The Calderwood secret
page: 0 (TitlePage) [View Page 0 (TitlePage) ] THE CALDERWOOD SECRET. BY VIRGINIA W. JOHNSON, AUTHOR OF "THE CATSKILL FAIRIES," "JOSEPH THE JEW," "A SACK OF GOLD," &c. "Verjuice with patience and waiting becomes wine; and the mulberry-leaf becomes satin." Turkish Proverb. NEW YORK: HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE. 1875. page: 0Advertisement (Table of Contents) [View Page 0Advertisement (Table of Contents) ] JOSEPH THE JEW. The Story of an Old House. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. It is well written, and abounds in startling situations, hair-breadth escapes, counter-plots, and feminine fidelity.- Albany Evening Journal. : A SACK OF GOLD. A Novel. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. : A novel which places the author among the foremost pactly written that we wish the author had not been writers of the day. There are no "skipping chapters" in quite so much given to condensation. We commend the the novel, no dreary wastes of irrelevant descriptions either novel to our readers, with the assurance that they will ?: )of scenery, places, or persons, no tediously prolix conver- find a great deal of pleasure in its perusal. -Evening 'sations. * ' * It is not often we meet with a novel so cornm Pos$, N. Y. IITHE CALDERWOOD SECRET. A Novel. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. i; THE CATSKILL FAIRIES. Superbly Illustrated from Drawings by FRED- ERICKS. 8vo. (In Press.) r 6 J 8 S PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. ' HARPERI & BROTHERS will send cither of the above works by mail, postage praid, to any art of the United States or Canada, on rece:it of the price. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by 'HARPER & BROTHERS, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. CONTENTS. CIAPTER I. PAGE CIIILDREN .ND FOOLS SPEAK TIIE TRUTI... 9 CIAPTER II. DEAD M EN'S SHOES .............................. 12 CHAPTER III. TIIE ROMANCI 0O1 AN OL1, F\MLY ...........15 CIIAPTER IV.( PAUL, TllHE M1ARRIIEI) MAN... ............. 22 CIIAPTER V. 2 "OVEns OF Two GEINE RATIONS ................ 25 CHAPTER VI. IN TIIE BOARDED CIIA IMBII .................... 29 CIIAPTER VII. A STRANGE, GHOST............. ........ 31 CIAPTER VIII. THE STORY OF PSYCHEI . ....... .................. 39 CIIAPTER IX. ANDREW KEITH'S DAUGHTER .................. 44 CIAPTER X. THE SAILOR VISITS ALTON FOD .............. 47 CIIAPTEB XI. IN A BLUE POCKET-HANDIERCIIIEF .........'. 50 CHAPTER XII. A CLEVER WIDOW MAKES 'MSCIIIEF ........ 54 CHAPTER XIII. THE SAILOR TAKES TO TIIE ROAD AGAIN.... 59 CIIAPTER XIV. MARGARET'S JEALOUSY .......................... 6 CHAPTER XV. CALEB GREEN'S T3ACCO-BOX ....6............. 67 CITAPTER XVI. PAG MTIDNIGHT AT TIlE FOIUNDIY ................... 71 CIIAPTER XVII. AN IIONOR TO RACE....................... 73 CILAPTER XVIII. A NN SEES A, FETCh ............................. 80 CIIAPTER XIX. OLD MRI. CALIDERtLOOD'S TRIUMP .......... 83 CHAPTER XX. ANSTICE FINDIS A YOUNO KNIGIT........... 87 CIIAPTER XXI. TIE RECORD OF NINETY YEARS............. 91 CIIAPTER XXII. BUCKLEY ENTERS A FoOL'S PAAtADISE...... 9i CIAPTER XXIII. A CIsINESE IDOL SPEARKS ..................... 9 CIAPTER XXIV. IIow OAKIUIIRS VANISED................. 103 CIAPTER XXV. TIIE MSTRESS OF 1rELM COTTAG,. ............ 107 CIIAPTER XXVI. UNEXPECTED IRESULT OF STAR-GA ZING.... 1" CHAPTER XXVII. IN TIIE T torIcS .................................. " CIIAPTER XXVIII. ON THE GREAT DEEP........................... 118 CIIAPTER XXIX. JAMES CALDERWOOD'S DIARY ................ 122 CIIAPTER XXn X RESTITUTION1 ..... ... ........................ 132 page: 0[View Page 0] THE CALDERWOOD SECRET. CHAPTER I. CHILDREN AND FOOLS SPEAK THE TRUTH. ANSTICE CALDERWOOD tripped down the lane in guilty haste. Already were the shadows gathering along the river-bank, although the crimson and gold of sunset still flooded the sky and water. Al, lovely, placid River Delaware, elsewhere a swift stream seek- ing a rocky channel, but here wending a tran- quil course between level shores of emerald green, dwn to the sea I Anstice, aged six years, reaped the whirlwind of evil sown; was learn- ing her life lesson in this fashion: if one runs away to play in the upper meadows with the young O'Flanagans, a torn frock, spilled black- berries, and a scolding when home is reached must result. Spurred on by these reflections, the little feet stumbled over the rough way un- til the stil was gained. Here a surprise await- ed the culprit. On the other side of the stile stood an old man, leaning both arms on the stone-wall for the better adjustment of a field-glass, with the aid of which he was gazing intently down on the roof of the Calderwood house. The gray eyes of Anstice grear round with astonishment. Never had she beheld an old gentleman simi- larly employed, and what possible interest could the red roof and toppling chimneys of the homestead down the slope possess for him? The stranger was tall, slender, attired in black, and his aquiline features seemed to have been delicately chiseled out of yellow marble. All that was requisite to convert him into the orig- inal of an old-fashioned portrait were a cue and shoe-buckles. A stout cane with a knob of red gold had fallen across the path. An- stice was not afraid; here was an unfamiliar image reflected for the first time in her child- ish soul, and sle was puzzled to plaeo it aright. That was all. The stranger stared into the valley through his glass, and the little girl stared at him with all her might. A bird alighted on the elder spray, twittered broken music, and took wing s, again; a squirrel ran along the loose stones of; the wall, unterrified by the silent intruders on its tiny world. Anstico raised the cane by way of breaking the charm. "Is this yours, sir?" piped the clear, child- ish voice. "Bless me!" exclaimed the old gentleman, lowering his glass quickly; "why, she must be-" lie checkcdAimself abrupily, and sur- veyed her from head to foot with a slow scru- tiny which made her painfully conscious of r the torn frock, shabby straw hat, and possible smearing of blackberry-juice on her chubby countenance. "Who are you?" lhe demanded, sharply. The eyes bent on Anstice were not pleasant ones; they were small and cold, as if the heart- warmth had left them long ago, and they had retreated under bushy gray brows to lie in wait, for people. "Miss Anstice Calderwood," was the prompt and complacent response. "Grace Dieu Another of the name. Well, Miss Anstice Calddrwood, what have you got to say for yourself?" . These words were uttered with a sarcastic emphasis, and in a harsh voice which matched the suspicious, watchful eyes. It became evi- dent that the small person addressed had noth- page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] ,'ig t i;6y'f. r herself, rnd felt an neasy desire' ,to take flight, like the bird on the elder spray. EHer. companion must have divined her inten- tion, for he stepped directly in the path'to pre- vent escape. "Child, we must be friends," he continued, ain a more gentle tone. * At the same time he evinced a fastidious re- ). pu!gnance to the condition of the little brown h( hand, by wiping it carefully with a scented ipoceket-handkerchief of exquisite fineness be- - fore receiving it into his thin, white fingers. ; "You see, I've been playing with the O'FlTanagans," said Anstice, shyly, yet lean- ?aing against his knee with the sweet confidence , 'o Of childhood. /"With the O'Flanagans? Ah, yes, I see." !Y 'Anstice did not detect the hollow nature of this simulated interest; judging him by her Own standard, it was natural he should find the :. OT'lanagaps an absorbing topic just then. "t 'tMebbe I shouldn't ha e gone if Patsy 'ladn't promised to show me a new little pig, c alLpink, and funny, you know. I mustn't play with theni, cos' I'm a lady born, and their moth- ?er'sBridget O'Flanagan that takes in washing." ' I perceive the difference," said the stranger, /':,.Anstice at once carried tO war into the en- ,ii)remy's country. "'Are you going to live at Alton Ford?" she :tsawked, venturing to study the aquiline face a trifle nearer. i : ." No," he replied, blandly, patting her clus- ifiteging brown curls; "I am an old fellow with W).C'ildren and grandchildren. But I dare say !:Tyon .have alyeady guessed that by mny gray 7"i i'tOui must be awful old," assented the little' ugirl, cocking her head on one side in a specu- Aative manner; "( as old as me, and Buck, and !z "p:pa, and mamma, all put together." -?, -The stranger made a grimace as if not ex- iotlyf flattered by this charming frankness. ": :'S^a your mamma still pretty?" he asked, in :lMheedling tone. 3 ::"I 1 don't know," responded Anstice, vaguely. :. "I dare say you haven't got any grandfather - Thus did the artful old gentleman spread a , net'for the unwary child. Anstice was snared 1:0;ina trice. - '-: ^Yes, I have got a grandfather, too," she :aid 'nodding her head and pursing up her lips Deflantly. ' And you love him very much, darling?" :hazarded the other, softly. "No, I don't," said honest Anstice. "My grandfather is an ugly, mean thing-oh, so ugly! And he makes us live in the country, andwon't give us any money." At this her companion laughed immoderate- ly, closing his eyes in excess 'of merriment, while face and neck became suffused with a purple hue; yet it was not a mellow laugh to hear. Little Anstice grew frightened, and shrunk away. Certainly, this was a very fun- ny person. If he had been smaller she would have believed him a hobgoblin, come to be- witch her in the lane; and as it was, he might be a magician who bottled up naughty spirits. "Child, child, who taught you that?" "Ann says little pitchers have cars, sir. Do you believe it?" "And so you consider your grandfather ugly and mean," he pursued, merrily, folding his ' hands over the cane, and resting his chin on them. "Does lie not give you enotrgh dolls and toys to suit yoir ladyship? Does he not send you loads of candy and pretty dresses?" He asked these questions in a taunting way, his pale, mobile lips curling as lie snarled them forth. "No, indeed," said Anstice, sorrowfully, pushing a pebble with her foot, and absorbed in the picture of doll pleasures. "DBuck says he's goin' to die, though, and then we shAll have every thing. Buck may ride a pony, and I can drive in a little carriage, like a clothes-bas- ket on wheels." Anstice brightened visibly at this prospect, and skipped over the obstructing pebble. Bit- ter wrath replaced mocking gayety in the stranger's mood as he rose to his feet from the stile. "Stay," he said, peremptorily, and, drawing a card from his pocket, wrote a line on the margin with a pencil. "Give that to your fa- ther. Here is some money for you, my child. Always tell the truth." Anstice eyed the dollar wistfully as it lay in his palm like a drop of gold; her check flushed, and she drew herself up proudly. "I mustn't take it, please. I'm not a poor child." The little maiden sighed involuntarily, as if being a lady possessed disadvantages. "Be off with you, then." The old gentleman waved his cane in sudden menace, and Anstico fled down the hill like a lanwing. "Dead men's shoes," he muttered, replacing his glass in the case. Then he slowly made his way through a meadow, and gained the road above the house, ' where a carriage waited. "' Drive back again," he said, and the equi- page, glittering with burnished trappings, rolled away--coachman and footman gazing down superciliously upon dusty, humble Alton Ford. Anstice fled from that frowning face past spacious barns, disorderly sheds, and yards where the chickens and pigs had affairs all their own way. She did not even glance at her fa- vorite hen, which sat in the coop, clucking va- rious instructions to her downy brood, and was wont to peck grains from the little brown hand of Anstice; and she ran through the garden, sweet with the evening fragrance of flowers, forgetful of the pigeon family, the rabbit house- hold, the snapping turtle, all dependents on her bounty for an evening meal. 4"Oh, papa, I saw a gentleman, and he gave me this for you." "Heavens!" gasped Buckley Calderwood, ffushing as he read the card: "BUCKLEY 'WHTTINGUAM CALDERWOOD,-Children and fools speak the truth." Anstice hid her head in her mother's dress. Limp and faded the robe might be, but the child always associated silk fabrics with that mother. "What have you told this gentleman, An- stice?" "Nothing," whimpered Anstice, terrified by the anger in her father's face. "Only, he ask- ed me if I had a grandfather, and I said yes, and he wasn't a nice one at all. Is he, now, mamma?" A tall, slender man in the prime of life, with regular features, and a stately woman in the limp silk gown, confronted each hAr. "You should teach her better, Valerie. She must have said enough to ruin us. Oh, you fool! Come here," cried Mr. Caldcrwood, passionately. "Leave the child alone," said Mrs. Calder- wood, quietly. "Do you see what has happened, madam? My father has been here, and gone, thwarting me again, and all through the fault of your child. I am justly punished for my folly." "What folly?" she demanded, her cheek paling, her large eyes glittering ominously. At that moment the carriage rolled past, sleek steeds curveting, servants gazing down superciliously on humble, dusty Alton Ford. The old man leaned forward and looked at the house, the purple tide of repressed fury again dyeing face and neck. His lips formed the single word, "Wait." The sight drove the son frantic. lie clench h- ed his hand. It was as if all his boyhood he had watchecd the golden fruit ripen on the tree, only to have it fall into the grasp of another. "If I had never seen you," he muttered. "And if I had never seen you! God knows why you were sent to blight my life," said the wife, superb in her outraged pride. "Mamma," pleaded little Anstice, clinging to her gown. ,The parents looked at each other in si- lence. Alton Ford made its own comments on the carriage, looking up for the most part from firying-pans and ironing-boards, or lounging in shirt-sleeves, pipe in mouth, among the cab- bages of the garden-patch. Andrew Keith, down in his own little shop by the river-bank, gazed- at it dreamily. A king among men, this Andrew Keith, for all. his working-clothes and blackened hands. There was power in the massive brow and steady eye. "Oh, pa, see the horses!" lisped Maggiol staring admiringly at the beautiful show. "You shall have a better some day, my darling," said Andrew, cheerily, and perched his daughter on his shoulder, to march homo to supper in the small brown house, where Mrs. Keith was at that moment cooking a rasher of' bacon. Alton Ford admired the splendor of old Mr. Calderwood, and did not see the plain' man on foot. Andrew Keith was one of them- selves, the inhabitants reflected, returning io cabbage-patch and frying-pans once more. page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] CHAPTER II. DEAD MEN'S SHOES. 4 THE old gentleman, Mr. Calderwood pere, returned home one sultry night in August, still nursing his wrath, and having done his best to kill himself on the road, without being at all aware of his own imprudence. Not for worlds would Mr. Calderwood die just now. Hie hated the wife of his only son with a capricious ani- mosity, and it is a question if he did not also hate the son. The milk of human kindness 5 had dried in his veins long ago. Little An- stice had wrought fatal mischief in touching the most sensitive chord of his organization- the benefit to accrue from his own death. This was the cold shadow which haunted the rich man's path; he must die, and leave his gold to others. The thought maddened him at times, for he had staked all on the possession of his millions. Already the hands of the next gen- eration wero on his shoulders pressing him into his grave, and their steps were effacing his own foot-prints. liHe defied fate to vanquish him as it is inevitable that mortality shallbe vanquish- .-..:it but he took no pains to render his life a ^il1sing. The ripened grain is gathered for :ihe harvest; the fungus of morning is dust in ' the evening. , Curiosity had led him to Alton Ford, a whim ' to see how they lived, these two young people, banished by pinching poverty'from their own world of expectation; and this curiosity was gratified in a peculiar fashion. lie heard the story of his own tyranny from the innocent lips 'of a grandchild who had never seen him. His death meant escape. "Pshaw! If a man is a man, he will make himself something in adversity; and if he is a fool, he had best live off in the country, and not 'disgrace his race," soliloquized old Mr. Calder- wood in his carriage. Then some malicious 'Amp seemed to whisper in his ear, "Why not punish these puppets by a tan- v talizing hope of better things which they shall never realize?" But no; this was not the hour for amuse- ment; they must be crushed for the insolence which had taught their clild to mock at him. His son's family floated on the tide waiting for his death. Let them wait! The' reflection was not without mortification in its most poign- ant sense. To have the world the better for one's disappearance, instead of pausing over the void made, is not a comfortable thought. he had intended to peer about the old house where he was born, and where his son's fami- ly were permitted to dwell in consideration of paying the taxes, but not to remain overnight. He had not slept there since he was a young lad, and he had a nervous horror of doing so now in his old age. Anstice'iad changed all that! He would have liked to be In receipt of fern-seed, and slip through the key-hole. So it came about that the glittering carriage drove away along the once post-road, all the strong passions of a violent nature raging with- in the owner's breast. There were haste and flurry on the part of landlord and landlady at the country tavern where Mr. Calderwood deigned to pass the night, and where the old man with hot, blood-shot eyes, a darkened face, and great veins standing out on his forehead, stormed at the proximity to the railroad, the best bed-chamber, the edibles which he would not touch. The coachman confided his opinion to the groom while bedding the horses, that " the old feller was in a wax- about something, and how long he was going to be larking round the coun- try in this way, he (the coachman) would like to know." Mr. Calderwood was no hero to his servants, who detected and despised their master's weak- nesses, and commented freely upon them in pri- vate. Drought parched the land, the foliage droop- ed, withered and brown, beneath a weight of dust, which sifted into every cranny of dwell- ings, and choked the languid rivulets at their sources. All night the old man moved uneas- ily about the chamber, now overturning some article of furniture with a crash which echoed through the building, an I caused the landlord to rub his drowsy eyelids apprehensively; now patlsing beside the open window to stare va- cantly down upon a commonplace village street, terminating in a steamboat pier. Oh, the years, the silent, swift, remorseless years, bearing him onward to the shore lie dreaded to reach. Memory lashed and stung him ; innumerable hushed voices spoke to him in that dark, dim chamber. He was judged by a tribunal none the less awful because composed of shadows. He would ihot be judged! The will of the man was iron, but he could no longer endure the oppressive atmosphere of the room. Was it a glimpse of the old house which aroused this train of painful reflection I or was it the prattle of a child in a soiled frock? ' He snatched up his hat, and wandered forth into the night. Old Mr. Calderwood, the pos- sessor of robust health all his life, was not like- ly to humor the body now; he was the stern- est task-master to his own physical forces, and exacted the uttermost farthing of service. He esteemed it a disgrace to be weary, slothful to sleep more than five hours, and, from the per- fect organism of his digestive apDaratus, en- joyed the reputation of being the best diner- out in his circle. / Next morning his room was discovered to be vacant, and the servants in some alarm searched the village. Mr. Calderwood was found at nine o'clock, seated on a stone beside a sluggish creek which wound along between banks of rank marsh grass, where the fog lingered long after the rest of the earth had yielded its in- cense of dew and mist to the rising sun. le was motionless, perhaps asleep. The slightest swerve of the body would have hurled hln into the canal. The coachman ventured to arouse him. "When do we start, sir?" The blood-shot eyes, darkened face, and knotted brow confronted him sternly. "Attend to your own business." -The- coachman coughed apologetically, and withdrew irresolutely. The master continued to gaze at the water moodily. In the estimate of his servants he had gone mad. Presently he rose, returned to the hotel, sneered 4t the coflee, and drove away like a whirlwind, a white cloud of dust enveloping his carriage. All nature fainted in the midsummer noon; the servants became purple to the verge of suffocation in their tight liveries; the deli- cate-limbed horses were foam-flecked and spent. A mass of molten imetal seemed to press upon the old man's brain, and sparks of fire to flash before his suffused eyes. His silence was ter- ribly eloquent. Toward noon the coachman reined up beneath a tree, with an aggrieved manner. "I don't think the iosscs can stand it, sir; I don't, really." "Drive on!" thundetred Mr. Calderwood. Possibly he felt a cruel desire to torture those in his power, men and animals, as retaliation for his own disquiet. The coachman plied his whip; the footman furtively wiped his moisten- ed brow ; and the language on the box was not all that could be desired. The highway stretch- ed before them, white and glaring in the pitiless radiance of noonday, and was utterly deserted save for a tardy load of hay, dragged slowly by panting oxen; or the peddler's wagon, piled high with rags and polished tinware. Here and tihere the cattle were Visible beneath the willow-trees, standing in brown pools of water, and the farin-houses seemed shrouded in the drowsy quiet of fierce heat. Never was such a day chosen for a drive in a beautiful carriage; but the parching discomfort of outward circum- stances seemed congenial to the mood of tliohe strange old man, who chafed ait the snail's-paco of his steeds, and urged rapid mnotion, "He's fit for Bedlam, and that's a fact," muttered the footman. At four o'clock the equipage rolled into a large manufacturing town, with tall brick chim- neys belching smoke, where the streets were heated by the sun to a tropical temperature. The jaded horses, qulivering in every limb, stopped, and drooped their heads. "They can't go another step, sir," said the coachman, in tones of scarcely repressed indig- nation. "Very well; stop here overnight. If they are ruined, shoot them, and comno home. There's a putrse for you." So saying, the master alighted, crossed to the railroad, stepped on board a waiting train, and vanished before his astonished menials could utter another word. The Calderwood town residence was very different from the dilapidated old homestead on the river-bank, where Buckley and his proud wife were permitted to fret away the embroid- ered garment of life in anxious waiting. Both mansions were venerable, but that fronting a down-town square in New York was well pre- page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] . served, time imparting only meliow, rich tints to its years, while the country house was tem- pest-stained, and shaken as if by the paralysis -of a hardly used, extreme old age; and indeed the storms had beaten upon that house. , On this August evening myriad lights twin- kled in the square, a wreath of flame about the shriveled city trees, where the sparrows chirped softly, and homeless wanderers dozed in uncom- fortable attitudes on benches, dreaming possi- 1 bIy of dewy meadows alnd pine-clad heights. The Calderwood house, fronting the plebeian multitude, yet had no sympathy with it; fash- ion might wing its flight away from this quar- ter, but to be a Calderwood alone made it pos- sible to remain in the old home, the shell which lepresented so many concentric layers of growth - about the master's life. A cool twilight was imparted to the wide marble hall by concealed lamps; the massive stairway of carved mahog- any wound upward into shadow, and the draw- ing-room was sweet with the perfume of flowers , massed in Indian jars, while a ripple of falling n , Water from the adjoining conservatory refresh- ed the sultry night. r E. Eleanore Calderwood stood on the balcony, i i- which was screened by luxuriant plants from -the vulgar gaze, with her hands clasped on the i -shoulder of a man who lounged against the rail- a - ing, The attitude was sufficiently lover-like .. and they were engaged. A very brilliant tl young woman, this Eleanore Canldelrwood, seen d ' at her best now on the shaded balcony, her b white dress of some lace texture floating grace- v fully about her tall form, emotion glorifying na ! her dark, mobile f ce, imparting a rich peach yc 'bloom to the smooth olive cheek, and deptlis w :-of tenderness to the .black eyes bent on her tc companion. Sho loved Paul Waite blindly, ul 'passionately; and, endowed with strong traits in of character as she was, became as wax to the ce , moulding touch of the handsome, imperious on nman who was petted and flattered by all wom- sil ankind, and had graciously bestowed iupon her his love. She would hold his destiny for good ing or evil-in, her hands, she thought, with a heart- mc throb of exultation, and she asked no-sweeter die m ore precious boon of fate. hei "I am not sure that I wish to live here when to we are married, Paul," she said, dreamilyb Mn "There is time enough to settle all that, ma I we," was the light and evasive rejoinder. was She drew back suddenly as if stung. sist \ "The decision .should rest with me," she tho said, half pleadingly. Did the clear voice of Eleanore Calderwood she ever soften to that beseehing intonation, when that ints addressing another? This was her idol, and em- she kneeled before it in the reckless a bandon'of ysis every thing besides which belongs to intensely eed passionate natures. The young man put his arm about her slender in- waist, and pressed a kiss upon her quivering the lips which lulled doubt to rest, as .if fanned ped with downy pinions. As he did so a figure m- ran up the door-steps beneath the balcony, and ssi- almost immediately afterward a voice in the ts. hall demanded, sharply, "'Has my falther re- an turned home?" sh- Buckley Calderwood, haggard, nervous, flur- ir- ried, had arrived before his parent in his ter- os- rible anxiety to efflce the mischief done bv ch little Anstice, who, having ruined the prospects, th of her family, had sobbed a while, and been con- ans soled in the kitchen with a bowl of bread-and- dl milk by faithfill Ann. Would that we could g- all find the balm of forgetfulness for sharp kv- grief that Anstice did in the bowl of milk! rs "Good-night, dearest. I will see you to- ig morrow," whispered the lover on thlc balcony. 1- Mr. Paul Waito strolled awav, paused ir- resolutely on the corner,and, conquered by an: y, irresistible impulse, crossed the square. n "Poor little pet! she will be so disappointed e if I do not come! Heigh-ho! I wish Netty was , I- a Calderwood, as well as my stately Eleanore. " , On the lower edge of the square was a lit- t the brick louse, with a doctor's sign on the n door. If the upper quarter bloomed with such r brilliant exotics as Miss Eleanore, this humble - verge of shabby poverty had alsb its daisies ; and violets. Thle narrow door was njar; the 1 young man made his way into a tiny parlor, where a'girl, small, filr, dimpling with laugh- * tcr, ran to meet him, raising a benlltiful. face unblushflly for his kiss. Perhaps practice in the arte of kissing made this Adonis perfect; certainly his lips lingered tenderly on the rosy ones offlered him, and his fingers smoothed the silky-golylen hair of the gracefiul little head. "Paul, look at me," cried the girl, in thrill- ing tones. "My dress is black; I am in mourning for the eccentric uncle who has just died, and left me all his money. I am an heiress, Paul. We must not leave the father to f:lg out his life as a poor doctor; but, oh, my love, all the rest belongs to you." Buckley Calderwood, too excited to cat, was sipping a glass of wine, and telling his sister his news. Eleanore listened coldly, ller thoughts wandering to Paul Waite. "I suppose tlere is a providence in it all," she said, listlessly. "If you had not married that woman!" "She was the beauty of the year, and one could not foresee such ill-luck with the money," he replied, doubtfully, He glanced around the dining-room, with its shining plate and glittering cut-glass, with a half sigh. A quiet woman, attired in noise- less black, glided into the room, and withdrew with sorhe murmured apology. "Who was that?" inquired Buckley, quick- ly. "Father's latest whim, a new housekeeper." "Do you like her?" asked the brother. "Not at all. She means to overreach us all, I fancy," said Eleanor, with indifference. Old Mr. Calderwood stood on his own door- step at last. The housekeeper accosted him on the threshold. "Welcome home, sir. Your son is here." Mr. Calderwood growled some inarticulate response. The housekeeper camgq swiftly to his side, venturing to touch his sleeve in a hesitating manner. "Excuse me, sir, but has lie comec to take possession?" The old man's sole response was to dart a terrible glance at the woman, and stride to the dining-room. There was something confiden- tial in the attitutdes of brotlher and sister, al- though little sympathy actually existed be- tween them, Eleanor leaning her arm on the table, while Buckley silq)cd his wine. The father, dumb with wrath lat the specta- cle, glared at them, raised his cane as if about to strike, and fell forward on his face insensi- ble. CHAPTER IIT. TIIMS ROMANCE OF AN OLD FAMLY. "F there is no improvement in two' ours, he will die," said the bland, smooth physi- cian, after evasion of AMiss Elcanore's vehe- ment questions became no longer possible. Temper had wrought this cliange in old Mrr. Calderwood he had lain for days on his bed in a caln insensibility, which was only too nuch like the state of death lie dreaded to ns- sum6 for the benefit of hiis heirs. Buckley remained in the house, a scarcely perceptible change of authority toward the servants as- serting itself in his manner, an expression of resignation succeeding anxiety and dread in Ojlls face. Did he wish his faither dead? f Scarcely that, an an abstract fiact; the parent had enjoyed his day, and Buckley needed the weapons still grasped by his senior. His rea- soning did not .take more definite foin than this; and he had the thin, cruel mouth of his race. Before the two hours had elapse'd Mr. Cal- derwood opened his eyes, looked at his daugh- ter, and inqi lred in natural tones, "Are those horses -ruined? They should be able to endure one day on the road." The change wrought was magical, "Le roi est mort: vive le roi!" was not to be the watch- word just yet within the old mansion. Buckley shrunk away crest-fallen, warned by a gesture from Eleanore not to: agitate the 'con- valescent. She did not even bid him farewell when he departed. If the failtlrccov^rcred, ho was no longer needed; if lie died, Buckley must make a fool of hmself with the money. There was little interest and no aftection between brother and sister; tlhcy had taken different paths from the cradle, because no mother's in- fluence linked their lives together. Buckley had been sent away to scllool and ('collego; no pains were spared to educate!li-in, 'while tho dauglitcr was hecr fatlher's comlnpaion in travel as at loncme, and to be subject for years to Mr. Calderwood's sneering lhmnor wns not without influence on a nature imperiouas and lhaughty. Miss llcanore never moved from tnho bod- side wliero she lad w'atcled filithfllly day nnd night, wlhen Buckley departed; but tihe house- keeper emerged firom some secllded nook, whither she had been banlished by an ominous glittcr in Miss Eleanorc's black eyes, ann mndo tlhe disconsolate son very comforitable. She ministered to his wants at table in a deft, noise- less way, divining his necessities at a glance, and Bickley was pleased with her unobtrusive respect. "It is safe to be civil to every one," reflect- ed the housekeeper, looking after him with a curious smile. Clearly here was a woman possessing the tact required to get on well in the worlu, and Mrs. Todd fully intended to get on. Shle wps a plump, fair woman, of uncertain age, with a page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] determined double chin, and the surface blue eye which reflects images while revealing noth- ing of the owner's thought. Miss Eleanore regarded her with suspicion when there seemed nothing to suspect. Mr. Calderwood had observed her hovering timidly in the aisle of the fashionable church where he worshiped, a stranger without a seat, and hMad promptly oiffered her one in his own pew. Mrs. Todd had thanked him for the courtesywith a mixture of embarrassment and humlly wticli was veri attractive, at the same time praising the eloquence of the clergy- man. Mr. Calderwood liked to hear his cler- gyman praised, and Mrs. Todd was comely to look upon. lie invited her to repeat her visit. She humbly accepted at evening service, when Miss Eleanore was absent. Result: the two happened to be going in the same direction after church, by a singular coincidence, and Mr. Calderwood learned something of the stranger's history, a touching one, imparted in a low, tremulous tone. Not that Mr. Calder- wood was sympatetic in the least; it amused him to be appealed to by a fine-looking woman with a history, and, man of the world as he was, some of Mrs. Todd's insinuating flattery was distilled into his veins. Miss Elennore was amazed to have this person installed as house- keeper, and Mrs. Todd, while holding her ground, was forced to meekly receive many sallies of temper from the daughter of-the "house. The interloper comprehended her field at a glance. Mr. Calderwood was past the age when sentiment would move him, if it ever /hadfdone so. She attended tq his physical comforts with the most exquisitq exactness. The daughter might storm; Mrs. Todd became the soft wool substance interposed between a selfish epicure and all the jarring discord of household machinery. Match the woman, Miss Eleanore, if you can, who prepares your papa's salad with her own hands, broils his venison steak, flavors lis white-wine soup, that his ditner may be witout flaw! The daughter sat beside the bed with hands- clasped. In her heart were unrest and anxie- ty. She had neither heard from nor seeL Paul Waite since the night on the balcony. What did it mean? She asked herself this question with ever-increasing wonder and alarm. She was able to set aside the deference she would have exacted from any other, in anxiety that some evil might have befallen her beloved. No suspicion of a rival tortured her. A jeal- ous wife she might become, but self-esteem prevented her from suffering imaginary pangs. The nfan who could claim her was not likely to turn aside. Paul loved her madly, poor fel- low! How should she repay his devotion? Old Mr. Calderwood, after asking the ques- tion about his horses, had closed his eyes and fallen asleep. The lids now flew wide open again with a spring-like suddenness. "You have not told me about the horses," he said, impatiently, in a high, sharp voice. "Dear papa, James took excellent care of them, and they are in the stable now." "Then ou. may order them round in half an houriald I will drive out." This was said briskly wlhile lie struggled into an crect posture in his bed. l'lenty of vitality left yet to the old man, evidently! ":Pray be reasonable. Tlhe doctor urges quiet as of the greatest importance. You have been dangerously ill, sir." Mr. Calderwood lay back again on lhis pillow as if lost-in reflection. "I shall go out to-morrow, then. Where is Mrs. Todd? Ha! is that you, madam? What can you give a dying man to keep him alive a little longer for the sake of his dear children?" he said this in his most sarcastic tone. hMrs. Todd's response ywas to glide to his bedside with a tray of invalid delicacies. "Doctor's medicine!" said Mr. Calderwood with supreme contempt, as he sipped chicken- broth. "Now mind, I shall drive to Broad- bent's office at nine o'clock to-morrow morn- , ing. My affairs may be going to the deuce by this time. Eleanore, you call find the lease for me to-night." "Wlhat lease, sir?" inquired the daughter, wlio knew very little concerning hler father's business affairs. "The Broadway property, of course," said Mr. Calderwood, testily. "You will find it in my writing-table in the library. lere is the key. Leave me in quiet." Eleanore accepted the key half absently. Now that her anxiety concerdning her father's illness was lessened, the continued absence of her lover completely absorbed her thoughts. In her impatience ,to learn tidings of him, she longed to go forth herself, spurning the re- straints of young ladylood, and find him; for the family spirit burned in full force within her breast in these years. Surely Paul must have lieard of Mr. Calderwood's illness, and should have been at his post of prospective son-in-law. She could endure suspense no longer. Toss- jing aside the key intrusted to her, she wrote a few hurried lines of tender reproach, and dis- patched a servant th Mr. Waite's rooms. At the moment when her Mercury was speed- ing on his errand, and she was pacing the floor awaiting his return, Paul Waite sat on the horse-hair sofa of the tiny parlor, with his arm about the waist of Netty, whose soft eyes rest- ed adoringly on his handsome face, and whose sweet voice cooed in his ear delicious endear- ments. Evidently love is grandly independent of surrounding circumstances; the very pattern of the carpet and the lingering odor of dinner in the hall might have repelled the fastidious man of fashion. Or did Netty's recent fortune form the golden mirage which toned down the vulgar asperities of poverty? A rare luxury, the devotion of winsome Netty at any time, yet Paul Waite could not have dreamed of marry- ing her without this bequest. Netty was none the less happy on that account; if fortune had yielded her one of its rainbow-tinted bubbles, Paul, the hero of her youth, should share it. Mercury returned, after weary delay, to the waiting Eleanore. "The gentleman's not at home, miss." "Was he well?" inquired the mistress, blushing deeply. "He was out, miss." That was all. 'To endure another night seemed unbearable, tormented with fancies and doubts, flushing with pride at the possibil- ity of neglect, thrilling with fear that some misunderstanding disturbed the beloved, some doubt had chilled his faith. "Women always have to wait; stay within- doors stretched on tihe rack, while the truth may be brought to the very threshold, and they may not seek it for fear the world shall shake its head," she exclaimed, passionately. How was she to pass the hours before she saw Paul again face to face? For she wotuld see him next day, and delmand an explanation. She was intensely eager to smooth away any difference which had arisen, and in this dread she merged her own womanly dignity and self- respect. If we could only see our idols as they are, we should be saved many a heart-break. IInHaving formed the resolution, she took up the key in calmer mood, and proceeded to the li- brary. The sultry heat which had nearly cost old Mr. Calderwood his life had been succeeded by a chilling easterly storm, The rain dashed against the windows, and the thunder rolled as Eleanore entered the library. The room was sombre and dark. Somehow the shadowy cor- ners made her nervous, as suggestive of lurking enemies; and she lighted the chandelier, so thata dazzling cone of tinted globes shed a ra- 2 'diance over the whole apartment. This was Mr. Caldenvood's sanctum; and when lie closed the door, it required an urgent emergency, and some temerity, to disturb him ; for the old gen- tleman was an indefatigable workelr, if not in the interests of his own property, making plans for various societies and institutions. The ceiling was frescoed in delicate hlues, the walls were a deep, rich crimson, and the shelves were filled with a collection of volumes which would not prove the least of the Calder- wood bequests one of these days. Mr. Cal- derwood went mliles in search of old and rare books. An Elzevir moved him to enthusiism; and there was little calf and gilt seen behind the-glass doors, where mouldy parchments and vellum were more dearly prized than modern book-binding. Eleanore went to the writing- table as directed, and unlocked tihe drawer. Some faint pulsations of curiosity stirred with- in her,dlaughter of Eve that she was, as she glanced into her fiather's desk for the first time. Was he so very rich? And would any of these papers ever be her own to give to l'aul? The desk contained nothing of value to tempt robbers. Mr. Calderwood was far too shrewd for that risk, and she found the lease readily enough, among othlr business memo- randa. In disturbing the papers, a tiny bag of perfumed and embroidered leather was re- vealed, and from this Eleanoro drew wonder- ingly an East India crystal not larger than a walnut, in the shape of a box. Like a fly in amber, a small:, flat key lay in the box, clearly visible through the transparent sides. Tile key was a suggestive mystery: what secret did it unlock? Tlhe thought flashed through her mind that it might be tleo clue to the disposi- tion of her father's property, a subject on which he maintained remarkable reticence. Surely, as one vitally interested, she was justified in learning the truth, if possible. This was Miss Elcnanorc's reasoning, and she unhesitatingly applied the key to the various drawers of the desk. She might as well have attempted to wind a town-clock with a needle. Useless task! Restoring the box and bag re- luctantly, she closed the desk, extinguished thle gas, and retired to her own chamber. For a long time she did not sleep; the very act of pressing her head on the pillow seemed toq arouse thought afresh. Then a soft rest- fulness succeeded; a cloud floated about her, veiling distorted shapes, and through a rift in the vapor leered a grotesque face, hideous and mocking. As the clock struck one, E , bounded up in page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] a state of acute wakefulness. Had any thing happened? The house was very still, wrapped in slumber, and life had ebbed away from the square. Two women went to the window, gazing o ut at the shadowy trees, both thinking of one man with almost the same prayer on their lips, "God bless my darling!" One was Eleanore Calderwood, preparing unconsciously for the terrible to-morrow; the other was pretty Netty Howard. Ah me! t when one rises, another must fall in the bal- ance of human destiny. In her confused bewilderment, Eleanore could not divine what had awakened her. Was it nightmare? In her dreams grotesque shapes had mocked her, like the Chinese idols her fa- ther fancied. At this association of ideas Elea- nore recoiled from the window, and sunk into a chair, pressing her hand on her heart. A strange fancy had darted into her brain. She opened her door stealthily, passed along the corridor, down the stairs, and entered the li- brary. The darkness was almost palpable, yet she feared to kindle a taper, and possibly re- veal her object. Shaken by her own heart- throbs, she found courage to lock the library door inside before venturing to Jight the wax- w candle she held. The housekeeper might glide after her, or a burglar flash a dark-lantern in E her face the next moment. Worst of all pos- t sibilities, old Mr. Calderwood might suddenly confront her! With cold, trembling fingers she fumbled for d the little key which had so powerfully excited s her imagination, then made a tour of the book- d cases, holding her candle above her head, to scan c their contents. In a remote corner a quantityl a of Chinese curiosities were heaped carelessly to-i if gether on the lower shelf. Eleanore crouched tl on the floor, opened the glass door, and took n out the articles one by one. There were speci- d mensgof ivory, wrought to the delicacy of lace, be fragrant woods inlaid with silver, quaint boxes w bound in steel, pagodas, and fans. Some of w these puzzles had tiny locks, but the key did w not fit them, and yet they served as a clue: p( the key was of Chinese workmanship. tr Eleanore grew hot and cold by turns, as she made this discovery. Time and circumstance he would ilave wrought on the most phlegmatic ca temperament, and she was nervously high- ml strung. The darkness of the room was only kr increased by the star of light from the candle, w and on the wall before her hung the portrait of Silas Calderwood, in wig and gown. El This Silas Calderwood was Eleanore's grand- aw ng 'father, the ancestor to whose mlemory the Cal- ed derwoods tenaciously clung. he In eager haste she drew forth a lacquered shrine, in which lolled a good-natured demon, 3g with lava-like red flames radiating from his ne person. The grotesque face, with its puffy s, cheeks and leering smile, nwas so strangely like the phantom of her dream, that Eleanore took lg the-little monster out, the better to examine le him. As she did so, she saw a door in the i! back of the shrine, cleverly concealed by the 1- idol. The frightened girl thrust her key into the aperture, and the door flew open. Some 'e cunning Oriental mind might have planned this 1s secret repository years before she was bornl, is ignorant whose purpose his skill would serve. The recess revealed was small and narrow; - it held two papers, shriveled and yellow with o age. Eleanore gave a little gasp as she took k them friom their hiding-place, and glanced 3 around anxiously. It seemed to her that Silas 3 Calderwood, grim and austere, was leaning for- - ward out of the shadows to peer at her. t On the first paper she read: "Last will and - testament of Silas Calderwood, Esq., of Oakhurst, Alton Ford." r On the second: "Directions for advertisinf - y eldest son, James Calderwood, or his heirs." In her surprise Eleanore uttered a faint scream. The knob of the library door was turned on the outside. Eleanore instantly blew out the candle, and sat on the floor listening. Who hlad tried the door? A cold dew stood on her forehead; something-seemed to brush past her in the darkniess. She rememberecd that the crimson curtain of the window completely screened a space sufficient to hold ten men. Ifeavens! A if any one had watched her proceedings fromn this hiding-place! She dreaded the appear- ance of Mrs. Todd, with her calm face and double chin, just then more than a host of rob- bers. Instinct taught her that this woman would gladly discover some failing in herself which should give the stranger more influence with her father. Still, there was relief in the possibility that it was only Mrs. Todd who had tried the door. Eleanore held the two papers tightly in her hand. She dared not kindle the light to dis- cover their contents, and her curiosity was al- most irresistible. Again the knob turned, a knee was pressed against the panel, then all was still. "A burglar would force the door," reflected Eleanore, leaning her head on the book-case to await results. She knew her family history very well in- deed. If she was narrow-minded in her pride of race, it was because of a thorough familiar- ity, a vast importance attached to tills circum- stance of birth in a republican stat0. Some- where back in the close of the seventeenthl cen- turv an English priest had arrived in the New World, and settled on the bank of the Dela- ware at Alton Ford. Those were the days when William I'cnn was shrewdly drawing the State line, so as to include the islands Of the river, if possible. But the statesman's schemes and ambition did not affect the young Iay- brother, who had donned the spiritual armor to fight the missionary's battle with the Indians. The chapel was small and rude, the old priest fervent and impetuous in discourse, stir- ring lethargic souls to action, and the de- meanor of the young assistant was meekly ,de- out. These two .men were united by the closest bond of sympathy; old Father Brice loved the Brother Herbert Caldlerwood as a son-an affection warmly reciplrocated withl filial reverence. Tlhe learning of apostle and disciple was held in doubt by many of the set- tlers; plants in the threst yielded their secret balm to their botanical knowlcedge, and they were frequently to bo seen absorbed in contem- plation of the geological recolrd of the virgin soil. Thlose were not the times to question a man's antecedents too closely; each stranger arrived wrapped in the mystery of his own in- dividuality, unless willing to reveal himself. Thus a cold, grave man hlad built the finest mansion in the country, christened Oakhlurst, and dwelt there plain Mr. White, surrounded by luxuries foreign to the primnitive estate of tle day. He hlad no fiamily save a daughter. No one knew him, no stranger ever visited him, and never a letter reached hm at Oakhurst through the mail-bag of Alton Ford, althoughll it was rumored that he went elsewherel for Eu- ropean missives. One day Fathler i Brice rambled in the wood, imparting knowledge to his sensitive, dreamy young assistant, wlho was about to learn a les- son apart from all priestly instruction. They were startled by a woman's scream; the brother parted the under-biush and darted to the rescue, Father B13rico following speedily just in time to sec a snake, with venomous crest lowered, glide away, while a beautiful young girl cltng to her preserver, anld Icheret' Cal- derwood, for the first time, drank deep of tlile fascination of a woman's lustrous eyes. The priest crossed himself, and muttered, "A snare of Satan." This girl was the dauglltor of the strange man, Mr. White, of Oakhurst. Alton Ford was familiar with her extraordinary loveliness, as well as her fantastic vagaries. She was n wild creature; and if thllere was not Indian blood coursing beneathh hler golden bronze alls, Alton Ford was mightily mistaken. The holy men had never before seen the lithlo, slender form, fawn-like in its untutoredl grace, the del- icate oval face, with its fuill rced lipls, and largo dark eyes. The young brother's gazo was al- wanys fixed on the ground, in accolrdance witlI the vows of his order. Tlhe snake had frighten- cd the girl; she clung with tlho persistency of a willful child to the lland of Herbert Calder- wood, as they went along tho path, and Father Brice could no more prevent the young man friom turniing to gaze again into tleo dlark eyes than lhe could hope to stem a mountain tor- rent. Necxt Sunday there was anotlher worshiper in the little chapel: the girl from Oakhllurst stoodl gazing at the altar, andL thhe priest's chleck grew pale, Alton 'ordl knew nothing of the strife rag- ing in one man's soul. lIcrbert Calderwood, victim of tlho destroyer in thie fairest promise of youth, passed from one torment to another, now dazzled by drceams of the lovely face, scar- let lips resting like dlew on his own expectant ones, soft arms wreathhed about him, tho music of a forbidden voice in his ear; now inflicting the sternest chastisement of fast anld penance, as atonement for guilty tlhoughlt. lie went and came like one distraughllt, sunken-yecd, ollow- checked, and wan with his own consuming grief and passion. rather Brice sent him away stern- ly. He returned mchbanically, his feet stray- ing along the wooded pathl, and as in a vision to his bewilderedl senses canme the girl, pale, terrifiedl, imperiously aware of her power over him: "My fatlher is dying. Come!" Thent thl tlunder-bolt fell. ieside the dy- ing fither's bed IIcerbert Calderwood broke his vows, renounced lhis faith, and married the daughter. Mr. Mr Wliito passed away, still a mystery, and buried in the grave the disgrace, or disappointment, of his career in the Old Worlld. It was an awful m oment when tle priest came to the house, and cursed the young couple and their children after thhemtn focrever. Strange stories were told of Oakhllurst. It would seem that happiness was the ldelirium of a moment to the sweet-temperedl young priest, leaving bitter dregs of disapp)ointment after- ward. In one year the storm had swept over page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] the household, a son was born; the wild flow-' er of a wife had drooped, and died; and the husband, leaving the child in charge of proper authorities, fled. He was rumored to have perished in the river; years afterward he was said to be laboring among the natives of Can- ada as a humble missionary. From this singular origin Silas Calderwood emerged to take part in the welfare of his country, patriotic to the core, although solely tempted to royalist views by many ties.- The country forgot the shadow of mysterious Mr. White, the unfortunate young lovers, and ster'n Father Brice, in the comfortable sunshine of Oakhurst, where Silas Caldeiwood brought as bride an heiress of the State, and where two sons were born-James and Buckley. A state- ly, courteous man, this Silas Calderwood, with the bronze skin of his mother; large, massive features; flexible, humorous niouth, which ut- tered some sarcasm in council and assembly, and the Saxon sweetness of his father's disposi- tion.:v He was statesman by virtue of a calm, comprehensive mind, rather than brilliant qual- ities and a vital interest in the cause; a- sol- dier by dint of indomitable courage, when men must hurl themselves into the breach; a foreign representative because of his own quiet elf-re- spect, and his ardent faitlh in the future of his country. Well might the Calderwoods cling to his memory. James and Buckley grew to manhood; the ; former restless and impetuous, the yo'unger t somewhat slow and cold. A second cloud darkened the house on the s river-bank. , An old priest, in aspect like dead- and-gone Father Brice, was seen to walk 1 throughsthe town in the twilight, and peer ear- ( neatly at Oakhurst. That night the young s brotihers Calderwood were entertaining some c officers. More wine was drunk than was good f for them, and, after the custom of the day, E gaming ran high. The fire of the vintage buin- a ed in James's young veins. Buckley watched tarplay in silence. Next day rumor winged its way over Alton n Ford, Silas Calderwood had been robbed of a fi sum of gold by his own son, the money being I found in the guilt) prodigal's possession. Theft tt in its most contemptible, petty form was not k likely to be pardoned by Silas Calderwood with- u out withering, scornful reproof; and goaded by n this contempt, handsome, versatile James had I vanished, even as his own grandfather had dis- is appeared years before. m Eleanore Canlderwood, crouching on the li- a] brary floor in the dark, clutching obstinately fi - the papers she had no right to see, thought of e this romance, and the strangely variegated r thread of life which weaves together the most e commonplace family history. Silas Calderwood s seemed to become a real presence to his grand- - child at that moment. The clock on the chim- ney-piece chimed four. Eleanore, rendered 1 desperate by impatience at the delay, lighted s the candle and opened the papers. She read: Y "Last will and testament of Silas Calderwood, e .Esq., of Oakhurst, Alton Ford, New Jersey; *December 5th, 1820. "In the name of Godi Amen. ", Silas Calderwood, of Alton lobrd, in the S State of lNew Jersey, being of sound mind alnd memory, and, considering the uncertainty of life, io .therefore make, ordain, and publish and cl de- clare this to be vmy last will and testament, that is to say:, "After all debts are paid and discharged, I give and bequeath to my eldest son James, or his heirs, nmy entire estate, land, mortgages, etc., re- serving the sum of $50,000for his brother Buck- ley, provisional on finding the principal legatee. In accordance wit] his solemn oath, my son Buck. ley will see that my, instructions are carried out that my own disgrace in the banishment of James may not become manifest to the world." The second paper contained an advertise- ment to be inserted in a leading journal in al- most every country of the globe, descriptive of the missing man's appearance, and calculated to attract at least the notice of his descendants, should he leave any. Eleanore Calderwood shivered', as she re- placed these documents in their hiding-place, carefully returning each box and vase to the shelf, and listened at the door before cautiously opening it on a crack. The dawn glimmering faintly through the high window of the corridor, gave her courage to lock the door, carrying away the key. :Old Mr. Calderwood. kept his word, and arose the next morning. It was his seventy- ninth birthday, and he made merry over the fact in his own mirthless, sarcastic fashion. He conquered weakness and fatigue; but what the struggle was of will over the body, he alone knew. The goad to exertion was the perpet- ual thought that he would not die. AMiss Elea- nore, a trifle pale and abstracted, had served his breakfast, of which he partook with fever- ish resolution, as if he were thinking that eachl mouthful served-his purpose of keeping him alive. The daughter's knowledge still con- fused her, and she was too cautious by nature to act impulsively in so grave a matter as the discovery of Silas Calderwood's will. Why had her father kept it? She looked at him in the strong pitiless day- light, and observed that he had grown alarm- ingly old since his illness, had crossed the abrupt boundary from robust maturity to set- tled age. His face was pinched, and his hair gray; his hand trembled; there was a stoop in the erect form. Time hlad touched the sturdy man, and he was unaware of it. He had never sought for James Calderwood or his heirs. Of this fact Eleanore was posi- tive. Hecr father was t\ thief, and possibly a forger; ugly names to be used, even mentally, in the luxurious dining-room of an old gentle- man who was intrenched in the very citadel of a respectable life. Mrs. Todd was alert and useful. Elealiore did not notice her, but the two women instinctively braced themselves when they met. "Excuse me, sir," Mrs. Todd said, when Mr. Calderwood was equipped tor his early drive to the office of Broadbent, "havn you been to your library this morning? I happcn- ed to be up at three o'clock; I was afraid that I had forgotten to fasten the window of the butler's pantry, in fact, and I thought I saw a light in the room." Mr. Calderwood darted a suspicious glance at his daughter, whlo raised her coffee-cup to her lips deliberately. "I locked up thile library, papa, after getting the paper; I thought it safer. As for your wandering about the house at all hours, Mrs. Todd, you will be accused of carrying lights, if you are not more careful." She said this carelessly and insolently; she was her father's own child. Mrs. Todd's smooth brow contracted. "It will be my turn some day," she mutter- ed. Mrs. Todd's turn came very soon indeed. Mr. Calderwood drove away. Eleanore's thoughts returned with sickening anxiety to her absent lover, The postman came, and she went to meet her fate eagerly and unsulspiciously. Mrs. Todd found her lying senseless on the floor, with a crumpled letter in her hland. The housekeep- er slipped the sheet from her fingers dexter- ously, and unblushingly read it. "So, my haughty miss, your beaul has run away because he loved another girl better. He asks your forgiveness when you would tear lhis eyes out, and I'm sure he's rid of a fine tem- per in you. However, I wish bh'd married you all the same. There will be nice times in this house now, with you crossed in love, or I'm mistaken. " lMrs. Todd's face was not smooth and placid, as she gazed at her unconscious enemy; it was o^1l, and hard, and old. "I could teach you a lesson, although I am only your servant. Never show a man that you love him better than lie loves you, Miss Elea- nore. Anty sweet thero may bo in his heart yields only wheln he is trampled upon by his lady. It's a very old-fshioned rtle, my dear, but it works best, I can assure you;" and the house. keeper laid the letter again in the rigid hand. page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] CHAPTER IV. PAUL, THE MARRIED MAVN. TWO years later Eleanore Calderwood was - standing beside her father at one of So- ciety's crowded receptions, when a couple ap- proached whom she would fain have avoided. They were Mr. Paul Waite and his wife. Who so bloomingly lovely as the charming Netty in a Paris toilet which eclipsed all present, and with a manner just a trifle prononcee in its de- fiance of the well-bred throng? For this aim had Netty labored with all the zeal and spite of her childish soul. To ramble over Europe, and buy pretty baubles, was a delightful change, certainly, from the narrow life of the little brick house; but to return to the world which she had viied, and never mingled with, was better. Two ing with diamonds, rustling in satin and Ie, flushed, radiant, and triumphant parvenue, Netty dragged her husband up to the Caldcr- woods. "Introduce me," she whispered behind her fan * the moment of triumph was supreme; there was a wicked smile about her rosy lips as she looked meaningly at her former rival, now sal- low, thin, and distrait in manner. Paul Waite shrunk from the contact; shrunk also from the light which came into Eleanore's eyes at sight i of him, telling more in one flash of irrepressible 1 emotion of the soul-history of these two years than she was aware I Ho was ashamed of i Netty, and confused, uttering some constrained E words of introduction, for Paul Waite was a s gentleman; only circumstances had proved too c much for him. I Mr. Calderwood was bland, and perfectly e well aware that the gaze of Society was fix- II ed upon himself and the man who had dared o to jilt a Calderwood. Society was curious to 3 know how he would take it, and for the most h part suspended the buzz of conversation to h listen, "We are very well, thank you. We have w sustained no serious misfortune in our family, ri I believe, that is worthy of record. And so fi as this is your wife, eh? How is your father, the o- doctor, my dear? Still lives in the old place, I p- suppose." d. Netty reddened with anger, and gave a little lo toss to her head. Pa'ul winced. in ( You have made me play the part of a brute d and a fool," said the loving husband hotly, as. '- they drove away. n I I am sure I don't know what you mean," e retorted Netty, tartly. "I suppose you would i, like me to stand in the corner like yourwfiancee, , Miss Calderwood. Dear me! I don't see what k you ever fancied in that old maid!" e Mr. Waite bit his lips, and stared through the carriage windo* ; Netty petulantly turned d her back on llim. The honey-moon was over. , eanore Calderwood, with the room swyirl- ing before her eyes, and the sound of rushing waters in her ears, grasped her father's arm. "I'apa, take me home. I can't bear it an- other moment." "You will bear it. I shall stay an hour. Do you hear? Don't be a fool, with all these people ready to laugh at you for loving a man who whistled you down the wind." If any thing could have restored the falter- ing senses of a young ladyv, it must have been the glance Mr. Calderwood bestowed on his daughter. Eleanore obeyed, meehanicallyplay- ing the role assigned to her, tortured by the pos- sible verdict of her friends on her painful po- sition, and longing for the moment when she could yield to her own agony. In every face her morbid pride read mockery; she fancied each smiling lip framing some fresh version of her story. She was branded with the disgrace of failure. The world does not respect failure. There was no grief like unto her grief;. she felt her very features freezing into the smile which her father commanded. At last the nerve tension was over, and she was permitted to sink into a corner of the car- riage in silence. M1r. Calderwood broke out furiously: "The hound! The infernal scoundrel! I 1 would thrash him for his insolence, if it was not betraying too much feeling in the matter. i IIow did you ever fancy such a scamp?" Eleanore made no reply, but her face became c convulsed. I "I wonder how the girl's money is invest- ed?" pursued Mr. Calderwood, malignantly. t"I would ruin him if it came in my way. You are rightly served for having to do with such common people." "Don't injure him," said Eleanore in a low tone, touching her fthher's hand. "Icroics!" he sneered. "Not but the girl is far prettier than you are, and 1. dare say much younger." "I beg of you to spare me," interposed Elen- norce, passionately. "Is it not enough that I have been wrecked by the only man I can ever love? Why do you taunt me with my misfor- tunes? Oh! you are'so cold, so cruel, when your pride is touched!" lie caught her wrist firmly. "I've had quite enough of tlis nonsense. For two years you have moped about the house after the manner of love-lorn damsels. Now, get married." "No," said Eleanore Calderwood. "Of course not. Waste the best years of your life in mourning and lamentation, thlen. Lay yourself abjectly at the feet of a low vil- lain who did not want you. Cherish his pre- cious inmage, by all means." The mockery of the old man's tone would have been maddening toda cooler temperament than that of his daughter; she broke her deli- cate fani to fragments, as she listened, in her thin, nervous fingers. "Take care; we had better be friends," she flashed out, unguardedly. They looked at each other steadily. "Why?" demanded Mr. Calderwood, slowly. Eleanorc's. eyelids drooped obstinately. "Iow can you ask? Arc we not parent and child?" Her secret hllad leaped to her lips, and near- ly escaped. Perhaps it is very difficult for a woman to keep a secret. There is the oppres- sion of a sensitive conscience, or the swift rush of emotions which may prompt hier generously to confide, and still more often to hurl down her gauntlet in the triumph of knowledge. The girl went straight to her own rooms, bolted the doors, and remained without food or sympathy. '"Oh God! only let mo die," she prayed fieredly, wrestling with her own despair.' All her wounds, inflicted long ago, bled afresh at the sight of her recreant lover and his bloom- ing bride. On the morning when Mrs. Todd had found her insensible, stunned by the un- expected blow, the very cords of lifoehad snap- ped with Eleanore Calderwood, and she had lost her hold on happiness. Resignatiott and forgetfulness do not belong to such a nature. The longer she brooded over her wrong, tile more inexplicable it became. How could Paul have deserted her for any other woman living? Clearly he had been caught in the toils of art- ful Netty, anrid it would have gone hard witli the heiress if she had fithen into the clutches of Miss Calderwood at that date. At first sho was beside herself in the anguish of tiis re- lation, and ready to act with feverish el-rty on the impulse of the moment. Paul Waite had not presmced to look upon her face again, and a Cunard steamer was al- ready bearing him away with his bride, when hiis letter of explanation reached her. If she could only see him again, and learn the truth, however humiliating, from his own lips! Mr. Calderwood locked her doors, and set Mrs. Todd to watch that she did not dis- grace herself by following him across seas, and( the soul of Eleanore beat against this prison of circumstance until spent and weary. Shle hated the caln housekeeper; sho revolted against her father's will; the sight of her own homo and the adjacent square stung lher with tender memories now turned to bitterness. She hadl lived on, morbid in her fancies, and quivering at the jar of a rude touch, a sensitiveness which she veiled beneath a sarcastic manner. Slho had lived on, gazing out on the squalnrwhich she hated, antil to-day, when all was changed by the rencontre of the former lovers, and the fire had leaped up again within her licart. She was the unmasked in a multitude where all were masked. She had given no quarter of human sympathy in her day, and she ex- pected none. If Paul could have come to her, she would, in her pitiful weakness, have for- given and wept over him. There would never be another