Blanche Gilroy
page: 0 (Cover) [View Page 0 (Cover) ] BLANCHE GILROY. page: 0 (TitlePage) [View Page 0 (TitlePage) ] BLANCHE GILROY. A GIRL'S STORY. BY MRS. MARGARET HOSMER, AUTHOR OF "THE MORRISONS," "TEN YEARS OF A LIFETIME," ETC. PHLA DELPHA: J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 1871. page: 0-7 (Table of Contents) [View Page 0-7 (Table of Contents) ] Entered, according to act of Congress, in the year 1871, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. PAGE The Gilroys .. . . . . . . 9 * ECHAPTER II. Blanche's Secret . . . . . . . . 20 ?ig CHAPTER III. Two Lovers . . . . . 28 (?, - CHAPTER IV. Jean's Opinion . . . . . . . . /'*I * . CHAPTER V. ^]1 A Visitor 49 CHAPTER VI. The Beginning of a Struggle . . . . . .61 CHAPTER VII. In the Graveyard . . . 69 CHAPTER VIII. Jean's Patient .. . . . . . . 78 CHAPTER IX. i Marian Heatherton . . 88 ::I CHAPTER X. Jean plays the Spy . . . . . 97 CHAPTER XI. Sunnyslope . . . . . . . . .106 CHAPTER XII. Grizel's Errand . . .116 CHAPTER XIII. The Heiress of Sunnyslope. . . . . . 125 (7) page: 8 (Table of Contents) -9[View Page 8 (Table of Contents) -9] 8 CONTENTS. CHAPTER XIV. PAGE At Sea. . . . . . 188 CHAPTER XV. Fire and Death ...... . 148 CHAPTER XVI. Manzanilla .. . . . . . 165 CHAPTER- XVII. Miss Stuart at Home . .... . 1" CHAPTER XVIII. Little Nannie . . . . . . . . 194 CHAPTER XIX. Invaders . . . . . . . 203 CHAPTER XX. Company . ... 210 CHAPTER XXI. Masked and Unmasked . . . 225 CHAPTER XXII. The Taste of Triumph . . . . 242 CHAPTER XXIII. Crocodile Tears . . . . . . . . 258 CHAPTER XXIV. Love and Danger . . . . 269 CHAPTER XXV. A Pause . . . . . .286 CHAPTER XXVI. The World and the Soul . . . . . . .297 CHAPTER XXVII. Dropped Mask . . . . . . . . . 307 CHAPTER XXVIII. 'All these things shall be added unto you" ... 817 BLANCHE GILROY. CHAPTER I. - 'THE GILROYS. ANDREW GILROY was a Scotchman, and a widower, besides being the father of two very pretty daughters, with graces and accomplishments far above the humble sphere in which they lived, and to which their father in worldly habit and breeding belonged. Jean, the elder, was but five when their mother died, and Blanche was only a baby, and knew nothing, how- ever faint and shadowy, of the love that clung to and lived for them to the very last. Her elder sister could recall a dim remembrance of passionate words and tears, of being held close by delicate arms that owed the strength of their embrace to the love that it expressed,--could see a wasted but beautiful face, whose sad, dark eyes looked out of the past with yearning fondness, and hear the pet name, "Jeanie," in a tone unfamiliar to her in its tender- ness now. Such love belonged strictly to that time. Mr. Gilroy was a reticent man, whose naturally gloomy tempera- ment was aggravated by the profession and outward form of a severe and terrible religion and the constant influence of his widowed sister, who lived with him as housekeeper, and fostered every perverted trait of char. (9) page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] 10 BLANCHE GILROY. acter into a hard, dry prejudice, which she taught him to believe in as principle. She was a most unsuitable woman to be' the foster- mother of the orphan girls, and they held her in secret dislike and expressed coldness. Jean was naturally strong in feeling and conviction, though outwardly self- controlled: her education, and the circumstances sur- rounding her, made her bitter, repressed, and at times even deceitful; while her more impulsive sister lived in an atmosphere as changeful as her own sweet face, being one moment in rebellion, the next in remorseful submis- sion; and neither were ever completely satisfied with the authority under which they lived. Mrs. Gordon, or Aunt Tibbie, as the girls called her, had a son whom she loved in a selfish, slavish way that in no wise softened her harsh nature or beautified its coarse grain; she had a special reason for decrying the loveliness and talents of her nieces, for looking on their superiority as sinful pride and the wiles of Satan to wreck their souls in the sea of worldly temptation. Her boy fulfilled her highest hopes for him, being a narrow, cunning, and sleek sort of lad, who continued to make himself indispensable in his uncle's religious bookstore, which small business they carried on together and man- aged to get a tolerable living by. Mr. Gilroy's trade did not lie in profane volumes, he defiled his shelves with no light nonsense in the way of books of amusement, but preferred rather the substantial food offered in serious biography and cunning controversy, whether in old leather binding or new pamphlet form. Everything be retailed was, or purported to be, in some- wise connected with sacred things, and profoundly ortho- dox; so that sending them abroad from over his counter he grew to look on himself as a missionary to the be- THE GILROYS. " nighted world of buyers, and to exercise a solemnity of manner in his smallest dealings that was like a constant exhortation against the sin of levity or idle thought. Being a person of great gravity and obstinacy of char- acter, he had adopted religion, and fitted it to his own ;: temperament, never dreaming that true Christianity lifts its sincere votaries above their sinful nature, and cannot be dragged down or defiled by the prejudices or weakness of those who would bring it to their own faulty level. At his store he was thrown too much among a class of doctrinal quibblers, with whom he was in high repute, and who nourished his desire for authority by yielding him the position of oracle in matters of creed, and giving themselves to be led by him in a certain weighty, wordy sort of discourse considered argument. Many of those who frequented Andrew Gilroy's shop were not aware of the existence of his two daughters; I yet they all conspired against the peace and comfort of the two poor girls, for the more admiringly they yielded to his argumentative monarchy, the heavier became the yoke ofu s parental government, and the less the allow- anlce Fth which he viewed the folly of their gayety and I youthful spirit. Their tastes and aspirations were a profound enigma to him, for which he knew no answer save the lures of the Evil One, whom he suspected as being busy under every smile or innocent expression of pleasure overheard between them; and he balanced this persecuting enmity against the sins and follies of their perishable bodies by firmly believing that he loved their immortal souls, and was trying through difficulties to save them. Aunt Tibbie agreed with and aided him in all respects; but where principle made him vindictive, she was already acrimonious, so that when he battled with his children's page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] 12 BLANCHE GILROY. nature with a grieved heart, she warred with a glad spirit, and enjoyed the conflict. There was but little love in the gloomy household, and the most of that little came from the natural yearning of Blanche towards those who should have been dear to her. She had a large heart, with an ever-springing spirit of tenderness in it that sought an object in every associa- tion, and being repelled by coldness or injustice, would recoil, only to creep and twine again at the first sign of relenting. Had her father been a little more conscious of her youth and its cravings, a little more drawn towards her in sympathy or spoken love, she might have triumphed over the carping sharpness of Aunt Tibbie, and, winning them both to a softer, kindlier rule, changed her destiny. As it was, she lived a life of storm and shine, railing against fate, or laughing at it by turns, and never bend- ing quietly, or fashioning her mind to suit it, or submit to what she could not control. That was Jean's part,-submission was born of secrecy and endurance, and in her manner at least Appeared perfect. She saw the uselessness of resenting hr fate, and was too wise to waste an effort. Less proud, less sensitive, and less loving than her sister, she neither pro- voked anger by her high spirit nor felt the bitterest part of her position, by measuring what she was by what she might be, being content for the time to bow to the yoke that must be borne in the easiest position for her own neck. She maintained a calm exterior even when personally assailed by Aunt Tibbie's rebuking tongue, and put on something so nearly akin to meekness as to often disarm her anger of its bitterest shafts, and oftener turn them from herself and launch them full at the less philosophical Blanche, who always met them half-way. 1X^ ETHE GILROYS. 13 Perfectly kind and gentle to every one, Jean Gilroy loved but one human being, and that was her sister Blanche, on whom she poured the whole store of affec- tion her nature yielded, a great treasure, mingling the protecting fondness the precocious little heart conceived for the baby left motherless so long ago, with the admir- ing pride she could not choose but feel for such a beautiful woman as her sister was becoming. Their father was so far aware of their superiority to their mates that he had paid largely for the cultivation of Blanche's great talent for music, on the assurance of her master that it would be the means of earning a good living by-and-by. He had allowed Jean to attend school- seeing the great progress she made in study-with the same end in view, and the result justified his foresight. Both girls made more than enough to keep themselves, and he claimed the residue as his reward for what he had done for them in their early days. For truth's sake, it must be confessed that love of gain was a governing passion in Andrew Gilroy only second to his love of sanctimony; and, while he reviled at the vanities of life, and almost openly classed piano-playing among them, he was in nowise averse to receiving the results of her toil. The two sisters united in a love of pretty and tasteful things and a strong desire to surround themselves with the same. With the savings and overwork of a year they produced enough to adorn and beautify the bare front parlor of their plain home, and having brought themselves to the point, demanded the privilege of being allowed to do so. They expected opposition, for their fund was mostly a secret one; but Jean was for once on the frank side, and openly declared her right to make the place presentable 2 page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] " BLANCHE GILROY. and comfortable, and so carried the day, though not without a conflict, since Aunt Tibbie considered it essen- tial to her value always to appear as her brother's con- soler and supporter against the encroachments of his children. "We're rushing into extravagance and wild folly," she said; "and a plain, decent room isn't good enough for these young ladies, it seems. Well, well, we have opened the door to sin, and Satan will enter soon. They who let their children rise against authority may expect trouble and disgrace to follow." "There is neither sin nor folly in buying a sofa and chairs, and there can be no loss of authority in our using the money we earned in the first place, and then saved afterwards by depriving ourselves of everything for so long, just to have a nice home," said Blanche, deter- minedly. "You are bold enough to face a saint in defense of your own perverted will," said Aunt Tibbie, provoking her. "Nobody doubts that; but I am sorry for your father, who has to hear that his house isn't good enough for his children to live in until it is repaired and improved. When the children set up for being better than their pa- rents we must expect trouble to follow." "Always looking for trouble, or misery, or disgrace to follow, and then making sure of it by bringing it at once," muttered Blanche, angrily. Jean's gentle hush and the imploring look that accom- panied it did not amount to anything, for the inevitable quarreling had to be gone through,-Aunt Tibbie claim- ing it as a sort of protest, and Blanche's restless energy refusing to submit to its injustice. Yet the end was gained by both. The girls had their parlor, and the father and aunt, in conceding it, had XI:- - THE GILROYS. 15 made that sort of struggle which belonged to their prin- ciples as anti-pleasure seekers, and the affair would be a text for future bickerings on Aunt Tibbie's part, and solemn admonitions on his. One evening in the winter weather, while the splendor of their apartment was yet new, Andrew Gordon, their cousin, came from the store, instead of his uncle, and joined the family at their tea. He was a tall, lank, small-headed youth, good-natured enough in a general way, but so keenly alive to self- interest as to make it not only the governing, but the single, motive of his existence. He liked his elder cousin, who was very civil to him while she regarded him with secret dislike, but was shy of Blanche, who, in her heart, pitied and made excuses for his faults while she laughed at them. Almost as he entered the room Blanche rose, saying,- "I must go into the parlor and practice awhile,-teach- ing so constantly injures one's style in playing, so I must look to mine." "Then!"ll carry in my exercises and correct them by your light," said Jean. "Your ears need to be made of cast-iron if you can write, or read either, beside the piano when Blanche touches it. A body would think she had gone demented to see her fly at it and pound it as she does." Aunt Tibbie said this with two motives. She liked to annoy Blanche as an antagonist, and, besides, she was fond of society to a certain extent, and desired to detain and talk to Jean on the subject of a cloak she was altering and arranging with great precision to suit her severe idea of trimming and adornment in garments of all kinds. Jean knew this instinctively, and so smiled sweetly as she rose and moved away with her lesson-papers. page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] 16 BLANCHE OILROY. "Oh, I am used to practicing at school, and don't mind it a bit," she said. When the door was shut between her aunt and her, Blanche laughed. "She wanted you to stay and show her how to put the folds on her cloak, and tell her all the gossip about the school at the same time," she said. Jean's sweet face had a hard look on it as she replied, "Yes, and it is a comfort to disappoint her and not be suspected of it." Blanche laughed again, and then, sitting down at the piano, her merry spirit seemed to run through her fingers into the keys as they flew over them in a gay, dashing, flashing overture. The floating of crystal water, the tinkling of silver bells, the prancing of restless steeds, and the clear, far-ringing notes of a bugle seemed to spring into life and ripple away in delightful melody at the touch of her magic hand, that threw its skillful force into a closing crash of brilliant harmony. Then she wantoned idly with the keys awhile, letting her touch wander among them and waken soft, broken tones of fragmentary tenderness like stifled sighs dying in a rain of silent tears. Jean's fingers stood still with the busy pencil suspended over an unfinished word, and listened with her lips parted. "What is that, Blanche?" "I was thinking," answered Blanche, keeping time to her lingering words, "thinking that perhaps Aunt Tibbie might be softened and made kinder if we only knew the way to try, Jean; and I felt sorry that I had, as yet, only succeeded in stirring her worst feelings without ever once touching her better nature." Her sister's face expressed no compunctions, and she dismissed the subject with a contemptuous shrug. P ,f tr ATHE GILROYS. 17 "Go on with your music, Blanche," she said, sharply; "you waste time when you aim at changing the leopard's spots; and Aunt Tibbie's humors are beyond your reach. You cannot touch better feelings, child, when there are none there." Her face took its hard look and her lips their bitter smile as she spoke. Both destroyed her beauty, and she was no longer the soft-eyed, patient Jean. Blanche stopped playing and looked at her curiously. "Yet you always wear that kind, mild, deprecating air when I am angry," she said. "I see no use in spoken anger,-it only helps her cause; and I never mean to give her any advantage if I can help it." Blanche threw up her brows and began to thunder in the bass. "I must air my temper; I never can learn it to thwart any one coolly unless I am always remorseful afterwards, and I truly wish we could all live in peace," she said, at pauses in the rumbling keys. "I like quiet," confessed Jean, briefly. "Go on with the air, and don't make that heavy sound, please." "That would'be very well if it could go on forever; but there's an end to everything," said Blanche, whirling round on the stool and ceasing to play entirely. "Oh, Jean, what is to be our future? I am growing heart- sick of this struggle, and I want to learn to be quiet, peaceful, loving, and happy." Jean was always practical; before answering the yearning in her sister's eyes that was stronger than her words, she listened intently an instant, and then said, in a whisper,- "Play a little while. You have been idling among the page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] 18 BLANCHE GILROY. keys till Aunt Tibbie suspects us of talking over some- thing, and so she is listening." Running her fingers furiously up and down, and creat- ing sound enough to deaden a half dozen voices, by way of reply, Blanche stopped as suddenly as she had begun, and turned again, with the same fond longing, towards her sister. "Oh, say something hopeful and loving to me to-night, Jean I I need it after my disappointment to-day. "What disappointment to-day?" demanded Jean, sharply. She laid down her pencil and fastened her eyes severely and steadily on the flushing face before her. "I know you have a secret, Blanche, and you can tell it or keep it as pleases yourself," she went on, "but you can't deceive me." A sound at the door, like a faint rustle, turned the stool and its occupant again, and a sonata filled the room with melody, while Jean's correcting-pencil flew over the written words in time to the sound. The handle turned, but it was young Andrew, in his great-coat with his hat on ready to go back to the store, who appeared at it. "I was forgetting all about it, Blanche," he explained, '(and I shouldn't have thought even now, only I put my hand in my pocket for my handkerchief and found it there." As he spoke he produced a small note on thin, tinted paper, and held it towards her. "A boy on our steps, as I came in, was asking after you and searching for the number, so, when I told him you lived here, he gave me this and left." Blanche caught sight of the note and sprang towards it with her face all aflame. "Who is it from?" demanded Aunt Tibbie, listening THE GILR S. 19 'from the other room where she planned her folds alone, and expressing in her inquiry the law of inquisition. "I will see," said Blanche, and her voice trembled. She stepped back towards the light, with the envelope vet unopened. Jean gave one single look at her fright- ened face, and divined that she had thekey to the secret she had accused her sister of withholding from her. One little glance of reproach for her want of trust was all the punishment she condemned her to bear, and then she came to her rescue. She affected to look over her shoulder, and addressing Aunt Tibbie, said, in the most natural tone imaginable,- "Oh, it is from Mrs. Parrish, is it? Well, I thought it was time for Molly's lessons to begin, since she is able to go about the streets. I've seen her out twice this week." Coming out of the parlor as she spoke, she partly drew Andrew with her, and beginning to talk of his mother's work and the present outrageous fashion in dress, appealed to his taste and her experience,-so holding them both and leaving the ground clear for her sister and her secret. While they yet spoke, the music recommenced with added vigor, and Blanche's powers seemed to have re- ceived a sudden renewal from the loud combinations of triumphant, thrilling harmony that rolled and swell- beneath her touch. Jean went back and sat down quietly, and neither spoke again till the hours wore on and Aunt Tibbie an- nounced bedtime. page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] 20 BLANCHE GILROY. CHAPTER II. BLANCHE'S SECRET. WHEN they stood together in their own chamber, the younger sister threw herself, with a loving cry, on Jean's breast. "Thank you, dear, good love that you are, thank you!" "For what?" asked the elder girl, coldly; " for telling a lie to Aunt Tibbie to-night?" "For saving and pitying me, dear Jean; I do not de- serve it, and I am so sorry, so very sorry to be forced to stoop to such a mean deceit; but, oh, I do love and thank you, my best and dearest!" She tried to cling about her, but Jean, with her hard face on, pushed her coldly away. "I do not like riddles; if you speak plainly I shall be glad to hear you." Blanche, thrown off, stood irresolute; her great brown eyes were downcast and her cheeks burnt a painful red. "I will tell you anything-everything," she broke out, passionately; " but I do not know how to begin." She faltered and trembled, being very young and unused to hold a secret or unguided thought. Her ruling sister was calm and systematic. "Let me see that note?" she asked, quietly. Blanche's face deepened in color, and she thrust her hand into her bosom as if to guard it there. Jean dropped the hand she had held out to receive it, and coolly began unbraiding her hair; as she shook out X^ .BLANCHE'S SECRET. 21 its great veil of dusky ripples, Blanche threw her arms round her and hid her face under the beautiful curtain. "I always meant to tell you," she whispered, "but I could not find courage to begin; you are so sensible, so cool and wise, that I feared your judgment against it all. There's the bit of paper, love: help me to tell you the rest." She drew away the long, glossy tresses from her sis- ter's face, and put the note in her hand, watching her with eager eyes, and holding her breath as she read the words it contained. "You have deceived me, my dearest," it said;"I have loitered and lingered for three mortal hours to catch a glimpse of you,-I cannot risk the chance of missing you to-morrow also, so I hazard this by a messenger. Write me a word, I implore you, and tell me when I may hope to meet you as I should without fear or secrecy." There was no name, but it was written in pencil in a good masculine hand, and bore the appearance of equal haste and fervor. Jean examined it critically, re-read it, looked it over again, and then asked,- - "What is his name?" "Philip Spencer," Blanche replied in an almost in- audible whisper, and then hid her face in her sister's hair, and waited with a throbbing heart, as if to hear a seo tence pronounced against her. But Jean, with gathered ' brow and cogitating face, went on to examine the note over and over again in silence. Then Blanche took courage, and caught it out of her hand. "I do not like your expression, Jean," she said, warmly; "you assume a cold manner, and becoming a judge, make me a culprit. There, do not look at me in that way; there is nothing wrong,-I tell you so, and cannot you believe me?" page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] 22 BLANCHE GILROY. "No, not till you tell me all," said Jean, coldly and quietly. "There is no all to tell," protested Blanche; "it is a very little, and soon told." But although she said this readily, she paused, and seemed to find it difficult and almost impossible to begin. Her sister's look, fixed and painful, drew it from her, and she broke out,- "It was on that cold afternoon when it was sleeting and snowing, and you lay ill with the sore throat, you remember?"Jean nodded. "Well, I was hurrying to get through my lessons and come home and sit with you, and my last one was at Colonnade Terrace." Jean interrupted her,-"This was in the beginning of November, was it not?" "The thirteenth," answered Blanche, quickly. "You remember the very day, it seems," said her sister. "Yes, I just chanced to think of it;" and her color deepened, but she hurried on. "I was crossing the street directly at the Terrace, and the cobble-stones were so slippery that I fell, and should have been hurt se- verely had it not been for his catching me, and picking up my muff and my music; and I was so stunned that could scarcely tell him that I was going to Van Ort- landt's, where it chanced that he was going too,-and that was the way we happened to be introduced." She gave a gasp of relief. "There, that is all; you know it now," she said, and gave a timid upward glance to see how it was received. But Jean was not satisfied, her glance was brooding and her eyes troubled. "Julia Van Ortlandt is your music scholar, and her mother keeps a fashionable board- ing-house,-how were you introduced by the family to this gentleman?" m BLANCHE'S SECRET. 23 Blanche fidgeted, and tried to grow indignant under the searching eyes that questioned her. "Oh, pshaw what a wearing, worrying look, Jean! Pray, what more do you want to know? I answered his politeness in the street as well as I could, and I could not prevent his being so kind or helping me, could I? Well, well, stop boring into my heart with those eyes of yours, and I'll tell you every single syllable. He knew a lady staying at Van Ortlandt's, and made an excuse to call on her; then he told Julia his name, and asked her to introduce us. Please do not seem so cold and severe, Jean; it all fell out so naturally, that I could not help it,--indeed, indeed, I could not 1'" Jean answered by calculating. "That was the thirteenth of November, and to-day is the twentieth of January,-a little time to pass in becoming 'the dearest' to a stranger, a very long time to be deceiving your sister, Blanche." "Oh, Jean, Jean," cried Blanche, hysterically, "it is something that you cannot reason about or reduce to logic by those cold eyes of yours I I knew I did wrong to hide it; but I was afraid of you,-I dreaded those systematic adjustments of yours by which you arrange life. I knew this feeling could not bear weighing and sifting, and that I could not make you think or feel as I did; but I do love you, Jean,-oh, I do love you dearly!" The elder sister had been submitting to the spasmodic embraces accompanying Blanche's words, and preserving her troubled thoughtfulness all along. Now she put her arms round the beautiful girl, and holding her close, cried a quiet minute or two very natu- rally and freely. "You forgive me, Jean?" "Tell me about him," was the reply; " tell me all he page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] 24 BLANCHE GILROY. has ever-said to you, and what you have told him. But, above all, what he thinks of the future,-for love with a girl like you, Blanche, must be no passing coquetry, it must mean marriage." "He speaks of that only," said Blanche, in a subdued tone. "He is an unselfish man, Jean, for it must be a terrible sacrifice to look so far down and gain so little." "Does he call it a sacrifice?" "Not he; I gave it that name; of course he knows you, and has urged me again and again to speak to you, and even offered to go to father. But that was too awful, Jean, to be thought of." Jean gave a sigh of infinite relief. "He is a true man, then," she said, cheerfully. "If he had urged you to concealment, I should have been hopeless;" and she drew her sister closer to her breast. "I was always afraid of love coming to you, because I feared it would bring misery with it; but this is better than I thought; it seems that a rope is thrown to you by which you can float ashore out of our dreary sea of storms and gloom, and reach a home that father cannot rule in severity, or Aunt Tibbie in bitterness. God bless you, dear, and grant you a happy future!" "Us," corrected Blanche. "What is mine must be yours; there is but one life for both, love." - Jean smiled, and sighed again, not sadly, but with a sense of lifting shadows. "A new home,-a different lifel" repeated Blanche, softly to herself. "I never thought of it before for a single moment." "What else could you think of?" asked her sister, wonderingly. "That is the great gain,-the only gain,- all else is imaginary." ' No, no!" exclaimed Blanche, with deep fervor. "No, BLANCHE'S SECRET. 25 no, wait till your time comes; wait till a good man tells you that you are all the world to him, that he lives for you, and in you, and you feel his words in' your heart, then, Jean, everything else will seem like a dream, and his love will be real, pure, and enduring joy." Her sister turned a brooding glance on the beaming face before her, and her eyes dropped to the ground. But the result of her imusings was not sentimental. "Is he rich?" she asked. "He calls himself verv poor," said Blanche, laughing. "He says that often to quiet my sense of the difference between us. But his mother is that Mrs. Blair Spencer who is so rich and such a grand woman in society ; and look at the style they live in and the splendor that surrounds them. ' Jean Gilroy was not shocked at her sister's disclosure of this clandestine love, nor daunted by the elevation of the lover's station. Practical and determined as she was in character, she was quite ignorant of the ways of the world outside her own narrow home experience. Her sister's grace and beauty were sufficient to adorn any society, in her opinion, and the obstacles seemed trivial in her way to the highest advancement. All the suppression, fervor, and tenderness of her nature be. longed to the girl whom she admired, and in whose talents she had unfaltering trust. His mother might be an empress, and yet not loath to receive such brilliant beauty as the star of her Court, Jean thought; and this son;, about whom she had rather an indefinite, though favorable, idea, appeared simply a means of rescue and advancement for her darling. Without recalling that an hour ago she did not know such a human being was in existence, she made him the 3 page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] 26 BLANCHE GILROY. pivot of her plans and turned them busily, trying to decide on the best, or rather the quietest way to reach matri- :ij mony, since that meant liberty and new life. She kissed her sister very tenderly, and said, "God bless you and make you happy with him, Blanche; I will learn to like him for your sake." "For mine?" echoed Blanche, laughing. "Oh, Jean, he is to be liked for his own,-you cannot help it, as you will say when you know him. At first I felt as if it would be torture to name him to you, but now I am afraid I shall grow silly telling you about him." "What kind of temper has he? You and I should know how much depends on that, Blanche." "Temper, why, he has no temper. What a question, Jean!-as if I could admire a man who got angry with me!" "Well, disposition, then. You ought to know what I mean if you have not given up thinking rationally alto- gether." "He is generous and noble in every way," said the girl, eagerly. "Of course I told him who I was and what our position amounted to; and from the first he has endeavored to prove that there is no disparity, that I am his equal and all that,-which is very agreeable, even if it is not true, you know, Jean." Jean did not appear to share her enthusiasm. She kept her thoughtful eyes fixed on her sister, and only replied,- "That is scarcely a test of a man's nature; but I forgot, you are not to be expected to reason, since you are in love, Blanche Gilroy,-yes, you are truly in love.' She did not seem to rejoice in her discovery. She shook her head. "If I could have chosen for you I would have had your wits at liberty; now you are all in BLANCHE'S SECRET. 27 bondage to the subtle power, and at a great disadvan- tage, of course." Blanche laughed and blushed. "I am not in love," ai1 she protested. "I like him sincerely, and it makes me happy to know that he prizes me, for I was meant to be loved and loving; my heart tells me that every day, with the hungry yearning that even you don't satisfy." She caught Jean in her arms and kissed her as she con- tinued: "I know you love me better far than I de- serve; but, then, it is the feeling mothers have for chil- dren that give them trouble and keep them uneasy; and, Jean love, this man adores ine 1" "That is silly, Blanche, for he has known vou but a few weeks, and I have loved you all your life." She looked sadly a moment, and when Blanche, reassuring and fond, declared she never meant to be ungrateful, she tried to laugh and say; "It is natural; but it does not seem quite right that a new feeling should swallow the old." All that night while Blanche slept with a smile on her lovely young face, her sister lay trying to blend this bril- liant new color in the somber web of their daily life; but do what she might, the threads would not twine, the pattern would not appear, and the splendid Mrs. Spencer's only son stood, distinct and out of place, in the home figures. Heart and brain both ached with the effort, and she tried to put the task away, saying to herself, "But Blanche shall be happy,-nothing shall pull her down. She was born to shine, and her grace and wit would become any sphere." The subject of her ambitious strivings was calm and blest in the perfect joy that is deep and quiet, like a beau- tiful sleep after pain. With a perfect trust in her sister, she mingled an utter absence of self-reliance, and hav- page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] 28 BLANCHE GILROY. ing thrown herself on that fond love, she rested without a doubt or fear,-so content in the present that there was no need to question the future, and so secure in happiness that there was no room for doubt or suspicion of sorrow to come. CHAPTER III. TWO LOVERS. ' THAT next morning the sisters went to school to- gether, and on their way talked freely of the new future. I Jean's practical impracticality suggested a dozen ideas to :! her that she felt it would be useless to submit to the ii dreamily happy creature at her side, but she decidedly impressed upon her the necessity of bringing her face to face with the usurper, who had come so powerfully into their lives and moulded their fate to meet his own. At a turning, near one of the main streets, she became aware of the presence of a young gentleman, who was coming towards them with observable trepidation but more determination, and whose face and form impressed her favorably without distinctly signifying why. Slender and dark, with a frank earnestness in his handsome eyes, and a rather roused, than naturally impetuous, manner, he gave her a feeling of something to be developed by the future in his nature that was only just awakening at present. "This is he," she thought; "he is good looking and has an air, oh, so different from the people in our way; : ^ TWO O LOVERS. 29 but he is good, and may become really great, for he has only begun to live and think. Blanche is his first love- I see that." He had given Blanche a look and a smile when he bowed to both. Now he held his hand out to Jean and said,- "Miss Gilroy, you will let me speak to you in this way when your sister tells you why I take the liberty?" "She knows," whispered Blanche. And Jean put her hand frankly in his and looked at him with serious kind- ness, and no confusion or change of color. I am so glad to see you that I will not try to express the pleasure I feel," he said, " nor tell you how sorry I am that we meet in such an unconventional way. I wish I knew a better way of assuring you of my devoted love i and respect for your sister, and my desire to prove it, than by uttering it in words. I trust you will give me credit for being something better than I seem just now, and help me to present myself in my proper light." Jean listened gravely to his little speech, and weighed each word carefully. When he finished, she gave his face one other questioning look, as if to compare them together, and then she offered him her hand again with a i gesture so marked that he said, with feeling,- "Thank you; you are truly kind." "I love my sister," she said, speaking with some fal- tering, and for the first time; "and her happiness is so near to me that small points of ceremony seem very small compared to it. We are not girls accustomed to the world or its set ways. I feel that more this morning than I ever felt-it before. I am afraid it is improper in one way that we should meet in this manner for the first time; but I cannot see how we are to avoid it now." page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] 30 BLANCHE GILROY. "I begged Blanche to allow me to go to your father," said the gentleman. "It was not to be thought of," interrupted Jean. "Then I shall do what I can on my own part," he said, hastily. "I will tell my mother, who is my only living friend, and beg her permission to bring Blanche--. that is-I mean, I shall--" He broke down and turned a vexed and angry red. "I am talking like a fool, and shall perhaps offend you despite every effort to X the contrary; but it must be said." He paused a moment, but lost none of his perturbed manner or heightened color as he went on: "My mother has been a friend to me, and is something more in every i way than mothers usually are to grown-up sons. My X father left her a young widow when I was ten years old, and she turned to me for comfort in what was to her a terrible loss. Try to understand the natural growth of a, far too fond and overestimating love on her part, and a deep devotion on mine, and then make excuses for what might otherwise appear selfish-weak-and-and-- " He stammered in his effort to get a disguising word, and paused, looking heartily ashamed. Jean came to his rescue. "It is natural that she should expect you to choose a wife from among your social equals. If we had- been such, we should never have been talking in this plain, open way," she said. Blanche grew red, then pale; and her trouble seemed equal to her lover's. "Do not let us speak of this," she implored, in a low tone; "let it rest awhile and it will come right. Why should we try to hasten trouble?" Mr. Spencer, to do him justice, seemed more ashamed of his elevation than they of their low estate; and the it TWO LOVERS. 31 dread of appearing in the character of a snob seemed to weigh him to the earth. When he heard Blanche sigh, he turned on her a look that told his story completely. He was desperately in love, and every other considera- tion lost importance in comparison with that of winning the object of his regard. Jean, watchful and prudent, caught the look and weighed it. "Blanche need not fear his mother," she thought; "he will let nothing come between them, dear as it may be, for my. poor girl holds his heart in her hand, and I am thankful for it, since she loves him so herself." He talked with her solely, while his eyes were con- stantly wandering to Blanche's face during the rest of the way to Mrs. Catherwood's academy, where Jean taught. He professed himself willing to be guided by her in everything, and warmly and manfully protested against the stolen interviews in which they had been obliged to be content in the past. There seemed to be but one I course present to his mind, and that was to claim the right of a visitor at their father's house. But the very idea of such an inlcongruous element in the family life was too much for either girl to master. Blanche thought of the opposition, and the coarse necessity of disclosure, but Jean Said to herself,- "He loves, but it would take more than love to endure Aunt Tibbie, and I would never subject him to the test. He was born and has lived in elements too different ever to assimilate with ours. When Blanche marries him, it will be to enter a new life, and drop every memory of the old one." Blanche herself was pleading,- "Oh, let it rest a little while, please; only a few page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] 32 BLANCHE GILROY. months or even weeks. It will be spring by-and-by, and meantime we can be learning whether we really care for each other or not." She laughed as she spoke, as if she did not really feel : it necessary to study the point in her own case. As for Q her lover, he was past suspicion. ! He took from his pocket a little package. "I want a a rivet," he explained; "this seems such an unsubstantial X delight that it may float away from me at any moment." ? So saying, he displayed a circlet of glittering gems and ! held it towards Jean. "If you will put this on her finger for me, I shall feel X that I hold her through you; aInd, indeed, I bless you now as the best of friends, for I feel you understand X me." . She obeyed, and in touching his hand pressed it very gently. i; "I hope I do understand you, for I think well of you," I she said, simply. :i Then she dropped her veil hastily and left them together, for her time was up, and Blanche was sure to be late for her first music lesson. Among the very few visitors at the quiet home of the I Gilroys were an old man and his wife who had an only v son not at present at home. Mr. Galbraith had a business and church interest combined in his friend Andrew Gilroy,-for besides being a member of a small and peculiarly formal congrc- i gation to which he belonged, he had gathered together, ]i through the hard and narrow ways of life, enough money , to live on, and being out of business, used a portion of it 3 in auction speculations, buying cheaply and selling at an , advance. TWO LOVERS. 33 Making many bargains in the book- trade in this way, he joined profits with his friend, and was almost a partner in the small business. Mrs. Galbraith was a natural sycophant, and therefore a favorite with Aunt Tibbie, at whose tea-board she was more welcome than any other guest. Their absent son, mysteriously engaged in some pay- ing pursuit in the South and West, was a subject of pride and delight to both parents; and having once been a sort of bullying playfellow of young Andrew, Mrs. Galbraith made no secret of her hope that he might visit home and see and fancy Jean, thus- uniting the already attached families. But he seemed particularly shy of availing himself of the pleasure of seeing his parents. It was more than seven years since he left them, and he had as yet settled no time for return. Jean had heard him spoken of suffi- ciently to be violently prejudiced against him, so she naturally rejoiced in his delay, and stood astonished and confounded when, on her return from school -that day, she saw the parlor blinds raised, and was informed by Christie, their old Scotch servant, that the visitor to ! whom this unwonted display was due, was none other than Ralph the returned son. She would gladly have slipped up-stairs out of the way, but her aunt's voice demanded her presence; and she went in, and was presented to a man very unlike the boy she remembered as Andy's playfellow. He was very swarthy, and so appeared older than he really was, and being a well-grown and well-made young man, would have had a fine figure but for a certain swag- ger and assertion that he affected to carry off his want of ease. His hair was shiny black and plentiful; his eyes curiously shallow and reticent in their glances; his teeth page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] 34' BLANCHE GILROY. : X dazzlingly white and handsome, and his whole person : showily dressed and set off with valuable jewelry. It was evident this resplendent appearance had pro- By dluced its effect. Mrs. Galbraith was tearfully jubilant, and Aunt Tibbie herself was all condescending agree- ability. - - "This is Jean, Ralph dear," said his fond mother; :, "you will remember her, I'm sure, though she's grown X such a fine young lady. I should have thought my prayers ! had not been heard if you had married in that strange - place, and not come back to see some of the nice wives you can find in your old home." She chuckled and nodded in a ridiculous way after this amiable speech; and Jean, looking quietly before her, i asserted her native dignity by unconsciousness. The object of her fond advice, on the contrary, looked confused and uneasy, while he murmured some set com.- pliments, and bowed with great ceremony. The next instant, Blanche, with her bonnet in one i hand, her muff in the other, and her brilliant beauty l heightened by the sharp cold without, came in laughing at something Christie had told her, but started back at -, the sight of Ralph, and became quiet with an indignant l flush added to her bloom. "This is Blanche," said Aunt Tibbie, with less effect X and less suavity than had been used in presenting her sister. "Mr. Ralph will not remember much of you, I suppose; Jean was always his favorite." On the contrary, it appeared that Mr. Ralph not only remembered her remarkably well, but that he was very anxious to have that memory reciprocated. His dark face was suffused with an unusual flush, as he endeavored to impress his pleasure on his words and round their awkward praise into acceptable compliment. ",l TWO LO VERS. 35 The proud, offended coldness of the girl's face was an odd contrast to the effort on his, that had something servile and beseeching in its conciliation. Without a word, and with only a quiet bow to him, she spoke to his mother before going up-stairs to put aside her things. Jean watched her, not too well pleased. "She feels that she is already risen out of the common range," she said; " but it is too early to soar yet, and will bring us trouble." So she followed her to whisper a warning, and found her indignant and chafing still. "Jean, is that man to come here to sit with us and be our father's guest?" she cried. "What is the matter with you, you foolish girl?" asked her sister, warningly. "Are you already out of bonds that you are trying your wings?" Blanche caught Jean's hand, and held it while she said, hurriedly,- "If ever a creature was warned of evil, I am warned of it at the sight of that man. His mother says he came from the South this morning; but he has been here for more than a week, and has followed me and insulted me with those bold, wicked eyes!" Jean's face changed, and she looked distressed. "I did not like him, Blanche, I own; but you may be mis- taken,-you may mistake him for some one else. His eyes are not good, true eyes, but they are not bold, and he cannot return your glance." "I do not know how to analyze such a one as he; but I never looked up the day he rode in the stage with me without finding those wicked eyes fastened on my face; and since then he has met me, and gone after me, and made me most unhappy." "If ever you disguised your thoughhts, do so now," implored Jean, after thinking awhile; "it is necessary, page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] 36 BLANCHE GILRO Y. and their display can only make it harder for us. He shall not trouble you; if he does, then it will be time enough to speak." : So she drew her down with her, and made her appear at the table already spread for tea, with unprecedented profusion. Meeting their visitor now, she was cordially polite to H make up for Blanche's silence; and Ralph, with his eyes i fastened covertly on the beautiful face that tried to turn from his gaze, began to discourse freely. X "Oh, this is a half-alive place, and you only keep from X being paralyzed in business here. Go South, if you ; want to learn to live and enjoy living; society there has a charm to it, and every one shines in their own sphere. : Here, nothing gets its due, it seems, not even beauty ;" and he looked across the table directly into Blanche's a eyes, and held them despite her efforts to free her gaze for a single moment. Then he laughed, and said "that there were no such lilies and roses as those grown away , firom home, he must confess that much." "And that is a great deal," said Mrs. Galbraith, with ! her chuckling and nodding satisfaction; and she tele- Ad graphed Mrs. Gordon behind her hand with many side winks in the direction of Jean. - Blanche, finding herself allowed a respite from all but : the secret admiration of the newcomer, and feeling half X amused, half angry, at the plotting she could easily see between her aunt and Mrs. Galbraith on Jean's account, withdrew to the light after tea, and took out a silk purse I she was netting. Purposely she placed herself out of the range of Ralph's eyes, as he sat, pretending to talk to her father i and by-and-by the' delicate work ceased to hold her mind, and her hands lay idly in her lap. :a Jean, with self-sacrificing tenderness, had shut her out :1 I TWO LOVERS. 37 from the little circle around the grate, and almost placed herself before her. As she glanced backwards she saw that the beautiful head was drooping with the weight of sweet thought; tears lay on the brilliantly flushed cheeks, and the soft, tender eyes looked dewy in their own love- light. "What can' it be?" thought the sister. "I never saw such a happy smile, and yet she has been weeping; it is a mystery, this love, and my sister is only half my own any more, since even now she is with the man who holds her heart." Aunt Tibbie's sharp voice interrupted her thoughts, and Blanche started and allowed a little frightened cry to escape her at thie sound. "What is that on your hand, girl?" asked the sharp guardian of her youth, in a bitter, accusing tone. "Do you mean to say you are wasting money on such gaudy folly while your decent Christian father is toiling for hi. daily bread?" She had no idea of the value of the thing, but she caught up Blanche's left hand and showed the shining ring she wore. Frightened and indignant, the young girl drew her hand away quickly, while Jean, growing quite pale with the effort she was making, laughed, and said, lightly,- "Why, Aunt Tibbie, do you suppose Blanche or I could make money enough in a year to buy a ring like that? Look at Mr. Ralph!s diamonds, and ask him what such things cost." Then, having taken their attention from her sister, she said, as if reprovingly,- "But I would not wear my scholars' jewelry, let me tell you, Blanche; it is a way girls have putting their rings on your fingers for fun, and forgetting all about it; but 4 page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] 38 BLANCHE GILROY. if they should be lost or injured it would be awkward for us, you know." "It is her own vanity in encouraging, or, maybe, bor- rowing it from them," said Aunt Tibbie, in stern reproof. "Such things don't become the children of honest, God- fearing men,-unless they make their way in the world and can well afford it," she added, seeing that she might otherwise disparage Ralph's gems and pretensions. Jean knew there was a name on her sister's ring,-she had read "Blanche, from Philip," on its inside, when she put it on her finger,-and she dreaded lest it should l become the subject of further remark, and, perhaps, examination. So, leaning over, she drew it from hV M finger with an expressive look, saying,--. "I will keep it till we pass Percy's to-morrow, so as to remind you to return it, you know." Blanche resisted with another little cry, and Ralph, with his eyes fixed on them both, saw her yearning, , pleading look that followed the little trinket, and silently protested against its loss; then he noticed her wake up to another feeling, and marked her eyes fill with thank- ful, loving tears, as they rested-oh, so fondly!-on her X sister's face. Jean had deceived them all but him: he divined, through the cunning and suspicion that was part of his nature, that there was a love-token in the ring, and the passion he had conceived for its wearer only grew stronger as he foresaw a contest in winning her for himself. :ii JEAN'S OPINION. 39 CHAPTER IV. JEAN'S OPINION. A FORTNIGHT or more went by after this without change in the Gilroy household, except that Ralph had become, by consent and invitation, an almost constant visitor; 'and with no avowed object in view, began im- proving his mind by Mr. Gilroy's conversation and Mrs. Gordon's advice. His homage to Blanche was essentially secret, partly from fear of her resenting it, partly because it was his plan to be covert, and gain his end by an un- derhand movement. To Jean he was always courteous, affectedly so, and with an object: it gained him easy, unquestioned access to the house at all times, and kept his mother and her aunt busy with pleased contrivings for the future of the two. Blanche was happy, completely and ineffably happy, as her sister could see, and she really shrank from dis- turbing the blissful dream, by a real question which duty urged her to utter. "You see your friend often, dear," said she one after- noon after she had come upon them just about to part near the Gilroy home. "Yes; but he is very impatient, and he threatens con- stantly to see father. Oh, Jean, that seems worse than ever now, since that coarse, bad creature has found a way to influence him, and he is actually won to admire such a wretched imitation of a fine gentleman as Ralph Galbraith." "You are already above us all, Blanche," said Jean, page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] 40 BLANCHE GILROY. a little sadly. "I don't call Ralph either coarse or vulgar; he is not a good man, but in appearance and manner he is better than most others that we are used to." Blanche looked astonished. "I find him so repellant that I can think of nothing pleasant in connection with him,--his very presence seems an insult to us." You are separating from your old life in all but the true way, dear, and that must be done first or last," said her sister, with a strong determination in her tone, though she did not look up as she spoke. "Blanche, you weary of the people that used to be rather a re- lief. You see a thousand objections in what used to be a matter of course,-the truth is, you are fitting yourself for Philip's station. Now, what are you going to do?" "What am I going to do?" repeated Blanche, in a frightened tone. "Oh, I do not know, I cannot think. I only want to enjoy this blessed peace a little while longer before I begin." "Now, that is childish." "Yes, yes, I know it is. But I told you I was a coward. His mother and my father Hthink of the two, Jean, and then do not wonder at my shrinking from the act that : must bring them together. No, dear, I try to look for- ward, and I try to reason, but I cannot find courage to face those two in their divided spheres; and you, too, must see how fearful it is, if you think of it." "Think of it?" repeated Jean. "I have done little else by night or day since I knew it, and I am sure that delay will only complicate the question and make the effort harder." "I cannot help that, I cannot even reason about it,-I must have a respite, and by-and-by the time will come and I cannot shirk it. There's a fate in these things; I jii JEAN'S OPINION. 41 feel it; this is my time to rest and enjoy, but there's trouble beyond, never fear, and it will meet me soon enough." "Now you are growing worse than ever, you are losing your gratitude to Heaven, which has blessed you with a means of escape from a gloomy, heavy life; you are even wronging the man you love, by doubting the truth of his affection." She put her arm in Jean's, and tried to laugh. "You are determined to be serious and lecturing, and so find fault with all I say, Jean," she said, coaxingly. "Now be good to me, and give me a month more, since he has done the same, and when that is gone I'll throw my dreams after it, and wake up and live in the reality only." "A pleasant reality, too," said Jean, watching her face. "Mrs. Philip Speneer's life should be fill of pleasure, and many a one would be in a hurry to win the title." "Don't, don't, I beg of you!" said Blanche, quickly, and in a tone of pain. "Oh, Jean, you cannot understand how such things sound to me! H beg you will not say it again." Jean's face flushed, but she kept silent; she could not sympathize with what seemed a whim, but she was firm in her love and hope, and both constituted a most un- selfish ambition. Blanche would be a lady, with a bright, proud future before her. Philip loved her, and although his mother might object to her birth and connections, she believed too completely in the passion she had watched so narrowly to fear for a moment that parental anger or entreaty could separate them. "And yet she seems so happy now, that I cannot have the heart to hurry her on, though the pause seems to me an unwise one," she thought. "Every mention of the 4*- page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] 42 BLANCHE GILROY. future seems to rouse her as if from a delightful dream, and be a stab of pain rather than an awaker of brighter hopes. I cannot understand it, as she says, so I must be content to wait awhile for an explanation." : Now that she saw her sister on the pinnacle of womanly success, the tenderness with which she had guarded her babyhood,-being then herself a very little child,-came back to her, and she yearned towards her with the spirit of unselfish, maternal love. When they were first left alone together Jean remem- bered her mother's prayers, and kept close by Blanche's cradle till they took the silent form, around which her awed fondness clung, and carried it away in what was to her a long black coach. "She will come back to us by-and-by," thought the child; "she said we would see her again, and I'll take care of baby till she comes." In her intervals of rocking and watching she would climb up and peer anxiously into the street down which the procession had gone; and one day finding her thus, her father had questioned her, and learned that she had a firm expectancy of her mother's return. Mr. Gilroy's grief had made him silent and gloomy, he had almost avoided the sight of his poor children, as in some way increasing his sorrow, and this simple con- fession seemed to shock and startle him. In a slow, laborious manner he took up the little creature's fancy, and endeavored to explain it into a sinful wandering of her youthful mind. She resented his effort and cried out that her mamma would come back, that God could not keep her from her' babies, and that he would be wicked if he tried to do it. Alarmed and horrified at such impiety, Mr. Gilroy determined at once to punish it, even though he did it JEAN'S OPINION. 43 with an aching heart; so, after a long and earnest exhorta- tion, and a most sincere effort to convict the child of her sin, Jean was corrected severely, and left alone to think over her wickedness and its consequences. This whipping was a most important event in the young life, since it changed it completely, and made a naturally timid girl, as secretive of her thoughts and suspicious of those around her as a miser would have been of his gold; but its effect was most satisfactory to the grieved parent, who had suffered greatly in inflicting it, and who considered it a test of duty not to be shrunk from. Never again did the motherless child utter heresy or blasphemy, and her behavior was so circumspect that every one agreed in calling her wise beyond her years, and admitting that her father's firm step in family govern- ment had produced good results. Christie was the friend and comforter of the little ones, and both loved her with all the feeling that animated their repressed little hearts. She was even in those days a curiously shy and watchful woman: she had Mr. Gilroy's daily orders to mind, and his wife's dying prayer to remember, and between the two she was vibrating con- stantly. When confident that she was entirely alone with them, she would pour a flood of pent-up tenderness on their desolate little heads, calling them many names they could not understand, but that they felt meant kindness, and they nestled to her as faithfully as they shrank away from every one else. The Sabbath-day was observed under Mr. Gilroy's jurisdiction with something of its ancient rigor. Christie had her little ones dressed early, and checked them in whis- pers as she placed them by their father's side at breakfast. "Remember, children, that this is the holy Sabbath- page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] " BLANCHE GILROY. day," was his first salutation, "and strive to keep it without wandering in your thoughts. God knows your minds, and will punish secret sin as well as the open breaking of his law."y This imperfectly understood exhortation produced a frightened quiet, and in somewise awoke a conflicting idea of an angry God and a severe father being one and the saine person,-a dreadful misapprehension that years did not entirely dispel. Twice to church, between their father and Christie, the poor little things walked demurely, and sat through two long sermons, each with its wistful eyes fixed on the collection-bag at the end of a long pole, the passing around of which was a signal that the service was nearly over. But this was during the early days, before Christie's j rule was invaded by Aunt Tibbie. After her cuming it seemed to the children that the Sabbaths extended through ' all the week; and repression on Jean's side and antago- I nism on Blanche's, began and developed more strongly every day. A review of all this passed through Jean's mind as they stood in their room, side by side; so she turned and caught her sister in her arms with an unusual outhurst of feeling. "It is so nearly over that it seems wonderful that it should have been borne so long. I am very happy for - your sake, Blanche, my darling, very, very happy "P! Blanche returned her embrace with all her heart, but seemed to find it depressing. Her eyes filled and her face drooped sadly. "You will be dragging up the curtain corner, dear," she said; "and I find my pleasure in sitting before it and resting, rather dreading the time when it must roll ! away and disclose the future." JEA Y'S OPINION. 45 It was wearing on towards springtime, and the house- hold had relaxed its narrow frugality of style, under the influence of Ralph's repeated visits, and developed a freedom of reception that, under other circumstances, would have appeared almost miraculous. But Jean knew that her aunt and Mrs. Galbraith had decided it well worth the expenditure to match Ralph with herself, and the young man's lavish generosity more than repaid any small outlay. He was understood to be a partner in a large Southern house, whose business he was overseeing in the Eastern cities; for a day or two every fortnight he would go off on an expedition connected with trade, and from these excursions he would return always with some change of jewelry,-sometimes with an article or two less, but more generally with some splendid addition. He was a shal- low fellow in most things, and assumed, at times, an important air that made him none the less acceptable to the elder women, who swallowed his assurance and assumption and admired his lacquer, mistaking it for true metal. He affected a strong interest in religious matters, and thus Mr. Gilroy often reported to his grati- fied sister the length and breadth of conversations he had held with him on awakening themes, and the evidences he gave of serious feeling. "Jean is nearly three-and-twenty," Aunt Tibbie re- marked, at the close of one of these discourses. "She is not a strong girl, as any one may see who watches her as I do. Andrew, I think if she goes on teaching she may fall into consumption, and go as her mother went." It was the rarest possible occurrence in the lives of either that the dead Mrs. Gilroy should be alluded to. The widower's changing face showed that it should page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] " BLANCHE GILRO Y. be rarer still. His voice was husky and suppressed as he replied, after a pause,- "The girl's well enough; teaching is an idle life, and idle folks are delicate-looking. Give her hard work to do and she'll be stronger." "They both make their living far too easy," assented his sister. "You and I had to work for ours, Andy." And she shook her head over the luxurious perversity of her nieces' calling. "But that was not what you were going to say to me, - Tibbie," said Mr. Gilroy, after waiting a moment. "No, you are right, Andy, it was not," assented Aunt Tibbie, briskly. "I was going to say that Ralph seems to have set his thoughts on her, and, as all seems prom- ising, it will be well to help it along, I think." "If," said Mr. Gilroy, with weighty slowness, "if the young man's mind inclines towards the girl, let him make it the subject of prayer and serious thought. When he receives inward counsel all will be well; his father is well disposed, and I will not stand in his way." Not a word of Jean's possible wishes or objections did he intimate; but his sister was too cunning to ignore the will of her sex so completely. She knew by experience that even the two disciplined girls could assert theirs, and, indeed, had seen their father yield to it, when, in his tyrannical heart, he believed he was crushing it-or the "old Adam," which he chose to represent it-out of their lives with the iron hoof of his inexorable prejudice. This led her to say, "The girl herself may not fancy him. I have no cause to say so, but she's naturally set in her ways." With a quick movement of his heavy brows-brows grown shaggy with years-he raised his head. "Tibbie, what is that you say? Naturally? Isn't all JEAN'S OPINION. 47 nature in opposition to the law, and must it not be broken and the old Adam driven out, before it becomes obedient to the will of Heaven?" "The girl is in darkness and needs to be enlightened," agreed Aunt Tibbie. "It is providential for her that she has those who are alive to her interests, temporal and eternal, who will see that she is led in the right way." But, while outwardly acquiescing to her brother, she had an idea of her own, and as soon as he was gone be- gan to put it in practice by ordering Christie to light the parlor fire and open the blinds for company. "Mr. Ralph will be here by-and-by," she said, with a smile; "and we mustn't send suitors away without service, you know." Christie made a wry face secretly, but obeyed without a word; and so the fire was gleaming cheerily and the room set out in inviting order, while Aunt Tibbie put a best cap on and prepared some dainty for tea. "What does it mean?" asked Jean, in a whisper, coming in as the old woman stooped to give a finishing polish to the hearth. "It is for that ill-looking, swaggering fellow that's leading them all," returned the old woman, in the same tone, and keeping busy while she spoke. "Oh, Ralph 1" exclaimed Jean; and she laughed to reassure the anxious eyes that peered at her questioningly. "Of course I knew you'd never take up with him," continued the humble friend; "but you see my heart's in my mouth when I hear such a thing named. Hold your heads high, my bonnie ladies; you belong to another sort than his." Uttering these words hurriedly but most earnestly, Christie withdrew just as Mrs. Gordon came in, and, with some flurry of manner, looked around without meeting her niece's eye. page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] 48 BLANCHE GILROY. ( Why don't you lay off your things, child, and come down here with your work? A body may as well enjoy I what they have, and there's nothing to hinder us from r being comfortable." Jean had an object in view when she replied agreeably i and hurried up as if eager to return. She had in her pocket a note which she had received from the hand of / her sister's lover, and it was extreme eagerness to scan its contents that sent her flying up-stairs with the pre- tense of arranging her hair to suit Ralph's reception. When she opened it, she found it to read'as she had an- ticipated. The month had gone by now, and another had nearly followed ; yet Blanche clung to her old prayer, and he was bound powerless by her unreasonable plead- ing. It was always "wait a little while and yet wait a little while." He was now determined to put an end to what he felt was a foolish weakness. There was something degrading in the secrecy of their positions, and he entreated Jean to persuade her sister of the reasonableness of his de- mand and the impropriety of delay, and prepare her for any absurd nonsense in the way of opposition in either of their families. Jean read his letter over twice; then she burnt it, as was her only safe plan, and thought over its contents. a Yes, he knew there would be trouble, and he was will- ing and ready to meet and bear his part of it; that was just right. Then he tried to class his mother's pride and repugnance to such an unequal marriage with Blanche's father's prejudice against worldliness and disobedient fancies and make them equal. That was delicate and kind. Throughout he asserted himself as the winner, the one who had nothing to yield and all to gain. "I like the man," she concluded, with a flushed face. A VISITOR. 