Shannondale
page: (TitlePage) [View Page (TitlePage) ]S HA RN O.ND ALE. BY EMMA D. E. NEVITJ' SOUTHW&RTH, AUTHOR OF ~~RETRIBUTION, OR THE VALE OF 8~AD~WS~ ~'DEBERTED WIPE~~ ~TC. # i~ NEW~YORK: D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 200 BROADWALr. PHILADELPHIA: GEORGE S. APPLETON, 164 CHESNUT-STREET. MDCCCLI. page: [View Page ] * Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1850, 'BY D. APPLETON & COMPANY, li the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the U~nited States for the Southern District of New York. 0 TO- CAPTAIN JOHN B. NEVITT, . OF CLERMONT HALL, MISSISSIPPI, AS AN EXPRESSION OF ESTEEM AND AFFECTION BY HIS NIECE, THE AUTHOR NOVEMBER, 1850Q. 0 4 I;: I F page: [View Page ] 8IIANNONBALE. CHAPTER I. THE VALE OF SHANNONDALE. Oh, sparkling clear thy waters flow, And murmur as they glide, To the thir trees that bend below To kiss the loving tide; And far above the mountains stand, Like watch towers placed to guard a land Where alt conspires to yield delight, Where pleasure reigns by day and night. S/iantzondale.-L. M. SMITH. The valley of the Shenandoah presents a suc- cession of the most various, sublime and beauti- ful landscapes in the world. The Shenandoah, which yet retains its ancient, beautiful, and poetic indian name, springs among the magnifi- cent rocks of the Cyclopean towers. These towers, seven in number, rise to the height of several hundred feet, like the ruins of some stu- pendous ancient feudal castle, erected to guard the passes of this magnificent valley. Flowing on through a beautiful and fertile vale, hemmed in by mountains, and supposed to have been once the bed of an ancient lake with its high and rocky banks, the Shenandoah passes Weir's Oav-e, one of the greatest natural wonderAn the new world, and quite worthy to be ranked, (says an English tourist) with the Natural Bridge or Niagara, and equal in dimensions, and in the variety, beauty and sublimity of its objects, to the celebrated Grotto of Antiparos. Still flowing on,. the majestic river washes the Western pre- cipices of the Blue Ridge, forming in its serpen- tine course, islands and pr Jones, some high, barren blasted, othei~s covered with beauti- ful vend & or crowned with lofty trees. Yet flowing on, the mighty riven, gathering force from every tributary, rushes with frightfully in- creasing power and rapidity to meet the Poto- mac, and with a god-tike strength to rend a pas. sage through the mountains to the ocean. 'i'h~ stupendous sublimity of this awful scene was said by Thomas Jefferson to be worth a voyage across the Atlantic-when a voyage across the ocean was an affair of six months. But it is the Vale of Shannondale, the scene of my present romance of r~al life, that I wish to describe. A few miles below Harper's Ferry, the Blue Ridge makes a curve, hemming in a beautiful and fertile vale in the shape of a horse shoe, whose opening is on the South. Within the curve of the ridge, washing its base, and en- circling the vale, rushes the Shenandoah. From the river the ground rises gradually toward the South Ttiis lovely spot combines enchanting beauty with majestic sublimity. Hemmed in by lofty mountains, and encircled by a rushing river, shaded by groves of lofty trees, freshened by springs .and fountains of sparkling water, fra- grant with millions of wild flowers, and musical with the voices of thousands of birds, it reulizes the vision of the Rasselas' Happy VaPey. Many years since, it does not matter how many, stood on this favored spot an ancient man- sion, one of the first erected in the valley of rue Shenandoah. The legend of its erection runs thus; In the latter part of the reign of Elizabeth, during the last persecution of the Catholics by thst Princess, the head of a noble Catholic family m Wiltshire, England, emigrated to Virginia. The settlements were then all near the seacoast, or upon the banks of James River and the~ Rappa.. hannock. All the country West of the Blue Ridge was unknown. The valley of Virginia was traversed by hordes of war-like savages, who sometimes crossed the mountains and made fearful and destructive descents upon thq.. ~n- protected settlements, and whose veiy. yell. were a horror. Soon after his arrival, Lord Summerfield formed an exploring and hunting party, who purposed crossing the mountain t explore the country and to hunt the deer. This boarding the lions in their dens was an enterprise requiring great courage, ppidenee and fortitude. Lord Summerfield possessed RU three in an eminent degree. He set out with his party fully equipped for several months exploring, fighting or hunting, and after maty days of aIter~ nate travelling, sporting, skirmishing and rest during which they had successfully evaded or repulsed the savages who would have interrupted their expedition, early in October they rea~shed the sublime and beautiful Vale of 8h~bw~n ~j~ee '/HAJ page: 4-5[View Page 4-5] S HA NNON DALE. encircled by its sparkling river, and s~ut in by its majestic mountains. Here astonished at the stupendous grandeur, fascinated by the charming beauty of the-landscape, delighted with the luxu- riant fertility of the soil, and the exhilarating purity of the climate, Lord Summerfield stand- ing ul~on the lofty mountain on the North, and looking down upon this scene of wonderful beauty and grandeur, exclaimed, "This is a spot to dare and do for! Here I plant my family again! here I pitch my tent! Here will I live, here die, and here be buried I" The party continued their hunting and explo- ring a few weeks longer, until the frosts and keen winds of winter warned them to return to the settlements, which they just reached by the Christmas festivities. Lord Summerfield was as good as his word.- Immediately upon reaching home he commenced preparations for emigrating thither in the spring. His fellow colonists endeavored to dissuade him from so hazardous a purpose, but in valn,-he seemed possessed with the Vale of Shannondale ..Land neither the arguments or entreaties of his friends, present difficulty, toil, privation, orpro- spective danger and death could turn him from his purpose. He contrived to rescue enough from the wreck of his English estates to pur- chase the laud from the savages, whose favor he conciliated by two, with them, all powerful means, naniely-by placing perfect confidence in them, in coming to live so far from the settle- ments~ alone, among them, and by making them many useful and showy presents. He sent over an agent to England, where under pain of death he dared not return in person, to collect together the scattered remnants of his property, to pur- chase and ship to him building materials, house furniture, hunting and farming implements, and in short every thing that was needed to create a civilized home in the grand and beautiful wilder- ness upon which he had set his heart. Another mission he entrusted to his agent, a letterof ten- der farewell to his young and beautiful cousin and betrothed bride living in Wiltshire, at Long- ford Castle, under the care of her aunt, the Marchioness of Northampton. His letter was full of strength, tenderness and hopeful love. He bade her wait in patience and in confidence until he had made this wild and lovely vale "bloom and blossom as the rose," until his house, his gardens, and Ass parks in the new world should equal in comfort and elegance her sumptuous re- sjdence in the old one. Finally until the rapidly growing country should be~sufficiently settle to make it a safe retreat for ~r. Then he said he would transplant his violet to the Vale of Shan- nondale. Could he indeed expect the beautiful, refined and cherished daughter of aristocratic wealth and luxury to join him in his wild hunting cabin. It never once entered his mind. Viola, of Summerfield! the most fair and fm-t gile looking human flower that ever bloomed its day in the parterres of a palace conservatory I- Expose her to a wilderness life! No! it was not to be thought of. So said Lady Northamp- ton when she had started Lord Summerfield to America; and yet she was only thinking at that time of the settlement! How much more dreadful, then, the idea, had it ever presented itself to her, of exposing Viola to the almost certainly fatal toils, privations and perils of the fearful moun- tain passes infested with savage beasts and more savage men. Viola, of Summerfield, was in her luxurious bower at Longford Castle, when the letter from her lover was placed in her hand. She caught it with a bound of joy-it was the first time she had heard from him since his departure. She tore it open, and read it with a palpitating heart. Then her eyes filled and overflowed with tears. She folded it quietly up, and formed a resolu- tion. In the meantime, Lord Summerfield, upon the Rappahannock, was impatiently waiting the re- turn of the ship that was to bring out his cargo. The spring opened, and he had not heard from the vessel. At last, wishing to vget a small gar- den under cultivation, that very season he set out on horseback, attended by two hired men, also mounted, for his valley estate, having left orders that his agent should land the cargo, and transport it in wagons to the spot selected for building. It was as early as the first of March when he set out,-it was near the last of the same month that he found himself again in the Vale of Shannondale. Already the snows had melted oft the mountains, and the young grass was springing in the valley, and the trees putting forth young buds in the forest. He went to work with his two men, and felled trees and built a cabin of logs as a temporary shelter.- Then~e began to hedge in a small garden, which the two men prepared for the seed. Every day as the spring advanced, revealed new beauties in the charming landscape, and increased the impatience ol Lord Summerfield to add all the improvements of civilization and art to the loveliness and grandeur of nature, The air was populous with wild fowl, the forests filled with game, and~ th aautiful river alive with the finest fish. $ron ore an ed sand- stone, a beautiful material for hull bound. ed in the mountains, and springs of r~~eral wa- ter, tlt4dmirable medicinal qua1ities~of which he was chemist enough to appreciate, Wer~ free- ly dispersed about the~ vale. Indeed, it seemed that nature, in a fit of extravagant liberality, had here lavished all her rarest and inos~t~j~stly treasures. c~ was a land to die for !"~ And Lord Summerfield worked like a day-laborer on hire, to get it under cultivation, while he ani. iously expected his teams. At length, one evening in May, when all the SHANNONDALE. vale was bathed in a flood of golden sunlight, smiles, 4~Jd some with grave and earnest faces when the two men, ifirarn and Peter, had pie- -for it seemed piteous to see that fair, fragile pared the evening repast under one of the vast girl alone among a band of hardy men, and to oak trees that dotted the vale, and Lord Sum-. know that all their care could not save her from merfield was walking up and down the green the inevitable hardships she had voluntarily ex- slopes of the hill, now losing himself in contem- posed herself to. Lord Summerfield shook plating the beautiful river, with its fring.~ of hands with all-embraced many, and raised the trees, or gazing with awe upon the majestic hand of one among them in lowly reverence to mountains across its flood, or, turning back, his lips. This one was Father White, a Catho~i rested his eyes upon the dim old forest, dark lic priest, the confessor of Viola. and green near, but floating of! as it ascended "No stories till after supper; friends," said behind, until the faint blue hues of the distant Lord Summerileld, as, with Viola on his arm, he foliage blended with the azure of the far and led the way up the hill. cloud-capped mountains; and listening to the The travellers followed, each leading his horse. rustling of wings among leaves, as the birds At the top of the hill, Lord Summerfield found fluttered to rest, or to the singing\,and chirping the fugitive men returned, and engaged in pluck- of all those tiny in sects, the mm trels of the ing more fowls to dress for this acces~ion~of night, gay nocturnal serenades, o~'always company. begin when the birds cease, and no ill -then; "Where shall we put the lady to sleep, ir?" or to the rushing sound of the wat~s, as they asked Peter, "seeing that there is but one ~oom swept around the vale. How deep the solitude in the cabin, and that is your lordship's own;"' seemed I-how profound I-and how loud roared Lord Suminerfield started at this question, and the current in the absence of other noises! But A'ell into deep thought. Supper was served~ and hark! There comes a sound that is neither the the travellers made a hearty repast of bird~.4sh' rushing of waters, nor the flutter of birde, nor and wild fruits: After supper, Father Wiiitp the chirping of insects, nor the waving of trees. taking Viola in his hand, joined Lord sumg4-. Nearer, nearer it approaches. Lord Summer- field, and said, field has stopped, and every sense is on the "Now, my lord, if you"are disposed, I am qui vive, as he looks and listens down ti-c vale, ready to give you a history of this unexpected For he thinks of a hostile tribe of Indians. It emigration." comes nearer and nearer-it is-it is the clatter Lord Summerfield bowed, and Fathei~ White of many horses' feet! was about to give his story, but the eyes of "The savages! the savages! fly, my lord I- Viola were so eloquent,-her lips half.apart, and fly!" exclaimed the two men, setting the exam- so eager, that he smiled and said, pie by taking to their heels. "Well, go on, then, my daughter. Tell your But Lord Summerfield kept his eagle eye fixed story your own way," and withdrew. in the direction of the swiftly-coming horse- The fragile girl, sinking down upon the bank, men. They emerge from the trees skirting the drew Lord Summerfield to a seat by her side, river-they canter rapidly up the hill-they are and said, in sight-oh, joy I-they are men of England! "Did you think, Harold, that Icould be happy they approach-oh, rapture I-they aje old in the luxury and self-indulgence of my.Englisb.. friends and neighbors! Lord ~ummerfie~d has- home, while I knew you were alone in the wilds tened down the hill to meet them-and-could of the New World? Oh,.don't you know, H#.. thls indeed be ?-was this possible ?-a fragile roldthat [would have accompanied you when and fay-like figure rode among them-her steed you came out, if it had not been for my a~it,- rushed upon him-in an instant, with a cry of and even your.elf. You, even ~ objected to joy, she thr~w herself upon his bosom-and taking me!" Summerfield folded his own Viola palpit~ting "My own darling, could I take advantage of with joy and exhaustion to his heart. ~Forgetful your affection and your generosity, and expose of the friends and neighbors whose sudden ap- you, delicate, as you are, to all the evils of a sa~ pearanee had filled his whole aoul with joy an vage life 7" instant before,-forgetfulof everything on earth ~" Ah, but Harold, you should have known or in heaven but her, he pressed her again and -you did know, by your own heai~t~ t soule again to his bosom, half-smothering her with mental pains, toils and privations bardA- passionate kisses, while she clung t~ him and to~bear than physical ones-.--and amo~~~ are sobbed for joy. She gave noApplanation yet, partings, separation, prolonged absenweJ~om and yet he asked no question At last she those we love, doubt, fear, suspense, anx4y for raised herself from his breast, and blushing them. Harold! I could not bear this z~iental tor7 with sudden self-recollection, she whispered, ture I Well, just before the receipt ofyour last "Welcome your friends I" letter, my Aunt Northampton sickened. SIte Then the travellers dismouiited and gathered went to London in order to get ch of the around them, some with pleased and benevolent Queen before"uhe should breathe e I. I { t page: 6-7[View Page 6-7] 6 SHANNO reached the Villa on the Thames-she succeeded in getting a private interview with the Queen, who came, at her request, to visit her. Some- thing frightful passed at that interview, I be. lieve; at least my poor aunt died in great an- guish soon after, and it is said that the Queen has never held up her head since. Well, Ha- rold, I found myself mistress of my own fortune and person. As soon as [got over the shock and grief of my dear aunt's death, I began to think of communicating the news to you. I had written a letter, and was waiting for a ship to' carry it, when your letter arrived. I read it, Harold, and I determined to put all my property in cash, and to join you in the wilderness; dear Harold, were we not betrothed, and had I not a rsgkt to do so if 1 pleased? I told some of my aunt's friends. They broke out against me as unwomanly, indelicate; and, though I felt that it was not as they said, yet I fee,~ed, that you would think with them-but, you do not~ do you, Harold? Do you think lightly of me for following you out here?" "My blessed saint! it were a blasphemy to think an evil thought of you!" exclaimed Lord Summerfield, fervently. "Oh, please do not say such extravagant things of me5 dear Harold! It mortifies me even more than reproof would-because, alas !-I' am so far from deserving commendation, still less praise.~~ "You are beyond and above praise, my darling Viola-go on with your narrative, dearest one." "Well, Father White then had been ordered to quit England, under pain of dhath, within ten days; I concealed him at Longford Castle; he was there when your letter came; I told him of my project to join you in America-I asked his counsel-and oh, Harold, I hung breathless upon the words of his reply, for I have unbounded confidence in his wisdom and goodness; and if he had given his voice against my voyage-per. baps, pet-kept, Harold, I should not have come- perhaps nothing but your own summons would then have brought me. But our reverend, and most beloved friend, approved my decision-nay, he applauded it, and blessed me from the fullness of his joy, and told me that he would himself ac- company me to America. Well, Harold, Father White and myself had many consultations. He knew several of your friends, who, persecuted in England, wished to settle somewhere else. He beld many secret conferences with them, the re- suit of which was, that we formed a party from our own neighborhood to come over, and here we all are. We would have announced our inten- tionAthad any ship been leaving England for America; but our own, in which we came, was really the first that left of the season. So here we are, dear Harold-your tenants, your friends, N DALE. and your wife-but oh, Harold! you do not blame me in your heart for ibis ?" "My darling, darling girl, do you want me to be an idolater; do you want me to fall at your feet and adore you ?" said Summertield, embra- cing her fondly. The purple shades of evening were approaching -the stars were coming out one by oae-the dew was falling-the travellers descended the hill to the spot where their wagons had been left, and some took out the tents, carried them up the hill, and pitched them, and some turned the wagons down for sleeping places. During all this time Lord Summerfield and Viola sat under the old oak tree discoursing. The priest again stood before them "My children! there must be a marriage here to-night! do you not know it? Have you not thought of it? I have been waiting to receive some communication upon the subject, and now I have to break the matter myself; for well as you love each other, I do not believe you have thought of marriage this evening." That was true. They had thought of nothing. They were lost in the delight of merely meeting and talking with each other again. That was true, until now-but now the priest's words sent an electric shock of ecstacy through every nerve of Summerfield, and threw the delicate Viola i4l~ to a tremor of vague apprehension. Without a word, however, Summerfield arose, and raising Viola, and drawing her arm through his own, he requested FathV White to summon his friends, and follow him into the cabin. Then and there they were married. They lived in the log 'cabin about the cent~& of the vale. The other settlers selected farms on the other side of the river, over the mounr tains, or back into the depth ofthe forest, which they began to cut down. The beautiful Vale of Shannqpdale was left to the Summerfields. Tbe~ settlers did everything in their power to soften the hard lot the fragile Viola had taken upon herself when she became the wife of a pioneer. As years passed, the bracing air and the fine water of the mountains, so invigorated Viola, that from being an extremely delicate girl she was 4rowing to be a fine robust woman. In the course of two years, a handsome and substantial house of red sandstone was erected in the vale. This house was furnished with far more taste and elegance~than usually appertained to the dwellings of the early settlers. But one child, a handsome, hearty boy, named after his father, Harold, blessed this happy marriage, and from him were descended all the Summerfields, pro- prietors of the vale, until 17-, when it came into the hands of the last of that house And this is the tradition of the early settlement of the Vale of Shannondale. SITIANNO CHAPTER Ii. THE OLD REDSTONE HOUSE. That dear old home! Something of old ancestral pride it keeps. Though fallen from its early power and vastness, The sun light seems to their eyes brighter there Than wheresoever else. hl(rs. Kem6 it. I love to make you familiar with the localities of our stories; the grounds about which our peo- ple walked; the house in which they dwelt; .the rooms in which tht~y lived and loved, or sinned and suffered. 1 will strive to place 'Red-Stone Hall, the seat of the Summerfields at Shannon- dale, vividly before you. Pray assist me with your own attention and imagination. The house was situated about half-tray up the gradually rising hill. Behind the house was the dark and grim oldforest. Before the house, the ground, green with verdure, and dotted with groves of old forest trees, descended to the river, that, rushing around with a sweeping curve, forms the shape of a horse-shoe; across the river tower the lofty mountains that shut in' the vale. The house itself was built after the manner of most old Virginian mansions, with more massive strength than elegance; more breadth than height, and with more respect to convenience than to appearances, and hence the result was, greater durability, comfort, and pi~hturesque ef- fect, than order and regulari. It had been constructed of the rich and brilliant jed sand. stone, found in the mountains. Its form was square and narrows with a high-peaked roof- its color, dark red. Its foundations had been laid broad, deep, and strong, and upon them were raised two stories, crowned by an attic, with dor- inor windows. It was surrounded by a low wall built also of red sand-stone; in the centre of which, immedi- ately in front of the house, was an iron gate that opened upon a brick-paved rqad, shaded on each side by elm trees, and which led straight up to the front main entrance of the house, a substan- tial portico. This portico admitted into the wide passage that ran through the middle of the house, dlvi. ding it into equal parts. In the centre of the back of 'this passage was the staircase, with its broad and polished oak steps, and its balustrades of mahogany, turning off in a scroll to the right and left of the bottom step. On thn right of this passage was situated first the front drawing-room, whose windows looked out upon the river and the mountains, including the vale; and behind that, the large saloon, only used for balls, &c., and whose back windows looked out upon the grim old pine forest behind the house. These rooms had been recently fit- ted up in handsome modern style. NDALE 7 On the left of the passage was first the front parlor, whose windows commanded the same view with those of the front drawing- room; next, the dining-room, and behind that, the comfortable family sitting-room; it is to this apartment that I shall soon introduce you. The furniture of these rooms were old as the house itself. Behind the house, and connected with it by shaded piazzas, were wings; that on the right containing the still-room, used for dis- tilling herbs, essences, &c., and for preparing cordials, bounces, domestic wines, &c. It was filled with closets, in which these domestic trea- sures were stowed away ;-the carding and spinning-room-the weaving-room, &c. That on the left contained the pantry, the kitchen, the scullery, and the laundry. Scattered about in the forest, behind the house, were the cabins of the negroes, who worked the farm. At the time our story opens, the only repre- eentatives of the Summerfield family were Mrs. Margary Summerfield, the widow of Harold liar.. dinge, the last of the Summerfields, and Imogene, her only child-the heiress of that large estate. At this time Imogene Summerfield was finishing her education at the convent school of George- town. The August holidays were at hand when she was expected to leave school permanently, and great preparations were being made at Red- Stone Hall for her reception. It was in honor of this event that the drawing-room and saloon had been splendidly re-furnis~he A ball and supper was to celebrate the co~iiing out of the young and beautiful heiress of the once noble house of Summerfield. Mrs. Summerfield had invited party of young ~ people to Red-Stone Hall to welcome he~r daugh... ter upon her return home-among them~were her niece, Winifred Darling, the only daughter of her only brother, Squire Darling, of Oak Grove, with her companion or humble friend, Sinai Hinton, and Harriette Joy, the niece of the old priest, Father Burleigh, who for fifty years had ministered at the altar of the Catholic Chapel of the Sacred-Heart This party of young people deserve farther notice than I have given them. First, Miss Darling, or Winny Darling as she was fondly called by her young friends, was the loveliest and most loving little creature that ever blessed a doting father's heart. She was his only child-a loive chjld, the child of his adored wife, who had given this angel life at the price of her own.. Far back of the old hail at Oak Grove there was a marble monument-it was the tomb of Angela Darling. Squire Darling had wished to name his little daughter after his lost angel, but his mother, Winifred Darling, with a. good O~liolic's care and eanti~n, Jiadthe baby n~d soon after page: 8-9[View Page 8-9] S SHANNONDALE. her birth and before the bereaved husband bad alarmed the prudence of her haughty family, recovered from the stupor into which his sudden had not the serpent entered their paradise in the and terrible loss had stunned him, and without shape of.- stopping to consult him, she had, as a matter of ASZflO~ tI~nto~. course, named the baby after herself, for it is a It is amazing how much evil is wrought by custom in Maryland and Virginia to name chil- people "of the best intentions." Madam Wini- dren after grand-parents-thus we have John, fred had conceived it proper that instead of the son of Joseph, who was the son of John who being sent to school Miss Darling should have a was the son of Joseph, and so on. tutor at home. Next that instead of being suf- Mrs. Winifred Darling was an aged widow, fered to roam at large like other young things, had but two children-Squire Darling, of Oak Miss Darling should have the tutor always at Grove, her eldest, and Mrs. Summerfield, of her side, with his graceful form, his glorious Red-Stone Hall, her youngest; and but two eyes, his deep-toned voice, and his eloquent grand-children, Winny Darling and Imogene words-and last and worst as Winny approach- Sommerfield. She divided her time between ed her sixteenth year, Madam Darling fulmina. the two families-living during the summer ted a bull that Miss Darling must have a fe. season at Red-Stone Rail, and during the winter male companion, and Sinai Hinton, a distant re- at'Oak Grove. They were a thoroughly united native of the family, was engaged to come and family, stay at Oak Grove. If there be any truth in the Winny Darling had never been sent to school, old heathen idea of the transmigration of souls- he/ grandmother and her father never would Sinai or Sina Hinton's soul had ascended the consent to part with her. In those days in Vir- scale of creation, first through the subtle nar- ginia and Maryland tutors were employed for cotic poisons, then through the snake, the jay the private instruction of young ladies who were bird, the cat, and had at last reached its most educated. at home. The custom of engaging go- powerful development in-Sina Hintoa. This vernesses had not then reached this section of fascinating, guileful and intriguing girl was not the country. A tutor had been employed to con- strictly speaking handsome-she was below the duct the education of Miss Darling, middle size, her figure rather bony, her com- The Virginians have exceedingly rigid notions on dark, and her features strongly marked. of propriety ;-it is not Ae~med proper for Axai~ and brows were black, and her eyes - young lady to take a solitary walk or ride even lai~ge, dark and powerful in their force of attrac.- through her father's woo4,er over his hills- tion. Her M~ovements were exceedingly grace- and so when engaging the Madam Wini- ful. Is there a thing more graceful than the fred insisted that it should~6e-' stipulated in motion of a cat-a smooth, swift and stealthy? 4w bond that he should attend Miss Darling in or that of a serpent with its rapid beautiful and all her walks1and rides, dazzling undulation? Her movements were ox- Tl4p was a pr~aution indeed not unnecessary, ceedingly graceful, but a close student of nature for the~fqrest thickets and the mountain caverns might have observed in them the subtlety of the were instead with a banditti then peculiar to snake and the trickery of a cat. this region-fugitive slaves -desperate men, On leaving her city home her mother had said who would watch and wait, descend upon the to her, nuguarded house, or the solitary traveller and "You go out alone into the world1 SinaI you commit any act of horrible atrocity to which have nothing but your cleverness to carve your necessity or inclination might drive them. In fortune with, but you can do it!" guarding against one species of danger, however, "If I were beautiful I could," said Slim. Madam Winifred exposed her grand-child to an- "You have fine eyes, and a woman with a other. Think of it! a youth of humble parentage, fine pair of eyes can produce the effect of beauty, who became a tutor in order to make money to or she can manufacture any other beauty." complete his collegiate education, eighteen years "But what can a girl do with such a catas- old, handsome, intellectual, ardent, earnest, with trophy of a nose as I have?" laughed Sina. his heart as yet unawakened from its child.sleep "When you converse with people make them -made the constant companion, the most con- look at yosweyes and they will forget your nose- utant companion of a girl of fifteen, an angel- itis youre~.e, youreges-and yoursoftsh~wtones, the very embodiment of love, in the morning and your grace that must make your fortune I" ride, in the forenoon studies, in the afternoon re- Sina laughed-she laughed to think how much creation, in the evening walk. more deeply skilled she was in such art 'through "'Tie an old tale and often told," s4eg loved- her mere natural instincts than the mother who it was inevitable f-but they loved so purely, so advised her. Such was the companion selected highly, so spiritually, as yet, that not one word for the beautiful, affectionate and confiding Win- of love had passed the lips of either, and it might. ny~ And accordingly some short time previous yet have beei~ long, very long l~tbre their def4~o the commencement of our story she had ar.. cate affection would have ~ its~' rived at Oak GTQV.- SHANNONPALE. 9 Oak Grove was a fine old baronial-looking residence. The hall stood in the midst of a grove of gigantic forest oaks, which gave their name to the homestead. There wa~ no under- growth, and the gass was green and smooth as velvet-so that even in the Autumn the~ deep shade of the magnificent trees was healthful as pleasant. Fine orchards, fine gardens, 'and well cultivated fields, surrounded Oak Grove. The estate was the best stocked with cattle in the whole country-while a stable of thorough-bred and well-trained horses and a kennel of the finest hounds formed the delight of the squire. The cabins of the negroes who worked the plantation were apart by themselves, in a green glen. The little houses were built ten on each side of the road, thus forming a street. They were all uniform, painted white, and with one door between two windows in front, painted red. Each had its little garden behind, and its apple, pear, or peach tree shading in front. At the head of this street, crossing it at right angles and facing down it, was the overseer's house. This was also white with red doors and win- dow-shutters-but it was larger and more com- modious than the others, and it had a piazza and a flower-yard in front, and a larger garden be- hind. The overseer was an old colored man, an attached servant of the family, whose father and grandfather had belonged to the Darlings. Like most other Virginia negroes he had assumed his master's family name, and called himself Squire Darling. His baptismal name ~as Achilles, but the family called him Uncle Kill. From sun- rise to sunset, except two hours for breakfast and two hours for dinner, Uncle Kill's duties of overseer kept him in the field, where he was a perfect bug-a-boo to a lazy hand. The rest of the time Uncle Kill preached the Gospel, played the fiddle, told fortunes, tracked the coon, or made himself otherwise useful or agreeable. Uncle Kill had a wife near his own age, called Minerva, but whose celestial name, the bad taste of the household had be-devilled as it had that of her lord, Achilles. They called her "Nerve." And this was no misnomer, she was a woman of great nervous energy. (It is a pity, by the way, that this word "nervous," in the same relations, expresses such opposite meanings-for the laborer's, "nervous means his great strong powerful Ic while Miss Fanny Faintaway's" ualis~bs" means her weak, trembling, ailing, fainting~ members.) Nerve was a woman of strong body, strong affectie strong opinions, and strong methods of cx sing them-.-strong will, and a strong way of expressing it. Nerve's office on the plan - , was a general supervision of the spinning, ing, knitting and other women's work; and she was as efficient in her way, as Uncle Kill was in his. When Sina Ilinton arrived at Oak Grove, the fine old hall, the grand old forest-trees, the wealth of the estate with its negroes, its fields, gardens, orchards, and stock of every descrip.. tion, excited her admiration and provoked her envy-admiration of the estate, envy 01) its heiress. Such a set of feelings could not arise in a strong, subtle, and unprincipled nature like hers, without sooner or later becoming the mas- ter motives of her actions. She watched the favorable points of her position, and resolved to take the greatest advantage of every one. For "Why should this silly, simpering, cooing little fool have all this great plantation, and I, her cousin, have none ?" she said. The respect with which she was treated by Madam Winifred and the squire-the aflectio~ate confidence reposed in her by Winny, the esteem she had won from the tutor, a ore available for her purposes, and most of all w the deep unspoken love that her keen subtilty perceived to exist between Edgar Ardenne, the tutor, and Winny Darling. "If this foolish attachment should provoke her fa- ther to disinherit her-at least the chance is not bad. The very fervor of her father's love for Winny, if that love were abandoned for a passion for another, and outraged by disobedience in marrying that other against his consent-yes I the very love of her father turned to wrath,: would drive him to disown the ingrate daughter. But the fools of lovers are so slow, they Would content themselves with their present life ten years yet, and never take another step unless something happened to rouse up opposition I That I know would soon kindle their dep, ~ calm love-deep and calm as the depths of ~ sea before a storm-.into a ~apsionl into a tem~ pest! I must put my ~hei4der to &is wheel P' When a good heart and a1 strong mind deter- A mine upon a good act-the angels assist that soul with an opportunity. When a bad man or wo- man with the necessary strength of wilt resolve upon a~ evil end, the devil is faithful to the means. supply~ Sina Hinton had arrived in July. It was the latter part of the month that Miss )arling and herself were invited to make a visit to Red- Stone Hall, to be there to welcome Miss Sum- merfield, the cousin of the latter, to her home. The distance from Oak Grove to Red-Stone Hall was fifteen miles; but with their fleet horses the Oak Grove family frequently rode it early in the morning, dined, supped, and' re- - turned in the evening; sometimes by moonlight or starlight; and nothing could be more delight- ful than those fine night rides through the fresh, green, dark forest, after the heat of an oppres-. 'sive ~uinmerd~y. 'uw ari&~rfuar Ardenne ft1wAvt~f411 rn*A page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] 10 SI-IANNO ness of the evening breeze-tbe brightness of the wonderful stars-the vague, romantic dimness of the forest aisles-all conspired to refresh the nerves and inspire the minds. 84 Hinton, the astute girl, had noticed the effect of these forest night rides-and she always took care to drop behind or ride on before, ma- king the excuse that the path was not wide enough for three equestrians .