idol around whom the fibres of her being twined and clung. But this could not be while the wife, with her bold, bright eyes, and dimpled face, hbad a right to the place at his side. She did not spare herself through the silent hours of night. Sliheo drew pictures, colored with the hues of a fervid imagination, of the home where a young mother was sur- rounded by the lovely helads of children, and then she sketched with painful accuracy her L own cold, solitary hearthstone. page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] iAndlold iage coming loil. iOhllthe longh , weary years!" She shuddered, snatched a light, and peer- ed at her reflected image in a toilet-glass. She saw a thread of silver already in the dark hair which had been her pride. That night, in all the conflicts of suffering peculiar to a self- absorbed nature, Eleanore Calder\vood formed her resolution. "Papa, I have a proposal to make," she said, -calmly, next morning. "Well," returned Mr. Calderwood, glancing over his newspaper. "I wish you to invest any money you intend for me in a small property up the river. I know a site where I should like to build a cot- tage after my own fancy." Mr. Calderwood regarded her keenly. ' What will you do with yourself there?" "One can always find work to do," replied Eleanore, in a sombre tone. "Perhaps I may found charity schools." Mr. Calderwood studied the carpet, and tap- ped his fingers with his eyeglass. "Your request is reasonable. You shall have it." I Iileanobre's lip cuiled at this ready acquies- cence. So the daughter departed,'leaving the enemy in full possession of the field. Mrs. Todd was puzzled, and rather uneasy at this change in the tactics of her oppressor. She welcomed the day when Eleanore went away, and prepared to celebrate it by a dish which should touch the palate of her master, and for which she was not indebted to Soyer or Brillfit-Savarin, but the intuition of her own genius in the culinary art. "I am afraid you have made a mistake, my dear," reflected the housekeeper, folding her plump hands, and gazing after Miss Calder-4 wood. "After me the deluge," thought Eleanore. "I am not likely to be defrauded of that which I possess, if the worst comes;" which meant if her father were ever lroved a for- ger. "Are you comfortable, sir?" inquired Mrs. Todd, meekly, later. "Very comfortable, thank you. The fact is, my dear Mrs. Todd, that my daughter is developing the devil of a temper lately. Yes, yes, I am comfortable." CHAPTER V. "OVERS OF. TWO GENERATIONS. A GIRL stood leaning both arms on the ru- ined garden wall, and looking witl some eagerness along the road below. It was a pure, tranquil evening in the month of July; insects hummed on the still air, and the garden, a tan- gled wilderness of old-fashioned flowers, ex- haled a moist fragrance. Behind the girl rose the house known as Oakhurst, sombre, dreary, and shadow-haunted, while through the open dlodrs of the hall a glimpse was afforded be- yond of the River Delaware, rose-flushed from the sunset. The house- door thus formed a black arch for the picture of glistening waters, where the boats went and came. The girl herself was peculiarly in keeping with her surroundings. She wns small and slender, of a dark complexion, with serious gray eyes, and one of those delicately curved, sensitive mouths which evince a keen capacity for suffering. eIcr attire was quaint, consist- ing of a much-worn muslin gown of exquisite fineness, and a scarlet scarf of East India manufacture wound about her waist. A neck- lace of dull gold, plaited in a large coil, adorn- ed her neck. Eleven years before Anstice Calderwood had blighted er family's fortunes by her interview with her grandfather; now, a maiden of seven- teen, she leaned on the garden wall, watching the road where the drooping foliage formed a curtain, and screened Alton Ford from view. Alton Ford, small, humble, obscure, slighted alike by steamboat and railway, left to crumble and decay, unless redeemed by one man, An- drew Keith. He had done his best in the eleven years, laboring hard to perfect his own rrnchinery, and also to stir the apathy which had settled on the little hamlet. A man of one idea, founding his views much on Robert Owen, self-taught, and able to manage. his "hands" 'from the advantage of being one of them. An- stice could see the tower of Andrew Keith's file iae^ house above the tree-tops, as also the spire of St. James's Church, where officiated the Rev. Simon Whitty, clergyman and school- master in one. With the sharp trot of small hoofs, and the rhythm of jingling chains and larness, Miss Keith's ponies come down the road, and reined up beneath the wall. "Will you drive with me, Anstice?" cried a sweet, ringing voice. "Not to-night, thank you." One girl looked down from shadow-land, the soft dusk of shrubbery meeting behind her; the other laughed up from the full light of tho open space, fair, large-moulded, with masses of golden hair gathered tinder a coquettish riding- iat, and blue draperies billowing over the little basket carriage. Margaret Keith was charm- ing to look upon. The ponics fietted, and tossed their silky manes; the groom, perched up behind with folded arms, wore a conspicuous livery; and the owner of all this splendor had once starce after old Mr. Calderwood, a freck- led cliAVini a calico gown. The world is full of these bitterflies, emerging from the chrysalis of poverty gorgeous insects. "How is your mamma, dear? I wish she would let me drive her a mile or so," said Mar- garet, flicking the ponies with her wlip. Anstice shook her head. "No; she never goes out." "See what it is to be superior to one's sur- roundings," retorted Margaret, with a laugh which did not veil the bitterness of her tone. Anstice colored deeply. "You are very disagreeable sometimes," sho said, haughtily. "My lack of breeding, darling," returned Margaret, airily; and gathering up her reins, she prepared to start. "Where is Buck?" she demanded, abruptly. "Ah, I thought that question must come," smiled Anstice. "Well, he is fishing on the river."' o page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] "It makes no difference to me where he,", retorted Margaret, blushing slightly. "I had message for him if he was at home. That is all." "Give me the message," said Anstice, con- descendingly, and not without enjoyment of the situation. Instead, Miss Keith unsheathed her own sword of girlish- malice. "I suppose Eugene Dillon is also fishing." "Oh no." "Aha, miss! You seem to be tolerably well acquainted with the movements of the senior boy." "How can you be so disagreeable, Mar- garet?" said Anstice, flushing again. "Mr. Dillon is so kind as to help me in my studies." ," So kind as to help me with my studies," mimicked the other. "One can see what will come. of it." "I shall not talk with you when you tease," cried Anstice, in a vexed tone, drawing back with a little thrill of wonder at the possibility conveyed by Margaret's light badinage. Eugene Dillon was certainly a hero worthy of a maiden's respectful homage. He was hand- some, with an inherent courtesy of manner which was almost quaint, and the gift of saying exactly what he meant in concise terms, a ,quality that gives a man influence, be lie old or young. Stay! Always truthful and honest, Eugene Dillon? Why, then, pause when acdosted by Miss Keith in her pretty car- ringe, and inquire with unnecessary eagerness, "Have you seen Buck Calderwood? I wish' toespeak with him particularly." Margaret raised her eyebrows, and her part- ed lips revealed a row of pearly teeth. "Oh, if you want Buck, as he is not at home, perhaps you will allow me tldrive you in search of him." "Thank you; I must decline to-night," re- plied the young man, awkwardly. Laughing merrily, Margaret drove on. "Confound that girl! What a sharp tongue- she has! I can't perceive any thing so very ridiculous in my strolling past the garden wall of Oakhurst," said Eugene. He reached the spot, and looked about eager- ly. Anstice, still troubled by Margaret's jest, had retreated to a flower-bed, where she be- came absorbed in the contemplation of a late - rose the moment that Eugene appeared. She wished he had not come, and her heart flut- tered with delight at the same time. It had grown to be so natural and pleasant to exchange a few words with the senior boy in the gloam- I ing. Dr. Whitty's school for young gentlemen Igave Buck at least the semblance of an edu- cation, while Anstice, deprived by her gentility of9so common a fount of learning as the public bshool, picked up such stray crumbs as her mother could impart when her head did ndt ache; and Mrs. Calderwood's head usually ached. Thus Anstice, a wild vine, grew, and twined about any stone her fancy selected. She read musty old romances which lay on the garret floor in heaps; she wrote a funny, crab- bed little hand, and she disdained the restraints of mathematics. All this time the young girl was actually led by a stern, sombre teacher, Necessity. Such a household fairy as Oakhurst might boast in its present state of unhinged dilapidation Anstice supplied, and, aided by the devotion of Ann, made her mother's existence endurable. Eugene coughed slightly; Anstice raised her head. "Good-evening, Miss Anstice." "Good-evening, Mr. Dillon." She came toward him reluctantly, and shyly gave him her hand across the wall. The young man was puzzled. What could have happen- ed? Never before had Anstice fliled to greet him witlh a bright smile of welcome; perhaps the strongest claim possessed by an entirely new relation of life, of which he also felt a dawning consciousness, was- the sweetness of being watched for, of having the power to de- light or disappoint some one young heart in the world. Eugene Dillon stood alone, an orphan. "I have something to tell you," he began, impetuously. "Oh!" The gray eyes dilated as Anstice leaned for- ward. "Don't be frightened. How sensitive you are!" he said, in a caressing tone, his clear black eyes searching her face. "Hdoes not concern you. No,'Buck has not got infrnmischief4' At that moment there was a dull plash out on the river, but neither of them heard the dis- tant sound. Eugene went on rapidly: "The news concerns only myself. I sup- pose-there is nothing to be ashamed of in being poor. I am very poor, and always have been. Well, the fund for my education has ceased suddenly." "What are. you going to do?" Anstice was all eloquent sympathy in a mo- ment. The young man vaulted over the wall, impelled by this necessity for consolation. "Oh, I have already made up my mind. It never takes me more than five minutes to de- cide, at least on my own humble affairs. This will make no difference with our lessons, you know." Music floated firom the house, a weird, thin vibration of melody, singularly in keeping with tlhe place. One could no more associate the idea of a Chickering grand piano with that old mansion on the Delaware than a spinet with the garish modern splendors of Mr. Bullion's parlors, even though a Mozart or a Beethoven had drawn divine harmonies from the primitive instrument. Silence fell on the young people as they listened, and instinctively they drew closer together as flowers blend beneath the stars. Tlhe music went on, and a mellow voice, subdued and plaintive, rose on the calm even- ing, as if seeking some unattainable hcight of distance. Heart and soul spoke in the voice. "It is mamma playing on the'harp," whis- pered Ansticee; "she is in one of her moods. Ah, when she was a girl she was very cleaver and accomplished and beautiful." "I wish I -could see her," said Eugene, in- voluntarily. His fancy was led captive by the image of this sad lady, who dwelt in the shade. Alton Ford had extraordinary tales to tell about her, founded chiefly on the lively imag- ination of a village that felt itself ignored by one who preferred isolation. Who was Mrs. Calderwood? IIow was she better tlian oth- ers? No doubt there was some good reason for her banishment to Oakhurst, where nobody ever came to see her. There must be a darker stain than mere poverty, Altol Ford concluded, be- ing poor itself, and afraid to look no man in the face ; whereas poverty alone is a sufficient cause for neglect. Dr. Whitty's senior boy, Eugene Dillon, had heard much of this gossip, and had only been interested by the description of the invalid, of whom he had obtained no more than a glimpse. "Would you really like to see mamm a?" in- quired Anstice, brightening. Ann stalked toward them from a side-path. She -was a stout, middle-aged woman, with in- significant features and a dull eye. "Childer," she exclaimed, almost in a whirs per,!"it's going to blossom, glory be to God! and only once in a hundred years. I've watch- ed it grow and stir, as if it was waking up like." The two young people, infected by her enthu- siasm, moved toward the house where the mu- sic of the harp still floated through the darken- ed rooms. In the path leading from the door was a large American agave, a part of Oak- hurst's growth of years, and about to yield its century flower. The music had ceased suddenly. Mrs. Cal- derwood appeared at tho parlor-window, and Eugene removed his straw hat. She was a tall, thin woman, clad in a loose robe; her hair was carelessly pushed back from a face ren- dered sallow by illness, and withl tine features sharpened as if the years had cach left a trace. Melancholy gazed down on the young man from large, dark eyes, and the very attitude of the slight form betrayced unconlquerableo weari- ness and dejection. "Anstice, my child, bring in your friend." And alnost before he was aware of it, a long, tapering hand clasped that of EIugene, and Mrs Jp Calderwood was conquering his shyness by a delicate tact which belongs to the drawing- room, and which she hlad apparently not for- gotten. "I have long felt an interest in you," she said. "We anre very much indebted to you for the assistance you have given in Buckley's studies. I fear lie will never be very clever." A tinge of reserve crept into her voice; her gaze sought the carpet moodily. "Oh, I am sure, Mrs. Calderwood," beganl Eugene, hastily, and thlcn broke dowh with, an appealing look at his ally, Anstice, to help hirn out of the difficulty. How could lie deny that indolent Bucklcy was nlot clever at his books? A slight, satirical smile curled the mother's lip, like a gleam of light on water. "Tell me about yourself," che added, withl a cordiality tlat went to Eulgene's hicnrt. "You are not an American, I believe. Where is your home?" "I have no home," ho replied. "I was born in the West Indies, and now my last friend must be dead, I think, because I have ceased to hear-I mean, to get any money." "I'oor boy," murmured Mrs. Calderwood, sympathetically. This sympathy was very precious to him just then; lhis homclessncss had been forced ujpon him b1y that long, chilling silence, and the faiil- ure of his remittances. He drew nearer to tlhe arm-chair with a little flush of pleasure on his clleek, and forgot Ansticce. Tlhe latter was not unaware of the change. A pang of doubt, of faint jealousy, made her shrink back into thle shadow. She ihad never seen her mother no- tice any one like that. "I have been here at school four years, but perhaps you do not know," he explained. Mrs. Calderwood inclined her head gently, and took his hland in her own with a rc-assur- page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] ing pressure. The soft contact of such deli- cate fingers thrilled the lad, a stranger to ca- ressing influences, and peculiarly unused to women. "It was my father's wish that 1 should be educated in the States," he went on, eagerly; "old Duncan M'Coy promised to send me if the Valerie Arnold did not return, I think." "Young man, what are you saying?" inquired Mrs. Calderwood, sharply. Anstice came over to them, curiosity con- quering her first pique at being forgotten. '"Valerie Arnold was mamma's name before she married," said the little daughter. -Eugene's black eyves turned from one to the other in astonishment.4 "I suppose the names of ships go for noth- ing., Father sold the plantation, and put ev- ery thing in a ship, so Duncan told me, and lie named her the ValerieArnold. It was a great venture down yonder; here it might not be worthy of notice. I only wish I had been old enough to go too, but they left me behind." (They left you behind," repeated Mrs. Cal- derwood, still more sharply, and quitting her hold of her young visitor's hand. "You prob- ably mean your parents. Was John Dillon your father?" She made this inquiry with. rising excite- ment; a vein beat in her cheek; the great eyes became brilliant; she was beautiful again by one of those bewildering transitions of mood -which belong to a mercurial temperament. " Oh, did you know him?" exclaimed Eu- 1 gene. What had happened in the dim, faded old room? The mistress of the house had risen, s leaned Over him, and kissed him just where the t dark hair waved back from the forehead. t "The ship wa named for me, and I knew r him in my youth, my dear." c Her voice was low and sweet, and the smile ( did not leave her face as she resumed her seat. I Anstice and Eugene looked at each other. s Silence succeeded this confession, which was so eloquent to their fresh, romantic imagina- a tions. Their parents had met, and perhaps t loved in their youth. Curious freak of destiny! Far away in the Coral Islands a ship had been w christened for this lady, and been lost at sea v when the promise of the voyage was fairest. te How had the living original survived the storms g of life? The girl had bloomed, and the sails \w unfurled to waft the vessel over the azure trop- ical seas so many years ago. Now Eugene and s] Anstice talked in the gloaming over the gar- .d den wall of Oakhurst, in a commonplace little h i- village'on the River Delaware, known only to - Eugene Dillon as the locality of the Rev. Mr. o Whitty.'s school. Outside the evening shadows gathered in e the dusky garden, wrapping about the mystery ; of the agave, as Nature perfected ler wonder- f work with the noiseless processes of develop- ment. The parlor, with -its time-worn velvet i chairs, threadbare carpet, and richly carved chimney-piece, was growing very dark. On - the wall hung a stiff portrait of Silas Calder- wood, which was bleached to ghostly lineaments a in the waning light, and opposite Eugene an- other lead looked down on the group with an 3 ironical smile curiously blended with an expres- sion of regret. This was the plain, self-willed - countenance of the Mr. Whte who had built - Oakhurst. lie stared at Eugene with that irony strongly marked,. until the young man, t always impressed by surrounding. influences, felt a little chill creep over him. What a strange home for good little Anstice! Had he been an American, should he have liked the old house, with its dim passages and musty chambers, full of memories and uncanny nooks? Mrs. Calderwood had lapsed into reverie; the two young people watched heri almost appre- hensively. Once she spoke, but not to them. "Ite named his ship for me. Then he be- lieved in me to the end, and I can die in peace." "Mamma, Mr. Dillon wishes to bid you good-evening," said Anstice, half reproachfully. The side of her mother's character revealed to-night had never been seen by Anstice before. Sle was bewildered and troubled td discover that her mother had participated inr so many scenes before she was born, and which did not, therefore, belong to herself. She possessed all the jealous exaction of an only daughter, and now the visit of Eugene Dillon lifted the corner of a great curtain veiling the past. The shock of this knowledge was too much for Anstice, Mrs. Calderwood recovered herself with a slight start. "Pardon my forgetfulness. Your name aroused painful memories; that is all. Come to me often, my child." Then, as the young man, who shared the be- wilderment of Anstice, reached the door, the voice of Mrs. Calderwood followed him, full of tenderness, and with a certain solemnity: " Eu- gene, you can never be alone again in the world while I live." The words were like a benediction, thhe speaker standing among the shdows of the dim room. A sob rose in Anstice's throat; her mother seemed to have belonged to Eugene before hier own claim was established. What did it all mean? She petulantly cut short the adieus of the senior boy, and suffered him to find his own way down the box-bordered path to the gate. Then she crept down to the century-plant, and knelt on the moss, shedding unreasonable tears, which came in a sudden storm-gust. She would have been bitterly disappointed hiad her moth- er not liked Eugene, the knight of her carliest fancy, and yet was unprepared for the sudden animation of sympathy which drew him to that mother's silde. Mrs. Calderwood lad bidden him come to her like one of her own children. The plant towered above hler, with the cen- tral stalk upholding the blossom which would flower on tho morrow, and they would nll be dust before again the agave gave its perfected beauty to the day. Peace brooded over till nature. There was a sudden rush of hurrying feet up the path, and the next instant young Buck- ley Calderwool, panting, disheveled, and drlip- ping with water, darted in through the open door. "Mother, mother! the mill hands are after me. hMikcy is drowned, and they say that I killed him." CHAPTER VI. IN THE BOARDED CHAMBER. HE wooden bolt of the house-door was slid; a candle burned on thile table; tlhe hound, Lion, listened with a low, menacing growl. Three women looked at each other and then at the youth, Buck, who had sunkl into a cllair, shivering and pallid. "It was all the faiult of that little wretch, Bobby," he whimpered, uneasily. "We would nob take him in the boat, so he watched from the shore; and whlen AMikey's foot caught in the lines and he fell overboard, Bobby screamed that-I pushed him. I didn't, mother; I couldll't help it. Old'Larry lhas been drlinking all day, and he's after me. Hark!" Heavy steps were heard on thhe-walk, suc- ceeded by a rap onithe door. Ann instantly converted the table into a barrier, and sat down on it with an expression of great resolution. Lion's hair bristled with rage, but Anstice held him back; Buck's teeth chattered. Mrs. Cal- derwood steadied herself on the shoulder of Anstice to inquire, "Who is-there?" - "We'll soon show ye, ma'am. Open to us, or we'll save ye the trouble. We want the young spalpeen who drowned Mikey in the riv- er in cowld blood. IHand him over till we have a sight of him, now!" The voice was hoarse and thick; the volley of oaths which followed curdled the blood, and sickened the heart of the listeners. Ann alone looked unmoved, and folded her arms. "They can pass over my body,'" she mutter- and felt in her pocket reflectively for a pair of scissors. "Good people, you are mistaken," said Mrs. Calderwood, tremulously. "Wait until you hear the truth. Mr. Keith will explain all to your satisfaction. My boy never meant to harm Mikey." "Say that to our fles, if you dare," shout- ed the hoarse, thick voice. "'Shureo t ikey was not born for the like of him to trend on! No, no; Alikcy's drowned. Give us the murderer, and we'll treat hini to a little could wather, too. Fine speeches! )o yo hellnr, lads? The boss will make it all riglit, and bring him back to life." Theli passion of old Larry's rouigh cloquence was indescribable; lis fellows were as tinder under the influence of a fire-brand, being swny- cd as readily to destroy as they would lhave been active to assist in good work, The deptlhs of the great sea of humanity occasionally surge up to disturb the liglht rip- ples of the surface, and the storm anlays springs from wrong. Thus wrong, ever ready to hurl its grievances of hard-working poverty at the world, beat against the portals of Oakhurst, thirsting for the swift vengeance of class to overtake a slender boy, shrinking atu-cach blow on the panel, while an old servant mounted guard on a table placed ac ross the hall. Not a man of the dozen gathered witliout doubted the guilt of Buck. They burned with a sense of injury and passionate desire to act as rctrib- utive justice in the bond of standing Joy eld Larry, whoso flesh and blood Ilad been sacri- ficed. The young gentleman had taken Mikey out a-fishing, and if one must drown, it would be the poor boy. Thus, as they reasoned, glass page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] crashed in the many windows, and a missile whizzed close to Mrs. Calderwood's head. In the first panic of fright the assailed were utter- ly helpless, and unable to realize the situation. A moment before the evening had been all peace and stillness, a part of the tranquil sum- mer; and now it was as if fierce enemies and loud conflict of rage, unreasonable, blind, and furious, had swept down upon them, startling all the echoes. Anstice grew cold with horror. She saw the panel yield to the rude assault; she al- ready beheld her brother torn from their feeble ' rotection, and hurried out into the darkness Where was her father at such a moment of per- il? Where was Eugene, young, strong, and brave? In her heart Anstice cried out for him as a refuge. She took Buck's head in her hands and kissed him. There had always been this element of protection in their relationship; the small, fragile girl upheld the tall, slender youth, with some vague sense of pain that he shiver- t ed and cowered in his chair, instead of braving 3 these men, and yet accepting the situation be- a cause he was Buck. "Something must be done," she whispered. "CBuck, run and hide in the chimney of moth- 8 er's room until I come back. I am going to t find a still safer place of concealment." i] "Do ye go up, the whole of ye," interposed s Ann, with an energetic motion toward the stair- p case. "Lave me to meet 'em." "My poor Ann, I shall not leave you, "said w, Mrs. Calderwood, resolutely. "They will not harm me." i "When the drink's in 'em ye can't mostly in tell. Wait till I see the priest to-morrow!" tl said Ann, shortly, as if it w-ere the most natu- cl ral thing in the'iwol d that her countrymen cl shouldbe batterin ,down the door, and venting I ng every curse in the languageon the house of A Calderwood. Anstice led her brother up stairs, made him 1 lock the bedroom door, and promised to secrete gr himself in the wide chimney if the mill men the gained admission below. She paused on the a landing, and listened intently. She had nerved reo hersOlf to an act of heroism only to be appre- ciatedk by the timid nature that peoples the scv darkness iVitlh unknown terrors, and lives much rep in a world of idle fancy. Ann's fairy tales and tor legends, the most absurd superstitions based cen on gross ignorance, had all been assimilated by the the girrls childhood, and bore fruit in a rank If 1 fashion of their own. If the mill men seized the Buck and dragged him away, surely his blood lent would be on her heat The only expedient roo sile that occurred to her made her blanch and In tremble in the dark quite as much as the clam- er- or of old Larry and his'companions, because ,n. it brought her to the border-land, the invisible all barrier of the supernatural. Buck was in dead- m- ly peril! If they found him- nd Without giving herself time for further re- nd flection, Anstice ran along the corridor until ng she reached the window at the end. The house was spacious, the doors on either Iw side were narrm and sunken with age. An- Il- stice glanced with a shudder at the last door Ie on the right, which was different from all the ss. others, inasmuch as it was concealed by pieces r- of rough board nailed across it. Never in their id lives had the Calderwood children ventured m within this mysterious chamber, which Ann be- s, lieved to be haunted. Mrs. Calderwood re- is garded it with indifference, and Mr. Calder- le wood had not dispelled the awe of his children i, by removing the boards, and allowing inspec- - tion to familiarize them with the ghostly inte- g rior. Perhaps he did not perceive their fear, - as he seldom noticed them at the best. "Leave my grandfather's room untouched," t. he had said, fretfully. "You may not under- - stand my feelings, Valerie; but I prefer to keep o the memory of the founder of our house sacred in all things. There are plenty of rooms be- I1 sides, in all conscience-enough to make our poverty sufficiently apparent." Mrs. Calderwood had assented with habitual I weariness. t The little people, disciples of Ann in the kitchen, had many a time sat on the stairs, hand in hand, discussing the probablle appearanc of that great-grandfather who stalked beyond the closed door in the awful majesty of grave- clothes. All the forces of their inflntile im- ngination centred in this one focus of terror. A grandfather might be a living person, a man terribly old and stern, like the stranger little Anstice had encountered in the lane; but a great-grandfalther was a shape that hung on 'the parlor wall in a portrait or wandered in a haunted room, an all-pervading influence, and ready to pounce on any invader of its territory. Anstice, having attained the mature age of seventeen, would have indignantly repelled the reproach of cowardice as regarded her ances- tor's apartment, and yet it required a strong in- centive to drive her, thither. She was going the r now, for the first time in her existence. If the mill men actually forced their way into the house, Buck was not safe from their vio- lence in any hiding-place, unless, indeed, in this room, partitioned off from the dwelling. It did not occur to her to take Buck with her. However great her shuddering fear of the move, she must reconnoitre alone. As Anstice cautiously raised the hall window, a momentary triumph of youthful pride helped to conquer her palpitation of weakness. Was it not like the old days of romance to have the enemy at the door, while the knight was con- cealed behind the tapestry? ]3uck might be a King Charles defended by his faithful retain- ers in a remote castle. Transported by tile vivid imagination which possesses still much of the child's nature, Anstice was able to thus nerve herself to action in glowing pictures of the past, while acutely alive to the danger of the present. It would be glorious to save Buck in the haunted chamber, although tileo deed might not be perpetuated in any of those soul- stirring engravings ulhere the heroine wears floating hair and a cloak of tartan plaid. Tlhe window opened on thile sloping roof of the piaz- za, as did all the windows on that side of the house. What if the enemy had already scaled tlhe roof, and should confront Anstice? No, it Nwas open-handed warfare on the part of old Larry and- his companions. They would bold- ly assail the entrance-door of Oakhurst, and de- lmand their victim. Anstice crept out on the roof, and made her way along to the two windows .of the closed room, which were protected by wooden shutters. She paused at the first one, and tried to open these shutters which, rusted by long disuse, re- sisted her feeble efforts, and with-the instinctive cunning of timid creatures Anstice dreaded to make the slightest noise. Then she moved on in a quadruped attitude to the second window, which overlooked the garden. This time the wooden shutter yielded to her touchl, and swung back suddenly and noiseless- ly, as if in good preservation. The sash was open. Anstice felt her way over the'sill into the stillness of the unknown place. Yes, it would serve as a refuge for her brother. She turned hastily to return and find him, when an arm was passed around her, and some heavy mantle of darkness enveloped her, stifling alike sight and sound. "Mother! Eugene Dillon!" These cherished names leaping up in her heart passed like meteors across this nigl}t of danger, and then Anstice swooned. The river flowed on, changing from the gold and crimson of sunset to the silvery tints of twilight, and still bearing on its bosom the lit- I tle boat with which was associated the tragedy of death. Down among the willows of the i 'sluggish creek there was wailing in the shantit of old Larry over the inanimate form of Mikey, gone so early to his account. The women wept and raved, while the men gathered outside in groups, sullenly talking of whoso fault it was, solacing themselves with tobacco and a surrep- titious bottle or so, fetched from the dram-slop of Caleb Green. Anstice had vanished; but the garden still sent up its fragrance, and unfolded the mystery of the great agave. Thello oaks towerced above the chimneys, affording glimpscs of thoe stars through thcir foliage, and Nature made lier myriad tiny voices heard-the twitter of birds, the hum of insects, the croak of frogs, despite the clamor of man. Down stairs Mrs. Calderwood hlad not flinch- ed from her post. She grew paler and paler as she waited, and her eyes glittered witlh con- temptuous anger. There was a whispcred con- sultation outside, and thhen heavy blows fell on the wood-work, leaving no doubt as to the in- tentions of the assailants. As the ftumes of liquor mounted to the brain of old Larry, firenzy possessed him-the mischievous desire to do llhis worst for "the quality," in bitter defiance of the result, and before rctribiftion could over- take him. "Ann, push back the table," said Mrs. Cal- derwood, in a low, firm voice. "It's like ye, darlint, to be brave, but I'll not do it, though ye prayed on your knees," replied old Ann. There is sometimes great strength in slender women, the sheer force of will unnder the stim- ulus of intense passion. Mrs. Calderwooq64pos- scsscd this strength now. Sllhe was supreme. ly scornful of the ignorant men wlhose anger had been arouid against her. Shec was filled with a cold wrath and disgust that she was left in this position of pitiful weakness to fight her own battle. Wlcre was her husband? Where was Andrew Keith, the man of the people, who could control tills rabble? Where was young Eugene DI)illon, who had looked at her with the sweetness of his dead father's eyes that night? Stay! she was glad the lad could come to no harm by having donned her armor. She laid her hand on Ann's shoulder; the servnnt rose with a stupefied ma r, and stood against the wall, holding Lion y the collar. Mrs. Calderwood slid the bolt, ajjd threw wide the door. "Now, what do you want?" she demanded, haughtily. "oVe are all women here." For a moment it seemted difficult for old Lar. ry to state precisely what he wanted in the page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] presence of that pale woman, standing alone on her door-step. A transient gleam of chivalry held him back; his followers were silent. Pos- sibly their enthusiasm was already spent in his cause. "Give us a sight of the young gentleman, ma'am, and we won't harm the like of ye." "My son is innocent," said Mrs. Calderwood. Had she deigned to plead with the rough men, persuasion might have melted them into parti- sans at once; but she did not condescend to this measure. She merely stood there, erect and proud; and this calm defiance galled the spirit of the rioters more than Ann's invectives, which the faithful servant was launching reck- lessly over the shoulder of her mistress, calling each one by name, and threatening him with the direst punishment within the power of the law to inflict. '4 My son is innocent," repeated Mrs. Calder- wood, obstinately. "I regret that the accident happened, but it was an accident." Old Larry advanced, and glared at her with blood-shot, drfunken eyes. "Perhaps ye'U be telling me next that Mikey's not dead entirely." "And good for him that he is dead, not to r be follering in his father's steps to the whisky- 1 bottle, anyhow," stormed Ann, heaping fuel on E the fire with prodigal hand. 1 Old Larry's lip curled, revealing sharp yel- low teeth; he uttered an oath which ended in a shrill scream, scarcely human, and rushed into the hall. At thait moment the hound, Lion, c sprung at him in full shock ; and to the women d inside the door, as well as the men in the gloom i without, old Larry was seen to waver and d full, dragged down by his fierce, implacable as- a sailant. The diversion was effectual. Ann snatched up the candle; the mill men struggled d to release, their fallen ringleader from Lion's tv grip. X "Hiere, Lion! Here, good boy!" coaxed c] Ann. Suddenly she uttered a cry of dismay. tl Old Larry in his descent had fallen heavily ir against the agave, and the central stalk, with its ol tenderly cherished blossom, had snapped. The re century-plant of Oak-hurst would not bloom on al the. morrow. la The events of a few moments' duration, which ol seemed- hours to the participators, had tran- spired without the knowledge of those within a us few hundred yards. Alton Ford had always un been peaceable, and rioters were unknown. th Even Eugene Dillon, taking his way homeward te beneath the stars, thinking of Anstice and Mrs. wl Calderwood with the excitement of novelty,a mn was entirely ignorant of the peril of those he ry had just quitted. s- Another person now'appeared on the scene, is quietly, if swiftly, and walked up the path. She was a stout, plain-featured woman of mid- , die age, attired in a dark dress of some rich fabric, and her head was uncovered save for a 1. lace cap. This lady had the appearance of I, having strolled forth from the boundary of her i- own shrubbery to enjoy the evening, although o the unruffled calmness of her demeanor mayv t have been in a measure due to a phlegmati'e e temperament. There was no repressed anger , or fear in her amiable face reflected from Mrs. - Calderwood's pale, mobile countenance. She came up on the door-step, and took Mrs. Cal- i derwood's cold hands in her own warm, kindly e ones with a re-assuring pressure. "I am so sorry the hands should have wor- - ried you, my dear." t Then she turned toward the grcup, and look- ed at them in silence for a moment. It would ibe difficult to define what power actually lay in this severe scrutiny of a gentle and benevolent woman, but the mill hands shifted their posi- tion uneasily; perhaps because it was within reach of the owner of the gray-blue eyes to bring each of their number face to face with starvation. Mrs. Keith seldom spoke-she had not been gifted with thie talent of conversation --but when she did claim attention her words were delivered in a crisp, decisive tone. "Men, go home," she said ; "I am ashamed of you. If Buckley Calderwood is guilty of drowning Mikey, surely it is not for you to punish him. The law will attend to that. I do not believe him to be more guilty than I am myself." ! "Hear the madam, Larry," returned the disaffected element with deceitful blandness, turning on their ringleader suddenly. Thus the storm wasted itself in threatening clouds. A little more expenditure of the elec- tric fluid, and Buck would have been sacrificed in the river to appease the manes of Mikey, for old Larry was not the man to consider the mor- row when his blood was up. A little earlier, and Mrs. Keith's presence might not have al- layed the tumult with that magical suggestion of possible dismissal from work in the mill. Even now Margaret Keith nearly rendered useless her mother's wisdom. She also came up the path bareheaded, having fearlessly sought the scene of disturbance, but there was a flut- ter of haste about this rapidly moving figure in white, as there was impulsive anger in her fair face. "What a fool you are!" she said to old Lar- ry. "If I had my way, papa should turn off the whole lot of you for this night's work." The men went away sullenly. Old Larry muttered, "I mind the day she was no better than our own girls." When Margaret reached the house-door %where burned that solitary candle like a star, she found Mrs. Calderwood weeping on her mother's shouldelc n sudden reaction of weak- ness. In all the years these two women, so unlike\in circumstance as well as character, had lived side by side in a small village, thcy liad never been drawn together as on this evening. It required some extreme emergency to bring bMrs. Keith to Oakhurst, much as she pitied its inmates, just as a sudden, overwhelming need of external sympathy could alone melt the boun- daries within which Mrs. Calder^wood had in- trenched herself. Ann sat on the ground beside the shattered century-lplant, with the head of the hound in her lap, alternately bewailing the ruin of tlhe wonderful agave, and condoling with Lioin over 3 the broken leg the poor animal had gained in the fray, while protecting his own. Buck was descending the stairs, re-assured, but pale. "Youl here, Margaret!" lie cxclailped, witlI sudden animation. "Oil, this is too kind!" He looked admiringly at thlo large, hand- sonme girl in her whte draperies; lie even ven-. tured to kiss thlo hand whcli sparkled witl rings, in a hulnble, supplicating way that touclh- ed her warm, generous heart. Margaret had seen nothing of the world as yet, and nobody but 3uck bhad ever thus saluted liher hand. The devotion was not unnpleasant to her. As for the young man, his thoughts grew brighter in sudden reaction of release. he was sorry that Mikey was drowned; it disturbed him to see his mother in tears; still tlio danger was over, and Margaret lnad come witl fervent sym- pathy, in her charming evening dress. May not a mlan feel deeply or ftinltly great impres. sions according to the anmount of blood in his veins? Buck was slender and pale. "Where is Anstice?" inquired Mrs. Keith. page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] CHAPTER VII. A STRANGE GHOST. A COOL breath of wind fanning her brow, a languid current of awakening flowing through all her veins, and Anstice opened her eyes. Had she been dead? Was she now actually alive? She asked herself these ques- tions feebly, without power to move a finger, and memory gave her no clue from familiar association, for she was surrounded by strange objects on every side. She was lying on a large, old-faishioned, four'-post bed, 'lung with heavy curtains of some dark damask, with a pattern of dull gold gleaming like a bright thread through the som- bre folds. The curtain was so like the em- broidered fabrics seen in dreams, that the girl moved her head slightly to assure herself of its reality. No, the bed did not vanish, as she half expected it would. Steadying herself, thsrefore, on this one tangible article, she ex- plored farther with a growing dread which ef- fectually restored her to consciousness. The front curtain of the bed was drawn back on its brass rings, and permitted naiew of the room beyond. In t, e first place, there were two windows, closely shrouded in green baize, and a door similarlydraped, as if to exclude light and sound. - large wardrobe of carved mahog- any flanked the opposite wall; a Hlolland cab. inet, with metal knobs, and supported on slen- der legs, was visible beyond; a screen framed in ebony revealed A figure of Psyche in faded tapestry; the time-worn floor was bare, save ' for a strip of Turkey-carpet laid down like a rug. C In one corner was a heap of litter, bits of c wood, tools, paper, and a man's hat. There 1 was something suggestive about the hat to the 1 observer's fancy. It was shabby, frayed at the d edges, yet had a certain jaunty aspect. t Anstice had never seen a place at all like d this one. She studied a quaint ornament on t the Holland cabinet of Venetian glass, like i soap-bubbles flecked with gold. Emboldened ; by dawning curiosity, she raised herself on her r elbow, and a small. mirror set in lead met her r eye--such a glass as beauty might gaze into - until bloom vanished in pallid age. The dis- covory thus niade that she could still move and breathe; had not been bewitched or wholly spirited away^r,rougllt the blood back to her heart. The room was light, but she could not as- certain from whence the illumination proceed- ed. Cautiously glancing around the curtain at the head of the bed, Anstice suddenly grew rigid, and fell back on her pillow. There was some one in the room! Never would she for- get to her dying day the face stamped on her memory at this moment, because of place andn circumstance. In the centre of the floor was a large table, lwhere stood a lamp, and at this table was seated a man apparentlvy absorbed in. reverie, or waiting. Anstice saw a stranger with a large head, tawny red hair, full beard, massive, rather good features, and little eves, pale in hue and unsteady in expression. His aspect was by no means terrifying; the plump white hands toyed'with a pen as if unused tr more dangerous weapons;, but his very propin- quitv made Anstice grow deadly cold again. Who was he? Why was she within his reach? If she cried out for help, would valiant friends burst in the door, led by Eugene Dillon? There was something awful in the stillness. The man did not move, but remained an op- pressive presence beyond the curtain. If he came to the bedside, Anstice must lose self- control utterly, and go ,mad. There was no merciful oblivion to dull her suffering now; all her senses were painfully, ncutely vibrating un-. der this strain of fear and mystery. Her heart- throbs shook the great bed, little lights began to dance before her closed eyes, a rushing sound to fill her ears. This rack of suspense wans al- most unendurable. A hand pushed back the baize hanging, and Bucklcy Calderwood climbed into the window withl stealthy movements. Anstice saw it all in one flash of revelation. She had also climb- ed in the window when all was dark, and she was now in the boarded chamber, the haunt of her great-grandfather, the mystery of mysteries of her childhood. Yes, she was actually lying on the couch of that frightful shade, nnd tile cover felt Imouldy and damp to her touch. As her father entered the room, Anstice struggled desperately with the cloak which enveloped her. Lapa!" her voice sounded unnaturally loud, and harsh to herself, although she scarcely spoke above a whisper. "The devil!" exclaimed Bucklcy Calder- wood, lookingtoward the bed. Anstice ran to him, and hid her clead on his shoulder, hysterically sobbing. He did not re- pulse her, and stroked her hair in a bew\ildered' wav. Then the man approached behind. An- stice knew very well that he had movcd, al- though she did not look around. i, I did not mean to frighten the young lady," said a smooth, persuasive voice. "Really, I could not divine your wishes suchll ann encr- gency, Calderwood, and she came here, you know. I was mortally afraid she would shriek murder if she discovered me first, but I did not bargain for a fainting-fit. I hope she is not hurt-her heart, or any thing, ch?" Mr. Callerwood lhighed, and carried Anstice to the arm-chair just quitted by the stranger. "Look up, you silly clild. This is 'Mr. Howard Smith, and not the ghost of your an- cestor. How pale she is! Bless me! we are all nerves and sensitive feeling, my dear fellow. Don't be firightened, Anstice; and tell me, in the name of all that is wonderful, how you ever ventured here." He eyed her rather suspiciously as 11he put thel question. Mr. Howard Smith, on the contrary, was busying himself at a side-table, where were placed cigars, a case-bottle of whisky, a tin ket- tle boiling merrily over a spirit-lamp, and a dish containing cold fowl, pickles, and sand- icllhes. Perhaps the thoroughly human and complacent way in which the stranger hovered over these edibles writh the air of a man with a good digestion did more to re-assure terrified little Anstice than any other restorative. lie mixed a potion in a wine-glass, dropped in two lumps of sugar, with a delicate apprecia- tion of the feminine taste for sweets, and ap- proached the others. "^You must not bother her uwith questions just yet," he said, in a fat, wliczy, under-tone. "Drink this, my dear, and try a bit of chicken, to get back your strength." Anstice shook her head ; and with the dis- covery that the lips beneath the curling mus- tachlle were tliick and coarse, the eyes lost in little bags of wrinkles when the owner laughed, she wished, with sudden repugnance, that he were not her father's friend. She had no rea- son to give for this sense of repulsion besides having been frightened; but the young arc often very exacting as to 1pcrsonal appearance. The man was not to her taste, and she felt sure that the shabby lihat in the corner, withl its jaunty, defiant look, belonged to him. Mr. Calcerwood took the glass, and made Anstice sip a little of the contents, tossing off the re- mainder himself. Slio was still confused in lher mind as to very recent events; she had never faiinted before, or known the pain of slow restoration; and slihe could only grope back, striving to remcmbl'. "Why did you tome here?" repeated her fatiher, almost imlpatiently. 'Anstice started lip with dilating eyes. Oh, papa, what have I done! What may have happend while I have been there! I came for Buck's sake. Oh, don't you know? The mill men, with old Larry, were trying to catch Buck for drowning Mikcy." "Hush! Child, your brain has turned. I only wish your mother kept you better within' bounds. I saw old Larry drinlking at Caleb Green's shop, as I came from the high-road just now. You have been asleep." "I am sure that I was awake," protested poor Anstice, her gray eyes growing wilder, in lier increasing alarm. "Have yo seen mam- ma?" "Fiddle - de - dec! the house is quiet. I thnk that I heard Mrs. Kcitl"s voice, as I camo around through the garden," replied Mr. Cal- derwood. Thile stranger, having filled a tumbler with steaming toddy, stood opposite, drinking slowly, and studying his comlpanions as if tlhcy wero curious and novel specimens of humanity. At this moment a call, piercing, even thrill- ing in its supplication, rang through the house, and penetrated the boarded chamber. "Anstice, my child! where are you? Oh, my darling, come back to your poor mother." ' Anstice sprung to her feet with a gasp of delight. She longed to fly to the barred door, and force it open. The sense of protection in her mother's presence on the other side of the I partition made her almost bold. page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] Her father forced her back into the chair, and placed his hand over her mouth to check the glad response that welled up to her lips from her heart. "You shall return in one moment," he breathed in her ear. "First you must make a bargain with me. Now, listen; you are not to tell your mother, or any one, that you iave been here and seen Mr. Smith. The fact is, I have business to transact in a quiet spot, and have chosen this room." The girl shivered and glanced dubiously at Mr. Smith, who did not permit himself to be disturbed by the transparency of her aversion. "They will wonder where I have been," she whispered, reluctantly. "You shall go back the way by which you came," said her father. "You watch your chance to slip down stairs; very good. You meet your mother or Ann; very good again. Your explanation is that you have been search- ing for a safe hiding-place for your brother, and have got frightened. Then you turn the tables by inquiring eagerly about Buck." "Mr. Calderwood, you should have been a diplomatist," said the stranger, admiringly. Mr. Calderwood shook his head in gentle deprecation of the compliment. "When I have your promise, Anstice, you can go." "Might I not tell mamma?" pleaded Anstice. "Certainly not, unless you wish to increase her trials. Your mother feels our poverty; I may mend i in this v;ry room, if you keep quiet. Look at Psych on the screen yonder, -'searching with her lamp poised for dangerous and forbidden knowledge. You know the story, I am sure. No? Well, I must tell it you some time. Do not seek to understand matters be- yond you. That is my advice." There was a pause. Mr. Smith having drained his glass, replaced it on the table, and wiped his mustache on a yellow silk pocket- handkerchief. Mr. Calderwood held Anstice fast by the wrist with his long, thin fingers. Her head began to whirl again. What was expected of her? Did this man with the beard live beneath the roof of Oakhurst, knowing all their movements, listening to their careless words? It was like the days of the Inquisi- tion, if he actually did. Again the past was overwhelming the present with her. She was claimed through discovery by a terrible secret society, and made an unwilling member of the dread fraternity. "Good heavens! How long will you be making up your mind to implicit obedience for, once in your life?"' said Mr. Calderwood, peev- ishy. "I promise," returned Anstice, tremulously. Then she was permitted to climb out of the window again, and make her way back into the hall, which she did without another glance at Mr. Smith. "It is curious that the little girl strayed in here," mused the slighted one, with a smile. "You don't seem to feel much anxiety about your son and heir. She must have been well scared to have made the venture." "T dare say Buck got into a scrape," return- ed Mr. Calderwood, carelessly. "Now let me hear your plan." By the time Anstice reached the foot of the stairway, a wild-eyed, pale little creature, the utmost alarm had been felt by her family over her disappearance. The house, the garden, the river-bank, and the village had been search- ed in vain by those apprehensive that Anstice had been snatched away instead of her brother. Margaret Keith led Buck about in pursuit of the missing girl, herself hot and cold by turns, as the lantern 'they carried flashed over some clump of bushes, impenetrable and black, or shimmered on the water's pale surface with a transient ruddy gleam. "I hate the river," she cried, with an angry sob. "If there were no river at all, we bhould not have had any trouble." Buck regarded her with mild wonder. "No river, Margaret! You might as well wish that there were no mountains, because you had fallen down a precipice. Surely you are unreasonable o blame the river." "I never pretended to be reasonable, and staring at me will not help to find your sister, sir." The lantern formed a disk of radiance which inclosed the two young people, making the con- trasting darkness around almost palpable. A girl in white draperies, which enveloped her like a soft cloud, and golden hair that seemed an aureole against the curtain of shadow; a young man bending toward her admiringly, and a branch of feathery larch drooping overhead, pale emerald in the lantern's illumination. This was the picture seen by Andrew Keith, as his boat slid through the waters, and passed again into gloom. Not a detail was lost on the father's clear vision, although he knew nothing of the cause of their proximityni. Margaret's ornaments of turquoise, her last birthday gift, and-)Buck's profile, delicate, regular to effemi- nacy, were visible. "I have been a fool," he thought; and the sharp line which had furrow- cd his brow since early youth was strongly marked as helanded at the foot of his own lawn. Margaret felt that sharp words were needed by herself as much as by her companion. Had i they not indeed searched the most remote nooks for missing Anstice, and lingered long over their task? She led the way back to the house quickly. Mrs. Calderwood was seated in her arm-chair, with Anstice kneeling beside her. The hound lying in the corner of the hall, with the broken leg bound up, gave a joyful whine of recognition which brought Mrs. Keith and Ann-from the kitchen. To all inquiries An- stice made only one response, burying her face in her mother's lap, "Don't ask me any thing. I tried to find a place for Buck to hide away from old Larry; and-I am so glad to get back again." When Anstice finally went to her own cham- ber that night, she remained awake for a long time reflecting on the events of the evening. Small matters made a mighty stir in the calm of the young girl's life, and'the secret imposed upon her by her father weighed heavily on her conscience. One thing only seemed clear: he was making money to relieve their pinching poverty, and she was not to tell. Neverthe- less, the mystery of his movements troubled the daughter, while rather captivating her fancy. Mr. Calderwood was not a demi - god in the eyes of his children, on whom his grand man- ner was seldom wasted. Oakhurst was the very hearthstone of discontent, in that painful suspense of waiting to inherit a fortune, and neither parent made the best of the circum- stances. If the dinner was meagre and ill- served, or the roof leaked, Mr. and Mrs. Cal- derwood shrugged their shoulders, as much as to say, "Behold my sufferings." They lmd attained this martyrdom by very different roads, however. Buckley Calder- wood had disappointed his father from his cra- dle, by being feeble where he should have been strong, vacillating in purpose, and only equal to the faminily requirements in excessive pride. At school he devoted more reflection as to the means necessary to outwit and vanquish by stratagem the big boys- whom he could not thrash, than to his books. At college lie vi- brated to neither extreme of study or gay dis- sipation, yet quitted his Alma Mater with the sting of having broken down in his oration hopelessly, ridiculously, to the bitter mortifi- cation of his sire. What post was he capable of filling in life? He read law with some apti- tude, and in his first case deceived his client, duped his father, and, buoyed up by the exhil- aration of his own extraordinary cleverness, lost the suit. His vanity was this very subtle- ty of mind. It was impossible for him to per- form the most unimportant act in a straightfor- ward manner, because in the tortuous chainm- bers of his brain simple thought became per- verted. After this second failure, and its at- tendant ridicule, Mr. Calderwood set his son aside with this comment: "You only lack nerve to be a thorough-paced villain. Do not attempt to cheat me again, however." Nevertheless, Buckley Calderwood the see- ond was afforded a third opportunity to distin- guish himself in youth. lHe was advised to marry an heiress,' the management of whose affairs might furnish him with employment for his remaining years. The heiress selected was -no less a person than the beauty of that day, Miss Valerie Arnold; and to make this match, Mr. Calderwood felt, would erase all boyish follies, and establish his son comfortably. The circle of celebrity was small, just as the radius of fashion occupies a contracted space, but in it Valerie Arnold lived her brief d(ay of flat- tery and caresses. Mr. Calderwood thought she would answer very well indeed. She was an only daughtcr, and her father had come into his fortune rather late in life, a. bluff old man, who had sought the town with a jaunty intention of enjoying his gold to the utmost. Miss Valerie helped him royally, in balls, jewels, and laces wherewith to deck a brilliant person which had once been despised. The balls were the intoxicating cup of oblivion, but furnished no cure for a brooding sorrow, a haunting wonder. John Dillon, frank and handsome, lhad been sent from his West Indian home to her father's care. Those were tihe days when Mr. Arnold contented himself with the cultivation of tur- nips and grain, and boasted at the tavern of his ancestry in thie Old Country. Mr. Ar- nold nodded his head, and gave the lad a hearty welcome. Mr. Arnold knew John Dil- lon's paretts-in fact, knew many persons in remote quarters, having roamed much over the face of the earth. Then hhe had led forward his daughter Valerie, slender, graceful, a trifle shy, to make the stranger feel more at case, and the two had looked into each other's eyes with a thrill of sudden, sweet recognition. Before the golden grain was harvested, youth and maiden had plighted their troth in the clear moonlight with tragic solemnity and innocent kisses like the cooing of birds. Mr. Arnold had laugihed at them, and given con- page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] sent. Ann, in the kitchen, then an uncouth, but exceedingly sympathetic girl of Valerie's age, had wept in her apron because a lord from their own country had not first come to claim the young mistress. Ann believed in the bar- onet who should be a suitor, and regarded the family she served with the loyalty of a vassal. John Dillon had gone home to inform his father, then residing on a sugar plantation. There had been one letter in rapturous vein from him, to which both father and daughter responded; and from that day until she questioned Eugene Dillon, pupil of Dr. Whitty's school at Alton Ford; Mrs. Calderwood had never heard tidings of her lover. Two years of grief, doubt, and uncertainty passed. Mr. Arnold swore roundly at the miscreant who had robbed his daughter of happiness; Ann consulted signs, and dreamed dreams. Then the fortune came, bequeathed by a distant relative, and with it reckless eman- cipation for those to whom splendor beyond the farm routine had glowing attractions. Mr. -Calderwood made overtures to his intended 'daughter-in-law of a very gratifying nature to Mr. Arnold, who was beginning to show hvli year of pleasure all too plainly in puffy cheeks and gouty limbs. The play came too late, yet he would not yieldhis place to younger men. Valerie should , marry a Calderwood, if jilted by a John Dil- lon from the West Indies. The girl consented half defiantly, and Buckley Calderwood led a charming bride to the altar, who six months later was discovered to own a set of valuable pearls, worn at her wedding, and a small in- come settled on her as a marriage dowry. Mr. Arnold had himself run away with a bewitch- ing actress soon after his daughter's nuptials, and died, leaving to the new wife the surpris- ingly small remnant of his worldly goods. From the family stand-point, the third ven- ture was more disastrous than the previous ones. Mr. Calderwood lost his temper, offered the young couple Oakhurst as a residence, with I sarcastic politeness, and washed his hands of them. Failure was utterly distasteful to Mr. Calderwood, and Valerie Arnold ceased to be beautiful in his eyes the moment she ceased to be rich, and became instead, in some sort, an imppostor forced on his name and house. He could by no means forgive the unfortunate young lady this injury, for the absurd marriage of old Mr. Arnold and his subsequent demnise were r town-talk, until a fresh topic swept over it like 1 a wave. Mr. Calderwood detested to be talk- ed about. Valerie accepted the situation lightly and scornfully. In company with Ann she explored every nook of Oakhurst; and their sallies of wit and echoing laughter sounded through the de- serted corridors at the expense of the mansion, which puzzled and disturbed Buckley Calder- wood. The mistress and Ann understood each other; were cast in the same mould, if delicacy and coarseness can ever be alike. -Certainly, so far as the more obtuse nature could protect the more refined, Ann labored to form a bul- wark for Valerie. In those early days Buckley Calderwood was deeply in love with his brilliant and accomplish- ed wife, whose mirth dazzled him, while she tol- erated his devotion with a far-away look in the soft eyes out over the river toward the horizon -where? Gayety so forced and unnatural could not long continue for a mercurial tem- perament like that of the young mistress of Oakhurst. Gradually she passed into the shadow, and never again emerged. Weary, monotonous days, slow- dragging years, deep mortification rankling with pride; a la:nguor fonm of hope deferred; two pale little children, regarded with melancholy tenderness rather stnn pleasure. Down this slope Mrs. Calder- wood sunk into invalidism, shunned the sun- shin6 of cheerful duty, and loosed her hold, strand by strand, on the busy world. Retro- spection unnerves the most courageois for pres- ent work and future promise. Mrs. Calder- wood cherished retrospection in her bosom, and brooded over it until a morbid fancy heaped her own wrongs mountain high. The mercu- rial temperament as often sinks under sorrow as rides buoyantly over difficulties. No one would have recognized in the languid, faded woman who wandered listlessly about the old house, or lay on her sofa reading dilapidated old novels, the once lovely Valerie Arnold. Old Mr. Calderwood's city library was enriched with valuable books which were seldom disturbed from their shelves, but none of the precious volumes ever found their way to shabby Alton Ford. Anstice, with her head on the pillow, and her eyes very wide open, knew nothing further of these events than the fact that her mother had been a very beautiful young girl. She in- vested this belief with all the partisanship of filial devotion, and never attempted to measure her humble little self by the standard of her mother's perfections. Every'one could not be like that, she reflected pensively. To-night her wakeful thoughts centred in her father, and his burly visitor in the haunted chamber. Why should she believe "his mak- ing money now? What was money, that peo- ple should be so unhappy about it? .Mr. Cal- derwood had many vagaries. If he couild at- tain affluence by some skillful coup de 7maTit, then would he snap his fingers at the world, his father included. It was all very well for steady, plodding Andrew Keith to labor; he must at- tain the desired end without work. Mrs. Cal- derwood's marriage settlement was dribbled away in many fruitless invstments and experi- ments, and there were irksome debts, difficult to meet, incurred by the husband in moments of enthusiasm. His habits were as irregular as his moods. For months he would rise be- fore dawn, and wander about thei country, a tall, thin shape in a dressing-gown. For months he would'slumber until noon, with the sultry summer-day unfolding unheeded. Iis restless energy, going and coming, at least sel- pnom admitted of the inert sadness of his wife, gyct he took refuge in the belief that he liad beemi sacrificed by Valeric's father, and ex- cluded from a society lie would have adorned. lie flu, been farmer, legal adviser for the county, politician, and general benefactor of the public-school system ; in fact, had lield any position 'w'hich demanlded work without pay. What was lie doing now? This was the query little Anstice put to herself with vague alarm, until sleep kissed her on thl brow and eyelids, a soothing presence, and all \uas still. CHAPTER VIII. THE STORY OF PSYCHE. THE Calderwood family were not punctual as to hours or meals. Disorder prevailed everywhere, because there was no mistress to preside over the establishment. Mrs. Calder- wood, by patient study of his weaknesses, might have learned to rule liher husband ; but slihe woulfd not so fir exert herself, despising the means which wiser mortals have stooped to adopt. Just in the same way she might have shaped the dilapidation of the old home, but she would not attempt it. Leave the wretched place as it is," she would say, turning the leaf of a much-read ro- mance. "Perhaps we shall be in better cir- cumstances next year. This can not last for- ever." The children were thuts reared as nearly with- out an education of taste or love for art as pos- sible. The girl, as the more sensitive and rc- oeptive nature, instinctively delighted in flowers, the evanescent beauty of clouds, the charming hues of the river's surface, but the discomfort, the threadbare shabbincss of her home did not jar upon her, because she had never known better. To be sure; the comfort and splendor of the Keith mansion filled her with wonder and delight; still it was better to be a Calder- wood of Oakhurst than the nouveau richle. The narrow-minded little maiden thus remained true to the creed of her race, even if the belief was associated with discontent, waiting, and some sharp recriminations, The mantle of the parents had not fallen on the children heavily. ()akhurst was their cra- dle, and Alton Ford the boundary of their world. Buck had less energy and a more fragile build than his father. How is this de- terioration of race, so sharply defined in each generation, to be accounted for? From Silas Calderwood, large of soul and generous of na- ture, to his great-grandson, wliat a step I Buck was always indolently amiable, seldom excited to active interest in any thing, and if he had those visions of great achievements dear to youth's imagination, lie kept them safely locked in his own breast. A sickly childhood had left himi with this dangerous prerogative: he was not to be tli-varted by decided opposi- tion in his pursuits. Ilisnioitlicr pitied him, and allowed hmn to pleasehimself. His father regarded him with an element of tihe disap- pointment felt by old Mr. Calderwood in him- self. Buck yawned if Mr. Calderwood, in need of a listener whmen greatly excited with some fresh project for redeeming