49 Slow to grow warm, a glow was a fire with her, and, cautious in giving, her gifts were generous. When Jean Gilroy said she liked her sister's choice, it was equal to a vow of devotion from lighter lips. While she scattered the ashes, over which she had brooded, Blanche, late and weary, came in sighing. "I am so tired to-night," she complained; "my les. sons dragged, and I am fairly sick of the jingle of the keys." Jean watched her without speaking, and felt that she needed no preparation for what was coming. Every movement spoke nervous depression and feverish anxiety. "Dear me, the days are too long; I am growing tired of myself and everything else," she continued. "But don't look reproachfully at me, Jean; there's a storm coming, and I feel it in the air." CHAPTER V. A VISITOR. THE Galbraiths were not expected in vain; they were there, both father and son, when Jean went down into the parlor and received them both with placid smiles. Mr. Gilroy had just come from his store with a volume, on some abstruse theological point, in his hand, and the elder guest and he sat down side by side in the sitting- room- to weigh its arguments, while Aunt Tibbie, with wily pleasantry, decoyed the younger pair into the parlor. "When they sift the matter, they'll let us have the wheat; and a little cheerful discourse among friends is no harm even if it is not a duty laid down. My brother 5 page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] 50 BLANCHE GILROY. I himself, though he proves by many searching passages that whatever is not a duty is a sin, will yet allow that all duties are not labors. - Jean, where's your lace? If Mr. Ralph has a taste for home-made finery, he will give you his opinion of it, while I hurry Christie a bit." Jean saw that under Ralph's wide smile there lay a gnawing impatience, and that when Aunt Tibbie half closed the door, shutting out his view of the one beyond opening towards the stairs, he had almost uttered a sound of angry remonstrance. So she quietly and smilingly set herself to chafe and worry him, as her aunt suggested, about the knitted lace. After a time Aunt Tibbie made her appearance in rather a cautious manner, as if she feared to interrupt the pair. Seeing Jean quietly busy and Ralph rather dejectedly twirling his flashy chains, she began a little conversation: "If Blanche had not got a sick-headache to-night she would have given you some music, Mr. Ralph, if you care for fashionable playing. I don't fancy such things myself, but I believe Blanche is as good at it as the best i of her kind." "Oh, I love music,-there's nothing I like so well!" exclaimed Ralph with irrepressible eagerness. "And I have been told that it is a sure cure for the headache by those who have tried its charm. Couldn't you induce Miss Blanche to make the effort?" He pressed the subject with such anxious earnestness, saying something about David's harp and Saul's evil spirit, that Mrs. Gordon seemed to regret its introduction. "Blanche knows nothing of the sacred spirit that guided David, she is a creature of folly and worldliness; not like Jean here, to be led into the ways of discretion. She's a cross to her father and me, and one of the great A VISITOR. 51 sorrows and anxieties that we are appointed to bear in this life." Looking innocently before her as her aunt indulged in a long-drawn sigh after these remarks, Jean was conscious of a look in Ralph's eyes, ugly and covertly wicked, and knew that he was secretly devoting her relative to an evil fate, as she went on to disparage the chosen object of his love, thinking she was enhancing Jean in contrast by doing so. But Blanche did not appear, and the evening wore heavily away, the young man becoming almost undisguisedly moody and disappointed. Suddenly he cleared up after a short, cloudy silence, and broke out into a sort of boisterous cheerfulness at the close,- "I want you all to ride out with me to-morrow," he said. "I have bought my father a fine burial-lot in one of the fashionable cemeteries, and I've had an iron railing and marble posts set up in good style. You must give me your approval, Mrs. Gordon." "I could not withhold it," cried flattered Aunt Tibbie. "It is a scriptural duty to provide a final resting-place for our fathers, and you have acted according to the good opinion I hold you in, Mr. Ralph." This was the beginning of a good deal of compliment, clumsy and filsome, to which the young man listened, with his cunning look on Jean, to whose influence with her sister he trusted greatly. His father praised his money-making power, his friend Mr. Gilroy echoed the strain with biblical quotations on the subject of thrift and wisdom, and Mrs. Gordon crowned the oration with general praise in which there was neither stint nor delicacy. The party invited did not include the young people; Ralph laughed and made a joke about there being plenty of time for them to attend to the graveyard question, and page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] 52 BLANCHE GILROT. said he should be there in good time, and hope to see the young ladies, though they were not to grace the drive. He took Jean's hand as he bade good-night, and showed a desire to whisper in her ear, which she foiled with a cool unconsciousness that comforted her when she could use it against those she disliked. The next day was Saturday, a holiday for both, as Ralph knew when he chose it for his excursion. Blanche rose early and dressed her hair, singing, as Jean had not heard her sing for many a day, a wild, half-defiant song in favor of inconstancy, and the delights of change. She had a restlessness upon her that was a strong con- trast to the sweet, brooding peace her lovely face had worn in past months, and she flew from one thing to another in a hasty, dissatisfied way that worried Jean as she watched her. "I am so glad it is spring again," said the elder sis- ter; "I think one grows clearer and brighter in their thoughts when the fresh sunshine wakes them up to a new summerl." "I hate the spring," said Blanche, petulantly; "it comes peering into your life with its great bright eye, and startles all the quiet, comfortable shadows: 'And spring would be but gloomy weather If we had nothing else but spring,' she sang, with ringing shrillness. "Oh, pray, don't, dear 1" pleaded Jean, tenderly;" doesn't sound like you at all, and it makes me unhappy to see you so restless and disquieted. I have been promis- ing myself a grand day for us two together,-a long, pleas- ant home-day, with only Christie near us. I really blest Ralph Galbraith for bringing it about last night." A VISITOR. 53 Blanche stood at her side, and sighed as she put her arm around her. "I am going to enjoy it," she said, determinedly, " and steal another day from the gloomy future. Oh, Jean, why can't it all be present, why need he anticipate what must come, until it is here?" "I think you want to create difficulties," said Jean, a little sternly. "I am not afraid of the future,-it has no evil that cannot be overcome, and you are trifling with your courage by calling up silly fears." So saying, she went down to breakfast, which was being hurried through with a view to the unusual event about to take place. Christie seemed bent on aiding the excursion, and by her activity and foresight had left nothing for Aunt Tib- bie to grumble at. The parlor was in order for company, the breakfast ready before time, and the wardrobe of her mistress laid out to suit. Mr. Gilroy was not averse to display under some cir- cumstances; and when Ralph, drove up in a handsome barouche, he smiled grimly, and intimated to his sister that old Mr. Galbraith had reason to be proud of his son,-a feeling that the sleek father himself did not en- deavor to hide. Ralph was in his best array, and made a showy appear- ance on the front seat prepared to drive, with a colored man at his side for effect. While his courteous remarks were bestowed on the Gilroys, his bad eyes went roving over the front of the- house for some sign of Blanche; and, as if in answer to his look, she appeared at the hall door with a faint, soft flush on her fair face, and a scarlet geranium blossom trailing from her golden hair. She was dressed with an exqui- site consciousness of her own style that seemed an in- 5* page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] 54 BLANCHE GILROy. stinct, for she was not a vain girl, and looked like the very spirit and poetry of that lovely springt day. "Blanche!" cried Mrs. Gordon, sharply, from the car- riage, where she had just seated herself after much ar- rangement. The girl ran lightly down the steps, and held up her listening face to hear what her aunt desired to say. "Why will you grieve your father's eyes and heart with such play-actor's dressing?" And, making a snatch at the scarlet flower and missing it, she went on with increased anger, "Oh, if you could learn to content yourself in plain and becoming attire, such as the apostle recommended, I would begin to have hope of you; but, as it is---" She shook her head, unable to express her feelings further. As if fired by sudden boldness, Ralph leant over from his seat and, with his ungloved hand brushing the red cheek of the girl, caught the flower from her hair, dragging down a shower of loose curls with it. In an instant she had turned on him with the look of a tigress, and one quick movement of her own hand that meant mischief, but before her parted lips could utter her rage she conquered it unspoken, and dashed up the steps and into the house. "Ralph, you seem to know my wish," said Aunt Tibbie, relaxing into a commending smile. "Just throw it out there in the street, and thank you. It's the poor, giddy creature's besetting sin, and will always be in her way, I fear." Ralph did not obey her; flourishing his whip and starting the horses, he gave the reins to the man at his side for a moment while he secretly hid the flower in his breast. Jean sat 4lone in the parlor, her work in her hand, A VISITOR. 55 beside the open piano. The day had been broken in upon painfully that was to have been all delight and peaceful harmony. Blanche had flown up-stairs, and did not come down again, though she had waited now nearly an hour. Suddenly she heard the sound of wheels in the street, and imagining that some mischance had brought the party home, rose to see what it might be. Christie at the door, repeating, "A lady for Miss Blanche Gilroy," made her pause, and presently there swept into the room a very large and elegant-looking woman, with a calm and gracious manner, but a voice ' that trembled slightly as she asked,- "Do I speak to Miss Blanche Gilroy?" "I am her sister Jean," replied the girl; and in a mo- ment she knew whom she greeted, and on what errand she had come. "Her sister?-oh, yes, I remember, and am glad to see you- first." Having said this readily and easily, the lady paused, and although in air and figure she seemed a very empress beside the modest, simply-dressed girl at her side, the self-.possession that belonged to her by nature appeared to desert her meanly, and leave her at the mercy of the moment's confusion and embarrassment. "To understand each other properly I am afraid we must be unceremoniously frank," she said, after giving a few seconds to the arrangement of her shawl, which she had purposely dropped in accepting the chair Jean offered. She raised her handsome gray eves, and fixed them on her companion, as she spoke: "You know my son, he tells me, and it is of his admiration for your sister I come to speak." "Mr. Philip Spencer?" asked Jean, to gain time, and be quite sure that it was her sister's step she heard approaching. page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] 56 BLANCHE GILROY. The lady bowed and was about to proceed when the door opened, and the girl her son admired stood before her. Evidently she had not expected to see so much beauty, and the sight of it increased her uneasiness, and lessened the reliance she had felt in her own power when she first entered. "his is my sister Blanche' Mrs. Spencer," said Jean, and made a movement to leave the room. "Pray do not go, Miss Gilroy," interposed the lady, hastily. "I believe there is, as there should be, perfect confidence between you; what I must say is of interest to both." Blanche bent her head to the visitor without speaking, and taking her sister's hand sat down beside her, with a still attentive face turned towards Mrs. Spencer, in whose features she could trace much of the man she loved, mixed with something more, that told her his dead father might have been her friend, but his mother was her enemy. "My son has a faulty, and, as yet, quite unformed character," said she, as if to fix that impression firmly. "I dare say, Miss Blanche, he has persuaded you to be- lieve him your slave, your adorer?" "I believe he loves me," said Blanche, without blushing or weakness of any kind. "Quite natural, I am sure. I have no doubt he thinks so himself; he is very young, yet the same impression has possessed him in regard to half a dozen others, I presume." To this Blanche offered no reply, except respectful at- tention. The mother's anxious glance detected her own error,-doubt or disparagement were without effect in this case. She must touch other chords. "You expected him to confess this-this infatuation- you must excuse me if I give it its true name-to me?" A VISITOR. 5 "Yes." "And you did not expect that I would approve it?" , No." "Then, may I ask-what your views for the future are -your ideas as to the result of this-I scarcely know how to put my question, but have no doubt you will un- understand and favor me with an answer." This a little impatiently. She had been preparing her- self for a variety of encounters, but the girl's quiet took her at a disadvantageoand made her anxiety and uncer- tainty apparent,-in fact, robbed her of all studied grace or power of manner, and showed her, plainly, a proud and distressed mother. "I cannot tell," said Blanche, quite as much to herself as to her questioner. "I could not look forward; a dull blank wall seems to rise between me and my future." She paused: her sister's very lips grew white with anguish; but Mrs. Spencer recovered her calm, gracious sweetness, and smiled. "Indeed, my dear Miss Blanche," she said, in a full, agreeable-sounding voice, " it gives me comfort and pleas- ure to talk to you as a friend, for I feel sure that we shall readily understand each other, and you will learn to re- gard me as one. At first I was quite nervous about Philip's nonsense, and, no doubt, have struck you as a fussy, troublesome old woman." She laughed, showing a handsome mouth, with regular and beautiful white teeth and lips as smooth and red as a girl's. She was a lady of five-and-forty, but looking much younger. And Jean's heart sank still heavier in her breast, as she listened to this assumption of age and tenderness, for she knew it meant death to her sister's love. "Philip said you were beautiful; I never knew him to be so correct before." A smile, full of such sweetness, and a light touch on page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] 58 BLANCHE OILROY. Blanche's cheek as she spoke. "But I have discovered something which he did not see,-a sensible, clear, womanly mind. Poor fellow! it's his day of romance, and I suppose he thinks he could be happy in a small house in a small street, with your smile to brighten the bare rooms and furnish the meager table; but I should be cruel and not true to my sex, if I allowed him to drag a handsome girl, deserving a better fate, down into such miserable poverty. Of course it is all poetry now, but, my dear, three months would make it the barest, baldest, prosiest poverty that ever stared two wretched victims in the face." She stopped and waited, but not a word. The beau- tiful face, grown inexplicably hard and colorless, looked at her as quietly and attentively as ever, but offered no sound of assent. Jean, enduring tortures, repressed, by an effort that required all her strength, every sign of her heart's con- flict from her face. The hand she held was heavy and very cold, and lay in hers apparently unconscious of the grasp. "My son," said Mrs. Spencer, " has not a single penny to begin with. My fortune is my own. I brought it to his father, and in the event of his marrying against my will he would, of course, have nothing from me. I allude to this because it is really important. I should never see his face or hear his voice in this world again; but that is a matter of sentiment, and would not affect life and health, as want would inevitably do." Blanche drew her hand from her sister's, and seemed to collect herself for effort of speaking. "If Mr. Spencer were to marry me,"-she looked steadily in his mother's eyes as she repeated the words with a wondrous pre- cision,-"you would steel your heart against him and A VISITOR. 59 disown him as your son?" She waited a moment, and the lady answered lightly,- "You are painfully clear and business-like, my dear Miss Gilroy." "You have said nearly the same,-is that what you mean?" "Well, my dear girl, though I regret the necessity of being so impolitely frank, it is." "Your objection being the difference between us in a social position,-the common life and class I belong to?" pursued Blanche. "As your excellent judgment and instinctive knowl- edge of the fitness of things tells you, yes. But, my dear child,"-and here she spoke with embarrassed haste and a heightened color,-"I never meant you to make this sacrifice unrewarded. In doing it you render me a ser- vice I shall be proud all my life to acknowledge. A young lady of your musical genius,"-she appeared to flutter a folded paper in her hand, which was partly hidden by her splendid shawl: "you see I have heard of your acquirements,-might become an ornament to any position in the artistic world after a few years' culture abroad." She got her hand free, and pressed its contents on the girl with nervous eagerness. Blanche stood up rigidly; she had made no effort to resent the offer, but it seemed to fall off her instinctively, for Mrs. Spencer drew back and put the check out of sight. A sharp shuddering sigh, that was a gasp of pain, was the only sound Jean caught, and then her sister spoke,- "Mrs. Spencer, your son is all your own for me, and while I give him up, I love and trust him in my heart. Nothing that you have said has brought me to this. I page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] 60 BLANCHE GILROY. believe now that I knew it from the first: that was why I could not look forward. A struggling, striving life, I should laugh at for myself, and I know him to be too manly to sit down helplessly in poverty. He has the power in him to make his own fortune, so that picture does not move me. It is the position he would be forced into for my sake, the battle between my world and his, that I could not bear to bring upon him, and the mean associations of my life, that might taint his, I would spare him. I see it all now, and nothing, nothing- not even his prayers-can make me untrue to this reso- lution." e "Noble girl!" murmured his mother." Blanche turned on her quickly,- "Don't speak to me," she said, savagely. "I hate you -cold, cruel, untrue, that you are I You have deceived him in coming here, and would deceive him again. There is one drop of comfort to me in this bitterness,-I shall never see your face again!" Her eyes gleamed angrily, the pent-up suffering of her soul was venting itself in wrath at its tormentor, and she stood, tall and straight and almost as white as marble, with her outstretched hand pointing to the door. It was rather a ridiculous position for such a woman as Mrs. Spencer to be dismissed by a poor music-teacher like Blanche Gilroy. The lady smiled at the absurdity when she became conscious of it, and turned to Jean as she moved away in queenly dignity. "This tragic mood will not last," she said sweetly and sorrowfully; "indeed, I regret my inability to make her understand my entire good feeling in the matter, and appeal to you-who seem really sensible and discreet- to convince her of my anxiety to serve her. At any future time, remember, I shall always hold myself bound THE BEGINNING OF A STRUGGLE. 61 for this personal service, and I shall be delighted to acknowledge it." Saying this, she gathered her fine gar- ments around her and swept out to her coach. CHAPTER VI. THE BEGINNING OF A STRUGGLE. UNCERTAINTY and helplessness had reduced Jean to despair, and yet her natural self-control saw her mechani- cally bowing and closing the street door after the proud lady, who had crushed her as completely as her poor sister Blanche. But when once they were alone together, she was herself again, and cried out in angry astonish- ment at her sister's decision. "Why should you allow yourself to be put down by her, Blanche Gilroy?" she exclaimed, excitedly. "Don't you see she's playing off her airs upon you? What an absurd story that, of disinheriting her son, and never seeing him again! you are not baby enough to believe it, I hope; and once you are his wife, you can make terms with her at your own pleasure." Blanche was walking up and down the room, but she stood still to answer,- "What I said, I mean, Jean: I know that is unalter. able, and that is all I know. Don't speak to me again. I think I am going mad!" And up and down she went like a wild creature in a cage, stopping once in awhile, with both hands over her heart, and catching her breath, as if choking for air. 6 page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] 62 BLANCHE GILROY. Jean sat down, woe-begone and wretched, and watched her drearily. At last shedcame and threw herself at her sister's feet. "Forgive me, you best 'and dearest," she cried, convul- sively. "I wish-I wish you had never known it I Oh, if I could have only borne it alone, it would have been so much easier." "Why bear it at all? Oh, Blanche, let that stilted notion of self-sacrifice go to the winds, and be ha'ppy." "Happy " echoed Blanche, and she looked up quite calmly now. Her passion and the excitement of suffer- ing had gone, and her sister only felt more hopeless when she saw how deep and fixed her purpose was, that seemed all the more firmly set in her quiet face, where calm resolution had carved it like letters in stone. "Happiness does not come from such beginnings; were there any pos- sibility of convincing me of that, I should never have given him up. But from the very first,-knowing what there was between us, the effort of my life has been to find one story like mine that ended well. They all finish the same way, Jean." Jean looked at her inquiringly, with troubled eyes. "I do not understand you, dear," she said, sadly. "Do you mean that you have given your lover up because all poor girls in'books and stories make the same sacrifice?" "No; I never read about such things, but I have heard them told of living people, who married, as I might do, and were, oh, so very wretched. In such love there is a sacrifice, sooner or later; I will make mine now, before I have any reason to wake from my dream, if dream it be." She rose and walked again with increasing haste, as if her heart-pangs were spasmodic, and she felt them returning; then she came back and paused as before. THE BEGINNING OF A STRUGGLE. 63 "Let me tell you now, Jean, for by-and-by this thing must be dead between us. I love that man so well that I could die for him in pride and joy; but I would not give you up to please him, nor turn my back upon my old home, dreary and harsh as it has been, for that would make me despise myself and doubt him, I fear. What then-? Marry, ana live a mixed life: he, half estranged from his people; I, partly withdrawn from mine; and neither wholly content with the division? No, Jean; for then comes the horror that has come, I find, in all those wretched unions-satiety and discontent. Oh, my God, save me from it I Jean Gilroy, here on my knees, beside you, I ask if I am not right when I want my idol spared, even if I worship it with a broken heart? No, no I don't say what I see in your dear, blessed face. Time shall keep his mysteries to himself. I ask him to do nothing for me, but hurry on. I mean to do right; and think, God helping me, I shall win my battle and rest at last." "And Philip?" said Jean, in a subdued tone. "Don't you see that he is the one I mean from first to last? It is his heart I would spare from a worse pain than the one I shall give it; it is his life I would urge forward beyond the mean, dragging cares I keep from him. I know him so well that I can trust him under sorrow; but there is no human nature that can be brave and noble under the growing consciousness of having taken a misstep in life, and, to please a first fancy, married a wife that proves a millstone round her husband's neck." She got up, wiped her eyes and smoothed her hair. "Now, Jean, we must work together, love; I am no heroine, and there is only one way I can endure and live: I must be busy. If I pause to think, and have reveries, I shall go wild. I must tire myself out, so as page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] " BLANCHE GILROY. to get rest; and you will help me, for this is my time of need. " There was no response, except a clutching kind of embrace, for Jean could not be brought to see with her sister's eyes, though, poor girl, she seemed to feel with her sister's heart. She remembered the frank devotion of Philip Spencer's face, and, regardless of the difference between their cramped little homestead and the grand mansion in which he had been bred, felt that Blanche could float up easily on the power of her brilliancy and beauty, supported by his manly arm. So she kissed her with earnest fondness, but comforted herself with the infallible maxim, that all is fair in love, and the hope that Mrs. Spencer's pride would have a fall. Blanche went resolutely to the piano and began practicing with all the strength of her skillful fingers. The little house was filled with grand sounds, and Christie set the door ajar to listen. Jean took up her work, which seemed to stare at her strangely, like a living thing that had caught the expression of her troubled thoughts. The whole complexion of her life was changed since she laid it down last. She had no dreams of her own, and those she had woven for Blanche were tangled and confused in pattern now. She sat still, striving to draw out the ill-assorted threads and blend the colors fairly once more; but it was a vain task, and she gave it up in heart-sick despair. Meantime the music swelled and rolled grandly, and, listening to it half consciously, she felt that it sounded like a requiem, and shuddered at the thought. Blanche had become a woman, and Jean suddenly changed places with her. Hitherto, as people are apt to do, she felt no respect in the intensity of her love for the gay, changeful, high-spirited creature who spoke her THE BEGINNING OF A STRUGGLE. 65 mind freely and held her own bravely, claiming every- thing in the positive way of a right. Now she loomed up in her quiet inflexibility, a being of power, of unos- tentatious force of will; Jean did her homage, over- estimating, as she had before underrated, her depth of character; and so she sat listening and watching her with awe-struck quiet, until Christie repeated again and again that dinner was ready. Blanche sprang up and yawned wearily. "Only dinner? Oh, what a long, long day, and there are three hundred and sixty-five of them in every year " 'She threw her arm around her sister, and laid her head on her shoulder, as they went out together. "And I am only twenty, Jean," she said. It was nearly nightfall when the party returned from the cemetery, and Blanche was still at the piano. She rose and closed it when she found Ralph Galbraith in the room, and yet she met him politely and apparently with- out recollection of his morning's feat. Tea was soon ready, and Jean had never before seen her Aunt Tibbie so gracious or agreeable. Mr. Gilroy had gone down to the store, saying he would send young Andrew up, because he had been kept so close all day, and this was an added cause for good humor, since her son's not sharing the excursion was all that rendered it imperfect to her. Both her brother and herself considered it necessary to maintain an extra amount of grimness and severity in each other's presence, as an aid to home discipline, and neither of them was so unbearable when taken singly. Mr. Gilroy, in his store, despite his ponderous style And dogmatism of manner, was'a much milder man than in his own home. In 'like manner, his sister was almost amiable when she found herself surrounded by her friends 6* page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] " BLANCHE GILROY. at the head of her own table; and, looking round on Blanche, she remarked,- "You've lost your looks to-day: what's the matter with you, Blanche?" "With me?" repeated Blanche, and looked up to find Ralph's eyes fixed on her eagerly. "Shall I answer for you, miss?" he inquired gallantly. "If I might, I would say it was a witchery that acts upon all who come near you, whether against their will or with their pleasure. I, for one, have already fallen a victim to the spell." "What is all that fine-sounding talk?" asked Aunt Tibbie, handing him a cup of tea. "Nonsense!" said Blanche, sharply. "You're too like a hawk to play the love-bird, Ralph Galbraith." And she threw him aside with contempt. "You're a bold, ill-trained young minx!" retorted her aunt, angrily; "and I hope Ralph takes no account of what you say." "Yes, but I do, dear madam," said Ralph, with an odd streak of scarlet in his swarthy cheek. "I admire your niece so much that I believe I can win her in time to think more kindly of me." "Humph!" said Aunt Tibbie, looking narrowly round her till her eye rested on Jean; "there's weakness in wisdom itself, in certain things, and your parents are the ones to speak here on this point, not me." The two girls sat blushing under this. curious conver- sation: Jean, because it was her nature to be modest and maidenly in every way; Blanche, because she felt angry and disdainful towards the bold wooer, who watched her with admiring eyes and undisguised fond- ness. Young Andrew Gordon, who liked all good things, THE BEGINNVIN OF A STRUGGLE. 67 particularly when they contributed to his own comfort and satisfaction, said not a word. His supper absorbed him completely, till he had emptied his last cup and swallowed his last morsel; then he turned round, and began to bestow his regard on his cousin Jean, who de- spised him thoroughly. "Some day, you and I will have a treat, Jean," he said. "I thought of it all day to-day, and I've been ciphering it up. At first I was scared at the expense, but I think I know how I can make it come in easy, and not make too big a hole in the purse. I know a gent that keeps a horse,"-here he turned his cunning eyes on Ralph,-"keeps a horse, sort of on the sly for his own riding, and I believe I could borrow it of him, and get a gig, pretty low too. Wouldn't you like a drive, Jean? Eh, just think of it!" "It would be very nice, no doubt," said Jean, amiably; and she thought, "This is what Blanche dreads. Yes, yes, I see it all; it would be a shocking mixture, but it must be overcome. She can leave it all; I will work it out some way. I would give up the sight of her myself forever rather than see her sit before me thus." Her face was placid and apparently turned, listening to Ralph and Andrew; but her eyes glanced secretly at her sister, who, withdrawn into the shadow of her easv- chair, sat biting her scarlet under lip until the blood sprang at her restless teeth, and she woke, through pain, to the consciousness of what she was doing. That night, when the Galbraiths were gone, Aunt Tibbie spoke the first word that had ever crossed her lips on such a subject to her brother's children. "So it seems it is Blanche that is favored by Ralph," page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] 68 BLANCHE GILROY. she said, in a high, dry key. "Well, I hope it may be through the guiding of Providence, though I fear sorely there's some mistake. Any way, it's your gain, my girl, and a discreet and modest behavior is more becoming to you than the conduct of to-night, which I warn you never to let your father see. No, I'll not hear a word from you, for I'll not be disturbed after the peaceful ride and meditations we have had among the graves,-a wholesome subject for thought, since it's there we are all hastening. Here's your father; now prepare for family worship, for it's late, and we must go to bed." As they went up-stairs together, they were startled by what seemed an apparition, but proved to be nothing worse than the grotesque figure of old Christie in her night-dress. It was the first time in their knowledge that this reticent old woman had ever appeared after once seeking her chamber for the night, and now her bearing was at once mysterious and impressive. Placing her hand on Blanche's shoulder, she drew her towards her, whispering, "Gie him nae countenance, lass; he's nae fit to mate with you. When I have a better chance, I'll tell you a good reason for what I say." The solemn nods and motion with which she accom- panied this slight disclosure or warning were numberless; and, as if to add to the impressiveness of the interview, she retired backwards, still motioning grotesquely. Jean looked after her in astonishment. "What in the name of wonder ails Christie?" she exclaimed. "Oh, I do not know; I cannot think of that or any- thing else. Put out the light and let me hide myself in the dark, for I'm sick of all the world," moaned her sister, drearily. IN THE GRAVEYARD. 69 CHAPTER VII. IN THE GRAVEYARD. IT was cold and chilly next day. The capricious sea- son had grown tired of smiling, and begun to frown. Gusts of sharp wind, damp with the suspicion of snow, flew bitingly in the girls' faces as they started for church, for it was the Sabbath-day, and their father and Aunt Tibbie had gone on in advance, according to custom, to sit and meditate in their pews before the commencement of the service. Their cousin Andrew walked at their side in his best attire, as ungainly and stiff a figure as one could well select from the many who wear a suit but once a week, with great care, until it outlasts all fashion or comeliness. He supported a manner appropriate to his garments, one whose deep solemnity he considered becoming to the sacred day, and under its influence he stiffly pursued his walk without raising his eyes to converse with his cousins or look around him on either hand. It had been Blanche's thoughtless, and not at all proper, custom to beguile the tedium of this walk by secretly caricaturing her unconscious squire; but to-day she was as grave as he, and they all kept on together until they nearly reached the church door. Then Jean said, "I have been thinking, Blanche, that I would like to go out and see our mother's grave to-dav. It will soon be time for us to plant it for the summer.," "I was thinking of it, too," said Blanche. "Why did it come into both our minds at once, I wonder?" page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] T0 BLANCHE GILROY. "I fear uncle would not approve of it, girls," inter- posed Andrew. "It's not a Sabbath-day's duty, you know." "It is not wrong," said Blanche, doggedly. "I do not mean to argue the case; but I mean to go." "If Andrew speaks of it and father gets vexed, it will be uncomfortable," said Jean, hesitating. "I'll not speak unless I'm asked," said Andrew, in a conceding tone. "But if he asks me, what shall I say?" "Tell him we went down to look at the place where our mother lies; and if he's displeased he can say so when we get back," said Blanche, coldly. Her face looked hard, and her tone was quite defiant. Jean looked at her, thinking,- "This struggle is breaking up every nerve, and will finally crush her very life. Oh, she cannot keep it up, and I shall be able to reason with her when we stand beside our mother." Sixteen years before, when Christie heard from her master's lips that the next day would bring his sister Tibbie to assume authority over his household and manage it from thenceforth, she had taken the two or- phans by the hand and led them down to the spot where they meant to go to-day. Then they saw it, for the first time, a green and shapely mound, with a border of pan- sies about it, very fresh and prettily tended by the faith- ful hands to which they clung, but without stick or stone to mark it otherwise. The old woman had that day shown them how the hidden form was disposed beneath the sods, and the effect of her words had been so marked that they lingered yet without injury from time and change, just as they had first sounded to the lonely children. "There she lies, my bairns," she said, "and her head IN THE GRAVEYARD. 71 is just a little on one side, as she turned it when her eyes closed. There where my hand lies now would meet her lips, if the mould wasn't between us; they have a smile on them, like a glint of light when the moon's new. Her hands lie loose and free, just as they fell when I took you from her arms; poor lambs, she would fain have taken you with her, for it was hard to leave you with none but me to trust you to. They wanted to fold her arms like other dead folk, but I would not suffer it, so she lies now just as she gave the last sigh that carried her soul to her Maker. You can come here and always find her the same, and let that be your comfort, my wee lassies. Other bairns' mothers must grow old, and some of them lose their sweet looks and kind ways: yours will always be young and bonny; and go where you will, you'll find her here when you come back, although the sods you're crying on hide her from your sight." Christie's mind's eye pierced the turf and saw her thus, and thus she was able to show her to the innocent orphans, who saw through her eyes, and ever after came there at any crisis in their simple lives, just as they would have gone to a living mother's breast. The day Jean entered Mrs. Catherwood's academy as a teacher saw her there, and when Blanche graduated as a musician, she ran down to cry away the few triumph- ant tears that marked the event on the then snow-covered mound. They did not say, "We must go and tell our mother," but they felt it nevertheless, and that was why their steps turned thither, that troubled May-day, when the wind had a biting breath of the long-lived and still strug- gling winter in its sleety gusts. The day's sermon had not suited the struggle in their page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] 72 BLANCHE AILROY. hearts; the minister was an eminently doctrinal man, who talked at outside doubters, rather than to his own be- lieving congregation. He was either controversial or denunciatory, and if ever he yielded to a natural instinct and addressed his flock with fatherly kindness from a New Testament standpoint, intensely logical dissertations were sure to follow, and he would renew his strength to battle with Satan and his heresies. The theme of that morning had been Jonah's message to Nineveh; and as Blanche tried to fix her mind on the sins of the ancient world, her weak spirit resented the effort, and she sighed with half audible weariness. Her father caught the sound and frowned severely on this evidence of such a vain and godless spirit. She was yearning for a look of comfort or a tone of affection, and in thought had been drawing near his side when that look turned the impulse to resentment and a sense of injury. "What a home, and what a father's love to break my heart for 1" she thought bitterly; and yet, strange to tell, in the depths of his own heart, Andrew Gilroy secretly struggled against pride in his child's great beauty, and love for her flashing brightness that so ill accorded with his own gloom. But this was hidden past finding out, and every day they lived they drifted further and further away from each other's confidence and sympathy. Cold and chilly blew the unseasonable air and fell the unwelcome snow as the two girls entered the burial- ground, and taking the main path among the shuddering willows, found the grave they knew and loved like a friend's face. "How quiet it is in here 1" said Blanche, as their feet ceased to sound among the dry twigs. "I long for the time when we too shall come here to depart no more. IN THE GRAVETARD. 73 Such a sense of rest comes over me as I stand by my dear, silent mother, that it seems to woo me to lie down and not leave her again." "That is an unnatural feeling, and one that cannot please God, Blanche," interposed Jean, hastily. "You must neither think nor talk in that way any more, for it is wicked. Listen to your own heart and try to be happy as our heavenly Father meant us all to be; .do not de- lude yourself into being the victim of an absurd sacrifice that will please no one but her you mean to thwart." Before Jean could go farther in her earnest undertone, the crackling of fallen branches announced an interrup- tion, and one who could best help her to plead joined them in great haste. She had turned quickly at his approach, but seeing it was her sister's lover, she had breathed freely and murmured some words of thankful- ness. Blanche, too, looked up, and at sight of him a beautiful light broke through the gray gloom of her face. She held out her hands eagerly, saying,- "I am glad that you are come, Philip,-of all places in the world, this is where I would have you see me to-day." He was, apparently, very nervous; his color had changed,. and his whole expression evinced anxious trouble. When she spoke, he had caught her offered hands and held them tightly clasped in his. "Why, what is this, Blanche?" he entreated. "What mad folly was this that happened between my mother and you, yesterday? I could not endure the miserably confused uncertainty, so I followed you here, directed by an old woman at your house. Tell me, what is it, love?" Hie stooped low and whispered with fond persuasions, but she seemed in no haste to speak. The sweet light 7 page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] 74 BLANCHE GILROY. still lingered round her mouth, she kept his hands and half closed her eyes, as if in happy respite for a moment from the doom she believed must be hers to bear and inflict. Then she looked up steadily, and said, clearly and distinctly,- "It is all true, Philip; to-day we must say good-by." He changed his position with an impatient exclamation, and was about to speak when she interrupted him. "You think your mother alarmed my pride, and that I am acting now under the influence of high-spirited anger. That is not so; she only told me what I feared, and showed me the path that I felt sure must lie before me. Philip, my feet are firmly set in it now, and I am going on." "Why, this is worse than folly 1" cried he, and his face was scarlet and white by turns. "I could not prepare you for my mother's absurd pride and her exaggerated idea of our family importance, without sacrificing my respect for her. I wish now that anything had happened, rather than this. Oh, Blanche, be kind, be magnanimous, be just to me, and forget, I implore you, the silly misap- prehension of yesterday 1" Jean looked anxiously from one to the other, and her heart sank within her. The impetuous fervor of the handsome man was opposed to the fixed resolution of the beautiful girl. She never changed or wavered, but he grew momentarily more excited and uncertain. "You mean to revenge a foolish slight by crushing your own heart and mine," he said bitterly,--" to stab at my mother through me." She shook her head sorrowfully, but did not speak. "Have you ceased to love me, then?" She shook her head violently. "Oh no, no, no!"She had withdrawn from him, but IN THE GRAVEYARD. 75 she returned now, and began to speak with great earnest- ness. "You must be calm, and listen seriously, Philip. My family--" She was interrupted at the word, by the appearance of Andrew Gordon, at the turn of the path beside them. He looked portentously important, and made up his face as if he meant to whistle in a childish sort of grimace. ' You'll catch it 1" he said: "your father would make me tell him,--I could not help it." Blanche was always ashamed of the fellow's common ways, and had often shrunk from recognizing him pub- licly. Now she went to him, and,i looking quietly in Philip's face, said,- "This is my cousin, Andrew Gordon, and he has been sent for us to go home." Andrew made a sort of scrape in acknowledgment of the stranger's presence, but discovering afterwards that he was a very elegantly dressed and stylish man, took offense at him immediately, and to show his flippant ease, broke out boldly with,- "My mother's raving against you both, for staying away when you know that there's an elder's prayer-meeting this afternoon, and she means to go to it. She said it was only for the sake of parading down Courtland Place that brought you here. Your father's reading about the Amale- kites in the big Bible, and you know what that means." He glanced covertly at Philip, after this frank delivery, and seeing that the gentleman's color was heightened, and his lips compressed, argued in favor of the effect he was producing, and went on,-- "You'd better start along, or you'll get a double dose; they're talking each other up to it; so the longer you stay, the worse you'll find em." page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] 76 BLBANCHE GILROY. Philip drew a quick breath, and spoke under great restraint,- "You scarcely do yourself justice in such words and tones," he said; "you forget that your cousins are ladies." ' "Oh, yes, I dare say!" retorted Andrew, taking instant offense and edging away at the same time. "You're a fine gentleman that carries your head above the like of us; but the girls have their father to mind, and they'd better do it." Snarling his face up into a ridiculous expression of insulting contempt, he caught at his cousins, and began to draw them away, threatening to tell the company he'd found them in if they delayed a moment longer. "Why, you insolent fool, what do you mean?" asked Philip, striking his hand as it grasped Blanche, and send- ing him quite a distance in sudden alarm; but Blanche came quickly between them, and bidding her sister hurry on and join the insulted Andrew, followed with her lover. "I was telling you of the insuperable objection my family would prove, when my cousin Andrew interrupted me," she said. "He finished what I meant to say more forcibly than my words could. He is one of my obstacles: spare me by guessing the rest, and believe me when I tell you that our lives are set too far apart for any power on earth to bring them harmoniously together." "No, I will not believe anything that denies me the power of being happy when no fault of yours or mine prevents it. I am willing to embrace the fellow, and a score like him; but as I have life and purpose, I will not give you up. Nothing,--not even your tears, for they would be false tears,-then, shall force me to sacrifice our happiness to a nonsensical fancy." He tried to draw her arm through his, and said, IN THE GRAVEYARD. " fondly, "Oh, my fickle love, to let a clown like that come between us!" He saw his mistake as soon as it was made, and bit his lip in vexation. "He is my cousin, and when you speak of him in that tone, you reflect on me," she said. "There are two kinds of family pride, I find: yours is called honorable, and may be worn boldly; mine is a shrinking, shame- faced feeling, sensitive and cowardly, but deep rooted and unconquerable as your own. Our struggle is'all the more painful that every word on either side is a dart. Let us give it up, in Heaven's name." "No, no!" protested Philip. "Listen to me and for. give me that this unlucky tongue of mine is so poor a pleader. I will learn to understand it all and set it all in a better light; but from this moment I. accept every- thing, gladly, proudly, and would have nothing other. wise so long as I have you, my life, my own." Her answer was to Andrew's imperious gesture. "I am coming," she cried. Then she stood still and held Philip's hand at the graveyard gate. "Good-by, good-by," she repeated in a voice that faltered until it sank into silence. -He seemed spell-bound by its tone, and standing there saw her dart off and join her sister, and disappear at a turn of the street before he found courage to throw off the sadness of the sound and move away, thinking,- "God helping me, I will put an end to a tyranny that robs my life of hope. Call it a mother's love or preju- dice, it shall be all one to me till I win back my darling girl." 7* page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] 78 BLANCHE GILROY. CHAPTER VIII. JEAN'S PATIENT. "EFT to themselves, the three lost no time in hurrying homewards, Andrew walking between, and glancing slyly, first at one and then at the other. "Now, if I were to tell," he hinted, mysteriously, and added a cunning laugh to his remark. "But you could not be so unkind," urged Jean, with anxiety, and glanced across at the white face that drooped hopelessly at Andrew's other side. "Blanche cuts me whenever she gets a chance," said he; "I don't know why I should conceal her doings." Yes, you do, Andy," implored Jean; "it is because you are so kind, and that I never will forget it to you. Ask anything I can do to make it up, and it shall not be wanting; I will be your devoted friend in any way I can." Andrew looked pleased and important. "I like you, and that's the truth, Jean," he said; "you could make me do almost anything when you begged so pleading- like; but I never would take a step to oblige people so full of proud airs as some." Here he glanced significantly at Blanche, who re, mained strangely unconscious of all around her, and seemed to keep on her way mechanically till they reached home. Mr. Gilroy had gone, and Andrew had not much trou- ble in soothing his mother's anger. So, after a very moderate lecture, they all sat down, and Aunt Tibbie JEAN'S PA TIENT. '9 had completed her dinner before she discovered that the girls had not tasted theirs. She had scarcely begun to comment on this strange proceeding, when Blanche, rising to go up-stairs, stag- gered and fell fainting on the carpet. Perhaps a less efficient woman than Mrs. Gordon in an emergency never existed; without making an effort to lift the pros- trate figure of her niece, she began to cry out against such things as the result of hidden evil, and to accuse the girls of making their father's house the scene of play-acting and mystery. Jean had reached a point beyond the care of appear- ance. With terror in her face and devoted love at her heart, she caught her sister's insensible form and pressed it wildly to her breast, calling her names of fondness, and mingling her words with broken sobs. "It was that lofty chap's doings, I'll bet," burst forth Andrew in the excitement of the scene, and his mother immediately pounced upon him for an explanation, while Jean and Christie, left to themselves, carried the fainting Blanche up-stairs and devoted themselves to the effort to restore. her. Her insensibility gave way, but complete consciousness could not be restored. She shuddered and crept away from every one who approached her, and seemed pos- sessed with the horror of secret danger, while, without knowing her sister or Christie, she wildly implored them to protect her against some secret enemy. The old woman seemed less moved by the suffering she beheld than a fear that the cause of it was fatal to her hopes. "If that was him that I saw to-day, he was just her match, and no more and no less. I charge you, let nothing come between them, for he will be faithful page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] 80 BLANCHE GILRO'. to her the world over, or there's no truth in a man's eyes." Jean, watching her sister's face, scarcely heeded the words of Christie. A bright-red glow was overspreading the pale face and flushing even the forehead. "It is fever, and my sister is seriously ill," she cried, after watching the symptoms in terrified silence for awhile. "It is the brain, I suppose," said Christie. "You see she's been carrying a weight beyond her strength." Without replying, Jean gave place to Christie and bade her keep the flinging arms quiet while she ran below to send for a doctor. She found her aunt and Andrew in council,-she listen- ing with upraised hands and he relating a wondrous story, whereof the events of the afternoon were a small foundation. "I want a doctor l" cried Jean, past fear or restraint. "Shall Andy go for him, or must I run myself?" ( A doctor?" repeated Mrs. Gordon, coldly. "Will medicine for the body cure the wicked deceits of the heart? Andrew Gilroy seems born to bear a heavy load; no man has striven more faithfully to rear his children in the narrow way of truth and rectitude than he, yet none seem so severely tried." Then changing her tone from lament to savage anger,- "What was the bold, deceiving villain saying to her? Where did she fall in with him? What is his name?" Without waiting to answer any of these questions, Jean caught up her bonnet and mantle from the sofa, where she had thrown them in her first fright, and, putting them on as she went, dashed out in quest of a physician. The utter recklessness of this feat awed the two who looked on, and Andrew said, in rather a startled way, JEAN'S PATIENT. 81 "She must be very bad," and his mother nodded and added, "It was a new thing for Jean to lose her wits." Mr. Gilroy was absent at the elders' meeting, where a seditious and troublesome member of the congregation had lately made some disturbance in favor of temperance. He was a man in trade, who, by his industry, had be- come owner of a small property in a poor neighborhood, where he had watched the effects of ardent spirits until it had transformed him from a quiet, helpful person, working in the shade, to a public denouncer of drink as the poor man's enemy. This interloper was supported by quite a number of men, who had witnessed his ministry among those his strong, generous arm had snatched from ruin; and, em- boldened by success, he had gone so far as to call upon men old in the church to remodel their lives on the self- denying principle, so as to thereby encourage strivers upward out of the miry pit of drunkenness. About a fortnight previously he had publicly prayed that their Father in heaven would open the eyes of liquor-sellers to the terrible ruin they spread abroad; and the prayer was received as an insult by a tavern-keeper, who was Mr. Gilroy's neighbor and friend. Therefore, when Mr. Mahon was hinted at as a possible elder, in place of one deceased, Mr. Gilroy avenged his friend in a prayer so bitter and venomous against the temperance carpenter's pretensions, that the idea was scattered forever. So, all things considered, the father of the sick girl re- turning in a triumphant mood was but ill prepared for the distorted tidings awaiting him and the presence of a physician in the upper chamber of his house. Mrs. Gordon was essentially a creature of excitement, and lest her feelings should cool, she kept them up by a page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] 82 BLANCHE GILROY. wild walk, backward and forward through the lower floor, until hearing his foot ih the hall, she rushed out and burst upon him with the confused lamentations she had, by this time, brought to a climax. "Your house is disgraced, Andrew, and your honest name will soon be a reproach! That wretched girl of yours has been led off by her vanity, and for many a day has been deceiving us both." With a smothered groan the man staggered and fell into a chair, great drops of sweat burst over his brow, and his lips grew white as he tried to move them with a question. The villainous woman was alarmed. She had gone beyond herself and began to come back. "I can't tell you that there's anything criminal, Andy," she began; "but its the disobedience, -the bold and shlameless disobedience!" He tried to swallow, but something in his throat choked him, and his voice was hoarse beyond recognition as he said, briefly,- "Leave me in peace awhile; I want time to think what's gone wrong. You took my heart away with your suddenness." He bowed his head and shook violently; then, after a pause, during which she felt a good deal of anxious trepi- dation, he rose and went into the parlor, shutting the door behind him. She knew instinctively what would follow; nor were her conjectures wrong. In half an hour, her brother opened the door and called for young Andrew, whose name she had mixed up in her first outhreak. He was already waiting, being severely schooled by his parent to tell a fair story. "Be careful and plain," she enjoined, " for your uncle J'EA NX'S PATIENT. 83 would not doubt one of the girls. He knows they will stick to the truth, and he will question Jean as soon as he's through with you." The young man profited by her advice so much that Jean and himself agreed in the main. She was very, very quiet, and not once did she shrink from her father's eye as she related her sister's love story and the sacrifice she had so firmly resolved to make. The life up-stairs hung too lightly in the balance to admit of fear, and she had no scruple in confessing her admiration for the one creature of her love, now in such great peril. Her father heard her with a bowed head, and never once spoke until she stood, her story done, silently wait- ing for liberty to go. Then he groaned and seemed more moved than she had ever before beheld him. A Let her have good care; it is the Almighty's will or it would not be; but of all trials it is the one I would fain be spared." Again he enjoined that his child should be well at- tended; and, wondering less at his mildness than she would have done had her heart been lighter, Jean went up to the sick-room. Blanche, all unconscious of her aunt's flippant venom or her father's real trouble, lay bound in fever-chains, tossing and chafing at the impalpable force that held her down. The violent chill with which she had been seized was followed in turn by a delirious heat, in which the doctor, whom Jean had found about to step into his car- riage at another patient's door, discovered her. Without hesitation, he declared her to be seriously ill, and pre- scribed perfect- quiet and the constant presence of a reliable nurse to begin with. From that moment Jean dismissed the world outside the sick-room from her thoughts, and concentrated every page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] 84 BLANCHE GILROY. feeling of her mind and heart upon the figure on the bed, for the saving of which from the grim power that seemed to hover over it every frantic effort love could suggest began to be made. Christie was her quiet and secret ally, and the sym- pathy of the old servant held the poor girl above utter despair during the long days when hope seemed gone forever. "She's quieter since the leeching," she would whisper, consolingly; "the doctor says so himself, and I heard him tell her down-stairs that the lass's youth and fine health was all in her favor." "Oh, I pray to God that it may be so " was the earnest response. And Christie went on to whisper, "She's listening to every word that drops; and when your father talked with you on Sabbath-night, her ear was at the door. She and her boy are leagued in some trick-I can see that plainly; and they mean to make something out of what has happened for their own advantage. It's all they think of." Her intimacy with the family history, and her secret partnership with the two girls, made Christie a fearless and not entirely unprejudiced commentator on the actions of Mrs. Gordon and her son, whom she considered joint enemies to their peace and welfare. Jean paid but little heed to her now. Blanche's wild cries and restless motions absorbed her, and it was a new pang to her to see that the subject of her resolution was a firm idea even in her wanderings. Sometimes she fancied Jean to be Mrs. Spencer, and addressed her loftily as one beneath her in every way. Then, in soliloquy, she would boast of her blue blood, and laugh to think that she could so easily look down on the woman who JEAN'S PATIENT. 85 once trod on her heart. Once or twice during that weary time she recognized Jean for a single instant, and burst out in sonie passionate tenderness as her anxious face seemed to flash into recognition; but the next moment she would congratulate her onI their having at last gained their rights, and being so far above the respect- able Spencers as to afford to look down and smile on their meager pretensions. Aunt Tibbie came up seldom, and when she did these ravings seemed particularly uncomfortable to her to listen to. "What mad folly has the creature got into her head?"' she demanded, glancing suspiciously at Christie. "Did any one ever hear such wild talk?" Christie met her look coolly, and, in a tone very unlike her usual submission, hinted,- "Maybe that that's born in folk can't be drawn out by threats or crushed by fear, ma'am. Whatever she's say- ing comes from her own mind, and put there by a power above you or me." Mrs. Gordon, with an angry and doubting look, changed the subject. "The girl has the benefit of the prayers of holy people. Your father has the comfort of know- ing that he's well thought of by them that is high in good places, for the elders have offered to come and hold a prayer-meeting in our sitting-room to-morrow night." Jean irreverently thought of the noise, and quailed at the prospect. She knew that the sensitive creature on the bed was conscious of every jarring sound, and often sprang from her arms at the rude slamming of 'a door below. "Don't you think it would be better for it to be held at the church?" she asked; but her aunt made no reply 8 page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] 86 BLANCHE GILROY. save an astonished stare at the temerity of the question. And now she began to be really alarmed at the fearless manner of the hitherto subordinate Jean. There was no cause for anxiety. The devoted sister was forgetting herself in her absorbing love for the one in danger. The next day brought good news to the fond nurse; for the doctor, as soon as he entered the chamber, looked pleased at the change that had occurred since the night before. "She's better, decidedly better," he said, briefly. Jean ran out of his sight and hid her face on Christie's shoulder as she sobbed out, convulsively,- "She's spared to us, Christie. Oh, bless God, my dar- ling's spared to us!" "Hush!" muttered the old woman who had been listening on the stairs. "I knew that this morning, and God be thanked, I say, too. But if you don't mind what's going on below, there will be nothing left for her to win when she gets her strength back. They're plotting, I tell you, and if you were not so taken up with the sick child, you'd see it yourself. Has there been a word said about your school? yet your'e off your work these two weeks. Is there a murmur about the doctor's bill, or the medicines, or the light burning at night, or any- thing that would keep her going for a fortnight at any other time?" Jean tried to think, but seemed too confused to suc- ceed well. "As you say, Christie, I have had but one thought, and so cannot judge clearly of anything else. We shall see by-and-by, and now I must go back to Blanche and the doctor. She's beginning to know us all, and I want her to see only cheerful faces." A pair of great, wistful eyes, in a pale, wasted face, turned to her yearningly as she entered the room, and JEAN'S PATIENT. 87 she went quickly to the bedside and took the delicate hand stretched towards her. "You owe her your life, my dear," said the doctor, watching the motion. "I was almost afraid to trust such an inexperienced young lady with such a grave charge, but she did wonders, wonders!" Blanche pressed the hand she held and tried to raise it to her trembling lips; her eyelids drooped, and great tears gathered round her lashes and rolled over her sunken cheek. "Only live to be happy, love; live to bless me and him who loves you so dearly, and we will all praise God and thank Him from the depths of our hearts," whispered Jean, bending over her. When the prayer-meeting was assembled, Blanche, who seemed still to hover between the state she had left and the one she had not yet fairly re-entered, lay in a sleep that had something of stupor about it, as her breathing was too low to be heard and her color had not yet begun to return to her pallid face. A message was sent by Christie to summon Jean below; and, resigning her seat at the bedside to the good friend she could trust there next to herself, she went. The room was pretty nearly full, and they were sing- ing a psalm of sufficient length to enable her to recognize all the family friends among the party assembled, but her eye had cautiously gone round the circle twice before she discovered that Ralph Galbraith was her next neighbor, and that the time of anxiety and watching had left its mark upon his swarthy face. For the first time some- thing like an indefinable pity or sympathy dawned in her heart towards him, as she thought of his sharing her page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] 88 BLANCHE GILROY. troubled watch, though separated and shut out from its object. "Is she really better?" he asked, as they knelt side by side. "Will she live? Tell me truly, now, as you hope for mercy yourself, will she get well again?" "She is getting well; she will be up by-and-by," answered Jean; and Ralph gave a groan of relief that mingled with the sounds of devotion. All through the prayers, and they were not few nor short, that greedy, troubled look, that sought for hope and the heartfelt sound that followed, haunted her. "He loves her so well that he would win her by any means, fair or foul. Christie says they're plotting, and so I must watch him, for I fear no one else." Jean decided this in her own mind, and going up and finding Blanche still quiet, sat down to think about it. CHAPTER IX. MARIAN HEATHERTON. BLANCHB no sooner began to recover than her sister was painfully conscious of a settled gloom upon her that gathered and grew heavier every day. At first she was restless and expectant,--would start at a sound and glance towards the door anxiously every time it opened; but by degrees this died out, and a dull, dreary weight seemed to press upon her heart and hold her back after she had gained a certain stage in her recovery. She was able to sit up, but that was all; a dreadful listlessness prevented every effort Jean used to rouse her, until it MARIAN HEATHERTON. 