Oh, is she dead? Is you sure?” inquired Pina, with tears streaming down -her face. - -“Yes. She seems to have been dead some hours;” groaned Alexander, with -his own face as white as that of the lifeless form before him. - -“Oh, master! Oh, sir! The thieves broke in and done it, didn’t they? -Didn’t they?” - -“I don’t know,” said Mr. Lyon, speaking slowly and softly. “There is no -evidence of the late presence of thieves in the house. Nothing as yet is -missing. And there is no sign of blood upon her clothing.” - -“Oh, master, but her dress is black, and wouldn’t show it plain.” - -Alexander knew this to be true, and he also knew that some wounds bleed -only inwardly. So he began to examine her body. First he unloosed her -beautiful hair, and ran his fingers through its tresses, and felt all -over her head. But apparently she had received no sort of injury there. - -While he was proceeding with this inspection, Pina suddenly started up -and ran out of the room. - -He made a most careful examination, but found no mark of violence upon -her person. - -And yet he thought she must have come to her death suddenly and -violently; since she had been alive and in her usual health between ten -and eleven o’clock on the preceding evening, and now was dead, and -apparently had been so for several hours. - -He had scarcely finished his examination, when Pina rushed back into the -room, holding a fragment of looking-glass in her hand, and exclaiming -eagerly: - -“Try this! Oh, dear master, try this! Lay it to her lips and hold it -there a minute or so, and if there’s any moisture on it, it is a sign -that there’s a little life left, and where there’s life, you know, if -there’s ever so little, there’s hope.” - -Mr. Lyon silently took the piece of glass, and laid it flat with the -bright side to the cold lips, and stood watching the result. - -“Oh, sir, I’m glad I happened to think of it! I know’d a woman, I did, -who fell down into a fit, and lay for dead all day long; for her breath -had stopped, and her heart had stopped, and she was cold and stiff; and -they were going to lay her out, when somebody said ‘try a glass,’ and so -they tried it, and sure enough, after they held it over her lips a -little while, there was a moisture on it, and so they knew she still -breathed ever so little, though they couldn’t perceive it in any other -way but by the glass—and so—” - -“Hush, stop,” said Mr. Lyon, interrupting the garrulous girl, and -examining the glass. - -There was a dimness on its bright surface. - -“You are right. Life is not yet quite extinct. She still breathes -slightly.” - -“Oh, sir, I’m so glad! I feel as glad as if—” - -“Hurry and make a fire in her bed-chamber, while I carry her up stairs,” -said Mr. Lyon, again interrupting the stream of the girl’s talk. - -Pina flew down stairs to get kindling wood, and to startle her brother -with the news that their mistress had been found in a fainting fit so -deep that she seemed dead, or dying, at the last gasp, and it was -doubtful whether she would ever come out of it. - -Meanwhile, Alexander lifted the insensible form and carried it up -stairs, to the bed-chamber, and laid it on the bed. - -Pina soon came in with the kindling wood and rapidly revived the fire -that had not yet gone out. - -Then, while her master ran down stairs and searched for restoratives, -she undressed her mistress and put her between soft, warm blankets, in -the bed, and began to rub her hands and feet in the hope of restoring -the arrested circulation. - -Mr. Lyon returned with brandy and ammonia, and then master and maid used -the most vigorous means for recovering the unconscious sufferer. - -For nearly two hours they worked over her; but their efforts seemed -utterly unavailing. - -At length when they were almost ready to give over in despair, Alexander -perceived a slight fluttering near the heart of his wife. With revived -hope, he redoubled his efforts and soon had the satisfaction of seeing -further signs of returning life. Her chest labored and heaved; her lips -trembled and parted; and then she gasped and opened her eyes. - -“Drusa, Drusa, my darling, do you know me?” he inquired, looking -anxiously in her face. - -But she only gazed at him, with wide open, soft inexpressive eyes, -without replying. - -He hastily mixed a little ammonia and water and raised her head and put -the cordial to her lips. She drank it mechanically; but it immediately -revived her. - -“Drusa, my little Drusa, do you know me now?” he inquired, setting the -glass aside and bending over her. - -She looked at him with infinite love, put her arms up around his neck, -drew his head down to hers and kissed him tenderly. - -He returned her soft caresses, for while he gazed on her sweet, patient, -loving face, and reflected that she was just rescued, as it were, from -the jaws of death, he felt all his compassion, if not his affection for -her, revived. - -“What caused your swoon, my little Drusa?” he inquired. - -But a spasm of pain, or fear, passed over her face and form, and she -shuddered and closed her eyes. - -“Beg your pardon, sir, but if I was you, I wouldn’t ask no questions -yet,” said Pina in a low respectful voice. - -“You are right again,” he answered. - -And he contented himself with sitting by his wife’s bed and holding her -hand, and occasionally bending down and kissing her forehead. - -“If you please sir, to let me go down and bring my mistress up a cup of -strong tea and a bit of dry toast, I think if she could be got to take -it, it would do her good,” said Pina. - -“Go then,” replied Mr. Lyon. - -And as the girl left the room, he stooped and whispered to his wife. - -“I hope you are better, love.” - -“Yes,” she answered. - -“I will not try your strength with questions, now; but as soon as you -are able, you will tell me what caused your deep swoon.” - -She drew his head down to hers and answered in a low, faint voice: - -“_It was the face at the window._” - -“The face at the window! again last night.” - -She nodded; and her lips grew so white and her eyes so wild with terror, -that he hastened to soothe her. - -“There, there is no danger now, my little Drusa! I am here by your side. -Compose yourself for the present, and when you have quite recovered you -shall tell me all about it, and the affair shall be investigated.” - -He laid his hand upon her brow; and she with a sigh of relief, closed -her eyes. - -Presently Pina came in with a little tray upon which stood a cup of tea -and a small piece of dried toast. - -At Alexander’s entreaty and with his assistance, Drusilla sat up and -drank the tea and ate the toast, and then sank back upon her pillow and -after a while, with her hand in his, fell into a natural and refreshing -sleep. - -Alexander still watched her for five or ten minutes longer, and then -after glancing up at the time-piece on the mantle shelf and seeing that -it was nearly eleven o’clock he slipped his hand from hers, told Pina to -take his place by the bedside, and then left the chamber. - -He went down stairs into the drawing-room and rang the bell. - -Leo answered it. - -“Serve my breakfast immediately and then go and saddle my horse and -bring him around to the door,” were Mr. Lyon’s directions. - -Leo, much wondering that his master should leave his mistress at such a -time, went out of the room to obey his orders. - -Breakfast was soon served. Alexander dispatched it in haste, and then -went up stairs to change his dress for his ride into town. - -When he found himself alone in his dressing-room, all the embarrassments -of his false position—forgotten during the exciting events that had -followed his late arrival at home—were now recalled to mind. - -In an hour or two he should meet his uncle and his cousin. The former -would expect that he should make his proposal for immediate marriage -with Anna, and the latter would be ready to meet it. - -He might either make the anticipated proposal or omit to do it. - -If he should make it, and his cousin should meet it favorably, the -embarrassments of his position would be multiplied a thousand fold, for -certainly he could not marry two wives; neither could he, after having -committed himself by his proposal, confess his prior marriage. - -If he should omit to make the proposal at all, such omission would -subject him to suspicion and severe cross-examination by his uncle and -the grandfather of his betrothed. - -His first hope, then, was in being able to evade the dilemma by -procrastination; and his second hope was that Anna herself might take -the responsibility of insisting upon a further delay of the wedding. - -As for his secret marriage with Drusilla, he was now resolved, come what -might, that he would never reveal it; because he felt sure, if he should -do so, that his uncle and cousin would both discard him, and she would -become the wife of his rival. - -But even in the midst of these evil thoughts, he started as an -absent-minded walker might at seeing himself on the brink of a dreadful -precipice,—yes, started with a sudden consciousness of what a villain he -was growing to be—he who up to this time had been a man of stainless -honor. - -While agitated by these emotions, he was mechanically dressing himself. -He went to his wardrobe to search for a thick coat, for the morning was -still bitterly cold, and the overcoat that he had worn on the previous -day and night had received some damage from Leo’s frantic pistol shots. - -He took down coat after coat, but they were all too thin. - -At length, far back in the wardrobe, he found one that he had not worn -for many months. It belonged to the travelling suit that he had worn -when he went to Alexandria to meet Drusilla and went to the parson to -marry her. - -With feelings of sadness, regret and compunction, he turned the garment -about and looked at it. Then he carefully brushed it and put it on, -buttoned it closely, and thrust both hands in his pockets to push them -down. In doing so, he felt a folded paper. And in listless curiosity he -took it out, opened it, and looked at it. - -In an instant all his listlessness vanished. He held it from him, and -gazed, and gazed at it with his eyes dilating, his lips parting, and his -face blanching with what would have seemed at first view to be amazement -and horror, but which soon proved to be delight and triumph. - -He could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses. He suspected that -he was dreaming. He pinched himself to prove that he was awake. - -Then he suddenly dropped into a chair, waved the paper above his head, -and burst into a loud laugh. - -“Well,” he said, “if I had been the most consummate schemer that ever -lived, I could not have plotted for myself better than fortune has -planned for me. Now, then, Mr. Richard Hammond! Let us see now what are -your prospects of ultimately winning the beauty and the heiress! But -little Drusa! poor little Drusa! patient, loving little Drusa! Thank -fortune that you neither know nor suspect anything of this matter! And -you _must_ neither know nor suspect it yet awhile! For the knowledge, or -even the very suspicion of this, would go near to kill you. Very, very -gradually must you be prepared for it, my darling; very, very gently -must the truth be broken to you, my poor little girl!” - -He felt now no embarrassment as to his relations, present or -prospective, with his betrothed and her grandfather. He was ready to -propose to Anna the next day, and to marry her in a month after, if -expedient. - -For the paper that he had found in the pocket of his wedding coat, and -now held in his hand, proved, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that his -marriage with poor Drusilla was informal, null and void; that it had -always been so, and that he was legally free to love and to wed -whomsoever he should please. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVIII. - HIS LOVE. - - His is the love that only lives, - While the cheek is fresh and red; - His is the love that only thrives, - Where the pleasure feast is spread.—ELIZA COOK. - - -Although that little paper furnished a proof that Alexander Lyon was as -free from marriage-bonds as he wished to be, yet it would have been -better for his own purpose for him to have burned it at once. - -But with that strange unwillingness which some people feel to destroy -even a dangerous document, he carefully folded it up and put it into his -little looking-glass drawer. - -Then he went into the next chamber and spoke to Pina, who was still -watching by her mistress’s bed. - -“Has she moved?” he asked. - -“Oh no, sir, she sleeps very sound,” answered the girl. - -“That is well. Keep her very still. Keep the room dark and quiet. Do not -leave her until my return. If she should wake in the meantime, tell her -that I was compelled to ride into town this morning; but that I shall be -back early. Do you hear?” - -“Yes, sir; and I will be very careful to do as you say.” - -Alexander then drew on his gloves and left the room. When he got down -stairs he repeated to Leo his orders, that the house should be kept very -quiet. Then he mounted his horse and rode rapidly towards the city. He -was an hour behind his usual time, and it was noon when he reached his -room at the hotel. He was glad to find out by inquiry that no one had -called that morning to see him. So he went down stairs to call a cab, to -take him to his uncle’s lodgings. He found the hotel halls, as well as -the city streets, full of bustle. Yesterday had been the last day of the -session of Congress, and to-day there was a general evacuation of the -city, by members of the house and senate, and by the troops of friends -and strangers that attend or follow them to and from Washington. - -Alick found it hard to get an empty cab, so he hailed an omnibus, and -rode on as far as it would take him to his uncle’s lodgings, and then -got out and walked the rest of the way. - -The general had just left his bedroom; but he received his visitor very -cordially. - -“I tell you what, Alick, these fashionable hours don’t suit an -old-fashioned fellow like myself. And I am heartily glad the season is -over. As soon as Anna comes down I shall tell her to give orders to pack -up; for we shall leave in a day or two—just as soon as the great crush -of travellers shall thin off, so that the steamboats and the railway -trains will not be so overcrowded. By the way, I hope you made it all -right with Anna last night?” - -“Please to recollect, my dear sir, that I could not possibly get an -opportunity of speaking to her in private. But I shall make one to-day.” - -“All right, my dear boy, and I will help you. And I hope you will make -up your mind to leave this babel when we do. What is to prevent you, eh? -You might go back with us to the old hall.” - -“I should be very happy to do so, sir; and if I can make arrangements——” - -“Oh, bosh about arrangements! What arrangements can an idle young man -like you have to make? None that could not be made in twenty-four hours. -And we shall not leave for at least forty-eight.” - -“I will try to be ready, sir.” - -As Alick spoke, Anna came in. - -She wore an elegant morning robe of white cashmere lined and faced with -quilted white satin, and trimmed with black velvet and jet, and fastened -around the waist with a black silk cord and tassels. She seemed no worse -for her long season of fashionable dissipation, but looked stately, -blooming and beautiful as ever. - -Alexander arose and greeted her with more than usual empressement, and -led her to a seat. - -The breakfast was served. And the general telling Alexander that it -would do quite as well for a luncheon, invited him to sit down to the -table. - -While lingering over the late morning meal, they talked of the just -closed session of Congress and season of fashion, and the general again -pressed Alick to join his party at old Lyon Hall. And in the presence of -his beautiful betrothed, Alick could neither refuse nor hesitate to -accept the invitation. So he gave his promise to accompany his uncle and -cousin to their home. - -After the breakfast was finished, and the service was removed, the -general arose, saying that he would go down into the reading-room and -look over the morning papers, he left the parlor. - -Alexander and Anna were alone. - -“At last, then, I have the opportunity of speaking to you, that I have -so long desired,” whispered Alick, as he went and took a seat on the -sofa, by the side of his betrothed. - -She received him very quietly, if not coldly. - -He then went on to lament the repeated interruptions that had so long -delayed their union, and to press her to name an early day for the -wedding. - -“Your great haste is of very late date, Alick. I saw no signs of such -impatience, until within the last few weeks,” she answered coolly. - -He gave her a deprecating look, and pleaded: - -“My love was chilled and my pride was hurt by your marked preference for -my rival.” - -“Hush!” said Anna, quickly. “Let poor Dick alone. He is honest, if he is -wild. I have sent him away. Let him go in peace.” - -“Just so! Let him go. But you will grant my request?” - -“I have no wish to break off our engagement, Alick. I will not be the -first woman of my race to break my pledged word. I will give you my -promised hand; but not as soon as you ask. Let the year of mourning end -first.” - -“That will be in November.” - -“Yes; you must wait until then.” - -Alexander heaved a deep sigh, and got up and walked the room, and looked -a great deal more disappointed than he felt. - -In truth—now he knew that his hand was free from legal fetters to -Drusilla, he felt that his heart was more bound to her by affection than -he had lately believed. And now his hated rival was out of his way, he -found that he was not half so much in love with his beautiful cousin as -he had imagined. - -And so he really had no more desire to hurry the wedding than had Anna -herself. - -He wanted more time to break with her whom he had so long taken for his -wife. And as he walked up and down the floor, he was thinking most of -her. - -“Poor little Drusa,” he thought. “Good little Drusa, from this hour she -must be to me, only as a dear little sister. But our parting must not he -abrupt. Such a shock would be her death-blow, poor child! Little by -little I must leave her. This trip to the old hall will be a good start. -She need not know where or why I go. I can tell her that this business -connected with my father’s will, takes me into Virginia for a while—and -this will be true, so far as it goes. After a few weeks I will return to -her, but only as a brother, and will stay with her but a few days. And -then the second absence shall be longer than the first, and the second -return to her, shorter. And so, gently, most gently will I loose the tie -that binds her to me, so that when the final parting comes, she shall -scarcely feel it.” - -So, as falsely as wickedly, he reasoned. For it would have been more -merciful to have broken with her at once than to leave her by degrees. -Much kinder would be the quick, sharp death-blow that should end her woe -instantly, than the slow, cruel torture that would as surely if not as -swiftly destroy her life. - -Something of this truth seemed to strike his mind. He groaned slightly. -Then he began to comfort his conscience. - -“I will provide for her,” he said to himself. “I will buy that little -estate for her. She can live there as a young widow. She can——Oh, great -Heaven, what a villain I am growing to be! But I cannot help it. I -cannot remarry Drusilla because I am bound to Anna, and have been bound -to her for many years. So I cannot but do as I do. I wonder if murderers -can help killing, or thieves stealing? Or if really I can help being the -wretch I am?” And as he mentally asked himself this question his face -grew so dark with pain and remorse, that Anna, who had been watching him -and who quite mistook his mood, laughed and said: - -“Why, Alick, one would really think, to see you, that you take this -matter to heart.” - -“I take the matter to heart much more than you believe, Anna,” he -answered, speaking, as had been his frequent manner of late, true in the -letter and false in the spirit of his reply. Then lest his supposed -disappointment should cause her to relent and to fix an earlier day for -their marriage than would quite be convenient for him, he hastened to -add: “But let it be as you will, fair cousin. I will wait with what -patience I may until November.” - -Anna pouted, for although she was in no haste to marry she felt -affronted that Alick should yield the point so readily. - -Alick staid and dined with his uncle and cousin that day. And after -dinner he would have taken leave to go home, but his uncle stopped him, -saying: - -“No, indeed, my boy. This is the first evening since we have been in -Washington that I have had you all to myself, and I mean to have the -good of you. Every other evening you have had to dance attendance on -Anna to some place of amusement. There is no place to go to this -evening, thank Heaven. And Anna is tired and is going to rest, so you -just sit down and play a game of chess with me. Come, I will let you off -at ten o’clock, but not a moment before.” - -So Alexander sat down to the chess-board with his uncle and played until -ten o’clock; and then bade him good night, and started for home. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIX. - HER LOVE. - - Hers is the love which keeps - A constant watch-fire light, - With a flame that never sleeps - Through the longest winter night.—ELIZA COOK. - - -Meanwhile, Drusilla slept long and deeply, like one much worn in mind -and body. It was afternoon when she opened her eyes. She saw Pina -sitting by her side. At first, she thought it was yet early in the -morning, and that she had awakened at her usual hour, and she wondered -why her maid should be watching by her bed; but in another moment, -memory returned and reminded her of all the events of the day. And she -thought of Alexander’s loving kindness to her, and she smiled with -delight. Then she asked: - -“Where is Mr. Lyon?” - -“He is gone to town, ma’am,” answered Pina. - -The little lady’s face fell. Its gladness was all gone in an instant. - -“Gone to town again, Pina?” she repeated in a sad tone. - -“Yes, ma’am, which he told me to tell you, as he was unwillin’ compelled -for to go, and which he would be sure to come back very early,” said the -girl, in her good nature; adding a little to her master’s message. - -“Oh! did he say that, Pina? Did he say he would come back very early? -Are you sure, Pina?” And the little face brightened up again. - -“Sure as sure, ma’am; which ‘very early’ was his very words,” said Pina, -telling a little white lie. - -“What time is it now?” - -“Near five, ma’am.” - -“Then he will soon be here,” she said. And strengthened by this hope, -she threw off the counterpane, and got out of bed. - -With the help of her maid she dressed herself as carefully to please her -husband’s taste, as a maiden might to attract a lover’s eyes. - -Then she went down stairs to see if the drawing-room was made -comfortable for the evening. She found that Leo had done his duty in the -matter. The fire in the grate was burning brightly; the hearth was -shining clearly; the deep sofa was drawn up on one side of the chimney, -and the easy chair on the other, and the round table was placed between -them. The front blinds were left as usual unclosed until the master’s -return; but the crimson curtains were drawn before the windows. The -chandelier was lighted, and its rays were reflected back by the pictured -walls, the gilded mirrors and the glowing draperies of the room, so that -the little retreat looked very cozy and home-like. - -“Yes, this is all very well; but there are no flowers,” said this loving -little wife; (for wife we must call her, notwithstanding Mr. Alick’s -discovery;) and she went into her small conservatory and cut a few -fragrant tea roses and lemon geraniums, and arranged them in a beautiful -group, and placed them in a vase, and set them on the round table. - -And then she opened her piano and selected from her music some of her -husband’s favorite pieces, and laid them in readiness. - -“He is so fond of music, and he likes my voice and touch, and yet he so -seldom hears me sing or play now. Perhaps he will to-night, though,” she -said, as she sat down to try the tone of her long neglected instrument. - -She had taken no food since morning, for in fact, her long sleep had -kept her from feeling the want of it; but soon she felt faint from -hunger, and she got up to ring the bell for a cup of tea. - -But Pina, who had not forgotten her mistress’s needs, was even now on -her way to the drawing-room with the tea tray. - -She brought it in and sat it down on the table, and stood waiting -orders. - -“Did your master say he would be home to dinner, Pina?” the little lady -asked. - -“No, ma’am; he said ‘very early’ to _me_. And when Leo asked him if -dinner should be prepared for him, he said ‘no,’ and that he should ‘be -home to an early tea,’” the girl replied. - -“Then, here; I will only take half a cup of that oolong and half a -biscuit to keep me up till he comes, for I wish to take tea with him -this evening,” said the little wife, as she hastily took the bit and sup -she spoke of. - -“Now, take this down, Pina; and listen,” she added, as she pushed away -the tray. “Have a very nice tea got ready—the oolong and the imperial, -mixed half and half as he likes it; and make some sweet muffins; and -slice that venison tongue; and open those West India sweetmeats, -especially the preserved green figs and the pineapples. Do you hear?” - -“Yes, madam.” - -“And will you remember all?” - -“Yes, madam, I will be sure to.” - -Pina left the room, and her mistress resumed her practising. - -She went over all his favorite pieces in turn, stopping at the end of -each to go to the window, and watch and listen. - -But hour after hour passed by, and still he for whom she looked came -not. As night deepened, her spirits sank. - -“Perhaps he will not come at all,” she said, with a sigh. “Something -keeps him that he cannot help,” she added, in excuse for him. - -When the clock struck ten she could hardly keep back her tears. - -“He will not be home until very late, even if he comes to-night,” she -said, with a deep sob, as she closed the piano and sat down by the fire. - -She waited then for her servants to come as usual for orders, before -bidding her good night. Then, as they did not appear, she rang for them. - -And when Pina entered, her mistress said: - -“It is long past your bed time.” - -“I know it, madam; but master, he gave us such a rowing for leaving you -alone last night, after you had been frightened the night before, that -Leo and me, we daren’t go. We’ll sit in the kitchen, if you please, -ma’am, or wait in the hall, as you order, until the master returns.” - -“He may not be able to get home to-night.” - -“Then, please, ma’am, we’ll have to sit up and watch, or sleep anywhere -in the house as you’ll appoint.” - -Drusilla reflected for a moment, and then said: - -“You may sit up in the kitchen for an hour longer, and then come to me -for orders.” - -The girl left the room, and her mistress sank back in her resting chair, -repeating to herself, - -“He knows that I am ill and nervous, and almost unprotected here; and he -left me word he would be back early. Oh, surely he will keep his -promise, in part, at least, by coming back some time to-night. He will -if he can! I am sure he will, if he can!” she added, confidingly. - -But as the next hour wore slowly on, her long tried courage utterly -broke down, and she bowed her head upon the table and wept bitterly. - -The clock was striking eleven, when two sounds from opposite ways struck -her ear. One was the galloping of a horse’s feet coming to the house. -The other was the running of her servants up the back stairs. - -Drusilla hastily wiped her eyes as Pina entered the room. - -“Your master has come. Send Leo around to the stable to take his horse, -and do you bring up the supper-tray,” she said. - -And the girl left the room to obey orders; but before going down stairs -she went and unlocked the front door, and set it slightly ajar, that her -master might enter at once when he should reach the house. - -Drusilla meanwhile tried to still the spasmodic sobs that were yet -heaving her bosom, and to force back the tears that were yet wetting her -eyes, and to put on a pleasant face to meet her beloved. But it is not -so easy all at once to suppress nervous excitement. - -So when Alexander hurried through the hall door, locking it as he -passed, and hurried into the drawing-room to see her, she was still -sobbing and weeping. - -He stopped short in surprise and some anger. - -“Why, Drusa! why, what is all this row about?” - -“Oh, Alick, Alick!” she gasped, her nerves being all unstrung, “I did -not think you would have stayed away from me to-night! I have been -waiting for you so long, as I have waited for you so often! oh, so -often!” - -“Is that meant for a reproach, Drusilla?” he asked, coldly, as he -dropped into a chair. - -“Oh, no, Alick! no dear, no! but I can not—can not help it!” - -And she cried harder than ever. - -“Well, this is a pretty way to meet a man, upon my word, after he has -taken a long cold ride to see you,” said Mr. Lyon, angrily. - -“I didn’t mean it, Alick! Indeed I didn’t, dear! I tried hard to help -it; but I couldn’t. I broke down,” she cried, sobbing heavily between -her words. - -“Humph, this is pleasant, upon my soul,” he said, grimly, watching her -without making one attempt to soothe her. - -“I know—I know how bad it is in me to do so, Alick dear, and I’m trying -to stop it; indeed I am. Bear with me a little, dear; I will stop soon, -indeed I will,” she sobbed. - -“I hope it will be very soon. This looks very much as if you were -accusing me of misusing you, Drusilla; do you mean to say that I do?” - -“Oh, no, no, no, Alick! I never even thought so! You are very good to -me. It is not your fault, dear; it is mine. I don’t know what ails me -that I cry so much at such little things. I feel like a baby that wants -its mother’s lap,” she said, with a still heaving bosom. - -“That is very childish, Drusilla,” he answered, in a harsh, -unsympathizing manner. - -“I know it is, dear. I am sorry I am so foolish; it is because I am so, -so lonely, Alick. Oh, so lonely, dear, you can’t think; it is like -death—like heart-break. But it is not your fault, dear; I don’t mean -that; don’t you think that. You are not to blame, Alick; it is I. But -then, dear, think of this, and bear with me a little. I have no one in -the wide world but only you; and when you are away all is so still, so -silent—oh, so dreary you don’t know. If I only had a mother to turn to -when I feel so weak and foolish, and so lonesome—if I could only lay my -head down on my mother’s shoulder when you are away, and cry a little I -should be better; I should be all right when you should return home. But -I have no mother to go to, Alick.” - -“If you had she would box your ears for such nonsense; that is, if I -remember the old lady rightly,” said Alexander, brutally, as he arose -from his chair and walked the room. - -But her nervous excitement was now subsiding. Her tears ceased to flow; -her sobs were softer. Presently she wiped her eyes, and, smiling like -sunshine through raindrops, she said: - -“It is all over now, Alick dear, all quite over. It was only a summer -gust, dear, and it did me no harm; and you will excuse it this once, -Alick?” - -“I shall hardly know how to do so if this exhibition is ever to be -repeated,” he growled. - -“I hope it never will be, Alick,” she said, with a subsiding sigh, as -she arose and touched the bell. - -“Drusilla, if you knew as much as I do you would very carefully avoid -giving me any annoyance,” he said, in so meaning a manner that her hand -dropped from the bell-pull, and she turned to him in dismay, and, gazing -on him, asked: - -“What is it that you know, Alick, dear? Indeed I never wish to annoy -you. But what is it you mean, dear?” - -“No matter! You will know some day; all too soon whenever that day shall -come,” he said, evasively. - -“But, Alick dear, you frighten me. Please what is it?” - -“No matter what. Let the subject drop, Drusilla,” he replied, repenting -the cruelty that made him allude to the guilty secret of his own breast. - -“But, dear Alick——” she re-commenced. - -“Let the subject drop, I say,” he interrupted her, in a tone so -peremptory that she immediately bowed her head and obeyed. - -And Pina now entered the room with the tray, and laid the cloth for -supper. And having done so she retired. - -When Mr. Lyon had supped to his satisfaction, and felt himself in a -better humor, he turned around to the blazing fire, and said: - -“I have a mind to sit up and watch to-night for that face at the window” - -“Do, dear Alick, if you are not too tired,” she answered. - -“And I will sit with my revolver by my side.” - -“Yes, do; and with me also.” - -“But you are not able to sit up.” - -“Oh, yes, I am. You know I slept nearly all day. And I do wish to watch -with you.” - -“So be it then. But we must draw the curtains back from the windows, as -they were last night and all nights before. Who closed them to-night?” - -“Leo did, I suppose, to keep the face from looking in and frightening me -again. And I did not change the arrangement, because I reflected that -you could see the light almost as well through these fine crimson -curtains as glass itself.” - -“That is true. It is a pity you or one of your servants had not thought -of this before. It would have saved you a fright.” - -“But, Alick, dear, if any dangerous person were lurking about the -premises, is it not better that I should have detected him, even at the -cost of a fright, than that he should be let to go on and do the -mischief he is plotting, whatever that is?” - -“There is something in what you say, my brave little wi—woman,” he -answered. - -She did not perceive how he caught and corrected his words, for she was -busy drawing back the curtains of one window, while he did the like with -those of the other. - -Alexander went and got his small revolver from the pocket of his riding -coat and laid it on the table beside him. And then they sat down to wait -the issue. - -At first they talked a little in low voices. Alexander would make -Drusilla tell him again and again the particulars of her two frights. -But she had so little to tell. - -“Only a white stern face, looking in at me through the dark window.” - -Alexander questioned her as to the hour of its appearance. - -“It was at two o’clock on the first night. And at one o’clock on the -second night,” she answered. - -“Exactly; and if it keeps on coming an hour later each night, it will -appear at twelve precisely to-night. And it now wants just ten minutes -to that time,” said Alexander, with a laugh. - -Then he questioned her as to her thoughts, feelings and occupations at -the time she saw the face. - -Drusilla replied that she was reading, and confessed that she was -thinking of supernatural beings and feeling a little afraid of looking -over her shoulder. - -“Precisely; and now let me ask you _what_ were you reading?” - -“I had been reading ‘The Night Side of Nature,’” replied Drusilla. - -“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Alexander, “the secret is out! The face at the -window was an optical illusion created by your over-excited imagination. -Next time, my little love, read Scott’s ‘Demonology.’ It will be a -perfect antidote to the ‘Night Side of Nature.’ I don’t wonder, poor -child! that you were afraid to look over your shoulder, or that you saw -faces glaring at you through dark windows. I wonder you didn’t see a -spectral face grinning through every single pane of glass. Ha! ha! ha!” - -“Ha! ha! ha!” echoed another voice—a strange, harsh, unearthly voice. - -Alexander started and looked at his companion, who was pale as death. - -“_Ha! ha! ha!_” shouted the voice again. - -He then seized his revolver and turned quickly to the window whence the -voice seemed to come. - -“HA! HA! HA!” it shrieked a third time, as Alexander caught a glimpse of -a ghastly, grinning face that showed itself for an instant at the -window, and he levelled his pistol. But as he fired it, it dropped and -disappeared. - -“Stay here while I search the grounds,” whispered Mr. Lyon to his -panic-stricken companion. - -And revolver still in hand, he ran out of the house. - -Drusilla sat with her hands clasped tightly together, her face white as -a sheet and her heart half paralyzed with fright. She had not long to -wait. A pistol shot, followed by another and another in quick -succession, startled her. With a wild cry she sprang to her feet and -rushed out to the help of her husband. - - - - - CHAPTER XXX. - BREAKING. - - They’d met e’er yet the world had come, - To wither up the springs of truth; - Amid the holy joys of home, - And in the first warm flush of youth. - - They parted, not as lovers part, - With earnest vows of constancy— - She with her wronged and bleeding heart, - And he rejoicing to be free!—ANONYMOUS. - - -“Alick! Alick! Oh, Alick, where are you? Answer me! Speak to me, if you -can! Oh, give me some sign where to search for you,” Drusilla cried, -running wildly out into the wintry night, in the direction from which -she had heard the shots, and fearing at every point to find her husband -dead or wounded. - -“Hush!” whispered a voice through the darkness. And the next moment her -husband stood by her side. - -“Oh, Alick, thank Heaven you are alive and safe! You _are_ safe, are you -not, dear?” she eagerly inquired. - -“Yes; but that infernal villain has got off!” - -“Oh, never mind, so that you are not hurt. You are _not_ hurt, are you, -Alick?” - -“No; I have not been in any danger; but that cursed caitiff! he has -escaped!” - -“Oh dear, let him go; so you are sure you are not wounded? You _are_ -sure, are you not, dear? You are quite sure neither of those shots -struck you?” - -“The shots were fired by my own hand, and I’m only sorry they missed -their mark, and that diabolical scoundrel got off! He ran like a quarter -horse, Devil fly away with him! I would have given a thousand dollars to -have him here with my foot on his neck! By all I hold sacred, I would!” - -“Oh Alick, do stop thinking about him, and think about yourself! You are -so excited I don’t believe you know whether you are wounded or not; you -may be bleeding to death now, somewhere under your coat! Oh Alick, dear, -come in the house and let me look.” - -“It is you who are excited, little goose. You are shaking like an ague! -Come in the house yourself, and get warm and quiet,” he said, tucking -her under his arm and leading her towards the cottage. - -“But Alick, dear, tell me, are you _very_ certain—” - -“No, I’m not ‘_very_’ certain; I’m only just _certain_ that I have not a -single scratch. That—that—miserable miscreant was unarmed, I suppose, -Satan burn him!” - -“Who was he, Alick, do you know?” - -“How should I? I only know that he was some felon spy, who has doubtless -been hanging about the house, and peeping through the windows o’ -nights.” - -“A spy, Alick? Only a spy? Why I thought he was a robber and a -murderer.” - -“My little love, a spy is the most dangerous character of the three. We -may defend ourselves against robbers and murderers; but not against -spies. The first are beasts of prey; but the last are venomous -serpents—snakes in the grass. No one knows how long that infamous wretch -has been lurking around our house, or how often he has been peeping in -at our windows, or how much he has seen.” - -“Dear Alick, we have only seen _him_ three times.” - -“But he may have seen us, three hundred times. Of course our eyes were -not always on the window.” - -“That is true; but, after all, what of it, Alick? He could not harm us -by looking at us,” said the honest young creature, who knew she had -nothing to hide. - -“Ugh! if I had him under my feet, I would not leave a whole bone in his -body!” cried the double-dealing man, who was conscious that he had a -great deal to conceal. - -“Well, never mind, Alick, dear. For my part, I am well content that the -man got off, and you have no broken bones to account for. For, after -all, he committed no great crime in looking in at a lighted window at -night. Why, Alick, in walking through the streets of the city in the -evening you and I used to do the same thing, only for the harmless -pleasure of looking in to an interior, upon a pretty domestic picture of -a family circle around their tea-table, or something of the sort. And -this man might have had no worse purpose.” - -“His purpose, whatever it might have been, should have cost him his life -if I had caught him!” said Mr. Lyon, grimly. - -“Then I am truly glad you did not catch him. Oh, be content, Alick, for -you may be sure, now that the man has been seen and chased, he will -never come to trouble us again!” - -“I don’t know that he will. But he didn’t seem to dread being seen, -however. It was his taunting laugh, you know, that drew my notice to -him. He seemed to try to catch my eye by mocking my laugh. I think he -had seen all he wished to see, and that this was to be his last visit; -so he let his presence be known, to annoy us. Ah! if I ever find out who -he is, he shall pay dearly for his frolic!” exclaimed Alick. - -By this time they reached the house and entered it. - -Alexander made Drusilla sit down in the easy chair before the fire, and -then he went and carefully closed and fastened the doors and windows, -and finally came and took a seat by her side. - -And they sat there a little while to warm and rest themselves before -going up stairs to bed. - -“Alick,” said Drusilla, “I hope if you ever do find out who that man is, -you will do him no harm.” - -“I will be his death,” exclaimed Alexander, grinding his teeth. - -“No, no, no; he may have been some poor forlorn creature, who having no -home of his own, looked in upon ours, as upon a paradise.” - -“He was, more likely, some vulgar wretch, who in prowling about here at -night, after game, has found out that a very pretty little woman lives -here, often all alone, and has made up his mind to get as many peeps at -her as he can.” - -“Oh, Alick!” - -“That is the secret, now I come to think quietly over the matter, my -dear; and your brilliantly lighted windows were the beacons that first -drew him here to gaze on you at will; to feast his eyes on your beauty; -perhaps to fall in love with you! Come, what do you think of it all -now?” inquired Mr. Lyon, maliciously. - -“Oh, Alick, Alick, don’t talk so to me. I am your wife. Such thoughts——” -She paused, and blushing deeply, turned away her head. - -“What is the matter, little love?” he laughed. - -“You should not breathe such thoughts to me, dear Alick. But—I shall -draw the curtains before the windows every evening in future.” - -“I think it would be just as well you should do so. The light shining -through their crimson folds will be enough to guide me home at night,” -he said, as he arose and lighted the bedroom candles. - -She set the guard up before the grate, and put out the lamps. - -They left the drawing-room and went up stairs together; but when they -reached their chamber door, he put one of the candles in her hand, -saying kindly: - -“Good night, my dear child. I hope you will have a good sleep.” - -And before she could answer, he opened the door of an opposite chamber, -passed in and locked it behind him, leaving her standing still in -astonishment. - -This was the first time, while at home, that he had ever slept out of -their mutual room. She could not imagine why he should do so now. If he -had not spoken so kindly to her, she might have supposed he was angry -with her. But his good night had been even unusually gentle and tender; -it had seemed almost plaintive and deprecating. But then he had not only -passed their chamber and gone into another room, but he had locked the -door behind him, thus securing himself against possible intrusion. Whose -intrusion? she asked herself—hers, his wife’s? Well, she was his wife, -she thought; but dearly as she loved him, scarcely living, except by his -side, she would never intrude upon his chosen solitude. - -She stood there in perplexed and painful thought, inquiring and -wondering why he left her and locked her out. Perhaps, after all, she -said to herself, he was still a little angry with her, for having cried -so much that evening. She must find out. She could not go to rest, she -would never be able to sleep without knowing whether he was really -displeased with her, and reconciling him to herself. She would not -intrude upon him, she thought, no, never! But she would rap at his door -and ask if she had offended him, and if so, she would do all that she -could to atone for such offence. For she must make friends with him -before she left the spot, or—die! - -So she went and rapped at his door and then waited. - -She heard him moving about the room, but he made no response. - -She thought he had not heard her, so she rapped again. - -“Well! Who is there?” he inquired from within. - -“It is I, your little Drusa, Alick,” she answered, in a low and -tremulous tone. - -“What do you want, Drusilla?” - -“Oh, Alick dear, my heart is breaking; please don’t be mad with me,” she -pleaded, in her most plaintive voice. - -“I am not mad with you, child; why should you think so?” - -“Oh, Alick, I thought—I thought you were displeased, because—because—” -She could not go on. - -“What reason could I have for being angry with you, child?” he asked -again, putting his question in a form that he thought she could more -easily answer. - -“Why, my crying so much this evening,” she said. - -“Oh, bosh! that is all over now. No, little Drusa, I have no cause, no -just cause of complaint against you. If I am ever angry with you, it is -from my own quick temper, and by no fault of yours, my child. Now go to -bed like a good girl, or rather like a sweet little saint as you truly -are. Good night, my little Drusa,” he said. - -“Good night, dear Alick,” she answered, turning sadly away. - -She went to her own room and set the candle on the mantle-piece, sank -into her easy chair, and lapsed into sorrowful thought. - -“He said he was not angry with me; yes, he said so; but he never told me -why he left my room, and he never even opened the door to speak to me, -nor yet kissed me good night. No, he is not angry with me; not angry, -but sick and tired of me, as I might have known he would be; for what am -I to please him who has been used to ladies of the highest rank and -culture? Yes, he is sick and tired of me, and it is not his fault—it is -mine; and I wish, oh, I wish, it were no sin to die!” - -And she dropped her head upon the arm of her chair and wept bitterly; -wept till she was so exhausted that she slipped from the chair to the -carpet, and, grovelling there, wept on. - -Her tears like her grief, seemed inexhaustible; for, when the daylight -dawned and the sun rose, she was still lying where she had sunk overcome -with sorrow. - -At length when the morning was well advanced, she remembered her -housewifely duties, and slowly got up and rang the bell for her maid. - -Then, lest her evening dress should excite the girl’s curiosity, as it -did on a former occasion, she quickly took it off and threw around her a -chamber wrapper. - -Pina came in and put fresh logs on the fire, and filled the ewers, and -laid out clean towels, and then stood waiting. - -“There is nothing more, Pina; you may go,” said her mistress. - -And the maid left the room. - -Drusilla bathed her eyes and face, and combed her hair, and dressed -herself as tastefully as if she had slept through a happy night and -waked to a gladsome morning. - -And she went down stairs to see to the breakfast. The cozy drawing-room, -the bright fire, the clean hearth, the neat table, all the accessories -of her sweet home, and, above all, the clear sunshiny morning, early -harbinger of spring, cheered her spirits and inspired more hopeful -thoughts than had been hers on the evening previous. - -“Alick loved me from my childhood,” she said, “and chose me freely for -his wife from all others that he might have had. And he is very good to -me. He spoke gently to me even last night. Perhaps he is not so weary of -me as I think. Perhaps he loves me still. And my doubts come only from -my own fancies. Oh, Heaven grant that it may be so. I will see how he -will meet me this morning. But, oh! if I should be so keen to note every -word and look that he gives me, or don’t give me, how ill I should -requite his love. Shall I turn jealous fool, and watch my Alick as if he -were a foe to be suspected, and not my dear husband to be loved and -trusted to the last? No, Alick, dear, no; I will do you no such wrong. I -know I’m a big little fool, but not such a one as that, either. What if -he did leave me last night. Perhaps he needed to be very quiet, after so -much excitement as he has had these two nights. I am sure, I am so -nervous sometimes that I cannot bear a movement or a ray of light in my -room, and why should he not be subject to the same moods, even if he is -a strong man? Come, I will trust my husband, as well as love him.” - -This reaction of feeling, brought about mostly by the blessed sunshine -of morning and the benign influence of home, called back the color to -the young wife’s cheeks and the light to her eyes. - -Alexander came down earlier than usual. And she arose from her seat to -receive his morning kiss. - -But she did not get it. He passed her, and dropped into his chair, and -said: - -“Ring for breakfast, Drusa. I must get off to town sooner by an hour -this morning.” - -With a suppressed sigh, she pulled the bell; and when Pina appeared, she -ordered breakfast to be served immediately. - -Alexander was thoughtful even to gloom. He had to break to Drusilla the -news of his intended sudden departure. And he dreaded to do it, and he -did not know how to begin. - -The morning meal was served. They sat down to the table. Drusilla poured -out the coffee, and, in handing her husband his cup, she said: - -“You are not feeling well this morning, Alick, dear?” - -“No, Drusa, I am not well, in spirits at least. I have a very painful -duty before me, little Drusa,” he answered, catching at this opening for -his discourse. - -“I am very sorry, Alick,” she replied, and then waited for his further -speech. - -“I shall be obliged to leave home for a short time. I did not like to -tell you last night, lest it should disturb your rest,” he said, little -knowing how utterly his desertion had deprived her of that rest. - -“Oh, Alick, dear, must you really go?” - -“I must really go, Drusilla. That business connected with my father’s -will obliges me to do so,” he gravely said. - -“Shall you take me with you, Alick?” she asked, in a low, timid voice. - -“No, Drusa; of course not. If I could take you along I should not feel -so badly about going,” he answered. - -“Oh, Alick, I am so sorry, dear.” - -“I shall not stay very long, Drusa. I shall come back to you as soon as -I possibly can, my child.” - -“I know you will, Alick. Where do you go?” - -“Into Virginia, of course, where our estates lie.” - -“Oh, what a troublesome business that is connected with your father’s -will, to be sure—to bother you so much as it has ever since we have been -married. Why cannot lawyers make wills so clear that there can be no -mistake about their meaning?” - -“Ah, why indeed?” repeated Mr. Lyon, laughing in spite of his secret -self-reproach. - -“When do you start, dear Alick?” - -“To-morrow morning, my child.” - -“So soon! Oh, that is very sudden!” - -“These matters admit of no delay, Drusa. Now, my little woman, don’t -look so downcast. It is unpleasant enough for me to have to leave you. -Don’t add to my vexation by your looks.” - -“No, Alick, I will not if I can help it. You will want your clothes got -ready,” she added, cheerfully, “and the time is short. Tell me at once, -please, what you would like to take with you, and I will pack them up -to-day.” - -“Oh, a dozen of each sort of under-garment; one morning and one evening -suit; my dressing-case and writing-case; those are all, I think. Have -them put into the little black Russia leather trunk.” - -“I will pack them myself, Alick dear, and then they will be sure to be -done right.” - -“As you please, little woman.” - -“How long shall you be gone, Alick? Can you tell me that?” - -“Oh, not exactly. The length of my absence depends upon circumstances. -Not more than a week or ten days at most.” - -“At least you will be sure to be back within the fortnight?” - -“Yes, certainly. But you know we can talk over all this to-night, when I -get back from town. I shall certainly be home to tea,” said Mr. Lyon, as -he arose from the table. - -“Then I shall hope to see you. And I know you will come if you _can_, -Alick,” she answered, as she thought of her constant disappointments in -this respect. - -He understood her, and he answered, as he drew on his riding-coat: - -“I _can_ be back this last evening, and I _will_. Good-bye until I see -you again, little Drusa.” - -And he put on his hat and hurried out of the house, pulling on his -gloves as he passed. - -And the next moment he mounted his horse and galloped away. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXI. - FIRST ABSENCE. - - I heard thy light, careless farewell, love, - And patiently saw thee depart— - Ay, patiently. But could words tell, love, - The sorrow that swelled in my heart? - Yet tearless and still though I stood, love, - Thy last words are thrilling me yet, - And my lips would now breathe if they could, love, - The deep prayer—“Oh do not forget.”—ANON. - - -Drusilla went to her own room, wept a little, and blamed herself for -that weakness, and then she called her maid to help her, and she spent -the whole day in preparing her husband’s wardrobe for his journey. - -It happened for once that Mr. Lyon could keep his word to his wife -without much personal inconvenience, and so he kept it. - -When he reached the city that day he made a morning call upon his uncle -and his cousin. He found the General was engaged to dine that evening -with a veteran brother officer, and Miss Lyon would be occupied with the -preparations for her journey, so that neither the old gentleman nor the -young lady would be at liberty to entertain him longer than the morning. - -After lunching with his relatives, and arranging to join them at nine -the next morning, he bade them good day. - -He went to his own hotel where he called for his bill, settled it in -full, gave up the keys of his rooms, and so closed his connection with -the house. - -From the hotel he went to the livery stable, mounted his horse and rode -homeward. - -He reached Cedarwood at seven o’clock. He found his trunk ready packed, -corded and labelled for his journey, and standing in the hall. He found -the drawing-room as cozy and inviting as his wife always made it for his -reception; the fire burning brightly, and the tea-table standing before -it spread with all the dainties he most liked; and, above all, he found -_her_, pretty, well-dressed, and cheerful as she could command herself -to be. - -This was the first time for many weeks that he had taken tea with his -wife, and she made it a festive occasion. He began again to realize that -he loved her; he felt like pressing her to his heart as in the first -days of their marriage, before the witchery of the world came between -them, or he had discovered what he supposed to be the illegality of -their marriage. Yes, he would have liked to have shown her these proofs -of reviving affection; but he did not. He had decided, in the secrecy of -his own insane mind, that she was henceforth to be only as a sister to -him until he should be able to part with her entirely; and so he treated -her now very gently but very coldly. - -After tea, which he took care should be prolonged as far into the -evening as possible, he asked her to sing and play for him. - -And she very gladly sat down to the piano, and executed some of his -favorite pieces in her very best style. - -He purposely kept her there, playing piece after piece, until she was -really wearied. - -And then when she rose from the instrument he took the lead in the -conversation, and would talk of nothing but music, musicians, and -composers until the clock struck eleven. Then he suddenly said: - -“My little girl it is late, and you are tired; go to bed at once. I have -letters to write that will detain me an hour or so. When I have finished -them I will come up.” - -“Alick, dear, letters to write so late to-night when you have to start -so early to-morrow?” - -“Yes, little Drusa.” - -“Why didn’t you write them earlier in the evening, then?” - -“Because I wanted to enjoy every moment of your company while you sat -up, Drusa, and I knew I could write them after you had retired,” he -artfully replied. - -“But I had rather not leave you at all this last evening, Alick. I will -sit very quietly near you and not interrupt you the least while you -write your letters.” - -“But I will not permit you to do so, Drusa. You are pale with want of -rest even now; and you will make a point of getting up to-morrow morning -even sooner than I shall—I know you will.” - -“I must, Alick dear, to see that you have a good breakfast ready in time -to eat it leisurely before you go.” - -“Just so; therefore you must go to rest now. There, be a good girl, and -clear out, will you?” - -“Yes, Alick,” she answered, in a depressed tone. “Good night;” and she -put up her lips to kiss him. - -“Bosh! no good night in the case. Do you think I am going to sit up till -day writing letters?” he said, laughing and evading her caress. - -Feeling that something was very wrong, yet trying not to think so, she -left the room and went up stairs to bed. - -And after a little while, being almost worn out by so many nights’ -watching, she fell asleep and slept until morning. - -Meanwhile, Alexander wrote a couple of trifling letters, and then, not -to disturb her, he stole on tip-toes up to his newly chosen room and -went to rest. - -Drusilla was the first up in the morning, before even her servants were -astir. She roused Pina and set her to work, and helped with her own -hands, and to such good purpose that a very nice breakfast was soon -ready and waiting for Alexander. - -He came down, and greeted Drusilla kindly, but without his usual morning -kiss. And she felt the slight; but neither spoke nor looked her chagrin. - -“You were so still that I thought you were asleep when I went up stairs -last night, so I took care not to wake you by entering your room; for -you needed rest very much, little Drusa,” he said, in explanation of his -second desertion. - -“Yes, Alick,” she answered, quietly; and she went on to make his coffee. - -When breakfast was over there came a hurried leave-taking. - -Alexander pulled on his riding-coat in great haste; drew on his gloves -and then looked at Drusilla. - -“Well,” he muttered to himself, “she is henceforth only like my sister; -but I should embrace my sister before leaving her to go on a journey.” - -“What are you saying, Alick dear?” inquired Drusilla, who caught the -sound, but not the import of his words. - -“Nothing. Good-bye, my little Drusa, my darling little Drusa,” he said, -folding her to his bosom and kissing her as no man ever kissed his -sister yet, and as he had not kissed _her_ for many weeks. - -“You do love me then, after all, don’t you, Alick?” she said, in -delight. - -“Love you! I think I do, little darling! But now I must tear myself from -you, Drusa. You will find in my glass drawer a roll of bank-notes -amounting to between five and six hundred dollars, for your use while I -am gone.” - -“Oh, Alick, I shall never want the tenth part in so short a time as a -fortnight; and you are to be home in a fortnight, are you not, Alick?” - -“Yes, yes, surely. Now then, good-bye!” he hastily exclaimed, giving her -another tight hug and long kiss. - -“You will write soon, Alick?” she said, following him to the front door. - -“Very soon.” - -“But I shall want to write to you every day, beginning this evening. -Where shall I direct the first letter, Alick?” - -“To the post-office at Richmond.” - -“Then you will find one from me in Richmond the day after you get -there.” - -“Yes, yes, my darling! Thank you, pet! Good-bye! Good-bye! I have not an -instant to lose,” he hurriedly exclaimed, wringing her hand and jumping -into the carriage, upon which his luggage was already placed. - -Leo, who was in the driver’s seat, cracked his whip and started his -horses. - -Drusilla watched the carriage out of sight, and then turned sadly and -went into the house. - -Alexander drove rapidly to the town, and first to a hack stand, where he -had his luggage taken and put upon a hack. Then he sent Leo back to -Cedarwood with his carriage, and he himself got into the hack and drove -to his uncle’s hotel, where he found the old gentleman impatiently -waiting for him. - -And in an hour the whole family party had started on their voyage, and -were steaming down the Potomac on their way to Richmond, where early the -next morning they arrived safely. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXII. - BRIGHT HOPES. - - One precious pearl in sorrow’s cup - Unmelted at the bottom lay, - To shine again, when all drunk up - The bitterness should pass away. - - And that was hope, a fair sweet hope; - And oh, it woke such happy dreams, - And gave her soul such tempting scope - For all its dearest, fondest schemes.—MOORE. - - -The loving little wife, the zealous little housekeeper, did not sit down -in idleness and repining while her husband was absent. Occupation was -always her great resource against melancholy. - -She was, besides, too much in sympathy with all nature not to feel the -influence of the vitalizing spring season, with the reviving world -around her. - -The sun was shining with a more genial splendor; the air was soft and -warm; the ground was quickening with the springing grass and the trees -with the rising sap and budding leaves. Birds were building their nests. -All things inspired thoughts of renovation. - -Little Drusilla resolved to refresh her pretty wildwood home with a -spring cleaning, so that it might possess new attractions for its truant -master, when he should please to return. - -Not that her house required this—for it was already as clean and sweet -as it was possible for any dwelling to be; and the process to which she -subjected it was but the washing of what was already pure, and the -polishing of what was already bright. But it was her maxim, as it had -been her mother’s before her, that things should not be permitted to -become soiled before they were cleaned; but that they should be kept -clean. - -In the course of this work Drusilla opened the drawer of the -looking-glass in Alexander’s dressing-room, and while putting its -contents in order she found that little piece of paper which had -produced so strange an effect upon his feelings and actions. Thinking it -to be only some little receipt, or memorandum, she opened it and read -it. - -Its effect upon her was very different from what it had been upon her -husband. As she gathered its meaning her face softened with a sweet and -tender smile, and she sat down in a chair to contemplate it at more -leisure. - -“I never saw this before; or any other of the sort. How it brings back -that day! that happy wedding-day! the happiest of my life! Dear Alick! -dear, dear Alick, how blest you made me that day, in making me your own -forever! forever and ever, my love! My joy seemed too much for earth, -too much to be real. Even now, even now, I can scarcely realize how -happy I am and ought to be! Oh, my love! my love! I hope I may never -give you an uneasy moment as long as I live in this world! that I may -never cease to please and serve you all my days! Dear little token!” she -said, fondly gazing on that fatal piece of paper—“I will keep you for -his sake. When I am sad and lonely I will look at you. I will cherish -you like my wedding-ring.” - -And she went directly and made a little silk bag, put the paper in it, -attached it to a ribbon, hung it around her neck and hid it in her -bosom. - -Then smilingly she resumed her work. - -When she considered the house thoroughly cleansed and worthy of its -summer hangings, she told Pina that crimson satin curtains should not be -put up again until autumn. - -And she ordered Leo to put the horses into the carriage to take her to -town. - -This was the first occasion upon which she had left home for many weeks. -And she went now upon a shopping expedition, to purchase white lace -curtains for her windows, and white linen to make summer covers for her -crimson satin chair and sofa cushions. - -She spent the whole forenoon in making her selections; and then, feeling -tired and hungry, she drove to a “Ladies’ Tea Room,” where she had once -been with Alexander. - -She entered and sat down at one of the little tables and asked for a cup -of chocolate and some seed cakes, which were soon brought. - -While she ate and drank she looked about her with the curiosity natural -to one who had lately led so secluded a life. The room was half full of -customers. At some of the tables small family parties of parents and -children were gathered. At others ladies and gentlemen were seated. And -at the table exactly opposite to her own there were two officers and two -young women who were dining and drinking wine, laughing and talking, and -conducting themselves generally in a manner not agreeable to quiet and -well-disposed people. - -Drusilla glanced at this noisy party but once, and recognized the -officers as the same who had intruded into her box on the night she went -to hear the German opera troupe. Chiefly because the party were so -ill-behaved, she was afraid to look towards them again. So she drew her -veil around between the side of her face and her obnoxious neighbors, -and she looked down into her plate. - -Natural as this action was, it caught the attention of the officers; -and, innocent as it was, it gave umbrage to their female companions. - -“She sees that we recognize her,” said one of the men. - -And a low, derisive laugh came from one of the women. - -Very much abashed, and also a little alarmed, Drusilla left her luncheon -half consumed and went to the counter to pay her bill. - -But one of the officers got up and followed her, and, as she turned to -leave the room, he placed himself before her, and, lifting his hat, -said: - -“How do you do, Miss?” - -Drusilla bowed in silence, and attempted to pass on. - -“Excuse me, but when did you reach town?” - -“I beg your pardon, sir; I have not the honor of your acquaintance,” -said Drusilla, coldly, passing him by and quickly leaving the house. - -But he followed her out on the sidewalk, and joining her, said: - -“You ‘have not the honor of my acquaintance,’ eh? Well, the ‘honor’ is -questionable, but the acquaintance is beyond a doubt, my dear! What! -don’t you remember the night I came into the box, to chaff my friend -Lyon on his pretty little acquisition, eh? By the way, how is Lyon?” - -By this time Drusilla had beckoned her servant, who drove up with the -carriage, dismounted, opened the door, and let down the steps for his -mistress. - -“But you didn’t tell me how my friend Lyon is. I hope he is well. I know -he has left his rooms at the hotel. But if you will favor me with your -address, Miss—” - -“Leo,” said Drusilla to her coachman, as she entered her carriage, “this -person annoys me. If you see a policeman give him in charge, and—drive -on.” - -“Yes, madam,” answered the man, heartily, cracking his whip and starting -his horses. - -But the animals were not fresh, and they had not been fed or watered -since morning. So they did not move with their usual spirit. And -Drusilla had not gone far up Seventh street road, on her way home, -before she perceived that she was followed by a hack that was gaining -upon her every moment. - -At first she supposed this following to be accidental; but when the hack -driving rapidly, caught up to her and might have passed her, yet did -not; but, on the contrary, slackened its pace and kept just behind her; -she suspected that there was something more than accident in the matter. - -And her suspicions were confirmed when she heard loud laughing and -talking in the hack, and recognized the voices of the disreputable party -who had insulted her in the tea room. - -She quickly let down the little window in front of her own carriage, and -spoke to her coachman: - -“Leo—drive fast.” - -“Yes, ma’am, which it is necessary so to do.” - -“Who are those people behind, Leo?” she breathlessly inquired. - -“A intoxified set, ma’am, which is unbeknown to me; being always too -well conducted to be acquainted with sich; which I think one of um is -the person you complained of, ma’am.” - -“Yes! go on quickly, for Heaven’s sake, Leo; let us leave them behind as -soon as possible,” hastily urged Drusilla. - -And the young coachman put his jaded horses to their utmost speed. - -But the horses in the hack were the fresher of the two sets, and they -kept well up behind her carriage until they reached the gate of the -private road leading through Cedarwood. - -Here Leo drew up his carriage, left his seat, opened the gate, propped -it back, and took the reins to lead his horses through. - -They had but just cleared the gate, when Drusilla put her head from the -window and said, hastily: - -“Leo, stop just where you are! stop the way! Those persons are preparing -to follow us in. Tell them that they can not be permitted to do so; that -this is a very private road leading to my own house, and no farther.” - -At the first word Leo had stopped the carriage, thus barring the way, -and now he turned and spoke to the man who was the ringleader of the -party, and who had now left his seat and was mounted beside the driver -on the box. - -“If you please, sir, this road leads to my mist’ess’s house and no -farther on,” he said. - -“Oh, we know where it leads! We are going to make a call there!” laughed -the man. - -“Leo, Leo, do not let them pass, whatever you do,” breathlessly -whispered Drusilla. - -“But, sir, if you please, my mist’ess don’t receive no strangers,” -expostulated the servant. - -“Oh, we are not strangers! We know her very well! And we know Lyon, too! -Come, clear the way, my man, and let us pass.” - -“But, sir, my mist’ess don’t see no visitors of no sort, neither -strangers nor likewise acquaintances,” urged Leo. - -“But she’ll see us!” laughed the man on the box. And his laugh was -loudly echoed by his companions inside the hack. - -During this controversy Drusilla had sat back in her seat, keeping as -much out of sight as possible, and only leaning forward when obliged to -speak to her servant. - -And Leo had been artfully manœuvering his horses, with a purpose that -the party behind were too much confused by intoxication to detect. - -“Come, my man, get out of the way, will you?” - -“Yes sir, immediate!” answered Leo. - -And he suddenly wheeled round the carriage, clanged to the gate, and -secured it in the face of the baffled pursuers. - -Then with a loud derisive laugh, the boy sprang up into his seat and -drove off through the woods towards home. - -The discomfited party in the hack sent after him a volley of oaths, that -he continued to hear until distance made them inaudible. - -When they reached Cedarwood, Drusilla got out of her carriage more dead -than alive. - -Pina met her and supported her into the house, while Leo gave a hasty -account of their adventure. - -“Try to compose yourself, ma’am. Lor! I wouldn’t let myself be upset by -them rubbish!” said Pina as she held a glass of water to her mistress’s -lips. - -“Who were they, Leo, and why did they pursue me?” inquired Drusilla, -when she was somewhat restored. - -“Please, ma’am, I don’t know who they were, not being beknown to sich. -But they were all intoxified, the whole lot of ’em.” - -“But why did they pursue me?” - -“Well, ma’am, they was on a lark, and seen you was afeard of ’em.” - -“There was more in it than that, Leo! Do you think they can get through -the gate?” - -“No, ma’am; I locked it.” - -“But they can get out of the carriage and climb over it.” - -“No, ma’am, they’re too tipsy. They can hardly sit in their seats. The -driver is the onliest sober one in the lot, and he’ll take them away, -you may be sure, ma’am.” - -“Oh, what a horrible, what a revolting set! Oh, that such creatures -should live in this world!” exclaimed Drusilla, with a shudder. And she -seemed to have forgotten all her pretty, new purchases in which she had -been so much interested. - -But neither of her young servants had done so. And Pina, in haste to -bring the treasures in that she might have a sight at them, and Leo in a -hurry to get rid of them, that he might take his horses round to the -stable, went out together. - -Pina returned with her arms full of parcels. - -And soon Drusilla, who had laid off her bonnet, lost sight of her late -disagreeable adventure, in the pleasing occupation of displaying her -beautiful lace curtains to the admiring eyes of her handmaid. - -For the next few days, mistress and maid were agreeably employed in -making up the curtains, and in cutting and fitting the white linen chair -covers. - -And by Saturday evening the curtains were put up, and the chair covers -put on, and the summer decoration of the pretty wild wood home was -complete. - -This brought the end of the first week of Alexander’s absence. Drusilla -was counting the days, and she knew that if he should keep his word, he -would be home by the end of another week. - -She had written to him every evening, and sent the letter to the city -post-office every morning by Leo, who was also instructed to inquire for -letters for her. But as yet she had had but one from Alick, and that one -only announced his safe arrival at Richmond, and acknowledged the -receipt of her first note. Since that she had not heard from him. But -she said to herself that he was very much engaged, and could not be -expected to write to her more than once or twice a week. And so she -comforted her longing heart. - -In the two weeks of Alexander’s absence, Drusilla’s health improved very -much. The reasons were obvious. - -In the first place, the very tender leave he had taken of her had -revived her fainting faith in his love, while the positive promise he -had made her to return within the fortnight had given her something -certain to anticipate. - -In the second she no longer sat up night after night, watching, waiting -and weeping, in fatigue, suspense, and even terror, that wore her nerves -and wasted her strength and tried her temper. She went to bed early, -slept soundly, and rose refreshed. - -And in the third, she had made a discovery that filled her soul with -joy. She knew now, for it was evident, even to her ignorance and -inexperience, that she was to be blessed with the crowning blessing of -woman’s life, maternity. - -Once again, on the Monday of the second week of her husband’s absence, -she made a shopping expedition into the city. And on this occasion she -shut up the house and took both her servants along—Leo to drive the -carriage and Pina to sit inside with her. She took a luncheon basket -too, that she might not be obliged to go into a refreshment room at the -risk of meeting her disagreeable acquaintances—although reason assured -her that there was not one chance in a thousand of her seeing them under -the same circumstances again. - -This time Drusilla bought a quantity of fine flannel, linen, cambric, -muslin and lace, and also flaxen and silken floss and Berlin wool for -embroideries. - -And Pina, who had guessed the sweet domestic mystery long before her -child-like mistress had suspected it, was as much interested in the -purchase as their owner could be. Drusilla returned home without any -unpleasant adventure. And the next day she commenced her delightful -task. And seated in her pleasant chamber, surrounded by her pretty -working materials, devising dainty little garments, and anticipating the -joys in store for her, she felt happy. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIII. - A SURPRISE. - - One struggle more and I am free - From pangs that rend my heart in twain; - One long last sigh to love and thee, - Then back to busy life again.—BYRON. - - -Drusilla received no second letter from Alexander. On the day after his -arrival in Richmond, he received and answered her first one. Then he -went with his uncle and cousin down to Old Lyon Hall, where he lived -very quietly with them for about ten days, all the party resting from -their fashionable Washington campaign. - -At the end of that time, in order to keep the letter of his promise to -Drusilla, he pleaded urgent business, and went up to Richmond, “for a -day or two,” as he said. - -On reaching that city, he hurried to the post-office, where he found -nearly a dozen letters from Cedarwood awaiting him. He did not stop to -answer them; but took the first train to Washington, and arrived in the -capital the same afternoon. - -There was plenty of time for him to have gone out to Cedarwood that -evening. But, true to his plan of never sleeping under the same roof -with Drusilla again, if he could help it, he stayed at one of the city -hotels all night. - -In the morning, however, he hired a horse from a livery stable and set -out to visit his home. - -That day Drusilla had also risen very early, saying to herself: - -“This is the last day of the fortnight, and Alick will be home to-night. -That is to say, if nothing happens to prevent him—and surely there is -nothing likely to happen—he will keep his pledged word with me and -return to-night.” - -And so she busied herself with affectionate preparations for his -arrival. - -There was nothing at all else that she could do to add to the -attractions of the lovely home she had renovated and decorated for his -comfort and pleasure. But there were certain dainty dishes that always -delighted his epicurean taste; and these she had carefully prepared for -him. - -When they were ready, she went up to her chamber and sat down to the -liliputian dress-making that was now the sweetest task in the world to -her. - -It was still early in the forenoon, being only ten o’clock, and she was -intently engaged upon a miniature embroidered robe, when she heard the -sound of horses’ feet approaching the house. - -Not expecting that Alexander would return at this unusual hour of the -day, or in this manner, and supposing that the noise arose from Leo -exercising one of the horses from the stable, she paid no attention to -the matter. - -But the next moment she heard the sound of a man’s footsteps on the -stairs, and the instant after the door was thrown open and Alexander -entered the room. - -With a cry of joy, she sprang up to meet him and fell upon his bosom. - -“Why are you so glad to see me as all this comes to, my little Drusa?” -he asked, remorsefully. - -She could not answer him. In her excess of feeling, she could not speak. -But if he had come back from an absence of two years instead of two -weeks, her delight and excitement could not have been greater. - -He kissed and embraced her very fondly—“as I should if she were my -sister,” perhaps he said to himself. And then with gentle force he put -her back in her chair, and seated himself in another one near her, and -put his arm around her. - -“Oh, Alick dear, I’m so glad—so glad to see you!” she cried, as soon as -she recovered her voice. - -“So am I to see you, little darling, especially when I see you looking -so well. How pretty you are; how much you have improved!” he said, -running his fingers through her glossy tresses, and gazing admiringly -upon her bright face, with its flushed cheeks, parted lips, and eyes -sparkling through tears of joy. - -“Oh, Alick, I am so happy to have you back again!” she eagerly repeated. - -“And yet it is very plain that you haven’t moped during my absence; have -you now, little one?” - -“Oh, no indeed, Alick; I have been so cheerfully busy fixing up the -place against you should come. The house looks so fresh and pretty in -its spring dress, Alick dear, I am sure you will enjoy it.” - -“Not fresher or prettier than the house’s mistress, and I’m sure I shall -like both,” he said. - -“Shall you, Alick? Are you sure that I shall be able to please you?” - -“It will be my fault if you are not.” - -“Now that the winter is over and the summer at hand, it will be -pleasanter here in the country, Alick. And the grounds around this -little place can be made very beautiful. Don’t you think so?” - -“Yes, little Drusa. And I intend to spare neither trouble nor expense in -making this little estate a paradise for my peri. An ideal spot it shall -be; everything shall be arranged according to your taste. The woods, -since you love them, shall environ the ornamented grounds.” - -“Oh, Alick, dear! how good you are to me! But don’t sacrifice utility to -beauty for my sake, Alick.” - -“Ah, Drusa! I would sacrifice a much greater thing for your sake,” he -said, with a very deep sigh. - -She looked up at him suddenly. - -“You are well, Alick? quite well, I hope?” were the next words she -addressed to him, as she gazed anxiously in his care-worn face. - -“Not very well, little Drusa,” he answered. - -And ah! who could be well with an evil conscience! - -“It is—nothing serious, dear Alick?” she inquired, growing pale with -fear for his health. - -“No, little goose! only spring languor and the fatigue of my journey,” -he answered, with a laugh that reassured her. - -“Oh; and perhaps you have not had breakfast,” she exclaimed, hastily -rising. - -“Yes, yes, I have,” he said, gayly, pushing her back in her seat. “I had -breakfast two hours ago. I don’t want that, nor do I want lunch yet, so -you need give yourself no trouble about me for awhile.” - -“But would you like to go to your dressing-room? All is ready for you -there.” - -“I’ll warrant; but I made my toilet where I got my breakfast, so I need -not leave you even for that purpose.” - -“Your luggage, Alick, have they brought it up?” - -“I have no luggage; I came out on horseback.” - -“Oh, was that your horse I heard?” she inquired in surprise. - -“Yes; didn’t you know it?” - -“No; I thought you came in a cab.” - -“I preferred the saddle.” - -“But—how about your luggage, Alick dear? Shall I call Leo and order him -to take the carriage and go after it? Where did you leave it? At the -hotel where you breakfasted?” - -“Oh, you inquisitive little imp! Sit down and be quiet while I tell you. -I brought very little luggage to Washington, and that I left, as you -surmise, at the hotel where I breakfasted.” - -“Then let me send Leo for it. He can go and return in two hours,” she -said, again starting up. - -“What a little fidget you are, to be sure! There is not the least need -to send for my things from the hotel. And if you did but know what a -little time I have to spend with you, you would not be so eager to run -away from me.” - -These words had the desired effect. They prepared her to hear his cruel -announcement. She dropped into her chair, and looking at him uneasily -said: - -“Oh, Alick, dear, you are not going away again, are you?” - -“Yes, my child; I shall be compelled to leave you again, and very soon. -Now listen to me and be reasonable, my good little girl. I have kept my -word and come back at the time I said I would. Have I not?” - -“Yes, Alick,” she answered, in a low, meek voice. - -“Well, in order to keep my word with you, Drusa, I had to leave my -business and come off in a great hurry. Do you understand?” - -“Yes, Alick.” - -“And the state in which I left my affairs makes it absolutely necessary -for me to go back to Richmond immediately.” - -“Yes, Alick dear; but you will stay with me a day or two, at least?” - -“No; I came only to keep my word with you. I must go back this evening.” - -“Oh, Alick!” she exclaimed in a tone full of grief, as she let her work -fall from her hands and gazed at him with a look of despair that she -could not control. - -“Come, come, little Drusa, do be rational, little girl! See what an -effort I have made to keep my word with you—dropping my most important -business at a critical juncture, just to come home and see you. Now, -really, I do everything in the world I can to please you,” he said, so -earnestly that he almost persuaded even himself that he did. - -“Oh, yes, Alick, you do indeed; and you always have done so. What should -I be, but for your loving kindness? A poor, desolate orphan, with no one -to care for me! You are very good to me, Alick, and you always have been -so; and I ought to be cheerful, as well as grateful, only I—cannot -always—and——” - -She could say no more; her voice broke into sobs, and she dropped her -face upon her hands and wept. - -“Humph, this is the thanks I get for travelling several hundred miles -express to see you. I have but a few hours to spend with you, and you -entertain me with tears! Very encouraging to me to come again, I must -say!” he angrily exclaimed. - -She could not reply; her whole form was shaking with her convulsive -sobs. - -He got up and walked about the room with his hands in his pockets, and -whistled an opera tune. - -She tried hard to suppress her sobs and to command her voice, and when -at length she succeeded in doing so, she held out her hands imploringly -towards him, and pleaded: - -“Forgive me, Alick. I could not help it, dear; indeed I could not. It -was because I loved you so. I love you so, Alick!” - -“Then I wish to the Lord you didn’t love me ‘so!’ that’s all,” he -brutally exclaimed. - -“Oh, Alick!” she said, still holding out her hands. - -“It is a cursed bore to be loved ‘so!’” he repeated. - -“Oh, Alick, you did not use to say so!” - -“Perhaps I thought so, though! It’s an infernal nuisance to be loved so, -I tell you, and I’m tired of it!” - -“Alick, Alick, you used to make me tell you over and over again how much -I loved you. You used to say I couldn’t love you too much, I couldn’t -even love you enough,” she murmured, dropping her pleading hands upon -her lap. - -“Bosh! I must have been a great spoon in those days!” - -She did not reply to this, but again covered her face and wept softly. - -“Besides,” continued this moral philosopher, “such love as yours is—what -do they call it in the prayer-books?—‘inordinate affection.’ And -inordinate affection is very sinful, let me tell you, and will bring its -own punishment. Sooner or later you will suffer for it.” - -“Oh, I have, I have suffered for it, have I not?” - -This wail came from her unawares, and the next moment she was sorry for -having let it escape her, sorry for the feeling that prompted it; for -she could not bear even in her thoughts to blame one whom she worshipped -so madly. - -“Well, if you have suffered, it is your own fault.” - -“I know it, Alick—I know it; and I never meant to say that it was -yours.” - -“Then what in this world is the matter with you? What do you need more -than you have? Of what do you complain?” - -“Of nothing, Alick—I complain of nothing. I am out of my senses, I -think.” - -“I think so too. Here you are in a position that would be envied by -hundreds—yes, by thousands, by millions of your sex, as the height of -woman’s happiness. You have a comfortable and even an elegant home; and -I mean to settle it on you also. You have a luxurious table, a splendid -wardrobe, attentive servants, horses, carriages—what in the world _can_ -you want in addition to these?” - -“Only a little more of my husband’s company, Alick,” she pathetically -answered. - -“Bosh! You are a Christian, or you profess to be one. You read your -Bible. Why don’t you go by it? St. Paul says, ‘Having food and raiment, -be therewith content,’ or words to that effect. You have not only food -and raiment, but every comfort and luxury that money can buy. Why cannot -you be content?” - -“Oh, Alick, dear, ye! I have all _money_ can buy. But there are -blessings that money cannot purchase. Oh, Alick, I could be content with -very much less of this world’s goods than your wealth has given me; I -could be happy with very little food and raiment, if only I had more of -your society.” - -She was weeping softly, with her head bowed upon her hands. - -He was still walking up and down the floor. - -Presently she got up and met him with her hands held out. - -“Do not leave me, Alick, dear—oh, do not leave again so soon. You have -made me your wife, and I have no life but in you—none, Alick, none! If -you tear me from your heart, I shall wither and die like a plant pulled -up by the roots. Oh, take me to your bosom again, for I have no life out -of you Alick—Alick—” - -It was not in human nature, at least not in a young man’s nature, to -resist her beauty, her pleading; and he folded her to his heart, covered -her face with kisses, and then said: - -“Little Drusa! little Drusa! oh, my dear, dear child! what a misery for -you that you should love me, wretch that I am!” - -“But why, Alick? Why? It is my life—my very life! and I have no other!” - -“Oh, Drusa! Drusa! Good Heaven! How is this to end! I wish from my soul -you had never had the misfortune of meeting me!” - -“Oh, Alick, why do you say that?” - -“I don’t know!” he groaned. Then he answered evasively—“I am utterly -unworthy of you. I cause you so much suffering.” - -“But that comes of my weakness, not of your fault, dear Alick. Besides I -am happy now, very happy now that I see you love me.” - -“Little Drusa, did you ever doubt that?” - -“I never doubted your faith, Alick. When you have kept away from me, I -have doubted my own worthiness of your love.” - -“My darling, if you were sure, entirely sure of my affection, could you -then bear that I should be absent from you a great deal?” - -“No,” she answered, honestly; “I couldn’t even live, Alick. I couldn’t -live away from you, any more than a flower broken off.” - -“Oh, my soul! what will become of you, child? Better with your strong -affections, better you had died in your infancy!” he muttered to -himself. - -“What is the matter, Alick? What are you saying?” - -“I am thinking of you. Poor child! With your nature you can never be -happy in this world.” - -“Oh yes, I can, dear Alick! It takes so little to make me happy. Only -let me live with you and I ask no more of earth, or Heaven.” - -“My darling, I do believe, I do believe, if all other things were -conforming, you could also make me very happy,” he said gravely and -tenderly. - -“I should try so zealously to do it, Alick. I would never vex you with -weeping or moping. Because you know I never did weep for anything but -your absence; and if I might be with you I should never have cause to -weep again. If you must go back to Richmond, Alick, can’t you take me -with you? I could get ready in half an hour, or in less time. And I -wouldn’t be troublesome to you on the journey, indeed I wouldn’t, dear. -Say, will you take me?” - -“My little Drusa, it is impossible. I should not be able to stop in -Richmond over twenty-four hours. I should have to go into the country -and travel from place to place, on this vexatious business. But don’t -look so despairing, darling! I will not stay a day longer than I can -help,” he said, putting her gently from his arms, and throwing himself -down into a chair beside her work-table. - -She also resumed her seat. And she took up her needle-work. - -“What are you amusing yourself with, little Drusa? Dressing dolls?” he -inquired, taking up and inspecting the little, embroidered robe that lay -upon her lap. “Is this for a great doll!” - -“No, Alick,” she answered, while a rosy blush and tender smile of joy -and embarrassment brightened her face. “It is not for a great doll, it -is for a little angel who is coming to us soon.” - -“The d—l!” exclaimed Alexander, invoking his master and guide. - -She heard him and looked up hastily in surprise and pain. - -“I thought you would be glad, Alick,” she said. - -“Well, hem, so I——If I’m not glad, it is for your sake, Drusa,” he said, -confusedly. Then, gathering more self-control, he added: “You are very -young, little Drusa, to have the cares of maternity thrust upon you.” - -“Such sweet cares, Alick—not to be known from joys.” - -“But you are scarcely sixteen years old!—too young, too young, Drusa.” - -“But if I was old enough to be a wife, dear, I am old enough to be a -mother.” - -“You are too young to be either, little Drusa.” - -“You didn’t use to think so. Oh, Alick, I thought you would be glad. I -am sorry you are not.” - -And she folded her little robe up, and put it out of sight. - -“It seems I cannot open my lips without wounding you, Drusa,” he -muttered, moodily. - -“Don’t say that, Alick. Come, let us go down. I want to show you how -pretty the drawing-room looks. And I want to show you the young birds—I -mean the new broods of canaries, hatched since you left,” she said, -cheerfully, rising. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIV. - GONE FOR GOOD. - - One hurried kiss, one last, one long embrace, - One yearning look upon her tearful face. - And he was gone, and like a funeral knell - The winds still sighed—Beloved, fare thee well!—MRS. ESLING. - - -Suppressing all her mortification and sorrow at the cold reception her -husband had given her sweet news, Drusilla took him through the -renovated house and showed him all its new improvements. - -As if to make up for the previous surliness, he admired everything he -saw and praised his little housekeeper for her taste. - -Then he said he would go to the stable and look at the horses; and he -asked her to get her bonnet and come with him. - -She ran up stairs, calling Pina to follow her. And while she was putting -on her thick shoes and her bonnet and mantle, she gave the girl -particular directions about the dinner. For as Mr. Lyon had so short a -time to stay, Drusilla did not wish to leave him long enough to pay a -visit to the kitchen. - -Then she went down stairs and joined her husband. And they walked -together to the stable. - -Everything there was found in a satisfactory condition and the horses -were in fine order. Evidently Leo had done his duty, as well as, or -better than, so young a groom could be expected to do it. - -Then Drusilla invited Alexander to walk through the ground, that she -might show him the new garden she had laid out. And, as before, he -expressed delight in all he saw, and approbation of her skill as a -landscape gardener. - -“You take so much pains to beautify this place, and find so much -pleasure in the task, that I hope you will be very happy here, little -Drusa,” he said, as they turned to go back to the house. - -“I shall be very happy here, or anywhere else, dear Alick, when you have -got through that troublesome business and can come and stay at home with -me,” she replied. - -He shrugged his shoulders, but made no answer. She did not see his -questionable gesture, so she continued: - -“For indeed, Alick, you and I live now more like mere acquaintances than -like a married couple. And you seem less the master of the house than -the occasional guest of the mistress.” - -He laughed at this conceit, and then sighed as he replied: - -“I don’t see how it can be helped, little Drusa. I wish it could be, in -some way. Heaven knows how it pains me to part with you.” - -And Mr. Alick thought of Joe Smith and the Mormon Bible and wished that -one had been a true prophet and the other a divine revelation. - -“Oh, dear Alick, it is selfish in me, I know, but I am glad it pains you -to part with me; and I hope it may hurt you so badly that you may not be -able to stay away,” said Drusilla, with a sweet smile. - -“Ah, little Drusa! however distressing it may be to me to absent myself -from you, I must do so when duty requires the sacrifice,” sighed -Alexander, piously. Then, to change the subject, he inquired—“You have -seen nothing more of the face at the window, little Drusa?” - -“No, nothing at all. But then the windows, since you left, have always -at nightfall been closed and curtained,” she answered. - -“Nor heard anything of the man lurking about here?” - -“No, not a word.” - -“Nor gained any clue to his identity?” - -“No, none.” - -“Then you have not been annoyed by any such intrusion since I left you?” - -“No, not by any.” - -“I am very glad to hear it, little Drusa.” - -As he spoke she recollected the disorderly party who had followed her -carriage from the city; and thought that truth required her to mention -the circumstance, so she added: - -“Oh, Alick, yes. I didn’t write to you about it, because I knew it would -only make you anxious to no good purpose, and besides I only wished to -write you good news——” - -“What now, Drusa? What is it? What have you been keeping from me, it is -very wrong for you to keep any secret from me, let me tell you,” -anxiously exclaimed Alexander, looking searchingly in her face. - -“Oh, Alick, it was no secret at all. It was only a little rudeness I was -made to bear.” - -“Rudeness! From whom?” - -“From people who were scarcely responsible for their actions, Alick.” - -“Who were they? What rudeness did they offer you?” - -“You remember those officers that came into our box at the opera?” - -“Yes—vagabonds! vulgar wretches! what about them?” - -“They saw me in at a Ladies’ Tea Room in the city, one day when I went -shopping.” - -“In a Ladies’ Tea Room! Drusilla, I am shocked that you should have gone -into such a place unattended. I am annoyed beyond measure that you -should have done so! No modest young woman, not to say lady, ever goes -alone to such a place!” - -“Alick dear, it was the very room you used to take me to, whenever you -took me to the city in the first days of our marriage. And I saw ladies -there and young ladies and little girls, and even babies and nurses—and -one always feels right and safe where there are babies, you know.” - -“No; I don’t know it. And besides the ladies and children you speak of -were family parties; you went _alone;_ no wonder you were insulted. -Which of the villains insulted you—or did both?” - -“Neither did, Alick dear. Please don’t be angry. One of the officers -came up and spoke to me, calling me ‘Miss’ and claiming my acquaintance. -But as you had not introduced him to me I would not know him.” - -“And—then?” - -“I left the Tea Room and got into the carriage and drove home.” - -“And was that all?” - -“No; the two officers and the two women that were with them jumped into -a hack and followed me.” - -“Ten thousand demons!—_Home?_” burst forth Mr. Lyon. - -“Ah Alick dear, no; don’t be so violent. There was no harm done. I -wouldn’t even have mentioned the matter, only you asked me a question -that I was bound to answer truthfully,” pleaded the gentle creature. - -“How far did they follow you?” - -“Only to the gate of the road leading through the woods to our house—” - -“To our—” Here Alexander burst into an explosion of oaths and expletives -that caused his wife to shudder with horror. - -“Oh, Alick, Alick, don’t, dear! don’t! It is a sin! Oh, Alick, hush! You -frighten me so!” she pleaded almost breathlessly, clinging to his arm. - -“If I catch one of those villains I will blow his brains out. If I -don’t, may the—” And here Alexander sealed his oath by invoking a -terrible imprecation on his own soul if he failed to keep it. - -“Oh, my love, my dear, don’t, don’t. Heaven will never forgive you!” -wept Drusilla. - -“Stop whimpering, you provoking little fool, and tell me. Did they -attempt to follow you through the gate?” - -“Yes, Alick, but they couldn’t do it, because Leo closed it and locked -it—” - -“Oh! let me only lay my eyes on them—that is all! If they get off with -life may I be——” - -“_Hsh-sh!