-and thus she would give the lovers every opportunity of im~ proving the romance, and yielding to the tempta- tion of the hour. It was in vain though as yet, their affection was too childlike, too simple, con- fiding and happy, to inspire the wish for a change. And it was this that made Sina Hinton exclaim in her vexatioff against the apathy of the lovers. It was this that made her resoI~re to bring about a denouement. It turned out to be a very sultry day, that upon * wiuich Miss Darling had intended to set out for * Red-Stone Hall. Miss Hinton proposed that they should defer it until evening, and take the ride through the forest by starlight. This was agreed upon-and accordingly, after tea Winny kissed her grandmother, who promised soon to join her at Shannondale, and kissed her father, who pledged his word to follow the next day, and went down to the quarters and took an af- fectionate leave of her "old women," as she called all the superannuated negresses whose comfort was her peculiar care-and accompa- nied by Sina Hinton and attended by Edgar .44 ~rdenne, set out for her ride. Sina Hinton drop~ ped behind as usual; and again as usual the child-like lovers dropped into a reverie, broken only by low toned observations by one of them and a soft assent by the other! They reached the Vale of Shannondale and Red-Stone Hall by ten o'clock-and there they found assembled Father Burleigh, the aged priest, her niece, Har- riette or Harry Joy, and lastly, Colon4Henry Lee Dungerfield, a relation of the Suminerfield family,:dnd the owner of the largest estate in the neighborhood. He was an officer of the army, who had distinguished himself in the re- cent war of the Revolution-and had now return- ed to private life covered with military glory. Miss Summerfield had been betrothed to him ever since she was an infant and he a lad. She had grown in beauty by his side, and he had loved her in a gentle, domestic way, and was ac- customed to think of her as his future wife. She had left home at fifteen years of age, and he had not seen her for three years. He had as a mat- ter of course been invited to Red4tone Hall to welcome tier. Mrs. Summerfield, leaving re- quest that Miss F~inton~would4o't~dion of the house during her absence, had de~rt the Georgetown Convent, k daughter the day before. Sr~ that evening. ~the N D AL E. pany. Mrs. Summerfield had gone in her carriage, attended by her own servants. There!. fore the precise hour of her return was uncer- tain-but ten o'clock struck, and she had not come; eleven struck, and still no sound of car- riage wheels disturbed the silence; at twelve o'clock the company gave her up for the night, and retired to bed. The next night was the time appointed for the grand ball that was to celebrate Miss Summerfield's coming out. CHAPTER III. IMOOENE sUlWMEarIELD. She was a Catholic, too, sincere, austere, As far as her own gentle heart allowed, And deemed that fallen worship far more dear Because 'twas fallen ;-her sires were proud Of deeds and days when they had filled the ear Of nations, and had never bent or bowed To novel power; and as she was the last, She held their old faith and old feelings fast. Byron. Early the next morning the guests assembled at Shannondale, met in the piazak-that right hand front piazza that commanded the slope of the grove-shaded hill as it rolled to the river, of the rushing circular5 sweep of the river, and of the surrounding towering mountains. Right across the river, opposite to them, was the Lover's Leap-a bold perpendicular rock, with a wild Indian legend connected with it. "Who knows the story ?" inquired Sina Hin. ton. "Every one knows it, but no one tells it but Father Burleigh, and he never tells it in any other place but the summit of the rock," replied Col. Lee Dangerfield. Sina Hinton sauntered, swayed and undulated up to the side of Father Burleigh, and said in her mellifluous, coaxing tones- "Oh! Father Burleigh, will you not form a party over to Lover's Leap to-day and tell the story? I do so love those wild legends--and I should so delight to get a view of this vale from. that prominence." Father Burleigh. was about to decline, upon the score of his infirmities and the fatigue of as- ce the hill, but Sine's large, dark, pleading eye ed on his own, and there was no resisting th He said that he would do so "with pleasure," if it were agreeable to the rest of the company. "Of course it will be agreca to the rest of the party," exclaimed Harriett oy. "Let us go, uncle; Mts. and Miss Summerfield will not be here till night now, and I want d oppor- tunity for a sentimental flirtation -I know who!" "Will you never be steady, Harry-never de- port yourself like a lady," whispered the priest. SHAWNO "Never while you abbreviate my pretty a of Harriette to Harry! It makes me feel like a boy !" laughed Harriette, as she placed a strawhatjauntilyupob her head; and in fact with her roguish black eyes, laughing lips, and clus- tering curls, her mirthful countenance, half in dark shadow from the rim of the hat, half in light from the kissing of the sunshine, Harry Joy looked like a sauey-a very saucy boy, and no- thing else. "I could fall desperately in love with that little imp !" mused Colonel Lee Dangerfield, as he leaned against a pillar of the piazza and con- templated Harry-" she has just eccentricity enough to bewilder all one's senses; but this will not do. I must take my eyes off." But taking his eyes off and keeping his eyes off the handsome swaggering4aoyden was not so easy-he disapproved of Harry from his soul-.-. he was sorely dissatisfied with himself at the anomaly of the very peculiarities he so thorough- ly condemned, attracting him most forcibly. Harry was the priest's niece-that was her pass- port into good society-otherwise she was poor, uneducated, r~'ther rude, but withal possessing a hearty, joyous, genial nature, that made her the soul of any frolic that was afoot. "You must excuse her, gentlemen! You must excuse her," said t~e priest, "she has never had the benefit of female culture, .and a single man, 1 even a priest, is unfit to bring up a girl." "Well, then, uncle, that pr'~yes the evil of 1 your clerical celibacy! You ought to have got married like an honest member of society, and then I should have been your daughter and not your niece !" speaking to the priest, but letting fly a couple of arrows from her dark eyes at I Colonel Lee Dangerfield. s The priest started, grew pale, looked search- ingly, steadily, severely into the face of his niece, t but Barry's eyes were dancing with those of ii Colonel Lee Dangerfield, and she seemed to have v forgotten her light words. A bitter, bitter t groan, suppressed at the lips, murmured deep a down the bosom of the old priest, and he fell o into a deep gloom. He checked Harry's rude- tl ness no morn~that morning. fi "Miss S&Irimerfield, of Red-Stone Hall, will v have to watch her betrothed," said Sina flinton, g to herself-Sina Hinton always spoke truth when a] she spoke to herself, and seldom at any other iv time; "and Herriette Joy is as much the niece t~ of the priest as I am~the nephew of my mother! ti I have your secret, Father Burleigh, and that is fo another favorable point in my destiny-so much b for keeping my eyes open." . of Overflowing with exuberant life, Harry Joy th had whirligigged out of the piazza, and Col. pi Lee Dangerfield was about to follow, when the ~ sound of carriage wheels were heard below, and soon the travelling chariot of Mrs. Summerfield ~1 rolled slowly up the hill, approached and pause4 r~ I NDALE ii before the portico. The gentlemen present sprung down the steps to meet and assist the ladies from the carriage I Mrs. Summerfield came first-a tall, dark complexioned, and dig. unified woman, in the prime of life, and in the rich maturity of matronly beauty. She alighted and stepped forward with a Queen.like air of blended majesty and graciousness. "What a magnificent woman is Mrs. Sum. merfield !-a step like a reindeer's, a neck like a swan's, an eye like an eagle's, a mien like a monarch's! Heavens I-if I had a form and face like that, I could do what I pleased with it I-but Imogene-Miss Summerfield-the heiress I-let's see what she is like I" comment- ed Sine Hinton, as she watched the carriagedoer. Miss Suminerfield alighted, and passed quickly~ through the hail, and entered the house-hel' figure muffled in a large black silk shawl; her face hidden by a black lace veil. '~ She is either ugly or very beautiful. She is either ashamed of her face, or she saves it for a dazzling effect In full dress,-now, which is it? They say she was beautiful when she left home for school-but girls change so much as they grow up, the ugly frequently growing handsome -the beautiful as often becoming plain. Wee ror her if she has not beauty enough to counter- charm the spell woven around the heart of her betrothed I This is a nice set of cross purposes is ever I saw! Col, Lee Dangerfield betrothe4 o Miss Summerfield, and in love with Harry- whom he would never marry !-Harry passion- ~tely in love with him-Winny Darling loving unconsciously, pensive Edgar Ardenne-Ardenne enamored of her I Satan has some use for me icre, I trow I-and it is a pity if I do not make something of this medley." All the guests were waiting impatiently for he breakfast-bell to ring, when they should neet at table the heiress of Red-Stone Hall, in rhose honor they were assembled. The innsk heir ears so thirsted for, at labt sounded on tho- ir, and each geittleman selecting a lady,, the company marched into the breakfast-room. At Ic head of the table appeared Mrs. Summer-. eld, who had changed her dress, but nowhere visible was the heiress. Mrs. Summeri~id raceflilly invited her guests to be seated, and polegized for the non-appearance of Miss 8am.. Lerfield that morning, by saying that her daugh- r was greatly fatigued. She t~so oxpWned ic caube of their not arriving the evening be.. re, by remarking that Miss Summerfield h~d* ~en too much exhausted by the first two stage. their journey, td be able to pursue it further an Harper's Ferry, where they had rested the. e~eding evening; and bowing gracefully, she- t~own. e hope, madam, that Miss Summe$i14 enteredd to join us at dInsasr,'~ _ Dang4riild. page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] 1.2 SHA.NNONDALE -SJIANNONDALE. 13 "Miss Summerfield cannot have the pleasure of meeting her friends until the evening," replied the lady. And then the morning meal com- menced. It was a breakfast set out with magnificence- gold and silver plate, and Sevres China flashing in the light; and all the superabundant luxuries of the spot and season abounding. The finest milk,. cream, butter, and eggs, for the dairy and poultry-yards of Shannondale were unrivalled- fresh fish from the Shenandoah, game from the forest, and wild fowl from the air, &c., &c., &c. After breakfast the party formed for Lover's Leap. The horses were brought to the door. The party mounted, and cantered off down the hill to the river-a ferry-boat took them across -and they began to ascend the opposite moun- tain by a circuitous back path. Bina Hinton, contrary to her usual custom, kept near Miss Darling. "What a venerable looking man is Father Burleigh, my love," she ~ ~.&id to Winny, "with his silver hair, and reve- rend countenance, he reminds me what St. Paul ~.. might have been in his old age." "Yes! desr Father Burleigh! but I am so sorry that he is so infirm! What a pity It is that people we love should grow old and become infirm." "Ab, but he approaches a better and a hap- pier world," replied Miss Hinton, in the usual stereotyped words. "Yes, but we don't want any better or hap. :pier world than this. If the Lord would please to let us, I should like to live a hundred million ~of centuries, on this very earth, with all my dear friends around me, and would never, never, ssver waht to see Heaven 1', "Oh, that is very wicked, my dear-but to re- - turn to Father Burleigh-he has been here a long time I" t' Fifty years last January, they say-he was here as sacristan first of all-then here he was - ordained, and he has lived here ever since." C'lium.m.-m," cooed Sina in a reverie-" well * -.-ah--.how long has his lovely niece been with ~him ?" ('Harry 7" " Of course-he has no other, has he ~ "Oh! no! but then you called her 'lovely,' which was so funny; well, she has been with him ever since she was two years old-before I * nn ~ "Yes! 'who is she? Where did she come front?" *" Well, she is the~daughter of his deceased sister or somebody, and he brought her from away down in Maryland somewhere." "Has Father Burleigh always remained here, and never been abroad?" Yes-once; he was away two years, on the Chesapeake near' the ol~tation of Mount 'Carmel, in Marylaul~l. It was a year~ftp his return to this neighborhood, that he received a notice of his sister's death, and he went and fetched home her child, Rarriette, and he put her in charge of his housekeeper; she has been with him many years, and now keeps house for him." "Urn-rn-hum-rn," again murmured Sina; then she suddenly inquired-" How old is Father Burleigh? quite aged, isn't he 7" "Oh, yes I very, very, old-almost seventy." "Is it possible!" exclaimed Miss Hinton, with surprise. " Yes! is not tlsat old 7" Sina smiled. "Why, my dear, 1 supposed him to be eighty -he looks that. I could not make some things out either at that rate-but, my little love, how old is his niece?" "Harry Joy is twenty-five-but few take her to be so old; many people think her about twenty." "U-rn-rn-rn," replied Sina. I wish Icould give the reader an idea of the low, slow, cooing murmur with which that "U-in rn-me," was floated out. It was pue of Sina's fascinations-it expressed besides anaffirmative, love, sympathy, comfort, consolation-only Sina was so fond of it, that she used it it place, and as now, out of place-always instead of yes- like her undulating motion, it was a characteris.- tic of her. "You may ride on, now, love, and join Ar- denne, who is waiting for us at the summit. I must stop here to arrange my habit a little"- and Winny, without hesitation, ambled forward to join her tutor. The party dismounted at the summit of the mountain, and walked forward through a tangled thicket of stunted pines and cedars, and over~ jagged rocks, to the front of the precipice, where the lover's rock ascended in a ,bold perpendicu- lar from the river. They seated themselves upon the fiat rocks upon its top, the priest occupying the central seat. The view from this summit was sublime, bordering upon the terrific. Be- hind them was the thicket of stunted pines and cedars that finding scant root arno~g the rocks, rowned the mountain. Before tii&a was the Fand amphitheatre of ~hannondaIe, encompassed on three sides with a crescent-shaped ridge of mountains-the centre of the crescent being Lover's Leap. Below them, at the distance of several hundred feet, rushed the rapid Shenan'- doah, filling up the pauses in the conversation with its roar; ~he vale rising from its banks rolled off in green undulations shaded with groves of trees, towards the forest in the back ground. Half way up the ascent stood old Red- Stone Hall, surrounded with its aged ancestral "Do not stand too near the edge of the preci- pice, Miss Barriette. It shelves over consider~ ably. Do not look down, Miss Darling, you me grow giddy and fall," we~ e the warnings give] as the ladies arose to tak.- the views, lt was necessary to one,-Winny Darlin grew pale and reeled away from the edge ;-tb tutor caught her arm. lint Harry Joy, with glad, exultant spring, stood upon the extreme edge of the shelvingind frightful precipice, an throwing up her arms as if for a leap. Winn screamed. Harriette laughed, and sprung bad wards, again seating herself, and then Miss His ton, turning to the priest, said, "Now, Father, for the 'Legend of the Le ver's Leap.'" The old priest bowed himself to the company and began his tale. CHAPTER IV. THE LEGEND OF THE LOVER'S LEAP. Thus lived-thus died she ;-never more on her Shall sorrow light, or shame. She was not made Through years, or moons, the inner weight to bear, Which colder hearts endure till they are laid By age in earth; her days and pleasures were Brief, but delightful ;-such as had not stayed Long with her destiny ;-but she sleeps ~.rell Beneath the stream near which she loved to dwell. Byron. Manyvery many years ago, when this property was in the hands of Bushrod Summerfield, thi grandson of Lord Summerfield, the first settler there came to this part of the country a young Englishman of high rank, and ~f great wealth, He was a Colonel in the Hussars, from inclina- tion to a' martial life, rather than from the 'necessity' of entering the profession. He is said to have ~bhen a very handsome man, of tall and commanding stature, with high Roman features, fired by the light of a falcon eye, and softened by an abundance of raven ringlets. His manner -his gestures-the tones of his voice possessed that marvellous fascination, that compelled the love-the adoration of all who knew him. Colo- nel Clinton had come out only to see the coun- try, at tbe invitation of Bushrod Summerfield, who, having been sent to England for educa tion, had formed an acquaintance with Clinton at Oxford. Of course, Colonel Clinton became the guest of Squire Surnmerfield. At this period, a rem- nant of the tribe of Shenandoah Indians dwelt on the other side of the mountains, with their wandering mode of life. They had a reserved privilege of fishing at a certain place in their own ancestral river. The head of this tribe was a woman-Lulu,'the daughter of the great chief, Worneo.at-akuk. "But I did not know that a wo~nan ever reigned over an Indlau tribe-'X *ho~igIit their y women were generally degraded," said Sina s, Hinton. "They are, generally, but not universally, g and not so much formerly as now. We see by e the chronicles of the early settlement of the a country, that the custom prevailed to some ex- e tent. Lulu was a grand, wild forest girl, of that d dark, rich, luxurious style of beauty never seen y in the most beautiful of the Caucasian race her form was tall and majestic, but beautifully proportioned-a small, but regal head, an arched and undulating neck, a fine, high breast, rounded limbs, tapering towards the delicate wrists and ankles, and small and elegantly she- ped feet and hands ;-such her form~ Her fea- tures were of the Jewess style-her complexion was dark, but singularly clear, and deepened into a rich crimson in the rounded cheeks and full and arched lips. Her eyes were large and dark, full of liquid fire-fierce and soft, as airger or tenderness possessed her; her eyebrows were very black and heavy, her eyelashes long, thick 4 and black, and her hair rolled in shining waves of purplish black nearly to her feet She usually wore a superb dress of fine scarlet cloth, richly and beautifully embroidered with various colored beads, silks, and gold and silver threads, end fringed with variegated feathers. Her dress was short, and confined to her waist by a belt, in which were stuck one or two elegantly. wrought poignards, (purchased from the white settlers.) Her neck, arms and legs were bere; three or four rov~s of bright beads decked her throat, and heavy gold and silver bracelets en.. circled her wrists and ankles. Her purplish lockS, twined with many a gem, hung far below her waist. The fame of the wondrous beauty of the Queen of the Shenandoahs had gone all over the whole settlement; and by the braves of her own tribe, the beautiful Lulu was loved, adored, worshipped as a goddess, with all the wild enthusiasm of savage idolatry. Her hand had been' sought 'in marriage by the chiefs of other tribes, but Lulu had never felt a throb of love. She seemed something set apar~'and sa- cred,-the vestal Queen rejected all these offers, with proud and high disdain. - One day there was a great hunt upon the moun- tains; Squire Summerfield and Colonel Clinton I joinedinit. The foxafterrunningacircuitofthfr.. ty miles, closely pursued by the hounds and hue-- tore, of whom the gallant Colonel Clinton was'the. foremost, fled towards the river,.-.took this diree-~ tion throughthethicket, straight to this precipice,, madly followed by Colonel Clinton, on his spi- rited horse. The fox sprang to the edge of the precipice, paused, took breath, gave one fearful look around, when Colonel Clinton, pn his fiery Ilorse, came thundering on, and took th~ leap- the fierce horse of the hunter, in the deIlkn~ni; the'vt~se, sped *adly on, and sprang overj ~ qu4~i ~'he hou~ds had'ht~*te~& page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] 14 SHANN( p.4 short at the brink of the precipice, and now they set up a fearful wail. Other hunters rode up, but seeing no signs of a catastrophe, suspect- ed none, supposing that Colonel Clinton had, upon losing the quarry, taken another road. Colonel Clinton's brain had reeled and he had lost his senses at the moment the fearful leap was taken-when he recovered them he found himself lying on a pallet of delicate furs, in a tent hung on the inside with fine yellow cloth richly embroidered with silver thread. The setting sun was pouring a flood of golden light through the opening into the tent, which bathed the dark, bright, glorious form of the Indian queen who stood in its full blaze. Colonel Clinton strove to collect his thoughts. It was some time before he could recollect what had happened. At last he did; and then beckoning to the dark beauty, who immediately approached him, he said- "I know what has occurred. I guess where I am-but-by what miracle was I saved I" The Queen of the Shenandoahs replied in bro- ken English-" broken music"-that her braves were out upon the river in their canoes fishing- that they had seen the fatal leap-that the horse was dashed to pieces at the foot of the precipice, but that Ins had been eataght between the strong forks of a projecting tree a few feet from the summit-that, her braves had climbed the rock, rescued him, and brought him to their encamp- ment. Clinton tound that both his arms had been broken by the fall, but that they were set, splin- tered, and bound up with great skill, also, that his body was severely bruised. But Clinton thought *not of his wounds and bruises-his whole soul was flooded with an excess of glory and of beauty that he could scarcely bear and live-languid, prostrate and helpless as he was, the approach of the dark, bright, luxurious Indian beauty, threw all his senses into a delirium of excite- ment that threatened the stability of his reason. He recovered rapidly, but he had no wish to quit his quarters. Heedless of the anxieties of his friends, he avoided informing them of his where- abouts, lest they should disturb him in his delici- ous life of blended ecsttrcy and anguish. You will anticipate the result. He, with his glorious beauty, grace and eloquence wooed and won the fierce and beautiful forest queen. Ah, tlie tigress grew as gentle as the doe-the queen became the slave! Her warriors saw with a fierce and bitter jealousy the growing weak- ness of their queen-the discrowning of their goddess. They assembled round their council * fires and talked-they went to her and expostu- lated-in vain! in vain! She did not heed or even hear them! her soul was absorbed in one idea-one life! her senses all bound up in one ecstatic trance! They met again in council, and * after a deliberate, long talk they decided that the white intruder should leave their encampment ~ twenty-four hours at the peril *f his life. )NDALE. This decision was conveyed to Clinton the same evening. He assente&very calmly. And she! she left her Indian crown-she left her glorious heritage of independence, of love, of worship, and of power, and followed like a slave the foot-steps of her chosen master when he bade her follow! A hut in the depths of the forest received the English officer and his Indian mis- tress. He supplied his wants and hers by hunt- ing and fishing. She cooked his meals apd serv- ed him fondly. This you know could not last long-the highly educated, highly accomplished, elegant and fastidious Reginald Clinton, the flower of the young English aristocracy, could not long content himself with a savage, however attractive she might be. After the first ecstatic shock sent to his heart by her dark electric beauty had subsided, his passion waned. And after he had ceased to love her, her very tenderness, hu- mility and submission only disgusted and revolt- ed him; he determined to leave her. Reginald Clinton had nil a fine gentleman's abhorrence of "a scene." He resolved to evade one, so one day he took leave of Luin as if for a day of hunt- log, and he never saw her but once more. He turned his steps towards Shannondale, where he arrived late in the afternoon. Squire Summer- field received him with surprise and joy as one from the dead. He told them the story of his rescue by the Indians and of his sojourn, among them-but he said nothing of [~ulu. Squire Sum- merfield introduced him to his young sister, Rose Summerfield, for her exceeding beauty called the "Rose of Shannondale." She had just returned from France where she had been educated, and had arrived at Red Stone Hall during the absence of Colonel Clinton. Very lovely was the Rose of Shannondale-with her hebe-like style of beauty, her exquisite form, her fair complexion, with its sudden blushes-her deep blue eyes, with their' meek droop, and the clustering auburn tendrils that contrasted so brightly with her snowy forehead and roseate cheeks. Clinton was thrown constantly in her society, and he found her mind and heart richly cultivated and beautiful as her person. He loved her-not with that passionate delirium of attraction that had bound him to Luiu; but with a profound and tender affection founded upon deep esteem; and an affection that might have possessed redeem- ing power for him but for his sins against Lulu. A few weeks passed and Reginald Clinton was the accepted lover of Rose Summerfield, and their marriage day was fixed. Splendid prt~pa. rations were made. The fame of the magnifi- cence, of the approaching bridal spread all ever the country. A vast number of relatives and friends were invited. The marriage day came. Evening drew on. The guests assembled.- Night was turned to day with the splendor of th~ iiluminations. The marriage ceremony was over and the company were all in the saloon. Many I . SHANNO NDALE. 15 uu~zrnuus w~to up upon ins noor, ana rue music see the fellow for whom I would break my neck, pealed forth, drowning the roar of waters around or my heart either !" she exclaimed, flashing a the vale. Suddenly in the pauses of the music glance of defiance around upon the gentlemen of arose a wild, unearthly wail! It was so fierce the party, as if she felt disposed to avenge upon in its despairing woe that it might well be taken the whole sex, the crime of Lulu's betrayer. for the death cry of a soul condemned to eternal Winny stood a little apart-her eyes stream.. perdition. The guests paused and looked at each ing with tears-her form half supported by the other. "It is a blast of wind among the pines," encircling arm of her tutor. said one. "It is the howl of a pack of wolves," "This story moves you !" he said. said another-and the music pealed forth again- "Oh, yes !-because it is true. What a pie- and the dance went on. But again it rose, that ture of love, of wrong, of despair! Struck down fearful wail-piercing the air and echoed back by from her glorious pride of place 1-discrowned- the rocks and caverns. It came from the opposite betrayed-forsaken....alo~!" side of the river. The music ceased-the dan- "But the priest has not told us-was no effort cers-the whole company poured out into the made to rescue her ?" piazza. There in the full light of the harvest "Oh, yes !-a hundred young men, the instant moon-there upon the highest summit of the that she leaped, threw off their coats, ran down opposite tower-like rock sat Lulu, Queen of the the hill, and plunged into the flood !-in vain!- Shenandoabs, singing her death song. As the they risked their lives in vain !-she never arose bridegroom reached the spot she ceased-cleared to the surface-she was never seen again!" the air with a sudden bound and plunged into the "And her betrayer ?" waters beneath! Such was the end of4the beau. "A shadow fell upon his brow that never left tiful Queen of the Shenandoahs. Such the legend it during the short period of his'sojourn in Vir- of the Lover's Leap. ginia. Before winter he took his bride to Eng- land, and he never again visited the New World!" CHAPTER V. "The sun ~ growing oppressive, let us de- scend the mountain and return to the house," THE THREE BELLES or SHANNONDALE. said the priest. The party turned their steps, and after a short Harrr-Her waggish face that speaks a soul jocose, and difficult walk through the rocky thicket, Seems t' have been cast i' the mould of they reached the small open glade, where they fun and glee; had left their horses. Stopping to gather some And on the bridge of her well arched nose, sprigs of green cedar, flecked with tiny snow- Sits laughter-plumed and white-winged white ball-blossoms, they mounted their steeds, jollity. Temzent. and descended the circuitous path leading to the Wirsn?-Who does not understand and love her, level of the river. They found a fleet of boats With feeling thus o'erfraught? moored upon that side. Though silent as the sky above her, "Let us leave our horses to be led home by Like that she kindles thought. the grooms, and cross the river in the boats," Gilman. said Colonel Dangerfield. "No, I thank you, sir," replied Harry Joy,- imogene..... Full many a lady "the river is too high and rough." I have eyed with best regard-for several "I should not have given you credit for timi- virtues I base liked several women-but she!- dity, Miss Joy," observed Sina Hinton. oh, she ! "No, I am ,zot timid! I can ride the wildcat, So perfect and so peerless-is created and break the most vicious horse in the moun- Of every creature's best! .Skakspeare. tains, but I can do nothing with the river, in its - roused wrath I" The legend was finished-the priest arose- "Um-m.m," cooed Sina, in assent. and taking his staff, stood up in the midst of the "It may be my had taste, you see, ladies and party, who, having also arisen, surveyed the gentlemen, but I have an especial objection to theatre of the catastrophe. a helpless suffocation ;" and cheering on her "Yes," said Harry Joy, "here sat the Indian steed, Harry bounded forward, leading the way Qucen-discrowned and desolate-before her, up the river to the ferry-station. from the mansion across the flood, blazed the Her party, upen second thought, followed her. lights and pealed the music that celebrated her They reached Red-Stone Hall in time to dress false lover's gorgeous bridal! Here.-e~en from for dinner. Mrs. Summer1l~ld received them in hence, thedespairing death-song wailed above the dining-room, with her usual st~tely courtesy. the roar of waters and the thunder of the music At an early hour in the evening the visitors -and here her wild arms were tossed aloft as she retired to their rooms, to make their toilet for took the fatal leap. I should very much like to the evening. NDALE page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] 16 SHANNONDALE- There were about two hundred guests ezpect- 3d, and as the shades of night fell, they began to arrive. The whole front of the hall was one sheet of illnmination-the whole extent of the lwwn a grove of carriages. Numerous grooms, coach- men, and other servants and attendants of the visitors, filled up the piazzas and the passages. The great saloon was thrown open-a magnifi- cent spectacle! The dark and polished oak of the paunelled wall, relieved by large and costly paintings of old artists, all of a character at once scriptural and festal-as "The Feast of the Tabernacle," "The Marriage of Cana," "David Dancing Before the Ark of God," "The Prodigal Son's Festival," &c. These pictures were large a.s life-three on each side of the room-and garlanded with festoons of flowers. The spaces between them were filled up alternately with statues, holding immense wax candles, and immense vases, filled with flowers. The curtains at the windows, the sofa, ottoman,~'and chair-covers, were all of rich purple damask, fringed with gold. A gallery at upper end of the saloon held the band. A central chandelier, with a thousand pendant crystals, hanging from the ceiling, poured down a shower of various-colored light, filling the vast saloon with radiance. At the, appointed hour of reception, the doors were thrown open, and the band struck up a fine, inspiring strain of music. The saloon soon began to fill. It was whispered about that the "Three Belles of Shan- nondale" were to be present. Two of them were seated side by side on one of the short sofas. A perfect contrast were these two beau- ties-Harry and Winny. Harry, with her wick- ed black eyes, and her clustering curls, kinking like grape-tendrils, in short, spiral, glistening black ringlets around her broad, white, boyish brow-Harry, with her richly mantling, bright carnation bloom, and her saucy arched lips, and arrayed in her showy dress of blue and gold changeable satin, and frisking her saucy fan,- and Winny, with her soft, dark-blue, tender eyes, and her long, smooth, pale gold ringlets, drooping down her fair forehead and delicate peach-blossom cheeks-Winny, with her simple white silk dress, and little p~sey of pinks. Winny had no fan-she said that Harry Joy raised wind Onough for them both. Near them stood the queen of the festival-the beauty and the heiress-Imogene Summerfield-receiving her company. She was supported on one side by the presence of her mother; on th~ other, by that of her betrothed husband. Imogene Snmme;field!-how shall I describe her wondrous, her divine beauty? 1 feel that my steps are on holy ground as I approach her. Her form was above the middle height, ele- gantly proportioned, and arrayed in a richly embroidered black lace robe, worn over White satin. The effect of this dress was singularly beautiful. She wore no ornament, except her own long, black, splendid hair, that fell in three divisions of massive ringlets, far below her waist: one down her shoulders, behind, and two brought forward, and flowing down in waves of jet each side of her bosom. Her forehead was high and fair; her eye-brows black; slender, and arched; her eye-lashes black, long, and thiek-4 but her eyes-her large, dark, glorious eyes I- so profound in their interminable depths of meaning I-inlets to an unfathomable spirit- world within. She received her guests with a native grace and dignity; yet withal, a halt ab- stracted air-as she r!~sed her long eye-lashes, the light slowly returned to her shadowy eyes, as though the spirit was recalled from a distance. "And her smile it seemed half holy, As if drawn from thoughts more rare Than ourcorumon jestings are" There was something of reverence in the admiration she insp~red. There was some- thing of veneration even in the tone and manner of her dignified and gracious mother, as she ad- dressed her. She did not dance. You could not imagine her taking part in the lively cotiions- she did not dance-but when the solemn, half martial, half dirge-like march of the minuet was played, then, at the earnest request of Colonel Dangerfield, seconded by her mother, she gave him her hand to walk the stately minuet. A suppressed murmur of admiration, mingled with awe, floated around the room as the queenly form of Miss Summerfield sailed on in the ma- jestic measure. Colonel Pangerfield, also, hand- some and gallant-looking in his superb uniform, received his share of admiration from the ladies. At the termination of the august dance, Coloup~ Dangerfield, with a suave and stately courtesy~ conducted his partner back to her seat, ~owed profoundly, and remained standing by her side. Miss Summerfield did not dance again, nor did Colonel Dangerfield leave her side again that evening, though from time to time his attention was distracted by the musical laughter or the merry looks of Harry Joy. Quadrilles again followed the minuet, and Harry Joy bore off the palm in that lively mea- sure. "Her feet beat witchcraft as sne led the dance." Waltzing succeeded, and Winny Darling excel- led in that charming, half caressing whirl.- Many people were surprised that Miss Darling waltzed-a young lady carefully reared as she had been by her grandmother-but Winny was entirely tee pure-minded to dream that any one saw hitrm in waltzing. She waltzed with her tutor only. - It was late when the ball, broke up. As th night Was- fluio,~ most of the company retur~, home, but many remained all night; .an4 SHANNONDALE. them a sumptuous breakfast was prepared in tao Squire Darling was on the steps waiting to to. morning. Madam Winifred and Squire Darling ceive them. He was a stout, fair haired, blue.. arrived by dinner-time the next day, and having eyed man, with a countenance expressive of remained until late in the evening, invited the good humor and bonhommie; yet it was the whole party assembled at Red-Stone Hall to a bonhommie of the lion in repose. dinner and ball the next day at Oak Grove. This Reader! have you ever in visiting a meu&. invitation was of course generally accepted, and gene, observed that the ferocious among the Squire Darling and Madam Winifred returned wild beasts are the most benevolent looking home, leaving Miss Darling, her tutor and her when quiet. See the leopard in repose with his companion still at Red-Stone Hall. beautifully striped coat, his fur muffled paws, After an unusually early breakfast the next and his soft lip3, and gentle, sleepy eyes-he is monliing, and before the dew was off the grass, the very ideal of meekness, love and docility- the Red-Stone Hall party set out for Oak Grove but rouse him! and there is nothing in the uni. in tl~ following order-Mrs. and Miss Summer- verse more terribly sublime than his exploding geld, Father Burleigh and Colonel Lee Danger- fury. It is so with the tiger, it is so with field occupied the elegant family carriage of the lion, it is so with, all the superior animals, it Red-Stone Hall. Sina Hinton and Harry Joy is so through all nature. The most fertile and followed on horseback, and Winny and her beautifulcountnies are the most subject to destruc- teacher slowly brought up the rear. Winny was tive storms. The most awful volcanoes rise from a graceful, but not a. spirited equestrian. Her the midst of the most genial landscapes, and the horse was a perfect beauty. it was a thorough regions most luxuriant with the lavish bounties bred Arabian which her father had purchased of nature are the most frequently visited by the for her. Sea-foam was very small, snow-white, most fatal earthquakes. The most intense fires of an eKquisitely beautiful shape, with an ole- burn without often blazing, but when they do gant head, delicate ears, proudly arched neck, flame out, it is 'with terrible destruction. The from which descended a flowing, soft and silvery deepest seas are silent and beautiful, almost mane ,that nearly reached the ground, with loving, and smiling in their repose, but when a One owing tail like silver floss, slender they are heard, navies shudder at their breath! ankle t gleamed white, and tiny, jet black God-like or demon-like power in man, beast, hoofs. was a perfectly beautiful creature-a earth, air, or water, is not always making a poem horse. Winny loved him as a bro- noiso-does not carry thunder in its hand, or thor. s temper was at once gentle and spirit- wear lightning in its eyes. Great power is eea- ed, his action at once swift, smooth and wave- tripetal-but to return. like. Squire Darling, with his fair Saxon face, steed observee younevernidewithawhipMissDar- genially smiling on the steps of his piazza.