Ilis fortunes, explained the certainiy of ultimate success to his son, just as the boy lounged against the fence of the ball-ground more frequently than lie joined in the game. Eugene Dillon, supple, active, and alert, flung the ball with unerring aim amidst the acclamations ofjuvenile Alton Ford; Buck Calderwood leaned' against the fence, hands thrust in pockets, hat tilted forward to shield his eyes from the sun, a passive spectator. The one labor of the young man's existence page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] thus far had been to arrange a family-genealo- gy covering many sheets of manuscript, and compiled with much plodding care. These sheets, tied with a fresh blue ribbon, were directed to Mr. Calderwood the elder, as an'humble reminder of the existence of his grandson in a work of which the old gentle- man might approve. The grandfather's ac- knowledgment was curt and insolent, suggest- ing that the youth at Alton Ford should turn his attention to such practical matters as bread- 'winning. Buck was hurt by this snub; his mother grew pale, his father frowned, yet the injured genealogist neither sought to win bread nor compiled further records of the glory of his ,race. The next day after Anstice's adventure she rose and dressed herself with anxious haste. It has been said the Calderwoods were never very punctual at table, especially in the morn- ing, when Mrs. Calderwood did not appear. Mr. Calderwood frequently sipped a cup of coffee standing at the dining-room window, while Buck and his sister chose their own time. Ann grumbled, but attempted to exert no anu- - thority. "Shure, it's little enough they'll be afther getting, anyhow," she soliloquized, and the dis- order of the breakfast-table did not disturb tile old servant. Anstice's first thought was to dispatch the morning meal as hastily as possible, and avoid her father. She did not wish to see him. Mr. Calderwood and Buck were already seated at table when she went down. Anstice was re- lieved by the presence of her brother, which would prevent allusions to the events of the previous night. The compact she had made with her father seemed doubly. irksome in the. daylight. Might not Mr. Howard Smith be a highwayman, a sort of modern' Robin Hood, who had deluded her father into joining his band? She stole a glance at Mr, Calderwood through her eyelashes. He was moody, irritable, and distrait. Once he looked at her sharply over the loaf of bread, and the scrutiny brought the color to her cheek. Buck did not notice tile very apparent constraint of the other two, but serenely ate Ann's indigestible fritters. "How are you this morning, Anstice? I hope you have recovered from your silly fright of last evening," said Mr. Calderwood. "She was not silly, papa," interposed Buck. "If Mrs. Keith had not come, old Larry would have searched the house for me." Mr. Calderwood laughed his mirthless, sa- I tirical little laugh. "What children you are! Old Larry and his crew would never have dared to touch you, my son. They may have blustered, after the manner of the working classes." "I don't know about that," muttered Buck. Anstice was silent, a pale little maiden in a lilac frock, with her hair carelessly thrust into a net. She was wondering if Mr. Howard Smith would spend the day in the boarded chamber, and if he took hot whisky for' a morning beverage. The parrot alighted on the sill of the open window, and sidled into the room. The green tendrils of a Madeira vine screened this case- ment, aspiring in fragile and perishable beauty toward the sturdy ivy of the wall, as if its splays would gain immortality by the contact. The parrot's plumage was soft and gray, with a tail of vivid scarlet, and the bird had the venera- ble aspect, the impish, wicked eye of its race. Oakhurst boasted of no corner or cupboard, unless the haunted chamber, which Polly had not explored, from kitchen to garret. The hound lazily permitted friendly relations in the parrot's rounds as it climbed the piazza roof, or hopped from room to room, chuckling, scold- ing, and mimicking all sounds. Anstice was glad to escape f-rom the dining- room, with the pet perched on her arln. "Come out-of-doors, Polly, and you shall have a nice breakfast. There!" The July morning was already hot, and the river spread like a burnished shield from shore to shore. Dew still sparkled on the long, rank grass that crept like an encroaching emerald wave up to the walls of the old house, and mingled with the tangled growth of luxuriant vines. Anstice seated herself on the stone step, and fed Polly absently. The century- plant spread its thick, stout leaves, but the green stalk drooped as it had snapped when old Larry fell against it. The parrot had al- ways been her confidant; she talked to Polly as girls usually address their dolls, only with the vast difference that Polly fully understod'd the position of trust. She now rested her cheek on the gray crest, and whispered, "I don't believe in Mr. How- ard Smith, my dear, and I don't know what to do about it." Polly held a lump of sugar in one claw, but, with great politeness, desisted from gnawing it while Anstice indulged in these caresses, and fixed the bright, wicked eyes on her in- quiringly. "Tut, tut! Never say di4' retorted Polly, finally, and returned to til hp of sugar, as if the problem 'of Ansticc's Schts and fears were solved. The summer sun, royal in his triumphal progress, found them outt in a glory of golden light-the girl in the lilac print frock, with threads of auburn in the waving masses of dark hair, and warmed the t:opical splendor of the bird's plumage. Then, with the sharp trot of horse's hoofs on the drive, the white covered wagon of Mr. Thomas Jinks, butchcer appeared, and paused before the front door. Mr. Thomas Jinks him- self drove, a stout, hal( man of forty, with the russet red in his cheeki, which seems to be as inseparable fromhiis calling as the blue checked apron a:i sleevcs. dII nodded affably to An- stice from his seat and said that he would like to see her fathcr. Mr. Calderwood approached, smoking his cigar, and still wearing that look of perplexed irritability which his daughter had ussociatcd with Mr. iloward Smith. The mas- ter of Oakhurst assumed his grand mnanner, di- rectly his unwclcome visitor produced a blue paper suggestive of an account. "Ah yes, Jinks, I uill see you about this next week," lihe said, a rily, twirling the paper between his fingers, after glancing at the con- tents. "Now what do you think about Town- ley's election? Is lie the right man for the place?" Mr. Calderwood ma e this inquiry as if the opinion of Thomas Jin 's was not only vital- to himself, but likely to iifiuence the destiny of Towniey to a very considerable extent. The butcher cleared' his throat, and flicked his horse's right car with his whip. "Oh, Townley's welli enough, sir. The fact is, I want my money this morning. I can't af- ford to let things run on no longer, and I've been serving you this year." "Look here, Jinks, I've always been a good customer," said Mr. Calderwood, in a loud, blustering tone. Mr. Jinks looked ironically at his horse's cars again. "In a way, yes. Straight sailin' is best, though. I can't leave nothin' until you settle that ere bill." "Do you mean to insult me on my own prem- ises?" thundered Buckley Calderwood. "Be- gone! Never show your face here again, I tell yOU." Anstice did not await Mr. Jinks's response, which was also delivered in a higher key, as the russet glow deepened in his face to angry crimson. The Calderwood credit with trades- people was none of the best; the fact had been rung in the girl's cars all her life. Surely they could not afford to defy Mr. Jinks, the most important man in the village! her father was out of temper, and had chosen a danger- ous person on w1honm to vent irritability. Vis- ions of her mother deprived of delicacies nec- essary to her existence filled Anstice with dis- may. Still holding the parrot in her arms, sliche slipped around the corner of the house to find Ann, and communnicate tie dreadful tN dings that her father was quarreling with the butcher. Ann was not in the kitchen. Thus cast back on her own resources, Anstice paused, reflected a moment, and then darted down a side-path to the gate. By the time Mr. Cal- derwood had worked himself into a white-heat of rage, as much in wrath that he had not suc- ceeded in overawing his antagonist as for any otheri reason, Mr. Jinks whirled away down the drive, expressing his opinion freely on the way. At the gate lie checked his furious pace, for Anstice stood there, pale and trembling, with anxious, wistfid eyes raised to his face. The indignation died away in the butchelr's broad face ; Anstice put her hand timidly on the wheel. A "Mr. Jinks, don't be vexed. You have al- ways been so kind to us, and-mamma-" Hecr voice choked with sobs; this trial of having him turn away from the door in wrath was very heavy to Anstice, whose life was composed of such petty details. Besides, the butcher was kind, and it was hard to have hin think them till alike ungrateful. I How is she to-day?" inqu'red the rough man in a softened voice. "Whyi 1,less my soul! if I haven't nearly forgot I I was bring- ing her this bit of lanimb as a present." With that Mr. Jinks selected the delicate morsel ordered for Andrew Keitlh's dinner, and gave it to Anstice, with a bruoadi smile of en- coluragement. "Lor, child! don't you worry, nind until this little bit of business is settled, you know, jest send your hired woman to miy house at night. Sick folks can't be kept on slops; and it an't for my dignity to drive here." Mr. Jinks, having proved himself a Christian and a gentleman, trundled away. "Paddy from Cork," quoth thie parrot from a perch on the girl's shoulder, cocking its head sideways with an aspect of inimitable derision of the butcher. Anstice did not know whether to laugh or cry. Mr. Jinkb's generositylouch- ed and pained her. page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] Mr. Calderwood, by nature suspicious when his interest was aroused, noticed the pausing of the wagon, and the sound of voices. Before Anstice could collect herself he strode swiftly down the avenue, and confronted her. Cer- tainly her aspect was sufficiently guilty and crestfallen to confirm suspicion, as she stood there grasping the leg of lamb, with Polly on her shoulder. "Where did you get that?" dnmanded Mr. Calderwood, sternly. "Mamma needs it," faltered Anstide. "5Mamma needs it! Am I to infer that you have begged a morsel of Mr. Jinks? Then we have sunk into the mire of degrading pov- erty indeed. I sometimes wonder what strange offshoot you are, for you are not in the least like my people, and I am sorry a child of mine should have been born without a grain of pride." Anstice shrunk, and quivered at this cruel accusation, of which she felt the injustice. She held her gift tightly, however, and watch- ed her chance to dash past her father and gain the kitchen door. "Ann, Ann, it's for mamma, from Mr. Jinks," she panted. Mr. Calderwood on this particular morning would not be set at naught by every one. Hec followed, and seizing the meat, cast it to the hound, and Lion began greedily to devour the delicacy. "' I will teach you to beg!" Silence ensued. Mr. Calderwood looked triumphantly at his work; Ann wiped her red arms of smoking suds preparatory to waging battle with the master; Anstice, pressing the parrot to her breast, fled she knew not where, . for her eyes were blinded with bitter tears. "Well, now, now, what did ye do that for?" de- manded the old servant, in a sharp voice, com- ing to the kitchen door. Mr. Calderwood looked at Lion absorbed in i his'unwonted meal, and turned away haughtily. Neither of the others could at all appreciate ( the effect this trivial incident would have on ( Buckley Calderwood, of Oakhurst. Ann served o him with the most frugal and uninviting repast i at noonday, calculated to remind him of the c morning's fit of temper. Lion slept the placid y slumber of the gorged gourmand in the grass. s Morose and disturbed, prepared to blame fate s in circumstance, Mr. Calderwood went out to- t ward evening, and did not return that night. t Anstice, fleeing from wrong and anger in a f parent, made her way to a favorite spot almost mechanically, and cast herself on the ground, c 'shaken with sob s. How was she ever to en- h n' dure the reproaches heaped upon her! She g had not begged of good Mr. Jinks; and if she e had done so, it was forher mother. The poor v little heart swelled with pain at the thought of - being unlike her own people, and, therefore, a 1 disgrace to them. It was not the first time I Anstice had been thus reproached. The sensi- tive suffer acutely for the most heedless word of passion or irritability, and fearful must be the record one day for those who, in brutal dis- regard of this temperament, or in the tvran- nical enjoyment of a little authority, trample on i delicate souls. The place she had sought was ideliciously cool and amply shaded. The par- * rot hopped down jauntily on the grass bank, croaking and soliloquizing. Overhead the dome of the sky was still serenely blue, although to Anstice the day had become so dark' and stormy, and the feathery branches of the larch- tree drooped over her like a summer veil. She rested her head against the truntk with closed eyes, and gradually grew calm. This tree in its graceful symmetry of form had always been her favorite. All her life she had watched it don the tender green of spring, and mellow to rich gold in the autumn. The autumn gold came with frosty nights and clear mornings, but the tender green brought hours of reverie, a dream-life very precious to Anstice when she listened to the rustle of the tall pines in the avenue, and peopled the river's current with vanished shapes, vague save for the one state- ly form of Washingt6n, seen in darkness and cold, with the keel of his boat forcing a way through the ice blocks. The stone wall was visible from this spot, and along the road extended the telegraph. Often Anstice watched the sunbeams play about the wires until they became threads of light, loop- ed from pole to pole, and stretching on to the great world thrilling with thoughts she might not read. A bright face looked over the wall, and was quickly followed by a light form that bounded down on the turf close beside her. Anstice opened her eyes wearily, and colored with pleas- ure. A breath of fresh, invigorating life seem- ed to reach her in the presence of another young soul. She was determined for once to show herself a Calderwood in the pride whichi should prevent her from confessing her woes to Eugene Dillon, all the while unconscioIus that her story was plainly written in the wist- ful, upraised eye and on the quivering lip. Was it that Eugene 'Dillo essed tlhe charm of extraordinary bcait v, or dJd the sad humiliation of the girl on. clothe im itwith those qualities which she did not herself pos- sess? he was considered by Alton Ford a good-looking lad, rather below the medium lheight, wiry, active, and iwith the quick, deci- sive movements of one accustomed to think for himself. His complexion was olive, and the aquiline face constantly'changed in the play of features, now dazzling with the sparkle of black eyes and snowy teeth, -now dark with settled purpose or anger. "Them furriners down thar is mostly of that valler look," Alton Ford affirmed, with a gen- eral reference to the world beyond the United States in a southerly direction. "My dear little girl," said Eugene, the dark eyes very soft and tender, and a sliglit quiver of emotion passing over his face. He asked no questions, but seated himself beside her, and began to mock Polly. "I have heard all about last night, and only wih -that I liad been her," he said presently, when the parrot's rage had been fully aroused. '4 O0h, they ruined the century-plant," added Anstice. She spoke abstractedly, with her head still leaning against the tree. Eugene broke a spray of the larch, and bound it into a crown with his nimble, brown fingers, which were as small as those of a woman. "Anstice, I think our parents must have been lovers years ago." Hle laid the wreath playfully on her hair, and, suddenly raising the pitifiul little face in his hands, kissed her. The rosy hue that burned in the check of the girl was reflected in the glow of the boy's faice. It seemed so sweet and natural, this unspoken, eloquent language, that their lips touchel again. "Tell me tilhe stry of Psyche," said An- stice, downcast and ashamed, yet smiling again after the tempest of the morning. Then. Eugene told the story of Psyche, while hecr thought returned to thie screen in the hoarded roomu, with its faded tapestry. The relatice pDsitiin of the two as listener and in- ,trutcl,r v.;lIaincdl much of the mutual sympa- thy which had drawn them together. Austice liked to receive, and Eugene, fresh from tlihe studies which in later manhood would become assimilated, longed to impart, and there was subtle flattery- in the rapt attention of the up- turned girl-face, still flushed with traces of re- cent sorrow, whchl spurred the young knight to hiis best exertions. The parrot hiopped near- er, and stood on one leg, listening attentively to the variations of Eugene's voice. Occasion- ally the bird uttered a soft note, imitative and uncertain, then relapsed into silence again. The young man found'it easy and natural to wax eloquent in the presence of this solitary companion, when hiis specccl would have been forced and shy had Ite told Iis story before older people. lied not the seeking soul, l'sy- chlc, kindled her lamp in ceach young breast, guiding themt by that spark to darkest gloom, or to climb the heights? "Allow'd to settle ont celestial eyes, Soft sleep, exulting, now exerts his sway, From Psyche's amiorous pillow gladly files To veil those orbs, whose pure and lanbent ray The powers of heaven suimisisively obey. Tr'embling and breathless then she softly rose, And seized the lamp where it obscurely lay, With lthand too rasIhly daring to disclose The Pacred veil which htttng miysterlouti o'er her 'voes. "Oh, daring nise! wilt thou indeed essay To paint the wontders which thlat lamtp could thow, And canst thou Ihope in living words to say The dazzling glories of that heavenly view? Alh! well I ween that if witht pencil trie, That splendid vision could be well exprest, The fearful awe imprudent Psyche knew Would seize withl rapture every woiinderiing breast, When Lovc's all-potent charmis divinely Htood coiin- fest." Anstice sat wiith hands linked together in her lap, and eyes straying wistfully to the dis- taut horizon. Above their heads the larch- tree made a canopy of delicatte greent, through which the isuishiinc lenetCratc d here anld there. Thle parrot placed the other foot on the ground, ruthed its N ings, and cried, L TWhoop! Give us another." page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] CHAPTER IX. ANDREW KEITH'S DAUGHTER. THREE persons were seated at another breakfast-table, this, 15th day of Jul, within a stone's-throw of Oakhurst--the family of Andrew Keith, prospective millionaire. His new house was a charming place, half cottage, half villa, of dark stone, with gables ornamented chimneys, and balconies, where the architect's fancy had been suffered to run riot without interference of the owner. Andrew Keith, like many another plain man, yielded his purse to the builder when he ventured on the boundary of taste, fearing to trust himself Margaret's home must not possess, glaring de- fects such as would suggest ignorance and lack of culture. Thus the parent already laid the foundation for another generation, which should not be as he had been. For a son he would have mapped out work of some sort; for a daughter there was only indulgence in a warnl atmosphere of love. The breakfast-table glittered with silver and c glass, arranged on the snowiest damask, Mrs. Keith's chief extravagance being napery. An- s drew Keith, a hale, rosy man of forty-five, r made a frugal repast of oat-meal porridge; but r the porridge was served in a silver bowl. Margaret, fresh and blithe as the morning, E sat beside him, daintily sipping coffee from a cup of rare East India china, and feeding a u spaniel with morsels of bread dipped in cream. h Mrs. Keith, plain and quiet, presided over the of urn and tea-pot opposite. The gaze of both m parents reverted perpetually to this central fig- ga uire, the girl, careless, insouciant, and happy, w who resembled the genre pictures of French art w. as, with one rounded arm resting on the table, qu she stooped to feed the spaniel, gathering back on her blue morning-dress so as to reveal the satin ra slipper with its high heel and audaciously large rosette. There was a knot of lace in the blonde sai hair, a rose drooped coquettishy behind one B1 small, delicate ear, and a broad gold manacle cat clasped each wrist. A:con Ford knew Margaret now only as a splendid vision of gleaming satins and tinkling ler ornaments and very perceptible perfumes. She ly, was never dignified in ignoring the village, and ily her clear, merry laugh rang on every car; yet it ,was impossible to denude her of that glamour Ilf of wealth, and imagine her clad in the calico 3s, of-her infancy instead. Fine feathers made a ie bird of paradise of Andrew Keith's daughter, ot and he was never weary of adding to the lustre w ofrier silken plumage. Td he room was somewhat too bright and wn warm in coloring for the summer mornir.)but f. the crimson of the walls, and the rich hues of 3- the Persian carpet, were subdued by the closed k blinds, which excluded the sun. To the left e was an archway leading to a conservatory-, dwhich was attached to the house, like a crystal d bubble; and through this vista of flowers was a visible a glimpse of smooth lawn, marble , nymphs veiled in shrubbery, a fountain send- ing up a column of silvery mist, and the glan- I cing,; sparkling niver. ' - I don't think that it will ever occur again," - said Mrs. Keith, gazing reflectively into the milk-jug. "I shall go down to old Larry's myself this morning." "As you please, my dear," replied Mr. Keith, with commendable docility. Few women wield the actual power in an unobtrusive influence that Mrs. Keith did in her own household. Andrew Keith was a man of strong prejudices and a sturdy amnbition; moreover, a loquacious man in the freedom and gayety of his domestic mood, while his wife was silent without indifference. Strangers al- ways found themselves talking freely to this quiet lady with the kindly eye-, who responded only in monosyllables, and was such an admi- rable, sympathetic listener. "I wish papa would turn off the whole lot," said Margaret, vehemently. "Where might Buck Calderwood be now, if the hands had caught him?" She shuddered slightly, and glanced through the conservatory toward the river. "I can't believe they would have 'reallv hurt him, although he might have got shaken up a' bit. One does not like to consider one's men brutes," replied Mr. Keith. "Drink makes brutes of better people than old Larry," observed Mrs. Keith, sententiously. Andrew Keith leaned over and clasped the hand of his daughter, regarding her attentive- ly wish his keen eyes. "I have been thinking of taking you a journey. What do you say to that, miss?" lie did not add that he had formed this res. olutioil, as his boat slid through the waters last night, revealing the proximity, the atmosphere of perhaps unspoken tenderness lingering about the two young people on the bank. He held Margaret's hand while making the proposal, as the mutes are tested by the shock of violent emotion, and looked into her face questioning- ing. He even felt a sense of triumph in his own cleverness at having scented danger before the quiet mother opposite. Margaret's blue eyes opened to their utmost width ; a sudden radiance of excitement and pleasure overspread her faee. "Oh, you old darling!" she exclaimed, tak- ing her father's head between her hands, and kissing him rapturously. There could be no doubt as to the success of his venture. Margaret's heart was untouch- ed, and she only needed diversion to forget Buck Calderwood, if he had ever interested her girlish imagination. Here was incense to the amour propre of a great family: Andrew Keith, late muscular laborer with his own sin- ewy hands, would fain keep his daughter from an alliance withl the dilapidated fortunes of Oak- hurst. "You are the best dear to think of it," pur- sued Margaret, whisking away from the table to find the sweetest blossom in the conserva- tory for his button-hole, and then returning to perch on the arm of his chair. "What does a summer journey mean-drives in city parks, shops, theatres, steamboats, watering-place ho- tels, the sea-shore, and perhaps Saratoga? Oilh, mother, what s:hall we wear at all those places?" Mrs. Keith smiled with a faint irony. "Thank you for including me in your plans, but I shall just stay at home, and be comforta- ble." Margaret would not suffer her father to es- cape until he had sketched their route with tlhe aid of a railway guide. "We can not leave for a week," lie suggest- ed, doubtfully. The girl elevated her pretty eyebrows. "I should think not, sir. Do you imagine that your daughter is satisfied to appear a fright?" "A fright, my pet," repeated her father, pat- ting one soft check. "Of course, without a single new gown. Dear, dear! the fine ladies would ask each othier if I came fromin the backwoods." This idea of possible shabbincss and awk- wardness in blooming Margaret was so delight- fully absurd that they both laughed heartily. Altogcther, Mr. Keith was very well plecased with his project. As lie took up his straw hat, preparatory to issuing forth for the day, he could not resist seeking Mrs. Keith above stairs, whither she had withdrawn after break- fast, leaving them to make their own plans. Did she disapprove of the journey? lie ask- ed himself this question with a tinge of donjt which his wife was capable of imparting to his most sanguine thoughts. Mrs. Keith was found in a large plain work- room, where one girl was sewing at a machine, and a second bent over icer task at the window, while the lady snipDed cloth on a table by the skillful manipulation of ait pir of shears. Mrs. Keith was never as happy as when she liheld a needle ; and now tlat she was rich, and no longer permitted by despotic Margaret to work for herself, she only sought fresh channels for her industry in laboring for charity. The plump fingers were never idle. In the parlor they clicked ivory knitting-needles or traced pat- terns in Berlin wool, but in the safe retreat above stairs they reveled among licaps of cal. ico and red flannel. HaId she been questioned as to her preference of relaxation in this world, on that hot evening when the cririage of old Mr. Caldervood rolled through the village, she would have unhesitatingly answered, "To em- broider a sofia cushion in floss silk and beads." The rainbow of colored silks and the leisure to use them meant wealth to thel poor woman. "'llcr price is far above rubies,'" quoted Mr. Keith, looking in the door, with a smile of sat- isfaction. " 'She seekethl wool, and flax, and worketh willingly with her hands.' ' She riseth also while it is yet night, and giveth meat to her household, and a portion to her maid- ens.'" Mrs. Keith laid down her shears and came to the door, which she closed behind her. "Well?" she inquired, placidly. "I have nothing very particular to say, my dear. The fact is, I thought the journey would give Margaret pleasure, if you approve." "And take her out of Buck Calderwood's way for a time? Yes, it is a good lan1,." page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] She spoke in her usual quiet tone, but there was a twinkle in her eye. "There! I shall never get ahead of you, my old woman, I see." Mr. Keith was so well satisfied with his morning's work that he went forth humming a tune. lHe had a word to say, as regarded the new flower alleys, to the head-gardener, and he had been cheated in the purchase of Mar- garet's saddle-horse; yet these trifling cares incident to riches did not bring the deep line on his brow. The nature of Andrew Keith was sufficiently broad to bear the burden of mere gold lightly, instead of wearing to an edge in the perplexity of deciding on the best expendi- ture of his wealth. "I don't know what 'To do with it," was not written in sour, care-worn lines on his massive face. He was always ready to fight for his own. The step he had ;taken in proposing a jaunt to his daughter was one of grave importance under so flimsy and trivial a guise of dissipation. The darling had consented readily, had placed her will at his I *feet, as it were, and left her fate in his hands. This gracious concession on Margaret's part to f be petted and amused was very precious to tihe in- dulgent father, who obeyed her whims as a rule. c At the bend of the shady road he met Buck I Calderwood. Was he strolling in hope of f catching a glimpse of bonny Margaret? or had g these two a trysting-place among the trees of d his own domain? To be sure, girls are some- s times sly, and deceive their parents, most of d all with a simulated firankness. Mr. Keith's h suspicions, always a dormant element in his character, had been fully aroused last night, o and were now in a condition of extraordinary Ic activity. lie greeted Buck in his usual hearty ei way, yet confided nothing of the proposed jour- w ney to the playmate of Margaret's childish days. II "Are you busy this morning?" lie asked, (dIe- ceitfully. 'e ' "No," returned Buck, languidly. "Then come on with me to the foundry, and i, see the new steam-h'ammer at work," urged Mr. Keith, quickly. is He pounced on Buck with this suggestion a just as he had pounced on Margaret, prepared e to read the transparent young faces with his d clear glance. If Buck hesitated, of course he - had strolled there in hopes of meeting Mar- s garet. And Buck did hesitate, and colored e slightly. "I should be most happy--" "Then come along," said Mr. Keith, step- 1 'ping on briskly with his somewhat reluctant - companion. Mr. Keith really wished Buck at D Jericho, instead of dooming himself to explain I a new hammer; but he could not leave him strolling beside the iron fence of his own place I in the sweet,balmy morning, outside the gild- ed bars of his pretty bird's cage. "Pity there's not more stuff in the lad," lie thought, well knowing that in his own youth lie would not have thus succumbed to paterfamilias. The hot blasts firom the yawning mouths of furnaces, which ejected lava floods; the smoke of tall chimneys staining the blue ether; the ceaseless roar and clang of machinery, greeted Buclk down on the river-bank, instead of the fragrance and luxurious idleness of that mar- gin of dawn where Margaret sometimes wan- dered in her charming morning-dress, and where she would be sure on this day to seek a confi- dant to whom she might impart the tidings of her journey. Andrew Keith braced himself with a sense of pride and exultation, as lie approached the lowjred buildings that radiated icat, the black- ered sheds, and the hurrying groups of swarthy workmen of his kingdom. Ten years ago he had fashioned his model in a little smithv, doubted by all as a visionary enthusiast; now the w{'orld was before him. CHAPTER X. THE SAILOR VISITS ALTON FORD. CALEB GREEN sat in the porch of his shop smoking a clay pipe, and gazing vacantly up and dowu the white road on this same July morning, when Mr. Calderwood had the little difference with the butcher which reduced Oak- hurst to a-vegetable diet, and Mr. Keith insist- ed on dragging young Buck down to the found- ry to be deafened with the metallic music of the new steam-hammer. Caleb Green was a ne'er-do-weel, but not a ruffian. He was tall, angular, gaunt, and seldom stood erect in his gait any more than in his dealings. IIc slouch- ed when lie walked, and stooped as lie sat now on a worn stool, holding one elbow in the hol- low of his palm, the pipe clenched between his teeth, a patriarch with tangled gray beard and flowing hair, his thin face shaded by a wide, flapping straw hat. Caleb's dog was sleeping luxuriously in the dust of the road, like a bill of yellow fur; the fowls strutted with an inde- pendent manner about the feet of the silent man, whose glance ranged indolently from the road to the dilapidated sheds and barns oppo- site, where rusty vehicles were visible, some on three wheels, and others with no wheels at all. Beyond was a cattle-yard, where disconsolate cows still waited to be driven to pasture, al- though the sun was .high, and the oxen wore a rebellious expression, lowing discontentedly. Want had overtaken the slothful Caleb like an armed man. In the days when mysterious Mr. White built Oakhurst, Caleb's family had owned the whole tract of country where stood Alton Ford. The cattle still in their yard when the sun was high, and dewy pasturage awaited, them, supplied the sequel. Caleb's patrimony had slipped away from him while lihe slept. No one knew precisely how this had happened, and Caleb least of all. The de- scendant of land-owners, cramped within nar- row limits by poverty, still smoked his pipe, although his bit of ground was running to waste, his very house filling in ruins about his head. Himself an abstemious man with a slight cough, Caleb was known in these days as the keeper of a dram-shop, and wrought much evil to his neighbors in consequence. lie cajoled the law, and cxpcrimcntcd on his customers with a species of fasciation. InI his way Caleb was a chemist, and lie never drank his own concoctions, wlhile deeply inter- ested in their effect on Isis customers. The mothers and wives of Alton Ford reviled him, but lie minded the sharp speech of none save Mrs. Rebecca Plummcr, tihe dress-nmaker, whose husband was supposed to live gone astray through his influence. Alton Ford possessed no club; hence the fatal habit of " dropping in " at Caleb's place of an evening, where there " was a flimsy disguise to the real purport of the visits, in the sale of tobacco, sugar, and brooms. For the rest, Caleb Iiad his dreaums which served him in moments of reflection, although he never made the slightest effort to realize his visions. He liked to hear about Enigland, to imiagine how it would be to visit Great Brit- ain, and lie made his children point out that country on their school-numaps. The dog slept in the road, undistturbed by passing wagons; thie fowls strutted ; down in the muddy pool by the little briilgc, the ducks paddled, and Caleb removed hiis pipe to yawn. Now, there's them cows!" lie soliloquized. I've told the boys fifty times tlat it an't no way to manage, running oii so of a morning. Halloo! Billy!" This call receiving no response, Caleb re- peated it at intervals for tell minlutes, when a shrill fcmalo voice inquuired, '"What are you hollerin' at there? If you want any thing, why don't you get it yourself?" These remarkably apt questions produced no more visible effect on Mr. Green than the rattle of small shot against an iron 1ull. lie page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] shifted his position deliberately, and tilted the stool. He was known to be a man unfortunate in his domestic relations, so far as the disposi- tion of Mrs. Green was concerned. "I want Billy to drive offt the cows; and if I catch him it'll be the wuss for his bones, I tell ye." He delivered this awful threat in much the manner of a lazy giant who thunders from his castle, and gives ample time for the escape of his victims. Mrs. Green appeared swiftly, a wiry woman, with hair bleached by the sun to the color of her complexion, and skin bronzed to the hue of her hair. She wasted no words, but crossed the road, wrenched open the low red gate, released the cattle, and propelled a small boy after them. The recreant Billy de- parted on his mission grumbling at both par- ents. "I most wonder you don't stop a-livin', old man, as too much trouble to fetch your own breath," she said, and, with this parting sar- casm, withdrew again to the domestic centre. Caleb chuckled softly beneath his beard, "'Mandy's a right smart un! When her tem- per's up, she can't be beat. Halloo!" This' time the exclamation was one of inter- est or surprise. Caleb shaded his eyes with his bony hand, the better to observe a stranger coming along the hot, dusty road. Hoe was a large, heavily-built man, in the garb of a sail- or, with a blue handkerchief knotted into a bundle, and slung over his shoulder on a stick. His face and throat were crimsoned by expos- ure to the fierce heat of the sun, and great drops of moisture stood on his brow. The man on the porch studied him with the habitu- al curiosity of the native of a small village, and, 'when he was opposite the shop, saluted him. "Good-morning, sir. Pretty hot for the road-eh?" Apart from the consideration of business, Caleb would like very much to know what a sea-faring man was doing in Alton Ford. The stranger paused, looked at Caleb a mo- ment, and read the sign on a rough board above tho door: Ale, Cider, and Giger-beer sold Alere. It may have been Caleb's fancy, but, in re- hearsing the scene afterwara, he was sure that the sailor reeled as he crossed the road, and sat down on the step, wiping his brow. "Come inside -out of the sin, and have something. Now, what do you say to a lem- onade with a lectle drop of rum-eh? Cold water is kinder bad after a walk, you know." Caleb made these suggestions in a wheed- ling tone, as he led the way into the dark little shop, which was damp and chill, with a sta!e odor of liquor. -Back of the shop was a still smaller room, half shed, which was known as the work-room, and was terribly suggestive of an intimate acquaintance with fusil-oil, aloes, and other drugs, on the part of the proprietor. The sailor flung himself down on the bench, and took off his cap, revealing a round bullet- head, with the hair clinging in damp locks to the temples. "Talk about heat," lie muttered; "I've been grilled off Batavia, but I'm blessed if I've felt any thing like this swelter!" "Ah, you an't used to our climate," said Ca- leb, blandly. "I knowed you was a stranger in these parts." "t How did you know it?" growled the sailor. The expression of his eye warned Caleb that to venture farther would be unsafe, but at the same time aroused the determination to learn the other's business before his departure. "Try a cordial I've got hlere," he urged, producing a black bottle and a wine-glass. It'll make a new man of ye." The sailor drank the contents of the glass eagerly, like the- thirsty creature who has at last reached the brink of a stream. At this juncture a clamor arose in the yard, suggestive of a difference of opinion on the part of Mrs. Green and her eldest son. "Make yourself to hum," said Caleb, as if the sailor was his guest, and hastened to the rescue. Mrs. Green, in a state of great excitement, was clinging to the coat of her stalwart son, screaming shrilly for assistance as if she were herself sustaining bodily injury at his hands, instead of his attempting to escape from her clutch. "He's taken all the -pic in the house for his fishing-trips, but I've caught him. Oh! oh! Father, he's twisting my wrist dreadful! Help!" "Stop screeching, 'Mandy; now,do," inter- posed Caleb. "You'll give us an awfill char- acter among the neighbors." "You'd better talk, with your dram-selling," retorted 'Malndy. The stalwart son, Abe, availed himself of the diversion to writhe out of her grasp, vault over the pig-pen, and dart away in the direction of the brook with a derisive laughl of triumplh. What with pursuing the recreant, and rescuing the pie in a somewhat impaired condition, Ca- leb was longer absent from the shop than he intended. He would not always have thus hastened to his wife's assistance, because the voice of Mrs. Green was frequently raised in sharp protest at her wrongs; but having bag- ged his game, as it were, he could afford to wait until his customer was rendered more communicative by his potations. When he did go back, the sailor still sat on the bench, with his head sunk on his breast, as if lie were asleep. Caleb coughed to arouse his attention, but he did not move. Then, in some alarm, Caleb raised the black bottle against the light, and discovered that half the contents were gone. IIce shook his head doubt- fully, and bent over the other, eying the bun- dle in the blue pocket-handkerchief, which had' been placed between his feet. Was the man asleep, intoxicated, or in a stupor of fatigue? Caleb tried to recollect what the ingredients of the cordial were, but his memory failed him. A deep purple hue suffused the sailor's face, his eyes were closed, and his breathing labored. An hour later the stranger lay on an, impro- vised couch in the work-room back of the shop, with Mrs. Green bathing his temples, while Caleb, mounted on a. lean horse, was riding in search .of the doctor like one pursued by the phantom of some dreadful fear. For the first time in his life the miserable man quaked at the prospect of possible punish- ment, and the dread of facing the law. If the sailor died on his hands, the verdict of Alton Ford would be that -he had died of drugged liquor. The flying horseman made some good resolves, as he took his way in search of the doctor: one mile lie woull quit keeping the dram-shop, and the next, as the hedges stretch- ed behind him, the decision was modified to sell- ing only pure spirit, and possibly hard cider. The doctor came, examined the patient, crack- ed a joke with Caleb over the last potion served to the stranger, Nvhich made the other's knees smite together, and departed again. The doctor was a young man, with a round face and a jocose manner, which was intended to re-assure the patient, whle establishing his own superiority. The young physician had 4 thus to apologize for his lack of years, and read continual dissatisfaction in the faces about him for a misfortune lie would soon conquer. "I will call again at five. The man has a fever," he said, as he drove away. Fear of the consequences made Caleb a carefull nurse, and his wife a docile assistant, although he was not hard-hearted by nature. At nine o'clock of the summer evening, when Alton Ford had for the mnost part retired, Caleb Green creaked into the shop from tile house adjoining, with a tallow calndle in lIis hand. The door was bolted, and the shutters drawn-a most unusual precaution. "I will stay with him to-night. P'raps he'll be moved to-morrow," he whispered, hoarsely, to his wife. Caleb wisled to be alone. He placed the candle in a corner of the shop, and crept to the work-room to look at his patient, who still slept heavily. He returned, carrying the sailor's blue pocket-handkerchief. With a. glance over his shoulder as if lie expected tho sick man to rise and confront liimn, his long, brown fingers untied the knots, interpreting tile curiosity of his thought. The blue handker- chief contained some clothes and a piece of cloth folded to inclose a package, and tied with a stout cord. Caleb weighed this package in hs hand a moment, as if endeavoring to divine the contents, then deliberately unfastened the cord. A parcel of letters and a small, red leather book fell out on the floor. Mrs. Green came softly into the place, first pausing to peer at the sick man, and then npproached her husband. "Whallt halv)'ou got there?" she demanded. "Nothin'," lie replied, stolidly, concealing the package in his breast. Afterward lie replaced the letters in tho handkerchief, and stole away like a thef to tlhe hay-loft of the barn, where he concealed them, and returned cautiously to his post. All night he sat in the dingy shop, a1 patient senti- nel, staring at the shadow cast by the flaring candle on the opposite wall. page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] CHAPTEER XI. IN A BLUE POCKET-HANDKERCHEF. THE next morning Caleb Green again sat on his porch smoking; but the shop-door was locked, and he was obliged to, serve his regular customers in a surreptitious manner around the corner of the house. The sailor raved with delirium in the wretched work- room, surrounded by bottles and tubs, and oth- er appliances of the self-instructed chemist, Caleb. The young doctor had already paid several visits, and Alton Ford was in open rebellion at the advent of a stranger smitten with mortal illness. Young Alton Ford was forbidden to -pass Caleb's door i for how did maternal Alton -Ford know that the sailor had not brought the plague, or "yellow jack," at the very least, "ships being dreadful things? /aleb bent as a reed before this storm of popular indignation. His sanctimonious defense was that he had ,only tried to do his duty, and he was ready to act as his neighbors considered best. Ile placed the fate of the sailor in their hands without demur, well knowing the public de- cision would be that the sick man should be removed to the poor-house hospital. The authorities were already acting in this matter with unwonted celerity, for we exert ourselves in high, places when our own safety is concerned. The doctor would soon return, the sailor be taken. to the hospital to live, or die, and then- Caleb removed his pipe, and strolled over to the barn. The weather-worn structure with the toppling roof, and cracks where the hay protruded, assumed a new inter- est in the owner's eyes: it contained the germ of a mystery. Where was the sailor journey- ing, with a blue pocket-handkerchief which held a package of letters? This query had revolved in the mind of Caleb Green during the long hours of night with ever-increasing wonder and interest, but when he had attained the highest pitch of excitement he was baffled by his own pitiable ignorance. A power hitherto dumb within his breast stirred, and demanded utterance, for the first time. Caleb could neither read nor write, and these deficiencies had never before troubled him. ' To another man the letters would not have possessed the same significance. Caleb had never received but four missives through the post-office in his life, and these were mile- stones in his path, warning him that his patri- mony was slipping from him. Therefore a bun- dle of letters carried by a sailor meant some- thing extraordinary to his mind, and the clue was in his own hand, if he only knew how to use it. Caleb could not read or write; the indo- lence of childhood rose now and mocked him. Verily, if the men, women, and youths of rural districts who lack the rudiments of knowledge in our land of universal education were gather- ed together in rank and file, we should be as- tounded at the army of ignorance. He crept into the barn with a stealthy tread which -would have amazed any of his sharp- eyed children, had they observed him. The white nose of the lean horse was visible in the gloom of his stall; a hen flew out of an im- provised nest with loud cacklings; a brown calf raised an innocent little head to gaze at the intruder. Caleb climbed to the hay-loft, felt among the mounds of hay for the concealed treasure, and sat down on the fi'agrant heaps, with his knees drawn up to his chin. Again lie weighed the package in his hand, and then slowly counted over the letters. AWhat if the rats had gnawed them in the night! TMie folded sheets tantalized and fascintted him. If he could only read their contents before the sailor recovered, he would restore thqmn safely. As it was- Sitting there in the dusky loft, with a ray of light coming through theogevice, he bethought him of a plan. He would not take them to Andrew Keith, or the Rev. Mr. Whitty to read, because they would simply inform him that he had no business with the contents, and he was afraid to trust less honorable persons withl the secret. The temptation was great to make use of the "schooling'" of his own children, but hlow could he rely on the strict silence of a child afterward? Neither project would serve. So, wiih knitted brow, and lip pursed up, he made his own resolution. He was just preparing to rise, when voices attracted his attention, and he peered through the crevice, which commanded a view of his own house opposite. Mrs. Green stood within the fence crying, and confiding her misfortunes to another woIlm- an, who listened with an expression of mingled sympathy and severity. "Oh Lord! If it an't Rebecca Plummer down on us agin!" ejaculated Caleb, and did not quit his safe refuge. She was plain and middle-aged, with a cheerful, bnstling manner, and shrewd, twink- ling eyes. Alton Ford needed Rebecca l'lum- mer at prayer-meeting, the sick-bed, funerals, and to do its faishionable dress-making; but Caleb Green tiup in the ihay-loft felt that lie could very well dispense withl her presence. The dress-maker's tongue was as a two-edged sword 1, and Caleb's armor was very defective ; in her deep-seated sense of wrong, slic not only made himn ridiculous, but threatened him witli worse consequences. Mrs. Pllummer was not afraid to -raise her voice in the cause of temper- nnce. Many a night she hlad come, throughl storm and darkness, to Caleb's shop, and led homell her husband, rendered imbecile and help- less by drink ; then appeared in her little par- lor next morning with a brave smile, ready to discuss new sleeves and trimmnings with her customers. "And if you do git fever here, 'Mandy Green," Caleb heard her remark, "the hand of the Lord is in it." "Don't say it," groaned Mrs. Green, apply- ing her-apron to her eyes. "I 1had notliin' to do with takiu' him in." '"And you have notliin' to do with rum-sell- ing, and the ruin of our husbands, I s'ppse? I've been wanitin' to see a judgment fall on this house, and thie time will come." "Don't say it," repeated Mrs. Green, nerv- ously, stretching out a claw-like hand over the fence to detain the stronger woman. "Take that back, and I'll try to mend him. -I'll come to evenin' mcetin', sure." "Humph!"said Caleb, and climbed down tlhe ladder of the loft. He winced under the withering glanco cast upon him by thile dress-maker in response to his amiable greeting, but he was soon support- ed by the appearance of the county authorities and the doctor, prepared to remove the sick man. Alton Ford sliowed no interest in these proceedings, whllen sually the advent of a ped- dler's wagon was sufficient to collect a crowd, and gathered its brood within--doors instead, drinking hlerb-tca to an alarming extent, and snuffing at camphor-bottles. Eugene Dillon came along the road just as tlic removal was occurring. A pillow slipped from tinder the sailor's hcad ; Etugcno darted forward, and re- placed it. "'l'Take care of yourself, young man," said the county physician. Eugene smiled. "Ohl! I am not afraid." The sailor opened his eyes, and fixed them wildly on the young man, whlo shrunk back in- stinctively from the first mortal, ill unto death, that he had ever seen. Hitherto the world had been embodied in the word health to Eu- gene, accepted so unconsciously that he scarce- ly noticed it. Now he beheld pain and de- lirium; a shadow had fithen across his path. When the wagon had rumbled slowly away with its freight, Eugene still lingered about the place. "Who was he, Caleb?" he could not ihelp asking. "Don't know," replied Caleb, vacantly. "I presume you'll know ow he came here, however," persisted Eugene, in his sharp, in- cisive way. Caleb looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "He came in the shop out o' the sun, and jist dropped down like a stone." "Strange!" said Eugene, musingly, and roll- ing a cigarette in a nimble Southern fashion before resuming his iway. Eugene always chatted with the obnoxious dram-seller; indeed, there was a spice of inter- est in conversing with such a reprobate. Was he not more of a man for being able to hold his own withl wicked Caleb? This proud security in self sometimes sent Mr. Whitty's boys home rather misty as to the right wnay. Caleb liked Eugene, and he was sorely tempted tc ask the senior pupil to read the letters for liim. Why not? Eugene wis too yoiung to be prim about the right or wrong of the case, and hoe should know all. He watched the brown fingers roll the cigarette; he waited almost witlh suspended breath for the tiny wreath of blue smoke which would be a prelude to the other's departure. page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] '"Halloo!" For the second time within twenty-four hours this exclamation escaped from the lips cf Caleb Green. A lady was walking along the road toward them. She was small, with a dainty figure, and a light, elastic step. Her costume was in the extreme of fashion, and impressed both masculine beholders with a vague convic- tion as more rich and elegant than any dress they had ever seen in a very limited experience. She held her draperies aloof from the dust with a dexterous nicety that matched the ruffles and jet pendants and exquisitely fitting gloves, re- vealng at the same time two very small feet, well shod. When she reached the shop she peeped out at the observers from the rose-tinted reflection of a pongee parasol, with a distinct expression for each, marked by the rapid tran- sition possible to flexible features. She glanced at Caleb amiably, but at Eugene Dillon with a coquettish smile inseparable from brilliant eyes, with delicately arclhed brows, when looking at a young man. "'Can you direct me to Mr. Calderwood's place?" she inquired, in a softly modulated and musical voice. ( You take the road to the right, ma'am, and go on till you see an old red house with chim- neys," said Caleb. "P'raps you're expected, and then some of the folks may meet you far- ther on, most likely." Caleb hazarded the re- mark in hopes of learning if this guest were really expected at Oakhurst, for never had a visitor appeared there before. The lady was more than a match for him. "I can find the way," she said, airily, and tripped past, with a slight nod of farewell. Eugene followed her hastily, possibly moved by some of Caleb's interest, and showed her the old house, which was visible through the trees. "What a thorough sham I really am!" the pretty woman thought, as she picked her way along. "Those two men considered me quite elegant, little knowing that my gown was a bargain, and home-made at that. A fine effect is alone necessary in these days, and perhaps it is better fun to cheat than to be real." She sighed impatiently, then laughed, the drollest little tinkling laugh, as she opened the gate of Oakhurst. "Henceforth our fortunes are one," she add- ed, with a melodramatic wave of one tiny gloved hand. Caleb Green was again left to his own re- flections, for Eugene Dillon pursued his way after directing the stranger to her destination. A little girl came out of the house, with a tin, 'pail in her hand. She was a slim child, in a iftmp calico dress and a, faded sun-bonnet, with Iery slender legs, terminating in large, ill-fit- ting shoes. i "Mary Anne, look here," said Caleb, brisk- ty, and led the way into the shop. His first act was to take down a glass jar of candy, which furnished a part of his stock in trade, and select a stick of peppermint. Mary Anne accepted it solemnly, the sun-bonnet re- vcealing the sallow, care-worn little face which is often the type of the eldest daughter of a poor family. She broke the stick in three pieces, two of which she put in her pocket, and the third in her mouth. "/Now, what is that for, I should like to know?" questioned her fathelr. "Billy and the baby like a bit," replied Mary Anne, with articulation rendered difficult by her own portion. "You're a right good gal, if I do say it," said Caleb, admiringly. But Mary Anne was entirely unmoved by this flattery. She eyed her parent with her usual gravity, and asked, in a dry little voice, "What do' you want? I've got to run up the hill a piece, to AMis' Baker's." "Mary Anne, who was at the head of the class last term?" Caleb threw his head back, and stared fixed- ly at the small girl in limp calico. "I was. So, there!" responded Mary Anne. "I knowed it well enough before. Ia, ha!" "What did you ask for, then?" she demand- ed, promptly, looking over her shoulder at the candy-bottle. "I'm goin' to make a bargain with ye, my gal. Teach your daddy to read writin', my dear, and you shall have a stick of peppermint every day. You shall, if it breaks me!" Mary Anne received the proposition doubt- fully; but she was human, and a sparkle came into-her pale-blue eyes at the sweetness of the bribe. She would not touch the portion in her pocket set aside for Billy and the baby, yet to earn the contents of the jar by fair means was bliss indeed. "I guess you're too old,"she commented, with pleasing frankness, studying her father critically. "I Yon see," responded Caleb, rather shame- facedly, it must be confessed. Perhaps some dim perception stirred his sluggish brain, at the reproach of learning from his own child, and of being spurred to the ex- ertion only by means of undue interest in the af- fairs of others. What if the letters did not be- lung to himself? The curiosity they had aroused' could not be stifled. He must know why the sailor had come to this .part of the country with these missives as the sole contents of value in his bundle. The temptation again assailcd him to make use of Mary Annc's education, as he had nearly allowed his secret to escape his lips while Eugene Dillon lighted the cigarette on the porch, just before the lady r .me along the road. Was Mary Anne to be trusted? lIe had lied, when asked by the authorities if the sailor had brought any luggage whereby he could, be identified. Instant alarm had possessed hinm at the prospect of yielding up the blue pocket-lhandkerchief hidden in the barn. He now suffred Mary Anne to go on her errand with the tin pail, and, whllen she return- ed, held a bundle of papers before her eyes. "Mind, I want a good teacher, and no mis- take," he said, playfully. "I don't believe you can read thhem words riglht off." ' Yes, I can," said Mary Anne, indignantly: "' Eugene Dillon, Private.' " ' 'That will do," said Caleb, quietly, putting the package in his pocket. "Now for the lesson." Mary Anne produced a huge inkstand with a thick sediment, half cake, half fluid, in the bottom, a battered steel pen, and sonic copy- books. She began to feel a certain pride in 'her own importance. Pcrched on the counter o la turque, and always with her eye fixed on the candy-bottle as an ultimatum, she admonished her elderly pupil on the crookedness of his "j's," and the reclininr postures of his "l's." "I sliall write all I want in no time," snid Caleb, much elated by his first effort, as he stretched his crampcd fingers somewhat rueful- ly. "It's mighty hard work to write, though, an't it? I most wonder follks ever take tlio trouble to learn." "Daddy, was that stick for to-day, or just a beginning?" asked Mary Anne, slyly. Caleb took down the bottle wNvith a smile, and even kissed his child-a most unusual proceed- ing. "I shall learn in no time at all," lie nmut- tered again, when alone. Then lie placed the letters in a tin tobacco- box, as a prevention against the depredations of the rats, and hid it under the caves of thle btrn. The lessons did not prosper, for the day came speedily lhlen Caleb was discovered seat- ed on the bench, his head on his breast, with eyelids closed and crimnson. faice, lapsing slowly and surely into deliriuml . Alton Ford's ma- ternal fears were realized: the sailor had be- queathll d the scourge of deadly illness to Caleb Green, the dram-seller. A better man might liave fallen in his stead; but Rebecca llummer saw il tlme malady theo hand of God. page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] CHAPTER XII. A CLEVER WIDOW MAKES MSCHEF. SUNDAY dawned on Alton Ford without Buck Calderwood's having met Margaret Keith, and learning the important tidings of the proposed journey. Her departure would be sure to fill him with dismay and a sense of loss not unmingled with envy; for Buck would like to see the world, having been reared with a proper contempt for the narrow limits of Al- ton Ford. Margaret was full of her new projects, en- joying the prospect of change with a zest only to be found in a fresh and ignorant nature longing for novelty with all the ardor of an American temperament., Each day she was fully resolved to communicate her wonderful news to the Calderwoods, and bach day some trivial and wholly unforeseen obstacle inter- posed, placed in her way by the quiet mother or watchful father. Margaret saw no deeper significance in the advent-of a dress-maker of insinuating manner than the satisfaction of appearing robed in the latest style; but the modiste caught butterfly Margaret by cunning wiles in the meshes of her finery, and there was little time left to ramble in haunts dear to Buck Calderwood. Sunday came to Alton Ford with thunder- clouds rolling away over the river's surface, and the foliage glittering from the sudden tempest of rain. The foundry was silent, the hands lounged about the entrance of the little Catholic chapel on the river-bank, and a great peace seemed to have settled on the country in the Sabbath stillness. "A visitor at Oakhurst! Whoever heard of such a thing?" cried Margaret Keith. "A woman, too. Dear me! is she old and ugly, papa?" "Quite the contrary, my dear. From the E glimpse I have had of her, she seems young and graceful," replied Andrew Keith. Alas for a man wise in the discretion taught by the love of his own heart! Nature may prove too strong in the end, and thwart the best-laid plans of paternal anxiety. Margaret looked at her father with amazed, uncomprehending blue eyes; and as the insin- uating dress-maker could not assume supreme sway on this sevienth day of rest, her thoughts turned to the visitor at Oakhurst. Who was she? Why had she come there? Young and graceful? Margaret must see for herself. The cracked bell of St. James's sent forth a summons at ten o'clock, to which Miss Keith responded with extraordinary promptitude, in the most becoming toilet of lavender and rose pink. The church of'St. James was a small building of cream-colored brick, with a square tower surmounted by a cross. The church-yard contained old tombstones of Colonial days, now black, crumbling, and overgrown with bram- bles, which marked the resting-pl:ce of many a " gentleman " and 1" esquire," whose memory was done full justice in the epitaph. Margaret Keith hastened the pace of her parents as the little bell ceased to jangle. Al- ready Mr. Whitty, the clergyman, was walking along the path which led to the vestry, and Mrs. Whitty was to be seen issuing from the low white building known as the school, with Eugene Dillon and three unfortunate small boys whose vacations were spent at Alton Ford. Mrs. Whitty was a brisk, alert woman, with the form of a young girl, mild eyes, flaxen curls, and a peach bloom in her old cheeks not to be rivaled by many of her juniors. She was the power behind the throne, admiring her hus- band profoundly, and claiming invariably for him the praise which was often the result of her own sagacity. "' Mr. Whitty thinks so and so," the lit:lo woman would say in local mat- ters, about which Mr. Whitty did not trouble his head. She managed all the practical du- ties of life in school and parish, and no shul in distress ever came to the clergyman's wife in' vain. " "Now, boys, oblige me by not munching candy All service to-day," she said, with a fine display of severity; and the three small boys who remained at school during vacation re- sponded dismally, "No, ma'am." "I should not be surprised, my dears, if we could coax Mr. Whitty to take us up the river on a picnic to-morrow," she added. And the three small boys, well knowing that ,Mr. Whitty would be coaxed without difficulty if Mrs. Whitty were first won over, formed their mouths into a simultaneous "O Oh!" which last- ed quite up the aisle to their seats. The interior of the church had a peculiar atmosphere, as if dust and damp were con- tending forces during the week, and were only routed now by the genial intervention of day, warm and bright, and perfumed: with the breath of flowers. Summer wafted a soothing, gen- tle influence through every open .casement, in glimpses of vines still drenched with the recent shower, which sent forth rainbow sparkles in the sunshine and blue sky beyond. Occasion- ally a bird or insect flashed across the bright spaces, and vanished again. The congregation looked about with un- usual restlessness; for the ripple which had reached Margaret Keith had also touched the interest of the community. Never before had the Calderwoods received a visitor. Who was she? Would she appear at church? Alton Ford was not as discriminating in this curi- osity as was Margaret. The stranger being young and graceful, according to her father, alone excited the 'attention of the queen who reigned supreme, whereas Alton Ford was pre- pared to criticise her alike, if she were old or young, rich or poor. The bell had ceased, tilhe organ gave a preliminary wheeze under the guidance of a juvenile organist, as Mr. Whitty entered the chancel, and service began. There sat Mrs. Whitty in her pew, with the tlhree small victims ranged beside her. There sat Mr. and Mrs. Keith opposite, with Marga- ret, whose bright eyes commanded the entrance door. The juvenile organist continued his peregri. nations through the fields of harmony in flur- ried haste, followed by a doubtful choir, and "Mr. Whitty was permitted to ascend the wind- ing stairs to the pulpit, perched above the read- ing-desk, without a member of the Calderwood family appearing, much less their guest. Mar- garet heaved a little sigh of impatience, and played with her bracelet. Seldom did Buck Calderwood miss the opportunity of sitting on the other side of the church, for the very osten- sible purpose of admiring, unrebuked, her own fair face, outlined against the dark stone wall like a cameo. Margaret was so accustomed to this devotion that it did not embarrass her; and she was also by nature imperious, and dis- posed to assert herself on occasion. To-day she missed liher knight with a doubt which was almost a pang of jealousy. In the mean while the object of general com- ment; the lady who had tripped along the road so daintily as to excite the admiration of Caleb Green, was seated on a footstool beside Mrs. Calderwood's armn-chair, hiolding that lady's hand ill both of her own. "And here I am, aunt, after all my adven- tures, without a friend in the world," she said, merrily, yet with a touch -of pathos in her voice. "How droll your daughter evidently thinks me! Al! I can read it in her face." "You always have friends here, my dear," replied Mrs. Calderwood, stooping to kiss the small womatn at her feet. * "My daughter is delighted to receive such a charming guest," supplemented Mr. Calder- wood. "Yes, indeed," echoed Anstice, inl bewilder- ment, seeing that something was expected of her. "You are all so good," said the stranger, sweetly. Buck Calderwood lounged in the window, a spectator as usual. They were gathered in Mrs. Calderwood's bedroom, whither the visitor had attracted the other ilembers of the family quite as much as the mother. The summons of St. James's little bell came floating through the window. Anstice sat still in her place, for the excellent reason that the young housekeeper felt herself obliged to serve in the kitchen, if there was to be any dinner. Buck moved to depart. lie Iad not seen Margaret Keith since the night when search was made for Anstice, and lie missed her. "Must we go to church this morning?" ex- claimned the stranger, plaintively. "No; don't go, Buck." The young man was entirely unused to this flattery of appeal, which conveyed more of en- treaty than the speaker may have been aware of. "You certainly are at liberty to remain at home, my dear child," said Mrs. Calderwood, smiling. "I am exempt fromn attendance at church, and in public nnywhere, as an invalid'" page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] "It is many years since I saw you, aunt. How pretty you were! ' Have you the pearls and the book which formed your treasures?" "They still form my treasures, and the por- tion of my children. Anstice will be an heir- ess, indeed;" and Mrs. Calderwood sighed in- voluntarily. The visitor shook her head, and made a ges- ture of menace with her clenched hand. "I owe all of you a grudge. Then, to think of the actress stepping in, and robbing us in the end! I should be rich to-day if the old man had not 1( t. his money to your father, aunt. Confess it .ould have been better; I am only a soldier of fortune instead." This soldier of fortune laughed again merrily, but a curious expression of determination came into her eyes and contracted the brows. .Mrs. Calderwood went to her desk, and returned with a long, thin box, and a book bound in vellum, and richly embossed in gjt. The pearls lay in the box, large, lustrous, and beautiful. The whole family drew nearer to admire them, as if attracted by a spell. The stranger touched them tenderly with her slen- der fingers. "Just as lovely as ever, aunt." "Yes, I wonder sometimes that no taint has destroyed them. Annitice shall wear them on her wedding-day." Anst ce blushed, and the visitor glanced up quickly from turning the leaves of the vellum book. The girl was clear- ly finding the events of this week far too rapid and startling for her comprehension. Days and months had glided past almost without event previously, and since Monday morning one new circumstance after another had dis- turbed and surprised her. She was no sooner required to find her mother and Eugene Dillon drawn together by a claim of spontaneous at- traction, than this stranger, Mrs. Frances Mot- ley, arrived, claiming Mrs. Calderwood's sym- pathy and affection. "Poor Frances!" the mother said, with a sigh. "Poor darlint," said Aun in the kitchen; "married when she was just a slip of a thing to a blatherskite of a man." Anstice, given to silent pondering, could not make the widow out any more than she had been able to place Mr. Ioward Smith. Fran- ces had already imparted a nameless charm and brightness to the house, through the influence she was able to exert over the inmates. Her gray dress was relieved by a dash of scarlet in the coral ornaments and bunch of geranium she had gathered for herself before breakfast; her 'abundant black hair was arranged in cunning devices of braids and puffs and careless curls drooping on the neck; her hazel eyes gathered all radiance, and shed it again in wonderful brilliancy. Simple Anstice, not a little jealous to see this feminine usurper at her mother's feet, could not decide on her age.; at one moment her face and ways were infantile, and the next old, in the maturity of a hard, worldly wisdom. It seemed to please the widow to retain the whole family about her, animation rendering her beautiful. She did not lose sight of the fact that she had kept Buck from church, and described to him her home in the Sandwich Islands. Yes, she had been-everywhere-in China, Japan, India, and even Ceylon t The late Mr. Motley, pronounced a "blatherskite of a man" by Ann, had rambled f ar in search of fortune, and the clever wife had picked up many a crumb of information en route. When Anstice slipped away down stairs to discuss dinner with Ann, a little furrow of anx- iety on her own brow, the widorv followed, and put her arm about the girl with real or assumed affection. "Let me help you; I can do any thing, I assure you. I have kept you from church, I know, where you expected to meet somebody. Ah! you change color. Never mind, I was young once myself." Anstice was not proof against the humility of this remark. "You must be young still, and you are ever so much prettier than any one I ever saw, ex- cept Margaret," said Anstice, candidly. "Thank you for the compliment, dear. Who is Margaret?', " Oh, our nearest neiglhbor, and so beautiful! You would have seen her at church." Mrs. Motley resolved that she would attend service in the evening. "To-morrow we must make some changes in the house," she added, glancing about the dingy and faded parlor. "Changes! You must be very rich to re-' quire such things," said Anstice, primly. "Oh, you dear little ol- maid!" exclaimed the widow. "I am as poor as a church-mouse; but if I could not make this room fresher and prettier with the outlay of a few dollars in chintz, I should be sorry." The dinner was more of a success t!lan might have been anticipated, the temporary alienation of Mr. Jinks having reduced Oakhurst to fish and poultry; but Mrs. Motley made a salad, and infused flavor into Anstice's pudding. Mrs. Calderwood consented to appear at the' feast. Imagine the dismay-of Anstice when she discovered her father on the door-step, talking in a low tone with Mr. Howard Smith. There lie stood in the sunshine, with the iauntily defiant hat in one hand, his ]hair and teardl smooth, if his clothes were rusty, and Ansticc was obliged to confess that his appear- ance was singularly unlike that of a desperado. Indeedl, had she not been aware to the con- trary, he would have been a commonplace ap- parition enough. hMrs. Motley stepped for. ward, adroitly covering Anstice's confusion, which she doubtless attributed in her own mind to the awkwardness of a country girl, and, before dinner was announced, they were excellent friends, much to the delight of Mr. Calderwood, whllo was somewhat nervbus over the reception of his guest. Had Mrs. Motley been in Bombay? Oh yes, several times. So had Mr. Howard Smith, and, by a singular coincidence, these two discov-, cred that they had sojourned i in many spots on the earth's surfacc, possibly at the same time. Mrs. Calderwood shrunk from appearing at dinner until urged to do so by her niece, who draped a shawl over the fatled gown, and fold- ed a lace handkerchief into a cap to place on the prematurely gray head. Mrs. Calderwood's sense of humor was aroused by tlchese prepara- tions, but Anstice kissed her with sudden pain. Shd was grateful to Mrs. Motley for adding skillful touches to her mother's dress, but she longed to see that mother attired, like Mrs. Keith, in rich silk. Was not Mrs. Keith dumpy, and. made only the more insignificant by splendid attire? Tlhe girl ate her dinner in a dream, glancing from Mr. Hioward Smith to Mrs.;Motley, filled +with wonder at the gay spirits of her father, and the gracious bearing of her mother. Was she one of them? The reproach so frequently cast at her in moments of anger returned to her mind wlth a sense of helplessncss. Slle would like to pay Mr. Jinks, and be able to look all the trades-people of Alton Ford iri the face, which proved her to be no Calderwood, since these trifling matters did not disturb her fa- ther or Buck. The parrot hopped on the win- dow-sill, and croaked "Howard Smith" quite distinctly. "My name, el?" said the visitor, good-hu- moredly-; and then he looked at Anstice with those twinkling eyes, set in fat, wrinkled lids. derwood, and went away. Iis parting with Mrs. Motley recurred to Anstice afterward. "3By the time you get back to Bombay on your travels, we may meet again, madam." The widow looked at him arclly from her brilliant eyes. "Thlere, or nearer at home," she replied. The little bell of St. Jamnces's sent forth a second summons in the soft twilight of the summer night, and the church windows glow- ed with the illumination within. Mrs. Whitty put on her bonnet with much satisftaction. "We are gathering a fine cvcning congre- gation, my dear. Wliat did I tell you?" she said, triumphantly. If this later service was a success, Mrs. Whtty might take the credit to herself. The other societies hiad made night melodious with the fervor of their piety, wliile St. James's re- mained dumb in the silence of its own tomb- stones, and Mrs. Whtty was aggrieved at tlhe ascendency thus obtained over the village. She instituted evening service. The young people of both sexes favored the measure with com- mendable zeal; and if the lcv. Mr. Whitty vcere required to perform the marringe rite many times the next year in consequence, his wife would be the last person to regret the de- lightful result. The good man was at war with circum- stance, in a measure. Alton Ford required that its clergyman should be also the school. master, to cke out a slender salary; therefore he was school-master by virtue of a classical education. In heart and soul he was nn as- tronomer, spending many niglhts in the observ- atory of his own construction, and returning to the small details of life witlh the abstracted mien of one whose sphere is too vast to include mere earth. Tills superiority rendered sym- pathy somewhat intangible to his flock. A chandelier, glittering with gilt and crystal, the gift of Mrs. KeIith, swung over the reading- desk, surrounding the v little leand and placid, amiable fle of Mr. Whitty with an aurceole of light. The aisles were in shadow, and in the organ gallery, fiavorite resort of youths and maidens, suppressed whispers became audible firom time to time. The chandelier illuminated Margaret Kecith, in the pretty lavender cos- tume, and brought out the rose tints of check and lip. She wore a haughty and indifferent aspect, although she stole occasional glances at Mrs. Motley over the way. Wlhat did Marga- ret think of the stranger? Surely she was not very handsome, and in a thin black dress, with page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] how well her toilet matched -in every nice detail; the black hat relieved by white, the gloves, embroidered with silk. The widow looked at Margaret with a half smile, which in turn suggested criticism rather than admi- ration, and made the proud young lady wonder if any thing was amiss with herself. Buck sat beside the stranger, who wrote a line in the prayer-book, and passed it to him, "Is that Miss Margaret?" Buck replied in the affirmative. Then the widow drew with her pencil very cleverly a profile of the girl, Buck watching her intently. Margaret observed this pantomime of smiles and intelligent glances with surprise. Eugene Dillon occupied a pew near the Keiths, and Anstice was aware of his proximity by a sense of complete contentment. "The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firnmament slioweth his handiwork." With these words the clergyman's gaze strayed beyond the boundaries of the little church, and seemed to penetrate infinite space, although it was his misfortune that few of his hearers could follow him. "If he would give them some homely food now and then," thought Mrs. Whitty, with ar half sigh. But she was sufficiently wise to pause on the threshold of sermon-making. "What Awould you give for my sketch?" 