_ Oh, Alick, dear, this is awful!” - -“Hold your tongue, and take your hand from my lips! And now, if you can -speak to some purpose, do so! How long was this ago that they dared to -pursue you?” - -“About nine days since, Alick. But they scarcely knew what they were -about. Indeed they did not, Alick love!” - -“Have they troubled you since?” - -“No, not once. I have neither seen nor heard of them since, nor has any -one else annoyed me.” - -“That is well so far. But now I am convinced that one of those villains -was identical with the spy who frightened you by looking through the -window. I wish I had not to hurry back to Richmond to-night. If I could -only remain in the city one day, I might settle accounts with these -gentlemen!” - -“Oh, Alick, then for the first time I am—what I never thought I should -be—glad that you are going away so soon! Ah, my own dear husband, -absence is bitter, but not so bitter as sin and its consequences! Oh, my -dear, dear Alick, I shall pray day and night that Heaven may keep you -from blood guiltiness.” - -By this time they had reached the house, which they soon entered. - -But Alick did not get over his fit of fury until some hours later, when -dinner was served and he had eaten a hearty meal, and drank several -glasses of fine wine, and was luxuriating in the sedative vapors of a -real Havana. - -The fragrant fumes of the good cigar did not drive Drusilla away. She -sat near him with a little piece of crochet work in her fingers. - -“I want you to promise me one thing, Drusa,” said Alick, taking the weed -from his lips. - -“I will promise you anything in the world,” she answered. - -“I dare say! But would you perform it?” - -“Yes, indeed, Alick.” - -“If you could.” - -“Oh, of course that is understood! Providence permitting, I will do -whatever you wish.” - -“Well, the promises I wish you to make me will not be very hard to keep. -In the first place, I want you to give me your word that you will not go -into Washington unless in case of necessity.” - -“You have my word for that, Alick.” - -“And when obliged to go, that you will show yourself as little as -possible; that you will never recognize or speak with any acquaintance, -old or new, whom you may happen to meet.” - -“I give you my word for these also, Alick.” - -“And that you will never under any circumstances whatever, or to any -person whoever, give your name or address, or mine.” - -“Take my word for that, too. I promise—solemnly promise to remember and -obey all your directions, Alick.” - -“That is right,” he said. And he resumed his cigar, and smoked in -comfort for some minutes, and then threw away the stump, and got up, -saying: - -“I must see about going.” - -“Oh, Alick! So soon, dear!” she exclaimed, in dismay. - -“So soon? Why, it is seven o’clock now, and the boat leaves at nine. I -have but two hours to get it.” - -“Leo can drive you there easily in one hour, Alick. The horses are quite -fresh, and will go like the wind. And besides, I want you to take tea -with me before you leave,” she said, touching the bell. - -“Well, I can take a cup of tea while Leo is putting the horses to the -carriage, I suppose,” he admitted, resuming his seat. - -Pina came in to answer the bell. - -Drusilla told her to set the table for tea. And Mr. Lyon directed her to -tell Leo to put the horses to the carriage and bring it around to the -door, and to get himself ready to drive to town. - -Pina went out to obey both her orders. - -“You will not be long absent this time, will you, Alick?” inquired -Drusilla. - -“I do not know, Drusa; but not a day longer than is necessary,” he -evasively replied. - -“But—can’t you give me some little idea, Alick, just to comfort me while -you are away? Will you be gone a week, ten days, a fortnight—or how long -do you think, dear Alick?” - -“Now, Drusa, my child, you must not seek to bind me by any promise to -return at any fixed time. See how it has inconvenienced me on this -occasion, and without giving you much gratification either. Here, -because I felt bound by the promise I had given you, I was compelled to -drop my business at a most important crisis, and hurry on here just to -see you for a few hours, and then hurry back. If you had not bound me by -that promise, I _might_ possibly, by staying a few days longer in -Richmond, and putting my business in a better state of progress, have -been enabled to come and stay longer with you. But as it is, I must be -off at once. So you see the evil of binding a man to any fixed time.” - -“Yes, Alick. I don’t wish to bind you to anything, dear. I will only -trust that you will come back to me as soon as you can,” she meekly -replied. - -“As soon as it shall be proper to do so, I will come back,” he answered -evasively. - -Pina came in and set the table, and brought in the tea service and -arranged it. - -They—the faithful wife and faithless husband sat down together for the -last time at that table. - -She filled his cup and handed it to him, and urged upon him the delicate -dainties that she had prepared for him. - -And Alick, whose appetite seldom suffered under any circumstances, -enjoyed the luxuries of the tea-table as much as if he had not dined -sumptuously a few hours previous. - -But as soon as he heard the carriage approaching the door, he got up, -went into the hall, followed by Drusilla. - -Here he put on his overcoat and gloves, snatched his wife to his bosom -for one hasty embrace and adieu; then took his hat, ran out of the -house, jumped into the carriage, and ordered the coachman to drive fast -towards town. - -The carriage started. - -And this time Alexander was gone for good. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXV. - CRUEL TREACHERY. - - And be these juggling fiends no more believed, - That palter with us in a double sense; - That keep the word of promise to the ear - And break it to the hope.—SHAKSPEARE. - - -Alexander had come and gone like a dream. And, in truth, his flying -visit had given his young wife little comfort. He had spent more than -half the few hours he had passed at home in grumbling. - -As usual, she could not find it in her heart to blame him. To keep up -her spirits, she set about putting in order her little house that had -been somewhat disarranged by his sudden arrival and departure. In the -words of another wronged woman, she was “resigned, but not happy.” - -Her days passed quietly, if not cheerfully. She occupied herself with -her small household affairs; with making up the pretty liliputian -wardrobe upon which she was engaged; with taking care of her birds; and -with gardening, walking and riding during the day. - -She spent her evenings in reading and writing, or singing and playing. - -She was comforted with three sweet hopes: the first was for his letters, -the second his return, and the third the arrival of the little stranger. - -She arose with the earliest dawn of day, and she retired early in the -evening, and so her health continued to improve. - -But day succeeded day, until a week had passed away, and still she -received no letter from her absent husband. Then she grew weary and sad. - -The truth is that Alexander, with a false mercy in keeping with his -false course at this time, was putting into practice his sapient plan of -“breaking with her gradually,” which was just distilling to her, drop by -drop, the bitterness of “despised love;” inflicting on her the -intolerable torture of a slow heart-breaking. - -After ten days had gone by she received a note from him; it was short, -cool and dry. He said that he had reached Richmond in safety, but had -been too busy to write before; that he was well and hoped she was; and -that he remained her affectionate—“A.” There were not half a dozen lines -in the whole letter, and Drusilla thought the writing did not look like -Alexander’s hand. But she read it over and over again, and her tears -dropped slowly down upon it as she murmured: - -“‘Too busy to write’ to me—‘too busy to write.’ Oh, Alick, dear, what -sort of business would it be that could keep me from writing to you for -ten whole days? But, then, I am a woman and you are a man, and that -makes all the difference, I suppose. But, oh, my heart is so weak—so -weak, my Heavenly Father!” she cried, suddenly, in her sorrow, appealing -to the All Compassionate. - -And then again she betook herself to work as an antidote to despair. - -After this a heart-sickening month of silence passed away, in which she -heard no word from him. And then she got a second note, dated from some -distant village in New England, from which he wrote to tell her that he -had been travelling for the last four weeks, and he was travelling still -upon that business growing out of his father’s will; that it would be -useless for her to write to him, as he was continually moving rapidly -from place to place, and could not wait to receive her letters. His -health continued good, and he hoped that hers did. And he was ever her -friend—“A.” - -This letter filled less than half a page, and the writing was even less -like Alexander’s than that of the other one had been. And Drusilla wept -bitterly over it. - -“If I were not his wife, I should think he was deserting me by degrees,” -she sobbed, hitting at last the very truth. - -In addition to all her other causes of distress, she had the bitterness -of knowing that he had not waited to get one of the affectionate daily -letters she had directed to him at Richmond; that they were all wasted, -like her love, because he had not even taken the trouble to tell her -that he was going to travel. - -And now one word about Alexander’s duplicity, which he called -discretion. (If people could be got to call crimes by their right names, -perhaps they would not commit them.) When Alexander was at home, having -access to all Drusilla’s boxes, he secretly got possession of all the -letters he had ever written to her and he destroyed them. His first -subsequent letter was written from Richmond, to which he had come with -his uncle and cousin for a sojourn of a few days previous to setting out -with them on a tour of pleasure. His second one was from a hamlet in the -Green Mountains, where he was staying with the General and Miss Anna, in -these first warm days of July. Both letters were written in a disguised -hand, and signed only with his initial, lest they should ever be brought -up against him. - -Some suspicion of his bad faith was forcing its way even into the -confiding bosom of his wife. But the heart-wasting weariness of the next -few weeks, who can tell? To keep her heart from breaking, she kept -steadily at work. Ah, work! How great is the love of our Heavenly Father -in commuting the very curse laid upon man at his fall into blessings; in -infusing into the very punishment of his sins consolation for his -suffering. For surely, in addition to its creative and productive force, -work has consoling power, since, next after religion, it is to the -desolate and wearyhearted the greatest comfort on earth. - -Drusilla found it so; for, if occupation did not give her happiness, it -certainty kept her from despair. The months rolled slowly on. One of the -most distressing elements in her misery was the fact she could not even -write to her husband, not knowing where to direct her letters; and this -was farther embittered by the knowledge that he himself had cut off all -such communication between them. - -Still she continued to send Leo daily to the post-office in the hope of -getting a letter from him; but week after week wore away without -bringing news of Alexander. - -In the hope of hearing of him, if she could not hear from him, she wrote -and ordered the principal daily papers from all the great cities in the -north. And huge was the bundle that Leo brought every day from the news -agent in Washington. - -And when she was disappointed in getting a letter, as she was always -sure to be, she would, with a morbid eagerness, carefully con over the -names in the list of arrivals at the various hotels in all the cities, -in the faint hope of seeing his name in some one of them. - -But this was worse than “hunting for a needle in a haystack,” for it was -hunting for what was lost somewhere else. - -Sometimes in fear and trembling she would even look over the deaths and -the casualties, in the dread of seeing his name among the victims. But -she never saw it anywhere. We could have told her, “Naught is never in -danger.” If she did not see the name of her truant husband, she saw -something else that startled her, and it was this: - - NEXT OF KIN.—If the heirs of the late Reverend Malcomb Sterling should - see this advertisement they will please to communicate immediately - with the undersigned, from whom they will hear something to their - advantage. - - KENT & HENEAGE, - Solicitors, 33 Bar street, Baltimore. - -Drusilla stared at this notice in astonishment. And then she read it -over again two or three times. _She_ was the only living representative -of the late Malcomb Sterling. Her father’s last pastoral charge had been -in Baltimore. This advertisement appeared in a Baltimore paper, and the -firm to be communicated with were Baltimore lawyers. Clearly the notice -originated with some one who had taken pains to trace her poor father’s -last abiding place, in order to advertise there for his heirs. It must, -therefore, be of considerable importance. - -Her first impulse was to cut out the piece and enclose it in a letter to -her husband, that he might deal with it as he should deem proper. But -then she instantly recollected that she was ignorant of Mr. Lyon’s -address. - -After a little reflection she concluded that it was her own duty to -communicate with the advertising parties. - -So she sat down and wrote to the firm of Kent & Heneage, and told them -that she was the only child of the late Reverend Malcomb Sterling, by -his wife Anna. - -She sent off this letter; and soon forgot all about the matter in her -all-engrossing anxiety to hear from her husband. - -As before, she every day sent Leo to the post office, with orders if he -should find a letter by the first mail to hasten home with it -immediately; if not, to wait for the second mail. - -On a fresh and brilliant morning of the third day after she had written -to the lawyers, Drusilla was at work in her flower-garden, when she saw -Leo galloping toward the house, and holding out at arm’s length a -letter. - -The face of the boy, who had seen and understood his mistress’s daily -disappointment, was beaming with delight, as he drew rein before her, -sprang from his saddle, and handed her the letter. - -She seized it eagerly, believing it to be from her husband, and -exclaimed in her joy: - -“Oh, thank you, Leo! At last—at last! Oh, I’m so glad!” - -“’Deed, so am I, ma’am—glad as if I’d had a fortin left me,” answered -the boy, showing in every tone and look as much sympathy as he could -combine with very much respect, “which it is from master, ma’am, and I -hope he is well?” - -But the little lady’s face had fallen. The letter was not from her -beloved husband, announcing his speedy arrival. It was only from the -firm of Kent & Heneage, and it _only_ informed her of her inheritance of -a vast estate, by the decease of a bachelor great-uncle, who was a -merchant of San Francisco with a corresponding house in Baltimore, and -who had recently died intestate in the first mentioned city. - -This news would have made some women very happy. But not Drusilla. The -reaction with her was great. Tears of disappointment swelled her -eyelids, and dropped upon the open page. - -Leo, who was watching her in reverential interest, seeing her tears, now -spoke: - -“I hope nothing is amiss with master, ma’am!” - -“No—I don’t know. Oh, Leo! it is not from your master; it is nothing but -a mere business letter from a lawyer!” said the little lady, with a -sigh. - -“Is that all, ma’am?” responded the boy in a disappointed tone. - -“All, Leo,” his mistress answered, as she turned sadly towards the -house. - -She did not care a farthing for the death or the inheritance of the old -bachelor uncle, of whom she had not heard mention made more than three -times in her life, and who, while he was rolling in wealth, had left her -dying father, her mother and herself to suffer the bitterest pains of -poverty. - -She neglected to answer the lawyer’s letter, and gave herself up to -grief and anxiety about her careless but still beloved husband, until a -week had passed away, when she received another, and a very urgent -letter from Messrs. Kent & Heneage, asking to hear from her by return -mail. - -This one she immediately answered. And this was the beginning of a long -epistolary correspondence between Drusilla and Kent & Heneage of -Baltimore, and Speight & Wright of San Francisco. In the course of this -correspondence the heiress learned that both those legal firms had been -the solicitors of her uncle, the millionaire, and that the first had -managed his business in Baltimore, and the last in San Francisco; that -the whole estate, comprising the property in both cities, was estimated -at three millions of dollars, and consisted in warehouses, shipping -goods, and bank stock. But she was also advised that she would be -required to prove her identity, and establish every link in the chain of -evidence that connected her with her uncle before she could take -possession of the property. And Messrs. Kent & Heneage tendered her the -help of all their legal skill, learning and experience, in establishing -her claims. - -Young as she was, Drusilla saw at once that there would be no difficulty -in proving herself the lawful heiress of the deceased Crœsus. So she -wrote to the lawyers that the genealogical line to be traced was very -plain, short and straight; that every point in its progress could be -proved by church registers, court records, private letters, and personal -friends. - -Then the firm wrote to her requesting a personal interview, and offering -either to receive her at their office in Baltimore, or to visit her at -her own home in Washington. - -And here arose Drusilla’s first difficulty. She had dated her letters, -not from Cedarwood, but simply from Washington City, and though she had -signed them Drusilla Sterling Lyon, she had not said one word about her -state as a married woman, thus unconsciously leaving it to be assumed -that she was a widow, acting upon her own responsibility. She could not -write of her marriage, because it had been her husband’s will that it -should be kept secret from all but the faithful servants who were in -their confidence. And for this cause, also, she could neither visit the -lawyers at their office, nor receive them at her house. She was puzzled -how to act. - -“Oh, Alick, Alick, dear,” she sighed, as she read over again the -lawyer’s letter; “Oh, Alick, darling, how your long absence and this -forced secrecy does constantly compromise me. I find myself in a cruelly -false position. What shall I do now? Wait till I see you before I take -another step in this matter? That is what I must do.” - -And she sat down and wrote to Messrs. Kent & Heneage, telling them that -it was not just at present convenient for her to leave home, or to -receive visitors, but that she hoped it might be so in a few weeks. - -“And this looks very like a subterfuge,” she said to herself as she -revised her own lines. “And what will they think of me for putting them -off in this foolish way? Think me an impostor as likely as not. And who -can wonder if they do? Oh, Alick! Alick!” - -She sent her letter off, and for a week or ten days, she heard no more -of her legal friends. This correspondence, embarrassing as it was to -her, and difficult as it was for her to manage, upon account of her -false position as a secretly wedded wife, had nevertheless done her -good, in distracting her thoughts from the intense grief and anxiety she -had suffered from the long absence and total silence of her husband. - -Meanwhile, the summer wore wearily away. On the first of September, she -received another letter from her new legal acquaintances, praying her no -longer to neglect so important a manner as the establishment of her -claims to the heirship of the great Sterling property. - -Amid painful feelings of shame that she might not speak out plainly, -that she must be secretive and seem deceitful, she penned a reply, -asking the lawyer’s pardon for having appeared neglectful; beseeching -them yet to have a little patience with her; telling them that -circumstances which she could not at present command, precluded her from -proceeding farther in this matter; but expressing an earnest hope that -in a short time she might be able to do so. She begged to assure them -that as she was truly the lawful heiress of her deceased uncle, Charles -Sterling, being the only surviving descendant of his only brother, and -he having left no other kindred, so her claim to the estate could not -fail to be established; and that when it should be, she begged them to -believe, that they should find that their time and labor, and kind -interest in her affairs, had not been thrown away. - -There was a simple, earnest truthfulness and good feeling in this other -mystifying letter, that must have carried conviction of the writer’s -good faith even to the unbelieving legal mind. For within three days, -Drusilla received an answer from the firm, saying that they regretted -the delay upon her own account, but would wait her pleasure and -convenience. - -And so this correspondence ceased for the time being. - -September passed slowly away, without bringing any letter from Mr. Lyon. -And oh, in what weariness, heaviness, sorrow and soreness of heart, it -passed with the young neglected wife, who can describe, or even imagine? -She was almost dying of hope deferred. A fatal suspicion of her -husband’s falsehood was slowly, but surely, eating its way into her -heart and life. And still the bitterest element in her sorrow was the -fact that she could make no appeal to any remaining tenderness he might -have for her, not even knowing where to write to him. - -October came, and then,— - - “When hope was coldest, and despair most deep,” - -a letter arrived from Alexander. She was that evening sitting and -shivering, not from cold, but from nervousness, over a bright little -fire in her dressing-room, when Pina ran in, without the ceremony of -rapping, and exclaimed, breathlessly: - -“It’s Leo, ma’am, which he’s just brung a letter from the post-office, -as he says must be from master, because it’s got Richmond printed onto -it, and he can read print, though not writing. And he says how he’ll -bring the letter in and put it into your hands himself, and here he is—” - -Before Pina had finished half her speech, Drusilla had jumped up and run -to meet Leo. - -As he entered the room, with his face beaming with pleasure, she -snatched the letter from his grasp, tore it open and devoured its -contents. - -Ah! poor child! little comfort that long-looked for letter brought her. -It was shorter, drier and colder than any that had gone before it. -Alexander vouchsafed not one word of excuse for his long silence. He -announced his arrival at Richmond; and told her that he could not with -propriety pay her a visit that autumn, for reasons that he would explain -to her in a subsequent letter; he hoped that she was in as good health -and spirits as he begged to assure her that he himself was; and he -subscribed himself her friend and well-wisher, “A.” - -Drusilla dropped the letter, and burst into a passion of sobs and tears, -that much alarmed her loving servants. - -They thought no less than that their master had met with a fatal -accident, or was smitten with a deathly disorder, if he was not already -dead and buried. - -They tried to help and comfort her. - -Leo went and brought her a glass of ice-water. - -Pina poured some Florida water upon a handkerchief and offered her, -saying caressingly: - -“Oh, mist’ess, dear, don’t take on so. It’s the Lord’s will, you know.” - -“It is NOT, Pina! The sin of man is NOT the will of God!” passionately -broke forth the long-suffering soul. - -“Oh, mist’ess, dear, ’scuse me. I didn’t know ’twas sin. I thought ’twas -only sickness, or something.” - -“I—hush!—I spoke hastily—I spoke without thinking. There, Pina, that -will do. Thank you, child. Go, leave me now; I am better by myself; _do_ -go. Leo, take her away,” with difficulty gasped Drusilla. - -And when she had got her servants out of the room and bolted the door, -she threw herself into her chair and gave free vent to the suppressed -sobs and tears that had been nearly choking her. - -“Oh, what a letter to write me! After such a long and cruel silence too! -Cannot pay me a visit this autumn! ‘_Pay me a visit!_’ What does he mean -by that? This is his home and I am his wife. And he signs himself my -friend and well-wisher. ‘_Friend and well-wisher!_’ And no more than -that? Why he is my husband! Oh, _what_ does he mean by this cruel -letter?” she cried, with streaming eyes and heaving breast. - -Then she drew from her bosom the small black silk bag, took from it the -piece of paper of which mention has already made, read it through her -tear-dimmed eyes, then kissed and replaced it, saying: - -“If it was not for this precious little document, I should think he -meant to abandon me. I should fear that I was not his wife. I should -fear I had been fooled by a false marriage. But this bit of paper proves -that I am truly his lawful wife—though he treats me more like a—Ah, -Heaven forgive him! I am very glad I found this little document. It -reassures me when I doubt. And this great grief so clouds my mind that I -suppose I can’t help doubting, even when such doubt is mere madness. But -I have the paper, and ‘seeing is believing,’” she sighed. - -Ah! how little the poor young creature knew that the document upon which -she founded her faith in the indissoluble legality of her marriage was -the very same upon which Alexander Lyon, her husband, based his belief -in his freedom from matrimonial bonds. - -But this is a mystery. - -As soon as she had recovered some degree of composure, she availed -herself of her knowledge of his address to write to him the first letter -she had been able to send him in some months. In this letter so entirely -was she taken up by her love and her sorrow, that she utterly forgot to -mention the enormous fortune that had been left her. She wrote him a -long, earnest, impassioned appeal, praying him by the love he once bore -her, and by the love that she must ever bear him, since it was the life -of her life, to come to her, if only for a little while; she said, -pathetically, that she would never ask it again. - -“Oh, these words are cold and lifeless,” she wrote. “But if you were -here, my soul would find some means of reaching yours. My lips and my -eyes and my hands would show you that they only live when they meet -yours. Oh, come home! I die, Alick! I die! Come and save me! Come, if -only for a little while. Oh, my beloved, my whole heart and soul and -life goes out in this cry—_Come home!_” - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVI. - AGONY. - - _The peace that others seek they find; - The heaviest storms not longest last; - Heaven grants even to the guilty mind, - An amnesty for what is past. - I only pray to know the worst, - And wish, as if my heart would burst._—WORDSWORTH. - - -As before, day after day passed slowly and sadly over the head of the -young forsaken wife. The golden month of October was declining towards -its close, and still she received no letter from her husband in answer -to her last impassioned appeal. - -She wrote again and again; but with no better success. How he must have -steeled his breast against her to resist the pleading of her letters, -where every word seemed a tear of blood wrung from her crushed and -bleeding heart. But most likely he did not even trust himself to read -them. - -In this agony of suspense, she must have either maddened or died, but -for the “little angel” she expected; for it is scarcely possible for the -mother of an unborn babe, even under the greatest trials and heaviest -sorrows, either to lose her reason, or break her heart. In making ready -for the little one, and in looking for its coming, she found an antidote -against despair. - -But her moods, of course, varied with the state of her nerves. There -were times in which she hoped, when her hour should come, that both she -and her babe might be permitted to die, and go to their eternal rest. - -“Where I shall never trouble him more; or, perhaps regret him, either, -though this is doubtful. Oh, Alick! Alick!” she would exclaim, with a -burst of tears and sobs. - -But these miserable spells of despondency she always repented as sins. -And she, afterwards, prayed that her babe might live, and that she might -be forgiven, and spared and strengthened to raise it. - -She was so young and inexperienced that she did not know when to count -upon the advent of the little stranger; but she felt sure that the time -could not be far off. - -It was in the last days of October, that she received another letter -from her recreant husband. She was standing at the window of her -bed-chamber, watching for the arrival of Leo from the post-office, as -she had watched for so many days, when she saw the boy riding towards -the house. - -She tapped on the glass panes to attract his attention; and he heard -her, and he pulled a letter from his pocket, and held it up to view as -he struck the spurs to his horse’s flanks and dashed rapidly up to the -door. - -She rushed down to meet him, and snatched the letter. - -“From Richmond, madam,” he said; “which I hope master is well, and is -coming home.” - -“Yes, from Richmond,” she said, tearing the envelope open, and beginning -to run her eyes over it, as she went back to her room and sank into her -resting chair. For the poor young wife and expectant mother could not -now rush about and excite herself with impunity. - -She sank, faint, dizzy and breathless, into her chair, and tried to read -her letter; but the words ran together, and the lines reeled before her -eyes; and some minutes passed before she was sufficiently recovered and -calmed to do so. And as she gathered the meaning of this most cruel of -all his heartless letters, her pale face grew paler still, her breath -came in short gasps, and her frame shook as with an ague fit. - -Before she had quite finished reading it, she let it drop from her -hands, threw up her arms, and, with a piercing shriek, fell forward to -the floor. - -And well she might. - -This murderous letter Alexander had sent to his wronged wife as a _coup -de grace_. - -In it he told her that humanity had induced him to prepare her, by a -long abstinence from her society, for the painful communication he was -about to make. He dared to hope that by this time she must have seen -that there was something wrong in their union, and some good cause other -than he had before stated for his keeping away from her. He said that -now he believed she was ready to learn, without a great shock, which he -had studied to spare her, the true cause of his parting from her. He -then went on to tell her that early in the month of March he had -discovered, to his own great astonishment, that their union was utterly -null, void, and illegal; that he could not find it in his heart at that -time to shock her with the fatal news; but he made up his mind to -prepare her for it by degrees, and finally to break it to her very -slowly. He begged to remind her that since the day upon which he had -made the discovery of the unlawfulness of their connection he had never -wronged her by intruding into her private apartments, or treating her -otherwise than with the reserve due to a lady and the affection owed to -a sister. He repeated that he had tried to spare her pain in the -breaking of this tie, the severance of which was as distressing to him -as it could possibly be to her. He assured her that, though duty forbade -him ever to see her face again, he should provide for her future -welfare, by securing to her the little estate upon which she lived. He -concluded by telling her, that as propriety required all possible -intercourse, even by writing, to cease between them, and as he himself -was about to leave town for the country, it would be useless for her to -reply to his letter. - -It is to be noted that in this cruel communication he took care to say -no more than was absolutely necessary to quell and quiet her claims on -him. He did not even call her by name, but addressed her as “my poor -little friend.” He did not acknowledge the receipt of any of her -letters. And, worse than all, he failed to specify the cause of the -alleged illegality of their marriage—whether it had chanced in any -informality of the ceremony, which might be remedied by a second and -more careful solemnization of the rites; or whether it existed in the -shape of some insurmountable impediment that must forbid their union. -Nor did he venture to allude to his former betrothal and his approaching -wedding with his cousin Anna. Indeed, all proper names of persons and -places seemed studiously left out. The writing also, was in a disguised -hand, and without date or signature. - -Altogether it was a careful work of a cautious man, who would have been -an astute villain and a successful schemer if he had not, in the -blindness of his selfishness, overreached even himself. - -It bore no internal signs of the writer or of the person to whom it was -written. It might have been sent by another man to another woman. It -could never be successfully produced in evidence against any one in any -court. - -But if he took this precaution with the idea that his deeply wronged -wife could ever drag her domestic sorrows before a public tribunal, and -expose his private letters for her own vindication, he had studied her -character to very little purpose. - -The blow he had dealt had well nigh proved her death stroke. It struck -her to the floor. Her cry and her fall aroused her servants, who came -running to her room in haste. They found her stretched in a swoon on the -carpet, with the open letter beside her. - -“Master’s dead now, for sure!” exclaimed Leo, in consternation. - -“And no harm done if he is!” cried Pina, who had, with her woman’s wit, -long ago detected the bad faith. - -“But it’s killed mist’ess!” groaned the boy. - -“It hain’t! it’s only overcome her like! Help me to get her up, and -don’t stand there blubbering!” said the girl. - -Between them they tenderly lifted their mistress and laid her on her -bed. - -“Now, Leo, you go out and stop in the passage, so as to be in calling -distance if I want anything. And leave me alone with my madam. I’ve seen -her in these here fainty fits before, and I know what to do with her. -Come, now!” impatiently exclaimed Pina, seeing that her brother still -lingered, “be off with you, will you? It ain’t no ways proper for you to -be looking on while I’m unloosening of her clothes!” - -This hint drove the boy in haste from the room. - -Pina proceeded to undress her mistress, turning her about very gently on -the bed, until she had freed all her fastenings so as to give her lungs -the fullest play. Then she applied the usual potent stimulants, and -after much patient effort, she had the pleasure of seeing the little -lady open her eyes. - -But Drusilla recovered her senses only to fall into the most violent -paroxysms of grief and despair. Convulsive sobs shook her whole frame; -bitter groans burst from her lips; tears gushed in torrents from her -eyes. As her passion of grief arose, she wrung her hands, and writhed, -and threw herself from side to side, moaning piteously. Then in her -frenzy of despair, she sprang up and began walking about the room, -striking her hands together, and uttering piercing cries. - -In truth, hers was not a mute grief. Your “silent sorrow” belongs to a -little later period of life, when years have taught the sufferer such -resignation that she will “die and make no sign.” But on this stricken -young wife a blow had fallen, heavy enough to crush the strongest woman, -while she was yet little more than a child. And she felt it with all a -child’s intense sensibility, and she grieved with a child’s excessive -vehemence. - -Vainly her maid tried to restrain her or to comfort her, Pina followed -her mistress up and down the room, weeping for company, and pleading -with her— - -“Oh, mist’ess darling, don’t take on so dreadful! Don’t mist’ess, that’s -a dear! Oh, what has happened? Tell your true servant, who never left -you but only once, and never will do so wicked an act again, never, if -there’s twenty robbers in the house. Oh, mist’ess, what’s the matter?” - -“Oh, girl, girl, he has left me, he has left me forever,” cried the poor -young wife, with another gush of tears. - -And it showed how utterly abject and self-abandoned she was in her -profound and terrible sorrow, when she could forget her dignity, and -make complaint in the presence of her youthful servant. - -“He has left me, Pina! Oh, he has left me forever!” she repeated, -wringing her hands and sobbing violently. “He has gone, he has gone for -good!” - -“Blest if I don’t think it _is_ for good! and a good riddance of -uncommon bad rubbish!” grumbled the girl in a low voice; but she did not -dare to let her words be heard. - -“Oh, what shall I do? Oh, what shall I do?” cried the wretched wife, -walking wildly about the room and wringing her hands. “He has left me -forever! forever and ever!” - -“Don’t you believe one word of that, ma’am, now, don’t, that’s a dear -lady! Lors, he wouldn’t have the heart! he couldn’t stay away from you -forever, no, not if he was to try to ever so hard,” said Pina, -soothingly, as she followed her mistress. - -“But he says so himself! he says so!” exclaimed Drusilla, with a -passionate burst of weeping. - -“Well, he says so, and maybe he thinks so, but he can’t do it. It’s only -because some wicked woman has got the whip hand of him now. But lor -bless you, _that_ can’t last. All men is fools, ma’am. I know that much, -if I don’t know any more. But lor! the foolishest of ’em knows gold from -brass, and is sure to come back to the old love and the true love, for -their _own_ interests. Goodness knows they never does anything for ours! -He’ll come back, ma’am! Bad pennies always does.” - -“Oh,” moaned Drusilla, “how low I have fallen! how low, to say what I -have said, and to hear what I have heard! Pina, my girl, hush. You must -not speak of your master in this manner, especially in my presence. It -is untrue of him and disrespectful to us both,” she added, as calmly as -she could force herself to speak, as she dropped into her resting chair. - -This was but a short lull in the storm of her grief; for presently, the -keen sense of her husband’s desertion and her own desolation, pierced -her heart, and she fell into a fresh paroxysm of sobs and tears, and -leaving her chair, walked distractedly about the room, raving and -wringing her hands as before. - -Pina went to her and threw her arms around her, saying: - -“Oh, mist’ess, mist’ess, don’t do so! You’ll kill yourself and kill your -child!” - -“Better I were dead! better my child should never be born!” cried the -frantic woman, abandoning herself to the wildest excesses of despair. - -“Oh, mist’ess, don’t say so! and don’t rave so! If you have no pity for -yourself, have some for the poor little blind and breathless baby that -depends on you for its life; and don’t kill it before it has even a soul -to be saved!” pleaded Pina, touching the most sensitive chord in the -mother’s heart and in the Christian conscience. - -“Give me something! Give me something to benumb this keen pang, then. -Give me opium! Give me anything that will dull my heart and brain -without doing harm,” she demanded, sitting down in her chair, and making -a great effort to control the violence of her emotions. - -Pina mixed a composing draught of tincture of valerian and water and -brought it to her mistress. - -Drusilla drank it, and its effect upon her sensitive system was -instantaneous and powerful. Though her eyes still streamed with tears, -the convulsive heavings of her bosom subsided, and she became -comparatively calm. - -“Now, mist’ess, darlin’, you just let me help you to bed and you lay -still and keep quiet. And I will darken the room and sit by you. And may -be you will go to sleep and then you will be better.” - -And Drusilla, docile as a child now, suffered her maid to put her to -bed. - -While the girl was smoothing the white counterpane and making everything -tidy about the dainty couch, Drusilla suddenly put her hand to her -throat and with a frightened look cried out: - -“Where—where is—?” - -“Oh, you mean the little black silk bag, ma’am, that was tied around you -neck?” inquired Pina. - -“Yes! yes! where is it?” - -“I took it off when I undressed you, while you were in your fainty fit.” - -“Where did you put it?” - -“In your upper bureau drawer, ma’am, where it is quite safe.” - -“Oh, Pina, bring it back to me directly.” - -The girl obeyed. - -“Is it a relic, ma’am?” inquired Pina. - -“Yes,” answered her mistress. And so it was, though not of the sort Pina -was thinking of. - -“Oh, I beg pardon—I didn’t know, ma’am.” - -“And now, Pina, no matter how ill I may become, you must never let this -be removed from my bosom again. It is more precious to me than anything -I have in the world except my Bible and my wedding-ring,” said Drusilla, -as she fastened the treasure around her neck. - -“Indeed, ma’am! Then I will be very careful not to have it removed. Now -try to compose yourself, ma’am,” said Pina, as she proceeded to close -the shutters and draw the curtains to darken the room. - -Drusilla complied with this good advice, and folding her hands as if in -prayer, lay very quietly. - -Pina went to the chamber door and spoke to Leo, who had remained on duty -in the passage for some hours. She told him that their mistress was now -better, and that he might go down stairs and look after his own affairs, -and that she would call him if his services should be needed. - -Leo, glad to hear of the little lady’s improvement, glad also to be -relieved from duty, hurried down into the kitchen to look for something -to eat, of which he stood greatly in need, not having broken his fast -since he went to the post-office in the morning. - -Pina took her place by her mistress’s bed, and patiently watched there. - -Night deepened; but the girl lighted no lamp, finding the subdued glow -of the low wood-fire on the hearth sufficient to see by. - -Drusilla lay so motionless that Pina thought she slept. But by bending -down and looking attentively at the supposed sleeper, the watcher saw -that her lips were moving as in silent prayer. And soon deep sighs arose -from the sufferer’s bosom, and large tears rolled down her face. She was -awake and weeping. - -Pina silently arose and mixed another dose of the beneficial composing -draught, and brought it to the bedside. - -Drusilla drank it. And soon after she fell asleep. And the youthful -watcher, with her heavy head dropped upon the side of the bed, also -slept well. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVII. - SUSPENSE. - - Oh, weary struggle! Silent tears - Tell seemingly no doubtful tale; - And yet they leave it short, and fears - And hopes are strong and will prevail. - My calmest fate escapes not pain; - And, feeling that the hope is vain, - I think that he will come again.—WORDSWORTH. - - -At daylight Pina awoke. Finding her mistress still sleeping heavily -under the influence of the sedative, she arose and replenished the fire -and then went down stairs and got her own breakfast. - -After which she prepared some very strong coffee and some delicate milk -toast, and took it up to the lady’s chamber and set it upon the hearth -to be kept warm until her mistress should awake. - -But with the hapless young wife the awakening was but the return to -anguish. - -With great difficulty Pina prevailed on her to take a little food. There -was but one argument the girl could successfully use with the expectant -mother—her child. To keep up her strength for its sake, Drusilla tried -to eat and drink, though even the coffee and the soft toast seemed to -choke her in her effort to swallow them. - -After this little repast she fell back upon her pillow, too -spirit-broken to wish to leave her bed. - -Pina opened the front windows to let in the cheerful light of the golden -autumn morning; and then she took the breakfast tray down into the -kitchen. - -Leo was sitting there, polishing his cutlery. - -“How’s mist’ess?” inquired the boy. - -“It’s hard to say. I know I’d rather see her in a rale bad spell of -illness, like the typus fever, or something, than this way. Her heart’s -broke; that’s how she is. And I tell you what, Leo, long’s master’s done -broke faith with mist’ess I don’t see how we got any call to keep faith -long o’ him,” grumbled the girl. - -“Broke faith with her?” echoed the boy, pausing in his work. - -“Yes, that letter he writ said he wasn’t coming back no more. And that’s -what’s killed her.” - -“My goodness!” - -“And now look here, Leo—if _he’s_ not coming back to take care of her, -somebody must, that is certain. I don’t know enough, although I did help -mammy to bring up all my little brothers and sisters.” - -“Well, what do you want _me_ to do? I’ll do anything in the world for -mist’ess.” - -“Well, I tell you. Leo, I want you to go down to Alexdry and fetch mammy -to her.” - -“But good gracious me alive, that is as much as my ears are worth! -Didn’t master order us not to have any followers, not even our own kin -folks?” - -“But I told you before, if master don’t keep faith long o’ mist’ess, we -ain’t got no call to keep faith long o’ him, ’specially when it’s to -rist her life.” - -“Oh, if that’s the case, I’ll go at once,” answered the boy. For it was -only necessary to convince him that his mistress’s safety depended on -“mammy’s” arrival to make him eager to go and fetch her. - -Yet just as he was about to leave the kitchen he turned and inquired; - -“But isn’t better to ask mist’ess first?” - -“_No_; she would be sure to object, though it’s for her own safety. You -go and fetch mammy. And then I’ll let on to mist’ess how she come on a -wisit to me, promiscuous like, and I’ll ’vise mist’ess to see mammy.” - -“All right; but if you get me into a scrape for nothing, you know, Pina, -it will be your own fault.” - -“Just so; and I’ll be willing to bear all the blame.” - -Leo went upon his errand, and Pina hurried up to her mistress’s chamber. - -Drusilla had thrown herself out of bed, and was walking distractedly up -and down the room, with her dark hair falling down over her white -night-dress, her face pale, her eyes wild, and her fingers wreathed and -wrung together in an agony of grief. - -Vain were all Pina’s efforts to soothe her. - -“Oh, I do but feel my trouble more and more! more and more as the hours -go by! If I only could see him! If I could see him once and speak to -him, he would hear me! he could not let me die before his sight,” she -sobbed forth, with her eyes streaming with tears, whose fountains seemed -exhaustless. - -“It’s like p’isoning of her to save her life; but it’s what the doctors -do, and I must do it,” said Pina, as she poured out a large dose of -valerian and coaxed the sufferer to drink it. - -As before, the powerful sedative quickly took effect. And Drusilla let -her maid lead her to her resting chair near the window, and seat her in -it, and put a foot cushion under her feet. - -“There, mist’ess, sit there and be quiet. I wouldn’t lay down on the bed -too much. It isn’t good for you. Sit by the window and look out at the -Lord’s good sunshine. Bless you, the sun shines still, spite of all the -fools and wilyuns in the world. And here, I’ll bring you your Bible and -set it on your little stand before you. You used to take comfort in your -Bible. Lor’! if we only loved _Him_ half as well as we do some of his -onworthy creeturs we needn’t have our hearts broke by ’em,” said Pina, -as she made the arrangement she proposed. But her last sentiment was -spoken _sotto voce_ and did not reach the ears of her inattentive -mistress. - -Instead of deriving the consolation from the sacred volume which indeed -she was too much overcome to seek, Drusilla dropped her head upon its -open pages and seemed to pray, or weep, in silence. - -“To think, when she gets wiolent, I have to knock her down with a dose -of walerian this way! It’s a most like murder. And how’s it a gwine to -end? I wish mammy would come. I hope she ’aint got no engagement nowhere -else,” muttered Pina to herself as she went and made up the bed. - -At noon it was a work of difficulty and of diplomacy for Pina to get her -mistress to swallow a few spoonfuls of the chicken broth she had -prepared for her. - -In the afternoon Drusilla was so much prostrated that Pina assisted her -to bed, and darkened the room, that she might sleep, if possible. - -Late in the evening Leo returned from Alexandria, bringing with him a -middle-aged, motherly-looking colored woman, who called herself “Aunt -Hector, honey,” but whom Pina rushed to embrace as “mammy.” - -As soon as the overjoyed daughter had relieved her mammy of bonnet, -shawl and umbrella, and had sent them by Leo with the “big box, little -box, ban-box and bundle,” up to the servants’ bedrooms over the kitchen, -she set about getting tea for the traveller. - -She laid a cloth upon which she arranged her own best service, with cold -ham, fried chicken, fresh butter, Maryland biscuits, and, lastly, a pot -of fragrant imperial. - -While Leo was out in the stable attending to his horses, the mother and -daughter sat down to the table together. - -“Now what sort of a home is this here you’ve got here, gal, where the -marser is allus gone and the missus allus grievin’ day in and day out?” - -“Well, mammy, you know as one follows the other; and if the master’s -always gone the mist’ess is likely to be always grieving, if so be she -cares for him, which our mist’ess do.” - -“What’s he gone so much for? It looks bad.” - -“So it do, mammy, which it is bad too.” - -“But what’s he gone _for_?” - -“He say business—let me see—connected—yes, that’s it—with his late -father’s will.” - -“Um hum; allus some excuse with them men. To begin so airly, too; ‘fore -he’s married a year. Lor’, I thought you was agoing to have such a happy -home, living fellow sarvint with your own dear brother, long of a young -married pair with the highest of wages, and no ’sideration but to live -quiet and keep away company. But, deary me! who can count on anything? -Well, gal, I’m glad to get leave to come to see you at last. But what -can I do for you? That boy, Leo, I couldn’t get nothink out’n him, ’cept -’twas the marser was allus gone and the missus was allus grievin’, and -you wanted me to come and nuss her.” - -“Yes, mammy, that was it. And I hope you can stop now you are here.” - -“Oh, yes, I can stop fast enough. I have just got through nussin Mrs. -Porter with her fifth. And Liza Jane, she’s out of service now and -stopping home with me to mend up her clothes; so she can take care of -the house and chillun.” - -“How is sister Liza Jane and the rest?” - -“Oh, they’s well enough. All had the fever ’n agur in the airly part of -the season, but when the frost came it killed it. But where’s the young -madam?” - -“Sleeping now, mammy. I had to give her a great big dose of walerian.” - -“_You—you_ dare to dose a lady? Look here, gal, don’t you set yourself -up for a doctoress because your mammy’s one.” - -“Lor’, mammy, what’s walerian? I’ve seen you give it to ladies for the -hysterics by tea spoonfuls.” - -“Seen _me_? Yes, but I tell you what, gal, you’ve got to p’izen a great -many patients before you can be trusted to give physic like an ole -’oman. But don’t you try that on again, gal, I tell you.” - -“Lor’, mammy, what on the yeth was I to do with her, when she was raving -distracted mad a-most? a pacing up and down the room a tearing of her -beautiful hair out by the roots, and wringing and a twisting of her -fingers often her hands all but! I ’clare to the Lord and man I was -’fraid of my soul as she’d dash herself against a wall, or fling herself -out’n the window. And nothing on yeth but walerian would quell her. -That’s the reason I sent for you. I didn’t like to take the -’sponsability to keep on a knocking of her over with that there weepon; -but I couldn’t let her ’stroy herself neither, so I had to give it to -her, whether or no, till you came.” - -“But what on the yeth did the creetur take on so about? Not _his_ being -away.” - -“Yes, it was, mammy. His being away and his disappointing of her by not -coming back when he promised. Men is such wilyuns!” - -“And wimmin is sich fools! For my part, when the chillun’s well the men -may go to Old Nick for me! But she ’aint got no chillun to comfort her, -poor young thing.” - -“Not _yet_, mother,” said Pina, significantly. - -“‘Not yet?’ What do you mean, gal? _Soon will!_” - -“Yes, mammy.” - -“When?” - -“Don’t know exactly; neither does she; but soon; and that’s another -reason why I sent for you.” - -“Um hum. Well, if that’s so, she’s not to be let to go raving and -tearing about, let who will come or stay away,” said the wise woman. - -The abrupt entrance of Leo put an end to this part of the gossip. - -The boy sat down at the table and took his tea. - -“And now, mammy,” said Pina, “as it’s late and you’re tired, I’ll show -you where you are to sleep. _I_ shall have to stop in the room with the -mist’ess.” - -“And mind you, don’t give her any more physic, ’out calling me fust,” -said mammy, as she followed her daughter up to the little room above the -kitchen. - -Pina dismissed Leo to the stable loft, fastened up the house, raked out -the kitchen fire, and then returned to her mistress’s chamber. - -The poor little lady was in a troubled sleep, broken by fitful sighs and -sobs, and muttered words of which “Alick” was the only one to be -distinctly heard. - -Pina just loosened her own clothes and sat down in the lounging chair by -the side of the bed to watch or sleep, as the case might be. She slept, -of course; and her sleep was so deep that she did not know her, mistress -awoke and arose a little after midnight and paced the floor, weeping and -wringing her hands, until daylight, when she fell exhausted upon the bed -and dropped into a short and fitful slumber, disturbed with gasps and -starts. - -By sunrise Pina opened her own eyes, and seeing her mistress lying very -much as she had left her when she fell asleep, the girl arose and -replenished the fire and went down into the kitchen. - -Here she found “mammy” making herself at home and in full blast before -the range getting the breakfast. - -“Well, and when am I to see the madam, I’d like to know?” inquired Aunt -Hector. - -“Soon’s ever she wakes, mammy; which you know you couldn’t see her last -night, ’pon account of you being tired and she sleepy.” - -“How is she this morning?” - -“Sleeping like an angel, which so she’s been a doing of all night.” - -“Um hum, you been a giving of her more o’ that walerian!” - -“Deed I aint, mammy, which she hasn’t needed of it.” - -When Pina and her mother and brother had had their breakfast, the girl -prepared some rich and delicate chocolate and some nice light muffins -for her mistress’s morning meal, and took them up to the lady’s chamber. - -Drusilla was awake, though pale and worn. - -After having bathed her face and hands with diluted Florida water, she -consented to take a little of the refreshments that Pina brought and sat -upon a stand by her bedside. - -While Drusilla sat up in bed and sipped her chocolate, Pina broached the -subject of her mother’s presence in the house. - -“Mist’ess, I want to tell you, ma’am, as my ole mammy has come to see -me, a little bit. I hope you has nothing of no objection _now_, ma’am?” - -“None in the world, Pina. Mr. Lyon——” She had nearly broken down and -wept again when she pronounced his name; but she gasped, recovered -herself and went on—“Mr. Lyon used to object to having even your -relatives come to the house, but now that he is not here their coming or -going can make no difference.” - -“And you don’t object on your own account, ma’am?” - -“No, Pina, no; I don’t. It is good to have your mother to come to see -you. I wish, oh, how I _do_ wish I had a mother to come to see me, in my -great trouble!” she added, with a little sob. - -The tears rose to Pina’s eyes, as she answered: - -“My mammy is only a poor colored ’oman; but indeed, ma’am, if you will -let her, she will do for you as loving and as tender as any mother.” - -“Will she stay with you long, Pina!” - -“She would like to stay some weeks, if you would let her, ma’am.” - -“She can stay as long as she likes, for your sake, my good girl. But -your mother—she must be in years, Pina?” - -“She’s past fifty, ma’am, I believe.” - -“Is she—experienced?” - -“Beg pardon, ma’am?” - -“Is she—wise, skillful, knowing, I mean, about sickness and about -children?” - -“Oh! yes, ma’am, which that is her perfession, brought up to it, ma’am.” - -“Then I think it very providential that she is here now. Oh, I am very -inexperienced and helpless! Pina, I think I should like to see your -mother and have a little talk with her. When you take away this service -you may bring her up.” - -“Oh yes, ma’am! thank you, ma’am. She’ll be so glad to pay her ’spects -to you,” said the girl, delighted that the proposal she had so much -dreaded to make, had been so kindly received. - -But the moment Pina left the room, Drusilla fell back upon her pillow in -a storm of sobs and tears, and gasping forth at intervals: - -“Oh, Alick! Alick dear, to leave me at such a time as this, and I so -friendless and so ignorant, I might die! I wish I could!” - -After a few moments, hearing footsteps on the stairs, she ceased -sobbing, and tried to compose herself. - -Pina discreetly knocked at the door. - -“Wait a moment,” said Drusilla, wiping her eyes and smothering the last -convulsive throes of her bosom. And then——“Come in,” she called. - -Pina entered, showing in her mother. - -Drusilla turned with forced calmness to welcome the stranger. - -“How do you do? What is your name?” she inquired, in a gentle tone. - -“My name’s Aunt Hector, honey, ladies’ nuss, which I have recommendments -to show from the head doctors, ma’am,” answered “mammy,” curtseying. - -“I think it very fortunate for me that you are here. I hope you will be -able to stay with me.” - -“Which it is my intention so to do, long as I shall be wanted, honey, -and no longer.” - -“Thank you, I would like to talk with you a little. I have no mother, -and I am as ignorant as a child of many things I ought to know—Pina, my -good girl, you may leave the room, and you needn’t come back until you -are called. I wish to speak in private to this good nurse.” - -As Pina left the room and closed the door behind her, mammy turned to -her patient, and said: - -“I hope, ma’am, that gal does her duty, which it is always my pride and -ambition to bring up my chillun so to do.” - -“She is a very good girl, and pleases me perfectly.” - -“I am oncommon glad to hear it, ma’am.” - -“And now I wish to speak to you of——” Drusilla hesitated. - -“Yes, honey, I understand. Speak out and don’t mind me. I’m an ole nuss, -you know, chile.” - -Thus encouraged, Drusilla began to speak of the state of her own health, -of her youthful inexperience, and of her forlorn circumstances. - -In doing this she tried to cover the sin of her guilty husband, by -explaining his absence in the stereotyped manner that he himself had -often used, and putting it upon the ground of “business connected with -his late father’s will.” - -But this effort was too much for her superficial composure. The very -name of Mr. Lyon overthrew her self-control. In speaking of him her -voice faltered, then she choked, gasped and broke into a violent fit of -sobs and tears that shook her fragile frame almost to the point of -dissolution. - -The nurse was much too wise to coax or scold her patient. But the sly -old fox, who had blown her daughter up for meddling with dangerous -drugs, went herself and mixed a composing draught for the sufferer—and -not of the harmless valerian that had been administered by Pina, but of -potent morphine that in a few moments sent Drusilla into a sleep that -lasted all that afternoon and night. - -But, ah! when she did at length awake, on this the third morning after -the great blow had fallen on her, she awoke but to the renewal of -anguish intolerable; of sorrow that refused to be comforted; of despair -that had forgotten the very existence of hope. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVIII. - HOPING AGAINST HOPE. - - ’Tis hard, so young—so young as I am still, - To feel forevermore from life depart - All that can flatter the poor human will, - Or fill the heart. - - Yet there was nothing in that sweet and brief. - And perished intercourse, now closed to me, - To add one thought unto my bitterest grief - Upbraiding thee. —OWEN MEREDITH. - - -It would be too painful to follow the young and deeply wronged wife -through the first weeks of her great trouble. - -They were passed in paroxysms of vehement and inconsolable sorrow, -alternating with periods of dull stupor, partly the result of reaction -from high excitement, and partly the influence of the nervine sedative -administered by her nurse. - -The course pursued by this woman in the treatment of her young patient -was upon the whole very judicious. She did not lecture her on the -subject of her inordinate abandonment to grief and despair. But she -artfully drew her attention away from the contemplation of her troubles, -to the consideration of those last and most important preparations for -the arrival of the little expected stranger, in which mothers and nurses -usually find such absorbing interest. - -She amused the youthful matron with certain necessary alterations in the -arrangements of her chamber, with fitting up of an adjoining room as a -nursery, with the decorating and furnishing of an infant’s basket, and a -berceaunette or wicker cradle, and with the arranging of the liliputian -wardrobe in a beautiful miniature bureau. - -In these natural and pleasing occupations, Drusilla found some relief -from her heavy sorrow. - -The late October weather was glorious with all the gorgeous splendor of -the Indian summer, glowing through the heavens and the earth, and -kindling up the foliage around the wildwood home with a beauty and -refulgence of color, richer and brighter than those of spring or summer. - -With the advice of the nurse, Drusilla every morning took a short drive -through the woods, and every afternoon a slow saunter into the flower -garden. - -Under happier auspices, this child of nature would have derived much -enjoyment from the season and the scene. Even in her misery she felt -something of their soothing and cheering influence. - -And the beneficial effect of this course was soon apparent in her. Her -paroxysms of grief became less frequent and violent. Her nerves grew -calmer, and her brain clearer. With this healthy reaction came -reflection. She thought upon the fixed past, the troubled present, and -the doubtful future. - -She now exonerated Alexander of all blame in his cruel neglect of her. -He thought, she mused, that their marriage was illegal, and therefore he -was just in his avoidance of her. He knew that the separation would go -near to kill her, and therefore he was merciful in gently loosening the -tie, instead of suddenly wrenching it apart. He felt that loving and -tender letters would but melt and weaken her heart, and therefore he was -wise in writing shortly and coldly. No doubt he suffered—poor Alick! as -much as she did, though he would not add to her distress by telling her -so. He had loved her so much! so much! and now he was heroic in his -self-restraint for her sake! So she justified him to her own heart. For -to honor him was with her even a greater necessity than to love him. - -But she wondered that he did not tell her the reason why he thought his -marriage with her was illegal. And more than all she wondered what that -untold reason could be. Her conjectures wandered over every possible and -impossible theory of the case: - -First, that Alexander while at college, or while in Europe, had -contracted a secret marriage; that when he wedded her he believed -himself a widower; and that he had recently discovered the existence of -his first wife. But this theory was no sooner conceived than rejected; -for she remembered that he had been solemnly betrothed to his Cousin -Anna from her earliest youth, and that upon his return from Europe he -had been about to marry her, when the wedding was arrested by the death -of his father. - -Secondly, that this very pre-contract to Anna Lyon, might have rendered -his marriage with her (Drusilla) illegal. But this was also set aside as -unreasonable, for she recollected that the contract had been broken by -Miss Lyon, as he himself had assured his bride. - -Thirdly, that Alexander had discovered some very near blood relationship -between himself and his wife that made their union unlawful. But this -was at once repudiated as quite impossible, for she knew his genealogy, -as well as her own, could be too distinctly and too far traced to admit -of such an idea. - -So imagination traversed the whole field of possibility and -impossibility, and found nothing to invalidate her marriage. - -Then she came to this conclusion: (and in it her instinct sided with her -reason)—that there never had existed any sort of impediment to her union -with her husband, and her marriage was perfectly lawful and righteous. - -And _now_ did she blame him? - -Oh no! she ascribed his whole conduct to—— - -MONOMANIA! - -And when she found this answer to her inexplicable riddle, she could -have sung and danced for joy! - -Her marriage was not illegal; it was only private. And her adored -husband was not faithless; he was only mistaken. - -She had been told of monomania—she had heard how men might be a little -insane for a time upon one single subject, while perfectly sane upon all -others. She knew also that this was not a dangerous type of madness, but -was often only the transient effects of fever, passing off with -returning health. She wondered whether he had been ill. - -Under this view of the case, she resolved to write to him. True, he had -forbidden her to do so; and even assured her it would be useless for her -to write, as he was about to leave Richmond for a tour through the -counties. - -But she reflected he must have left directions at the Richmond -post-office to have his letters forwarded to him wherever he should be, -and her letter directed to Richmond would be sent after him with the -rest of his correspondents’. - -So she sat down and wrote him a letter—patient, loving, pitiful, and -even cheerful; gravely reasoning with him upon the fallacy of his idea -that their marriage could possibly be unlawful; playfully inviting him -to return that she might convince him how very righteous and legal their -union was; then tenderly pleading with him to come and be with her in -her approaching hour of trial and danger. She said no word, dropped no -hint of the bitter anguish his letter had inflicted upon her, of how -nearly her brain had been crazed, her heart broken, and her life lost in -despair. Nothing that could possibly distress him did she write; but all -she could think of to convince, comfort and cheer him. And she prayed -Heaven to bless him; and she signed herself his true wife, for time and -for eternity. - -When she had sent off this letter, which she did early on a splendid -morning of the last days of Indian summer, she felt so hopeful and so -light-hearted, that she longed for a pleasant gossip with some one. So -she rang for her old nurse. - -“Well, honey! gracious knows it does me good to see you so chirping!” -said the old woman, dropping cozily into a soft, low chair by the fire. - -“Nurse,” said Drusilla, cautiously approaching the subject that now -occupied her thoughts—for she was determined to keep her husband’s name -out of the question—“nurse, in all your professional experience did you -ever encounter monomaniacs?” - -“’Count—_which_, honey? ‘Many money knacks?’ What’s that? tricks to make -money? No, child, I can’t say as I ever did.” - -“I meant to ask,” said Drusilla, smiling, “if in all your tending of the -sick in these many years you ever met with anybody who was mad on one -subject only and sane on all others.” - -“Cracked in one place? Yes, child, many and many a one.” - -“Tell me about them.” - -“There was young Rowse Jordan—I mean young Mr. Rowsby Jordan. He had -typhoid fever, and after he got well for ever so long he fancyfied -himself to be a coffee-pot and sat roosted upon the top of the table -with one arm curved around for a handle and the other stuck out straight -for a spout.” - -“How long did the hallucination last?” - -“The—hally—which, honey?” - -“Tut! How long did he fancy himself a tea-pot?” - -“Coffee-pot, honey—it was coffee-pot.—Oh, for days and days.” - -“Did he get quite well again?” - -“Oh yes, honey, and laughs now at his mad notion, for he ’members all -about it.” - -“Tell me some more.” - -“Well, there was a lady patient of my own who would have it her legs was -made of glass, and she kept them propped up against the wall behind the -bed and wouldn’t let anybody come near for fear of breaking of ’em.” - -“Was her head right on other things?” - -“As right as yours or mine.” - -“And she got over it?” - -“Yes, when she got well.” - -“Nurse, tell me—When a person is mad upon one subject, it is no sign -that his mind is unsound, is it?” - -“When his brain pan is cracked in one place, you mean?” - -“Yes.” - -“Hi, honey, if a bowl leaks anywheres you can’t call it whole, can you?” - -“Certainly not.” - -“Well, then, no more can’t you call a man’s brain pan sound if it’s -cracked ever so little,” argued the old woman. - -“But they get over it. You have proved to me that they get over it,” -said Drusilla, anxiously. - -“Oh yes, they get over it. Bowls and brain pans both may be mended.” - -“Nurse, such a monomania is only a temporary affair, like the delirium -of fever, is it not? It leaves no after ill effects upon the mind, does -it?” she eagerly inquired. - -Mammy, who did not quite understand the question, but perceived that her -patient was, for some reason or other unknown to her, troubled upon this -subject, hastened to soothe her by replying: - -“Lors, no, indeed, honey—not the leastest bit in the world. ’Taint -nothink, honey, only somethink to laugh at when it’s all over.” - -“Oh, I’m so glad to hear that,” said Drusilla, with a sigh of relief. - -“And now, honey, if you’ll scuse me, I’ll go down in the kitchen and see -arter the chicking jelly for your dinner. I know as how that gal, Pina -’ll spile it if I leaves it to her.” - -“Very well, nurse, go.” - -“And I ’vises of you, ma’am, to put on your hat and go for a walk in the -garden. It’s right to go out and joy these fine days, which few of ’em -will be left for this season, and if there was you wouldn’t be likely to -get the good of ’em.” - -“Thanks, nurse, I think I will take your advice.” - -And mammy went down to her fancy cooking. - -And mammy’s young patient put on her hat and cloak, caught up a little -hand-basket and went out and took a turn in the garden among the broad -parterres of gorgeous autumn flowers that studded the spacious lawn in -front of the house. She amused herself with carefully gathering the -falling seed and tying up each sort in a separate paper, and putting it -in her little basket, for future use. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIX. - DICK HAMMOND IS ASTONISHED. - - A party of friends, all light-hearted and gay, - At a certain French cafe, where every one goes, - Are met in a well-curtained, warm CABINET, - Overlooking a street there, which every one knows. - - The dinner is done, the Lafitte in its basket, - The champagne in its cooler is passed in gay haste; - Whatever you wish for, you have but to ask it; - Here are coffee, cigars and liqueurs, to your taste.—O. MEREDITH. - - -While the young, forsaken wife was occupying her lonely hours with these -simple pursuits, and waiting from day to day to hear from her faithless -husband, and hoping against hope to see him, events were transpiring in -Washington calculated to have an important influence on her destiny. -They were but trifles in themselves, however momentous in their effects. -They were only a few bachelors’ wine suppers, card parties, and such -like means of ruin. But that fate hangs upon trifles, is a truth as old -as the history of Eden lost for an apple. - -This was the way of it: - -After Mr. Richard Hammond had received his final dismissal from Miss -Anna Lyon, “that unlucky dog,” as his uncle called him, “fell among -thieves.” - -FELL AMONG THIEVES. That is the best way to characterize his misfortune -in sinking again into the society of that dissipated set of men who ate -his dinners, drank his wines, won his money, demoralized his habits and -destroyed his reputation. - -On a certain evening about this time, poor Dick entertained a few of his -“friends” at supper in his rooms, at one of our fashionable hotels. - -Among his guests were Captain Reding and Lieutenant Harpe, those two -gallant officers of the Loafers’ Guard, who had once affronted Alexander -Lyon by obtruding themselves into his opera box, and afterwards insulted -Drusilla by following her home. - -A lady friend, whose husband, in his profane bachelor days, had been -present at this orgie, told me something of what passed there. - -When the cloth was removed, and wines, liquors, olives, hookahs, tobacco -and cigars were placed upon the table, the “gentlemen” became more than -ever at ease. - -The conversation, that had wandered over the general subjects of -politics, field sports, operas, singers’ throats, dancers’ feet and -beauties’ points, now became personal. - -“By the way, Hammond,” said Captain Reding, taking the mouth-piece of -his hookah from between his lips, and speaking through a cloud of smoke, -“I see by the ‘Valley Courier,’ which I found upon your table, that Miss -Lyon is really going to marry that prig Alexander. Is it quite true?” - -“I believe so, sir,” said Dick, changing color, and helping himself to a -deep draught of cognac. - -“How the deuce was it that you let the heiress escape you?” - -“The heiress, sir? I am not a fortune hunter.” - -“Oh, bosh! you know what I mean, well enough. Who the deuce would ever -accuse _you_ of being a fortune hunter?” - -“Who, indeed? Fortune lavisher would fit you better! Eh, my boy?” put in -the gentleman who afterwards reported this conversation, and who must -therefore be nameless. - -“But to return to the previous question,” said Reding, “the previous -question with an amendment. How was it that you let the beauty elude -you?” - -“The beauty, sir? I fail to comprehend you,” said Dick, coldly. - -“Ah, bah!” exclaimed young Lieutenant Harpe, rushing recklessly into the -subject, for he was very much the worse for wine. “Why the deuce can’t -you speak out plainly, Cap’, and call people by their names?— Miss Lyon! -the beautiful Miss Lyon! the elegant Miss Lyon! the accomplished Miss -Lyon! the belle of the season! the queen of the haut ton! the adored of -Dick Hammond, whom she also adores! the betrothed of Alick Lyon, whom -she abhors! And here’s to her!” And with this, he tossed off a big -bumper of brandy. - -“Yes, that’s so!” said Reding, “and that being so, why the mischief -don’t you run off with the girl, eh, Hammy, my boy?” - -Now if Dick had not been drinking a great deal more than was good for -him, he would never have let his cousin’s name come up in such a -company. Even as it was, he rather resented its introduction now, by -keeping silence. - -“Did you hear me, Hammy, my boy?” persisted Reding. “I asked you -why—seeing she liked you so much better than she did that rum curse she -was engaged to marry—why you didn’t cut him out and run off with the -girl?” - -“In the first place,” answered Dick, coldly, looking down into his empty -glass, “it is not to be presumed possible that the ‘girl,’ as you -ventured to call the lady, would have consented to run off with me.” - -“Then I’d be blown to atoms if I hadn’t kidnapped her!” burst forth -young Harpe, who was very far gone in inebriation. - -“That would scarcely be practicable in the nineteenth century and in -Washington city, Lieutenant,” answered Dick. - -“No,” laughed Reding; “telegraph wires and detective policemen have been -the death and destruction of all gallant enterprises of that sort. -Neither do I think such a violent measure would have been necessary in -this instance. He could have carried her off with her own consent, and -nobody on earth could have prevented _that_, as they were both of age. -Why didn’t you do it, my boy, eh? You haven’t answered that question -satisfactorily yet.” - -“Because he didn’t dare to!” recklessly interrupted Harpe. “He’s one of -the ‘faint hearts’ that will never ‘win fair lady.’ He didn’t dare to.” - -“I will answer you in the words of another weak wretch who was stung by -sarcasm into crime: - - ‘I dare do _all_ that may become a man; - Who dares do _more_ is none.’ - -In other words, Messieurs, I am quite as incapable of running off with -another man’s betrothed as I should be in making love to another man’s -wife,” said Dick, very gravely. - -“Hear! hear! hear!” shouted Harpe; “he wouldn’t run off with another -man’s betrothed! oh, no, not he! even when he knows he loves her, and -she him! oh, no! no! sooner than he’d make love to another man’s wife. -As for me, I’d do either, as often as I could get a chance.” - -“Why, man alive,” said Reding to Dick, “we are not in Spain, nor France, -nor Germany, nor any other country where betrothal is held to be almost -as sacred as marriage; we are in America, where betrothal means simply a -conditional engagement between a young man and young woman to marry each -other at a definite or indefinite time, _provided_ in the meanwhile -neither party should happen to meet with any one he or she likes better. -Bosh! such engagements don’t end in marriage once in ten times! Under -the circumstances, I don’t think you were bound to respect the -betrothal.” - -“I differ with you,” said Dick. - -“As for me,” put in Harpe, defiantly, “I never in all my life fell -desperately in love with a woman, until some other man called my -attention to her merits by getting possession of her himself.” - -“You’ll end in getting the sausage meat you call your brains blown out, -some of these days, my fine fellow, if you don’t take care of yourself,” -laughed the nameless gentleman. - -“I’d like to know who’s going to do it!” swaggered Harpe. - -“Some indignant husband or lover, of course.” - -“Let ’em try it,” crowed Harpe. - -“I think, Hammond,” continued Captain Reding, “common gallantry required -you to try your fortune with that young lady.” - -“I wish, Reding, that you would drop the subject here,” said Dick. - -“As she never took the least trouble to conceal her preference for you -over Lyon, I do not see why we may not discuss the subject here. Why, -Dick, it was evident to everybody who saw you three together, that she -loathed Lyon and liked you. The thing was clear, it was patent, it was -_flagrant_, under the circumstances! Now, come, Dick, honor bright! Why -_didn’t_ you marry her?” - -“I have answered that question already.” - -“Humph! Well! we all thought you would certainly carry off the prize. -Why, you were always following her, hovering over her, waiting on her, -and even apparently making love to her, which, by the way, was not very -consistent with your present declaration that you would be incapable of -marrying another man’s betrothed.” - -“Hear! hear! hear!” shouted young Harpe. - -“That is so,” frankly confessed Dick. “It is true that I sunned myself -too much in the light of that bright lady’s smiles. It was the old, old -story of the moth and the flame. But no one was hurt except myself. I -was smartly singed. I should, perhaps, have been entirely consumed but -for a mercifully severe hand that took me away from the fatal light and -warmth of the flame, and put me out in the cold and dark. And so—saved -me.” - -And, saying this, Dick lighted his hookah and withdrew into a cloud of -incense. - -“Come, Dick, talk prose, not poetry. We’re a practical party here, we -are! The mercifully severe hand that took you away from the fire and put -you out in the cold, was no other than the fair lady’s hand that -tendered you the traditional mitten. I thought so!” laughed Reding. - -“No; it was the war-worn hand of a veteran soldier. My uncle had me up -before him one morning; actually arraigned me in the most magisterial -manner; set Alick’s rights, Anna’s duties, and my own trespasses -squarely before me, and then appealed to my honor; to which, I need not -say, Messieurs, no one ever yet appealed in vain. I have never seen my -fair cousin since that day.” - -“Quite right, Hammond. I honor your principles,” said the nameless -gentleman. - -“Ume-me-me!” groaned young Harpe, rising sanctimoniously. “My brethren, -let us _awle_ unite in prayer.” - -“Hold your profane tongue, sir,” said Captain Reding, pushing the mocker -down into his seat. “And don’t drink any more brandy! You’re crazy now. -You’ll be under the table presently.” - -“Sober as any man here,” laughed Harpe, dropping into his chair. - -“Appealed to your honor, did he, Hammond?” said Reding, turning to Dick. -“Well, I suppose the word has some meaning for you and for the gallant -old gentleman. But I wonder how Alick Lyon understands honor, and how he -reconciles it with his present course.” - -“His present course. What do you mean?” inquired Dick. - -“I should have said the course he has pursued the whole winter.” - -“What was that? I don’t like Lyon. I can not now. I all but hate him. -But, still, I do not think him capable of doing anything dishonorable. -He is too proud to do so, for one thing,” said Alick’s generous foe. - -“Well, may be so. But I’d like to know what his ideas of honor are; or -how he can _honorably_ reconcile his position in respect to Miss Lyon -with his relations to the little beauty at Cedarwood.” - -“‘The little beauty at Cedarwood!’” echoed Dick, in astonishment. - -“Yes, little Drusa!” - -“Little Drusa—” - -“Come, now, Dick, don’t you be Forestic, Murdochic, Wallackic, or tragic -after any of these schools. They’re not in your line. So leave off -echoing my words and staring at me.” - -“But you said something about a girl that he has got hidden away at -Cedarwood?” - -“Yes, I did.” - -“I don’t believe it!” said Dick, bluntly. Then remembering that he was -the host speaking to his guest, he courteously added: “You are mistaken, -sir. Lyon, with all his faults, is not a villain.” - -“Who said he was? I didn’t. All I say is, that he has got just the -sweetest little beauty you ever saw in your life cozily concealed in a -pretty cottage orneé at Cedarwood. And he is very fond of her, and she -is entirely devoted to him; and he calls her sweet love, and little -Drusa. And she is just the loveliest little creature the sun ever shone -upon, with a clear pale face, and lustrous dark hair and eyes, of such -unfathomable depths of passion and of thought that she might well be -supposed to be from the East, and be a daughter of the Druses.” - -“Are you _sure_ of this?” asked Dick, with emphasis. - -“I’ll swear to it.” - -“_Who_ is she then?” - -“Ah! that I don’t know.” - -“_What_ is she to him?” - -“Can’t undertake to say. I’ll swear that this little beauty is living -under his protection in his house at Cedarwood. But whether she is his -wife, or his sister, or his mother, or his maiden aunt, of course, I -can’t tell. Doubtless it is some highly respectable connection of that -sort, Mr. Alexander Lyon being master of the house. If it was _you_, -Dick, you see we should all know what to think!” laughed Captain Reding. - -Dick Hammond had been gazing steadily into the face of the speaker, and -rubbing his own brows very thoughtfully and occasionally frowning -painfully. But now he suddenly started up, struck his hand upon his -forehead, and exclaimed: - -“Good Heaven! It must be Drusilla Sterling!” - -“Humph! Forestic again! You know her then?” said Captain Reding. - -“Know her? I’ve known her from childhood. Poor little thing! So this is -what became of her!” said Dick, in a voice of great pain, as he dropped -dejectedly into his seat again. - -“How look here, you know; none of that! Don’t you be gettin’ up any -interest in her; because, you see, I’ve made up my own mind that way. -And when Lyon marries I mean to take the pretty cottage and the pretty -girl both off his hands,” drawled Harpe, very drowsily, for he was in -the last stage of intoxication, and almost asleep. - -“You can so well afford that sort of thing, with your lieutenant’s pay!” -laughed “nameless.” - -“Who is this girl, Dick, since you know her?” inquired Reding. - -“She is as pure and good a girl as lives in this world. And, gentlemen, -if she is at Cedarwood, as you say, under Alick’s protection, my life -and soul on it, she is his wife, or she believes herself to be such!” -said Dick, earnestly and almost angrily, as if he challenged even the -thoughts of men if they wronged the friendless girl. - -No one seemed disposed to contradict him in words, no matter how much -they may have differed from him in opinion. - -“But who is she then, Hammond?” persisted Captain Reding, who never, if -he could help it, left a point unsettled. - -“Drusilla Sterling, a clergyman’s orphan; brought up in Alexander Lyon’s -family; a protegée of his mother, a pet of his father. Little less than -a year ago she disappeared from her home, and could never be traced by -her friends. So she is with him, the hypocritical scoundrel! But she is -his wife, or thinks herself so! My life and soul on it, she does, for -she could not fall—she could not. I have known her from her earliest -childhood—the sweetest child that ever lived—a little saint!” - -“But are you sure she is the same with Alick’s girl?” inquired Reding. - -“I fear there is no doubt of it. The coincidence of name and -circumstance is so complete. I can’t think why I didn’t recognize her -when you first mentioned her; though in truth I never heard her called -Drusa, but Drusilla; and I never thought of her as a woman, but merely -as a child, and most certainly couldn’t associate her memory with any -thoughts of license, but always with the most sacred sanctities of -home.” - -“Were you her lover in the past as you are her champion in the present, -Hammond?” laughed Reding. - -“No—yes—I don’t know.” - -“Clear, to the point, and satisfactory, that answer!” laughed the -captain. - -“I mean to say that I loved her, but not in the sense you mean. I loved -her only as a great New Foundland dog might love a baby; as a big brute -like myself might love such a little angel as she was,” said Dick, -gravely. - -“Oh, yes, all women are angels until they are—found out!” mused -Lieutenant Harpe, rousing himself. - -“What did you say, sir?” coolly inquired Dick. - -“I say,” defiantly answered Harpe, “that all women are angels until they -are found out, and then they are fallen angels, every one of ’em!” - -“Speak for the women you know best, sir! for those you have been brought -up with; for those you associate with; for those nearest and dearest to -you. For, _of course_, of them only _can_ you speak from knowledge! As -for me, I judge a man and his family by his judgment of women. He who -traduces the sex defames his own mother—and his sisters, wife, and -daughters if he has them!” said Dick, indignantly. - -Instead of attempting a reply to this scathing rebuke, the weak traducer -of woman looked around on his companions, with a tipsy smile, and -winking knowingly, said: “_I_ don’t mind _him_, bless you! _He_ don’t -know what he’s talking about; he’s _tight_—tight as ever he can be! He -wants to quarrel now; he’s always quarrelsome in his cups!” - -And having delivered himself of this opinion, he crossed his arms upon -the table, dropped his head upon them, and resigned himself to sleep. - -“Poor Harpe, he has a very weak brain,” said Captain Reding. - -No one else made any comment. - -“Reding,” said Dick Hammond, turning to the captain, “I want you to tell -me how you discovered the residence of this poor girl at Cedarwood.” - -“Why, you see we first saw her with him at the opera. It was quite early -in the season, and they were in a private box. Harpe and I were in the -orchestra seats. When the curtain fell on the first act we went around -there to get a nearer view of the pretty creature, hoping also to get an -introduction to her. But Lord bless you, Lyon scowled at us as if he -thought we had come to pick his pockets. We wouldn’t take notice of his -black looks, but by being perfectly civil and self-possessed ourselves -we compelled him to treat us with something like courtesy. But it was -_only_ something-like; it wasn’t the genuine article itself; for he -wouldn’t ask us to sit down, nor he wouldn’t present us to the pretty -girl. And from that day I don’t think he ever brought her into the city -again.” - -“Then how did you discover her residence and her relations to him?” - -“I am going to tell you. Some days after that we met Lyon in the -reading-room of the Brown House. We chaffed him about the mysterious -little beauty, you may be sure. But he stopped us by telling us that she -was the daughter of a clergyman, and was only passing through the city -under his escort, and that she had returned to her home in the country.” - -“A mere evasion, of course.” - -“Yes; but we did not question the fact at the time; although we did -wonder how Alick come to be trusted with the escort of a young lady.” - -“I should think so. Pray go on.” - -“A little later we discovered the truth by chance. I went to spend a few -days with an acquaintance I have living about a mile from Cedarwood. And -while there, guided by some negroes, I went on a coon-hunt by -torch-light. Did you ever see a coon-hunt by torch-light?” - -“Often, when I was a boy; never since.” - -“Well, the sport was quite new to me, and as a natural consequence I got -separated from the dogs and darkies, and got lost in the woods.” - -“A good beginning for an adventure,” said the nameless gentleman. - -“Yes. Well, to resume—while I was trying to find a path, I saw a bright, -indeed a brilliant light, shining through the trees at some distance. I -went towards it, and found a beautiful cottage ornée, with its front -windows splendidly illuminated. - -“There was a party,” said one of the guests. - -“No; though as it was now between two and three o’clock in the morning, -on seeing the lighted windows I was struck with the same thought. They -are having a blow out in there, I said to myself. But it was nothing of -the kind, my friends!” - -“What was it, then?” inquired Dick, anxiously. - -“Wait till I tell you. I pushed on towards the house, and when I came up -to it, I saw no carriages, no servants, no life, no motion. Everything -was as still as death. In fact, the whole house was closed up except the -two brilliantly illumined windows, from which the light streamed far -across the lawn, and deep into the woods.” - -“Go on! go on!” said Reding’s companions, speaking in a chorus. And the -captain, who had only paused to take a drink, continued: - -“‘Well,’ I said to myself, ‘this is rum go, anyway!’ And after walking -around and around the pretty place, without seeing or hearing anything, -I just climbed up to the window-sill and peeped through the lighted -window.” - -Here the captain paused for pure aggravation. - -“Well! well! what did you see?” exclaimed several voices. - -“What did I see? Ah, my friends, I had a full view of a small -terrestrial paradise! and a beautiful mortal houri! a little domestic -Eden, with a sweet little Eve within it! an enchanted bower, with a -sleeping beauty!” - -“Do speak plainly, Reding! that’s a good fellow!” said the nameless -gentleman. - -“Well, then, I saw a nice, cozy drawing-room, the very picture of -elegance and comfort; a fine fire of sea coal in the grate; a luxurious -little supper set forth in a splendid service on a round marble table; -by its side an easy chair, and a pair of slippers; at a short distance -and nearer the chimney corner a little stand, with an astral lamp and -some books; and near it a lovely young creature, reclining in a resting -chair, fast asleep, with the book she had been reading fallen upon her -lap.” - -“What a beautiful picture,” said one of the company, while the others -listened in silence. - -“I immediately recognized the beauty of the opera box; but as I live, -gentlemen, I did not then connect her in my thoughts with Alexander -Lyon. On the contrary, I believed his account of her, and I said to -myself—‘There is the little darling waiting up for her clerical papa, -who has gone to make a pastoral call on some one of his parishioners who -is dying.’ And I hung there by the sill of the window, and looked in and -fed my eyes upon the sweetness of the scene. - -“Well? what then?” - -“Then I heard horse’s feet coming. ‘Papa is returning,’ I said to -myself. And I dropped from the sill and hid myself in some thick bushes -below it, to wait till papa should pass, so that I might make my retreat -unobserved. It appears that the horseman went first around to the -stable; for soon I heard rapid footsteps approaching the house. And you -may judge my surprise when I saw a young man run lightly up the stairs, -and saw the door fly open, letting out a flood of light, and the little -beauty rush into the arms of the new comer, whom I then plainly -recognized as Alexander Lyon.” - -“Great Heaven!” exclaimed Dick Hammond, in agitation. - -“As if it had not been enough to know him by his face and form, I had -his voice also in evidence of his identity. ‘Are you as glad to see me -as all this, my little Drusa?’ he asked. And she answered with a shower -of soft caresses and silvery tones.” - -“And then?” inquired Dick. - -“Why, then, of course, the house swallowed them up. The door was shut -and locked, and the brilliant windows were darkened, and they had their -happiness all to themselves, while I was left out in the cold.” - -“You could not have been mistaken in what you supposed you saw and -heard?” inquired Dick. - -“No; how could I? That was not the only time I looked in at those -windows either. A sort of fascination drew me there, to look in upon -that lovely young creature. While I remained in the neighborhood, under -the cover of coon hunting, I paid a visit to the lighted windows every -night. Ah! night after night! night after night did that sweet little -creature sit there waiting for him, leaving the windows open to guide -him home, and keeping his supper warm, while he, sorry dog, was engaged -gallanting Miss Anna about to balls and theatres, and scowling at better -men than himself if they so much as looked at the belle.” - -“Reding, I am deeply grieved to hear this; scarcely less so than I -should be if the poor child were my own sister. But I repeat and -reiterate most emphatically this truth, that she is really his wife, or -believes herself to be so!” said Dick, earnestly. - -“I think you are quite right, Hammond! The young creature herself, and -all her surroundings breathed so sweetly of what you called ‘the -sanctities of home life’ that no one looking on her could think evil of -her. Indeed I thought evil of _myself_ though, sometimes, for seeming to -play the spy. But I couldn’t resist the temptation of looking into that -beautiful interior. I meant no harm.” - -“And your contraband pastime was never discovered?” - -“Oh yes,” laughed Reding. “She rose once and turned round so suddenly, -that she saw me before I could drop from my perch. She screamed and -disappeared; and I could have scourged myself for frightening her.” - -“And then, I suppose, your stolen visits ceased.” - -“Not a bit of it. I was only more cautious. But one night I purposely -let myself be seen by _him_, on a rare occasion, when he happened to -come home before daylight. It was to be my last visit, for I was about -to leave the neighborhood.” - -“Did he know you?” - -“No! for as soon as he got a glimpse of my face, he blazed away at me -with his revolver, and you may rest assured, I didn’t stop to claim his -acquaintance! All, he had a good chase after me, and I had a good run -and a good laugh! When I returned to the city, I couldn’t keep the joke -to myself. I had to tell Harpe, for which I was afterwards sorry; for -the scurvy fellow, with a party of his companions, having met the poor -little girl in the city after Lyon had left, took advantage of her -unprotected state and followed her home, and would have intruded into -her house, if they had not been prevented by her servants.” - -“Reding,” said Dick, gravely, “after what I have told you of this young -lady, I hope and trust that you will abstain from speaking of her -anywhere, and from doing anything to annoy her at any time. In a word, I -appeal to your manhood, to treat her in all respects as you would treat -the most honored woman of your acquaintance.” - -“I never wished to do otherwise, and as I never expect to see the little -angel again, I shall never have a chance of doing otherwise. But here, I -declare, the day is breaking! And we ought to do the same! Wake up, -Harpe! Come! Good night, Hammond!” - -And so the party separated. - -Dick Hammond remained, walking up and down the room in deep thought. At -length he took a sudden resolution—to seek Drusilla. - - - - - CHAPTER XL. - DICK’S NEWS. - - If Sorrow has taught me anything, - She has taught me to weep for you, - If falsehood has left me a tear to shed - For Truth, those tears are true.