-. ling," observed the tutor, as he rode by her side. Harry Joy's horse gallopped up the hill, and she "A whip! Oh! I am so sorry you said that! threw herself from the' saddle and ran up the a wkt~p! for the proud, beautiful creature'! when stairs, and stood there, looking handsome and a mere word will atop her, or a cheer send her impudent with her straw hat cocked on one side flying fbr~ard. Oh! it would break my heart of her head, and her short curls kinking in right, nearly if she were once degraded by a blow," black rings on each side of her broad, white fare.. replied Winny, caressing her favorite soothingly, head, her face all glowing with the oxerciso of as if to compensate her for the gross injury, the race, and the triumph of the victory. Winey, They rode on, Sina Hinton furtively watcl~ing Sina, and the tutor were at her heels, however, them, and were dismounting at the very instant that "The time is ripe," she said, and she resolved Squire Darling seizing both the hands of Harry, to inform against them that very day. said, The party arrived at Oak Grove about eleven "Ha! my little Nimrod, is this you-hearty o'clock. They entered the deep shaded umbra- and saucy as ever, I see!" and then he descend- geous paths that led by a circuitous route to the ed the steps, and all his manner changed to the great green gate admitting them to the grounds deepest tenderness as he folded Winny to his ~ou t the hail. Again all stopped to admire the heart, and whispered, and deeply shadowed lawn, and the mighty "My dear, dear Winny; my darling, welcome forest trees, each standing alone with its great, home; your poor father feels so lonely and dose.- round, knotted trunk, and its broad; spreading, late when you stay away a night, Winny-my ~oworful arms, and its heavy, dark green mass own darling, welcome home." of foliage; all paused to admire the dark~ gray, "Indeed I will never go away andleave you castellated leek.ing mansion standing amid the again then, papa-that I will not-for home, after patria~chaI oaks. They cantered up to the deer, all, dear home is the best place. I get tired of they4mounted. The occupants of the ~arriago company and great goings-on so oon !" arrived d some minutes before, azz4 ~sro in Sin~ Huiton came up the stops Ioaniug'ou the air rooms ehonging their dross. ~, armof the tutor. page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] Is SIIANNC ~' Miss Hinton and Mr. Ardenne you are both welcome back! I am glad to see you!" 'tue whole party retired to change their dress for dinner. Squire Darling followed, with a crotchet in his head. There was a little vein of romance in the broad strata of benevolence in his composition. This sometimes led him to jump to conclusions, not always correct. Miss Hinton and Mr. Ar- denne happened to be conversing in a very conil- dential strain when they rode up together; when they dismounted, Winny, as has been seen, had run forward to meet her father, and Mr. Ardenne had given his arm up the steps to Sins, and they continued their confidential talk until Squire Darling turned to them. Now Squire Darling had noticed this, and imagined there was a love affair existing between the tutor and the companion! He liked this! this suited him! it assimilated with the warm geniality and hon hommie of his temper-it seemed to him very proper and fitting. Sina is a frank, sincere, brave girl, and Ardenne is a most estimable youth; poor things! I dare say now they are looking forward to many, many years of waiting before they think they can marry-they are so destitute! but it shall not be so; I will be their providence; I will set him up in business, and they shall be married as soon as they please; for, by St. Peter, life is too short to be passed in waiting! but I must see mother first about it." And as the visitors were all in their private apartments preparing for dinner, the squire having an hour of relaxation from hospitable duties, went to see his mother in her room up stairs. He found the old lady deep in the perusal of the "Mysteries of Udoipho." Madam Wini- fred was a tall, thin, wasted old lady, with a long, pale, tbin face, with a mild expression.- Sne wore a black silk dress, with a white mus- lin inside handkerchief folded over her bosom, and a white muslin cap, beneath which her sil- ver hair was parted neatly over her brow. She looked so clean, pure, gentle and dignified. It was the dignity of age and goodness rathe'i than of pride, or even of wisdom. The old lady was a devoted Christian, though a bigoted Catholic; and now at sixty.five she was as full of romance as her grand-daughter of sixteen; yet it was the high toned and elevating chivalry of romance akin to religion, and it is to be presumed that it was from her the squire derived the romantic alloy in the pure gold of his own sound nature. I have before mentioned the perfect family har- mony and unity that existed between the houses of Oak Grove and Red-Stone; I will now in- form you that the love and confidence between this mother and son were perfect. "Good-morning, dear mother, what have you got there1~ "A very interesting new novel from the pen of Mrs. Radclxft, my son. My grand-daughter, ND ALL. Imogene, who never forgets mebrought it down from ~ieorgetown, for me." "Yes, ma'am. Mother! I have found out a nice little romance in real life! Love is always a romance, ha! mother? and when its happy consummation is almost hopeless, it is a deep ro- mance-is it not, mother ?" "I hope you do not refer to eit~.r of ipy arand-daughters, Miss Summerfield or Miss Dar. ling, my son ?" said the old lady, her mild, blue eyes looking very solemnly over her spectacles. Winny! pooh! Winny's a baby, in love with milk and bread! As for Miss Summertield-for by my life I never feel familiar enough with my niece to call her Imogene-as for Miss Scm- merfield, she is enamoured of an arch-angel in the seventh heavers, perhaps! No, I speak of Sina and the tutor-they love each other, poor children, and they can never marry unless we help them." "How help them?" inquired Madam Winifred, whom this news did not by any means startle, she having foreseen it. "How can we further the wishes of the poor young lovers? "'Money makes the mule go'-there is scarcely an enterprise in this world that money will not forward; scarcely an evil in this world that money will not avdrt-scarcely a g d on this earth, that money will not obtain." "More the pity that we should the slaves of lucre," said the old lady. "Yet, God forgive my levity!" said ire, with one of his sudden changes from lightness to solemnity -" May lied forgive my levity. there was one evil, that money could not avert -cannot cure! the loss of my adored wife; and there is one good-one God-given good-the possession of my darling, my blessed, my ido- lized child! my love-angel Winny !" said the father, with deep emotion. Ah! Squire Darling, mone2,1 did not purchase your treasure, nor can the want of money de- prive you of her. But-the pride of birth-the pride of rank-the pride of wealth-the inso- lence of power-the selfishness of love-the vengeance of jealousy-these will banish your love-angel from you! "Yes, you wrong your better nature, when you speak so lightly, my dear son. But what do you intend to do in the premises." "I intend to have an interview with Sina this very day. I should rather break the subject to her than to Ardenne; confound the fellow, there~ is a dark, dangerous majesty of manner .:about him that keeps of! near approach. Now Sina is safe-she is a free, frank, sincere girl; too sin- cere, I sometimes think. And if, after all, I should possibly be mistaken in my notions-why it is safer to betray the mistake to Cousin Bina, than to that solemn muzzle-mouthed felh~w that always reminds me of a canon. There is scarce~,, ly, however, a possibility of doubt. And weat ~ SfIANNONt~ALE. 19 mean to do, mother, is to set the young fellow have sailed in those torrid and tempestuous lati- up in any business he may select-that is, if I tudcs myself; and though now anchored in the have your approval and co-operation, my dear harbor of age I have not forgotten it!" mother." "You surprise mu, sir !" said Sina, not know- "Certainly my son! certainly! You have lug what else to say. more! you have my highest approbation and "I do! Oh, aye! to he sure! certainly! es- admiration; and you shall have my assistance actly! precisely so! You impertinent young also. Put my name down for a thousand dol- people think your elders know nothing ol such Jars" matters. I dare say now, you think me a stem ~' Thank you, my good mother. Now I must old fellow-one who would persecute a pair of see Sira before dinner-and I have just time- poor human turtle-doves-' a very beadle to an good day, till we meet at table, my dear amorous sigh-don't :ou? you saucy, injurious madam !" minx! You would lute to consider yourself a And Squire Darling hurried out of the room. persecuted love-heroine, and me a horrible old The devil was certainly, to use Old Nerve's, guardian, or uncle, or lather, oT something such graphic. and expressive term, "wasting"' as we all read of in novels, and such as we hate about Oak Grove that day. Sina Hinton hap. intensely. ~.I don't choose to play such a part! pened to be seeking Squire Darling at the very You shame have that satisfaction." time he went in search of her. They ran Sina turned extremely pale, as well she might. against each other in the passage. She thought it unquestionable that the simple "Ha, ha, ha! ha, ha, ha! squire had divined the whole policy of her dia- 'Ill met by moonlight, fair Titania.' bolical machinations, and designed to frustrate them by an unexpected course. She remained I mean-well met by sun-light, lovely Sina. I perfectly silent, and cQyered with confusion. A was looking for you," said the squire, jovially, moment's reflection, however, restored her confi- as he caught her with a shock. deuce; she put a different interpretation upon "And I for you, 8j~5~~ replied Sina, in a soft, tne affair. He knew, she thought, of the love of solemn tone, as she receded from his arms. Ardenne and Winny, but not 0± HER private de- "Ah! is it so? Come into my study," and signs-her self-possession was restored. opening an opposite door, Squre Darling led "You see I know all about it-nay, look down Miss Hinton into a small office-like room-and girl-I know it all. He's got black hair, black seating her on an arm-chair, took a common one eyes, black eye-brows-looks like the Black himself, and leaned his elbow on the little study Prince, only much grander! he writes tragedies. table that stood between them. "Well, little plays dirges, paints pictures of the Crucifixion, one, what is it? Come! speak out! be frank, sad makes himself in various other ways, use- like your own sincere self!" said the squire, less and disagreeable! and all because he loves leaning on his elbows, with his bright blue eyes a nice girl, whom he never hopes to marry!" dancing with glee. said the squire, looking wa~ishly at Sins, and Smna dropped her head, let droop her long eye- pinching her cheek. lashes, and replied, softly, Nor, quick as llghtning,~ina understood that "Sir, it is a delicate-a s'er~,.' delicate subject he supposed her to be the object of the tutor's -one most painful for rue, especially, to enter passion, and she determined tsr use this to r'~mveai upon." She paused in a feigned embarrass- as by accident, rather than to betray by ddsugn, meat. the love of Ardenne and Wi.nny. She affected The squire jumped up, and rubbed his hands for to misapprehend him. She replied, joy and fun. "A delicate subject is it! and for "Then, sir, ~,ou knew of this." -. - you-eu - ou!" sang the squire. "Then, "I suspected it long, but I did not know it un- by the soul of my father, I know all about til this morning." it." "Urn-in-me," cooed Sin; "then I am reliev- "You do, sir!" exc aimed Sina, raising her ed! oh! so greatly relieved! Oh, sir! you can- long lashes, and fixing her fine eyes on him in not imagine what a terrible struggle 1 have had hantlsome surprise, between my duty to you, and my love for Winny Sina, with her keen perception, saw that he and her lover!" was on a false track, and resolved to make his "Winny and-her LovRn!t ~Who? What? very misapprehension serve her purpose ii poe- la the name of all the fiends be1ow~ girl I what sible. . do you mean 1" exclaimed the sq~r., turning "You do, sin You ksose this!" chalk white, starting upon his and trem-. "I 'do air,' every whit-every sigh and tear- bling with rage-" who daree to dispute the every hope and fear-every doubt and dread- heart of my daughter, with me? Winnyl Iwoi~ every blush and palpitation! Oh, my dear, 1 not give her to a crowned King! Reply to me girl? tell me instantly, on your life! WA. - * Waysting-laying wait-inciting people ic evil, this lover of my daughter-that 1 may-" I page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] 20 ~~SHIANNONDALE- 81 O )AE "Oh, sir! oh, sir I" exclaimed the cowardly astute-that cunning squire 1-that accomplished traitoress, paling with alarm. old schemer! God forgive me I-that old ser- ~' S~EAK~ I SAY 1" thundered the Squire, his pent, Squire Darling 1" face crimson, his veins nearly bursting with "Squire Darling 1-that soul of frankness and fury, ~5PBAK~ who is this lover, that I may xu.L simplicity! I do not us the least comprehend him 1" you 1,, Oh, sir 1-I beg-I pray!-" "Squire Darling-that adept in falsehood and "~NsWziIi" roared the Squire, grasping her duplicity, of which I have been made the silly, shoulder, and shaking her violently, wretched victim 1" exclaimed Sina, bitterly, "It-it -it is-Mr. Ardenne!" gasped Sina, in Wringing her hands with an air of very honest the last extremity of terror at the storm she indignation. had raised. "Be so gooc as to explain yourself, Miss un- "Ardenne!" repeated the Squire, turning pale, ton" and sinking into his seat, with a wandering "I will; and do you prepare to hear some- air; "Ardenrie 1-I am losing my reason-that - thing atrocious! An hour ago the squire is the only fact of which I am conscious I" called me into his study, and with an air the Sina Hinton took this opportunity of slipping most benevolent and frank in the world-gave out of the room; she ran wildly up and down me to understand that he knew of your love, and the galleries in search of Ardenne. Gliding approved your suit; nay, asserted in the most swiftly, and darting her head hither and thither positive manner that he knew all about it; nay, like a terrified adder. In truth she had not ex- as he said, he knew 'every hope and fear-every pelted this typhoon of rage in the father; at sigh, blush and palpitation,'-said that he was no most, she had calculated on his moderate dis- persecutor of young lovers-no tyrannical father pleasure, on his dismissal of Ardenne from the -nay, he smiled, chuckled, and rubbed his house, and upon that circumstance, with her hands-said that you should not ha've the saIls- own machinations, ending in the elopement of faction of making him out such, and finally drew Winny-whose place she wished to fill in her me on to admit that there was a love affair be- i~ther's home and heart. She had resolved, also, tween you and Winny. It seems that all he before revealing anything, to bind the simple- wanted was this admission from me, for he no minded squire over to secrecy, as to her agency sooner got it than he flew into the most fright. in the revelation, so that she should not forfeit ful fury I ever beheld in my life; he turned the friendship of Ardenne and Winny, or lose white; he shuddered; his eyes started from his her influence over them, for that was t~ery im- head, and he foamed at the mouth! Then, portent, was positively necessary to the success when I implored mercy for you-for her, and for of her schemes. But now no promise of secrecy myself,-he grew black in the face-his veins as to the informer had been obtained from the swelled-he pounced upon me, and shook the squire,-his blind rage precluded the possibility breath nearly out of my body I" of the thing-and now all was lost, unless she "Shook you, Sina I" exclaimed the youth, could see Ardenne before the squire should meet with flashing eyes, springing to his feet. him. "For Heaven's salw etrn~ w. ~. ~ ------------------------y. ~j'~u~ ~ CHAPTER V . - SINA HINTON. "la face an angel, but is soul a cat." Wolcott. Sina, as we have said, fled about the house like a scared cat, as she was, and finally found Ardenne reading "The Lady of the Lake" to Miss Darling, in the piazza. She sprang t, his side-she seized his elbow. "Come! come with . me -into one of the distant arbors-I must-I MusT have an in- terview with you immediately. Nay, Winny, stay where you are," and she drew Ardenne away, who followed her with an amazed air. When they reached the arbor-" All is lost!" she said, "all! all is lost Oh, Ardenne, for- give me 1" "1 do not understand you, Miss Hinton." "Forgive me I forgive me 1-that deep-that father-or at least the father of one who will soon be your wif~*~~ This was a deep stroke of art on the part of Sina. At the electric words "Your wife," the young man grew pale and reeled with excess of pleasure. "Wife." What a magic word. Sina left him to his trance, to his ecitacy- she would not have said a word to break it, as she valued the reversion of Oak Grove to her. self-only when he was slowly recovering she said, affectionately, "Yes, Edgar! for you must marry her! Lis- ten, Edgar I her father as soon as he can find you, will be brute enough to-not to mince the matter-to kick you out of doors. Now if any false sense of honor prevents you from taking Winny with you, she will perish here in her desolation! I knew it. I am in her confidence. I am her bosom friend. She sleeps every night ii my arms, ~dgar-her head upon my bosom, (here was another piece of diabolism,) this bo- som is often wet with her tears as she inur. I 21 murs in her slumber of you! If from any false never look grave, I do not mind it! I would ask sense of probity you fad to take her with you-- you not to say anything of this interview nor to nay, if you listen to her own pleading in behalf mention my name in it in any way, I should ask of hs~r filial duty, for she is capable of self-im. you to do that, but that my very soul loathes all molation. you leave her to a certain death-be- concealments! Nay, then, tell him. Edgar! tell lievi~ it! Do not listen a moment to her plead- him everything! it it falls in your way-and-' ins's of her father and her duty-her duty is to with a look of martyrdom-" he must do his you-you are her master, you know it I-fate worst 1" and nature have made you such. You must use "1 certainly shall not betray your confidence, your authority to save her-you must not leave my dearest Sina,-there is no necessity of men- the premises without trying her with you! I tioning your name, and I shall not." will assist you! I am willing to be crucified for "Yes, do,-I wronged my own soul and yours my friends! ap I have already suffered violence when I hinted at a concealment; ~for my own for them this morning." part, I shall make no secret of the part I take She spoke with her eloquent eyes fixed on him in your affairs,-exceptin what is positively ne- -her glorious eyes glowing into his. He mused, cessary for your safety. I should scorn-" here not quietly. Oh! no-quick flushes swept his face her fine eyes flashed and her lip curled-" I and left it pale with passion-he did not reply- should scorn copcealment upon my own ac- the temptress continued with her soft and plead- count I" ingor her high, authoritative and inspiring tones, "You are a noble girl, Sina,-proud, courage. "She loves you tenderly, profoundly loves you ous, frank, sincere-but not discreet-not pru- -she loves her father, her grandmother, her dent." friends, but the affection she feels for her father, "Prudence is a questionable virtue-it is in- grandmother, and all her friends put together compatible, oftentimes, with truth, courage,.. j and multiplied a million fold, would not equal the faith, love-everything that is highest and holi- love she bears to you! Is this love natural? Is est-everything that is loveliest and most beau- it right? Is it Heaven inspired? You know it tiful! I observe that bad people have vastly is! Does it give you a claim to her? Does it more of that worldly commodity than good pee- constitute a divine marriage of itself? You ple! I wonder how it ever came to be enrolled know it does! 'Whom God hath joined together among the virtues-it is some careless haste 'in let no man put asunder!' Do you think these the packing up and labelling I" laughed Sina. divine words refer to the church ritual by which The peal of the dinner-bell startled them both. hands are united so often without hearts? By "Go on," said Sina, "1 have got to gather a all the most beautiful things on earth-by all the bouquet for Miss Summerfield. I promised to holiest things in heaven, I tell you no! It is to hand her one after dinner." the co-attraction of your souls! The law that "Let me do it I" - keeps suns in their centres, and planets in their "Thank you,-do so, if you pleaseand I will spheres, should govern the souls of earth-at. go on," said Sina, who did not wisI~ to be seen traction. You are her sun and she your planet. entering the dining-room in his company. What right has the world with its impertinent Sina came sauntering easily towards the house. conventionalities, or a father with his tyrannical She was met in the passage by Squire Darling, will to sever two souls that love? You are her wh% drawing her arm within his own, said, sun-she your planet-desert her-repulse her, "1 must apologize for my rudeness to you and even as a comet or a lost star wanders in this morning, Miss Hinton I do hope that .u the dark and drear immensity of space forever- will forgive the violence of an over-wron so-she will be lost in the endless night of death temper-a madness that made the victim miss or madness 1" . the just object of his indignation, to let it fall "On, Heaven! speak to me no more, Sinai I upon the innocent-but never mind 1-there is must seek an interview with this man! I must time enough 1" and his eyesglowed, flashed and see Squire Darling, acknowledge my love for his sparkled. '~I will not terrify my company-but daughter and ask her hand! That is the course let them be gone-curses 1-cursas on this un- of honor I That I must do! The rest perhaps lucky dinner and ball that delays my anger I" afterwards !" Sina pressed his hand-Sina looked gently in The youth was about to leave the arbor, but his eyes-Sina spoke lovingly to ~iim. she artfully laid her hand upon his arm and de- "I was so sorry-so sorry-dear me, how I tamed him a moment. have reasoned with Ardenne about it. 1 told "1 know," she said, softly and sadly, "I him that his wooing your daughter was a breach know what will be my fate if Squire Darling of faith-that it was-" knows of my further interference in this matter, "D-l fly away with him! Don't say ano- and particularly of my interviewwithyouhewill ther word about him, or I shall make.. disturb. turn me out of doorsand I shall be thrown upon ance here!" growled the squire, in horrible the world for support I but nevet mind, Edgar I low thunder. 20 SHANNONDALE. page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] SJIANN He led her into the dining-room, and plac her at table, where the rest of the comnpa: were already assembled. Winny was ther looking pale and -anxious, yet uncertain ni mystified, as if she felt the storm in the air, bi could not see from what point the cloud arose. Ardenne was the last to enter; placing tI bouquet in a flower-stand until it might be wan ed, he took his accustomed seat at the board.- rhe squire greeted him with an excess of cou: tesy, amounting to insult Ardenne, as ti tutor, gave precedence to all the gentlemen c that side, and sat on the last seat of the row, aa nearest that of the squire, who presided at fti least. "1 have been seeking you, sir," he said. "I am at your command, sir," replied Ai denne. "I am advised of the honor you intend me !~ said the squire. Ardenne bowed with grave and stately con: tesy in reply, and the squire, somewhat modifie by his manner, or recollecting himself as a Vi: giniasi, a gentleman and a host, returned th bow, and gave his attention to other things.- Ardenne sa~ there-but he could not eat-~ mouthful would have choked him-he sat there and feigned with his knife and fork, to avoi exciting inquiry. Winny was opposite to him Ks the daughter of their host. she had give: precedence to all the ladies of the party, an taken the lowest seat on her side-across th table from Ardenne. Wmnny saw the by-pla3 between her father and her lover,-she saw thai he are nothir g-and with all her efforts to re strain them, the tears would rise to her eyes ~he wiped them away, fast as they flowed, bul they would fill again. Her father looked at he: sternly several times; this had the contrary of. feet from that intended-Winny sobbed out- right! "Leave the table, Miss Darling !" saidher father, with a severe frown, hut in a low tone- gr~atily fearing that her agitation would draw enrion, and dreading a scene. Winny, tram- hung, arose aiid left the table. Ardenne arose with a fierce but steady gaze into the eyes of the squire, and followed her. "What is the matter ?" inquired Madam Wini- fred. "Nothing! nothing! but that Miss ~Darling has turned a little giddy," said the squire, and then to himself he said, "Very well, young man! you are 'piling up wrath ag-~inst a day of wrath!' go on I you will scarcely elope with my daugh. tar while we are at dinner, and if you could you Cannot be legally married in Virginia. thanks to the conservative precaution of our laws I" In the meantime Ardenne had found Winny in the piazza He drew her arm within his own, arid led her down the steps,, and out through the shade of the grand old oaks, and through a side 0 N P ALE. ed gate that led into the deepat shades of the sy 'orest they passed the gate, entered the narrow e, path, and pursued it until it brought them to a id clear spring bubbling from a cleft in a rock-he a?. seated her there on the fallen trunk of a tree, and passing one arm around her waist, pressed her ic fondly to his bosom, kissed her lips, and looking t- down lovingly in her face, he said, - "What is the matter, dearest Winny ?" r- "I don't know, indeed I don't! I know my Le heart is broken-but I don't know how it was n broken, nor who did it! I feel that some woe id has come-but 1 do not know what it is, nor 0 whence it came I" And with a suffocating sob she dropped her fair head upon his breast-cling.. ing there as if fo~r relief and protection, while ~- she wept. He drew her closer to his bosom. He caressed, and sought to soothe her-he stroked " her fair ringlets from her brow, and pressed his lips there, At last she wept herself quiet, and * gently disengaging herself from his embrace, she d sat up. Both were silent-both gazing with a - vague, sad gaze upon the ground. 0 It was strange that with all this the word - "love" had never passed the lips of either. Soon a taking her hand he said, , "Dearest Winny-my own dearest angel, I am going away." She looked at him intently, scrutinizingly, as though she had not comprehended his words. I "I am going hence, Winny." She looked in a maze-slowly turned very pale, and seemed fainting-he caught hei-sup- I ported her; then she inquired faintly but anxiously- "What-what did you say-about-about- goieg away?" "Mine own love, I am going." * "You-you going! No, no! no, no! that * cannot be! You !'Why should you wish to go? On, no! do not go I" she said, with a sickly at- tempt to nile. "My own, own sweet angel! my precious darw ling, I must go." "Alu.st-~why must? Oh, you will not go, Edgar! You will not go, when you know-if you knew-" She burst into tears, and sobbed convulsively; and then through her broken sobs she said-" Listen, Edgar: When we separate at night, I leave you with sadness, to think that for six or eight hours 1 shall not see you again- and I pray for a sound sleep that the time may be annihilated to me that separates us. I never felt so about my father, or my grandmother, Edgar, though I love them. When I wake in the morning, the first thing I think of is, that L shall see you in a few minutes, and that we have a long, long day before us to spend together. Towards evening my heart begins to sink, for I * feel the hour of separation drawing near; I feel it before it com~a, just as we feel the dampness of a rain cloud before the shower comes on. This S H A N N 0 N D A-L E. '23 s all a mystery to me-perhaps I am wrong to "Death, sir! do you hear me I-put down my tell you-but I feel as if I could tell you any- daughter!" he exclaimed; his fingers working thing in my heart-oh, yes! I could tell you involuntarily, as thougLi with difficulty he kept much better tran I could my father confe"sor- his hands off' the young man. Ardenne conti- and if I tell you anything that is wrong, tell me nued to bathe the face of Winny who now show- so; I will not be angry. I could not be angry ed signs of recovery. ~vith you-it I am wrong reprove me-I shall "H-il and furies, sir I-will you do as 1 tell not resent it; I should not resent it-for I know you!" exclaimed the old man, losing all self- that you care for ~ There was sn much sim- command, and running upon Ardenne who, sain- plicity, me~kness, and sadness in her manner, so ing his wrist with one hand, held hint struggling much appealing earnestness in her upturned at bay while he said-- eyes. He tell at her feet-seized tier hands cover- "I am about to bear her to the house, place ed them with kisses, and bathed them with her in the care of the ladies, and then, Squire tears- Darling, I shall wait upon you in your ~tndy, "Care for you, Winnyl Care for you! I love if you will give me the honor of an interview." you,!-love you! more than my life, my soul, "In the fiend's name go on then, sir I-I too Heaven, God! Love you! oh, my own sweet, am anxious-as a lover !-ha I ha !-for that sweet serape, to save you one pang I would be same interview," replied the squire. crucified !" Ardenne carried his fair and beloved burden She stooped forward, and threw her arms on, closely followed by the squire- She recover. around his neck, and dropped her head, with all ed in his arms, and as she lay there she would its flowing ringlets on his bosom, as she softly open her gentle eyes and look at him so lovingly, replied, then close them again in fear. "And I-to save you a day's misery-I would They reached the house-they entered through be annihilated !" a side door. Sina Hinton was in the way. It "Crucifixion! annihilation! why do we talk was her arms that received Winn7 from those of of these sublime honors, love? I will do more Ardenne. for thee! I will do for thee what millions of "Be tender with her, Miss Hinton-dear Sine, our brothers do for our sisters every hour. I be tender with her," whispered Ardenne, and will enter a life of hopeless and endless toil for turning, he bowed, and signified to Squire Dir- thee, Winny. I will labor for thee night and hog his readiness to accompany him to his study. day, and thou shalt not feel fatigue or know pri- "Come an, sir !" exclaimed that gentleman, ovation " in a tone as though he had~aid-" Be hanged, "Not so! not so I-it shall be 1 who will work sir!" / for you. 1 will be your servant,-your slave- Ardenne followed him into his study-they and if fatigue comes-if privation comes-oh, it were seated. will be passing sweet !-when 6orne for you. "Squir.~ Darling, I love you.~ daughter I,, Ah! if pain comes, it will bring ecstacy-not "The d -l you do, sir I" agony! AhI I knew it I-it is wonderful-it is "I wis to marry her I" beautiful-it is divine-it is true !-every pain "Zounds I-to hear th~ fellow's impudence I- endured for a beloved and loving one is no longer to say this to my very face. I never dreamed a pain, but an exquisite pleasure I-the deepest, that he woutd dare this. 1 thouitht he wished strongest joy known in life I-a silent, hidden, to run away with her. Well! let's hear that profound, ecstatic trance of thasoul-ihat brings over again," thought the squire, but he aai4- heaven down! Oh! my archangel I-may God "You wish to-what ?" *give me the heaven of toiling and suffering for "I wish to marry Winny Darling, sir! tad I - you!" And she fell again upon his bosom. He ask your permission to pay my addressato ~ pressed her in silence there a moment, and then "Good !-l like t~t I-that's cool, and above- a heavy hand fell upon his shoulder, and shook 1 eardl Hem-rn !-well I what fortune are you him violently. Winny screamed and faint- prepared to settle upon Miss Darling, sir 1" ed. Ardenne shook off the hand-raised Winny "A sound body and sound mind-a heart in his arms-sprang up, and confronted Squire that loves her!~s that will labor for her!" Darling! "Tory good! Miss Darling, my daugh- it was wonderful-the self-government with 1 r, the heiress ~r Oak Grove, is to leave her which the squire deported himself. Only the native halls, her troops of slaves, her lain- excessive paleness of his face, and the slight 3 ous home, her father's protection-for--what, tremor of his frame betrayed the hidden rage, sir i-if it please you to tell." the suppressed thunder that shook him. - ~' For the humble home of a poor and strug. "Put down my daughter, sir I" he command- gling man, sir,-for a life of industry, of fru~a1I- ed, in a deep, stern voic~ But Ardenne stoop- ty,-for a husband's devoted love?' said tl~. ed, and dipping water '~Th his hand from the young man, with much dignity,-" and she wftl bubbling spring, bathed her face. be happier so, sir, for she love. me I" page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] 24 SHANN "Death and d-n, sir I she loves you no.1!- ft is a lie! and you are a-" Here, losing all self-control--all sense of decency and propriety, the squire lroke forth into the most violent and shameful torrent of invective and abuse-and concluded by thundering, "Get out of my house, sir? or by all that's holy, I sj~sIl kick you out I,' Livid with the rage suppressed for Winny's sake, the young man turned and left the study, and soon after left the house. The squire sank down into his chair, and wiped and wiped again the perspiration from his brow, his heart throb- bing as if it would choke him. This loss, this utter loss of all self~command, had been what the squire had tried to guard against all day- -this was the reason why he had not followed Ardenne immediately when the latter arose and went after Winny from the dinner table. In his first interview with Sina Hinton, the surprise, the violence of the shock his feelings had received, had thrown him off his guard, and he had given way to the phrenzy of anger. When that was past, though still in a deep rage, he resolved to guard against its breaking out into fury and alarming his guests; for, as I said, the squire had all the instincts of the gentleman and the hostbut theopenupright frankness, which he call- - ad the "cool impudence," of Ardenne, had dri- van him mad. Now he satwith his light hair stick- lug stragglingly out in every direction, with his blue eyes contracted, isis fair, red face streaming with perspiration, his fat knees apart, and hold- ing a large straw haE with both hands, as he fanned himself. After a little, he got up and rung the bell. A s nt answered it. "Send Miss HinfZi 'ito. me, sink it 1-go and say to Miss Hinten tWat I beg the favor of her presence for a few minutes in this study." The servant left the room. In an instant after, Sina glided in. "Sit down, Miss Hinton 1-sit down, my dear? I have sent the young rascal about his business, my dear I" if Alas, sir, frie ly as I feel towards him," said Sins, putting er handkerchief to her face, "I must admit that his expulsion was well de- served 1" "I reckon it was I The insolent fellow had the impudence to ask my permission to marry my daughter I Now, that was a great deal more assuming and presumn~ than if he had tried to elope with her," sa squire, wiping his face and furiously fanning imselt. "Ah, talking of elopements, where is that poor little angel-I mean that wicked little daughter of mine ?" '~'I carried her to my room, because it was nearest, sir-she is lying on my bed." "Ab I go lock the door !