'whispered Mrs. Motley in Buck's ear, slipping her hand through his arm, as they came out of church. Margaret's angry blue eyes followed them. What! Buck Calderwood led away by a wom- an, no doubt old enough to be his mother, be- fore her veryleyes. Mr. Keith touched Eugene Dillon on the shoulder. "Will you see my daughter home- I must go down to the foreman's house for a moment?" asked Maturity, with a practical eye to keeping Buck Caldlerwood at a safe distance, and ruthlessly tramping on tender young hopes. Eugene bowed stiffly, and Miss ieith received his escort ungraciously enough. Anstice, with one backward glance, fled out into tihe darkness, and made her way home in miserable solitude. Eugene had asked her to be at church on Sun- day evening, and she had much to tell him. "Papa, let us go- to-morrow," cried Marga- ret, when her father returned. ' Very well, my dear." When she had gone to bed he'added a single word--"Temper." Mrs. Motley went home on Buck's arm, loi- tering by the way, and clhatting gayly. In her heart she exclaimed, with the reckless envy of poverty, "Oh! if I were in that girl's placc, with youth, beauty, and money at my com- mand!' CIIAPTER XIII. THE SAILOR TAKES TO TII ROAD AGAIN. DAY in early autumn, wlhen the vines' showed the first traces of frost in scarlet and crimnson leaves, while the lnaples and oak- trees remained still green. Anstice Calderwood 'again talked with Eu- gene Dillon over the crumbling garden wall. Both were apparently unchanged, while mnany changes hlad occurred in their World, althoughl in reality the process of development was un- folding in each young breast. "Do I like being a tutor?:" said Eugene, with a liglht laugh. "Welil, no, not much, although I manage to knock some knowledge into the hleads of my lIttle dunces. Besides, I should help RMr. Whtty at a pinch. Ohi, I know what I would do if I were rich." "Tell me," coaxed Anstice, firom her side of the wall. "Buy lMr. Whitty a telescope tlhat would make his eyes shine. The dear old man, whho goes mooning about, and looking over our lheads as if he were nsleep." j "I wish you could," said Aticc, withl kin- dred enthusiasm. "It woult be so nice to hlold Fortunatus's purse, a real bag of gold, for once, and buy something for all the people you know. " "I should lose my head if I did," responded Eugene, the quick, restless black eyes growing soft as they looked at the girl's delicate oval fiace, with the sensitive features. "I know very well whhat I would get for you, mademoi- selle." "Nonsense! You are a good boy to con- sider me. Do you think Margaret changed by her travels? They say she is improved, but I don't know." "She is handsome, certainly, in a sort of v-ax-doll fashion. She is not my style exact- ly." Thus spoke the young knight, with tender meaning in voice and look, possibly recall. ing the July day whlen lie ad kissed Anstice under the larl:ch-tree-- a procceding which she Nwould never again permit. The girl appreciated thc implied complimlient, atnd shook lher lecad gently. "'That is because you are blind, Eugene. Margaret ihas seen a great deal of society; perhaps tlhat makes her so very cool to us since her return. She will scarcely look at poor Buck, who was always so fond of her, you'll know. He wrote a letter to Saratoga, and she never replied. It is not lkind, because we were all childlhcn together. I suppose it must be delightful to see the world with one's own eyes." The girl leaned her chin on the palm of her hand-a fatvorite attitude when muising--and the wistful gray eyes strayed bcyond her com- panion, as the gaze of Mrs. Calderwood often sought the horizon, only with the difference that one soul sought in ignorance the unknown, while the other yearned after the lost. In the other it was the outward expression of dis- appointment atnd fatilure; in thie lugllter, a dreamful period of awaiting the fulfillment of reality. "I wrill tell you some time what the world is like," said Eugene, with just that touch of masculine superiority in his tone whichl would have made handsome Margaret Keith defiant, but which Anstice did not resent. "Arc yonl oing :iwny?" she inqulired, anx- iously. "'No, no," he said, rc-assuringly. "lBut I must not stay with Mr. Whitty as a tutor nll. my life. I have rather too much ambition for that." The young man had been idly swinging hs cane, to the destruction of the woodbine and clematis, which grew like a mantle of soft woolly pods over the stones. Now lie drew up his slender form, and his licad took a more resolute pose in response to llis own words.. "Why, you are proud too, Elgene --a3 page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] proud as we Calderwoods)!" said Anstice, naively. Eugene made a slight grimace "H ly afa- gotsf et fagots." "'Besides, you must go a long way to find really good society," continued Anstice, pursu- ing her own train of thought.!"Mamma and Cousin Frances say that a Parisian salon is the place to enjoy elegant wit and the grace of good-breeding. To have been a frequenter of Miss Berry's house, or mingled with the stars of London in Miss Mitford's day; to have met Hazlitt, or Crab),3, or Robinson, would atone for years of dullness among commonplace peo- ple." , "Perhaps they expect too much. At all events, we could nmake our own fun, if only friom coming in contact with other minds. There is the school-bell summoning me back to Latin and my little dunces. I wish the day were all recess." "So do I," assented Anstice, incautiously. "Do you?" exclaimed Eugene, in his im- petuous Southern wary, stretching both hands across the parapet. "Then I think you might give me another-just one, Anstice." "No, indeed." She swayed toward him gently, then drew back, and ran in the direction of the house, with a wicked smile at his disappointment. "You will not see me again for ten days," he threatened, and disappeared. "I do not believe a word of it," reflected the little maiden, slacklening her pace. Her glance sought the closed windows of the boarded chamber, as they frequently did, al- most involuntarily. What liad become of Mr. Howard Smith? Anstice was sure that he had gone away, because her father was al- ways in the parlor of an evening talking with sprightly Mrs. Motley. Besides, he received letters in yellow envelopes, scented with stale tobacco, directed in a large, scrawling hand, and bearing various postmarks, as if the writer were perpetually on the wing. These letters made him very moody, from which the watch- ful little daughter, on whose conscience was imposed a secret, inferred that the contents were unsatisfactory. The widow had kept her word about beauti- f lying the dilapidation of Oakhurst; the old chairs had discreetly hidden their friayed em- broideries beneath chintz covers; and wherever climbing plants could veil tarnished frames or discolored walls, they had been made to bloom I by her skill. "'Old Mr. Calderwood may die to-morrow, " and we reign in his stead. Very well; is that any reason why we should not mnake ourselves comfortable to-day?" Thus she allied her for- tunes with the house, and she certainly made herself an important addition to the family. As Anstice now approached, she heard her mother's voice: "Frances, you must not put foolish fancies in Buck's head. - He is still a boy, remember." "My dear aunt, what have I done? If I confess my sins, I know only of this trifling peccadillo: I placed a flower in his button-hole at breakfast." "Such attentions, harmless in themselves, may turn his head, my dear. He is entirely unused to the world. Both of my children have been reared under diffcrcnt influences from your childhood, Frances." "' I promise not to hurt them, aunt. I flat- ter myself that, if I furnish a part of their edu- cation, the contact will do them no harm. In the first place, they live in the very realm of disorder, and they scarcely know the meaning of the word taste. If I demonstrate to Anstice by my example that blue and green are not a pleasing combination, and that yellow is some- times trying to the complexion, have I injured her unsophisticated soul?" "Surely not," replied Mrs. Calderwood, laughing. Mrs. Motley assumed a mocking tone. "I am not to reveal to them the hollow pre- tenses, the cheats, the hypocrisies of humanity. We have learned for ourselves, aunt, and they will learn for themselves in good time. I would not aid them by the cynical experience of a poor woman who has been forced to make her own way by reason of a very light purse, and has seen all the ugly make-shifts of the scenes, because it did -not pay to show her the illusory splendor before the foot-lights." After this Anstice went in, feeling herself an eavesdropper. Eugene Dillon did not re- turn to his Latin class as promptly as he had intended, for he met with an obstacle. Caleb Green, after. weeks of unconscious- ness, was returning slowly to life. The sailor's scour'ge, as Rebecca Plummer called the mal- ady, had smitten him very low, and he was but a shadow of his former self, lying on the pil- lows of his forlorn bed. Mary Anne sat by the little window, with its rag of a curtain pushed aside for the sharp young face to peer out. "Mary Anne, my gal, have I been long here?" inquired the gaunt invalid, feebly. "'Ever so long; and oh, daddy, the doctor says, if you talk, you will be dead soon." This threat closed Caleb's lips effectually for' a time; the pinched face withll the long, gray beard lay motionless on the pillow. "Mary Anne, how's the shop gettin' on?" '"Ma says it's wicked to sell rum ; the boys run the shop, though." After another pause, "'What makes it so dark? Is it 'most night?" "No, its mornin'. Th'lle clouds is awful black yonder. They look like queer things-cows and dogs flying." Mary Anne stared reflective- ly at the sky, and then down the road again. "How yoll watch the road!" said Caleb, fretfully, his nervous fingers straying over tlhe patchwork quilt, and his eyes tracing the pat- tern wearily where the fancy of Mrs. Green, in earlier vouth, had run riot in squarcs of calico. "1I'm watcllin' a man," explaincd Mary Anne, restilg two little elbows on the win- dow-sill, and supporting her face in her hands. "Lor! he's the sailor-man tlhat was taken sick lhere." "A sailor- man," repeated Caleb, vacantly, closing his eyes. Tlhe clock in the adjacent room ticke'd loud- ly, and struck. the hour before the sick mfll again spoke. "IHas he stopped here?" "Who?" "The sailor." "No; lie's gone long ago." Caleb's pulse beat feebly, but lis brain was at work. The mcent he was assured of the sailor's departure, he repented not having de- tained him long enough to restore the blue pocket-handkerchief. Why did not the sailor inquire for his bundle, if he had recovered? "I shall never learn to read them letters," thought Caleb, and every one will be down on me for keepin' 'em now. If I had the use of my own legs, I'd follow him, and give 'em back. Yes, I would so! The plaguey things are only a worry." tIe did utilize the limbs of his family, how- ever, for the purpose of overtaking the stranger. The saiwr, with the pallid applearance im- parted by long confinement and illness, walked along the road without glancing at the drfm- shop of Caleb Green. When he reached thle spot where two roads branched, one toward the river, and the other in the direction of Oak- ,hurst, and the home of Andrew Keith, he paused, as if undecided, and seated himself on a stone, wiping his brow with his sleeve. Ne was a dreary, solitary figure, sitting there at the cross-roads, a fitting human being for tilhe 'sombre day, with the clouds rising in dark masses firom the horizon and threatening ia storm. Eugene Dillon, hastening back to duty at school, after- tlhat pleasant noonday chat with Anstice over the garden wall, came upon him suddenly, and )lpaused with ready sympathy. "I am glad you are better," said the young man, blithely, stoolping to look more closely in the sailor's face. "' You hlave been ill a very long wlhile; but youl will soon be all right agai n." The sailor gazed up at him steadily, without reply. It wals a common typle of face enough, broad, rugged, with irregular features; still there was an anxiety, a helpless seeking after something in the eyes that moved Eugene to seat himself also on the stone. "What are you doing here?" he inquired, gently, laying his hand on the other's brawny arm. "I don't know," vaguely, and again looking into Eugene's faice as if to obtain at clue to his own position. "Try to think. You will not stay hereo )y the roadside; it will soon be cold and dark. A storm is coming." The sailor raised his lcead suddenly, and made a gesture as of rending away the cover- ing of his throat, to breathe more easily. "The sea!" he muttered hoarsely, the hith- erto dumb, inarticulate longing in his anxious face expllained--l "whlere is it?" "You wish to get to the sea?" said Eugene. "Yes, yes; the land chokes me." le rose to his feet, and looked about him in a dazed way. Eugene reflectcd a moment, then also rose. "Come," lihe said, bricfly; nnd tho sailor followed him without demnir. On the way down to the river, the guide could not help asking a questionl: "Wliy did you leave the sea for the country?" Still with the same dumnl, questioning look, tlhe sailor answered, "I don't know." " The poor man has forgotten every thing, in the fever, except a longing for the ocean," reflected Eugene, and refraincd from further inquiry. At the wliarf Eugene found a sloop going down the river, and the master readily agreed to take the sailor aboard. The latter's dull eyes brightened at sight of a sail. Eugene stood on the wharf watching the little craft glide slowly away, the canvas gleanning white against the dark sky. page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] "The river leads down to the sea," he mur- mured, as the sloop became a speck in the dis- tance. Caleb Green, mischief-maker, remained very quiet during the rest of the day. "Is it night?" he said at last, aroused by an ominous rushing of' wind that made the old house rock and tremble. Mary Anne came to his side whimpering, "I was left to mind you, and the children abed. Ma's gone to the prayer-meetin' agin, and the boys are out hunting. ' Somethin's comin', daddy. Oh! oh!" Something had come. Caleb Green sprung out of bed, and rushed to the window in dis- may. The dust of the highway was whirling in eddies, the dense clouds scudding overhead; fragments of branches and uprooted saplings were hurled past the window like straws by the force of the wind. The great barn-doors,'loosely secured, had swung back to receive the blast. What Caleb heard was the mighty storm-voice threatening him, a worm of the dust, with annihilation. What Caleb saw was the collapse of the dilap- idated barn opposite, which fell with a rending crash, and the loose boards were gathered on the skirts of the tempest, which swept on. The lean horse with the white nose, sole charger of the houseof Green, would serve no more; the rebellious oxen and melancholy cows would not pine for pasture-lands another summer, looking over the red gate. Where was the tin box, placed beneath the beam for safety? Caleb's own cunning had outwitted himself. CHAPTER XIV. MARGARET'S JEALOUSY. HTIE wind-storm which demolished Caleb Green's barn did other damage in the vicin- ity as well. The local journals were furnished with leading articles in large capitals for days, and those whose foundations remained secure could only condole with the ruin of neighbors. Mrs. Motley wal!ted out with Buck Calder- wood in the fresh, vicar morning some days later. The sky was blue, and the river received !,the reflection in azure ripples, flecked with golden sunshine. In the hollows and on the lowlands a rime of frost still lingered, catching the light in sparkling points, like the tiny ice- spears of an elfin army; and the 'shrubbery, now all aglow with the glory of autumn, crept like a flame of color, vivid scarlet, mingled crimson, and rich brown, up the slopes to the stately old trees, claiming a branch here and there, in the triumphal progress-of destruction by the embrace of a dying vine. "I wish to see the barn for myself. Are the cattle crushed beneath the beams?" in- quired the widow, in her usual sprightly tones. Perhaps it was a part of Buck Calderwood's education, according to Mrs. Motley's views, that she should take him forth to walk, herself in. harmony with the sparkling beauty of the morning, with her black dress looped over a red petticoat, and a bird's wing in her brigand- hat. Mrs. Motley always required a masculine attendant-if not a grown man, then a boy, as page, to escort her steps. The widow was apt to yawn in the society of women, reserving her wit and smiles for the other sex; and she could no more resist the practice of little arts of co- quetry on the most unpromising subject than a cat can conquer the instinct of mouse-hunt- ing. This much was due to her: mouse- hunting was second nature. Buck accompanied her, unmindful of the claim of Mr. Whitty's school, where he still pursued certain branches of study in his own languid fashion. Buck gave no outward sign of change. Mrs. Motley moulded him to her own will in all things, but, like many very clev- er women, she overrated her own talents at the expense of the ability of another. She liad not yet decided what use to make of young Buck Calderwood in her little drama; still it pleased her to consider him a puppet in her hand. They reached the premises of Caleb Green, and looked at the pile of debris which had been the shelter of the discouraged cattle. Caleb sat on a fallen beam, gazing vacantly about him, as dreary a figure as the sailor had been at the cross-roads when found by Eugene Dil- lon. He wore an old woolen shawl, faded to a muddy hue, folded about his shoulders like a -mantle, and he held a long stick, with which he had been probing the rubbish. Buck Cal- derwood's eyes brightened instantly, for Mar- garet Keith was talking with the miserable' Caleb, the generous instinct of her thought im- parting gentleness to her features. Margaret was fair to look upon--a flower bending on its stalk toward the rank, coarse reeds where throve Caleb Green. Her easy attitude displayed the graceful curves and lines of a futh, symmetrical form, and the purple rid- ing-habit brought into relief the exquisite fair- ness of cheek and rounded chin, the feather and silvery veil oC her hat sweeping down on her neck. The horse she rode tossed its small, delicate head impatiently, and spurned with dainty hoofs poor Caleb Green's ruins. A young groom of important aspect waited be- hind, absorbed in the dignity of his own posi- tion, alternately patting the glossy neck of his own steed, and contemplating the immense buttons of his livery. "Thank ye, miss, I think the job must be left until spring," said Caleb, blinking at Mar- garet with weak, red-rimmed eyes, and the hol- low cough, which bespoke extreme dejection. he was deeply grateful to her, in his slow way, for not assuring him that the destruction of the barn was his own fault. "I've seen sinners live all their days com- fortable, and die in their beds when their time came," lie argued ruefully, when his wife had come home from the woman's prayer-meeting, strung to a condition of wiry excitement by the eloquence of the dress-maker. Margaret offered to help him, touched by his misfortunes. It was nothing to her whiat people thought or said. When she had made up her mind to do a thing, she did it. "Get well, Caleb. In the spring I will help you," she said, cheerfully, and then her glance fell -on Buck Calderwood, and Mrs. Motley coming down the road. She returned the young man's eager recognition with a relenting smile; but she frowned at the widow, and touched her horse with the whip. The restless animal bounded forward like an arrow from a bent bow, scattering the dust on Mrs. Motley's garments; the young groom spurred after, and Margaret was gone like a tempest before Buck cotiuld recover from his profound mortification. The widow sat down on a beam, and laughed until the tears stood in her bright eyes. This laughter was inexpressibly irritating to Buck. His heart had expanded with suddeni delight at sight of the girl on the horse, only to con- tract again with pain. lHe felt as if Margaret had struck him across the face with her whip, instead of touching her charger so lightly, and every nerve in his body tingled with the sharp 'sting of insult. What had he done? Why was Margaret so changed toward hiin? '"You seem to feel very merry, Cousin Fran- ces," said the young man, bitterly. "My own thoughts often amuse me," ste re- plied, rising, and smoothing her dress. She did not tell him, however, that her thoughts dwelt with amazement and a delicious sense of triumph on the swift revelation she had read in the eyes of the fair horsewoman. Margaret Keith was jealous of her! "I have been in somebody's way all my life," reflected the pretty woman, not disliking the power granted her by the flash of a rival's glance. "Only fancy this great, stupid, hand- some girl hating me, though I don't like big beauties myself, but some men do. Why, then, she cares for Buck." The widow began to stndy her companion thoughtfully, while she blandly condoled with Caleb Green. She was capable of keeping two threads of thought in her brain at one time without entanglement. !"Margaret Keith says she'll help me. She's a good un, mind yc. There warmn't no mean stuff' round when she was made. I won't have nothing stirred before spring." Caleb Green spoke with the fretful vehe- mence of an invalid, and again poked in the rubbish with the long stick lie held. Margaret had not ridden ten paces before she was as ashamed of her rudeness, yet she would not turn back and expose her own weakness. Always that widow, with her mincing ways! No doubt she was artfully entangling Buck Calderwood by her wiles. Iis faimily must be blind, stone-blind, not to perceive it. Well, let the widow win! What did'it matter to her? She uttered a short laugh, and urged her horso to a more reckless speed. She did not notice the sweetness of the air, or the purple bloom of the opposite shore in the autumin haze of noon- day. Rapid motion suited her mood; the wind alone seemed to keep pace with her as the trees and fences stretched behind ; and the further she rode, the more angry she became with the little woman in the red petticoat left with Buck. Hier old playmate might move her compassion; Margaret was sorry for him, fall- en into the clutches of Mrs. Motley, and all her resentment was expended on tlhat lady's de- voted head. Margaret knew that she was un- reasonable. Nobody should perceive her dis- quiet; she cared nothing for Buck, and yet- The little thorn implanted by Mrs. Motley's ap- pearance at church, and conduct toward her young kinsman on that occasion, had been car- page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] ried away with M argaret on her journey, fur- nishing the prick that reminded her of Buck Calderwood's existence when she would other- wise have forgotten him, at least for a time. The advent of the widow under those circum- stances, when she was prepared to unfold her plans to Buck walking home, was a distinct in- sult to petted Margaret which dignity forbade her to forgive. On the summer tour, where she met with admiration, kindness, and all those perfumed caresses lavished on the wealthy, if a pleas- ure failed in fulfillment, however trifling, her thoughts reverted to Buck Calderwood, left a prey to She widow. She would not answer his letter, and yet reflected on this grievance, which threatened to grow larger. Andrew Keith saw only with delight the favor won by his daughter out in the world. She should not marry Buck Calderwood because she lacked familiarity with any thing better. Finally Margaret turned her horse home- ward, and arrived at her own door, the picture of blooming beauty. "We are going over to Miller's, and may not return until evening. Will you bellonely, my dear?" said Mrs. Keith, meeting her Hlebe ,on the threshold. "Not at all," replied Margaret, gayly. "Bless me, Maggy, you will get hehrt dis- ease, I am afraid, tearing around the country in this way." "My heart is sound, thank you. I like to ride fast. Oh, I could live on horseback, like the Huns-eat, drink, and sleep in the saddle!" she cried. "What if you invite little Anstice over to keep you company, and the cousin, Mrs. Mot- ley?" "I am well enough alone, mother," said Margaret, pettishy. Was she to receive the widow on her'own territory, as if she would not see enough of her elsewhere? After her parents had driven away, the day passed rather slowly. She wrote several letters to society young ladies who had "taken her up;" she studied the pho- tograph of a handsome officer, Captain Lang- ton, who had been very devoted to her in her late triumphal progress to the watering-places; she roamed through the silent rooms of the 'house, and out into ihe gardens.' It would be pleasant to have Anstice, or even Buck, with her, but for the hateful intruder. No, indeed; she might practice her absurd little arts on oth, ers; they could not deceive Margaret Keith. The young heiress would have liked an in- tense partisanship in her dislike on the part of her parents, but received instead mild rebukes for her uncharitableness in condemning a stranger. A bright wood-fire burned on the hearth of the small parlor, and the tinted globe 'of the lamp shed a softened radiance on Margaret's golden head. The rest of the room was in shadow; occasionally the fire-light caught the gleam of a gilt frame on the rich maroon relief of the wall, and brought out the canvas in a warm, transient glow. The spaniel lay asleep before the fire on a rug of snowy wool. Mer. and Mrs. Keith had not yet returned, and the clock chimed eight. ,Margaret yawned over her book; she was not fond of reading. Sud- denly the spaniel uttered a sharp bark, and she saw Buck Calderwood standing'on the thresh- old, hat in hand. Neither of them spoke for a moment. "Well," said Margaret, finally. "May I come in?" pleadingly. "If you choose." "Pardon me ; if you choose," said Buck, in a tone tremulous, despite his efforts to speak firmly. Margaret pouted, then- smiled, revealing a delicious dimple. The lamp-light fell full on the rose-leaf face, with its charming changes of expression. A wild, fierce exultation took possession of the young man, the reaction of his previous despondency. lie came 'swiftly forward, knelt beside her chair, and seized both of her hands, crushing them in his nervous fingers. "I have not given you permission yet to en- ter," said Margaret, putting her head on one side, and regarding him pensively. "I don't care. Oh, Margaret, I never thought you cruel beforel" He spoke hurriedly; his face was pale, and his soft, womanish gray eyes looked black with excitement. Margaret shrunk a little. "You must not be silly, Buck," she return- ed, in a gentle tone. *"How wild you look!" One of her hands strayed toward the dark hair that waved above the young man's white brow, and smoothed it back caressingly. He clasped both his arms around her, and laid his head on her shoulder with a quick breath, al- most a sob. Margaret had planned a very dif- ferent meeting. She did not intend that Buck should so far forget himself, yet she could not repulse him exactly. The house was silent, the clock ticked, they were alone. She rested one soft cheek against the pale face, and whis- pered, "What troubles you, Buck?" Did the question begin or end in a lingering kiss, or was it merely breathed from one soul to the other, a voiceless intelligence? "What troubles me?" repeated Buck, rais- ing his head to look at Margaret with the ado- ration of a devotee before a shrine. "Sure- ly you must know for yourself, wicked, lovely Margaret! You are so changed to us all. Anstice thinks that you are ashamed of your old friends since you have made new ones." "I never thought of that," said Margaret, remorsefully, the most generous fibre in her nature touched. How stupid they all were! She would not mention Mrs. Motley. Silence again in the shadowy parlor, with the clock ticking, and the fire burning low. Margaret suffered Buck's trembling fingers to touch the golden rings of hair that lay on her temples, while his lips sought the velvet-soft check again and again. She was not sure whether she was happy or not, but she liked to make him happy at least. Poor Buck! Interruption to such moments must ever be rude. The clock struck sharply, and Margaret observed that her visitor wore a delicate rose in his button-hole. Poor Buck, indeed! Mrs. Motley had decked him like a lamb for the sac- rifice. Sihe had been very arch and merry over his preparations for an evening call of ceremony, and had culled the rose for his coat. "Wait, Buck. I have a curious seal for your watch-chain. There! I found it in the East, and it has no real value except as' the gift of your affectionate cousin. Promise me one tiling, however-do not tell any one who gave it you." The widow vhad watched Buck issue forth with a smile. If Margaret was jealous of lier, she must torment her a little. Margaret turned away her head capriciously. "You forget that I anm alone," she said, with a sudden flash in her eyes. Buck blushed scarlet. "I beg your pardon," lie stammered. Alton Ford pronounced him a perfect gen- tleman, because lie opened the 'door for old la- dies, and yielded his seat to the girls. Mrs. Calderwood's anxiety that her son should not grow up a boor was almost a mania, hence an excessive deference and politeness which made the recipient uncomfortable. "I did not mean to snub you," said Marga- ret, also blushing, and extending her hand in reconciliation. "I am equally to blame; but we are no longer children, and of course every thing-is changed." 5 "You'ceed not tell me that," said Buck, sadly. "What a lovely rose! Would you give it to me?" "Certainly." And he placed the flower in her palm. '"How sweet!" exclaimed Margaret, mock- ingly. "You never used to wear button-hole bouquets." "No; Cousin Frances made it. She has so much taste, you know." "Oh, I know. And-she also gave you the seal, I suppose." "Iow did you guess that?" said Buck, look- ing down at the lutnl of rude gold. Margaret's eyes eys grew dark, and a bright spot burned on either check. She was so amazing- ly handsome in icer anger that Buck forgot ev- ery thng else in gazing at licr. "You need not tell me your secrets," slie said, haughtily, going over to the chimncy- picce. "I have none to tell," returned Buck, plaint- ively, following her so that they both stood be- fore the fire. "There is some change in you which I can not understand. I can only hope that it will wear away in time. I ani patient. Margarct, may I comae again?" "I am going to Washington for the winter in a few days. Let this be good-bye," she re- turned, shortly. Buck regarded her wistfully: "I suppose that I must wish you happiness there." "As I wish you happiness here." "Margaret, do you hate mec?" O 0h no," very coolly, and Ias if weary of the subject. The Calderwood prideo was rising slowly amidst a conflict of other emotions. "I will not trouble you further, then," slow- ly, and waiting for a response. Margaret gazed obstinately at the fire, her thoughts still black, and she turned to find that Buck Calderwood was gone. When the Keiths returned, Margaret was lying on her bed with a handkerchief over her eyes. Her head ached, she explained, but she had got through the day well enough. "The Millers go next week, my dear," said the mother, gently. "I am ready," said Margaret, snatching the handkerchief from her eyes. "Are you becoming discontented with your home?" inquired Mrs. Keith, with a heart-pangE- at this eagerness in her nestling to fly away. Margaret fondled her mother's hand affec- page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] tionately. "Let me have my day," she whis- pered. ".Girls did not tilk in that way when I was young," responded Mrs. Keith. "Now, go to sleep, darling." -But Margaret did not sleep. When she was left alone she went to the window. How old she felt! It must be that years had elapsed since she searched the river-bank for Anstice with Buck in the hot July evening. She look- ed back with wonder and contempt on childish pleasures with which she was once satisfied. This maturity of discontented wisdom had not ben attained by the summer journey alone. The night was calm and serene, with the moon climbing the heavens, the stars sparkling in the brilliancy of a clear atmosphere, and the wind lulled to rest. Shadowy boats were moor- ed on the tranquil river, or moved gently with the current, their lights reflected in the stream. On such nights angel forms may issue from the gates of heaven on missions to earth, mysteri- dus and inscrutable, which yet thrill the uni- verse, holding the soul-link that must eventu- a lly raise the created to the Creator's throne. To these angelic messengers may be granted the bringing of additional radiance to a diadem where each gem is earned by human love or suffering, if the wanderer from heavenly realms has wrought a good work among the children of men. If such a vision slanted through e stairy silence of the sky-a gleaming sphere, and then a pure translparent form of celestial beauty-the presence did not reach Margaret Keith, defiant, miserable, and dissatisfied with self, standing at her window. Back wore the widow's gift complacently. It was a sliglt of- fense, certainly, but had weight, taken with oth- et things. She would have her day independ- ent of little Alton Ford. Not for Margaret the angel visit, but for Buck, filled with the despair of unexpected loss which made him fling hmself down on the garden bank, beg- ging the darkness to hide his misery. lie loved Margaret with all his soul, and she was turning away from him in scorn of Iis worship. Oh, if he only was what a Calder- wood had been, instead of poor, ignorant, and despised! The moon shcd a silvery radiance over the old house with its quaint chilnneys and steep roof, shrouding its decay in the veil of evening, and the boats floated idly on the river. "An old family," mused Margaret at her window. ' He would have asked me to mar- ry him to-night, if I would have allowed him. That is all over now. Heigh-ho! I used to play in the mud down by the foundry; but you can set a beggar on horseback easily enough." CHAPTER XV. CALEB GREEN'S TOBACCO-BOX. SPRING in Alton Ford, cold, pale, and faint- kly tinted with the promise of richer sum- mer. Buds lad been blighted by late frosts, and the flowers unfolded timidly in the harsh winds amidst the growing cmcrald-grcen of tlhe grass. Eugecne )illon drew a geometrical fig- ure on the blackboard, dustced his fingers of chalk, and glanced mechanically through tlhe wind(ow. lie saw Anstice Calderwood hastening along tire road, with a bundle half concealed beneath her shawl. Anstice did not possess the grand physique of Margaret Keith, but the chill, raw wind imparted a delicate, wild-rose bloom to her pale, transparent complexion. "There goes your sweetheart, Dillon," said a voice in the school-room, purposely disguised to evade tie quick glance of the tutor's eye. This brought!ml back to his duty. To be with Anstice in tihe road meant liberty, and Eugene longed for liberty. The boy-and-girl love existing between them flowed inl a smooth, uneventful current, fed upon almost daily meet- ings, and interchange of opinions in various small matters within their ken. They did not look beyond. It never occurred to the youth that Anstice could belong to another man in the years to come, any more than slic pictured himn as the lawful property of a stranger girl. The casual glimpse of Anstice now flitting along the road made his spirit rebel at his thralldom. The wearisome routine of school duties from blackboard to desk, each hour of the twenty-four marked out in order, galled himn. Mr. Whitty must find another tutor next year. Besides, Eugene would have to take a journey in the summer, if he did not first lcear from his West India home. His par- ents were dead; he had no near relatives; but he had faithfully promised the old man, Duncan M'Coy, who had sent him to the States, that he would return when he was twenty-one years old, before making any Iplans tfr his fiuture life. Well, he had hoped to have been through college at that age, when, lo! his remittances ceased, and no letters had come from )Duncan M'Coy these two years. This fact good Mr. Whitty kept a secret as long as possible, ann when the young man learned the truth, he had accepted the post of tutor, and waited. Per- haps 1ho would not have lbeen tlhus patient if Alton Ford hadr not been the Ihome of Anstico Calderwood. Buck sat in one corner of the school-root poring over a book. he was always poring over books now, and even assisted Mr. Wiit- ty in his astronomical researclcs. Margaret Keith was still absent, and he told no one of the events of that evening. The languid reti- cence of Buck's nature was impervious even to Mrs. Motley's little lance afterward. r Anstice lhastnced along the road, with one wistfil glance at the sclool, in the hope that Eugene would not join her. She had a secret which she was unprepared to communicate even to him, and still more afraid was she to havo it known in her own family. With a timid glance around to sec if she was watchied, An- stice entered the little gate of Mrs. Releccca Pl'hmmer, dress-maker. Tlle house was very tiny, brown in color, and wiitl smart ornament- al work about the roof and windows, like some of the occupant's own trimmnings done in wood. In the front yard was a grave with a marble head-stone, and outlined with a row of porce- lain knobs, considered as cmbellishments in rural districts, for some mysterious reason. In this grave of an only child the poor moth- er had buried all her hopes, with the melan- choly reflection, "He will not grow up to bo like his fittler, a drunkard." 'ihe worked on, day and night, purchasing the smart little brown houlse with her own money, and her bit of land. Flowers were planted only on the page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] grave beneath the window of the work-room, where her eyo rested frequently. Anstice raised the brass knocker, and with another glance around entered the house. Mrs. Plummer received her with great cordial- ity, but Anstice blushed as she produced the bundle she carried. "I've done my best. Oh, Mrs. Plummer, if I had a sewing-machine I believe that I could make my fortune!" , "No doubt you could, my dear," replied Mrs. Plummer, unfolding the work. Then they both looked up, and saw Buckley Calderwood standing in the door. , Anstice ut- tered a faint cry. "Good-morning, Mrs. Plummer. Are you working for my daughter at present, may I ask?" The dress-maker was a truthful woman: she grew red. "We are talking over work, Mr. Calder- wood," she answered, hesitatingly. Trembling Anstice interposed. "It is not that, papa. Mrs. Plummer has been kind enough to give me sewing at home." She did not defy him in this statement; her eyes sought the ground. "I fancied you were at some silly prank! So you do needle-work for the village. I won- der you should encourage my daughter in such deception, Mrs. Plummer." Mrs. Plumumer turned her keen, shrewd eyes on him. "You can't expect me to enter into your feelins, sir ; I am only a poor woman. When a girl wants to work for her mother, I help her. That's my creed." "Really this is too absurd," said Mr. Calder- wood, in his most imposing manner. "Anstice, I require you to beg Mrs. Plummer's pardon for deceiving hei, as well as your own parents. , Your mother has every comfort, and will be more wounded than I am by your heedless con- duct." There was a moment's silence, during which the girl's eyes remained fixed on the floor, and 'she became very pale. "I have deceived nobody. It is the truth,". she said, finally, in a low voice. "Never mind," said Mrs. Plummer. "Jest s wait until I make the change, and then we I will forget all about it. Lor! Mr. Calderwood, t it don't hurt a young lady to sew neatly." i "Stop!" he interposed, haughtily. "Were t you going to pay Anstice?" "I'm sure she's earned the money, every penny," replied Mrs. Plummer promptly, and with a touch of indignation in her voice. i "I "A Calderwood to receive money for doing the village sewing! What would my father ti say to this? I never can be surprised or hurt by one of my own children again. Ascribe it. - my dear madam, to the ignorance of an un- 3 trained girl with an invalid mother." "It comes to nearly two dollars: that is something, I am sure," said Mrs. Plummer, 1 undauitedly. Mr. Calderwood waived her back imperious- I ly. "She shall not touch tlihe money. Anstice, rgo home!" Thus disgraced, the would-be needle-woman ran out of the house, blind to the kindly sym- tpathy in honest Mrs. Plummcr's eyes, blind to the little grave, and the main street, along which her unconscious feet carried her. Oh! her father was cruel to thwart her now. lie never noticed her, except to detect her se- cret manceuvres with the unfailing instinct of suspicion. Surely there was nothing to be ashamed of in sewing for Mrs. PIummer, if one was very poor and needed money And then to be sent home -like a child! The Oakhurst purse was ebbing very low tliis spring. Mr. Calderwood showed the fatal capacity for making away with all sums, great or small, that sand possesses to absorb water. Even Mrs. Motley's spirits flagged in this de- pressed condition of affairs. "My dear aunt," she said one day, "noth- ing is lost by calling a spade a spade at the right tine. Does your husband gamble?" "No," replied Mrs. Calderwood, with a sigh; "I think lie has the poor man's mania for spec- ulation." "Lotteries? gift enterprises?" suggested the widow, elevating her eyebrows slightly. "I hardly know." But Anstice knew that the horrible yellow envelopes scented with rank tobacco had ar- rived all winter, suggestive of iMr. hIoward Smith, and that the contents invariably ele- vated or depressed her father. The thought of appealing to Mrs. Plummer for work had come to her as an inspiration. With what pleasure did she seek her own chamber at stolen moments, grateful already to. Mrs. Mot- ley for her instructions in sewing, and stitch the seams allotted by the dress-maker! How many plans she made, her thoughts flying with the needle, of how the money, a vast sum to be acquired by a girl's own labor, should be ex- ' pended for her mother. A sob rose in Anstice's throat, but she would not yield to tears before Alton Ford. She bit her lip hard, and took the cross-road past the' house of Caleb Green. The rubbish of the fall- en barn was being at last removed. Anstice paused a moment to observe how far the work had progressed, and recover her own compos- ure, in a measure, before facing her mother. The men had gone to their dinner, and a clatter of crockery alone was to, be heard in the house. As Anstice paused, a terrier dart- ed into the yawning pit, once a foundation-cel- lar, and began to paw the earth in frantic pur- suit of a rat. A glittering object caught her eye; the terrier had unearthed a flat tin box, smelled it, turned it over, and then poked its head into the hole thus made, still scenting the rat. Anstice ran down the steep slope, and took up the box. It was evidently a case used for coarse-cut tobacco, and had been buried i ith the barn or dropped by one of the work:aen. 1Her fingers were oni the lid when a rough. grasp was laid on her arm, and the voice of Caleb Green said hoarsely in her car, "Wa'al, now, what ycr got there? It's my property, I reckon." "The terrier uneartlhed it," explained An- stice, giving it to him. Caleb's face wrinkled into a smile. ' It beats all! I've looked for the plagucy thing ever since the barn fell. Miss Margaret Keith promised to hlclp me build, but I s'pose she's forgotten her word, likely; young wom- enll do." "Why not remind Mr. Keith? lie is very good." "I feel kinder bashful, you see. \ Good-day to you, miss." When the men had resumed wor'k Caleb drew his daughter, Mary Anne, aside, "' What do you say to beginning them writin'- lessons agin? There's a new candy bottle on the shelf-pine-apple flavor, and vanillty." "All right i I don't mind," said Mary Anne, with alacrity. When Anstice reached home she heard her father's voice pitched in the high key of pas- sion. The sound smote on her car like a knell. If she had not paused to find Caleb Green's to. bacco-box, she wotuld have first arrived and told her own story, while, now that her mother was disturbed by the recital, she longed to be accorded justice at her bar. The earliest les- son taught Anstice was the warning of old Ann to keep all possible disagreeable truths from her mother's knowledge. On the contrary., when Mr. Calderwood was angered, he could not deny himself the relief of casting his bur- den on others. Ann met the culprit on the door-step. "Anyhow, ye shouldn't have done it, dar- lint. Mind that ye belong to the quality, if ye haven't a gown to yer back. I'll go out to day's work sooner than have ye slavin' for the village." Anstice silently wrung her bands like an old woman, and passed in. Mrs. Motley liad dis- creetly withdrawn to her own clhamber, at the prospect of a family quarrel. Anstico heIard her father's words distinctly: "Perhaps you recall the mischief slihe made when my father came here so many years ago: ' Children and fools speak the trulth,' were his words. I tell you the girl is sly, if she is my own daughter, and I amn sure slte lhas noine of the instincts of a lady, a true Calderwood. To-day I find her hobnobbing with the dress- maker, and it would not surprise me if to-mor- row she supped in the shanty of Larry, the foundrymatn. This needle-work is a step be- yond all boundaries. She has putrposely dis- graced us in the village, laid bare our poor se- crets to their vulgar, prying eyes. What will my father say if lie ever learns the truth?" Oh! mother, I did not mean to set the vil- lage gossiing Mrs. Mrs. l'ltnmer promised not to tell," sobbed Anstice at the door. It was tlih same scene over again, enacted so many years ago; the diknereince existed in the ages of the actors. Mr. and Mrs. Calder- wood confronted each otlher, wliile the girl came and hid her fatie on her mother's shioul- der, sure of consolation in being rightly under- stood as the child liad done. "Have you finished?" inquired Mrs. Cal- derwood, haughtily. "I wish thlat Anstico alone hbad power to disgrace her famitly in the * village." ' lDefend her in all folly, and spoil her for the world!" exclaimed the fitlher, irritably. "Valeric, you ccrtainly argtue matters like a woman." "Mother, mother, forgive moeif I have dis- tressed you," illlored Anstice, clinging about Mrs. Caldcrwood's neck, in contrition. "I took - the sewing as a little secret, and-and-we real- l 'ly needed some money." Mr. Calderwood left the room abruptly. , One source of his wrath was an uncomforta- - ble sense of self-reproach in this net of his i daughter's, and the direct effect of the visit to aMrs. Plumtmer was unfavoralde to the develop- , ment of good in Buckicy Calderwood, as the I battle with Mr. Jinks, butcher, liad been. The - mother was pale, and tears came into her page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] weary eyes as she laid her hand gently on the rich brown hair. "My dear child, our best impulses are often misunderstood. Save your tears for real sor- rows. I appreciate what you have done, and bless you for it. Ask advice another time." IThus ended in ignominious failure the at- tempt of Anstice to help her family. Buck spent his days poring over books with Mr. Whitty, and strolling about aimlessly. An- stice dried her tears with a flash of helpful pur- pose. -, ':If mamma was not ill, I would go away to the city and beg my grandfather or my aunt Eleanore to help me to work. Of course, I am not a real Calderwood, to think of such a thing, butJI should like it ever so much better than just living here. lPerhaps I am more fitted to sup with old Larry, the foundryman, than to associate with refined people." Her lip quivered, and she discovered no sat- isfaction in this reflection. ' Mrs. Calderwood was unusually gay that evening; she was in one of her moods, as An- stice said. Eugene Dillon came home with Buck, and Mrs. Motley danced the minuet to her aunt's accompaniment on the harp, for the amusement of the young people. The widow was merry and amusing, but Mrs. Calderwood fairly surpassed her, as, with eyes unnaturally bright, and cheeks slightly flushed, she told stories with the true dramatic power which rivets attention, sung quaint songs, and mim- icked the bearing of the notable persons she :had seen. Ann came to the door several times, and looked at her mistress without sharing in the gOneral merriment. Mr. Calderwood was out. At last the old servant claimed Mrs. Calder- wood, like a grim sentinel. "Ye won't sleep a wink to-night," she warned. "Ann is my tyrant," said her mistress, ris- ing, with a smile. Her last glance was for Eugene Dillon, and t puzzled him long afterward by its tenderness i and beseeching entreaty. What could Mrs. l Calderwood want of him? In her own chamber sombre silence succeeded gayety; her face be- came gray and drawn. "It does one good to make exertion once in r a while, just to remember that one is alive. I 1 sometimes wonder if it would not be different i with all of us, if I had exerted myself more at b the outset. It is too late now to begin,' she said. She spoke as much to herself as to Ann, vho v e had been the faithful recipient of spoken thought for many years. * "I'll just sit here till, ye grow sleepy," said Ann, extinguishing the candle. After a pause the mistress spoke. "Ann, it will all be over sometime. The grave means rest." C "That's a haythen speech, anyhow. If ye only turned to Mother Church and the Bless- ed Virgin, yc'd not be afther talkin' in that fashion." Ann wiped her eyes furtively on her apron in the darkness. That same night Mr. Howard Smith stood mixing whisky-toddy, with the aid of the spirit- lamp and kettle, in the boarded chamber. His costume was a shade more rusty, but his twink- ling eyes and bearded face still wore an ex- pression of easy assurance. M'. Calderwood was staring at him gloomily, and drumming on the table with thin, nervous fingers. "The agent made off with the proceeds. That was a circumstance not to boe foreseen by the-most sagacious mind, my dear sir. I have made a discovery, though." "You have said that many times before," sneered Buckley Calderwood. Mr. Smith sipped his toddy composedly. '"Gold speculation is the prize of the nine- teenth century." "Did you come here to tell me that?" de- manded the other, fiercely. "Gold specula- tion for a beggar whose family is starving be- fore his eyes!" "A small beginning, you know. A fdw hundreds converted into a few thousands, and we climb, we climb the ladder of success." Mr. Smith placed his glass on the table, flourished his sill: pocket -handkerchief, and drew a chair opposite his host. "Could you coax a trifle more out of the old gentleman's purse?" "No; he will be finding me out if I do, and come down on me for deception. I told him the last thousand was for my wife. Well, so it was, only I expected it would return doubled, trebled, thanks to your schemes." Mr. Smith coughed, and changed the sub- ject. "I am back hero because I have revolved in my orbit. To be frank with an old friend, I have been deucedly unlucky this winter. There is also another reason: I am interested in the business prosperity of your excellent neighbor, Andrew Keith. 'The world's mine oyster.'" "I don't understand," said Buckley Calder- wood, slowly, shading his face with his hand. "Give me your attention for an hour, and I will explain." The two men looked at each other-the rogue by choice willing to exert the ability in dishonest ways which would have made him rich in any honest calling, and the weak na- ture that bent to the pressure of circum- stances. CHAPTER XVI. MDNIGIIT AT TIIE FOUNDRY. A NDREW REITI sat late at his library- table, writing. Two days had elapsed since the events narrated in the last chapter. Of these events he was not fully informed, the gossip which filtered into Mrs. Kcitls car from various feminine sources did not reach him. Mrs. Keith liked to receive the latest news, while her husband seldom had leisure to con- sider the attlirs of his neighbors. A version of Anstice's alppeal to the dress-maker, and the interference of Buckley Calderwood, had reached Mrs. Keith, moving her to ready sym- pathy, and she bad communicated it to her husband. "I wish there wasrany way to help the poor child," she said, with a troubled look in her placid face. "I don't know what tlchy are comning to," lie rep)lied(, also Derturbed, but iellless. One country-house may hold its own secret from the next mansion, each a separate sphere A of interest. The indulgent father was reading over-Mar- garet's last letter home, and answering it, after all his otlher duties were accomplished, lie was an iundustrious, conscientious man ; the business which he had built up to fairly colos- sal proportions 1 by 3' his own unaided exertions occupied nearly all his waking thoughts.. lie would never step out of the groove where lie belonged, lie liad often assured himself; and yet ambition was growing within his breast. To benefit the town where he had lived and labored and been crowned with success, was becoming a desire with him. "Lord, keep my memory green," was the longing of Andrew Keith's heart, as it has been of many another man. Plans for model dwelling-houses and public buildings -were scattered over the table. lie took out his clacck-book, filled a draft, and placed it in Margaret's letter with a smile. "The puss certainly makes away with plenty of money. I will cut off her supplies present- ly, and then slte must return home." In the pocket of his wallet were many slips of newspaper, which Mr. Keith also perused with a chuckle, although a little ashamed of his own folly in keeping them. One slip read: "A bright ornament of the ball was Miss Margaret Keithi, of Alton Ford. She wore a rich toilet, composed of blue satin and point- lace flounces. Ornaments, pearls and dia- monds." The other clippings dwelt rapturously on similar entertainmnents, where the same young lady was noticeable for her beauty in tulle looped with roses, or muslin wrought with sil- ver. Sensible, practical Andrew Keith read these bits of public plraise over and over again. The clock struck one. Every soul in theo hounge slept but himself. Rising at last, lie s ucpt the architeetural plans into a drawer, and placed Margaret's letter in a carved sandal-wood desk. leo ex- tinguished the lip, and stellpped to the low French window. The hiabit had become seo- ond nature of looking out of this particular window before retiring at night, because it commandedl the foundry below like a watch- tower. The master's eye should be every- where. The night was cloudy, and a dim line of gray river was visible beyond the fringe of still leafless trees. As Andrew Keith peered through the pane, something attracted his attention which would have wholly-cscaped observation hiad the lamp still burned wit'iin the room. In a moment the man's beatring changed, his gray eye be- came keen, his whole person alert, vigilant, and stern. The range of low buildings, look- ing almost flat from the elevation whlere lihe stood, appeared as usual, with the great shaft of chimney rising against the dull obscurity of surrounding objects. What he had seen was a little thread of liglit running along the ground ,toward his own office, a detached structure, ajnd then vanishing suddenly. A lantern alone would produce tlat glimlmer and the succeed- ing eclipse. Who carried a lantern at mid- night for the purpose of visiting the foundry? page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] If it was the watchman, then something amiss had been discovered. Andrew Keith would have cheerfully sat up all night under the shadow of the great chim- ney at any time to defend his own. He was prepared to fight his battle with opposition and fraud tenaciously, obstinately, holding his ground every inch. He closed the shutters softly, took a silver- mounted pistol from a case, struck a match to examine the condition of the weapon, found his hat, and went out of the house without dis- turbing the inmates. Mrs. Keith slept the sleep of the just, and Margaret, hundreds of miles away, was playing with her fan on the balcony while her last cavalier was wooing her ear with the soft flattery of society. Mr. Keith went rapidly down the path leading to the foundry, and reached the spot where the lan- tern had glimmered without meeting or dis- 6overing a soul. lie paused here, and listen- ed, quietly scanning the buildings, which were grim and lifeless in their repose, now that the glow of fire and the clamor of machinery were silenced. Itt was as if a presence, calm in its own might--sable-robed Night--touched the hive of struggling insects, and said, "Peace; be still." A ruined city affords no better lurk- ing-places for phantoms than did the foundry for burglars, with the black arches, the pro- jeCting cornmers, the sheds thrown into deep shadow. When he had become accustomed to the obscurity, Mr. Keith discovered a dark object lying on the ground, which proved to be the watchman, gagged, and with his hands . bound behind his back. The master closed his lips firmly to prevent an exclamation of v horror from escaping them, in the fear that the s watchman had been murdered, and raised the silent form. lie cut the cords with his pocket- knife, and was inexpressibly relieved when the p man moved his arms, making a convulsive ef- fort to free his mouth of the wooden wedge. "For the love of Heaven, boss, run and call g the hands," whispered the prisoner at last. 