89 was a wonder that the poor, patient, long-enduring soul did not sink in despair after such a trial and such a meager reward. The day after her attack, Jean had written to Mrs. Catherwood, begging for leave of-absence, and stating her sister's dangerous illness as the cause. The medicines and extra things required during the three weeks that had now passed had swallowed every cent of the poor girl's savings. She was a natural economist, while Blanche never had a penny ahead, and now she must go back to work and leave her patient in a very unsatis- factory way- There was no use in thinking about Blanche's duties; she was totally incapable of fulfilling any one then; the thin fingers that trembled as they took a tiny glass to her lips could not strike a key properly, and even crossing the floor seemed an effort beyond her strength and desire to accomplish. Nothing made Christie so uneasy as these symptoms of languor, and she protested against them with a wor- ried face to Jean. "She's her mother's living picture as she lies there, and it was just in that way she won her death, by giving up everything but you two; and till the last it seemed to me she meant to take you with her." "My mother died of consumption, Christie," said Jean, vexed by the analogy the old woman had discovered. "Yes," replied the unmoved Christie, "I know that was what they called it; but you know folk must find names for things, and a broken heart sounds bad to some ears." What can I do?" said Jean. "How shall I rouse her? Oh, Christie, it's just killing me to see her so!" "Then go after the lad,-the fine gentleman that was here that Sabbath. She's his matcl, high as he is. A 8* page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] 90 BLANCHE GILROY. body can let the truth out even if they tell no tales, and you and she ought to hold your own among better folk than the like of her down-stairs." They were standing together in Christie's own little , chamber, making a pretense of folding away extra bedding, used during the sickness. Suddenly fired with determi- nation, Jean went into the room where Blanche sat looking listlessly at her own idle hands. "You're getting well now, love, are you not?" she asked with affected cheerfulness. Blanche started nervously, as she always did of late on being spoken to. "Well?-oh, yes, quite well," she answered, and re- lapsed again. "I shall have to go to school to-morrow and leave you, dear; I wish I felt sure that you were truly well." Another start, and another word or two, then a relapse into listlessness and silence. Jean came and stood beside her, knelt down and put her arms round her, and with her head on the bosom of the poor invalid, and the wildly throbbing heart sounding under her ear, implored her to speak freely, to pour out her burdened heart without reserve. "I prayed for your life, darling, as the one single boon I could ask of God when it was in danger; you make me feel that in gaining an answer I have doomed you to un- utterable, unbearable misery," "I am a wretched ingrate 1" sobbed'Blanche, wildly and suddenly, breaking from her lethargy. "I do not deserve such love, such devotion as yours, my blessed sister; but, oh, you cannot tell the agony, the hopeless, heart-stinging agony I endure!" "Darling," cried Jean, triumphantly, "I told you it was against reason or nature; that it was not to be borne, MARIAN HEA TERTON. 91 that you were condemning him to a torture you could not meet yourself, and all for the sake of an empty, groundless pride-- " "Stop!" cried Blanche, imploringly,--" every word stabs deeper. Oh, Jean, do you not see where the pain lies?-when I gave him up I believed he loved me, and that he would live for my memory, as I for his; but now I see he has abandoned me. Three weeks, and not a word, and yet I nearly died. I should have died but for you, without one word from him, one effort of his to see me. Forgive me when I say I wish to God I had died before I could have known his inconstancy 1" Jean did not know how to comfort her, she could only hold her closely, and call her loving names, and think meantime with surprise of what had not suggested itself to her mind before. Yes, certainly it was inexplicable, with all the devotion of such a love as. he expressed, to be baffled so easily. Christie waited on the door, and would have let hrim in or answered his inquiries; yet it was plain that Christie was only too anxious on the same subject herself. She had no time to pursue the question; Mrs. Gordon's foot sounded heavily on the stairs, and the sisters were scarcely separated and sitting quietly apart when she entered. "Well, Blanche," she remarked with an attempted jocularity, " how do you like playing the lady? There's few poor men who could afford their daughters such a luxury, but your father is one in a thousand, as you would soon know if you were out in the world and saw some men and their children. Now he is willing to send you to his friend, James Macauley's, General Stuart's gardener, who has a good house of his own at the Slope, and whose wife, Grizel, is a fine woman, though a little free in her ways." page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] 92 BLANCHE GILROY. "I should rather go back to my work," said Blanche, rousing again; "I am a little weak, now, but my strength will come to me as soon as I begin to use it, and I know I shall be much better busy than idle." But it appeared that such a course was directly opposed to Aunt Tibbie's views, and she dismissed the idea in great haste. "A short sea-voyage would be best of all," she said, in an almost bland manner; "but it seems too bad to have you go off by yourself, so we will try what the river breeze that Grizel boasts of will do for you." Jean cast her wondering eyes covertly on her sister, to see how she would receive such a rare intimation, and regretted to find that even such an unheard-of thing as a holiday visit to the country, and a possible sea-voyage, had failed to bring back her old look or manner; all she said was a faint reiteration of her plea to be allowed to go to work again, and something about it not beirng worth while to trouble any one on her account. After that, Jean's anxiety about her sister was mingled with a constantly increasing astonishment at the new tone that the family powers had adopted towards her. After some cogitating, she decided it must have come about through the liberality of Ralph Galbraith; and then she grew indignant at the idea of her sister being ' indebted to such a man, and even urged Blanche to think of it before she accepted the proposed favor. That afternoon, she persuaded her sister to go down to the parlor once more; and wrapping a scarlet shawl that bad belonged to their mother, and was seldom used, around her, half carried her down the stairs. They were seated there, resting, and Jean was arrang- ing the- lace cover on the back of the easy-chair, when Christie announced,- MARIAN HEATHERTON. 93 "A young lady from the academy." And a tall, stylish- looking miss entered, and started back at the first sight of Blanche in a confused manner, saying something about not expecting to see a friend,-and then walking quickly up to her, asked,- "You are Flora Stuart, are you not?" Jean answered for her sister, "I am happy to see you, Miss Heatherton; you are de- ceived by a likeness, I think,-this is my sister Blanche." "Ah 1" said the young lady, drawing a deep breath, and looking half convinced, "yes,-but really it is per- fectly bewildering, you know, perfectly bewildering!" She was evidently too thoroughly at ease to regard the feelings of those beneath her, so she kept her yet unsatisfied gaze fastened on the flushing and paling coun. tenance before her, as if determined to make it solve the riddle it offered. "My sister has been very ill, and on her account I was obliged to remain away," said Jean, in her quiet teacher's manner. "I regretted the necessity, because it is so near the end of the terni, and such a break in the studies. I mean to go back to-morrow." "Yes, so Mrs. Catherwood said; but I was afraid that your sister,-well, it really is too odd,-I never saw anything like it. Miss Stuart is my cousin, and although I only see her once in an age, the likeness is so wonder- ful that I feel quite familiar with the face it recalls." Seeing Blanche's quiet rejection of the constant stare, Jean strove to ward it off by rushing into school themes; but Miss Heatherton talked with her eyes, busy looking, and Blanche got up. "Excuse me, Jean, I am not strong, you know, and cannot get used to the ways of scholars so soon after this long rest," she said as she went out. page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] " BLANCHE GILROY. "Your sister is lofty, I see," said Miss Heatherton, with a light laugh. "I was complimenting her greatly, for Miss Stuart is at once a great beauty and a great heiress." "My sister has been very ill, as I said, and is still very weak," said Jean, apologetically; then she returned to the scholastic, and asked, "Did you all get on well with Mrs. Lindsley? ' Not at all," replied Miss Heatherton, decidedly; " she gave herself airs, and we gave her trouble: she's haunted with the exciting remembrance of her deceased husband's having been an officer, and keeps reminding one of it in such an exasperating way that it is impossible to learn anything except how to put her down." "Oh, I am so sorry." "You need not be; we all like you so much better, and are so glad to get you back, that Mrs. Catherwood said to-day she considered Miss Gilroy marked out by nature for a successful teacher. But that handsome sister of yours,"-she broke out, rushing back to the former subject,-" is she the music-teacher that gives lessons to the small girls in the music-room? Well, I saw her there once, but she did not strike me as she did to-day. Do you know she is really beautiful?" No one could know it better, or be more proud of the knowledge, but Jean was too wise to vaunt it; she only said, "You are very kind," and smiled and bowed as became the young lady's teacher to do. "Does she play finely? Mrs. Catherwood said some- thing about her being a grand performer, and that was one thing I came about; but now I see she is too ill to do it well. My aunt, Mrs. Blair Spencer, goes down, early next month, to her place at Locust Hill, and she wants some one who can play for dancing and in the MARIAN HEATHERTON. 95 evenings, and all that. I think Mrs. Catherwood said your sister was bright and good humored, and would be apt to suit. I am afraid not. My aunt Spencer de- mands perfectly mechanical people to serve her,--she keeps their wills and exercises her own." The confiding Miss Heatherton laughed at this. Jean got up and moved the chair her sister had occu- pied into place before she could answer; but her effort to hide the feelings roused by the mention of Philip's mother was not necessary. Miss Heatherton was very young and very active, mentally; it was her nature to talk, and she had made a fair beginning. Besides, she liked Jean very much, and to see her separated from the desks and books at Mrs. Catherwood's was to be tempted into con- fidence immediately. "My cousin Philip, aunt Spencer's son," she pro- ceeded, "is just the most provoking person in the world; do you know, I expected a sort of coming out down at Locust Hill, not a regular grand introduction into society, -aunt believes we Americans should have a year abroad and a glimpse at court-life before that is accomplished,- but just a merry season in the country, with charades, and tableaux, and picnics, and boating, and riding, and all the delightful things a pleasant party can get up; but here that bothering cousin of mine interferes and spoils it all." "Spoils it all?" repeated Jean, unable to say any more, and keeping the anxiety of her mind out of her face as well as she could. "Yes; he announces his intention of going abroad, and departs with the announcement, in a manner that astonishes us all, and enrages his mother. Of course no one can tell when aunt Spencer is angry, if she does not mean them to know it; but I am convinced, despite her page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] 96 BLANCHE GILROT. sweet placidity, that she could box his ears with pleasure for being such a willful, capricious torment." She looked at Jean, and not reading her troubled pallor aright, laughed merrily. "Oh, I see you think I am in love with my cousin. Not I; but I am angry because he spoilt our party. Of course aunt Spencer will invite the guests just the same, and the most of them will go; not all. Philip is very much admired, and his absence will have its effect that way too; but every one knows that aunt Spencer cannot live out of his sight,--that everything she does is tame and tasteless to her when he is away; so what do people expect from a party like that? The hostess distraught, the guests dull and disappointed; do you wonder that I hate the vexatious fellow?" "It is certainly very annoying," murmured Jean, faintly; and inwardly she added, "Yes, Blanche must go away till I get over this shock. She will soon see it in my face, and it will only increase her misery." After that, Miss Marian Heatherton's confidences were lost on a vague ear; Jean kept her smile by a great effort, and bowed to her at the door with an apology for her dullness. "I have been watching at night a good deal," she said, "and my head seems heavy." "You must come back to school, and we girls will brighten you up again," laughed the gay pupil, and departed. "Philip gone,-my sister deserted without a word l Oh, dear Father above, help me to bear this bitter, bitter blow, and keep her from knowing it in pity and in mercy V" Thus Jean, the quiet, self-contained Jean, broke out in a heart-sick cry, and threw herself on her face on the sofa, shaking it with the strength of her overpowering grief. JEAN PLA IrS TIIE SPY. 9g CHAPTER X. JEAN PLAYS THE SPY. MRS. GORDON, having once decided on Blanche's de- parture, lost no time in bringing it about. Within a week from the time of Jean's return to school, James Macauley came to take her to Sunnyslope, and found her so unlike her former self that he was startled out of his natural slow-going stolidity into something like surprised feeling. "Why, child dear, what is the matter with you?" he cried. "You look like a pale lily that's had a strong blast. Grizel is a great nurse and a great comforter; some is one, and some is the other, but few can be both at once; so I can promise you good care and cheerful company; both good things, as I hope you'll find to your profit." Blanche thanked him kindly, and then relapsed into a quiet languor, while Jean packed her things in a traveling-bag and got her ready to start. When she stood in the narrow hall about to go, after having bid them all good-by, a sudden burst of feeling seemed to break through the miserable languor that con. trolled her, and she threw her arms round her sister's neck, and clung there, weeping passionately. "I see how selfish, how wicked, I am, love, and I feel your goodness, your generous, noble devotion more than I shall ever tell you H Only remember what a load I bear, and try to forgive me if you can. I have prided myself on my power to resign him, Jean, and now I have to feel myself deserted and forsaken freely." 9 page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] 98 BLANCHE GILROY. She whispered this in her sister's ear; and Jean, knowing what she did, could not contradict her: all she said was,- "God will be good to you,-He is good to all sufferers, and tenderer than any one in the world can be." Blanche shook her head; and James Macauley lifted her into her place in the carriage beside him, saying,- "I wish you were heavier, my poor lassie." Jean stood straining her eyes after them as they drove away into the twilight, and then sorrowfully returned to the house, grown almost unbearably empty and dreary through her sister's loss. General Stuart was an elderly officer, very rich, and long since retired from service, and Sunnysl'ope was his handsome place, near the river, that was kept up and adorned in princely style, though its master .seldom en- joved the shelter of its roof. He was an amiable and gallant old gentleman, and the uncomplaining victim of his daughter Flora, a young lady, who, being born to all the delights of life, insisted on wandering over the world in search of something worth living for. Her beauty, and a certain erratic talent, as changeful as her fancies, were patent, but her vagaries had become proverbial, and her unrest was a by-word. Everybody pitied the general, especially when he pro- tested that he had come to rather enjoy his Arab-life; he was essentially kind and yielding, the very one to delight in the quiet round of country life at his fine old place, the hospitalities it suggested and the occupations it afforded his natural tendency to speculate in horticulture and horseflesh. But beyond a glimpse or two in the course of as many years, Sunnyslope only existed in corre- spondence to him, for his pitiless child rushed down JE;AN PLAYS THE SPY. 99 there and threw the whole establishment into commotion to entertain a train of foreign guests for a few days, and then went off, like a rocket, to the ends of the earth, to be gone as long or as short a time as her whim suggested. At the time of Blanche's visit to Macauley's house, she had been some months on her way to the islands of the far Pacific, under the belief that she was on an errand of mercy in behalf of her too-indulgent parent. Age and constant fatigue were telling on the general; his joints were stiffening and his muscles aching under the jolting and dragging he had endured in his long years of com- pulsory travel. When this became evident to the too- careless eyes of his fair tyrant, she immediately announced her devotion to his cure, and her intention of finding it among the old Kanaka women, who were celebrated somehow and by some one, for the property of their hand-pressing in driving out pain and restoring easy and natural circulation. Left to his own devices, General Stuart would have in- finitely preferred a Christian doctor and a quiet rest in his own unused bed-chamber at the Slopes; but he had long since ceased to struggle against his fate, and meekly yielded to the Sandwich Island plan, with a shadowy warning that there was a coming rest in store for him beyond Miss Flora's power to disturb. Jean had heard something of this from Grizel Macau- ley, a busy, cheery body, by no means averse to gossip, and of such natural kindliness that the prospect of receiv- ing and caring for the delicate Blanche seemed to give her nothing but pleasure. "She must grow quieter out there," thought Jean, re- viewing the subject on her way home from Mrs. Cather- wood's the day after Blanche's departure. She is so gay, page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] 100 BLANCIIE GILRO E so full of life and spirit,-she cannot always grieve. God is too merciful to let her poor young heart be blighted." She was in sight of her own door now, and saw that Christie was watching in her direction with great eager- ness while making a pretense of brushing the steps. As soon as she drew near she began motioning with her lips, so Jean made haste, suspecting that something of unusual importance excited the faithful soul. "Make an errand to the Galbraiths this minute, lass!" she cried, peremptorily. "Waste no time,-they're busy at black work, as I expected; and if you follow you'll catch them at it, for they're just gone from here!" She was breathless and almost white with excitement; she pushed Jean away with her hands, as if dreading that her words would prove inefficient, and showed so much distress at her delay that Jean, although slow to yield to an unfounded plea, was moved to obey her. She had only gone a rod or two when she was met by Ralph, who begged her to wait and speak to him a moment. "Are you going to your own home?" she asked, after a moment's hesitation. "If so, I'll go with you." "That's kind and polite,-yes, I'll be glad to go if you do; there's little to repay a visit in that quarter,-mostly texts and groans, eh?"And he laughed to point his own humor. As he walked at her side with a dash and swagger, and put his finest airs on for effect, she fancied there was a purpose concealed, as yet, in his face; and thinking it would transpire if she kept silent, she gave him the opportunity to speak." "Why do you give me the cold shoulder, Miss Jean?" he asked, impetuously. "You know I could help you if JEAN PLAYS THE SPY. 101 you'd only trust me, and you ought to know that I love your sister well enough to give my life for her." Jean turned deceitful. "You are kind and generous," she said; " one dare not always speak their mind plainly at our house, and we have no right to believe in friends till they make themselves known." "I tell you now that I will bind myself heart and soul to your service. Will you have me?" he asked, abruptly. She gave him her hand in reply. "Then you won't go against me?" he cried, excitedly, and stopped to look in her face. "I believe you, for you're one of the quiet, true kind. If you are my friend, I'll win yet." He took out his handkerchief and wiped the great drops off his swarthy face. It cost him an effort to speak freely, and she felt a sick compunction at her heart in misleading him, for, let his nature be as evil as it might, this was a strong, true passion that she played with, and she knew it. "I am going to show you that I am a real friend, Jean," he said, falling into familiarity in his intense earn- estness. "You come with me and you shall know what they're doing,-the dear, good, pious, old people. It's your aunt's contrivance from first to last; I would take no part in it, and that you can see for yourself. Be my friend and you shall know all." "Yes, yes," whispered Jean, much overcome, "there is treachery against ny poor darling. Oh, I knew it must be so I Befriend us, Ralph, and you will find us grateful, I promise you." They had turned the street corner, and Mrs. Galbraith's house was only a few doors off. Directly in front of it stood Mrs. Spencer's carriage, and her footman seemed to keep guard over the door. Ralph took a night-key from his pocket, and saying, 9* page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] 102 BLANCHE GILROY. "Go into the front room softly and listen at the fold ing-door. I'll make a noise passing through the back parlor, where they hold their councils, and you can get into place without being heard. Be sly, and don't betray yourself-mind." He opened, closed the door, and passed in, leaving her with a grin that showed he rather enjoyed such eavesdropping for its own sake. With a nervous anxiety that seemed to lend her sight in the dark room, she found herself in. Jean groped clear of all obstacles and got a place just at the crack where the two doors met between the small front and backparlor just as Ralph, going through, interrupted the party assembled there and caused Mrs. Galbraith's voice to say, with some little boastfulness,- "It is my son, ma'am, here on a visit to us from the South. He has made his way in the world far beyond the like of us, as you may see." There was a little pause, and then Mrs. Spencer's tones were heard, and so different in every way was the sound that Jean shuddered at the distinction, so hopelessly unassimilating were her family's voices. The gracious flow of sound from the lady's lips car- ried with it but one expression, perfect contempt for her hearers in this forced association with her interests and indifference to their every other relation in life. "I really am ashamed to use such means and such aid," she remarked regretfully. "Regard for the cause of this silly mischief is my only excuse. I would not have the girl suffer for her pretty face, and so have stepped out of my way to do what I might for her. These are the bills, you say, Mrs. --? Ah, I cannot recall your name; but it does not signify." In a voice whose meekness disguised it almost beyond recognition, Mrs. Gordon responded,-. JEAN PLAYS THE SPY. 103 "Yes, ma'am, the bills are all correct, and kept within limit too. There's many a thing used in sickness that a body can't think of afterwards when they sit down to make it up." "The loss in her profession I proposed to cover by a year's salary, making the cost of a voyage to and from any place you designate an after-consideration, since the time of its being undertaken depends on my son's movements." b "Yes, ma'am," softly responded two mild voices be- longing to Mrs. Gordon and her fellow-worker. "Your putting my son on a wrong track was your own suggestion entirely, you know," continued Mrs. Spencer. "Such a plan of intricate deceit and misrepre- sentation could only originate in your own honest brains. You considered it your duty, you say, for the sake of saving the poor girl, and I had no right th interfere; indeed, I was powerless to do so, since my son and I are totally estranged in consequence of this very subject. All I can do is to offer you the sordid recompense of money, which happily you are ready to receive, and take from you in return a written paper, properly signed, in acknowledgment of what I have said and done. Ah, yes, I see-it is quite correct, and neatly gotten up; written by your son, you say. I see, then, that you value education, and that he has improved his opportuni- ties. Certainly praiseworthy; and now please count your money, and give me the evidence of its being satis- factory by placing your names here." Then young Andrew's voice was heard for the first time: "When I first went to tell you about it, ma'am," he said in his cunning, hinting way, "you seemed to think it was quite a service, and I've been to no end of trouble myself deluding the young gent and keeping it dark from page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] 104 BTLANUCHE GILRO. the girls. I could not attend to that and keep my mind on business too; so you see -" She interrupted him, and her tone made Jean sick with shame. "You are her cousin? Yes, I remember. Had my son had the honor of knowing you, I think it would have spared me some trouble. Name the exact sum at which you hold your affection for your pretty relative, if you please." Not able to listen an instant longer, Jean crept out into the street and found Ralph waiting impatiently. "I heard enough of that talk in a couple of minutes," he said; "you must like it better than I do, you stayed so long. Why, I got out the back way and came round here expecting to find you sick of it long ago." "I am truly, truly indebted to you, Ralph," said Jean. She was confused between the relief of knowing her sister's lover was true and the horror of seeing her family disgrace themselves. "You look pale, Jean," said Ralph, laughing. "Why, don't take it to heart, my dear; it's only a little bit of orthodox devilment, that's all; I always set hypocrites ahead when it comes to mean, crooked sinning; I never could come up to them." He had thrown off his reserve, and showed a bold freedom that displeased the delicate-minded girl; but she had no one else to help her, and she must use him. It destroyed some of the compunctions she might have felt, and made her more fixed in her plan before she devel- oped it. He opened one startlingly like it in detail. "You see they've driven that poor, disappointed swell off over the sea by getting him to believe she's sent away; then they make her think he gave her up, and take pay for their lying all round. Give me a letter, Jean, telling her to rely on me,-haven't I proved myself a friend?-and JEAN PLAYS THE SPY. 105 I'll go out to Macauley's-I know the place-and bring her back here to face and confound the whole lot. She has the spunk to do it, and it will serve them all right, too." Jean took no thought beyond the moment's impulse. "I will," she said; "I'll go home and write it this mo- ment. When will you come for it?" This seemed to need a little reflecting on his part; he turned those shallow eyes of his inward, and showed a blank and ugly face for the space of a moment or two. Then he answered with a loud voice and a bold, exultant manner ,- "To-morrow. I will go out and have her here in the evening; there's to be a division of funds among the women and a little treat over their gains. A good time, by George!-a first-rate time to bring her down on them." Jean found him repellant in his frankness. She made a hasty good-by at her own door and hurried in to think. "Blanche must come; this discovery will be more to her than all the airs that ever blew; and, once here, with the power of setting herself right and punishing that flinty-hearted queen of a woman, and leaving forever the home that tried to sell her happiness, she will see Philip's faith and reward it. As for Ralph Galbraith,-what of him? Coarse and rough, and almost brutal, what has he to do with such a flower as my darling? Nothing; and it is only right that he should have laid bare the sin concocted under his roof, and do a good act once in his life, even if it has a selfish hope to prompt it." page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] 106 BLANCHE GILROY. CHAPTER XI. SUNNYSLOPE. THE country round about Sunnyslope was extremely beautiful. Mrs. Macauley's cottage, an ornamental one, as part of the finely laid out grounds, stood on a little promontory overlooking the river. The lodge was at the other side, and the great turreted and winged hall stood in the center,-a really noble building, with marks of a higher taste and greater study about its proportions and finish than is usually given to a country-seat at the present time. The general, who would fain have enjoyed his own I delightful home, had he been allowed to do so, was yet so generous and thoughtful for the comfort of others to come after him as to stint no expense or direction for its proper keeping and improvement; and James Macau- ley, a passionate lover of his craft, held a position under his absent master that he would not have exchanged for anything in the gift of mortal man. All day long he was out in the shrubbery and garden-plots among the lovely things that his art fostered, and won to rarer beauty; and all his heart, that was unabsorbed by a sober, sen- sible regard for his good wife, was devoted to them. Blanche sat in the bay-window of the pretty sitting- room in Grizel's chair of state. She was still too easily chilled by the fresh June air to bear its contact freely, so the scarlet shawl was round her, and she leant back feasting her eyes with unaccustomed beauty, as idle and luxurious as the finest lady in the land. "If I could have had such a life!" she thought, en- S SUNNYSLOPE. 107 viously. "Oh, if I could only have had such a life!"And she even said as much to Grizel. "Don't draw long breaths for the troubles of others; it's only a burden to have too much, Blanche, and so Miss Stuart finds it. She never comes near the place but for a day or two at a time; beyond a glimpse of her figure in the grounds, or a sight of her wrapped up in her carriage, I never laid eyes on her myself." "Perhaps she is an invalid, and cannot enjoy her pos- sessions?" 'hinted Blanche. "Not she; nothing ails her but whims, and they all come from her having too much to be able to tell what to do with it all. You know she's not the general's own daughter: he married her mother when she was a little creature, and he loves her with all his heart, and could not bring himself to cross her, even if it was to be the saving of her for the future. The mother was a delicate lady, always weakly, and flying from place to place in search of health, thinking she was sure to be better in every spot but the one she was in. That was the beginning of the traveling about. When she died, it was just the ruin of Miss Flora." "Grief for her loss?" suggested Blanche. "I don't know about the grief,-it was the money I meant. She was a rich lady from Scotland,-our country, you know,-and the niece of a nobleman there; all she had came to Miss Flora when the child was too young to know anything but the power of her untrained, unchecked fancy. She gave it the reins then, and it masters her now, driving her about like a tyrant from one end of the world to the other." Her father goes with her?" "Yes, they are both pretty much alike, now; there's no doubt it was a cross, at first, to the poor old gentle- page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] 108 BLANCHE GILROY. man, but now he seems to have given up his will entirely, and just follows where he's led. They are off at present to some cannibal islands far away, to try and get rid of a sickness that was brought on by nothing but French cooking, as I tell James. If people live and eat chopped bones stewed with spice, they'll soon lose their strength. Poor souls, I pity them, because they're too rich to be comfortable!"And Grizel laughed in enjoyment of her own philosophy. Blanche sighed as she looked again at the magnificent house from which its owners exiled themselves. 'It must be a grand place." she said. "It has rooms in it that would just make you hold your breath as you entered them. There's no fine thing to be bought for money or chosen by taste that you won't see there. The housekeeper's a stiff sort of old lady, but she's friendly to me, and to-morrow morning we'll go up and go through it all." The bright, pure air, the lovely, new scenery, and the free and cheerful manner of her hostess, all contrasting with the life she had always known before, had their effect on the sick girl, despite her extreme mental de- pression. The blessed buoyancy of youth will not break, and at the least encouragement it is always ready to rebound. Even one day of peace and kindness had its effect; and on the second after her arrival, Blanche walked out into the grove to wait for Grizel to join her there before they should go to the hall together. "I am glad to be alone here," thought the young girl, drawing a full breath of the rose-perfumed air. "I am able to think of my dear, blessed Jean now, my poor, poor darling I grieving her noble heart out over a misera- ble creature not worth one of the pangs she inflicts." SUNNPSLOPE. 109 Looking towards the grand pile that seemed to fascinate her, she sighed. "Oh, what a blest life to possess all that, and all that I have lost!" she added, under her breath. A man came towards her at a quick pace: his air was easy, and he hummed a tune. At a first look she took him to be a fine gentleman, the next convinced her he was only an imitation, well dressed, and with a sprightly air. She had scarcely had time to think this when his manner took her by surprise. 1He started back and his ease forsook him; in its place came a deferential demeanor, and with his hat in his hand, he stood bowing and stammering. "I beg your pardon, Miss Stuart; I never was so startled, thinking you far away and coming on you all 'at once, as I may say. What!-no,-I am all abroad? If it isn't Miss Stuart, who is it?" Blanche drew herself out of his way as, gaining courage, he came nearer. "I am a friend of the gardener's wife, and am staying at her house," she said, and turned back to meet Grizel, whom she heard approaching, to her great relief. Mrs. Macauley, who had stayed in-doors to complete some household duty, looked over her guest's head at the person behind her and received him with her usual good humor. "Mr. Palmer is the general's principal attendant," she said, introducing him, after a word or two to Blanche; "he's staying behind for a little while on this trip to see about some fine horses the general bought away in the East,- they will be worth their weight in gold, I dare say, before they get here all safe and well." "I mistook your pretty friend here," remarked Mr. Palmer, offensively at his ease, Blanche thought. "I 10 page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] "O BLANCHE GILROY. really mistook her for the young lady, and the more I look at her the less I blame myself for it." "Dear me, that's a compliment for you, dear, for they say she's a born beauty. We are going up to the hall; Mrs. Perkinson told James that we should be welcome to go through all the open rooms, and it will be a treat to miss, here." "So it will; she can see her full length in a score of French glasses, and decide which tells the truth and makes her prettiest." Blanche hurried on without looking up. Grizel, the good-humored, could not understand how unbearably bold the man was, or what a liberty he took in every word he uttered. They went into the hall by a side-door leading through a conservatory into a fine marble portico that extended along the back of the main building. Mrs. Perkinson met them there, a stiff person, as Mrs. Macauley had said, with an absurd assumption in Blanche's eyes, but graciously condescending withal. She seemed to feel that their interest in the splendors of Sunnyslope was only natural, and that their opportunity to view them was providential. She expected a good deal of enthu- siasm, and accepted it loftily on the part of the fine old house as less than its due. "What beautiful weather we have, ma'am,-these are fine days 1" said Grizel, agreeably, for it was her place to propitiate. "We generally have fine weather at the Slope," as- sented Mrs. Perkinson, with the air of a proprietress of a separate atmosphere; "we expect to enjoy a season through and through, here." "My young friend is quite delighted with the appear- ance of the place. She thinks it is perfectly beautiful." SUNNYSLOPE. 1" "I should think it likely she would," assented the housekeeper with a condescending smile. "Awe is the sensation inspired by such grandeur in unaccustomed eyes." It appeared that Mr. Palmer was quite a favorite with the preposterously stilted Mrs. Perkinson, for her lofty air was almost familiar with him. "If Mr. P. will have the goodness to lead the way, we will go through some of the apartments," she said, smiling blandly on him; and he instantly obeyed, throw- ing open the doors of the grand drawing-room, and letting in the light on a really gorgeous and spacious room. Blanche looked before her, and it filled her eyes com- pletely; there was nothing, absolutely nothing, wanting to complete a grand picture, and everything was in har- mony. She stepped forward, and as her foot crossed the threshold a sharp sudden crack was heard. "The mirror l" screamed Mrs. Perkinson, and ran forward; so did Grizel and Palmer, but there was not a flaw visible in its broad, shining surface. Where did the sound come from? As they asked each other and looked around, Blanche did not join them. She was fixed before a full-length portrait that looked at her from the wall with a glance that took away her breath. It was her counterpart, and it seemed an awful thing to see it there looking sharply, questioningly, down upon her. "I don't like this," said Mrs. Perkinson, in a flurried way. "I can't see that anything's wrong, but nothing of the sort ever happened before, and I'm uneasy. Come out, please, and-I'll trouble you to let me close up. Mr. P., we can't be too careful of valuables, you know." With an added dignity of deportment the housekeeper hl page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] "2 BLANCHE GILROY. warned her company to follow her, and preceded them through the remainder of the show-part of the house. The effects of the wandering life of the father and daughter were visible everywhere in the rare and won- derful devices lavishly disposed about the rooms, each one of which partook in some degree of the character of a museum. The choice things of all parts of the earth were there; and some of the young lady's rooms were wholly fitted up in imitation of the lands she had visited. A woman's refined, lavish, and sometimes even gro- tesque taste seemed to have ruled the arrangement of nearly all the house; but when they came to two separate, yet communicating chambers, which Mrs. Per- kinson announced as her favorites, Blanche wanted to linger longest there; and when she- left them they held her mind most as part of the picture that had startled her in the grand drawing-room. A center room between the two was bare and simple in the extreme, contrasted with the rest of the house. It had a grand bay-window, with a river view, and plenty of rare plants on the veranda surrounding it; but within there was only a small low white bed in an alcove, which, with a neat, light carpet, dressing-table, etc., made up its furniture; but a door at either side--the one shaded by heavy, gorgeously wrought silk; the other, by light Indian muslin-led to two opposite apartments: the one representing the treasures of Persia poetized,-a sort of Arabian Nlight's chamber,-and the other, picturesque India in four walls; everything--from the grand, crouch- ing tiger on the sandal-wood couch to imitated palms on the curious wall-paper-belonging to the lands of the sun. Here Blanche lost herself, and even her unhappiness, for the moment,-it was so grand, so beautiful, so rare, so like the dreams Jean and she used to brighten their dull Oo SUNNYSLOPE. 113 lives with before they lived out in the world among, those they served. r:W bWhen they had seen all the books the general collected, i Ibut never had time to read,-all the pictures and statues he spent his gold in buying, but was not allowed to enjoy the sight of,-and were out in the lawn once more, after being regaled with cake and wine in the house- keeper's room, her eyes turned back to find the locality of those rooms, and picture the original of the portrait wandering about among those gorgeous things like a princess in fairy-land. That evening Mr. Macauley brought his wife word that a neighbor's child, in the little village half a mile below, was ill, and said he had promised to take her to see it after supper. "But what will become of Blanche?" he asked. "I never gave her a thought when I told them you'd go." "Oh, do not mind me, please; I can sit in the moon- light and enjoy the sounds that come up from the cedars down there. Do go 1" begged Blanche. But Grizel was a courteous hostess, and could not bring herself to leave her guest alone. Many were her objections; and at last James and Blanche overcame them all, and the husband and wife set out, promising soon to return. Left alone, it seemed as if the poor girl's trouble had been skulking in the background before, for a sense of help- less misery began to gnaw at her heart the moment the gate closed on the departing pair. The effect of change and pleasure was broken; the dull gloom of her home-feeling rolled up again like a huge cloud, and she could see no light beyond it. In her sensitive and impulsive tem- perament all feeling must, perforce, be active,-only her 10* page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] " BLANCHE GILROY. weakened body had allowed her hitherto to droop in lan- guor; with returning strength came anew the instinct to battle with her grief. She rose, and paced the porch with a quick step and firm set lips. " I am going to live this ,down; I will not think of it, nor allow it to torture me any more. Why should I be the slave of a memory that means to crush mle under its pitiless weight?'" In her excitement she was unconscious of a man's shadow drawing near; the gate opened noiselessly, and it lay across the porch at her feet yet she did not heed it: her spoken name alone aroused her. It was Ralph, and, seeing with surprise that after the first nervous start his presence affected her but little, he broke into an impassioned entreaty that she should listen to him and believe him her friend. Then, not pausing for a reply, he opened the whole story without further introduction, and, knowing it thoroughly in every base particular, spared it nothing of its galling interest to the ears that listened. Every servile deceit of her family, and every insolent contempt that met it from Mrs. Spencer, all the lying, cheating, and money-making in full, was laid before her, together with the paper, a copy of which Andrew had made for the lady. He spoke as a man disgusted with such work, awoke by it to a sense of decent justice, and ready, without one selfish thought, to help her to make it all clear and fair again. Her head was in a whirl, and one thought, tossed high above the rest, seemed to fall in letters of fire: " Philip was true." She held her hands before her eyes and could not keep steadily upon her feet. He did not try to touch her as she swayed a moment -then sank upon a seat. He was too cunning for that. By-and-by she spoke with a great effort,- "You will not ask me to believe all this without some SUNNYSLOPE. 115 proof. It may be a joke, a cruel joke, you know," she said. Without a word he gave her Jean's letter; he had ar- ranged to keep himself in the background,-it was his wisest plan, for when she had read it through, she turned to him, and, for the first time in her life, offered him her hand. "I am not able to thank you," she said; " but you are kinder to me than I deserve, and, as my sister says, I will trust myself to you entirely." After she said this, she laughed out aloud in a crazy way; declared that she was as strong and as well as ever; that she could go anywhere, do anything now without fear. While she spoke, she shuddered all over, gasped for breath, and fell back insensible where she sat. Ralph's hands wrought nervously; but, strange to say, he did not touch her, and the spasm passed as it came. She sighed deeply, looked vacantly before her for an in- stant or two, and then said, in a bewildered way,- "Go on, please." He seemed sure that she would understand him, for he did not wait for another word. "The Jezabel goes to Europe next week, to show her son that she has no object in staying at home and to induce him to be friends with her again. What you are to do is to give her back the money she spent in buying up the sneaks at home, and throw your contempt with it right into her brazen face. Where will you get it? Why, I will lend it to you, proudly and freely, and you shall pay me back every cent of it, never fear, with interest too, if that would make it easier to you. There's one thing more: you must get back the paper your aunt and Andy signed; she prizes that above all, for she can show it to him, you see. I will get it for you." "I must see Jean," she cried. "Thank you and thank I page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] "6 BLANC6HE GILROY. you again; but I must see Jean first of all, for my head's whirling, and I can't think clear or straight, it seems." "I'll take you to her at once. I have a carriage wait- ing that I drove myself. I've promised to carry you to her, and I will." Blanche sprang up and wrapped the scarlet shawl around her. "I am ready now. I must see her soon, or I shall lose my mind 1!" she cried. Without waiting for another word, Ralph ran down the path to where his horse and a light carriage were waiting. When Mr. and Mrs. Macauley returned from Glenville, the little town they had visited that evening, the porch was empty, and Blanche did not answer to Grizel's startled call. CHAPTER XII. GR1ZEL'S ERRAND. AFTER giving the letter to her sister into Ralph's hand, the day following the disclosure at his mother's house, Jean suffered all the compunctious misgivings that a nature as timid and cautious as hers must endure when some sudden impulse plunges it into a too hasty con- fidence. At one instant she rejoiced to think that he had so readily believed her show of friendship; the next, she even doubted his own assurance of the same feelings. All day the conflict wore upon her until it became almost unendurable, and at night she could not rest, do what she would. It seemed now so easy to do what before had GRIZEL'S ERRAND. " seemed impossible, and she was angry with herself that she had not gone out to the Slope in person and told her sister the story herself. To be sure, she did not know how to get there, and her aunt's vigilance would have made it difficult to have succeeded if she had; but, anx- ious and perplexed as she was, anything seemed better than the plan she had adopted. In this frame of mind she was returning from school the afternoon of the fourth day of Blanche's visit to Mrs. Macauley, when she saw the carriage the gardener usually drove to town standing at their door, and Mrs. Macauley herself just crossing the threshold. Almost flying over the pavement, she was in the hall as soon as Grizel gained the sitting-room, and heard Aunt Tibbie's sharp voice say,- I fear there's something wrong, Mrs. Macauley; you look poorly, ma'am." "How is Blanche?" cried Jean, breathlessly. She had never quite fallen back -into the old subordinate way since her sister's illness, and her cold, constrained man- nerfor the past two or three days had been slowly exciting her aunt's resentment against her. "What do you mean by dashing at a person with a question like that?" she asked, severely. "Let the lady find her breath to speak, if you have not forgotten what manners are." Grizel, not relishing this tone, answered at once, ad- dressing Jean as she did so,- "It is natural that you should be anxious about the poor dear, and I am truly grieved to think I have to add to feeling. I trust nothing's wrong; I'm sure she never meant harm or evil, for she's-as pure and honest as she's handsome; but, Jeannie dear, your sister went off last night with a gentleman, and if she has not come here I cannot tell where else she's gone." -a page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] "8 BLANCHE GILROY. Aunt Tibbie listened with upraised hands and starting eyes, and, as soon as Mrs. Macauley ceased, raised a dis- mal wail and lament. "Here's the last blow fallen on us, the last disgrace branded on our decent name I Oh, this is the heaviest of all, the worst to bear; for there's no cure for a shame and a black trouble like this!" "Woman dearl" exclaimed Grizel, impatiently, " what are you working yourself into a fit for? Who says any- thing about disgrace or shame? Not I; nor will I suffer it to be said. Whatever is done will be explained, and I only came to tell you this because I thought maybe she'd be here before me." Not one word had Jean uttered. She stood back and leant against the arm of the sofa, with her eyes fixed on Mrs. Macauley's face. The look was so eager, so impor- tunate, that the kind soul answered it,-as if its meaning were spoken in words. "Yes, I'll tell you all about it, dear; though, to begin, I must blame myself, and not lightly, either. I went to Glenville to see a sick child; James over-persuaded me, and so did Blanche, though, somehow, I stood out against it. When we came back the porch, where we had left her, was empty, and for more than an hour I believed she was only playing me a trick. But James was scared, and he went up and down in a vexed way that made me fear- ful, too. As I was wandering down the road, and it nearly midnight, I met Palmer, that's General Stuart's man, and a very smart body he is. Says he, 'What's wrong, Mrs. Macauley, for you look kind of wild?' So I told him all about it, for he saw Blanche that very morning, and so had an interest, as you may say. And he told me that about nine o'clock, coming up the lane, he had met a buggy and gentleman driving hard; W A, X? -GRIZ ELG'S ERRAND. 119 he told him civilly that was not the regular road, but rather a private bridle-path, used only by the family and guests. And the gentleman, with a bullying air, started the horse so as to almost run over him, and used language that Palmer said wasn't gentleman's talk. The moon was at its height, and the lane at that turn was open, so he could not be mistaken or deluded, and he vowed that Blanche sat beside and tried to cower down in her scarlet shawl when he spoke rough. When I told James, says he, 'TThey sent for her to go home,- something is wrong there; take your rest to-night and go in to-morrow.' Somehow all morning I waited to have you send to me, and at last, when I could bear it no more, I started and came in." During this recital Aunt Tibbie had kept up a low accompaniment of groaning and clapping her hands in dismal harmony together. Jean, in her distraction, had seemed unconscious of all except the words of the gar- dener's wife. When they ceased she moved -forward mechanically. "I must go out,-I must see--" Her aunt interrupted her with a sort of shriek: "Who must you see? Are you in league with the Evil One, too?" she cried. "You'll neither move nor stir unless I'm with you, for I find you need watching too. She's not content with going to ruin herself, but she's given you her bold, daring spirit. You're no more like what you once were than a lion's like a lamb." Here she broke off and took up the lament anew, until Grizel, with a dissatisfied frown, interfered,- "You are beside yourself, surely," she said. "I never had a child of my own; but I know what the feeling is one should have for a motherless girl, since I was left one myself in a lonely, lonely world, as it seemed to me. page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] 120 BLANCHE GILROT. Now this I'll say, Mrs. Gordon, if Blanche was mine, as she has been yours, she'd be dear to me as life itself; and instead of raising a cry against her innocent name, I'd wander the world over to find her and set her right." With that she rose and kissed Jean. "God bless and keep you, dear," she said. "I'd rather it hadn't happened to be at my place the dear child met trouble; but I feel sure, as I speak to you here, that no wrong can come to her, and so put your trust above, dear, and fear no evil." So saying, and without much further ceremony, Mrs. Macauley took her leave; and Aunt Tibbie, having modi- fied her outhursts to suit her guest's views,-being a thorough eye-servant,-recommcnced with double force as soon as she departed, and went howling up and down the floor, regardless of Christie's frightened face peeping in at intervals. "We'll go to Galbraith,-no one is so fit to break the troubles to your father as old Mr. Galbraith; and poor Ralph, that had set his heart on the worthless creature, oh, what will he feel to hear this!" With an intense love of the dreary excitement she was creating, the miserable woman ordered her niece to be ready to go with her, and put on her own out-door clothes in haste. When they reached the Galbraith house in silence, Jean, in uncontrollable anxiety, hurried forward, and passed her aunt, so as to be the first to enter the little sitting-room. At sight of Ralph, who sat there quietly reading, or making a pretense, by holding one of his father's books before his face, the poor girl'8 heart failed her, and she started back with a hopeless cry. She could not well have explained why she had hoped to find the young man absent, yet his presence there, and the mystery of Blanche's disappearance unsolved, filled her with distress. XGRIZEL'S ERRAND. 121 He recognized her with forced composure of manner, and but that his face seemed a shade more sallow, he appeared quite himself. Without any introduction, Mrs. Gordon broke at once into the subject of her visit. "They had helped her to bear her troubles," she said, "and now here was the end of all their strivings. Blanche had run off with that young villain they had all been endeavoring to save her from, and brought black shame on all her name and race." Ralph's face wrought a little around the mouth, some- thing like a nervous twitching seemed to take it, and he stood up and walked about, keeping his back to them all. "Yes, I know I'm bringing trouble to some here," whined Aunt Tibbie, observing this, "but maybe it's a blessing in disguise when they come to see it, and change their feeling to some better object.." Both she and his mother glanced at Jean at this; but Ralph made no reply, only kept up his nervous walk. The excitement Mrs. Gordon had lashed herself into was suffering for want of fuel. Mrs. Galbraith did not quite realize the part she was meant to act, and so rather failed in any. Jean and Ralph kept their thoughts secret, and with furtive glances cast at each other, stood apart from their elders. Suddenly an unexpected, but most important, feature was added to the scene. A sharp ring at the bell, and Mrs. Blair Spencer came hurrying in, looking very unlike the lofty lady of that memorable May-day visit, to Jean's startled view. She made no greeting, but had pushed her angry way by Mrs. Galbraith, who, having opened the door for her, seemed now only anxious to get out of her sight. Her face was wrathful, wickedly wrathful, every line in its white surface showed it, and the sharp glitter of her steel-colored eyes was fearful. page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] 32 BLANCHE GILROY. Aunt Tibbie herself was not more unceremonious in her lament than this great lady in her anger. Her voice was shrill and bitter, and she made wild gestures without grace or even self-control. " What is the meaning of this?" she demanded,-" are you all fools as well as knaves? I did not look for honor among bought-up creatures. But do you know that there is danger in breaking a written bond ?" She spread out a paper with nervous fingers, that eluded her design, and kept it fluttering, greatly to her increasing anger. It was the signatures of the party that attested their entire satisfaction with the insult she had offered, and bound themselves for a given sum of money to hold the sick girl at her disposal, to be sent at her suggestion to any stated place out of her son's reach. Aunt Tibbie ceased rocking her body in dumb grief, and sat up straight, fixing her narrow eyes in frightened surprise on Mrs. Spencer's face. "Look at it," continued the irate lady; "look at it, and say how you dare betray me-I mean yourselves- to this girl and that mad idiot, my son,-for of course he knows it now. If you know her writing, read it there, I say !" She put another paper on the little sewing-stand, and pushed aside the first, which fell unnoticed on the carpet. Every one crowded round to read, in obedience to her command, and Ralph softly and secretly drew away the fallen paper with his foot. The document Mrs. Spencer's shaking finger indi- cated, was the very same that he had shown to Blanche that night on Grizel's porch. There were a few pen- marks on its edges, where Andrew had made a trial stroke or two in executing the fair copy for the lady, and GRIZEL'S ERRAND. 123 under all the-disgraceful items charged was a single line in Blanche's own hand: "Thy money perish with thee."-B. G. "And it was all sent back?" cried Jean, eagerly. Without deigning reply, Mrs. Spencer dropped a roll of notes upon the table, and compressed her lips, to hide their resentful quivering. For a single moment Jean's face was all light, then as swiftly it became clouded,-the shameful debt was paid, but how, and by what means? Mrs. Spencer was not one to linger quietly in such a scene. She had no sooner displayed the cause of her wrath than she took vengeance in taunting insolence. "What did he pay you,-this deluded son of mine? I pitied him in his ignorance of such as you and yours, and tried to save him from your clutches. He was wiser than his mother, it seems, and knew that money could outhid money at any time with creatures who sell their feelings." She was a pitiable spectacle in her foiled and futile rage, she had even forgotten to be womanly, her pride was gone, so was her beauty, and there was neither comeliness nor goodness in her haggard face and evil eyes. Jean could not bear to look at her, and finding that fear and astonishment absorbed every faculty of Aunt Tibbie's mind, she stole out into the open air,-glad of its coolness and reviving influence. Before she had taken a dozen steps, Ralph was at her side. Oh, Jean, if I had only gone last night, and not waited, hoping to find her better and stronger! That Spencer has deceived the deceivers, and been lurking about, it seems, till he got the paper secretly from his mother, or maybe he bought up Andy,-you know Andy page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] 124 BLANCHE GILROY. could be bought if any one thought him worth tempting. Anyhow, he has won the day, it seems." Jean did not reply at once, her manner had grown very cold, and she shrank from Ralph when she saw him coming. "I'll follow her and save her, if I can," he continued, watching her face; "only say the word, Jean, and I'll find her out if she's above ground." "It is useless and unwise," said the sister, speaking with a deliberate effort. "If Blanche went away with Mr. Spencer, she is his wife long ago. At any rate, I shall be the first to hear from her, and will wait patiently till then." "You are playing off. But you don't mislead me, Jean,'? he said, looking at her with a cast in his eye, that gave it a malignant glance. "Do you mean that you are willing to give the girl up without an effort?" She turned full upon him. "I am not playing off, as you call it; I am speaking my heart's truth, Ralph Gal- braith, when I tell you that my darling sister loved Mr. Spencer, though she tried to give him up, and that I would have given my very life to have united her to him as a true gentleman, worthy of her, and able to make her happy. As for you, there never was a time when you could have won her, and if the Evil One had not misled you, you must have known from the first that she was never meant for you." He scowled first, then he laughed, and standing still, he took off his hat in mock politeness, and let her go by him. The knitting of his brows and the glitter of his teeth were only an instant's picture, but they went with her and stayed by her, though she never saw him again. CHAPTER XIII. THE HEIRESS OF SUNNYSLOPE. FLORA STUART, according to the gardener's wife, had no trouble in the world but too much wealth and too little judgment; but in reality her great difficulty began when she was too young to form a correct estimate of her possessions in either way. There is nothing more wearisome than following a story backwards, and yet this family stream grew embit- tered at its spring in the old country where Flora's mother was born. She was one of twin sisters, two beautiful orphans and wards of their uncle,. Sir John Cochrane, a strong-willed, warmnhearted, proud old bachelor, whom they seemed to rule, and who spoilt and petted them with every imaginable fondness and indul- gence. They were named Mary and Alice Ramsey, and Alice was betrothed to her cousin, young John Cochrane, his uncle's orphan charge and heir; but Mary was too capricious, too wild and free-spirited, to make a choice, though much admired for her great beauty and lively temper. She was her uncle's favorite, although Alice, in becoming affianced to hisnephew, had fulfilled the strong wish of'his heart, and met his boundless approbation. The merriment of the other sister, her fits of frolic almost amounted to gleeful madness, pleased her uncle, and her wildest feats never met with check or discour- agement. She rode and danced, and sung and played, all with an air of her own, that in his eyes distanced 1* page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] 126 BLANCHE GILROY. every other effort. She was, in fact, his darling, and, petulant and unyielding to others, he had nothing but - smiles and love for her. There was no jealousy over this unqualified regard between the twin sisters: they loved each other with that absorbing and dependent fondness that has made people consider such relations more subtly bound together than by the ties of common sisterhood; and although Alice was a gentle, gracious creature, rightly placed in high life and fine surroundings, and Mary was as fond of i being queen of a rustic f6te as belle of a drawing-room, they lived in strong, true sympathy, and were most tenderly united. Id Thus what befell one day was utterly inexplicable, and i might well have been the jarring shock it was to those . whose lives it altered for all time to come, There was , a May-day feast among the people on Sir John's place, i and when it was over, Mary, who had been chosen by ac- clamation and crowned with violets as queen of the woods, was missing. There was an astonished pause, and then a frantic search, and by-and-by it was discovered that she had fled with the young Andrew Law, the son of a game- keeper, a very handsome lad, for whom some of them now recalled that she had betrayed a strange fancy. In a wild fury, Sir John set off in pursuit; but they were married before he overtook them, and so he came back alone. His first act was to banish all of the name and race of the Laws out of his own reach; and, in a spirit of revengeful anger, he evinced a bitter severity and hatred, that vented itself in persecuting them from the oldest to the youngest, to expiate the temerity of Andrew Law's aspiring to elope with Mary Ramsey. Beyond this he was ominously quiet, and having ordered every trace of I, THE HEIRESS OF SUNNYSLOPE. 12 her presence to be put out of sight, he forbade the mention of his lost niece's name for evermore under his roof. After that, the life at Birkenburn became too dreary for poor, desolate Alice, a timid, yet persistent creature, who, fearing her uncle too much to thwart his will, secretly tried all in her limited power to hear of her sister, and pined, day by day, and lost all delight in life without her. She loved her cousin John, but he had always been part of their home-life together, so that his love was no charm against grieving, though his sympathy was at times a solace-only at times; fog as months passed and no sign came over the seas from her lost sister, Alice grew more wretched. Spirits and temper were alike variable, and little of the gentle sweetness of her nature seemed left. Had she been an heiress in her own right, she might have found power to defy the resentful memory of outraged family pride that governed her uncle, but she was a dependent on his bounty, and could only chafe and wear her heart away, in restless, unsatisfied yearning for the lost sister, who seemed worth all the rest of life to her. If Mary ever wrote, she did not know it; the grave could not have been more silent than Sir John, nor more irresponsive to any appeal for pity or pardon, if any were ever made. He transferred the love he had once known for the banished girl to her sister, and under this almost idolatrous load of affection, her burdened heart fretted secretly till her marriage to her cousin gave her a hope of being able to sail to America, whither she was sure young Law and her sister had fled. But this journey, the object of her life, was thwarted in innumerable ways, until at length, long after the birth of her child Flora, her husband was thrown from his horse while hunting , and never recovered the injury he then received. L page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] 128 BLANCHEA GIJROY. Years after, General Stuart, traveling with his half- sister, Mrs. Heatherton, met Sir John and his widowed niece at a watering-place, and found the fact of his com- ing from America a strong introduction to the still lovely lady's favor. Flora was then a beautiful and healthy child, and her spirit and gayety so enraptured the general that he became a constant member of their party. Sir John neither opposed nor favored the suit of the wealthy American when it was made known to him; yet he seemed greatly surprised that his niece, so diffi- cult to rouse to pleasure or interest, had so easily grown infatuated with the kind, but rather elderly suitor. Mrs. Heatherton earnestly encouraged the union, and the prospect of sailing at once westward decided Mrs. Cochrane, so she became Mrs. General Stuart, and left Birkenburn on a quest disguised as a wedding tour. Flora was the object of her stepfather's yielding devo- tion from the very first, and between that and her mother's fitful fondness, which, like every other feeling of her nature, partook of the character of the unsatisfied craving of her life, was soon a spoilt child. Mrs. Stuart's anxiety to hear of her sister was like other passions that have outgrown their objects, rather an indefinable one. She never pictured Mary in any other way than as she saw her last, her head crowned with violets, a rose-flush in her cheek, and laughter in her eyes. It did not seem to her that the ten years that had passed had much to do with it all, but that some- where she would come upon her still in the same India dress and wood flowers, waiting to spring into her arms. So being free to search, she began to go about from place to place, without system, and apparently without object, except perpetual wandering. Of course such THE HEIRESS OF SUNNYSLOPE. 