-...go at once, Miss Hinton-lock the door, and always keep the key yourself; she shall be in yourcharge; when ON PA LE~ she wishes to come out, do not leave her side a moment !" Now, at first thought, Sina did not like this being constituted Winny's jailor, but a mo- ment's reflection taught her. that this was the very way in which she would be best able to assist the intercoufee of the lovers, and forward her own plans. She curtsied and withdrew from the study to obey the command. She went to her room, and found Winny still lying on the bed, with her hands pressed over her face, ann the tears stealing through her fingers. Sina stooped over her, kissed her tenderly, and whiz- pered softly, "Winny, my dear love, your father-.-your stern, harsh father-has commanded me to lock you in; have faith in me, Winny, have faith in me, dear child, and by seeming your jailor, 1 shall be your friend and assistant. You shall see your lover to-night," and the girl-..and double traitress - doubly, trebly steeped ma falsehood, locked the door and returned to the study. "Ahi very well-very well, indeed I" said the squire, when he saw the key. "Now, Miss Hinton, is the young villain-the Black Prince -gone ?" "I heard a servant say that he had taken his departure, sir, and that he had left directions to have his baggage forwarded to Harper's Ferry." "Very well, it shall be done-Miss Hinton 1" "Sir I" "You are a very pretty girl; give me a kiss." "1 am a very plain, poor girl, sir, with no dower but my discretion." "And a very good dower-and by lleavenyou shall have a better one," said the squire. "1 offer you my duty, sir; have you any far-. ther commands for me ?" "No-yes! no-that is to say, I have a ques- tion to ask. Has this disagreeable affair got wind among the visitors yet ?" "Not at all, sir. Mrs. and Miss Summerfield are in their chambers, in a remote part of the house-and Colonel Dangerfield is out shooting with Harry Joy, and Father Burleigh has gone to marry a couple." "D-n 'marrying a couple'-it's all non- sense I" "Anything more, sir ?" "No! be off with you? you little prude; you only stay here to worry me." And Sina Hiuton curtsied~and glided from the room with a singular smile on her lips. Sina met the priest as he came in from his mission. "Good evening, Father Burleigh," she said, and hastened to take his staff and hat, and put them upon the rack-and to offer him a chair in the coolest ps~f the piazza. "1 can-. not think where Harr be," said she, leaning over the balustrade and pretending to be looking I SIIANNO eagerly out-then returning, she sea ccl tit~ near the priest and said, in her insinuating tones, "What a charming girl your niece is, Father Burleigh-such a remarkable style of beauty, too-such a fine expanded white brow; does she resemble her mother?" and Sina fixed her eyes on his eyes, and slowly sent their glances deep into his very soul. "Say, Father Burleigh, doeb she resemble her mother ?" The priest grew very pale, and trembled. "On!" said Sina, with a look of deep repen- tance, "perhaps you loved her mother very much-and grieved very much over her death- and I, indiscreet girl, have opened again the long closed wound. I am deeply grieved." The priest arose, tottered, grasped the chair and sank back into it. Sina ran and got a glass of water-gave it to him with the softest words of sympathy and condolence, while her eye fixed triumphantly, maliciously upon his, said, "I have the deepest secret of your soul-you are henceforth my slave. You have unbounded or almost unbounded power over your p~rssh- loners, over the families especially of Oak Grove 'and of Red-Stone! You shall use it as I direct." And havirtg driven this stake, she went to her room-and in a disguised hand wrote the follow- ing short note to Edgar Ardenne: --.-" Your loved one is in the last, the very last extremity-she lies like a 'bower beaten down by the storm; nothing but your presence will revive her-nothing but your presence this evening, will give her strength to bear the few days separation that must intervene between this and your marriage. Be, at ten this evening, at the place where we talked together this morn- ing, and I will conduct you to her. "In haste and in peril, "You know who." It will be observed, that in this cautious note, there was neither name, date, locality, or any sufficiently distinct allusion to betray her, even if as a remote possibility it should fall into other hands than those intended to receive it. Be- sides, the hand was an imitation of that of ano- ther member of the family. While Sina sealed this letter she looked at Winny- Winny was lying on the bed very quiet, with her face half b~iried in the pillow-apparently, perhaps really unconscious of the presence of any one else in the apartment. Sina elided from the room, down stairs and slipped the letter in the post-bag just as it was about to be carried off. "So far, so good! he must think it necessary to carry Winny off to save her life! Now for Winny, she must be made to believe it essential to the continuance of his existence, to be carried off by him." And Sine returned to her room, where Winny still lay~ She went up to the side of the bed-stoop- ed over Winny, laid her hand gently on the 3 NDALE. 25 ts~rob'ing young head, drew aside the golden ringlets that clung damp to her temples, kissed her tenderly, and murmured, in her soft melliflu- ous tone- '~Look up, my love; my love-sister look up and tell me how you are.~~ Winny's white arms arose from the bed and drew the head of Sina down to hers in silence. Sina sat upon the side of the bed, nestled to her, raised her up, and laid her fair head upon~'1ier bosom, stroking her golden ringlets, kissingher, and cooing comfort all the while. "Sinai what passed between-between fa- ther and-and him I" "My dear Winny! my little love, it is best you should not know I" said the artful girl, with a look o~ solemn meaning. This of course terrified the poor child. and stimulated her to fresh and urgent iuquiry-.-.-aa it was intended to do. "Oh, tell me! tell me, dearest Sinai" "My love! my little darling-it would only make you more miserable-do not ask me I" Winny turned deadly sick with fear, and would have fainted but for the mental stimulus of her keen anxiety. ~' This dread is worse tuna certainty-tell mc I" faltered the white and trembling child. "Well, then, dear child, it you must have it, I will tell you. I happened to be in the pas- sage leading to the study- he - your -father, I mean, talked loud, and I could not help hearing him. Edgar, like an honorable, high should man as he is, did not seek to conceal any~ things he avowed his love for you; admitted that he had nothing but a cabin and a life of in-. dastry and frugality to share with you, and-" "And oh! if father were willing! it Would be such a heaven to share that poverty! Oh, it would be a divine joy to work and to bear pain for Edgar," said Winny, clasping her little white hands in a sort of ecstasy. "Tne inconceivable little idiot! ' thought Sina to herself. "Well, well! what said father, Sina ?" "He! he broke out into fury! he heaped every sort of obscene and blasphemous abuse upon Ar- deane." "Oh, Mary Mother! Oh, All merciful Lord 1" prayed Winny, with clasped hands and pallid brow-" and Ardenne! and Ardenne I" "He was your father, Winny, and that cir- cumatance struck your lover powerless before him. Any other man but your father must have perished then and there by the roused wrath or your lover-the old bear would have been but as a child in the grasp of the young lion' But could he lay hands on your father? Ardenne was pale with the passion he controlled. He bore tts@ taunts, the insults, the obscene epithets heaped. unon his head, with the meekness! fihi .4 ~ the meekness of the lamb, for your sake, Winny 1" page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] 26 SHANNONDALE. S H A N NON DALE. Sina spoke with so much eloquence of words, tones, anti gestures, That bad as she was, she must nave in a degree felt what she uttered.- Winny had been white with terror at the com- mencement of the description-the tears that had been frozen at their fountain now melted and ran down her cheeks-but the lightning flashed through the shower as she said, ~J'tiat contumely should be heaped upon his head! My noble, my high-souled, my god-like one! My archangel! and by my father! But I-even 1 will compensate him! 1, whom they call the heiress of 04k Grove; to whom every one bows with such profound deference; 1, be- fore whose small footsteps every one turns aside to make nay; I, the only daughter of the haughty Darlings, will show him so much defer- ence, so much meekness, so much submission, anti so, if contempt approach, I must absorb it- it shall not touch my archangel! He shall feel that however others, in their blindness, may mistake and contemn him, he is my archangel still I" "Bat when do you expect to see him again, since he has left 0 ik Grove ?" said Sina, break- ing in upon the maiden's enthusiasm. ' What opportunity do you expect to find for all this compensation, my dearest Winny ?" "True! true! Oh, Virgin Mother! oh, pity- ing Seviour! what will console him in his sor- row?" cuitidren-he whose talents opened for him the road to the highest distinction!" "Oh, All-merciful Father! not that fate for Au denne! come degradation! come contempt to me rather!" "Listen again! he will be here this evening. I will admit him when the company are at the height of their dancing in the saloon. He will ask you to fly with him-do not refuse him." "But, oh merciful heaven! my poor father!" "He trampled the honor of your lover under his feet!" said the astute Sina. The eyes of Winny flashed through their tears. Then Sina said calmly, "Nonsense! Fathers make a great row be- forehand, but afterwards they all become agreea- ble enough. Your father would never consent to your marriage, but when you are once mar- ried, he will readily forgive you-how can he help it? What geod will it do him to retain his wick- ed anger, for do you Aot see, that though his anger might prevent yaur getting married, and is so far useful, yet once married, his persistence in anger cannot unmarry you, and is therefore useless. He will be too wise to persevere in what is useless as well as wrong. B~msides, as 1 said, he cannot help it. You are his only child. He loves you-he cannot live without you." "Ahi what an ungrateful child I should be to leave him then, my poor, old, fond father, my good father !" I, "You will! You spoke just now from the "He called Ardenne a-, and an-, and a-" ~ depths of your prophetic heart. It will be as you "Oh! for goodness sake hush! you make me have dreamed and as you have said, but you deadly sick." must have faith and courage. Listen! he loves "I was about to say before you stopped me you more than life! to lose you would paralize first, that your father, as he cannot do without all his energies, would strike him with imbe- you, will when you are once married and the diity, be would probably break his heart, com- deed is done, receive you back. He loves and will mit suicide." continue to love you. He will forgive Ardenne, Winny again grew very pale. "Might lose and love and honor him for your sake-and do his reason and be sent to the lunatic asylum, you not perceive that that will even neutralize the and lastly and worst and most probable of all-" disgrace of the abuse he has received-for that "Well Well ?" gasped Winny, clasping her which would tarnish the honor of a man coming hands. "Well? Well ?" from another man, would lose its power coming "Might and would, it is likely, take to drink, I from his father-in-law. It is no dishonor to and in disappointment and des pair become a sot I bear indignity from ~fl5~5 father, you know!" like Mike Lengron-think of the degradation "So it is not!" replied Winny. upon your arcnangel 1" "Come, darling, cheer up I-your fate looks "Hon or! horror! anything but that! Mad- smiling enough! 1 will venture to predict that ness! death! anything that would leave his me- in one week from this time, Mrs. Ardenne will mory honorable! anything but that!" be receiving the congratulations of her friends "Aid it is so often the case-now poor mise- in her father's halls I" rable Mike Langron was once a young lawyer of "May Heaven grant it!" thought the blushing great talent and eloquence, the pride of the Vur- maiden. glnia bar, it was said that he would certainly "Squire Darling will push the fortunes of his have risen to the very b~gbest rank in his pro. son~in-law, and Edgar Ardenne-wish a good fession-he might have been Attorney General- field opened to his splendid talents, will riuie to he might have been President of the United the highest distinctions in the gift of our coun- States at this moment, -but he loved a lady who try !" slighted his love, he took to drink, and now, at "May the Lord in heaven grant it !" now thirty-five years old, he is a sot, the scorn of the fervently spoke Winny. lowest'and vilest, the butt and mockery of negro "Winny, darling! if your father 4new what an interest 1 take in your innocent love;, an what assistance I render you, he would uteve forgive me, however he might you, since I hay no claim upon him, since he has no pardoning love for me. Winny, he would turn me out o doors, and I should be cast helpless on thi world." He shall never, never know it from me dearest, best Sina !" "Or! my dear love, do not so cruelly mis take me-do not imagine that I have any con cealments !-I despise concealments, except Ii imminent cases, like that of yours and of Arilen ne's No, no, Winny 1-tell him, if you like! I do not care if he does cast me forth! I despisE secretiveness, and I am willing to be killed fo my friends!" "Oh, brave and frank Sinai do not be rashl~ candid !-l am younger than you, and yet I linc it necessary to warn you not to be so defiant) frank! It is worse than useless to beard zn~ father with such an uncalled-for frankness! Au for me, 1 would not for the world hint youu generous, self-devoted participation in this Your disinterested participation, that brings you no good, while it exposes you to such risk!" Sina smiled to herself-her end was achieved -secrecy as to her interference was pledged from Winny, as it had been from Ardenne, with- out her seeming to care that it should be so. "Now, love," she said, kissing her, "you are not able to go down into the ball'room to-night --you must remain here-I will send you some tea and toast ;" and Sina arose, and left the room On the first landing she met Squire Darling. "How is my little unfortunate ?" "Oh! more cheerful, sir !-far more cheerful, but not able, I think, to bear the excitement of the ball-room!" "We must make excuses for her, and try to let her absence be as little observed as possible. Fortunately my good mother has retired to bed, without having inquired for her-imagining her, I suppose, to be in the chamber of her Aunt Summerfield." "Um-m-me," cooed Sina, "that is so well! It would be such a pity that the dear old lady should be disturbed." "SinaI" " Sir!" "On my soul, Bina, you havqe got the sweetest, softest voice in the world! It-it's perfect music!-it's---.-lt's corton.wool!-one could sink down into it !--it -'it makes me feel lttzt~-jt-it-it is oil I-it runs all over sue! Sine! l'm doomed! if I know what to do!" He caught both her hands in his. She raised her large dark eyes to his. "And your eyes!- two large, saft, floating worlds, that make me sea~ sick !-there !-.go I-or I shall make a jackass of fliyself!" and whirling her away from him, the squire waddled off. 27 I, "Why what a disgusting old soul! I do nope rjhe has not taken it into his head to fancy me for e a wife! that would horribly defeat my pm l..se ~ to be his daughter !" said Sina, looking back af- f ter him, with a mixture of perplexity and con- a tempt. Then she ran down stairs, and encoun- tered Colonel Dangerfield and Harry Joy, just as they returned from their sporting expedition. Harry's broad white brow shining between its * clusters of short-clipped black curls-her straw - hat hanging on one arm, while a short fowling- S piece rested within the other. "You are late, miss-mach of the expected company have arrived, and are in their rooms~ changing their dresses." Yes, I know it! and there are more coming! I have had to run the gauntlet in a manner, be- tween rows of carriages and saucy, inquisitive I negroes I-but never mind, Colonel Dangerfield was at my side!" and Harry let !ly a bright glance at the gentleman iiamed. CHAPTER VII. THE SALOON AND TuE BOWEL. A thousand teens bcat happily, and when Mu~ie arose ~uib its v~'Inpiuous swell. Sort e~ e~ looked I we to uye~ that spike again, And all went 'nerry as a marriage bell. . . . S Pa'tmgs such as press he lie ut you~ heir's; and choi~'ne sighs Thatne'e might a re eated. Byron We will take glance into the saloon first. Only a glance, for Winny is absent-Winny, who, as the daughter of the host, should be "the bright particular star," "the star of that goodly com- pany." Miss Hinton, arrayed in a mazarine blue satin that became her dark style well, and ha- ving her hair in long black, ringlets, received the company with much grace. Squire Darling stood on her right, his stout figure and fresh toi- let, his fair Saxon face and fair curling hair looking the very picture of a debonair country gentleman. No one, as he smiled and bowed and wiped his brow, and welcomed his guests and chattered to his attractive assistant Sina- no, not a soul would have believed that he had, in a manner, just kicked the tutor out of doors and locked his daughter up. And as for Sina- who, to see her smiling and cooing, patronizing or consoling, could have believed that she was at the bottom of all the trouble ~. Sina coos to him, smiles on him, and leans heavily upon his stout arm. He holds her arm rather tiger than strictly necessary, clipping it close to his side; he holds her vinaigrette and wields her fan, and presents every stranger who comes up-to "My cousin, Miss Hinton, of Georgetown." Imogene Summerlield, Queen of Beautyheld herstately court at another end of the roou~. SHANNONDALE. page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] SHANNONDALE. 29 28 SHANNONDALE. Mrs. Summerfield sat on her left hand. Col. Dan- sweet girl! who even now lies resting her ~ "Darling Winny I this I will promise you-] gerfield stood behind her chair, partly reclining head upon her dimpled elbow, listening fox every will never be provoked by anything your father upon it as he conversed with her! General sound, hoping it to be us! and sinking back to may say or do to me, to any retort upon him- Al -n, General G a. Col Y -s, the disappointment, as it ceases i" and, Whiny, I will try to forgive bim! and, my Hon. I R e, iind others of the most "Lead on, Miss Hinton! I follow you," said own blessed angel, you will teach me how!" distinguished men of that distinguished epoch Ardenne, unable to resist the vivid and tempt. A burst of music from the saloon pealed inte stood around her. Harry Joy held her little co. ing picture presented to his imagination, the room. terie of mad-caps in the middle of the floor under They left the arbor. They made a circuit "Come! dear Edgar, and dearest Winny, you the great central lamp, and just now Harry's and reached the house by the back way. must make this interview short. They have silver laugh was the most pleasant sound heard "We can enter unobserved, for even the ser- just coirmenced the last quadrille of the ~t. At in the room. And as the music struck up, a vants are all collected in the passage," said Sina. its close the squire will be looking for zd'e-and dozen hands pressed eagerly forward to engage They .passed in without attracting attention, Edgar! a word with you." She drew him apart. Harry for the set, but the laughing girl whirled and reached the chamber mutually occupied by "Do not be weak, do not leave her help to die out of their ring and pirouetting away, said that Miss Darling and Sina Hinton. Sina was about of a broken heart-marry her-all will be right she had promised Sina Hinton to dance with the to withdraw, but Ardenne drew her in, saying, in a few days." squire. She was at his side, panting and laugh- "No, you must not leave; for her sake you These words were hastily whispered, and Sina ing, must be present during this interview," and retired to a distant part of the room, under the "So you see. Squire Darling, I 'memorized,' Sina, who desired nothing better, accompanied pretence of arranging her black ringlets, and the as old Aunt Nerve says, my engagement; I him in. folds of her deep blue satin, before the dressing thought perhaps that you would not 'memo- Winny had risen and seated herself at the win- glass. zize' yours. so I came to fetch you!" dow. Ardonne entered-a strange awe creep- ~' And must you go so soon ?" said Winny. "Well, mad-cap! 1 am your very humble ser- ing over him to find himself in Winny's sacred "My dear love! yes" vant, if Miss Hinton will excuse me" chamber. She arose and fell weeping into his "So soon! and when will you come again ?" eeOf course Miss Hinton would." She smile'1, extended arms; he pressed her to his bosom, ca- He looked at ,her sweet, wan face; it had cooed, curtsied, and they left her to take their dressed and soothed her; then reseated her and grown pale and peaked by a few hours of grief; places at the head of the dance. Sina waited stood deferentially before her. but every thist could not mar its extreme beauty. till they had fairly began the quadrille, and then "You will, you will forgive my fathers vio- How earnest, how anxh~us how imploring she she mingled with the crowd and unobservedly lence, Ardenne?' - looked, with her delicate, pale, rose lips breath- left the room. She paused in the hall and looked 'The cofor rushed to the young man's brow at lessly apart, her deep blue eyes, their lashes at hgr watch in trepidation,-it was a quarter the sudden recollection-he was silent, spangled with tears, raised to his. He resumed past ten-she hurried on, fearing that Ardonne "Father will be sorry for it-he will bitterly his seat at her side, took her hand, and said, might have left the arbor despairing of seeing regret it. Ah, Ardenne! it has shaken to its "Winny! it depends upon yourself whether or her. She reached the arbor, entered-he was foundation the affection of his only child for him. not I ever come again I,' there, he started up, saying, You will forgive him now, Ardenne !" "Then indeed you will come again. "My dear Miss Hinton! thank you! I have Edgar choked with his effort to govern a "Winny, if I come again, it will be to take been waiting here two hours !" strongly rising emotion. you hence as my wife. "1 was afraid you had left." "You know, Ardenne, that he Is so mitch She clasped both her hands together and shud- "I should have waited here till midnight." older than you-age, like womanhood, has a cer- dered with a strange, wild blending of fear and "13-in-in-me," cooed Sina. "I feel so sorry tam privilege-a man of honor may take a good joy. He was looking at her earnestly, sadly, that you had to wait, hut in truth this is the first deal from the one or the other without being almost solemnly. moment at which I could escape from the ball- called upon to resent it! Say, you will not har- "Winny, I will not deceive thee; if thy fa- room-the first moment, indeed, when it would bor resentment against my father? Nay, at flier will not forgive thee, Winny.-" be at all safe for you to enter the house." least speak to nie." "Oh, but my father will-he will !" "I came with no such purpose, but only to "Winny-dearest-I love you more than life I "Y~t, if he 4mould not, Whiny, our life-thy hear of Winny-how is she' ?" will that content you?" life wilj be one of great toil-of great priva- "Winny is half dead-most anxiously expect- "No-no--now it will ~pt I" said Winny, tion. With his countenance, with his interest ing you! and yet you say you came with no such trembling violently; "forgive my father-no and influence, without the slightest pecuniary purpose as entering the house !" thing else will content me I" assistance from him,-which, indeed, dear Win- "Alas! Miss Hmnton, shall I re-enter as a thief "Winny! does he ark forgiveness? Winny, ny, I should be loath to accept-i should pro- the house from whence I have been driven ?" there are words never to b~ torgotren or for- sper; but if he were to set his face against me, "Ardenne! you hreak my heart! Why do given, until the snjurer seeks that forgiveness I" it is due you to tell you this, my love-if he you talk so? Heaven knows that I would be "Oh! I shall suffer so much between you were to set his face against me-there is not a' the ver~y last to advise you to a dishonorable both, if you are not friends-bethink you! my father in the State but would take sides with course! But how now? The young mistress father is proud and violent tempered-" him, and success here would be impossible, and of the house invites you to enter it-implores "And Edgar is high-toned and sensitive-you my poor Winny would have to *uffer bxtreme you to come! Ardenne, if pose had seen her as ask impossibilities of him, as yet," said Sina poverty here, or exile to some far Western I have seen her to day-broken, prostrate,, tear- Hinton; "the memory of his wrongs is yet too ~ f~xl, like a rain beaten lily ; -pale with dread for fresh; have patience, all will be well." 'C AhI if my father should be relentless, that you, pale with anxiety again to see you; yet "Ah I" said Wmnnv, through her tears, "I in itself would be the very worst calamity that uttering high words of h.pe and courage, be- should perhap~ rather ask forgiv~uese for myself could fall upon us! -Nothing, after that-no cause she eapeeted to see y ou I-but I ought not for recalling it to your mind, Ardenne. I will say labor, privation, poverty, could affect me much to tell you this-I betray the confidence ot the no more about it-sitdown by me, Ardenne." -but that will sot be the case; father-my dear, good, tender father, is passionate, but for- giving. I know he will pardon; Sina, who knows him well,-Sina, who is not biased by her feellngs,-Sina, who has so much judgment, save so. Come here, Sina." And Sina glided from the other end of the room, to the side of Winny, caressed, cajoled, soothed, reassured her. It is useless to repeat the persuasive sophis- tries of this unprincipled and dangerous girl. It is sufficient to say that then and there the plan, the time and the piace of the elopement were arranged. Ardenne took his leave. Winny sunk weeping upon the false, soft bosom of her treacherous friend. Sina laid her down, and returned quickly, and with some trepidation, to the bail-room. All was safe for her there, how- ever. "Where have you been, you wretched little flirt ?" questioned the' squire. "With Winny." "Ah, you spoil that naughty child-poor little thing-how is she 1" "Very well I asleep, I believe, now." "Ah I-hum! I knew she would get over her crying fits and fainting fits I-that's right!" CHAPTER VIII. THE HUNTER or TEE SACRED HEART. It was about to speak-* * it * And then it started like a guilty thing * * But soft-behold, lo! where it comes again! I'll cross it tho' it blast me !-siay, illusion! If thou hast any sound, or use a voice, Speak to me! Shakepeare. Down in one of those picturesque gaps of the Blue Ridge, watbred by a branch of the Shenan- doah, stood the old Catholic Chapel of the Sa- cred Heart, erected by the first American Sum.. merfield. It was a small gothic building, con- structed of red sand-stone, in the form of a cros, with a tower and steeple at the end. It was surrounded by a graveyard, in which reposed the mortal remains of all the Summerfteld fa- mily. Adjoining this chapel was a small cot- tage, built also of red sand-stone, and surrounded with a small garden-yard; farther off, an or- chard of various kinds of fruit trees. This mo- dest dwelling was the home of the old priest, Father Burleigh, his niece Harry, and his house- keeper, Miss Matilda or Mattie ~milie, an cient maiden and a lay sister of the order of - Mount Cannel. It was a very poor-looking house for a clergyman. It wanted all those little comforts and luxuries with which zealous Catholics love to surround their Father in the- Lord. Not but that the few parishioners of the old priest were kind and liberal, and wished to enrich him, but because they sos~s few, and page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] 30 SHANNONDALE. nu~nbered among them but three wealthy heads .for her by Miss Mattie, and had begun her talk of farrii!ies-namelv. Squire Darling, Mrs Sum- before she noticed the unwanted gloom upon the merlied and Colonel Dangerfield; and the muni- usually pleasant countenance of Miss Mattie ficent gifts of these three were scattered among j Smilie the surrounding poor of every denomination.- "I have fotch over some pickles and 'serves Father Burleigh kept his vow of poverty in spi- and cordials, as the madam sont for ole ~ nt as in letter. Nevertheless, sometimes Fa- "Mrs. Summerfield sent for Father Hurleigh?~Y ther Bucleigh gave little feasts to his "chil- "Yes, chile, we-dem jes done a-doin' of um dren," and filled his small house and grounds this evening' We-dem been very busy up there with the old and young of both sexes of his I at the hall! I 'dare to my hebenly Marier if I flock. The whole glen, containing the chapel, ain't all but ruined off my legs Chere'~ two with its graveyard, and the cottage, with its L cotton careers and two woollen carders and two grounds, was cut off from all other neighbor- F cotton spinners, and two woollen spinners, and a hoods by high, pine-covered mountains, and wa- 'otton cloth, a woollen cloth and a linen cloth tered by the Sacred Stream, a branch of the weaver, and a carper weaver, and a counterpitne Shenandoah. It was a very lonesome place.- weaver, all for me to look arter in the ractory- Night came sooner and lingered longer there rooms, and then there's the 'serves-" than anywhere else. Day came later and de- "Haven't you almost done preserving 7" parted soori~er. The sun was some time in reach- "Lor', chile no! We done put up the cherries ing the top of the East Mountain. and then in a and strawberries an~ raspberries, and made the few hours it would cross and sink behind the blackberry jam and cherry bounce, and all that West Mountain. One narrow path led down be- as comes more yearly in the season like, but tween these mountains to the glen; this was br! you know, chile, the worst part of the used only by horse or foot passengers Carriages serving and stilling is to come yet, when the [ approached from the opposite shore of the river, quinces and the pears and peaches, and the cit- crossing by a ferry-boat-the ferry-house being rons and melons come on, and then we've got to 7 on the said opposite side. make peach brandy and currant wine, besides One night, about a week from the events of currant jelly and apple brandy, and the elder our last chapter, in the nicely-sanded kitchen of wine-I 'dare to my hebenly Jesus ef I ain't all ~ the priest's cottage glowed a dull fire, by the but ready to drap right down I" murky light of which sat two persons talking "Well! never mind, when the stilling and very earnestly. The first was Miss Smilie, the pickling and preserving is all over iou can rest," ~ lay-nun and housekeeper Miss Mattie Smilie smiled the good nature Miss Mattie. was not the stereotyped old maid of popular "Rest! catch me resting I You want this nig- literature,-there was nothing stiff in her man- ger sold to Georgy don't you? No indeed, arter ner, or sour or bitter in her heart-neither was 'stilling and 'serving is over, then there comes she tall, prim and angular,-as the model old more picklin', and then arter that. cutting' out maid of novels ought to be. She was exactly the niggers' winter clothes and makin' of um opposite; she was short, fat, fair, with gray up, and then hog-killing and beef-killing time, hair, nay, white hair, not ashamed to show its and meat curing time --the Lord have massy silvery softness under her clean white cap-with upon us, it ain't a nothing but one thing arter smiling blue eyes, and smiling lips,-in fact, another from one year's md to the t'other I" with a smile all over her face-half-beatifica- "But you don't have to do it yourself." tion, half bonhomie Indeed, folks who loved "No, but I haves to see arter it all. I haves the dear old lady used to laugh to think how well to walk arter them there lazy niggers from her soft, merry name, suggestive as it was of morning' till n~ght, if I didn't, not one of them all pleasant and kindly things, described her in there huzzies would do a single stroke of work I itself. How full of goodness and humor her not one of them yearns their salt any how-Lord quiet smile was I But now, as she sat picking a-massy! I wish I was their mist'ess, i'd make cotton in the old elbow chair, and talking ear- some on 'em jump!" nestly with her companion, her smile was some- "Mrs. Summerfield is merciful." ad. ~ rsv.~ Phar companion was no other ~ no massy to spile a raft o' lazy nig- than Angela, the old negro housekeeper of Red- gers! 'twa'n't so in ole madam's time! 1 gits Stone Hall. lent by Mrs Summerfield, with pre out o' all manner of patience a- trotting arter sents of preserves, pickles, cordials, &c., from them there gals!" the new "stilling" at her house. Their~ onver- "You must bear your cross cheerfully." station iad commenced lightly enough. Angela, "1 do! I totes my crosses as strong as any. or '-Gelly," as the invariable habit of abbrevia. body does, only I get tired and mad sometimes." tion dubbed her; Gelly had entered with the has. "You should take patience." ker on her arm, had saluted the housekeeper re- "I do! I takes so much patience that I'm *ps-ctfu!ly, and had sunk down heavily-for afeard there is not any left for anybody else, and Gelly was a weighty body-into the chair set it makes sire feel like a thief." SHANNONDALE. 31 "The Lord's treasury is infinite-the more with its black hair streaming, and its black you take out of it, the more is left behind; and brows frowning, and its pale cheeks white as you do not rob, but enrich others by drawing the clothes it wore." freely from it-for exaitiple spreads-' a little "It was an optional allusion." leaven leaveneth the whole.'~~ "A what 1" "A what ?" "An optional allusion-that is, seein' a thing "I mean the virtue of one person in a com- that ain't there I" unity, is like a spoonfull of brewer's yeast in a "Yes, but at was there, child I and I like to batch of dough-it goes through it all. Example have dropped down; how's'ever, I turned ri~ht is catching." round and went back and turned into the spring- "I hope it ain't about here! Oh, yes! I see! road. Well, child! I went on a few yards and I if I have patience, people will catch it from me come nigh the spring, and I looked up-and there like the small-pox I" stood the speerit! right before me again. My "Yes." heart sunk right down, and my head spun round "Well, then, I must try-but Sam wastes -and-well, I turned back a second time, and round me a good deal I" thought I would go home; for it seemed like a "Every one has their trials, Gelly I" said tempting of Providence to go on. Well, child! Miss Mattie, with a meek smile-" I have true as I am telling of you-I went up the nar- mine !" row path a trembling so I could hardly stand, for "You have yours I what are they? Won't there wasn't a yearthly soul on the premises but Miss harry mend her stockings?' myself and the speerit Well, child! just as 1 "Worse than that!" got almost home, I heard a sigh-and looking up ~'What then 7" to see where it come from, ther. stood the speerit! "I'm haunted-a speerit walks about here !" I busted out into a perspiration, and I said 'In "Oh-h-h Lor-r-r-d!" cried the old woman, the name off the Father, and off the Son, and off casting a fearftil glance around her. the Holy Ghost, what do you want?' Well! as "Truth, I'm tellin' you! it walks in the soon as the speerit heer'd that, it vanished." church-yard about this time o' night!" "De Lord! I" "Holy Mary I" exclaimed the old woman, "Yes-well I don't know how I ever got to crossing herself. the house. Father Burleigh came home late "Yes!" that night, and I told him all about it. b&t he "How long?" wouldn't pay any heed to it-he said it was "Why, you see, I'll tell you-" said the old 'imagination.' Miss Harry didn't come home lady, in a mysterious whisper. "Yesterday- that night, and she hasn't come home yet Ye.,- no, the day before yesterday-Harry went to terday morning Father Burleigh went over in * spend the day out. Well! in the evening, a Farquier to see a sick 'oman and staid all day. messenger comes after Father Burleigh to go When night came I expected him home and and confess a penitent that wa. about to die. went out to pick up chips to get his tea. Well, Well! there was a thunder-gust coming up, but child! I took another track. I didn't like to go Father Burleigh never stopped for that. The nigh the graveyard, and so 1 turns up the path storm arose just about the time he was a setting leading away from the glen up the mountain be. off, but On he went. I was left alone here n all hind. Well, child! it was yearly in the evening' the storm-but still I was better off than he and I can't say as I felt much afeard! hut God who was exposed to its fury. Well! it stormed bless your soul, as I looked up, 'way up the hill very hard, but it was very soon over. And and a-coming down was the speerit, with its when night came on, I began to think of going black hair and ghastly face, and its white robe, out into the pines to get brush and pine-knots to all shining in the star light." - make a quick fire to get Father Burleigh's sup- "Hush, honey!" per. Well, child, bless your soul-I put on Fa- "I turned and ran! Father Burleigh came ther Burleigh's long coat-his old one-to keep home yearly this morin', and I told him that I the damp out, and I goes out. It was pitch dark, had seen the speerit again, and when and where and nothing to be seen but the lonesome stars, 1 had seen it. Well, child, this time he listens and nothing to be heard but the roaring of the to me, and to-night-this eersj night, he says river, flooded by the rain. Well, child, I went he'll keep watch for it himself!"