'It's a gang of thieves, sure enough; I see two on 'em before I was fixed. What would they 1 s be'ther here now, except to harm the works? Shti'e, there's never a penny of money left out of the bank overnight, a's all the folks knows." The watchman sppke in a hoarse murmur, 3but he evidently found great consolation in the i recovery of the power of speech. Mr. Keith spoke in his car, "Are you hbrt?" ' I think I am all whole, sir," he answered, giving himself a shake. , "If we run for help they will escape, and Ithe mischief be done. Where are your arms, * Mike?" '"A revolver and a knife here, sir; all right. I just sat down on the wheelbarrow to light me pipe when the thing was clapped in me mouth, and me thrown on the ground," he replied. "Follow me." Mr. Keith moved straight toward his private office, skirting the shadow as nuch as possible, and pausing occasionally to listen. His movements were not more rap- id than his thoughts; the very instinct of self- preservation had taken full possession of him. With each step he reasoned thus, "Some poor devil, hard pressed, thinks he will find money in my office. Or, worse still, some rascal wish- es to see my private papers, and learn the se- crct of my contracts and successes. Aha! I thought so." The door of the office building yielded to his, touch. lie went in, followed by Mike. "Stay here below." Mr. Keith made his companion understand, more by a gesture than words, that he was to guard the passage, and went up the stairs. Swiftness of action to surprise was the only course left. As he entered his office a sharp, trilling whistle was heard outside, evidently an alarm signal.! A lantern stood on his open desk, and a man, either confused by the summons or un- aware of his presence, was turning over the papers with trembling hands. Andrew Keith deliberately raised his pistol and took aim. The deadly click of the trig- ger, a small sound enough, startled the robber. lie sprung aside and turned round. Andrew Keith stood face to face with Buck- Icy Calderwood. CHAPTER XVII AN' HiONOR TO HlS RACE. TIlE first movement of the transgressor, Buckley Calderwood, was to shield his feat- i ures in his hands from the steady, wondering gaze of Andrew Keith. The second, to make a sudden attempt to pass the mill owner, which was all but successful from the desperate pur- pose of the man. "Go -back into the room; the watchman is below," said Mr. Keith in a low, firm voice which (id not veil contempt. Buckley Calderwood winced, and shrunk back. "Surely you would not shoot me, Mr. Kcithl," he said, with a nervous, forced laugh. "I would shoot you like a dog if you were a detected thief, and did not surrender. What are you doing here?" Buckley Calderwood grew ashy white, his limbs trembled, and lie sunk down in the of- fice-chair as if unable to stand. lie eyed his companion furtively, his slender fingers on his lips. Even in extremity he was seeking a clue to the best means whereby to discover some weakness in Andrew Keith, that lie might escape. "You are rich, and it is natural that you should be hard on the miserable shifts of pover- ty which demoralize thevictim," lie protested, defiantly. "Poverty may be honest," said Andrew Keith, with cutting brevity. "Poverty can not be honest," said Buckley Calderwood, grasping the arms of the chair, and leaning forward with wild, staring eyes fixed. on his captor. "Desperation drives a man mad sometimes. To be scorned, tram- pled upon by one's own fatther! To be kept in the shadow always, curbed, fretted, galled by the chance that never comes! That is my lot, and you would bear it patiently, counting the pennies. I was not born to count the pen- nies I Must you hear the truth? My family is in want." lie spoke in carnest, if incoherently, hut lie watched the effect of his words with that crafty cunning peculiar to weak natures, keenly ob- servant, while apparently oblivious to all con- siderations besides the tribulations of self. He muight as well have attempted to move a rock. "To beg is better than to steal. Alton Ford would not see your family want." "You teach me what it is to be without pride," said the culprit, bitterly. "I have my pride also. I like to imeet my fellow-men without shame," returned Andrew Keith, steadily. '"But we waste time. Mid- night in a closed office is scarcely tie right occasion for two men to measure opinions. Where are your confederates? Wihat were you choosing frotm a mong my papers, sir." A dark flush mounited to the mill-owner's forehead; the line between his eyebrows deep- cnced to a stern frown. In his angcr h cicould have felled the would-be thief to the ground, for darlin' to open his desk and search his rec- ords. There was no pity to be found in the self-made man's heart when others tampered with his own, and he was obliged to bIrace him- self agafinst the door to keep his hands offl Buck- ley Calderwood. As for the latter, lie clench- ed hs teeth and looked on the ground. "You td o not leave your chair until vou con- fess your guilt. I keep no money cere.. How dared you attempt a burglary on my premises?" "I am not a professional burglar, I assure you," said Buckley Calderwood, writhing un- easily, and changing his tone. "I will be frank with you. It is best." Andrew Keith interrupted hiin with a gest- ure, and stepped forward. For lthe first time Mr. Calderwood read aright the anger in the gray eyes, and shrunk with sudden dread from the revelation. "You had better be frank," said the mill- owner, clenching his hands spasmodically, and breathing hard. "Oth, you cowardly villain! page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] What manner of crawling creature on God's earth are you? You cumberer of the ground, you gentleman! No wonder your fine feelings are not appreciated by honest working-men, who scorn genteel vagabonds. But I will teaclh you to meddle with me. By heavens! I would kick you out of this place, if I did not reserve you for a better-deserved fate." "What are you going to do with me?" fal- tered Buckley Calderwood. Andrew Keith stooped until his massive face was on a level with the other. "There is only one course for me: I shall deliver you over to the law when daylight comes. Alton Ford may take a lesson from your example." Buckley Calderwood gazed up at him with a slowly dawning comprehension of his awful meaning. "Great God! Am I to be sent to prison as a common criminal?" lie whispered. ".To jail," corrected Andrew Keith, cruelly. ,At this moment Mike, the watchman, was heard climbing the stairs. "Don't let him see me. Not yet, not yet!" gasped the prisoner, stretching out his arms as if to ward off a blow. "Boss, have ye found any thin'?" said Mike, eagerly. Andrew Keith turned slowly so as to shield Buckley Calderwood friom the door. "Yes, Mike, I have found my man. Wait down stairs until dawn, when I shall want vou." "He won't be playin' any dirty trick on ye, master, and me knowin' nothin' yonder?" "Why, no, Mike; I don't think that he will harm me noiv," replied Andrew Keith, still speaking in that clear, resonant voice that rang through the brain of the palpitating listenerI like a knell. Mike thrust his head in the door persuasive- ly. "Anyhow, sir, let's have a peep at the craythur. P'raps I'd be afther knowin' him." "You shall see him. to-morrow, when every one sees him going to jail. Rogues always trip in the end. There, go down again." Buckley Calderwood had thrown himself on the floor in the very abandon of despair, and was striking his lihcad against the wall with dull, resounding blows. "I am a dupe, a tool," he raved. "I see it d all now, when I am deserted." Andrew Keith touched him with his foot. p "Get up, and tell your story before dawn. I am ready to listen." : The prisoner sprung up in an excess of pas- sion as sudden as his recent despair. "You spurn me with your foot for begging c mercy! You! A mechanic, a low-born clown, s with all your finery. Ah! I wish you were in my power once I I hate you for your brutal cruelty. I hate you for your coarse, dull per- ception of delicate natures. Iow can you un- derstand me, or my motives? Deliver me over to justice. I do not care for your vengeance. I am glad that I tried to despoil you, even if I failed." "You will pay dearly for the candle," was the cold response. Buckley glared at him a moment longer, ut- tered a little, unsteady laugh of triumph, and sunk into the chair again. Andrew Keith paced the room several times, and finally seated himself between the table and the door. Nei- ther spoke, and Buckley, resting his head on his hand, fei;gned to close his eyes while mood- ily studying his companion through his fingers. The calm, stolid patience of the one was in- expressibly irritating to the other. Had Mr. Keith retorted with passionate invectives to the taunts hurled at him, Bucklcy could have kept the fire alive with fresh fuel. Npw,'in the cold silence, the terrible suspense of waiting, lhe grew to be like a fate, inexorable and im- movable, between the captive and freedom. Mike waited below, kept awake by intense curiosity; Mr.,Keith sat with folded arms; and Buckley Calderwood, collapsed in the big office-chair, watched him through his fingers. To both men the situation was so unreal ,that they at times felt it to be a dream. The mill- ionaire had always been cordial and kind to the Calderwoods, and now he had become a grim keeper. At last he drew forth his watch, just such a chronometer as lie should have car- ried, and consulted it. "What time is it?" inquired Buckley, low- eiing his hand, -and gazing at the dull yellow gold of the watch intently. "Four o'clock." Mr. Keith restored the chronometer, and folded his arms. Buckley shaded his face with his hands again. Mike creaked out of the door below, and returned presently to his post. Silence succeeded these trifling changes. "Why do you sit there like that, if you ever expect to learn my story?" said Buckley Cal- derwood, sharply. "You can tell me, or confess in court," re- plied the other. "If I tell you the whole truth, will you let me off?" "TNo." "If my recital gave you a key, and impli- cated others, would it purchase my freedom P" "No." "Will nothing move you to save me and my'] famil# from disgrace and ruin?" "Nothing." "Then my dishonor be upon your head," groaned Buckley, breaking down. "If you could be dishonored," retorted Mr. Keithl sarcastically. The slow, noiseless process of change was transpiring all around them ; Buckley Calder- wood could not turn back the tide of advan- cing day, or retreat with the vanishing night. The sky and river were gray, but the dawn was creeping on, outlining the great central shaft of chimney, and dispelling the shadows one by one. In the office the lantern grew yellow and dim; thie pallor of Buckley Calderwood's face was plainly revealed. A hand mc man, with a narrow, well-shaped head, fine Teaturcs, and silky mustache just sil- vered with gray veiling a weak mouth. Op- posite sat Andrew Keith, with large, broad head, also silvered by years, a massive chin, and lips thlat closed in a straight line, although capable of curving into genial smiles. "It is dav, and the bands will soon be here," said the latter, rising. "Where are you going?" demanded Buck- ley, quickly. "To send Mike for the constable." "Give me time to tell you first." The parched lips framed these words, but tile agonized entreaty of the eyes-drew Andrew Keith back to his chair. "Very well; speak." "You have rivals in business who would keep pace with you, if possible, and who desire to learn the amount of your contracts. Since you have ceased to make cannon to any great extent, the manufacture of boilers has en- gaged your whole forces. You are very suc- cessful." "I am very industrious," said Andrew Keith, shortly. "Oh, there is luck in every thing. Well, these rivals employed a man to visit Alton -Ford, and gain access to your secret papers;" he hesitated, and shuddered slightly. "The agent in turn induced me to come here." "Made a tool of you, fearing detection for himself. I can supply thie rest of the story. Oblige me by writing the names of my rivals and of their agent on this paper." Buckley complied. All at once day burst upon them, flooding the room with the tumult of sound from the great foundry bell which would arouse Alton Ford. Before the vibrations had ceased Buck- ley Calderwood was clinging in abject terror to the arm of Mr. Keith, imploring, "Only let me see my wife before you send for the constable. She will come here, I am sure." "Spare your wife!" "No, no. It is too late. She can not be spared. Only let me see her first. I give you my word of honor not to attempt escape." Mr. Keith hesitated, then took up the pen just used by the other, and wrote: MRS. CALDERWOOD: "DEAR MADAM,--Your husband is in my office in deep disgrace, and desires to see you immediately. If I could have spared you the pain of this discovery, I would have done so. Justice forbids. Yours, ANDREm KEITH." "May I see what. you have written?" Buckley peered at the shcct. "No." The letter was firmly scaled, and delivered to Mike. The kitchen of Oakhiurst possessed none of the characteristics that one likes to associate with a very important feature of a home, wheth- er old-fashioned or modern. The room was large, darkened with age, meagre, and bare in the matter of appointment, and with a wide, yawning cavity of hearth framing a small, rusty stove. Ann was kindling a fire in this stove when Mike entered, and tapped her on the shoulder. "Arrali! Ye might as well murder me as to scare me to death intirely," was her greeting. "Murtlhcr, is it? Ye may well say that; but the like of ye will never come as nigh it as meself last night. Here's a note fronim the boss to your mistress, and I'm to know she's got it, mind." Ann took the note between finger and thumb in her apron. "Do ye think I'm one to belave your boss has been writin' at this time o' day?" she said, scornfully. "Thieves tied an' gngged me at midnight yonder. Where's Mr. Calderwood and his son by now, I wonder?" Mike put his head on one side with a mys- terious air, and looked keenly at Ann, whose face assumed a woodecn aspect of stolid apathy., "'laze Heaven, they are in their beds, asleep like Christians," she answered, without a mo- ment's hesitation. "Belike they are," responded Mike, thrust- ing a fresh quid of tobacco into his mouth. page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] Mrs. Calderwood was aroused from her light slumber by Ann standing at the bedside look- ing at her. The faithful servant had not yet spoken, or decided on the best means of arous- ing her mistress to a sense of peril without im- parting a dangerous shock. She could not question the wary Mike more closely, because his own suspicions of Mr. Calderwood or Buck were evidently aroused already, and she feared to betray them in some way of which she would be herself ignorant. The instinct of fidelity served the ignorant woman in place of finer qualities, if indeed there can be finer qualities than the most generous self-sacrifice of a hu- man heart. Ann would work for the bright, beautiful Valerie Arnold of her own youth, would deny herself, would lie or steal for her if need be. If she could have read Andrew Keith's note first, she would have done so in a moment. The pale dawn came through the closed blinds of Mrs. Calderwood's chamber, and touch- ed her eyelids with the chill of a sorrowful awakening. She raised her head, and looked at Ann apprehensively. "Wait a second," she whispered, placing her ,hand on her heart. "I can see by your fate that something has happened. Is--is--old Mr. Calderwood dead?" "Mr. Keith has sent you a note; that's all." All! The wife read the few lines with a horror slowly freezing her features, even as the face of the husband had blanched and grown rigid when he saw the stern purpose of duty in Andrew Keith's eyes, and inquired, "What are you going to do with me?" Ann listened to the second perusal in silence. The two women looked at each other, and then Mrs. Calderwood put her arms about Ann's neck and rested her lead on her shoulder. The most eloquent synipathy of words would be powerless to exprepf all that was conveyed by the coarse, hard-feattured old servant's re- spoitse to this appeal for strength. She held her mistress in a tender, protecting embrace, and once she stooped a!d kissed her hair. "What can ho' have done?" moanred Mrs. Calderwood. !"It an't murder to hang a man, bekase the boss wrote himself," suggested Ann, hopefully. "Hl sh!" said Mrs. Calderwood, rising. "I must go at once. HelD me to dress." P She refused to allow Ann to accompany her. At the door she paused with that perception of humor amidst the most tragic suffering pecul- iar th her. "I take my first walk abroad in Alton Ford ; in many years at five o'clock in the morning. Well, we have been through:storms before to- gether, and may weather this one." "Yes, plaze God," said Ann. When she was alone, Ann sat down in the kitchen, threw her apron over her head, and sobbed aloud. "Hle's gone agin the law this time. That's what it means, and Mike knows it, as sure as I'm sitting here." The early morning was raw, mist clung to the lowlands, and moisture dripped from the still bare shrubbery; but the river had changed from gray to pale blue, and in the east a trem- ulous rosy light announced the approach of the god of day. Mrs. Calderwood walked along the road with the rapid, unequal steps of one driven forth by the pressure of a great necessi- ty. What would her niece Frances, or anxious little Anstice have thought, had they seen her in the faded shawl and bonnet, so out of date that fashion had swept away the last remnant of such a shape from the humblest cottage of- the village? "In deep disgrace," she murmured. The brain revolved the awful sentence, the lips whispered it, the heart's painful throbs re- peated it. She did not heed Mike's greeting as she passed him; the road was the path of life, to her fancy-interminable, weary; and the aching limbs must carry her on, goaded ever to movement by some daik angel of retribution. Forward, ever pressing on, with the road stretching out in a level line, and ending- where? The thought would intrude itself on her mind, that if she closed her eyes she must behold the old priest who had cursed Oakhurst a century ago, and in whom Ann'and the chil- dren firmly believed. The Calderwoods needed no other Nemesis than their own nature, in the harvest they must reap for themselves. Mike followed her, cu- riously interested in watching the slight form flit before him. "Bedad! she goes like a girl. And the master is asleep in his bed like a Christian, is he? No, no, old woman. Blazes! she's go- ing to drop!" Mrs. Calderwood reeled, and clutched the railing of Andrew Keith's place for support. Before Mike reached her side she had recover- ed by a supreme effort of will. This time she observed him reflectively, and with a startled expression. "Did you bring me the note from the foun- dry?" "Yes, ma'am." She hesitated a moment, then drew a dia- mond from her finger, and laid it in Mike's w palm. lie stood dumb and stupid, gazing at the S sparkling jewel; she passed on more rapidly v than before. Her wedding-ring slipped off b with the other, and rolled into the ditch. She n did not observe the loss. 8 In the office no change had occurred. The lantern had been extinguished, and the myriad sounds of awakened industry came to the ear u as a cheerful reaction from the previous still- t ness. Andrew Keith was troubled in his t thoughts. He repented the weakness of send- r ing for the wife, and yet this was a privilege accorded by humanity even to condemned criminals. Buckley listened to every footstep t with eagerness and dread. The door opened quietly at last, and Mrs. Calderwood appeared. Before either of the E men so singularly placed could move she seem- ed to apprehend the situation from her own 1 fears. She was white beyond any pallor that I the kind-hearted mill-owner had ever seen; her nose had that pinched look of pain which shrinks features to the sharpest outlines; her breathing was hurried, as if she had been run- ning, and yet her manner was calm. "If God had only spared me this!" she said, in a voice which was a sigh. The large dark eyes were turned full on Andrew Keith with the pathos of silent appe'al. "I have come," she e 'plained, and looked at him. How did it hap n tihat Margaret, in her blue satin, dress, w s clinging; about his neck one momo ra 'mluious presence that excluded all else, and opened a well-spring of tenderness in his breast? The next he beheld with his outward vision only the mournful dark eyes of Mrs. Calderwood fixed on his face. lie could not endure the hopeless misery of the glance. He came forward, and took both of her hands with a gentle, re-assuring pressures "You must be very tired. Sit down here while I get you a glass of wine," he said. I-ce went to a closet to pour out the wine. Buckley Calderwood smiled with the relief of sudden triu lph, and crossed the room to his wife's side. She did not look at him, and shrunk a little from his touch. "If you don't save me, he will send me to jail. It all rests with you, Valerie," he whis- pered, threateningly. he had cast his burden on another, yet the water stood in his eyes at her evident repugnance when he approached her. "Mr. Keith, I can not take the wine. It would do me no good, although you are kind to think of me at all. Give me something else. Spare him! Save us all from such disgrace as we can never outlive, if our sin is known. I am bold to beg for a pardon, when I ami still ig- norant of the crime; but necessity is a terrible goad." lie reflected for a time, weighing her words. t "Mrs. Calderwood, I sent for you at the urgent request of a-a-thief, who was cap- tured here in my office last night. I agreed that lie should see you first; but I made no rash promise to release him, understand." "The thief is my husband," she said, simply. "It pains me to say so, for your sake. Jus- tice must be done." "Justice has many phases. Is it just to his children to let themt bear suchl a stain to their graves?" She came close to his side, and placed her hand on his shoulder lightly but impressively. He could not endure the expression of her eyes, and averted his own. "For the children, Andrew Keitli. If you release him, I will bless you after 1 an: dead," she said, with a quick sob. "Take him away," lie replied, hoarsely. Through the swarms of hurrying workmen, and up the path to the road, the husband and wife passed without exchanging a word. Oc- casionally lie looked at her moodily, while sheo did not deign to glance at him. "You are very hard on sinners, Valerie. I was really entrapped into undertaking this job. It was only to furnish information about Keith'd business. Tlhe destruction of the poor is their poverty." "Oh! it can not be hcelped," she answered in a querulous, pained tone that chilled the gratitude lie o would otherwise lhave expressed in her mediation. When a man has set him- self at defiance with the world's judgment of right and wrong, lie is rendered citiher desper- ate or nerveless by the reproach of his own family. That was all. The spring-day was like all other days at Alton Ford. When they reached ithe door Mrs. Calderwood said, warningly, "' Don't let the children or Frances know." "Andrew Keith will keep our secret," added the husband. Ann's greeting was a glance of - silent inquiry from one to the other. I "Get me some breakfast, Ann, in the kitch- t oen. I am fagged out," he said, fretfully. I Buckley Calderwood dispatched the meal and withdrew to his own chamber, where he page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] soo r. A into a troubled sleep, with a frown on his. face. Mrs. Calderwood merely sunk into her arm- chair by the window of her room, and rested her head on her hands. Ann's entreaties fail- ed to rouse her: she must be allowed to think, she said. At noon Mrs. Keith drove up in her barouche to take the young people away with her for the day. Anstice was much excited by the prospect of pleasure, Buck less indiffer- ent than usual, and Mrs. Motley subdued by the influence of the placid lady to quiet ecstasy over the luxurious equipage. She would have liked to pat the glossy necks of the horses, but for the fear that her delight should suggest humble circumstances to the servants, and she nestled against the satin cushions with a sigh of contentment. This was Mrs. Keith's long- meditated recognition of Anstice's visit to the dress-maker. Did she know? Mrs. Calder- wood looked at her anxiously and wistfully, regretting that the good lady had come to take the children out. Perhaps she would not dis- appoint the young people, although strongly condemning their parents. The mother had kept a smile on her lips all the morning, and expressed great interest in the preparations; without mention of her early walk. Mrs. Keith took her hand and kissed hIer. "I wish that you would join us," she said, looking into the worn face of the more beauti- ful woman with re-assurance in her own pale, small eyes, through which the soul beamed. Mrs. Calderwood watched them depart with a sense of reluctance and relief. Mrs. Keith -pitied them, and yet was surprised at their fail- ings. Where would it all end? She threw up her arms in passionate despair, and, for the sec- ond time that day, reeled with a sense of be- numbing faintness. Ann supported her, and drew her into the house. It seemed to her the next moment when she opened her eyes again, but hours had actually passed, and the sun was sinking in the west. Consciousness brought back care before Ann realized that her mis- tress was restored. "I must act. I must think!" she whisper- ed. "Master wants to know if you are better," 'said Ann. "Keep him out of my sight. I can not bear it. I must think, think!" was the pained response. Buckley Calderwood withdrew his head from the door with a sense of mortification. V What was she to think about so intently? He went down stairs, and yielded to his own miserable I 'reflections. The house was very ghostly and lonely in the twilight. Where had Howard Smith betaken himself since last night? He could never dupe Buckley Calderwood again by his scoundrel tricks; he might make his gold speculations alone and unaided. In his loneliness he cajoled the parrot, only to receive a sharp peck in return. Matters might be worse, certainly. Andrew Keith was not the man to tell for Valerie's sake, and the children would never know. Besides, the busi- ness rivals had failed signally in their attempt to defraud Andrew Keith, and Howard Smith was thereby punished for his treachery. Va- lerie was imparting every thing to Ann up stairs, he knew. A man, the head of a family, must needs feel strangely to be thus discussed, as if he were a school-boy. Ann would go through fire for them, though. Of what mo- ment was her opinion? He thus took refuge in the strength of those about him as atoning for his own sins. Still, he was annoyed by his wife's aversion.' "She must think." Did that mean she would act? He lighted a cigar. When Ann caime down stairs he accosted her glibly. "Hush! Not a word to her. Ann, you must go to the doctor and describe this faint. If he is out, await his return. Run along, like a good soul." "I'm thinkin' she wants more tlhan a doc- tor's pills, what with the life being worried out of her at home. Go yourself," said Ann, grimly. "You know very well that I can not roam through the village just yet," said Buckley, in an injured tone. "Will ye mind her, thin?" inquired Ann, dubiously. "Of course," he replied, still aggrieved. Ann took her hat and departed. He listen- ed to all movement overhead. Why had lie sent Ann away? Simply in the fear of his wife's perpetrating some rash act. lie would not ask her, anticipating rebuff, yet he was prepared to watch her movements vigilantly. Here the tortuous thought of Buckley Calder- wood again asserted itself, even when he was scarcely free from a dilemma into which it had so recently plunged him. This unnatural con- dition of estrangement between husband and wife kept him in the parlor, while'she moved about'restlessly above staii's. As he had an- ticipated, action succeeded intense, feverish, thought. She crossed the room to the table, lighted a candle, selected a sheet of paper, and began to write. It was years since she had written a' letter, this woman without friends, and forgot- i ten. She coerced herself, and drained the bit- 1 ter cup to its. dregs, in addressing old Mr. Cal- derwood for the first time since she had come to live at Oakhurst, and implored him to remove her children from the influence of their father. "Only take them away from him, and from me. I can bear it for their sake. They will be no disgrace to you, for they are amiable and good. If you could see our home with my vis- ion for a single i)stant, you would realize in Christian charity that tlcey must not live here to -e poisoned by the atmosphere they breathe." This, and much more, the poor mother wrote, alarm lending wings to her pen. At last slihe folded and sealed the missive. Ann must post it immediately. She went to the door; it was locked on the outside. She beat on the panel, and called aloud; there was no response. Re- turning to the table, she yielded to a flood of tears, the first she had shed that day, and a singular calmness succeeded. lHer husband must have locked the door to prevent her es- cape. How could she escape? The rapid pulsation of her heart grew steady, her brain cleared. Surely she was not afraid. The letter should be posted that night at all hazard. She opened the window, and looked forth. It was already dark, and the rest of the house showed no light. her husband emerged from the door below, smoking a cigar. She checked the impulse to greet him angrily, and watched him instead. Presently lie strolled away through the garden, in the direction of the road to the village. he was either expect- ing the return of the Keith carriage, or had sent Ann on an errand. As Buckley Calderwood thus withdrew from the front of the house, a secopd figure came slowly and irresolutely up the walk. "Who is that?" demanded Mrs. Calderwood, from the window. "I thought that Buck had returned, pcr- haps," said Eugene Dillon. The young man had watched thie Keith car- riage depart from the school-room, more than half envious of the holiday. "Will you post a letter for me, Eugene?" Mrs. Calderwood's voice nmelted into its gen- tlest tone, but she did not confess herself to be a prisoner in her own room. "With pleasure, madam." "Can I trust you, my dear, to personally put it in the box, and to-night? It is very impor- tant to us all." t"I will take it th: moment, dear Mrs. Cal- derwood." "Good-night, my dear." The voice floated down the path after him like a blessing, uttered from a height obscured in darkness. Buckley Caldcrwood came back swiftly, and turned the key in the door again, just as Ann appeared, scolding at the doctor's absence, and the wheels of the barouche were hcard in the distance. Mrs. Calderwood, on her knees by the window, prayed almost wildly for the safe delivery of her letter. Eugene Dillon went straight to the post-oflice with the little white missive which hiad fluttcred out of the window to him, thinking of the lady about whom there was an indcfinalble charm to his imagination. Prayers are not always an- swered in our own fashion. Mrs. Todd, old Mr. Caldcrwood's housekeeper, received the letter, and stiudied the postmark of Alton Ford. "If I let this go I may lose all my labor of years," she reflected. Then she made a compromise with her own conscience. She did not open and read the heart-wrung, agonized appeal of another wom- n an, who might as well have traced the charac- ters in tears; but slihe tirew the letter into the fire. I, "Was that the postman?" inquired old Mr. Calderwood, peevishy. "Only a magazine for me, sir," was the un- flinching reply. page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] CItAPTER XVIIT. ANN SEES A FETCH. SEVERAL weeks elapsed after Mrs. Calder- wood had written her letter, and the silence of old Mr. Calderwood caused her to torture herself with shame in every pass possible to a morbid fancy. He had cast them off utterly! The children would sink a degree, lower than she had done. Somebody had informed the proud old man of the scene in the office-possi- bly Andrew Keith had done so himself. Nev- er by any chance did a ray of hope penetrate bthe darkness of her despair in the possible solu- tion that the letter had not reached him; but she flushed with anxious expectation every time the stroke of the clock announced an hour when. the mails would be distributed. Thanks to Andrew Keith, tho letter-bag camo twice a day to Alton Ford, and there were rumors of a railroad which would improve property, and arouse the village from the apa- thy of years. Oh, poor mother soul! willing to lay down self as an atoning sacrifice, so that another gen- eration may seek the light, departing from the rank weeds and gloom of the old home. The observation of the family naturally turn- ed to the haggard anxiety betrayed by Mrs. Calderwood's face after nights of wakefulness. She would embrace her daughter passionately, and hold Buck's hand in both her own as if about to lose him. The tissue of the worn gar- ment revealed the battle of the spirit within, - yet she kept her secret bravelv, and would not share it with Mrs. Motley, who was quick- to detect its existence, nor yield to the affection- ate solicitude of Anstice. If Ann knew it, at work in the dreary kitchen, she also held her peace. As for Mike, the watchman, he had quitted the service of the foundry on the following morning, behaving strangely, according to the opinion of his mates, who were ignorant of the lure toward the city which the diamond proved. c Avarice fairly drove him away to sell the gem before it should be taken from him by the boss, or his olwn better natture lead him to restore it to the,poor lady. Of course it was a'bribe; Mike knew that very well, but also shrewdly surmised that no more gains could be extorted from the same impoverished quarter. Then le departed, to strike into a new line, as, lie explained to his friends. This man, rough, burly, and good-natured, haunted Mrs. Calderwood's dreams when she slept, assuming some new shape of dread each night., At one time he followed when she fled down interminable stairs, where rapid motion made ler eddy around like a feathler, and lie always said, "I know! I know!" At another lie barred hier way in the road' with the diamond flashing on his own finger, and sWomed to intimate that it was an insuffi. cient reiward. Again they were both searching in the ditch for the missing wedding-ring, andl when they discovered it the golden circlet ex- panded into a crown on an angel's head, who spread wlhite pinions and soared up to the blue heavens, repeating, "I know!" These dreams enhanced the appreliension in- spired by the watchman's part in the robbery, when she might otherwise have forgotten him in the suspense of awaiting old Mr. Calder- wood's reply to her letter. How could an ig- norant, curious man be made to keep silence, when a bit of gossip lay within his reach which would excite the village beyond measure, and possibly be printed in the local newspapers? He had left the foundry, Ann ascertained, but he might re-appear at any tqme, or be lurking in the neighborhood. To have Alton Ford aware of Buckley Calderwnood's capture in Mr. Keith's office would be bitter indeed; but to have the scandal spread farther, and reach the cars of the grandfather, would ruin the chil- dren's prospects forever. Already the cloud might have spread, enveloping all around them,' and, as the persons most interested, they would \ remain in ignorance. To Ann's other labors were added evening f visits to the cottages on the shore, hours of confidential exchange of opinion with old Lar- rv's wife, and others, but nothing was gleaned; v and vet Mrs. Calderwood's suspicion was not ] set at rest. She beheld every finger pointed at Oaklhurst with derision and cruel mockery. 1 No letter came, and the days passed slowly. ] Sometimes she would arise with a smile on her lips. "It must arrive to-day. He can not be so hard-hearted as to remain longer silent."' Then the stage, with its rusty leather cur- tains, slowly creaking wheels, and stolid driver would arrive, bringing to the waiting woman first the dread that Fate, in the hands of old Mr. Calderwood, was about to rob her of her darlings as she wished, and then dismay, anger, amazement, and fresh tortures of doubt to a mind already spent with fatigue. Never did hlope deferred sicken a heart more terribly, and bow more heavily a spirit already broken to the dust. Alton Ford remarked, "Mrs. Cnlderwood's very poorly this spring, they say. She's runnin' down at last, likely, though them ailin' sort of women most gener- ally live a long while." Could she have been assured tlhat this was absolutely all the comment made on herself and family, her load would har ve been lessened. Buckley Calderwood was attentive to his. wife in a remorseful way at tlis time, and would frequently remind her of scenes of thei: court- ship and marriage, to the great deliglht of Mrs. Motley and Ansticc. She did not repulse him, although there was little outward demonstra- tion of tenderness in her manner; but she took his guilt to her own breast, sparing- herself no thorn, and neverseeking to cast away the bur- den. IIis spirits were becoming lighter, and he was already enthusiastic over planting some fields with the tobacco-plant on shares with a poor neighbor. IH was to receive lialf of the returns, while the poor neighbor did the work. He had cast his care on another, and was pro- portionately relieved. Often did the mother in the stillness of night rehearse the sentences of her letter, wondering what expression had given offense, until the words, from tedious repetition, stood out in fire before her closed eyes. Three weeks, and no reply. Growing daily weaker, as if disappoint- ment sapped the vital current, Mrs. Calder. wood seldom left liher arm-chair, placcd by the C window of her chamber. The chair, with its worn and faded embroidery, had been worked by her own fingers, and sihe called it an old firiend. On this twenty-first day she said to Anstic, "Your grandfather is a very cruel man. If we receive ' measure for measure' in this world, I wonder what his end will be." iMrs. Kcith still made friendly overtures to the young people of the house of Calderwood, possibly missing her own brighlt-faced Margaret. Mrs. Motley anmused her, and Anstico felt in her presence confidence and anfection. On this evening the two went to visit her, at Mrs. Caldcrwood's urgent request. "Buck will take care of mc," she s aid. t"S ecure all the pleasure you can in life, my drars. It will not be too much." She kissed her niece, and took her daughter's face between her hIands, looking into the clear gray eyes. L Buck went to Mr. Whitty's to borrow a book. Ann took the few moments' leisure of her day in thie twilight to peer at the plants in the gar- den. Damask roses, sunflowers like great balls of gold. and vivid scarlet of geraniums, mari- , golds, portulacas, the dainty widow-in-wceds, folding delicate petals of demure lavender, or mottled Japanese lilie, were alike precious in her eyes, and grew luxuriantly side by side in s their season. As she raised herself from a stooping post- lre over a bed of damp mould, the old hlound "came and brushed against her, then walked I about her uneasily, as if seeking hunman comrn- - panionship. Ann patted his lhead, and re- umcd liher gardening. Thle hound stalked , away, lay down benenth Mrs. Calderwood's - window, threw back his head, and gave vent k to a prolonged howl. Ann started at this dis- o mal note of lamentation, and looked around r- helplessly. What was that? Sllhe saw her ,d mistress approaching from the gloom of tihe e tres along the path. Iler fiaco wore a frc- a qucnt expression of preoccupaltion and wenri- "ness; her garments were brown, almost film-, ;. and floated about her without rustle or other ,- sound. Ann placed her hands on hler hips, with an it expression of severe disapproval and incrcdu- g lity. ie "Now, an't ye nshamed to be out in this re dew?" she exclaimed, her own voice sounding 1o unnaturally loud and harsh. t- Mrs. Calderwood made no reply. Still, with r.- the preoccupied look and the noiseless movc- le ments, she passed on, and entered the house. page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] -"Holy Mother of God!" ejaculated Ann, and crossed herself rapidly. She went over and looked at the dog; Lion had laid his head between his paws. Then she hastened up stairs, Mrs. Calderwood sat in her arm-chair, wrapped in a soft white shawl of Mrs. Motley's, and her dress was of a materi- al lighter in hue than usual. A cold chill, su- perstitious and appalling, crept over Ann: she had not seen her mnistress noviny in the twilight of the garden I Mrs. Calderwood's face wore a placid smile, instead of its usual harassed and care-worn ex- pression; her hands were folded in her lap. "Lion awakened me. I dreamed that I stood again at the altar in my wedding-dress, Ann. I even wore the pearls," she said, in a weak voice. There vas a pause. "Buckley, my husband, if we could begin all over again! Buckley, where are you?" * Ann sto6d in the door-way, rigid and dumb with terror. Mr. Calderwood was discussing the cultivation of tobacco with his poor neigh- bor, and did not disdain a little of Caleb Green's whisky to cement good-fellowship in a bargain. ' Mrs. Keith sat on a sofa beside little An- stice, and read to her choice selections from t Margaret's letter, white Andrew Keith played a game of chess with clever Mrs. Motley. Buck, detained by Mr. Whitty's learned cx- position on the present condition of the planet Saturn, hastened home at last. Ann met him on the step; the hound lay benc ath the win- dow motionless; all the house was shrouded in shadow. Buck read in Ann's dilated eyes the revelation of a great wonder and unusual awe. "I'm afraid to go in this hour. Do you go," she whispered, clutching the young man's arm in her cold, trembling fingers. "What nonsense! Is mother really ill? Mother dear, are you asleep?" he was kneeling beside the low chair now, with his arm about the occupant. With peace succeeding trouble Mrs. Calder- wood slept, but it was the sleep whichl knows no awakening. O Oh, mystery of death! Ohl angel of release! passing over the old house in the twilight shadows, and moving only faithful Ann to awe by the majesty of thy immortal presence! CHAPTER XIX. OLD MR. CALDERWOOD'S TRIUMPIt. RS. CALDERWOOD lay dead at Oak- hurst. Summer stole through all the veins of nature, pulsing witl wanrmth and sun- shine ; but within the old house were darkness, silence, and gloom. Alton Ford shook its headl, and said, "Poor lady!" With a Certain thrill of excitement in the prospect of a funeral, Mrs. Keith and Mrs. Whitty whispered together in the parlor, as be- came good Christian neighbors. Buck went about still with the startled expression which had been impressed on his face when he came home that night to make the discovery Ann feared to realize. If lie shed tears, it was in secret, and he carried a velvet, worn by tlhe mother about her neck, in his pocket, which lie kissed from time to time. Buckley Calder- wood's lamentations had also subsided to a con- dition of respectable calm in these two days; outward circumstances were beginning to in- trude upon his sorrow. P'crhaps, if any thng could have aroused him this side of the grave, it would be the consideration of his father. lie now dried his eyes, and wrote telegrams addressed to Mr. Calderwood, St. George's Square, and Miss Eleanore Calderwood, of Elm Cottage, Calderwoods. 'lhe wires thrilled with a ready response; both relatives would attend the funeral. Mrs. Motley, in the sincere sorrow of cmo- tional natures, had wept herself blind ; but now she was able to discuss the melancholy arrangec ments with the two ladies with the ready per- ception of effect peculiar to her. Ann, rigid- ly vigilant, kept watch in the death-chamber night and day: Neither force nor persuasion could move one whose whole being had centred for so many years in serving the dead mistress, and whose suspicions of all were so painfil- ly alert in the very instinct of defending the senseless clay. Her animosity toward the hus- band amounted to jealous frenzy when he lin- gered in the room, and she would allow no one but Mrs. Motley to assist her in roling Mrs. Calderwood for the grave. "She shall never be left alone, poor darlint, while she's above ground," moaned the old woman, hovering tenderly about the marble form. Often in the night she talked with her mis- tress in a ramblling strain, and then would arouse herself to a sense of loss in receiving no response by a shrill wail, barbaric ann un- earthly, which curdled the blood of the listen- ers. 1 She must be led away, my dear," whispered little Mrs. Wli-tty, nodding her head energet- icallv. "It's heathenish, and not at all like a Christian land, to have that poor half-crazed woman going on so. Of course she was at- tacled to her mistress; but it has too much the slirit of a wake about it for Mr. Wlitty's ap- proval." Mrs. Whitty was very efficient at funerals, in a deft and cheerful fashion; but there was no strength of will sufficient nor sternness of heart equal to forcibly dislodging poor Ann from her post. Anstice alone had been wholly submlerged by this bitter, overwhelming .wave of grief. Icer mother wns dead, lhad passed away into tliat profound darkness of separation terrible to the young and sensitive mind. If she ilad only been witl lher when fse died! ()h, to turn back the tide of a few precious hours that would never return in a lifetime, and not differently! Oh, to have treasured with filial devotion the few remaining golden grains of the ebbing sands! Whle she clatted with Mrs. Keith over Margaret's gay resorts of pleasure, her mother was dying in sorrow and lonelincss, un- supported by the love of her child as she ap- proached the unknown path, full of terror if tin- illumined by steady fiith, which each one must tread alone. It seemed to Anstice that she also must die, the fountain of existence being page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] thus frozen at its sources; that they all must soon enter the grave, a gloomy abyss fraught with every conceivable horror to her mind. On the first day of mourning she was at last forced to quit the dead mother's side; but in the night she stole back, and clasped the cold feet to her breast, as if striving to warm them against her heart.. "Oh, darling mamma!" she sobbed in her remorse, "I would not have left you had I known, and now you will never come back for me to tell you how sorry I am!" "She was too good for the like of us," said Ann, submitting to the intrusion. "Don't ye see her smilin', Anstice?" And it seemed to the daughter as if the shadow of a smile crossed the face, beautiful in its repose. The next moment only the dull plash ofwater was heard, falling monotonously from the block of ice on which Mrs. Calder- wood's head was pillowed. Ann sat in a stiff chair, and Anstice crouched on the floor until dawn, holding her mother's hand. The pene- trating cold touch of the dear fingers stagnated the current of vitality, and even benumbed the poignancy of grief.. One dread possessed the two watchers, unspoken but all-powerful-the heathenish anguish, according to Mrs. Whitty, of having the beloved form taken away and hidqlen forever from their sight. If flowers would afterward bloom as memories of grace and loveliness in the dead, first must be seen the mound of nude earth. Anstice listened to the dropping of the water as she crouched there, holding the cold hand, and the fialling drops became moments, fleeting, painful, all too swift even in this frozen apathy, which would terminate in her mother's being conveyed to the grave-yard as soon as the pillow of ice crumbled, imperceptibly but surely, beneath'the motionless head. Oh, fortunate Valerie Arnold! tried by a burden greater than could be borne in fortitude and patience, yet rich in the love of two such hearts as these silent watchers, the ignprant old servant and trembling young girl. Many there be whose vigil is not kept at all, and who pass away, forgotten before Demeter claims them as hetr own. When Mrs. Motley came at dawn she thought that Anstice had lost her mind. The girl did not resist her persuasions, but only looted at her with wide gray eyes robbed of all intelligence. She suffered Mrs. Motley to lead her away, but she did not speak, and refused to taste food. She merely lay on her bed with her gaze fixed on the wall; sobs no longer shook her slender form. Mrs. Keith stood by her side with kindliest sympathy; Mrs. Whitty exhorted her in an en- ergetic under-tone to,rouse herself at such a moment, foreseeing that stupor was more alarm. ing than passionate woe. ' She made no re- sponse. Eugene Dillon, moved to impulsive grief by the death of Mrs. Calderwood, for whom he cherished a double affection as the mother of Anstice and the lady-love of his own father's youth, hovered about the place in miserable loneliness, unnerved for his task. At night the young man sat on the door-step, and by day he loitered in the garden, watching the veiled windows of the mourning house. A subtle change, of which he was unaware, deepened the force of character, and spiritualized his nature through sorrow. Tihe finger of death seemed, in touching him, to shrivel the mask of material body, and in revealing to expand the soul within. He was the same, and yet not the same. Only last summer Mrs. Calderwood had played on the harp in the gloaming. Was not that harp painfully like the player? Only last summer the great century-plant had yield- ed its blossom, Buck came out and spoke with him, then withdrew stealthily, as if guilty of a misde- meaneor. "Would you like to see her?" he inquired. "No," said Eugene, with a shudder. "Could I speak to Anstice?" "Not before the funeral," answered Buc.;, whose pale lips trembled as they framed the worid. "Then' let me write her a line." Eugene was sure that Anstice needed such balm of consolation as he alone could bring her. It must be so. He yearned to see her, even to read in her fiace her sufferings. The new-born emotion was something more than the smooth current of boy-and-girl love, while it possessed also protection rather than the de- votion with which a lover waits at the door of hisi mistress. Anstice received the note, and placed it in her closed hand beneath her cheek. Her out- ward senses remained veiled, while there was an inner sense, scarcely more than instinct, which was not dormant, and only enchainedby the body's inaction. With the aid of this in- ner, finer sense of hearing, Anstice was aware of all that transpired in the house, and yet the contradictory element of grief held her fettered almost in a condition of syncope. The undertaker, a ponderous man with a double chin, whose boots creaked, went about with his assistant below stairs. Anstice knew what burden they carried with shuffling tread,' anid did not shudder. The Keith servants brought heaps of lovely flowers for Mrs. Motley to garland and drape about the parlor; their perfume penetrated everywhere, bringing to Anstice a sickly, cloying sweetness. They were grave-flowers; when they had drooped and faded, her mother would have passed away. She lay with the unread note beneath her check, powerless to move, yet aware of all change. She also was about to die. The steps went and came; dull, mufflcd sounds were heard in the lower portions of the house, the shifting of heavy furniture and the opening of windows. A sunbeam filtered through the curtains, and stole across the room until it reached the wall where the gray eyes had re- mained fixed and motionless so long. Then the sunbeam receded, faded; and gracious, healing darkness fell upon Anstice. She slept at last. This oblivion was so much a part of her condition, so imperceptible and gentle a change, that she refused to recognize it. Later somebody told her to arise; she obey- ed mechanically, still clutching Eugene's note; and then, as she was clad by other hands in a garb of deep mourning, she touched the fabric wonderingly with her fingers. Somebody, it might have been either one of the three ladies, held a cup to her parched lips, but she pushed it away, and then a voice said, "You m'ust come down stairs. Your grand- father will soon be here." Anstice crossed the hall, instead, to the mourning chamber. Her mother was'not there, and Ann had vanished. She began to tremble violently, but no one noticed her amidst graver duties. As she crept down stairs she was con- fronted on all sides by upturned'faces, the wondering, inquisitive glance of Alton Ford, decked in its best clothes, and able to gain a peep at the mysterious interior of Oakhurst at last. Friendly greetings met the ear of Anstice;' hands touched her own in hearty sympathy, subdued to harmonize with the sol- emn occasion. Alton Ford, in its best bonnet, was prepared to wear a long face, and even to shed a few tears on a freshy starched pocket-handkerchief, should the words of Mr. Whitty prove affecting; but at the same time the village had come to see, and determined that no detail should es- cape criticism. Eugene Dillon alone was dis- tinct in the throng to Anstice's dazed eyes. lie also approached her, running the gauntlet of Alton Ford's wondering stare, awnd murmured words of comfort which reached her chilled heart like dew. She made no reply; speech was unnecessary; but the young man was obliged to remember his position, curbing the ardent longing to take tile sad little figure in his arms, and lay the pathetic face on his breast. "You have me left, darling," he wlhispcred, standing there before Alton Ford with a tender light on his face. Anstico looked at him piteously. Eugene was alive, the current of sound health flowed swiftly witlh restless flash and sparkle beneath his olive skin, but in the old house all must soon die. What would it be to him if they all died in a little while? As Anstice stood at the foot of the broad stair-case, Mr. Whitty entered the front door in his white robes. The parlor was thrown open on all sides. Ilt the further extremity of the room was a standard draped in snowy cloth, and on it a coffin richly mounted in silver. An- stice gasped, and sunk into a chair, closing her eyes. The sickly sweetness of tlihe flowers be- came almnost overpowering. "They say the widder did it all. The un- dertaker can't hold a candle to lier," Alton Ford commented, gazing on the lwcalthl of delicate blossoms which enshrined that portion of the room sacred to death. Anstice opened her eyes again, and looked at the mother. Never in her child's remembrance had Mrs. Calder- wood been attired as she now was decked for the grave. Satin pillowed her head, the finest textured fabric shrouded her form, soft lace fell over the waxen hands folded on her breast. Anstice felt herlhecart throb and swell with pain at the circumstance. Ann, also clad in new black, gazed on the appointments with great satisfac- tion. It now became evident that the cere- mony about to be performed was delayed. The parlor was occupied by the family and clergyman; Alton Ford gathered on the out- skirts of hall and stairway. It was even ru- mored afterward that one old woman took a base advantage of the situation, and explored the second floor thoroughly, even peering about the dusty garret. Mr. Calderwood sat I,zside Mrs. Motley, pale and dejected,'yet with a cer- tain nervousness of manner; Buck and Ann flanked them, with Anstice beyond. Mr. and Mrs. Keith, with Mrs. Whitty and Eugene Dil- Ion, occupied the other end of the room. Above the coffin hung the portrait of Silas Calderwood, and on the wall beyond the cyn- ical face of Mr. White still looked down on page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] mortality, the eyes following Eugene as they had done on the first night of the young man's entrance into this room. He could scarcely re- sist building. fancies now out of the peculiar. smile; even the satirical elevation of one eye- brow above the other seemed to say, "You see how matters stand," without protest, but with secret amusement at the follies of the world. The undertaker went on tiptoe to the clergy- man and conferred with him; then walked out the door, as if watching for somebody. At any other time the probable advent of her grandfa. ther would have made Anstice excited, and ev- ery nerve thrill. Now she waited, indiff'erence struggling with indignation. Why did he come at all? Anstice did not understand the nice points of etiquette. There are families who consider it eminently Christian to attend the funerals of their kin, even if they have quarreled all their lives. The Calderwoods never forgot their duty in this respect. At last the silence of waiting was broken by a little stir, and old Mr. Calderwood, accom- panied by his daughter, became visible to the eyes of Alton Ford. The critics in the hlall spared neither of these strangers; even Mrs. Keith and Mrs. Whitty became aware, against their will, of the quality of Miss Eleanore's black- silk gown. As for Anstice, she passively held up ,her cheek to the grandfather, who scarcely touched it with his lips, and then to the thin, sharp-featured countenance of her aunt. ";We have been detained," she heard him say, as if iLEero the most natural thing possi- ble that a service for the dead should await his movements. He was very old now, shriveled, and bent, but 11e had outlived his daughter-in- law. After that Mr. Whiitty began to speak, hiis voice sounding to Anstice like the murmurs confined in the rosy cavities of a sea-shell-- monotonous, dreary, a cadence to go on and on. The grave propriety of the most impor- tant mourners was edifying in the extreme. Miss Calderwood's .glance occasionally roamed about the room in a keen, comprehensive way; Mr. Calderwood never observed even the por- trait of his father on the wall. Once he stai"c- ed and looked around apprehensively, tlhen subsided to his habitual cold calmness of de- meanor. The clergyman's voice sounded on; there were sobs audible in the hall; Mrs. Mot- ley put her handkerchief to her eyes, and tears streamed unheeded down Ann's cheeks. An- stice only leaned her head against the wall, the pallor of her face deepened. The most pro- t'found sorrow may have no articulate utterance, just as the rain announces its advent with a turbulent rush of sound, while the snow falls silently, freezing where' it touches. A change came, sudden and unexpected. The clergyman's voice ceased utterly; the undertaker moved stealthily toward a piece of board, oblong in shape, and studded with silver nails. It was the coffin-lid. 'At the intrusion of this piece of wood, so terribly suggestive, a pang of mortal anguish srmote Anstice. Old Mr. Calderwood gave some order impatiently before quitting his' seat, and a servant in livcry appeared bearing a cross of white lilies. A murmur ot admiration came from the hlall, where Alton Ford stared wonderingly at tlhe exquisite tspecimen of floral art. Mr. Calder- wood took the cross and approached the cof- fin. At the same moment Anstice rose to her feet, following the rest of the family, who gath- ered behind him. Still, with the dazed ex- pression in her eyes, the girl moved around to the other side of the bier, and stood alon6 con- fironting her grandfather. Buckley Calder- wood frowned at lfer ignorance of propriety; Eugene Dillon started up, flushing and paling with alarm. "She is going to do something," he said to the Kciths and Mrs. Whitty, and, crossing thle room quickly, stood bellind her. Eugene did not think of himself at all, but he was never diffident in public places. Old Mr. Calderwood looked at the face of his daughter-in-law with a curious sort of triumplhant pride in having, outlived her, which lie strove to conceal, and laid the lilies on her breast. Two small hands seized the cross and cast it on the floor. "You shall not put flowers on mamma!" cried Anstice, in a piercing, tremulous tone. &"You were cruel, cruel to her alive; she said , so often enough. I will not let you touch 1her dead!" Standing beneath the faded canvas, with dilated nostril and flashing glance, the very soul of a just and proud resentment mastering her grief, sudden resemblance leaped from the man's face on the wall to the girl's face below. Anstice was a Caldeiwood! Alton Ford rustled and swayed like a field of grain in the breeze, and crowded through the parlor door. Wlhat had happened? Alton Ford mnust know. Anstice hlad thrown herself on the coffin as if to defend her mother, and kissed the sealed lips. Eugene Dillon gently raised her. Sense failed in the crisis; she had fainted. Ol01d Mr. Calderwood looked at tloe cross on the floor incredulously, and then across the dead woman at Eugene Dillon. Bucklcy Calderwood was murmuring hurried excuses in his eaar for the conduct of his daughter; she was crazed with grief, he explained. Tlhe old man did not heed him. "Who is thtat young man P?"Ih questioned, hoarsely:. Then the undertaker claimed his proper post of precedence on such an occasion, fand Mrs. Calderwood was borne out into tlhe sweet sunshine of God's day, never to return to tlio falded parlor where the harpl stood nmuite, and the broken cross of lilies lay upon the floor. CIIAPTEER XX. AN'STICE FINDS A YOUNG KNIGHIT. "T!IEIUI, is nothing gained by delay. What are your plans for the future, Brother Buckley?" Miss Eleanore spoke in her sharp, crisp tone, from whch all trace of softness and tenderness hand vanishced long ago. "Why, really, Eleanore, I am unprepared to form plans just yet. The shock must be first overcome, you know," said Mr. Calderwood, as if in protest. "I I dare say you have made your plans, mad- am. It would be superfluous for me to inquire if you intend to remain at Oakhurst now. The impropricty of suclh a course must be very ap- parent indeed." Mrs. Motlcy flushed slightly, and the brill- iant eyes shifted beneath Miss Calderwood's hard scrutiny. "I have no desire to remain, although you have all been so very kind to me," nmurmtlred the wildow, and glanced up appealingly through her lashes at Buckley Calderwood, to whom she was sympathizing and attcntive in these days. "She means to marry him l," thought Miss Eleanore. "My sister'-in-law certainly be- longed to a curious family, a lot of roaming adventurers. Well, it was a mistake from be- ginning to end! The idea of a woman lan- guishing like that at a widower of n week, and all because he has a rich father." If companions could read our thoughts, often- times the result wotuld be startiing. Aliss Cal- derwood, soured by iher own troubles to a severe and suspicious view of human nature, scorned to assume the smooth affability which deccivcs. They were gathered in the dining-room on this morning, and the aunt, having remained aft- er the funeral, was fully prepared to adjust all household arrangements before her departure. Old Mr. Calderwood had refused to stop over- night. Anstice did not recover from uncon- sciousness until the next day, when all was fin- ished, and then no comment on her frantic re- bellion was made by any one. Only tlio strict injunction of theo doctor could have restrained all the family from upbraiding her, and her fa- ther did indeed bewail iher ungoverned charac- ter in i querulous wny to Miss I lennore. lBuck studied his new-founll relative with ab)sorlling interest, and Miss Calderwood was filar more gracious to the silent young mani thain to An- sticec, whllo shrunk from her questions, and who now sat b)y the window, languidly playing with the plarrot. Buck waited on his aunt, antici-. patcd her wants, confided his interests to her in curious flashion, lecause whatever was genial in lier nature went out to young lmein iimuch soon- er tlian young girls. She lhad never been able to ,conqucr self sufficiently to forgive one of her own sex the pcach-bloom of maidenhood ! "What can you do?" iurshcd the inquisitor, abruptly turning toward Anstice. 