129 flitting must have an avowed reason, and Mrs. Stuart's was the search for health. She had a pale, wistful kind of beauty now, and every one pitied her and commended the general's devotion. Bred in this wandelring way, Flora gathered a sense of unrest with her first clear thoughts, and the world, as she began to know it, was only a place to wander through in search of fancies that lost their charm as soon as won. Her nature at first was generous and full of strong affec- tions, but neither her heart nor her temper had been studied; her whims cultivated themselves. She clung about her mother with a passionate fondness, and ex- hibited in herself a reflection of every fancy of the now weak lady, absurdly exaggerated in her more buoyafit mind. She had all her unrest, her fickle yearnings and caprices, without an idea of the cause that changed the current of her parent's life. Sir John had commanded silence, and his niece had preserved it until secrecy became a habit, and Flora never knew she had an aunt. But roving from place to place at last took Mrs. Stuart back to Scotland and Birkenburn, and she was very glad to see it once more, for she looked at it through dying- eyes. Sir John was very fond of her, and everything seemed once more like the dear old time again. It was the light at eventide, and night soon followed; the rest and peace and delight of home were only for a little while, and then the tired eyes that had seen too much, and been content with too little, closed to open no more. Flora was stunned by grief, so heavily at first that all efforts to rouse her proved useless, and then her untrained, undisciplined nature, rebounded in wild, vehement, re- sentful sorrow. Everything, and far too much, was done to soothe and page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] 130 BLANCHE GILROY. console her, but nothing seemed to quiet the torrent of her grief except constant change and constant motion; the poor general, who had never known rest in his married life, began to find that where his journeys had been desultory, they now became systematic, and that the daughter whom he loved and had adopthd as his own, would henceforth use that love as a bridle wherewith to lead him round the world. Seven years had this wandering lasted, and many and far had been its paths, before it struck the eirant fancy of the spoilt beauty to carry her victim and slave to be restored by the aged Kanaka women. Everything must have an end, and here the general seemed to feel his journeyings should cease. He called a halt, and lay down, and the Kanaka women's subtile touches failed to rouse him ever again. Then the petulant and self-willed girl, who had so relentlessly hurried him through his declining years, gave way to grief so despondent and helpless, that, being among strangers and hirelings, she too lay down in her despair and shut out the light of day from her mourning eyes. For a long time she remained morbidly, bitterly griev- ing, while the body was on its way homeward over the seas, to find rest at last in its native earth. Then she rose up and began to retrace her way backward, too, but was taken ill in California while waiting the sailing of the steamer, and beneficently stretched in a fever that kept her quiet and gave her busy brain a rest. She was getting well of it, and beginning to be up and gather strength, when some one knocked at her door, and she found her permission to enter hastily followed by a young girl, a little taller than herself and very much THE HEIRESS OF SUNNY SLOPE. 131 like her in figure, who, without looking towards her, closed the door and placed her back against it. Then the visitor showed by her manner that her first act had been the effect of excitement, and that having taken an instant's thought, she was at' once startled by, and ashamed of, her own temerity. Her face was very beautiful, but exceedingly pale, and disfigured by a look of apprehension, an expression of constantly waiting for and dreading something. She trembled, and cast a pleading glance at the young lady, who stood facing her, as she began to speak in an uncer- tain way,- "I come to beg for a little aid-I mean-to ask if you could give me employment-anything for a shelter, --I am in great distress." She was well dressed, and seemed in no want; her gesture signified that it was mental agony she meant, and at the same time added force to her appeal. Flora looked at her in cold surprise. She was no sympathizer with human suffering, or she need never have wandered over the world a sated, dispirited mollo- maniac. "I do not know anything about you," she said, wearily. "I am in trouble, and do not desire to be intruded upon by strangers." She turned aside with a gesture of dismissal; but the stranger, as if inspired by desperation, caught at her dress as she moved away. "Oh, do not desert me. For the sake of God's love and pity, help me and save me!" she begged, in impassioned eagerness. "If you are in sorrow, let your own grief make you merciful to mine. I know you are rich and fortunate-one of those born to rule and bless, and that everything you desire is possible to you. .But, if you listen to me and grant my prayer, you will do a deed 3 , page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] 132 BLANCH'E GILROY. that you never did before-you'll save a fellow-woman from destruction; for if I leave this place without help, I swear to you I'll throw myself into the bay yonder to escape from a torment that is driving me mad." Her white face, lighted up by those desperate eyes, gave force to her whispered words that went to the listener's heart like a chill. "Sit down; do not tremble so," she said, waking a little from her own apathy. "Why do you come to me? If you know me as you say, you should know that I have lost my father, and ought to be spared all little trouble." "I dared to do what I was driven to do," said the girl, her voice growing fainter and fainter; "you had lost part; you should pity me who have lost all,-that or death lies straight before me." She had fallen into the seat Flora motioned her towards; and though her eyes held hers with that in- tense entreaty still, a set whiteness that was the color of death gathered over her mouth, and, making her ghastly, showed that she had fainted. Flora hated personal trouble unless it was exciting: this promised a little, and she rather woke to interest in it. She crossed the floor to call her woman from the inner room; but the stranger revived, and seemed instantly conscious of the movement and anxious to stop it. "Then what is this terrible story of yours?" asked Flora, coming back and taking a view of her from head to foot. She thought to herself: "I have never seen anything so grand-not even in French tragedy-as this woman's face; of course, it is all for effect; but she's a glorious actress, and I mean to see her through her part." So she repeated, carelessly, "Of 1X THE HEIRESS OF SUNNYSLOPE. 133 course I must know what the trouble is that I am asked to aid-- " At this invitation, given without heart and with a critical stare, the newcomer hung her head and seemed to consider. When she looked up, her countenance had changed: the pallor of her cheeks was relieved by a scarlet spot on each, and. the glittering misery of her eyes was softened by tears. "I belong to common people, though I have been well taught and in somewise used to better life, since my busi- ness was that of a teacher. By chance I met a gentleman, who, for a time, made me forget the difference there was between us in the world, and it was so hard to return to reality, after the little heaven my unthinking delight in him had been, that nothing but my wish to save him from the horrors consequent on a marriage into a family beneath him nerved me to tread my heart under my feet and go back to my old working way. I was ili; nmy worked stopped, and my people, who value money too much, were tempted by his mother to help her to deceive him about me, to send him away on a false story, so that we should be parted until she could regain her influence over him once more. This she meant to do by showing him the character of the alliance she' had saved him from, and laying before him a paper wherein they had pledged themselves for money to do her will in any way, betray- ing their own flesh and blood for a stated price. She knew his keen sense of honor, and could guess what-such knowledge would be to him. I was still weak and ill when this thing was brought to me; the trouble I had had was heavy; this was worse; it drove me wild, and I could neither think nor act calmly. "A man came to tell me of it; he was connected with my family, and of the same class; but he had learned 12 page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] 134 BLANCHE GILROY. the world from living among its worst and vilest scenes, and was unscrupulous and cunning in the extreme. He pretended to be my friend, and showed me a letter, written by my dear sister, bidding me trust him and be- lieve his story; beside this, he gave me proofs that I could not reject; and though I knew by instinct that he was false and selfish, I was all distraught and helpless, and, needing something to hold by, clutched at his tempt- ing aid. He offered me the money to throw before the woman who tried to kill her son's love for me; he told me how I could earn it in my profession to repay him; it all seemed plausible, and I took it and adopted his plan. "It was thus we were to part then, and he would return to my sister to tell her my resolution and carry out our plans: I was to sail for this country with a rich miner's family, and by-and-by she would join me, and we would be content and happy together once more. In a year or two, when I could repay him, he would come for his money-till then we were not to meet. "This was all he asked for himself,-this two years' trial of faith,-and I let him believe I might meet him then more kindly than I could part with him now, being too miserable to feel even gratitude truly." She paused awhile, and, without looking at the wearied lady, who only listened in starts, went on, sighing deeply: "That was the way it all appeared to me," she said. "God is my witness I dreamed of no wrong or evil. I parted from him after he had taken me to my employers, friends of his own, and put me in their care, and I had not a doubt in my mind of his honesty. He carried a letter from me to my sister, and seemed anxious to get away. ; We sailed the evening after the morning he left, and uv ryry) ALLIC : THE HEIRESS OF SUNNYSL'OPE. 135 when we were at sea a few hours 1 thought I heard his voice. It terrified me; and though I tried to call it a con- ceit and believe myself dreaming, it took form and haunted me all that dreadful night: it was all too real, and the beginning of unutterable agony to me, for, ever since that hour, he has followed me like a merciless fiend; be lhad made a trap of my helplessness and despair, and baited it with the money that gratified my pride,--thus I fell into his power; and he claims me, and I fly from him. The people he placed me with were his own wicked kind, and have helped him to pursue me; he gives me no time to work and repay him, and all I can do is to flee from place to place, continually followed and con- quered by his persistence. I am hunted down now, all the courage I began with is worn out, a sense of dread is upon me-a shrinking and trembling at every sound; I have ceased to plan or hope, and now throw myself upon your mercy before I seek relief in death. "You look incredulous. Well you may. How should you know what it is to dread, and hate, and fear, and despise, all in one breath, and yet be bound by a debt you cannot pay--to have lost your way by a road you cannot retrace?" She seemed, in speaking, to have exhausted her force; closing her eyes, she sat like a numbed figure, her head drooping, and a listless wretchedness in her face. "So you are flying from an enemy," said Flora, who had wearied of the long story, and dropped and taken it up again, at points, till she knew but little about it. "Why should you take the trouble to do so? Why should he care to pursue?" Her color fluttered from white to red, then she went very pale again, and said, quietly,- "I told you something in the beginning changed my page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] 136 BLANCIIE GILROY. whole life; J gave away my heart, and this man seems to have some strange frenzy that makes him desire it, or me, since he knows it is beyond his reach. I cannot make clear to you what is a mysterious horror to myself, but I implore you to give me shelter and protection, and God will bless and reward you. I feel " Flora thought awhile and then laughed. A new sound for her of late days, as she seemled to think. "' I do not know why I should do this," she said, "for I cannot quite believe you; but I am tired, and need something to think about; let me try what I can make of your case as I think it over. Stay! let me see you for a moment. What is there about your face that per- plexes me? Something; yes, certainly, something; yet what it is I cannot tell." She looked at her as coolly and steadily as if she had been a figure of stone, whose beauty, with an odd trick, was puzzling her. "You're pretty enough for a picture, yet it cannot be that I have ever seen one like yours, except it be my mother's. No, no, what am I thinking about? Pshaw! you have a vexing power of suggesting a thought and refusing to carry it through clearly." Although Miss Stuart avowed she had no belief in the story she had heard, she gave it sufficient credit to act upon its suggestion. She was stopping in one of the great hotels of the city, and, after a little thought, she decided that her protegee, having been watched, as she declared, must be seen to leave it again in a leisurely way, with an air of dejection, and in the direction of her last place of abode, that, when she reached that spot, she should return in great haste, and, entering a large cloak- store under the hotel, ask for Miss Stuart's traveling-cloak that was being made there, and put it over her other dress and wear it up-stairs, entering her rooms by a door lead- THE HEIRESS OF SUNNY'SLOPE. 13 ing into a now vacant apartment, but communicating at the side with theirs. There was a sort of zest in work like this that tempted her efforts. She took out a heavy veil and gave it to her to add to the disguise of the cloak, and, scanning her figure, decided that no one could recog- nize it when enveloped in the long cloak. A vague fancy for rushing up among the icebergs had been upon her that morning. As she looked at her new acquaintance she laughed again, declaring that she was better than the north pole, and had already caused her stagnant blood to circulate with something like interest. "I sail next week on the Golden Eagle and will carry you with me. If there is a creature, such as you describe, watching and tracing you, I'll foil him, and he shall never suspect how it was accomplished. All you must do is to give yourself up to me, and let me lead you. Go, now, and return quickly, while I lay out my plans." While the trembling girl tried to thank her, in a dazed way, as if she could not yet realize her good fortune, she did not listen at all, but went on walking about and talk- ing to herself. Suddenly she turned and faced her visitor, who was unclosing the door to steal out. "You have not said what your name was. One should know that'to begin with." "Blanche Gilroy," said the girl, and hurried away from the sound as if it gave her pain. 12* page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] 138 BLANCHE GILROY. CHAPTER XIV. AT SEA. - Miss STUART had a maid named Laure, whom she had brought from France the year before,-she changed 4 her attendants as often as she changed her plans,-and the poor girl now lay sick in the fever which had been the cause of their lengthened stay in the city. She had faith- fully nursed her mistress back to health, and then lay down, stricken with the same disease, and Miss Stuart was naturally very impatient at the delay her illness caused. Now she rejoiced at it, since, leaving her behind, she could carry the stranger with her under her name and still only register the two on the steamer list. She was waiting almost eagerly for Blanche when she returned, and made her walk up and down in the long cloak and veil and describe to her just how she went and whom she noticed in the streets. Flora was playing with a new toy and found it very entertaining. With her tablets in her hand and her bright eyes following every motion of Blanche's figure, she made her detail every peculiarity of Ralph's face and form, and then began to look about for such a spy, with a strong relish in the occupation. First she hid her protegee away in an inner room, and, from living like a recluse herself, changed to keeping guard over her as a prisoner. Then she found a suit of the sick maid's that suited her purpose, and got all in order for her plan on the coming I ?e AT SEA. 139 day of sailing. She lost spirit at times when she could not discover a living eye turned in the direction of her rooms, or find that any one had made an inquiry relative to her or her party. She demanded a constant impetus to preserve her energy, and if Blanche's face had not in itself been such a provokingly interesting study, she would have wavered in her determination from the ab- sence of any new excitement. Laure, finding she was to be left behind, evinced great reluctance to remain alone and ill at the hotel; so a man and woman, who had been part of the traveling con- pany, were detailed, too, and Flora and Blanche were to go alone. On the morning they were to start, Miss Stuart evinced some trepidation,--such a long journey, with none but a stranger's service, and that untried, seemed to unnerve her, and she grew petulant and exacting in her manner, demanding that Blanche should instantly dress in the mourning suit she had arrayed for her, antd then, if there should be any doubt of its being a perfect disguise, she could abandon it at once. Quick in all her movements, the frightened girl, who from the first had but little faith in the lasting friendship of her protectress, hurriedly assumed the dress indicated, and came out into the parlor where Miss Stuart stood. At the same moment a porter knocked, and, putting his head in at the open door, said, looking directly at Blanche, "The two big trunks have gone, Miss Stuart, and the others are just going. Would you please to say which of the small ones is to be put in your stateroom?" Blanche answered readily, "The brown leather one, with the star on it;" for she had heard that decided on before. page: 140-141[View Page 140-141] "O BLANCHE GILROY. ' "Thank you, miss," said the man, and went out. And Miss Stuart shouted with childish pleasure, "Capi- tal, capital,-nothing could be better!" She looked at her again and again, walking round her and laughing at one time, but at another seeming puzzled a and perplexed. a "Dear me, what is that odd thing in your face?" she :I: asked. "I wish I could name it, for it bothers me like an old tune I want to recall. One thing is certain, though: you are transformed by my art, no one could 4 recognize vou, and your fiend-man may try as soon as he pleases, for in an hour we start." X After that, her spirits never flagged ;-and when the time . came she appeared dressed as Laure, and bade her own - double lead the wav. . "Here's my purse, pay the driver, say to William and i his wife that you will write to them from the Slope, and ;iy that they may wait with Laure till then. Never forget your character. I shall not speak again until we are in our staterooms." ii She had a row of short, black curls inside the front of H a jaunty little hat and a mask veil tied over her face. Her blonde ringlets were smoothed out of sight, her eye- brows darkened, and her color heightened greatly. It had evidently been quite a study with her to get up an imitation of the Frenchwoman in herself; but she had not succeeded as well as she thought, and, beyond the dress, there was no change sufficient to disguise her from observation. She was perfectly content, however, and seemed to feel that she alone had changed Blanche and deceived the porter. This illusion still holding good, and Blanche retaining her character very well, she was delighted, and with difficulty restrained herself from AT SEA. 141 giving free vent to her amusement and satisfaction, until thev reached the plank leading up the steamer's side. Here an official was keeping back a crowd, and Blanche, with a single glance on either side, stepped first upon the gangway, leaving Miss Stuart behind. As the lady, with a flush of surprise, forgetting for an instant their com- pact, was about to follow, her foot slipped and she stum- bled a little, but was caught in the arms of a man, who said, gallantly,- "It is a pleasure to wait and be so rewarded. I've been here since daybreak, looking for you." With an indignant gesture, she threw him off wrath- fully, and, dashing up the ship's side, pushed past Blanche and rushed into her stateroom. "Here, take these things off me!" she cried, pettishly, quarreling with her clothes as she threw them aside. "One had need wear the dress of their own station to awe wretches like that. Pshaw I I'm vexed and angry, and sick of this masquerading. Be of use, if you can; I've left myself alone for your sake; now help me!" With all the tact and aptitude that she could command, Blanche hastened to obey, and, greatly desiring to repay what she had received, from the first she had studied the nature she was to serve.- By-and-by Flora's fretful gasps and complainings gave way. "There," she said, at length, with a sigh of relief, It you are not a bit clumsy, and I like silent service, so you do well for me. But you must not keep quiet always. I like you to talk when I feel in the mood, not to talk over me while you are waiting on me." Presently the queer, throbbing, heaving motion beneath their feet told them they were afloat, and Flora immedi- ately determined to lie down. "I am wretched at sea,' she said, " a martyr always, yet I endure it best lying page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] "2 BLANCHE GILROP. quiet and having some one talk or read me to sleep; the only endurable thing is that I can sleep,-the motion is like the rocking of a cradle to me and lulls me directly." To Blanche it was slow torture; but Flora was not - used to think of or for others. She composed herself easily, closed her eyes, and motioned her companion to talk. This was serving a tyrant; but Blanche was naturally kind and generous; what had been done for her seemed so great a service that she felt it was very little to do her best in return for the debt incurred. Without a great range of subjects, she chose the first she thought of, and told the silent lady about the music she knew, and that she would be glad to play for her, if Miss Stuart cared to hear her. After awhile the delicate chest heaved softly and natu- rally, and the half-hidden face was suffused by a pleasant glow. . "She's asleep now," said the watcher; "it was as I thought-she only wanted to hear a lulling sound near her; and now I must breathe the outside air, or I will stifle and go wild with this throbbing in my head." She went out on the guards, and, keeping the mantle she had worn close round her and the veil drawn over her face, she leant backed against the cabin and looked over the side at the fast-receding city and shore. Near her stood a young man with a handsome face, smooth and youthful, and a frank, pleasant-sounding voice. He had a small child at his side, and was about to stoop and raise another smaller, but more blooming little one, in his arms. They were both girls, neatly and plainly clad, and with a primness about them unusual in the manners of little ones. "John will hold me up next, Nannie," said the pale ?! I AT SEA. ]43 child, in answer to something the other offered, as she was being lifted in the gentleman's arms; "I can see almost where I stand." "Mattie's very tall, you see," said the gentleman, laughing; "she can reach on tiptoe to the capstan." "You mustn't laugh, John," said the grave child. "Im growing very fast." He smiled with great tenderness. "Indeed you are, dear; and now, Nannie, look back there: see the heather. colored hills away beyond, and say good-by to your birth- place." "Good-by, good-by!" said Nannie, waving her chubby little hands. "Mattie, you say good-by, too." As he put down the baby to raise her elder sister, she half tumbled, owing to the motion of the ship, and righted herself by catching at Blanche's dress with child- ish freedom. This made the gentleman speak, and she replied, pleas- antly, saying that they were young travelers to be going so far. "We are going away home ever so far," said Nannie, confidentially; "John is going to take us." "Is their mother an invalid?"Blanche asked, without thinking that she might give pain. "She is dead," said the gentleman, very softly, but not go softly as to escape Nannie's ears, who nodded very gravely, and added,- "And papa, too-in the wicked mine." "It was a shaft, Nannie," corrected little Mattie, with Extreme care,-" downhin the dark shaft. Are you sorry, lady?" "Very, very sorry," said Blanche, sadly. "Then I like you," returned Mattie, adding, with a quiet but earnest look, "you're very pretty,-isn't she, John?" page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] "4 BLANCHE GILROY. It seemed very funny to Blanche to be told so in such a tone; she laughed,-a rare sound in her own ears now,-and seeing that the young man looked troubled by the freedom of his little charge, she took her up and kissed her, saying,- "Do you know why you think so? Why, it's because I love little girls, and I think you and your sister are dear little things.'" "They are not used to strangers, you see," said their friend, in a very loving voice, as he touched their : little heads tenderly with his hand. "It was a very quiet and out-of-the-way place in the mines where they were, and their mother's face was all they saw, except when their father and his partner came in from the shaft." "That is where he was so unfortunate as to lose his life?" *d "Yes, by falling; the poor widow was not strong; she could not bear the shock, and, after a few months, the little ones were alone in the world." "You are-that is-I mean they are fortunate in having such a relative." "I?"-he smiled and flushed boyishly. "Oh, I am not a connection; I never saw them until their poor mother lay dying." "A physician?"Blanche was impelled to say. "I beg your pardon, but your charges interest me." "You are very kind. No, I am not a doctor: I am a very humble and, I hope, sincere follower of the Great Master-a minister of Christ." What I with that smooth, fresh face, that sweet, young smile, and look of candid kindness t Certainly not such a one as Blanche had ever seen before. Her expression must have shown her thought, for she saw him look at her with a curious smile. AT SEA. 145 "I suppose you think me a most unclerical figure, Miss Stuart?" he said. "The truth is, my work has been among the mountains yonder-mission service altogether; and that embraces so much of such a varied character that I have never had an opportunity to cultivate ap- pearances." She started at being so named. "I did not mean to give you such an impression of my thoughts. My name, -that is, I amn-" "I must beg your pardon," he said, earnestly; "I could not help knowing your name, you know; but I should have been more discreet in using it; mine is Stanley, and I am sorry my little Nannie is so uncere- monious." This in allusion to the child's :desire to find the clasp of the jet bracelet on the lady's wrist. "Mrs. Brown will be up by-and-by, so you must go in and be ready for supper when the gong sounds," he con- tinued, drawing her gently away. Blanche smiled reassuringly at her, and patted Mattie's pale cheeks, then she hurried back to see what was being done in the room where she had left the sleeper. She was still breathing heavily, with her head thrown back and her hair tossed over her pillow. Every curve of her stretched form bespoke a perfect abandonment to rest, and Blanche, looking at her as she lay, wondered of what sort that nature could be that at one time seemed incapable of repose and now appeared formed for nothing else. Since she had won her help by exciting her interest, she had found her active, impatient, and full of an irri- table vitality that could not bear to be thwarted or crossed for an instant. She was beginning to see her now in her dormant state,-dull, heavy, gloomy, and 13 page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] "6 BLANCHE GILROY. brooding,-and it was usually ushered in by a long a sleep. In engaging her rooms, Miss Stuart, who always traveled luxuriously, had ordered two to be changed into one, by removing the greater part of the partition, and make the outer and inner one connect. The window opening on the deck, and the window of the other open- ing in the cabin, made a pleasant draught of air between. Blanche drew the blinds and lowered the muslin curtain. It was growing late, and the tables outside were getting ready for that first, undefined meal at sea. The wind from the water was so tempting, and the desire to realize the distance growing between herself and the object of her fears so great, that, seeing she was not needed there, she went out again, and, keeping within hearing of the least sound in the room, leant upon the guards and watched the sea. A woman from the lower cabin was waiting to take the children to their supper. They called her Mrs. Brown, and Blanche could hear little Nannie giving her voluminous directions about the dressing of her hair and restrictions concerning mistaking "John's brush." Their merry, chatty voices sounded through the open X window of their room. She lingered near the sound as if it was a fire to warm her frozen heart: all their pleas- ant little cries of surprise or protest, all their merry laughs and busy injunctions, came like breaths of heaven to the poor creature who had been torn from all loving interests and pleasures and held in baleful bondage so long. Her face lighted as if from within, and a soft, girlish smile broke upon her pretty lips. "Oh, I shall get home; I shall be with my darling Jean again; I will cry my AT SEA. 147 heart out on her breast, and bless God for the happy hour!" Even as she anticipated, tears burst from her eyes and fell over her flushing cheeks, the great sea was blotted out by them, theshining globes, beginning to be lighted in long rows in the great cabin, showing the crowded table and hurrying waiters, all faded away, and she was in her own old room, bare, but seeming now a perfect para- dise, and her only feeling a sense of peace and safety. Leaning from the deck above her head, and looking down upon her, was a mun, oddly dressed, as if he had hastily gathered the articles he wore together by way of disguise. His jacket was a sailor's, his slouched hat a miner's, and his coarse pantaloons and boots might have belonged to any mal in humble life. Everything he wore was new, and his face and hands accorded ill with it all, for he was handsome and evidently unused to a rough life or labor. If it be right to call black eyes, with a bad look in them, a straight nose, with too much nostril, a red, full mouth, with a twitching smile, and a trick of growing whiter under strong emotion, handsome, then he was a good-looking man; and he had, beside, the whitest hands that ever shrunk away under rough coat cuffs, as if to hide the great, glittering diamond on one finger that he had forgotten to change with his clothes. page: 148-149[View Page 148-149] "8 BLANCHE GILROY. CHAPTER XV. FIRE AND DEATH. IT was fair and pleasant weather when the Golden Eagle sailed away to the southward, and her decks were crowded daily with passengers, who gathered together in the breeze or sunshine to while away the time, but Blanche or Miss Stuart did not appear among them. i Flora was heavy and moody,-impatient of the past and ungracious towards the future,-being in one of her fits of pauses when she was too capricious to look either way, and would only bear a sluggish glimpse or two of the present. r Something in the sweet voice and beautiful face of the A girl about whom she seemed to have no recollection, ! bevond having won the right to use her as a slave, satis- fied her better than anything available, and she used it constantly. "Do not be moving, stay where I can see you-one need have something to look at in this dull time," she would whine, if Blanche made a motion to leave her for an instant. "Sit in the light, where I can see you," or "Come here, and let me watch you till I drop asleep," were constant requests; and, if her prisoner had spccu- lated upon her chains, she would have seen that each link was the growth of a new fancy. Miss Flora Stuart, independent of her old interest, which was now half for- gotten, was beginning to have another and an alarming one in her companion, since it meant possession. FIRE AND DEATH. 149 "I am going to keep you, and you shall never leave me. I will teach you to think for me, to be a second self to me; I like your motions and your tone, and you have about you that fresh, springing life I need. Most people grow heavy after awhile: they oppress me like air breathed over too often, and can give me nothing new. You can do many things that I don't know yet; don't tell me of them, but let them surprise me like every pretty thing I learn about you. You can sing? Well, I don't want that, but just a soft humming that I can sleep by. Try it; open the window, let me have all the air there is, and don't come too near till you get it soft and low-a sort of lullaby, you know." This was a luxury to the lady; but, warm and tender as Blanche's nature was, and deeply grateful as she felt, this constant service wore her down. If it had not been that Flora slept much of her time, she would have been unable to supply the fresh, unimpaired spirits the young lady demanded; for her own life had been so hunted and shaken by fear in the last few months that she needed to receive rather than give. She still wore the black dress, and in it stole out every evening to take the air, while Flora slept.- At such times she saw the minister and his little charge, and sometimes good Mrs. Brown, from the second cabin, whom he paid to dress and keep them tidy, This socially-disposed female, finding that she noticed the little ones, had brought them to her and opened dis- course on the subject of their loveliness and the noble nature of their good friend. According to her account, and her husband was a miner on the same flat, she said, they owed everything to the unselfish kindness he had shown them. "Mr. Manning, their father, had sunk all the money he 13* page: 150-151[View Page 150-151] 150 BLANCHE GILROY. ever had in that shaft that was his death; so when he i was gone, there wasn't anything for the widow till they brought it out of the earth. People up in those parts are pretty kind, but, then, they're pretty poor, except just where the dirt pays, and so there wasn't much show for the family if it hadn't been for Mr. Stanley, who got a man with capital to buy out poor Manning's share and settle it on these two. Of course, it isn't very much, for it is all chance in tunneling; but, if it had not been for him, there would have been nothing at all." Are they going to friends?" asked Blanche. "Not very near ones-only an uncle; but he's a very good man, and will do well by the little souls, I hope." Mrs. Brown brushed back Nanuie's little curls and settled Mattie's apron. "I was coming East to see about my sick old mother, and Mr. Stanley came along, too, so that we could sort of care for them together. He's a splendid young man; the roughest boys in our camp will tell you that; and he did good work out there while the regular minister was home getting himself a wife." This woman and the party to whom she belonged were Blanche's only acquaintances on the steamer, and, beside them, shle had exchanged words with no one, ex- cept the servant who cared for their rooms and carried Miss Stuart's meals, for that lady positively declined going out into the cabin, and frequently kept Banche with her shut up at meal-time captive to her caprite. This evening, going in from the guards, expe ing'to find her sleeping as usual, she was surprised to Wee her sitting up, looking white and startled, and shuddering violently. i For a little while she could not command herself to speak, but only motioned towards the window, frantically demanding that the blind should be drawn. She was I! FIRE AND DEATH. 151 not strong either in mind or body. , Blanche saw that great drops of perspiration were circling round her white lips, and that the blankness of her fear discovered a really haggard face. "It is horrible to be so shocked," she said, in gasps; "I was sleeping when he wakened me,-a man with a livid face, and black eyes like a snalke's; be was leaning in here through that window, and he touched me. When my eyes were open he seemed close to my face, so close that I couldn't breathe, and he said that he would follow me to the bottom of the sea, or something that sounded like that. I tried to scream, but he raised his hand in a threatening way, and it set my nerves ajar completely. He must be a madman-such a face you never saw, and such a look no one could ever forget. You must stay by me. I do withouc air; and I am sure if I can endure to be penned in here you may." She was growing quieter, and began to be petulant and unreasonable. "It is that heavy, black dress you have on that absorbs the air; we are sailing down into the tropics, and you must prepare for heat and bear it. Pray keep near that window,-I cannot think of it without dread, and that wretched creature may come again, you know." Blanche kept her face out of tie dull light given by the lamp set in the frame in the corner of their room. She was startled into a sick fear liy the phantom Flora's words had conjured, and did not dare to let their effect be seen by her already frightened companion. Strange that the same idea slouldnwQt suggest itself to her. She had asked for Ralph's description, and dwelt on it carefully, while the idea of baffling him had occu- pied her mind; but now he and all concerning him were dismissed from her thoughts and retained no more hold of them than the air blowing yesterday. page: 152-153[View Page 152-153] 152 BLANCHE GILROr. "Stay by me and talk of something just as different as possible," she said; " keep your voice low and in time to the waving of that feather fan: it grows close as we go southward." This was a task; but Blanche waslearning self-control, and soon began to find that manner was all that was needed to soothe her charge. A soft, monotonous sound, whose words failed to reach her mind, would readily lull her ear. She was becoming a creature of the senses only, and ruled by nerves instead of sentiments. They were now five days upon their way, and to- morrow, at sunset, would reach a little Spanish port, where they would leave specie for the larger inland city. The idea of touching land on that side of the conti- nent filled her with fear; until that hour she had felt safe upon the ocean, and there only; but the face that Flora described seemed to rise from the deep to haunt her, and she tried hard to persuade herself that it was only a dream or the result of some nervous fancy. It could not be that he had followed her. Oh, no, impossible in every way, for she had never been allowed to be un- conscious of his presence for as many hours as she had now been freed from it for days. ; She was gaining courage and almost succeeded in con- quering the idea. She had begun to yearn for home with, a passionate longing that ignored all but its sanctity and Jean's presence. Of Philip she did not suffer herself to- think beyond a throb of joyous trust in his constancy to her, which was never to be rewarded except by her life's devotion far away from his happier sphere and her un- spoken love. Yet, though she was true to her sister in every pulse of her longing heart, the unacknowledged hope of being near him, possibly seeing him, the con- sciousness of his presence in the streets, his influence in FIRE AND DEATH. 153 the world from Which her humble birth shut her out, an influence of which she could form only an exag- gerated estimate, since he was that world to her,-all this drew her over the seas faster than steam or wind, and the idea of pausing filled her with foreboding uneasi- ness. Outside, the people were talking of the sudden increase of heat and the discomfort of the rooms in the center of the ship. The doctor was saying that he never remem- bered his cabin being so warm as he had found it that afternoon. The indefinable dread that seemed to have come back to her that night made her long to be near people and impelled her to go out among the speakers. She looked towards the bed; Flora was asleep again; she opened the door slowly, and saw Mr. Stanley just outside; as he moved to let her pass he said some- thing about it being impossible to endure the suffocating air. "Your maid is ill, I hear; I am sorry for the poor girl; she must find lying in a close berth intolerable such a night as this." "1 am-that is-I mean she is-- " Blanche stam- mered and paused. Her courage and self-command forsook her, and she did not tell the truth. There was a knot of gentlemen within a foot of where they stood; in the dim starlight she could not see even the outline of their forms distinctly, and she dreaded every stranger as an enemy. One of them said the cabin floors seemed roasting, and wondered why the heat should grow so fearful in a few hours. "The breeze out here is pleasant; it is the steamer itself that seems alive with heat," said another. page: 154-155[View Page 154-155] 154 BLANCHE GILROY. Mr. Stanley, joining ttem, told that he had been below in the second cabin to see a sick child, and that the air was intolerably hot there. And so they went on to corn- plain and discuss, as people do at sea, about anything i that can be found of general interest. Every one remembered their former experience in these latitudes, and every one decided that this was by far the heaviest heat they had ever known; the staterooms mid- ! ships were deserted, the ladies and children came out and stretched themselves in traveling-chairs for the night, / and the red gleam of wandering cigars shone out in the dark all over the deck as the restless smokers went to and fro, trying to find a cool place to rest on, and deserting i every spot as soon as tried. Blanche stayed listening to the recitals of old voyagers until she grew drowsy, and then stole quietly away and went to rest, finding that her companion slept on regard- less of heat or conversation. The next day rose in a glare, the sky overhead was like a glittering mirror, the sea was still and shining, and all between was light and heat. 'Flora woke moaning. "It was stifling," she said, and declared she should die if Blanche did not come quickly and fan her. As she crept out of her berth and hastily dressed herself, Blanche felt that a great change had taken place in the night, that the intense warmth and closeness of the lower cabin was rising, and that the atmosphere was becoming too oppressive to be endured. "Get ice," gasped Flora, "get ice and cool the air or I shall die. Call a servant and demand it; don't believe anything he says about scarcity and an exhausted supply, -what we want is ice, and we must have it at any price." i FIRE AND DEATH. 155 Blanche opened the door and looked out. "There is no one in the cabin," she said. "I don't see a human creature. Where can they be?" She went out a few steps and came back with a look of alarm. "They are all out looking up at the engine. What can it mean?" "Oh, dear, they've broken the shaft, and now we shall go into some torrid, little harbor and roast while they repair it," fretted Flora. Her pettish tone had scarcely ceased when a yell so furious, so horribly loud, broke out that it filled and rent the air with its violence. A hundred voices joined in it, and made the one word they uttered like the blast of the trump of doom. "Fire!" Then followed the rushing of feet, the resounding of screams, prayers, entreaties, and commands, all huddled together in a surging sea of sound, confused and inde- scribable. Blanche did not speak or move, but her terrified eyes fastened themselves on Flora's face, which, as yet, con- fessed no emotion but disappointed anger. "There, the secret's out," she said, savagely; " they have been burning up the hold, and so roasting us poor creatures, from utter carelessness and neglect. Now, they'll have to run ashore, and will be obliged to wait in some sweltering Spanish town for the next steamer. Pshaw i what a perverse fatality! Had it not been for that stupid Laure and her provoking fever, I should have been ready two weeks ago, and so escaped it all." Selfishness is a leaden armor, and preserves, in its dull- ness, its wearer from feeling the first shock of a terrible situation; but once penetrated it is no longer a defense, but bends and breaks into a useless incumbrance. page: 156-157[View Page 156-157] 156 BLANCHE GILROY. "There is great danger," said Blanche, in an awe- struck voice; " hear those poor women I Oh, may God pity and sustain them!" .; Their cries, wildly pathetic, were rising above the tones of authority that strove to quell them. Flora began to get up her brow gathered together as she listened, still trying to preserve an annoyed air, but her face had grown very white. "Call some one quickly," she burst out in a nervous voice that meant to be imperative, but trembled in the effort,-" some one who knows. I must have our posi- tion explained to me at once." She dragged a scarlet morning-gown out of a drawer beneath her bed and put it on herself with shaking hands, tying the tassels together around her waist with ! great nicety and care in a mechanical way. Blanche had got to the door to obey her; but, as she was about to go out, the purser put his head in very coolly. "Do not be alarmed, ladies," he said; " nothing can be done by excitement, and, if you keep quiet, we will soon get the fire under. It is nothing, really nothing, and the steamer will reach port before damage can be done to anything." His coolness was assumed,-Blanche saw that at a glance; he tried to seem careless and unconcerned, and overdoing the part, made it a failure. She endeavored to pass him and see for herself, but he stopped her. "Don't come out, I entreat you, the decks are overcrowded now; the noise just prevents the men from working together and increases the danger. Keep quiet,-it is all you can do, and you should know its value if you realize the position." "I will," she answered, earnestly; but a man, with a FIRE AND DEATH. 157 wild face and the manner of a lunatic, thrust his head in the door, screaming,- "Don't listen to the officers; save yourselves; they care for nothing but the treasure, or they would not refuse to anchor and lower the boats 1 Save yourselves, I say, if you don't want to be burned alive on this blazing ship 1" The purser made an effort to seize the excited being. He threw him off, still yelling, "Save yourselves I seize the boats I human life against bankers' shipments I The hold is blazing under your feet, and you've only one chance for safety!" "That's only half a chance,-there's just about boats enough for one-half," put in a quietly desperate voice. "Then let's be part of that half!" shrieked the first one. "Come on for the boats, come on, and cut up the deck into a raft before it lets you through into the sea 1" He dashed off, but was caught and held, broke away, was pursued, and went yelling his mutinous message through the terrified crowds with a voice louder than the combined noises of all the rest. After this the scene seemed to lose its distinctness to Blanche. Her companion dragged her with her among the people on deck, or rushed back again into the cabin for refuge from the horror there. The shifting scenes were like pictures passed quickly through a magnifying lens, and mingling disproportioned and in haste with each other's outline. It seemed a distracted dream,-not a real thing. The smoke began to curl and roll about the galley like that escaping genii in the Eastern tale; great blotched sails were dipped in the sea, then laid upon the deck, yet little cunning smoke-wreaths, thin, but threatening, came steal- ing out from beneath them. Pump! pump! pump! sounded the hard-worked ma- page: 158-159[View Page 158-159] 158 BLANCHE GILROY. chine; the engine went throbbing on; every one that g could work was busy,-it was only the idle, maddened by their own inefficiency, that went wild. Some screamed or wept silently; others prayed with the fervor of fear, and those who tried to be brave argued, explained, protested, and looked most pitiably dubious all the while. Those useful souls who can detach themselves from personal fear in their love of their kind were not want- ing. They drew and threw water everywhere over the fuming-faced workers at the pumps-over the heating planks and fainting women; they carried about food and X tried to sustain hope by their own cheerfulness, and increase it by their endeavors. Still the boats hung on their irons, and the smoking ship heaved on with its freight of terror and suspense. Many had from the first taken thought of their pos- sessions; the contents of trunks were hastily flung about; small packages of money and jewelry were made up and secured round the persons of their owners. Some men found it impossible to compress their valuables, and so stood with heavy portmanteaus ready to spring into the first boat lowered and fight for their treasures as for their S lives; others took only a woman's picture or a child's curl,-tokens, alas I by which they were to be recognized when the sea had done its worst and the struggle had ended for them. A restless agony seemed to pervade workers and idlers; all saw that the fire gained and the shore was yet invisi- ble, and mothers with little children held them in their arms tightly, with a look upon the vast sea that was terrible in its intensity. At last the flames burst and wound upwards from the planking in a long, lithe, yellow tongue that duplicated FIRE AND DEAITH. 159 itself and grew with frightful vigor into a wide sheet of fire. The officers had held the passengers divided by barri- cades,-the steerage on one side, the cabin on the other; at the sight of the flames there was a rush, a yell,-terri- fled and defiant,--and the boundary was leapt over, and all discipline scattered to the winds. The spirits locker had been opened, and fearing the flames turning that way, the liquor was being unpacked; it was seized and handed about, coarse men pouring it down their throats like water, and even women grasping at it to drown their fear. Meanwhile the fire grew, and the stream of the engine seemed puny and frightened as it leapt to absorb the powerless water. The workers at the pumps had left their posts from inability to bear the frightful heat, some had dropped senseless, a few had caught the brandy mad- ness, and the tumult grew frightful, as this last powerful and fearful spirit made itself known among them. While discord and horror were at their worst, a sweep in the harbor brought the lad in sight, and a cry for boats rang through the crowds, drunk and sober. Then they seized them, and being utterly fearless and unreasonable now, they were beyond restraint or intimi- dation, though opposition was made, and a struggle pre- ceded the capture of the first. In it the chain was dragged down, the boat swung loose, struck against the ship-side heavily, and then dashed, bottom upwards, down into the sea, while the smoking and blazing vessel pushed on and left it to its fate. After that, an effort was made at order, but it only in- creased the reckless frenzy,-fire divided the ship, and madness reigned at either end. Something was said from time to time about the women page: 160-161[View Page 160-161] 160 BLANCIE GILROY. and children. The life-preservers had been divided among them, and even the most reckless of the men had shown pity and tried to cheer them. Blanche had seen Mr. Stanley hard at work from the first; when the flames rendered exertion impossible, she beheld him restraining the men's excesses and encourag- ing the frightened women to prayer and faith. Presently he brought a glass of wine and held it to her lips. "You are very weak," he said, kindly. "The time's coming when you will need all the strength you can find." She proved the truth of his words by staggering when she tried to stand. "I seem to have lost all power over myself," she said, faintly. And she looked down at Flora, who lay upon the deck at her side in a loose heap, her face hidden in the loose sleeves of her scarlet wrapper, and her long, luxurious, light hair falling in braids, and bands, and loose curls over her shoulders. : "Cannot you pray for yourself and her?" he asked, i with a troubled look and a voice full of sympathy. "I am saying the words of prayers all the time,"' she answered, simply, ", but I can put no meaning in them." He glanced upward, but she shook her head hastily. "No, no, I never could pray if I looked up into that blue, pitiless sky. I don't want to think of God smiling in serene majesty while we poor wretches writhe in horror." He crouched down and put his arms around the two quiet children, who had stood close at Mrs. Brown's side all day. She, poor woman, being very coarse and plain in her way, was possessed of an inestimable treasure, which shet wore now upon her forehead. Faith was its name, and it made her homely face very fair and gave a grandeur to her constant prayers. FIRE AND DEATH. 161 "See the land off there," said the minister, cheerily, "the live, green, growing land, with the misty hills rising away beyond it. Well, the God that made that pleasant ground and us is able to carry us there. He sees and loves us while we suffer, and cannot quite believe and rest secure in his love." "I wish I could believe hard enough to walk right off over that shining water like St. Peter did," said Mattie, with a firm-set face, though it was white and troubled, too. "I know lHe can save us, but still, I am afraid about Nannie,-she's so little, John." "Whether in life or in death we are his," said he; and it sounded as if he were speaking to himself. Then he looked anxiously at Blanche and whispered, "He was the sword that pierced his own mother's heart, remember, tender and pitying to other mothers as He was, and those He draws closest suffer most. Their suffering gives them strength to take a firmer hold of Him, and brings Him so near in sympathy. Oh, if we could only believe that it did not matter how He saved us, so that He did save us, and own us for his children 1" Flora made an impatient motion; she threw the cov- ering off her face and showed her dark eyes, unnaturally large, with a red gleam in them. "Stop preaching, man 1" she cried, hoarsely. "You saints always take your texts from some one's misery not your own. You expect to live, yet you try to reconcile us to death. Think of it as waiting for yourself like a ghastly monster coiled up under the sea down there and you'll lose your smooth phrases. Oh, my God I why don't they lower the boats?" she screamed under her breath, in con- centrated horror, impatience, impotent wrath, and ago- nizing foreboding. "Cut away the burning wood I drive that engine through the sea! Do something, I say,-do "* page: 162-163[View Page 162-163] 162 BLANCHE GILROY. something to keep off that horrid, crawling death under the water!"She threw up her arms with a hysterical screech, fell forward again, and tried to shut out the sight she had conjured up. When Blanche stooped to touch her gently she shook her off, and seemed determined to meet her fate alone, absorbed in her own sufferings and unconscious of any sympathy around her. Death coming to those she loved had been a robber, despoiling her of her wealth of pleasure and interest; but when lie approached herself he seemed a merciless assassin with an upraised knife, and she had no faith or love in her life as strong as her sense of horror. A struggle, a yell, a tumult of sounds and men, and then a great splash in the sea; another boat over, and twice its cargo of human life, springing through the air and struggling in the water. Dropped oars, shrieks of drowning men, howls of fright, rage, and madness, and the great flaming thing goes by again, still driving on to save the gold it carries within the shallow harbor, where it must anchor a charred and crumbling specter. Desperate creatures, cursing the fate they rushed to meet, leapt from the blazing timbers into the sea. Spars were thrown )ut to gasping swimmers, and struck and sunk the struggling forms they were meant to save; men with hatchets cut away the guards, and others tried to tear up the planks from under their own feet. Sud- denly a simultaneous rush came towards the after-deck, the flames hotly pursuing the retreating forms; the en- gine slowed, the shores were full in sight, and with a shout like a yell of a lost spirit the anchor went over. Then the boats were lowered, and men with pistols directed the loading; but what is a pistol to a devouring FIRE AND DEATH. 163 flame?-the menaced creatures sprang under its very muzzle and hurled themselves into the boat or the sea, as the rising waves happened to sway the object they aimed for. Flora, at the sight of this preparation, had risen and struggled towards the bulwarks, where the great crowd was. Blanche clutched her red dress to hold her back; but as the second boat, crowded with a surging, strug- gling heap of life, was pushed off towards the shore, an- other came down from the chains, and, a score of living beings leapt from the ropes, the wheel-house, and the ship's side, urged to madness of the frightful heat. Among the first, breaking from the grasp that would have held her, went Flora' Stuart, uttering, as she sprang, so wild a cry that it rang above all the rest. Blanche would have followed instantly, but Mr. Stan- ley threw his arms round her-and held her back; then that boat, with its tossing heap of people, was gone, too. When another came he had secured a rope for her to cling to. The little girl, called Mattie, took hold just beside her, and she saw Mrs. Brown, in the boat already, look- ing up at them with praying eyes. Above her, John Stanley, with Nannie in his arms, strove to steady the cord. Half way down Mattie's little hands gave way; she dropped into the water, now all aglow with light, and as she fell her eyes turned upward in an eager, frightened way, as if help must come to her, but she could scarcely think from whence it would be given. With. her own shaken powers taxed to the utmost, Blanche strove to catch at and save the falling child, but she fell out of her grasp into the water, and a great struggle of sinking men to reach and hold the boat drifted it from under her; so, after hanging till her head was dizzy and her eyes grew blind, she, too, sank into the sea. page: 164-165[View Page 164-165] 164 BLANC E GILRO J. As she sank a man among the fighting and drowning creatures at her side let go his hold on the boat and caught her. With a wet, white face she rose, and finding herself in his arms, looked at him in bewildered horror, shrieked, and tried to free herself from him by rushing back into death for a refuge. "What!" he said, speaking in groaning gasps, " there were two of you, were there? But I know youyouou can't deceive me now, and life or death is one for us, for I'll never give you up again, my girl." The boat was crowded and putting off Changing his hold on her to his left hand, he struck out, to follow it, with his right, and the man at the rudder saw and warned him. "We're shipping water at every stroke, we can't bear another feather. Keep off, now, I tell you, keep off l" "I only want a rest," said the swimmer, almost in- audibly. "I've a hurt on my head,-don't you see it? If it wasn't for that I could keep up alone. It's for this girl's life I'm begging; give me a rest for my hand?" The steersman tried to keep off, the swimmer reached him with a desperate stroke, a cry of selfish protest rose. Some one lifted an oar to thrust him off; it struck the already bleeding head of coal-black hair, and threw the sallow face back under the sea. Something like a reacting groan of horror rang through the company, and some one said,- "Poor girll" for she, too, had sunk; but another said,- "The girl was dead already, she never moved." Then that boat went by. MA NZANILLA. 165 CHAPTER XVI. MANZANILLA. A LONG low straggling beach lying in the soft twilight that lasts so short a time between the gorgeous sunset and the coming night. The musical plash of water break- ing high upon its white sands was lost in the numberless sounds of misery, despair, thankfulness, and indefinable excitement that rose upon its shores. Frantic figures dashing wildly to and fro, rescuing dead and living from the waves, startled, half-clad, half-human looking natives staring round among the stretched corpses, the injured, or yet inanimate, bodies tended by bewildered friends, the reciprocating shout of joy when the living met, the cry of agony over the recognized dead, all mingling in weird confusion, made up a terribleand grotesque picture. Every one, in reacting from the frightful suspense they had endured, busied themselves with an exhilarated in- dustry. Stakes were driven into the sand, and the ropes attached to them thrown out to help the strugglers in the water. Insensible bodies tied to spars were loosened and faithfully succored when they floated in. Men and women alike, brave and tender, secured themselves by cords to the stakes, and waded far out into the water to catch and bear in poor, fainting creatures, unable longer to support themselves, and wildly shrieking for rescue from impending death. Foremost among the workers was the young minister, who had been washed ashore safely with the youngest child. Mrs. Brown held her now, while he, with a sor- page: 166-167[View Page 166-167] 166 BLANCHE GILROr. rowful heart and troubled eyes, ran up and down among the curling waves to find the body of the little sister. But the child had gone down, and no trace of her was J left. There was plenty to do beside grieving; yet he did grieve and feel heart-sick and comfortless, even though he worked so hard,-rushing out into danger to cheat death of exhausted swimmers, and helping to recover fainting or injured people with a right good will. "The parson is a good surgeon," said a common man, one of a group, above the water-line, standing round something black on the sands. "See here, sir, can't you tie up that hurt?-it's all there is wrong about her. It's the young lady with the sick maid, you know, sir." He had just drawn in a boy that had been prayed for X by his watching, waiting, and almost frantic mother. Giving the lad to her care, he turned and saw the beau- tiful face and perfectly insensible figure of the young lady K he knew as Miss Stuart. The wound she had received was not a deep one,-a piece of oar, a splinter of broken plank, anything might have made it. He pressed and bound it carefully, and then he begged them to carry her to a hut where Mrs. Brown was, and ask her to care for, and try and restore her to consciousness. But just as they were lifting her she looked up and knew him. It was agony for her to speak, or even to breathe. He got a little brandy, and called for help, for she seemed to writhe in pain. After a little time she became quieter, turned her head on both sides, looking fearfully around, as if for an enemy, then closing her eyes again with an irrepressible shudder. Some of them said, "She misses her maid, poor thing,-- it was all her own fault, but she was so hasty." "How did it happen?" "She jumped and fell, you see, and they were tram- MANZANILLA. 167 pling over each other, none of them knowing what they were about, and she got underfoot and never rose,- smashed completely, they say, and I'm sorry for it." The minister turned away with a groan of horror, and the man seemed to feel badly too. "One blessing is she couldn't have felt it, poor dear,- she must have fainted, and the rest happened in a minute or two." One of them, stepping aside a little, pointed to a small heap on the sand that had the skirt of a scarlet cashmere robe thrown over it. The lady opened her eyes again and seemed to look that way; then shut them once more with renewed shuddering. At a nod from the minister they raised and carried her to the hut, and he went after. There was a hammock swung from the ceiling in either corner, and the Mexican woman, with a motion of her hanas, put them both at his service. When she was placed in one, and he saw that, though very weak and wretched, she realized her place and po- sition, he turned to leave her, for there was no lack of work to be done. Mrs. Brown was crying quietly, but she rose and tried to do what she could for the lady. "It is Miss Stuart, Mrs. Brown, and she has been hurt badly, you see. Her poor maid died in the boat. I see that she knows it, and I want her to know that I will have the body buried carefully, with a marked grave, that she can have changed at some other time "She hears you, and she thanks you too, don't you, Miss Stuart?" said kindly Mrs. Brown. Miss Stuart raised her head a little and said, "Yes, God knows I thank you," with great earnestness; then dropped it again. page: 168-169[View Page 168-169] 168 BLANCHE GILROY. By-and-by she begged to he allowed to hold Nannie in her arms; and the child being willing that she should, was placed in the hammock beside her, and then they swung together, while Mrs. Brown wept and Mr. Stanley worked; but no one could tell what were Miss Stuart's thoughts. Out on the sands night had come on and fires were lighted, and the strangely-incongruous tasks of burying the dead and preparing food for the living went on within slight distances of each other. The first hole dug down in the sand beside a high pile of drift-wood received the sadly disfigured body of Miss Stuart's maid, and when all was done that he could do, Mr. Stanley went up to the hut to see his double charge there. From the open door the lady, where she lay, could see the moon rise like a slender curve of glory away out over the quiet sea. Faint flecks of smoke still rose here and there against the silver line of the horizon and then faded out, leaving no stain on the mir- ror of the deep. The world of water lay solemnly still, as if brooding over the secret it had that day taken to hold. All around rose the subdued hum of thankfulness and sorrow: the digging in the sand on the one hand,- the kitchen fires on the other,-life and death mingling and meeting; the two ends of that mysterious chain we get so entangled within the middle I She hid her face and seemed averse to sight and sound. Mrs. Brown whispered that she had refused food, though she was weak and faint. Mr. Stanley spoke firmly, "Miss Stuart." She started with a look of pain, and seemed to shrink at the sound. "Think a moment and you will know that God has saved you from death, and it must be with a meaning, since He does nothing without a meaning." She gave a convul- ,a MAN ZANILLA. 