- - - over the stile into the church-yard to get to the "Hash, honey !" again exclaimed the half- forest, the highest way and the driest way; and terrified, half-incredulous negress. 1 was about half way across the ground, there "I have my thoughts! I think it is some per- by the grave of old Mrs. Summerfield, when I turned speerit from purgatory, whowants milss~ happens to look up, and bo! and behold! there said for the repose of its soul I" stood a figure, three feet in front of me-shining "De Lord Jesus! I shall be afeared to ge white in the black darkness! I like to fainted; home to-night- I shall stay here 'long o' you [don't know what kept me up! There it stood! 'til morning, honey I" page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] 3g SHANNONDALE. SHANNONDALE.. 33 So do My goodness I here comes ~'atne Burleieh now, and the tear-kettle ain't on fo tea!' said the bustling little old housekeeper fidgetting about the kitchen to prepare supper. The priest entered the kitchen, leaning hea vily upon his staff. lid laid it down, put off hi square-topped cap, and sank wearily in hi, chair, without speaking. Old Gelly arose, curt sied avid respectfully remained standing, whib old man's tea was getting ready. "Ras Elarriette returned?" he asked, witi some vi rvxiety, of the housekeeper. "No ~ "Where is she 2" "Your reverence knows, sir, that Miss Harr3 left here to go to Oak Grove. I suppose she ii there. with Miss Winny. Though Miss Harr3 and Miss Hinton are the best friends." "Miss Elinton! I utterly object to that asso. citation, Mattie. If Harriette returns while I am out to-morrow, tell her so I" The placid housekeeper promised compliance, and set the tea on the table. The old priest changed his boots for slippers, and drew his chair to the table. When supper was over, and the table-cloth removed, and the reading-lamp lighted and set upon it, and Father Burleigh had taken down a volume of the "Lives of the Saints," and laying it on ~e table, had opened and commenced read- ing, Miss Mattie went up to him, and with a meek, halt-chastened tone, said- ~'Have you forgotten, Father Burleigh 2" '~ Forgotten what ?" "The poor souls in purgatory." By no means, my good Mattie-what mean you by the question 2" "1 mean you know the speerit 1 saw I" "Oh, nonsense, my good soul I Some mis- chievous person is practising on your credulity, to am se him or herself with your fright." "But your reverence promised-" "I promised to investigate it. I will do so," and the old man, resuming his cap and his staff, went forth. It was very dark; the lofty mountains loomed gloomily into the clouded sky; the hollow moan of a rising wind through the forest, and the hoarse murmur of the swollen river, as it swept past, were the only sounds that . disturbed the otherwise dead silence. The priest looked around upon the murky darkness of the sullen scene, and seemed to find a morose pleasure in its assimilitude to his own soul; then, with an imperceptible smiles at his own credulity, he turned his steps to where the white tombstones of tue church-yard gleamed faintly out in the darkness. He passed the little gate, and was within the enclosure. Nothing was to be seen I r bur~-near, the white and spectral-looking tomb. r stones, and-far, the dark and looming moun. tains; and nothing was to be heard but the hollow groans of the wind among the mountain- - pines, answered by the hoarse moan of the s river at their base. A vague, but awful terror, * or presentiment-or some equally fearful jnflu- - ence, weighed down the spirit of the priest, and he was about to retrace his steps, whe "At last!" exclaimed a thrilling voice, near him. An icy chill ran through the veins of the priest-his blood curdled. He was neither cow- ardly nor superstitious, hut the time, the place, the circumstances, his shattered nervous system -certain dark memories of the past, all conspir- ed to betray his courage. He looked around, but saw nothing-nothing but the old chapel, the * spectral tombstones, a~d the giant mountains. "Who speaks?" he asked, in a quivering K voice. " Who ~ was the response. "It is 1-Father Bixrleigh-pastor of the Sa- cred Heart Parish-and who art thou?' "One who knows the deepest secrets of thy soul, Barna6as Burleigls, pastor of the Sacred Heart!" Again the blood of the old priest was turned I back in its course. "And what-wnat wouldst thou with me 2" gasped the unhappy man, as his knees smote to- gether. "Follow ens !" replied the voice; and at the same moment a figure clothed in white emerged from the deep darkness, and glided up the path before him leading to the chapel. The priest followed, with tottering steps, de- spite the support of the staff he leaned upon. The figure paused at the church door. "Opem it !" said the mystery, receding, and leaving the way unobstructed for the priest to pass.* Father Burleigh stooped, and drawing the key from its hiding-place under the door-step, un- locked the door and entered. The white figure glided after him. The priest gained the steps of the altar, struck a light, and turning with a newly summoned courage-for there was a feel- ing of sanctity, of safety, in the walls of the church-in the precincts of the altar-he flashed its light upon the advancing figure, and said, in a stern voice, and with a frowning, though pal- lid brow- "Come I-approach, intruding spy I-reveal thyself The figure walked straight up the aisle, paused before the blazing torch, threw back a large, muffling, white muslin veil, and revealed the face of Sina Hinton, sparkling with the light of its insolent defiance and malignant joy I CHAPTER iX. THE EVIl SPIRIT. By thy cold breast and serpent smile, By thy unfathomed gulfs of guile, By that mod seeming virtuous eye, By thy shut soul's hypocrisy, By the perfection of thine art, That passed for human thine own heart, By thy delight in others' pain, And by thy sisterhood of Cain, I call upon thee, and compel Thyself to be thy proper hell. Byron "Dark, dreadful girl! what wouldst thou with me?" It was some moments before she replied; and in that time her eyes were fired upon his as though she would strike that sharp, bright glance deep into the profoundest depths of his soul, and read there how much of principle might remain to de- fend-how much of fear to betray him late her power. Alas! the eyes of the anointed priest qualled and fell before those of the sinful girl. Then she laughed aloud and said, "Oh! I have no secrets from you! Come hither, Father I" and drawing him into a side pew, she sat down before him. The priest trembled in every limb, and covered his face with his har~ls. "I looked into your soul just now to satisfy myself of what 1 almost knew before-that is, that I should find a coadjutor-not a betrayer in you I" "Lost girl! That your purposes are all bad, I read in the fiend-like exultation of your coun- tenance! Dare you count upon my co-operation?" "Yes! I am mistress of your secret !" "And though that secret, wretched girl, should consign me to a-'~ C5~caffold!~~ The old man shuddered from head to foot as he faltered- "And even then, detestable girl, do you think that I will lend myseL~ to any wicked purpose of yours 2" "Poh!" exclaimed Sina, with infinite disgust. "You judge my purpose by your past. I have slo- thing~ in hand, at which your moral cowardice shalL shrink, for I have nothing in hand that shall break any one of the ten commandments, or any law of the land-as it happens!" "As it happens? And if it were otherwise 2" inquired the priest, fixing his piercing black eye~ upon those of Sina, and seeming for the moment even to lose his fears in serious contemplation of this singular being sShe did not quail under that glance, as she re- plied, boldly-" If it were otherwise, it would make no whit of difference with ens-whatever it might with you!" "Audacious girl-you glory in your wicked- ness!~, ~%1 TRIUMPH IN MY POWER "Woman! you are transfigured before rae! Your eyes flare! they flame! You are a fiend I" "You have a fine imagination, Father, though rather a diabolical one-fine, as that of the moon- struck poet, Ardenne, who calls me an angel, and whose fancies, in contradistinction of your own, may be called celestial. Now, neither of you have hit it! This is the truth. There was in me, as in you, and in us all, originally, an angel and a devil, striving for pre-eminence. They kept up in my soul such an eternal war that I had no peace between them, so I just strangled and cast out the angel, and the fiend has quiet possession. I advise you to do the same I" The priest was leaning over the front of the pew, contemplating her as she sat there. "Sa- tanic wisdom!" "Discord in the soul is weakness-war in the soul is impotency; so long as the good and evil strive in us, we have no will, no individuality, no life-it is only at the end of the struggle that we are born into life, the life of an angel or of a devil-even in this world-and that life brings power! grand power! Napoleon never would have been Emperor, if he had not possessed a vigorous will, and early put an end to the inner struggle-early strangled and cast out the angel! The life that you see around you, is not life, but a chaos of good and evil impulses in which indi- viduality-' rnyself'-is lost. Three destinies await the soul at the death of the body-angel- life, demon-life, or annihilation; angel-life to those who have expelled the fiend-demon-life to those who have cast out the angel-annihila' tion to those weak souls lost in the struggle. Au weak infants perish in the crisis of birth, or even before-so weak souls perish in the crisis of death, or even before. iMMoRTALITY IS ron. THOSE ONLY, WHO ARE STRONG ENOUGH TO GRASP IT "Incarnate fiend! have you chosen this holy ground to deliver your diabolical heresies only? or have you any other purpose? if so) speak it! for my soul is scorched by your presence as my body would be by the proximity of a conflagra- tion!" "Go on, sir! my father who. was expert at gambling used to say that it was the privilege of the beaten to swear!" "Will you tell me why you seek me in this secret way I" "Truth, Father, 1 love to proibng this conver- sation! It is so seldom I find one with whom 1 can be really frank as I can with you-it is qulte refreshing I' The fingers of the priest worked convulsively, his sunken eyes flashed for an instant and thea fell-a power as of myriads of angels had sought to draw him away-a power as of hosts of de- mons held him tohis seat. The hour and the page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] 34 SHANNONDALE. SHANNONDALE. 35 place, deep, dark night, the interior of the lone old church, the presence of this evil spirit scarce~ ly less terrible to him than if disembodied, all acted upon his shattered nerves and held him in a state of hopeless imbecility, fitfully varied by spasms of resistance, each of which left him weaker than before; at last he said, in a smo- thered voice, ft Girl! thou knowest my secret-by what ne- cromancy, it is bootlessto ask-but, thouknowest my secret I what is the price of thy silence?" "AhI now thou comes to the point. In a word, then. Edgar Ardenne called upon you last week with a request that you would unite him- self and Miss Darling in marriage, and you re- fused to do so 1" .~" 1 did! I will not officiate in a clandestine marriage. I wonder that any minister of t~e gospel ever should." "Exemplary old man! would you have the young peopleelope without being married? for that would be the end of your morality." "I would have all ministers of the gospel and all others do their simple duty, and leave the con5equences~~~~ "I might prove that those very 'consequences' affect the very point of 'duty,' but I will not. I will only remark that I wish you to reconsider that decision! I wish you to pronounce the nuptial benediction that shall unite forever the destinies of Edgar Ardenne and Winny Darling! and at no later period than to-morrow eve ning!" "Ha! now do you not know, Miss Hinton, that such a ceremony would be null and void, that both Ardenne and Miss Darling are under age, and that in Virginia the marriage of minors without the consent of their parents and guar- dians is illegal, invalid ?" "Full well I know that, but I know also that as England has its Gretna-Green, so Virginia has its Harper's Ferry, and that this law of Virginia does not diminish the annual number of youthful marriages. 1 know that its only effect is to take from the treasury of the State of Virginia, and to throw into the treasury of the State of Mary- land several thousand dollars annually, in the money paid for marriage licenses by citizens of Virginia to the clerks of the county courts of Maryland: so much for their imported English law! Now what I want you to do, Father Bur- leigh, is this-Edgar Ardenne and Winny Dar- ling will be at Harper's Ferry to-morrow eve- ning meet them there, cross the Potomac with them, unite them in the State of Marylane." "And the license then ?" "No difficulty will be met there! The host of the hotel at Harper's Ferry 'keeps constantly on hand a supply' of blank licenses from the Court of Hagerstown, 'which he will sell at a small advance,"' laughed Bina. Theface of the priest could not be seen-.-the- light he l~eld was flickering out-he did not * speak in reply to what she last said. * "And Father, notice-listen !-for now comes the very point of my argument. My own parei~ citation in this affair must not be known No! not to one single soul-for, Father, the day that I lose fsvor in this neighborhood; that very day your secret is given to the winds !" Tne light flashed up in an expiring flare, illu- minating the thin, fierce features, and piercing eyes of the fiendish girl, and then went out in darkness. CHAPTER X. THE FLIGHT OF THE LOVE-ANGEL. I leave thee, father! Eve's bright moon Must now light other feet, With the gathered grapes and the harp in tune, Thy homeward steps to greet. Thou in whose voice to bless thy child Lay tones of love so deep Whose eye o'er all my youth hath smiled- I leave thee !-Let me weep! Mother, I leave thee! on thy breast, Pouring out joy and woe, I have found that holy place of ret Still changeless-yei I go! Lips th* have lulled me with yoix strain, Eves that have watched my sleep! Will earth give love like yours again, Dear mother !-Let me weep! Mrs. Hemans Oak Grove lay hushed ai~ basking in the noon of an August day-the silence only dreamily disturbed by the drowsy murmur of the breeze au~ong the foliage. Dinner was over, and the squire, clad in a cool white linen jacket and trowsers, was lying at length upon tue long bench of the front piazza, taking his siesta.- The county paper with which he had read him- self to sleep, had dropped from hiss hand. A drowsy little black boy in his shirt sleeves, was keeping the flies off his master, with a bunch of long peacock feathers. It is a warm, heavy, sleepy season, and the little negro nods, and bobs, and sways the peacock feathers. Presently he will inevitably slap it into the face of his master, who will wake up swearing. In another part of the house, Madam Wini. fred, in her own chamber, knelt at her mid-day devotions. in still another chamber, sat Winny and Sina. They sat by a window that was closely shaded with green foliage, the favorite resort Qf singing birds, which the gentleness of Winny had never alarmed. And through these green branches were caught short views of the level lawn, dot- ted with huge oak trees, and a glimpse of the distant quarters. Winny leaned upon her right elbow, and gazed tearfully from this empowered window Her other hand was neit ny ~ a, who pressed and kissed it frequently, or stroked her golden ringlets, and spoke to her tenderly and soothingly. "Bitt Sina-dear Sina-this is the last, the very last day that I shall stay at home! and it ) ka~over. And to think that I am receivingg my trusting father and my dear, dear graudmo ther! that I. whom they love so fondly, so much more than I deserve -I, whom they call their 'darting,' their 'blessing,' their elove.angel,~ f should d-ceive and desert them! Oh, it is very, ~ very ~~ri ked ~iI WdI, my love, if you think so, abandon the projecr~and it Ardenne, in his disappointment and despair, should blow his brains out " Winny turned pale, an~ shuddered from head iF foot. "Should blow his brains out. as young Fisher ~ did w~.en Mary Key Dorsey jilted him last montn, I do not know I am not sure, that the sin wit be laid at your door. You would be quite rn"inno cent cause of bis suicide." Win ny was scarcely sixteen-a mere child- a country child-a home-educated child- with- out the slightest protective knowledge of the world-without the slightest suspicion of its falsehood. Blame her filial impiety as it de- serves-as she blames it herself, b11o not call tier weak, or foolish in her crediM'y of Sina's representations. She was not naturally weak or foolish, as her brave and patient after-life pro. veil-no, she was only immature, sensitive, con- "Yen do not dread this, 1 know; catastrophe. are always unexpected-but-" "Oh! say no more! I shall not recede now! I have no power to turn back now! I am whirl. ed rapidly onward by a current I cannot arrest! Cannot. because I will not! Inclination hurries me forward-only duty, conscience, the memory of all the wrong I do those whom I love and leave, would stop me-but cannot-only troubles me! But I will not be traitor to my own con- science; 1 will not say that it exonerates, when it bitterly accuses me! I will not say that I think I am doing right, when 1 know and feel that I am doing wrong! wrong! wrong I-oh, so very wrong! I may have sinned before, but certainly [never suffered from remorse "My dear love! my sweet Winny! my angel! do not talk so! Remorse-for what? You talk as though you were about to commit some atrocious wickedness. You are going to be married, and marriage is a holy state!" "Yes! marriage is a holy state! ~ feel that -oh, so deeply, so strongly, so profoundly now! But 1 feel, too, that in entering this holy state against my dear grandmother, my more than mother's wishes-without my father's blessing, and in i~efiance of his curse, that I desecrate a sanctuary-.--that [~ommit a sacrilege, even as inuc .i~ enough I seized with 'impious hands, and quaffed ~eith unholy lips, the sacred cup of the eucharist!" "Winny! Wiuny! my ttttle love! do not talk so! You are already mart ted! By the mutual attractions God cas placed in your hearts He has already married you. You do but lega- lize on earth what God has done in Heaven I" "That is true! and yet-and yet-there is a disturbance-a discord in my soul-a bright joy struggling with a dark trouble-as if I had stolen as a thief into Heaven, with the sins of earth all clinging around me For the first time, Sina Hinron lost her self- command; in truth, for a week she had had "a job" in the several parts she had played with Winny, with Ardenne, with the squire and the priest, and her patience wus about exhausted - she jumped up and walked the floor in hasty strides, exclaiming- "In the name of Judas! then send word to Edgar to go about his business, and so drop the whole matter!" Winny held out her hand. "Be patient with me, Sina! dear Sina I-you who have nothing to reproach yourself with- you do not understand my feeling; even as I who never experienced physical pain, am puzzled to know why the sick should groan and write so! Be patient, Sina! Come back to me! I told you I would go-I will go But come, Sina! there are some things I wish to leave with you to do." Miss Hinton came and sat again by her side, embraced her, and said- "Forgive me, Winny-but my dear child, your morbid sensibility does try my patience, sadly-and what is the use of it? You compared your course just now to the whirl of a current of destiny." CC No-not of destiny-I did not so excuse my- self-to a current of inclination" "It is the same thing. Let me remind you now of our boating on the Shenandoah. You and Ardenne were in a skiff together-we bad many, many miles of smooth water from liar per's Ferry up to Shannondale, there we got in- to the rapids, and for a few minutes, during which we crossed them, our situation seemed - it was only seeming-very perilous! You held your very breath for awe !-yet in less than an hour, we were in smooth water again, and con- tinued our course gleefully. You are now in eke rapids of your life, and your griet and remorse are now as gratuitous and as temporary as your awe and terror were then Oh! nonsense! my love! You will smile at this to-morrow-to- morrow. when in the saloon of Oak Grove, Mrs. Ardenne resting upon her husband's arm, with tier father by her side, will be receiving the congratulatory visits of her friends Nay, you will wonder at these fears, when in a few weeks, page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] 36 SHANNONDALE. or months, Mrs Ardenne shall see £iei husband, they are heavy and sharp and flashing-and I, S H A N NON DALE. assisted by her father's great influence, rise ra- almost dislike them-they offend my every to their cabins Send them sometimes~ 1~OUI i h~ W'i.ay did not reply, it took a] pidly to that high political distinction for which sense-they flash my eyes out. I like softness table every meal-and gather tnem rogetmier to sUppfr5~ fill til4t8 his splendid talents so eminently fit him Why, and repose too well to like jewels-so be at ease, every evening Wider time oak-tree, and read a ' On !'~ ~.aid tie squ~re~ ~vno 'vs Winny! why, WWnny !" exclaimed Sina, sud- dear Smna, and enjoy the rubies, lot you, I know, chapter in the Bm~le to them, as I used to 10; ted tor p~oetraLtom~, oa I the thonl demily changing her tone to one of light joyous- like jewels!" and do not let a.n.y one miss me, if you can help row's pleasure ties taken the ck ness-' think of the great, the immense good "Oh, I do I I do ~ ~" ~t. And, oh, Sina I above all things, supply my away! You know that abe has l~ your hand will outer upon ~rdnne, and cast "And here, 8ina; here is a piece of crimson ,' place to my poor father, and my poor, dear a breakfast and shooting party to off your fears! As a general thing I disapprove satin grandmother bought me tor a dress-it grandmother! do not let them lack any of the seat of Cdnnel Dcxgeifield, and s of clandestine marriages, especially as they are will become your dark style well-take it." little services they have been accustomed to re- to-morrow morning a' day-break' often contracted hastily bet seen thoughtless "But, my love; this at least you will want." cemve from me." "At day-break! It ms too earl' girls and reckless young men-whose very levi- "No," said Winny, in a tone whose sad ~ ~ And, oh! there was such a depth of mourn- thing; to ride without her breal ty have made them unacceptable to t~e parents lemnity would have touched any heart but Sina's; ~ fulness in her tones, there was such a world of how is she going, and who is goin~ Ii -and urge them into a secret union but your "no-if my father forgives me, I shall be too sorrowful love in her meek, blue eyes-nay, her "She will ride Sea Foam and 0] case and that of Ardenne is so widely different, happy to need anything-if he does not, I shall brmg'mt gold ringlets hung out of curl, and pale tend her." 50 diametrically opposite I It is a proud thmng be too lost to think of anything-like that "' and dim and damp with the shower of tears she "And no female companion ?', had shed. It was clear that however she might for you to open to one so emimmemitly endowed as "My love, your feass are entirely groundless, ~ "Miss Sina has ' ot heed invites Ardenne, the way for a splendid political ca- and if they were not-if the squire should be ni,. ~. try to hope, to believe, in every tone of her me-' "No," said Sina, -, Colonel I reer! Do you not know, girl, that your lover's durate for a while-why it will be his own fault, ~ lodioiis voice-melodious with the liquid music more of an aristocrat than a genti intellect is magnificent ?-that he will blaze and I should give myself no concern about it." of still-gathering and unshed tears-every word overlooked a salaried compam*ion. forth upon the world, with the blinding light of "Ah! but there is one-poor one-who will H of her conversation, was betrayed the gradual ter," added she, mentally, "ttmoi a newly created sun ?" said the artful and elo. be utterly blameless and helpless in the matter, ~ lowering of a heavy cloud, a dark presentiment sion suits me very well nose, I s] quent girl, appealing to the loving enthusiasm of and who will suffer more than all; for she will '~ upon her spirit-a conviction that her parting less remember it against you and Winny. have no support in resentment, as my father will ~ with her family must be long, or final. All that interest, Colonel Lee Damigerfield Oh, I know I know it m said the child, -no solace in love, as 1 shall. My poor, ~ ~ afternoon she occupied herself with minute de- the world to remaiti long in my di clasping her hands fervently together, while her selfish, fond grandmother! Oh! it is cruel-it tailed cares for the convenience of those she The party arose from the tabli cheek burned and her eye glowed; "I know is wicked, to grieve the love of old age I Youth abandoned. At sunset, all her preparations were custom of the regular household that he is a radiant archangel on earth! ' is elastic and hopeful, with a long future before complete, and yet she had not even put up a little and soon after they were about t Sina turned aside to hide the mocking smile it-and ca~t over every trouble, except, per- bundle or a change of clothing for h~elf. And the night. that taunted secretly the ecstatic admiration of haps, an middle life is mature in then, knowing that her grandmot~as at her "Good-night, Winny, love !" so the poor love-stricken child. She was content, strength, and occupied with many things-but evening devotions, and her father was taking his folding his child to his bosom that she had drawn her for a moment from her age, old age! it has so little to hope for in this evening ride of supervision over his plantation- darling. I shan't be up early eno' sad reveries. It was but for a moment! Winny's world! so short a time to live in this sunshiny the next religious feeling to filial piety, love and off, but take cae of yourself, my thoughts turned with an inevitable tendency to world, that it loves as much as a child does! j reverence for her native home and scenes, found come home early in the eveniiig aspect arfull~, pale. Hap the sorrowful, to the mus of her posi- and to fill that little time with bitternes~...to expression in the last long, impassioned, vene- Wiun; was te tion. She rose up and dried her eyes, and went flood those few remaining hours with sorrow! to rating gaze she fixed upon the sun going down taper's light he did not see it. about her little preparations, pale and sorrowful break an old heart that has survived all the bemi~nd the magnificent trees, and striking long "Will you not bless 'sine, my as though they were for a funeral-not a wed- stormy troubles of life, to be broken at last by lines of golden light between their massive dark asked, in a tremulous voice. ding-and all these preparations were for the its best loved! and yet 1 am going to risk that! trunks across the lawn. Her tears again fell like "To be sure I will, my low comfort of those she Was about to leave behind perhaps to do that! Oh, Sina! they call me 'a rain. She had shed so many tears! Were their child I" said the fattier, with a d -just as the dying set their house in order be- good child,' and 'a dear child'-when, if they fountains eternal, that they should fall again? derness and swimming eyes-for fore their departure. knew it, I am only a selfish deceiver! Oh, Sina! Oh, Winny! child of love and prayer, was there her manner-or, was it a vague pr "Here, Sinai here is a set of rubies-my fa- there is not in all the prison cells of all the no self-preserving power within thy soul, to save his own, touched and melted his their's gift upon my last birth. day-they will world, a heart designing so much wickedness thee from the impending storm of sorrow, the "To be sure I will, my love! m~ look well in your dark hair, Sina; take and wear as mine! for there is not one planning to break shadow of whose approach has darkemied all thy God bless tnee, Winny! God in thi them for my sake." a gray-haired mother's gentle, loving heart! spirit? Where are thy angels, Winny? that power and the riches~ of His low "But, my love-these are very-very costly Oh, Sinai how can you love me! how can you they do not snatch thee away? Where is bless thee! my love child, even -a-a fortune in themselves," said the cunning bear to look upon trio! knowing all my illness, as thy mother, child, that she does not interpose to bless thy father !" girl, divided between avarice and fear. you do!,, And so, bitterly reproaching herself, save? Is she-is love less powerful in Heaven .~ wild, half-smothered scream "Are they, I did not know it; so much the she burst into a tempest of tears-fell upon the than on earth? Ah! no-it is only wiser and Winny's surcharge heart-her better for you, if they are valuable.'i bosom of Sina, and sobbed with a passionate we- more patient. Her far-piercing eye soaring up nerves failed, and she fell half fain "But, my love, this munificent-regal pre- hemence that shook her fragile form as a storm the heights of time, sees through all thy father's arm ~ II was dismay. sent-your father might not approve.~~ shakes"the rose-tree. That passion passed also, present weakness and coming sorrow, the the drooping girl. "My father-my father-oh! whatever my and then, indeed, she grew calm and progressed steps to thy future glorious strength and glad- 'Give her to me i give her to iU father does care for, he does not care for cost, or with her little preparations. All, as 1 said, for ness. money-especially he will not whan he is those she left behind-none for spasmodically exclaimed Sins I-lu about to lose-oh, pitying now herself, or her At early candle-light the family, four in num- the form of Winny with an air of Saviour I-here, take journey. "This little pile of clothes is fer Aunt ber now, the squire, th~ old lady, and the two bearing her off to her room. them, Sina, and say no more about them, for my Nerve and her children; and this roll of old linen girls, assembled around the tea-table. Winny "What ic the meaning of all tha heart is sissy heavy." is for old Aunt Maul-you know she is the could not talk, could not eat, and she was too ed the terrified and bewildered squ "But,, my love; you may want them your- sick-nurse of the quarters; and, Sina, while i guileless to be able to affect an ease and cheer- "Sina knows. Sins knows; it self." think of it-let me beg you, do not neglect the tulne~~s tar from her heart. "No, I do not like jewels about my person- poor old people, whose infirmities confine them "My dear baby I what ails you?" asked her knows-there is no occasion for tin grandmother, looking mildly' at her. I am going to her now," said the 4 27 II her sr.rei.gth ~s not ccl- bra- thtsof so reor- told's appetite ecu invited to be held ~it the he is to set out g lot her, poor toast, too; and g with her ?" Id Kill will at- I." )angerfield is enan-te has But no rust igh this omis- ball neveithe- repay it with I do not suffer mbt!" It wee the o retire early, separate for tid the squire, "Good-night, ugh to s~e you lear bany, and Jo x on hear ~ pity in the dim father?" she e! my angel- ~ep-toned ten- something in sentiment of parent-heart I angel-child I might of His e, bles. thee I as thou shalt sprang from overwrought ting upon her AM hurried to el" suddenly, iton, catching authority, and t ?" exclaim.. ire. is hysterical thing Sina least alarm; old lady, in page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] I S H A N NON DALE. SHANNONDALE. older to reassure her son, and then ~he slowly "Winoy, my precious child, you are not tottered out of the room and up the stairs. In a cheerful. What ails you, my own darling! very few minutes she came down again, smiling What should trouble your young life-what I with pleasure and benevolence, and saying, does? Tell me, Winny I Darling of my old "There, dear, I knew that it was all nothing; age, tell me ?" Miss Hinton, to save me fatigue, met me at tbe "Alas I alas! grandmother," exclaimed Win. ~4 head of the stairs, and told me that it was-now ny, dropping her head upon the coverlet and ~ the merest trifle you can conceive of-a needle weeping bitterly. the poor, dear, car-less baby had stuck in the "Oh, it is something I-it is not, as I had al. bosom of her dress, and when you pressed her, most hoped, a mere notion of mine! It is some- ~ the point ran into her shoulder, and the sudden thing-winnyi my dear, dear child, nothing pang and fright made the poor, nervous child troubles you that will not trouble me more! scream, and almost faint. Miss Hinton says Lay your little griefs upon my bosom, my bright. that she is now smiling at the affair, and that haired darling, or if they are indeed serious she will be in my room as usual to-night." sorrows, repose them here, Winny-or even- S "Rumphl I wish Wirny wouldn't stick were that possible-if you have committed a needles in her bosom and daggers in mine at the fault-relieve yourself-lay it here, Winny, same time! Tell her so!" grumbled and laugh.. without distrust-without fear-for you will' ed the squire, as he rolled his portly figure oft find nothing but mercy and love here, my to hi~ room. heart's own dear child!" Madam Winifred went to her own chamber, But Winny sobbed as if her heart would where her old servant already waited to assist break. her at her night toilet. Soon Winny came in, "Will you not tell me, my own chil d?" as was her invariable custom. The room was "Not to-night I-oh, not to-night 1-to-mor. scarcely lighted by a very dim night taper, and row, perhaps, if-if I-if I re-" but Winny's the old lady could not see how dreadfully pale voice was lost in choking sobs. and haggard her child was. "Well, then, not to-night, my baby-I will j "Dear grandmother, send Nerve away, and not you now." And the old lady stop. let me wait on you to-night-- will you not 7" ped talkii~~nel with a delicate and tender sym. "You, my dear baby! No, you are not strong pathy, only~roked her golden hair, or silently enough after your fright." pressed her little hands, and looked lovingly up- "Dear grandmother, I am. Do gratify me in on her while she sobbed herself into a sort of this, will you not ?" quiet,-kneeling by the bedside with her head Though she could not see her face, there was upon the coverlet. something so deep, so mournful in the low The old lady partly guessed the cause of her tones of her voice, that Madam Winifred at once sorrow-but not the whole cause. She suspected I dismissed her attendant, and suffered the child her love for Edgar Ardenne, but dreamed of no~ t. have her way. thing beyond. The old lady sat in a low-backed, easy chair, Ar last Winny, not wishing to keep her grand- while Winny removed her cap, and laying it mother longer from her rest, and resolving to carefully away, stood behind her, and began to come in and take a farewell look at her while comb out her long, soft, waving, half-curling sleeping, arose, and kissing the old lady's wrin- silver hair, with its few stray tresses of still kled brow, murmured- beautiful auburn. Even Winny remembered "Good.night, grandmother-I am better now when that fine fall of hair was of a richer golden -good-night, sweet grandmother I" and was hue than her own bright locks Yet Winny still stealing away from the bedside when the feeble admired the rolling torrent of silver hair, and tones of the old lady recalled her. said that it was still beautiful-still radiant and "Come back, my child! my angel-child l-.....I frightening for Heaven! But now, to-night, it cannot somehow part with you so, to-night! seemed to her only white, pale, and fading br the Come back!" grauie! She rolled it up with reverent hands, Winny returned, and kneeled again at the bed- and conceal&l it all under the clean white linen Aide, looking like some beautiful, fragile peni- cap, around which she bound a black silk fillet, tent, with her fair locks flowing down over her Then she tenderly unpinned and removed each white dres-her wan face and blue eyes turned article of the old lady's dress, carefully laying it wistfully, pleadingly up to the face of her aged away. At last, when her grandmother was in parent. bed, Winny knelt down by the bedside, and took The aged woman stretched forth her withered her hand to kiss & superstitious awe-a feel- arms, and laid her venerable hands in benedie- aug of dire fatality overpowered her, and she tion upon that young, fair head Why did the did not dare to a-~k her blessing The old lady fragile form shudder through every limb at the put out her other fhin and wasted hand, and, j touch5 as thos~gh it feared a malediction? &o stroking her "baby's" fair, soft hair, ~be said word could come from those aged and saintly 39 lips that could be tortured into anathema. No! she approached the sleepeshe start d with a As the old woman laid her reverend palms upon quick heart-spasm at what at first seemed to her the young and sin-bowed head, she looked upon to be a sudden and fearful change in 'he coun- it with such a world-such a Heaven of forgive- tenancy of her aged parent. Never had that ness, of mercy, of love, and of blessing I-and face appeared so old-so very aged-so pallid, she murmured, solemnly- sunken, and pinched-so corpse-like. Winny the Father of All Mercy-Our Heaven- suppressed a deep groan as she knelt by that ly Father-bless thee, my child! May He for- bedside. Clasping her hands together under her give all ttiy sins I-strengthen all thy weaknesses bowed head, down which, on either side, stream- -sanctify all thy sorrows, and turn all thy evils ed the long, pale hair-and straining her an- into good I May the Father of Love, in the gushed eyes upon the sleeper's face, as though richness and fullness of His love, bless thee for- she would pierce the mask of slumber and read ever and ever! oh, our child I And even as a the heart behind-there, in bitterness of spirit, Divine Being can bless infinitely more than a in silent tears and smothered groans, and iruit. human being can-so may the All-mighty and less attempts at prayer, she passed the night. All-merciful bless thee infinitely more than thou Two or three times the old lady had sighed pro- hast blessed and shalt bless us-oh, our angel- fondly, and moved; but Winny would quickly child I" drop to the ground, to avoid being seen-until How beautiful !