'Do," filltered Ansticec, and then, as she glanced at the closed parlor door, her eyes filled with tears. "' I am not clever like mamma, or Cousin Franccs, if that is whatlt'you mean." "My dear Anstice, never underrate your own capacity," interposed Mrs. Motley, still with the heightened color, and sorting the wools in her basket. "Your advantages have not been great. Remember that you, have been banished to Oakhurst all your life, and your aunt will excuse your deficiency of accomplish- ment." "Oh!" said Miss Calderwood, sarcastically. "You must permit me to say, madam, that I never heard of a more extraordinary excuse for ignorance. Because my niece has lived in the country, she need possess no educaition. There, if anywhere, one requires mental resources. I live in the country; I went there from pref- erence." "Surely you must allow that there is a dif- page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] ference, Eleanore; and if ever an unfortunate wretch had reason to expect better things, I had," said Buckley Calderwood, irritably. Perhaps none of the family found the burden of Miss Calderwood's presence more grievous than her brother. he was proud to have it 'known in the village that she had remained, yet she galled him at every turn. Certainly no surer means of arousing a mourning family from the despondency of grief could have been adopted than the introduction of such a foreign element as herself into the circle. " That is true," she replied, folding her thin hands, on which sparkled valuable rings, on the faded table-cloth. "You had reason to ex- pect a better dowry from Mr. Arnold, certainly." "Or more sympathy from my own father in the midst of so much trouble,'" added Mr. Cal- derwood, moodily. The future of the whole race hung on the next words which fell from Miss Calderwood's lips, and she knew it least of all. The very ut- terance hinged on the most trivial incident: she saw Mrs. Motley bend over her wools, sorting them daintily in her taper fingers, and smile. Now, Miss Calderwood disliked Mrs. Motley with instinctive animosity, and her first impulse had been to "put her down." She selected her weapon with hesitation. If Mrs. Motley tlnought to enjoy the Calderwood mon- ey, she might find herself mistaken after all. Was it not enough to have married one of the Arnolds? "I have reason to suppose we shall all be penniless when father dies," she said, deliber- ately. "Good God! Eleanore, what can you mean?" gasped Buckley Calderwood, with dis- tended eyes. "I mean simply this: our grandfather quar- reled with his eldest son, James Calderwood, who ran away from this house. Well I There are stranger things happening every day than that we should have nothing until James Cal- derwood or his heirs are found." She spoke with a certain suppressed passion, her face darkening, as if she felt the power of her own words. Mrs. Motley no longer smiled, but studied her furtively. Buckley Calder- wood remained dumb with amazement. An- stice forgot to fondle the parrot. The noble bird croaked irrelevantly, "Howard Smith." "Eh! Is he here!" cried Mr. Calderwood, turning about, and then becoming angry when he discovered the parrot. "Bless my soul, how Polly talks! Are you sure of the ground you assume, Eleanore?" "I have my suspicions," she answered, eva- sively. The smile had faded from the widow's mouth, and she regarded Miss Calderwood very attent- ively. To Anstice this conversation was in- expressibly painful, and even revolting. How could people talk about such topics when the grave had scarcely closed over her mother? Why did Miss Calderwood say disagreeable things, and Mrs. Motley flash back some quick retort? How petty and miserable it all was! And yet, while jarring on her senses, their re- marks sunk into her mind. She could not pass her mother's chamber without sobs, and here was her aunt desirous of laying out their whole lives by the measurement of her own rule and compass. Sound health may intrude noisily on the sick-chamber of the convalescent, just as the noonday light dazzles tear-dimmed eves. Anstice's wounded spirit was not ready to re- ceive Miss Calderwood's active ministrations. Mr. Calderwood left the room, and Anstice slipped out after him. They chose different ways, however. The father went up stairs, and the daughter, hold- ing the parrot, fled away to her favorite larch- tree, where the boughs would wave in the deli- cate veil of foliage, shielding her in solitude, at least for a time. Buckley Calderwood sought Iris dead wife's chamber, not too much perturbed by his sis- ter's words to execute a plan which had been maturing in his head for some days. The room wore a melancholy aspect, as if it had lost its occupant, and been stripped of the few appointments it once contained. It requires a warm heart, a strong nature, or a higher order of imagination, to feel grief in its most crush- ing sense. The idiot will miss the kind hand that ministered to his wants, but he will feed and sleep if others supply his need. Buckley Calderwood glanced about the chamber so long occupied by his life's companion with a sense of loss in the chill loneliness. "Poor Valerie! It is a happy release for her," he soliloquized. "She suffered much from our wretched mode of life, and'then her health was weak. No, no, my love, I do not wish you back; I am not as selfish as that." He turned the knob of the closet door, and frowned to find it locked. "I will not be treated like a child in my own house," he muttered angrily, and kicked the panel with his foot. " Well, now, what would ye be at?" Ann stood at his elbow. "Understand me that I wish the key of this door. Give it me at once," he said, imperi- ously. "Stop a bit. There's nothin' of yours in the closet," retorted the old woman. "Every thing here is mine if I choose to claim all, you ignorant fool!" stormed the mas- ter. "Only the book an' the'pearls is kept there," said Ann, with the same watchful aspect. "Well," he impatiently retorted. "They belong to the childer, and ye know it." "Upon my word! I may see the jewels?"' "Yis, when Anstice is married belike," ob- stinately. "Married! That is a probabie circum- stance for a chit of a girl," was the contempt- uous rejoinder. "She'll be marryin' young Dillon one of these days. Your own hair is gray as a grand- father's, anyhow," said Ann, with scant respect for a superior. "Give me the key, or I will force the door." "Now, mind this, Buckley Calderwood, ye mean to sell the pearls. I know ye by this time. Touch them, an' I can tell Miss Calder- wood a fine story about yerself caught in the boss's office, and the mistress goin' for ye. Mchbo ye'll want the old man to hear that." "I dismiss you from my service," said Buck- ley, but he winced. Ann laughed derisively. "I never served ye, thank God! only lier, and now I mind the childer. It's small Wages I've got from the like of ye." This was true enough; Ann had received precarious pay in all these years of faithful service. An hour later the old servant sur- prised Miss Eleanore by coming into her pres- ence, and depositing the box of pearls in her lap. "Will ye keep them, ma'am, for Anstice?" The aunt admired the delicate beauty of the gems, and promised readily. In the mean while Anstice had rambled down the garden path, talking to the parrot on her shoulder. "Oh, if mamma were only here, Polly, dear Polly, ev4ery thing would be so different!" The larch spread its feathery branches over the green slope, and beyond the trees the tele- graph wires glistened in the sunshine, with little fat birds perching here and there, like notes on a score of music, and from each tiny throat gushed sweet melody in upper air. But the larch-tree was not deserted; there was a fra- grance of cigarette perceptible at a distance, and beneath the shady canopy sat Eugene Dil- lon, with a restless look in the quick black eyes. "I thought you would never come!" lie ex- claimed, flinging away the cigarette and rising to his feet. "Did you expect me?" inquired Anstice, with a faint smile of pleasure and relief. lie took both of her hands, and kissed them with the deference of a cavalier. IPolly, main- taining equilibrium on the girl's shoulder, flap- ped irate wings, and scolded like propriety it- self. "How pale you are, my dear little pet "' lie whispered, tenderly. Anstice siglied. Eugene was alive, after all, and belonged to that outer world of perfunmo and gladness apart from the sadness of her own lot. "Perhaps you wish to tell me something," she said, with a flickering color coming into her check. "I must indeed talk with you, Anstice, be- cause I have reached a place where 1 need to act. And have you nothing to tell me?" This lie added reproachlfully, drawing her d6wn on the bank, half because he was curious about the details of Miss Calderwood's visit, and again because the very tact of Anstice in divining his own need to speak made him ashamed of selfishness. "I like to hear of every thing which inter- ests you," she said, quickly. "My aunt is here, you know; and silo is quite different, oh, so different from mamma, Eugene!" Tears rushed to the gray eyes, and a moist- ure dimmed the bright black ones as well. The young man drew her to him in a quick, close emibrace. "Will you tell me your news first, my dar- ling, or shall I begin? IIclas! I amn half afraid to speak." Anstice glanced up at hm shyly. Never had lie looked so handsome in her eyes; the flexible red lips were slightly parted, revealing the snowy teeth; the rich bipod stained the olive check in the flush of emotion, and a cer- tain triumph in his smile only added audacity as a charm. As much to conquer her own embarrassment as with conscious intention, she drew away from him, and began to describe the quarrel of Silas Calderwood with his soiln James, which occurred so many years ago, and her aunt's allusion to the event this morning. Eu- gene's versatile Southern fancy was caught by the story ;hoe was able to put aside his own in- terests, and think about it. "Aunt Eleanore says we could not touch any page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] of the money until James Calderwood or his heirs are found. Papa looked very wild at that; he has expected so much, you know, quite from the day of his marriage. Perhaps grandfather would tell us whlerc this James Calderwo6d is to be found. Hie is very old now., If he had loved us we should not have lived here' always." "And if you had not lived here, somebody else could not have loved you, Anstice," replied Eugene, putting hllis arm nabout her waist. "'Now, don't be prim, dear. I have no letter, and I promised to go home in July, after the school term closes. Do you care much, precious?" All the wavering color fled from the little face; she touched his cheek softly and caress- ingly with her fingers, then sudden terror leap- ed into her eyes. " Oh, Eugene, if I lose you too, I must die!" "As if you could lose me, dearest. I shall come back, darling, when I have fulfilled my promise. If it did not seem too soon, Anstice, I would show you what I carry in my purse. I did not get it here, but had it sent from town." Anstice averted her head, and yet- did not quite withdraw from the encircling arm. The 'little fat birds hopped and twittered on the tel- egraph wires, the parrot soliloquized in the grass after its own fashion. ; The soft pink flush was creeping up from the white throat to deepen in the cheek again, laughter lurked in the corners of the sensitive mouth. "Let me just see it, Eugene." The two heads drew together, the two faces touched, and Eugene showed her a ring. I' What does it mean?" Anstice put the question tremulously, well knowing the significance of the gold circlet. "We are engaged to each other, and you will not marry another man," responded Eu- gene, gathering her again to his hleart in tlhe warmth of his own passionate nature. Youth seeks the day and its mate as natu- rally as the flowers climb to, the light, trans- ported to the cloud-land of its own rosy imag- ination, enraptured with the new-born bliss of being, and forgetful of yesterday's sorrow. Ah me! what is it amidst the unfolding sweet- ness of the garden, and sheltered by the larch's green dome, if beyond lies a grave, and a pres- ence once so near recedes to the horizon gate, where all must pass into the limitless universe? Anstice returned to the house- with the ring hung -about her neck on a ribbon, a plighted maiden, wistful, tender, and tearful. Whose confidence did she seek? In the kitchen Ann was elbow-deep in the bread-trough, and thither she went, clasping her arms about the old nurse's neck, and whis- pering the secret to the only faitful breast that would not tell it 'igain. All unmindful of tlhe new mourning, Ann returned the embrace, leav- ing flour traces on Ansticc's shoulders, and the stony gravity of her face was moved like the ripple of waters. Shle looked at the ring, and then she broke in, "I can't tell where she's gone. If she'd be. longed to the Holy Mother Church, she mnight be sure of peace now." -, The young kniglt, Eugene, bounded away, fired with a new resolve which he communicated to no one, Mrs. Keith was driving slowly along the ronal in Margaret's phaeton, talking with Buck, wlho walked beside her, and on her kind face was compassion, while his was pale and miserable. CHAPTER XXI. TIIE RECORD OF NINETY YEARS. T happened tIhat oil a June morning, whlen the heat was becoming oppressive in tlhe city streets, a young man scanned the houses of St. George's Square in search of the residence of Mr. Ca:llcrwood. Wisteria grew in purlle clusters over the wnall, stone vases brimming with luxuriant exotics stood in the marble ves- tibule; a sliabby little girl ventured to perch ,on Mr. Calderwood's steps and sell friagrant violets. The young man paused to buy a nose- gay in response to her appeal, and because the flower remindced him of a pretty maiden;,' r. Calderwood's own granddaughter. He also gazed about the square with curiosity; at the leafy dome of fine trees archng overhead, and forming airy palaces for the busy sparrows, at the childrenl sporting in the branchng patlhs, and the sallow organ-grinder linking together intcrminable jangling tunes. On. the lower side of the square the row of little brick houscs still stood, associated with the wreck of Miss Eleanore's liopcs many years before. The young man, Eugene Dillon, paid the little flower-girl, admired his nosegay, laughed at his own irresolution, and ran uif the steps with beating heart, "I have nothing to gain or lose," he reflect- ed, still with that quickened heart-throb as lie rang the bell. The summons remained unanswered for so long a time tlhat he had ample leisure to reflect on the measure he had taken. he had al- ways been persistent in his own fshon, and before making the journey to the West Indies he determined to gain a clue Lto the missing Janmes Calderuwood, if possible. Thle quest possessed a double attraction to one of his temn- perament. As a knight-errant, filled with the romantic devotion of youth, lie should redress the wrongs of his mistress before going away; and the story of James Calderwood charmed hs imagination. Could not one picture, with a kindred glow of wrong and indignation, the son going furth lunder the ban of hs fiather's unjust anger, and vowing never to returnl? The third peal of the bell brought a bloomi- ing young woman to the door in a breathless condition. "Oh, good gracious! have you been here long? I did not hear the bell, and na will scold," she panted. The blooming young wom- an smiled approvingly on Eugene, and did not seemi averse to lingering in the vestilble to con- joy the companionship of all outdoors. "I do not mind waiting when beauty opens the portal at last," said Eugene, gallantly, and steppled into the hall. ' You can't cheat me with your flattery and nonsense," retorted the girl, coquettishy. Eugene had some doubts if he could, for the young person's blue eyes had a cold and shrewd gleam beyond her years, but he determined to try. "Will you accept these violets from me, Miss --" "Todd-my name's Matildal Todd; andl mother's been housekeeper to Mr. Calderwood thelse ten years, though I've aonly lived here two. It's a poky place. Yotu neve1 r got tleo violets for me. Lor! you coulidn't know I lived here." "You must not be too sure of that. Tl'l fimec of a pretty face spreads .a long way," re- plied Eugene. With that the young knight put lis airm around Miss Matilda, and saluted her ol a rosy, wholesonme check, thrusting tihe violets into lir h)and. "Well, I never!" she said, archlly, adjusting the pink rilbbon onl lie hair. "I If mia was 11home sshe'd be awfill mad, but she's gone to the bank for the old maln." Eugene could scarcely tell why the absence of the housekeeper seemetd desirable, because lie knew nothing about her, and yet he was glad. page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] "I must see Mr. Calderwood," he said, as-'s suming a careless tone. v "Well, you can't see him. There was a a funeral in the country somewhere ; he was took v bad when he came back, and can't eat nothin'. % Ma says he'll soon starve to death at this rate." c 6 "Now, do let me speak with him just a mo- r mont, like a good girl," pleaded Eugene. "I t will come away when you tell me." \ Miss Todd smelled her violets, and reflected. "I have orders not to admit any one when ma's away," she demurred. I "But a servant might, and then you could I not be blamed," suggested Eugene, stung to wiry persistency by opposition. She laughed.- "There an't no servants, except a woman in the kitchen to help. We manage every thing." This was true. The stately butler had with- drawn in high dudgeon to Miss Eleanore's country-house long ago, and been followed by other domestics who could no longer endure the petty tyranny of Mrs. Todd's rule, and thus she ejected them as she desired. Old servants were serious stumbling-blocks in the way of winning the master's confidence. Eugene's next move was to turn toward the dark stair- case. "I will take all responsibility, my dear. I have come a long way to ask Mr. Calderwood a question. I am a stranger, and can do no- body any harm." "See here now," I returned Miss Matilda, quickly. "You let yourself out when you get through, and I w;ill put on my bonnet and go over in the square. Then I shall know notli- ing about it, and if you step over afterward you can tell me. Is it a bargain?" "You are a good girl, as I knew you were," exclaimed Eugene, with enthusiasm, and he sealed the bargain then and there on the cherry lips of his ally. "I like to be obliging, "murmured Miss Todd, with a simper. The adventure assumed a somewhat odd as- pect as, the young man ascended the muffled staircase in the profound stillness of the house. Hle was a stealthy intruder, and only admitted on sufferance. This was a position he had not anticipated. Facing the staircase on the floor above was a door of dark polished wood, half open. Eugene peeped into the sombre library, where the summer morning strove in vain to penetrate and enliven the rich crimson of cur- tains and wall. In this gloom Eugene's eye caught the gleam of chandelier, the pale gold of a bronze statue on the chimney-piece, curious specimens of Chinese workmanship, the hints which made the room a museum of luxury and art to the youth whose perception of the refined was as delicately responsive as a woman's. He withdrew his head with a flush of shame at his own prying curiosity, and went along the cor- ridor, wishing he were rich, and could possess the beautiful in its multiform shapes. A faint, peevish voice called as he approached, "Oh, you woman, where are you? Has my daughter Eleanore been sent for? I am to be left all day like this, indeed! We shall see, Mrs. Todd, my fine madam." The voice was extremely weak, like the thin, reedy pipe of age, but the speaker had still some fire of anger left in him, it would seem. Eugene Dillon entered the large bed-chamber on the right, and stood beside Mr. Calderwood. "Let me do something for you. I am a capital nurse," he said, simply. The old man was propped up in bed, and }s features had changed in the two weeks which had elapsed since Eugene saw him at the funeral. lIe looked at Eugene without recognition in his sunken eyes, but reached out his withered fingers, and took the young warm hand in his own. "They have all deserted me, you see, and left me to the mercies of a designing woman. Oh, she's smooth and polite until she gets all she wants. The harpy! Sometimes she mikes me nervous; I think she stares at me in my sleep with her sharp eyes. Well, I've made my bed, young man. Are you the doctor?" His helplessness touched Eugene. He look- ed about the room, discovered a decanter of wine on a distant table, and brought some to the sufferer. "I will go for your children, if you like," he said, soothingly, and supported Mr. Calder- wood while he drank the wine. "If I could only get back my appetite. , I seem to be cured of eating," he said, looking up intoEugene's faice with anxiety and dread. The scene was so unusual and singular-an old man left alone amidst riches and friends, and clinging to the first intruder for sympathy -that Eugene began to doubt his own senses. Perhaps the housekeeper, who seemed to be a sort of tyrant, would enter at any moment, and order him to depart. Mr. Calderwood smacked his lips over the wine, and looked toward the door in a listen- ing attitude. "Close it, turn the key, and come back to me. There! I wish to see my daughter, Eleanore; You may send for her. Mrs. Todd was mighty attentive until- Hush! I have made my will, and given her this house." Eugene regarded him with unfeigned alarm. "You surely will not be so unjust to your natural heirs," he protested, in a low tone. The old man's attention had strayed from him, as if he weve perplexed by something else. "It makes me ill to think, and my head grows giddy. The paper is lost, lost, or I should know," he muttered, lying back among the pillows, his fingers plucking at the sheet restlessly. Eugene did not know how to act. The in- valid's mind evidently verged on delirium, and there was little hope in his present condition that he would remember the circumstances of James Calderwood's flight. "Why don't you get it?" he said, impaticnt- ly, turning to the visitor suddenly. "What am I to get, sir?" "Why, the paper, of course." "You have just said it was lost, sir." "Lost! You must be mad, young man; she would take care of that. Over there in the table drawer. Yes, the blue envelope." The old man took the paper with trembling eagerness, and torie it into strips, wagging his head at the door. "I was a fool ever to do it. Eli! is she coming? Let her come. Let her, let her! Burn the picees on the hearth,-good young man, every scrap, every morsel." His whole frame shook with passion, or weakness. Eugene complied, not averse to thwarting the cruel housekeeper, who would thus neglect her charge, having extorted all from him, and burned the paper strips. The door was tried as the ashes crumbled, and Eugene, dispersing them with his foot, re- turned to the bed. Mr. Calderwood had be- come livid, and shrunk'back among the pillows. "She is there," he said, half whimperingly. Eugene bent over him and touched his shoulder. There was a rap on the door, and Mrs. Todd's voice said, "Mr. Calderwood!" "Before I admit her, try to think of your brother, James Calderwood, a moment, and what became of him," said Eugene, earnestly. It was a forlorn-hope, but he hated to go away without making the attempt. Still less was he prepared for the result. The old man wrenched himself away from his touch, and shrieked, "Are you James Calderwood? Mrs. Todd, help! help me!" ' Eugene opened the door, and Mrs. Todd darted past him. 4s the young man, startled and confused, went down the stairs, he heard Mr. Calderwood say, "Jaimes has been here, my brother James. He said so himself. Don't leave me again, Mrs. Todd." After that Eugene went out with his Iiat over his brows, and lie did not liced handsome Miss Todd in the square, whlo signaled him with her parasol in vain. Clearly lie must go to Miss Calderwood immediately, and tell her of the condition of affairs in St. George's Square. The following day he would return to Alton Ford, and inform the Calderwoods of Oakhurst. He gave this preference to the daughter un- consciously, because the old man had spoken of her. In truth, Miss Calderwood would have needed no summons, had she not been herself indisposed. She always visited her parent twice a week with scrupulous exactness. Three days before she had been down to the city, and made a sojourn in the library, her fita- ther being confined to his room, and she liad on that occasion carried away with her a little shrine containing a god, to ornament her own cottage. No tidings had reached her of an un- favorable nature in the interval. The young man first went among the ship- ping to select a vessel on which to take passage for the West Indies. A schooner would sail on Thursday, and the modest traveler engaged a berth in the small craft. His heart was heavy as he made these preparations. He did not wish to go and leave his love behind. Un- der other circumstances he would have wel- comed change, but now the prospect was dreary enough. Even his loyalty to old Duncan M'Coy began to waver when tie bargain had been made with the skipper. At six o'clock he was speeding away on an unknown route toward the home of Miss Cal- derwood, having loitered during an hour of weary waiting in the delp6ti for the train. No sooner was the city left behind than lie began to wonder blankly why he had not telegraphed instead. he was not sure of the address, how- ever. Miss Calderwood lived at Elm Cottage, and lie must find her. The conductor shook his head over Eugene's ticket; there was no stoppage for ten miles beyond "Calderwoods" on this train; he should have taken the five- thirty accommodation, etc. "I shall see her all the same," said Eugene. But it happened that while the young mes- senger was traveling away in search of the prop- er authorities, Mrs. Todd entered the sick-cham- ber, followed by a brisk young man, the grocer page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] from the corner, and the grocer's wife. The' brisk young man dipped pen in ink, and began to write rapidly. A single jet burned over the desk where le sat; the grocer coughed behind his hand; the grocer's wife mentally appraised the velvet carpet on the floor. The bed was in shadow. "Are yuu ready, sir?" inquired l{Mrs. Todd, cheerfully. There was a faint assent from among the pillows. Then the lawyer brought the will for the trembling signature, which was affixed under Mrs. Todd's guidance, and the gr'ocer and his wife witnessed it. Mrs. Todd shlowed the witnesses out very blandly, and then she said to the young lav- yer, "Of course you will keep the -document. This family is a very good connection for a rising professional man." And the young lawyeri summoned hastily, went his way, feeling proud of the prestige ofi having drawn the will of the rich Mr. Calder- wood. Mrs. Todd returned to the bedside, and surveyed the master calmly. He had turned his face to the wall in the very resignation of weariness. "Ah, you have been a wicked man, a very wicked man," she said, quietly, with a tighten- ing of the lips. "Perhaps you have bought your peace with Heaven at last." Immediately after Eugene's departure she had discovered the burned papers on the hearth, and searched for the' will which left her much of the property. The blue envelope was gone. She had not upbraided the old man for his treachery ; but all day she had remained at his side, arousing the fears of a sadly burdened conscience by the picture of future punishment. Tho encroaching influence of years enabled tile woman to do this very effectually in his feeble condition, but she was more assisted than she was aware by Eugene's mention of James Cal- derwood. The old man's wits, groping for some lost thread, caught at this name in a tremor of alarm. His elder brother had come to his bedl- side and inquired if he was remembered. Mr. Calderwood was a coward at the last, and would buy pardon for his sins tills side the grave, if there was time. Mrs. Todd suggested the q means skillfilly, summoned the lawyer, taking care he should be a stranger, and allowing I the physician to remain unacquainted with her 1 plans. Eugene Dillon alighted from the train at a s little way-side station where there were no oth- r er passengers, and a drowsy station-master was lighting his lantern. Then the train swept on, and he was left in the quiet country with the brown earth-line meeting the sky where thle stars shone brightly, and the melancholy trill- ing of the tree-toads and the croak of frogs in unseen marshes were the only sounds to be heard. The drowsy station-master had no horse to help Eugene on the journey, and- the young man set off along the track to retrace his steps. He did not mind the bodily exer- tion as an older man might have done, and he whistled to keep up his courage, wondering much what Anstice would think of the advent- ure, and was only the more determined be- cause of obstacles to tell Miss Calderwood how he hadl found that very singular old man, lier father. Perhaps he felt a trifle of self-impor- tance in the -mission as well. Eugene walked down the long stretch of track, now winding into dense shadow, now spanning sliining wa- ter, with the quiet of the country evening all about him, and the mystery of deeper night coming on. In the old house on St. George's Square was profound silence above stairs, with the blinds of the sick-chamber closed, and below little noise was made by the advent of a mysterious personage, no less a man than Mr. Todd, whQo, with the aid of his interesting family, was re- moving the plate and cther articles of value easily transferable. "/lave you got every tiling, Jim?" question- ed Mrs. Todd, with reluctance. . "If we could only take one of them carved cabinets, or a few pictures." "You can't melt a cabinet, and pictures are easily ti-aced, my angel," responded Mr. Todd, sagaciously. At midnight Mrs. Todd locked the lower door, and dropped the key through the grating. "You are sure he's dead " "Oh, he's been stone cold this hour, Jim. Mind you, I would not have deserted him if he had acted on the square, and left the will. I would have fought it out with the whole of the proud lot, and held my own by right of posses- sion. But he was sly at the very last, and got that young man to defraud me. Well, they won't be much the better for it, and I've taken a little pay in the plate for all my trouble." It was the same old terrible tragedy acted over again. Hired menials plundered, and fled before justice could reach them. Through the long watches of the night tile sole occupant of the great house was a dead man, with his face turned to the wall. This was the record, of ninety years. CHAPTER XXII. BUCKLEY ENTERS A FOOL'S PARADISE. A NSTICE CALDElRW )OOD ad wept in her own cliamber for hours, until the very sources of her being seemed dissolved in tlhe firesh sorrow which had befallen her. Eugene hlad departed on that long voyage, limself pale and distressed, yet determined to conquer tlhe dryness of throat and the choking utterance which should reveal weakness in a man. If lhe looked back at the chimneys of the old house, visible through the trees afterward, and gave vent to a quick sob, no one was witness to ac- cuse him of childish grief. "That's just the way his ftlther went offycars ago," muttered old Ann, drearily, and shaded her eyes to watch him. Anstice scarcely heeded the story he had to tell about seeking Miss Canllerwood, and walk- ing back ten miles on the railroad track; for there was another feature of lis recital more suggestivcly,painful, and that related to the lit- tle schooner which would sail on Thursday. IIow much tlat meant! T'he schooner 'liza Jane sailed on Thursday. The two young thngs hadl clung together in the one precious moment of farewell allowed them by discreet Mrs. Miot- ley, and had kissed with tears. "I would have given it up, but Mr'. Whitty thinks it is my duty to go. Besides, dear heart, I shall be back before you have time to miss me," he said. With that he kissed the little face again, and confided Anstice to the care of Buck, who re- ceived the cliargo with a certain comical bewil- derment. Anstice still wore the engagement- ring about her neck, and although Mrs. Motley readily divined how matters stood, nothing had yet been said to Buckley Calderwood. Buck hiad been gravely consulted by Eugene, and, in- deed, occupied thlat trying position, a lover's confidant. He rather liked his post; but his advice had been not to lay future plans before his father just yet. "It is too soon. He is sure to ask what your prospects are: a girl's parents alwavs (do, and you have no prospects, I shouldld think," Buck observed, mceditatively. "I must make them, thenll," said Eugene, vehemently, the hlot blood getting into his chcek. "P'clrhaps. Young Inen tre fond of saying that," nand Buck shrugged hs shoulders htn- guidly, with the manner of an ancient philos- opher. Still, Eugene's discovery of rare attracetions in his own sister, as set forth in vrlbal rhIl1pso- dics or passionate verse, considerably increased Buck's respect for Anstice. The girl who can commanllnd a lover anlways acquires importance, in the eyes of her mnle relatives at least. It was trying to hlear Eugene paint a future in the glowing colors of his own sanguine hopes. 'Eugene must either be transportcd to thie most exalted heiglht by successful love, or be daslced into the blackest gulf of despalir by a hopeless, unrequited passion; that was his nature. Bluck was almost glad to have the otlher depart on his voyage, although he should miss ]him, tlhat thle sensitive chord of disappointment in his own breast need not be so often jarred by Eugene's self-absorption. Margaret Keith had not yet returned home, and any man in the world was more likely to win, and claim her as his own tlhan Buck Cal- derwood. He was sorry for Ansticve, yet he went about murmuring the dead canon's words, "For men must work, and women must wccp." Alton Ford was slow to comprehend that Eugene Dillon, popular in every household for' his easy manners and quick wit, was going to take the voyng holme. Alton Ford h]aml only tlhe vaguest notion of the distance lie mlnst trav- erse or the direction lie woulld take, yet con- curred in considering it a lity. Mrs. Whitty embraced hiim, and shed a few tears from lher pretty blue eyes, while Mr. Whitty must neetds see hs pilpil aboard the Elllza J fne, and learn, page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] if possible, if the skipper was a God-fearing man. Eugene had not turned his back on Alton Ford more than half an hour, when Caleb Green shuf- fled up to the school with unusual haste, and accosted 'Mrs. Whitty eagerly, who was weed- ing her flower-bed in a moment of leisure. "Young Dillon, ma'am, lie an't gone away for good now, has he?" inquired Caleb, in a persuasive and rather anxious tone. "Life is very uncertain, Mr. Green, for all of us," said Mrs. Whitty, stiffly. She did not approve of Caleb Green. "Why, so it is, manB," assented Caleb, leaning on the handle o{e pitchfork lie hap- pened to be carrying, and, of course, the pitch- fork had a broken prong, being his own prop- erty. "And if we are judged by our lives, Mr. Green, as ,we have reason to suppose we- shall b oe, some of us will have to render a sad ac- count-a very sad account indeed," pursued the little woman, tugging hard at an ugly weed with obstinate rootlets. "I s'ppse we shall, ma'am. Beats all how them weeds creep in everywhere, don't it? Now, I reckon you know more about the ways of Providence tlhan I do, being the parson-I mean the parson's wife. It don't seem as if the weeds had a fair chance in this world ; ann they hev a kinder gay disposition, like makin' the best o' things, too. Give 'em a grain of earth, or a chance to squeeze in among better company, an' they thrive like any thin', until folks tear 'em out." "The wheat and the tares grow together un- til the harvest, Mr. Green. Sin must be rooted up in our evil hearts, as the wicked weeds are cast out that they may not kill the innocent flowers. I wish all the weeds in Alton Ford were in my garden patch here," added Mrs. Whitty, with stern resolution. " Yce-es," assented Caleb, doubtfilly, lean- ing on his pitchfork as if it were Neptune's trident. "Young Dillon will be back, ma'am, I hope. " "Why do you wish to know?" demanded the lady. "I've had some dealings with him, an' he's a fine young man." "He will surely return, then," and, with a curt nod in response to Caleb's elaborate bow, Mrs. Whitty tended her plants. Caleb Green went home, took the package of letters from a safe hiding-place, and read the name on the wrapper aloud: "Eugene Dillon, Care of Rev. Mr. Whitty, Alton iFord, New Jersey, United States.'" He read very slowly, but this was the tardy result of Mary Anne's instructions. "Of course, if Eugene was here, I'd give 'em up straight after readin' that much. I didn't know he was goin' away. Sho! I may as well spell 'cm out afore he gets back." *Caleb's process of mastering the writing was very laborious. First he wiped his spectacles, then wrote word after word of the letter, as lie could make it out, on a slate, and then read the sentence when formed. He was obliged fre. quently to pause with the perspiration starting on his brow, and he made small headway from day to day. Often what he read was more of a riddle than the involved characters which had mocked him; yet he persevered. The mind'of Caleb Green might have been crooked placed in any walk of life, yet was it doubly crooked from lack of natural food. Alton Ford would not have busied itself with the minute details of curiosity concerning its neighbor, had there been any thing better to talk about. I Anstice had thrown herself on her bed, sob- bing, and refusing to be comforted. Eugene ihad gone nawny, and might never return. This depression of foreboding at the beginning of sep- aration from her lover was not altogether nat- ural to a girl of seventeen after the first sharp pang, the first tears; but it was very natural to Anstice, whose right it surely was by inherit- ance to mope in melancholy inaction rather than hope steadfastly in the very face of trials. Mrs. Motley came to the door with urgent entreaties to be allowed to enter. "Anstice, do come out; I can not find your father. Have you any idea where he has gone, just when he is needed at home?" The widow spoke fretfully; she was more than half minded to abandon the family for- tunes, although she had hitherto been disposed to remain because of Miss Calderwood's defiant laying-down of the law to her. No woman likes to be shown whllerein lies propriety of conduct for herself, and especially by another woman. Anstice unlocked her door reluctantly, and averted her tear-stained face from her cousin's scrutiny. "I never saw such people. Even Buck is nowhere to be found," said Mrs. Motley. She held a yellow envelope in her hand. Anstice forgot herself as her glance fell on it. "What is it?" she whispered, with a gasp of surprise. "Oh, do you believe--?" "It is not my place to read the telegram. tlow can I tell? You are one of the faimily, Anstice." The girl reached for the sealed envelope. She was not even aware that there was an ele- ment of revolting anxiety in this intense curi- osity. All lfer life, since her very babyhood, shie liad seen longing hands extended for let- ters, eager eyes turned on possible messengers in the suspense of waiting. Yes, the news had come at last! The telegram announcc d tlic death of old Mr. Calderwood, and was signed by the physician. Anstice read it imeclhanic- ally, and I passed it over to Mrs. Motley. The mother w:s dead and tleo father absent when the tidings arrived. "Tell Ann. What had we best do?" said Anstice, filally. "We'can only wait until Buck comes 1home to find your father, I suppose." Mrs. 5Motlcy chafed at the delay moro thlan Ansticc did. She possessed 'a truly feminine impulse to act quickly; she hated procrastina- tion, and would have expended all possible nervous force to attain a certain goal, if she dropped \ itih exhaustion when it was rcached. Th!at was Mrs. Motley's code. She detest- ed 1patient, lhllegnmatic peoplc, and shec would snatchl at tihe firuit before it was fully ripened, rather than - "alit the perfected maturity. Was slic not' nearer tihe possession of wealth and case thanl she had ever been'since her widow- hood? ' She would do any thing for her dead aunt's children, and yet as a sollicr of fortune her fingers ached to handle some of the Calder- wood gold. The natty, well-preserved woman, who appeared to take life so lightly, was al- ways ready to blame destiny for what was mean or sordid in her nature. Poverty alone made her other than noble and magnanimous, she assured herself. Buckley Calderwood, tempted by. the fresh- ness of the morning, had arisen very carly, and for the first time since his bereavement rambled forth into the country. he was a restless man, although lie now went on without especial pur- pose. If he was in time he would overtake the mail-stage, and ride over to the next town to see if the obituary of his wife had been Irop- crly inserted in the county newspaper. The stage was never in haste; lihe found it waiting for a passenger at a farm-house, and climbed in, conversing affably with the various occupants of thhe vehicle until the town was reached. Buckley Calderwood was not tlhe man to hlold his peace when he had one or more listeners, and, because the subject wnas uppermost in his mind, he imparted to his rus- tic friinads a glowing history of his sister's projects in building charitable institutions near her country-seat. 7' "She is a woman of strong intcllect," lic said, pompously, and the russet-faiccd driver of the stage grinned at a companion, while tihe buxom nmatron from thlo farmh-loul;se nodded aippDDrovingly. , Whether Miss Eleanore would have enjo)yed being thus freely discussed in a public vehicle is another matter. Arriving at his destination, lMr. Caldcrwood, took brcakfast at tlc tavern known as the Waslington IIotel, nnd then spent a pleasant morning in the editor's office discussing politics and agriculture. The edit- or had favorite tlec ries on the latter suiject, and carried Mr. Clefcrwood, not against his will, }home to choose the site of a new grapery. It was nine o'clock in the evening before a fairmer's wagon deposited tlr. Calderwood at - his own gate. Tills was the day on which Eugene Dillon bad returned in the early morning witil tidings of his visit to St. George's Square, where the old man was in a pitiable plight of fear and weakness, and of his delay in finding Miss Cal- dcrwood on the previous tlit. This delay he had not reclkoncd upon, and so was obliged to leave in the afternoon to reach tilo schooner in time for sailing. Buck and Ann liad scoured the village haunlts to find the ablsent father in vain. He had been seen going off' in the stage, and must take his own time to return. Buick had half meditated leaving for the city on his own responsibility to inquire after his grand- father's health, when Eugene told him how matters stood. In no other phase of character were the two young men more unlike than in this one of rapid action. Bluck was amazed at Eugene's audacity in seeking information about missing James Calderwood from his grand- father. Mr. Calderwood walked briskly up the latli to the door, coninig at last when watching lad expended patience. "Oh, Mr. Caldierwood, how could you be away to-day, of all days!; " exclaimed Mrs. Motley, with pretty petilance. "Have you missed me? It is delightful to be missed," he replied, almost gayly. "Hush!" Anstice placed the open telegram in his hand. The lamp danced before his eyes, the walls of the room rose and fell in waves of motion; he was seated in a chair with closed eyes, and Mrs. Motley held a glass of wine to his ashy lips. He recovered his composure very soon under the widow's gentle ministra- tions. "To think of his dying," lie muttered, ta- page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] cantly, as if the demise of his parent were an event well-nigh impossible. "'I would have gone at once," suggested Buck. / , "Well, why did you not go, my son? I was a fool to stay away so long when I might have known it would have happened sooner or later. He was ninety years old, and in'full possession of his faculties. Yes, we are a won- derful race." "I had no money," said Buck, simply. "I do not believe there is a dollar in the'hllouse." "Tush! What nonsense!" replied Mr. Cal- derwood, a flush succeeding pallor. "Could you not have borrowed the required amount?" "I don't like to borrow," 1hesitalted Buck. The father filled a second glass of wine, and drained it. "Children," he said, in a shaky voice, look- ing around, "we are no longer poor. - We need not count thd pence in the future. We are rich, rich even for these extravagant times." Then he turned to Mrs. Motley, and took her hand with a manner of courlteous deference. "Frances, I trust you will not desert us in our prosperity, as you have shared our adver- sity." "No," replied Mrs. Motley, very fervently, and from the depths of her heart. Ann had been in the church-yard with the choicest of her roses, followed by the old hound. - She now sat in the dark kitchen with her apron over her head. "It's little good all the money will do yer- self, darlint," she moaned, addressing the shade of her mistress. Mr. Calderwood started up, and began to pace the room. "We must leave by the early train in tlhe morning. Oh that I had not wasted this whole day on that idiot of an editor, listening to his rigmarole about grapes and tinted glass! I should be on the spot, and take ch:rge of af- fitirs. What does Eleanore know? I don't understand your story about young Dillon in the least. It was very presumptuous in him to go to my fathler. What are our afrfairs to himli, I should like to know?" Anstice blushed deeply, and piressed the hid- den ring against her breast. If she did not uphlold absent Eugene, who would? "Papta, he did not intend to be presumptu- Oils, I am sure." "Tush! Whlat is the boy to me?" inter- rupted lher father, snapping his fingers disdain- fully. "We need no longer mindl any one. We are free to act as we please." Buck thought the wine had mounted to his father's head, as he continued to stride about with flushed face and glassy eyes, gesticulating and talking incessantly; but the delirium of brain was far more potent tlhan the hitoxica- tion of wine. He had come to his own at last ' Withhout a thought of regret for the dead, or tlhe shedding of a tear, Buckley Calderwood spent the night in the exalted regions of a fool's paradise of his own creation. CHAPTER XXIIII A CIINIESE IDOL SPEAKS. TIE tide of the living having ebbed away from the house in St. George's Squuare at night, leaving tie solitairy inmiate unwatched, flowed back with the morning. Miss Eleanorc, arriving with the old butler at aIn early hlour, found the woman whllo assisted in the kitchen hovering irresolutely about the premises, after ringing the various door-bells in vain. The advent of a member of the family alone pre- vented her from applying to the nearest poliec- stati-on for an investigation of the mystery. "I told you how it would be, miss," said James, acrimoniously. "I knew how tlhat wonm- an would turn out." With that te physician drove 111up; succor came from all directions when it was too late. The tears that the daughter might have slied -were dried by wrath and indignation at thle flight of base Mrs. Todd with the silver. She reproached herself bitterly for having left tlhe old man to the mercies of a stranger, inl her own selfish longing to cscnpe fronm the iainflt associations of her home. "I should Iave remnained here and lived it downl," thought the womain with glay hanil and haggard face, gazing out over the square at the little brick house where hlad lived pretty Netty, now comfortaLle matron and lr's. l'ul Waite. To this day she couldl not understand it, but only recognized the misery of her own portion, which was to weep while others laugh- ed. The dead parent had attained the age of ninety; surely one wVould not recall ]him, if it were possible. A woman whlo ihas led the self- repressed life of this one, and moreover pos- sesses a narrow, obstinate disposition, may be rigidly conscientious in wrong-doing, as well as in noble action, according to her light. Slhc hlad kept the secret of her father's treachery all tlhese years. It was not her place to upbraid him, and perhaps he had repented before death. All traces of Mrs. Todd's disgraceful con- duct were smoothed awnay before the world was well awake, antd crape streamed fioun the door. Old James was only forcibly prevented froin iii- vestigating a search for the missing hlousekeep- cr in the fear tlhat the measure wouild create pullic scalldal. Mi ss Elcallorc did not oblject to gatheriing the reins of govcrlnmellt well ill hIer own hands before sumimonliniig lher brother from Alton Ford. For the first time ill their lives B1uck and Ansticc crossed the threshold of the house ill St. George's Square, gazing about wit timid curiosity on thec interior, and conscious that James, the butler, looked down upon them while serving tlhen with luncheon. The world, ignoring the curious story of Mrs. Todd, attenld- cd the funeral, made itself pall-bcarlcr, o' drew up) resolutions for this and tlat society, lament- ing the loss of tlc deceased. The church was sweet with flowers, which formed a blrokcn col- umn of white roses on the altar, with wreaths and crosses and crowns of ilmnortelles, and was vocal \ith tihe chants of whte-robed boys. "Ashes to aslihes, and dust to dust," Mr. Cal- derwood, and your fite left in the hands of a womain who believes thlat her conscience can not do wrong. Anstice Calderwood gazed uip at tihe richly colored windows, the dim obscurity of chancel, tile space of roof abov e wh ere the massive pil- lars reachled, and was carried away by the rapt- lure of an organ wlhichl swelled wolt and trem- bled like a single nmellow voice above the crowd of mourners, then died away in rippling echoes along the arches. No tears were shcd for Mr. Calderwood ; only tlic grave aspect of profound respect was maintained. Bucklcy Calderwood and Miss Eleanore bowed their heads as if op- pressed with grief, but even then she was mur- muring to herself, "What shall I do? Iow sliall I act? He was much esteemed in the world for his integ- rity. Poor filther!" Anstice could not help wondering how it page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] would be with Buck and herself when they were ' old, like the brother and sister before them. Then the girl came back to her surroundings with a start of surprise. Mrs. Motley had not joined the immediate mourners, warned by a glittering light in Miss Eleanore's eye; and Anstice now observed a- -gentleman enter tihe pew where sat the widow, and they exchanged a greeting, There could be no possibility of mistake, the gentleman of polished address was no other than Mr. How- ard Smith, so much improved in outward aspect as to be scarcely recognizable save for the taw- ny beard and twinkling eyes. What was he doing at her grandfather's funeral? When the family returned to the house for the settlement of affairs, Mrs. Motley availed -herself with charming grace of Mr. Smith's es- cort elsewhere, as her presence was not deemed necessary; while she had made her own inter- ests and those of the Calderwoods too much one to remain quietly at Alton Ford awaiting the issue of events. Buck also was busy with his own thoughts, making comparison between his life and the lives of men in the gay city. Margaret was already used to, all this, and her face came between him and the altar, where his grandfather, who had never spoken a kind word to him in his life, was being consecrated for his long journey to the grave. The library was open, and more sunshine penetrated the window than had been admitted for many a day. The family solicitor was there, a grave, elderly man, and the brisk young law- yer. had presented himself, full of importance with his mission. A will was made the night before Mr. Calderwood died; the physician, who had known him for years, considered his mind unimpaired. Buckley looked eager!y at the young lawyer; Miss Eleanore turned pale, and clasped her hands in her lap. Buck furtively read the titles of the books on the shelves, won- dering who would inherit them; Anstice was fascinated by an .ornament on the low mantel- piece. The sun streamed in the opposite large window full upon the veined marble of the man- tel, the grate and polished andirons, the bronze statues and clock, but in contrast with these subdued tints the object which had attracted Anstice flashed like a jewel. 6 It was a lacquer shrine lined with gold, hold- ing a god of vivid vermilion hue with little flames radiating from his back. With the hol- low of the gilded shrine glowing in the light, the god sat there, leering good-humoredly at the company, and even seemed to wink his tiny eyes. Anstice could not escape from so odd a presiding ' deity; the sparkling point of color recalled her again and again. Change was following change so rapidly in her simple life that it was scarce- ly unnatural they should all be seated here in grandfather's library, prepared to hear what he had done with the money he had so long with- held from them. Bucklcy Calderwood pulled his mustache, and moved restlessly in his seat; the family solicitor eyed the brisk young law- yer with some disfavor, which made the latter assume a very dignified deportment. '"I am here at the request of the family," said Mr. Hornwell. "I was not aware that our late friend left a will, although it was his intention to make one on several occa- sions." "I was summoned on the nigllt of Mr. Cal- derwood's death to draw up this paper," said tlhe young lawyer. Miss Eleanore compressed her thin lips. "Oblige us by reading it, then," said 1ir. Hornwell, playing with his eyeglass compos- edly. Whereupon the young lawyer began to read, and on the wondering ears of those assembled fell the words of Mr. Caldcrwood's last testa- ment. "' To my dear children, Buckley and Elea- nore, the sum of five thousand dollars each,'" read the young lawyer. Mr. Hornwell played with his eyeglass, and not a muscle of his handsome face moved. Buckley Calderwood trembled, and stared with widely distended eyes at the stranger who held his fate. Even Anstice forgot the little god in his gorgeous shrine, and Buck ceased to gaze hungrily at the covers of valuable books. Miss Eleanore, with her hands still tightly clasped, bent 'forward slightly, as if bracing herself to receive a blow. Then followed a long list of bequests to charitable institutions, and to home and foreign missions. in this way had old Mr. Calderwood bought peace with Heaven for his sins, by leavr ing his property in alms-giving, with the excep- tion of that paltry ten thousand to his afflicted children. Silence succeeded the 'lawyer's reading. Buckley still stared in bewildered helplessness, and Miss Eleanore sat rigidly erect. On her Mr. Hornwetl's calm scrutiny centred with a cer- tain expression of interest, as if he were trying to understand the occasional convulsive work- ing of her features. Finally Buckley appealed to Mr. Hornwell. Is it legal?" he asked, piteously. "Perfectly so," glancing over the paper. "Does that deprive me of my cottage?" de- manded Miss Eleanore, hoarsely. "Unless you have a deed of gift, or the sum left covers the value." "Not a third," she replied, bitterly; " and I have no deed of gift." "We milght contest the will on the ground of undue influence, or unsound mind," protested Buckley, recovering animation. "Yes," assented Mr. Hornwell. The young lawyer smiled. He had his re- venge thus for not being consulted. "And have tho suits settled whcn we nre dead, or compromised with these societies for half," said Miss Eleanore, concisely. Mr. Hornwell tapped his fingers with tlhe eyeglass and pondered, Buckley Calderwood watching his face eagerly. "I will fight it out, if it costs every pecnny. Eleanore, you do not understand. Leave tlhe matter to our old fiicnd, Mr. Hornwell, and me," cried the son. She made no reply, but turned her hlead slowly toward the mantel- piece, and again the convulsive quiver distort- ed her features. She was a proud woman, but now her pride suffered under a twofold wrong. IIcHer own father, yielding to the influence of a malicious woman, would turn her out-of-doors, and destroy the home she lad built for herself. She made one more struggle on the brink which already grew steep beneath her feet. "But Vwe have this house. Surely that is left un?" The ybung lawyer referred to the paper: "' House and property on St. George's Square to-be sold for the benefit of the Bible Society, for the propagation of the Gospel in heathen lands.'" Miss Eleanore rose to her feet, and stood in that flood of liglit which divided the crimson twilight of the room like a bar of gold, a gaunt, tall woman, veiled in sable garments. Mr. Hornwell ceased to play with his eyeglass; the young lawyer became grave. "Ire did not trust his children any more than they should have trusted him. In his life my father was dishonorable, and had no right to make a will," she said. "My dear Eleanore, your brain- is turning under this fresh misfortune," interposed Buck- ley. "Consider the presence of strangers, and the children." 'Mr. Hornwell motioned him to desist; thle young lawyer actually put him back in his chair. ' I would have shielded his memory if he had allowed me," she went on, almost fiercely. "The will is a fraud, because he had no possessions. The money is not his to give, nor the house, nor my place, and never has been." Anstice saw her aunt turn to the mantel- piece, take the little god from his shrine, un- lock a tiny door, and produce two yellow pa- pers, which she gave to Mr. IIornwell. After the lapse of so many years, Silas Calderwoo(d spoke to his descendants through these bits of faded paper, prcserved. by the whim of his son, partly through craft to thwart his own heirs shoulld they displease him, and partly from tlhe same superstitious fear which prevented him from ever spending a night at Oakhurst. If his failing powers strove to regain knowledge of the papers conccalcd in the Chinese puzzle at the last, Mrs. Todd hald no clue to his wan- derings, and the mention of James Calderwood by Eugene Dillon only excited alarm in the old man, whose conscience had been dulled by so many years of prosperity that he had learned to accept wrong almost as right. "Be sure your sin shall find you out." " The surprise of all present was unbounded; even Buck and Anstiee p'resscd forward to look at the papers. "It is a strange time to choose for playing tricks on us, Eleanore," raged her brother. "Such documents could not have come into your possession honestly. Why, this would make the case worse than the other bequests. We have nothing, if James Calderwood's heirs are to be drummed up to despoil us." "Are you the keeper of my conscience," said Miss Eleanore, sternly. "Every thing remains in our care until heirs are found, but found they shall be, as was first intended. I insist upon it, Mr. Hornwell." "Prove the legality of our grandfather's will if you can!" sneered Buckley Calderwood. "The witnesses are dead, most likely." "I have thought of that," said Miss Elea- nore, in a sombre tone. "There are state doe- uments in my grandfather's handwriting which can be easily referred to for identity with these papers." "What do you think, Mr. Hornwell?" asked Buckley. "I will consider the matter, and inform you," replied Mr. Hornwell, with legal caution. Outside, a lady and gentleman were slowly approaching the hlouse. "I should be charmed to go, Mr. Smith," the lady said, graciously. "I am so fond of the theatre, and we have led such a quiet life of late. at Oakhurst. We have met with great afflictions-my dear aunt's death, and now old Mr. Calderwood is gone, you know. It would page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] be impossible for me to accept your kind invi- tation." "' I should have been delighted to contrib- lte to your pleasure, Mrs. Motley, and consid- er the rencontre fortunate for myself. Will you tell Mr. Calderwood, with my compliments, that I shall be happy to call on him at a prop- er season? May I trouble you with my card?" Mrs. Motley was looking her best, in black, with a lace shawl draping her graceful shoul- ders, and a veil enhancing the beauty of her complexion, as the coloring of a flower is sub- dued. by spun glass. A carriage, which had followed their movements down the -street, now paused, and a footman opened the door. St. George's Square boasted no such glittering eq- uipage as the landau, with mettlesome steeds in gilded trappings, of Mr. Howard Smith, spec- ulator. He tred, and sunk back indolently among the satin cushions, lighted a cigar, and soliloquized, "She is a very clever woman, and would be a credit to any one. I shall keep up the Cal- derwood connection." Mrs. Motley read 'the card: " 'Mr. Howard Smith, No. 1000 Madison Avenue.' Dear me! the man has become suddenly rich." She paused on the door-step, as Eugene Dil- Ion had done, feeling' herself to be an inter- loper. "I must know about the will! I am sure it makes difference enough to me, whichever way the scale turns. I can use the excuse of inquiring for Buck, at least." In the library remained only the family. "You are a fool, to expose us in this way to the world! Why did you not consult me?" said the brother. "I am not the fool of the family, my dear Buckley," replied Miss Eleanore, with all her father's sarcastic manner. "I have acted right, I know. If there are no heirs to dis- pute possession, we still retain all." Then slic added, moodily, "I have prayed for direction, and temptation has been taken out of my path. I am afraid my strength would have failed if he had made no will. I could have saved his memory untarnished then. That woman was an instrument of good in the house, after all." Buckley Calderwood spread his arms on the library-table and bowed his head on themn, yielding to despairing grief. "To be cheated all my life! To wait all these years for this end!" he moaned. Little Anstice came, and put her arms about hl' necck in silent sympathy. CIIAPTER XXIA. IIOW OAKHURST VAiNtISIIED I N IGIIT had descended on Alton Ford, l bringing such a soft, gracious rain as sent the farmers to bed to dream of full, plenteous harvest-timc. The incessant patter of drops made a music all their own amnong the leaves, and trickled from every wing in miniature rills, whle the damp earth sent up grateful sweet- ness from all her hidden censers. The dark- ness was like a wall bcyond the disk of lighted windows, lwhere the roses droopled their drench- ed hcalds and starrcd the black obscurity be- yond. Margaret Keith sat bctween her parents, with her father's arm about her waist and her hand claspled in her mother's. Very hand- some Margaret looked, gathering all the radi- ance of the room about'her, as she always did, by the bright hues of her dress and the glory of her hair. She had gained something which addled lustre to her beauty, and lost another grace, which is the velvet bloom on the peach. A certain bold audacity, characteristic of her wayward youth, had been refined to cool com- posure unruffled by admiration or public gaze, and there was weariness in the blue eyes, liallf disdainful, half doubtful. "It is so pleasant to have you back again, Maggie! You must not lose your taste utterly for quiet life by so much sight-seeing. And your face is thinner. I shall give you cream, my clhild." The mother spoke half wistfilly, wondering if her daughter had outgrown her own sphere; glad to have her taste all enjoymelnt, yet dread- ing the result. "' You dear, patient mother!" said Margaret, kissing Mrs. Keith, impulsively. "I lnave been working very hard, dancing and driving and dressing. Besides, I lhave not been to bed be- fore three o'clock in the morning for a month." "Then you are a very wicked girl to so waste the life and strength God has given you," said Mrs. Keith, with unusual energy. "Perhaps I ainm," smiled Margaret, turlning, to her father, whlo pinched her car and made a little grimace. "I amn sure. I don't know whallt the world is coming to," pursued Mrs. Keith. "Girls nre unhappy if they arel banished firom all this dis- sipation, and their lot is a hard one if they lhave to lead simple, wholesome lives in tlic country." "Scold away, mamma , I deserve it all; but I am tifred of the city, and glad to come honme again--I nll, indeed! Tlhlt remninds me; I promised to play Lady Bou1ntifil to nnlucky Caleb Green, and I mean to keep my word. Oh! you need not shake your head at me, sir; I an nolot a bit afraid of you. If you will not give me the money, I call sell my old ball- dresses." "I amn afraid you will find it a mistake to help the keeper of a dram-shop, my dear," ob- jected Andrew Keith. "You are all down on that man," said Mar- garet, prepared to argue her ,point o0 n ground of entire equality with her parents, "he has no chance, because you all shake your heads over a hopeless reprobate, and pass by on the other side. How is the village growing, father? I suppose the Calderwoods are the same-I mean, since Mrs. Calderwood's death." Margaret had arrived home that afternoon, and no inquiry concerning her playmates had yet passed -lher lilps. Andrew Keith considered his words Ibefore replying, and also observed her closel]Y. "Oil yes, they are the same. At least An- sticc lhas not returned since hicr grandfaither's fiuneral. We wrote yotu ie wa-s dead, I think." "Is Buck here? , And what lhas become of thie gay widow?" Margaret's tone was lighlt and careless. She cared for none of tlcese trifles now, and she viewed matters from a broader, higher rangC of experience. Slhe felt almost blrsd, sitting there in the quiet, cool parIlor between the par- ents whose lives centred in herself, with the page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] peaceful influences of home stealing in upon her heart. Of course she belonged here in Al- ton Ford, and yet ,it seemed such a tiny world after she had tried her wings in a wider flight. If she had lived in her father's house all these months, familiarity would have obliterated the remembrance of the night when Buck came to her. Now the scene rose before her, and the memory stung her to the quick. It was on this very spot that Buck had wound his arms about her and kissed her, and she had not re- pulsed him. Margaret rehearsed the part she had played with no satisfaction; she hated the sight of Buck because she was ashamed of herself. "Pretty Mrs. Motley has gone to town, and I more than half suspect-" Mr. Keith paused, and looked at his wife with a mysterious smile. "What do you suspect?" demanded Mar- garet, quickly. Hler color deepened, the an- gry flash brightened her blue eyes. "Dear, dear! how peremptory we are! Are those the fine manners of good society, young lady?" Margaret put her arms around his neck, and hid her face on his broad breast. "That widow was always detestable with her mincing ways, father. Is she going to marry one of the Calderwoods?" "Father, or son, I dare say," chuckled An- drew Keiths "Buck wouh not have her, I am sure," said Mrs. Keith, in her quietest tone. '-' Oh fie, mamma! That is not a nice way to speak," laughed Margaret, raising her head. "The truth is not always nice, my dear," said Mrs. Keith, composedly. It was now Mr. Keith's turn to be disturbed; he looked again at his wife doubtfully. "I can not see that it concerns us either way," he interposed, dryly. "Buck will be an idle ne'er-do-weel, like his father before him, and then take pride in the loast that none of his family have ever been trades-people. We are trades-people, Maggie, and thank God for it." "Yon are unjust to Buck -Calderwood," re- e joined Mrs. Keith.