169 sive sigh and turned away her face for an instant; then brought it back again. "Look out on that cold, vast sea, a pitiless couch for mny baby Mattie to-night," he continued, and his voice trembled. She fixed her eyes on his face and saw that it was wet with tears that he did not seem conscious of or try to hide. "I know my child is safe in her Saviour's arms to-night, though my heart aches over the unreality of my loss and her dreary death. Yes, He who redeemed her and made such as she an emblem of his kingdom, has her in his love to-night." He bowed his head, his broad shoulders shook; for though his faith was strong, his heart was fond and cling- ing, and he had grown to dearly love the little child. N'annie began to repeat her sister's name and cry; he came near and took her little outstretched hand and soothed her. "I had no will in saving myself," protested the lady, passionately. "I would have gladly given my worthless life in exchange for the poor little child's. I really sought death, but it repulsed me." He looked at her with a puzzled and sorrowful air, but did not speak. "It is all a chance," she continued, desperately; "there can be nothing but chance in this strange thing from first to last." "It chanced I Eternal God that chance did guide," he re- peated; but she seemed to reject the quotation with an im- patient motion of her hand; then she turned her face awav. He could not understand her; it was not like sorrow for the unfortunate maid only, but a shrinking horror of her- self and her surroundings, that almost indicated a shaken mind. Seeing his anxious looks, Mrs. Brown followed him outside the hut and said the poor girl must have been seriously hurt in the head, her actions were so de. 15 page: 170-171[View Page 170-171] f10 BLANCHE CILROY. spairing, and she kept looking out secretly and shrinking back again in a terrible fiight at the least sound. Receiving this account, the young minister decided that the bruise he had bound up was a severer one than he had thought, and knowing that the steamer surgeon was saved, went to find him and speak about it. But there was so much serious work for the doctor to do,-so many injured and dying from the falling of heavy blocks of wood, the being trampled in the boats, or beaten by the waves,-that he could not take him away, but rather stayed and helped all that long night. The rescued found kindness and good service, for the greater part, among the natives, who gladly gave them all the accommodation their huts offered. Messengers were dispatched with mules over the mountain-road to the inland city, and returned next day with clothing and provisions and many articles of comfort for the sick. The daylight made the scene it broke upon look ghastly. Many saved from the sea had died in the night from the injuries and fright they had endured, and the sand was already dotted with mounds, and constantly receiving addi- tions. Tents were made of the sail-cloth washed ashore, and stretched over the suffering in a rude hospital, well attended by nurses, whose kindness was doubled to make up for the absence of everything else. The doctor and the minister took special charge of this work, and it was from assisting in dressing a crushed and wounded arm that Mr. Stanley was called to receive little Mattie's body, washed ashore by the morning tide. Pure and innocent, and lying as easily as if she were sleeping, the child was resting on a black-and-scarlet serape, that some native woman had placed beneath her,- not a mark on her little face, round and smooth, and a little fuller than it had been in life; a smile shaped MANZANILLA. Il the delicately parted lips, and the little hands lay loose without a sign of strulggling or pain. If it had not been for the bloodless color of the face she would have seemed to sleep ; and it made all the women sad to think of such a pretty creature to be hidden under the sand. Mr. Stanley was soon joined by Mrs. Brown, and then the strangers left them alone together. "Nobody will ever come to take this little body up and carry it back to the miling flat, where its parents lie," he said to Mrs. Brown. "This little one will rest where we place her till the resurrection; so we will carry her over there among the hills and make her a deep grave under the rocks and moss." So they did; and there, in a little hollow, with the wild cactus and its great scarlet blossoms climbing over the rocks to meet the sun all around, they made a grave; and wrapping the gay Spanish scarf around the child, by way of winding-sheet, lowered her into it, and piled the earth upon her breast, and marked the place with a high mound of stones. Signals were raised at every point, and they looked for almost instant relief from the return steamer that would come in sight some time that day. Although there were few there who had not lost friends,-and all had lost every- thing else they carried with them,-the very excitement of their position forbade the possibility of natural grief. The time had not come for retrospect, and all was anxiety and action now. The shore people, who made their meager living by carrying out fruit in boats to passing steamers, or driving mules loaded with the merchandise they brought over the mountains to the larger towns, were very good and hos- pitable to the rescued people, but from their narrow ex- page: 172-173[View Page 172-173] 172 BLANCHE GILRO. perience, half-civilized lives, and lack of means, little able to serve or help them. All they did was done among themselves, and, as if in l reaction for the selfishness and even brutality of their last hours on the fiery phip, every one, from the least to the greatest, evinced a spirit of generous kindness, that brought them close together and sustained them in the general trouble and anxiety. All day they watched the sea, but no ship appeared. Towards daybreak of the third day the great steamer, a little behind time on its upward route, came in sight. No one, without undergoing the previous experience, can imagine the excited joy of the sufferers when it neared the shore, and, anchoring, sent out boats to learn about the disaster, whose monument in the charred wheel-house still smoking above the water forewarned them of what had occurred. Among the people flocking down out of the huts towards the shore came Miss Stuart, looking as if she had been suffering firom a long illness rather than a few days' uneasiness and discomfort. She had refused to see the physician who came to the hut from Mr. Stanley, because, as she. said, she was only shocked and weak, and rest would do all that she needed, while others really needed the services that were too valuable to waste on her. Now she went to Mr. Stanley's side, and, among other changes in her face and manner, he was conscious of a certain resolution that had hardened both, and entirely banished a sweet wistfulness that used to belong to her expression. Coupled with this, yet most incongruously so, was a nervous fear expressed by a spasmodic start and a backward glance, as if she expected, yet dreaded, to be suddenly overtaken by some one. MA NZANILLA. 173 With these two opposing forces, each in their turn ap- parent, yet checked, slhe spoke to him, and he found her voice altered too. It was no longer sweet and appealing as he had found it on the ship's guards, when dear little Mattie had turned to it and been won by gentle music into confidence and trust. "Mr. Stanley, I am utterly alone, as you see, and this disaster has deprived me of the companionship of-of all I ever knew, and I want to adopt Nannie and keep her with me as my own. Shall I have the child?" Hle looked surprised, and repeated, "You want Nan- nie, Miss Stuart?-she is such a mere baby that I should think she would prove a charge rather than a compan- ion. " Miss Stuart seemed to have weighed the matter thor- oughly, and only asked,- "Will you let me have her?" ' I need not tell you that your offer is a most generous one; but you will see in an instant that I have no power to take advantage of it, since I am in charge of thochild to carry her to her own people. She must go there first, and then I will do all I can to secure your protection for her. ' Miss Stuart moved aside, looking impatient and dis- appointed; then she came back. "Let me bhave the child now and I will engage to sat- isfy all her relations; I will take her future upon myself, "and she shall never know want or care any more." He looked still more surprised, and his broad, clear brow contracted -a little, and his eyes fixed themselves steadily upon her for an instant. "Is it yes?" she asked, coldly, and met his look with one that equalled it in steadfastness. "No, certainly not," he said, flushed and warm. "I 15* page: 174-175[View Page 174-175] 174 BLANCHE GILROY. cannot realize you as urging such a thing after the reason I offered." "I do not recognize such delicate shades in such coarse colors," she said, impatiently, and with a shrug of her handsome shoulders; "I was willing to take the child from a needy life and supply her with everything she develops the talent to require. You had the power to decide and have decided ; there is nothing more to be said." All the time she seemed to speak for chance ears more than for the minister's. She glanced in that frightened way once; then, with a slight gesture, dismissed him and the subject together. A step or two from where they stood was the hospital tent. She seemed to have come in that direction on pur- pose, and to have raised her voice, perhaps, for the benefit of some one within it. There were only two unable to leave its shelter and hobble out under the excitement of the steamer's arrival; and they were two who still lingered between life and death, being sorely crushed by the burning timbers of the lost ship. Miss Stuart had questioned Mrs. Brown about these men, and evinced a strange interest in all concerning the case, as soon as she heard one'of them was a handsome young man, with black hair and a wound on his head. That morning her incessant inquiries had gleaned the fact that this same sufferer was growing worse, and would not be able to be conveyed on shipboard. He suf- fered terribly, and Mrs. Brown had heard that he meant to wait for the next steamer, and be carried towards home where his parents were. Then the young lady seemed to find courage and a new manner, and appearing before Mr. Stanley in that rather imperious way, surprised and startled him. MANZANILA. 175 She had determined to keep the child as long as she could, and holding it by the hand, had gone to the place where the poor body, covered with the scarlet gown, was put out of sight under the burning sand. There was no one in view, and yet she seemed haunted by invisible eyes and shaken by uncontrollable feeling that she dreaded to discover. After standing still, with a bent head and swaying figure, she dropped the child's hand, to which she had all the time clung as a support, and, with a great cry, flung herself upon the sand-mound. Nannie, in alarm, ran screaming to the minister, and he came a few steps towards her and then returned, taking the child with him, as if deciding that it was not a grief for him to intrude upon. An hour laterb he saw her go down to the boat, and being busy in doing all he could for the sick men up to the last moment of the time left, he did not go aboard till all, except the few who preferred waiting for the down- steamer, were there before him. She had given the Mexican woman, who aided her, a gold chain and some buttons, and therefore left so good an impression behind her that the grateful soul brought Mr. Stanley a bunch of flowers,- rare white flowers she had just got from a garden up near the hills, begging him to take them to the beautiful lady. As he offered them to her Flora said, hurriedly, "Thank you, you are very kind to me;" then stopped suddenly, as if she had not said what was in her mind. With a desperate effort she began again: "Is the man -I mean are the men -. " As she broke down, he suggested, "The two that are left in the tents?" "Yes, yes,-are they better? You stayed so long." page: 176-177[View Page 176-177] 176 BLANCHE GILROY. "No, there is no change in them, and I fear the younger one will die. But there was a body washed ashore, just as I was leaving, and I stayed to help bury it." She gave a sigh of relief, and then she shuddered. Her color rose brightly, then went, and left her pale, and tears were in her eyes. "Poor creature, God have mercy on him!" she murmured, and turned away hurriedly. "Who was this poor fellow?" asked a gentleman, who had overheard the mention of the dead body. "Were there any marks about him?" "I have his papers here, and can barely make out his name and that of a family in the city where I am going. He was dressed like a miner, but he had never mined with the hands I saw,-they were smooth as a child's, and they tell me there was a splendid diamond on one finger; but the natives had got it off before I came up. I should call him thirty or thereabouts; he may have been good-looking, but he had been beating about and his head was wounded, so that one could scarcely say." Flora did not bear this. Poor Flora, afraid of a shadow, and struggling within herself and against herself, -one moment desperate enough to grasp at any mask to hide her from pursuing fate, and the next, writhing under it in shame and heartsick remorse. MSS STUART AT HOME. i CHAPTER XVII. MSS STUART AT HOME. WHEN, after a few days of solitude on sea, Miss Stuart bund herself on shore in the Golden City again, she took Oo her rooms and announced herself too ill, too completely shaken, to see any of the host of polite inquirers, who vere ready to be interested in the sorrows of one so blest n fortune as the handsome heiress. Laure was recovered; but her mistress told her at once hat she was still too weak for service,-so she should lend her to France to get strong again and bring home tome Sbvres cups, after having family pictures copied ipon them. Then she settled the man and his wife in a garden near he mission with a small capital to begin on, and a strong ancy for the country, to render them contented. She laid she wanted new faces to suggest other thoughts han those connected with that frightful burning, the nere mention of which she should henceforth taboo. A new maid engaged-a little Spanish girl named Knita, a mere child, and innocent and pleasant in her lature-Flora went to bed in earnest and called herself ", and took tonics and soothing draughts prescribed by physician she had not known before. She was eager in urrounding herself with all things new.' During this llness she employed herself and beguiled the time trangely enough by studying old scraps of writing, the ontents of every desk and memoranda she had left be- page: 178-179[View Page 178-179] 178 BLANCHE GILROY. hind in her maid's care. These she copied over and over again; and had Anita been any other than the innocent creature she was, the phenomenon of a lady seeking amusement in solitude by such a laborious process must have struck her as something very remarkable and worthy of mention. After this she sent letters home authorizing various changes, and directing that Palmer should go to Scotland and see about the picture of her great-uncle, Sir John, which her father, the general, had been most anxious to possess, and had, indeed, already sent orders concerning. One or two more letters she dispatched to a legal agent, inclosing some of her father's last directions, and begging him to inform such members of her family as were in the country, of her safety, but greatly shaken health, and positively declining to receive the escort of any of them, as, after what she had undergone, she was thoroughly convinced that perfect rest and quiet were all she needed to restore her, and those were at hand. So she kept in her seclusion and at her odd diversion, and time went by till all on a sudden she said she was stronger now and could bear another voyage. Long before Mr. Stanley and little Nannie and Mrs. Brown had gone, and she had seen and bade them fare- well: she had given the child a handsome present, and the miner's wife had reason to acknowledge her gener- osity too. One by one she had secretly sought and suc- cored the sufferers by the wreck, and when all this was accomplished, and the hot sands were leveled again where the maid's grave had been, she began to sail homewards. A grand casket, the finest that money could buy, was purchased by her order, and the body carried home to MSS STUART AT HOME. 179 the very same cemetery that held the remains of General Stuart. There, quite secretly and without any funeral, except the service read by Mr. Stanley, this unconscious form was laid in the grave, over which at a future time a beau- tiful monument, with initials upon it, shall be raised, for Miss Stuart seemed to find relief in lavishing her wealth around this unhappy girl's memory. When she came at last to Sunnyslope winter was over, and the chilled earth was thawing and breaking out in deli- cate grasses and young spring flowers. They had been looking for her from time to time; but when she came at last she took them by surprise. Mrs. Perkinson seeing the carriage turn at the avenue, happily suspected who it might be, and had her best blonde cap and poplin dress on before it reached the main door, and, though a little out of breath through exertion, stood bowing and smiling like a stiff genius of welcome when her mistress came up the steps. At first Miss Stuart kept her face away, talking to Anita about the shawls and wrappings; but when she reached the portico she turned and gave her hand easily to her housekeeper, saying, lightly,- "Back again, did you say, Mrs. Perkinson? Yes, I am here, and I am glad you call me welcome, since I mean to stay. My wanderings are done,--I have had enough of it, and I intend to rest." "Yes, Miss Stuart," murmured the smiling and in- tensely gratified housekeeper. "Everybody will be pleased to hear you say so. And, I think, if I may humbly offer an opinion, that you are much improved and fresher like, as one might think, but just yourself, Miss Stuart, after all." "Thank you, Mrs. Perkinson," said Flora, turning her page: 180-181[View Page 180-181] 180 BLANCHE GILROY. full face upon her now. "Thank you, I do feel better. I waited till I should be able before I began to travel again, you see." Then, as she went leisurely up the grand stairway, she laughed to herself, a short, triumph- ant laugh, that altered the expression of her face for an instant, and made her last glance at Mrs. Perkinson a contemptuous one. She had given orders about a set of rooms being pre- pared for her; one whose sitting-room looked into some tall oaks, called the "Druid's Circle," and away from the water, which she acknowledged had grown distasteful to her. It chanced that Miss Stuart had never before occupied these rooms, so that there was much to be done to them to make them suit her taste. They were now complete, and the hoqsekeeper, running up an inside stair, had thrown them open in all their beauty to attract her eye, as she still leisurely came along the upper hall. She smiled and nodded in a pleased way. "You have carried out my suggestions nicely," she said, just like her own easy self, as Mrs. Perkinson afterwards told her favorite aid below-stairs. "Some people called Miss Stuart changeable," she con- tinued; " but she never found her so, and sweeter man- ners she never could nor would desire, though cold and distant to strangers mostly,-and why not? since she was so far above them all." While the housekeeper offered this commentary below- stairs, the door of Miss Stuart's room was closed, even against the Spanish maid, who, knowing no English, could not gossip about what she saw. And in the midst of her splendor, the lovely young lady had thrown herself upon her knees and was weeping wildly and with hys- terical passion, as an outlet to the long-suppressed yearn- MSS STUART AT HOME. 181 ing for home now gratified. And yet she was scarcely so cold and proud as her admiring servant said, since the broken words she uttered were humble, self-accusing cries and protestations, apparently meant to relieve her own mind of a burden she would fain attribute to fatality. When the passion of her feeling was exhausted, she looked around her with observing eyes, and there was no recognizing smile of pleasure on her lips as she eagerly scanned the woods and gardens from her windows. Could her adventures in the year that had past have made it all seem strange and grand to her? It would have appeared so to any one watching the almost awed and troubled look her eyes wore, as they carefully took in her surroundings and seemed to make a mental picture of the splendors of her home. But Anita, when she came to dress her hair, saw no- thing of this in her countenance,-only a wearied smile and a drooping of the tired lids, that gave emphasis to her announcement that she was very, very tired, and would drink some tea and go to bed. The little maid was a fond and innocent creature, sin- cerely attached to her mistress and apparently content with knowing her will and executing it. She had a sweet temper, apt mind, and nimble fingers, and Miss Stuart's present whim was to have no other service, and to keep her always near her. Yet she sent her away that after- noon, and declared she must have perfect rest until she felt quite restored. It was a second series of her former fancy, for the girl had no sooner disappeared than she drew to her lounge all the desks and packages of papers she had asked to have brought there from the library and other rooms, and these she read and some of them she copied-forming certain words over and over again-then burning the 16 page: 182-183[View Page 182-183] 182 BLANCHE GILROY. efforts as soon as accomplished. Hours went by in this odd and unsatisfactory work, that seemed only to arrive at perfection to be instantly destroyed; and when she had made herself very, very weary, she put everything, even to the least scrap, out of sight, and summoning her maid, declared that she was rested and would go down and walk on the lower balcony in the pleasant spring air. After this day she was at home at Sunnyslope,-at home to wander through its splendid rooms, or to sit under the slade of its great trees with no one near but Anita, and she rather within call than present. She grew even paler than she had been when she first came, and had a worn look, like one who works upon a task they find growing more difficult as it progresses. Mrs. Perkiuson's dull intelligence woke to the fact that her young lady must be grieving, and she took her familiar into confidence concerning it. "She sits in her pa's rooms too much, and is far too anxious to carry out every idea he ever expressed about the place. He never meant her to bother so,-he was always willing to give her her own way; now she seems anxious to give it up and follow out every hint on a scrap of writing that he left. If that isn't grieving, what is it? I am getting uneasy to see some company come. There's plenty of letters, but she hasn't answered any yet." So there were. Her arrival was no sooner made known than they began to pour in by messengers, who carried away verbal replies,-Miss Stuart professing her- self quite as unequal to writing as to receiving friends. Nothing daunted, the friends wrote again and again, and a large quantity of unanswered affection and solicitude accumulated around her, while she searched and brooded over the bits of writing that she found in drawers and pigeon-holes in her oiL- and the general's rooms, and M1SS STUART AT HOME. 183 read old letters and amused herself copying after her odd fashion. Then being, as it seemed, satisfied with her pro- ficiency, or tired of scribbling, she began to answer the notes she had received, and though a very graceful and easy writer, she made a task of it, and worked laboriously over every word, sometimes tearing up half a dozen sheets impatiently before completing one small billet. This tiresome business over and the result dispatched, she told Mrs. Perkinson she should go to the city for a day, and hinted that she meant to open the Hall for com- pany by-and-by. "The family, you know; of course I should not at- tempt any gayety, but they are so kind and anxious about me that I think I had better have them come and stay here during the season." Mrs. Perkinson favored the suggestion as much as her servility would allow her to express herself, and saw in this unwonted hospitality another proof of Miss Stuart's devotion to her father's memory,-such a plan having been his last expressed desire when the then very capricious daughter dragged him away to the western isles to die. The family meant a dozen very devoted though not very near connections. Mrs. Perkinson knew them all, although their visits had been short ones, frequently paid to the place in the" absA of its owners, with a view to see that all went' we ll, areport if they should ieet abroad. There never was such a family to travel, all its ramifications patronized motion both by sea and by land, and were always expecting to meet the general in Paris and missing him through the caprice of his daughter, who hitherto had opposed family parties and been particu- larly set against a growing fancy of the general's for his half-sister Mrs. Spencer and her son Philip, whom she had once been forced to encounter for a week by the way, page: 184-185[View Page 184-185] 184 BLANCHE OILROY. through the contrivance of his mother and the weak yielding of her own parent. They parted mutually vexed with each other. Philip seemed as ill at ease under parental plottings as she, and ever since Flora had distrusted her father when Mrs. Spencer's name was mentioned, and had done her utmost to spoil any plan for a reunion. Not so with Mrs. Perkinson,--she considered such a marriage as the climax of desirable things; and to the end that it might be brought about, exerted her powers in laying out and arranging suites of rooms to suit the expected company. Meantime the mistress of the Slope, with far different thoughts in her mind, was rolling citywards in her own fine carriage. When she reached a certain street, she signified to the coachman to wait there for her, and, get- ting out, she walked for a block or more, pausing at a large store, where children's made-up clothing could be bought. Calling for some handsome dresses to suit a little girl, she pleased herself in selecting the prettiest thihgs to match them until she had quite a little ward- robe arranged. All the while she kept consulting her watch, and when its hour-hand pointed at two she left a hasty direction about sending the parcel and hurried away. The streets, over which her feet seemed to fly, were familiar to her, though seen now after an absence, as her quick and changeful looks told; but she had an object in view, and the eagerness of her eyes, as they watched for it, proved it to be one near her heart. It was at a corner near a fashionable square that she stood still, with an audible gasp, and waited. A great wave of emotion seemed to surge up ovrt her heart and leave it half lifeless and motionless, while the love and longing MSS STUARTT A HOME. 185 'of her soul looked out of her eyes towards an approach- ing face Pale, pretty, sad, but smiling, it drew near, the patient spirit shining in its own pure light, the soft lips parted with an expectant smile; a young girl, too, though not so young or so handsome as the one who watched her, with the trace of great sorrow or recent illness, both sub- dued, upon her, and her right hand half raised, as if in greeting, and a timid, yet sweet anticipation on her parted lips. Jean Gilroy, with another year added to her girlhood, its story told in the sorrowful drooping of her eyelids and the chastened light beginning to break once more in the gentle orbs they shaded. Just as they drew near together, these two women, she from Sunnyslope realized that she was not seen, that the look and the smile went past her, and were both meant for another. "I am fortunate in meeting you,-I feared that I might be too late or too early. I am very happy in being just in time." It was a gentleman's voice,-one Miss Stuart knew very well; she recognized it with a sharp-start, and then as quickly fell back to avoid his sight. It was quite unnecessary. Mr. Stanley, though an observant gentle- man generally, had only one object in view then, and Jean, too, had not once seen the lady in deep mourning, who stood back beside a bronze fountain figure at the entrance to the square. "Yes," said Jean, in a voice that echoed the tremor and the pleasure of his own, "I thought you would come to-day and take me to see Nannie, since she is well again. Dear little creature, I;do not wonder that you love her so well." 16* page: 186-187[View Page 186-187] 186 BLANCHE GILROY. She looked up at him as she spoke; then dropped her eyes,-timid, yet trustful, tender, and shy. Could this be Jean, the repressed and silent Jean? Surely she was becoming a child again in the sweet simplicity of a new feeling. He took her hand and held it while he answered; the lady could not hear his words, but she watched the face that received and reflected them. They passed close be- side her and seemed to walk away, carrying the soft spring sunlight with them, and leaving her in the gloom of her flowing veil, through which the whole world looked misty and dark, and great tears began to fall from her eyes and scatter over the rich black stuff she wore. Eager to come, yet without a definite object, led by a longing she could no longer subdue, she went back with a purpose fixed and deep. "God bless her and him and keep them happy. Shame upon this selfish heartache that envies them one instant of their joy. No, no, not for worlds would I come be- tween them. I threw my own die and lost,-I shall not mar their winnings." And she set her lips firmly over these thoughts, and rode back again not much brighter for her little trip, as Mrs. Perkinson said; but then there was the company coming, and that would do wonders for her, she prophesied, adding, to her select audience,- "You just see if one week of entertaining don't bring her a color; that is all I ask,-just wait and see if it doesn't." Next day Miss Stuart wrote to Mr. Stanley, with whom she had held a desultory correspondence ever since their parting in the Bay City. This seemed to demand a spe- cial answer, for he came in person, a younger and hand- somer a man than she had remembered him, as it seemed to her. MSS STUART AT HOME. 187 At her first effort to speak to him she became confused and obliged to restrain some troublesome feeling that was not under control. "The sight of you recalls so much," she faltered, with tears that would burst despite her struggle. "I wanted to-but I cannot-excuse my folly; I am weaker than I thought." And she dropped into a chair and hid her face with her hands, while a red flush crept up over her forehead and shone through her delicate fingers. The young minister looked at her with the puzzled look be had shown that day on the shore of Mexico, and now there mingled with it a much kindlier and more sympa- thetic expression; but he waited in silence till she re- covered herself and then said,--- "You know I told you I was engaged here very unexpectedly. I came to see Nannie safely with her uncle, and to attend to a much more painful duty con- nected with the death of one of our unfortunate passengers. Mr. Mahew, the good man to whom I was sent, proved to be a very earnest worker in a plain congregation of thoroughly earnest people, and through him I was called to take pastoral charge of it. I have already made a few very dear friends, and feel at home in my new duties." He evidently said this to give her an opportunity to recover her self-possession, and did not look toward her while he was speaking. When he ceased, she was quite herself, and in her calmest manner asked,- "Is it a position that suits you,-that accords with your tastes, I mean?" "It is peculiarly fortunate in bringing out my energies, and taking the sincerity and devotion I feel instead of the talent I do not possess. If you know anything of that part of the city where I wrote you it was located, you will remember that there are a large number of page: 188-189[View Page 188-189] 188 BLANCHE GILROY. factories and foundries, and that the workmen living scattered around offer a mission field where I can be very busy-and useful, too, I trust." "It gives you an opportunity to work hard and merge your own individuality completely in the interests of your people," she said, smiling. "That is the only mission work you recognize, I think." "Men who are made for the foremost ranks always find their way there. I do not believe there is such a thing as overlooked talent in the present day; but I am quite sure that there is a great deal of misapplied mediocrity that has not learned its own strength, the weight of its strong faith, the very force of yearning after success when hidden behind its object. That is my good fortune, and I have providentially fallen into my niche. Now about Mr. Mahew. I have spoken to him as you directed; he is fond of the child, too fond to stand in her way when any one offers to do better for her interests than he can. Will you see him?" "Is it William Mahew?" "Yes," with a little surprise; "do you know anything about him?" "No," hesitatingly; "that is, I know but very little." "Do you know his story?" "Story? I do not understand." "I have given it too sounding a name, and its interest must be known in its connection. He is a plain man of the common class, and the only distinguishing point about him is a beneficent helpfulness that lifts him to heroism in my sight. Do you know a friend of his, Andrew Gilroy?" The question was a sudden one, being suggested by the recollection of the man's nobleness of nature; but the lady to whom it was addressed gave a little cry in answer,. MSS STUART AT HOME. 189 -a startled cry that made the lips it passed through white. A servant-man at the door was bowing low and re- peating "Mrs. Spencer" at the same moment, and she turned upon him sharply,- "You come in so silently, Reynolds, that you will ruin the little nerve I have left. Do not steal in that ghostly way again; let me hear your step before your voice next time. Andrew Gilroy,--turning to Mr. Stanley,-"yes, I have heard of him too." Then with a gracious, yet half careless air, she stepped forward and greeted the visitor. "You are far too kind. I am such a dull, unattractive creature, nursing vapors and all sorts of gloom here, that I do not deserve such kindness." Like herself, her guest wore mourning, but a more sub- dued shade, and her face and manner were a compound of affection and solicitude. "Why, Flora, my dear love," she exclaimed, after a kiss on the brow, from which her young relative rather shrank, and a rapturous patting of her pretty hands, "you are positively shadowy, and all owing to this determined Spartanism of yours that shrinks from allowing those who love you to share your trouble. What have you not endured, you wonderful creature, you heroine I The whole world is ringing with your bravery and adventures, and yet you seclude yourself and bear the results of that shocking experience alone!" Flora presented her companion. "Mr. Stanley deserves all you can say in praise of noble deeds," she said. "I only held by my own life, and have doubted since whether I had any right to save such a small thing when so much that was fine and precious was lost." page: 190-191[View Page 190-191] 190 BLANCHE GILROY. She spoke gravely and sadly, but Mrs. Spencer laughed. "You are just your quaint characteristic self, my darling Flora. But what is this I hear about your giving over your travels? Are we to rejoice that society is to have you at last after this long, patient waiting?" "I am not going away any more." "Delightful I And now, my dearest, I have to beg and supplicate. You cannot conceive a more humble peti- tioner than you now behold before you." Flora looked at her quietly, and the smile upon her lips grew hard and cold. "I come in this meek mood with a background of patient, determined faith that will conquer every objec- tion, and my prayer is that you will come to us at Locust Hill. We leave town early next week on purpose, and will have only a small family party, and no gayeties, of course. "Ah, my poor, dear brother, how I regretted our many disappointments in meeting each other when that sad, sad letter reached us in Paris!" Flora turned away her head and Mr. Stanley rose to withdraw. She followed him a step. "I will go to see Mr. Mahew to-morrow," she said. "Will you go with me?" "Surely; but there is something I would like to ask. A lady, whom Ha friend whom I have made, seems to have gained the child's love. In case she came to live here, you would allow them to meet occasionally?" Flora colored suddenly, and, apparently finding it diffi- cult to speak, bowed her head, "But this lady,-will she be with you to-morrow when we go to see Nannie?" she asked, quickly. "Not to-morrow, she is much engaged at present,-it was with regard to the future that I spoke." She bowed again, and Mr. Stanley, with a barely ac- knowledged obeisance to Mrs. Spencer, who, after a rapid MSS STUART AT HOME. 191 glance at her entrance, had taken no further notice of him, Withdrew. Then the visitor burst again into the subject of her pe- tition: "You will come to us, if only for a few days, to test our devotion?" she pleaded. "Remember you owe us a little return for all the love you exact; and think, my dearest Flora, how your dear father longed to have the family brought together." She hid her trembling lips behind her hand and tried to swallow a curious something that rose to choke her words. "You are very good; but I must confess myself too shaken by my late experience to trust myself away from the Slope just yet. I cannot consent to make a Castle Dismal of Locust Hill, which would inevitably be the case if I went at once. I am trying what a quiet home routine will do for me, and when the sun drtaws the mists and glooms out of my poor tossed head I mean to spread my wings in that direction, if I find I have any plumage left." She laughed lightly, and her admiring relative was in raptures over her conditional promise. "But I must not forget to tell you that Philip is wild to see-you. He has been overcome with the mere idea of what you suffered, and so anxious to have you tell him about that terrible scene." There-she had waited, shrinking L d hoping, longing, yet dreading to hear the name, and now it was spoken, and at its sound she had shown no sign beyond the quivering of her hidden lips and the swift catching for Nreath, as if it had been taken from her by a sudden blow. She knew she was unnoticed. Mrs. Spencer was a woman too intent on her own plans to be a student of page: 192-193[View Page 192-193] 192 BLANCHE GILROP. their object. She had long ago discovered Flora to be a mass of caprice and ungoverned fancies, and knowing her only through her actions, and the sparse correspondence she had thought proper to hold with her father's connec- tions, was unquestioningly happy to find her so manage- able and yielding as she now appeared. "He is very good," said Flora, after a pause sufficiently long to make Mrs. Spencer wonder, at first, who the he was. "He is very good, but I suspect his interest will die out when he finds me still the will-o'-the-wisp he used to call me." She laughed merrily. "Mind, I don't promise, but I should not be surprised if I took to fashionable life with sudden enthusiasm by-and-by. Con- verts are always zealots, and I'm getting tired of being a savage and gradually inclining towards civilization already." "( My dear, you talk exactly like your old letters, and I feel perfectly at home with you. Now, I am quite satisfied that one can become acquainted through corre- spondence just as satisfactorily as through constant asso- ciation." Being quite triumphant in this discovery, she began to look about the place, taking rapturous views from the different balconies. Flora herself was very interesting to Mrs. Spencer, and for her sake Sunnyslope was not without its attractions. She had never visited her there since the lifetime of Mrs. Stuart, and the running visits she had made in the ab- sence of its host and hostess could not be called satisfac- tory. Wandering about, her delight grew with what she saw, and she eagerly promised to come by-and-by and see and enjoy it all. "Yes," said Flora, growing a little weary, "I trust you will come and do what you can for it and me; mean- SWISS STUART AT HOME. 193 time we will learn to get used to each other. I shall fall into a shore pace and get rid of the rolling shipboard feel- ing, that haunts me yet." Mrs. Spencer growing fond, touched her cheek lightly and tenderly. "Learn no new moods for me, love; you are charming just as you are," she said. "I came but for a moment; you betray me into lingering. I go now. Good-by, and remember how anxiously we wait for you at Locust Hill." Catching the half-reluctant hands in hers she held them up lightly, then suddenly kissed them with enthusiasm, murmuring, "One does not often touch such wonderful things, such delicate disguises of power, such heroic bits of beauty. Ah! you will not let me praise you, but you cannot smother feeling, vou see." She permitted herself to be overcome by it for an in- stant, and then, her little scene acted, she hurried away. The hands she had held fell as she dropped them, and Flora's face began to droop. The sustaining power seemed suddenly to desert the admired mistress of Sun- nyslope, and she became a dejected-looking girl,-sick, and sorry, and utterly weary of herself and all around her; but that was when Mrs. Spencer's carriage-wheels were rolling homewards, and Mrs. Spencer herself, leaning back in her carriage, was self-communing. "She is less obdurate and yet more difficult to under- stand than I had expected. She has fewer whims and a stronger under-current, whatever it may be. She puzzles me, and I do not like to think of meeting her off my own ground." Her handsome brows contracted by calcula. tion and her face set in vexed thought, Mrs. Spencer looked as unlike the smiling, rapturous aunt as may be. "Dear me, what can that deadly, tired air come from? not grief," she repeated. "She was sorry for her father, but her manner is a puzzle and so is her face." % 17I page: 194-195[View Page 194-195] 194 BLANCHE GILROY. CHAPTER XVIII. "TTLE NANNIE. NEXT day, according to her appointment, Flora was driven to the city, and, after passing through the neig h- boring factories and foundries, with their parasite houses grown up on either hand, reached a large, gray-stone church, plain but fine in its simplicity. She had left the carriage and walked to a side-door, where a sound of children's singing was heard, and paused a moment before going in. They were evidently practicing hymns for the church service, and the innocent ring of the young voices was fresh and joyous as the spring air outside. The minister was teaching them; she recognized the tones she had heard singing to the two children on the sea, and when they had finished their hymn, she opened the door and went in. The room, separated from the main body of the church, like two others on the same side, was fitted up as a study. It also had another use, as could be seen from the piled forms and picture-cards upon the walls. A small organ at the upper end guided the little scholars'- voices on Sunday, and gave an opportunity for the simple choir to practice during the week. Here Mr. Stanley was seated, surrounded by a score or two of working- girls holding their sunbonnets in their hands and looking over his shoulder at the music-book. When they saw the lady, they all seemed awed into staring silence, and the minister rose and hastened to meet her. "TTLE NANNIE. 195 "Please let me wait,-I shall be so glad to hear you," said Miss Stuart. "We have just finished, and our girls are obliged to be particular about work-hours," he said, and, going back, bade thelm all good-by. Quite serious and respectful, his manner was a pat. tern for them to form their own by, and, while none could have been kinder, he was utterly without that affectation of childishness or extreme condescension on which some people pride themselves as the language of benevolence. "You do all manner of work," said Flora. "All that I can," he returned. "There is a large congregation of such people here, I suppose? You should have help." "I have,-they all help me; thus we work to- gether and feel the effect. You see those girls,--they come from the factories. A little while ago their idle minds were ripening for evil; now they are helping them- selves-helping me-helping others. God's love seems a great system of help ; as soon as we accept his aid we become missionaries of good, and often with our little leaven a great mass begins to work and rise." Flora looked around her,-the windows were filled with pots of flowers, and pictures and home devices deco- rated the walls. "This is pleasant, but it is odd,-it seems more like home than church," she said. "It was built for those who see but little of God's manifest love and brightness in the hard, narrow ways of their life, and men who love Him and desire to win souls to his glory have seized on his beautiful things as lures. The plashing of pure water among the lilies out there, the breath of field-flowers, and the shining greenery page: 196-197[View Page 196-197] 196 BLANCHE GILROY. of the woods, have brought his love-tones to ears that have heard too much that was coarse and harsh in the cries of want and trouble." He opened a door near where they stood and showed her an arched tabernacle, where God's words illuminated the walls on every side. All his sweet promises anden- treaties, so tender and appealing, met the eye; the young blossoms of the woods were brought there too, and blended their beauty and perfume in his praise. The whole air was full of sacredness and peace, and a tender feeling stole over the lady like a longing to be better-to live a higher life, nearer to the God of Love and Grace. This place is full of penetrating beauty," she said. "It is meant to sink into those hearts hardened into callousness by the absence of such delights. Many of our people come from narrow courts, and have but bare and miserable shelters for their heads. This home, where God is preached as the Father and Redeemer of the least, will seem more like their own, than a grand, cold church, splendid and awful." "You believe the influence of religion should brighten existence?" "Yes, or it is not religion at all. I think it begins with the children in washing their faces. I should have but little hope of Sunday-school work that does not tell on the appearance of the children. It smooths in their: lives and manners; they grow gentle towards each other and learn to forbear. That comes when they believe they are all children of the same Father, and that God loves them all alike, and has made one great road for them to go to heaven after they have entered in at the gate which is Christ." "Such a difficult path," said Flora, and she sighed; "yet you speak as if it were easy and lovely." "TTLE NANNIE. 19 "I believe it to be both, and I have found all other teaching a hinderance and a snare. The gospel is glad tidings; there can be no greater joy than to know that God has called you to be one of the children of his king- dom. We are not worthy, yet all the more should we rejoice-in our acceptance. Receiving the Saviour seems to me like stretching out the hand and taking hold of the raiment that shone so on the Mount of Transfiguration. Stumbling or failing, we cling to it, looking on its brightness in our joy, hiding our faces in its folds in sor- row, and still feeling ourselves within its shelter and close to the pierced side it covers," he continued. "Yes, I know there is a Slough of Despond, but it has always seemed to me that those who fell into it must first have digged it in idle doubts and then have loosened their hold on Chrjist while they gathered the gloom and uncertainty to fill it in with--.. But forgive me this gratuitous talk," he said, suddenly remembering himself, "I am using your time, and Nannie is waiting." Flora rose and followed him without a word; they found her carriage, and a a short drive brought them to a thriving store with a clean dwelling at its side. " il- liam Mahew, Grocer," was on the sign, and they got out at a neat side-door opened by-a bright and rather sharp-looking young woman as tidy as everything around her, and evidentlypredisposed in Mr. Stanley's favor from the greeting she gave him. "This is Ellen, my good friend Mr. Mahew's niece, Miss Stuart, and I dare say we shall find Nannie build- ing with her blocks in the sitting-room," he said. So they did, and Miss Stuart running to kiss her threw down a top-heavy mass of architecture, and re- ceived a very inhospitable greeting in consequence. 17* page: 198-199[View Page 198-199] 198 BLANCHE GILROY. "I don't care, now," cried Nannie, in a vexed tone, "you broke my pretty house,-I don't care." But as it seemed that she did care, Flora tried to pro- pitiate her, and with many blandishments inquired if she remembered her. "Yes," said Nannie; " but you were naughty to upset my house." So Flora sat down and began to build it up again. "Does she love her uncle much?" she inquired, aside, of Ellen. "Not near as much as she ought to," responded Ellen, promptly; ",she doesn't show much love for anybody ex- cept Mr. Stanley and Miss Gilroy. She's spoilt, and that's the truth,-Mr. Stanley can't deny it." "Ellen does not believe in indulging children," said the minister, smiling. Ellen confessed she didn't. "What's the good?" she asked. "Mr. Mahew wi1 be in presently, I suppose?" sug- gested Mr. Stanley. "I'll go after him," said Ellen; "he is very busy, and could not wiat, so I agreed to fetch him when you came." "Is this a busy time?" said Flora, looking up from the church tower she was raising and desiring to say some- thing to the very quick, sharp-eyed Ellen. "Every time's busy with Uncle William; people keep him at it, and he seems as if he never got tired. Now he's making Widow Burns's little front room into a dry- goods shop. Her husband died last week with consump- tion, and uncle sat up with hiln to the very last. She had no money left, and so uncle got some boards and went to work himself. When he stocks the shop, he'll let her try how she can make out at it, poor thing." "TTLE NANNIE. 199 "Why, what a good man he is 1" said Flora, involun- tarily. "That's just what he is, miss," cried Ellen, enthusias- tically, " and I like you for saying so." She turned to run out of the door, but the subject of their remarks saved her the trouble of going after him by entering himself. I-e was a tall, loose-jointed man, with a mild, good- humored face, earnest gray eyes, and a beautiful smile. His manner was shy, and distinguished by a sort of cheerful sheepishness. Flora had induced Nannie to sit on her lap. "Do you know about my fancy for our little friend here?" she asked. "It is that I came to consult you about." "Our good minister told me of it, Miss Stuart; and' she seems to return your kindly feeling." He smiled at the ease with which the child was unwinding the chain from the lady's neck. "I learned to love Nannie when we were in great trouble. I feel very thankful to find she remembers me," Flora said, " and if I can have her for my own, will try earnestly to do my best for her in every way." "Yes, ma'am, that was what I believed when I gave my mind to consider your proposal. I have no wife of my own, and Ellen here is so good at everything- else, I can't blame her just because she doesn't get along so well with children." "Spoilt ones," put in Ellen, and laughed. "Well, you think its spoiling them, dear, but I am afraid you are a little hard, you see. Having been brought up sharp yourself, you naturally incline to sharp ways. But that doesn't concern the lady here, and she'll excuse me for breaking off." Flora smiled good-naturedly, page: 200-201[View Page 200-201] 200 BLANCHE GILROY. and he went on: "Not being in a way to do well by her myself, I would not stand in her light; all I ask is that you weill kindly give me your honorable word to bring her up in God's love and fear, and if at any time your feelings should change towards her, to give me faithful notice, and let me bring her home, where she will always be welcome to come." "Surely," said Flora. "I will write out my earnest and sincere desires regarding her; but I do not mean to sepa- rate her from you,-I could not." "You are very good, and I thank you truly; but you see, Miss Stuart, that would be in the child's way. If she leaves us it will be for her own good and usefulness in life, I hope; but coming backward and forward would spoil it all. I shall bid her farewell in faith, and trust her to you and the life that you take her to." Flora's face was very grave as she listened, and the child on her lap seemed to listen, too, as if she understood the meaning of a life-long separation. "Come to me, Nannie," said her uncle, taking her in his arms. "It is but a little while since she came to us, and I'm loath to give her up." He held her a moment in silence, and then protesting that Widow Burns would be impatient with him for his delay, he broke away with a flushed face and a murmured excuse. Then Ellen got the child's things in order to go, Nannie only bargaining that she should take her blocks with her. While Ellen was gone Mr. Stanley told his companion that she was another instance of the exalted goodness of Mr. Mahew's life. She was the wretched child of a drunken beldam, who brought her up as a street beg- gar, and beat her in her fits of intoxication, till the unhappy little creature was half killed. Mr. Mahew had rescued and adopted her, and she was now one of the "TTLE NANNIE. 201 Bethesda workers, one of the missionaries; he had told her of doing, in her untutored way, for others something of what had been done for her. But the garret-life and the fury's rage'still lingered in the memory and tinctured the manner of the poor soul, and Mr. Mahew judged rightly that her influence over a little one like Nannie would be an unfair one; hence he could sacrifice his grow- ing delight in the child for Ellen's interest and her own. "Uncle's so tender-hearted that he had to run away," said Ellen, returning with a small package. "I'm sorry now I couldn't always talk sweet to the little thing." "You are cross," said Nannie, severely. "I am afraid I am," confessed Ellen; "it's like grit ground into me, for I never knew anything else when I was little. I try to get over it, Mr. Stanley, and I be- lieve by-and-by I will, for as I sit by the fountain in Be- thesda and hear the water and think of that angel in the Scripture, and the man that waited so long beside the pool, and that Christ himself healed at last, I think maybe I'll get rid of my sin and live more like Him, as I'm trying to do all the time." 4 "I am coming to sit beside that fountain, too, some day, Ellen," said Flora; "there must be a murmur of in- vitation in the water,-I hear it constantly like a whisper in my ear." She caught Mr. Stanley's eye as she spoke; it was resting on her with a wistful eagerness, as if he had made the dawning of a discovery concerning her,-had seen something in her eyes that set him thinking and almost found its meaning. She changed her expression quickly, as if to mislead him, and succeeded, for the puz- zled look came over his face it had worn when he watched her before, while Ellen, who was but an ignorant little soul, exclaimed,- page: 202-203[View Page 202-203] 202 BLANCHE UILROY. "But you have nothing to repent of, miss,-you never needed to do anything wrong, I'm sure, since you could have all you wanted in this world just for the taking." Flora laughed, a little uneasily. "I shall doubt your theology down at Bethesda if Ellen speaks as she is taught," she said. "Oh, I know we are all sinners, but it does seem as if rich people couldn't be just the same kind as us, since they can't have the same tempting, and I know the dear Lord died for all, but it always does seem that He's more to such as us because we need Him more." Mr. Stanley did not attempt to alter this view, but only took Nannie in her pretty hat and sack in his arms and carried her out to the carriage, preceded by Miss Stuart and followed by the now tearful Ellen. "Dear little thing, let me kiss her good-by," she said; "she is going out of our life into yours, and won't need my remembering, but I can't help feeling sorry that I won't see her any more." The little one stretched out her face with a friendly smile, and with one dimpled hand patted the round, red cheek of her former nurse. Then she laughed and nestled into the carriage cushions with an early appreciation of the good things of this life. "I shall see you again?" asked Flora of the minister. "Yes; I thank you for your kind permission, and will bring Nannie's friend to see her soon." As he stooped to kiss the child the lady touched his hair secretly and with a caressing motion. "For Jean's sake," she said to herself,--" dear, happy, innocent Jean!" INVADERS. 203 CHAPTER XIX INVADERS. WHEN the June days were long and bright and Nannie had learned to run about the splendid home she shared with its young mistress, a gay, ringing voice made itself heard in the hall one morning, calling out,- "Flora-Cousin Flora Stuart, I have made bold to rush in upon you unasked; come and say that I am welcome, please." Flora was playing with the child on an upper balcony. As soon as she heard the sound she stood still listen- ing, while her face grew pale and frightened-looking. Then she gave herself an angry shake, fixed her lips firmly, and went right down, with a flood of sunlight striking her fair face half blindingly from the open door. "What, you do not know me? I don't wonder, since it is your picture I know quite as well as you,-let me see, you are not like it. What is it?" "What is what, my dear Marian?" asked Flora, as she greeted her cordially, telling her how much obliged she was for the pleasant invasion. "Why, your face, I mean,--you are handsomer than the picture in the Persian dress the general sent us, but you are different in some inexplicable way. Is it the shipwreck and all the horrors of that dreadful time?" "I suppose it is," said Flora, quietly. "Then it is an improvement," declared Marian, with page: 204-205[View Page 204-205] 204 BLANCHE GILROY. rapid decision; " there's just the same change that you would realize in Undine with the soul and Undine with- out the soul. That's what they mean by the higher beauty born of grand experience. You've got it, and now pray tell me how it feels to be a secluded heroine, and to have your family turning on pivots of enraptured interest and admiration all around you." "I know nothing of such flattering wonders; I can only be astonished when I am told of it." "My dear cousin, you are about to be convinced of your friends' affection; they will no longer allow you to re- main in indifferent solitude: the siege begins to-morrow. I escaped from camp to convey friendly warning of the attack." "I shall be glad to yield at the first appearance," said Flora, laughing. "I am tired of loneliness, without having sufficient energy to devise a relief,-I look on the good people as benefactors." "That is what they enjoy being, when they can find such a fair object of benevolence. Oh, Flora, you do not yet know the depths of our family devotion." Marian laughed merrily; she had the air of a bird set free of a cage, a little wild after restraint. "Your good Aunt Spencer," began Flora, but she in- terrupted her with sudden gravity. "Oh, pray do not make the grievous mistake of forget- ting her relationship on your own side. Your poor papa, the general, was her devoted half-brother, as she will be sure to remind you, although you would take your own way last year." Flora looked surprised. "Oh, I found it all out in Paris; but I ought to hold my tongue, I know, if I had a grain of wisdom, which I haven't, and I may as well confess it first as last. I tumble out all I know like that old Duchess " INVADERS. 205 "I like frank people; we are sure to be friends," said Flora, adding, cordially, "I hope you have come to stay with me now." "But I haven't; it's a stolen march, I tell you, and if I'm discovered I shall be looked through and through with Aunt Spencer's steel-blue bayonets of eyes. You admire her eyes? Everybody does, for they are really handsome; but you have no idea of how uncomfortable they can make you when they turn on you with a certain fixed gaze, and you feel that your/sins stand confessed before them. I am afraid of Aunt Spencer, and I may as well acknowledge it first as last; so although I do rebel and run off like this sometimes, I'm a coward, even when I'm trying to be boldest, and I dare not go too far." "But you will look at the gardens, and let me offer you some luncheon?" "Not a morsel, I'm going straight back, with an inno- cent face, as fast as I can drive; but I'll run out on the balcony and take a peep at that rosy baby. What a per- fect love!" Nannie, with her wide blue eyes and her serious, self- communing air, had glanced in from time to time, when the lively chatter grew unusually animated. She was training little tendrils of jasmine around the marble baluster of the balcony, and snipping off bits that would not twine, scolding them for their obduracy as she did so. She quietly returned Marian's gaze, and her ease of manner made the young lady laugh. "Where did you find the pretty, odd, little thing?" "She was a child saved from that awful burning," said Flora, speaking low and looking away from her. "I am all alone here, and if I did not have some human thing to love and cling to I should constantly live over that scene, and go mad, recalling what I most desire to 18 page: 206-207[View Page 206-207] 206 BLANCHE GILROY. forget." A swift spasm of pain passed over her face, like wind over water; but when she spoke directly, it was about the family party, and in tones of delighted antici- pation. "I wish you could stay and let me learn to know one of my people to begin with," she begged "I wish I dared; but my aunt, my irresistible aunt I and those eyes, those avenging eyes i" "Which I found so winsome and gentle." "To be sure, or else where would be their power? My dear Flora, I am to be kept in subordination and the background till an opportunity to dispose of me to advan- tage occurs. You are queen here, and you are to be assiduously cultivated. My aunt and yours is a lady of strong purposes,-to charm you and restrain me, are two of them." "I am so sorry you can't stay. I like to hear my family history." "Yes, you've been wandering over the highways and byways of this earth after queer things to amuse you, without once thinking what fun it would be to explore your own family. Well, it is really a grand opening for amusement; the only trouble is that you cannot be sure of what such a woman as Aunt Spencer is doing while you are studying her. Give me a kiss, you little beauty. Ah I you don't care to be bothered, it seems; well, then, you must not look so rosy and tempting. Good-by, Cousin Flora; keep my secret as well as Anthony the coachman will, and aunt will never know that I broke cover over here." So chattering and laughing to the last, she ran down the broad steps and bounded lightly into the carriage, bidding Anthony drive at a great rate to make up for lost time. Flora stood smiling till the carriage was out of sight, then she turned and went back slowly and with a worried face. Up and down she walked with a restless anxiety INVADERS. 207 consuming her, and a struggle between two strong feel- ings, like a battle waging in her breast. Her fingers were locked, and she pressed them tightly and bit her lips, being that sort of woman to whom a mental conflict is a bodily pain. So she went up and down and tried to wear out what she had not the courage to break, until at last she sank, with an exhausted sigh, into a chair, and, supporting her wearied head, stared before her with a dull, blank look, as if her way had lost itself in clouds and she could see nothing beyond the present. Here Mrs. Perkinson, coming in, found her, and started back with an obsequious apology for the intrusion: "You know we do not show the house now; but, not meaning any liberty, I promised Mrs. Macauley, the gardener's wife, that a friend of hers might take a peep into the drawing-room through the balcony windows." Mrs. Perkinson pausing here in evident trepidation, Miss Stuart rose, and, turning away, said,- "Certainly--"But before she could finish, a small, old woman, with a marvelously clean cap and a thin, yet cheerful, face beneath it, poked her head over Mrs. Perkin- son's restraining hand, and, with a curtsy or two, said,- "No offense, I hope, ma'am, but it was a Scotch laird's picture I was set to see. Scotland's my own country, and I would like to look at one of its gentry again." The old woman's voice was like her face, sharp and dry, but with a pleasant ring to it; and having with an- other curtsy explained herself in this wise, greatly to Mrs. Perkinson's annoyance, she looked up and smiled. Instantly she seemed rooted to the spot, with a surprise too intense for words. Her eyes fixed themselves and her lips parted, but she did not speak or move, and Mrs. Perkinson, who could not see her face, plucked her angrily by the sleeve, saying,- page: 208-209[View Page 208-209] 208 BLANCHE GILROY. "Where's your breeding? I wonder at you when you see Miss Stuart wants to be alone." "Is there anything that I can do for you?" asked Miss Stuart herself, seeing that it was necessary to break the spell that bound her. "Mrs. Perkinson, if your friend desires to speak to me, let her come again. I will see her at any other time; but now I am tootired to talk." And she moved away by the door at the farther end of the room. "The Lord be good to us!" gasped the old woman, with an involuntary cry; but, having uttered the sound, immediately recovered from the intensity of her surprise, and with murmured apologies followed in the wake of the injured housekeeper. Miss Stuart went leisurely up to her own chamber; but once within it she locked the door in great haste and threw up her hands with a frightened cry: "How shall I dare to face the world, when Christie's dim eyes see through me? Yet I will dare it, and all at once, being content to win or lose, as the chance turns I I will be a coward no longer; I have done skulking and hiding from fate,-it threw me here: it shall bear me through. I have no courage but that which desperation supplies; but I have plenty of that now!" Without a moment's pause she flew to her desk and wrote note after note and sealed and addressed them all; then, with the excitement still upon her, she called her maid and ordered her hair to be dressed, and said she would soorl give her plenty to do, because the place would be crowded with guests by-and-by, who would go boating and riding, and wake the old place in their frolics. She gave Mrs. Perkinson warning to prepare also, and, having dressed herself for riding, went to town INVADERS. 209 and loitered near the square, where she had seen the minister meet the young lady. She looked at her watch, the time was at hand, and, true to her instinct, the young clergyman also. She was not so sure of escaping his eyes this time; so she went inside the square and walked about while he waited. When he started forward with a glad smile, she drew near the railing and saw them meet. Jean seemed overcome with feeling, and her eyes were yet wet with tears. Listening, she heard her say that the girls had been so kind, and said they were so sorry." Sorry for what? The eager watcher looked closely and saw her place a heavy package in his hands. "Mrs. Catherwood was so good, and it was very generous; but, pray, do not look at them here,-they are forks and spoons." And Jean laughed, and then blushed and laughed again.. There were some great elms in the Square, and the lady on the inside of the paling hurried away, so that she was out of sight under their shade. Then she sat down and cried like a sorry child. "She has given up her school and is going to be mar- ried; her life is complete,-my presence would only mar it, because, because she does not miss me "There was something so bitter in the thought that by-and-by her tears ceased, and then she got up and walked away very slowly, thinking, "I am a fool to grieve over those who have forgotten me. I must go the only way that's open, and fill the only place left me. There is nothing to choose,-it is all marked out by fate and I must be con- tent to obey." So she reached her carriage and stepped into it quietly, believing she had conquered the inner voice, because it was silent for a time; but she icould not rest secure or at peace, since the power she served was sin, and there 18* page: 210-211[View Page 210-211] 210 BLANCHE GILROY. can be no harder master. Bitter and gnawing is the con- sciousness of his rule, and the way, though gilded and spangled at every step, is hard to the feet of his servants. E CHAPTER XX. COMPANY. Miss STUART'S notes were all honored,-not a guest neglected her invitation. Mrs. Spencer and her son first of all, because she was a family magnate; Mr. and Mrs. Lovell and their niece Lily; Dr. Chester, his sister Be- linda, and their mutual charges : Frank, a boy that knew no check or restraint, and Mary and Adelaide, his two handsome sisters. Marian Heatherton was a ward of Dr. Chester's nominally; but, to his sister's intense relief, Mrs. Spencer had claimed and managed her hitherto, leaving the Chester family one less uncontrollable element to struggle with. The day of reception came, and with it the hostess in capital spirits, ready to meet her fate, as she thought, and Marian said. First came the Lovells: Mr. Lovell, very small and fussy in his anxiety to be agreeable to everybody; his wife large and stupidly superior, with an inclination to contradiction; Lily, kind, pretty, gentle, and a great enthusiast about nothing in particular. They had all seen Flora, but not for many years past. Still, they declared her perfectly unchanged and looking, wonderfully well, really wonderfully so, considering; and they all sighed addenda to: their former letters of con- dolence. COMPANY. 