—OWEN MEREDITH. - - -The greenness of the grass, the freshness of the flowers, and the -splendor of the sunshine, still lingered; the glorious Indian summer -still lived on through the gorgeous month of October, and even staid to -welcome the arrival of sad November. - -At high noon, one day about this time, Drusilla was sauntering slowly -through her garden, trying to gather strength and comfort from the -beauty and refulgence of the scene and hour, when she suddenly heard the -outer gate open. - -She looked up to see the cause, and she started violently and changed -color; for she saw— - -Mr. Richard Hammond! - -He was now walking up the avenue towards the house. - -On seeing him, her first natural emotion was that of astonishment; her -first clear impression was that he came from her husband on some errand -to herself. All in a tumult of delight, she hastened to meet him. - -“Mrs. Alexander Lyon, I believe,” said Dick, at a hazard, and -respectfully raising his hat as he came on to greet her. - -“Yes, that is my now name,” answered the young matron, with a smile and -a blush of happiness, not of confusion, as the questioner particularly -noticed. - -“I knew it!” he exclaimed, emphatically and involuntarily. - -“Knew what? knew me?” she inquired, pleasantly. “Of course you did. Why -should you not? It has been but two years since we met. And I knew YOU -at a glance.” - -“Very likely; for an old fellow like myself does not change in two -years, while a young lady like you grows up and gets married in the -meantime, which makes _some_ little difference,” answered Dick, archly, -partly to cover his confusion at having spoken his thoughts aloud, and -partly to procure her confirmation of what he firmly believed—namely, -that she truly or falsely imagined herself to be a wife. - -“Oh, yes,” she replied, still blushing and smiling, “I am married; and -as you know that fact, which you could have learned only from my -husband, of course you come from him. He is well?” she inquired, anxiety -now betraying itself in her look and tone. - -“Quite well,” said Dick, who was now beginning to feel the embarrassment -of the duty he had taken upon himself to do. - -“And you bring me a letter from him? I have been looking for one by the -mail; but I am glad he sent it by you?” - -Dick hesitated and looked confused. - -“Give me my letter, please,” she said, holding out her hand with a -smile. - -“My dear Mrs. Lyon, I regret to say I have no letter for you,” he -answered, as calmly as he could. - -“No letter!” she repeated, with a look of disappointment; and she sank -down in the garden seat, because from excess of emotion she was unable -to stand. Then, soon brightening up with new hope, she exclaimed—“Oh, -then, he has charged you with a message for me! Sit down here and tell -me all he says.” - -Dick took the offered seat, but remained silent. - -“How, then, Mr. Hammond, tell me! tell me quickly what does Alick say? -And, oh, forgive my impatience! but it has been so long since I have -heard from my husband, and I have been so uneasy about him!” she said, -and her hurried tones, her eager face and trembling frame, all betrayed -the excess of anxiety that agitated her. - -But Dick Hammond sat silent and immovable, cursing the fate that had -thrust upon him a duty he found so hard to perform. - -“Why don’t you answer me? Why are you silent? Why do you look so -strangely, avoiding my eyes? What is the matter? Oh, Heaven, what has -happened?” she cried, turning pale and beginning to twist her fingers. - -“Mrs. Lyon,” said Dick, with an effort, “I have neither letter nor -message from Alexander.” - -“Neither letter nor message from my husband? I thought you came from -him! I thought you came with his sanction. Else why are you here at -all?” she asked, shivering with a vague alarm. - -“Madam!” cried Dick, jumping up, flushing red, and, between his pity for -her and his rage at Alick, losing all his self-command; “Madam, I came -here to tell you that Alexander Lyon is a reproach to his name and to -manhood! and totally unworthy of your regard, or of the notice of any -honest woman!” - -Drusilla was struck dumb. - -For a few moments she gazed at him in blank wonder, while he strode up -and down the garden walk before her, wiping his brows and trying to -subdue his excitement. Then she arose slowly, stretched out her arm, and -pointing to the outer gate said, quietly: - -“Leave this place, sir.” - -He stopped in his furious walk and looked at her. She had ceased to -speak, but was still standing pale and grim and pointing his way out. - -He felt that he must keep his ground, and do his duty at any cost. He -was sorry that his own rashness had raised obstacles in his path. He -approached her and said: - -“Madam, I take back my words. I beg your pardon for having uttered them. -I will beg it on my bent knee to content you. Forgive me, and consider -my rash words unsaid.” - -“Indeed, I know not how to forgive you.” - -“But when penitence is professed and forgiveness asked, it is a -Christian’s duty to extend it,” said Dick, appealing to her conscience. - -“Admit, then, that your words—the injurious epithets you dared to apply -to my husband—were untrue.” - -“Do _you_, who have so much trust in him, need to be assured that they -were untrue?” inquired Dick, evasively. - -“No, indeed, I do not. I know that Alexander Lyon is the very soul of -honor.” - -Dick bowed deeply and a little ironically, saying: - -“But you require a fuller apology than I have yet made?” - -“I do.” - -“Well, I make it. I feel very sorry that I forgot myself so far as to -use those terms in respect to the gentleman in question. I take them -back unreservedly, and I beg you, as you are a Christian, to forgive -me.” - -She bowed, still a little coldly, and then said: - -“Sir, I know that you have come here this morning, if not directly from -my husband, at least in his interests, or upon his affairs. If you are -an authorized agent, pray explain the nature of the business that has -brought you here.” - -Under the forced calmness of her words he perceived that a terrible -anxiety was torturing her soul. He answered gently: - -“Madam, yes, I come here on his affairs and in his interests, since it -is certainly important to him that he be prevented from taking a certain -step that he contemplates.” - -“What step is that?” she breathlessly inquired. - -“Will you permit me first to see you into the house? The explanation I -have to make is not a pleasant one, and you are already something -overcome by what has passed. You had better hear the rest of what I have -to say in your own parlor.” - -Drusilla hesitated. She still resented the words he had used in -reference to her husband, although he had recanted and begged pardon; -and for this reason she shrank from taking him across the threshold of -her house. But she reflected that, as he had assured her he came upon -Alexander’s affairs and in his interests, she could do no less than open -her doors to his entrance. - -“Come, then,” she said, rising and leading the way into the cottage. - -She walked very fast, her impatience overcoming her weariness. - -She showed him into the drawing-room and signed him into a seat, and -sank herself down on a corner of the sofa, for she was quite out of -breath. - -“Now, now, Mr. Hammond,” she exclaimed, as soon as she could articulate -the words. “Explain yourself! I know well, I knew from the first, that -you did not come here for the sole purpose of making me a call. I feel -now that the nature of your errand is painful. Tell it at once. You must -know that anything is better than suspense.” - -Dick attempted to answer, but looked in her face and failed. It was as -hard to obey her as it would have been to gaze in the eyes of a lamb and -slay it. - -“Still silent?” she said, clasping her hands. “Ah, Heaven, do not -torture me so! I have suffered so much already! so much, just Lord! I -can bear no more! Tell me your worst news at once, and kill me with it. -It would be mercy.” - -Still, still, Dick’s answer, like Macbeth’s amen, “stuck in his throat.” - -“Oh, Heaven, what is this? Why don’t you speak? Alick! Alick! my -husband! You said that he was well! Yes, you said so! But they say of -the _dead_ that they are well!” she cried, clasping her hands, and in -her excessive alarm forgetting that Dick had certainly, in the early -part of their interview, spoken of Alick as a living man about to take -an objectionable step. - -Her complexion curdled into white and livid spots, her features quivered -with the intense agony of suspense, as she stretched out her hands and -gasped forth the word: - -“Tell—tell—is Alick—DEAD?” - -“No!” thundered Dick, emphatically, as he found his voice, “he is not! -No such good luck. The rope is not ready for him yet,” he added, under -his breath. - -She heard only the first words of his reply. - -“Thank Heaven for that, at least. It is well to know that. I think now I -can bear everything else,” she sighed, as the tension of her nerves -relaxed, and she sank down among the cushions and closed her eyes. This -reaction from her illogical but deadly terror was so great, that she -nearly swooned. And now to feel certain that he was alive and well -seemed all sufficient for her satisfaction. - -Dick did not disturb her by a word, look, or gesture. He was pleased to -put off the evil hour of explanation as long as possible, even if it -were to be forever; and he mentally bemoaned the hardship of the duty he -felt compelled to do, and he wished himself anywhere else but where he -was. - -In a few minutes Drusilla recovered herself, and with an effort sat up -and said: - -“Mr. Hammond, you assure me that my husband is alive and well; as indeed -I ought to have known from your previous conversation; only that in my -sudden alarm I did not remember it. I am not very rational, I think. But -now that my fears for his safety are set at rest, I do not dread to hear -any other ill news that you may have to tell me. So speak out freely and -without fear for me. I am strong enough to sustain the shock of common -calamities,” she added, with a smile. - -And in saying these words, she only thought of Mr. Lyon’s supposed -lawsuit, “connected with his late father’s will,” and she fancied that -Dick had come to tell her of its failure. - -“Then I will do so, Mrs. Lyon—Drusilla! I wish you would let me call you -so, as I used to do when you were a little child,” said Dick, gently and -gravely. - -“You may call me anything that my husband will permit, Mr. Hammond. But -until you have his sanction, you must call me Mrs. Lyon.” - -“Ah, my dear child,” said Dick, mournfully, “I fear that is the very -last name he will be willing to accord you.” - -“What is it that you say, sir? What do you mean?” questioned Drusilla, -in a low, breathless, hurried tone, as with his words there rushed upon -her mind the recollection of her husband’s cruel letter, in which he had -declared his union with her to be illegal, null and void, and to have -always been so. And now she instantly connected Hammond’s visit and his -untold news with that letter and its cruel communications. And she -wondered if Dick knew anything about Alick’s supposed monomania; and if -so, whether he rightly understood it, or whether he was misled by it. - -As Dick did not immediately answer her questions, she spoke to him -again. - -“Why do you not reply to me, Mr. Hammond?” - -“Ah, my poor child! my dear child! you readily surmised that I had -painful matters to communicate, but you never divined how painful,” said -Dick, sorrowfully. - -“You alarm me again. For Heaven’s sake, speak and shorten this torture,” -she pleaded. - -“You believe yourself to be the wife of Alexander Lyon?” said Dick, -modulating his voice to a tone of the deepest and most respectful -sympathy. - -“‘_Believe_,’ sir? I am so,” answered Drusilla, drawing herself up with -a proud and confident smile. - -“I feel assured that you think as you say. My long knowledge of you, my -earnest esteem for you will not permit me to question your good faith. -But my poor Drusilla, my dear girl, I fear, I greatly fear that you are -mistaken.” - -“I am not, sir. I cannot be mistaken on such a subject,” answered -Drusilla. And as all the deep dishonor implied in the doubt rushed over -her mind, her face and neck were suffused with the crimson flush of -wounded delicacy and offended pride, and she added, “You must know, sir, -that to question my wifehood is to insult me.” - -“Heaven is my witness, how far from my heart is the wish to offend you, -how profound and respectful is my sympathy for you, and how deeply it -pains me to give you pain. But I must do my duty. Most willingly would I -have avoided this task, if I could have done so; but I could not. And I -come to serve and to save you, and one who is dearer to me than all -others besides,” said Dick, earnestly. - -“I think I know why you speak to me in this manner. You have suffered -yourself to be misled by the transient imaginings of a monomaniac, who -is so sane on all other subjects, and with one exception so strong and -clear in judgment and understanding, that you have failed to discover -his hallucination to be what it is. But I will soon convince you that it -is _you_ who are mistaken, and not I,” replied Drusilla, with much -dignity. - -And she drew from her bosom the little black silk bag:, took from it the -small piece of paper and placed it in the hands of her visitor, saying: - -“There, Mr. Hammond, read that, and confess that you have alarmed -yourself for nothing.” - -Dick, who had been listening to her and watching her in wonder and -curiosity, took the paper, and with a bow, began to examine it. As he -read it slowly and attentively, he gathered his brows into a thoughtful -and troubled frown, and as he finished it, he looked at her with a -compassionate expression and inquired: - -“My dear child, how came this little document into your keeping?” - -“I found it while clearing out Alick’s dressing-glass drawer. And as it -was as much mine as his, and as he did not seem to set much value on it, -judging by the place in which he left it, I took possession of it. And I -am very glad now that I have it to show you,” she answered, smiling -confidently. - -“Because you consider it a proof positive of your marriage?” he -inquired, gravely. - -“Why, of course. And so it is,” she exclaimed, triumphantly. “Why, look -at it! Read it! It is quite plain and conclusive! A child could -comprehend it! Don’t you see for yourself that this is the most positive -proof of my marriage that could possibly be produced?” - -“No, Drusilla,” he answered, mournfully, “I see nothing of the sort. -Quite the contrary.” - -“Then you don’t understand English when you see it!” retorted the sorely -tried young creature, losing a little of her saintly patience. - -“I understand _this_, but too well!” replied Dick, grimly regarding the -document that he still held in his hand. - -“In mercy’s name, what do you mean now?” - -“I mean that this piece of paper proves no marriage. It only indicates -that at the time of its being filled out, Lyon probably had sincere -intention to marry you. But so far from its being a proof of your -marriage, as it lies here before us, it affords an incontrovertible -evidence that no such marriage ever took place!” - -“Come! what next, I wonder? Are you also a monomaniac on this subject? -And is madness infectious? If so, pray leave my presence before you -inoculate me with the same mania!” - -“I would to Heaven that you were right and that I were talking at -random! But it is not so, Drusilla! ‘I speak the words of truth and -soberness.’ This document proves that you were never married,” said -Hammond, with as much earnestness as sadness. - -“You are raving! In the name of reason how can you talk so frantically? -_That_ paper, of all things in the world, proves I never was married? -Can _any_ thing in the universe prove that I was never married, when I -know I was? I am not a fool, or a lunatic, or a visionary, to imagine -things that never happened. I saw and heard myself married to Alick by a -regularly ordained minister, with a special license, and in the presence -of a dozen witnesses. You talk wildly, Mr. Hammond! Yes, and very -offensively!” she added. - -“I beg you to forgive me and to bear with me, Drusilla,” he answered -sadly, “but——” - -“Call me by my husband’s name! I have a right to it!” interrupted the -young matron, proudly, but mournfully. - -“Yes, Heaven knows that you _have_ a right to it! The holiest, if not -the most lawful right, and I cannot refuse it to you. But, Mrs. Lyon, as -I told you, I came here to serve and to save _you_ if possible, and also -one who is dearest of all to me; so in her service and in yours, I must -convince you of the truth of what I have just said, however distressing -it may be for me to press, or for you to believe,” said Dick, solemnly. - -The earnestness and solemnity of his words deeply impressed her. A new -terror struck all the color from her face—doubt, like the iron, entered -her soul. She gazed at him transfixed. - -“It is so,” said Hammond, turning away his eyes that he might not meet -the agonizing appeal in hers. “It is so. - -“You _ought_ to be, but you are _not_ the wife of Alexander Lyon.” - -“Not his wife—not Alick’s wife! Oh, Alick, Alick! my own! my dear! my -love! my husband! I _am_ your wife! I am—I am!” cried the wronged and -wretched young creature, with a sob and a gasp, as she sank back among -her cushions. - -Dick could have wept for company, but he only cursed Alick and pitied -her, while he watched and waited for her to recover herself. - -Ah! how many tears she had shed in her short married life of less than a -year! - -Presently her anguish broke forth in a sharp and bitter cry: - -“Why, oh why, do you say such terrible things to me, Mr. Hammond?” - -“Because it is absolutely necessary that you should know them,” he -answered, kindly. - -“Have you no pity—_none_—that you drive this sorrow-like a sword into my -heart?” she cried. - -“Heaven knows how much pity and how much respect I have for you,” he -said. - -“Oh, what—oh what,” she sobbed, wringing her hands in her agony, “oh, -what makes you say that I am not his wife—not my dear Alick’s wife? When -I told you—_I told you_ how I was married; with a special license, by a -regularly ordained minister, and in the presence of a dozen witnesses? -How _can_ you say, in the face of all this, that I am not Alick’s wife?” - -“My dear Drusilla, on my honor as a gentleman, by my knowledge as a -lawyer, and on my faith as a Christian, I assure you, that though your -nuptial ceremony had been pronounced by a bishop, and in the presence of -a thousand witnesses, the very existence of this little document as it -lies before us proves that ceremony to have been illegal and of no -effect.” - -She clasped her hands and gazed on him with such a look of unutterable -woe in her voice, that he could no more bear to meet her eyes than could -the heroes of old endure Medusa’s glance and live. Yet withal she was -now very calm, though with a calmness that was but a restrained frenzy; -but it must have deceived Dick as to her powers of endurance, or he -would not have driven the spear home to her heart as in a few moments he -did. - -“And Alick knew this?” she asked. - -“I am not sure he knew it or thought of it on the wedding-day. But I am -sure that he knows it now,” sighed Dick. - -“And so his fancy was a fact after all; and he was no monomaniac?” - -“No, he was no monomaniac,” said Dick. “He was only a scoundrel,” he -added, under his breath. - -“Alick knows this! Then this is the discovery he made in March?” - -“Probably, if he made any.” - -“He told me he had discovered then our marriage was not legal. He has -absented himself from me ever since. Heaven help me! I thought he was -suffering from a hallucination that would pass away. And it was a -reality!” - -“Yes, it was,” said Dick, wondering at her apparent composure and misled -by it. - -“But Alick will remedy the evil now. He will marry me over again. You -know he will, Mr. Hammond?” - -“I know he ought to do so; I know he is bound by the holiest obligations -that can bind a man to do so; I know if he had one spark of honor in him -he _would_ do so; but I do not believe he will,” growled Dick. - -“How dare you say that?” - -“Because if he had the slightest intention of doing you justice, he -would never even dream of the step he is now actually about to take, and -of which I came here on purpose to warn you.” - -“What step? You said something of this when you first arrived. What is -it?” - -“A step which, (were you his wife, as you ought in justice to be) would -take him across the threshold of a state’s prison, for it would be a -felony,” answered Hammond, speaking distinctly and emphatically, and -hoping that she would understand him, and save him the pain of a more -particular explanation. - -But she did not even suspect his meaning. She only clasped her hands, -and gazed at him with piteous and beseeching eyes, and murmured: - -“What is it? Speak plainly.” - -He turned away his head that he might not witness her despair, as he -replied: - -“He is about to take advantage of the discovery he has made by marrying -Miss Anna Ly——” - -His words were cut short by a piercing shriek that rang like the cry of -a lost soul through the air. He started up and confronted Drusilla. - -She was standing before him, in motionless, speechless anguish. Her face -was blanched to the hue of death, her eyes were dilated and strained, -her hands were extended, her form rigid. As one struck with catalepsy, -for a moment she stood thus, and then fell. - -Hammond caught her before she struck the floor, and laid her tenderly on -the sofa, and then in great alarm, he rang for assistance. - -Her servants were at that hour gathered around the kitchen table eating -their dinner, and talking of the strange visitor whom they had all seen -enter the house in company with their mistress. They heard the shriek -that rang through the air, followed by the loud peals of the -parlor-bell, and they started up in a body and ran to see what the -matter could be. - -They found their mistress in a swoon on the sofa, and a strange -gentleman standing over her, beside himself with fear and grief. - -“For Heaven’s sake do something. I fear Mrs. Lyon is dying or dead!” he -exclaimed. - -“What caused it, sir?” demanded “mammy,” putting aside the intruder, and -kneeling down to examine her patient. - -“I was so unhappy as to be the bearer of bad news to her,” Dick -confessed. - -“Then, sir, you ought to a-knowed better than for to a-told it to her in -her state of health. It may a-killed her,” said the nurse severely, as -is the custom of her class in rebuking the common enemy. - -Dick looked guilty and wretched. - -Pina pitied him. - -“No, mammy, it aint killed her—she aint dead; ’deed she aint, mammy. -She’s only in one of her fainty fits. She’s subject to ’em, mammy,” said -the girl. - -“You hold your tongue, gal. What do you know? Come here and help me to -rub her hands. And Mr. Leo, you go ’bout your business. What call you go -to be poking ’round where there’s a lady sick? And _you_, sir,” said -mammy, turning to the unhappy Dick, “now you’s done all the harm you can -do, you go ’way too.” - -Dick turned a long, lingering look to the inanimate form on the sofa, -and then reluctantly followed his companion in banishment from the room. - -When they reached the hall, Leo politely opened the front door for the -exit of the visitor. - -But Dick loitered. - -“Come here, boy,” he said, beckoning Leo close to his side. “Is your -mistress realty subject to these swooning fits?” - -“Yes sir; and so has been ever since master took to his ways,” answered -the boy, sulkily, because for the time being he hated all mankind, and, -most of all, his master, for his mistress’s sake. - -“What ways?” asked Dick. - -“Gentlemen’s ways, sir,” growled Leo. - -“But—she gets over these attacks?” asked Dick, anxiously. - -The boy looked at the questioner askance, and answered, ironically: - -“No, Sir; slight as they is, she allus dies of ’em.” - -Dick smiled, even in the midst of his trouble, and said: - -“Come, I pardon your impertinence for the sake of the regard that I see -you bear your mistress. Don’t mock me again, but answer me truly—these -swoons are not dangerous, are they?” - -“Well, sir, I don’t think they is. The women allus gets her out of ’em -in an hour or so,” said Leo, somewhat mollified by the sincere interest -this stranger took in his mistress. - -“Well, my boy, when your mistress is quite well, say to-morrow morning, -if she is well enough to be up, I wish you to give her this packet,” -said Dick offering Leo a large, long, well-filled yellow envelope. - -Leo backed several paces, and put his hands behind him. - -“What’s that for?” inquired the visitor. “Why don’t you take this?” - -“Is it a writ?” asked the boy. - -Dick laughed now. - -“No, stupid! I have been more used to having writs served upon _me_, -than to serving them upon _others_. Do I look like a bum baillie?” - -“No, sir.” - -“Well, then, take this and give it to your mistress when she gets -better.” - -But the boy backed farther, and kept his hands behind him. - -“Are you crazy?” asked Dick, impatiently. - -“No, sir; but I want to know what is in that there yaller hang-wallop, -before I tetches of it to take it to my mist’ess, ’cause she’s been put -upon bad enough a’ready, the dear knows,” said Leo, stubbornly. - -Mr. Hammond good-humoredly opened the yellow envelope, and for the boy’s -satisfaction displayed its contents, which consisted of two open -letters, one sealed letter and a newspaper. - -“There,” he said, as he replaced them, “you see there is nothing very -dangerous in the packet. It is for your mistress’s benefit that I wish -to send it.” - -“Well, sir, I’ll take it to her; and I hope, sir, you’ll ’scuse me for -hanging back and doubting,” said Leo. - -“Certainly; I respect your scruples, and I like you all the better for -your fidelity to your mistress. And now, listen. I want you to do -something else for me.” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“You know the ‘Drovers’ Rest?’” - -“Is it that little shady inn on the road, just before you turn into our -woods, sir?” - -“The very same; it is the only inn within half a mile. I shall wait -there until evening to hear how your mistress is. Do you think you can -slip across there to bring me news of her this afternoon?” - -“I’ll try, sir—yes, sir, I’ll come, sir,” said the boy, first -hesitating, and then consenting. - -“Thank you. Don’t forget to do so,” said Mr. Hammond, dropping a small -gold coin into Leo’s hand, and then hurrying from the house. - - - - - CHAPTER XLI. - PROOFS. - - Concealment is no more; facts speak - All circumstance that may compel - Full credence to the tale they tell, - And now her tortured heart and ear, - Hath nothing more to feel, or hear.—BYRON. - - -It was long, very long, before the most strenuous and persevering -efforts of her servants could bring the stricken and unconscious -sufferer back to consciousness. As always before, the return to -sensibility was but the return to sorrow. But the nurse prepared a dose -of morphine, and, murmuring to her of her babe, persuaded her to take -it. And soon she was buried in the blessed oblivion of sleep. - -Leo sat over the kitchen fire, wishing himself a man and a white man, -that he might avenge the wrongs of his worshipped mistress. In his small -way, very much as the child Willie Douglas felt towards the beautiful -and discrowned Mary Stuart, felt this poor fellow towards the wronged -lady of his own allegiance. Late in the evening, to him, sitting there, -came Pina. - -“Well, and how is she now?” inquired the boy. - -“Gone to bed. Mammy give her something to put her to sleep. Mammy knows -what to do. My goodness, Leo, what a blessing it is that we fetched -mammy to her!” - -“Yes, indeed, that it was, Pina.” - -“And now you clear out here. I want to get some supper ready for mammy -to eat. She hasn’t had no dinner, nor even a mortal bite since -breakfast. My gracious, what a tiresome thing it is to have a house -always up side down like ours. Just as if there was a somebody a being -buried or a being borned every day in the week! and all on account of -that man! Yes, I _will_ call him ‘that man,’ if I’m hashed for it!—that -man! that man! that man! there, now! And I don’t see no use no men ever -is, ’cept ’tis to make a fuss in the family! And I know as the Lord made -the wimmin; but I b’lieve in my heart and soul the debil made all the -men, jest to spile the Lord’s work! And I wish there wasn’t a man in the -world, ’cept ’tis _you_, Leo, and Cousin Charley, and daddy! So there, -now! And now why don’t you go ’bout your business and leave me room to -move ’round the range and get supper?” - -Leo, with a certain sense of shame in belonging to that offending and -prescribed sex created by the devil for the confusion of the world, -gladly took himself out of the kitchen and went to keep his appointment -with his fellow sinner. - -He found Mr. Richard Hammond in the little back parlor of the suburban -inn. - -Dick was seated at a table; with writing materials, and also, alas! with -brandy, tobacco and pipes before him. - -“Your mistress? I hope she is better?” exclaimed Dick, eagerly, on -seeing his messenger. - -“Yes, sir; the wimmin, they have fetched her out’n her fainty fit all -right, and they have put her to sleep comfortable,” replied the boy. - -“Thank Heaven!” exclaimed Dick. - -“Well, sir, that is all I have to tell you; and now, as I may be missed, -I think I had better hurry back,” said Leo. - -“Wait; here is a letter I wish you to take to your mistress.” - -“Another one, sir?” inquired the boy, distrustfully. - -“Yes; but _this_ letter is to prepare her for the receipt of the packet. -I wish you to give her _this_ letter _first_. And after she has read it, -hand her the packet.” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“And here is your reward,” said Mr. Hammond, putting a piece of gold in -the boy’s hand. - -“If you please, sir, I don’t like to take any pay for serving of her,” -said Leo, hesitatingly. - -“Nonsense! Take it for serving me, then,” laughed Dick, forcing the -money upon the youth. - -Leo pocketed the fee, and hurried home. - -It was quite dark when he reached the house. - -All that night mammy sat up and watched by the bedside of her charge. -Drusilla slept soundly and late. - -All dreaded her awakening. But to the surprise and relief of her -attendants, she awoke quite calmly; though whether her quietude was the -lethargy produced by the continued influence of the morphine, or whether -it was the apathy of despair, it was hard to tell. She permitted the -nurse to bathe her face and hands, and to smoothe her hair. She partook -slightly of the light breakfast that was brought her. But beyond these -she scarcely moved, looked or spoke. After an hour or two she intimated -that she would rise; and, with the assistance of her nurse, she got up, -dressed herself, and went to her easy chair. And there she sat, pale, -mute, and still as death. - -“Mammy,” whispered Pina, “speak to her—make her talk. Indeed it scares -me all but to death to see her that away.” - -“Hush,” muttered the nurse, “let her alone. ‘It’s ill waking sleeping -dogs’—which I mean to say, long as she’s quiet be thankful for it, and -don’t ’sturb her.” - -“But I’d rather see her cry, and scream, and rave, than see her so.” - -“That’s because you’s a fool; for I hadn’t, and that’s a fact, in her -sitivation, too! Go ’long gal; what you know?” - -Meanwhile, Leo watched for an opportunity to execute the commission -entrusted to him. He did not find one until the afternoon, when mammy -and Pina being seated at their early dinner, sent Leo with an armful of -wood up to the lady’s chamber to replenish the fire. - -When the boy had done that duty, swept up the hearth, and replaced the -shovel and tongs, he turned to where his mistress sat, in her chair, -pale, silent, and motionless as a statue, and he drew the letter from -his pocket, and offered her, saying, respectfully: - -“From the gentleman who was here yesterday, ma’am.” - -Drusilla mechanically took the letter, and stared blankly at the boy for -a moment. - -“Where did you get this?” she inquired, as she broke the seal; and her -voice sounded strangely to her attendant as she asked the question. - -“From the gentleman who was here yesterday, ma’am, as I said,” repeated -Leo. - -“Is he here to-day?” - -“No, ma’am.” - -“When then did you get this?” - -“Yesterday, ma’am, before he left the neighborhood,” answered the boy. - -Drusilla read the letter. It was directed very formally to Mrs. -Alexander Lyon, Cedarwood Cottage. It ran thus: - - DROVERS’ REST, Tuesday Evening. - - MY DEAREST LADY.—As the executioner, kneeling, begs pardon of the - victim he is about to slay, so humbly at your feet I would implore - forgiveness for the blow I am fated to strike you, as well as for all - the pain I have already been forced to give you. But after having - stated some strange facts to you, I feel bound to prove the truth of - my statement. The bearer of this will also deliver to you certain - papers, to which I beg leave to call your particular attention. Your - own pure spirit will teach you how to act in the premises. And now, my - dear Mrs. Lyon, I can not close this letter without entreating you to - remember, and to take comfort in the remembrance, that in this great - trial of yours you are only the sufferer, not the sinner; that in the - judgment of all good and honorable people you will be held blameless. - And as for myself, here in all honesty of purpose, as in the sight of - Heaven, I offer you my utmost services. All that a brother might do - for a beloved sister, or a father for an idolized daughter in her - distress, I will do for you. I and all I possess shall be at your - commands; and my business and my pleasure shall at any time give way - to your requirements of me. A letter directed to me at the general - post-office, Washington, will always find me, where-ever I may be, and - always as Your respectful friend, - - RICHARD HAMMOND. - -Drusilla read this letter, and with a sigh, but without a syllable, she -laid it aside, and held out her hand to Leo, saying: - -“Give me the other papers.” - -The boy drew from his pocket the large, yellow envelope, and delivered -it to her. - -She opened it and emptied out its contents. The first that caught her -eye was a newspaper with a marked passage in it. She took it up. It was -the _Valley Courier_, a little local journal published in the county -town near the county-seat of General Lyon. And the marked passage was as -follows: - - MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE.—We understand that Alexander Lyon, Esq., of - Crow Wood, only son and heir of the late eminent Chief Justice of that - name, is about to lead to the hymeneal altar his cousin, the beautiful - and accomplished Anna, the grand-daughter and sole heiress of the - veteran General Lyon, of old Lyon Hall and of Revolutionary celebrity. - The engagement has been of long standing, the nuptials having been - twice arrested by the hand of death. Now however, we are happy to - learn that, both at Crow Wood, the seat of the bridegroom, and at Old - Lyon Hall, the home of the bride, the most splendid preparations are - on foot in honor of the joyful occasion. - -Drusilla read this article and, without a word of comment, a movement of -feature, or a change of color, she put it down and took up a letter with -a broken seal. She unfolded and read it. It was from General Lyon to -Richard Hammond. - - OLD LYON HALL, Nov. 1, 18—. - - MY DEAR DICK:—Alick and Anna are to be married on Thursday, the - fifteenth instant. And now, my dear boy, I wish you, with your - accustomed frankness and good humor, to “let by-gones be by-gones,” - and to come down and be present at the wedding. I know it will be - painful to you; but brave men do not shrink from pain. And, Dick, you - know that there are but four of us left out of all the old stock—Dick, - Alick, Anna and me. I have long passed the threescore and ten years - allotted as the natural term of a man’s life, and so may daily look - for my summons hence. Dick, Alick and Anna seem to me as my own - children. Dick, you have never in your life pleased me with one single - sight of your face at Old Lyon Hall. I know why you have kept away, my - boy. But now I trust you will conquer your reluctance and come, rather - than grieve the soul of Your loving uncle, - - LEONARD LYON. - -Still without a syllable of complaint, or a variation of complexion, she -let this letter flutter down from her hand, and she raised the sole -remaining one. - -This was a sealed envelope, directed to herself. She broke the seal and -found an old and closely written communication from General Lyon to -Richard Hammond, which it is unnecessary to give here at length. It was -very necessary, however, for Drusilla’s knowledge of the whole truth -that she should read every line of it. So at least thought Dick, and -therefore he had sent it to her with the others, but _sealed_, lest -other eyes should see its meaning. In this letter General Lyon spoke of -the long season in Washington during which himself, Alick, Anna and Dick -were always together. And thus Drusilla, for the first time, learned the -true nature of that “business connected with his late father’s will” -which had taken Alexander daily and nightly from her side. And now she -discovered the double-dealing and the deep dishonor of the man she -called her husband. - -She dropped this last letter, and it fell at her feet. Her face turned -no paler, because in fact it was already as pale as it could possibly -be, and had not a vestige of color to lose. - -She had already suffered so much, so much that it seemed impossible for -her to suffer more. Blow after blow had fallen with cruel weight upon -her young heart, until it seemed benumbed. - -Besides, what had she learned now worse than that which she had known -and wept for many days—his treachery to her? Only through the numbness -of her heart and the dullness of her head, one feeling and one thought -clearly and strongly moved—that his marriage with Miss Lyon must be -arrested and he himself saved from this last culmination of his criminal -career. - -The extremity of sorrow, when it does not destroy life or reason, always -strengthens the character. Such must have been its effect upon Drusilla -to enable her to rise above her misery and her weakness, with the fixed -determination to go in person to Old Lyon Hall, for the purpose of -preventing that “MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE” which the _Valley Courier_ had -announced to the world with such a grand flourish of editorial trumpets. - - - - - CHAPTER XLII. - DRUSILLA’S DESTINATION. - - One human hand my own to take, - One human heart my own to raise, - One loving human voice to break - The silence of my days. - - Saviour, if this wild prayer be wrong - And what I seek I may not find, - Oh, make more hard, and stern, and strong - The frame-work of my mind!—OWEN MEREDITH. - - -Having finished reading all the letters and papers that had been -submitted to her examination, in proof of the perfidy of her husband, -Drusilla sat on, for a few moments, pale, still, and mute. She would not -weep now—the fountain of her tears was dry at last. She could scarcely -feel—her heart was stunned almost to insensibility. - -Now she knew the very worst. Now she could not doubt that her husband -had deserted her and that he meditated the crime of marriage with his -cousin Anna. - -Yes, the crime! - -For, notwithstanding all that Richard Hammond had said and thought to -the contrary, she knew that she herself not only ought to have been, in -right—but really was, in fact—the true wife of Alexander Lyon; and that -it was but a slight legal informality, unsuspected by her and even by -him at the time of their marriage, of which he was now about to avail -himself in breaking the sacred bonds that bound him to his young wife, -in order to unite himself to his wealthy cousin. She knew that this -intended act would be a sin, and she feared that it might be construed -into a felony. There was an ugly word in the dictionary called “bigamy,” -and its penalty was uglier still—the state’s prison. To save Alexander -in his moral insanity, from such guilt and such degradation, she -resolved to go to Old Lyon Hall and stop the intended marriage, even -though the adventure should cost her her life. - -“And the wedding is to be celebrated on the evening of the fifteenth, -and this is the morning of the fourteenth, and I have but little more -than twenty-four hours to do all that must be done to save him!” she -said, speaking her mind aloud, to the infinite surprise and alarm of -Leo, who was still standing before her and who now looked as if he -thought his mistress had gone crazy,—and “well she might,” he said to -himself, as he gazed on her where she sat with her hands clasped to her -temples. - -Drusilla reflected intently for a few moments. There were several ways -of reaching Old Lyon Hall,—one was to go by steamer down the Potomac to -Chesapeake Bay and up James River to the Stormy Petrel landing, and then -by turnpike to the Porcupine Mountain; another was to take the railway -train from Alexandria to Richmond, and then the stage-coach across the -country. Both these routes were favored by the Lyon family when they had -leisure and were travelling for recreation. But both required two days -of travel. - -Drusilla saw that she must take the third, which was the shortest if the -roughest route—the old line of stagecoaches running between Washington -city and Western Virginia. It is true this road was very dangerous, -especially at night. It crossed the Blue Ridge, the Shenandoah, and the -Alleghany mountains. It wound around terrible heights where there were -many hundred feet of perpendicular rock above and below, with little -width of way between. Once in a while you heard of a coach being crushed -by the fall of the rocks from above, or dashed to pieces by going over -the side of the precipice. Upon the whole this was not a favored route -with travellers who could avoid it. But Drusilla resolved to take it -because it was the shortest to her place of destination, and in less -than twenty-four hours it would take her to a little mountain hamlet -within ten miles of Old Lyon Hall. True, she might meet with an accident -on the road, but if she should lose her life she might serve Alick by -that means as well or better than by preventing his marriage with Anna, -since if she (Drusilla) were dead, that marriage would be no longer -criminal. - -“Leo,” she inquired, looking up at the anxious boy, “what is the hour?” - -Leo glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantle-piece, and answered: - -“It is nearly one, ma’am.” - -“Do you know what time the night coach for Western Virginia leaves -Washington?” - -“I don’t know what time it leaves Washington, ma’am, but it passes -through Alexandry at five.” - -“Then it must start at about three or half-past. Leo! hurry down stairs; -tell your mother and Pina to come to me immediately. Then go to the -stable and put the horses to the carriage, and prepare yourself to drive -me to town, and be as quick as you possibly can; do you hear?” - -“Yes, ma’am,” answered the amazed boy, making his awkward bow, and going -on his errand. - -Drusilla, with a marvellous new life in her system, arose and went to -her bureau drawers and began hastily to select certain indispensable -conveniences for her journey, and to pack them into a travelling bag. - -Ah! at that moment, and under those circumstances what painful feelings -that pretty Turkey morocco bag awakened; for “sorrow’s crown of sorrow -is the memory of happier days.” - -The bag had been given to her first, by old Mrs. Lyon, when that lady -had hoped to take her favorite down to old Lyon Hall to the wedding of -Alick and Anna. And well Drusilla remembered how much she was pleased -with the gift that combined beauty with utility; how much she admired -its construction, with its various pockets and recesses for the -reception of all sorts of travelling necessaries. But she never went -down to that wedding, which never took place, as you already know. - -Next, nearly two years afterward, she had packed this very bag for her -journey to meet Alick and to be married to him, herself. - -And now she was packing it to go and prevent his marriage with his -cousin. Truly, the little bag was associated with weddings for good or -ill. - -While Drusilla was stowing away combs, brushes, soap, cologne, napkins, -handkerchiefs, chamber-slippers, etc., into her travelling bag, and -reflecting on all its happy and unhappy associations, she was -interrupted by the hasty entrance of Pina and Pina’s mammy, both with -their eyes wide open in astonishment; for Leo had startled them both -with the announcement that his mistress had ordered the carriage quite -suddenly to go the city. - -“And now, ma’am, what is all this, to be sure?” inquired “mammy,” with -the authority, not to say the insolence, belonging even to the best of -her sisterhood. - -“What is what, nurse?” questioned Drusilla, with calm dignity. - -“That boy—which I believe he’s lying, and if he is I will chastise him -well for it—says how you has ordered the carriage to go to Washington -immediate; which I know, ma’am, you would never think of doing nothing -so unprudent; and I’ll give it to Leo well for scaring of me with his -lies.” - -“Leo has told you no falsehood. I have ordered the carriage to take me -to the city,” said Drusilla, calmly. - -“Well, ma’am, I hope you’ll follow my ’vice and think better of it, and -do no such undiscreet thing,” said mammy, grimly. - -“I have no choice, nurse. This is not with me a matter of will, but of -necessity. I must go to Washington to take the night coach for Western -Virginia.” - -At this announcement, mammy stared for a moment in speechless -consternation. Then lifting both her hands, she exclaimed: - -“To take the night coach for Wes’ Wirginy! Well, Lord! And is you -crazy?” - -“No, not crazy; though I know how strange my purpose must seem to you,” -answered Drusilla, quietly, as she folded some white linen collars, and -placed them in her bag. - -“And DOES you know the dangers?” - -“Of the road? Well, I recollect that there was a coach upset on the -Hogback Mountain, and nine passengers killed or wounded, only last -spring.” - -“I don’t mean the road, though that’s as bad as bad can be, to my -sartain knowledge, which has travelled of it once. I mean your -siteration, there! do you know the dangers of _that_, a bumping and a -thumping, and a tumbling and a rumbling over them rocky roads? I say, do -you know the dangers of _that_?” - -“No, I don’t, nurse; I only know that whatever they are, I must face -them,” said Drusilla, so calmly and so firmly, that the old woman knew -at once that it would be utterly vain to try to turn her from her -purpose. - -“But, for goodness sake, _why_ must you go?” - -“From imminent necessity, nurse, that I can’t stop now to explain. I -wish you to be kind enough to pack up under clothing and other -necessaries enough to last me a week. Pina, empty the little red trunk -and bring it here to nurse.” - -“But, for patience’s sake, whar is you going, child?” - -“I am going to see my husband.” - -“You are going to your death!” - -“Perhaps. If so, I shall serve him just as well,” murmured Drusilla, in -a low tone. - -“But, child, tell me, what’s the great ’cessity? What for must you go to -see your husband sich a long distance over sich roads in your -siteration, and to the rist of your life?” - -“He is—in imminent danger,” said Drusilla, evasively. - -“Lor! and that was the bad news as that gentleman brought you?” - -“Yes, it was.” - -“And it overcomed you so! Well, Lord! to think of the tender heart! But -what is the matter of him, honey?