- "He is an amiable and good young man." Margaret could not account for the immedi- - ' longing she felt to desert her fiather's stand- ard for that of her mother, unless it was to take refuge in bidding Buck's champion good-night, and escaping to her own room afterward, which she did. In her pretty chamber she was again brought face to face with early girlish fancies which she had outgrown, like the garments-of succes- sive years. Margaret believed she had alto- gether outstripped her former self in all things in the journey when the soul presses ever for- ward. Here was a wreath of dried grasses and ferns hung on the wall, relic of a picnic to the opposite river-bank with the Calderwood children; and the picture below it, framed so richly by paternal pride, was Margaret's scarce- ly successful effort to sketch Oakhurst in cray- on. Had her season of festivity left her heart- whole? Margaret could not determine for herself. She had gone forth expecting to find the unknown prince awaiting in her the fulfill- ment of destiny, and she had received lher meed of holnage, yet the prince had not revealed himself openly. To the parterre of human flowers the gay butterflies had come, and lo! when they hovered over this one she folded her petals shyly, and would not yield the heart- fragrance hidden in the secret chambers of her nature, losing the beauty of those present in longing for the imaginary attractions of the gorgeous insects winging their flight 'elsewlhere. Margaret had not remained unwooed, and tlhe chances of this very summer might decide if she were won. She had no sweet confidences to exchange with her own mother, unless it were to detail, with feminine triumph of sar- casm, the absurdity of certain hapless mortals who had fallen captive to her bow and spedar, for whom Margaret was sans merci because they had made themselves ridiculous. Mrs. Keith regarded her child witlh some- thing of the amazed admiration of a duck that has reared a stately young swan, and can no longer follow the movements of the younger bird. Circumstances had converted Margaret into the swan. She 'flas not tired when she reached the soli- tude she had desired. Here she was back in quiet Alton Ford, where every tiling belonged to her, for so she chose to regard the village raised by her father's exertions. Ntow it also occurred to her that Buck Calderwood should have called and paid his respects, if only to see how much she had improved, and give her the opportunity to flout him a trifle. He must know of her return. She opelied her window on the balcony and leaned out. It was al- ready eleven o'clock. No sound disturbed the perfect stillness save the soft murmur of the rain. She wrapped herself in a cloak and drew the hood over her head, then stole out-of- doors. "If I had a lover, what a delightful place of rendezvous this dripping arbor would be!" she thought, peering about in the darkness, and occasionally receiving the weight of moisture fromn a leaf on her cheek or extended hand. "All1 nature is weeping over your well-known naughtiness, Margaret Keith. How mother would scold at the wet grass! but I rather like it, after all." Margaret was not afraid. She was on her own territory, and even the dogs would know her. When she reached the boundary-line of wire fence jutting on the road, where Buck Calderwood had watched for her many a time, liher courage was fully put to the test. She heard steps on the narrow path, the grating of pebbles beneath cautious feet, and shrunk back against the trunk of a tree just as a man pass- ed her so closely that he brushed the dark cloak with his garments. He had gone in the direction of the house. This alarmed Marga- ret. If the man were a marauder, he would find the door unlocked, and, at all events, his presence there prevented her from fleeing back when she was ready to return. Margaret call- ed herself a simpleton very heartily, although without mending matters. If the intruder were Buck Calderwood, she would speak, and thcy could laugh over the adventure together. Ah! but how to tell? Margaret shivered and listen- ed, feeling herself shut out in the night by her own rash follvy. Standing there by the railing, a little with- drawn from the path in fear that the man might choose to suddenly return, Margaret forgot her- self wholly in a new wonder. In the direction of Oakhurst, she saw a light low down among the shrubbery, unsteady and flickering, yet very bright. In a moment she had opened the lit- tle gate, and ran along the deserted road toward the neighboring house. She pushed back her hood, so that the rain fell unheeded on hcn golden hair. lThere was not a soul to be seen either on the road or in the grounds of the old place. Margaret rubbed her eyes, as if incred- ulols of their powers of vision. Tlhe lower vindlows of thie house were brilliantly illuni- r,.;tcdl, while the upper stories were wrapped in dlrklness, and through every pane was visible the glow of pulsing, leaping flames. Oakhurst was on fire! Margaret Keith had need of her steady nerves and brave heart. If sleep had overtaken thle imnates, they would die. She ran np to the door, and raised the great brass knocker with a resounding peal; the panel felt already hlot to her hand. At that the old hound came out of his kennel, and, recognizing in Margaret an ally, began to bark fii-ously, ruslinhg first to the wing where Ann slept. Ann presently emerged, dazed, and almost paralyzed by terror. "There wasn't a spark of fire in the house wicen I went to bed," shec groaned, wringing her hands, and crying. "Stay here while I go on," said Margaret, decisively, "to arouse the others; we need help." Every circumstance of the scene was most singular; one moment the quict of night invit- ing deep slumber, like all other nights, and the next ruin, and desolation comning so suddenly tlhat Alton Ford was not yet awaro of its dread- ful presence. Tlhe rain pattered gently among the foliage screening the house; and within, the fierce heat was eating the core of the struct- ure, hissing, snapping, climbing in wreatfiing jets of crimson tongues, searching for ficesh food of destruction, all baleifull smoke and ex- plosive sound confined within the walls, even as tlhe fallen soul of man nmay seethe, and consume all purity and goodness, whle the outer struct- ure remains untouched to tihe world. Margaret Keith ran on swiftly. A clear voice rang out bn the bank nabovo tlo foundry, "oh I John Jo loncy!" "Yes, miss," from the darkness below. "Ring the great factory bell, Jolhn Oak- hurst is on fire!" That was the way Alton Ford heard the ,tidings from the brazen throat of the factory bell. Andrew Keith issued forth in a trice, encountering no robbers on the wayv; and now tlhe point of light whch lad attracted Marga- ret's quick glance ten miniutes nago hlaid deep- ened to a broad, ruddy glorw, turning the water of the river red, and sending shafts of ftntastic radiance into the depths of the trees, whiB the sky above began to flush withi the encroaclling flames. The village was astir, in a bungling, bewildered fashion, each man grasping his own bucket and searching for ladders, yet each dis- liking to take the lead in so grave a matter. Mr. Keith reached the spot first, from his hab- it of being prepared to guard the foundry in emergencies, and was amazed to find his own daughter there standing beside Ann, these two being the terrified spectators of the devastation. "Margarqt, my child!" "Yes, father. I gave the alarm. Oh, why do you stop here helplessly, when they may be already suffocating withl tie smoke inside!" she cried. "Margaret!" A second voice pronounced the name behind therr with a lingering, tremulous emphasis. page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] She uttered a little hysterical laugh, and gave Buck Calderwood both her hands. "Oh, I am so glad! You are safe, then!" "Ann, where is father?" cried the young man, . "God knows. I haven't laid eyes on him," said Ann, crossing herself. Buck ran toward the house. "Stop! Work sensibly, my lad," said An- drew Keith, following. "My father must be inside, sir," said Buck, frantically. "Let me go." Mr. Keith only held him firmly by the arm. "You will not save him by plunging into the flames yourself. A ladder here, men!" "Buck, dear Buck, don't go," whimpered Margaret, looking at him imploringly. "So you would pity a poor wretch who pel- ished in there? Margaret, I have been linger- ing about your house all the evening, hoping to obtain a glimpse of you, and yet not daring to enter." "Hush! If you are to go, pray be careful for my sake." Then Margaret shrunk back from all the con- fusion and uproar of the gathering crowd, and yielded to tears of sudden grief and weakness. She was not so strong and self-reliant as she had fancied, and it was not the past which crumbled away in this moment of peril, but the frivolous tinsel present. She knew without look- ing that the ladder had been placed against the wall, 'and that Buck, cool and quiet in the emergency, would allow no other man to take the risk he was prepared to run. Then, bv the silence which succeeded the loud voices, she know that he had entered lis father's room, the crowd waiting with bated breath, while only the under-tones of fire- mighty, awful element of nature-were to be heard seeking an outlet, and fretted by the re- straints-placed in its path. "Here, good friends! lhelp) me over the par- apet with a ladder." A high, thin voice'spoke thus from the end of the house. Margaret sprung to her feet. Mr. Calderwood was climbing out of the board- ed chamber, and stood on the roof of the piazza. "Father, he is safe, and Buck will be lost! Call him, back! Call him back!" Margaret had darted into the crowd again, all eager anxiety and dread. The tide of fire was rising higher and higher in the house; already the windows and doors ihad crumbled before its resistless advance, and all the dancing sparks seemed to laugh at Al- ton Ford's attempt to quench their freedom by means of the slowly filled buckets. Buck np- peared again, and began to descend slowly. The ladder was by this time illumined, round by round, as it rested against the heated wall. Margaret watched the figure swaying on thle frail support, with the fascination of intense suspense. One step, two steps, and then the little mocking flames crept out of the window below, bit the ladder with their fangs, and lenp- ed up the sides. Buck fell to the ground. Margaret did not know in the least how it came about, but she was holding his hlead in her lap, and sobbing over him. "Oh, he is dead-dead ; and I loved him!" The tide of fire rose higher and higher; no mortal could check it now. Far out on the dark river and along the country-side spread- tile vanishing glory of the old house. For a moment it paused on the brink of demolition in the despoiler's grasp, every lineament out-' lined sharply and clearly by flame, and then a cone of fire shot up into the heavens as the roof fell in. The parrot's voice was heard croaking and reviling fate, as if the bird were the genius of the spot, perisling withl it. CHAPTER XXVY. THE MSTRESS OF ELM COTTAGE. ELUI COTTAGE was a very modest resi- dence, with Gothic roof and gables over- hung with trumpct-vines, and a smooth expanse of lawn stretching away to the rustic gate; but, for all its unpretentious simplicity, the owner possessed a strong ambition. She had gone forth into the wilderness a pioneer, prepared to do battle with and conquer obstacles; and although the wilderness was a quiet nook only just beyond the limits of city suburbs, Miss Eleanore discerned in it a field for hr own proper vocation in life. The energy whillch en- abled her to turn from weary contemplation of liher own soul-sickness to this work wrought good to herself and others ; but the blight none the less soured her to a suspicious, exacting woman, not averse to the contemplation of the misfortunes of others, yet studying them with- out sympathy. After the discovery of her grandfather's will in the Chinese shrine, and the 'rencontre with Paul Waite, she had looked about her for means of escape from her captivity, which had become intolerable, and selected the spot where stood Elm Cottage. Instinct led her, a wounded spir- it, back to nature for healing; the country would yield her the balm of soothing quiet; but in this new sphere she must rule. Miss Eleanore fled in no panic of haste, casting her gods to the winds behind her. She gathered manny treasures out of the old house in St. George's Square for her cottage, and she did not fear the influence of Mrs. Todd, especially because shhe could always revert to the concealed papers, should her father leave the housekeeper money. During all the years of punctual visits home, made twice in the week, she never failed to look in the library, and ascertain if all the Clhinese vases and boxes remained on the lower shelf of the book-case untouched. She would have taken possession of the shrine in self-defense had she dared to do so, but her father would be the first to miss it. When he became ill, she nt once approplriated it, however. The simple findamcutal laws of right and wrong took many strange angles of reflection in Miss Eleanore's brain, as in that of icer brother Buck- lcy. Confident of licr own suprcior wisdom and purity of motive, she hboped very heartily that no necessitv wouil arise for tlio rcinstate- ment of muchl-wronged Jnames Calderwood at Iher hands, and her first duty was respect to her. parent. Many a time she brooded over the matter when seated alone by her own hearth-stone, while the cold autumn- rains dashhed against the window-panes. She must not lift a finger to turn the balance of her father's thoughlt, else he would suspect liher. If he gave his fortune unconditionally to Dais legal heiirs, she would de- stroy the old papers, and withh her portion atone for his sin by much noble alms-giving; if he diverted from them that which was their due, slie would reveal his deception. In the menn while she intrenched herself in the position she had chosen, and old Mr. Calderwood had scofl'- ed at her phln, ridiculed her pretensions, the while assisting her cndeavors. She built a clusrceh, and the large stone edifice on the hill, a model home for Orphan Girls. She was a most zealous and '"inidcfitigable beggar for this pet institution, and, being AMiss Calderwood, was treated respectfully by manyt wlo, felt ashamed not to assist a good work, especially when appealed to by a rich lady. T'lius she thrived, and her charity grew ; but tile lines of discontent deepened with the years, and none miglht doubt the edge which trials liad imiparted to licr temper. After old Mr. Cldlerwood's flunelrll, Anstico was much dismayed by eir naunt's words : "I shaill take your daughter homo with mo for a time, Bucklecy." This was said without a glance at Mrs. Mot- ley iwhich could be received as a. second invita. tion. page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] "That will be so nice for you, dear," Mrs. Motley hastened to add, turning to Anstice with a smile. "Especially as I have to re- main in town for a time." "Oh, I must go home, really," protested :Anstice, with unfeigned alarm. "You will go with your aunt," said her fa- ther, in a perenmptory tone. Miss Eleanore's thin lip curled. "I can not offer you the hospitality of a second Oakhurst, but I have a pretty box of a place up in the country." It was arranged without further remon- strance. Anstice clutched Buck desperately at parting, and whispered, "Do send for me, dear, as if I were needed. I wish you were going too." Af "Shall I forward letters to ou,'Anstice?" inquired Buck, half roguishy. \ "You wouldn't keep one, surelyt she cried, anxiously. 'X "I will bring it myself, like a carrier-pigeon, you silly little woman," he said, kissing her with unusual affection. Then they turned, and found their aunt standing behind them. The old mansion was closed, and the butler left in charge. Mr. Hornwell was to take a week to decide on the best measures to be adopted, and in the mean while the brother and sister did not even strive to veil the very transparent mutual jealousy born of the new position which they occupied. 'Miss Eleanore would by no nmeans quit St. Gqorge's Square unless Buckley promised to return to Oakhurst, at least for a time, and this he consented to reluctantly. Little Anstice, timid and rather woeful, sat in one corner of the carriage which conveyed Miss Eleanore and herself to the dd- p8t. She was uncomfortable in the presence of her aunt, if not actually afraid of her, the older woman being associated with- too many tales of her own childhood, of bitter invective and sarcasm, to efface readily the impression made on a shrinking, sensitive mind. Miss Eleanore's first greeting had not been of a char- acter to re-assure a young person. She had taken Anstice by the chin, turned the soft, oval face to the daylight, and scruti- nized .the girl for a full minute without remark. Then she said, dryly, "I can not find much of our family here. Child, where did you get your eyes, and that humble expression? The Calderwoods are nev- er afraid to hold up their heads; but I suppose it is rustic simplicity." And Anstice had only murmured some un- intelligible response, not calculated to increase Miss Eleanore's good opinion of her, The carriage rolled up a broad, fine street, and Anstice could not help peering out at the lace-shrouded windows with the curiosity that peoples houses with creatures of our own fancy. Here dwelt a stern old man, like a grandfather, who kept the glad sunshine from his chambers, and chilled those who approached him by his severity. There dwelt a lovely bride behind the blue draperies, with a husband who adored her, and friends won by her sweetness and grace. "Oh, what beautiful childrel, nunt!" ex- claimed Anstice. As if to give her time for admiration, the carriage paused for a turning vce)icle. The house opposite opened every window to the day, as if from very luxuriance of life within, which welcomed light and sound. A pretty woman in a white dress stood at an upper win- dow, holding a dimpled baby to look at the two children below, wlho danced with deliglht as they gazed at a new toy-a fat pony attached to a basket-carriage. These children, bold, merry, and handsome in attire, like birds of gay plum- age, had attracted Anstice. The pretty moth- er's silvery laugh floated down from the case- ment, the baby crowed and smiled, but the gen- tleman Nwith the children on the curb-stone glanced into the passing carriage, and raised his lhat. "Poor Eleanore! she was very fond of me," he thought, as he inspeted the pony's hoofs. Anstice noticed that her aunt's fatee lad be- come suddenly pinched and gray. She had heard of Miss Calderwood's love affair from her own dear mother, and instantly she asso- ciated the circumstance with that happy house- hold, which seemed even to overflow out-of- doors. She looked away from her companion, only stealing occasional timid glances at the pinched face, and longing to extend her hand in silent sympathy, yet not dlaring to encounter a repulse. Ever susceptible to surromunding influences, the grief of her own young life swept over An- stice. If, in the place of this hard, self-contained woman, she could throw herself on the breast of her mother, and be comforted! If Eugene were back, a part of the past, to which her mother had also belonged, as well as promise of the future, instead of out on the treacherous ocean, which tells few tales of its victims! The bright beauty of the thoroughfare faded before her eyes, and she began to weep quietly behind her veil with a sense of loneliness and home- sickness. Oh, how happy was the life at dear old Oakhurst which her parents had found so wearisome, and which the young ones affected to despise, knowing no better! Anstice would give all to return there now. Miss Eleanoro did not heed the girl's tears. She seemed rather to have forgotten her pres- ence in her own pa inful absorption. "Well, I am a sort of universal mother out at Calderwoods," she said, with a short laugh, as if a parallel case were necessary to her own mind. We can seldom contemplate the happiness or prosperity of others without a comparison with our own lot, either of envy or satisfaction. But in this she deceived neither herself nor others. The girls wlho were sheltered and fed by her ministrations did not regard her in tlhe least like a mother, but rather as a stern guard- ian, apt to discover delinquencies. At last the train bore them out,of the city's dusty suburbs, and paused at a pretty station, in appearance like an enlarged bird-house, where they got out. Anstice was astonished to read her own name in large gilt letters above the door of this miniature deipot. "Here we are at Calderwoods, niece," said her aunt, regaining something of her usual manner. The green bank where vines and ferns wreathed the rocks below, and lofty trees grew above, opened into a road like a forest-path for shade and verdure. There was no debris, no shabby huts whllere poverty swarmed,\no sound of machinery to be heard Lat Calderwoods. On tlhe hill the massive stone walls of the Home were visible, and in the valley below the spire of the little mediaeval church. "I built it,' said Miss Eleanorc, looking up at her work proudly. "I begged every stone, one may say. Property is rising too, because of my residence here, I suspect, and we shall have more cottages next spring." "I never saw any thing so beautiful," said Anstice, simply. This pleased the aunt when she had decided on the genuineness of the compliment, and An- stice was installed in the cottage as guest and companion. In the chamber allotted her An- stice felt very shy, and even awkward; she was afraid to move, and disturb the dainty fresh- ness of the bower. This prim elegance ex- tended throughout the interior, and the rustic exterior of Miss Eleanorc's home did not pre- vent some biscuit de Setres on a table, or a Meissonier and a Gcrome on the wall of the tiny drawing-room. She had diverted many l little rills of self- aggrandizement from thile fountain-head in St. George's Square, and old Mr. Calderwood had humored her fancy. It occurred to Anstice when she came down stairs that Aliss Eleanoro had received much kind- ness from lher father at Ellm Cottage. How could she tell about the papers? The narrow aquiline face, terminating in a long pointed chin, answered the question. She had done her duty. Anstice could not help thinking of the pret- ty lady at the window, fair and plump, holding the dimpled baby, with some disloyalty to her own race. Her cheek flushed when her aunt's gaze fell upon her, for in her cliamber she liad been guilty of the bold act of slipping Eugene's ring on her finger. Miss Eleanore's quick glance caught the flash of the jewel, and al- though Anstice hid her pledge as imuch as pos- sible beneath table table during diner, when thcy went out on the piazza she took the hand, and examined the stone. "Are you engaged to be married?" shhe in- quired, abruptly. "Yes," said Anstice, steadying her voice. "To a young man at Alton Ford, no doubt." "Iis name is Eugene Dillon, and he has gone to the West Indies." "All, he came to me here. And wlen will the wedding be celebrated?" (cynically). "In the spring, perhal:ls. We can wait," failtered Ansticce, not enjoying liher catcchsm. "If lie ever returns," suggested Aliss Elea- nore, drearily. Anstice looked at her quick- ly, ill wonder and alarm. Sunset wlas flooding the sky with rosy light; the windows of the Home caught the rays like flashing beacons; the lawn was golden at their feet. "Why do you speak like that?" demanded the girl, putting her hand on her aunt's arm. You know tlhat lie will return. He lats prom- ised. 'Alive, or dead in the spirit.' Those were his words." Miss Eleanore looked down on her sternly. IIce may be better or worse than men usu- ally. I can not judge, and neither can you. Of course he will return-if he does not change his mind." She spoke with indescribable bitterness, for- getful of Anstice in the creed of her own re- lief, while the younger heart imbibed every word, stunned and overpowered by the revela- tion that her aunt possessed sonio knowledge of Eugene of which she was ignorant. "I can only hope," she said at last, in a tone from which the ring of courage had van- ished. page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] "Yes, hope until you are gray and old," re- torted the aunt, almost fiercely. ,6 We are not a very lucky race; I do not see why you should have more than the rest." "Perhaps we have all that we deserve," said Anstice, quietly. "Please explain, young lady," with sarcas- tic politeness. . "I never could understand why we deserve so much more than other people. I mean-" "We should have our rights, I presume. There, I never argue points with children. I must look over the superintendent's daily rec- ord. One hundred and fifty girls require ex- ceedingly accurate management.' Anstice was relieved by her absence, and thought sadly of old Oakhurst, which she would never see again, had she but known it. Thus a fresh lcaf in her life began, and thle clhange was not without benefit. Miss Elea- nore taught her niece self-reliance, if no other valuable lesson, and Anstice liked to spend much of her time in the Home among the or. phans, for whom she had a sympathy from her own isolation. Then came the tidings that Oakhurst had been burned to the ground, though the origin of the fire was never discov- ered, leaving Anstice absolutely homeless. The chief trial of the girl's lot at Elm Cottage was the anxiety occasioned by no news from her absent lover. Means of communication were limited; and yet, as the weeks passed slowly, the waiting face grew pale and thin, thile wistftiul eyes larger, and of a sorrowful expression. Anstice could never escape from her aunt's vigilant curiosity. If she watched for letters, and searched newspaper records with blanch- ing lips when she found marine disasters, so did Miss Eleanore, in a silent, swift wav. To Anstice this cruelty becamc almost unbearable. Miss Eleanore would smile when the girl's face was shadowed with the weary watchfulness of another day; yet she was not intentionally crut- el, but only fascinated by the study of a suffer- ing she had herself once undergone, and could at any time rehearse with poignant pain to her own heart. If she had been duped and deceived, was it not natural that other girls should be after her? Besides, the harshness of her own skepticism might be true kindness to Anstice in the end, by preparing her for the worst, should it come. At night the girl would stretch forth her hands in the darkness to the absent one with the prayer,t "Come back to me, dear Eugene. Oh, prove her in the wrong by your love!" Then her pillow would be haunted by fear- fill dreams of wreck and disaster, Nwith the great waves rearing green crests on every side, and. Miss Eleanore would smile, and say, "It is as I told you. All men are false- false at the core." Time passed, and no tidings came back of Eugene Dillon. CIHAPTER XXVI. UNEXPECTED RESULT OF STAR-GAZING. THE Rev. Peter Whitty took up his pocket- glass, poihshed it tenderly on his sleeve, and said, "I believe that iltimight be seen better from the hill." "The vestry meets at eight, Mr. Whitty, andn these letters about- the new scholars require answering," said Mrs. Whitty, in a tone of mild remonstrance. He laid down the glass again with a sigh, and began to pace the room. "Maria, I sometimes wonder whllat place God meant me to hold." "Iuallh! Oh, pray husl, Peter!" "I mean no irreverence, my dear. There is a place for cach of us, if we could find it. A man can not spend his life in a double warfarce, and serve the Master well. Was I intended for a clergyman, or an astronomer?" "You have proved that you can be both," said-the little wife, soothingly. "No, I lave failed," said Mr. Whitty, mourn- fully . "AMany a time I lhave come to the pul- pit spent withl my night's vigil; and wlchen souls, hungry soluls, have asked bread of me, I have given them a stone. Again, I have been among my flock, striving to understand them, when the unutterable longing of my whole nature was to read the heavens, and discover some recent- ly revealed wonder of the universe. What am I, the least of God's creatures, that I should be known to fame as the discoverer of a star!" He spoke with a sort of rapture, his face light- ing up. Mrs. Whitty sighed almost impercep- tiblv. "I often think, in my own experience, of Jeremiah IIorTox." "And who was he?" inquired Mrs. Whllitty, with an abstracted glance toward the unanswer- ed letters on the table. "I have told you about him fifty times, Ma- ria," said her husband, with gentle reproach. "He was a curate who went to church, and lost the precious moment when the sun's rays fell on the screen he had arranged(. Now, did God expect this sacrifice of hilm? Another man could have read the service equally well, while science lhas waited all these years be- cause of Jeremiah IIorrox's church duties. I do not see the path of duty clearly solmetimes." Mrs. Whitty puckered her brow. "We only live one day at a timec, ly dear," shhe said at last. "Ah, but we must relnder flln account of wasted days, and hours nlso. WlIile I am at the vestry-meeting some such chllnllge in the heavens may become visible," he rlplicd, sub- duing his excitement to resignation, with .an effort. "You must not be so easily discouraged(, Pe- ter. I will answer the letters, and next year will bring brighter days in the completion of 'Religion in Astronomy.'" Mrs. Whtty spoke with a playfull bravcry, such as might be used withl a child. Indeed, there is an element of childishne ss i the way genius is managed by those wlio love it. M3r. Whitty regarded her with a whimsical smile. "The work will be done, certainly; but how shall we find a publisher?" lie said, dolefilly. "I am not fit to direct the vestry as I should. I have a miserable, guilty feeling about it, be- cause I have not given the matter the consid- eration it deserves f'om in pastor. If I could only seek some quiet corner of the sanctuary, and be lcd myself by a strong, noble Christian preacher, instead of stliving (ol, ho(w weakly!) to lead." "You permit your own llumility to derl'es S you, Peter," said the little wife-, anlmost sharldy. "I shall be sorry when the day of our usefulness is over, and another clergyman takes your place. There; the bell is ringing for the meeting. Keep up a good heart, my dear." Mrs. Whtty kissed her husl, nd sns if they were young lovcr., and watchecd him depart. "The poor soul, to so torment himself about hIis mission in life!" she soliloquizcel. "I should page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] -much like to see another accomplish all his work." She answered the letters in a large, dashing hand, such as is now feminine. Then she open- ed a deep drawer of the tall desk in her hus- band's study, and examined the contents much as a novice might eye the retort and crucibles of a chemist's laboratory, fearful of unexpected explosion. The drawer was filled with loose papers--here a blotted sheet, there a dozen neatly ruled pages, and little scraps covered with stray sentences fluttered over the whole, like winged thoughts. Here lay the germ of Mr. Whitty's future great work, "Religion in As- tronomy." His wife shook her head gravely, and closed the drawer. I I hope the mice may not choose the desk for a nest. If Peter should die, all this labor would be lost, for no one ever could unravel the skein." What do you suppose she did next? Took up the pocket-glass, adjusted it to her own pretty mild blue eyes, and spent the hour devoted by her husband to the vestry in ram- bling from place to place searching for the best point from whence to observe the planet Venus, unobstructed by foliage. Mr. Whitty succeeded'in pleasing the vestry- men that evening by unusual animation and in- terest in their proceedings. Perhaps conscience was the goad pricking him to extra exertion, and he strove resolutely to confine his thoughts to the small room with its four white walls, and a lamp swinging overhead. A slight figure glided toward him when he lhad said good- night to his companions, and Mrs. Whitty thrust the glass into his hand. "You can see it best from the hill beyond Caleb Green's house. Our elm-tree must real- ly be sawed off, so, as not to interfere with the observatory; and yet it. is so beautiful. Do not stay late, Peter, or I shall think you have faillen into the ditch, like another star- gazer." Iaving thus smoothed the way for her hus- band, Mrs. Whitty returned to her proper sphere. In her heart she much dreaded yield- ing her post of minister's wife to another, and, with her own active helpfulness, she did not like to believe that Alton Ford could get on without her. Much relieved by the conscious- ness of having done his duty well, Mr. Whitty hastened along the road to sight the planet. In the starlight the place where Oakhurst had stood looked ghostly and desolate. The gar- den still flourished in rank luxuriance, the out- er range of pine-trees stood like sentinels un- scathed, but the noble oaks nearer the house were blackened and scorched by the fierce heat which had consumed the mansion. As Mr. Whitty approached, the light breeze stirred the pines with a melancholy, whisper- ing sound, and the bats skimmed low over tlhe ruins. Used as he was to the stillness of coun- try life, the exceeding loneliness of the spot impressed him. He paused a moment, and peered into the gloom of the shrubbery; then the glory of the heavens lured him on again. Buckley Calderwood was in town, and Buck a guest at the Keith house by reason of a bro- ken leg gained in his fall from the ladder. Al- ton Ford had already prophesied what would come of Buck's sojourn beneath the roof of beautiful Margaret's home. Mr. Whitty, a tall, slight figure, passed rap- idly along the road, as if his life depended upon reaching the hill without loss of time. He was like a school-boy released. from irksome duty, and yet never were mortal eyes raised to tlhe firmament with more of reverence than those of the clergyman in looking through nat- ure up to nature's God. The low house and slop of Caleb Green were in shadow on one side of the- road, and the vacant space where had stood the demolished barn on the other. The barn had not yet been rebuilt, possibly awaiting the whim of a very fashionable young lady who had pledged her word to help the shiftless Caleb, and had not yet done so. As, Mr, Whitty passed at that rapid pace, Caleb rushed out of the side-door and gazed after him. "Was that the parson, Mary Annc? No'w see where he's bound, like a good gal," said the parent, with tremulous eagerness. Mary Anne stared at him reflectively a mo-- ment, then darted after Mr. Whitty, presently returning ^with this information: "He's gone up the. hill, daddy, with a spy- glass in his hand." Caleb smote his palms together, and began to laugh. "The very thing!" he ejaculated, unmindful of his daughter's astonishment. Mary Anne concluded that his brain was touched by some of his own strong waters, whereas Caleb never drank. He returned to the work-room behind the shop, took the pack- age of letters which had already made him so much trouble, put on his hat, and followed the clergyman up the hill. Mr. Whitty had paused where the elevation formed a ridge capped by a line of stone wall, and his solitary figure stood out against the sky like a silhouette. Now he had climbed the heights, leaving the troubles and perplexi- ties of earth far below him, and his soul ex- panded in that upper atmosphere with a sense of power and exaltation. Oh, to rise higher, and touch the margin of those unknown worlds! Oh for wings to span the universe, seeking sys- tem within system, and traversing the paths of now invisible nebulao! Surely this might be granted to the soul in its immortality. The clergyman looked anxiously, almost apprehen- sively, to see if a message was written for him in the sky. Another man was also climbing the hill, with eyes bent earthward, and intent only on thle petty schemes of his own brain. This was- Caleb Green, in pursuit of Mr. Whitty. If he could have overtaken the astronomer, and ac- complished a certain purpose in his own mind without being seen, he would have done so. As it was, hIr. Whitty moved to re-adjust his glass just as Caleb drew near, and observed him. "Good-evening, sir," said Caleb, very re- spectfully. "This is a good place for spying out the land, I dare say, for those that arc ac- quainted with bootarnin', like you be." While Caleb spoke he was inserting a pack- age very neatly into the reverend gentleman's coat-pocket behind. "I am studying the planet Venus, my good man; and if you will excuse me, I will continue my observation, as time is precious," said Mr. Whittv. Ie klnew very well that Caleb was a black sheep whlo never came within his own fold, and he was loath to be called back to earthll by such an ignoble voice as that of the dram-seller. Evidently considering it impolite to withdraw immediately, especially on his own land, Caleb occasioned Mr. Whitty furtlher annoyance by his drawing tones and propinquity. "It must be kinder pleasant for a gentle- man to hev time to satisfy his curiosity about natur' in all respects," remarked Caleb, leaning against the wall, and observing Mr. Whitty with far more interest than the distant point of blue heaven to which the glass was di- rected. "God speaks to us in many ways, Mr. GI'ccn," replied the clergyman, mildly. "Do you s'pose he spoke to me when the barn blowed over, sir?" inquired Caleb, in a tone of somewhat irreverent speculation. Mr. Whitty covered his glass, and looked down on the slouching form benignly. "I have no doubt of it, my friend. During the term of your life you may not see the rea- son clearly; and, again, the cause, the good re- 8 'sulting from evil, may become known to you very soon. Trials mean something." "I hev known wicked men's barns stand all their days," replied Caleb, suUenly; but he went away wishing that lie llad not mnade a tool of Mr. Whtty; for something stirred in his heart at the greeting, "My fiicend." Caleb was used to revilings and abuse, lnad grown callous beneath the shrill clamor of ma- ternal Alton Ford, and he was therefore the less prepared for the gentleness of Mr. Whtty's greeting. He glanced across the road at the spbt where the barn had stood with a little shiver of superstition, as if he expected a mns- sage. The clergyman had said that he might know the reason very soon indeed, and all the while the contents of the letters, mastered at last withl endless difficulty, were whirling in his brain. Glow, distant star, and myriads of other stars, in the vast dome of nrclhing heaven! When Mr. Whtty came home an hour later, his wife welcomed himn with a smile andi a cup of coffee. "What ever have you got in your pocket, Peter?" she exclaimed. He looked at his own coat with dismay, and then the package of letters was discovered and held under the lamp, lwhile Mrs lWhitty read, "'LEugene Dillon, care of the Rev. Peter Whiitty, Alton F ord, New Jcrscy, United States.'" The wrapper which boro this addrcss was loose, and contained several letters, old, de- faccd, and written on blue paper, and a red pocket-book or diary with a silver clasp. IIus- band and wife wcre too simple to fiathom this mystery alpnone. Mrs. Wiitty considered thlat some misfortune had befallen "her boy," as she called Eugene, and begaint to cry. Mr. Whitty gathered up the package, and took his hat in a dazed wavy, leaving the cup of fragrant coffee untouched. "Where are you going now?" sobbed Mrs. Whitty. I know that Eugene is dead." "You know nothing of the sort, Maria. Do not be silly, my dear. I am going to An- drew Keith; and how the letters ever came in my pocket I can not imagine. I have worn this coat ever since Eugene went away, have I not?" "You have not got anotlher, Peter; and I should know the contents of your pockets, I hope. Mr. Keith will think that you've taken something which docs not belong to you, and I may have to prove your innocence." Andrew Keith and the clergyman sat in the page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] library of the former's house when the cocks began to crow next morning, alternately look- ing at each other, and referring to the papers on the table between them. i "We must wait until Eugene Dillon re- - turns," said Mr. Keith, gravely. "God send him a safe passage," added Mr. Whitty, fervently. CHAPTER XXVII. IN THE TROPICS. THE schooner Eliza Jane made her voyage to the West Indies in safety, No tem- pest assailed and no squall capsized the trim little craft; and if the skipper had not those requirements essential to the mind of the Rev. Peter Whitty, he at least treated his passen- gers well. Daily the sky glowed with more fervent heat, the sea acquired the pellucid green and turquoise-blue of warm latitudes, and the wind was tempered from the bleak harshness of the Alton Ford spring to a fra- grant breeze, messenger from tropical shores, that cast their prodigal riches of scent to every wind. Eugene Dillon, returning to. his native ele- ment, as it were, sat in the shelter of the sail, cool and dark, smoking cigarettes, and looking ever northward, thinking of Anstice. At times his meditations were soft and dreamn'y, attuned to the gentle ripple of the waters as the rose- mist of sunset hues melted into the cloudless sky of the southern night, witt the stars com- ing forth one by one, large, luminous, beauti- ful, and the constellation of the Cross glittering like imperishable jewels beyond. Then An- stice was a quaint, pretty picture to his memo- ry, in her white frock of wrought muslin, and with the rainbow-blended hues of the India scarf, leaning over the garden wall watching for him. Again he chafed at the possibility of change which would inevitably come to Oakhurst with the grandfather's death, according to the varia- tion of his own mood. What might happen before his return? Who would meet Anstice when she went out into the world, and lure her away from himself? He hated all mankind in- tensely with a swift rush of jealousy and dread, just as he had thrown himself down in his berth, with face pressed against the pillow, and sobbed, when the great city had faded on the horizon-line, and the schooner stood out to sea. Scarcely had he yielded to this depression when a ship passed within hailing distance, bound north. Eugene leaned over the railing, waft-, ing prayers and good wishes to the absent one, as if the stately ship were a messenger to Al- ton Ford, and inflated her sails only to servo that purpose. So the young man came to the haven where he would be in safety, and the word "home" had a sad, unfamiliar sound. He felt himself old, as if five times five years had elapsed since he was sent to Mr. Whitty's school by Duncan M'Coy. Did the volcanic peaks, clothed in rich verdure, and first visible as distant blue clouds, bring a tender joy to his heart? No. Delight there was to every sense in the lovely scene, but he was a stranger now, only return- ing to fulfill a promise which he did not even understand. Duncan M'Coy had taken his hand, and said, solemnly, "' You are no a bairn still, Eugene, my man. Come batk in five years." And Eugene had laughed, yet n6w he was keeping his word with gravity, only held to it, perhaps, by the influence of good Mr. Whitty. The schooner threaded her way daintily through, reefs and channels, and dropped afn- chor in the harbor, which was like a little ba- sin, sheltered by the curve of beach and sur- rounding hills. Childhood returned to Eu- gene with the dazzlingly white strip of sand dividing the emerald green wall of forest from the blue waters of the bay, as well as with the first glimpse of town, built in picturesque con- fusion of incomplete arches, and pillars over- grown with vines, narrow streets, and low- spreading white roofs. Many a time had he wandered along the beach, watching the brill- iant sea-flowers expand in crystal pools of the ebbing tide, or the holothuria, star-fishes, and chitons disturbed by pugnacious crabs, and the boy had helped or thwarted the warriors, in pure mischief. Another memory also came to him now as-he scanned the town, like the breath of a faint, sweet perfume, and with it he saw again Mrs. Calderwood playing on her harp among the shadows of the Oakhurst par- lor. In the languid, pulseless night of the shore' yonder he beheld his own mother, The night- blooming cactus reared its rough spines and tangled cables about her, opening its flowers only to the darkness, and an orange-tree laden with golden fruit drooped overhead. There were scarlet blossoms in her black hair, and cream-tinted crape robed her slender form. Eugene leaned against her knee, and her fin- gers strayed over the strings of the guitar as her lips framed some melancholy love-song in her native Spanish tongue. Then his father appeared, and stood beside them. Eugene knew it was his father, although the head was always in shadow, and the tall man stooped to kiss the red lips of the beautiful woman whose dark eyes were raised to his so imploringly, while she sunk on her knees, clasping his hand in both her own, sighing, "Let me go with you." Her prayer had been granted, and bothi par- cnts sailed in the Valerie Arnold, while he was left behind. Even to this day the conviction smote Eugene with wonder and pain, that his mother could have loved him with none of the adoration lavished on her husband. Would Anstice ever worship him like that? He could not picture the gentle little maid on her knees, begging, in the utter abandon of despair, not to be separated from him. In his dreams, when his head rested on tlhe pillow at Alton Ford, he had often visited this spot, taking his companions with him in all the fantastic improbabilitics of sleep. The Rev. Mr. Whitty had exhorted the negroes in the mar- ket-place, wearing his gown and a broad Pan- ama hat. Nay, on one occasion Caleb Green had lounged on the counter of Duncan 1M'Coy's shop in a friendly manner, as if lhe would pres- ently offer the other some of his own hard cider or home-made blackberry wine. The glory of waning day was fading from the firmament and the harbor, which had reflected crimson, gold, and purple like a mirror, as Eu-? gene landed. Native boats had ceased to ply from shore to shore, fruit-laden, and the ships undulated at anchor on the surges, as if sway- ing to obtain a glimpse of tapering spar and bow in the clear depths below.' In the town, however, were noise and gayety, after the drowsy heat of noonday; and yet Eugene felt himself forgotten as he passed slowly along to- ward the home of Duncan M'Coy. There were no changes to bewilder him; only he was changed. Time had dealt gently with decay and dilap- idation in a favorable climate. The ruins of once stately buildings had a ranker growtlh of broad-leaved plantains, bananas, and air-plants springing in tufts where roots could obtain space to thrive, and the people were all out-of- doors, laughing and smoking, strolling about, or siwinging idly in llammocks. Eugene search- ed in vain for a familiar face. The population had been decimated by pestilence, and Eugene had grown to be a young man. A very sensi- tive chord in his nature vibrated at this for- gctfulncss when lhe had not supposed lie would feel it, and his heart yearned only the moroe toward Anstico Calderwood. Slould lie find Duncan M'Coy on this night? IH became doubtful, almost apprehensive, as lie cliimbed the narrow, steelp street, where the walls of tlo houses projected so tlhat the inmates might easily touch lhands across the way, and two- wheeled vehicles could not pass each other. A drum, beaten witlh true African precision, made him pause to witness a fandango, danced by negro womlen cl:ld ill mtuslil of th the Sp)lcn- did lines of the tulip, vithl attendant cavaliers in spotless wliite relieved by gafy sashes. The shop of Duncan M'Coy wans closed, as was natural at that ]hour. Eugene, unable to define his own irresolution, percheld himself on a wall opposite, to smoke a cigarette before en- tering the house to imnake inquiries concerning the only friend of his youth. The "Spanish bayonet" bristled over the wall where he sat, and lizards darted in and out noiselessly. Eu. gene gazed at the shop in silence. Did he cherish any affection for old Duncan? Scarce- ly that. Duncan, with pale, shrewd blue eyes, sandy hair turning gray, and face deeply lined with wrinkles, was too dry and reticent to in- spire affection in a boy. A care-worn man wherever placed on the earth's surface, sparse and cold, unlike his neighbors in their careless indolence as Northern pine-trees standing stiffly erect before the cold winds are unlike the droop- ing curves and prodigal foliage of tropical vines. Moreover, the sliop would never have been known as suchl from outward aspect:; there were no latticed windows and piazzas above stairs, no display of wares outside. The place was a half-ruined tower, reacllced by winding, broken stone steps. Here had dwelt Duncan M'Coy, bachelor and foreigner, for manv years supplying his own needs, which were simple, consisting of tobacco, coffee, and a little fi'uit, and eking out existence by means of the scanty earnings of the shop. Eugene's small feet had carried him into the sacred retreats of the place where no other child had ever dared to enter, because page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] he had lived with Duncan after the death of his parents. The stock consisted of fishing implements, some books and prints, gaudy cali- coes, and beads to suit a barbaric love of finely, and in a corner minerals, shells, insects of gor- geous colors on cards, all gathered by Duncan in leisure hours, either to tempt the traveler or found a collection. Eugene, ward of this eccentric man, had learned of him all that he had acquired in his experience of life previous to becoming Mr. Whitty's pupil and tutor. "It is quite time that I did something for poor old Duncan I I was a selfish brute not to come and look him up before," said the young man, and sprung down from the wall, frighten- ing away the timid lizards. He went up the winding steps which led well under the project- ing archway of the tower, and tried the mass- ive door. There was no response. Doubtless Duncan was wandering along the lonely shore, as was his custom of an evening, studying the habits of marine creatures. iHe next went to the nearest house, and soon learned more than enough of an aged negress, who received him with cordiality when he had recalled his identity. Duncan M'Coy had been dead two years, the shop remaining closed and untouched until his nephew appeared as next of kin to claim every thing. This relative had come out from Scotland furnished with proper credentials, and had now gone on a trip to the Windward Islands. Eugene was grieved for the I ss of his friend, and surprised by the advent of this nephew, al- though Duncan had never mentioned his fami- ly. Ho scarcely knew how to best act, and de- cided, after some reflection, that he must await the return of Duncan's nephew, to learn, if pos- sible, the reason for his own summons. The remittances paid so regularly to Mr. Whitty had ceased at the time of Duncan's death, evi- dently, although the clergyman had concealed the fact from Eugene until the youth had gain- ed his education. "The younger M'Coy is sure to return very soon,-and dispose of the stock at least. I will pay a visit to grandfather's old plantation. The owner is not likely to drive me off the premises, although I do not own a stick of the property. Heigh-ho! If my father had not sold the plantation and bought the ship, I might be now a planter. Quien sabe?" With this reflection lie looked about for a vessel by which to send a letter to Anstice, and discovered that the English mail packet, which communicated with several American ports, had touched there two days previous, and would not be again due for a month. Noon at the plantation, two miles from the roadstead. In the intense heat the atmos- phere quivered, the foliage drooped, the birds were mute, and all living creatures sought the shade either of house or forest. A quadroon overseer had received Eugene in the early morning, and given him leave to stop at the place if disposed, which the young man prefer- red to remaining in the town while awaiting the return of Mr. M'Coy. The hour when all nature takes refuge in repose from the sun's vertical rays found Eugene in a spot which lie had purposely sought, from old association. A narrow path led to a hut built of bamboo, and thatched with broad plantain leaves. This hut had been the home of the overseer in his grandfather's time, and Eugene recalled him, even now almost with a shudder, as a large man, erect and handsome, with bronzed com- plexion, the features of an Indian, the wool of a negro, and light, cruel eyes, supposed to have been derived from Portuguese blood. Grand- father was headstrong and violent,. despite the influence of gentle grandmother, who was the daughter of an English missionary, and there was an affinity in the intercourse he held with the overseer, Pedro. Grandfather had been a reckless speculator, cultivating coffee and sugar, and owning many slaves, who worked with a will beneatlh tlhe lash of cruel Pcdro. The Home Government abolished slavery with one blow, and grandfather was ruined, like many other planters throughout the British West Indies. Then the liberated slaves wan- dered away, glad to escape firom Pedro's gall- ing yoke; the crops ripened ungathcred; there was a bitter quarrel between master and man; and when grandfather slept in his hammock in the evening, the rope broke, and he fell, never to rise again. Next morning Pedro had disappeared witlh some gold, and the rope of the hammock was discovered to have been severed, strand by strand, leaving grandfathers life hanging on a thread. Afterward Eugene's father had sold thle property, investing all proceeds in the ship Valerie Arnold, in which he had been lost with his Spanish wife, who had begged not to be left behind, although willing to bequeath her son to Duncan M'Coy's care, should gentle grand- mother die, which she did the following sum- mer. Duncan M'Coy had accepted this cliarge, for the reason that a very peculiar friendship had existed between grandfather and himself, for which none could account, unless from the fact that both were elderly men, and strangers on the island; hence were bound by a link of sympathy. For ten years before the accident which had caused grandfather's death thle friends had met daily in this way: one evening grandfather walked down to the door of Dun- can's shop, and the latter walked back with him to his own gate; the next evening Duncan went to the plantation, and was escorted home in turn. This eccentric custom gave rise to some speculations and curiosity even among the indolent natives; yet nothing came of it, except that Duncan was summoned to take charge of grandfather's papers by Mrs. Dillon in preference to her son, whch was considered to be a mark of esteem. Eugene now lounged in the hut, supplied with cigarettes, a few cocoa-nuts, and a flask of aguardiente, should thirst assail him. How busy death had been in the ranks of tlhose pre- ceding him! As well mighlt the Wandering Jew return to a lonely wilderness as he seek for any who had known and loved him hlere. The hut, lodged on a terrace or once culti- vated land, commanded an extensive view, while the hill rising behind presented a matted and apparently impenetrable thicket of ceiba-treeCs, mango, and tamarind, shielding the ripening pods among green clustering leaves, all inter- laced with parasitic orchids. Below was grand- father's house, a wide, spreading structure with latticed verandas, and surrounded by lofty palms that formed avenues of plumed crests and deli- cious fruit, diverging in aV directions. Patches of maize, pine-apple, and banana usurped the cane-fields, and all bore the mark of indolence and neglect. There were the two trees before the door where the hammock had swung, and grandfa- ther fallen heavily, slain by a treacherous hand, while here was the airy perch of evil Pedro, commanding all the plantation, and telling no tales of the builder. Eugene yielded to the luxurious warmth of the hour, the dolcc-far-nicnte atmosphere of all nature, the beauty of this earthly paradise. Ile drained the cocoa-nut of its cool nectar, and then sleep overpowered him with the lheavy dis- tillation of sweetness from flowers tlhat glowed in rank profusion beneatli the sun's benedic- tion, with chalices of gold and carmine, tasscled blossoms of white and blue, pendant masses of silky lustre, pink and purple, all garnering the glory of the day. When Eugene awoke, life was active all about him. The leafy dcptlhs of the hill were stirred with insect voices. Forth flashed the humming-birds, poising on feathlery fronds of blooming sprays, and shedding radi- ance from burnished plumage, and followed by the butterflies on spangled wings. Far out over the glistening water the lpeli- cans swooped down on the fish below the wave. Hlere grew the agave, cherished at Oakhurst as a single plant, and yielding its fermented heart- juice to intoxication. Eugene lay quite still, striving to recall surrounding inangcs, until lie made a startling discovery. A little snake, in armor of firosted greIen, had raised a crested head to gaze at the intruder. The young man started instinctively into nil attitude of defense, and tlheo sn;ke slid awany like a ray of broken light, disappearing in tho corner of the lhut. Eugene was still too much of a boy not to probe the recess witlh a stick to discover the retreat of the beautiful reptile. The snake had vanished down a hole, but thle stick struck sharply againsi somc object half imbedded in the carth, which responded witlh a metallic sound. This was the lid of a small copper box, and as Eugene raised it lie found beneath a seal-ring. His cheek flushed, and his eye kindled as his thought pounced on a solu- tion. l'cdro, the ocverseer, lhad stolen this box, which contained valuables, hand wrenched off the cover in his impatience to possess the treas- ures, and east it down with the worthless ring. These two articles must have belongcd to his grandfathller, and were now donated to him in the deserted hut after all these years. He studied the ring for a long time, nnd dis- covered a motto engraved on the gold inside. The words were, "Omne LEadcm." page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] CHAPTER XXVIII. ON THE GREAT DEEP. MR. M'COY returned in due time, having made a voyage not only to the Windward Isles, but to Demerara, for the ultimate purpose of settling in the latter place. He was a dry and undemonstrative person, in appearance somewhat like his deceased uncle, and the ad- vent of Eugene aroused no interest in him be- yond the possibility of collecting some unpaid debt. "Did I owe him any thing?" said Eugene, with a smile. "Why, Ioowe all to good Dun- can M'Coy, who was my only fliend." This form of speech being vague and unsatisfactory in enthusiasm, the inheritor of the shop would titin reduce the matter to pounds, shillings, and pence, only for the grave difficulty that Eu- gene had no money, save for his return pas- sage, wherewith to efface obligation even to the memory of Duncan. The' shop was again opened under the care- ful supervision of the heir at law, and the young man whose childhood had been chefly spent in its quaint nooks was permitted again to see the gaudy chintz, festoons of rainbow-tinted beads, old volumes, and faded prints. He made a selection of a trifling relic, for which Mr. M'Coy received a modest sum, and left the nephew sorting the collection of shells and minerals, with the intention of packing the whole for sale. Eugene's chief anxiety was now to re- turn, and there was neither letter nor instruc- tion for himself to be found in Duncan's writ- ing-desk. What object had Duncan in sum- moning him back? Surely the motive must remain buried with the dead, since the- old man had expired too suddenly to reveal it. Visiting once more the plantation, not with- out hope of discovering some further souvenir of his grandfather's day, in the overseer's hut, which he failed to do, Eugene sailed for St. Thomas on a small coaster, to take passage on a steamship advertised from that port. Baf- fling winds brought him to his destination when the steamer was ready for sea, and Eu- gene hastened on board, congratulating himself on the fortunate chance of securing a rapid transit, for the swiftest pace of steam could not keep pace with his longing to be again with his love. The Santa Fd was loaded with rumn, sugar, and molasses, and carried five passengers be- sides Eugene-a Mexican with wife and child, a Cuban, and an Englishman. The vessel was clumsy in build, with great apparent strength of hull, and wretchedly dirty; yet Eugene blew away these drawhacks like airy soap-bubbles in the bouyant delight of return. The weath- er was calm, the season of year favorable, re- fulgent sunshine merged into silvery moonrise, bringing a cool breeze over the aves. Eugene observed all his companions with the rapid involuntary scrutiny natural under the circumstances. The pretty Mexican mother crooned over her sturdy baby, the flash of bright eyes and snowy teeth contrasting waith tlhe plump olive face; and even the captain, a morose and sandy man, brought his favorite kitten within reach of the baby's dimpled hands. The kitten frisked after the heavy feet of the captain, sure of caresses'from the hand that dealt brutalblows among the crew. The English passenger paced the deck, his Glengarry cap pressed over the brows, and his keen blue eyes scanning the horizon. The Cuban, dusky and impenetrable, replied in monosyllables if addressed, and dwelt apart in his own thoughts. The first night out, Eugene made a discov- ery. The b'eauty of the luminous evening kept him on deck when his fellow-passengers had yielded to weariness, one by one, and gone be- low. The second-mate in his rounds paused by the bulwark, and Eugene offered him a ci- gar. They stood in shadow kindling a match, and exchanged some remarks on the weather and latitude; then the second-mate turned, so that the moonlight, spreading in a wide track over the sea, fell full on his face. In that mo- inent Eugene recognized the sailor who had been ill unto death at Alton Ford, and whom he had found on a stone of the highway, seek- ing the ocean with the dumb longing of an ex- piring creature. "Here we are again!" exclaimed the young man, -placing his hands on the mate's broad shoulders. "Don't you know me?" "Your voice is natural. I seem to have heard it bef ,-e," he muttered, doubtfully. "You came up the Delaware on the tramp into the country, we supposed, and fell down as if shot in a dram-shop. Ah, I recognize you. Why, wliat a mariner you are to forget every thing! I put a pillow under your headrwhen you went to the hlospital, and s'howed you the way down the river when you got well. Now you pretend to have forgotten me entirely for my pains." Eugene spoke gayly, but on the rugged face confronting him was an expression of stupe- faction. "Let me look at ye, lad," said the sailor, and took Eugene's round chin, beardless and soft like a woman's in his horny palm, gazing at him so long and steadily tlat lie seemed to have forgotten the face studied in something beyond. "I went up North in the summer; but it's all a dream. Stop a bit-it imay come back to me." "The place was Alton Ford," prompted Eu- gene. "Alton Ford, do you say?" He turned away and made a round of thle ship, puffing vigorously at the cigar, and Eu- gene watched the short, square figure plodding along the deck. Presently he came back. "I've got a rise since, if this is a rise, mind ye," looking at Eugene in perplexity. "I was in'the fo'cas'le, then." "When you visited Alton Ford," suggested the other, quietly, and absorbingly interested in arousing the sick man's memory. lIe had heard of cases where illness, especially fever, sweeps recent events from the mind, but had never witnessed one. The sailor stared hard at him again, and * made a second round of the ship. "Alton Ford; that's the town!" he cried, suddenly. "Duncan M'Coy-Eugene Dillon was the boy." "What! I am Eugene Dillon. Tell me about poor old Duncan, if you can." The sailor wiped his brow, and his face seem- ed very white in the moonlight. lie sat down on a coil of ropes, and rested his head on his hand, Eugene not daring to interrupt him by word or gesture. Five minutes, ten, fifteen, twenty, passed slowly; the man at the wheel alone was visible, the steady throb of the engine alone was heard. Then the sailor began to slpeak without changing his position, or raising his eyes from the deck. "Duncan M'Coy kept a shop, and I owed him some money. He said I was to bo trust- ed, as I was honest. Yes, those were hiswords. WIhen I shipped for New York, I was to take a package of letters to Eugene Dillon at Alton Ford, and deliver them myself. Duncan was afraid to wait longer, as hle might die." IEugene could no longer restrain himself, but knelt beside the sailor and grasped his arm. "Where are the letters?" hoe questioned, eagerly. "I don't know," said the other, vaguely. "My lhcad gets liglit sometimes even now. It was the l'anama fever, thcy say. The'o road was liot; I stopped for a dram-- Where is my bundle?" It was his turn to pounce upon Eugene, as if he had been robbed. "I must try to find botli when I get honime. Duncan told you about this boy, Eugene Dil- lon, I suppose." "No, I never saw him." Eugene's heart bounded, and stood still witi sudden horror. Glancing over the matc's shoulder, lie observed a little tongue of flnime shoot up the smoke-stack like a snaiike. "Fire!" The cry had escaped him unawarcH; the captain's heavy hand closed his mouth, llnd the captain's rough voice breathed a terrible thireat, flavored witlh an oatli, in his ear; then he was hurled against the bulwark. T'l'here was a hur. ry of feet; the English passenger stood at Eu- gene's elbow, cool and self-possessed, watching proceedings. "This will be nothing serious, I fancy," ho said to Eugene, who was both mortified and exasperated, as much at his own lack of pres- ence of mind as by the captain's conduct. "The iron sheathings where theo boilers pass through the deck have worn away, and not been replaced. It's of a piece with the rest of the craft. If any thing happens, look out for yourself," said the English traveler. Eugene felt that the time had come when his manhood would be tested, and lihe had play- ed the fool at the outset. His clieck burned when the captain's glance fell on him. "I am to understand that we are in danger, then," he said, striving to speak calmly, and emulate the Saxon's undaunted composure. page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] "Possibly this is an old tub patched up for the summer trade, with rotten timbers, heavily freighted, and taking her chances, without in- surance.. She may run the gauntlet this time, but she is sure to founder sooner or later. Keep your own counsel, and sleep with one eye open." "How did you learn all this?" inquired Eu- gene. The Englishman shrugged his shoulders. "I flatter myself that I know a thing or two, and I have been all over the ship. Look at the chief-engineer's face when you meet him." The fire had been speedily extinguished. "We've put out the candle for fear of burn- ing your fingers, young man," said the captain. "Let me hear you give an alarm again, and I'll clap the irons on ye, if ye be the King of England, sir." Eugene's hot wrath at this mode of address was checked by a warning gesture from the mate behind the captain's back,'and he bit his lips to remain silent. The words of the En- glish passenger rang in his ears like a knell, and seemed almost incredible. He sought his berth, and there sleep overpowered him, as if the Santa FI1 were the safest cradle. He wore the seal-ring on his finger; perhaps it would prove a talisman. Next day he could not but look about ap- prehensively, and it seemed as if the vessel, jaunty and palsied in decrepit age, showed her wrinkles through the wearing paint. The pretty Mexican mother sat Tr the deck, the baby crowed and smiled, the captain's kitten climbed out of his pocket to play with a ball, and all was as if the vicious little flame had not leaped up through the wood-work seeking prey. There was the Englishman walking about, yet Eugene almost believed the whole events of the evening a fancy of his own brain. The sailor had brought letters to him at Alton Ford which were never received; the .English- man had called the Santa FiT a tub, and here they were moving steadily forward toward the bright, expectant future. Oh! what would he not make of himself for the, sake of Anstice, and with life unfolding before him? The boy- nnd-girllove was strengthening, indeed. Often his very soul cried out, in this tedious separa- tion which only made the past more precious, to be allowed to live or die for her, the image enshrined in his heart on wRich to lavish all devotion. A man appeared on deck, and proceeded aft toward the captain's cabin in a leisurely man- ner, as of one taking repose after work. Eu- gene -could not tell if the Englishman's keen blue eyes had directed his own glance, yet he felt sure that the chief-engineer was before him. He was a slender and supple man, with head well poised on a firm throat, brown hair and beard. The rough coat and grimy cloth- ing, smeared with oil, could not detract from the noble beauty of his face. With a smile and a jest for the mate, he passed along. While he remained visible the Englishman's gaze never once quitted his features, and the engi- neer -seemed to divine this scrutiny by the quick, suspicious glance he directed toward the passenger. May it not have been that three souls thus met, and measured each other, with- out previous knowledge of a mutual existence? Eugene thought, "The engineer holds our fate in his hands." The strangest fascination drew him toward this handsome man, to obtain a glimpse of him at work, where, rendered swarthy by heat from the fiery core of the furnaces, he bent to his task, and to have a word with him when he came forth for fresh air. The second-mate ap- peared to avoid Eugene since the night of their mutual recognition; perhaps the captain had reprimanded his inferior for talking with an undisciplined youth, who might have creatcd panic by his incautious alarm. Glowing, fervent day melting into serene twilight, with only delicate zephyrs abroad over the azure sea, and at midnight a rude jar and thrill shivering through the groaning timbers of the Santa ;t', the hissing resul't of escaping steam, and then silence. Eugene Dillon, on deck before he was fully awake, saw a mass of iron dragged forth from the engine-room, and then the engineer, with a wound on his fore- head. Rapidly as Eugene had moved, the ubiquitous English passenger was before him. "Machinery broken down, and the boilers mere shells at the best," he said, in a low tone. The surly captain, a presence heralded by exhalations of rum, touched him on the shoul- der. "Look here; treason must be punished aboard ship, and I will punish it," he growled. "You will need helping hands more than prisoners," replied the passenger, removing his coat, and the captain said no more. After that there was darkness and confusion on board this vessel, surrounded by the quiet ocean, which was gray in the absence of day, and had the aspect of waiting. The mate was sent to quiet the Mexican woman with a hu- mane lie, and she fell asleep again with a smile on her lips. What were her dreams on the eve of eternity? Eugene only knew that the engi- a neer rose unaided and went below, and that he ii followed him instinctively. Here was revealed n man's fool-hardy penury. The water was gush- v ing in at a wound in the ship's side. A still c worse enemy lurked in the hold than flooding c water; mysteriously with the first note of alarm d appeared the rum-bottle, and the two assistant i engineers, in the reckless despair of lost crcat- c ures, were drinking themselves mad at the 1 outset. Their chief, still pallid from his hurt, ( sternly bade them desist, and for answer one A laughed, and the other struck a blow, parried c by the Englishman dexterously. Where was r the captain? lie appeared presently, giving i confused orders, with savage energy, and in much the same condition as the engineers. The Englishman said in Eugene's car, "Work for your life." In turn Eugene look- ( ed into the engineer's eyes, and added, "Count on us in their places." And the engineer ( smiled, with an "Ay, while two boards hold to- gether. Now we must rig tie donkey." The pretty Mexican woman sat on the deck, . holding the prattling child. Somethiig hlad happened to the machinery, but the crew were I mending it. The weather was fine, and the I Santa 1F, with dragging screw, plunged and rolled uneasily. Thus she reasoned, and had the deck to herself, every man being below. Twelve hours, and a feeble effothrt of the don- key-engine heard above the steady sound o, thle pumps; twenty hours, darkness coming on, a sailor aloft striving to sight a sail, the donkey- engine faltering, choked at its task, and the water gaining, ever gaining from ankle to knee depth. To Eugene, laboring in the hold with stiffen. ing frame, the intense concentration of excite- ment peculiar to his nature was aroused to defy peril. He was like a bow bent in the deter- mination of effort to repel attack. He would not die, nor give up the ship. In all move- ment the engineer was his loadstar, just as the Englishman was his companion, doggedly reso- lute at his task. The lhandsome face of the engineer was becoming sharp and wan with ex- haustion. Eugene said: "If he does not rest, I will not"-a deter- mination vanquished when he sank down in a stupor of sleep, only to arouse himself and stagger back to the pumps, with painful ef- fort. Dawn once more, with not a cloud visible, and the east a curtain of russet gold. The Mexican mother counted'her beads, and wept over her babe; the captain's kitten, frisking along the bulwark, caught at a swinging rope in sport, and sprung into the waves. To the man aloft blue sky and blue sea were visibld, with the sun like a burnished ball in the lheav- ens, and nothing else was to be seen. The captain lay in his berth stupefied, the helm had dropped from his nerveless hand; some of the men, following his example, joined the rioting of the engineers forward, seeking a swinish ob- livion in the sudden collapso of hope, while others clung desperately to their task. The Santa 1'e, with her mast wrenched away, shiv- ered and creaked, as if a sentient being, and rolled in the trough of the sea. Eugeneo held a cup of coffee to the cnginccr's lips; the En- glishman came below after a short absence. "I have provisioned the first large boat, and the woman is being lowered over the side. A cnpful of wind would sink us now. Como on deck, you two, and take your chlance," he said, quietly. Tlhe boat had indeed been safely lInanclied, and in it were already seated the Cuban and Mexican passengers. The Englishman and +lic second-mate regulated the descent by mounting guard, with pistols cocked, which curbed thc sullen and mutinous crew. "You go next" (to Eugene). "And leave you hero? No," said Eugene. Without protest the Englishman went below, and led up the captain, who made maudlin ob- jections, and lowered him over the side; the Inmate followed nimlly, without leave. This caused a murmur of discontent among the men. When may panic be expected if not after officers desert? Othels sw:rmicd over the side, and the threat of weapons did not check them, until the mate pushed oil'. The Santa FI plunged and rolled helplessly, with a hollow sound below, as of il moan, where the water sapped the mended liolo, angered by I delay. As the second boat was lowered IIEugene "missed the engineer. What had become of - the man to whose patient bravery they owed every thing? lReturning to .the hold, he dis- covered tlhat the engineer had not followed them, but had fainted in the companion-way. Clamor arose on the deck, hoarse voices and a oaths were heard in the selfish striving to first d seek rescue. "There are no more women. Every one for himself," shouted the carpenter. , "You are right," said the Englishman, and e lowered his pistol. With haste and confusion It the crew filled the boat. The last man hlesi- g tated, and looked back; a companion drew him page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] down, with brutal jest about there not being room for all. The second-mate and the En- glishman looked at each other; Eugene sup- ported the still insensible engineer, who hung on him a dead weight. "We can try our luck," said the mate, and tested that little white cockle-shell,'the cap- tain's gig, with his hand. They gathered such store of biscuit and water as they might, and launched the gig carefully on the crystal calm of the waters. With the engineer's head on his knee, Eu- gene looked abroad, and in the crimson track of the setting sun saw the two large boats float- ing, moved- by flashing oars in many brawny- hands, while they were doomed to the fragile cockle-shell which the next wave might swamp. The Englishman and the second-mate pulled away from the ship. "She may last all night, or founder now," said thie sailor, taking a fresh quid of tobacco. "We must give her a wide berth, or go to Davy Jones along with her." Oh awful solitude of wide, calm ocean, with only the light, perfumed breeze coming fitful- ly; a foundering ship left behind, and the two boats which would never reach the land riding toward the setting sun! CHAPTER XXIX. JAMES CALDERWOOD'S DIARY. BUgCK CALDERWOOD had remained a guest beneath Andrew Keith's roof much longer than suited his host. The latter was a hospitable man, and enjoyed spreading good cheer before visitors even more than they found satisfaction in partaking; yet he was a father, and on this score felt troubled. Mrs. IKeith re-r' ceived the dispensation of Providence with her usual placidity. If Buck had lost his home, and broken a limb in endeavoring to rescue his father from a burning building, she would nurse him. N ay, more, she would smile on him, and pity his misfortunes with the softest tenderness of unreasonable womanhood. She liked Buck for his amiability and excessive zeal in waiting upon her, perceiving in this polite- ness the evidences of superior birth, to which Mrs. Keith was not insensible any-mnore than was her daughter Mhrgaret. The magic passport, "a good family," had been brought to Margaret's notice in a new light very frequently during her recent tour of the beau monde. She had always been used to hearing the Calderwoods ridiculed for preten- sion and poverty, while kindness was extended to them if. possible; and she had not fully ap- preciated what it was to have Buck's devotion lavished upon herself as the son of a "good family." May it not also have been that fair Marga- ret, in learning her life lesson, found a thorn in the silken pillow when Alton Ford had yielded her previously only the softest down? Flat- i tery and homage were freely accorded her, and i much genuine admiration, had not the first daz- 1 zling ligllt of pleasure blinded her eyes so that she did not accept all at a just valuation. The very radiance of her glittering armor of good- humor, bounding vitality, and fresh beauty at- tracted many an arrow of envy from passg belles, who paled in her presence, "Very pretty indeed, only a trifle prononcee and coarse, don't you think?" remarked Miss lIoniton, languid, haggard, and with lhair bleach- ed in Paris to a lack-lustre imitation of Marga- ret's tresses of living gold. "Her fiather is a mechanic, I believe-self- made man, and that sort of thing," her partner replied, with fashionable mimicry of English ' speech. "Perhaps he is," said Miss Honiton, shrug- ging her shoulders, and elevating her eyebrows superciliously. "I can not keep pace with the new people that constantly rise to the sur- face." Margaret, unaccustomed to cool criticism, would flush with anger, for the comments of a ball-room are often audible; and, somehow, the rhythm of gay music became wearisome after- ward, the scent of flowers less sweet. In her indignation she would query, "Who are Miss tIoniton and her partner, that they sneer at my father?" The reply was unanswerable. "Oh, they both belong to old families." With the sunshine came clouds, with the sweet also the bitter; Margaret drove home through city streets, weary and dissatisfied, at an hour when birds twittered among the shrub. bery at Alton Ford, thinking how hollow the world actually was beyond the limit of one lit- y tle village on the Delaware bank. st To be sure, this was only one facet of the h diamond society; still, if birth was of such ines- timable importance, above all other considera- g tions, Alton Ford boasted of Oakhurst and the e Calderwoods. Margaret, apart from an affec- 1 tion for Buck and Anstice, which had grown c with the three from childhood, had not sup- 1 posed the mouldy old mansion and the idleness 1 of the race were matters claiming universal pride. Ah, Miss Honiton, bored, listless, with the I ground of youthful attractions crumbling be- s neath your feet, with the advancing years, were you aware of the influence your lightest word s carried for Buck Calderwood, wafted to Mar- ] garet's listening ear by the wave of your per- fumed fan? . So Margaret had returned home with some thistles in her garlands of triumph that pricked ] her smartly, and prepared to study the Calder- woods by the light of her increased wisdom. Poor Buck was always amiable and consider- ate. ITe did not speak of her father as a me- chanic; indeed, treated Mr. Keith with pro- found and anxious respect. One of Margaret's first resolutions was to visit the tomb of Silas Calderwood in the little church-yard secretly, that her whim might not be ridiculed. What if she, some time to bear-his name, planted a rose abovd, the ashes of the once great states- nan? When he was brought home that night, pale and helpless, Margaret had felt every fibre of her generous nature respond to his need.