-how radiant I-how divine I the stillness assured her that her grandmother looked that aged face, with the soul of love and slumbered again. mercy glowing through it. At day-break Sina Hinton softly entered the "Oh, lovely I oh, benign I-oh, heavenly room, and coming to the side of Winny, said, lips, my mother I-oh, undefiled I-celestial lips! '~ How long have you been up I" -that spoke that priceless blessing I-that "All night-did not you kniiw it?" blessing without alloy, that my soul thirsted for, "No indeed, I saw you in bed-put out the even unto death I Oh I seraph-spirit I love-api- candle-and as soon as I touched my pillow I nt I before you take flight for your native Heaven, was fast asleep. I have but just awakened, and you will know how inestimable I-how priceless missing you, supposed that you had arisen and that blessing is to me I" exclaiatxed Winny, be- come in here, according to custom." side herself with over-wrought excitement, as "You slept! Ah, you have nothing on your she passionately embraced her aged parent, co- conscience to keep sleep away I" vering her hands with hot tears and kisses. eiNo, thank Heaven," said Sina. '- Calm thee, my child-calm thee, Winny- Winny then arose, and fixing one long, last there-there-you are hysterical-go seek your agonized look upon her aged parent, she put her' pillow, my love-go, Winny-God love thee I arms in that of Sina, and hurried away. It was there-go." now but four o'clock. Sina hastened her toilet. And folding the child down tenderly to her Miss Hinton had a reason for hurrying Winny off bosom-kissing her closely on the lips, she dis- an hour earlier than the one fixed. She had missed her to her chamber. heard, as Winny had not, the squire give orders Winr\y reached her room where Sina, moody the evening previous, for coffee to be ready for and out of patience, awaited her coming. Sina Miss Darling at five o'clock, that morning-paid was so fatigued with acting, and her projects she had heard Madam Winifred give directions were so nearly accomplished, as far as Winny to her maid to wake her up at half-past four, so was concerned, that she felt disposed to relax that she might see her child comfortably off. her efforts, and refresh herself with a little of Now Sina knew that Winny chanced to be ig- her natural ill-temper-so she said to Winny as norant of all this, and being thoroughly sick and she entered tired of Winny and her weakness, she determin- "Really, I do think that Edgar Ardenne ed to get her off before any of the family should be should feel particularly flattered by the cheer- up. She did not risk giving offence, or exciting fulness with which you prepare to give him your suspicion by this course, because she herself had hand." received no direction to th~ contrary. As for Winny did not reply to, or even hear this old Uncle Kill, he was ignorant of every thing sharp speech. She undressed and went to bed relating to the subject, beyond the orders he at once. She could not sleep I In an hour she had received from Miss Hutton to have the left her bed and crept softly to the door of her horses ready at the door by four o'clock in the father's chamber-but it was locked on the in- morning. side; and with a murmured prayer and a deep So punctual was Miss Hiaton, that as the clock she left it. Then she softly, very softly, struck the appointed hour, she led out Winny, ered her grandmother's room. The dim, arrayed in her graceful blue riding habit, with a ~a~i ..taper was still during on the haa~%h-and little straw hat with blue ribbons shading her it might have beeul e unnatural reftection of snowy forehead and long golden ringlets. They the light coming from below-but certainly as formed a beautiful picture-the fay-like maiden, 39 page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] SHANNONDALE. 41 40 SHANNONDALE. with her azure-huect and flowing robe, and pale of tnt bnauttlul valley-" the garden-spot of the ing influence of nature into her being-yet un gold floating hair upon the shining white pony, woild'-wnere but to stand and receive it, it '~ thougritfulofungrateful for its ministration. Her with his long, soft silvery mane and tail, seems as though the heart mu~t break with the heart and brain filled to a painful tension with She had just turned her horse's head to go, pouring in, from all points, of the beauty and the fast approaching-the near future-the tre- when a slight noise at an upper window drew blessing -the glory and the gladness cit nature! mendous eri4s in destiny that comes but once in her attention, and looking up she saw her grand- -the exultant life and joy of the young morn I ~ a lifetime, Dons any-does the lightest, the most mother's head at the window-saw her indis- And novi' the sun is rising, and at the first frivolous most unoccupied butterfly of fashion, tinctly-in the white night-cap with the black God-like glance striking long lineii ot fluid silver giving her trifling hand in a marriage of mere bandage against the dark back ground of the open athwart the mountain-all the green hills of the conveniefl(e, go meet that era in her life with window-leaning on the sill with one withered valley smiled out broad and bright to greet him, levity? Winny did not certainly. 1 said her hand held up above her eyes trying to catch a in reflected light-responsive love 1-while the spirits rose, aiid so they did, but not in levity- last glimpse of her departing darling-or perhaps trees, waving in the wind, tossed their mighty rather in exali ation tempered by compunction. to recall her. As Winny looked up, a strong, branches, throwing off their tribute of liquid And s~ she rode on-through the pleasant Icrest powerful, most potent, almost irresistible attrac- diamonds,-sparkling dew-drops! And now the ; path under the shadow of the Blue Ridge. Her tion drew her-would have forced her back to god has risen! and as the glorious canopy of ~ destination, Mount Eyrie, the seat of Colonel her home-back to her grandmother's bosom, for golden clouds rolls up above his head, he deluges ~ Dangerfield, was about ten miles distant Irom she instinctively threw up both her arms to the the whole earth and sky with a flood of insulter- window to meet the arms instinctly held down able Oak Grove on the road to Harper's Ferry. it to her 1-but Sina Hinton perceiving her vacilla- light! was situated on a very elevated site, a cleft in - The sounds of morning-of morning in the the Blue Ridai, five hundred feet above the river, tion quietly put her hand to the bridle bit. It country-of morning in the wilderness-of Na- ~ Was a little thing, a scarcely perceptible motion ture awakening! First, those and with the divided precipices on each side but it turned the poney's head-it turned the indescribable notes of awakening life, "unwrit- rising still higher several hundred feet. This vibrating scale of destiny-Winny dropped her ten music," coming we know not whence-what handsome nouse had been erected as a hunting -, lodge upon account of the fine deer and other arms and went on. are they 7-the motion of trees, as they rouse ~ ~ N~w it s used by Colonel Dan- Very lovely looked with her long, 5ISSI~ themselves from sleep 7-the merry wakening of ~ gerfield only as a summer and early autumn resi- hair, and azure robe-her pearl white pony's plants 7-the laugh of the rills gushing into new ~. dance. Here during all the summer months he silvery mane and tail-all flowing, floating, life 7-the songs of streams in unison I Whence was accustomed to entertain company, ladies as waving in the early morning breeze-a soft, comes it, this concert of morning muric, deep- well as gentlemen. Here rather early, that is, bright, cloud-like, commenced. And this was the first sporting of exceeding foam-like, evanescent image toned, yet clear;~and echoing and resounding far near the first of September, the deer hunting beauty, as she vanished through the and wide, and filling all the air with melody 7- great front gate. this morning hymn of (falsely so-called) mnani- party of the season. A breakfast was given, to Whether it was because a young heart cannot mnte nature 7 I think that Chanticleer is in which all the neighboring gentry were invited, long dwell upon sorrowful images left behind, the secret, by the joyous, jubilant, clear ~ and to this Winny had been bidden. Miss Dar- er from the natural reaction of so much depres- sound of his clarion notes through the moun- ~ ling was expected to meet her Aunt Summneu field sion, or the revivifying influence of early morn- tains, woods and valleys, and the exultant re- and family there, and to remain under her cha- ing and awakening Nature, or the speedy car- sponge of his comrades through nil the forests, peronage during the visit. But Winny looked tainty of meeting her lover, or the effect of all fields and glens; and I think the birds are in fir another there, as the reader knows. Their these causes together-as was most likely- the confidence of the musicians, by the outburst P road lay still for miles on the forest and moun- Winny's spirits rose from the moment of her of obstreperous and delirious joy with which tain-shaded river bank, until they came to The leaving the gate. She turned into a narrow they hail the morn! and I think the flowers are ~ Cleft. Here a steep, winding, perilous path brid4e-path leading through an angle of the of the same party, by the way they open their tamed off from the river, and led up the side of dense forest to the banks of the river. She eyes and smile, offering, with the grand diapa- the mountain to the house. 'As Winny, closely reached the borders of the beautiful Shenandoah, son of harmonious Nature, the silent music of followed by old Kill, rode up to this turning, and the river of "Rays and Shadows," just as the theirs perfume! while the old man was gazing, in the last ax- Eastern sky was flushing up rosy red above the But we, the Lords and Ladies of Creation, we tremity of horror, up to the dizzy height, he intense blue of the Ridge. The old ferryman have so much more knowledge than wisdom, we thought himself shortly doomed to attempt-a was waiting to take them over. Their road are too learned to know anything about it-too horseman emerged from the bushes-met the upon the other side lay for many miles upon the high-(heaven help the altitude) in the scale of rushing poney of Winny with a shock, and banks of the Shenandoah. And a wild and most creation to care anything about it until we are caught the maiden in his arms. It was Edgar beautiful path it was; with the Blue Ridge tow- bruised and beaten down, or grow dizzy and fall Ardenne. ering on the right and the Shenandoah flowing down, and then, we are willing to learn of nature, "My own love 1-my blessed Winny 1-my on the left, with a distance of only a few yards and to know what Father Sun and Mother Earth seraph, are you well 7" between them. Down the sides of the moun- possess to heal and soothe and raise-to teach "Very, very well, dear Edgar." tam, even to the river's flood, grew the dark, and bless us With! And those that learn the "Heaven bless you for coining. Come, dear, dense forest, shading the narrow road, and the lesson "ponder these things" in their hearts- we must on! Twenty miles by the course of branches of whose trees, when lofty, met over- lest revealing them-but ten to one my young *e river down which we must ride, still lies head; when lower, interlaced so thickly as to be readers have skipped, as usual, all this descrip- between u~ and Harper's Ferry. Come, love 1" almost impassable. Though the lofty plumes tion, and are running their eyes down the colu l~ urid Ardenne riding on and keeping hold of her of trees that added over the brow of the until they find tbe name of- br~4j~~re.entered the shaded river path, and river on the 1aft,~ might be seen across the flood Winayl Well, here sl~e is, idly holding plli~l*&~ its course. the rolling green hills, the shaded dells, the pony's reins who is pacii~% through the plea- Old Kill turned slowly-very slowly around, woods, and fields, and streams, anct homesteads sant umbrageous oath-r~deiving the revivify- and gazed after them, ~ hi. white eyes gina- 4. dissily enlarging, dilating, and starting ant of his head, like one in the act of being bereft of his senses. At last the truth broke on him with terrible effect. "Hi 1-what de debil dat mean Oh! sure 'nough-de Lord! its-ire-is di! m' Lor Gor A'mighty-sts a jopemont! Hulk! Miss Winnyl Marse Edgar! that's pret~ behe'.e.;ent! Stop 1--wo--hie !---wo-o-o oh! Mis. Winny! Marse Edgar! Oh! for de Lor' Got A'mgiity's sake, stop! Hul!o!-murder!-t&p! r thieves 1-get along, Chally! (Charles-his old white horse.) Hoo-weep-whip 1- ge& along Chilly! Meerder! I say--fire 1-thieves! Git along, Chally! Oh, my Gor A'might~-they done gone clean out a' sight, a flyin'! an' this cussed infunnelly ole Chally won't git along !" exclaimed the poor old body-guard, urging with whip and spur, and frantic jerks at the bit, his horse to is utmost speed-and finally dropping into a despairing attitude as he muttered- "Well! fore do Lor'! ef ever I see (le like !-dis nigger better go sell hisself to Georgy at oncet, for ever he ~o back to O~k Giov-e wid dis news. And dat am a sure sign he has to do it! Come, Chally! you an' me got to turn right roun' an' go back, an' face ole master now! and sure as ever he storms out, an' cusses me, I'll storm out, an' cuss pon, for ef it hadn't a bin for you,-yon forsook ole sinner you !-I should a catch up to um!" and turning, old Kill slowly road back to Oak Grove, and meeting the squire in the bail, ~ fired the mine, whose explosion was fraught with such disastrous consequences to all con- cerned. CHAPTER Xl THE HOUSEHOLD WRECK. Senseless and deformed, Convulsive anger storms at large. or pale And silent settles into fell revenge Thompson. "Oh, Miss Harry, chile, don't ask me, oon't! Sam done tuk the whole 'trol o' this house in his own han'. I never seen such a 'stressed fam'Iy in all siiy life! Poor Miss Winny! poor dear baby! done made a darned eternal fool a' herself, and runned away with a poor white man who ain't no sort a' 'count in this worV- don't so much as own a single p~tch o' land on the yetht! and ain't got a blessed nigger to b'nd the chile a drink a' water !-.-poor chile! poor, dear, foolish baby! see what she's fotch herself to! To go an' heave herself away on a poor white man! Oh, my blessed Hebenly Mas~er! that eber I should lib to see the day as Winny * Satan. ~ 1 erth. page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] 42 SH A N N ON D A LE. Dan in' 'ould go and fetch a gracee on top & 'v.- Spo~ei ef ne was pres'den' of de new-Righted iem fly takin' up long o' a poor white herring' States' that ain't a gain' to take the 'grace off as ain't got so much as a single nigger to walk a top o' we-dem I chat ain't a-goin' to 'vent hi., arter her an' pick up her pocket hank'cher I- great-great-greatgrand-daddy from bein' over- Poor, dear lamb I-poor, dear baby I the darned, seer to kern" I don't see no sort o' help for it eternal little fool! she ought to be turned up and on this yeth I Lord-a-massy, upon top of us I" switched 'fore ever she thanked o' gittin' a hus- This was said in a tone of. deep despair, with ban', more less graini' we-dem by a-heavin' 0' something between a convulsive sob and a pro. herself away on a poor white fish whose great- found sigh. great-great-grand.daddy was overseer to horn I "But the squire I tell me about the squire- Oh, my blessed 'Doemer I that ever I should lib what did he say ?" to see such a 'grace fotch on we-dem, do worry "Don't ask me, Miss Harry I please don't.-I fast family in Virginny I an' by that chile, too, wants to settle my mm', and to keep it away as I navo nursed at my own breas' an' fotch up from dwelling' on Sam's doing's of I poss'l'y in de fear of do debil, reached her duty every can I cause you see, Miss Harry, it ain't no sort night duly as the night come efore I put her to o' 'cessity for me to lose my 'mortal soul, 'long bed; yes, an' loved her much as if 1 had fetched o' ole marker an' his deblish doing's I for Sam's in her in the won' myself! Yes, an' I love her him big as a house I"- still, poor little tender, lovin' lamb I-the cussed "But, oh I Nerve, do toll me; for I am really infernally little huzzy! an' of it wasn't for concerned to know. Is there any likelihood ot a-leavin' of ole Madam, an' a-'gracin' ourselves the squire forgiving them ?" still more by running' away, me an' ole Kill "He 'give them I Lord-a-massy upon top 0' 'ould follow arter her and stay 'long o' her, .to you, Miss Harry I not to know old master bet. take care o' her, 'cause, you see, Miss Harry, ter 'an that I Long ago he done taken Sam to nater's nater, an' arter all, she's our chile, an' live long o' him night an' day I he eats an' our nusslin', of she has hey herself away on a sleeps long o' him. He 'give them-yes I he'll feller whose groat-great-great-grand-daddy was give em an ague of he catches of em I" overseer to horn I" "Was he so highly incensed then ?" Such, between tears, sobs, pious ejaculations, "Lord, child I no-he wan'r in sensed at all I difficult to distinguish from oaths, praises, re- he good ravin', 'stracted mend! He raved and tored preaches and conscience-crippled curses, was and bellowed worse 'an a run-mad bull! as of he the oration delivered by old Nerve in reply to was a-goin' to tear the floor up. an' split the raft Miss Harriette Joy's inquiries upon the morning of! the top o' the house I He cussed an' scored of Winny's elopement. Harry having heard an' blasphemed 'till-oh! my Hebenly Jesus I I that the whole neighborhood had (metaphoni- specter ebery minute for a yethquake to open an' cally) flown to arms at the report of some catas- swallow up the whole plantation; an' I 'dare to - trophe at Oak Grove, had jumped on her horse my Hebenly 'Deemer, my blood didn't turn cold and ridden over to Oak Grove to know the truth. as ice, an' my hair straightened right up; I feel She was now sitting still in her saddle at the a cole chill-like a cole nightcap slip all over great front gate where Nerve had chanced to my head! True as I tell you. Then he be. meet her. gan to cuss Miss Winny, and put bad wishes on Nervo having finished her speech, or being her; an' oh! Mother of Jesus! you neber hesr overcome by her feelings, dropped down upon the such wishes as that deblish ole sinner heaped on grassy bank and sobbed aloud, top o' his own dear chile! I coulden' stand that "Oh come, don't cry so I be comforted, no how you could fix it I cause, you see, nater's aunty! take neart! the alliance of Edgar Ar. nater-an' Sam ain't got so far 'head o' me yet deane is an honor to any family! He is one as to make me forget the baby, as I nussed at of Nature's princes!" my own breas', when her dear mother went "He's' what ?" home-i thank my Hebenly Marster! an' so I "He is singularly handsome in person, noble ruined in, to where he was roaring' an' ravin', in manner, highly accomplished, eminently ~ an' 'oh, master,' I says, 'for Jesus' sake,' says dowed with talent-" I, 'don't, don't-she's your own heart's chile- "0', do debil I" don't-but 'fore I could get out another word, the "Backed by the influence of his father-In-law, old forsok sinner seined up the heavy brass hand- he may rite to the proudest distinction I" iron and hey it at my head an' of 1 hadn't a- "The what you call it?" dodged and fell down, this precious minute I done 'C He may, for aught you know to the contrary, be stretch out stiff on the coolin' boardfor~dqa~l') one d~y be President of the United States I" "Mercy on us!" laughed Rarry. "True aslteilyoul" "On pres'den' of do now knighted debelsl ".Bat her grandmother! the old ladyt more concerned for her in her delicate health- * Us all. ho~.' did these horrore~ect her ?" P SHANNO "Oh! Miss Harry, it would o' melted a dtone to seen (ble ~f5i~e55; she never opened her mouth an' in.aid one 'ord 5gm the chile! 'fore my bles- sed lovin' Lord, she didn't! When ole master comed into the room a rearm' an' roaring' an' tearin' an' splitin', an' told her about it-she .ropp'd right clown in her chair, all white an' trerrinblin' an~ speechless-and then when he Welt on a cussin' of Miss Winny-poor baby- she cotch hold o' the arms o' the chair an' helped herself up, tremblin' an' tremblin', an' she str'~t"hed out her arms an' tried to speak to maee him stop of it; but she choked an' couldn't get out a word; an' he wouldn't stop; and she turned and looked at me-even at me, her poor ole slave-so poringg like! and fell back agin into her seat, trernblin' an' trembling' like leaves. Then she looked at me agin, without speaking , so helpless-as much as to say, 'Help me up stairs;' and so I went an' guy her my arm, an' half led her, an' half toted her up stairs -such a time I had I two or three times she fell on me with all her weight, though she ain't heavy, nuther." "But, in the name of Heaven, where was the squire? Why did not her son assist her ?" "Nebbor see her !-nebber see her no more un' nothing' at all! He blind-furious, I tell you! as ever you see a mad dog! arter he done tell her, he went roaring , an' tearing , an' bursting , an' breaking , an' splitting' all through the house, Worse 'an cannon balls an' bumshells I Well, I laid ole mist'ess on the bed, an' she has nebber move(l sence, an' nebber spoke sence!" 'Mercy of Heaven! this is paralysis I" ex- claimed Harriette, in alarm. Why didn't ~ou tell me of her illness the first thing? Who is with her? Has a doctor been sent for? Where is Squire Darling ?" And she jumped from her horse and hurried towards the house, followed by old Nerve, who was terrified half to death by a fact that Harry's words had only just made known to her- "You-you don't think It is-that there? do you, Miss Harry ?" C' It is paralysis, I am sure of it I Where is Squire Darling ?" 'God bless you, honey, he don't know nothiri 'tall about it I-ain't I bin tellip' von as he bus.. ted right out 0~ the house, blind-furious as a mad dog, with two swords-(what was the poor, forsok ole soul goin' to do 'long o' two weapons?) -an' seared bow he'd have the heart's blood -o' the cowardly traitor, or be slewn himself!" "is tt possible that he has left the house, and his mother-dying, perhaps!' Tl~y had now reached the house, which was ~tll iii confusion. Who is with her ?" again asked Harriette, yine up the stairs SCM,,,.. Sina Hinton-an' 'fore my Elebenly eerner I don't 'prove o' that young gall I" ND A~ E 43 Why, what has she done ?" Don't know-ain't able to fix a singly thing on top o' her, but blessed be my Hebenly Jeave, the first time as ever I sot my eye on her, I telt as something' evil had come to the house I" This conversation brought them to the door ot t'ie aged woman's chamber. Harriette entered sifily- the room was silent as death, aiid so dark that it was some seconds before 'larriette could discern the prostrate form ol the old lady, *-~xtended nearly lifeless on the bed Sina Kin- ~on sat near the head of the bed, but did not ~eem to be doing any other duty than watching. Rarriette drew near-and after gazing with pro- trnnd sorrow, reverence and awe upon this for. sakon sick bed, she turned, and whispering softly to Sina, inquired if a physician had been sum- noned, and if Squire Darling had been sent for? Woat was her surprise and indignation to learn, that neither had been done. Miss Hinton had apprehended no danger, she said, and so bad ta- tren no precaution. And now Elarrietto discern- ~-d at once the cause of poor old Nerve's previous freedom from alarm upon the subject And for the first time in her life, she sent a suspicious, searching, angry glance, deep into the eyes of Sina; but those orbs opposed their large, sha- dowy tenderness, and the fire of Harriette's glance was quenched in the liquid softness of Sina's eyes. Harriette reproached herself for unj ust, and even most unreasonable suspicion- for, "what motive," she asked herself, "could "ma have, for purposely omitting to use say means for the recovery of the old lady ?" Then she hurried out, and sent messengers, post-haste, for a physician, for Squire Darling, and for her uncle, the priest, and then at more leisure, dis- patcned a servant to Shannondale, to inform Mrs. Summerfield of the dangerous illness of her mo- ther. ______ Evening drew on. The messenger sent for the squire had returned and declared himself nable to find his master in any of bis usual aunts. Mrs. Suinmerfield. ae'"m.sr,'- by Mi~e Summerfield, and escorted by Colonel Dan- gerfield had arrived, and they were waiting in another room the permission of the young priest who had been called from St. Joseph's in the ab- sence of Father Burleigh to enter the chamber. The family physician, who had quickly obeyed the hasty summons, had been with her exerting all the powers of his art for her restoration-and all in vain or with but partial success. Late in the evening she recovered her speech in an im- perfect degree. "My son-I must see-msj son!" were the first broken, nearl unintelligi- ble words she spoke The doctor stepped out to Colonel Dangerfield and told him of this-uriring at the same time tha great necessity of Squire Darling's speedy arrival if he would see his mother living. page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] 44 S HT A N N ON D A LE. CC The messenger could not find 'ii in- ue must have pursued his fugitive 'auguter arid ncr lover to Harper's Ferry I will go myself in search of him," said Colonel Dangerfield, and ringing, he ordered the fleetest and strongest horse in the stables to be saddled and brought around. And in ten minutes Colonel Dangerfield was urging his fiery steed to its utmost speed over the hills and precipices that lay between Oak Grove and Harper's Ferry. Hours passed on, during which the old lady's life seemed ebbing fast away. Again she strove tospeak, and when the physician bent down close to hear her words she articulated with great diffi- culty-" Margaret-Imogene-my children I" and Mrs. and Miss Summerfield were permitted to approach her bedside. She looked on them with so much love struggling through the death- ly agony of her fhce! She tried again to speak; Mrs. Summerfield, her eyes streaming with tears, bent over to catch the words It was an abortive effort. The aged countenance was con- vulsed a moment and then settled-they thought in death-hut it was not so-again, and oh! with what a power I-with what a conquering oinni- potence of mighty love! the soul struggled for a moment to overcome, to pierce through the phy- sical torpor. the mortal torpor-to coirirnune with its mortal loved! It conquers! it con- quers! light again melts through the glazed eyes! the pinched and sunken lips again move! Mrs. Summerfield bends to catch the words-'~ Winnv-Winny---forgive-love- bless-" She was sinking again. At a sign from the priest all knelt to offer up the solemn prayers of the church. ~ 5i ~ * * S One circumstance must be noted even at this sacred bedside. As they arose from their knees, the eyes of the young priest chanced to fall on those of Imogene, his hand to touch hers, and every vestige of color vanished froiri her high royal brow, leaving it pallid as marble, while a visible shudder shook her imperial form, tifl it rocked as a storm loosened pillar. The physi- cian drew her arm within his own and led her from the room. CHAPTER XII. THE GRETNA GSLzEN OF ritz OLD DOMINION. They stood, that gentle pair, With the blue heaven of evening above, And forest odors dying on the air, And light leaves trembling round, and early love Deep in each breast. What rocked their souls of strife ? **** rh~y stood that hour, Speaking of hope while mountain, fount, and flower, And star just gleaming through the cedar hough~ Seemed holy things as records of their vows; But change came o'er the scene. A hurrying tread Broke on the whispering shades, and then she knew The footstep of her father's wrath that fled Up whence the cedars make you avenue Dim with green twilight; glutting there she caught, Was it the flash of swords? a swift, dark thought Struck down her lips rich crimson as it passed, ADd from her eye the sunny sparkle took 'ne moment with its fearfulness, and shook Her slight frame fiercely, as a stormy blast Might shake the rose. Once more and yet once more, She stilled her heart to listen-.-all was o'er! Ilemnns. Except the Falls of Niagara, the Falls of the Shenandoah, at Harper's Ferry, presents perhaps the most awfully sublime prospect in America. The best view is that from the top of the "Pin- nacle," a rugged rock on the Maryland side of the Potomac, towering twelve hundred feet above the rushing river. From the little tongue of land between the two rivers at their juncture, and the two precipices of the mountain at its gap, the emotions arising from the beautiful and sublime in nature are pleasurable to a rapturous -to an ecstatic degree- but such emotions change their nature as the grand becomes the terrific-the terrific stupendous! Few of our people have contempt enough for fatigue, or veneration enough for nature, to dare the labori- ous ascent of the Pinnacle to its highest point;~ fewer still have nerve enough to venture to the maddening edge of the tremendous precipice and look down. Something of the wild savage in her nature, that teaching never could tame, nor sorrow quite subdue, tempted oite to the summit of that mountain, and to the very edge of that delirious precipice. At the first fearful look be- low, the whole stupendous scene moved- swam -whirled around, as though from the mountain- top she beheld the whole earth rolling away from beneath her feet; and overwhelmed by the painful, the intolerable sense of the awful fall, had nearly fallen. As soon as this first delirium of the nerves is over, this chaos of th~ mIn4 settled, and mountain, glen and torrent each jis ,its place. the grandly expanded.~7 id deepened landscape, the nearly boundless depth and extent, seems as if the whole immense earth SHANN were hollowed out, cup-like, to its very centre and became a measureless green valley with it grand circumference of mountains, upon the ver~ edge of the highest of which we stand! Belot~ us fall rock after rock, precipice below preci pice, and abyss below abyss of foliage to an in interminable depth, seemingly puasing through the dark centre of the earth itself, and lost it the immensity of space! It is not inspiring-not exalting! Oh! fai from it! It is (lepressit~g! horribly depressing Before tue majesty of soulless matter, the soul- the deatuless-the daring-the immortal! shrink with a shuddering sense of helplessness, ot lost ness! and believes in the possibility of annihila. tion! i'he lower points of this rock are frequent re V sorts of the worshippers of the sublime; but I never he.irdofbuttwo who ascended to the summit and came to the edge of the precipice, and one of the~et.vo registered a vow in heaven, that ii got back saf-~ and sane upon the broad mother earth, never to risk her sanity 4 and faita in the supremacy of soul, and the immortality of mind, by confrontingg mere mat- ter in its most awful--most terrific majesty! But Harper's Ferry possesses other points of interest besides the terrific scenery. It is rich in Revolutionary lore and indian tradition and it is, besides, the Gretna Green of Virginia. The reader will recollect that the laws govern- ing the social and domestic relations of Virginia are founded, wherever the difference of position permits, upon those of England. In Virginia, as in England, the marriage of minors, without the consent of their parents and guardians, is ille- I. gal, null and void. Now, though Harper's Ferry is in Virginia, yet it is upon the very boundary river separating that State from Mary- land, and a short distance from the County Court House of Washington County, in the latter State. Hence it is the most convenient place for the purpose, and is the resort of all the indiscreet and disobedient boys and girls of Virginia who choose to cast their fate upon the hazardous die of a rebellious and premature marriage. You would scarcely believe how many of these mar- riages come off every week at that place. So frequent are they that an agent there keeps con- stantly on hand a file of* blank licenses, pur- chased from the County Clerk at Hagerstown, to be filled up when wanted. These marriages take place upon the bridge across the Potomac, beyond the high-water mark. And the State of Maryland annually gains many thousand dollars from the State of Virginia from that one source. At the ti~rie I write of there was no bridge, and the~ preisut hotel did not exist, but on its site was a smaller one, kept by a Mr. Smiie, who~ owned the ferry-boat thai plied between it and the opposite shore. It was mere on the. afternoon of a sultry Sop-i ONDALE. 45 tember day, that a very youthful pair rode in a "hot haste, 'travel-stained, fatigued, and pale, 1 up in front of the rural tavern. A hostler came I out to take charge of the horses, and Ardenne, - dismounting, lifted Winny from her saddle.-.- - The host, a dapper little man, with a round and smiling face, came out to meet and con- duct them in. "Is the Reverend Mr. Burleigh at the Ferry?" inquired Ardenne, in a low voice, as he drew the arm of Winny within his own, and led her - into the house. "Yes! yes! he's here!" answered the host, * with a sly smile, and a confidential air. * Now there were really no confidences be- tween Ardenne and the hotel-keeper, to whom * both himself and Winny were perfect strangers; * but the former understood at a glance the state of affairs between the youthful couple, and lent himself to them accordingly. For one minute Winny was left in the par- lor alone, while Ardenne went to procure a small printed slip of paper at the bar. Then returning, he drew her arm within his own, and led her down to the beach, where waited the ferry-boat to convey them across to the Mary- land side. Winny was deadly pale, and looked exhaust- ed, but recognizing Father Burleigh in the boat, her spirits revived br an instant, as she raised and kissed his hand. As they were going over the river, she raised her eyes to his venerable face, so beseechingly !-and murmured- "Oh! Father Burleigh! do you think that we are doing so very wrong 7" "It is over late to ask that question now5 Miss Darling!" "True," replied Winny, sadly-and like many dther prospective wrong-doers, she wished the wrong once completed, and the atrua~gte over. They gained the other side-they landed im- mediately under the dizzy heights of the Pin- nacle. They stood before the priest, with the tavern-keeper and the ferryrnan for the witnesses. The book was opened-the imposing ceremony commenced-completed. The boy folded his child-bride to his bosom, and they were turning to leave the place, when the upraised hand and warning voice of the priest arrested them. "I might not refuse to wed you! bu*-sach a marriage seldom, very seldomprospers! and girl you have in your proper selves sinned again the sin of our first parents! You have in your proper persons incurred again the cuasul Son of Adam! in taking this child from her pa- rent's bosom, thou hast plucked again the for- bidden fruit! Ardenne! in pain of body, in anxiety of mind, in failure of strength and dis- appointment of heart, shalt thou expiate thy a~a !-and Winny! Boy! she has incurred the page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] 46 SHANNONDALE. SHANNONDALE. 47 Sorru .s that wait on filial impiety, di-ooeoiei~c and rehellirn!-hotlckarge thee to bear her uj and on throoch th~cn all--" Ardenne clasped Winny more closely to hi heart- "As thou wouldet merit and win a final for giveness from Heaven 1" "At least we shall, together, meet whatever: comes," was the uppermost thought in the heart of both, as they re-entered the ferry-boat. "Poor child, poor child-where do you inten to take her now, Ardenne ?" asked the priest. "We shall remain here to-night-and to-mor. row-Wiany ?" said the youth, suddenly appeal ing to the girl. "'To-morrow,' oh! to-morrow-very, vera early, to-morrow, we must return to Oak Grove must go at once to father and to dearest, dearest grandmother I" They landed on the other side and were walk- ing towards the house, when-suddenly thunder- ing down the hill came a horseman at headlong speed, and Squire Darling throwing himself fran- tically from the saddle, rushed furiouslytowards the party, his face purple, his frame violently shaking with the very frenzy of anger! bran- dishing two swords, and exclaiming, "Thief! kidnapper! villain! scoundrel! tral- ~tor! knave! accursed knave! draw and defend your reptile life, that I may not have the sin of murder on my soul !" he hurled one sword at Ardenne with ~o much violence that it must have struck him, but that his Winny, with the in- stinct of devotion and the speed of light, threw herself upon his bosom, receiving upon her own person the blow which felled her bleeding to the earth! "Murderer! you have killed your daughter!" exclaimed the priest, in the extremity of horror. "Devil send I had killed hoth I" roared the madman; white with terror, nevertheless. Ar- denne had sunk down and raised her partly on his lap, laid her falling head upon his bosom, and oh! in a remorse-in a bitter, bitter sorrow, im- possible to describe! impossible to conceive! wac wiping with his handkerchief the blood that oozed from some inward wound from her lips !