—pleurisy, I shouldn’t wonder! That’s -most in general what ails people this time of the year. Is it pleurisy, -honey?” - -“No, not that; but do not stop now to ask questions. I have no time to -answer them. Here is Pina with the trunk. And here are my keys. Go to my -wardrobes and bureaus, and select what is needful for my journey. And -pray be quick about it, for I have no time to lose.” - -“Well, but honey, hear me for one minute first. It may be that he is -very ill, but he may get over it, ’out your gwine to see him. Yes, and -if you go, he may get well and you may die. And anyway, I don’t see the -use of two lives and maybe three lives risted instead of one. Take my -’vice, honey, and stay quietly at home.” - -“Nurse, listen. I should suffer a thousand times more in _mind_ to stay -here, than I possibly could to go the journey that I have fully resolved -to take,” said Drusilla. - -“Well, honey, in either case your life must be risted, I suppose; and of -course you have got a right to take your choice _how_ it shall be -risted. So now, all I got to do is to make your journey as comfor’ble as -I can.” - -“Thank you. That is indeed all that you can do,” said Drusilla. - -“But mind, honey, _I gwine long with you_,” said mammy, with grim -resolution. - -“You? You going, nurse? I have not asked you!” exclaimed Drusilla, in -astonishment. - -“No, honey, you haven’t axed me; which I believe you never even thought -of so doing. But if you must travel—by night, too—surely you’d never -think of travelling alone in your state of health.” - -“That is true—I never thought of it.” - -“Which it seems to me you never do think of yourself, honey.” - -“But it is a hard journey for you to undertake. Would not Pina do as -well to go with me?” - -“Hi, honey, what good Pina going to be, case you taken ill on the road? -No, child, long as you _will_ go, you must consent to take the ole ’oman -along to look after you.” - -“I believe you are right; quite right; and I thank you very much. But -now you must let Pina pack that little trunk for me, while you go and -get ready to attend me.” - -“Yes, ma’am.” - -“And be very quick, nurse. See, it is half-past one. It will take us an -hour to ride to Washington, and I wish to be there by three o’clock, so -as to make sure of the coach.” - -“All right, ma’am. I will be ready in half an hour.” - -And the old woman hurried away, not ill pleased to vary the monotony of -her life at Cedarwood by a journey, this fine weather, into the -mountainous regions of Virginia. It is true that this was a measure she -would not have recommended to her patient; but, since that lady was -resolved upon it, “mammy” made the best of it, and determined to draw -what good she might out of the change of scene and circumstances. - -In just ten minutes mammy returned to the room, dressed for her journey, -and equipped with a carpet bag that contained all her travelling -belongings. - -“You have been very quick,” said Drusilla, approvingly. - -“Yes, honey; which it is my pride and ambition always so to be. I had -half an hour; that’s thirty minutes—three times ten. The first ten -minutes I gives to getting myself ready. Now, the next ten minutes I -gives to something else,” said mammy, speaking hastily, and, _while_ -speaking, drawing from a closet a small red morocco trunk, which she -proceeded to pack with a full supply of body linen and all the -necessaries of a baby’s first toilet, setting the baby’s basket in the -tray in the top of the trunk. - -“What is all that for?” inquired Drusilla, who was busy hooking up her -travelling dress. - -“Never you mind, honey. You go on a fixing of yourself, and leave me -alone. And there, the second ten minutes is up!” said the old woman, as -she fastened down and locked the trunk. - -“But what is that for?” persisted Drusilla. - -“Lor’, honey, does you forget? There’s three of us going this journey. -And that trunk is for the third one. And now I have got only the last -ten minutes left, and I must give that to something else still,” said -mammy, as she flew down stairs. - -Meanwhile Drusilla, while putting on her cloak, bonnet and gloves, gave -Pina many charges about the care of the house, the birds, the dogs, and -all the pets of the establishment, which would be in her charge during -the absence of the mistress. - -And Pina promised the utmost fidelity; but begged her lady to order Leo -to sleep in the house, because she, Pina, would be afraid to sleep there -alone. - -Drusilla had but just promised this, when “mammy” reappeared with a -large and well-filled luncheon basket. - -“How thoughtful you are. And how thankful I ought to be that I have you -to think for me and to take care of me at this crisis,” said Drusilla, -with feeling. - -“Lor, honey, what’s the use of my having lived fifty year in this world -if I _aint_ thoughtful? And what call you to be thankful to me, for -doing of that which it is my bounden duty to do, seeing I’m paid for -it?” replied mammy, laughing, for her spirits were rising with the -excitement of the journey before her. - -“Ah, nurse, there are some services that cannot be purchased or paid -for, and yours are of that sort.” - -“Not a bit, honey. And now the time is up and we’s all ready. And here’s -everything you can possibly want. And Leo, he told me to tell you as the -carriage was waiting.” - -“Thank you; we will go then.” - -“Yes, honey.——And, now, Pina, you be good gal and take care of the house -while your missus is gone,” said the nurse, turning to her daughter. - -“Yes, mammy. When will missus be home?” - -“When you sees her, you fool; and not a minute sooner. And mind you have -everything ready for her when she comes; fire made in her room and all; -mind that, or it will be the worse for you.” - -“Yes, mammy.” - -Drusilla gave a last glance around the room, so full of pleasing and -painful memories—the room which she felt she might never see again; and -then, silently commending herself to Providence, she left it and led the -way down stairs. - -The carriage stood ready; the luggage was piled on behind. Leo had the -door open and the steps down. Drusilla entered, followed by her nurse. -Both took a kind last leave of Pina, who thrust her head and hands in at -the window for the purpose. And Leo cracked his whip and started his -horses. - - - - - CHAPTER XLIII. - THE DREARY NIGHT RIDE. - - Her brain is sick with thinking, - Her heart is almost sinking, - She cannot look before her, - On the evil haunted way; - Uphold her, oh! restore her! - Thou Lord of life and day.—MONCTON MILNES. - - -A few minutes after three o’clock, the carriage containing Drusilla and -her attendant stopped before the office of the Washington and Western -Virginia line of stage coaches. - -In great anxiety, Drusilla drew up the carriage curtain and looked out -of the window. - -There was no sign of a coach near the office. - -“It is gone, it is gone,” she cried, clasping her hands in despair. “It -is gone and I know I can never reach the place in time to save him!” - -“Now don’t you take on so, ma’am, that’s a dear child. The coach mayn’t -have come yet, much less gone,” said mammy, soothingly. - -Meanwhile the porters about the office had come forward and commenced -unstrapping the baggage from behind. - -Leo jumped off his seat and came and opened the carriage door and let -down the steps. - -“Is it any use to alight, Leo? Is not the coach gone?” sighed the lady. - -“Lor’, no, ma’am—it haven’t gone out of the stable yet. We’ve lots of -time.” - -“Oh, thank heaven!” exclaimed Drusilla, in a tone of great relief. - -Mammy gathered up her carpet bag, umbrella and big shawl—all carried for -her mistress’s accommodation and not for her own—and prepared to alight. - -“Here, boy, you let me get out first, so I can help the madam,” she -said, handing a part of her paraphernalia to her son, and then clumsily -but safely tumbling herself down to the sidewalk. - -“Take care, mammy,” said the boy, when all the danger was over. - -“Now, that job’s done! I’m allus thankful when I can get out’n a -carriage without hurting of myself or breaking anything. And now, honey, -let me help _you_ out. Be careful, child,” she said, holding her arms -forth to receive her charge. - -“Stand aside, please,” smiled Drusilla; and then, rather than avail -herself of mammy’s dangerous assistance, she alighted without aid, and -immediately entered the office, calling Leo to attend her. - -Seeing a lady’s waiting-room back of the office, she gave her purse to -Leo, telling him to go to the clerk and secure their seats; but then, as -the sudden thought that they might all be already taken flashed into her -mind, she hurried after the boy up to the clerk’s desk and eagerly -inquired: - -“Have you any seats left in the coach now about to start?” - -“Yes, Miss; lots. We have nine inside, and only one taken.” - -“Then I will take two at once,” said Drusilla, with another sigh of -relieved anxiety. - -“Four, master, if you please; we’ll take four. _All_ the back seats and -one of the others,” said mammy. - -“What is that for?” hastily whispered Drusilla. - -“’Cause, child, you can’t sit up all night. You must lie down, and you -must have all the back seats to lie on like a sofy, you know,” whispered -mammy, in reply. - -“How many seats will you take, Miss?” inquired the clerk, who had looked -on, pen in hand, while this low-toned consultation was going forward. - -“Four,” answered Drusilla. “And my servant here will settle for them. -Come, nurse, leave Leo to finish this business, and attend me to the -ladies’ room.” - -“Yes, honey, in one minute. I just want to stop here and see the _back_ -seats secured all for you, all together, to lie down on. ’Twould be no -use for you to have three seats ’stributed all about the coach, for how -could you ’cline on them? Leave me to ’range for you, ma’am.” - -“Very well, nurse, do as you think best,” said Drusilla, passing on to -the back room. - -There was a side window, opening upon an alley leading to the stables -where the coaches were kept. - -Drusilla perceived this, and seated herself by the window to watch for -the coming of the night coach. She was in such a state of feverish -anxiety, that she could not rest. True, two great causes of uneasiness -were removed. She was in time for the coach, and she could get seats -enough; but still, in her eager impatience, she could not be at peace, -and she longed to be on her journey, to feel herself whirled swiftly -onward towards the place she was so ardently desirous to reach. - -Presently she was joined by mammy, who dropped her fat self down upon a -chair, making it creak under her weight, and said, triumphantly: - -“Well, honey, it’s all right, and you’ll travel as easy as if you was a -lying on your own sofy! I left that boy Leo to watch the luggidge.” - -“I’m very much obliged to you; but at the same time, if the coach should -be full, and any one should want two of my places, they must have them,” -said Drusilla. - -“Must they? What’s the use o’ our paying for them, if it wasn’t to keep -out all ’truders that _did_ come? If the coach wasn’t _going_ to be -full, we needn’t a paid for no extra seats, seeing as we might a had ’em -for nothing, ma’am. And don’t you think so much of other people. Think a -little more of yourself, ma’am. Take a _little_ bit of pity on yourself, -which you never does, though the Lord knows you needs it.” - -Mammy’s discourse was interrupted by music as delightful to the eager -ears of Drusilla as the sublimest strains of Handel—the rumbling of the -stage-coach as it rolled out of the stable yard, and whirled around the -corner and drew up before the office door. - -Drusilla was on her feet in an instant. - -“Now don’t be in such a hurry, ma’am. You be quiet. Bless you, it will -be some time yet before it starts. They’ve got all the luggidge to put -up yet. Leo, he’ll call us when it’s time to get in.” - -With a sigh Drusilla dropped into her seat. Moments seemed hours, and -hours months to her, until she could reach old Lyon Hall and prevent the -consummation of her Alick’s meditated crime. - -At length the long wished for signal came. Leo looked into the room, -touched his hat, and said: - -“Coach ready, ma’am.” - -Drusilla arose in haste and excitement. - -Leo loaded himself with the light luggage. - -Mammy drew her big blanket shawl about her, and so they went out of the -office. - -“Leo, my good boy, take great care of yourself and your sister, and of -the house and the animals, while I am gone,” said the lady. - -“Yes, ma’am; you may trust me for that,” answered the boy, very -earnestly. - -“And Leo, mind, go to the office every day; and if you find letters for -me, put them in the directed and stamped envelopes I gave you, and post -them with your own hand—do you hear?” - -“Yes, ma’am, and will be sure to remember,” said Leo, almost weeping. - -She shook hands with her servant, and sent her love by him to Pina, and -bade him good-bye. - -In another moment Drusilla and her attendant were in the coach—the only -passengers there. - -Drusilla sat reclining in the corner of the back seat, but mammy, who -had not yet seated herself, was fussing about, stowing away such -portable luggage as they had brought in their hands. - -“There, honey!” she said, as she placed a carpet bag in the other corner -of the seat, where her lady sat, and spread a soft shawl doubled over -it, “there, that will be a tolerable pillow for you when you want to lay -down. And here’s another shawl that’ll do to spread over you. And I -reckon I might’s well take the lunching basket and umberella on to the -seat with me. And, dear knows, it looks as if we was agoing to have all -the coach to ourselves, any way; so we had no call to pay for so many -seats we might a had for nothing.” - -While mammy rambled on in this manner, apparently for no other purpose -than the pleasure of hearing the sound of her own voice, Drusilla sat -gazing out of the window at her own pretty little carriage, with her -faithful boy perched upon the coachman’s seat. Poor Leo was waiting to -see his beloved mistress off before leaving the spot. - -“And now let me see—whar shall I put this ’ere bundle so I won’t forget -it? And here, ma’am, you better take this purty little reticule o’ yours -in with you, ’cause——” - -“Nurse,” said Drusilla, drawing in her head, “you had better sit down -and be still. The coach is about to start.” - -“Yes, ma’am, so I will, soon’s ever I find a convenient place for these -gum shoes in case we have to get out in the wet, ’cause you see, honey—” - -The sudden starting of the coach stopped mammy’s oration short by -jerking her forward upon her hands and knees. - -“Lor’ a massy upon me! This is a pretty beginning, isn’t it now? if it’s -all agoing to be like this!” grumbled mammy, as she gathered herself up, -and reeled to and fro with the swinging action of the coach before she -could recover her equilibrium and take her seat. - -Drusilla, who was looking out of the window, and waving her hand in a -last adieu to her poor devoted servant, did not perceive mammy’s -summersault or her complaints. - -The coach swung on at a fearful rate until it reached Fourteenth street, -where it stopped at the great hotel there. - -“I s’pects here’s where they’re gwine to pick up the other passenger, -which sorry enough am I for it as anybody else should be intruding upon -us,” said mammy, folding her arms and sitting up as if she had been in -her own private equipage. - -But Drusilla lay back in her corner, not even caring enough about her -unknown fellow-passenger to turn her eyes towards the sidewalk. - -A tall young man, wrapped in a dark cloak, with its collar turned up -around his face, and wearing a cap pulled low over his brow, came out of -the hotel, followed by a porter with some luggage. - -The luggage was put into the boot behind. The young man climbed up on -top. - -“Oh, a outside passenger, after all, thank goodness,” said mammy, -reposing herself cautiously back upon the cushions to avoid another jar -as the horses started. - -The coach thundered down Fourteenth street south, and onward until it -reached the foot of the Long Bridge, where it slackened speed, as “the -law directs.” - -Ah, Heaven! what pleasing, painful memories were awakened in the poor -child’s mind and heart by the sight of this old bridge. - -Upon just such a day and hour as this she had crossed it for the first -time. Then as now, the gorgeous crimson rays of the afternoon sun blazed -down upon the river, and the wintry wooded shores were reflected in deep -shadows along the reddened waters. Then as now, the scene was -transfigured by the hour into supernal beauty and glory. - -But _then_ she was a newly made and blessed bride, seated by her -husband’s side and going to share his home and bless his life. - -Scarcely eleven months had passed, and now, now she was recrossing the -same river, gazing on the same scene, at the same hour,—a deserted wife -though an expectant mother—a nearly heart-broken woman because an -accusing spirit, going to confront her husband, and confound his -criminal plans. And at this hour on the morrow, where should she be? At -Old Lyon Hall, bringing exposure and shame upon her guilty but still -dear Alick—bringing mortification and sorrow to his expectant young -bride—spreading consternation and gloom among the gay wedding guests. -Could she bear to do this? But perhaps at this hour to-morrow she might -be dead and “past her pain,” for who could say whether she would have -strength to live through the terrors of the scene she was so resolved to -brave? - -Her mournful reverie was interrupted by mammy. The slow motion of the -coach was favorable to conversation, and mammy loved to let her tongue -run. - -“You see that sunset, don’t you, ma’am?” asked the old woman, pointing -to where the sun was slowly sinking behind some long black clouds that -lay along the summits of the western hills. - -“Yes, I see them.” - -“That means bad weather, ma’am. All the good Indy summer goes down with -that sun, ma’am. You may take my ’sperience for that. We gwine to have -rain and wind, and may be snow and sleet. For my part I pray to the Lord -as we may reach our journey’s end before it comes too severe. When does -you expect to get there, ma’am?” - -“Some time to-morrow afternoon or evening; I do not exactly know the -hour.” - -The coach reached the western terminus of the bridge, passed quietly -through it, and then rapidly increasing its speed, thundered onward over -the rough old turnpike road. - -Trees, houses, farms, forests flew past as the coach whirled onward up -hill and down dale, until it reached Alexandria. - -It drew up in the midst of the old town, before its office, took the -address of the single passenger for whom it was directed to call, -changed horses for a fresh start, and swung around into Duke street. - -What was it here that suddenly aroused Drusilla from her painful -absorption in her own troubled thoughts? - -The coach drew up before the house in which she had been married! - -She let down her veil, and, growing rapidly red and pale with -excitement, looked out. - -Soon the door opened, and the young minister—the very one who had -performed her marriage ceremony—came out, carpet bag in hand, and shawl -over his shoulders. - -“You see I am quite punctual,” he said, speaking to the gentleman -passenger on top. - -The other did not reply, but probably made a sign, for the minister -nodded pleasantly, saying: - -“Yes. I am coming up there to sit by you. Besides, the night is so fine -it would be a pity to box one’s self up inside.” - -And with this the reverend traveller climbed to his place, and the coach -started. - -Drusilla sat back in her corner and drew aside her veil. Then she saw at -the same moment mammy draw her head in from the other window and raise -her eyes with a look of astonishment. - -“Well, if that don’t beat Injuns!” - -“What, nurse?” inquired Drusilla. - -“Why, honey, that gentleman as has just got up on top, is the Reberend -Mr. Hopper.” - -“You have known him, then,” said Drusilla, with awakened interest. - -“Hi, honey, why wouldn’t I know my own pastors and masters and sponsors -in baptism? Sure I does know him, good too. Didn’t I sit underneaf of -his preaching ebber since here he’s been till I come to lib long o’ you? -What you talking ’bout, honey? I knows him good as I do my own chillun.” - -“Is he an Alexandria man?” - -“Oh lor, no, honey, not he! He comes from the northud and hasn’t been in -these here parts moren’ a year; no, nor come to think of it, that long, -nyther; ’cause I ’members well, he come the first of last Janivary as -ebber was.” - -“Then,” thought Drusilla to herself, “he could not have been but a few -days in the State before he married Alick and me.” And speaking aloud, -she asked—“What did you say his name was, nurse? I have forgotten.” - -“Hopper, child! Mr. Hopper, honey; the Reberent Mr. Hopper; which -whoever heard tell of a reberent gentleman of the name o’ Hopper, which -to my thinking is more besuited a dancing-master, or a skipping-jack nor -a Methody minis’er. But so it is, honey; and I ’spose people aint to be -blamed for their misfortnit names. But what _I_ would like to know is, -what he gwine prowlywowling ’bout the country for?” said mammy. - -And Drusilla shared her curiosity, though she did not answer it. - -“What, indeed, could be taking this young Methodist minister, who had -married her to Alick, and who could testify to the validity of the -marriage? What _could_ be taking him on the same day, by the same -conveyance, on the same journey with herself? Could his errand have any -connection with Alick’s approaching iniquitous marriage, or with his -prior one? Indeed it looked so. - -“But, nonsense, I am morbid and fanciful; the minister who married us -happens to be journeying at the same time and in the same coach with -myself, and I jump to the conclusion that he is going to the like place -on the like business. What a weak fool my sorrows have made me, to be -sure,” said Drusilla to herself, taking her imagination to task for its -vagaries. - -But she could not quite stop its wanderings. - -“I’ll tell you what, honey, the night is a going to be a bad one. Them -clouds over there is a banking up like mountains of soot. And the most -_I_ care for is this:—it will drive them there passengers from the top -to the inside, to moilest us,” said mammy, drawing her head in from the -window. - -“Well, they have a right to come, nurse. You would not keep them out in -the rain all night, would you?” - -“Yes; that I would; ’cause I want to have the coach all to ourselves,” -said mammy, positively. - -It was quite dark and very cloudy when the coach reached the little, -rural town of Drainsville, where the horses were to be changed and the -passengers were to take tea. - -“Come, honey; les us get out,” said mammy, hiding away some of her -treasures, while she loaded herself with others. - -“I think I would rather stay here, nurse,” said Drusilla, languidly. - -“No, no, no,” objected mammy, authoritatively, “not at all. I can’t -allow it. The coach will be here for a good half an hour. You get out, -and come in the house, and walk about a little to stretch your limbs; -and take off your bonnet to ease your head, and have your tea -comfortable. It will freshen you up a heap for the rest of the journey. - -“And the goodness gracious alive knows as you _need_ freshening up, and -you won’t get another chance till the stage stops at Frostville to -breakfast. And that will be a good twelve hour long. Think of that, now, -and do as I ’vises of you.” - -Before mammy was half through her exordium, Drusilla, convinced by her -eloquence, had risen to her feet, and was drawing her cloak around her. - -She saw through the darkness her fellow-travellers from the top get off -and go into the bar-room of the neat and comfortable inn. And she gave -her hand to the guard, who kindly came around to help her to alight. - -“There, Miss, there is the private door—a nice place, Miss, with a nice -landlady and a good table; shall I take you in, Miss?” he inquired, -hoisting a large umbrella, for it was now beginning to rain. - -“Thanks, yes,” returned Drusilla, “the ground seems slippery.” - -“This way, if you please, Miss.” - -“Bad manners to your imperence, this lady is a married lady, and not a -young Miss,” said mammy, indignantly. - -“Beg pardon; but I thought the madam _looked_ young,” said the guard, -laughing, yet not disrespectfully. - -He took her safely across the slippery way, and showed her into a neat, -well warmed and lighted parlor, where the table was cleanly set for tea. - -The landlady, a cheerful, hospitable looking person, as a landlady -should be, came to meet her. - -“Would you like to go to a bedroom, ma’am?” inquired the smiling -hostess, who was led into no mistake by the child face of her guest, -because her quick and experienced eye had discovered the truth at a -glance. - -“Yes, please,” answered Drusilla. - -And preceded by the landlady and followed by the nurse, she was taken up -stairs to a large bed room, whose red carpet, white walls and draperies, -and bright fire, gave it a very pleasant aspect. - -Drusilla sauntered about, enjoying the privilege of locomotion. - -“You’ll have tea, I suppose, ma’am?” inquired the hostess. - -“Yes, please; and I will have it here,” answered Drusilla, as she took -off her bonnet and laid it on the table. - -The landlady left the room to issue orders. - -While waiting for her tea, Drusilla washed her face and took down her -hair and combed it out, and then did it up loosely in a net, so that she -would be able to lie down and sleep with it so. Then she made the -fastenings of her clothing easy. - -And by the time she had finished preparing her toilet for the night -journey, a maid-servant appeared with a tablecloth and tea tray. - -Drusilla drank two cups of tea, for she was feverishly thirsty. And -then, being scolded into the measure by mammy, who assured her that two -lives depended on her feeding, she ate a buttered muffin, and the breast -of a boiled chicken with cream sauce. - -Drusilla, in the child-like simplicity of her heart, would have made her -nurse sit down to the table and partake her supper. - -But mammy asserted that she—Aunt Hector—knew her place. And so she -filled the slop bowl brimming full of tea, piled up a plate with three -quarters of the chicken and half a dozen muffins, went off to a distant -corner of the room, seated herself upon an old chest, ranged her supper -around her, and, with a promptness and dispatch that made her mistress -stare, she dispatched all these edibles, and announced herself in -condition to pursue her journey. - -“And now if the coach is ready, I is.” - -But if mammy and the coach were both ready, the passengers at the -tea-table down stairs were not; but the coach was not so very strictly -confined to time, and so it was a good quarter of an hour longer, and -Drusilla had ample leisure to put on her bonnet, and to pay her bill, -before she and her attendant were summoned to take their places. - -The guard kindly and carefully assisted the delicate young matron into -her corner of the back seat, saying that he would warn the other -passengers who were coming in for the night that the whole of it -belonged to her. - -She thanked him, and then called to her nurse to make haste and enter. - -“Yes, honey, yes; I’m coming just as soon’s ever I catch my eyes on them -two little red morocky trunks, which I haven’t seen ’em since we left -Alexandry,” said mammy, who was behind the coach, engaged in a sharp -argument with both coachman and hostler. - -“I tell you, woman,” said the former, “the blamed red trunks is all -right. They is inside of the boot, kivered over with the ile skin to -keep out the wet.” - -“Yes, so you say; but I’d a heap rather see ’em with my own two looking -eyes. And believe you I won’t till I does,” snapped mammy. - -“There then, blast you, look for yourself,” said the hostler, pulling -apart the leathern flaps of the boot. - -Mammy peeped through the aperture, and seeing the treasure safe, she -smiled and said: - -“Thank ye, sir. Sorry to give you trouble; but seeing is believing, and -nothing short of it aint.—Yes, honey; yes, honey, I’m coming now!” she -exclaimed, in answer to her lady’s repeated summonses. - -Mammy tumbled up into the coach with even more than her usual blundering -awkwardness; for it was as dark as Tophet, and the guard did not seem to -consider it necessary to hold a light to such a refractory passenger. -And so mammy, after fumbling blindly about to find the seat she had -formerly occupied, turned and dropped herself heavily down upon a -gentleman’s lap. A simultaneous— - -“Oh!” - -A cry of pain from the victim and of surprise from the oppressor arose. - -“Beg pardon, sir, I’m sure; but I’m a heavy ole ’oman, and you shouldn’t -a hit up agin me.” - -“Hit up agin you! Oh!” exclaimed the injured party, in a tragi-comic -groan. - -At the sound of his voice Drusilla started violently, and lowered her -veil; though in fact it was too dark either to see or to be seen; for -oh! with what a thrill of vague dread she recognized Dick Hammond’s -tones, although she could not discern his face! - -“I wish you wouldn’t yowl out in that onyearthly way, sir; you’ll -disturb a deliky lady I has in my charge,” expostulated mammy. - -“Oh, I’ll roar you softly an’ it were a sucking dove, and bear my -tortures with the patience of a slaughtered lamb,” laughed Dick, in a -lachrymose manner. - -“I hope it aint as bad as all that, sir. Take a sup o’ brandy out of my -bottle,” said mammy, feeling about all the vacant seats with her big -hands. - -At this instant the coach started so suddenly with such a violent lurch, -that mammy was jerked back, and precipitated upon the knees of the -unlucky Dick. And in scrambling upon her feet she laid hold of his hair -to help herself up by. - -“Outch!” screeched the victim. “She’s finished me now. She has scalped -me and broken both my legs. I know they’ll have to be amputated!” - -“Very sorry, sir, I’m sure,” said mammy, as she reeled about with the -swinging of the coach, and finally dropped into a vacant seat. “Very -sorry, but you _will_ keep a hitting up agin me. I hope you aint hurt -much?” - -“Hurt much? I tell you you have crushed both my knees to a pulp, and I -know I shall have to get them taken off.” - -“Very sorry, sir! but I can recommend you to a doctor as saws legs off -beautiful, and likewise to a upholster who sells elegant wooden ones,” -said mammy, sympathetically. - -“Many thanks! But how about my head? You have pulled two great handfuls -of hair out by the roots, and I know I shall have to get the rest -shaved!” laughed and groaned Dick. - -“Well, sir, I can direct you to a gentleman of the barbarous line of -business, who will shave your head as clean as a peeled potaty, and sell -you a lovely false wig.” - -“A million of gratitudes! When I require your valuable guidance I will -seek it. But for the present, I begin to suspect that my limbs were not -quite crushed, but only benumbed; and instead of being scalped outright -I have only lost a handful of hair,” said Dick, as he settled himself -comfortably in his seat, and subsided into silence. - -“How does you feel now, honey? Is you comformerble?” inquired mammy, in -a low tone, addressing her charge. - -She received no answer. - -“I do b’lieve how she’s sleep. How is you getting along, honey?” -repeated mammy. But with no better success. - -“I do ’spose she _is_ ’sleep! But, Lor’, I daren’t go nearer to her to -see for fear I should fall on her, and mash her, which would be -dreadful. Tell me if you is asleep, honey; ’cause if you is I won’t wake -you up,” said mammy, raising her voice, and listening attentively. - -But still she received no reply, - -“Wonder what’s the matter with her?” muttered mammy, uneasily. - -“She’s asleep,” answered Dick. - -“Well, if she’s ’sleep, why couldn’t she tell me so when I axed her?” - -“She has told you so,” replied Dick. - -“Lor’! why she hasn’t said a single word!” - -“No; but she has told you so in the only way a sleeper could,—by her -silence. If she had been awake, she would have spoken; wouldn’t she?” - -“Sure enough; I never thought of that before. See what it is to have a -head-piece. But is you sartain sure she is asleep?” - -“Certain sure,” answered Dick, bending forward, and listening to the -soft, low, regular breathing of his invisible fellow-passenger. - -“Well, thank Goodness for that!” said mammy, as she settled herself to -rest. - -The stage-coach had been thundering on its way at a tremendous rate for -several miles, but now it had to cross a broad but shallow stream and to -go slowly. - -Suddenly, Dick yawned, and then, addressing his fat neighbor, inquired: - -“Does your ladyship object to smoking?” - -“Yes, sir,” replied mammy, sharply; “my ladyship _do_ very much so, -indeed; and so do my missus,—which, sleeping or ’waking, I believe it -would make her sick.” - -“Oh, your missus! True? Well, let’s see what sort of weather it is -outside—though, in point of fact, I had rather bear the rain than -forbear my cigar,” said Dick, as he opened the window and looked forth -into the blackness of the night. - -The rain had ceased and the clouds had parted as with the promise of -clearing off entirely. A few stars were shining out. - -“Come; not so bad a night after all. I have been out in worse. And as -soon as we get upon dry land again, I think I will climb up on top and -take a smoke. Eh, what do you say, Aunty? Shall I help you up also? I -know you’d like your pipe!” said Dick. - -“I scorn your insiniwations, sir, and I ’vises of you, if you is agoing -out in the damp night air, as you’d better take care and not get cold in -your ‘raw head and bloody bones,’ as you was a-complaining of.” - -“Thanks for your caution, Aunty. I shall be sure to profit by it,” -laughed Dick. - -And then as the coach was slowly crawling out of the mud that bordered -the shallow stream, he called the coachman to halt. - -“I wish to get up on top,” said Dick. - -And when the man complied with his wishes, Dick left his seat and went -up. - -There now remained two other passengers besides Drusilla and her -attendant. These were two gentlemen that occupied the corners of the -front seat, with their backs to the horses. But they sat so quietly that -but for their breathing and an occasional cough or low-toned word, mammy -would have been unconscious of their presence. - -And now Drusilla bent forward and cautiously touched the nurse, and -whispered: - -“Mammy, come and sit by me. I have something to say to you. Don’t answer -me aloud, but do as I tell you.” - -“Lor’, honey, is you waked up? It was that there man a-making of his -noise, getting outn’t his seat. Some people can’t never keep quiet. But, -honey, I’m afraid if I moves I might fall on you,” said mammy. - -“No, you won’t; we have no jolts here. Guide yourself by the left side -of the seat, and I will give you my hand.” - -“Yes, honey,” said the old woman, and slowly and carefully she changed -her “base,” and safely reached the haven beside her mistress. - -“Nurse,” whispered Drusilla, “I have not been asleep.” - -“My! haven’t you, honey? Why didn’t you answer me, then?” - -“Because I did not wish to talk. That gentleman who got in just the -moment before you, is a passenger that was picked up at Drainsville, he -is the same person who brought me the bad news yesterday.” - -“Don’t say!” - -“Hush! speak very low; we are not alone, you know.” - -“And to think I never knowed him agin.” - -“That is not strange. It is quite too dark for you to have seen his -face. I only knew him by his voice.” - -“Well, I heard his woice too; but I didn’t know it agin.” - -“You heard it only in a moment of terror, and when its very sound was -unnatural. It is not strange that you should not have recognized it -again.” - -“Well, I’m sure! Where’s he going?” - -“I don’t know, nurse. Probably where _we_ are going. But I do not wish -him to recognize _me_, lest he should like me to talk; and I cannot talk -of my affairs. I say this to caution you. Be on you guard.” - -“Yes, honey, I’ll be on my guard. And you may keep yourself dark during -the night; but I don’t see how you gwine to manage when it is daylight.” - -“I must keep my veil down,” said Drusilla. - -“Well, honey, I hope you will succeed.” - - - - - CHAPTER XLIV. - HOW SHE SPED. - - The night drave on * * * - The wind blew as ’twad blaun its last, - The rattling showers rushed on the blast, - The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed. - Deep, lang and loud the tempest bellowed, - From heav’n the clouds pour all their floods, - The doubling storm roars through the woods.—BURNS. - - -Light here and there, like sparks of fire in seas of darkness. Darkness -within and without. The two red lamps that flanked the coachman’s seat, -the single lantern carried by the guard, and the bright point of Dick’s -cigar as he sat smoking on the top of the coach, only seemed by contrast -to make that darkness deeper. - -The coach slowly clawed up a long hill at the summit of which was a -country inn, with its usual accessories of grocery-store, blacksmith’s -shop and post-office. - -Here all was cheerful bustle, with the glancing lights, the voices of -men, the tramp of steeds, and all the merry movement of a way station. - -And here the coach stopped to change horses. - -The outside passenger jumped down and went into the little bar-room of -the inn, which Drusilla could see from her window was half filled with -country loafers and village politicians, drinking, smoking, discussing -the news, and settling the elections. In two minutes the outside -passenger was “hail fellow, well met,” with every one of them, and -generously treating the whole company with the best in the bar. Ah, poor -Dick! - -Meanwhile the guard came to the coach door with his lantern, and -inquired if any of the ladies or gentlemen desired to get out for -refreshments, as they should stop there fifteen minutes. - -The two gentlemen on the front seat at once left the coach. As they got -out, Drusilla saw that one was the Reverend Mr. Hopper. The other was -the stranger they had taken up first in Washington. - -When they had disappeared, the guard turned to Drusilla and repeated his -question, whether she or her attendant would like to leave the coach. - -Drusilla politely declined to do so. But mammy got up and tumbled out of -the coach, and called to one of the hostlers; - -“Hey! I say! Come here, you sir, and fetch a light this way.” - -The man who was thus summoned, thinking that some accident had happened, -ran to the spot, demanding: - -“What is it?” - -“I want you just to look in that there leather place behind, and see if -them there little red morocky trunks is all right.” - -“Blast you and your trunks too! Who do you think is going to be bothered -with them?” angrily retorted the man as he left her. - -“Come in, nurse. Oh, _do_ come in,” pleaded Drusilla, from the window. -“I am _sure_ the trunks are all safe.” - -But mammy was not in a very compliant humor. She ran splashing through -slop and mire, and burst into the bar-room, exclaiming: - -“Oh, do, kind gentlemen, some of you come out and see if them there two -little red morocky trunks of the madam’s is all right.” - -The company around the fire stared at her in astonishment and ridicule. - -But Dick, the most good-natured of all creatures, took up a light and -followed her. - -“Here, sir,” she said, leading the way to the boot, “just you pull apart -these here flaps and hold the light so I can peep in and see.” - -Dick laughingly complied with her request. - -“Yes, there they is, thank goodness, safe as _yet_. Thanky’ sir. Now -I’ll get in the coach, please,” she said, with a courtesy as she -returned to the side of her charge. - -“Is it raining?” inquired Drusilla. - -“No, honey, but black as Beelzebub; so it must come down heavy enough -afore long. And now, honey, while them there men is all out’n the way -let me make you comfortable for the night. You come over on this middle -seat while I make you a bed on the back one.” - -Drusilla complied, for she was very, very weary with sitting up so long. - -Mammy, with the help of a softly-packed carpet bag, that served for a -pillow, with a clean pocket handkerchief spread over it for a case, and -two large shawls for coverings, made a very comfortable couch. - -Drusilla took off her bonnet and hung it up, and loosened her hair and -her clothes, and lay down. And mammy tucked her up. - -Just at this moment came the guard with a tray and a tumbler. - -“One of the gentlemen from the inn has sent this to the lady with his -respectful compliments, and begs she will take it,” he said, as he -handed the oiler in at the window. - -“Yes, honey, you take it, and drink it, too. It’s a hot mulled port wine -negus, spiced; and it will warm you and put you to sleep,” said mammy, -as she took the glass from the messenger and passed it to the mistress. - -The poor, chilled, tired and nervous creature really needed and felt -that she needed just such a cordial at just that hour. She inhaled its -steamy, spicy fragrance with satisfaction and desire, yet she hesitated -to take it. - -“I don’t know who sent it, nurse,” she said. - -“Now what the mischief _that_ got to do with it? Do _that_ make it -hotter or worse? I s’pect the good-natured young man who ’cused me o’ -scalping him and breaking of his legs sent it. But that’s nyther here -nor there. Whoever sent it, sent it in kindness; and don’t you ever -’fuse human kindness when you needs it, come from where it will, ’cause -it hurts the feelings in the saftest place. Here, honey, drink it while -it’s steaming hot—hot as love.” - -“Well,” said Drusilla, taking the glass and sipping the cordial, “when -you return the glass, send word to the gentleman that I thank him very -much for his thoughtfulness in sending me this restorative, and that I -know it will do me good.” - -Five minutes after, when Drusilla, having finished her cordial, was -comfortably reposing on her couch, and the guard came for the glass, -mammy delivered her message thus: - -“Tell the young man as sent this that the madam says how she’s very much -obleeged to him for the hot stuff, which it has gone right to the right -place, and done her good and no mistake.” - -The next moment the three gentlemen passengers took their places inside -the coach, two of them sitting on the front seat in opposite corners, -and one of them, Dick, sitting on the middle seat beside mammy. - -The coach started again. The night was so dark, and the down-hill road -so steep, that its progress was cautiously slow. - -The male passengers wrapped themselves closely in their “mauds,” pulled -their caps down over their eyes, and composed themselves to sleep. - -Mammy opened her luncheon basket, and, having first hospitably offered -to share its contents with each and all of her fellow-passengers and -been politely refused, set to work and ate a very hearty supplementary -supper off the best it contained of food and drink, and then gathered up -the fragments and put them away. - -Finally, she took off her best bonnet—of the Quaker or Methodist -pattern,—hung it up beside her mistress’s, tied a little woollen shawl -over her head, wrapped a big one around her shoulders, and resigned -herself to rest. - -Soon all were sleeping except Drusilla, who, physically speaking, was -more favorably placed for sleep than any of the others. She lay very -comfortably, really rocked, not racked, by the swinging motion of the -coach as it rolled down hill. She was very tired, and so, in a bodily -sense, she almost enjoyed this soft reposing and easy rocking; but she -was not sleepy, for her mind was too active with the thoughts of what -lay around and before her. - -Where was Dick Hammond and Mr. Hopper going? Who was the tall, dark -gentleman they had taken up at Washington, and who certainly seemed to -be of the same party, since she had seen him signalling to Mr. Hopper? -Was their errand in the country connected with the same sad business -that was taking herself thither? - -Dick might be only going down in answer to his uncle’s invitation to the -wedding, she reflected. “But, no, not so!” she thought, instantly -repudiating the idea that Richard Hammond, after all that he had said in -reprobation of the iniquitous marriage, could possibly sanction it by -his presence. - -But what then was he going for? and why was he taking Mr. Hopper and -that other gentleman—who looked as if he were in some way connected with -the law, along with him? - -Was he going to denounce Alick to his uncle and cousin? Was he taking -Mr. Hopper down as a witness to Alick’s former marriage? And the -mysterious legal-looking gentleman as a prosecutor? - -As these thoughts chased themselves through her mind, she clasped her -hands and moaned. - -Oh, were they all three combining to go and overwhelm her Alick, and -cover him with humiliation and confusion? she asked herself; and for the -moment her Alick appeared to her, not as a criminal pursued by the just -avengers, but as a victim hunted down by relentless persecutors, of whom -she saw herself the chief. - -“Oh, why—oh, why couldn’t I have kept still and let him marry his cousin -and be happy with her? Oh, Alick! oh, poor Alick! But that would have -been a crime. Ah, Heaven, how hard is my lot to have to choose between -making him wretched or leaving him criminal!” she moaned, twisting her -fingers and weeping. - -She dreaded the coming of the morning. She feared the daylight that -might discover her face to these men, who she thought were confederated -to ruin her husband. She dreaded their recognizing and speaking to her. -But she was determined to have nothing to say to them, or to do with -them; for, under present circumstances she felt that any intercourse -between her and them would look too much like entering into their -conspiracy. And now her whole gentle soul revolted in horror from those -three harmless and unconscious gentlemen, who were reclining on the -seats before her, and “sleeping the sleep of innocence.” - -Yes; all in the coach were at rest except herself. Nor could she, with -all her mental distress, very long resist the influences that were -wooing her to repose. Her excessive bodily fatigue, combined with the -soporific qualities of the spiced cordial she had taken, the swinging -motion of the coach and the lulling sound of the falling rain, soon -overcame her consciousness, and she too slumbered in forgetfulness of -all her sorrows. - -She slept on for several hours, until she was awakened by the flashing -of lights, the hallooing of men and the trampling of beasts, as the -coach stopped to change horses at one of the nosiest post-houses on the -road. - -The other passengers were aroused at the same time. - -Mammy awoke from some dream of her professional duties, yawned, -stretching her jaws almost to dislocation, and thereby discovering a -most fearful abyss, and still dreaming, exclaiming: - -“Yaw-aw! Yes, honey! Tell the madam I’ll be up and dressed in one -minute. And tell that boy to run for the doctor. Ow! Yaw-aw!” - -But at this noisy station the people were very active. And before the -good woman could collect her faculties the coach started, and she -herself was again precipitated down into the land of “Nod.” - -Drusilla could not sleep again, so to ease her position she sat up and -reclined back in the corner of her seat, and in a dreamy, half-conscious -condition she gazed through the opposite window. - -At first it seemed but a solid wall of darkness past which the coach was -so swiftly whirling; but gradually, as her eyes accustomed themselves to -the circumstances, this darkness grew less opaque, this obscurity less -impenetrable, until at length she could dimly discern the boundaries of -mountains, valleys, forests, and the outlines of rocks, trees and -buildings. - -At long intervals she could perceive the form of some solitary -farm-house, with its barn, shed, cattle-pen, field, orchard and garden. -Half waking, she would wonder who lived and worked there; and half -sleeping, she would people the place with the beings of her dream. - -Sometimes she saw a lonely woodcutter’s cottage on the edge of a forest, -and vaguely conjectured what sort of life its denizens led. Once in such -a place she saw a single light burning in the tiny window of a little -upper chamber, in the interior of which the shadow of a woman was -bending over the shadow of a sick-bed. She had but a glimpse of all -this, as the coach rolled past, yet her ready sympathies went forth to -the poor watcher and the suffering invalid. - -Once she was treated to a brilliant picture in the darkness—an oasis in -the desert. It was a bran new, commodious country house, well seated on -a hill; lights were glancing from every window; music was borne forth -upon the wind; even in that inclement weather, somebody seemed to be -giving a great party and to be keeping it up all night. But before she -could observe more the coach had rushed by and left the festive scene -far behind. - -Once she noticed a little road-side hut, and in its doorway, a poor, old -woman, thinly clad, holding a lantern in her hand and bending outward in -an attitude of intense anxiety, as if looking for some one. “In her poor -way, she is watching and waiting, as I used to do. Has she a husband, or -perhaps a son, who is breaking her heart?” mused Drusilla, as the coach -swung onward and left this sad picture also in its rear. - -Such signs of life, however, were very rare, on that lonely road, at -that late hour. The few hamlets, farms and huts they passed were for the -most part shut up, dark and silent as graves. - -But they were now penetrating deeper and deeper into the mountain -fastnesses; and farm-houses and villages were fewer and farther between. -For miles and miles nothing but the most savage solitudes loomed in the -blackness of darkness through which they passed. And Drusilla, reclining -back in her corner, dreamily gazing forth through the rain-dimmed window -upon this obscure scene, vaguely wondered when these solitudes would be -peopled, when this wilderness would “bloom and blossom as the rose.” - -And so, while all her fellow-passengers were deeply buried in -unconsciousness, she dreamed on her waking dream. But often in the midst -of these reveries the sudden sharp recollection of her own trouble -pierced her heart like a sword and drew from her lips a bitter groan. -Then again the influence of the scene and hour, the obscurity, the -picturesqueness, the rocking motion of the coach, the soothing sound of -the falling rain without, the silence and stillness of all within, -lulled her senses to repose if not to sleep. - -Thus, slumbering, dreaming, starting, waking, she passed this weird -night, that ever in her after life seemed to her less like the reality -than like the phantasmagoria of a hasheesh-conjured vision. - -Towards morning, being very much wearied with sitting up, she lay down -again, and, as is usual with uneasy sleepers, just at daylight she fell -into a deep and dreamless sleep. - - - - - CHAPTER XLV. - DRUSILLA’S ARRIVAL. - - What shall she be ere night?