- She would have shared his pain if she could, and the hurt was a bad one. Buck saw eloquent blue eyes beaming upon him tearfully, and, feel- ing the touch of soft fingers, swooned again, believing himself in paradise at last, the truth being too delicious for reality. Robust Andrew Keith marveled to see a young man writhe and moan beneath the doc- tor's hands, and faint as Anstice might have done, yet this delicacy of organization only ap- pealed more strongly to the sympathy of his wife and daughter. Poor Buck was like his mother! Margaret, conscious of change, and half doubtful of her own preference, no longer yawned over her book of an evening, but read to Buck,lying on the sofa, flushing and spark- ling beneath his glance, and .Andrew gKeith frequently lost his temper, finding nature too strong for him, and would reprimand his daugh- ter sharply for light word or jest. The two young people had not passed into the realm be- yond, although the ivory gate of imagination stood open, luring with dreamy possibilities of happiness. Andrew Keith turned to his wife in hlot nn- ger, and found her a broken reed in this great emergency. "Oh! (o you think that Buck loves Margaret?" shhe questioned, with sly inno- cencc. "Perl'aps it is all a mistake, my dear. Young men are fickle in their fancics, you know." "Young men are fickle!" said Mr. Keith, in extreme exasperation. "What do I care about him? I am thinking of my own cliild, and she shall not be thrown away." Mrs. Keith drew one ivory nceedleo from the snowy mass of knitting in ler hands, and looked up at her husband rcflectivcly. "Who would have thought, Andrew, tlat our Mnaggy could marry Buckl if shohe chose." "Why may she not marry any one, I should like to know! Is slohe not sweet, and pretty, and good enough for a prince of the blood- royal?" Mrs. Keith transferred the ivory needle to tlhe other hand, and looped the snowy wool over a plump forefinger. "One could never have hlopcd for such a matcll, though, the day that old Mr. Calder- wood drove through the village, and you car- ried Maggy home to supper in your shirt- sleeves.", Andrew Keith laughed, and sat down bcside his wife. "The supper was bacon and greens, my dear, and an uncommonly good cook you were." Then Mrs. Keith became grave, and laid her I hand on his shoulder. t Marriage is a great risk, and we halve known Buck from cllildlhood. If AInggy could be satisfied with him, Andrew, instead of choos- "ng some fly-away of a dandy with an eye to her money, it would be a great load off my mind." 1 "You are thio first mother I ever saw, bless. - ed with such a cliilt, who was utterly without ambition," he said, resuming his tone of veho- -ment remonstrance. "It will be a load off s your mind, you say, to have Maggy safely mar- s ried to this ne'er-do-weel young man, son of a I ne'er-do-weel father, for fear she should make a r worse choice. A strong argument, upon my 1 word! Let her do as badly as possible in the - beginning, and never lift a finger to interfere, h Perhaps you are really afraid she will be left o an old maid, Mrs. Keith"-with a short laugll. His wife had grown a trifle pale, and a light o came into her eyes such as seldom shone in - those mild orbs. page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] ' I have more ambition than you suppose," she said, quietly, and continuing her work, as if to control herself. "I consider Buck not only good, and thoroughly amiable, after an ac- quaintance of years, but a great match for our Maggy." Mr. Keith threw himself back, in his chair, and looked at the ceiling. "Oh, the absurdity of women!" he said, again laughinga the short, uncomfortable laugh of a person perturbed and ill at ease. "Buck Calderwood, without a penny in his pocket, blessed with a very moderate allowance of brains, waiting for the will of a tyrannical grandfather to make him a gentleman, or a vagabond, is still a great match for our girl. Really I am ashamed of you, my dear, for list- ening to those idle tales about birth and gen- teel poverty." Then Mrs. Keith lost her temper for the first time on record. The ivory needles became hopelessly entangled in the meshes of wool, the plump hands fluttered and trembled, the mild eyes flashed through gathering tears, and an unwonted flush suffused her face. "I have no patience with you!" she ex- claimed. "If either of us is to feel ashamed, you are not the person. Such meanness to re- proach the boy with his poverty because you are rich!" "My dear!" gasped Andrew Keith, sitting bolt upright as if aroused by a douche bath. "What was he to do, with a sick mother and an unprincipled father? It is only a wonder he was not driven desperate by all of you, and did not become a-a-villain. Then you, who had not a penny either at his age, sit here with your millions, and forget that you were ever young, needing a helping hand." Mr. Keith was never more astonished in his life. He attempted to take her hand-the warm, kindly hand which had never refused to return the pressure of his fingers-and Mrs. Keith would not be soothed, although she did have recourse to her pocket-handkerchief. -He could only gaze helplessly at his excited help- mate, occasionally opening his mouth, essay- ing speecl, and closing it again in silence. His amazement was not lessened by the cur- rent of her conversation, for Mrs. Keith, fairly driven to the wall, had developed extraordina- ry powers of feminine eloquence. He made the discovery that she could talk as one of those surprises incident to married life, and liable to unfold a wholly new phase of charac- ter, after years of intimate intercourse. "What a noble, good man old Silas Calder- wood was in his day! I only wish that any of us could boast of an ancestor who did half as much for his countin. If Buck is helped and encouraged by you, he will raise the name, and we shall share the glory, while bringing the influence of good sense and more practical ideas. That is my ambition. I would rather my daughter should marry the great-grandson of a gentleman than the son of some-barber. To think of being accused of a want of moth- erly pride for Maggy!" Sobs checked further utterance, and lMr. Keith laid aside his arguments to restore her equanimity, not a little ashamed of the re- proach of his harsh words, while endeavoring to appeal to her love of justice as regarded his own perplexity of mind. Mrs. Keith finally smiled and dried her eyes, but, far from apolo- gizing for her late petulance, she said, "There, I feel better now, having spoken my mind." "You are a little hard on me, I think," said her husband in an aggrieved tone, watching his opportunity. Forthwith out flashed the fem- inine weapon of defense. "I only wish that I could be half as hard on you as you are on the rest of us. You take too much on your conscience in thwarting the happiness of these children." Andrew Keith groaned, and turned away. At that very moment Buck lay on the sofia in the parlor propped with pillows, a vase, of flowers-placed on the table beside him, and the summer-day wafting balsamic odors from the evergreens through the open widows. - Mar- garet, in her delicate dress, with pink coral vy-- ing with the soft color of her cheeks, and -the golden, hair escaping in silky tendrils from the high shell-comb down on her graceful neck, made pretense of re-arranging books, which enabled Buck to admire the flexible curves of the moving form as she came and went against the light. " I should like to always lie here an invalid," he said, slowly. "How very shocking!" replied Margaret, quickly, and feigning sudden interest in a -copy of Keats. "If I ever rise again, you will take wing like a butterfly," he said. "Perhaps," she replied demurely, and then some mischievous sprite whispered in her car, "Tease this victim a little." With that she produced a letter on tinted ,paper addressed to herself in a masculine hand- writing, and looked at it in perplexity. Buck grew pale. "Margaret, has that man been writing you again?" he cried. "'What man, sir? I do not control the post- office or its laws." "No, indeed; only men's hearts," groaned Buck, rising from the sofa, and approaching "Buck, you are not to move," said M1larga- ret, quickly alarmed. "I will call father." "Promise not to answer this letter, or have any thing more to do with the writer," he im- plored, looking very ghostly and faint, in the effort to stand erect. "4Yes, yes, I promise. Only go back to the sofa, Back, like a good soul, or mother will be so angry." The beautifiul face was nearer to him than it had been for many weary months. lie did not attempt to touch her; but his lip quivered, and lie closed his eyes as ha turned away. Margaret looked at him over her shoulder half vexed, and then followed him, placing her hand in his quietly. i, You have taken a very unfair advantage of me," she pouted. Buck laid the white fingers on his lips. ' I love you so, Margaret-lovely Marga- ret!" "I thought you loved the widow. You need not look so bewildered. Oh! how stupid you are about such things!" After this Buck revived very speedily. Tlhe physician was proud of his skill, and unaware that- Margaret had administered a far more subtle restorative than his tonics in the elixir Hope. It was September again when the young man made up his mind to speak to Andrew Keith, and ask his permission to marry his daughter. Buck could no longer lay claim to considera- tion on the score of invalidism, although that suited his quiet, indolent temperament. lie was now dwelling in the village, lingering about Alton Ford for Margaret's sake, despite the otherwise alluring prospect of going to the city, where his father had established himself in the old house on St. George's Square. This faithful allegiance of Buck's touched Margaret. Mr. Hornwell had advertised for missing James Calderwood, and Miss Eleanore waged perpetual war with her brother, who had lulled his fears of ejectment from the property to rest, and had entered into possession, accord- ing to his own belief. Buckley Calderwood had not attained this position of fancied security, without passing through many phases of suffering such as his peculiar temperament felt keenly he was indeed the panting wretch within reach of the fountain for which he had thirsted all his life. The loss of his wife became a fresh grief to him at this time; he missed her withll a poign- ant sense of loneliness because he was in trouble. Nobody else understood his feelings at such a juncture, nobody sympathized with him fron the same stand-point of feverish un- certainty and weary waiting, as Valerio would have d l. Yes, Valerie was haughty, and often condemned his action; still she would have understood him. His sister quarreled with him constantly; his children lacked experi- ence; Mrs. Motley had withdrawn her alle- giance. Every day he expected a stranger to accost him with, "I am James Calderwood's heir. Give me all." Possession was gradually dulling this slarp dread; the claimant was becoming more and more of a shadow. The delight of Buckley Calderwood in entering his father's dominions, an all-pervading presence without rebullt, was childish, and only equaled by hs satisfiaction in snubbing the ,venerable butler, who had floated withl tihe tide of disapDroval so ninny years. Ansticc still remained with her aunt. [Mr. Whitty had confrred withh Andrew Keith, in great perplexity of mind, over Eugene Dillon's silence and continued absence. Mr. Keith advised awaiting the return of Eugene, and both gentlemen held their pence about the papers reposing in the-foundry safe. Caleb Green was rebuilding his barn, with the long-promised aid of Miss Margaret, and it was announced in Alton Ford that shel could do any thing with the backslider, although whether the submission of Caleb was gratitude or a certain ccl-likeo dexterity in evading her reproaches remained to be seen. Buck, having consulted Margaret, and bo- sought Mrs. Keith's advocacy, drew his lines nearer the noble enemy, who was already weak- ened by this conspiracy in his own camp. Andrew Keith was writing in his library, and whenhlc gla p and d saw Buck Calder- wood standing before him, the conviction that, the moment long dreaded had come instantly occurred to him. "May I speak a few words to you, Mr. Keith?" said Buck, in very apparent confusion. ," Oh yes," was the rather unwilling rejoin- der, as he laid aside the pen, nnd prepared to listen. He would not assist Buck in the very least. There were no bounds to his ambition for Mar- page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] garet in his paternal pride, and certainly she might do better than this. He took up the pen again while Buck spoke, and made little vicious dabs into the blotting-sheet with the tip. It was a bad business taken altogether. Why will girls make their own choice in de- fiance of older, wiser heads! Buck plunged into his subject with nervous eagerness, hurried by Mr. Keith's unpromising reserve. When he had finished, the other said, "Young man, are you aware that I once ar- rested your own father in my office for theft? Perhaps my reluctance to receive you into my family may not bo very strange to the candid mind." If any tiling could have moved Mr. Keith frt his purpose, it must have been the pained tonishment on Buck's face at this announce- ment. "I did not know that my father ever went to your office," he said, simply. "He can not have had business transactions with you." "I do not mention the subject to wound you, lad," replied Andrew Keith, with a little flush of shame. "Let the past be buried, only I do not like the son of a man who would have robbed me to marry my daughter, sir." Buck grew pale, bit his lip, and looked at the floor in silence, mortification and grief struggling with his love for Margaret. He was a Calderwood, whatever his father's pecca- dilloes might be, and it seemed extraordinary that he, by virtue of this superiority of birth alone, should sue in vain at the door of An- drew Keith. At last he said, with profound humility, his pride being thus brought low, "You know best, Mr. Keith. If my father ever disgraced us in your eyes, I can not hope to atone for his fault." The son did not attempt to uphold the absent parent. The Calderwoods were only too apt to fall apart in emergencies, like dis- integrated sand atoms, because they lacked the generous affection of cohesion. Margaret would have turned in wrath on the mortal who presumed, to reproach her parents, were they innocent or guilty of wrong-doing. "I wish you well, but you can not blame me for protecting my own," said the older man, as if still seeking in self-justification a guard against Buck's unexpected docility. Ire had anticipated reproaches and despair from the young lover, which he would have met and bat- tled stoutly, and all of them, meaning his own womankind, would see the wisdom of his decis- ion later. "May I ask one favor of you?" inquired Buck, still very calm and sorrowful. "Certainly." -"Eugene Dillon wishes to marry my sister Anstice. Please do not ever tell him this story about my father, unless you consider it necessary that he should understand how mear we are." There was unexpected fire in Buck's soft, languid eyes, and unexpected energy in his movement toward the door, where he paused to make the stiff, high-shouldered bow which Alton Ford received as a model of true elegance. "I am not likely to need your suggestion," returned Mr, Keith, with somewhat ruffled dig- nity. At that moment sunshine entered the room with Margaret by the open window. She wore a broad striaw hat with a drooping plume, such as only a beautiful woman may wear with im- punity, and she had gathered the wealth of the hot-houses into her embroidered apron. Her advent at this moment was certainly suspicious, and only too much resembled the appearance of the heroine on the stage at an auspicious crisis in the drama. However, that was Mar- garet's own affair as the person most interested. She came to her father's side with all the con- sciousness of radiant beauty which the glance of both men freely accorded her, and showered tlhe blooming burden she carried on the table. Then, as she selected a tube-rose, she said, with merry audacity, "Dear me, how solemn you both look!" "I have spoken with your father, Margaret, and he gives me no reason to hope," said Buck, despondently. "'Faint heart never won fair lady,' sir," said Margaret, mockingly, and still busy with her flowers. "If I have been hard on you, Buck, I am sorry. You will get over it," began Andrew Keith, uneasily. "Why, father, lie does not mean to get over it all his life. Do you, Buck?"' Margaret went to her lover still with the radiant assurance characteristic of her, and, taking his face in firm white hands, kissed him. Andrew Keith did not see his daughter's look, but only the light of hope which dawned over Buck's sensitive features in a tremor of delight. "Oh, sir, if You would forget all for her sake!" cried the young man, with his arm about Margaret's waist. Andrew Keith groaned again, finding him- self thus worsted. "Of course he will make us both happy," " said Margaret, smiling sweetly. Mrs. Keith remained in her work-room above stairs, leaving the other members of her fami- ly to settle matters in their own fashion. She knew perfectly well what was transpiring be- i lw; she had seen Buck Calderwood arrive, and Margaret don the garden-hat to hover about the grounds irresolutely. Now glancing again out the window, she saw three persons approaching the house, and went down stairs to greet little Mrs. Whitty, who paused on the threshold, panting with her effort to outstrip her companions. "Only think, dear Mrs. Keith! our boy has come back alive and well. God be praised for his deliverance! he was wrecked out in the ocean, my dear, and left the vessel in a little boat, and was in great danger all night, for the others took the large boats, and have never been heard from since. Yes, all night in a lit- tle boat, rocking about among the whales and sharks. Ugh I In the morning, however, they were picked up by a vessel, and carried 'to Key West. Thie providence of God, my dear; and the other boats gone down at sea. Eugene has come, Mr. Keith. Good-morning, Margaret, and Buck. lie asked for his letters before we could tell him, because the sailor who brought them met him on the voyage, and he is waiting at New York until Eugene sees him about this very package. Strange, is it not?" Mrs. Whitty did not pause to take breath un- til her husband and Eugene were in the room. She stood before the Keiths with her head cocked on one side like a little bird, and spoke in high, clear tones, herself cartried away by the importance of her tidings, and her delight in the safe return of her boy. Eugene Dillon looked dull and gloomy; he was shocked to find Oakhurst destroyed, and bitterly disappointed that Anstice was not here to welcome him after his long absence; lie would have liked to behold her in the place of large, blooming Margaret, and she in turn could not but contrast lhim, moody, restless, and pe- culiar, in her opinion, with Buck. The absence of animation made Eugene's face appear long and sharp, and the lack of interest seemed even to rob his large dark eyes of lustre and expres- sion. Like the chameleon, the tide of joyful anticipation which had flooded his veins as he came to Alton Ford was checked, rendering him inert and Colorless. "We are glad to see you back, Dillon," said Mr. Keith, in his hearty way, after other greet- ings had been exchanged. "I suppose Mr. Whitty has already told you that we have let- ters of importance awaiting you." "Yes," replied Eugene, briefly. The conduct of Anstico was inexcusable, She did not love him, or she would be hero to meet him. A fig for these tame hand-shakings of indifferent friends! He needed the loving sympathy which she alone could give. "Who had possession of the letters?" lie in- quired, abruptly. "My dear, perhapls you will listen to me,"' said Mrs. Whitty, with a triumphant glanco at her husband. "I maintain that Calch Green had them, and put them in Mr. Whitty's pocket when he went up the hill. It is circumstantial evidence, I tell you, for nobody else came near him. There!" Andrew Keith looked at his daughter with a mischievous smile. My yprotdg," sniJ Margaret, flushing. "He lhas never had a fair chance." Mrs. Wllitty glanced at Margaret, and com- pressed her lips primly. "If you wish worthy objects of charity, my dear-" "I don't; I want unworthy ones. I leave good poverty to mother. Conic awea, Bltck, and visit my black sheep." "I her own mind Mrs. Wliitty said, "The most headstrong girl, -when She takes the bit between Iher teeth ; and so astonishing- ly handsome!" In the mean whle Eugene had been left alone, wNith the sailor's package at last before him. Tihe rcd leather pIocket diary first nt- tracted his attention. On the fly-leanf was writ- ten, in a large, firm hand, "JAMES CALDERWOOD I,I,(LN." And beneath this name, "JAMES DILLON CALDERWOOD. Eugene slipped the seal ring firom Iis finger, and studied ngain the words engraved inside, 1"Otne Eadena." Who was James Calder- wood Dillon? The book had some pages closely written, andi then blank spaces, accord- a ing to the mood of the writer. The middle anal ; latter portions were filled with business entries, a memoranda of slaves, items to be remembered - in the cane-fields, and in the cultivation of cof- I fee. Eugene became assured that this book e had belonged to his grandfather from the mat- g tcr of these planter's notes, as well as the fre- quent mention of the overseer, l'edro. On the I first page he read these words: L"A ug7lt lth, 1804. *. Life is a precious boon to all creatures. I page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] did not expect to again see land, nor do I wish to ever behold my home ; but when this gra- cious island seemed to await me like a haven, I resolved to be rid of my wandering, priva- teering days, and in stepping ashore to take the vow never to quit the spot. This vow I will keep, unless I denounce my brother Buck- ley for treachery. My brain is not clear when I think of that night; the fumes of the wine seem to once more stupefy me. I did not take the gold. I do not know how it came in my possession; but I am sure the lying knave did it. My father should have known me better! No; he may believe as he chooses. Good or ill makes no difference; I swear never to see Oakhurst again." The color was returning in a swift current to Eugene's face, the flash to his eyes. Oakhurst? He went to the window and looked out, half expecting to see the steep roof and chimneys of the old house through the foliage. His heart throbbed high when he resiumed the task lie almost feared to fulfill, for his wildest imag- ination had never leaped so far ahead of prob- ability. Oakhurst had been the-home of An- stice. Stay! could it have also been his own home? "I have met an angel of goodness and puri- ty in this out-of-the-way place. Why is it that gentle, loving women always come to the stormy souls of men of violence like a benediction, and soothe the tumults of passion bX contrasting sweetness? She is the daLghter of an En- glish missionary. Ah, Mary, I kneel before thy shrine, a humble suppliant for mercy." On the next page were only a few lines: "One Duncan M'Coy is a person of excel- lent parts. He was also a waif, cast-Wre here, and is a freemason. Lie will be my best man at the wedding. These people all bespeak me by the title of James Dillon; even Mary knows no other. This is no fraud, since I gain the name of Dillon from my mother, and, more- oyer, received it in baptism. Now will I retire from the world, which has used me ill. If my brother should seek me out, I must smite his deceitful lips. As for my father, he has made his choice; let him abide by it. Omne Eadem." 1 The purpose of the writer's life seemed to become afterward apparent in the brief jottings concerning the sugar plantation, while the book i was not filled to the last sheet, but terminated I abruptly, probably with his sudden' death. j To the young man reading these pages so t l' long after the writer had become dust, the yel- - low sheets, preserved by the stout leather of the cover and the metal clasp, seemed, like with- - ered flowers, pressed and forgotten. The hot words of wrath against his family, uttered when he first landed in the West Indies, had been * chilled in the grave long ago. Eugene under.* L stood his own position, yet failed to compre- hend it. He was stupefied rather than elated by his discoveries. The letters were three in number; the first two being large blue sheets, folded to serve as their own envelopes, and once sealed with wa- fers. On the margin was written, "From Si- las Calderwood, Esq., to his son James." A cursory glance revealed the nature of these elaborate epistles. They were addressed to the son when at the University of Virginia, and contained much solicitous advice in the matter of his studies and manner of life. The third let- ter was directed to Eugene by Duncan Mi'Cov, and ran as follows: "MY DEAR EUGENE,-My duty, as regards yourself, has been forced upon me'ef late, both by reason of my own advanced years, and the uncertainty of life in our climate, where the vomito pays us too frequent visits. I can no longer delay giving you any information I may possess that will serve you in after-years, when I am gone. You have promised to return in five years, and I hold you' to your word. In event of this period of time being longer than my span, I send this letter by an honest sailor in my debt, who will deliver it to your hand at Alton Ford. Your grandfather was in many respects a remarkable man, and should, in my opinion, have been a soldier, for he was brave and full of restless ambition. Here he found outlet only in speculation, and in a narrow scope at that; but he never complained. I knew him well, meeting him daily for so many years; yet, beyond a confession that he was a native of the States, he never confided to me the po- sition of his family, nor the name of his birth- place. Hie was fond of argument, and in our long conversations .was prone to place the sub- ject of filial disobedience and paternal harsh- ness in every possible light of discussion. From. this I inferred that he had quarreled with his own father. We were fellow-masons, and the' only educated men of the region at that date. When his son, your father, grew up, your grand- father decided to send him to school in the North, commending him to a certain Captain Arnold. He was filled with a grim humor over the measure, and informed me that this Cap- tain Arnold was a good fellow, who had sailed in the same privateer with himself. I was again left to draw my own conclusion as to the earlier adventurous phases in your grandfa- ther's career. Your father's Northern journey was rendered very displeasing to the planter by his falling in love with Captain Arnold's beau- tiful daughter. Your grandfather accosted me in a very black mood, and swore that a son of his should never marry in the States. Hle sum- moned the student home, and, I have reason to suppose, destroyed all communication between the lovers, placing a young Spanish girl much in your father's way; and lie finally married Dolores. "When your grandfather met with a sud- den and untimely death, by a fall from his hammock in the evening, under suspicious cir- cumstances, I was requested to look over his papers by your grandmother. he had absolute- ly no papers in his desk beyond title-deeds of his property, the two letters I inclose, and this diary. At the request of Mrs. Dillon, I locked these in my strong-box, nor did ypur father wish to claim them after he had read the con- tents. Later the plantation was sold; the ship Valerie Arnold built; and you left in my charge, while your parents made the voyage from which they were never destined to return. "I strove to do my best by you, and need make no complaints, for you were a good lad, with much of your mother's Spanish blood to subdue. I would have sheltered you for your grandfather's sake alone. It became my duty to consider your education, and I decided to send you away to the States as a measure most pleasing to your family. Inquiry led to the discovery of a clergyman's school at Alton Ford. You know the rest. When you come home, I will discuss with you the propriety of disclosing yourself to your own people in the States, should any survive, or money have been left you by law. Of this much rest assured: Your grandfather's name was James Dillon Calderwood, and lie quitted the home of his parents in anger. 't Your faithful friend and servant, "DUNCAN M'COY." The lines swam before Eugene's eyes. He threw up his hands, and laughed childishy, un- meaningly. Then Mr. Whitty, anxious and disturbed, came into the room followed by his wife. "Perhaps you feel the need of a little ad- vice, my son, at such a time," said the good man, doubtfully. 9 Eugene ran to him, and flung his arms about the astonished astronomer's neck. "' Mr. Whitty, we will have a Rosso telescope at last! I am rich, rich, rich!" Mrs. Whitty looked on withl moistened eyes. She divined the emotion welling up in the warm heart in this new-found power to bestow benefit. Then Eugene recovered himself, grew silent, even a trifle sullen, and was walking away alone, when Mrs. Keith touched him on the shoulder, "I would not start for Elm Cottage at once, dear," she said, in her placid, re-assuring way. "I telegraphed for Anstice the moment you arrived, and she must be here before night." "Alh, madam, you are good." The anger died out of his eyes, and lie kiss- ed her hand fervently. This deference only made Mrs. Keith uncomfortable, while her heart yearned over the boy. She placed both of her arms about his neck and kissed him, whisper- ing in his car, "You will not forget those who have inno- cently stood in your way so long." "Why, they are my own people," said Eu- gene, almost haughtily. le was beginning to feel his own impor- tance. The world looked different to him al- ready; lie trod on air as lie left the house and walked toward the ruins of Oakhurst. Mr. Keith had explained to him that when the old man died in St. George's Square all his fortune was discovered to belong to James Calder. wood's licirs. The hitherto penniless youth passed into an ecstasy of delight in the very imagination of possession. All, all was his very own! Margaret and Buck had strolled away to- ward Caleb Green's house. Buck made ex- cuse of frequent pauses beneath the trees and in sheltered nooks of the shrubbery, to seek under the broad hat the lovely fiace, and Mar. garet clung to his arm for the first time in de. licious attitude of dependence. Caleb Green had been subjected to an un- suspected ordeal that morning. .his wife had regarded him with sour solemnity at breakfast, and soon after the women of Alton Ford, led by Rebecca Plummer, approached the dram- shop, singing in chorus. The wretched Caleb was unprepared to receive them, and, foreseeing their mission, locked the shop-door. His wife stood at the gate with her apron over her head, sobbing violently, and Marv Anne "minded" the baby in a very precarious manner, while watching the proceedings with -SS I page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] round eyes. The praying band paused before the low, sunken door, which represented the very gate of death to many a heart among the number, and invited Caleb to appear. This. he did reluctantly, and, seated on his favorite stool, tilted against the wall, he listened to the bymn which rose with peculiar solemnity and sweet- ness on the clear September morning, and the succeeding prayers, eloquent in natural pathos of earnestness. The women of Alton Ford knelt in the dust before his door, and yet Ca- leb Green, although neither brutal nor surly in his treatment of them, did not yield. ','A man's got to make his livin' somehow," he mumbled. ", If I didn't keep the shop, some other feller would." * The attacking force was withdrawn after an hour, with a final remark from the spokeswom- an, Rebecca Plummer, "We'll come agin and agin, Caleb Green, until you see your sins." Buck and Margaret approached just as the band departed in solemn procession; Mrs. Green withdrew to the house, still subject to attacks of spasmodic weeping ; and Mary Anne righted her infant brother from his painful po- sition of lolling over her shoulder. Caleb, much depressed, pointed out the progress of the barn to the young lady who had assisted -him, but he was evidently intimidated by Mrs. Plummer's expressed determination to return until he repented of his sins. !"Now, Caleb, I believe in you," said Mar- garet, in her firm, clear voice. "Do you, miss?" murmured Caleb, evident- ly abashed by this confidence. C Yes, and I shall continue to believe in you until you mend/your life. Don't disappoint me, for I am your friend. When the barn is flnished, you are to cease from selling rum, sir, and keep a grocery store instead," Margafet announced this fact as a matter of course, beyond controversy. Caleb blinked at the radiant creature, with the light flashing over the jewels on her fingers. "I'll do it, if you say so," he returned, with the most inconsequent homage to beauty and youth. "Eugene Dillon has returned, and I want you to tell me about the package of letters, Caleb." "O Lord!" gasped Caleb, feebly. "Does he know? Send young Mr. Calderwood away, and I'll make a clean breast of it, Miss Keith." Margaret whispered with Buck. .There was an interchange of tender, imploring glances, -blushes, and smiles; then Buck departed. At another time Caleb Green would have been es- pecially diverted by these signals of an ap- proaching wedding; now he was frightened. What would be done to him if Miss Keitl knew every thing? "Look a here,'I never broke a seal, mind ye. I only kep' 'em, not knowing whose they was. I've got the sailor's handkerchief, miss. Don't let 'em punish an ignorant man." D Don't you whimper, and be a fool," return- ed practical Margaret, promptly. "I will make a bargain with you: if you will give up the dram-shop, I will save you from being punish- ed for this wicked theft." Caleb studied the toe of his rusty boot re- flectively. "I shoulldn't get no custom. Nobody be- lieves in me." "I believe in you," said Margaret Keith. Eugene Dillon returned toward evening to the ruins of the old house, where only a pile of bricks and a yawning cellar remained. Here lie met Ann, - andering with the fatitliftil hound. She spent much of her time poking about the rubbish in search of lost articles, and Alton Ford was more than ever impressed with the certainty of her being crazy. Ann was reserved; she greeted Eugene mechanically. The larch-tree still spread its green tent above the bank, the telegraph wires glistened in the sun, but the dark door-ways of the mansion no longer framed the river in a tiny picture of limpid waters; the view was unimpeded by wall or tree. Tender memories awoke in the young man's heart, leaving no space for resentment. He loved the relics of Oakhurst because it had be- longed to him,nand he loved it doubly as the home of Anstice. The rustle of the breeze among the pine tops seemed like the fiint ghost of sound produced by Mrs. Caldcrwood's harp. He heard again the weird strain com- ing through the softly gathering darkness of the summer evening. He saw again recognition in the sorromwful eyes of the once beautifil Vnlerie Arnold. The day was waning in the emerald tints of a cold twilight out over the river, and the late birds were seeking rest in the untouched verdure of the trees. Suddenly Buck Calderwood pushed aside* the matted vines of the garden, and accosted Eugene, who was seated on a jutting corner of the stone wall. "Is it true?" he gasped, pale and trembling. "Do you claim every thng before the rest of us?" At Ellm Cottage the day had dawned like all other days; and in the very peacefulness of monotonous routine there was healing for Anstice. A more high-spirited girlwould have fretted at restraint as insupportable; would have rebelled against AMiss Eleanorc's exac- tions, and yielded to tempests of tears, or run away. Miss Eleanore was conscious, with a certain sense of wonder, that in her own head- strong youth she might have acted differently from this quiet little creature, blessed with an even disposition, and with a steady light of un- wavering trust in the gray eyes which met her own so unflinchingly. Anstice was by no means consistently mis- erable and moping; she found a growing in- terest in cvery thing about her. It would have been highly displeasing to her exacting young knight, Etigene, could lie have seen her playing with the pet animals in the avenue, en- tering into the domestic relations of the doves and canaries withl responsive cooing notes and caresses, and talking by the hour with a crab- bed old gardener who found in Anstice a docile pupil. Nor did her interest in the IIome lessen with passing weeks; she built a future romance out. of the lineaments of each pretty face, and was the recipient of many confidences. Aunt Eleanore accepted all these manifesta- tions of contentment as eminently proper, and was secretly gratified by the popularity of An- stice, yet she was puzzled. "She is too failntly colored in character for strong feeling," tlihe elder woman would rea- son. "She can never be expected to possess my ability for command ; still, if that lover proves filse, as he plrobably will, I sliall make her my associate worker here. She is faithful, and to be trusted." While she- formed' such plans Anstice might be kneeling beside her open window above stairs; masses of foliage below, dim and fra- grant, the lawn in shadow, her gaze raised to- ward the stars, thinking, hoping, .praying, often with tears, for Eugene's return. She was in the large school-room at noon, listening to the song of an amateur soprano. Perhaps the fresh, pure voice carried her back in memory to Alton Ford, and made her gaze stray wistfully toward the window. She felt strangely old in trouble andt experience among these young creatures. Miss E leanore appeared with a grave, set face, and holding a yellow envelope in hier hand. For the second time in her life, Anstice saw a telegram. She sprung to her feet, all the studied composure vanishing like a paper scroll in flame. "He is dead, dead! I know by your face," she cried in a tone of pain thlat stilled the othh- cr soaring voice. Miss Eleanore's arms were tenderly support- ing her. "Silly child, Mrs. Keith has sent for you. The young man, Eugene Dillon, is at Alton Ford. " Anstice steadied herself in the other's em- brace; battled withl and conquered sudden fatintness, and drew her aunt down to her level by the power of the gray eyes. "You arc glad? Say that you are glad." ".I am very glad," replied Miss Calderwood, blushing to the roots of her hair. "Children, my niece is going to be married, and you shall have a plum-cake on 1her wedding-dlay." ('"Oi, hiow nice!" piped the orphans in chorus. Deliglhtfull confusion ensued ; every one as- sisted the deplarture of Anstice, as if it were a matter of personal interest; tho crabbed old gardener hlobbled down to the train with his choicest flowers, and bado her not forget to come again when the japonicas wore in bloom. The old gardener's year was marked only by a floral clock. Yes, it was a beautiful world, full of' love and kindness; and to all about her seemnced known tlheo wonderful fact of Eu. gene's return. The train sped along swiftly, and the clouds kept pace, as if to witncss the joyful meeting; the atmosphere was charged with additional vitality, tlio warm sun having drawn forth the aromatic sweetnesss of frost-touclled hollows; and when tloe day waned Anstico uwas peer- ing instinctively through the trees for the fn- miliar steeD roof, with the toppling chimneys, of vanishced Oakhurst. "Hark!" A sweet voice with a plaintive inflection was heard in the distance. ' Aunt, let us look at the dear old place first. Oh, mamma! the cruel fire! Ol, Eugene!" Anstice lay sobbing in her lover's arms, and Miss Eleanore, withl an expression impossible to describe, so blended was it of good and bad impulses, stood behnd. "Anstice, dear love, in searchng for your missing kinsman, I have found-myself," cried Eugene. "Explain your meaning," demanded Miss Eleanore, in her most sombre tone. "I am James Caldcerwood' grandson," said the young man, proudly. The river glistened, the birds flew low, and M r. White's Oakhurst lay in ruins at their feet. page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] CHAPTER XXX. RESTITUTION. FIVE years later the old house in St. George's Square wore a different aspect. Anstice Calderwood, timid suppliant at this portal all her childhood,-now ruled the mansion as wife and mistress. The world was pleased to consider her a very beautiful woman. All ' this poor Anstice of ours required was the set- ting of wealth to establish the fact iin tile world's opinion. There was less of self-dis- trust in her eyes, and more of dignity and "quiet assurance in her manner, than when she had attempted to manage the household at Al- ton Ford with slender means and discouraging disapproval. Aunt Eleanore had not quitted her post of guardian after the return to Alton Ford. If interest assumed the form of affection as nearly as was possible withl her undemonstrative nat- ure, the element of curiosity in Atudying her niece was still predominant. Miss Eleanore Would not accept Mrs. Keith's cordial hospitali- ty, and took up her abode beneath Mrs. Whit- ty's roof instead, for a handsome compensation, Anstice remained with her. Here she waged war on various doctrinal points of religion with the rector, while Mrs. Whitty donned her artnmor to do battle in her husband's defense. Eugene was regarded with a certain grim reserle on the part of this recently discovered kinswoman; she could not take to her heart at once the young man who stepped forth to bar her way. Miss Eleanore's hair had addi- tional threads of gray, her face many fine wrinkles, her mouth a firmer'downward curve of the sad, compressed lips, during those days of waiting for the simple wedding ceremony of Anstice. While the lovers discussed fiuture plans, ab- sorbing all the interest of the village as that of diold friends, the elder Miss Calderwood wander- ed among the ruins of Oakhurst, talking with Old Ann, these two drawn together by the very, attraction of repulsion. Thle lady had always disapproved of the servant, and the latter had, in turn, cherished the intense, unreasoning ani- mosity of the ignorant for her master's proud sister; yet they now sat and talked of the fam- ily, not so much of the past, as of the future. Who may adequately describe the emotions of Buckley Calderwood when he learned, as if by a succession of thunder-bolts; that Eugene Dillon was the reality of his spectral haunting fear, and that Eugene had been engaged to his own daughter for months? At first he yield- ed to his usual paroxysms of wrath and despair when thwarted, until the very walls of the old house in St. George's Square seemed to echo his lamentations, and the butler decided that he had lost his senses. This outhurst of pas- sionate grief spent itself in due time, and was succeeded by the reaction of weakness, despond- ency, and listless silence, when the natural elasticity of his nature assumed sway once- more. Eugene Dillon, who could defraud them of every thing, was about to marry An- stice. Incredible stroke of good fortune! Accordingly, he hurled himself into the in- terest of the occasion, came to Alton Ford, at- tempted to overturn all the quiet arrangements in preparation, greeted Eugene benignly, and insisted upon a grand wedding either in St. George's Square or at Elm Cottage. Did Eugene remember the days when he was-recognized by Mr. Buckley Calderwood with a fretful indifference, or not at all, according to the gentleman's humor, as a humble stripling in Mr. Whitty's school? Perhaps he did; yet the remembrance was obliterated when a tiny hand was slipped into his own, and Anstice whispered, "You loved me when I was so poor-and ig- norant." The young people were firm, and had their own way. They would be married in the vil- lage church by Mr. Whitty. Ansticq even car- ried her obstinate loyalty to Alton Ford- still further: Mrs. Rebecca Plummer should sew the wedding garments, and no other person-a subtle flattery which delighted the good woman, and considerably enhanced ler reputation in the community. A royal autumn day late in October, hills and valleys glowing scarlet and gold, the river a sparkling tide just ruffled by the keen breeze. In Mrs. Whitty's dominions were bustle and confusion, and the church adjoining was anlleady crowded. Caleb Green, in a suit of rusty black, witl a stiff collar of surprising size, was present, his faice screwed up into an expression at once inscrutable and triumphant, as if, for some mysterious reason best known to himself, he took the whole credit of having brought about the marriage. Nor did Mary Anne fail to appear at the ceremony, although she was late, and rather flurried in aspect, owing to having upset the baby on the road, in the new wagon of . home- made manufcture, whllich showed a tendency to weakness in the wheels. Up stairs .iMrs. Keith and Margaret wcere about to envelop the bride's dainty wliite dr1a- peries with a veil of tulle, lwhen AMiss Calder- wood' interposed. "Wait," she said, in her most sombre tone, and drew from a case a wondrous fiabric of lace, wrought in such exquisite designs of flow- ers that it resembled fiost tracery. "Oh, how lovely!" exclaimed Margaret, 1with feminine rapture. Her mother checked her with a warning glance; a spot of vivid red was burning on Miss Calderwood's checeks. First she placed about the neck of Anstice her mother's pearls, large, lustrous, and pure, then crowned the bride with the lace, which swept down about the little figure like mist. "This is all I have to give now,"she sh aid, without a tremor in her steady voice. How readily did her three companions divine that this was Aliss Calderwood's own bridal veil, to have been worn years ago whllen An- stice was a clhild, and given as a supreme sac- rifice! Thus wals Anstice decked in emblems of misfortune for two other lives, her mother's pearls, her aunt's bridal veil; but beyond was Eugene, raliant and hopeful, waiting for hler. Chime ' edding-bells! sweet, clear, and ju- bilant, so that your music floats over the grave of BMrs; Calderwood, beneath the shadow of the little church, and must surely reach, in some distant sphere, that mother's listening car. Old Mr. Calderwood might well have been amazed could his shade have haunted his for- mer home, and witnessed the innovations of modern taste in crystal, lace replacing damask, cabinets of ebony and buhl banishing mahogn- ny; and wherever Eugene's tropical fancy could reproduce the wealth of color of his native isl- and, the sober walls ofthc antiquated chamnbers were made to glow crimlson, purple, and gold. In the conservatory palms throve, tree ferns spread fans of quivering green, the cactus stretched thorny, gnarled arnms with gorgeous scarlet flowers, and orchids hovered like gaudy insects. Here the young nmaster smoked his after-dinner cigar in a grass hammock, lulled by the rippling music of a tiny fountain, and with a softened mellow light shed upon the mimic realm of Southern verduro front a lamp faishioned like a shell. Eugene enjoyed tilis hour of idleness, dream- ing again of Duncan M'Coy's ruined tower, and his own grandfather's home with, the rus- tle of palms overhead ; but otherwise he was most active and untiring in energy. loe had his own ambitions. He had studied medicine with all thlle arlor of an enthusiast, and he now practiced in the hospitals, and received poor patients daily at his house. Anstice was very proud of her young lhus- band's cleverness. She thought that when he was forty years old lie would have established a college. Nor was his interest confined to one branch of science. A stwarm advocate of universal knowledge was known to dwell inl St. George's Square, ardent, impressionable, and with an open purse for all societies. In the library was a marble table, with Mrs. Calderwood's vellum-bound book carefully pre- served beneath a glass shade. It was winter. The Squarel was pure and white from the unsullied fill of last night's snow; the roofs of the little Swiss cottages wore a flecy, filntastic drapelllcry clinging to the caves; the trees held aloft wreatls and diadems ofer- mine, and the sky was soft gray. Eugene stood at the window, reading two letters. He was a small, well-built man, with a black beard, and quick, penetrating eye. Not in the least of a Calderwood in appearance, and yet proven owner of all their goods! He laughed over the first letter, and became very grave over tho second. "Tell me what interests you," coaxed An- stice, peeping over his shoulder. "'The first letter is about dear old Mr. Whitty's book,' IReligion in Astronomy.' You know how it would have dragged but for the page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] disposition of the first edition. Well IThe volume has taken an unexpected start, and is selling famously." "I am so glad," said Anstice. Then they regarded each other with a signif- icant smile. The first edition of Mr. Whitty's great work was piled in a lumber-room of the house in St. George's Square, to be given away discreetly, a fact which would never be known by the author to the Judgment-day. The good man was still school-master of Alton Ford, and Mrs. Whitty managed all practical details as usual. A young clergyman had supplanted him, and the astronomer not only sat under the ministrations of his spiritual broth- er with great satisfaction, but showed an in- creased interest in the petty affairs of his for- mer flock. "'The other letter is from Miss Elcanore," continued Eugene, and unfolded a check. "She has been more and more conscience-stricken by the part she played during her father's life, and has now sold Elm Cottage, inclosing me the money." "We musVt persuade aunt to return," said Anstice, thoughtfully. "Persuade a Calderwood?" questioned a thin voice, in a tone of airy sarcasm. "No, no, my dear, such a measure is unheard of, I -assure you. What are you discussing?" Buckley Calderwood, most elegant of elderly gentlemen, attired after the scrupulous cxac- tions of tyrant fashion, had entered the room. "I have received the price of E:m Cottage, and, Miss Eleanore has gone to the Orphan Home as superintendent," explained Eugene. "Oh, she will be so unhappy," exclaimed Anstice. Her father tapped his nose with his gold- liended cane. "I am not by any means confident of that, children. Society will consider her eccentric. A woman in Eleanore's position can afford to i.4o strange things. Nobody will imagine that she was obliged to take the step; and if she has decided upon it, there will be no use in argu- tment. She is immensely obstinate. Besides, she will enjoy training all those girls, and there must be some field of usefulness for-ah-sin- gle women." Anstice whispered in her husband's ear, "Give the price of Elm Cottage to the Or- phans' Home if poor Aunt Eleanore will re- main there." "Where are my rose-buds this morning?" :inquired Mr. Calderwood. As if in response, the door opened, and two children toddled in, followed by a French bonne. No wonder that grandfather missed them, for these baby voices made music all over the grim, deserted old house. They were twin girls of three years, and they ran forward, holding each other's hands. One was very tiny, piquante, and merry, with black eyes like stars, pink cheeks, and little coral-red mouth; the other was taller, delicately faiir, and of a very serious expression. The parents had christened them Dolores and Valerie Arnold. Baby Dolores came to grandfather's arms, a dancing fairy in purple velvet and burnished feathers. Baby Valerie, all clad in snowy far, looked at hiin with a steadfast gaze he did not like to meet. What did the man, whose span was almost run, read in the calm, unwavering glance of his grandchild? A memory, fleeting yet dis- tinct, of his dead wife ; an unconscious reflec- tion in an infantile, unstained soul of the shad- ow which had clouded so many years of Vale- ric Arnold's life: one of the mysterious links in the chain of human resemblance. The look troubled, abashed him, while lie sought to pro- I pitiate the clhild,who did not respond with the laughing glee of merry Dolores. In the twilight Baby Valerie would come to him, and rest her head against his arm; at such times Buckley Calderwood was very still. "Buck and Margaret will never have enough of Paris, it seems," observed Buckley Calder- wood, with a child on cach knee. Iloweve'r, they have promised Mr. Keith to return in the spring, and settle down at Alton Ford. Wliat luck in marriage that boy had! Bless me! a lhandsome wife, an indulgent father-in-law, and very good prospects." "Frather, Mrs. Smith called here yesterday," said Anstice. "Now, Anstice, I really wonder at your lack of prudence in receiving her. You should have nothing to do with such people, one in- your position, and all that. Society looks' to us for justice and discretion, without lilrsl ess. Howard Smith is certainly a low fellow; and if Mrs. Motley chose to marry such a rash spec- ulator for a fine establishment, she must expect t-o come to the ground sooner or later. How- ever, like seeks like, and she was an adven- turous sort of woman, born under a wandering star." "She is mamma's niece," replied Anstice, in a low, firm voice. "The chances that fall in the way of such rascals as Howard Smith are extraordinary," pursued her father. "-He went into gold-buy- ing after failing in all sorts of other ventures, il and I am sure no one could have anticipated the result." "But if he was a rascal, one must not envy him," said Eugene, with a sly smile of amuse- ment. "Quite true, my son. I like to think that all integrity has not vanished from earth." The Howard Smith residence was far re- moved by the dictates of fashion from old St. George's Square, where the Calderwoods could afford to dwell. Whatever glittered with sumpt- uous magnificence, the pair gathered about them ; whatever was rare and costly in art, Mr. Smith purchased. He rode on the very crest of the tidal wave of prosperity ; he had, in- deed, found his proper field of work in gold speculation, whither Buckley Calderwood fear- ed to follow him. Mrs. Smith astounded society by the extrav- agance and eccentricity of her toilet and the splendor of her jewels. She laughed gently at the Calderwood pride, whill- making ler own way by reason of her relationship with that distinguished family, and gained entrance to those portals, in consequence, to which her money would not have admitted her. On the very crest of the wave pretty Mrs. Motley, once so discontented with pinching poverty, was prepared to mock at fate, should misfortune ensue, and say, "We have had our day." Mr. Howard Smith may, at any time, awnke in the morning a millionaire, and be riined be- fore evening. These uncertainties impart a zest to much of the business transacted in the world, and in the mean while the butterflies en- joy their holiday. Then Buckley Calderwood departed with his grandchildren. A sleigh awaited them below; he deposited the babies in a nest of soft fitr, fully as delightecd with the sport as they were. Recipient of a liberal income from his son-in- law, and dweller in a suite of tastefully adorn- ed rooms, Buckley Calderwood, dilettante, con- noisseur of music and art, devout churchman, most punctilious of society's members in mat- ters of rank and etiquette, held a position not to be despised, and which satisfied his own as- pirations. At Alton Ford the snow also lay in unbroken drifts, obliterating the site of Oakhurst with soft oblivion, and weighing down the spreading evergreens of Mr. Keith's lawn. The sky and river were of a leaden hue, and the whole coun- try was marvelously still, as if wrapped in a winter sleep. Mrs. Keith, restored to her usual serenity by 'the happiness of her children, was moving about the little parlor, adjusting articles with a house- wifely instinct, while her husband sat before the fire. It was impossible for the blank pal- lor of the day to penetrate here, except to be changed to a warm crimson glow, or for tlio loneliness of adjacent Oakhurst to chill the Keith hearthstone. Melancholy was foiled at - every point by the cheerful atmosphere of this home. Mris. Keith paused before a portrait on the wall, that of a sturdy boy in a white frock, with blue sash, and boots, grasping a whip in one chubby hand. "Look at him again, Andrew," she said, "What a noble head lie has! Alh, my dear, make of this little man a Calderwood really like the first one." Mri. Keith rose, and put his arm about his wife. "You enthutisiastic grandmother! I don't see much of Buck there, certaiiily. Why, alhem! lie looks like me, I declare." "Of course hie does, the darling," assented Mrs. Keith. "I suppose they will need the whole second floor to be conmfortable. You must not mind giving up your dressing-room to baby." "Certainly not," replied Andrew Keith, with a slight grimace. What would he not do for Margaret's child? Caleb Green's store was nucllh frequented in such weather by groups of houngiig men hov- cring about the store; yet Caleb's most severe critic, the dress-maker, could not accuse him of luring his neighbors huither by othler fluids than molasses and kerosene oil. Moreover, Caleb frequented the evening meetings in com- pany with his wife, now, and the result was marked in the black sheep. A small cottage had been erected at the gate of the Oakhurst property. Toward evening of this winter-day, an old woman came to the door, and, shading her eyes with her hand, gazed at a distant object intently. A hound followed her, sniffed at tihe snow, and then looked up in the woman's face. her glance did not roam toward the river or other houses, but remained steadfastly fixed on the little church-yard, where the snow lay like a winding- sheet up to the wall of the sacred edifice. She crossed herself once, and went in, still followed by the hound. Faithful servant and tried friend, left alone at Alton Ford, of all the family, to guard the grave of the dead mistress; denying herself, that such money as she received might be spent page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] in flowers and masses, firm in the belief that Mri, Calderwood must wander in eternal dark- iess but for her vigils and prayers. Alton Ford considered Ann mad, and igno- rant she indeed was; yet Alton Ford, in com- mon with humanity, must needs recognize the soul which swayed her. The Delaware flows on from rocky heights to level banks, mantled with the emerald-green verdure of summer, and darkened by the storms of winter; but on that current sweeping down to the sea are no longer found traces of those earlier settlers who planted the standard of the colonies and perished. Vanished shapes, the dusky Indian tribes; Father Brice, and his young assistant with the saintly, beautiful face; Mr. White and his strange, wayward daughter; and in the pres- ent, full of prosperous vitality, the chimneys of Andrew Keith's foundry, and the voice of iron- tongued machinery drowning all chloes of the past. Life and happiness in the house on St. George's Square; silence and crumbling decay on the Delaware bank, where tho ghost of the priest need no longer wander, and the dust of Silas Calderwood might repose in peace aftel a complete, if tardy, reparation.