- while the priest kneeling, laved the young death- like brow and temples with cold water. The frenzy, the dizzy, the blind delirium of his fury having been momentarily shocked away; Squire Darling stood struck statue-still with horror and remorse- an instant-and tben advanced slowly, deprecatingly forward to look in fear upon his work! muttering to himself, "God Almighty knows I did not mean to strike her!" Toe news of the act spread rapidly-" Arrest the murderer! arrest Squire Darling I Arrest e turn! Strike him down if he resists!" sounded p from all sides as the villager- carrie runoiig to the scene of the catastrophe! Disturbe'~ 0y the s noise, Winny opened her gentle eyes, and fixing them tenderly on her father's countenance, mur- - inured faintly, - No-not hurt, I am not-hurt-dear fatner- not much," and then sank exhausted "Arrest Squire Darling! arrest the unnatural monster! knock him on the head if ne resists!,' I thundered the crowd, pouring in, aid a scor~ of hands fell upon the squire. Breaking from ihem - with the strength and fury of an unchained - demon, he roared in a frenzy of remorse, despair and rage: "Fl-I and furies! let me get at him! he has made me kil! my child! let me finish the work by killing him!" and wouldhave fallen with a frantic ferocity upon Ardenne, but that a dozen hands intercepted the raining blows ot his arms, while cries of "Arrest him!" "Knock him down!" "Unnatural monster I,' resounded from 'I quarters. At this moment, "Hands off Squire Darling, instantly! and disperse, every one of you, to your homes!" exclaimed a stern, deep toned ~"5ce. and Colonel Dangerfield, in the calm majesty of his self-possession and authority, stood in their midst. And, to Squire Darling, who was still struggling violently to get at Ardenne, he said, '- Madman! double murderer! desist, and follow me! your mother, your mother is dying !" Arouied by the sound, the violet eyes ot the mrosTrated girl, once more flew open! She sprang a her feet, stretched out her arms appealingly to olonel Dangerfield, and gasping in heartbreak- ig accents, "No, no! no, no! Oh, God, no! "ot so! not-dying! oh, not dying!" but the lood again gushed from her mouth, and she sank back into the extended arms of the wretched Ardenn0 "Bear her to the house at once, Mr. Ardenne. Mr. Smiey, send instantly for a surgeon. Squire t)anl'ng, I believe, I hope your daughter 'is not mortally wounded; but your mother is dying; you had best ride, at once, to Oak Grove. Good people all-disperse to your homes -you do no good, but every sort of harm, here I" commanded Colonel Dangerfield, who of all the party was the only one left in possession of his senses. His directions were generally followed. Ardenne, who, struck speechless with despair, had from first to last, never once spoken now moved off with his beloved burden. The squire, frenzied, convulsed, white, foaming and frothy, yet exhausted and nearly idiotic with the effect of the fury of contending passions, mechanically gotinto his saddle. CHAPTER Xlii. OAK GRovE. Sec's thou yon gray gleaming hall, Where the deep oak shadows fall? Voices that have left the spot Long ago, Still are murmuring round its hearth, Soft and low: Ever there, yet one alone Hath the gift to hear their tone. Gue~i~ come thither and depart, Fiec of' step and light of hcart; (Thildren, with sweet Visions blest, In the haunted chambers rest; One alone unslninbering lies, When the night hath sealed all eyes; One quick heart and watchful ear, Listening for those whispers clear. Hemans. A year, with its moral and its atmospherical vicissitudes-with its toils and struggles-its hopes and fears-its disappointments and vic- tories-its sins and sorrows-its loves and joys -a year, with its fruitful autumn, its hoary [ winter, its budding, blooming spring, and its exuberant luxuriance of summer-has passed since the warm eve in September when Winny Darling gave herself to Edgar Ardenne. Let us first take a glance at Oak Grove. Mrs. Darling, the old lady, whom we left prostrate on what we supposed to be her death- bed, did not, nevertheless, die then or there, nor did she yet fully recover. That strong, unyielding, invinci- ble tenacity of vitality which distinguishes some r organizations, successfully resisted death, and she lived; but what a wreck of her former self I more welcome, less appalling must have been death! She lived, and sat confined to her arm chair, in her own lonely and solitary chamber, paralyzed in mind and body-nothing but the loving heart left living in its pristine, in its im- mortal strength! "Where is Winny? Send Winny to me! I want Winny I" she would pleadingly say to Sina Hinton, who, with her diabolical cunning, had contrived to get the chief charge and control of the unfortunate lady. "Yes, yes, we will send for her; you shall see her!" Sina would reply. "But when, when," with a child-like perti- nacity she would entreat. "Oh, to-morrow; you shall see Winny to- morrow I" would be the reply of the guileful girl, thinking, perhaps, that the old lady would forget; but, no, her heart never forgot! In the ,morning she would be sure to wake early, and insist on being dressed soon, and sit in her arm- chair, for, "Winny is coming to-day I" she would say to her old waiting-maid, and the poor old servant, not knowing that her lady had been deceived by a promise, and thinking that in that also her mine wandered, would go out to weep over the ruined intellect 05 her old, old compa- nion and mistress of nearly three-quarters of a century. And as the hours pasasi' and the day advanced, the invalid would look- and watch, and inquire, and weep-and sometimes, with a prophetic glimpse of the truth, she would say- her very errors of speech making her lamenta- tions more pathetic- "Oh, I shall see Winny never no more! never no more I" She knew Sina Hinton perfectly; for, as her intellect weakened, her instincts became more subtle. "Send that girl away !" she would say to her son, in the very presence of Sina, "she makes misery!" But Sina Hinton-sweet, considerate, forgiving soul !-would go to her, and coo and caress, while the old lady would shrink in loathing from her contact. "What an angel of goodness you are, Miss Hinton! And, oh, my poor mother, what a wreck! what a wreck! and to think that she should injure you so, Sina! sweet, soft SinaI but never mind, my darling girl! sole comfort of my afflictions! my console! my beautiful console! Never mind! bear this a little longer! do not leave me! Oh, Sina, how shall I ever repay you, my best, best girl, for all your self- devotion in staying here? but never mind, Sina, you shall be rewarded-richly rewarded,- A~r George! shall you !" the squire would exclaim, with enthusiastic gratitude. Thus the instincts, the inspirations of the old lady were neglected as the senseless gibberish of dotage, while the falsities of the doubly-dyed traitress were received as so much holiness and truth. Her intuition soon divined the influence this fatal girl possessed with her son-the ascen- dency she was gradually gaining over him; and daily would she bow her pure heart before this polluted power, and plead for her she loved. "Send for Winny! Let Winny come home- and take the rest! that is all I want in this world! Winny home !" and daily the deceitful girl would promise that "Winny shall come to- inorrow"-and daily that promise would be broken, and the sad plaint would recur, "Oh! I shall never see Winny again! never no more!" But the words do npt suggest the tone of deep despair in which they were uttered. Thus day after day, in sickening "ho~.e deterred," lingered this loving and suffering heart zWho cars guess the 'torture-the anguish of this soul. feeling most poignantly all the sorrows of a bereave- ment she could yet neither understand nor cure. She seemed once to feel that Winny was suffer- ing from poverty-not from hearing any nine san. so, for the name of the lost daughter "Was banished from each lip and ear, Like words of wantonness or tear," page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] SHANNONDALI~L but from a sort of instinct One (lax while ~xer aw.rh.-r Nerve gathered up tn.~ things, ss~ ohi ~ait'nu-maid wa~ dressing her, she said sud- I took them denly. "G and ask my son to send me some ~ out of her room to "humor ole Mie.~ moiv-y." And when 'he servant went, and when Aid-will it be asked-had this beautiful love the squire. greatly wondering at what he called -still more beautiful amid the ruins of her body his "old mother's new wrim," sent back the and her mind had this beautiful love no power purse. she took it, examined the contents, and to soften the heart of the son and father toaardg thesi returrdng it to the hand of the oldmaid, his daughter? Little, or no power! Squire sai - "Send this to Winny! now do you hear, Darling was not one to appreciate the spmntual, j M~ul; send this to Wire"y--and do not say a the divine loveliness of this principle--outliving A word abnui it to any one. Why doesn't she as it did, the death of all else! His mother wee come? Why doesn't she come? Tell her I "old and childish-it would not do to mind ~ am not angry with her, poor child! tell her I her," he would say with a sigh. And some. pray for tier-I love her-i bless her! tell her times, in some less stern mood, he would say, to come and not be afraid !" This was the 1st "If Winny would discard the fellow! would of September. And from that time for weeks promise never to see, or speak to nim again! when her meals were brought to her, she laid by never to write, send a message, or mceive one the choicest morsels on a separate plate, and from the rascal! then, disobedient ann reheihous wonld say confidently to her maid, "Carry that as she had been, she might come back-he to W~nny." And the old servant would humor would forgive her! but never, fleVer~ NEVER! what she called her "whim," by taking the while she vilas the wife of that infernal seoun- plate out, pretending to obey her. Sometimes drel who stole her, his only child, from his her mind wandered sadly. One night Squire bosom-should she enter his doors, for any pur. Darling came into her room to ask her how she pose whatever, so help him (iod !" And he ~ felt herself. He expressed surprise at finding her "hoped that she would be frozen, starved and still up. "Oh, child! I am waiting for Wiuny worked into some sense of her guilt yet !" And to come and comb my hair." She ans wered us then again, he would furiously inquire, "Why quietly as if Winny had never left home. Some- does not the ungrateful huzzy write to me? No! tirrse~ her imbecility bordered upon actual in- she has never written me one letter! she does not sanity. Once-this was in the middle of Sep- care for me! she is entirely taken up with her temher ---old Nerve coming to the house to pay pretty fellow-devil burn him! I'm nobody but her "duty to old mistress," went up to her an old fool, that might be useful in pushing on '~ room, and found her tottering about the chain- my gentleman-set fire to him! I'd push him 4 her, holding on to chairs and by bed-posts, and up a ladder to the gallows, with infinite good taking do(vn chintz and gingham wrappers that will !" hue in the wardrobe or upon wooden pins Those who are in the habit of observing human against the wall. As her faithful servant en. nature have noticed-and sex must have some- tered, sne sank, trembling, into a chair, and thing to do with-it-that mothers are rather apt pointing to the little l)ile, she said, "Take-carry to be jealous of their sons' wives, while they it to poor Winny-it will do to make the baby have no such feeling towards their daughters' some slip~" husbands-and on the contrary, fathers, who are "The baby !" exclaimed old Nerve, in per- extremely given to love and pet their daughters. plexity. iiidaw, not seldom grow very jealous of their "Yes Winny has been here to-day. She came ions-in-law. This feeling is increased in strength in at the door, looking so thin and pale, and. a hundred fold, in the case of an only child.- dressed so poorly-and she carried in little bit of Squire Darling was an extreme case ox the latter a baby in her arms; poor thing, she's nothing instance. Fr'om his own nature, and from the but a baby herself-and she brought it and laid nature of his love for Winny, as his only child, it on my lap-and asked me what she should his sole, exclusive affection, he must have been call her little girl-and I told her to call it jealous of any man who could rival, much more Angela, after her mother. And then Sine IRn- exceed him in her heart, and would have had to ton came to the door, and Winny ran away struggle with a tendency to dislike her lover, or frightened. Now carry this bundle to Wi~ny- husband, however high in birth and rank, and tell her she may take it, for it is mine, my rich in wealth and distinction he might have clothes. I have given everything else away to been; and towards Ardenne, one without family, my son and daughter-and have nothing left but without fortune, without distinction or influence these-my clothes. Tell Winny I am coming to of any sort, and, one who had besides stoleA his live with her, and nurse her until she gets well, daughter away, he bore the most jealous, burn. for she is sick." Thus reason and madness ing, and consuming hatred! He wh~ liked "a strove in her mind and she who remembered good hater," would have rejoiced in Squire Dar.. her own de~titutioei of property, forgot her utter ling! - inability to take care of herself-much less Mrs. Summerlield would often visit her mo. SHANNONDALE. 49 urer, and wished with true filial duty and aflec- tion to take her over to Red-Stone Hall, to as- sume the whole charge and care of the invalid herself, but the old lady refused to stir from Oak Grove. "No, no, Margaret! I love you dearly, my daughter; but you are rich and happy, and have health and friends, and do not need me. No, no, Margaret; I must wait here for poor Winny I If she ever comes back, I want to be here to re- ceive her, and to protect her from b.er father's rage, you know. No, no, Margaret; I must stay here and wait for poor Winny, or, if I go any where, I must go live with Winny, to talce care of her, poor baby !" she would persist, for- getful of her inability. Mrs. Summerfield had once spoken to her bro- ther in behalf of his erring child; but the un- governable fury into which the very sound of her name threw him, the frightful oaths with which he swore that so long as she even went by the name of that "thrice accursed scoundrel," she should never blast his sight by crossing his threshold for any purpose whatever, shocked and stunned the lady into that strict silence upon the subject of the lost daughter, that had been sternly enforced upon every other member of the family. Sina Hinton! more than any other evil cha- racter it has been my fate to portray, I detest Sina Hinton I We admire the fierce beauty and strength of the lion and the tiger, even when shunning their destroying fury; but we loathe the slime of the serpent even more than we fear the venom of its fangs. Sina Hinton played her part as she knew how to play it-artfully intercepting all lel ! ers and messages, and skill- fully preventing all interviews that promised the most distant hope of a reconciliation; and withal making herself so necessary to all the family, as to draw from tin reserved and dignified Mrs. Summerfield the frequent commendation of- "Miss Hinton, my brother and myself can never do enough to testify our appreciation and our gratitude for all your goodness I" CHAPTER XLV. whAT LOVE IN A COTTAGh 15 SOMETIMES LIES. Patience and sorrow strive Which shall express her goodliest. Slsakspeare. Winny Darling had been brought up with even more tenderness than Southern girls usually are-a grandmother's pet from earliest infancy-- an only ghild of his idolized and lost wife, a fa.. thor's half-worshipped darling-the heiress be. sides of an Immense fortune-Winay had been surrounded $pm babyhood with a love and an observance that had guarded her from even the 5 idea of inconvenience of any sort, much less from hardship. ~o much love-and I had almost said reverence, paid to a child naturally less amiable than Winny wos~d have spoiled her disposition, as it spoiled her ability. In her father's house Miss Darilug had been wakened by her maid every morning at seven o'clock to take her bath. Then while sitting at her ease, her hair had been combed out and curled, and her shoes and stock- ings put on, and afterward her morning toilet completed without a thought or an act of her own in the matter. Old Nerve had washed and dressed her "little missed" when she was six day. old, and she continued to do it when she was sixteen yenrs without a thought of ceasing. Her grandmother, too, had expressed an opinion that it was much better for a young maiden likeMiss Darling to have an old, faithful and attached dressing-maid, than a young and thoughtless one as ignorant as herself. So Nerve had remained in her service, petting and spoiling her to her heart's content, and guarding her as carefully from learning to think or act for herself, as she would have shielded her from war, pestilence, or famine. Winny's rooms, wardrobe, books, mu- sic, pictures, etc., were kept in order; and her walks, rides, baths, etc., arranged without a single volition of her own will in the matter. It was one of the "thirty-nine articles" of their re- ligious creed to love and nerve Miss Darling. Or if Winny did any little voluntary bit of work, it was some unnecessary trifle to which her altec- tionate heart alone would prompt her-such as displacing her grandmother's maid, for the sake of bathing, rubbing and caressing the old lady'~ feet, or doing the duty of her father's body ser- vaint by mixing his mint-julep, and setting him to swearing by spoiling it! Upon such occa-. sions hewantedto know whatthe mischief waste use of his having half a thousand of lazy negroes,. if his daughter had to wait upon him like a foot- boy-he wanted to know, for instance, what wae the utility of anybody having dogs and barking themselves? And if Winny put in any sweet, af~ fectionate word about the duty and the pleasure of waiting on her father, he would call it iomantic rubbish, and say that things were adapted to uses, and uses to things, and that to put Winny Darling to mixing toddy-was about as wise as to take one of her own silk scarfs to wipe tumblers with. lam sorry to acknowledge it-but as there is necessity upon me to speak and write the truth without idealizing-it must be 'confessed that these instances betray more innate vulgarity than chivalric feeling in the pride of our fat and fair-haired squire. Madam Winifred, with all her refinement, fully appreciated the religious sentiment in Winny's love and proffered services, though she veuld sometimes say to her- "There are other and more useful ways of ro. page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] S H A N NON DALE. SHANNON DALE. dealing affection, my own darling, than by these menial services that any other might do as well." "Ah, but, grandmother, don't you know that the more humble a service is, the deeper the plea- sure it gives me? When I am sitting on the floor bathing your dear, white feet, grandmother, or when I am combing out your long, soft hair- 1 have a fueling if profound content as when I hush my heart and bow my head to receive the priest's benedicite." And sometimes in a lighter mood she would say- "Indeed, grandmother, you would let me be your little waiting-maid, if you only believed what an hourly satisfaction, what a real sub- stantial earthly bread and meat satisfaction it would be to me 1 It is such a starvation of the heart to keep my hands away from any one I love; and it is such a down-right heartfelt content -such a feast to be fingering about them." But I have been led too far from the point of time. Now all was changed with Winny. She had fallen, smote down to the earth by the sud- den news that her beloved grandmother was dying ;-fainting from the loss of blood, she had been carried into the small tavern and laid upon an humble bed in a hot, close little room, which was nevertheless the best one in the house. When restoratives were applied, and she re- covered from one faintisig fit with renewed rea- son and memory, it was only to fall into another and more dangerous one. Indeed the physician said that it was only the free bleeding at the lungs, dangerous though it was, and the extreme physical prostration caused thereby, together with the counter irritation, that preserved her brain and saved her reason from a total and final overthrow I Thus for weeks she lay alter- nating between death-like swoons, and short con- 9iilsi've spasms of life, of keenest anguish and remorse! And all this time Ardenne, in the bitterness of a sorrow and repentance scarcely lese than her own, watched by her bedside; nor night nor day, for an hour, resigned his post-while flesh and health and strength passed from him unnoticed, until he grew as thin, as pale, and almost as feeble as the wan, wan form languish- ing, withering before him. Was it a really sin- cere repentance then? Did they indeed wish that their error could be blotted out-the ill- starred marriage under the rock could be an- nulled, and each restored-she to her family, he to his freedom? No! no! no! by all the mu- tual anguish, by all the remorse that only served to kiiit their hearts more closely together-no! Each felt in the first calmly conscious meeting of their eyes, 'each felt more than ever now, in this season of bitter trial-that were the whole past to be lived over, the error would be com- mitted, the anguish risked again! No! no! no- thing but the hopeless, the impossible defection of one, or of the other, could have brought either to wish their act annulled. Yet Squire Darling, quoting the familiar proverb, "When poverty comes in at the door, love flies out at the win. dow," hoped and believed that their attachment would in a few weeks, or months, be starved, Os frozen, or fatigued out. And it may be so with a hasty, fanciful and factitious sentiment, a tin- sel counterfeit of the pure gold of affection-but theirs, with all the sin and sorrow it had caused, was nevertheless, deep, earnest and true-may their patience and fidelity atone for and redeem them! Their honey-moon was not that of ro- mantic young lovers-though be it remembered both were vry young, he nineteen,~ she sixteen. No! it had been passed in agony of body and anguish of mind, prostrate upon a bed of extreme illness by Winny, and in constant, fatiguing sor- rowful and remorseful watching by Ardenne! But they were unselfish, disinterested, devoted -and this sorrow endeared them to each other more, oh, how much more than weeks passed in health and revelry. Every care he lavished upon the languishing one-every fatigue he in- dured for her sake, but deepened his affection for her-but riveted his attachment to her. "I am proving what the inspired angel mid," he thought, "I am proving that bodily pain and fatigue, without moral suffering, endured for a loved one, is a deep, religious joy-with and for moral suffering, it is an alleviation, or cure!" Her suffering, his devotion, their youth and beauty and warm affection, drew around them the sympathies of all the small town; yes! the sympathies even of the cold-hearted gathered around their loves, as the shivering dr~iw-around a warm hearth for its pleasant heat. Of course the whole story was known. And I am afraid Squire Darling's conduct and character suffered more severe animadversion than was strictly just. The two best physicians of the county, Doctors Tidball and Lackland, attended her, yet both declared that all their science would have been powerless to have saved her life, had it not been for the constant, the vigilant, the untiring care of Ardenne, and the inspired tact, amount.. ing almost to a sixth sense, with which he in- stantly detected the mutations and crisis of hat illness. With all this care her life was saved, but it was four weeks before it was deemed safe to tell her any news that might startle or sur- prise. At last, about the first of October, she was told that her grandmother still lived-that though paralyzed, there was no immediate fear of her death. But, oh! could Winny rejoice in that spared life, with that shattered frame, and ruined mind? Her slow, extremely slow con- valescence, was passed in penitential tears and prayers, alas! so inconsistently! for a fault she felt she should commit again, were the tempta- tion again before her. But perhaps Winny prayed, as I am afraid too many of us do quite unconsciOusly pray; namely-to be forgiven, to be remitted the just punishment of the sin, not to be cleansed from the dear sin itself! And for Ardenne, it did seem too severe-it would have ~ wearied out any one less patient than himself, 4 to find that after all his devotion to her, after all his nigiits and days of extreme fatigue and aux- iety, that after his almost miraclons res'ora- tion of her life-her convalescence should be passed in weeping and ~ailing; but he .ever thought of that! never, nesnr grew tired of try- ing to soothe, to console her. Thus passed tue second month of their marriage. it was the first ~f Noveriber before she was able to leave her room. She wrote to tier father ~ imploring his forgiveness-imploring perm tssicn only to come and see her poor, dear grandmother. To this letter she received this curt and sharp reply. I A "When you have bidden a final farewell to the accursed hireling knave who stole his master's daughter from his house-when you have sworn never to see, speak to, or write to tAm, or re- ceive any letter or message from him-when in short, you part with him as with the dea -then, and not till then, shall you enter my house! You need send no more letters, fo 1 s ad re-pig to none not prefaced with the surrender of th- d-d footman you have married. You kno~' tre terms, andyon know me- JARED DARLING" Ardenne and Winny were sitting gather when this cruel letter came. She read it, and the sudden, deep despair that struck all color from her very lips, revealed to Ardenne the death of her hopes. Winny looked at him, and held the letter towards the fire. "Yes! burn it, darling !" said Ardenne, di- vining her embarrassment; and she let it go into the blaze, and dropp~ d herself into the kind arms opened to receive her. Not a word more was said about the letter. "Winny, love I we must leave this place, do you not know it?" "Oh, yesl" "There are two plans, Winny, that I have to propose to you. The first is, that -ye shall go to the Western country-to begin life with a new territory, a young couple a young State, and grow with it Tuere. Wina', should not dread a failure in a competition itli the strongest! A few years of heslthfut toil, and then a bril- liant future !" and for the first time since their ill opened mar' sage. us eyes sparkled as he spoke. And the other plan, Edgar?" Is this, my darling-To stay here yet a few years. and meet what threatens; for I think, Winnv, that you would grieve to desert the ee~gtbor~'ood, while your good and suffe-ring grand nether still lives; you would grieve to leave her ill an suffering, with the certainty of never seeing her again 1" 51 -- But, Edgar! I could not, upon that account, blight all your future life! Now ould sne ad- vise-grandmother, herself, would not counsel me to do it." "Love! love! I am not twenty, yet-itaying here a few years, would not 'blight' all my fu. ture life-while leaving tier now, might sadden all yours It is that I would avert, Winny. - - "Ardenne! will you do as you please-being sure that I shall know it to be altogether right?" "But I would have your counsel, Winny." "Ah! I wish I could assist you with my thoughts-but I have no knowledge of the world, you hOow." "Your thoughts are purer-your counsel really wiser for that, my love-knowledge of the world is oftentimes a gambler's knowledge of tricks at cards-and we do not wish to enter life as a game, dear; so give me your honest thoughts." '-Oh, but Edgar! m- judgment is not good" "You have been told so, dear, until you be- lieve it! Whoever could have taught you so, dear? you must not set out by being perenaded that you have a poor judgment, anc then let it grow really imbecile for want of exercise- In this march of life, Ido not wish 'o goon in advance alone, selfishly laying out the future and turning to consort with you, only in hours of idleness and relaxation No! I love you too entirely- too wholly; we must be one in mind, as in heart; I would have you go step by step with me-if you fail to come up, I must fall back. Now to return to this subject, Winny, we must decide it soon. What is your opinion ?" " Dear Edgar; can I take the responsibility of advising you when inclination so strongly biases the little judgtnent I have-" "And this inclination, Winny; I divine it. In a word, it was settled between them that they should remain in the neighborhood for the present. And then he drew a small table to the tire, between them, and said, "Now, dear, let us see what we have to com- mence with," and taking out his purse~ one that Winny had knit for him, he turned its 'onteats upon the board-" Nineteen dollars." He wrote down that sum, and then taking his watch, chain and pencil, placed them with the money- "They cost two hundred dollars-they will bring half price ;" he wrote down one hundred. A seal ring drawn from his little finger was added to the pile, and "ten dollars" added to the list. Then ~ very small diamond broach, which he valued at fifteen dollars, completed the sum. And Winny drew from her finger a small ring, a ruby heart, set around with pearls, and laid it with the others, sax ing, "That is all I have; I never carried a purse of money, or a watch and chain, never having 50 page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] 52, SHANNC had use for either; but that little ring is valu- able, I think, as a ring." And Ardenne silently took it up, and would have replaced it on the small finger, but with a smile she stopped him, pointing to the third finger of her left hand, 8he said. "See I I have still another ring! a dearer ring, that shall never leave my finger!" "We have about a hundred and fifty dollars then, dear." "Oh! I have more jewelry at home, a great deal more-a complete set of pearls and a com- plete set of sapphires-I wonder if I were to send for my wardrobe, if father would Bend them to me?" "Do not send for them, Winny." "And then there is my-little Sea Foam-a small fortune to you and me." "lie must be returned to your father's stables, dear. It should have been done long ago, but I waited to speak to you on the sub- ject." "But why? why ?-he was purchased for me." "For your tese, dear; you were a minor; you owned nothing-not your palfrey-not your jewelry." "Still, if we send Sea Foam home, my father will send him back, since no one wants him there; and it my father happens to think of my wardrobe, books, piano, and all my little per- sonal effects, he will be sure to send them, for he may be furious and destroying, but not mean in his revenge." "I shall be glad for your sake then, dear Winny." That same evening Ardenne hired a man to take back Sea Foam to Oak Grove. He himself get in the stage and rode to Winchester, to diu- pose of their jewelry, which, contrary to his cx pectations, brought them nearly two hundred dollars. With that he returned to Winny, and to settle their debts that had remained unpaid up to this time. Then it was that Ardenne tasted for the first time one of the "sweets" of adversity, in find- ing how much goodness, how much simple gene- rosity, and guileless, unconscious magnanimity, may exist among the roughest and most unpre- tending of our fellow creatures. First he called for the host and his bill, and the little, fat landlord, with his round, baby face and simple manner, entered the parlor. "I have to apologize for not asking for, and settling my bill before, Mr. Smiley-but----well! Mrs. Ardenne and myself leave you to-day, and so I wish to settle with you now." Now this little, round landlord had a bad name in the county-a thriftless, good-for-nothing fel- low, always in debt, always behind hand, never quite sober-though never altogether drunk. At this moment he had not five dollars in his tili, I N DALE. for, be it remembered that Harper's Ferry was not then the great railway thoroughfare that it 15 now, nor did it boast the comfortable and well kept hotel that now marks the site where then stood the little tavern, kept by the little land- lord, Sammy Smiley, the brother of the priest's housekeeper. "Have you the bill about you, sir ?" The little host sat down in a chair, drew up his feet, rubbed and 8troked his little, fat knees, and-smiled. Ardenne was standing before him, pocket-book in hand, enacting patronizing wealth. "The bill, if you please, sir-- we are hurried" "The bill! oh-aye-yes, to be sure! the bill -I-l'v~ mislaid it some where-it-it's lost- some other time !" "Can't you recollect the amount, sir 7" "The amount! oh! yes, certainly, the amount was-was-it's gone clean out of my head! 'pon my word, I don't know what the amount was-any other time will do as well I" "Be so good as to make it out again, if you please, sir." "I-I--.l haint time-indeed, indeed I haint I" said the landlord, with awkward embarrassment, yet looking so lovingly at the poor young phiu- as if his little lymphatic body were about to deli- quesce in tears. "It will take you but a moment, Mr. Smi- icy!" "But I haint that moment to spare I indeed, indeed I haint! I'm very busy-I'm-i'm awfully pushed with work! I - I 'dare to heaven, I am!" persisted the landlord, looking, in every soft curve of his gentle face and frame, the very image of an easy mind and infinite leisure!- Ardenne could not fail to understand his simple hypocrisies now. He seized his little, chubby hand, and pressing it fervently, said, "Smiley, mydear friend, I see your motive, and from the bottom of my heart thank you for your kindness; but you know, my good fellow, I cannot, with any sort of self-respect-' Here the little host broke in, blushing like a school-boy detected in lying, and exclaimed, "Oh, my dear sir? Mr. Ardenne! 1 hadn't such a thought! I insult a gentleman in that way, because he is a little unfortunate, or so?- never! "My good friend, I am not inssdted.-whatg be insulted at your generous goodness, however [mistaken it might be? In my turn, I say-never! peak, Winny! speak, darling! for I see your glowing, and your eyes full.of sweet tears." "I wanted to say," said Winny, taking the host's other chubby hand between her own deli- cate ones, "I wanted, so much, to 'say, that we should have more than the wickedness of Luci- fer's own pride to get offended at your goodness, when we ought to be, and we are, very grateful. We shall never, never forget all your kindness to us," said she, very softly', with tears in her S U A N NON DALE. 53 eyes, and caressing the good hand-" but, you din not know-it had come on very gradually- know you must not think that we are ungrateful, it was nothing, she said, only a little "tickling" or proud, because we refuse .to remain in your in the region of the old hemorrhage. But the debt--you must let us keep our self-respect-it doctor looked very serious as he held her slightly is all that we have left." feverish little hand, and observed the small iso- Up bounded the little landlord like a little foot- lated crimson spot not larger than a rose-leaf bait, rolling and bouncing about the room in a on her wan left cheek; and promised to come perfect delirium of distress, exclaiming and see them often-in a friendly way. Then "Ptor boy! poor girl! nothing but children! Ardenne expressed a wish to settle with him; to netiitg but babies! no forethought-no airs which the doctor replied in a cool, business-like eitn-r! so simple! so good even in their nat'rel manner, that he only sent out his accounts half- pride! May the devil fix away with me alive yearly,-that the first of the coming January the day I take the first red penny from them !- was the next epoch of settlement in order-and Has he got any business? tell me that ?" de- drawing on his gloves and taking his hat, he mand' the landlord, suddenly confronting them. wished them good morning. 'No, Smiley, my good friend, but-" "But-but toe winter's coming on! and winter's When the man commissioned to take Sea Foam no joke in the mountains! See here, Mr Ardenne1 to Oak Hall, arrived at its gates,-he was told -lister to me a while, and if I make you ma that the squire was taking his after-dinner nap, without meaning to, 1 shall get this little dear but that Miss Hinton, who acted for him in his child to make it up betwixt us! Jest let that there I absence, was at hand So the man led beautiful stand till tfie old man comes round! He'll do it! Sea Foam up to the front of the piazza, where he can't help it! it's agin nater to hold out agin Sina stood to receive him. Sending for a groom, one's own dear child. I know it! I'm a father she quietly dispatched the paltrey to the stables, myself, you see! and no matter what my gall and dismissed the messenger without a word.- was to do-though God forbid she should hear Nothing was said about the return of the pony, me say it !-I 'dare to God A'mighty, I couldn't for Miss Hinton reminded the servants that they turn agin . her! I couldn't, indeed! And itS were forbidden by their master t'i make any- won't! though he oughter, you know, children! the slightest allusion to his lost daughter.