2" She seemed to understand them by intuition; and when Mrs. Spencer's carriage and the Chesters' arrived simul- taneously, she retaiped her happy ease, and all found her gracious, cordial, and beautiful. "Philip must feel her superiority, thinking of his doll's face and then looking at hers," thought his mother as he followed her up the steps, and they entered the hall together. "My son, whom I hope you remember, dear Flora." "Yes, certainly." But, oh, what an effort to say it "And you, Philip---" She stopped and looked sur- prised; the easy, thoroughly well-bred gentleman had dropped hat and cane, and was awkwardly gathering them up instead of bowing to his cousin. When she had first looked at him, her heart had stood still. "It is as I hoped, yet feared," she thought, while she tried to force those few words from her lips. "I am so glad and so sorry, and how shall I go through it?" His face had grown unnaturally white; even his lips were faded out, and his features had the look of being fixed by a sudden shock. A year had made him older than it should have done, but it had given him a strong, manly air. If his character had purpose and resolution in the past, he seemed to have gained both now, and with them a little severity that made hard lines about his mouth, and destroyed something of its beauty. His flippant cousin Marian, who seemed to enjoy his unaccountable awkwardness, came to the relief of all by her amiable desire to increase it. "Such a time as there was to induce my lord to come , with us and cease to be a man of business for an hour or two! such bonds as had to be entered into by aunt about letting him off again I Dear Cousin Flora, you can form no idea of it." -- '" - page: 212-213[View Page 212-213] 212 BLANCHE GILROY. They were in the drawing-room by this time, and Flora was standing under the portrait. She looked up into Philip's face with a bright smile, and with the very ex- pression worn by the picture, said,-- "You will not be so ungallant as to prove Marian's words by running away, I am sure? But you have not said that you remember me. Am I like my portrait, or do you find me changed?" He had been looking from it to her and back again; turning at her word he looked so long and earnestly that he seemed to have forgotten the question. Then he asked,- "When was it painted?" "It was painted,"-said Flora, and she paused,-" it was painted three years ago." Dr. Chester had been looking at it too. "Three years I my dear, it it five since your father sent the canvas home from Rome to have it mounted here; I remember coming down to see it done." "Oh, well, if you-are determined to have me so old, I will not say a word," she cried, laughing. "But the peo- ple have carried your trunks up-stairs, and after we dine, if you are not too tired, we will take a sail." "Oh, that will be grand," said Master Frank, finding his opportunity; "I like nothing better than boating,- it's such fun to make it rock and hear the girls squeal." "Frank, be quiet," said Adelaide; "Cousin Flora isn't used to boys." "I think that picture is unjust," said Marian, who still looked at it. "Yes, it is like you, I acknowledge, but it's a cold, hard likeness, and then it is older than you." "Thank you for that drop of balm, dear. There's Mrs. Perkinson, anxious to lead the way." "Did you ever know such a moody creature as that COMPANY. 213 Philip Spencer? His like I hope never to see. You know he has a story,-I believe that's what they call it when a man or a woman gets into trouble about each other and it doesn't end up satisfactorily." Marian said this in an undertone, as the rest passed on, following Mrs. Perkinson. Flora only said, "Is it?" "I believe so; but it does not signify,-it's the airs he gives himself, affecting to have done with life, that vex me,-not the eating, drinking, and sleeping part of life, you know, but all its tender interests and pleasures. His mother and he measured swords over the girl, whoever she was, and there was a desperate conflict between them, though Aunt Spencer keeps it quiet as the grave. What I know I picked up by dint of watching and determina- tion. and it only amounts to this, that they quarreled awfully over the unhappy she, who was lost to him in some way; on hearing which he dashed off and went abroad, leaving poor Aunt Spencer wretched enough to please even me, for she adores that boy of hers, and be- lieves the whole world is of her opinion about him. While he was gone he discovered that he had accused his mother wrongfully,-the girl's husband wrote to him that she had married and gone to the South. So then he came back and made a dismal business of being recon- ciled to Aunt Spencer. She is very rich, you know, and he used to spend her money. Now he has gone into business, and works hard, so as to earn his money before he spends it. "Lofty and independent, you see,-that's our style. We have met our fate and conquered it, and now we live on the memory of the past and the contemplation of our own virtues and dignity, which we find very refresh- ing indeed." She drew herself up in extravagant imita- page: 214-215[View Page 214-215] 214 BLANCHE GILROY. tion of Philip's manner, and laughed with great enjoy- ment of her own spirits, suddenly adding, with affected remorse, "But I should never have told you this, since you are meant to reconcile him to life, to renew the dream, freshen the withered roses, weave a new spell, and do all kinds of sentimentalizing. Pray forget the confidence and go on in good faith, for my lord is struck, mortally struck. I never saw such a sudden attack in my life!" Then Marian, having relieved her mind by an effort at thwarting her wily aunt, ran up-stairs and joined Lily, who was leaning, enraptured, from the great hall window, overcome by the beauty of the view. "Come quickly," cried Marian, interrupting the en- thusiastic outhurst of admiration with which Lily met her. "Do you not see that that buckram woman is giving Philip Spencer the very room I intended should be ours; it looks out on the river away over to Feather Ridge, and is lovely." "Yes, but she said we were to have this love of a bower here,-just peep into it, pure white, with a few shades of rose color by way of relief. Is it not divine?" "It is comfortable; but I wanted that oriel window that Philip is as likely as not to stick his boots and cigar- cases in. He is too wrapt in his own contemplation to enjoy outside views,-it is all wasted on him." At dinner, Flora was very quiet at first, as if in recog- nition of the general's empty seat. Mrs. Spencer had assumed the duties of hostess, much to Mrs. Lovell's an- noyance, and evidently at her niece's request. Dr. Chester was an amiable man, ready to make the best of everything, but not particularly brilliant or entertaining. As part of her caprice, Flora had singled him out as her ally, and addressed nearly all her conversation to him during the meal, which rather languished in con- COMPPANY. 215 sequence, Mrs. Spencer being too anxious about her son's inexplicable manner to aid it much. Mrs. Lovell con- sidered herself rivaled by her handsome and ambitious cousin, and hid her injured feelings under a mask of ex- treme and lofty preoccupation. She was Mrs. Spencer's equal in nothing, yet never failed to enter the lists with her whenever opportunity offered, and, being too common- place to be received or recognized as an opponent by that gracious lady, was overlooked to her great indignation. Yet Mrs. Lovell had one source of power not'to be despised, since it had before now reduced Mrs. Spencer to capitulate and receive terms. She possessed an ability to say inopportune things in a rambling manner, not to be accused of settled malignity, though productive of equal results. Seeing Flora between Dr. Chester and his sister, dividing her attentions between them, while her husband was making himself scarlet in his apprecia- tion of Marian Heatherton's small talk, and Mrs. Spencer and her silent son appeared in possession of the general interest, she bethought herself of her hidden sting and got ready for action. When Mrs. Spencer spoke, everybody turned to her, and as for the Chesters, they always played Greek chorus to Philip's remarks, so Mrs. Lovell naturally desired to make an audience. "Cousin Clara," she began, "do you really con- sider Locust Hill a good place to go to so early in the season?" "It has a fine garden, and looks well in spring. I do not quite know what you mean," returned Mrs. Spencer, blandly. "Oh, I know it is kept in excellent order, but it was its salubrity I spoke of. Philip looks badly, and he looked badly last spring,-delicate and colorless, you page: 216-217[View Page 216-217] 216 BLANCHE GILROY. know. But, let me see, last spring you were not at the Hill at all. Oh, I remember, it was then that he and you made that comical chase after each other to Europe. He went and you followed, yet you somehow missed each other and came home alone- " "Yes, yes, that was an absurd combination of misad- ventures," said Mrs. Spencer, with a twitching of the lips that she meant for a smile. "But, Flora, I promised you that our cousin Caroline here would tell us about the mountains, and caverns, and all sorts of wild glens that abound in this neighborhood. She spent a summer in exploring them once, in company with your neighbors, the Flemings." "Those awful old love-birds at the Dovecote," cried Marian, with an affected shudder. "Do you know them, Flora? They coo to each other in cracked voices, and insist on keeping up spring the whole year round." "They are estimable people," said Mrs. Lovell, in a tone of surprise; " what could induce you to call them names, my dear? Surely not because Mrs. Fleming said she hated flippant girls that day we dined at the Glen together, because I am glad to be able to explain it to you, if it was. She did not mean to be in the least per- sonal." Marian was perfectly good-humored, and Mrs. Lovell's shaft did not stick that time. "'I didn't know she hated anything, but I feel relieved if she did say so, Cousin Carrie, because now I can respect her as an enemy, and have a personal interest in those plaintive, piping notes of hers. His are in the same key, so I mean both; it would be cruel to separate them, even in one's dislike." Mrs. Lovell, foiled, went back to Philip.. "But, my dear Clara, to tell you the truth, I feel solicitous about COMPANY. 217 your son. He really needs change again, and if you don't find this river-breeze a restorative I should try the-- What were the baths named where you went last suln- mer?" "We were not at any baths, Cousin Lovell," said Philip; "I was busy learning something about business, and my mother stayed at the Hill." "Well, really, how did I get the impression? it must have been that you looked ill and decidedly in need of something of the kind." "Do your friends the Flemings like boating?"Flora asked, looking over from Dr. Chester's side. She had ap- parently heard nothing till this moment of the conversa- tion that was making Mrs. Spencer so uncomfortable. "Oh, very much." "And you too, I hope? it is such a delightful evening, and we can drive down to the shore and enjoy it till the moon rises." "If you think it is safe for--" she looked over at Philip. "Is the evening air safe so near the water?" she asked, with great feeling. Philip laughed outright. She meant to annoy him, and through him his mother, but she only woke him from his marked abstraction, and did .them both a service. Rally- ing his courage with a sudden and determined effort, he turned to Miss Stuart, pronouncing her name with a de- cision that betrayed how hard it was to utter it. "Cousin Flora, do you need an oarsman? I am an adept at rowing, though I have not had practice of late." "The men at the boat-house are better up to their work than you," she said, good-humoredly, but not look- ing at him. "You shall try, but I like it so much that I do not care to be frightened on fresh water, and so lose my enjoyment of it." 19 page: 218-219[View Page 218-219] 218 BLANCHE GILROY. "I should think you would be afraid of water of all kinds," said Lily Lovell, with a little shiver. "Oh, Aunt Carrie, is she not heroic to be able to think of taking people out sailing for pleasure?" "Yes, dear," said Mrs. Lovell; "but I should scarcely call it heroism myself; there might be a better word found, but people are so careless now in their choice of terms." Frank Chester believed in his dinner, and so had at- tended to it to the exclusion of conversation. "What's the good of bothering about words?" he re- marked, coming to a pause in his energetic work; " that's like old Flickering at our school." "Never mind your school," said his repressing sister Mary; " nobody cares about it." "Mr. Spencer," cried Adelaide, with great ardor, to drown her brother's protest, "did you ever sing on the water? We might take some music, you know,-Lily's guitar, for instance." "Charming," cried Mr. Lovell; "I never get tired of Lily's guitar,-she plays so-so plaintively, should you call it?" "Not at all," said his wife, "I should never choose such an expression." "It sounds well, whatever you call the sound," said Marian, " and Lily has a nice wailing way of singing sad ballads. Oh, I know that isn't the right word, Cousin Carrie, but it suits me. Philip used to have a passable tenor before he grew too grand to sing, and Frank Chester growls a good honest bass." "You stop poking fun, Marian Heatherton," said Frank, resentfully. "I did not say I was going to sing." "But you would to oblige me, I feel quite sure," said Flora, with a winning smile. COMPANY. 219 "Oh, I don't know that you'd care to hear it," re- turned the boy, blushing with pleasure. "I wish I could sing well, really, and it would be a delight to sing for you." "Listen to Frank," said Mary, with an awed look at Adelaide. "It is a pleasure, as you say," said Miss Belinda Chester to Flora; "a great privilege, indeed, to have such a bright family about one; but, then, it is a vast responsibility, and, oh, such an unceasing study to suit the different temperament of each!"She was a good natured, essentially lazy, old woman, who had never made an effort in her life, but tired herself frequently by thinking how she would feel if she ever did. The river looked nearer than it was, and quite a little drive lay between them and its shore. There they found the boat waiting, and a more harmonious boat-load could not have gone forth in search of pleasure. As soon as she found herself upon the water, Flora became recklessly and almost extravagantly merry: seated opposite Philip Spencer, whose cold, white face seemed to repel her gayety, her own features changed in ex- pression almost every moment, and her laugh rang loud and clear above the voices of the whole party. All sorts of absurd devices for amusement, ridiculous suggestions, and comical conceits were rife between her and Marian. Mrs. Spencer was in raptures of mirthful appreciation, and Mrs. Lovell, who could be anything else rather than funny, found herself completely eclipsed without the opportunity to revenge the slight, for everybody was so busy laughing there was no one to listen to her speeches. Mr. Lovell forgot in his happiness to look at his wife with apprehension. Poor little man, he was afraid of a page: 220-221[View Page 220-221] 220 BLANCHE GILROY. mysterious endowment she possessed, which she called a knowledge of the fitness of things; but on this occasion it lost its terrors, and he was almost as uproarious as Frank Chester. Flora's mirth increased the perplexity and perturbation of Philip Spencer's mind even more than her quiet mood had done. His eyes, when they turned on her, were full of inexplicable wonder that amounted to actual pain. But it was evident that he put a restraint on himself and checked them for turning towards her; it was equally evident that he made a strong effort to keep up conversa- tion with the Chesters for a time, till, finding that his self- command failed to make it a mask for his feelings, he sank into silence, and the music and laughter went on till the waters rang with the sound. Marian, exhilarated by finding herself appreciated, went beyond her usual bounds. "Aunt," she cried, with a melodramatic air, "I am so alive to the poetry of float- ing in this swanlike way on the bosom of this lovely river that I have half a mind to give the scene the only element it lacks by leaning over and-" "Not capsizing the company 1" cried Adelaide Chester, in protest. "No, no, I shall see that you keep your place. I have no fancy for draggled muslin." "Rash creature, what did you want to spoil my speech for? It was myself only I meant to sacrifice, and that for the most unselfish reason possible,-my desire to see Philip Spencer make a hero of himself." "Can you swim?" asked Flora, with a twinkle in her eye. "Yes," he answered, as he had done everything else, like some one in a dream. "You hear?" she said, encouragingly, to Marian. "Yes; but I know he hates damp things, and me too. COMPANY. 221 Aunt Spencer, if you tell him to sing' O'Conner's La- ment' I promise to go over at the third verse." "Do you, really?" cried Frank Chester, deeply in- terested in the prospect. "Oh, say, Spencer, do please. What kind of tune is it,-how does it go?" Flora had taken an idle oar and was dipping, Marian caught another, and between them a light showei' of spray fell over Mrs. Spencer's elegant dress. "Do you enjoy such work?" asked Philip, looking at her curiously. "Is it not natural that I should, since it is very diffi- cult, and I don't do it well?" she replied. "Marian, you are a mere imitation," he said, with a cold laugh. ' My mother is being martyred at second- hand by your efforts, and they are not spontaneous, since I never saw you care for exertion before." "I was thinking how perfectly delightful it would be to have Captain Boone here. Cousin Flora and he would so harmonize,-he is the very soul of chivalry." Lily Lovell said this with a blush and smile. "But, can he row? that is my present passion," cried Flora, with a series of vigorous strokes that brought a color to her cheeks, and made the less skillful Marian explode with envy. "Captain Boone can do anything, I believe," said Lily, with renewed blushing, and smiling, and great en- thusiasm. What a hero 1" exclaimed Flora. "But in reality he is a spoon," murmured Marian, in an undertone. "Am I not to have the happiness of knowing him?" asked Flora. "Oh, he will be charmed 1" cried Lily. "Of course he 19* page: 222-223[View Page 222-223] 222 BLANCHGE GILROY. means to- Aunt, did you-I mean does Cousin Flora know -" "I believe not. Her seclusion and the whispered afersion to matrimony,"-here she looked placidly at Mrs. Spencer and back again to Flora,-" but particularly the uncertainty of engagements-first engagements I mean-made it a subject of consideration to me whether announcements were not premature when made in the excitement of emotion." Lily's face flushed more and more, and her very fore- head was scarlet, when, with weighty slowness, her aunt contrived to finish her explanation. "Oh, then, I am to congratulate you," said Flora, with an affected titter. "How nice! and will he come, and shall we have the pleasure of testing his chivalry? Marian, save your desperate romance till then, and now let us row." The dash with which she threw her oar made Mrs. Spencer start, and Philip, to whom Dr. Chester had been talking, rose and changed seats with her. "I think, perhaps, my good cousin can exercise her new fancy with less damage to me than you, mother," he said, quietly. Flora gave a quick little gasp as if relieved of anxiety, but Mrs. Spencer, during the moment she looked away, frowned on her son, the next she smilingly protested that she greatly enjoyed the delightful spirits of their hostess, and laughed at the idea of a drop of water being an annoyance to her. "I told you that Philip was a cynic," said Marlan, looking at him with a provoking smile; " he is sneering at our music, our rowing, our romance, and all else we may chance to develop to his critical eye." "I should scarcely call him that," said Flora, slowly, COMPANY. 223 and watching him with perfect composure. "I should rather-that Lily sang to her guitar and Adelaide and Mary helped her." They broke out into the "Lake of the Dismal Swamp," and after that they sang a sorrowful ballad that seemed to die away in tears. Flora shipped her oar and rested her head upon her hand as she listened. Adelaide Chester sang finely, and when every one was very still, she began an Irish song, the same "O'Conner's Lament" that Marian had begged her cousin Philip to sing. He soon joined her, and his full, rich tenor rang grandly over the quiet water; the oars kept time, and not another sound was heard till the last note rose and fell softly into silence. Then, after a little time, some one said, "Sing some- thing else, please." "No, no, no more 1" cried Flora, in a strangely pas- sionate tone. "I cannot bear it; those old tunes pierce like knives, and all that I hold by and call strength cannot protect me from the wounds they make. Saul's demon and mine are not akin, for music rouses it in a thousand hopeless yearnings and passionate regrets. All I would be, yet have not power to attain-all I have lost and cannot retrieve-blends into one great wordless pang and swells my heart to bursting!" Her hands had been outstretched, and her tone and attitude were far too dramatic for common life. They were nearing the shore, and she dropped it and sank into silence, with her head and eyes downcast; but, as soon as the keel grated on the sands, she sprang on the seat and reached the shore with a bound, crying out, gayly,- "A race, Marian H challenge you!"-and started off at a flying pace, followed by the Chesters, who were T page: 224-225[View Page 224-225] 224 BLANCHE GILROY. charmed to find it the style to be hoydens, since only constant repression prevented them always shining in that character. "Your cousin is a beautiful girl," said Dr. Chester to Philip; "l but, although I had always heard of her moods, I feel startled at every new development." "She has the face of an angel," returned Philip, in a troubled voice. "I cannot understand its being linked with the nature of a parrot." He spoke low, but his mother heard him; she was close at his side and anx- iously alive to every word. "I'm sorry, mother, since you make it a point of honor to admire Flora. You know we never could agree, and, although I confess that she has grown divinely lovely, she jars and perplexes me now more than ever." He offered his arm and touched the wet drapery of her sleeve as she took it. "This, for instance." And he held it up in his fingers. "Can any one reconcile mischievous child's play like this with that heavenly face?"He gave a short, bitter laugh and fin- ished his sentence in an undertone, something about what wealth and position tolerated, and would be scorned shorn of such prerogatives. "Philip, will you only wait?-that is all I ask," his mother begged. "Not here," returned Philip, carelessly. ' I go to town to-morrow." "The love-birds are coming," cried Marian, running back; "their carriage is at the gate, and we shall enjoy an evening coo, since they were too late for the row." "Marian, I implore you to restrain yourself," said Mrs. Spencer, in an almost pleading tone. "Flora has been out of society so long that she is almost hys- terically excited byv the exhilaration. I insist that you be quiet." MAASEED AND UNMASKED. 225 "I," said Marian, in an injured voice,-"I was only trying to raise Philip's spirits." Philip laughed. "Don't be malicious, because you don't do yourself justice when you try," he said, and gal- lantly helped her into the waiting carriage. CHAPTER XXI. MASKED AND UNMASKED. IN her own drawing-room, changed again in appear- ance by a delicate crepe evening dress and a new arrange- ment of her magnificent hair, Flora looked a quiet and even stately gentlewoman, whose youthful beauty was set with queenly grace and dignity. There was the sad look back again in those wondrous dark eyes of hers, and her voice had a soft, lingering sound that was sweet, but suggestive of sorrow. She went about among her guests with the ease of one who had made social life a study, and in her new and apparently natural mood made them doubt the existence of any other. Marian watched her with a puzzled look. Lily, with her beaming innocence, broke out in admiration,- "Is she not bewitching? So impulsive-so ver- saile--yet so unconscious 1" "Humphl I don't know," said Marian, watching the mistress of Sunnyslope with critical eyes. "I fancy Flora's whims have meanings, and I begin to suspect her of some of the Spencerian design of character, and half believe she uses those Protean tricks to mislead us." page: 226-227[View Page 226-227] 226 BLANCHE GILROY. "Why should she, Marian?" said Lily, in gentle won- der,- -"I do not understand." I' Of course you don't, my sweet Una, with your trans- parent soul and military lion-Captain Boone by name. Your heart is the well of truth, and your words dip up its purest waters. But everybody isn't made after the same pattern. Some take to deceit as an amusement, being idle and tempted of the Evil One to find recreation in that way. Others mislead you, so that they may hide their real natures in thickets of disguise, like wounded animals that cannot face fate, and so creep into covert to suffer or to die. Don't stare; I don't intend to develop a mystery,--I only suspect one." "Suspect one?" repeated a sweet, low voice- at her side,-" and who may the unhappy suspected one be, Cousin Marian?" What keen ears Miss Stuart must have had --a mo- ment before she was talking to Mr. and Mrs. Fleming at the other side of the room. Marian's color came with a sudden rush, betraying that the thought that prompted her words was deeper than its expression. "We were talking of impersonal things, dealing in sen- timents altogether, I assure you," she said, hastily, and with an embarrassed air. "A sort of dissertation on emotions and passions. I always thought such discourses particularly improving, since one is sure to know how to think and feel individ- ually after such enlightenment." "Just so," cried Marian, herself again; " thus I, who have never had an opportunity to fall in love, am instruct- ing Lily, with whom it has become a chronic sensation, how to foster and develop the feeling." Mrs. Lovell, at too great a distance to understand the cause, saw Lily's scarlet blush. "You are overcome, as MAS KED AND UNMASKED. 227 I prophesied, Lily," she began; " singing on the water is always an effort, and you suffered from it once before, when we went on that moonlight sail, and Captain Boone was so infatuated with that flaxen-headed beauty who sang with you. Of course you cannot have for. gotten how wretchedly you felt next day, and indeed for nearly a week afterwards. Captain Boone found you still ailing when he came to announce her departure, and I think it was a week she remained in the neighbor- hood." "Yes, aunt," murmured the gentle victim, with an added glow, moving towards her inadvertent relative's side to prevent the next recollections being related so loudly. "See, she has made that dear girl uncomfortable," said Flora, softly; "I quite love her for her childish freshness. Is it for Captain Boone she suffers, love?" "Yes," said Marian, in her element; "you know she thinks he is a noble creature, which makes it necessary to add a powerful imagination to the other delightful quali- tles you have endowed her with. Shall I tell you about him, or will you have him burst upon you in all his glorv unannounced?"- "Marian talks like the sated belle of a dozen seasons, sick of conquest and the conquered," said Adelaide Ches- ter; "no one would imagine that she was fresh from school last year, and has done her best to be agreeable to the very spoons she is always decrying." "Decry spoons?" protested Marian. "Never!-I adore spoons. It is that awful scourge of social life, the young man who fancies himself a cynic, that I am at war with. I only know two kinds of unmarried men,"-she made a curtsy to every one but Philip,-" and they are cynics and spoons. Give me a dear, unpresuming spoon, when page: 228-229[View Page 228-229] 228 BLANCHE GILROY. my time comes,-one that will be ready to be carved into any shape and worshiped under any guise, and I shall be satisfied." "Then you think there is such a thing in store for you?" said Mary Chester. "Why not?-others have been so blest." "Katharine the Tamed, for instance," said Frank Chester. "Hush, Frank I've always spared you, my dear cousin, because I couldn't possibly discover what shape you'd take under the motherly tongue of Time; you shouldn't attack me now." "She is shrewish, isn't she, Spencer?" cried Frank, with a high color. "She tries to be, sometimes," said Philip, good-humor- edly. "There's gratitude I when I was just going to say how thankful I'd be if it pleased Providence to send me my spoon labeled enterprising man of business, with an im- mense stock of genius and mental superiority to be taken on trust, and an avowed determination to meet difficul- ties and conquer fortune for himselfl That's my be- spoken and long-prayed-for spoon. Do you like the pattern?" "Marian, my dear," said her aunt, with great suavity, "Mrs. Fleming thinks you have grown since she met us last year,-she says she would scarcely recognize you; but I am sure she must have forgotten how difficult it is to keep pace with schoolgirls, they grow so ex- travagantly." "So I am extinguished," said Marian to Adelaide. "That was a tap of the claw by way of reminder, just because I poked up Philip. But what does the man mean by that absent look of his? Every time he is MASKED AND UNMASKED. 229 spoken to he comes back from somewhere with an inward shudder. I wish I knew what he is thinking of now. See his eyes fixed on Flora Stuart with a sort of fright- ened fascination, and she knows it, too, though she is telling Mrs. Lovell all that animated nonsense about first impressions." "About that cave in the fastnesses of Feather Ridge," said Mrs. Spencer,--" when shall we explore it, my dear Flora?" "Our friends hold themselves in readiness as guides," said Flora, turning to Mr. and Mrs. Fleming. "I think we could give a day to it, and send some of our people in advance to the little cottage on the Flat, to prepare luncheon." "Is there a cottage, and people living there?" asked Marian, coming out of retirement in excellent spirits. "Oh, that would be a charming place to lunch, among the clouds 1" "It is but half way up, and the cottage is only used when needed by excursionists." "Your father had it built when you stayed that last year in Scotland with your mother," said Mrs. Spencer. "I remember enjoying the first trip we took together im- mensely, and he particularly delighted in the grand view down from that rustic porch. Did he ever tell you about it?" "Never," with an averted face and a trembling of her hands among the folds of her black dress. Mrs. Spencer gave a little sigh to the memory of her half-brother, and then begged her son, in an undertone, to be one of their party. I must go to-morrow," he said, in a monotone, with his eyes on Flora, yet not apparently conscious of their gaze. 20 page: 230-231[View Page 230-231] 230 BLANCHE GILROE. "Spare me another day, I beg you, if you possibly can." "Why should I? I am too confused and troubled to be able to control myself. I must go." This in the same tone but very low: "It is what you call the dull season, is it not?" He roused at this, and looking round him quickly, as if to take in where he was and what they were doing, answered, with a different voice,- "Something I had not foreseen, but cannot neglect, compels me." And with that he got up and walked away. The Chester girls, interested observers of every move- ment of his, exchanged glances. He was a hero to both, being a sort of contested family prize, and they having for a very short season claimed his mother's attention in con- sequence of their decided beauty and possible wealth. "Cannot we make the Slope a temptation to Philip?" said Flora, coming to his mother's side. "He is our only kn ight, till Captain Boone arrives, and we cannot think of a picnic without one." Anita had been waiting at the open door for quite a time before Mrs. Spencer answered. Flora saw her, and begged to be excused. "It is Nannie, I suppose; she wants me to go to her, and it is delightful to know that some one needs or misses me." "No," said Mrs. Spencer, listening an instant, " it is Palmer's voice, and he has got back after all this long while, has he? Dear me, how familiarly it soundsl" "Yes," said Flora. And she stood still, nodding for the girl to come to her. Mrs. Perkinson, understanding that she was a favorite with her mistress, had sent her into the parlor to call MASKED AND UNMASKED. 231 her out, not feeling quite sure that such a course was the right one, and preferring the blunder to be visited on the Spanish maid, if blunder it were. Palmer's voice was perfectly audible in the hall, and after a moment's delay, while Anita repeated, "A stranger for the Signorita," Flora came back to her easy manner, and laughed at the man's wordy explanation of his own fidelity and promptitude in coming direct to the Slope within the hour of his arrival. "For a whole winter the good soul was devoted to us in Paris," said Mrs. Spencer; "he is one of those ser- vants one feels glad to remember, and I never ceased to thank the general for the loan of him. Flora, my dear, you can't imagine the adoration he lavishes at the shrine of your beauty; he pleased me in his amusing choice of classic similes for your charms." "Then I must not keep him waiting," said Flora, and passed out with sudden purpose in her step. She crossed the hall quickly and went back towards the housekeeper's room, where Palmer now sat, and at sight of her he jumped up with an agile movement and bowed very low, but did not look in her face. Flora spoked in a half- pleased, half-petulant way, very unlike her tone as she left the drawing-room. "Just when I had grown tired waiting for you and had divided your innumerable duties among a dozen others, to find none of them well performed, you come back at your leisure, and without writing, too. I did not know you had left Birkenburn." He glanced at her with his sharp eyes drawn close by the knitting of his brows. "Last year you said I had better come back when my work was done, and leave letters, to those who knew how to write them." She met his keen and half-puzzled gaze quietly and * . page: 232-233[View Page 232-233] 232 BLANCHE GILROY. laughed at his defense. "That was why you should have done differently this time. I hate monotony." "Surely, Miss Stuart, I should know that," he said, with another bow. "Beg your pardon for meaning to please you and failing from stupidity." "I am not displeased; I am glad you are come,- everything seems changed here; even I do not feel the same. You, Palmer, always were unalterable, you know, and' it is a comfort to find you presuming as ever." Her tone had dropped into languor, and she turned away with the same motion of her form, half listless, half impatient, she had so often used in the hotel when Blanche Gilroy lay in hiding. "You are very good, Miss Stuart. I have done all I could to follow your views about the picture. Sir Robert, the new baronet, thinks it is a perfect copy. All the papers Sir John left with your mother's name on them, and some new instructions concerning an aunt of yours long missing, are in -your lawyer's hands, and he has the general's orders about them, but will not act on those if you have any of your own to give in their place." He made as if he would have preceded her to the library, in which direction he pointed. "I am not ready now; to-morrow will do,-we are re- ceiving company without your aid, and even talking of a picnic without you for a guide; but now that you are here you will set us all right." Palmer acknowledged her estimate of his powers with many bows. "I saw your aunt and the young gentleman, her son, and the doctor and his family. I've served them all abroad, and think I can give them satisfaction here, though it will be the first time I ever waited on them at the Slope." MASKED AND UNMASKED. 233 "Yes, we never were at home long enough to have company." She stepped to the door, and, glancing out into the hall as she stood there, was conscious of a woman's face peering at her through the vines that draped a window at the farther end. Anxiety and earnestness appeared marked strongly in every feature. Not allow- ing her own countenance to reflect a reply, sle looked back carelessly into the housekeeper's room and said, "Early to-morrow morning I will see you in the library, Palmer." She waved her hand secretly towards the face, warning it away, and, as she passed it on her way to the drawing-room, said, in a low, but distinct, whisper,- "The Druid's Circle, by-and-by," and joined her guests again. Late that night, when the house was still and all the lights were out, she left little Nannie asleep in the crib beside her bed and went secretly and silently down-stairs and out of a little door in the basement, seldom used and only fastened with a bolt. The Druid's Circle was a cluster of oaks at the end of the great park, and she hurried in that direction, as if she had already waited too long. On the skirt of the wood Christie met her with a pe- culiar mixture of the old affection and an added reverence blending in her manner. "I am hiding here among the trees these hours past, and I'm afraid Grizel, who is poorly yet, will miss me, for she's often wakeful at night." "Yes, yes, I know it is weary work to wait, but it is what I live doing. Every instant I wait and watch, sleeping and waking; it is the way I hold my life here." Flora said this with a long, deep-drawn sigh, and threw herself down on the damp grass with the air of one tired of all the earth contained, and herself most of all. 20* page: 234-235[View Page 234-235] 234 BLANCHE GILROY. With unutterable sympathy and tenderness the old woman strove to raise her, calling her tender names in broad Scotch and fondling her as she would have done a young child in sorrow. "Oh, my bonny bairn I it is a sore thing for me to see tears in your fine eyes, and you seem to do nothing else but greet, when there should be other work for you among your gay company and grand house and land. When you came to me in Grizel's spring-house you cried heav- ily, and two nights ago at the waterside you were weep- ing bitterly too." "Yes, and I earnestly wish I could cry my heart out here in the cool, quiet night, old friend, for it is a burn- ing burden, and so heavy that I cannot bear it long." "I have no head to argue or make riddles plain," said Christie, earnestly; "but surely, dear, you do no harm while you follow out the workings of Providence. You're in the place you were born to hold the like of, and what signifies it if it be just that one or another, since it wasn't your own hand put you here?" "Oh, Christie, it makes sin blacker to add deceit to it; and cowardice-dread of that man whose power for evil you or no one not in his grasp could fathom-drove me to hide myself under that dead lady's likeness. He was not brave or strong himself, yet he made a slave of me, and I could not find courage to bear or wait,-I could only be desperate, and writhe myself out of his reach at all hazards. Christie, I tell you truly, I was in such horror of him that when he caught me in the sea that I meant to die to escape him. I am afraid of death now, but he was far more frightful to me then. Fate,-yes, it must have been fate that cast me up out of the depths into the shelter of a new name and place. I was too weak to reason, and when 1 came to think it was fastened on me MASKED AND UNMASKED. 235 like my own likeness. All the rest has grown out of that one weakness, and now I stand on a high place, a mount- ain of sin, that quakes under my feet to warn me of my coming fall." "No, no; hold your head up bravely," cried Christie, utterly rejecting the sin of the act; "yoi're fit for the finest and fairest in the land; it's your due, and Provi- dence is just giving you your own. Never fear, lassie: that's all I dare tell you; but I tell you truly there's no cause for fear." "Christie," said the lady, solemnly, "I believe Satan himself assumed the guise of the weakness that led tme to sin against truth as I have done. Every day the wa- ters I have launched on bear me farther and farther from the shores of safety, the stream widens, and oh, I dread the gulf beyond!" "Hech, my dear bairn I you're just striving to alarm yourself. Just think you are what everybody thinks you, for it is that and nothing else that you are." She shook her head. "That would do if I had an ob. ject,-something-to gain, for the sake of which I could ride on, rough or smooth, sustained by a strong purpose till I gained my end. But, Christie, I don't believe in such lives now,-they belong to books and the world of fancy,-not the real prose of this existence. Those who live with a controlling motive, to which everything must bend, who mould circumstances and conquer obstacles, live on paper mostly. I have no such undeviating strength. To-night I would gladly give up all and go back, even to the struggle against that villain Ralph; but to-morrow I may be full of pride, the exhilaration of vanity, and stand content on the precipice for the moment. I cannot tell from day to day where I shall be led,--I am the servant of my own sin, and it leads me where it will." page: 236-237[View Page 236-237] 236 BLANCHE GILROY. The old woman's nature, like her face, was a compound of simplicity and cunning; but she was full of a devotion stronger than either. So she was troubled, anxious, and compassionate, and, though she tried to speak, could say nothing but a few faltering words that gave her no relief. The wretched lady at her feet seemed to talk to her own heart and her in the same tone; when she spoke again, she was rather communing with herself than Christie. "My nature must be blacker than it is before I could let myself be drawn like a shadow across Jean's path. My darling, happy Jean, though my selfish heart ached to see her contented and blest, with no thought of me, I can thank God now that she is so, and that I cannot mar or disturb her innocent joy." "You were not fair to her to judge her so hastily," in- terposed Christie. "Poor Jean! she grieved sorely,- long and sorely,-and she grieves yet. But sorrow is an old feeling with her, and she has learned to hide it, as you know. It was the joy that she wasn't used to that told its story so soon, and it's stronger than sorrow. They say folk die of broken hearts. I never heed such talk,- there's no truth it. Sorrow's tooth's sharp enough, and it gnaws and gnaws, but it's the heart-strings that are tough, and it takes time and the Lord's will to set the spirit free. Grief is too slow; not so with joy. When the minister saw our lass a new day dawned for her and him,-a day that did not come in glints, but broke in upon them full and warm, and filled their hearts with light, as a spring-tide floods low land." "Thank God!" said the other, devoutly. Christie added, hastily,- "But no joy that ever beamed could take the thought of you out of her heart,-only death can do that, and it's well that death wipes out all cares, or where would be I MASKED AND UNMASKED. 237 the good of heaven if poor souls carried their heavy burdens beyond the grave? Jean thinks of you: I can see it in her serious eyes, even when her lips are smiling; I used to watch her face when it was all there was to speak of you, and, though it showed me sorrow and almost despair, it never showed me doubt." "Doubt " said her companion, in a wondering tone. The old woman caught her breath quickly. "Maybe I've said too much," she said; " but you know there are evil tongues going, and they wagged their worst that day." "Aunt Tibbie's-" "Yes; and when I have told you what I came for this night, you will know the last drop of blackness in her black heart; yet Jean forgives her." "Forgives I Jean was one to hide her anger, but not to forgive its cause." "Listen now and you'll know what brought me to see you once more before I go back to my master's house. Before the minister came we had a change at our place. Your father was led to think well of William Mahew. There was trouble in the church, and the grocer took your father's part, and did him a good service. That made Andrew Gilroy think a bit; it was live coals on his head, and I never saw the same bitter spirit in him after that. He let Jean go to a new meeting-house they have, and went himself, and at last she took a class to teach on the Lord's Day, when she used to cry in her own room about you. All the while she was not like her- self, but restless and worried; and she wore almost to a shadow. After a time she seemed slowly to rise out of her trouble as if it was a cloud, and be a new creature, peaceful, quiet, and so kind and sweet that my heart melts when I think of her." page: 238-239[View Page 238-239] 238 BLANCHE GILROY. The sister looked up into the solemn sky above her. "Jean has put a great gulf between herself and me," she said, " and it is wider and deeper than her love for the minister. She has become a Christian." The clock in the church-tower down in the village rang two. Christie started. "I did not bring you out of your bed at midnight for idle talk," she said; "I came to tell you that there's been trouble at your old home,-trouble that brings peace; so you must not shiver. I must leave here to-morrow,- Grizel must see to herself, for my place is in Andrew Gil- roy's house now." Like all her class, Christie grew provokingly slow and obscure when she had anything of importance to tell, and the eager eyes, fastened on her with intense anxiety, could only draw the story out piecemeal. There had been a change in the household in every respect, she confessed, ever since Jean had become a mem- ber of the new church. She had become bold in an in- describable way, and met her aunt and conquered her very silently but surely on almost every point in contest. Aunt Tibbie saw her old rule falling from her hands. Her brother unconsciously sided with his child, and the absolutism that used to hold the house in torment was becoming a thing of the past. Then young Andrew asked his uncle for Jean in marriage, and being referred to the girl herself, and steadily refused, grew moody and unbearable, so that words of a disagreeable nature oc- curred between uncle and nephew. After that he seemed to quiet down and kept away from the house as much as he could, till about a fortnight ago he went off to New York to attend a large book sale, carrying all the ready money with him, and never returned. It was some days before Mr. Gilroy suspected him, and only last night MASKED AND UNMNASKED. 239 that Christie heard it all. Mr. Macauley brought out the news from the city, when he had seen his old friend stricken with grief and distracted by his losses, for An- drew Gordon's mother had been his abettor from first to last in the thievish plan, and between them they had wellnigh despoiled the household before he fled, and she followed him. Christie had been sent away weeks pre- vious for the furtherance of this plan, and every availa- ble penny of money was collected with this end in view. ".Both gone l" cried the lady in amazement. "Yes, with all they could lay their hands on; and we all know now that it's been in his mind and hers too since ever Jean turned her back on him. Mr. Macauley tells me that the place is bare enough, for she only left what she couldn't lay hands on to carry off." "Is it a misfortune or is it a blessing? I cannot reason." "It is a gay blessing to me," cried Christie, " and I'd gladly serve the rest of my days to make it up to them at home. She's gone, and her miserable picture of a son's gone with her, so let the money go too, and the Lord be thanked. Your father is bowed with trouble, they say, -his heart was far too much in his purse, and so it is a trial sent to bring him right. This is what I came to tell you, my lady fair, and fair you are as any lady in the land. I'll be off in the morning early, and soon in the old place again; that will seem more like home than it ever did before. But oh, dear child, that I carried about in my arms before you knew me from your poor mother, let me take a word to Jean,-let me tell her I saw you, and that you were well and " "No, no, not for the world, Christie! you do not know what you ask. And, dear, dear Christie, though I love page: 240-241[View Page 240-241] 240 BLANCHE GrLROY. you so much that I cannot express a tithe of it, I must tell you that you would not ask me to do such a thing only you have no conscience." The old woman attempted a denial; then she laughed. "Well, maybe so," she said; "I know when I owe any one good or ill feeling, and I am ready to pay both, but I don't bother about trifles like." "You do not blame me,-you will shut your eyes to my sin?" "I couldn't see it if they were open ever so wide; but if you could only look with my eyes, lass dear, you'd see a different sight." A sort of frenzy to talk without saying her meaning at times possessed Christie. She seemed aware of it, too, and often checked herself in confusion, as if bewil- dered and accused by some inward restriction. "Only wait a little," she begged, and fell into that vacillating state of being anxious to speak, yet held to silence. "Jean is a true, pure-hearted Christian woman, and oh, what a wretched masquerade is my life compared to bers I Her lover is a man who could not endure deceit or deceivers. I cannot give it up. I am driven on. I told you I had no purpose, but while I have been sitting here, I have been struggling with myself to yield, and find I cannot. I am in harness, Christie, driven by my own miserable cowardice, and I must even keep on to the end." Christie's renewed gesture of supplication gave the other courage to keep to her refusal. "No, no, you will not betray me; I hold you to the oath you gave me, Christie. There, do not spend a tear on me. I have that sort of desperation that belongs to hunted things; it comes to me in my need, ;nd my MASKED AND UNMASKED. 241 powers are strongest when most taxed. It is when Tam utterly alone that I suffer. Then I shrink from myself like a wretch with a crime on my soul, and I see a fear- fully crushed face and form, and hear a wild death-cry, and live over again that scene in the water all the time. Then I have to practice like an ape, and keep a string of parroted sentences on my tongue's end, to deceive the people who relieve me from solitude." Christie's tender looks melted her heart. "No, no, don't grieve for me, dear, I'm not so miserable always; and remember I can be grand and play the great lady, even though I do not believe in myself." "Yes, money's plenty with you," said Christie, slowly and with a fixed look. "What would set our poor place in order would never be missed out of your purse." She put up her hands and turned her face away, cry- ing out, vehemently,- "No, no, never for an instant let such a thought into your mind. They are honest people, and they shall never touch any but honest money. No, no, Christie, I love them far, far too well to taint them with my stain." "No offense, my lady," said Christie, laying claim to the accusation of want of conscience by utterly ignoring the distinctions of right and wrong. "If Andrew Gilroy is in want there's a countryman of my own I can go to, and his son's a gentleman's servant, with big pay and plenty of it put away in the bank. I nursed the lad through a fever before you were born, and, although I have not seen him for twenty years, he'd do me a good turn, or he's no Scotchman's son." "Oh, Christie, don't talk that way just to pain my heart. God bless and keep you and them; and while I cannot bring myself to go back, yet from the bottom of 21 page: 242-243[View Page 242-243] 242 BLANCHE GILROY. my'heart I envy them their poverty and the struggle it involves for them." She kissed the old woman and hung upon her neck; then she started and ran down the park, and was lost in the shadows and darkness, while Christie stole back to the gardener's house. CHAPTER XXII THE TASTE OF TRIUMPH. Miss STUART'S guests being thoughtful and tender relatives, discovered that she looked pale next day, and became instantly anxious about her, fearing that the sudden change from seclusion to a large household, with the charge of its entertainment, had been too much for her. "You look almost ghastly, dear," said Mrs. Lovell, "which reminds me of what Marian Heatherton says of the power of your face to conceal emotion. What was it now? let me see,--that you could rule every feature and govern all but your color." "Marian is very good, but she must wait until she sees me tried before giving such a favorable opinion of my powers." Philip Spencer came-in ready to start. "So we are to be left to Frank Chester and his papa's attentions on our excursion!" pouted Marian, following him with a reproachful air. "I suppose you know, Philip, that Frank still believes in throwing stones at random when he arrives at any point ahead of his party, and as for the doctor, he is so absent-minded that it takes THE TASTE OP TRIUMPH. 243 the whole family to watch his feet, and see that he doesn't go over precipices." "How sad " said Lily, startled at the idea. "I do hope Captain Boone may come, for Uncle Lovell is quite nervous about climbing." Philip stood beside his mother's chair. Marian touched Flora and whispered,- "I say he is enthralled; prove it by asking him to re- main, and test your power, cousin. Don't you see how he looks at you?" "I see tnat he is a man preoccupied by some ruling thought, yet thrown by circumstances into a scene and among people about whom he feels no possible interest." Flora said this carelessly, and hid a half yawn behind a hand-screen she held. "The popular error, my love," said Marian, with a secret glance that penetrated the yawn and made it neces- sary to lift and wave the screen lightly between them.' "Everybody gives the provoking fellow credit for a depth of purpose, when he is only playing off his airs. You can't imagine how he prizes these little effects, or how he labors to produce them. You know there have been no business men in his family in the memory of man, yet when he, to humble his mother, insisted on becoming one, he began away down at the lowest round of the ladder, and actually worked like a laborer and clerk combined, till now he is a partner in a domestic manufacturing house. But, while I'm talking, there he goes with his satchel slung. See, he is coming to make adieus I Stop him, cousin, do." Without attempting to analyze this young lady's desire to scan her feelings and involve her in a scene with her guest, Flora met him, and, in perfectly equal voice, asked,-- , t page: 244-245[View Page 244-245] 244 BLANCHE GILROY. "Must we lose you, then?" Without looking at her, he said he was very sorry, that he had already neglected his duties, that his firm was not able to employ many hands, so the absence of one made it heavier for the rest, etc. They walked out on the balcony together as they spoke, and stood there. His mother's face appeared for an instant at the open window, and then retired. Marian had not followed them; they were alone. The instant she perceived that it was so, she lost that truant color of hers, and, looking out over the lawn, she called Nannie, who was walking with Anita, to come to her. He, on the contrary, became, that moment, eager and ardent to speak to her. "Flora," he said, " one instant, I beg. I must plead for myself, for I feel I need your kindest judgment. When we were together years ago, you told your father, I remember, that you hated staring boys. I know I have forced you to recall the expression and the feeling too. Then your beauty compelled my gaze, and I had not the art to soften its surprised admiration; but now there is an added power about you that affects me beyond my own reason to understand or explain. I am not myself, I am a bewildered, distracted wretch, unable to control my voice or eyes, and utterly at the mercy of the spell you put upon me." Had he been less absorbed and confused by the feeling that oppressed him, he would have seen that his words produced a conflict in her mind, and that she looked at him in helpless entreaty, and tried hard to repress her feelings before she began to speak. "I do not understand,-that is, I cannot tell whether THE TASTE OF TRIUMPH. 245 you are not laughing over my love of romance and treat- ing me to a comic mystery." She faltered as she tried to laugh. He looked at her, and seemed jarred by the sound. "You cannot see what I mean,-how could you? It is too inexplicable to myself to allow me to make it plain to you. I go now, that I may, away from you, get out of the dazed feeling that hangs on me like a mist; but I shall come again. I beg that you will allow me, and for- give all that I fail to be, and help me to-" His mother's face, with its anxious look of inquiry, reappeared at the window, and this time he saw it and stopped at the word. Anita, with Nannie screaming in her arms, appeared at the foot of the portico. With a hurried excuse, Flora ran down to meet her, and Mrs. Spencer stepped out of the window. Of all Flora's legion of absurd fancies that child is the worst,"7 she said, in an angry undertone. "She was wild about dwarfs once, I remember, and after that her father wrote that she had conceived a passion for apes; but that little minx combines all evils in one. Do you not pity the poor girl, Philip? Her lonely, ill-guided life set her adrift, but she is weary of it all, one can easily see, and once anchored by a strong feeling she will be- come a grand woman." She was coming up the steps with the little one in her arms, hushing her tenderly. "Anita will not lead you to the river again,- never again, my own. See, you are safe now, and we will go and build a tall house, and it shall have towers and a steeple, and everything pretty." "Was the little darling alarmed?" asked Mrs. Spencer, With sweet solicitude, "Yes, Nannie and I both have our fears, and they come upon us in spasms; she will play within sight of 21* page: 246-247[View Page 246-247] 246 BLANCHE GILROY. water for weeks without a qualm, and suddenly the least splash will throw her into convulsions of terror." "Not at all spoilt, I suppose, nor in the least whimsi- cal?" said the lady, smiling archly, and trying to pat the round cheek that shrunk away at her touch, with an air that confirmed her words. "Yes, we are both spoilt, Nannie and I," said Flora, with a sigh,-" utterly and unbearably spoilt, and full of silly, nonsensical ways that no one ought to be troubled with. That is the reason we cling to each other, isn't it, my own? and so we acknowledge our sins and beg the company's pardon, don't we, dear?" Still pressing the child in her arms, Flora bowed to her cousin, hoping to see him very soon, and went along the hall towards the breakfast-room, followed by Anita. Philip made short work of leavetaking and hurried away. Marian threw herself disconsolately on the lounge be- side Flora and Nannie. "It is really dreadful to any one with as much family pride as I have to see Philip lose that charming high-bred air that so distinguished him," she said. "I do not know what he has done to forfeit your good opinion," said Mary Chester. "Talking of breeding, I would like to have Cousin Flora tell me what sort of manner she prefers in a gentleman." "I hope she hates frisky Frenchmen," said Frank, between whom and his sisters there existed a feud on this theme. "Our girls think a fellow should be set on wires, and keep bobbing and grinning at everybody." "I don't think I should like that," said Flora, gravely. "I am so glad," cried Frank. "Now, Cousin Flora, don't you admire Spencer? He has no airs, and he don't snub every one that hasn't whiskers. Besides, he will take THE TASTE OF TRIUMPH. 247 a band at anything in the way of a game if you ask him; and though he isn't in real jolly high spirits, he never damps you off." "Frank, how can you use such terms?" moaned his injured sister. "There!" cried Marian, exultingly,-" you see Frank Chester notices Philip's spirit, and no one will accuse Frank of thinking deeply over a subject. It is just a patent fact,.--he is intensely affected in some way, and I believe solemnly that he is going to fail in that blessed business of his, or else he is in love." A "With whom?" cried Adelaide Chester, anxiously. "With some one here,"returned Marian, cogitating. "Yes, it must be so,--the feeling is both new and deep. Can it be with me, I wonder?" "You I oh, Marian, how funny you are!" cried both girls at once. "Am I?"said Marian, with an injured air. "I beg your pardon, I meant to be serious." Flora gave the quieted child to Anita and followed her out into the hall, with directions about a drive. "Don't say that it is with Flora Stuart," exclaimed Mary Chester, in an excited undertone,-" that is just absurd, because his mother and her father were set upon it, and even Flora yielded a hall-consent, so that it was entirely too managed an affair to suit him, and he said so." "Now, Mary, you are telling things, and Aunt Be- linda would be vexed if she knew it," said Adelaide, warningly. "Philip Spencer never said one single word concerning his mother's plans, or any other small business, to living man or woman," said Marian, with sudden decision. "I know the man too well." "Why, how you fly up 1" cried Mary,-" one would page: 248-249[View Page 248-249] 248 BLANCHE GILROY. think he was accused, and that you had undertaken his defense." "He needs none. I talk nonsense about him to keep up my own spirits and vex his mother a little; but Philip Spencer is beyond meanness, and he reverences all woman- kind too much to take their prerogative out of their hands and talk gossip." "I was only going to say that he once said to Aunt Belinda that some things were too delicate to bear coarse handling, and she knew that he meant the fixed-up mar- riage they tried to arrange for him, because that was what she was questioning him concerning when he said that." "Yes," said Marian, "I supposed it was some such thing. Lily Lovell has a note. Captain Boone is com- ing, is he not Lily?" Lily, all beautiful, rosy blushes, nodded and smiled, and ran out to herald his approach to Flora. "If you do not go to the Cave for an hour or two, Captain Boone will be in time to accompany us. This note should have been here earlier, I find." "That will be delightful; then I will have the prepa- rations begun at once. Fortunately Palmer has come back, and he is invaluable about these things." She had seen his figure waiting in the hall, and glad of an excitelment to cover the still lingering pallor of her face, she set the mask she wore firmly, and called the late general's man to follow her to a room that his master had kept as a sort of combined library and office. There, leaning against a cabinet of books, face outward, was a remarkably lifelike portrait of a florid and handsome old man, with snow-white hair. He had handsome brown eyes, but they were set too closely together; his brow was heavy, his nose fine, and his mouth shapely; but the TlHE TASTE OP TRIUMPH. 249 smile upon it bad more brightness than warmth in it. A fixed purpose was graven in every turn and line of his whole countenance, and pride as strong as the life that nourished it could be read there too. "Who is it?" asked Flora, quickly, and she bent for- ward, strongly interested in the face that seemed to meet her with a courtly smile. Palmer turned quickly and looked at her at the words. It was foolish,-inexcusably foolish in one who at- tempted to play a part to drop it so easily and show her natural face to such prying eyes. Without answering her question for a moment, he looked at her steadily, with perplexity and doubt grow- ing stronger in his eyes. It recalled her wandering wits, and quick as thought the face he scanned so boldly changed back and was itself and impenetrable again. "This is a good picture, and no doubt a portrait too," she said; "but-the expression does not suit me." Then she looked up and appeared to note his gaze for the first time, and to resent it with the power of her own lofty soul, looking quietly from her lustrous eyes. Gradually his gaze fell, then rose and glanced out secretly again with a question in every quiver of his cunning eyelids; but quietly and completely she looked him down. All the while her heart kept beating, and words, like a song keeping time with the throb, said, "It"has come at last; face it down,--if you fail for an instant, all is lost " The courage she had called a desperate spasm was at hand to aid her, and she bent over the picture again. "No, that is not Sir John as I want him to live in my mind and in my sight. Even my mother, who dearly loved him, dreaded his face in certain hard moods. I in- herit her aversion to the cold, sharp, brightness here,-it repels me." page: 250-251[View Page 250-251] 250 BLANCHE GILROY. "It is called a good picture by artists, Miss Stuart," said Palmer, looking at the picture, not at her. "And it is good, but good only in its representing him in a mood I want to forget. He was tender and kind to me always, ever since I can recall him, and I owe him my life, for you know he rode after and caught my horse at Glencairn Moor at the risk of being thrown from his own." -"Yes, I remember that,-it was in my first year with the general," said Palmer, quickly, as if catching at something to help him back from a confused state of mind. "Yes, and when I lay ill afterwards, prostrated by the fright and the shock it gave me, he hung above me like a loving woman, full of anxious fondness. Then, why should I treasure that hard, cold face?"And she turned away from the picture hastily. "There was that panel picture in the great dining- room," said Palmer; "Sir Robert offered to have that copied." "Yes, yes; why did you not have that done?" "The hunting-coat and the dogs did not seem to please; that is, I feared you would not consider them in taste with a portrait." Flora laughed, naturally and merrily. "And you de- cided that I could not have the face of the picture unless I took all the rest into the frame with it? Oh, Palmer, my father said you were invaluable when you received your instructions from him, but that when they were written they were sure to be read the wrong way." Palmer looked humbled, and his tone was an apologetic one: "You see, Miss Stuart, I thought you'd rather have Sir John like a gentleman than in a fox-hunting dress, with his dogs' noses as strong in the picture as his THE TASTE OF TRIUMPH. 