—BYRON. - - -She slept profoundly and until she was rudely awakened by a shock of -noise and action. - -It was now broad day, and it was raining hard. The coach was drawn up -before the door of the large, low building, the one hotel in the -mountain hamlet. Hostlers and porters were crowding around it. - -Drusilla lay quietly in her shadowy recess, resolved not to move until -the male passengers had left the stage, which she saw they were -preparing to do. - -First, Dick Hammond climbed over mammy, who was still fast asleep, and -got out. Then the minister and the lawyer, one after the other, -surmounted the same obstruction and passed on the same way. And these -three gentlemen went into the bar-room. - -But mammy slept on. - -Drusilla sat up and quickly tightened her own dress and put on her -bonnet. And then she tried to wake her attendant, but without success; -for mammy did nothing but yawn and talk in her sleep and settle herself -to rest again; until the guard came, and, shaking her roughly, shouted -in her ears: - -“Come, come, old woman! wake up and get out! the coach stops here to -breakfast.” - -“Yaw! yaw! I just said how it would be! I know’d it would happen before -morning!” said mammy, yawning fearfully and then opening her eyes and -exclaiming: - -“Oh, dear! why, what’s this? Where is we, to be sure? Oh, I members! -This must be Frostville. And now I wonder if them there little red -morocky trunks is safe?” - -“Yes, yes, nurse, of course they are safe. And now come and do let us -get into the hotel as quickly as possible,” said Drusilla, impatiently, -for she saw that the people in charge of the stage were vexed at the -delay. - -“Why, Lor’, honey, is _you_ awake at last? Well, I declare! How sound -you _did_ sleep all night, to be sure! and a blessed thing for you, too; -but as for me, I couldn’t close my eyes all the whole night, for -watching of you, and thinking of them there two little red morocky -trunks. I wonder if they _is_ safe,” said mammy, uneasily. - -“Yes, yes, blame you! Come, get out! I can’t stop here waiting on you -all day,” said the guard, half angrily. And with very little ceremony he -bundled the old woman out of the coach. - -And then he hoisted an umbrella, and held it over the delicate young -invalid as he helped her to alight, and led her across to the private -door of the hotel. - -Mammy followed, dragging all her belongings, and grumbling: - -“I haven’t seen them there little red morocky trunks yet, which it is my -private belief that the guards is in league with the highway robbers, -same as they say the p’lice is with the burglarians in the towns; and -they ’wides spiles, share and share alike, that I do. Goodness knows, -one needs to have one’s eyes all around one’s head, and all of ’em wide -open all the time, to watch these fellers.” - -“Nurse, be quiet. The trunks are safe; or, if they are not, the loss is -mine,” said Drusilla. - -“The loss may be yours, but the illconweniency is mine, ma’am. How in -the world am I to do my perfessional dooty without my proper -conveniences?” inquired mammy. - -But before her question could be answered, the guard had conducted her -mistress into the best parlor of the humble hotel. - -It was a very pleasant place to come into out of the rain; a spacious -room with a low ceiling, and an ample fire-place with a huge fire of -pine and oak wood roaring and blazing up the chimney; on the floor a -home made carpet; at the windows, home made blue paper blinds; along the -walls, country manufactured chip-bottomed chairs and chintz-covered -sofas; over the wooden mantel-piece, the oldest fashioned looking-glass, -ornamented with peacock’s feathers;—altogether it was a room breathing -of real rustic life, and very refreshing after velvet carpets, satin -damask draperies, gilded chairs, and cheval mirrors. - -Many doors opened from this large, low parlor into many other rooms, for -in this mountain region the houses were all built on one floor and of -one story, to protect them from injury by the high winds of that -locality. - -Drusilla stood for a little while before this beautiful fire, basking in -its genial warmth; and then to relieve her long cramped limbs, she -walked up and down the cheerful room and looked through the windows upon -the busy scene without, in which landlord, postmaster, coachman, guard -and hostlers seemed all to take an important part. - -Tired of this view, she turned from the windows, and then, from an open -door on the left side of the fire-place, she had a view of the long -coffee-room, in which was set forth a very inviting breakfast. There all -her fellow-passengers, as well as many other persons, were impatiently -waiting for the signal to sit down to the table. - -Drusilla not wishing to join this company, went to the bell and rang it -peremptorily. - -A chamber-maid answered the summons. - -“Can I have a bedroom at once?” inquired the lady. - -“Oh, yes, ma’am, certainly. This way, if you please,” smiled the woman, -opening one of the many doors and leading the way into an inner chamber -of the same general character as the parlor, except that it was -furnished with a bed and a toilet table, with pure white dimity -hangings, and a wash-stand with a plenty of fresh water and clean -towels. - -Drusilla threw herself into the white draperied easy chair, before the -blazing wood-fire, and then inquired— - -“Can I have breakfast for myself and my attendant served here?” - -“Oh, yes, ma’am, certainly,” assented the woman, in what seemed to be -her stereotyped phrase. - -“Then I would like to have it soon, if you please,” said Drusilla. - -The girl went away to execute her orders. - -Drusilla, left alone with her nurse, laid off her bonnet, and bathed her -face and hands and arranged her hair. - -While engaged in this refreshing process, she overheard voices speaking -in the parlor she had just left. - -They appeared to belong to Dick and his companions, and they seemed to -be discussing with the landlord the speediest manner in which to -prosecute their journey. - -“You say the new Bee-line of coaches across country is started, -landlord?” spoke Dick. - -“Yes, sir; started on Monday. The road was first opened on Saturday.” - -“At what hour do they pass here?” - -“At half-past ten, sir, almost to a minute.” - -“And they pass directly through Hammondsville?” - -“Directly, sir.” - -“And Hammondsville is within six or eight miles of Old Lyon Hall, while -Saulsburg is nine or ten miles off. Besides, at Hammondsville, I shall -be near enough to my place, Hammond Hill, to get my own horses, with -altogether a better chance of reaching our destination to-night. Come! I -have a good mind to have my luggage taken off, and to wait for the -Bee-line coach. What do you say, gentlemen!” inquired Dick. - -“I say that we had best first be sure that we can get places in the new -coach before we give up our seats in the old one. ‘A bird in the hand is -worth two in the bush,’ you know,” answered the lawyer. - -“What are the chances of our obtaining places, landlord?” inquired the -clergyman. - -“How many places do you want, gentlemen?” inquired ‘my host.’ - -“Only three; and, rather than miss, we would not mind taking outside -places.” - -“Oh, be at ease, sir; I can almost insure you places on these terms, -either outside or inside. At this season of the year, the coaches are -very seldom crowded.” - -“All right!” said Dick, “I will go and have our luggage taken off this -one.” - -“Thank Heaven, we are going to lose our fellow-passengers!” exclaimed -Drusilla. - -“I thanks Heaven, too, for that same. But long’s that young man’s gwine -to have his luggidge took off I must go and see that he don’t get hold -of them there two little red morocky trunks,” said mammy, starting off -for the door. - -“Indeed you shall do no such thing,” said Drusilla, laying hold of her. - -“But why musn’t I then?” - -“Because in the first place the trunks are in no sort of danger. -Gentlemen are not thieves.” - -“Oh, indeed!” - -“And in the second place, I would rather lose the whole of our luggage -than have that gentleman recognize you, as I believe he fortunately -failed to do last night. Sit down and keep quiet. I insist upon it, -nurse!” - -The old woman dropped down into a chair, grumbling. - -“And I’d like to know what we is to do if them there two little red -morocky trunks is lost or stolen!” - -“The risk is mine alone, nurse. And now hush, for here is the waiter -come to lay the cloth for our breakfast,” said Drusilla. - -Very soon a most delicious morning meal was laid before them—fragrant -coffee, maple-sugar, rich cream, hot rolls, fresh butter, venison -steaks, pure honey—luxuries to be found in their perfections only on the -mountains. - -Mammy inhaled the aromas arising from this breakfast table as though -every breath was a delight. She coaxed and scolded her mistress into -making a very good meal. - -And then she made a very much better one herself. - -After this they prepared to resume their journey. - -In going out to take her seat in the coach, Drusilla drew down her veil -to avoid recognition, in any chance-meeting with Mr. Hammond. She need -not have done so, for poor Dick was in the bar-room treating his -friends. - -The weather was worse than ever. From the clouds above the rain was -pouring in torrents; from the valleys below the vapors were rising in -heavy fogs. The boundaries of the mountain scenery were lost in mist. - -The day was as dim with a white obscurity as the night had been with a -black one. - -Drusilla and her attendant had the inside of the coach all to themselves -for the next few hours. - -Drusilla, almost worn out with her journey, reclined at nearly full -length upon the back seat. - -Mammy, having asked and obtained leave, lay down upon the front seat. - -The remainder of their journey passed monotonously enough, being varied -only by the stopping of the coach at the regular post-houses to change -horses, and by the altercations between mammy and the guard relative to -the safety of “them there two little red morocky trunks,” which the -guard mentally consigned to the demon full fifty times before they -reached their destination. - -About noon they stopped to change horses at a small hamlet, where they -were joined by other passengers—two honest, good-humored-looking -countrymen, who immediately upon their entrance, began to talk of the -great wedding which was to come off that same night at Old Lyon Hall. - -From their talk Drusilla understood that she was approaching the -neighborhood of the old manor. - -Deeply interested in the subject of their conversation, she first forced -herself to listen calmly, and then to speak. - -“Can you tell me how far we are from Old Lyon Hall?” she inquired of the -elder man. - -“Well, goodness, no, Miss, not exactly; though if I were to hazard a -guess, I should say betwixt twenty and thirty miles, more or less,” -answered the man. - -“What is the nearest point at which the road passes the hall?” she next -inquired. - -“Well, for the life of me, Miss, I could not tell! But the nearest -stopping-place is Saulsburg; and that’s pretty near twenty miles off -here, I know. Might you be going to the Old Hall, Miss?” inquired the -traveller, feeling quite free to follow her example and ask questions in -his turn. - -“I am going to Saulsburg,” answered Drusilla, evasively. - -“Ah!—There’s to be a grand wedding at the old Hall to-night, Miss,” said -the traveller. - -“So I have heard,” coldly answered Drusilla, almost regretting that she -had opened a conversation with this traveller, and wishing now to close -it. - -But the good man was well started on the great subject of the day and -the place, and he would talk of nothing but the wedding, and to nobody -but Drusilla, thinking, doubtless, that a lady, and a young lady too, -would be most likely to feel interested in the theme. - -Fortunately for Drusilla, her talkative fellow-passenger got out at the -very next stopping-place. - -Now, having passed the greatest range of the mountains, they were coming -into a rather better settled portion of the country, and way-passengers -were getting in or out at every post-house; and the theme of -conversation with every one of these was—not the crops, nor the races, -nor the elections, but—the grand wedding to come off that night at old -Lyon Hall. - -About three o’clock in the afternoon they reached the little hamlet of -Saulsburg, consisting merely of a small inn and a half a dozen cottages, -nestled at the foot of the Wild Mountain and upon the banks of the Wild -River. - -Here Drusilla and her attendant got out, in a pouring rain. - -The kind-hearted guard hoisted his large umbrella, and led her into the -shelter of the little inn parlor, and then went back to the coach to see -to the removal of her luggage. He found mammy in high dispute with the -porter—subject of debate, of course, “them there two little red morocky -trunks.” - -“Here they are!” said the guard, as the treasures were taken from the -boot and set upon the ground; “here they are, blast ’em, and I’m blowed -if I don’t wish I may never set eyes on you or your blamed trunks again -as long as ever I live in this world.” - -“And so I sees my little red morocky trunks safe, I shan’t tear the -clothes offen my back for grief if I never sees _you_ again; so there -now!” retorted mammy, as she loaded herself with shawls, carpet-bags, -and umbrellas, and followed the porter who carried the precious little -trunks into the house. - -The luggage was all set down in the hall, and, leaving it there, mammy -went into the parlor, where she found her mistress still in her -travelling dress, impatiently walking up and down the floor. - -“I want to see the landlord, nurse. I have rung twice, but no one has -come. You go and try to find him and bring him here. I must have a -carriage to convey me to Old Lyon Hall this afternoon.” - -“My goodness! ain’t you tired of travelling yet? And must you set off on -another journey again directly,” exclaimed mammy, in dismay. - -“I am not at the end of my first journey yet, nurse, nor shall I be -until I reach old Lyon Hall. It is there that I am bound. So go now and -call the landlord to me,” urged Drusilla. - -Before mammy could either obey or expostulate, the landlord himself came -in, in answer to Drusilla’s first summons. - -“Can I have a close carriage immediately, to take me to old Lyon Hall?” -anxiously inquired Drusilla. - -The landlord looked surprised at such an unusual demand and, after -staring and rubbing his head, answered, slowly: - -“Why, bless your heart, Miss, there ain’t such a thing as a close -carriage in the whole willage!” - -“Well, an open one then—any sort of one, so that it can be got ready at -once,” said Drusilla, impatiently. - -“But there ain’t any sort of a carriage about the place, Miss.” - -“A gig, then, a gig would do,” said Drusilla, eagerly. - -“We haven’t got such a thing, Miss.” - -“Good heavens, sir, I _must_ have some conveyance to take me to Old Lyon -Hall this afternoon. I do not care what it costs!” said Drusilla, -desperately. - -“Oh, you’ll be on your way to the wedding there, Miss?” - -“Yes, yes, I am going there. Can you get me a conveyance of some sort -from some one in the neighborhood? I will pay well for the use of any -sort of a carriage to take me to the old hall. And I will pay you well -for your trouble in getting it for me. Answer, quickly—can you?” - -“Dear me, how anxious young folks is for weddings, to be sure!—Stay, -let’s see—Yes! There’s old Mr. Simpkins—he would hire his carryall, I -know, and glad to do it.” - -“Get it, then! I will pay whatever he asks. How long will it take you to -get it?” asked Drusilla, breathlessly. - -“Why, you see,” said the landlord, very leisurely, “Old man Simpkins he -lives about a mile from here; and if I put a boy on horseback and send -him right off we might get the carryall here at the door inside of an -hour.” - -“Do it then at once; pray hurry! I will pay you in proportion to the -haste that you make.” - -The leisurely landlord sauntered out of the parlor to give his -directions. - -Drusilla paced up and down the floor in great excitement. The nearer she -came to her journey’s end the more anxious and agitated she felt. - -Mammy stood and watched her in growing wonder. Suddenly mammy spoke out: - -“What wedding this they all talking ’bout? I thought we was agoing to -see a wery sick man, not a wedding.” - -“Perhaps to see both, nurse! But pray do not talk to me if you can help -it. I am scarcely sane!” - -“Which such has been my opinion for some time past,” said mammy, -sententiously, leaving her patient to pace up and down the room until -the latter had paced off some of her excitement. - -The landlord put his head into the door, saying: - -“The boy has gone after the carriage, Miss, and you may rely on his -being back here in an hour’s time.” - -“Thanks. How far do you really think it is from this place to old Lyon -Hall?” - -“Why Miss, some people calls it ten miles, but I don’t believe it is -more than eight at the outside.” - -“And how long will it take for me to get there?” - -“Let me see,” said the landlord in his leisurely way. “It’s three -o’clock now, ain’t it? Yes—well, the boy’ll be back by four, and if you -start then you’ll get there by six or seven. You’ll be there in time to -dress for the wedding, Miss, which I hear is to be performed by special -license at eight o’clock in the evening.” - -“Very well. Thank you.” - -“And now, Miss, is there anything else we can do for you?” inquired the -slow host. - -“No; thanks. Yes! you may send a chamber-maid here,” replied Drusilla, -incoherently, for in her intense excitement she scarcely knew what she -was in need of, or what she was talking about. - -When the host had taken his little round head out of the doorway, mammy, -who had kept silence for some time, said: - -“Now, ma’am, if so it is that you _will_ go farther and fare worse -to-night, and if you have an hour before you I strongly ’vises of you to -take a bedroom and lie down until it is time for you to start, and then -to take a cup of tea before you _do_ start. You must keep up your -strength. If the matter you come ’bout is so very important, it won’t do -for you to break down, you know.” - -Drusilla stopped in her excited walk and reflected. The advice of the -nurse was very good. There were other reasons besides care for her own -comfort to induce her to engage rooms here. For one thing, she intended -to leave her nurse in charge of the luggage, for she was resolved to -have no more witnesses to the humiliation of her poor Alick than was -absolutely unavoidable; and for another thing, she was resolved to stay -no longer at the Old Hall than was necessary to do her painful errand -there, but to return as soon as possible to the inn. Therefore, she -answered mammy assentingly: - -“You are right, nurse. You generally are so, in fact. Here comes the -chamber-maid I sent for, and I will order rooms.” - -A bright-eyed negro girl stood in the doorway, curtseying and waiting -orders. - -In a few words the lady gave them. - -The girl went away to obey them. - -And in ten minutes Drusilla found herself in a small, clean, warm room, -where she unloosed her clothes and lay down upon the bed, and, overcome -by fatigue and excitement, fell fast asleep. - -“Well, thank the Goodness Gracious for that. But who in the world would -have thought it?” said mammy, as she quietly closed the shutters and -darkened the room, and sat down to watch by her patient to try to guard -her from disturbance until the carriage should come. - -But the landlord’s hour stretched to two, and still the carriage did not -appear and still the sleeper slept on. - -At last, however, mammy heard the sound of wheels. - -She went to the window, cautiously unclosed the shutters, looked out, -and saw the most dilapidated old carryall she had ever set her eyes upon -approaching the house. - -“That’s it! and a purty object it is!” said mammy, as she went and -looked to see what time it was by her mistress’s watch that lay upon the -dressing-table. It was a quarter past five. - -“Oh, dear me!” said the old woman in dismay, “when she finds out how -late it is, and she so anxious to be off, she’ll just go and fling -herself into fits, and then there! Let see! I gwine save her all that, -and ’ceive her for her own good.” - -And so saying, mammy opened the watch and turned back the hands from a -quarter _past five_ to a quarter _to four_. - -Then she stole out of the room and told the waiter to bring a cup of tea -and a round of toast upstairs quicker than he ever did anything in his -life before. - -Then she went back to her patient, lamenting that she must wake up out -of such a refreshing sleep. - -But to her surprise and satisfaction, she found Drusilla already up and -standing before the dressing-table, looking at her watch. - -“Oh, ma’am, are you awake? I’m so glad you got your sleep out! You _did_ -get it out, didn’t you, honey? Nobody waked you, did they?” - -“No, nurse, I woke because I had slept long enough; and I feel much -strengthened and quite equal to pursue my journey. It is ten minutes to -four. I am so glad I didn’t oversleep myself. I suppose the carriage -will be here soon.” - -“The carriage has almost just this minute come, and a purty ramshackly -old concern it is too.” - -“Never mind, nurse, so that it will take me to my destination. Come, -help me to dress quickly. Dear me, what a very dark afternoon,” said -Drusilla, going nearer the window for light. - -“Yes, ma’am, the clouds do make it very dark indeed,” said mammy, -smiling in her sleeve at the deception she had played off upon her -mistress—“but here, ma’am, here comes the waiter with lights and the tea -tray,” she added, as she arose and set out a little table. - -“I have no time to spend in eating and drinking,” said Drusilla, as she -hastily put on her bonnet. - -“But you must keep up your strength, ma’am,” urged mammy leading her -charge to the table and making her sit down at it, while she herself -poured out a cup of tea and handed it to her. - -“Nurse,” said Drusilla, as she received the cup from the old woman, “I -shall leave you here in charge of the—_two little red morocco -trunks_—until I return.” - -“My goodness, honey, you will never think of going alone?” - -“I must, nurse. There is no reason why I should not. I feel quite equal -to the ride. I am going to see my husband.” - -“Well, honey, I know if you will do a thing, _you will do it_! When will -you send for me and the luggage, honey?” - -“I may _come_ for you and the luggage even to-night.” - -“No, you mustn’t, indeed! No use for you to do that, nyther. I reckon I -ain’t afraid to stay alone in a decent inn all night for once in a -night.” - -“Very well, nurse; then you may expect me to come or send for you -to-morrow. And now here is my purse—do you pay the landlord and make -yourself comfortable. I am going now,” said Drusilla, rising to put on -her waterproof cloak. - -The nurse helped her on with that and with her overshoes, and then -accompanied her down stairs and saw her safely into the old carryall. - -“And here’s your umberel, honey. And you driver boy! when the madam gets -out, you be sure to hoist the umberel and hold it over her head to ’vent -her getting wet.” - -“All right, ma’am, I won’t forget to do it,” said the lad, cracking his -whip, starting his old horse, and making the dilapidated vehicle rattle -and shake, at every turn of the wheels, as if it would drop to pieces. - -Drusilla sat back in her seat, uncomfortably jolted in the miserable old -carriage over that rough road, until, when about a mile from the house, -it actually and hopelessly broke down. - -When Drusilla was sure of this mishap, she took off her bonnet, drew the -hood of her waterproof cloak over her head, and set forth to walk the -distance to Old Lyon Hall. - -Of that heroic effort, and of its successful issue—her safe arrival—the -reader is already informed. - - - - - CHAPTER XLVI. - THE DESPERATE REMEDY. - - Let that pass, too. There breathes not one, - Who would not do as I have done.—BYRON. - - -The bride elect listened to the words of the forsaken wife, first in -surprise and incredulity, then in pity and indignation, and last in a -rapture of relief, ineffable and indescribable, and only to be equalled -by the ecstacy a condemned criminal must feel when at the last moment -before execution he receives a full pardon. - -When all was told, Drusilla sat pale and despairing. Anna flushed and -resolute. - -“Not for myself,” said the poor young wife, “not for myself, Heaven -knows, and not for you, but for his sake have I done this thing—to save -him from doing, in his madness, a deed that the law might construe into -a crime and punish with degradation. But oh, Miss Lyon, forgive me if in -coming here I have brought you much sorrow!” - -“Hush! you have brought me no sorrow, but a great deliverance,” said -Anna with a sigh of infinite relief. - -“Then you never loved him—as I do!” exclaimed Drusilla, raising her -large eyes, full of questioning wonder to the face of Anna. - -Miss Lyon smiled haughtily, for all reply. - -“That, at least, is well,” mused the young wife. - -Anna arose, still flushed and resolute. - -“Give me that document of which you spoke, my child,” she said, -extending her hand. - -Drusilla drew from her bosom the little black silk bag, took from it the -piece of paper in question, and laid it before Anna. - -Anna read it over, with smiling eyes and a curling lip. - -“Does it prove or disprove my marriage?” anxiously inquired Drusilla. - -“I cannot tell, Drusilla; I do not know. But so much is certain—_your_ -fate, Alick’s, and your unborn child’s, and also my fate and Dick’s—all -hang upon this precious little piece of paper, for which I would not -take a mint of money,” said Anna, earnestly. - -“And yet you cannot tell me whether it proves or disproves my marriage.” - -“No; for I am not sufficiently learned in the law,” said Anna, moving -towards the door. - -“You are going out?” said Drusilla, uneasily. - -“Yes; stay here until I come back, which will be in a few minutes.” - -“Oh, Miss Lyon! Miss Lyon, do not go to him yet! And do not upbraid him -when you see him! Your provocation may have been very great, but wait -until you are cool, and then you will be just,” pleaded the young wife, -rising and laying her hands upon the lady’s robes, to stay her. - -“Child, I am not going to him. And I shall _never_ upbraid him,” replied -Anna, with a superb and beautiful scorn. - -“Then you go——?” - -“To my grandfather’s study!” - -“To denounce him to his uncle? Oh, do not—not yet, not just yet! Wait, -wait till you are calm! till you can speak only the words of justice and -mercy. Do not denounce him yet!” - -“Drusilla, I am not going to denounce him now or ever. Wait _you_, and -see what I shall do!” - -“What, what?” - -“I shall save the miserable sinner, if he is to be saved at all!” - -“But, how? oh, how?” - -“Wait _you_, and trust me!” answered Anna, flashing out of the room and -taking the mysterious little document with her. - -She walked—no, in the exhilaration of her spirits, she almost danced -down the hall, towards her grandfather’s little study, over the great -entrance. - -As she tripped on she noticed the chamber-doors on each side wide open, -and the fire light within shining down on the polished dark oak floors. -In many of the rooms, the chamber-maids were putting on fresh logs. - -“I think you need not take that trouble. I fancy there will be no -wedding guests here to-night,” said Anna, smiling, as she passed them. - -“Mr. Richard has come, Miss,” replied one of the women. - -“Ah!” exclaimed Anna, stopping short with a beating heart. A few seconds -she paused to recover composure, and then she rushed on. - -“Well, my darling! have you come to show yourself to me in all your -bridal glory, before you go down to be married? Ah! truly, you look very -beautiful, my Anna. May Heaven make your spirit even more beautiful than -its outward form,” said the fine old soldier, reaching out his hand to -his grand-daughter, as she entered his room, and drawing her towards -him. - -“I am very glad that you are pleased with me, grandfather,” she said, as -she seated herself on his knee. - -“You look happier now, my Anna, than you did half an hour ago.” - -“I feel happier, dear sir.” - -“And what makes the difference?” he smiled. - -“‘A change has come over the spirit of my dream;’ that is all,” laughed -Anna. - -“Ah, my dear! feminine caprice, but I am glad of it. Well, you are -ready, Alick is ready, I am ready, and Dick is here; but we have no -bridesmaid and no minister.” - -“Yes, grandpa, we have a bridesmaid!” - -“Ah! I am glad of that! Which of the six young ladies is it who has -braved the storm for love of you?” - -“Annie,” answered Miss Lyon, evasively, meaning our Anna Drusilla, but -wishing her grandpa to understand another Anna, as he did, for he -immediately exclaimed. - -“Ah! little Annie Seymour! Well she lived nearest! and she must answer -for the whole six. But my dear, the carriage has not yet returned with -the minister.” - -“The way is long and the roads are very bad. Doubtless he will come; but -it may be late. Was there a special license got out for us, dear -grandpa?” inquired Anna, speaking with assumed carelessness. - -“Why, of course, there was, my dear!” answered the old soldier, -elevating his eyebrows in astonishment, at the question. - -“Who got it?” dear grandpa. - -“Why, Alick, to be sure! who else?” - -“Who has it now, sir?” - -“Bless my soul, what an inquisitive little puss. What is it to you who -has it? Are you afraid it is not all right? Would you like to inspect it -for yourself?” laughed the general. - -“If you please; yes, sir, I should,” answered Anna, archly. - -“Lest there should be any informality in it, eh?” - -“Such things have happened, sir; but it is not the fear of that which -prompts me; for I have always had a curiosity to look at a special -marriage license; so if Alick has it, please get it from him, that I may -gratify this wish. I only want it for a few minutes.” - -“Well, of all the whims of whimsical women, yours is certainly the most -absurd!” - -“Will you get the license away from Alick, and let me look at it -grandpa?” - -“You persist in this?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Then, fortunately, I have not got to go to Alick with such a ridiculous -request as the loan of a license. I have it here with me.” - -“You have it?” - -“Yes. You see Alick, thinking from the state of the weather, and the -looks of things generally, that he should have no groomsman for the -ceremony, put his marriage license and the minister’s fee both in one -envelope, and requested me, when the proper time should come, to hand it -over to Dr. Barbar. But, now I hear that Dick has arrived—having so far -conquered himself as to come to the wedding. I mean to conscript him -into the service, arm him with this paper, and make him do duty as -groomsman.” - -“Where is the packet, dear grandpa?” - -“Here, my dear, since you must needs see the license (which the -officiating clergyman scarcely ever does, as he takes its contents for -granted), you may read it at your leisure, while I go down stairs and -inquire if my messenger has returned from the parsonage,” said General -Lyon, as he handed a white embossed envelope to the bride elect, and -then left the room. - -She sank down into an easy chair and opened the envelope, which of -course was not sealed. She took out the marriage license, in which she -found folded a five hundred dollar bank note. - -With a curling lip and flashing eyes she read over the form of license, -and then, with a smile of scorn and triumph, she put it on the glowing -fire and watched it blaze up and burn to ashes. - -Then she took that mysterious little document given her by Drusilla, -wrapped it around the big bank note and put both in the envelope and -folded it neatly. - -“Now, Mr. Alexander Lyon, whoever you may marry to-night, you will -certainty not marry me!” she mused, maliciously, as she sat and waited -for her grandfather’s return. Presently she heard footsteps coming up -the corridor; but they were not those of the old General. - -She arose to her feet and her heart stood still. - -Dick Hammond entered. - -“Anna! You here? Pardon me, I expected only to find my uncle,” he -exclaimed, in a voice vibrating with emotion. - -“Dick! dear Dick! you are welcome! Shake hands, Dick. No, take it! it is -a free hand now. I know all, Dick!” exclaimed Anna trembling with excess -of agitation. - -He clasped her hand and carried it to his lips. - -“I came here to tell your grandfather everything and to prove all that I -should tell. But I have been anticipated.” - -“Yes, Drusilla is here.” - -“I knew she was on her way. I came a night’s journey with her in the -coach. But I saw that she tried to escape recognition by me; for what -reason I could not guess; so, not to trouble her with my presence, in -the morning I got off the coach and took another route. I feared that -she would not be able to continue her journey.” - -“She arrived this evening,” said Anna, calmly. - -“And she has told you all?” - -“All.” - -“And _what_ does your grandfather think of this?” - -“He does not know it.” - -“How? not know it?” - -“No, Dick. Drusilla told me only. I have not told my grandfather, nor do -I intend to do so.” - -“Then I myself I will denounce the scoundrel to my uncle,” exclaimed -Hammond, shaking with passion. - -“No, Dick, we will not denounce him. We will do a deal better than that. -Listen, Dick: My dear old grandpa says he intends to conscript you into -the service to do duty as groomsman.” - -“He does!” exclaimed Hammond, with his eyes flashing. - -“Yes, and, Dick, you must consent.” - -“Consent! _I_ consent! Anna, do you mean this iniquitous marriage to go -on?” - -“Yes, I do. And Dick, you must be groomsman and hand the license and the -fee both over to the minister. See, here they are in this pretty -envelope. Grandpa got it ready for you. So, Dick, you must do it.” - -“If I do, may I he eternally consigned to the deepest pit in—” - -—“Hush, Dick, and don’t go off at a tangent. Look me in the face, sir! -right in the eyes!” - -“Anna, what do you mean?” he inquired, meeting her steady gaze. - -“Do you see anything ‘iniquitous’ in my countenance?” she asked. - -“No; but I see a mystery there.” - -“A holy mystery, as I suppose a ‘pious fraud’ may be called. Now, sir, -will you open this envelope, which is to be entrusted to you, to be -delivered to the minister, and examine its contents?” - -“Why,” said Dick in perplexity, as he looked at the enclosure, “this -is—” - -“Yes, it _is_. I have taken advantage of my grandpa’s absence to burn my -marriage license and substitute this one. And _you_ must hand it -enclosed in the envelope, with the fee, to the minister, when we stand -up to be married. And _now_, Dick, do you begin to see daylight?” -laughed Anna. - -“I think I do. Yet I do not quite comprehend yet. You mean—” - -“Here comes my grandfather, and we have not a minute more for -explanation. Play the part assigned to you—blindly, if you must—and -trust me with the issue. Will you, Dick?” - -“Yes, I WILL, Anna.” - -“And Dick, here, listen quick!—Just before I am to be sent for, go down -into the great drawing-room and put out two thirds of the wax candles. I -want a subdued light, not an illumination there. Will you remember, -Dick, and do it yourself, so as to insure its being done?” - -“Yes, Anna, I will; and now I _do_ begin to understand you.” - -“Hush, here he is!” whispered Miss Lyon, as her grandfather came to the -door. - -“Ah, Dick, my dear boy! how are you? so glad to see you!” exclaimed old -General Lyon, entering and holding out his hand to Richard Hammond, who -took and pressed it affectionately. - -“So very glad to see you here, Dick! Your very first visit to Old Lyon -Hall! And now I shall expect you to stay and comfort me when my young -people are gone.” - -“I shall be very happy to do so, sir,” answered Dick, sincerely. - -“But how the deuce did you find your way here, through this wilderness -of a country, and over these dreadful roads?” - -“Oh, I inquired of your protegées, the old Scotch emigrants, at the -turnpike gate,” answered Dick, laughing. - -“Old Andy and Jenny. Ay, poor souls! Well, Dick, you are here in a good -hour. All our guests have failed us—groomsmen, and bridesmaids, and all, -except little Annie Seymour. And so you must play groomsman, and lead -Annie down.” - -“I shall be very happy to do so, sir, if Alick desires it.” - -“Oh, yes, he does. I heard that you were here, and so I looked in at -Alick’s room and mentioned the matter to him. And he declared that he -would be very much obliged if you would do him so much honor. So, you -will see it is all right.” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“And here, Dick, is the license and the fee, both in this envelope, -which it will be your duty as groomsman to hand to the officiating -minister.” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“And, by the way, I hear wheels, and his carriage must be coming,” said -the old gentleman, leaving the study to inquire. - -Meanwhile, the bride elect had returned to her own room. - -Drusilla still sat there in the easy chair, with her hands clasped upon -her lap and her head bowed upon her breast. - -Anna went and took a seat beside her, and said, with earnestness almost -amounting to solemnity: - -“Drusilla, if you wish to save Alick from guilt and remorse, and -yourself and your child from wrong and shame, you must place your -destiny in my hands to-night, and do as I direct you.” - -The helpless young wife looked up in the lady’s face, and murmured -mournfully: - -“It is a great trust you seek, Miss Lyon.” - -“It _is_, Drusilla, a very great trust; yet I seek it. It is also for -you a very great trial, yet I ask you to meet it.” - -“I would meet anything for Alick’s sake, Miss Lyon, if I may save him, -as you say. Please to explain yourself, Miss Lyon,” she said. - -“Drusilla, you know that Alexander Lyon is waiting and expecting to -marry me to-night,” said the bride elect. - -“Yes,” moaned the wronged wife. - -“And my grandfather and his household are equally waiting and expecting -to witness a wedding.” - -“Yes.” - -“Well, they must not any of them be disappointed.” - -“Ah, what do you mean?” inquired Drusilla, with an anxious sigh. - -“Not to marry Alick myself, you may rest assured,” answered Anna, -disdainfully. - -“Ah, no, for you could not do that.” - -“Of course not, as I consider him already married. You are his wife, in -right, if not in law, Drusilla,” said Miss Lyon, emphatically. - -“I _know_ I am so by right, and I _believe_ I am so by law,” answered -Drusilla solemnly. - -“Yet those who know more of law than we do differ from us. And this -makes your position, Drusilla, very doubtful, very unsafe, and deeply -humiliating.” - -“I know it, I feel it, through all my darkened spirit and in every pulse -of my breaking heart.” - -“This state of affairs should not be permitted to exist for a moment, -especially—oh, most especially—as you are so soon to be a mother. No -question of the lawfulness of your union with Alexander Lyon should be -permitted to arise.” - -“No, no, no!” - -“But how to silence such questions forever, how to legalize your union -and legitimatize your child—there is the difficulty.” - -Drusilla moaned, but spoke no word in answer. - -“If I were to go now to Alick and tell him of your presence in the -house, and urge him to resign my hand and to do you justice, he would -not hear me.” - -“No, he would not,” wailed Drusilla. - -“If I were to appeal to my grandfather, the high-spirited old soldier -would—kick him out doors!” - -“Ah!” gasped Drusilla, pierced more sharply by this idea of prospective -insult to her Alick than she could be by any ignomy that might cover -herself. - -“Then what is to be done?” inquired Anna. - -“Nothing, nothing,” sighed Drusilla. “I wish I were dead. I wish I were -in Heaven!” - -“Yes; but you see we can’t die just when the whim seizes us; and if we -could, we shouldn’t go to Heaven by _that_ means.” - -“Ah, Heaven have mercy! have mercy on me, for my state is desperate!” - -“Yes, Drusilla, your state _is_ desperate—desperate enough to drive you -to despair.” - -“Despair! I have lived in it for months. I shall die in it!” - -“If you do you will never see Heaven at all. For despair is the last and -most fatal of sins. But you needn’t give up to it just yet!” - -“Oh, what do you mean? What hope have I in this world?” - -“The hope that lasts as long as life. Listen, Drusilla. I said that your -state was desperate—not that your cause was lost. ‘Desperate cases -require desperate remedies.’ Your case is such a one, and my remedy is -such a one.” - -“What remedy have you for me? However desperate, however dangerous, I -will not refuse it or shrink from it! I would dare anything, suffer -anything, to save my Alick from his sin and win him back to me again!” -said the devoted wife, clasping her hands and gazing imploringly into -the eyes of the lady who seemed now to hold her destiny. - -“Then attend to me, Drusilla, while I divulge my plan—the _only_ plan by -which you can save your Alick from present guilt and future remorse, and -yourself and your child from the greatest wrong and the deepest -shame—the only plan, Drusilla, by which you may hope to WIN YOUR WAY!” - -“Speak on, tell me! I listen!” gasped Drusilla, in a breathless voice. - -“Well, as I said before, Alexander Lyon is confidently hoping to lead -his bride before the minister this evening. His hopes must be -fulfilled—in you, Drusilla!” - -“In me!” - -“Yes, in you! You must enact the bride this evening.” - -“In the name of Heaven, what is this that you are proposing to me?” -exclaimed Drusilla, gazing in wonder at Miss Lyon. - -“That you shall take my place in this evening’s solemn farce and be fast -married to your husband, if you never were before,” said Anna, calmly. - -“Impossible, Miss Lyon! He would reject me at first sight, and I!—I -should die of mortification!” - -“Yes, if he should be permitted to recognize you, he might reject you. -But he is not to be favored with a sight of your face until he is -irrecoverably bound to you.” - -“Even then he would renounce me—renounce me with maledictions.” - -“Well, let him! I should thank him for freeing me, if I were you. Why -should you care, so that his great wrong to you and to his child is -righted—so that your good name is redeemed from unmerited reproach, and -your innocent child from undeserved shame? After you are fast -married—let him go, if he will, say I!” - -“Oh, Miss Lyon! Miss Lyon! I never deceived any one in all my life! -Shall I begin by deceiving my dear Alick?” she said, wringing her poor -little hands again. - -“Drusilla, this will be no deception, but a pious fraud—if ever there -was such a thing in the world!” - -“Oh, Miss Lyon, you mean well; but I could not practise this ‘pious -fraud’ upon any one, least of all upon my dear Alick! I could not, Miss -Lyon, I could not!” fervently exclaimed the loyal young creature, -tightly clasping her hands. - -“Then you accept the dishonor to which he has doomed you, rather than -clear your fame in the manner I propose?” said Anna, curling her lovely -lip. - -“Yes Miss Lyon, yes; rather than force myself in this way upon my dear -Alick, if I have really no right to his name, I will accept the -undeserved shame,” said Drusilla, sadly but firmly, while the devotion -of a young martyr glowed through her beautiful pale face. - -Anna nodded her head two or three times, and then said: - -“So be it. You may have the right to immolate yourself upon this -idolatrous altar of your inordinate affections. But who I pray you, -young mother, who gave you the right to doom your innocent unborn child, -your poor little helpless child, to the deep degradation of -illegitimacy?” demanded Miss Lyon, solemnly fixing her eyes upon the -face of Drusilla, and seeing her mouth tremble and the big tears roll, -bead-like, down her cheeks. - -“Hush! oh, in pity, hush, Miss Lyon! Do not speak of this!” she pleaded. - -“But I must and will speak of it!” persisted Anna, who now discovered -that she had touched a chord in Drusilla’s heart, through which she -might draw her into the proposed plan. - -And though the poor, wronged girl wept and wrung her hands, Miss Lyon -persevered in pleading this cause, mercilessly setting before the young -mother the shames and woes that must attend her child through life, -should she persist in her present resolution. - -Of course, Anna gained her point. - -“For the poor baby’s sake, I consent. Do with me as you will,” said -Drusilla, weeping bitterly. - -“That is right. Come now and let me dress you. We have taken up too much -time in talking. We have very little left. I expect every moment to hear -that the minister has arrived,” said Anna. - -And she flew to the chamber door, and turned the key. - -And she quickly took off her bridal robes, and carefully dressed -Drusilla in them. - -Then she placed the wreath of orange blossoms on her head, and laid the -veil of white lace over all. - -“There,” said Anna, giving her a pair of white kid-gloves, “put these on -while I dress as a bridesmaid—for while you personate Miss Lyon, I must -seem to be Miss Seymour.” - -Just at that moment, some one rapped softly. - -Anna flew to answer the summons. - -“Well, what is wanted now?” she inquired, without opening the door. - -“If you please, Miss, the Reverend Dr. Barbar have come, and Mr. Alick -and Mr. Dick is both waitin’; and Master’s compliments, and is you and -Miss Annie ready to come down?” spoke the voice of Marcy from without. - -“No, we are not quite ready yet, but we soon shall be. Miss Annie is -dressing. Ask them to come for us in about fifteen minutes,” said Anna. - -She then hurried to her wardrobes and bureaus, selected from her large -outfit of clothing a white taffeta-silk dress, and a large white tulle -veil, and quickly and carefully disguised herself in them. So much -dispatch did she use that she, as well as Drusilla, was ready and -waiting full five minutes before the summons came for them. - -“Courage now, my dear child! Remember how much is at stake, how much -depends upon your self-possession. Draw your veil closely over your -face. I will do the same with mine. They will ascribe this to our -bashfulness. You must take Alick’s arm, I shall take Dick’s. Never mind -if your hands tremble or your tongue falters—it will seem natural. Come -now!” whispered Anna to her agitated companion, as she led her to the -chamber door and opened it. - -Alick and Dick stood outside. - -“My adored Anna, this is the happiest moment of my existence!” gallantly -whispered Alick, as he took the half-offered hand of Drusilla, pressed -it fervently to his lips, and drew it within his arm. - -She bowed in silence. It seemed all that was expected of a bride under -the circumstances. - -“Miss Seymour, I believe? Yes? Well, I am very glad to meet you again, -Miss Annie, especially on this auspicious occasion,” said Dick, bending -low over the hand of Anna, and then drawing it within his own and -leading her after the bride and bridegroom who were walking before. - -“Dick,” whispered Anna, “are we both well disguised?” - -“Excellently,” returned Mr. Dick. - -“Did you partially darken the room by putting out two thirds of the -lights?” - -“I nearly quite darkened it by putting out three quarters of them. I had -a good opportunity of doing it, being alone in the drawing-room while -Alick and the parson were closeted with the governor. He—the governor I -mean—swore a few at the servants when he came down by himself to see -that all was right. But the servants all declared ignorance of the cause -of the lights going out, and as it was too late to remedy the evil he -did not attempt it.” - -“Thanks, Dick. And now you understand my purpose; have you confidence in -me?” - -“In your sincerity, _yes_: but in your success, _no_. I tremble for you, -Anna, lest when all is done you should find yourself fast married to -Alick. I do, indeed, Anna!” - -“How foolish of you, Dick. Why, I burned the license.” - -“I know you did, Anna; but—I wish you would keep as far as possible from -the side of Alick Lyon when he stands before a minister who holds a -prayer-book in his hands open at the marriage service!” - -“Be at ease, Dick, I shall place Alick’s wife between me and him. I -shall consider her an insurmountable obstacle.” - -“Hush, Anna, we must not talk more! we are too near them,” whispered -Dick, in a very low tone as they came up very close behind the foremost -couple. - -And what were Drusilla’s feelings when she found herself again by her -Alick’s side, her hand drawn closely within his protecting arm, and -pressed frequently against his beating heart—knowing, as she did, that -he was then meditating against her the deepest wrong man could inflict -upon woman—feeling, as she did, that every caress bestowed upon her, in -his ignorance of her identity, was intended for another; and going, as -she was, to take from him, by a holy stratagem, those sacred rights of -which he had so cruelly deprived her; and to brave and bear his terrible -anger when that stratagem should be discovered, as it must be when the -rites should be over—what were her feelings? - -A great medical philosopher has written that “Nature is before art with -her anesthetics.” - -And Drusilla’s present state was an illustration of this. In the supreme -crisis of her fate she scarcely realized her position. She was like one -partially overcome by ether or chloroform; her head was ringing, her -senses whirling, her reason tottering; she went on as a somnambulist, -half conscious of her state, but unable to awake. It may be doubtful -whether she would now have retreated if she could; but it is quite -certain that she _could not_ have done so even if she would. She was -under a potent spell that hurried her forward with all the irresistible -force of destiny. - -The drawing-room doors were thrown open. The little bridal procession -passed in. - -The room, thanks to Dick, was very dimly lighted. - -Upon the rug, with his back to the fire, and facing the advancing party, -stood the officiating clergyman in his surplice. - -Near him was the grand and martial figure of the veteran soldier, -General Lyon. - -At a respectful distance stood a group of the old family servants. - -The bridal party come on and formed before the minister—Alexander and -Drusilla stood together in the center; on Alexander’s right stood -Richard, on Drusilla’s left stood Anna. - -All were reverently silent. - -At a signal from General Lyon; Richard Hammond put the envelope supposed -to contain the license and the fee into the hands of the minister, who -merely, as a matter of form, glanced over it and then opened his book -and began the sacred rite by reading the solemn exhortation with which -they commence. - -The old, loving servants, who had hitherto kept at a reverential -distance from their masters, now drew as near the scene of action as -they dared do, so that they might hear every syllable of the ceremony -that was to unite, as they supposed, their young mistress to the husband -of her choice. - -When the minister, in the course of his reading, came to these awful -words—awful at least, to one of the contracting parties, he delivered -them with great effect. - -“‘If any man can show just cause, why these may not be joined together, -let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.’” - -The minister made the usual formal pause, for the answer that might -often come, but never does; and then, with the most solemn emphasis, he -addressed the pair before him: - -“‘I require and charge _you_, BOTH, as ye will answer at the dreadful -day of judgment, when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that -if either of _you_ know any impediment, why you may not be lawfully -joined together in matrimony ye do now confess it. For be ye well -assured, that if any persons are joined together, otherwise than God’s -Word doth allow, their marriage is not lawful.’” - -As the minister read this dread adjuration, the face of the bridegroom -was observed to flush and pale, and his form to tremble and shake as -with a sudden ague fit. - -But though the minister made the customary pause, no one spoke. - -And the ceremony proceeded. - -“‘Alexander, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife?’” et -cetera. - -And the bridegroom answered in a firm and almost defiant voice: - -“‘I WILL.’” - -The clergyman continued: - -“‘Anna, wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband?’” and so -forth. - -And the bride, Anna Drusilla, faltered in whispering tones: - -“‘_I will._’” - -“‘Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?’” was the next -question in the ritual. - -“‘I do,’” answered the sonorous voice of old General Lyon, as he came -forward, took the hand of the bride and placed it in that of the -minister. - -Then the brave old soldier stepped back and turned away his head, to -hide the tears that filled those eyes which had never quailed in the -battle’s deadliest brawl; though they wept now, at his giving away, as -he supposed the last darling of his old age. - -But the minister was now joining the hands of the pair before him. - -And bridegroom and bride, in their turn plighted their troth each to the -other. - -Alick uttered his vows in the firm and rather defiant tones in which he -had made all his responses. - -Anna Drusilla breathed hers in murmurs low as the softest notes of the -Æolian harp. - -Then the ring was given and received. - -The last prayers were said; the benediction was given, and the pair was -pronounced to be man and wife. - -Alexander turned gaily and gallantly to salute his bride. - -Miss Lyon, as bridesmaid, lifted the veil. - -And the faithless husband stood face to face with the forsaken wife! - -“‘DRUSILLA!!’” - -He uttered but that one word, and reeled backward, white and ghastly, as -if stricken by death. - -Drusilla stood pale and mute her head sunk upon her bosom, her hands -hanging by her side. - -The parson, in his panic, dropped his prayer-book, and stood gazing in -consternation. - -General Lyon bent forward in astonishment and perplexity. - -Dick was looking on in amusement. - -And Anna smiling in triumph. - - - - - CHAPTER XLVII. - EXPOSURE. - - Away! upon this earth beneath - There is no spot where thou and I - Together, for an hour could breathe.—BYRON. - - -General Lyon was the first to break the ominous silence. Turning to the -bridegroom, he sternly demanded: - -“Sir! what is the meaning of this?” - -“Ask your beautiful grand-daughter, sir, who, doubtless, to serve her -own pleasure, has lent herself to the basest fraud ever practised upon a -man,” answered Alexander, now livid with suppressed rage. - -The old gentleman looked gravely upon the laughing face of Anna, and -inquired, sadly: - -“What is this that you have done, my child?” - -Miss Lyon hesitated and looked confused. - -“Pray, my dear sir,” said Dick Hammond, taking advantage of the pause -and advancing to her rescue, “let _me_ explain this humiliating affair.” - -“So _you_ were in it, were you?” fiercely exclaimed Alexander -confronting Richard. “All right! here is _one_, at least whom I can and -will call to a severe account.” - -“I am quite ready,” coolly replied Dick, “to admit and answer for my -share in this matter!” - -“Dick! hold your tongue! How dare you, sir? This is _my_ thunder! And if -you open your mouth again without leave, I’ll—discard you forever! Stand -back, sir!” exclaimed Anna, with her blue eyes blazing upon the -offender. - -He retreated as from before a fire, and stood laughing. - -“My dear grandfather,” said Anna, turning towards the veteran soldier, -“this is solely _my_ affair. May I speak without interruption?” - -“Yes, Miss Lyon,” answered the old gentleman, with grave dignity, “I -wait to hear.” - -“Then, sir, in a very few words, I will resolve the whole mystery. You -must know that at the time Mr. Alexander Lyon sought the hand of your -grand-daughter, he had already a living wife, or one who believed -herself to be so!” - -“It is false!” burst forth from Alexander’s livid lips—“as false as——! -My cousin has been deceived!” - -“It is as true as truth! I will prove it to be so!” put in Richard -Hammond. - -“Dick! what did I tell you? If you speak again, I will have you turned -out!” exclaimed Anna, who was most anxious to prevent a collision -between the two young men. - -“He had a wife living and sought your hand?” exclaimed the gallant old -soldier, slowly turning his eyes from Anna to Alick, and back again. “My -child, you must mistake. Such were the act of a scoundrel, and none such -ever bore the name of Lyon.” - -“Sir!” cried Alexander, in a voice thrilled and a countenance agonized -by shame—“Sir, hear me, hear one word of my defence before you utterly -condemn me! I do not any more than yourself, understand this strange -scene, which seems to have been got up as a very bad joke against me. -But—that my name _is_ Lyon should be an all-sufficient guarantee that I -am no scoundrel, and quite incapable of seeking to wed one woman while -legally bound to another.” - -“That is a denial, not a defence,” coldly replied General Lyon. - -“Then, sir,” said Alexander, withdrawing a few paces from the group and -signaling to General Lyon to follow him—“I have to confess to somewhat -of human frailty in order to exculpate myself from the charge of crime.” - -“Go on, sir,” curtly commanded the old gentleman, who had come to his -side. - -Poor Drusilla had lifted her head, which had rested upon the bosom of -Anna, and bent slightly forward to hear her fate. - -“Will you proceed, sir?” sternly inquired the General, seeing that his -nephew hesitated. - -“It is an unpleasant story to tell. But lest you should have cause to -think worse of me than I deserve, I must admit that the young person -here present was my companion for a few months of youthful -hallucination; but there was no marriage.” - -“_Oh, Alick! Alick! Oh! Alick! my Alick!_” impulsively burst from the -pale lips of Drusilla with a low, long drawn wail of sorrow. - -But Anna once more put her arms around the feeble form, and drew the -bowed head down upon her supporting bosom. - -“Well, sir, what then?” severely demanded the General. - -“I must admit,” said Alexander, with a flushed brow, and with some -compunction awakened by the voice of her whom he had once loved, and -with much shame at having to make the confession—“I must admit that, -though there really was none, yet the poor girl supposed there was a -marriage, since there was a semblance of one.” - -“What, sir!” thundered the grand old soldier, “deceive a maiden with the -‘semblance’ of a marriage and call yourself a Lyon?” - -“Again you mistake me, sir!” cried Alexander, a hot blush rushing over -his face. “I also believed at the time it was performed that the -ceremony which united us was a legal one. I continued to believe so, -even after the hallucination which led to the false and fatal step had -passed away—continued to believe so until last March, when I chanced to -discover that by the accidental omission of an important form my -marriage with this girl was illegal.” - -“And of course, sir, having discovered such an error, you took the -earliest opportunity of rectifying it and making your marriage legal?” -said General Lyon, emphatically. - -“Ah, sir! have I not told you that the illusion which lured me to the -folly of such a misalliance was past and gone? No, sir, I was too happy -to be free to retrieve my errors, and to come back, as in duty bound, to -my first love and first faith,” said Alexander, turning and bowing -deeply to Anna, who drew herself proudly erect and bent upon him a look -of ineffable contempt. - -“_Oh, Alick, my Alick!_” breathed Drusilla, in an almost expiring voice. - -“Hush, dear child, hush! Don’t you see and hear that he is utterly -beneath your love and regret?” whispered Miss Lyon, tenderly drawing the -young bowed head upon her shoulder and pressing the poor broken heart to -her bosom. - -“Proceed, sir!” said General Lyon, scowling darkly. - -“There is little more to say but this,” muttered Alexander, in an -intensely mortified and irritated tone. “From the moment in which I -discovered the illegality of my union with this girl, of course I broke -with her—not harshly, but very gently. From that moment I treated her -only as a sister, and visited her with less and less frequency until I -ceased altogether. Until this hour, I assure you, my dear sir, I had not -seen this girl for months, in fact not since April last. I meant never -to see her again, but I took measures to provide handsomely for her -future support. Such, my dear uncle, is the ‘head and front of my -offending’—a boyish error, heedlessly fallen into, deeply repented of -and eagerly atoned for. It is seldom that a young man’s follies are so -cruelly exposed as mine have been this evening,” added Alexander, with -an injured air. - -“And this is your explanation?” haughtily demanded the General. - -“It is. For the girl’s sake I would willingly have concealed the -circumstance; but in the present state of affairs I deemed the -explanation due to yourself as well as to my lovely cousin,” replied -Alexander, again turning with a bow to Anna, who again flashed back upon -him a look of fiery scorn. - -“But how comes this unhappy young woman here, sir?” severely inquired -General Lyon. - -“I beg to refer that question to the young woman herself, or to her two -confederates, Miss Lyon and Mr. Hammond,” replied Alexander, making a -sweeping bow that included the whole circle, and then stepping back. - -“How came this hapless young creature here, Anna?” questioned the old -man, turning to his grand-daughter. - -“Permit me, if you please, to answer,” said Richard Hammond, coming -forward. - -“Dick! be silent! If you speak again till I bid you, I will never speak -to _you_ again! This is _my_ thunder, I tell you, and you have nothing -to do with it. Grandpa, order him to be still!” - -“Be quiet, Richard. Proceed, Anna!” - -“Then listen, sir. You must know that this poor child, living alone in -the isolated country house where her husband had immured her, suspected -nothing of his wicked addresses to me until the day before yesterday, -when suddenly she received authentic information—no matter from whom——” - -“It was from——” began Richard. - -“Hold you tongue, Dick! She received authentic information, I say, of -his intended marriage with me. Believing herself as I believe her to be, -his wife in law, as she is in right, and wishing to save him from the -sin he meditated and the punishment she feared would be its consequence, -willing also to save me from the precipice of ruin upon which I -unconsciously stood, this young fragile creature, notwithstanding her -delicate health and broken heart, all unfit as she was to travel, came -by stage-coach the whole distance from Washington to Saulsburg, and -finding no conveyance there, walked all the way through this dreadful -weather on this dark night, over the worst roads in the country, from -Saulsburg to this house. She came to me in my chamber, privately told me -her story, shielding her faithless husband as much as she could; and she -besought me to withdraw from the marriage, and save him from guilt and -myself from fatal wrong.” - -“Then why has she attempted to force herself upon me in this shameless -manner? And why have you aided and abetted her in the fraud?” fiercely -demanded Alexander, his temper impetuously breaking through all his -efforts to maintain a proud composure. - -Anna disdained to reply to him. Not one syllable would she condescend to -address to Alexander Lyon. But turning again to her grandfather she -said—— - -“Drusilla did not do so; she will never attempt to force herself upon -Mr. Lyon. The young wife came, as I said, to save him from committing a -felony, and me from taking a fatal step; and not to force herself upon -an unwilling husband. It will be well for him, when he shall come to -himself, if he can by any means, woo her back.” - -“How happened it, then, my child?” inquired the General. - -“It was I, who for reasons that will be apparent, urged her to assume my -dress and take my place in the wedding ceremony, and thus win back the -sacred rights of which she had been so basely cheated!” - -“But—still—how was this to be done in such a way, my dear?” - -“By rectifying in this second marriage the informality that rendered the -first one illegal.” - -“And I contend,” burst forth Alexander, “that this second marriage is no -more legal than the first one was; _less_ so, if anything! for this is -an imposture, a substitution of one person for another, besides being -quite as irregular as the first marriage in the same particular of -lacking a license!” - -“He mistakes, my dear grandfather, there was a license,” said Anna, -quietly. - -“Yes; a license authorizing the marriage of Alexander and Anna Lyon. -Such was the document placed in the hands of the minister!” angrily -exclaimed Alick. - -“I _beg_ his pardon,” said Anna, still looking at, still speaking to her -grandfather. “The license of which _he_ speaks I burned with my own -hands this evening. The license of which _I_ speak duly authorizes the -nuptial rites to be solemnized between Alexander Lyon and Anna Drusilla -Sterling, and it is now in the possession of the minister.” - -“It was then taken out by somebody else in my name. It can be of no sort -of legal effect,” cried Mr. Lyon. - -“Again I entreat his forgiveness; but this one was procured by Alexander -Lyon himself, dear grandpa.” - -“It is FALSE!—I mean it is a mistake, Anna!” exclaimed Alexander, -correcting himself. “I procured no such paper.” - -“I fancy that he has forgotten the circumstance, dear sir; but I will -refresh his memory!” replied Anna. Then turning to the sorely -embarrassed minister who had stood all this time an unwilling witness to -this painful scene, she added: “Dr. Barbar, will you have the goodness -to return the envelope handed you by Mr. Hammond?” - -The good clergyman complied. Anna opened the envelope, and took from it -its enclosure, which she handed to General Lyon. - -The old gentleman put on his spectacles to examine it. Having silently -read it, he exclaimed: - -“Why, this is—this is exactly what you represent it to be, my dear Anna! -But it bears date—Heaven bless my soul, of last January!” - -Alexander started and turned ghastly pale, reeled, and recovered himself -by a great effort. - -“How is this, my Anna? What does it all mean, my dear?” inquired the old -soldier. - -Alexander, putting a strong constraint upon himself, bent forward to -hear the answer. - -“It means this, my dear sir: You heard Mr. Lyon say that at the time of -his first marriage with this fair child he supposed the union to be -perfectly legal; but that afterwards he chanced to discover that through -‘the accidental omission of an important form,’ that ceremony to have -been quite invalid.” - -“Yes! yes!” said General Lyon, impatiently. - -“He had some reason for what he said. Listen, dear sir: When this man -first prevailed over this poor child to intrust herself to his care, he -seems to have meant honestly by her. He procured this license for their -marriage; and he took her before a regularly ordained minister of the -church. But by some strange oversight he never handed the license to the -minister, who, being a Northern man and a new comer into Virginia, and -ignorant of the law of the State which required a license to be shown -before a marriage ceremony could be legally solemnized, never asked to -see the document, but married them, as he would have done in his own -State, without it. Months later Mr. Lyon discovered this oversight, and -having tired of his fair bride, he resolved to profit by it in freeing -himself from his obligations to her.” - -“And so this is the license he took out for his first marriage, but -never used?” inquired General Lyon, who for the last few moments had -maintained a wonderful composure. - -“Yes, sir.” - -“But how came it into your possession?” - -“Sir, the poor child found it among her husband’s papers, and cherished -it with a fond superstition, as she cherished her wedding-ring. When she -came to me with her piteous story she put that piece of paper into my -hands as a proof that she was no impostor. I saw at once how it might be -used to get her rights, especially as her first Christian name, like -mine, is Anna. So I burned my own license and substituted hers and -closed the envelope, which you, dear sir, unconscious of its contents, -delivered into Dick’s charge to be handed to the minister. Then, using -such arguments as I thought must prevail over a wife and a Christian, I -persuaded Drusilla to take my place, as I said. And now I am happy to -announce that through my means, and mine only, the omission of that -important form in Drusilla’s first marriage ceremony has been supplied -in the second, and that she is now unquestionably the lawful wife of -Alexander Lyon.” - -Drusilla lifted her head from Anna’s supporting bosom, and looked at her -husband where he stood, enraged, baffled and covered with confusion. -Then she left Anna’s sheltering arms and went towards him, and with -outstretched hands, face pale as death, and beseeching eyes, she -pleaded: - -“Oh, Alick! Alick love! it was not for myself! it was not for myself I -did this! Oh Alick! try to pardon me, dear! and I will pray to die and -set you free!” - -And as if no one had been present but themselves, she sank at his feet. - -“BEGONE!” cried Alexander, furiously stamping, and turning away. - -“Sir! you have disgraced yourself and the name you bear!” sternly -exclaimed General Lyon, stooping and raising the poor little fallen -figure, and supporting it on his arm. - -But Alexander was absolutely beside himself with fury. Forgetting that -he stood in the presence of old age and young womanhood, forgetting that -he was a man and a gentleman, he strode towards his heart-broken wife, -and with livid face, starting eyes and brandishing hand, he exclaimed: - -“How dared you do this thing? How dared you bring me to this open shame? -How dared you brave me thus? How dared you, I demand?” - -She did not speak; but with clasped hands and uplifted eyes, seemed to -implore his forbearance. - -“You have repaid years of kindness by the blackest ingratitude; you have -deceived me by the most infamous treachery; you have sought your object -by the basest fraud; you have ventured to take the place of the lady I -loved and wished to wed, and so, stolen my hand by the meanest trick! I -asked you where you found the effrontery to do all this?” he demanded, -grinding his teeth with rage and shaking his hand over her head. - -Still she uttered no word in her defence; but still with appealing hands -and eyes, mutely besought his mercy. - -Dick, who had been champing and stamping, and held in leash only by -Anna, during this assault, now utterly broke bounds, and cried out: - -“Come come, Lyon! I’m blest if I’ll stand by and see a lady brow-beaten -so, if it is by her husband! If you don’t stop this instantly, I’ll——” - -“Be quiet, Richard Hammond, and let the man speak to his wife,” said -General Lyon authoritatively, with covert irony, as he laid his hand on -Dick and held him back. - -Richard yielded, seeing in this unnatural forbearance of the old -soldier, only the ominous calm that portends the fiercest storm. - -But, as for Alexander Lyon, so absorbed was he by his own raging -passions, that he perceived nothing of this bye-scene. Still brandishing -his hand above her drooping head, he continued to pour out his wrath -upon his wife. - -“You never loved me! You never loved any one but yourself! You never -loved me, certainly, or you never would have betrayed me in this base -manner,” he exclaimed. - -Her white lips quivered—parted, but only inarticulate murmurs issued -from them. - -“But do not flatter yourself, girl, that your treachery shall serve your -purpose. Such a marriage, so procured, can never stand in law. And here, -in the presence of these witnesses, I utterly refuse to acknowledge its -validity, or to recognize you as my wife! Here, I renounce you forever!” - -Her pleading hands were lifted in an agony of deprecation, and then -dropped by her side, in despair. - -“Had you accepted the position I gave you, although I should never have -seen your face again, yet I would have provided handsomely for your -support. But now, since you have put this foul deception upon me, for -all the help you can get from me, you may—PERISH!” he hissed. - -“Not so,” said the fine old gentleman, General Lyon, drawing the arm of -the outraged and half crushed young creature, closer within his own. -“Not so, by your leave. I charge myself with the care of _my niece_, -Mrs. Alexander Lyon. Her home shall be _here_, with my grand-daughter -and myself—_here_, where she shall live in peace and safety—loved and -honored, until such times as you—madman!—shall come to your senses, and -sue more humbly for the forgiveness of the wronged wife, than you ever -did for the love of the unhappy maiden.” - -“You had better be quite sure that the girl in your arm _is_ a wife -before you offer her the protection of your roof and the society of your -grand-daughter!” sneered Alexander, bitterly. - -“Sir, you have struck the last blow to your own honor and my patience. -Alexander Lyon, if you were not the son of my dead brother I would curse -you where you stand! But go!” said the old man, lifting, up and -stretching out his arm with an imperious gesture. “Leave this house, and -never desecrate its halls again with your presence! and never again let -me see your face!” - -Cursing and stamping with fury, Alexander turned and flung himself from -the room. - -In the hall outside his voice was heard calling loudly to his servant to -put his horses to his carriage and bring it around to the door. - -General Lyon gazed down upon the poor young wife at his side, and said: - -“Look up my child. Here is your home and your father and your sister. Be -of good comfort, trust in God, and all will be well.” - -She answered nothing, but sunk heavily within his aged arms, that yet -were quite strong enough to support her sinking form. She had succumbed -to one of those fainting fits which, through the agonies she had so long -endured, had now become habitual to her. - -“Grandpa, she has swooned! Marcy, come here quickly. You are strong; -help to carry her to the sofa. Matty, go to the spare room opposite mine -and turn down the bed; see to the fire, and come back and tell me when -all is ready,” exclaimed Anna, rapidly issuing her orders, while she -hastily took off Drusilla’s bridal wreath and veil, and unloosened her -dress. - -Marcy who had been in the group of servants assembled to witness the -marriage ceremony, was quickly on the spot, and with her assistance Anna -bore the insensible form of Drusilla to the sofa and laid her on it. - -General Lyon followed, looking anxiously upon the pale face of the -sufferer. - -Dr. Barbar and Mr. Hammond were left standing on the rug, and for the -time being, forgotten by their host and hostess. - -All available means were used to revive the swooning girl, but all in -vain. Anna bathed her face with eau de cologne, and applied strong -smelling salts to her nose; and Marcy smartly slapped her hands, but -without effect. - -While they were thus engaged Matty entered the drawing-room, and -announced that the bed-chamber was ready. - -“We must take her there and undress her and put her to bed, Mercy; and -then we shall have a better opportunity of applying restoratives,” said -Miss Lyon. - -“Yes, Miss, for it’s little we can do here,” admitted Marcy. - -“Dear grandpa,” said Anna, addressing the old gentleman, who still stood -watching with interest the face of the patient, “dear grandpa, you have -been so worried this evening. Do sit down and rest and order some -refreshment for yourself and for Dr. Barbar and Dick, who are being -neglected. I shall take Drusilla to the Rose Room and see that every -proper attention is given her.” - -“But she seems to be dead or dying,” said General Lyon, uneasily. - -“No, dear sir; she is only in a swoon, which is very natural under all -the circumstances; but not at all dangerous.” - -“I hope you are certain of this?” - -“Quite certain, sir. Now, Marcy, help me to lift her,” said Anna. - -But Dick Hammond, who heard and saw all that was going on, hastened -forward to offer his services as bearer. - -“Anna, do let me carry her up stairs. I can do so with so much more ease -to her than you and Marcy could,” he said. And without waiting for -leave, he tenderly raised the unconscious form and gently bore it after -Marcy, who led the way up to the Rose Room. - -Anna bade good night to Dr. Barbar, and then turned and kissed her -grandfather and asked for his usual blessing. - -“God bless you, my dear child, for you have done a righteous deed this -night. Take care of the poor desolate girl upstairs, and if I can be of -any service to her, do not hesitate to call on me, even if you should -have to wake me up in the night. My house, my purse, and myself, Anna, -are at her orders no less than at yours, as long as she has wants and I -have means,” answered the grand old man, as he pressed a kiss upon his -child’s brow and dismissed her. - -Anna hurried up stairs and met Dick on the landing. He had just -deposited his charge on her couch and left her room. - -“Hallelujah, Dick!” exclaimed Anna. - -“Hallelujah, Anna!” responded Dick, as their hands met in a hearty, -congratulatory clasp. - -“It is all right with us now, Anna?” - -“All quite right now, Dick, darling.” - -Dick looked gratefully and then pleadingly in her face, as he took her -hand again and gently drew her towards him. - -But she laughingly broke away, exclaiming: - -“Not now, Dick; not now, darling. I must go to my patient. We must not -neglect that poor girl, to whom we owe all our happiness.” - -“Indeed we must not,” earnestly agreed Dick. - -“Then good night, Dick. I will see you in the morning.” - -“Good night, my liege lady. But stay. If I can be of any use, pray -command me at any hour of the day or night.” - -“That I will, Dick. Once more good night.” - -And Anna flitted past him and went into the Rose Room. - -There she found that Marcy and Matty had already divested Drusilla of -her bridal robes and clothed her in a loose white wrapper and put her -comfortably to bed. - -They now stood one on each side rubbing her hands. - -“How is she?” inquired Anna, approaching and bending over the pallid -face. - -“No change yet, Miss; but we must be patient and keep up this friction, -and she will come to presently,” answered Marcy. - -Anna went into her own chamber and quickly changed her splendid dress -for a wadded white merino wrapper, and then returned to the sick -chamber, and took her place beside the bed, saying; - -“Matty, you may retire to rest. Marcy and myself will remain here -to-night.” - -Matty who was yawning fearfully, gladly availed herself of the -permission and left the room. - -And Miss Lyon willingly, gratefully, undertook the long night’s watch -over the suffering young creature to whose almost incredible energy and -heroism she owed her own preservation from a fatal marriage and her -hopes of happiness with the man she loved. - - - - - CHAPTER XLVIII. - BALM FOR THE BRUISED HEART. - - Nay, but Nature brings her solace, for a tender voice will cry,— - ’Tis a purer life than his, a lip to drain her trouble dry. - Baby lips will laugh it down, his only rival bring her rest, - Baby fingers, waxen touches, press it from the mother’s breast. - —TENNYSON. - - -The great old-fashioned hall clock was striking the quarter before -twelve when Richard Hammond re-entered the drawing-room. - -He found General Lyon and Dr. Barbar still there, seated in large -arm-chairs each side of the fire-place. They seemed to be discussing the -events of the evening. - -“Yes, old friend, my dog of a nephew, like that other grand rascal of -old, has ‘spoiled the feast, broke the good meeting, with, most admired -disorder,’” sighed the general. - -“Ah, my dear sir, he is young, and we must be charitable. Even David, -the man after the Lord’s own heart, had to pray that the sins of his -youth might not be remembered against him. Give the young man time to -recollect himself and to reform. But I feel very sorry for the poor -wife—she seems but a mere child.” - -“She is but sixteen or seventeen,” said General Lyon. - -“Ah dear, how sad! She seems to love him much.” - -“She loves a villain then, and must suffer accordingly.” - -“Will he never be reconciled to her, do you think?” - -“Can she ever be reconciled to _him_? That is the question. ‘My spirit -shall not always strive with man,’ saith the Lord. And if the Divine -Spirit wearies of the fruitless struggle with Evil, how much sooner -shall the human spirit sink? For myself, I should not wonder if she -should experience such a revulsion of feeling as should make the very -thought of that man hateful to her. But in any case her home is here, -under our protection, until such time as he shall repent and show -himself worthy to reclaim her hand, if that time ever should come. Ah! -here is Dick. How did you leave our young charge, my boy?” inquired the -general, for the first time conscious of Richard’s presence. - -“I left her in good hands, sir; otherwise much as she was when taken -from this room. I understand, sir, that since her domestic sufferings -commenced she has been very subject to these fainting fits. They are -said to be not dangerous; but for my part, I should think there was -reason to fear that her heart is affected,” answered Richard, seeking a -seat between the two old gentlemen. - -“Dick, you were more engaged in this exposure of Alexander than Anna was -willing to admit. You knew of his previous marriage before you came down -here?” inquired the general. - -“Yes, sir; but only a few days before; and I came down here for the -express purpose of divulging it to you; and I brought with me the -minister who performed the first ceremony, as proof of it. But before I -saw you I chanced to meet Anna, who proposed to me another plan, which I -thought to be a better one than my own.” - -“Yes, Anna’s plan was assuredly the only one by which the ends of -justice could be reached in this singular case.” - -“Shall I tell you, sir, how I came to be informed of the first -marriage?” - -“Oh no, Dick, not to-night—to-morrow. Gentlemen, it is on the stroke of -midnight. And though my sorry nephew has ‘spoiled the feast,’ et cetera, -I see no reason why we should watch and fast the night through. We will -have supper and then to bed. And although you are the only wedding -guests, we will adjourn to the banqueting room,” said General Lyon, -arising and leading the way to a brilliantly lighted and elegantly -decorated saloon, where a sumptuous supper was laid out. - -The host led his two guests to the upper end of the table, and invited -them to be seated. - -The two Jacobs, father and son, stood ready to wait on them. - -But what took away their appetites—whether it was the excitement of the -evening, or the dreariness of a rich repast laid for many, and honored -with the presence of but three; or the embarrassing variety of -delicacies spread before them, is uncertain; but they could not eat. A -broken biscuit and a glass of wine, was all that each took. And then, -with mutual good nights and good wishes, they separated. - -General Lyon went to rest. - -Old Jacob showed Dr. Barbar to the best vacant bedroom, and young Jacob -led Dick Hammond to the second best. - -It is to be hoped that the two old gentlemen slept well. - -Dick did not close his eyes. - -The revulsion from despair to hope, to certainty of happiness, was -almost too much for him. He lay rolling and tossing from side to side -all night; telling himself over and over again that it was no dream; -that Anna was free; and that he might at last be made happy with her -hand; and wondering how long it would be before he could coax Anna to -name the happy day, and his uncle to give them his blessing. He heard -the old hall clock strike every hour, and thought the night would never -come to an end. - -At four o’clock on that winter morning, it was still very dark, when he -heard rousing raps at his door. - -“Well! who’s there?” he cried. - -“It’s me, Master Dick,” answered the voice of Marcy. - -“Well! what do you want?” - -“Please sir, Miss Anna——” - -Dick was out of bed in an instant, drawing on his pantaloons. - -—“Says how young Mrs. Lyon is seemingly ill, and will you please to wake -up the coachman, and tell him to take the fastest horse and ride quick -as possible to Saulsburg for Dr. Leech. - -Dick was dressed and at the door by the time Marcy had done speaking. - -“Can I see Miss Anna for an instant?” he inquired. - -“I will ask her,” answered Marcy, hurrying down the passage. - -Dick hastened after her, and waited outside Drusilla’s door while Marcy -went in to inquire. - -Anna came out with a large shawl wrapped around her. - -“Oh, hurry, Dick! don’t stop to talk! the poor child is very ill, and -delay may be her death!” exclaimed Anna, as she appeared. - -“I merely stopped to tell you, Anna, that I shall trust to no servant, -least of all to slow old Jacob! I shall saddle my own fast horse, and -fly for the doctor myself.” - -“You’re a trump, Dick. Heaven bless you, be off?” - -And Anna disappeared within the sick chamber. And Dick ran down to the -stable, saddled his horse, leaped upon his back, struck spurs to his -flanks and was off like an arrow in the direction of Saulsburg. “He -skelpit on through dub and mire,” so eager in his errand, that he -scarcely noticed the storm was over, and the clouds were breaking -overhead; a few pale stars were shining out, and day was faintly dawning -in the East. - -When he came to the toll-gate, as once before, he cleared the bar with a -bound, and dashed onward, to the infinite indignation of old Andy who -had just opened his shutters in time to witness the feat, and who turned -to his old wife, then busy over the fire cooking the breakfast, and then -exclaimed: - -“Eh, Jenny, woman! the warlocks are flitting back frae the witches’ -Sabbath. There gaed are noo!—on a broomstick, or something unco like it, -right over the toll-gate bar and awa’! We’ll hear the news the day, -woman!” - -Heedless of what the guardian of the road might think of him, Dick raced -on, sending flakes of mud from his horse’s heels. - -The sun was rising behind the farthest range of mountains, and sending -his dazzling beams obliquely through the Wild Gap and athwart the Wild -River, as Dick rode into Saulsburg and drew rein before the picturesque -inn. - -He had not the slightest idea whereabouts in the village or its -neighborhood the country doctor lived. - -So he inquired of the hostler who came to take his horse: - -“Do you know where Dr. Leech hangs out?” - -“I dunno where he hangs out, sir; but you can ax him hisself. He lives -right down the street there, sir,” answered the man, pointing to a -small, neat cottage, with a still smaller surgery beside it, and the -name of “LEECH” over the door. - -Dick left his horse and went and knocked up the doctor, and, in a few -urgent words, told him his services were instantly needed at Old Lyon -Hall, where there was a lady in extremity, and entreated him to hasten -immediately to her relief. - -The good doctor needed no second bidding, but loudly called to shop-boy -and horse-boy to have his saddle-bags and his horse got ready, and then -rushed into the house to put on his great-coat and hat. - -When Dick had seen the doctor fairly started on his journey, he turned -his steps to the little inn, entered it, and ordered breakfast. - -“And have my horse well rubbed down and watered and fed. I must mount -him again in an hour,” he added. - -At this time of the day there always happened to be more servants than -guests at the “Foaming Tankard,” and so Dick and his horse were both -promptly served. - -But while Mr. Hammond sat enjoying the fragrant coffee, light rolls, -sweet butter, luscious ham and fresh eggs that formed the repast, for -which his early ride had given him so keen an appetite, he was suddenly -interrupted. - -It was “mammy” who burst in upon his privacy with more haste than -ceremony, demanding: - -“If you please, sir, wasn’t you the gentleman as come down with us in -the night coach from Drainsville and got off at Frostville?” - -“Yes! and wasn’t you the lady that scalped me and broke both my legs?” -laughed Dick. - -“I hope you surwived it, sir? But that wasn’t what I comed to ax you.” - -“Yes; having a good constitution, I got over it. But what _did_ you come -to ask me?” - -“Please, sir, no offence; but is it as the boys say, you come from Old -Lyon Hall this morning?” - -“Yes.” - -“Arter a doctor?” - -“Yes.” - -“For a lady in ’streme ’stress?” - -“Yes.” - -“Young Mrs. Lyon, sir?” - -“Yes.” - -“Then, sir, that was my own lady; and I jest knowed how it would be! I -jest did! Sir, she left here in an old ramshackly concern as broke down -with her afore she so much as got a mile from the place; and then she up -and set out to walk all the way through the storm to the hall; and which -if I’d a knowed, I’d a seen the old hall and everybody into it farther -afore I’d a let her a risted of her life by so doing. But that there -blamed boy,—Lord forgive me for swearing,—arter he’d upset her in the -road, took all the rest of the evening to haul off the old wreck of a -carriage, and never got back here till I had gone to bed. So I never -knowed nothing about it till this morning, which a purty state my nerves -has been in ever since.” - -And mammy, having talked herself out of breath, dropped down in a chair -and panted. - -“You were this lady’s nurse?” inquired Dick, buttering a roll. - -“In course I was, sir; perfessionally so; and recommended by the highest -gentlemen of the physical persuasion.” - -“Then, my good woman, I wonder why your patient didn’t take you along -with her.” - -“So do I, sir. That was a very sensible remark of yours; but you see, -sir, she preferred to leave me here in care of the baggidge, which I -will say this—that mind can’t conceive, nor tongue tell the trouble I’ve -had to pertect them there two little red morocky trunks from being -stoled or left behind!” - -“Indeed?” - -“True as I tell you, sir; so I don’t much wonder at the madam wanting of -me to stay behind to watch them.” - -“No, nor I,” said Dick, slily. “But, my good woman,” he added, “I think -now that the best thing you can do is to go to your mistress.” - -“Which such is my intention so to do sir; and I would be obliged to you -if you would be so good as to speak to that there pig-headed -landlord—begging your pardon, sir, but so he is—to let me have a decent -horse and wagon, that won’t break down, to take me and the baggidge to -the old hall, which, if you are going back there, sir, yourself, you can -show me the way.” - -“Yes,” said Dick, with good-natured alacrity, seeing at once how -important it might be that Drusilla should have her nurse and her -wardrobe. “Yes I will attend to it at once.” - -And he arose and rang the bell, and told the waiter who answered it to -send the landlord to him. - -The slow host came sauntering in with his hands in his pockets, and in -answer to Dick’s inquiries, deliberately acknowledged that he had “such -a thing,” and a bargain was soon struck for a wagon, horse and driver to -take mammy and her luggage to Old Lyon Hall. - -“But the bill is not yet paid,” said the landlord, hesitatingly, “and so -I would rather keep a part of the luggage for security until it is -settled. One of the little trunks, now, might do.” - -“Set you up with it, indeed!” fiercely exclaimed mammy, as much ruffled -as a hen when her nest is threatened. - -“But who’s to pay the bill?” pursued the host. - -“I shall,” answered Dick, coldly. - -“No you won’t, sir, begging of your pardon; that wouldn’t be noways -proper. The young madam left her port-munny long o’ me to settle all -claims. Bring your ’count in here to me, mister landlord, and I’ll -settle of it myself.” - -“And not to lose time while he is making it out you had better go and -get ready to start,” counselled Dick. - -“So I had, sir; that’s another very sensible remark of yours. And I’ll -not keep you waiting one minute; I’ll be ready as soon as the wagon is,” -said the old woman, hurrying out of the room. - -And in less than twenty minutes mammy reappeared ready for her journey. -The bill was paid, the wagon brought around and loaded with the luggage, -and the nurse and the team started, escorted by Mr. Richard Hammond on -horseback, and cheered by all the ragamuffins in the village. - -It does not take long after a storm is over for the water to run off the -roads of that region, which are high roads in more senses than one; so -the travel was not so bad as might have been expected. - -In little more than two hours the “procession” arrived at the toll-gate -where old Andy was on duty. - -“Eh, sirs!” he exclaimed, on seeing Dick, “but ye’s a braw callant! Wha -gave ye commission to loup twice over me bar, and cheat me of me toll? -Eh, but ye’ll bide where ye be till ye pay me for a’, e’en to the -uttermost fearthing, before I let ye by; for ye’s no jump your wagon -over the gate, I’m thinking.” - -“Certainly, of course, all right. You see I was in too great a hurry to -stop to make change, or to wait to have the gate opened when I passed -here last night and early this morning. But now open quickly to me. And -here! here is what will pay you for all the tolls and leave something -besides to buy a winter gown for the gudewife,” said Dick, laughing, and -tossing a ten dollar gold coin to the old man. “And tell her this from -me,” added the kind-hearted fellow, “that the girl she took so much -interest in is quite safe and well cared for.” - -But Andy was not concerned about the safety of the girl, he was stooping -to pick up the gold eagle, and muttering to himself: - -“Eh! how the lad flings about his gowd, to be sure! It’s weel a carefu’ -body like mysel’ is nigh to gather it up. What was you saying anent the -young hizzy, sir?” he inquired, looking up. - -“Tell your good wife that she is safe and well cared for.” - -“Ou, ay! it wad be i’ some house o’ correction; only there’s nae sic a -useful institootion in the country,” growled Andy. - -“Never mind where she is, or who she is. Tell your wife she is all -right!” said Dick, as he sauntered through the gate in advance of the -wagon. - -The worst part of the road was past, and so in something less than an -hour the “cortege” arrived at Old Lyon Hall. - -The doctor had been there already for some time, and he was then with -young Mrs. Lyon, who seemed to all around her to be at the point of -death. - -Such was the report of General Lyon, who immediately rang for a woman -servant to show the nurse up to her patient. - -“And I am very glad you thought to fetch her, Dick,” added the honest -old general. - -Dick explained that such thoughtfulness was no merit of his; that this -woman had attended the young wife down from Washington, and had been -left temporarily at Saulsburg, and had availed herself of his escort to -come on to the hall. - -So mammy was taken up to her patient, whom she found much too ill to be -scolded for her imprudence. - -In fact Drusilla was, as they said, almost at the point of death. Her -life hung upon the slenderest thread for five days, at the end of which -she became the mother of a beautiful boy. - -As her illness before his birth had been severe and dangerous, so her -convalescence afterwards was slow and precarious. For many more days she -lay in a mental and physical prostration, so profound that she was -incapable of noticing her child, and even of realizing its existence. -But her youth and her good constitution were very much in her favor. - -Gradually, very gradually, she came out of this depressed state. - -The first signs of reviving life she gave was the interest she showed in -her babe. - -Before she had strength to speak above her breath, or sense to connect a -sentence properly, she would mutely insist upon having him laid on her -arm and next her bosom; and then with a serene smile she would sink into -a tranquil sleep. - -And then, lest even the light weight of the infant should be too much -for her feeble strength, the nurse would steal the sleeping child from -the sleeping mother and lay him in the pretty berceaunette that had been -purchased and decorated for him by Anna. - -As the weeks went on, the young mother continued to revive; and her -interest in her infant boy became a passionate love, that grew with her -growing strength. - -When she was able to be dressed and to recline in her easy chair, she -would sit hours with the babe clasped to her bosom. - -Strangely enough, that female martinet, the monthly nurse, never -objected to this. - -And to all Anna’s remonstrances Drusilla would answer: - -“Oh, Miss Lyon, you don’t know, you can’t know, what this soft little -form is to me, as I hold it to my bosom. It is such a soothing balm—such -a heavenly comfort.” - -Sometimes Anna would take an opportunity to speak to mammy on the -subject; but mammy would answer: - -“You let her alone, Miss. It’s all natur’ and all right. The baby’ll -save her life. It’ll draw all the soreness out’n her heart and heal it -up; mind me.” - -But suddenly the thought came to the young mother that she was perhaps -injuring her child by holding him in her lap so constantly. And then all -her conduct with it changed. She would take him up only to nurse and get -him to sleep. And then she would lay him in his little decorated cradle; -but that cradle stood always by her side, so that, sleeping or waking, -her infant son was never out of her sight. - -It was beautiful to see the interest that the old General and his -grand-daughter took in this young mother and child. - -General Lyon visited Drusilla every morning, bringing some rare offering -of fruit ordered from the city, or flowers from his own conservatory. - -Anna was seldom out of the chamber. Every forenoon she took her -needle-work and went to keep Drusilla company. - -And often they might be seen sitting, working together, with the baby in -the cradle between them. - -Dick, in his enthusiasm, said of this group, that it was “a sleeping -cherub watched by two guardian angels.” - -“Watched by guardian angels,” in her home of peace, we will also leave -the young, forsaken wife. - -Whether Drusilla ever was re-united with her husband, or whether Dick -was ever really reclaimed from the clutches of his “friends,” and -rewarded with the hand of Anna, will be duly related in the sequel to -this book, which will immediately appear, under the title of “THE -BRIDES’ FATE.” - - - THE END. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - T. B. 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Hodgson_; and A WIFE, YET NOT A -WIFE, by the author of “_The Second Life_.” - - - MAMMOTH COLORED FASHION PLATES - -Ahead of all others. These plates are engraved on steel, TWICE THE USUAL -SIZE, and contain six figures. They will be superbly colored. Also, -several pages of Household and other receipts; in short, everything -interesting to ladies. - - - TERMS—Always in advance: - - One copy, for one year $ 2 00 - Five copies, for one year 8 00 - Eight copies, for one year 12 00 - - - SUPERB PREMIUM ENGRAVING! - -Every person getting up a club of five at $1.60 each, or eight at $1.50 -each, will be entitled _to an extra copy of the Magazine for 1872_, and -also to a copy of the superb parlor mezzotint (size 24 inches by 18), -“Five Times One To-Day,” which, at a store, would cost four dollars. - -☞ Specimens sent gratis, to those wishing to get up Clubs. - - _Address_, - CHARLES J. 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