251 own; but young Sir Robert did say something about changing the faces, though I did not take the meaning of it then." "It is not too late,-it can be done, and this one shall be given my Aunt Spencer, who deserves it for the title's sake, and I will wait for the other, and not hang the gen- eral's picture till it is done." Palmer bowed, and as Flora turned away Lily Lotell ran in, breathlessly. "Oh, he is come, dear Cousin Flora!" she cried. "Who?" asked Flora, wearily, for she wanted time to take breath before she began again. "Captain Boone," cried Lily, smiling and surprised. "Why, did I not tell you he was coming?" "Oh, yes, certainly. I will be with you at once; just let me see if Nannie has started for her drive." And breaking away she dashed up to her own cham- ber for a moment, and there found the promised building in progress, while Anita was laying out her pretty dress and sash for the ride. With an impetuous fondness that was an outlet to her repressed feeling, Flora caught her up and kissed her, holding her close to her heart. The child resented the embrace, because it cost her a fine mansion complete, all but a row of poplars which she was ranging in front. She pushed aside the embracing arms and sulkily tumbled down among the ruins of her archi- tecture. "Forgive me, my baby; Anita will set it up again; kiss me and forgive me!" After an instant's hesitation Nannie complied, and pushed the nestling face away to repair the damage. As Flora went slowly down she communed with her heart, and the voice of her conscience made her thoughts bitter: page: 252-253[View Page 252-253] 252 BLANCHE GILROY. "Even my love is selfish, and disturbs the happiness of its object. It is all wrong-all wrong 1" A small, light-complexioned young man, with a weak face and an affected manner, rose to meet her, and Lily presented him as Captain Boone. He had a way of closing his eyes when he meant to complete a sentence effectively, and being a vain as well as a weak little creat- ure, was altogether rather ridiculous. "A proud and delightful moment," he cried,--"one I have lived in anticipation of enjoying. I seize it with rapture." As he bowed low over her hand, opening and closing his eyes in an absurd way, Marian came to her relief by telling him that they had longed for his presence, and that without him the projected picnic would have possessed no charm to her. He could bear a great deal of non- sense, and Flora left him in Marian's hands, while she found Miss Chester, who was retiring in an exhausted state, from the hopeless task of trying to persuade her nieces to wear sensible dresses to climb in. Mrs. Spencer was seated before a portfolio examining the picturesque view of the vicinity they were about to explore, utterly regardless of which side she held upmost, since her mind was in the town factory with her son. "We may dress at once, I presume?" said Mrs. Lovell. "Yes, certainly," cried Marian, following Flora. "I came to announce the Flemings. The voice of the turtle is heard in the land." Mrs. Spencer had evidently come to a conclusion; she put away her scattered prints with an air of relief and rose. "How do we ride?" said she. "We go to the cottage on the Flat in carriages; after that we climb. I suppose the scrambling up rocks will THE TASTE OF TRIUMPH. 253 be wearisome, but there are quantities of delightful rests along the road they tell me, and the appetite one finds in that pure air is worth any amount of exertion." Mrs. Spencer drew close to Flora's side and laid her hand very timidly, yet caressingly, on the young lady's arm. "You will let me ride with you, my love, will you not?" she begged. "There is a sort of magnetic fresh- ness about you that I need, for I am anxious and troubled to-day." Flora started with a pained little cry as Mrs. Spencer's hand touched her, and then turned pale. "Forgive me," she said, hastily; "I thought Nannie screamed, and I am so anxious about the dear child. It was only a burst of laughter, I find. Anita and she are making merry above- stairs." When the procession was in order to start, Mrs. Spencer, lingering behind, took her seat at Flora's side in the last phaeton, piling their shawls on the cushion in front, and cutting off hope from Marian Heatherton, who had set her heart on riding with Flora, and who was left to a seat in the landau, driven by Palmer. "Now, that is vexatious!" cried the poor girl, in real distress. "My dear Marian," said Mrs. Spencer, smiling blandly, "do ine the favor to see that Mrs. Fleming has a good seat; she cannot ride except she faces the horses." "Mrs. Fleming and her mate are already perched," said Marian, with a rebellious glance. "Oh, Cousin Flora, I don't want to ride with Lily and Captain Boone. I never deserved to be punished by having to look into his dull, little face for an hour and a half without relief." "Marian, take care of your dress, my dear,-our horses are starting," said her aunt, sweetly. She owed a little 22 page: 254-255[View Page 254-255] 254 BLANCHE GILROY. grudge to the saucy girl, and was bent on paying it in that way. Captain Boone was disappointed also; he had meant to drive Miss Stuart. "Come up here, Miss Heatherton," he cried, becoming desperate and determining on a flirta- tion with a young lady he usually found an enemy in am- bush; "come up beside me and we'll contrive to throw some spirit into our party." "I will, thank you," said Marian, waking to mischief; "and, captain, you must tell me all the merry stories of camp life and the march that you can recall. I doat on the army, you know." "Marian is a dear, spoilt child," said her aunt. "Her mother was always delicate, and had to live abroad while-- she did live ; so she never had a strong, restraining influ- ence. I have been too fond of her to be firm myself, I confess." "She is very merry and good-humored, and says such comical things of her family," said Flora. "She is silly and mischievous," interposed her aunt, sharply, with more firmness than fondness in her tone. Then, restraining herself, she laughed and tried to appear amused; "For, after all," she said, "there's something very ridiculous in her antagonism to Philip and the ab- surd stories she tells about him. He is perfectly uncon- scious of her prejudice against him, which makes it all the more absurd." She settled herself easily in the cushions, and using her fan as a screen for her own face, contrived to throw Flora's into full light. What Philip demands in a woman is heart," she went on,--" he gives it and requires it in the smallest act and lightest intercourse. There never was any one so in- tensely in earnest as hemin all his relations. Now Marian, THE TASTE OF TRI UMPH. 255 poor girl, is totally without feeling; it is a painful lack, as you must have noticed." Flora neither denied nor assented, she was thinking. "Why did thin woman ignore a handsome girl like Marian,-an only child, and well provided for? Being at hand and far more amiable than the wandering Flora Stuart, why was she overlooked?" She would have found an answer in the love of power that governed the intriguing woman's every thought. Marian was in many things a dependent, and hers to rule already, while Flora's wealth, and Flora's caprice, both lured her to the winning, and gave the effort zest. Looking back as they reached the first grade of the mountain-path, the fine hall, rising from the river-bank, with its wide-stretched grounds in beautiful cultivation, was, in itself, another reply; for Mrs. Spencer valued the world and the things thereof, and having in her own mind appraised the possessions of the girl she determined should be her son's wife, she found her exceeding rich, and was set heart and mind to accomplish her object. "Then, although, as you say, Marian is amusing," she went on, as if she had received Flora's hearty concurrence, "she has no positive character or talent, and cal make and maintain no social position. She must be in oppo- sition to something or somebody to be able to talk at all, and has really no conversation beyond flippant protest or irony." Again she paused and looked with ingenious confidence at her companion. "I like Marian," said Flora, not looking up. "I do not think you do her justice." "We were speaking of her in regard to Philip only," said Mrs. Spencer, hastily. "That is why I spoke so plainly." Flora, knowing that she had not named Philip, remained silent., "I dare say she told you that perfectly page: 256-257[View Page 256-257] 256 BLANCHE GILROY. absurd story of hers about his having a boy's fancy for a pretty girl of the common sort, who died, I believe. She makes a romance out of it, new in plot and denouement, every time she relates it; but the real truth is that Philip Spencer has loved an ideal, now first realized." And she touched the pretty hand, lying idly on the carriage- cushion, and looked tenderly into the dark eyes that dropped quickly under her gaze, as she said, "I need not tell you who it is, I see. No one could win such a heart and be unconscious of the gain. And loving you both as I do, I long unutterably to make the feeling and its objects one." Flora had known that this would come, she had longed for it once, saying to herself, bitterly, "I will crush this woman who crushed me ;" but now that it was here, she only felt a great swelling at her heart, and heavy tears gathered fast and hung around her drooping lashes. Mrs. Spencer was watching her narrowly, and, hailing these signs of feeling, pressed her point: "You know, darling, it was your dead father's strongest desire." She moved and turned away her face, and anxious and eager beyond even her own power to control, this mother, who had oddly enough undertaken her son's wooing, fol- lowed her, drawing away the hands she raised to hide her face, telling her that in mind and nature she was all that she ever dreamed her son's wife should be,-a beautiful home-angel and society-queen in one, and that had she been born in poverty and obscurity, her great beauty and talent must have lifted her into distinction. Here she sighed and faltered a little. "I only wish, my darling Flora, that you were not so favored by wealth, then my poor, proud-spirited boy would not dread to confess his devotion to one so splen- didly endowed, lest the world misinterpret his adoration." THE TASTE OF TRIUMPH. 257 As she found her words flow so glibly she went too far. Flora's tears disappeared, and she looked up and laughed: "My dear aunt, we are losing the beauty of the journey in the effort to be sentimental to each other,- a thing no two women ever succeeded in yet, and it is to be hoped never will." After one instant of clouded hesitation, Mrs. Spencer smiled too: "I dare say I make a bungle of what Philip can do so much better. Ah, my beautiful girl, I told you you were a queen, and you prove it by your absolutism. Since you will not let me ease my foolish old heart, I am silent at your command." Flora, with a tired yawn, and an impatient exclama- tion, suddenly declared that this scene was tame, and wondered why the Flemings could call it grand or bold. She looked around her with a critical air, and then fell back wearily in the carriage-cushions and wished to know how far they must climb before they found a clear view of the valley and river below. "There are only glimpses here," she complained, " and I confess I am greatly disappointed in this ride." Mrs. Spencer closed her lips on her sweet pleadings. She was not unaware that her much-sought daughter-in- law had such a thing as a jarring temper; so, with a mor- tified consciousness of having gone a little too far, she waited another opportunity to correct the error. 22* page: 258-259[View Page 258-259] 258 BLANCHE GILROY. CHAPTER XXIII. CROCODILE TEARS. WHEN they reached the cottage on the Flat, Captain Boone and Marian were found to be at war in the most absurd way, and the rest of the party were in high spirits, laughing at their sparring. Lily's estimation of her lover was only second to his own, and in her eyes he had conquered her Cousin Marian so completely in the way of wits, that she besought him in a fluttered little whisper not to be too severe on the poor dear. But the instant Flora touched the ground he flew to attend her, and indemnified himself for his former disap- pointment by establishing himself at her side. "Captain Boone," she said, gravely, as they looked up the narrow winding path before them, " can we trust ourselves in your hands? You know this is perfectly new ground to a great many of us, and we have nothing but Palmer and the guide-map to rely on beside your care." ' "I assume the responsibility," he answered, bravely; "just resign yourselves quite to enjoyment and hilarity, leaving all the care and anxiety and danger for my share." "A most unfair division. Can we accept such an un- selfish sacrifice?" "Oh, he never thinks of himself while he can serve others," said Lily, delighted at her hero's noble words. "He belongs to the age of Arthur," said Marian, corn- CROCODILE TEARS. 259 ing up. "Aunt Spencer, is it not delightful to feel that we are encircled with such care? Does it take in dear near-sighted Mr. Lovell, too?" But Captain Boone had Flora at his side, and was already leading the ascent, so he neither heard nor heeded the question; and Mr. Lovell, with a large travel- ing shawl for his wife to rest on and an umbrella to screen Mary Chester from the sun, if they got out of the shade, toiled on in the wake of the Flemings unnoticed. Mrs. Spencer did not like climbing,--it suited neither her figure nor her air; but when she heard that Flora and Captain Boone had begun a tour in such harmony, she could not content herself to remain quietly on the cot- tage porch, as she had hoped to do, but in a spirit of self- devotion set out over that rugged upward way to watch her son's interests. Had she needed any added aggra- vation, the obstreperous Frank Chester's spirits offered it. He ran back to tell her at intervals that "Flora and the captain were stunning," or that "it really was worth coming up so far to see how he sprang over little chasms and bridged them with sticks, etc. for the ladies." But Flora's own conduct was unbearable in the present state of her mind. Tender and attentive, she watched each absurd feat of the delighted knight at her side, praised his devices where none were needed, and listened, with grave interest, to his directions, which would have been laughable at any time from their unnecessary elabo- ration, but were particularly so in the helter-skelter scram- bling of a pleasure-party. Every point of interest in the view had a rustic bower erected on it, as a rest, and here they gathered and listened to Captain Boone's platitudes or poetical quotations. Most of these literary gems were complimentary apos- trophes, and the gallant captain laid them all at Flora's page: 260-261[View Page 260-261] 260 BLANCHE GILROY. feet. Marian enjoyed the scene immensely, but could not forbear to add to it a little gratification at her aunt's expense. Seeing that she was greatly fatigued and deeply anxious, she besought her to wait and rest in a rustic rotunda surmounting a beautiful little promontory that they two had reached in advance of the rest. "There can be very little morp to be gained on those crags beyond, and the way is perfectly awful," she said. "Dear aunt, let us wait here, for, to confess the truth, I am perfectly weary of that wretched little captain. What can possess Flora? She had a passion for dwarfs once, I have beard,-can it be a return with aggravated symptoms? Pray look at her, with that sweet, tender smile, and that rare beauty, all bent on the subjugation of that morsel of the army." They passed by, and he appeared to be quoting some diluted verses, to which she lent a rapt and pleased atten- tion. Lily followed, with the Chesters, and her face seemed divided between fading satisfaction and dawning doubt. "Even Lily begins to resent it," pursued Marian. "It is really too absurd." Mrs. Spencer would not give her amiable niece the pleasure of tormenting her, nor drop her armor without a struggle. "Are you not wearying yourself, Flora, my dear?" she called after her in a solicitous tone, without a discernible shadow of ill humor in it. "I fear you will find such very great exertion rather a bore than otherwise by- and-by. " "Oh, it is perfectly delightful, I assure you!" cried Flora, looking back with a beaming face. "It is all new to me, you know, and Captain Boone is such an excellent guide!" CROCODILE TEARS. 261 There was no use trying to conceal the annoyance these words caused her, so Mrs. Spencer was obliged to say as carelessly she could,- Flora is amusing herself at that silly boy's expense, which, under the circumstances, I cannot approve." Preparing to resume the march, she utterly disregarded Marian's anxious fears that it would prove too much for her, and hurried after the captain and his enslaver with great speed. Reaching the party after an exhausting climb of a quarter of an hour, over great boulders thrown directly across the ascent, and offering a slippery footing of worn moss, Mrs. Spencer had fhe satisfaction of seeing the object of her hopes and designs perched on an inse- cure pinnacle of rock, resting her hand on the captain's shoulder, and swaying with every motion of his insig- nificant form. "Dear me," Mrs. Lovell was saying, "I am quite dizzy looking at her, and so is Lily. Cousin Clara, I really wish you had influence enough to persuade her down. I am sure there must be danger,--just look where her feet are clinging o "Dear Miss Stuart, you look like an angel in that pure blue light, but you are frightening your friends," cried Mrs Fleming, "and Captain Boone seems very insecure himself." Flora took away her hand and stood alone. "I am not at all fearful," she said, "and I enjoy the prospect thoroughly. It repays me for a great deal of effort." She looked directly into Mrs. Spencer's anxious face as she spoke, and smiled on her with an innocent air. "Now, I know," thought Marian, "she means to taunt Aunt Spencer. I've seen her wear that look before, and it is a disguise for a deeper feeling. Flora Stuart is play- ing a little game of her own and making puppets of us all." page: 262-263[View Page 262-263] 262 BLANCHE GILROY. Standing thus, she allowed herself to take in the in- tensely anxious and almost humbled entreaty in Mrs. Spencer's eyes, and then Flora sprang down and became as enthusiastic over the odd specimens Dr. Chester's bo- tanical taste had collected, as his son Frank'sskill in throwing bits of rocks. With that spasmodic energy that springs to life under such circumstances, everybody did something. Lily stooped down and searched for tufts of moss to hide the growing trouble in her poor little face. Mary Chester and her sister found delicate little flowers that looked well in their shining black hair, and Captain Boone cut staves to aid the descent of the pilgrims, assisted by Mr. Lovell's penknife and Dr. Ches- ter's care in selecting sticks. Suddenly Mrs. Fleming discovered an appetite, and her husband, who shared all her sensations, acknowledged its counterpart. "I do hope that Palmer remembered the chocolate for us," said Aunt Belinda to her niece Mary. "Mrs. Lovell grows yellower every day under the influence of that dreadfully strong coffee that she persists in drinking. It makes me nervous to watch her." "Let us go at once, then," said Flora; "I was quite forgetting myself. Palmer begged us to be back at two." It was now so near that time that the party started off, scarcely waiting for the pilgrims' staves; and Cap- tain Boone flew to assist Flora's descent, which she accomplished by bounding from rock to rock in advance of him. The cottage on the Flat had assumed, under Mr. Palmer's directions, a most hospitable and inviting ap- pearance during their absence, an4 an appetizing lunch, with some substantial features belonging to it, and the chocolate and coffee not forgotten, waited their pleasure. It was fully and appreciatingly discussed by all except CROCODILE TEARS. 263 Mrs. Spencer, who acknowledged herself too tired to eat, and Flora, whose appetite was fitful at best, and there- fore not noticeable now. You know there is the cave yet to explore," she said. "We must go down the mountain-side nearly a quarter of a mile below here, Mr. Fleming says, and we will see the sun set through that lovely valley on our return." "Would it not be better to take another day?" sug- gested Mrs. Spencer. "I really think you would all enjoy it more. So much scrambling and exploring compressed into one journey destroys the recollection of any." "Now, I entreat that you do not sacrifice yourself for our sakes, Aunt Spencer," cried Flora, with the frankest air of kindly interest. "I will not permit it. You shall be made comfortable here till our return, and then you can enjoy the ride home." She seemed perfectly unconscious of Mrs. Spencer's anxiety, and received her objection as rising from her own weariness alone. Mrs. Lovell, provokingly alert, had possessed herself of a pilgrim's staff, and, seeing the dispirited manner of her rival, insisted on starting at once. "Because if it really overcomes Clara to walk and climb, she should not be tempted to try it; but I thought she was out of spirits about poor Philip, from her expression this morning when he left." "I am unfortunate in giving absurd impressions, it seems," said Mrs. Spencer, smiling coldly. "I was think- ing of you all, and, knowing from experience that young people do not know how to take care of their strength, rather dreaded the reaction this evening. I am ready to start as soon as you say, however." And she rose determinedly. 'If she were like any other girl, I could count her page: 264-265[View Page 264-265] 264 BLANCIE GILROY. won after those tears this morning; but there is nothing in this world in the way of caprice and absurdity that she may not be guilty of yet, and if Philip should see her encouraging that wretched idiot it would be death to all my future hopes." This was her thought as she followed the train, talking blandly with Mr. and Mrs. Fleming, and picking her steps down the distractingly winding way to the valley below. She could hear Frank's and Marian's laughter, which was the portent of trouble, and Lily lingered behind ominously dejected and silent. Thus they accomplished what seemed to her an interminable descent, and wan- dered about through some stunted trees for awhile, till they came out on a road cut in a rocky ledge. This they pursued for a time, when they were brought by it to a cavern's mouth, dark and yawning, down which, to her horror, Flora and the intrepid captain plunged boldly. The Chester girls uttered a cry of alarm, and Lily Lovell gazed intently into the deep gloom that seemed to fill the space wherei they had disappeared. Mrs. Fleming laughed at the fears of the young ladies and urged them to follow: the darkness only lasted for a few feet, she said, and explained that a turning would take them into a lofty chamber, lighted from above and hdng with glittering spars. But as Flora and the captain did not return, Mary Chester started the idea that it might be possible for theIn to have mistaken the turning, and plunged down into some abyss; this horrible suggestion lost ground by the captain's reappearing, with a torch in his hand and an invitation to them to follow to where Palmer had preceded the whole party, and lighted up the grand dome of crystals that shone like the ceiling of Aladdin's palace. r" CROCODILE TEARS. 265 Everybody crowded in on hearing this, except Mrs. Spencer, who stood irresolute and yet impatient at the cavern's mouth. No one seemed to miss her, and this, to a woman accustomed to a sway like hers, was most humiliating. She had forgotten her manner of ruling, had been absent, troubled, and betrayed her weakness; therefore the scepter had almost slipped from her fingers, and nobody was conscious of her power. In her heart she fairly hated the self-willed girl, who had thus driven her into forgetfulness of her place before the world; but the less she loved her the more resolved she was to see her Philip's wife. The purpose of her soul only strength- ened by thwarting, and was as immovably fixed, as she stooped to creep into the cavern after the rest, as it had been when Flora's averted face betrayed the feeling she tried to hide. "I will wait patiently, since I must, but I will not lose my self-command again as I have done to-day," she concluded. "She is drawing near the end of her crazy mood, and I saw that her eyes looked weary as well as mine. She will be herself again by-and-by, and so sball I." True enough, Flora, leaving the cave, discovered sud- denly that she was tired,-so tired that she had no further pleasure in the farce she was playing, so she leant on her staff and talked to Frank Chester about dogs all the way back to the cottage, while the captain's poetry and prose, his pioneering and engineering along the road, were utterly overlooked and unrewarded. When they reached the carriages, however, and just as Mrs. Spencer was prepared for a penitential tete-a-tete all the way home, Flora coolly sprang into Marian's seat, opposite the captain, and saying that it would be wicked to bore her dear aunt with her stupidity for an hour and more, 23 page: 266-267[View Page 266-267] 266 BLANCHE GILRO r. began to be merry again immediately, and restored the drooping captain into renewed favor and high spirits. But Mrs. Spencer was not daunted, though Lily Lovell was her companion and a very mournful one. No," she said, "I will not believe there is a shadow of real feeling in these absurd fits of hers; she has a heart, and a tender one, or she would not cling to that child as she does. I will test it if I can, and that before Philip sees her again." Just as she reached this decision, the laughter from the carriage beyond and the uneasy shrinking of her silent. companion, made her look forward to see the captain performing gymnastics to catch a branch from the arching trees at Flora's suggestion, and to be assured that the very silly flirtation was in renewed progress. Angry beyond expression, she half wished the carriage would roll down the slope with the exasperating pair. That was her temper; her wisdom was more patient, and it came to her aid again and recalled her resolution when they reached the hall. It was twilight when they met, after resting and dress- ing. Flora came up to her with a gentle smile. "I am afraid I have been very remiss, dragging you over those rocky paths," she said. "I am quite rested; but I must always be frank and true to you, dear; so I confess freely that I am most unhappy." "Unhappy!" "Yes, and about you, Flora. You cannot understand me. Well, darling, I do not dare to blame you; but you know you have been tossing my son's heart about like a trifle to-day, and have compelled me to see the light esteem in which you hold him." Flora did not speak, CROCODILE TEARS. 267 but her face showed that she was not unmoved by the intense fervor of the mother's tone. She suffered her to take her hand,-to press it tenderly. "I am showing all my weakness, dear; but I love him so, and I know how completely he has yielded to the bewildering force of this strong passion. One indifferent look, one con- temptuous word from you, can crush his heart with its secret unspoken. He is so proud he will not owe even me his mother; he began his life at the beginning, entering the lists unarmed, except with courage and an independ- ent spirit. So he calls himself poor,-a chivalric but a silly fancy,-since I am living on his wealth, you know. He must take it by-and-by; I cannot use it always,-I am growing old." Her eyelids drooped and her head bowed itself over those beautiful hands. When she looked up again, tears, from whatever source she had distilled them, were in her eyes, and she smiled a supplicating smile through their beautifying light. "In this supposititious penuryof his, the poor fellow has grown timid and reserved, and his sensitiveness may see your gayety as a repulse. Oh, Flora, you are a queen in power Hforgive my fond, old heart for dreading such a day as this for him, and let me implore you to be true to your own noble self before him, for he is too sincere to understand anything but sincerity." She lifted the hand she held to her lips, and, whether by design or accident, it was wetted with her tears. Flora shiveringly withdrew it, as if. the warm drops had an icy feeling. "I have not yet been able to think quietly of anything that refers closely to-to the time before I went away. I am not yet cured of the-the shock and trouble, and at any rate I must beg that you will wait. I have no reason to suppose that Philip wishes--" page: 268-269[View Page 268-269] 268 BLANCHE GILROY. She paused, and her whole face grew scarlet. "I had rather wait; please do not speak of this again," she begged, in a confused, childish way that seemed new and surprising to Mrs. Spencer. A new idea, swift and vex- atious, sprang with it. "He has not spoken to her; yet I was sure, from his face, that he had," she thought. Flora's color was gone when she looked at her again, and her eyes were full of mischievous light. "What is this story of a young girl, beloved and lost?" she asked, with an amused smile. "Philip is to come to me with a devotion at second-hand, if he come at all. I cannot understand sincerity, intensity, and infidelity in one compound. Why, it must be a late affair,-the poor thing should claim a longer memory." "It was a fancy, if anything," said Mrs. Spencer, very earnestly; "it existed mostly in Marian's brain." "Yet you admit that it touched Philip's heart, and that I am not first, then." Philip's mother, in her anxiety to sustain him, betrayed her own policy. "A man's heart!-what is it, first or last? You want to hold him in your power, to guide him by your will, to be to him a motive and an object in one. His heart may wander and come back; but hold his brain and you have him." "Lily Lovell is quite sick; she will not leave her room to-night," said Marian, who had been watching the speakers long enough to guess their subject. "Poor child, how sorry I am!" cried Flora. "What can it be? Fatigue and the long ride, perhaps." "Oh, Flora, did you not know that we were torturing her in absorbing the captain? You see, in my generosity, I am willing to share the crime, though he never gave me a glance when you were by." "OVE AND DANGER. 269 "What!" cried Flora, aghast,-" is it possible that she cared for that? Oh, dear, no, it cannot be,--it is too distressingly absurd." With an abashed and conscience-stricken air, she tried to remember where Lily had been at all times during the day, and was unable to recall much about it. "You were absorbed," said Marian. "If you could have seen her poor white face it would have broken your heart." Mrs. Spencer had moved away; the emotion meant to subdue Flora would ouly amuse Marian, so she hid it carefully. Flora ran towards Lily's door and knocked; after awhile, receiving no answer, she came away quite sorrow- stricken; but as she passed Mrs. Spencer on the stairs, her face brightened, and a look of triumph came into her eyes. "Whether they were real tears or not, I forced them," she thought, " and I hold her now where she never held me,-at the mercy of a word or look. I have conquered her, cruel and unflinching as she is." CHAPTER XXIV. "OVE AND DANGER. ALTHOUGH Flora Stuart unquestionably owed her in- fluence to her position and surroundings, and although any one less favored by fortune could scarcely have dared to indulge such variable whims and moods, still she had within her heart a vein of tenderness that won re- ciprocation for its own sake, and gained her the speedy 23* page: 270-271[View Page 270-271] 270 BLANCHE GILROY. forgiveness of kind little Lily Lovell, to whom she proved the groundlessness of jealousy by being almost uncon- scious of the irresistible captain, except in his liege lady's presence. After a faint protest, the fickle lover fell into place, and finding himself only valued for his legitimate devotion, soon proved himself an ardent lover to Lily again. Then Flora began to be a hostess in earnest, and made so many plans for her guests' entertainment as to leave them nothing to do but enjoy. Philip's mother served as an excuse for his constantly coming, and his business was the pretext on which he went, almost as soon as he came. Flora herself, in her most changeful and capricious temper, could scarcely match him during these short visits. One hour he would be cheerful and even vivacious, encouraging Marian in her sharpest harangues and helping to devise pleasures that he would not remain to enjoy, the next would find him silent, depressed, and even gloomy, or so abstracted as to be unconscious of the conversation around him, and forced to rouse, as if from a dream, if a question were ad- dressed to him. His faithful admirers, the Chester girls, vibrated with him between gayety and gloom, and their sympathy was all the stronger since it was thrown away on its uncon- scious object, who, in the midst of its expression, often left them with a half-intelligible word of excuse. "It is only his way of creating a sensation," explained Marian. "Now, I ask you, is not Philip Spencer quite a lion among us?" "He is very elegant, and so unlike the common, stupid sort of men," said Mary Chester, loyally. "Meaning Captain Boone and those two gentlemen friends of his from the Glen, I presume," said Marian, "OVE AND DANGER. 271 "which is not in the least fair, as they stay and do their very best to be agreeable; they row, they sing, they talk, and do it all as well as they can, while he does nothing but disappoint people, and make a sensation out of it. Now, although Mr. Crandell, whom the Flemings caught the other day, does do something with his whiskers to imitate a poodle, and although the other one, that Mr. Redmond, talks bad French and has a chronic titter, I am going to cultivate them, just to show my lordly cousin that a male creature is not such a rarity as he thinks." "Mr. Redmond quotes beautifully. His voice suits poetry, I think," said Adelaide Chester. "Quotes, does he?" said Marian, with a sigh. -"That is an awful habit to develop in private life, worse than sketching, though that becomes fearful when they carry a pencil with them and take you unawares, and then insist on you recognizing yourself." "They are making us a party at the Glen," said Mary, "quite a grand affair, but they are keeping it quiet. Mrs. Fleming told me about an arch of roses, and a band in a bower." "I have a sketch of the crags,-Mr. Crandell brought it. They are very bold and fine, and I shall enjoy climbing and exploring again." Flora looked anything but enthusiastic as she spoke. "You are losing your color and looking quite badly, Cousin Flora. Do you know that I believe you are ill?" "Don't be a raven, Marian," said Flora, carelessly. "I am very well; it is all fancy." "Now, it is not," persisted Marian. "Of course you are lovely,-.pale and a little worn, you know, but de- cidedly interesting. I dare say you are looking volumes of poetry; but you are not in real, good, comfortable health,--that is what I mean." page: 272-273[View Page 272-273] 272 BLANCHE GILROY. "Oh, that is what you mean," said Flora, smiling and turning from the subject. "Yes, and I want you to explain something connected with it, please. Do you walk in your sleep? Your eyes sometimes have the expression of a somnambulist,-not that I ever beheld one, you know; but I mean that in- ward glance that seems busy reading something in one's own mind, while the outer one only looks without seeing." "Interesting phenomenon," said Flora, for the first time agreeing with Mrs. Spencer in her estimate of her niece's character. "Yes," pursued that investigating young lady, " some- times it is very marked, not now, for you seem to shine and glitter to-day; but, under some circumstances and with some people, you seen to be living a double life,-- an inside and an outside one." Thankfully Flora moved to greet Mr. Redmond, -who came with Mrs. Lovell on his arm, reciting the "Apos- trophe to the Ocean," suggested by their crossing Glen brook in company. "You are very good to bring our friends back when they stray away. Mrs. Lovell is quite at home in the woods here; she is a fine walker." "I was fortunate in meeting her. I came with a re- minder for Thursday, and am commissioned by the gen- tlemen to implore you all not to fail them," murmured the polite Mr. Redmond. "You are very good, and thank you very much," said Flora, bowing. "We can promise some tolerably fine music, I hope. We have secured a marvelous Spaniard with a guitar, and, besides our own party, have a flute and a harp prom- ised." "I am always astonished whenever I meet an amateur "OVE AND DANGER. 273 performer on a flute; he is sure to be on such confidential terms with the instrument, that, although he breathes volumes of sentiment into it, little ever transpires in spound." "Do you think so?" asked Mr. Redmond, gravely. "Miss Stuart, I hope you like music. Do you play?" "Yes," answered Flora, giving Marian an early oppor- tunity to observe the somnambulistic expression she had spoken of, for her eyes, looking directly at Mr. Redmond, did not appear to see him, but to turn their light inward on some past experience. "Yes, it is all I know how to do. I am a mere musical machine." "You, Flora Hwhy, what can you mean? Do you forget that you refused, when a little child, to touch the piano?" cried Marian, really astonished. She came out of her abstraction at the sound,-and seemed for a mere instant quite lost. "Now, I do begin to believe in that most seductive and vexatious of theories, pre-existence," cried the persecutor, vivaciously. "Flora must have a sort of hidden consciousness like the seal's skin in the Bretagne legend, into which she slips once in awhile and loses her present state entirely." Bewildered and frightened, Flora had tried to speak. Mr. Redmond kindly drowned her in a gush of poetic remembrances: "Those flashes of thought come like 'tears from the depths of some divine despair,' and, recall- ing them, we are thrilled with emotion that 'strikes the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound,' and filled with memories which 'we can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.'" "And, oh, how charming that must be 1" cried Flora, quite herself again. "But why should I be driven to confess my stupidity and then have my irony called all sorts of metaphysical names? No, Mr. Redmond, I can- page: 274-275[View Page 274-275] 274 BLANCHE GILROY. not play for you. I truly wish I could; but it is one of my deprivations, you see." "Ah, that is the explanation, is it?" said Marian, in an undertone; " still for all that I would like to borrow that seal-skin that I insist you must keep hidden somewhere and go with you when you look perfectly unconscious for a moment or two." "Talking of fairy gifts and fairy-land, and it is that you are talking about, I suppose," said Mr. Redmond; "I hope you will find moonlight on Glen Lake a very fair substitute on Thursday. Cannot we count on Mr. Spencer for that day?" "I am sure I for one should be sorry to have to ac- count for his changes," said Marian. "He often comes for an hour and stays two days; then again he is as likely to remain an hour when he comes for a week." "Just as he finds you cruel or kind?" inquired Mr. Redmond, pathetically. "Shall you look for us early?" asked Flora, anxious to change the subject. ' Yes, we shall live in anticipation; be merciful, and bring us reality and joy." "Now, I am forcing you to become silly, so I'll run away with Nannie," said Flora, meeting the child and carrying her off in her arms. The party at the Glen had really done their utmost, and offered a very fair imitation of fairy-land, as seen on such occasions. The little valley, with its fine old house, this summer occupied by hunters and fishers, was all alive and merry on the bright morning of the long-ex- pected Thursday. The wide lawn between the villa and the lake was dotted with gay marquees; an arch of roses spanned the road and made the carriage entrance a tri- umphally floral one; a beautifully-decorated boat was "OVE ANJ) DANGER. 275 moored by a clump of willows, and from a bower near the foot of the crags came the sound of music, hidden among lovely greenery. Guests from the neighboring country-houses had been added to those of the Slope, and as the carriages one after another deposited laughing, gushing, and congratulatory ladies on the sward, where the Glenites stood smiling to receive them, the group scattered and assumed the proportions of a large party, rather to Mrs. Spencer's annoyance. She had been ner- vous and uncomfortable all morning, and was delighted to find a reason to vent it. "We are all in half-mourning; Flora in that deadly black dress, that gives her the pallor of a ghost, and seems so shockingly out of place here. A country ex- cursion is just the most natural and allowable thing in the world; but this-why, this is an actual ball, my dear." Marian, to whom she complained, answered undutifully that she could only rejoice that there were to be a few strangers. "The fact is, aunt, that I am tired of my own family flavor, because I have too much of it. Royalty itself isn't more restricted than our people, and I am afraid royalty can't be more stupid, which is saying a great deal, I know." "One is sure to meet objectionable people in these rustic mixtures," complained Mrs. Spencer further, en- tirely ignoring Marian's protest. "Traveling about so much has given Flora a disregard for certain convention- alities that would jar in a less privileged person. I really hope she does not discover another fancy for flirtation and carry off a second captain from his fair one." "Aunt is trying to hide her anxiety about Philip's absence," thought Marian, and she wondered how it hap- pened, since he had been at the Slope the day before and , page: 276-277[View Page 276-277] 276 BLANCHE GILROY. half-promised to accompany them. No one knew why he failed except Flora, and she had had time to school her face, so that it told nothing. For a fortnight before she had seen that the strong de- sire of his heart was to speak to her alone; to thwart this had been a ceaseless and painful study. "For when he says what is in his mind I must lose him forever," she thought, and the thought was agony. She had never for an instant hoped or even dared to think of holding a place in his life with her false name; so, like a criminal under a death-sentence, she strove each day for a reprieve, and so lengthelncd the truggle. She had been thinking of all this that day before the party at the Glen, and wearily devising means to have the Chesters or Lily or Marian beside her always in his presence, when she saw him coming rapidly up from the woods behind the bridle-path to meet her with those very words that were to be the sword that should sever them forever trembling on his lips. He carried a book his mother had ordered from town, not that she was a reader, but used a popular volume like a hand-screen to shield her own face while she watched others, and, feigning absorption in its pages, threw them off their guard in her presence. Flora had been getting roses for Nannie to put in the little white vase on her doll's table,-little red half- opened buds, such as the child loved, and she stood with her hands full, unable to move, fascinated by the bright look beaming on her from his earnest dark eyes. Scarcely a word had been said in greeting when he burst out with,- "Don't think me quite demented, Flora, when I tell you that if, instead of turning towards the house, as you are doing now, you go with me among those trees, you "OVE AND DANGER. 2" will grant me the greatest favor I can ask until you hear what I am compelled to tell you, and what you must not turn away from." She gave him a frightened, appealing look, which he did not seem to understand; but she said nothing, and neither yielded to nor refused his entreaty. "I am bold to break upon you thus; but at times I have thought that you must know and even in some wise share the conflict that possesses me. Come with me, for I cannot lay bare my tortured heart, with the chance of showing it to a dozen idle, curious people who wander round the garden." He tried to take her hand, which became ice-cold and shrank from his touch. She gave one long, helpless, troubled look at him and all around, and then with a sud- den cry, like that of a child in fear, broke away and ran, throwing the roses behind her as she went. After that he only appeared at the house for an hour or two, and, although perfectly calm, had something so unusual in his face that Mrs. Lovell was moved to alarm and retrospect, and tortured his mother by recollecting just such an expression the day before he went abroad in a hurry. Mary and Adelaide Chester had made up their minds to secure his attendance at the archery grounds. "You must be there, Philip. You know you taught us to shoot at Locust Hill, and it will be lovely,-a per- fect forest scene: Robin Hood, Little John, and all; but they mean it as a surprise only. We tell you as an inducement." He was examining a bit of crotchet at Miss Belinda Chester's request, and bent over it with absorbed interest. Flora had been watching him while she sketched a mount- 24 page: 278-279[View Page 278-279] 278 BLANCHE GILROY. ain-road for Captain Boone, who had been making a drawing from memory of their day's excursion on Feather Ridge. Now she listened eagerly for his reply. "It would be delightful," he said; "how could I resist?" etc. She turned away without his looking towards her; which he had avoided doing since she left him so abruptly, and she could only hide the longing for his presence in recalling the danger it brought. His mother's eyes turned constantly towards the car- riage-road that morning, and Flora had to keep her own in check, lest they, too, would betray her anxiety; but every one was so intent on pleasure and that indefina- ble excitement belonging to the open air, the bright sky, and the homage of gallantry combined that Philip was for the time forgotten. "We meant to go to the Cascade first, the hill-path is shaded now, and the view, with the soft purple mists rising from the Glen below, is lovely." Mr. Crandell made this as a suggestion, and looked towards Miss Stuart for approval. "By all means!" cried Flora, with sudden enthusiasm, --" it will be delightful, and Marian and I shall lead the party,--we have taken degrees in scrambling." "But, Flora," said Mrs. Spencer, hesitatingly, "I thought that perhaps, as Philip had not said he would. not be here, we might wait a little longer." This in a hurried whisper, broken off at the sight of his well-known horse on the highway, which Flora's keener eyes had dis- covered long before, and so was all excited haste to be off on her adventures among the crags. "We are all guests together, and gentlemen are not ceremonious with each other," she said, lightly. "Some "OVE AND DANGER. 279 of them will wait for him; but I must be gone or Marian will have my laurels." With that away she went, and he, dismounting, caught sight of her disappearing from among the shining mag- nolia-trees that were planted hedgewise round the lawn. Waiting for a few words only, he as resolutely set himself to follow, and Marian, looking back, saw him springing over little chasms, that they had gone round, and crunching twigs and broken branches under his hasty feet. "Flora!" she cried, "here comes the seven-leaguer close on our heels. We'd better wait for him properly than undergo the ignominy of being overtaken and van- quished." "He-he is not seeking us," said Flora, hastily, with- out looking back; " there are so many groups, all taking different paths to meet at one point, that I think it a point of honor to be at the Cascade first of all." Marian, unlike most handsome girls, had no passion of her own, no tender secret to nurse, no delicate, fluttering flame to cherish, so she gave her whole attention to watching the puzzle she discovered existing between her cousins,-Philip, whom she liked and persecuted; Flora, whom she suspected and treated with distinguished regard. "There's something always behind what she says and does," she decided. "She never exhausts your interest by showing you all she means. Now, I tire of looking in shallow water, and seeing the mud at the bottom; but Flora is so deep I cannot fathom her: let me look as I will, not one inch below the surface have I seen yet." They were clambering, side by side, through a rocky ravine, and already the soft murmur of falling water page: 280-281[View Page 280-281] 280 BLANCHE CILROY. guided them through the dewy air to where the Cascade fell. Suddenly Flora started off at random among the great gray crags, springing over intervening spaces, and rising higher and higher up the mountain-side. "Now, may I ask what that means, my dear cousin?", panted the distanced Marian. "The Falls can be reached by this moderately jagged path just as well as by those wild goat-leaps." Flora paused and laughed. "Well, I really can't tell you why I took this way, except that it's difficult and neckbreaking, and so lured me on." Marian looked down the path they had come and heard Philip's voice, quietly directing his mother's steps and admiring the beauty of the scene. "She comes along so as to detach all interference, me for instance." And Marian laughed as she concluded, I will go over to my aunt's side for the first time in my life." Then aloud to Flora, and with great coolness, "Dear cousin, you don't in the least understand your own case, I find. You are just risking your life flying over these crags to get out of the way of Philip Spencer, and he and his unconquerable mother are close on your track, like destiny. You cannot escape fate, my handsome cousin, and Philip Spencer is yours." Flora, without looking back, called out, with an at- tempt at ease,-- "Ah I you will be merry even at my expense, though you affect to be such a friend." And went on so swiftly that in self-defense Marian protested again. "Why, this is unendurable I Stop, I entreat I I am out of breath, my shoes are scraped on these flints,"-looking ruefully at her feet,-" and I shall be ragged as a gypsy if I keep on tearing my clothes on these jagged points." "OVE AND DANG ER. 281 "Only a little higher," cried Flora, excitedly. "Once on this monstrous boulder, and the view must be mag- nificent." She made a bound and reached the height with an almost exhausted effort, and there she stood panting and trembling, pale for all her exertion, and with a strange excitement in her shining dark eyes, just as Philip, now in advance of his mother, appeared in the path below, and stood in full view at an opening in the rocks. Marian had lingered waiting for him, and now turned towards him with the greatest earnestness and a little gasp of relief. "Well, I am truly thankful that you've come to save Flora's life; she seems desperately determined to get rid of it among these rocks. I am nearly dead myself, but I mean to get back with the remnant of my garments as soon as I can." "No, no, Marian, I beg; you know you promised. I cannot get down alone, and I am dizzy!" Marian's back was already turned. "Philip can scram- ble up without difficulty; I am sufficiently unpresenta- ble now, and I'm going down to the path to join Aunt Spencer and be put in order by pins and things." With that she doggedly pursued her way, disengaging her light dress from the rocks land keeping up a grum- bling commentary on her mishaps as she went. "Marian I Marian!" cried Flora, reproachfully, and with a helpless kind of despair. Philip took a rapid survey of the scene, then went a few steps farther and looked around him again. "Flora, do not move till I come to you, I beg," he said; " the rocks beyond you are loose,-they have fallen there from the bluffs, and will not bear your weight. Stay until I come and help you down on the safe side." 24* page: 282-283[View Page 282-283] 282 BLANCHE GILROY. She looked at him, and something in his face frightened her; a sound of water, many cries, but one ringing high above the rest, fell upon her ear; flames shot before her eyes, and the outlines of a figure in a scarlet dress cleav- ing the air to sudden horrible death, made her sick and unsteady with fear. She could not reason. "My fate has come upon me," was all she thought, and looking over she saw a bed of fallen stones, swept by wind and rain from the upper cliffs and broken among coarse bram- bles and hardy shrubs; midway between the rock and these was a projecting point on which she could rest an instant and then slide down and gain the path where Marian had disappeared. "In one moment I will reach you," said Philip, and as he spoke she sprang,--a foolish, reckless bound, that touched the rock, dislodged it from its already tottering hold, and rolled her and it over and over down into the flinty bed below, among the brambles and scrubby pines. She made no cry in falling, and lay quite still where she fell. When Philip, with a frantic haste that often balked itself and sent him backward, clinging to uprooted branches and decaying vines, reached the spot, her eyes were open, and seemed to look blankly at the quiet sky above them with an awful fixedness that stabbed him to the heart. Her face was so white and stony that he felt a strong and terrible rival held her in his power now, and that he could only win her through God's mercy from the arms of death. The natural effort he made to raise her gently brought back her consciousness in agony. She groaned, and the eyelids fell and quivered in sympathy with the white lips; yet she moved her head a very little, so that it lay upon his breast, and said in a faint whisper that she was content to die, "OVE AND DANGER. 283 "Die, my blessed darling!" he cried, passionately,- "you cannot die I my life holds you now with a grasp that was not meant to be broken. Our dear Lord never made the mystery of my love to end in such utter dark- ness. No, my own, his mercy will save you and me. Let me raise you now!" She laughed a soft, joyous laugh, that came jarringly from those pale lips when he called her that tender name; it was not new to her ears,-it brought the old time back again. But when he spoke of God's pitying love she shuddered and shut her eyes, for that she believed she had forfeited forever. He was still very carefully trying to lift her, but she could not endure the motion; at every effort she became so white that he dreaded to do more than gather her so that she might lie in his arms and wait for help from the Glen below. She was content, for, although spasms of pain crossed her face and the deadly shade upon it deepened, she smiled and kept her eyes upon him, except when their light obscured itself in insensibility. Thus, as they waited, too anxious to realize his happi- ness, yet too enraptured with love to be entirely aware' of the danger that had gained him the treasure he clasped, Philip told her with passionate endearments how, in a struggle against reason and memory, amid throes of doubt and bewildered pain, his love for her had been born. Almost unconsciously to himself he poured out his whole heart in a great flood of tenderness, interrupt- ing himself at every sentence, to mark how eagerly she listened, and always keeping his gaze fixed on the road from which their help must come. He confessed tiat he had loved with the whole strength of his nature a girl as beautiful and bright as page: 284-285[View Page 284-285] 284 BLANCHE OILROY. she--except-well, he could not tell her the difference; be felt it, and it had confused and tormented him, be- cause it was too subtile to be rendered into words. Yet it existed, and was all there was to prove that his mind was not deceiving him by conjuring a fac-simile of one lost to him forever. She must not question him about this lost love; it was so closely and inseparably blended with the feeling grafted upon it that, trying to understand and disconnect the two, had almost unsettled his reason. Now, the whole perplexity seemed to resolve itself in joy tempered with fear. She loved and accepted him, but she was hurt and suffering. "You love me more than you ever loved her?" whis- pered Flora, greedily. Her singularly easy interpreta- tion of the tangled skein of words he meant as an expla- nation might have astonished one who was less excited by the feeling he expressed. "No, since it was all [ could know or feel, the same passion woke again from despair,-the same hopes revived and trust and faith at rest once more." She laughed again a faint, little sound of triumph and pleasure, and trying to raise her arm and put it round his neck let it fall heavily and showed her lovely face a pallid blank, from which the warmth of life and light of consciousness had fled for the time. Dr. Chester and Mr. Redmond were the first to appear in sight, and on a litter, formed of a traveling shawl and tree-branches, she was slowly carried back to the Glen. It was a most unfortunate ending to the gentlemen's- pleasure-party; but Miss Stuart's injuries were called serious ones, and her guests were all too anxious and dis- tressed to think of anything but the cruel accident and the "OVE AND DANGER. 285 mysterious circumstance of Philip Spencer's engagement with the heiress of Sunnyslope, only transpiring in the hour of her pain and peril. "It is the oddest thing," said Miss Chester to Mrs. Lovell,-" really inexplicable, I call it, for do you know I thought she rather avoided him heretofore? Yet it seems they were engaged from the outstart, and my brother says her first sensible words confessed as much." Mrs. Lovell perceiving a triumph even in affliction for Mrs. Spencer, frowned darkly, and recited a case of coercion under mental aberration she- bad once heard of. "The poor child fell on her head, most probably, and jarred the brain. What can be more like Mrs. Spencer than to seize such an opportunity to proclaim her victory and secure the victim? Cousin Clara is totally without mercy. " "Mary and Adelaide have some such absurd idea; but I must say Flora's eccentricity is the readiest solution; besides, Mrs. Spencer knew nothing of the scene. Ma- rian and she were with our party at the Cascade while it was enacting. I really think they took a pleasure in misleading us, and his abstraction and her indifference were agreed upon beforehand as a mask during the summer." Lily and Marian came up talking earnestly. "They have found out that one arm is broken and one side terribly bruised," they reported. "Flora is perfectly conscious, and Aunt Spencer and Philip are with her now." "Then it is really " asked Mrs. Lovell, with ele- vated brows. "Really a love affair?" said Lily, delightedly. "Oh, yes, and a very, very tender one,-is it not, Marian?" "It is a mystery of course. Philip Spencer could not page: 286-287[View Page 286-287] 286 BLANCHE GILROY. fall in love in a straightforward way, like other people; but I believe it is a decided case, and poor Flora is really sorely hurt." But, although she settled it quite calmly in this way, Marian was devoured by an inward thirst for knowledge concerning the curious affair. "What wild frenzy preceded her breaking her bones and confessing her love no one will ever be able to guess; there's but one explanation for it,-Flora Stuart, with all her beauty, is insane on some hidden subject; nothing but madness could -tempt her to rush over those rocks in that wild way, just to show her power over Philip Spencer. Now he has won her, and my aunt's triumph is complete; but rich and handsome as she is, my lady of Sunnyslope has a craze, of that I am certain; and Philip's great heiress is a demented one too, he will find." CHAPTER XXV. A PAUSE. FLORA lay at peace in her own chamber, whither she had been carried the day succeeding her fall. The house had emptied itself of visitors, and only Mrs. Spencer and her son remained. They were at home. Flora's words, and Philip's too, had betrayed their relations to each other in the excitement of danger and suffering, and his mother lost no time in placing the matter beyond the possibility of doubt or caviling by quietly taking possession, and A PAUSE. 28T allowing the guests, with many regrets, to take their departure. "( Our darling girl must be kept very quiet now. The physicians tell Philip that the least noise or excitement of any sort would be sure to prove dangerous, and the poor fellow is so nervous and anxious." ' Then they are positively engaged?" said Mrs. Lovell, as if hard to convince of the fact. "Can you ask?" murmured Mrs. Spencer, smiling sweetly. "I thought it was patent to all, though to do my dear girl justice, she really did her best to conceal it. An orphan and so completely her own mistress, it was a delicate position, you know; Philip felt it, too, and did his best to have as little sentiment as possible, till the terrible accident broke down the restraint and betrayed them nicely." Somehow the delight in what it had accomplished made the6 terrible accident seem a pleasant subject. And Mrs. Spencer, finding herself smiling enjoyably, corrected her expression and became anxious and thoughtful. "I really did not understand poor Flora's incoherence in the light of your interpretation," said Mrs. Lovell, pre- paring a Parthian arrow. "It struck me and every one else, I imagine, as the raving of one temporarily de- ranged. I do hope the poor child will recover." Mrs. Spencer was proof in her serenity against any attack. "Pray, as 1 do, for her speedy restoration to us. I am sure we shall be happy to have you all come back to the early wedding,-without ceremony, I advise, and just among the friends who love her. I confess I am almost as impatient as a lover when I think of it, for my boy has pleased his mother entirely in his choice " With this for a benediction, Mrs. Spencer followed the retreat, and waved her hand in gracious farewell to the page: 288-289[View Page 288-289] 288 BLANCHE GILROY. faces at the windows of the carriages, that conducted the exodus; and being already, as she felt, at home and in command, she gave Mrs. Perkinson orders about the household duties, and went back to her place beside Flora's bed. Her son, apparently unconscious of any outward change, walked restlessly through the halls and came constantly to the door of the sick-room to inquire after its occupant. During the time the guests remained he had been among them without any alteration beyond a subdued tloughtfulness ot manner and an absence of that restless preoccupation that had been the subject of Mariands criticisms. Now that they were gone he seemed free to give his anxiety expression, and so kept walking up and down the colonnades and balconies till the echo of his steps were wearying. His mother being in authority, and Flora lying quiet and nerveless in her hands, it had once or twice occurred to the determined woman to have them married then and there, lest some adverse circumstance, a return of willful- ness in one or unmanageableness in the other, would arise to renew her struggles and disappointments. "That girl's will is shattered like her body, and now she lies there a smiling angel; but let the physicians give her a strengthening potion that will brace her nerves for action, and she may rise at any moment and brave me so that I dare not stand before her." Looking at her as she lay among soft lace and the golden splendor of her own fair hair, she looked so white and fragile that the question seemed to be, would she ever rise at all, and the answer a very doubt- ful one. This never for a moment suggested itself to the mother's mind, though it lay like a dark shadow on her A PAUSE. 289 son's heart and gave him no rest or peace till at last he was summoned. "Flora wants to see you, dear Philip." He entered the room breathless and awestruck, and when he saw her his soul thrilled with an inseparable mingling of pleasure and pain, for she was so changed, so entirely and completely changed back into his old love, that the Flora of Sunnyslope was lost and the Blanche of his old dream seemed to lie before him,-quiet and very peaceful, like one at rest after a long struggle or sorrow that was gone to return no more. When he bent over her she did not speak to him,-only raised her eyes and rested them on his face, co*tent in the bliss of his presence. It seemed a pause by some sweet bank of rest and refreshment. The waves of life went rolling by, but she was out of the conflict,-the winds nor rough waters could toss her no more, it seemed. "Shall I stay with you?" He did not call her by name. She turned a little nearer to him, and smiled. Mrs. Spencer, whose functions in a sick-room were nominal, and who from the moment her niece had been carried from the crags to the hotel in the Glen had done nothing but hover over her or glide about her with the air of a guardian-spirit in possession, leaving the bandaging, bathing, and general restoring to hands more skilled in kindness than her own, now looked on the two thus drifted into one fate by an accident stronger than all her strivings and plannings, and felt a strange swelling of the heart so new as to be almost overpowering. Philip leant over and touched the delicate face turned to meet his,-the hand that was not hurt was pressed close to his heart. They were one now and inseparable, 25 page: 290-291[View Page 290-291] 290 BLANCHE GILROY. and it was to this end she had worked and contrived more years than she cared to look back upon,-ever since, in fact, the general's marrying in Scotland left Marian Heatherton with the moderate fortune belonging to her mother and no longer the hope of inheriting her uncle's wealth. Unconscious little Marian! up to that date des- tined for her Cousin Philip, and still in mere babyhood, was thrown aside from that hour and the Scotch step. child received in her place, and watched and pursued and conspired over till now at last she was won. She smiled to think of the foolish fellow's fancy for that-that music-girl, and how he resented the salvation she int1rposed. Ah, well, well, we must labor without thanks sometimes, and surely love was reward enough I She smiled as this reminiscence floated by her mind rather than through it; she took no thought of a hinderance, except to thrust it out of her way. The truth is, she was an' obtuse woman with all her sharpness, as self- sufficient folk often are, and could only see a very little way into any nature, since selfish glances cannot pene- trate very far. They bless me in their hearts," she said to herself, quite softened by her own triumph. Neither of them thought of her at all; the silent boundary of their perfect bliss lay in themselves, and the present, short and narrow, and unable to bear strong daylight or close reasoning, is such ill-defined joy. Thus Flora lay, and seemed neither to gain nor lose; her mind held her body in abeyance, and in its own strength- less content appeared to put aside the effort of recovery. Mrs. Spencer grew impatient and besieged the doctor with questions as to her state. A want of vital reaction. They had looked for some nervous irritation after such a jar; but, strangely enough, their patient seemed inclined A PAUSE. 291 to lie dormant,-rather a-puzzling symptom after the brain had been at all in question, though there certainly was no injury there. She must be urged to rouse' herself to resume her in- terests in society and the world at large. Mrs. Spencer began at once, during the interval of her son's absence in town, by reading her all the letters of inquiry forwarded to the. Slope during her illness, an ordeal passed through in a state of partial unconsciousness by its victim. "And now, my darling," cried Mrs. Spencer, who could not be too lavish of tender names, " you see they all anticipate an early wedding, and we must not disap- point the dear creatures. Marian, you know, is staying with Lily, and I think that, as they and the Chesters were here, and all alike related, there can be no possible harm in four bridesmnaids, when the guests are all family connections." She said this with a brisk and playful air; still she was not quite at ease, for once or twice she glanced at the pillows as she spoke, and faltered a little towards the close. Flora looked at her quickly,-a sort of frightened shiver pervaded her frame, and her eyes grew unnatu- rally dark and big in their pale setting. "Married!" she cried,-" do not talk of such a mad thing; I am sinking without pain or trouble, and God's mercy is far more than I deserve; but I shall never rise. Pray do not speak so again!" Mrs. Spencer broke out into an ardently impatient denial. "You are growing stronger every moment, my dear girl," she began; but, seeing the scarlet flaring up over the pale cheeks, she dreaded to excite her and fiighten Philip; so she walked away. When she came back again in an hour after, a change page: 292-293[View Page 292-293] 292 BLANCHE GILROY. had taken place, and she found that, having once convinced Flora of her recovery, she had brought back a renewal of the old manner that had been a barrier between them, and shortened her own absolute reign at Sunnyslope. It was not done suddenly, yet the slow change was dis- cernible the moment it began,-a cloud so small that it might have been a mere fancy appeared to overshadow her at first; it grew and became denser every hour till there was no light in the heaven of Philip's mind, and yet be had scarcely realized that his peace was waning till it had gone. It was evident that the poor girl suffered her- self; and let it be what it might that had come between them, Philip knew that it was no lack of love. Sad and impenetrably depressed as she was, her eyes lingered on him fondly, and the effort to withdraw herself from him seemed like severing the strings of her heart. His mother was frantic with disappointment and cha- grin at this last result of the caprice she dreaded, yet had not the power to subdue. Without one spoken word or the least failure in courtesy, Flora had contrived to put Anita and Nannie in her place. When the humbled and distressed woman ventured to remonstrate, she only said,- "It is too much,--I must learn to be less selfish, less absorbing of the kindness and devotion of others." And Mrs. Spencer, completely foiled in every artifice she could bring to bear on the re-establishment of her power, was fain to accept Flora's terms and retire in peace, know- ing full well that nothing could be more fatal than a rupture. "Do not question or attempt to thwart her, Philip," she entreated of her son when she was convinced beyond the possibility of error that he too saw the mysterious change. "You do not know it, but I do, because I re- [ A PAUSE. 293 member her mother so perfectly. There is a streak of oddity in those Cochrane people, and it develops in ill- ness. Mrs. Stuart was subject to inexplicable moods at times; and as for Sir John, he carried eccentricity to the point of madness in one particular case of family preju- dice. Of course I do not mean to intimate that Flora is afflicted to that extent, but long confinement and the effect of her fall has shaken her nerves,-that is all." Philip received this unsatisfactory warning in silence, but, confirming his own miserable fears, it made him do what his mother dreaded he might be led to without its entreaty to stay him. When they were alone together and he saw the frightened way she shrank from his touch and tried to feign weakness, weariness, anything to avoid speaking to or looking at him, "What is it, Flora?" he asked,-" something has come between us,-we are not the same to each other; tell me what it is, for this miserable uncertainty is unbearable." "Nothing," she answered; "I am nervous and irritable. You see me as I am, and-and the illusion wears off." "You are not looking at me, Flora, while you say this, because you know it is not true; there is something else,-something that came back with your strength. You were all any hungry heart could ask when you lay dying, as it seemed." "That is it! that is it!" she cried, piteously,-" why could I not have died? The horrible load was dropped then; now I have to take it up and go on, and coward that I am, I have no strength to bear it!"She covered her face and cried in a silent, stifled way, that shook her thin figure, but made no sound. He looked dismayed and confounded, but did not speak. "You must let me have a little time," she said, by-and- 25* page: 294-295[View Page 294-295] 291 BLANCHE OILROY. by, uncovering her face and appearing almost calm. "I am weak and nervous, as you see, and I feel that I must be left to myself awhile to find out-that is, to think - t To examine your heart and to discover whether you spoke truly when you said you loved me '/" She looked at him for just an instant, and he cried, hurriedly,- "Forgive me I I did not mean to say that, or anything, except that this miserable change has made me wretched beyond expression, and its being causeless, as it seems, is only an added pang." "I shall be better-I mean I can think more clearly by-and-by; if you will let rme wait-- He interrupted her: There is something I have wanted to say, but there seemed no time for it,-even this is not a fitting or proper one, but it may as well be got over. You know that compared to you I am in poverty,- that'I am not rich, at least, but I am not without means and fair prospects, and if the future is only half as fair as it promises I shall do very well. I am jarring you with this, but you will kindly remember how important it is to me--to my sense of manhood-that I should speak fairly. Your fortune, which seems to rise like a nightmare and weigh me down when I think of it, must be your own unconditionally, and in a settlement revert only to your own family. Flora, if this were done I should not be so fettered in my thoughts and speech,- not so powerless as I feel now to solve this riddle you are giving me." Without appearing conscious of the effort with which he had spoken or the flush of constraint and uneasiness on his face as he closed, she asked, quickly,-- "And are you not General Stuart's heir,--his nearest of kin, I mean?" A PAUSE. 295 He looked at her a moment to catch her meaning. "I am his nephew; he did not think he had any kindred but you, of course. Marian, you know, is his niece: we are the children of his half sisters." "Marian? yes, but she was not namiled at all-I mean he did not speak of her in the letter." "In the letter?" Flora had stopped confusedly. She thought for a little space and then began, with a strong effort, "You know as well as I do that I am not General Stuart's daughter, and that the adoption of the family name was before my recollection ; yet, I have always felt that I held the place here only as a trustee, because I found a letter here written to-to his beloved daughter,-the address said,- that stated his earnest wish, in case of anything occurring on that last fatal journey, that you should have all he left." Philip had come very close to her, and she was break- ing and faltering in her words under the power of his quiet eyes. "And was it to fulfill your father's wishes that you tried to love me and take me for your husband, Flora?" "No, no-I mean yes-I cannot tell you; but, oh, I beg you will go away and let me have a little time to think!" "No, Flora, you ask too much. I am only a man, and a selfish man, at best; I cannot endure such torture, and I must know whether you gave me your heart freely in return for the love I offered you, or yielded in obedience to your father's will,-a consent you now regret." He caught her hands in his and drew her round so that he might look into her face, and she was so wasted by her long illness that her strength offering no resistance, she was almost dragged from the easy-chair, where she had been lying. Before he could, in his remorse and sorrow, beg her page: 296-297[View Page 296-297] 296 BLANCHE GILROY. forgiveness, that dormant courage of hers woke. She was desperate enough to be strong again, and she pushed him aside with her disdainful hand. "You are first suspicious, then unmanly. I have said too much to listen to your doubts. If you cannot believe my heart, God forbid you should judge my actions. I am in trouble now, that I confess to you, and I tell you that no one but God can help me. But, Philip, when I am alone,-for you must leave me now,-if you ever prayed for a soul in sore distress, then, I entreat you, pray for mine." When Philip met his mother, he told her quietly he had decided to go away. "Completely, I mean, for while you are here and I keep constantly coming, there is no such thing as an interval of perfect rest in Flora's life. We must remember that she, who has been used to-an existence as free as an Arab's, has been closed in the houe with the responsibility of guests for months past. TWFtn she feels perfectly free from care she will soon be herself again, and then, I dare say, she will like tocome to the Hill for a time." Mrs. Spencer was not so sanguine, and left to herself she would not have forsaken her post at the Slope. This last disappointment, following so close on such a triumph, had quite shaken her, and silently and reluctantly she prepared to go. She was too much of a philosopher to gratify one feel- ing at the expense of another, or it would have given her intense satisfaction to speak her mind freely to the listless young lady, who heard her adieus with a few faint apolo- gies for keeping her so long in bondage there, and promises to send for her very soon, to behold her complete restora- tion. Not one word of the marriage, not the faintest THE WORLD AND THE SOUL. 297 allusion to Philip, or their future plans,-nothing but provoking reticence and an affectation of humility and thankfulness, which Mrs. Spencer found very hard to bear. CHAPTER XXVI. THE WORLD AND THE SOUL. "EFT alone, Flora remained in listless silence for days, -moving, when she moved, like one in a dream, and ap- pearing almost unconscious of the presence of any one around her. Then, with the swiftness of thought, her mood changed, and she discovered a restless energy at variance with her slender strength. First, she paced her rooms, and then she went down-stairs and began to wander over the garden and grounds; the color came again to her face, and a sort of feverish excitement to her voice and manner. Mrs. Perkinson, who had already had enough of Mrs. Spencer and her imperious -ways, blessed the hour of her departure as the beginning of her mistress's restoration to health. "Mr. Philip himself is a gentleman and a Stuart, every bit of him; but his ma has not the family air. She may govern Locust Hill very well, but the Slope is different, and Miss Stuart is the only mistress here, I hope." Mrs. Perkinson relieved her mind to Mr. Palmer in this way, and that gentleman nodded feelingly in reply: "I was with them in Paris, and, though I like the young gentleman, I was glad to get my recall from the general. I think Miss Stuart is a little tired of the lady's rule, too." page: 298-299[View Page 298-299] 298 BLANCHE GILROY. "Of course she is; see her now how bright and handsome she looks. If it wasn't that she can't move about quite as readily, no one would know that she had been hurt at all." Flora came down from the park as they spoke, and her cheeks were flushed and her whole face excited, for one of the boys from the lodge had just put a little parcel in her hand, and, opening it, she had found it to hold only a pretty white glove, once worn, and perfumed with a scent she remembered as part of a toilet drawer, where long ago she shared the privilege of putting away her small stock of gloves and laces with Jean, the minister's love. There was no mark of writing of any kind upon the paper wrap- ping, yet she knew what it meant, and, waiting only till the little messenger was out of sight, she burst into a passion of childish tears, and put it to her lips again and again. "Oh, my darling, my darling a bride, and I not there!" she said, laughing as she wept. "My pretty Jean, with her dove-eyes and tender smile, oh, how I would have blest her in her new, her beautiful life I But what have I to do with her and hers? She has gained the place she was made to fill,-gained it honestly and purely, while I am steeped in deceit and most unhappy in the lot it has brought me. "Oh, if I could have died looking my last into those eyes that love me and do not suspect my sin,-olding his hand and feeling sure that he would mourn me un- suspected and follow me to the grave that would have shut my miserable story out of the light I Who need know then? All things would be left the same; my life would leave no stain on the justice my death would establish. Oh, why could it not be so?" As she went by the housekeeper and the general's man, THE WORLD AND THE SOUL. 299 Mr. Palmer remarked that he feared she had been over- taxing her strength,--she walked so wearily; and next day, when Anita announced a relapse, he reminded Mrs. Perkinson of his prophetic observation. Yes, Christie's message had broken up the dogged resolution she had made to move about and in the open air, and the constant exercise of her weak strength, to tire out her chafing spirit, and so come back by degrees to the self-control she had lost. The picture of the life she had forfeited, yet could not detach her heart from cling- ing to, haunted her. The simple wedding, the happy, happy bride, the peaceful household, where Heaven's love had triumphed at last, and bitterness and discord were cast out, all seemed nearer and clearer to her than the grand home in which she dwelt. Effort had become distasteful to her; she sat down again and listlessly nursed her weakness. Gloomy and dark the autumn closed altund her; all the freshness and exhilaration gone from its air, the present lay like lead on her heart, and the future, dreary and blank, had no- thing to woo her onward. This miserable dejection, too, passed in its turn and she woke again, this time to bitter- ness. "What a world it is! I, who used to be the very life of her heart, forgotten, thrown aside without a thought I My empty place w th no appeal to her, my yearning heart with no return I Why should I wear myself out pining and sighing for those that have no thought of me? I am a creature at the whim of fortune, and the breath of its caprice shall carry me through. Whether I float on the top of the wave- or lie stranded on the shore, it will be as nothing when the journey's done and the struggle is over. What must be will be. I'll strive no more." page: 300-301[View Page 300-301] 300 BLANCHE aILROY. Beside her lay a heap of letters, the daily assertion of Mrs. Spencer's spirit, her body being banished. In these loving and most solicitous missives she was constantly reminded of Philip and her own delicate position before society, and the expediency of an early marriage. But not one line from him. She had begged him to wait, and he was waiting. She had written in reply from time to time a word or two, and that only in relation to herself. She was a little stronger; or she was not so strong; she could be out in the woods all day, or she was forced to keep her cham- ber,-that was all; not one word in allusion to the scene at the Glen or public opinion or private affection,-most unsatisfactory and wearing billets to the eager and anx- ious correspondent. "I will write to-morrow-no, next day. To-morrow I must go to Bethesda and see the bride,--my beautiful darling, for the sight of whose face my heart is hungry and sick with yearning." She only meant to steal a look at her,-just to watch her as she sat and listened to her husband's voice, and stab herself with the knowledge that they were divided forever, since John Stanley's wife could never hide a lie in her pure soul, and to know the deceit in which her sister lived would be to share it. It was one of those days that have a pale sky and a low, soft air sighing beneath it, that like a familiar voice awakens old memories and brings back the past,--a day full of vague longings and indefinitely sad regrets; when what is lost and gone seems better and dearer than all that is to come. As she fell in with the stream of people that flowed toward the widespread door, a clear, sweet burst of music met her and lifted up her heart. It was the children's choir, singing their closing hymn. The morn- THE WORLD 'AND THE SOUL. 301 ing session of the school was over and the church services about to commence. Drawn by the music, Flora moved unconsciously along till she found herself by the fountain, and saw Ellen's pleased face and smile of welcome. In her own house the girl had been shy and ill at ease in spite of all her frankness; now it was with a gesture of gracious- ness and a look of homelike affection she made a seat for the lady at her side. Ellen realized that she was in her Father's house; that meeting here in rich or plain attire all women were sisters-all men brethren. When she took her place Flora turned to watch the door, and was still waiting for the minister's entrance when she saw him rise and begin the service. Then she turned to look for Jean, but could -not find her, and was wandering in' thought and eyes, when the words of the text arrested and held her attention: {"For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul?" The question was meant for her alone; it was spoken in her ear, and then repeated itself agaiu and again, as in derision of the false peace into which she had reasoned herself. All along the way thither she had said to herself, "Is not what I have suffered an expiation? May I not ven- ture to take a respite from this gnawing misery? I wrong no one. Destiny, that threw me here, works its own scheme fairly, and the wealth goes back where it belongs. The wheel of fortune flies round unjarred by me,-a poor speck on its edge, blown there by the winds of chance, I shall have gained my end and foiled an evil woman. As for myself, do I ask or expect happiness?12 She put the question angrily. "Am I not bearing the daily, hourly pangs of -fear? Does not every creature that crosses my way possess the power to make me quail and tremble, and - 26 page: 302-303[View Page 302-303] 302 BLANCHE GILROY. does not my own heart turn against me as my worst en- emy, and embitter every empty triumph with its reproach- ful sting?" "For what shall it profit," repeated the minister. "The whole world," she thought. "What idle talk l--no one can gain the whole world. Satiety, disappointment, and unrest,-they can gain these, and enough, too, one may'say, without reproach and denun- ciation:" Still she listened, for John Stanley was an embodiment of loving faith and sincere service to his Master; so his words seemed to stretch out and take hold of her hand and lead her with him as he read the verse. Simple and earnest, full of direct and searching mean- ing, was the sermon that followed, and it was all spoken to her, though in the shadow of the fountain his eye never reached her once. He told her what she knew, but was striving to forget or deny, and the strong conviction of his own words carried their truth straight to her heart. Two things were always most observable in his manner,--his strong reliance in the grandeur of his mission as one of Christ's messengers, and his entire abnegation of self in his holy office. He had but little of the teacher: his own spirit waited and looked upward for a blessing with the rest, and he spoke in deep humility, as one who felt himself in God's presence, not his own. The world, as he tried to define it, was not the glory or splendor of God's creation, nor the whole social fabric of ambition or pleasure, but the desire of the human heart, the anticipative yearning that blends all effort and strength in the pursuit of one dear object. That was the whole world to the soul that longed to grasp it; and to prove the unmeasurable value of the immortal essence in THE WORLD AND THE SOUL. 303 comparison with the transitory and unreal nature of all outward good, he told the old story of God's great love for the soul, which was part of Himself, and for the de- light and pleasure of which He had created the universe and all its splendors. No one can fully utter a truth in which they do not believe, or laud a good they cannot share; but for John Stanley to tell of God's mercy was like the song of the :Redeemed, "To Him who has saved us and washed us in his own blood."' And while he spoke of the unsearchable depths of the Saviour's love, his tone thrilled and trembled with the burden of his own thankful tenderness. "I never loved God in that way," said she. "I knew that He died for the world, but not for one poor, troubled soul like mine,-it never came home and made itself plain salvation for me singly." It was just that, which the minister meant it to do; it was the worth of a single soul that was to be calculated, since the joy of its being saved spread throughout high heaven in the hearts of the shining angels. He proved that while on earth Christ was an individ- ualizing Friend, dearly loving those who sought Him, and instant in hearing every single cry raised to his pity. Want of any kind, the humblest, the most diversified, was never unheeded by our Lord. He had turned water into -wine for the enjoyment of guests at a marriage-feast. He had fed thousands of wearied, hungry people, and filled the nets of disappointed fishers. He had healed sickness and suffering, restored sight, raised the dead, and at the last forgave the one dyintg sinner at his side who prayed for mercy, and all this in answer to some one voice in asking or entreaty. That we were his was proven by the fearful price with which He had bought us. And all sin and sorrow lay in our contesting that great truth, and page: 304-305[View Page 304-305] 304 BLANCHE GILROY. trying to give away to the service of evil that which was purchased by his blood. Then he showed her the pitiful lures of Satan, and the blind yielding to sin that threw her in his toils; for by this time she had forgotten that the people around had an equal share in his words, or, indeed, that any were present save they two,-he to speak, she to hear; for his heart was in the words he uttered, and they reached hers. She felt that all flimsy disguises were torn down, that truth lay bare in her heart, and that its sinful weak- ness had not a single prop or support to lean upon, as it stood, hideously displayed,.a tool of self-gratification born of selfish cowardice and pride. This, then, was her world, for which she was ready to give her soul and bear a lifelong fever of regret and fear. "Will you serve the master who, giving you only -pain and delusions, exacts in return more than all,-more than is yours to bestow?" Like an aeronaut, he carried her upward in a soaring flight. She was in space, alone with her immortality,- the world, diminished and perishable, seemed to lose itself far, far below, and all things that it held for her; even the place at her lover's side, that she could not keep in simple truth, fell off like dust, scattering in the wind. Two things only stayed with her: love and regret, for either of these must be eternal. How weak and pitiful appeared the causes that had swayed these emotions, as she looked down on them like empty shells, from which some bright-winged delusions had taken their flight! A mist or vapor floated round her feet, but her head was in the light of truth; she ceased to hear the minis- ter's voice,-a more powerful one was pleading with her; it was God's in her own soul, and the dim clouds that THE WORLD AND THE SOUL. 305 were sinking downwards were the mistaken impulses that obscured her way, and kept out the light of his loving counsels. "I was losing my own soul not for Philip's love, but to thwart a proud woman and hold a place that is not mine in right or justice. I was mad and misled when I thought to hold him through an illusion; for all love is a part of the Great Love that I have risked, and may be lost forever." These thoughts rose in her mind like a weak wail. Her Saviour's face-as no picture had ever shown it to her, but as the embodiment of rejected love, a slighted redemption-looked on her, and the unutterable sorrow and tenderness of the gaze melted her soul. She heard the sound of solemn singing; then knelt in prayer, and rose to receive the benediction; and all the while her heart's cry went up silently, " O Saviour of sinners, pity me; keep me from the snare before my feet I Let me not take one backward step toward the destruction I am called to flee from!" "You are not strong enough to come to church, Miss Stuart," said Ellen, gently. "The minister told us of the terrible fall you had, and we were very sorry." She tried to thank her, but could find no words. One great thought absorbed her, and she held it all, unde- fined and confusing as it was, as the only guide to go by. She must follow the voice that had pierced her heart and woke it from its dangerous dreams; she must set her face away from the life that was to close that day forever and begin anew in pain and humility to creep back to the path she had lost. The minister came down the aisle, and at the door a beautiful bridelike figure joined him, leaving a class of little children, among whom she had been sitting. 26* page: 306-307[View Page 306-307] 306 BLANCHE GILROY. It was Jean, and every face smiled love and admiration on her. In a worldly point of view alone she had gained a place their old ambition could not go beyond. God's blessing had come to her, and good fortune found her as she stayed by her duty, humble, busy, and patient. She had her reward. And here stood the one who a moment before was far beyond her in the world's esteem, but now stripped of her rags of pride,-a bare and miserable wreck of the vainglory that passes away without satis- fying. As they left the church, she followed, and Ellen was asking after Nannie, and she was saying something in reply, when they came to the corner and turned. She parted from the girl and hurried after them; Mr. Mahew's niece wondered lo see her follow the minister and his wife, while the splendid coach from the Slope waited, with the coachman dozing on the box. Silently as their shadows she glided along, while they walked slowly, lingering in the delight of the pure Octo- ber air, and seeming blest in the consciousness of being side by side. At last they paused before the old house, much beauti- fied and in every way improved, and, glancing around be- fore he ascended the steps, the minister started back with a faint cry, for the white face and imploring eyes of Miss Stuart of Sunnyslope were looking directly into his. He could only utter her name with an exclamation of sur- prise, when she made a step forward, stretched out her hands, and, moving her lips as though she would have spoken, fell down silently at her sister's feet. DROPPED MASK. 307 CHAPTER XXVII. DROPPED MASK. JEAN never had been an ardent girl; she was naturally slow in thought and action, but very strong in repression and endurance. Therefore she had helped her husband to lift the fallen lady, and between them they had carried her into their parlor before she had time to realize the strangeness of the occurrence. "It is Miss Stuart, the general's daughter, of whom I told you. She is very delicate and easily overcome, and has been lately ill.' But how came she here?" Christie came in quickly, and he repeated the same to her; while his wife, raising the powerless head, removed the veil that obscured the face, and then all her quiet, placid self-control fled like a flash. "God help me," she cried, with upraised hands, "it is my sister!" And then she gave a long pent-up cry that carried an agony of love, of unutterable yearning love and pain, and, falling beside her, she clasped her in her arms and drew her down upon her bosom. It was lying thus that life and consciousness returned to Blanche Gilroy, and her eyes opened again on the old room she had seen so often in her dreams while separated from it and its people by the gulf that day bridged over. "You are all beside yourselves," cried Christie, in a strangely excited voice. "Miss Jean, it's the lady from page: 308-309[View Page 308-309] 308 BLANCHE GILROY. the Slope, and though she's like Blanche in one way, in another you'll soon see the difference. Please to take a drink, Miss Stuart." And she pushed herself between them. "When you revive you'll soon see that you be- long to other kind of folk, and not to poor bodies like us." "It is all over now, Christie," said Blanche, faintly. "God forgive me for all that is gone; but it is gone for- ever!" "You're raving, dear lady," said the old woman, with odd contortions of the face. "You have had a hurt,-- you're weak, and they will send you home to your own belongings." "Christie," said the minister, in a warning voice and with an attentive face, "you are doing wrong. I do not understand it, but you are making a mistake." He had been watching the sisters with a troubled face; something in his own memory was aiding him to grope through the dark for a meaning to all this. The door opened and Andrew Gilroy, a bowed and sickly man, prematurely aged by the violence or nature of his disease, and weak from its effects, came in. The whole house was changed: pretty tasteful furni- ture and ornaments had displaced the worn and gloomy old things; neatness, cheerfulness, and comfort reigned in every device and arrangement, and nothing but the walls and a few heirlooms from their mother's time told that the place was the same she-had left, and yet the one long look Blanche turned on her father's face showed her a greater alteration than any other. It had pleased Heaven to visit Andrew Gilroy with an affliction heavier to bear than any other could have been,-the loss of his property by the hands of the very people on whom he built his faith and into whose hands he had given the power to administer the government of his family. They had DROPPED MASK. 309 despoiled and deceived him, and he was crushed in body and in spirit by the blow. He was slowly recovering from a stroke of paralysis, the result of long confinement in a close store, the doctors told his daughter when she found him lying with his face on the ledger, where his nephew had kept his accounts and through which he now learned the systematic villainy of which he had been the victim. He could no longer transact or control a business of any kind, the physician added; but there was no doubt he would recover partially, at all events. To this extent recovered, then, he stood trembling and looking towards the pale face raised appealingly towards him from her sister's breast; and when she moved and clasped his knees with her hands and clung to him fondly, praying him to forgive her, a great coil of golden hair broke loose from her comb and rolled down her back. Then he broke into tears and said,- "It's Blanche, and that's her mrother's hair, and she's her mother in every look, though I never saw it before." Then he took her up and made her welcome as she had never been made before, for he kissed her and said, "Surely God hasn't closed His ear against me, for He has heard my prayer. I begged Him to let me see you before I died, and you are here." Jean was beside her again, and her father put his hand on her bead, too: "The Almighty bless you, I have more left than I deserve, and I ask Him to make me thankful for it." Blanche stretched out her hand to the minister; his sympathetic eyes invited the motion. "And you, to receive me,-oh, teach me to be grateful for the light that showed me the way out of the entan- glement of pride and sin I You are too good; you bow page: 310-311[View Page 310-311] 310 BLANC2HE GILROY. me to the earth, for you take me back as if I were the best and dearest, when I have caused you all such trouble and care." Her only reply was another arm around her that met Jean's, and clasped her between them, while her father's caressing hand still lay on her head. "There is trouble and wrong on my side," she began, nervously; "I must tell you just how much before I rest here or feel that I dare look to you or God for forgive- ness." Christie, who had been very earnestly, yet grotesquely, motioning and imploring with her face and eyes, now turned despairingly away and went to her own sphere in the kitchen. "I ran away because Ralph Galbraith told me some dreadful things that stung my pride so that I was beside myself, and could not reason about what I was driven to do." "Yes, yes," cried Jean, " we know, and so does father, whom I blamed once, but he was not guilty; it was all the plotting of those wicked people. Mrs. Galbraith confessed it to him when that last trouble, which has proved such a blessing, came." Blanche raised her eves timidly to her father's face; she could not trust herself to believe the mild humility and thankfulness she saw there, and, faltering and mar- veling, went on with her broken story: "I could not see one inch beyond the moment of my outraged pride, and the frenzy for revenge on those who had humbled me before-before him. I will tell you all about it more plainly by-and-by when I am stronger. But now I must make one thing clear : I believed Ralph, and took the money he lent me, meaning with all my heart to repay it, and so fell into his power, until he DROPPED MASK. 3 drove me beyond reason, or fear of what would follow if I could only escape from him." She drew a long breath. "He must be dead now; had he been above-ground he would have found me out under a thousand disguises." "He is dead; he was lost in the burning ship where John was," said Jean. "That was the way John came to us. Do you not know? He brought papers and a watch he took fronm his body." Blanche looked bewildered and troubled. "He did not tell me. I might have gone no further had I known," she said; " it was to be free from him I hid myself under the dead lady's name. I found refuge with her by an odd accident-no, it was a design--because I knew that there was a singular likeness between us, and I hoped to mislead that pitiless man by getting away with her somewhere. She helped me to gratify a whim, not in symvpathy for me; she was altogether spoilt by for- tune, and, living her life, I do not wonder at it now. The burning that threw us all in the jaws of death, was the end of her journeyings." She took in Mr. Stanley's steady look and drew a long breath. "Yes, you were there, and you know now how your mistaking me for Miss Stuart gave me the chance to take shelter under her name. I had forgotten that you could explain it better than I can tell you, for I am bewildered, and it all seems a dream as I look over the space this day has put between me and it." The minister was looking at her intently, but not un- kindly; and his gaze seemed to turn inward from time to time, recalling bits he had dropped and forgotten to make the story complete. She followed his mental work and said, humbly, "Re- member, I never plotted this thing--my sin lay in yield- ing. I drifted into Miss Stuart's place without an effort ' page: 312-313[View Page 312-313] 312 BLANCHE GILROY. of my own; but, being there, I had not the courage to take up my own humble lot and its misery again. I have never known a moment of peace; it has been all uneasi- ness and self-reproach, under the glitter of a little selfish triumph." Jean, holding her hand in hers, said, softly,- "Did Philip know you? I heard of your marriage; that is, that Miss Stuart and he were to marry." "It was he who tempted me," said Blanche, in a broken whisper; "I called it fear of Ralph, but it was not wholly that,-it was love for Philip, too. Now I find I love him too well to sin for him, and I am going to give him up. May God forgive me, and help us both!" Overcome by what she felt and recalled, she buried her face in her hands, and thus they all sat in silence; yet never had silence conveyed so much before. Her father's hand held hers with a feeble yet tender pressure, and the fervor of Jean's embrace was stronger than words. On her new brother she rested with perfect faith, and around his firm, true face a light that came from within seemed to smile kindly on her. There had been a great change- an unspeakable change-and home was truly home for the first time. When she spoke again, she told theln, while her tears flowed freely with her words, that she had resolved never to make herself known, lest her life of deceit would be a stain and disgrace to them, and that though her pride was broken by a full consciousness of her own wrong, and she no longer dreaded the world's opinion for her own sake, still she shrank from bringing shame upon them. But they would suffer her to go no further; they closed her lips with tender assurances of their love and joy, and her father, most of all, showed strong emotions of thank- fulness and content. A DROPPED MASK. 313 "It is the Lord's Day," he said, in a voice through which a new spirit seemed to breathe. "We have found our own, and may rejoice over her even as the shepherd did over the sheep drawn out of the pit; but let the world and the things that belong to it go by, and let us give ourselves up to gratitude and prayer." So that first day in the new-old home, after all the changes and troubles that had gone, lay like a quiet lake in the moonlight between two different shores, the divid- ing lines softened by distance, and a brooding calm on all things past and present. No one in all the household uttered another word about what had gone or what was to come except Christie, and she was sorely vexed and tried. "They've no reason for thanking Providence when they have gone against its ways and dragged the beauty of the family back to poverty and common life again. It's easy for Andrew Gilroy, now that his head is weak and his purse is empty, to take to mild ways and sweet words; he's not master any longer, and Jean and the min- ister have the place between them; but fill his money- bags again, and he will take a good grip of them, I warrant, and speak sharp enough if things don't please him, too." But that was because Christie had no faith to spare and a long grudge to settle; her memory of the girls' dying mother and their own embittered childhood could not be wiped out by a few weeks or months of weakness and repentance. It is a blessed thing to know that God is more merci- ful to sinners than their fellows are. Yet Christie was not without grounds for rejoicing herself, had not her disappointed ambition obscured her peace for the time. The great and blessed change in the household to her 21 page: 314-315[View Page 314-315] 314 BLANCHE GILROY. was the absence of Aunt Tibbie, who had departed in- deed and in truth, since no trace of the influence that had made it a prison and an inquisition in one could be seen in the sunshine of peace that now adorned it. Jean's quiet taste and her love of bright, fresh things had asserted itself everywhere, and comfort and modest elegance characterized the home she had made and blest. The excitement past, Blanche began to see all this with heavy, listless eyes. She had set her feet firmly in the right way, and they should go on over the graves of all her young hopes and affections; but her weak body and wounded spirit pined to creep away out of the sight of others' joy and battle with the lingering power of Satan that reminded her of her sacrifice. She 'must give up her whole world, but Jean could keep what she had gained and secure her soul's health beside. It was a pang, but nothing is won without suffering. She strove to think of their goodness in receiving her; their noble forgetfulness of her folly; but, above all, of God's love in leading her thither. The piano-keys were ready for her to begin again in the old dull way,-she could work and keep herself and help her father. It was a blessed privi- lege, and she would be grateful for it. But not just yet,-she must let her heart ache and sigh awhile, and she must get out of sight to hide her miserable, selfish tears. When night came, Jean took her to the best roonl, that was a pretty, innocent-looking bower, with her favorite flowers everywhere,-on the delicate paper, the bright curtains, and chair- and sofa-covers, the white and crim- son carpet, and the vases on the bureau; then falling on her breast in an outpouring of unchecked love and joy, told her that these things hald been gatheredwin faith DROPPED MAS. 315. and prayer; that every tiny article -it contained had been consecrated with tears of love and yearning for the time that day had brought to gladden their lives. Hearing this, Blanche rendered up the last selfish drop in her melted heart,-sank on her knees with a humbled cry of thankfulness. Jean fell beside her. "Oh, my Blanche, my own white flower I' she cried, " what a great gap is filled in my heart to-nitght, and what a yawning waste of unlighted misery it was, till God's mercy filled it with faith and trust in Him I They say people die of heartaches, but that cannot be or we would not be in each other's arms to-night; for what have you not endured, and I too, till God found and comforted me I Blanche, love, if it were- sinful for you to hide yourself, in your great need, under the likeness you bore to that lady, I cannot judge you. I can only love and rejoice over you. Let us trust it all to our best Father, who has done so much for us that we can easily rely on Him. for the rest." "Jean, you may well be a saint: love led you to re- ligion. The man who holds your heart is a priest of God." Jean's color changed fronm white to red and back again in rapid succession. "I had sought God earnestly before 'I saw my husband, and at first I thought that little child was his own, and that he had a delicate wife somewhere. No, dear, God drew me to--his feet in the very desolation and helplessness of despair, and I gave him a broken heart to be healed and filled with peace." She was still the same Jean, thoulgh beautified by sor- row and happiness combined, and it cost her an evident effort to speak freely of her husband, though her voice thrilled with fondness when she namted him. Those poor sad eyes were not to be mocked with auother's joy; her own heart was empty, and another's page: 316-317[View Page 316-317] 316 BLANCHE GILROY. treasures would remind her of what she had given up, in coming down from the false oheight to walk in humble truth that day. "I want to be alone, Jean," said her sister, quietly, when she made as though she would stay with her that night. "I want to lie still and think it out. I came here in a whirl of excitement,-I was drawn,-I could not resist. I want to be sure that I know what I am doing, that the Hand that led me leads me 1till. Nothing has been jeopardized by my mad haste. The man that was sent back with the horses has no clue to the cause of my absence. I meant it to be so. And now I can send for Philip and his mother, and give up everything freely in reasoning and reasonable possession of myself." "Will you not see Christie, Blanche? She seems so anxious to be alone with you, and she shows a curious feeling that I cannot understand; but you know how faithful slhe is." Blanche smiled a little, then sighed and shook her head sorrowfully: I know what Christie wants to say, and, though I love her dearly, I cannot listen to her to-night. There is only one voice I must listen to now, and that I have stifled too long, God forgive me!" "ALL THESE TIINGS SHALL BE ADDED." 317 CHAPTER XXVIII. "ALL THESE THNGS SHALL BE ADDED UNTO YOU.' THERE is poetry in impulse, but, after consideration, it must ever be the sternest prose. In the rush of impetu- ous feeling, the mind, like a frightened horse, leaps ditch and hedge, dashing madly onward to its object; but calm reflection steps warily, sees all the roughness of the road, and weighs its difficulties carefully. Blanche began her first day of the old life with a sink- ing heart and prayerful lips. She thought she saw that the house was complete without her; that she must be a shadow henceforth in the family sunshine,-something without place or object in life. Yet she did not look back; her cowardice was of the kind tlat dreaded a first en- counter, but, that being over, never thought of retreat. Dreary as the future might be, she should meet it, and live a humble, busy life, though where or how she could not quite determine. One thing more than giving back the place and all be- longing to it to its rightful owners lay heavy on her heart, and that was Nannie, whom she had taken as a companion in her unbearable loneliness,-to have something human for whom she dare feel and lavish affection. To say that she had no fear of the weight with which the blow would fall on the heart of the man she loved, would be untrue. Sleeping and waking, its conscious- ness had been a pitying, yearning sorrow to her from the first, and yet she could not. pray that he might be indiffer- ent or bear it lightly. 27* page: 318-319[View Page 318-319] 318 BLANCHE GILROY. That morning she had tried to write to him, but failed to convey her thoughts; so tore up a half-dozen half- written letters, and sat blankly gazing on the shreds when her sister came and pat her arms around her. They were all so happy,-so glad to have her with them. It was a dunmb yet keen reproach to see their sat- isfied delight,-their gentle fondness over her. To her brother John Stanley she turned as one apart from the rest,-one on whom she leant for strength and guidance, and who, seeming to have known and sounded her heart, she could look to without words on either side. He was still too little conscious of himself to assume a prominent part in the family. Mr. Gilroy sat in his old place, and John was attentive to him and thoughtful of his wishes. He treated Blanche precisely as he had Miss Stuart, only he had added tenderness to respect, and seemed anxious to be lovingly kind when she gave him the opportunity. Her father's face appeared older than it looked the day before; his hair and form matched with it now, and he was prematurely aged. When Blanche met his eyes-- those hard eyes that used to look out sternly from under his shaggy brows-she found them full of an indescriba- ble light,-a pleading, tender light, that seemed to draw her closer to him than words could have done. "Father," said Jean, anxiously, "you are not well to- day-" She checked herself, for she saw that Blanche looked self-accusing. "It is nothing to speak of, dears," said the new An- drew Gilroy; "I lay awake last night thinking a good deal over a little matter of my own that ought to have been attended to long ago, and that from a wrong feeling I have set aside. No man knows the length of his own days, so I will trifle no longer, but see to it at once. I was so full "ALL THESE THNGS SHALL BE ADDED." 319 of it that I forgot to drop asleep till it grew so long past my usual time that it was not worth while to try." He smiled cheerfully and laid his haud on the shoulder of the child with whom he used to be so antagonistic. "I had plenty to think of and be thankful for, and the night was not long in passing." There had been of old a sharp hurry in the house- hold in the morning,--a fretful haste that seemed to create confusion rather than accomplish anything, and above the general stir Aunt Tibbie's voice rang shrill in reproach and bitterness, accusing them all of sloth and wasteful- ness, and foretelling the ruin of their father at the hands of his idle, extravagant children. Now it seemed the very heart of peace and order. From the moment when they all knelt in a quiet prayer of thanks and love to God till they rose to' disperse for the duties of the day, all was like the flowing of water lighted by the morning sun. "If we only had Nannie here I should call it the com- pletest and dearest home in the world," said John. Blanche gave him a grateful look. "Shall I bring her?" he asked, persuasively. "You will teach me to repair all my errors?" she said. Mr. Gilroy rose to go out, and Jean went to bring him his hat and cane,-something that had never been done in old times. "Sit still, Jean, I will have no one but Blanche to wait on me now," he said; "she has come back to take care of her father, and I want her near me." She came, and as her hands touched his forehead in brushing aside his hair, he took and held them a moment, while he heaved a deep sigh. "I am making poor amends for my folly, by bringing the page: 320-321[View Page 320-321] 320 BLANCHE GILROY. trouble that rises from it into this peaceful home, father dear," she said, sadly. "Blanche," he answered, looking at her with great solemnity, " you do not know what you are saying, my child. Your face is to me a sign of my acceptance with God, an answer to my prayers, that seemed too weak to be heard, they were so weighed down by my sense of sin in the past. My hope was to be forgiven for the hardness of heart that had nearly lost me my own soul, while I filled a little purse with money. You know I had fallen into the Evil One's snare, and it pleased God to drag me out very sharply; for at first my little loss seemed very heavy, while the great one had been almost unfelt. A better day has come to us all, and it begins well; but some of us may not live to see its close, and so I have to be up and doing the work I've neglected too long.' He sighed again, thus confessing that whatever he meant to do cost him an effort, and went out quickly. When Jean's husband left her to begin his daily duties, she drew Blanche with her into the parlor. "Let us sit here as in old times, though surely, love, these are far, far better days, and tell each other all our hearts. Nothing can ever come between you and me, Blanche. I love God and I love my husband; but, oh, I love my sister, too, with a love that is as strong as the life that keeps it warm!" The autumn sun came in among the carpet flowers and wall pictures, in long, pale beams, and made a lovely light around. Jean's face shone in its pure sweetness, like a promise of peace, and Blanche's eyes held it as she rested in her arms. "It seems now that I must have died, and been brought back again from another world," she said, " everything is "ALL THESE THNGS SHALL BE ADDED.'" 21 so shadowy, so strange, yet so familiar. I used to wonder how Lazarus took up his part again in the house- hold at Bethany. It must have been with some such feeling as I have to-day." "It will grow plain and real by-and-by," Jean promised. "John does not believe in making plans and marking out things that are indistinct. Let them rest till they make themselves clear and legible, he says." Then they sank into whispered confessions, each of the time spent apart from the other, and the hours went by while the tangled threads were smoothed out, one by one, and a great sense of relief came to the wanderer, for her heart had been read,-every word and line. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, left unknown to the sister who loved her as dearly as life itself. Sitting thus, it happened that, as at a former time, Christie opened the door and said, "Mrs. Spencer." Blanche rose slowly, and her head drooped while her face crimsoned with shame. She had found her meanest pleasure in humbling this woman to her will, now she must lay her pride very low before her, and confess herself a schemer and impostor. She cane a step forward and moved her lips without being able to speak, her head drooped on her breast and her whole figure expressed her humbled mind. If she had looked up, the face of her visitor would have startled her, it was so deeply marked by its set purpose, and that purpose the most conciliatory and benignant. "You are surprised to see me, my dear Flora," she said, " because you did not think I knew of your presence in town. A mutual friend has been with me. I know all-absolutely all-my dear girl. I come to beg that you will spend the intervening time between now and your wedding, at Locust Hill with me." page: 322-323[View Page 322-323] 322 BLANCHE GILROY. Blanche stared blankly before her. This amiable smoothing away of a terrible obstacle was more than she could realize. "You cannot know- " she stammnered. "I can and do," said the other, in a low tone. "I know you are the one I rejected and now desire, but I will call you Flora, whatever name you bear to others, and I beg and entreat you to close the book forever, for, believe me, I have read the mysterious page thoroughly." She said this hurriedly, because it was something to be said and got over as quickly as possible. "And Philip--" "Must tell you his own story, if he can render him- self intelligible. He has promised me solemnly to take the present and let the past go; all but its lesson, which I have learnt, I trust, and am acting on now." She endeavored to take Blanche's hand; but, after standing confused and irresolute for a moment, the poor girl sank on the sofa and hid her face from sight. "I cannot understand, I cannot believe this," she sobbed. "I had prepared myself for something so dif- ferent; and this unreal, this undeserved happiness can never be for me,-I do not merit it." Mrs. Spencer retained that fixed look of benignity that did not waver a particle from the force of the young girl's emotion. She now turned gracefully to Jean: "We have learned to love our dear Flora so completely that she is quite indispensable to us. The strange and rather complex events that she has related here have thrown her surroundings and position into our hands. We will just restore them again by hastening her mar- riage. So you see that settles things without the neces- sity of a whisper transpiring. My love; when may I take you to Philip?" "ALL THESE T2INGS SHALL BE ADDED." 323 "I cannot look on it in that alluring light," said Blanche, suddenly becoming firm and quiet. "I had to tear the mask out of my heart before I took it from my face, and I know that I can only look for mercy and forgiveness through penitence and sorrow, not through gratifying my soul's desire."2 My dear child," said Mrs. Spencer, determinedly, "if you must go back in that painfully unnecessary way, pray be reasonable. You are plunged in sorrow for a trivial mistake, and you expect your sufferings and pen- ance will make it all right, which is not scriptural. There is one great atonement for sin, and belief in that, and not personal mortification, is what we need to justify us. You want to destroy your own and another's happiness, as an acceptable offering on the altar of God's love." It was a new position for Mrs. Spencer to establish herself as a religious guide; but she would have assumed the character of a dervish if it had gained her her object. The door opened during the moment's pause that fol- lowed her words, and Philip, with the air of one still staggered under a great shock, entered the parlor for the first time. As soon as he saw Blanche, his face bright- ened, and he hurried towards her with outstretched arms. His mother waited one instant to see that he held her there, in spite of her effort to throw herself at his feet, and then, discreetly taking Jean's hand, withdrew to the sitting-room. "Forgive and pity me, Philip!" prayed Blanche. "I can only love and treasure you," he answered. Then he held her silently to his heart, and the stillness was full of language to each. If wrong-doing bring no heavier retribution than that hour of broken words and flowing tears, then the wages page: 324-325[View Page 324-325] 324 BLANCHE GILROY. of sin are sometimes light; but God's mercy is over all, and his judgments are not as ours. Philip told her much, and she hung on his hasty and sometimes bewildered words, for he had been so earnest' in all his feelings that their confusion seemed yet a dream to him. He had been written to by Ralph, who told him they were married, and said that, at her request, he returned him the ring he in reality had possessed himself of by treachery. Flora's appearance before him that spring-day had blinded him like a lightning-flash. He saw Blanche's face, altered, to be sure, in air and expression, and yet the counterpart of his cousin's, underneath whose portrait she stood. She was at ease and surrounded by her people, and at home in the family history, but, above all, marked by a caprice, a whimsical tyranny of nature so at va- riance with his memory of Blanche that he doubted his own reason rather than facts, and became tossed and tor- tured with conflicting feeling till he had wellnigh gone mad. At last every thought and feeling merged into captivity; he yielded to the indefinable spell of the past and present combined, and love ruled reason. He ceased to think or question, and only loved. Now, he confessed to have been awakened by a shock, and somehow he had been pained and heartsick at the thought of what was gone; but the love he began with was stronger than ever, and Blanche, the real Blanche, poor tempest-tossed dar- ling of his soul, was the true object around which it had first sprung, while Flora was now but a shadow. The horrible, pitiless sea seemed roaring all through the story as it was told to him that morning; but since its waves had washed her ashore and thrown her into his arms in any guise, under any name, to be his darling wife, he blessed it and thanked God from his heart's depths. "ALL THESE THNGS SHALL BE ADDED." 325 This was a pleasant sound to the ears that heard it; still it did not seem meant for her. Such a crowned life should be in store for some one who had not forfeited the right to enjoy nor lost the power to bless, both seemed gone from her, so she was silent till he pressed her again and again to tell him she loved him and would rest secure in his love. Then she faltered,-ashamed and troubled, but still knowing that he deserved the truth at last. "When I gave you up that day by my mother's grave I had a right to do it, Philip, for though a humbly-born girl I was as upright before the world as any princess could have been. Now, I am too mean to reject you; I must shrink frmm your notice and be to you as if I had never been; for, though I believe in your great pitying love, I know there is nothing so wretched as being bound to a woman you cannot respect either for her truth or lineage." As she tried to free herself from his embrace, Christie broke in upon them,--not the Christie of her last appear- ance, but a triumphantly-excited old woman, beside her- self under the influence of some new emotion. "You know Palmer, General Stuart's man, both of you,--now don't you?" Blanche turned away her head: she dreaded to meet this sharp-eyed man more than any other,-as one fears to meet some small evils more than greater ones. Philip answered: "I know him, and what of it, my friend?" "A nd would you take his word, or his oath to the back of it to give it force?" "Why, Christie, what ails you?" asked Blanche, be- ginning to share her excitement. "I'm putting crooked things straight, my bonny lady," half chanted the old woman; "I'm setting the world in 28 page: 326-327[View Page 326-327] 326 BLANCHE GILROY. order for you, and helping you to get back your own and take the place you were born to fill. Providence-and you've tried hard to go against its wisdom-sent Palmer into our kitchen to-day. -I nursed him when he was a child through a great fever, and we were always friends, though it was not often that we met. It was him took an oath off my lips that I swore to your mother on her dying-bed, and that has been the heaviest cross I ever bore in nly life, since it kept me silent when words were worth gold. "Listen now. Your mother was a lady born and bred,-a lady as fine as any in the land she came from, and there's none like her in this. She was the niece of Sir John Cochrane, and she grieved and offended him past forgiveness by running off with your father, whose name was Andrew Law. Gilroy's his mother's name, and he took it because Sir John swore he'd hunt him to the ends of the earth and ruin him for disgracing the name of Cochrane. Your father was a very handsome man, and your mother thought she fancied him; but when she came to see all she had lost, and bear the terrible curses her uncle prayed on her head, she was sick and sorry, and made a poor work of being a poor man's wife. She was dying when I found her, and she gave me the charge of you and Jean, with a prayer that I would watch over and keep you from Sir John's anger, for she thought he would never cease pursuing her, poor thing; and that when he died I would go to Scotland and try to get you your rights among Sir John's heirs. She knew an old aunt of mine that was on the point of going home then, and she gave me her pledge that she would send me a token the day Sir John died. Gersey Blye was her name,-a good God-fearing woman, that never failed in her word, though she could not make a sign with a pen. "ALL THESE THNGS SHALL BE ADDED." 3217 And so I was waiting, year in and year out, with mv hand on my mouth, for over, eighteen years, feeling sure the news would come, for Gersey was lady's-maid to Sir John's mother, and when her husband died here she went back to get the pension Sir John gave all the old servants of his father's time. "Within the hour that I speak to you Palmer came in with a present from his father, who never forgets what little I did for him. While he talked he let out that he'd been to Birkenburn, and with my heart in my mouth I asked for Sir John. "' He's dead this many a year,' says he; and when I gave a cry against Gersey for not telling me, 'She died full ten years before him,' says Palmer. ' I saw her name on the old pension-list.' I couldn't be angry at the dead, though it was a poor thing for her to do, and the promise she gave me unkept. But it's all out now. There's no fear or trouble; and Miss Jean and Miss Blanche are ladies that no one can look down on, even if they stood on a queen's throne to try." She looked all round her. "Your father won't relish this news, fond as he is of money. He is so set against the name and race for the persecution they showed his family and him, that your mother told me he would never let it be named in his presence. He's a changed man, the Lord be praised, and it's a pity it-didn't come earlier, and save many a bitter day and hour that's gone, and can't be brought back 1" With this long and complete outlet to her feelings, ac- companied by some divergencies and many relapsings into her native dialect, did Christie find relief, and while they looked from one to the other in amaze, Mrs. Spencer appeared and certified to the truth of it all. "Mr. Gilroy related the story far more fully and clearly page: 328-329[View Page 328-329] 328 BLANCHE GILROY. this morning, my dear Philip," she said, "and left in my hands undoubted proofs of its entire correctness and re- liability. I find, my dear son, in my copy of the general's will, that in case of the death of Flora, his daughter, Sun- nyslope is your property, but that his wife's private for- tune, a very considerable part of the wealth, is to go, to these dear children, who, according to her last wishes, were to be traced out if they existed. Her words were, 'Any member of my beloved sister's family, cruelty sacrificed to an empty feeling of family pride,'-a de- plorable sacrifice that we must do our best to repair. You see there is positively no difference to us except the gain of a very lovely niece." She bowed smilingly to Jean. "We are just where we were." Blanche looked at her as she spoke, with the dawning of a curious feeling; but seeing that her lover, with the same discovery forced on him, burnt crimson with shame, she dropped her eyes. This magnanimity of Mrs. Spen- cer's came after she learnt that the music-teacher and her sister were great-nieces to a baronet, and Flora's own cousins. Mr. Gilroy, looking as if the effort that carried him to Mrs. Spencer's had been equal to years of travel back into the past, came in. He had gone farther; he had stood for an hour or two beside his wife's grave, and seemed as if he too could see, like Christie, where the perished form lay in all its faded beauty. As Mrs. Spencer met him, a triumph of diplomacy transpired in her greeting: "We are all at home together now, my dear Mr. Gilroy, you see, and I am positively in love with our new family relations." There was not an incongruous idea: he was growing very weak and old, and in the nature of things need never "ALL THESE THNGS SHALL BE ADDED." 329 be seen in public, though, after all, the white hair and bent figure in a different coat would not prove amiss. As for the young people, they were charming; and the minister-ah, welll he was well enough, and, besides, would nothe likely to care for display. When Andrew Gilroy repeated to Jean the story he had been moved to disclose for Blanche's sake--that she might be set above the scoffs of the great people who held her in their power-it was evident that he strove hard against a fearful prejudice that tinctured all he said about Sir John, his implacable enemy. He meant to live and die with his name unspoken, for the proud and wrathful man had turned all belonging to him out on the world to starve, and no one would give them food or shelter for fear of his wrath; but Andrew's heart was softening fast, since, as he closed, he said,- "I stood to-day beside the grave of the beauty I used to look up at in wonder when I saw her uncle riding with her; and his pride and delight in her was the talk of the country; and for the first time I thought that my marry- ing her made his life lonely and broke his pride, and I lifted up my eyes to God, as I do now, and prayed that I might be forgiven as I forgave him." Philip and Blanche stood side by side, and she, looking solemnly into his face, said,- "Philip, it has pleased God to make my falsehood his truth. I give you a trembling hand and a sinking heart, for, love me as you will, and my life hangs on my belief in your love, the time must come when you will recall my wicked masquerading in a dead woman's diess, and wish, in the very core of your heart, that I had always been true and good." "Never, never!" cried her lover, with all the earnest- - 28* page: 330-331 (Advertisement) [View Page 330-331 (Advertisement) ] 330 BLANCHE GILROY. ness of his nature. "I can wish nothing, know nothing, except that you are the love of my life,--my first, my last, my own forever!" "This is now; but there is a by-and-by to everything. Oh, Philip, let us love our dear Lord, and ark him to help us heavenward, so that our union may be some- thing beyond this little world that seemed so small and mean to me when I thought I'd given my soul to win it!" THE END. I "ST OF PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. PHLADELPHA. Will be sent by mail, post paid, on receipt of the price. The Albert N'fanza. Great Basin of the Nile, and Explorations of the Nile Sources. By SIR SAMUEL WHTE BAKER, M. A., F. R. G. S., &c. With Maps and numerous Illus. trations, from sketches by Mr. Baker. New edition. Crown 8vo. Extra cloth, $3. It is one of the most interesting and instructive books of travel ever issued; and this edition, at a reduced price, will 1 bring it within the reach of many who . have not before seen it. "-BostonyournaL "One of the most fascinating, and cer- ainly not the least important, books of ravel published during the century." Boston Eve. Tramscrijt. Tihe Nile Tributaries of Abyssinia, and the Sword- Ilunters f the Hamran Arabs. By SIR SAMUEL WHTE BAKER, M. A., F. R. G. S., &c. With Maps and numerous Illustrations, from original sketches by the Author. New edition. Crown 8vo. Extra cloth, $2.75. We have rarely met with a descriptive work so well conceived and so attractively written as Baker's Abyssinia, and we cor- dially recommend it to public patronage. . . 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Being the Pro- gramme of a 'our through parts of France, Italy, Austria, Saxony, Prussia, the Tyrol, Switzerland, Holland, Belgium, England and Scotland, in the Summer of i868. By JOHN H. B. LATROBE I2mo. Toned paper. Extra cloth, $i.5o. 194 Atf n - -a Ad of --C E . T- - . Lb taro illly ILn LItL; UC;ie y' Vd lltdt: Ul01 a regular guide-book, with the additional excellence of being reliable as to facts and trustworthy as to the opinions it utters."- New YVrk Christian Advocate. "Mr. Latroba had some capital qualifi- cat-ons for producing a good book about Europe .... The result is a highly satisfactory volume, which we commend and recommend to travelers, whether they go abroad or stay at home."-T/he Phila- delpthi Press. T I . . * . l - is a genuine treasure-book for every new European traveler . . . 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