- and so, sir, just let the what-you-call-um stand Squire Darling had never missed Sea Foam from aWile." the stables-in short, ~xad never wasted a single The little man seemed even to avoid saying thought upon him, and of course kne '-~ nothing "bill" or" account" to them. about his return. Thus Winny failed to receive But Ardenne was as obdurate in wishing to again her favorite discharge his little obligations as ever creditor could have been in exacting a debt- Finally, CHAPTER XV. the landlord promised him upon his word and honor, his sacred honor, that he would make out the account and send it to him In the course THEiR HOME of that week without fail-a promise whiih the little host had not the slightest idea of fitifilling A lone dwelling, built by whom or how, None of the ru-tic mountain people know. I am sorry for it, sorry that a man of so much The cliff and house are higb aindoess of heart should have so little regard Nature with all her children haunts the hill; for his word, but it was "all along" of his ha-I The spotted deer bdsks in ihe fresh moonlight ving a big bump of benevolence, ditto firm- I Before the door ;-this is iheir home in life ness. and a very small hint of conscientiousness. . ~holley Leaving their parlor, he met the doctor, who had stopped to water his horses, and wine himself. A deep shadow rested upon the brow of Ar- "See here, doctor! Ah! I am glad I met you denne, as, with Witity on hin arm, he wended -don't go in there-he'll be worrying you about j his way along a narrow pain leading up the moun- paving his bill, and I heard you say, I think- tam side The weight of a grave fault and a- didn't I, doetor-" I heavy responsibility was resting upon his young "What? You heard me say nothing !" spirit. He had not felt this while Winny was "Well, anyhow, i heard you think that you ill; he had only striven to save her life-only wouldn't be in a hurry about the thing-a-me I" prayed for her restoration-but now that she Half-laughing, the doctor passed the bustling was spared to him, now was he to secure the little landlord, and, notwithstanding his behest,, happiness, or even the comfort of this fragile went into the parlor. As he had anticipated, life,-how, with his utmost efforts, should he there stood Ardenne, ready for him. He inqul- preserve her from the inevitable hardships in red about Wirny's health, gave her soiu~ ad- store for her? Every 'iircumaiancc pressed vice, and noticing a little haeki~ig cough for the this question home upon ~iim They bad not first time, asked her hew she had got it. She walked a hundred yards up the hill, before bet page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] 54 STIANNO cheek flushed deeply, and so great was the pat- pitation of tier heart, ttiat he felt the veins and nerves of the small arm resting on his own, throb and tremble violently, and he reproached him- self severely for suffering her to walk. Yet carriages and horses were very expensive, and economy must commence some time. "Winny, sit down here, dear, and rest a while," tie said, and arranged taer seat under a tree upon the side of the hill. with some broken pieces of rock, seated her carefully, and sitting by tier side, put his arm around her waist, and drawing her head down on his bosom, looked into her sweet wan face With such intense, ab- sorbing interest, as to seem, for a while, quite lost in the breathless contemplation How faded, how broken she looked already! Oh. she was dying like a plucked dower on his bosom, and he c~iuld never survive her, he thought.- Winny's sweet eyes, upturned to his, read the poor boy's thought, and she replied, softly smiling- "Do not be uneasy about me, dear Edgar 1- You know people recovering from illness are always weak I am ashamed of my long-con- tinued weakness, and shall try to grow strong. I am gaining strength every day-" Here she was interrupted by that slight, but constantly recurring cough. "This will not do, either, dear; the dews are beginning to fall, and you will take cold," said ne, and alter looking at her a moment with a faint smile, he stooped suddenly, and before she could object, raised her light form in his arms, and bore her up the hill. Arrived at the top, he put her down, and drawing her arm again within his own, they resumed their walk. "At least, now, there are some things, and they are the best things, too, that poverty cannot deprive us of, Edgar! Oh, Edgar! if it were not for-" and here she stopped, as if unwilling to sadden him uselessly, by an allusion to their mutual and irreparable error,-and here, too, she made a silent resolution never to trouble film again with her remorse. "What were you saying, love ?" "I say, Edgar, that the wealth, ease, &nd luxury which we have lost, are nothing in com- parison to the blessings that yet remain to us. Come 1-can we count them up? Youth, health, hope, intelligence and good looks, (let us be frank with each other,) and our mutual love ;- that to begin with! Then our little house, small and rude as it is, is alone, us on the ridge, where the air is so light and pure! and the water so crystal clear and cold! I do not know whether it is because my lungs are extremely delicate and sensitive, or not, but I find a ereat differ- ence between valley air and mountain air ;-I find mountain air so e.i~y o breathe! so light, thin, dry and inflating! In valley air, I detect a humidity and heaviness, even in dry weather. I N D A L E. alts aye tele so light, and elastic, and cheerful o~ the mountains! Ia comparison to what I felt ii the valley. I always said that I had rather live in a plain house on the mountain, than a fine C~ one in the valley. And then, too, I love tie grand old gray rocks, and the great mounuaji pines I I have a feeling towards them iik.~ rat I have towards good, wise and strong old folk,' -a sense of protection, shelter and safety near them 1-it is fancy, but it is a pleasant--n~y, a comfortable feeling. So you see, Eugar, you couldn't have suited me better than by settling on toe ridge-I always had an instinctive eonvic. tion that! required mountain air and wate~ to 4 make me a strong girl-and if it had not been ~ for this wound," here she stopped suddenly, again reproaching herself that she had been hurried into aii allusion to her father's violence. This was the very first time that she had ever hinted the subject. and now she was agi. tats-d at having inadvertently done so But Ardenne grew pale, stopped, and while one atm passed around her little waist supported her, the ot~ier hand was l8id upon the left side of her bosom-and looking earnestly into her face, he inquired, very seriously- "Winny, dear, tell me, and tell me truth- this wound of yours !-there is no outward sign of its existence remaining-but-do you feel it still?" Winny remained silent, her cheek flushed, she looked down. " Tell me, Winny." "Edgar I" "Nay, dear, you must tell me! It us post tively necessary that you do, love I-say does that wound still continue to hurt you I" I Yes" Ardenne became very much agitated; it was with the utmost effort at self-control, that he could.speak steadily. "How ?-tell me all about it, my love." "Well, then, it is always burning, burning, as if a small coal of fire was there-it is that which flushes up my left cheek ~ Ardenne suppressed a heavy groan. 'And when you draw a long breath, Winny, does it hurt you more ?" "Yes I when I cough, or raise my voice, or draw a long breath, a sharp, burning pain darts from that spot, and scatters all over my chest, and flushes up my cheek." The suppressed groan now burst forth in agony. Don't grieve, Edgar 1-dear Edgar, don':, please don't-it is a worse anguish to see you grieve; besides, I know how to prevent this pain!" "Ifow, dear I" "By not ta1cir~g a long breath I-except when I fore et myselt, or when I cannot help it." SHANNONDALE. 5.5 "Oh, my God I-oh, Winnyl Your father!- was called, had been built, it was supposed, by may the lightning of God's wrath scathe-" the first Virginian Summerfield, as an occasional "Hush! huahl Edgar," said Winny, closing hunting lodge. But as of late years that portion his lips with her little emaciated hand, "my of their immense landed property had been sold poor father did not mean it! Let u.s talk of by the Summerfields, and as the present proprie- something pleasant-our cabin." tor, Colonel Dangerfield, had a much han isomer "Rather, let us not cover up a misery or a hunting seat, furnished with all the most splen- danger, Winny, but face it, expose and examine , did appointments of the chase, this rude, strong it. Let us not attempt any amiable deceptions. lodge was suffered to go into disuse, and for Love! let us be open with each other-to begin, many, many years, it had been left unten~nied, I kno 4' your thought 1" except, perhaps, when a bear, a wolf, or a wild- You ~o, Edgar ?-you know, then, I strug- 1 cat made it a temporary winter shelter. The gle against it, too f.~ reason of its being left so to solitude and to ths "Yes, dear Winny 1-you think thut you bear work of the elements, was obvious-itn extre me your death-wound in your bosom 1" height and barren coil. Ardenne took it, because he had only the choice between that, a handsome "I try not to think of it-and I pray God, seat in the valley, the rent of which he could night and day, to let me live 1-and I shall try never expect to pay, or a squalid house in Har- to live-for, above all things, I love life 1-with per's Ferry; and Winny had said- all its trials, how I do love life4 It may not be "Anywhere! let us go anywhere where it an exalted feeling, but it is my feeling. I shock- is clean, and fresh, and cheap." ed Sina, once, by telling her that I liked earth As they reached the spot, Ardenne led Winny better than heaven I-and so I do! Young as I to the stile, and helping her over, said- am, this old earth seems to me like a dear old "This is our home, Winny-turn, Winny I familiar place, where my life commenced many and observe the prospect fro'm this spot." thousand years ago-and that I should not like And Winny, still leaniifg on his arm, turned to leave it for any new, strange place, even hea- to let her wondering and admiring eye rove over yen! I have always felt old-yet, no-not old the whole great valley of the Shenandoah, rolled -but as if I had lived an infinite past life of out like an immense map before them. At many childhood and youth. 1 remember once I made hundred feet below and before them glided the a whole company laugh. They came to cele- undulating river, glittering and flashing like an brate my birth-day-' Winny is five years old, enormous diamond serpent-across. the river, to to-day,' said my father. 'Oh, father! "five the right, where it swept around in the shape of yeai a old,"-i am a million of years old, at the a horse shoe, stood the old murky building. of very least!' said I, and theyall laughed." Red-Stone Hall-to the left, many miles down, Ardenne was watching her with anxiety. lay, between two hills, sloping to the river, Oak "Wunny, dear, you are feverish and excited Grove and Hall, with its distant quarters gleam- you wander away from the subject. Winny, mg through the trees. As her eyes fell for the for your threatened disease there is no preven- first time for two months upon her home, a tion or cure in the whole pharmacopsela ~ i spasm seized her heart~ but she said nothing. "Ikuow it!" I Still many miles below that towered Mount "But, Winny, there is remedy in the rim- Eyrie, the magnificent hunting-seat of Colonel pleat elements of nature I do not mean in ye- D~ngerfield, with its chimneys in the clouds. in minerals that may be naturally "It is a magnificent view I" said Winny, and getables or then they went into the house. repugnant to the stomach, for they have a place in the pharmacopasia-but in simple elements in - They entered at once through the front door into the common room, or parlor, perhaps we your constant use, that you cannot do without a love." may call it. It was furnished very plainly even day. You instinctively thought of them, bra country house, although Ardenne had laid "Air and water I at least half his little fortune in getting it clean- "Yes, dear, pure air, pure water, rationally ed and fitted up. A rag carpet, a half-dozen used, are the great agents in the prevention and flag-bottom chairs, country made, an oak table, cure of disease. I know and have faith in the and with the blessing of the L~ a corner cupboard with glass 4oors, filled with principle, od, set of common white delf-ware, upon one side Winny,1you shall live!" of the wide chimney,-a small clock on a trian- The last words brought them to a small, old gular shelf in the opposite corner-with a com. clearing among the stunted pine trees, upon the mon rug, and small brass andirons; a few book very summit of the mountain, called Pine Cliffs. shelves over the chimney-piece, and green paper In the centre of this clearing, and enclosed by a blinds at the windows, completed the simple fur- low stone wall, stood an old but substantial nituxe of their sitting-room. But a pleasant, yes building. of gray rock, surmounted by a steep and a painful surprise awaited Winny then-a roof. ?iue Cliffs, as the place and the house bright fire was glowing ja the 9hinlney-the tea- page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] SHA N iN kettle was boiling over the blaze; and a litt white tea-pot and a covered plate of butters toast 4tting on the hearth. In the middle of ti floor stood the table, covered with a coarse hi clean, white cloth, and set out with the service of white tea-cups, and saucers, and plates. Ai denne looked as much surprised as Winny did a this unexpectedly warm and homelike welcome -but before they had time to make a comment old Nerve entered from the back door, and corn ing up towards Whiny burst out crying and hel out her arms. "Come, come, aunty! come, my good soul control yourself, don't agitate your young mis tress, she Is very weak from recent illness,' said Ardenne, drawing Winny away, and forcing her to sit down in one of the chairs. ft Oh, I knows it sin-I knows, Marse Edgar and jes this minute I see'eared I Wouldn't cry, no~ do a thing to starve her! but soon as I seed her~ I couldn't kelp of it-'cause you see I nussed hei at my own breas', Marse Edgar! and loves hei as if she war my own chile,-'deed 1 don't knois the deifurice f-an' when I sees what she done fotch herself to-it-it-it a'mos' breaks my heart 1" sobi~d the old woman. "You must not talk that way, Aunt Nerve. I should be entirely contented if grandmother were well, ai~d father reconciled-how is my dear grandmother, Nerve ?" "Yes! you'd a better o' thought o' 'dear grandmother' when you ruined away and left her f-and broke her poor ole heart an' fotch a gracee on top o' we-dean! Oh! my blessed hebenly Marster, has I fotch you up in the fear oh the debil all your life to see you fetch your- self to this here, Winny Darlin' I" "Come! come! no more of this, Nerve! I cannot-" said Ardenne, sternly. "Let her alone! she is honest-she only means to reproach me with disobedience." "No I didn't, Miss Winny! please my heben. ly 'Deemer I didn't mean to say a word to starve your rain', chile, but when 1 sees what you have fotch yourself to a-heavin' of yourself away on-" "Nerve! be silent this moment! Aunt Nerve! Edgar! do forgive her, she is a poor foolish old body!" "Oh! my 'Vine Marster! jis hear how she talks o' her sponsors in baptism! 'ole foolish body!' arter all the paine I've takin' with her a teaching' of her her duty every night, reg'lar as the night come I" "Nerve! reproach me as much as you please, for tour care of me has given you a sort of right to scold, but confine your reproaches to me. And now tell me-how is grandmother ?" "Don't ask me, Miss Winny! ole madam is as bad as ever she can be!" "Oh aol not worse again I" ON P AL E. e "N-no! party much the same! always creeping' I about the room, holding' on to things like an on- I easy speerit and always a-moanin' arter you!,~ it Ardenne seeing Winny's face bathed in tears, :e said, in a low voice to Nerve, "You pretend to love that child, and yet see t how you torture her," and Nerve at last was e smitten with compunction. and said, ~' "Hush, Miss Winny! taint no use to take on! You cant ondoe what you've done-to save your ~ precious life, indeed you can't! please my hebeni- ly Jesus you can't, chile! Let me take off your bonnet, honey! tea's ready. I come up here all - the Way from Oak Grove to get tea ready for you, so as my baby shouldn't come, first eve- ~ nin', to a cold home and empty house !" "But how did you know about our plans, aunty ?" inquired Ardenne. "Why you see, sir, I quiress of every one I sees from Harper's Ferry 'bout ray gall, cause you see, Manse Edgar, I missed her, an' the Bible say-a 'oman never forgets her nussin chile -so I couldn't, which proves the Bible to be true !-so when Billy Smilie, the tavern keeper's son, at Harper's Ferry, fetches home the pony, I 'quired arter Miss Winny, an' he telled me how you had rented an' fixed up Pine Cliffs, an' was a goin there this evening , so first 1 thought 'good Lord-he gwine carry her to de debil's icy peak?' an' then I thought i'd come here die evening' an' make all warm for her-cause you see, Marse Edgar, I nussed her-" And while she talked the old woman went on arranging the table, filled up the tea-pot, set it on the waiter, put on the plate of toast and set two chairs to the table, and as Edgar led Winny to the head of the table, old Nerve took her place at the back, as she had been acc~tstomed to stand at the hack of her master's chair at the head of the table at Oak Grove. After supper Nerve took the tea things out and washed them up and replaced them in the cupboard. Then, as it was growing dark, she closed the shutters, let down the paper blinds, mended the fire, lighted a can- dle and placed it on the table between Winny and Edgar, and then said, "Now, Miss Winny, honey! it's time fur me to be a-walkin', but 'fore I go jes you tell me wha you' an' Marie Edgar s'iled clothes Is, so I may get 'em an' take 'em home to wash and iron 'em-I bring 'em back to morrow, cause you see, honey, I gwine come up here every day an' do fhr you-'deed I am! don't care what ole master say! he needn't know everything!" "No, Nerve! that must not he! Father would not consent to any such thing as your coming here or doing anything for us if he knew it, and you must do noViing without his knowledge !" "Now, Miss Wiany, see here! you think I such a darned etarnal fool ~s to tear my frock oft my back 'bout ole Inarster's 'fernal nonsense? SHANNO no indeed! I gwine come see arter my chile!" "No, Nerve, you must riot! we are much obliged to you. Winny feels your kindness, bat you must not offend Squire Darling by coming here without his knowledge and permission." "Kik.kik-kik! (laughing) You.dem think I gwine send my mortal soul to de debil by 'dul- ging that forsok ole sinner in his cussed infan- nelly whims? No, Marster! when I sot out to sarve my Jesus, I done broke wid Sam, an' all his child'ea- An' I gwine see arter my chile, else how I spect my hebenly Marster see arter me?" "Please don't speak of my father so, though, Aunt Nerve, but tell me how he is and who mixes his toddy every day I" "Miss Sina Hinton does." "God bless Sinai tell her 1 say so, Nerve." "Danno as I shall! 'fore my hebenly Jesus I don't know what to make o' that there young gall! I don't indeed! there ain't one soul on the yeth can do a singly thing with ole master 'cept 'tis she-an' she !-she can twis' him right roan' and roan' her finger same as you win a string! what a darned eternal fool a young 'oman can make out'n an ole sinner, I pray me blessed Lord! When Miss Sina's long o' him, he haves like a bornned simpleton! 1 'dare I never see sich a sappy ole noodle in all my days! It makes me right down sorry to see a gemman like him heave his senses away so! and then ef my lady happens to go to chapel,-or to Red- Stone Hall, case you see she's very thick 'long o Miss Sumamerfield, too,-ef he ain't like anybody crazy! does nothing' 'tall from anornin' tell night but run up an' down the house a swearing' at the niggers and a kicking' of the cats an' dogs-poor innocent dumb creeturs! 'deed, I gwine get a mass said for the ~poseof his soul f-stands more in need of it 'an any soul in purgatory as I knows of! I gwine sprinkle him with holy water first time I ever catches him asleep!" Soon after this the old woman took her leave, and Winny rousing herself from deep thought, said, "Edgar! if it were possible for Sina to like my father well enough, I could wish him to marry her I She would console him for the loss of me! She would bring his declining years great com- fort!" CHAPTER XVI, LAEOit~ HOPE AND PATIENON. "Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing- Each day shall see some task begun, Each evening see it close, Something attempted-something done, Shall win a night's repose." Whether it was from the fatigue of her walk, NDALE. 57 or that the coldness of the mountain air was, as yet, too great a stimulant for her, I know not; but that night, their first at home, *inny cough- ed all night; and it was near or quite day, when she fell into a deep sleep of complete exhaus- tion. Even then there was no sleep for Ar- denne Notwithstanding all he spoke, and hoped, and tried to believe, an insufferable anxiety seized and preyed upon his heart. He raised upon his elbow, and watched her by the faint morning light. Both her little arms-so thin and white now f-were thrown up over her head upon the pillow, with that helpless abandon so piteous to see in the versj weak. Even the de- ceptive flush ~iad faded from her cheek, and the pale yellow locks escaped in her restlessness from the little lace cap, clung damp and clammy to the cheek and bosom, bathed with the ex- hausting "night sweat." Her breathing was distressing, short, quick, interrupted; or, if s long breath seas drawn, it was emitted like a shuddering sigh, while a spasm of pain would contract the wan face, and a slight convulsion agitate the fragile form. As he watched her sleep of deep prostration, and her painful and spasmodic breathing, Ardenne bitterly reproach- ed himself; but with that singular propensity of miad that draws us to analogies even in hours of extreme distress, he thought of the bird he had caught and crushed in his hand, through his eagerness to possess it; of the flower he had plucked which had withered on hi'. bo~om, and he looked upon this poor, fragile, fadii'i~ human flower, rudely torn from the parent strm. and dying on its bed; and he groaned-he rentedd so that had her sleep been other than the pro- found lethargy of prostrated weakness it must have awakened her. He arose, and opening a window at some die tance from the bed, to ~,et in the cool, clear morning air, he dressed himself and went down stairs, leaving her still asleep. He opened the shutters of their parlor-or kitchen, as ~ oa will, for it served for both-and began to make a fire. Leaving it blazing and crackling, he took a pail and went to the s~irsng, and, returning, filled the teadrettle, and set it over the fire. Ardenne knew more of domestic economy than Winny. The only child of a youthful and wi- dowed mother, he had received the education both of a girl and a boy. And, by the way, I have noticed that by far the most amiable, the most considerate, the most gentle and sympa- thetic men, where women are concerned, are those brought up from infancy to manhood by widowed mothers. I suppose the reason is plain enough-the early chastening of sorrow, -perhaps early acquaintance with privation, toil and disappointment, and, above all, early and intimate acquaintance with women's pecu- liar trials. The Angel of Sorrow does tiet pre. page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] 58 SLIANNONDALE. side over a more beautiful sight than that of a Edgar'" she exclaimed, passionately clinging to youthful widow and her little son. The mother him, "do you know now much I love you? do almost as much of a child'as the infant-the in- you know how heppv beyond expression you fant almost as thoughtful as the mother. Phe make me? I shall not die! 1 cannot die! I widow's pensive brow has sobered the orphan, wonder how any one who loves can die! Love and he has left his sports, and stands by her with -such love as I b'~ar you merhinks is immor. a grave face-her comfort, confidant and coun- tality; or, if I could die, in the midst of all my seller, deeply interested in all her hopes and sin and trouble, it . ould be with excess of hap. fears,-thoughtful of all their domestic interests piness because you love me, Edgar!,, -her playmate and her prime minister-her Ardeurie did not reply to this. He wished to boy and girl at once-for he "helps mother" in soothe and quiet heraand he only held ner still all things. He thinks himself quite enough of and smoothed her hair. Presently she sat down. a man to bring water and wood, and not too Alter breakfast was over, Winny gathered the much of a man to do aay thing a girl might do, mother" - cups and saucers together, and said, if" stands in need of such assistance. "Now I wish to wash them up; but I wonder And in many other and more complex matters what Nerve did with the towel ?" he is more efficient at ten years old than a young Ardenne smiled at her artless awkwardness, man of twenty, who has hung upon his father all his hfe and going to the corner cupboard, drew out a draw at the bottom, and handed her one. Ardenne had made the coffee when the door "And now I shall know wh~re to find them, noiselessly opened. and Winny appeared, looking Edgar; and you need net take that trouble again," wan and weak, but very lovely and loving, in After breakfast was cleared, they drew to the her plain white wrapper and her golden curls. fire-the table still between them. "I overslept myself, Edgar; indeed I am very "I am about to put an advertisement in the sorry and very much ashamed-forgive me, paper, Winny, for a situation as teacher in this Edgar; and I will try not to be so worthless to- county, since you are unwilling to leave it, dear," morrow," she said, with a gentle embarrass- and accordingly, while Winny leaned upon her ment. as she annrnsu.hed the tehie -- -rr- ' I elbow looking at him, he yenned the following Ardenne set down the coffee-pot, and meeting her, folded her to his bosom "A gentleman, graduate of the University of "My pale, morning star! how are you, Virginia, will be pleased to be engag~ d as Pun- Winny ?" "I am well-very well-only tired." cipal of a small, select, Classical ane Mathema- "Tired, love ?" tical School-Assistant Master in a larger Aca- demy-or visiting tutor in a private family. A "Yes, tired, Edgar-it is so strange! sleeping situation in this canty would be preferred. tires me so that I wake up-not refreshed -but Satisfactory testimonials can be produced, and proetrated~ It seems as if I slept hard, or fast, prompt attention will be paid to a;~y communi- or laboriously-as if while I slept so heavily, an cation addressed to E. A., Harper's Ferry, Va." exhausting process of absorption and evaporation Having finished this-" Now, Winny,~~ he had been going on, that leaves me lighter, thin- said, "I am going down to Charlrstown to nor, and much weaker than when I went to put this in-is there any thing I can do for you sleep. It is not pain, or illness of any sort; so there, Winny ?" you must not look so serious, Edgar! it is only removed from her neck a cross of gold, a strange fatigue." Winny "Winny, my love, you should not have risen and holding it towards him, said, should have lain longer." "Yea, Edgar; 1 want you to dispose of this so soon; you for me. Father has not sent my trunks, you 'Oh, Edgar; not for the world. Do you thin1~ know, and you will remember that I have no- now that I am such a lazy, good-for-nothing girl, thing now but what I wore when I left~ home- as to take advantage of your goodness, and shift that is, a blue riding habit, and this thin, Swiss all my duties upon.you!" muslin that I wore under it-neit~er of them "But'; my love, you err-you are not able proper to wear when engaged in house-work... now to do anything, and this is no labor to me," The changes, Hettie Smilie loaned me when I he said, very gently. was sick at her father's house, are of course left She threw herself into his arms, and clasping there, and so I am in a straight. - Cake the him tightly, said, money for the sale of the cross, Edgar, and give "Oh, Edgar; you have such a good heart- it to Hettie, and ask her to buy me what is put such a good, good heart! I wonder where you,'f down on this list," said Winny, handing him a got it! surely there never was but one other such little pap~ a good heart, and that Ibroha! Oh. Edgar; do not "But, Winny, keep your cross, love! it is a 01.1 my bsnm so full of love and joy as to drown sar-red relic, and we are not at that straight every thought of penitence for that sin! Oh, yet'? - SH AN NON D A LE.- "Uses are more sacred than unproductive relies " "Well, Winay, you are right, but the 'uses are not urgent now, keep your cross until the3 are." And saying this, and promising to return by noon. A.rdenne left the house Winny occupied the time of his absence witi looking through her new home, and finding oul where everything was placed. Woile waiting the result of his adverise~nent. Ardenne was not idle. lie would rise in the morning, and while Winny Was preparing theix simple breakfast, he would go out upon the mountain with his gun, and return with a brace of wild fowl. All the forenoon he would read law, seated at a table before the window of their sitting-room, while Winny sewed by his side In the afternoon he took an axe and went to the pine forest and cut woo to pile up for winter use. Later he would take his angling-rod and go down to the banks of the She- nandoah to fish, aad return with a fine lot. His hopes the first week were very high. "After all, dear Winny, if you were not the spoiled child of wealth and luxury, this hall savage life would not be amiss !" "Oh! J.'should like it of all things, if my dear- est grandmother were well, my father recon- oiled. and I could only get rid of this burning pang in my left chest!" Every mail day Ardenne would go down to Harper s Ferry, but in vain No "commrini- cation addressed to E. A SHarper's Ferry, Vir- ginia," was there to claim the promised "prompt attention." And at the end of the second week he began to grow very anxious. He kept at work, however, saying, cheerfully, to Winny- "There is always something to be done, my dear Winny, and I have observed through life that people waste more time in waiting the result of future contingencies than in any other manner." Ardenne had laid aside from his small store, a sum of money to pay the bills of the physician and the tavern-keeper. The third week passed and Ardenne received no answer to his advertise- ment. Then he withdrew it, substituting an- other wiehaut restriction as to place This was also unsuccessful. Next he advertised for a situation as clerk in a lawyer's office - private secretary to a gentleman. or bcok-keeper in a store in vain! Those who have no necessity for labor, or who find employment sufflient to supply their wants, have rio idea of the wearing anxiety of one seeking work from week to week and finding none--while expenses are going on, or a family is suffering. Ardenne was sick at heart-everything seemed at a stand 'till-the world to be stationary A graveyard sort of qe ness seemed to ecn ove a!i th- ene- 4 least to him wac appeared to no useess and 59 e needless to society; still they continued to do "whatever" their hands founil "to do." ~ "For at least, Winny, here is an opportunity of putting ~his place in complete order," snid Ardenne, and between the times of his reading law, he would work at making a wood-houor ad- joining the cottage and filling it with wood ready cut. Winny, on her part, with the assistance arid instruction of Hettie Smilie, the innkeeper's daughter, had made up her own plain dresses and put Ardenne's wardrobe, which was n great disarray, into complete order. Then Hettie said to her, "If I were you, Mrs. Ardenne-" "Call me Winny, Hettie." "1 always forget to-if I were you 1 would put up some preserves for winter use." "But they are expensive luxuries and we do not need them." "Yes! they as-a expensive luxuries if you put them up with double refined loaf sugar-pound for pound, like your grandmother used to-bur suppose you get toe coarse brown sugar, and clarify it yourself, and put up some plume and grapes-that will be cheap, and you will find that often in the winter, when you are not able to get a regular dinner, a cup of tea and bread and butter, with a saucer of preserves, will go very well. So, Mrs. Ardenne, we will go if you please into the forest to-morrow with two bas- kets and gather some wild grapes, and wild piums also, if any are yet to be found-and next day I will show you how to put them up, so as it will cost almost nothing but the work." Ard so accordingly they did. Fiettie remained a week with Winny, and then Willie Smilie, her cousin, came for her. Widie had something in a bag on one side of his ~addle, which he brought in* and set upon the floor-and while Hettie was getting her bonnet, Willie, with many blushes, opened the bag and drew lorth-a stone jar for putting up preserves, and holding it up, he stammered.-~- I was along by Mr. What-his-name's store to-day, and saw this here, and I thought it was party, and so I bought it, like a great many things don't want, and so-and-so-" Oh, hush, Willie, your hypocrisies are as coarse and as easily seen through as a wicker chicken-coop! Mrs. Ardenne, he wants to make you a present of a blue stone jarand he does not know how to do it-dear Mrs. Ardenne, do take it from him, poor fellow, for with all his rude-r ness, he is so sensitive, that he will never get over it if you hurt his feelings by refusing," ad. ded Hettiein alow voice-unheardby hercousin, who blushing purple, had set the jar down in a trepidation. "is this for me ?" asked Winny, taking it up and looking at Willie. -, Yes, Miss-ma'am!" exploded Willie. "It is a nice jar indeed? arid will be veryese- page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] 60 eHA N NONDPA L E. ful to me. I wanted just such a one-and I am and drawing a chair close by the side of Her. sure I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Smilee" riette, she said-" Now, Harry, tell .e about said Winny, holding up the jar. my dear grandmother-I never hear from ner- Soon alter, Willie Smilie, taking Hettie up on how is she 7" the horse behind him, set out for home. That "Dear Winny, her life and healmn seem to good-hearted, simple-minded Smilie family ap- be stationary-there has been no change for peered to be the only friends Ardenne and Win- the better or the worse for Lwo months~' ny had left in the world. Not one of ner former "But her state? her state 7-what is it?' friends had she seen since her marriage. Indeed Harriette then briefly described to Winny the their neglect was so complete, and seemed so condition of the old lady as the reader knows it cruel, that but for the simple goodness of the to have been. Smiles, the hearts of these young people must Winny covered her face with her haivis, and have grown sour, bitter and misanthropical to. wept aloud, and- wards all the world. "I did it! I did it! In return for all her tenderness and care-all her self-sacrificing, disinterested love for me. .1 have reduced her CHAPTER XVII. to a stateworse than death!" WINNY '5 REALITiES. "No, Winuy, it was not your work; don't weep so bitterly; you have enough to trouble Ah whither now are fled-.' you besides that, poor girl!" Those dreams of greatness? Those unsolid hopes "Do not pity me! 1 do not merit it! I do Of happiucee? those longings alier fame? not suffer at all! I never have complained! I Those restless cares? Those busy, hustling days? never will complain! If I were to suffer very Those gay sptfnt, festive nights? Those veering much, it would be right! Oh, I am worse than Ihoughts--- Lost between good and ill-that made thy life- a matricide I" exclaimed Winny, between tue All now are vanished-virlue sole survives agonizing sobs that convulsed her whole Immorial, never-failing friend to man, frame. Thy guide to happiness on high. Thompson. Her extreme i~tmorse-her anguish, melted, while it alarmed Harriette She car5~sedJier.- 1 said the Smilies seemed to lye their only she tried to soothe her, but Winny repulsed ~hor, friends-that the rest of the world seemed to passionately refusing to be comforted, passion- have forgotten them. lt was not so exactly. ately demanding to suffer and to expiate! *Ia~. One afternoon, about the first of November, riette sat looking at her, patiently waiting tititil when the weather was already cool upon those the storm should abate; meantime, unnoted by bleak heights, Winny having* mended her fire, Winny, the tea-kettle boiled over, anul Han iette and hung on the kettle for tea, sat knitting be- got up and made the tea; then coolly resuming fore it, and waiting for the return of Edgar, who her seat by the side of Winny she said,- was out on the rocks with his gun. Suddenly "Now, you have worn yo rself out by weep- she heard a horse gallop up, and pause before ing,-now will you listen to reason 7-for there the door; and in another instant the door flew is no reason in your remorse, it is as inordinate open, and she was in the arms of Harriette Joy! as any otber unsanctifled passion. Now listen to ~C Dear, dear Winny, how are you 7" me, Winny !-your dear grandmother herself ~( Dearest Harriette I" never blames you; never names you, but with ~Oh, Winny, I am so glad to see you !" love, with prayer for your welfare, wit h bless- "Dear Harriette, a hundred thousand thanks ing." for coming !" were the exclamations of the two "Ab, yes I yes! but does that make me less young ladies, as they embraced each other, guilty ?-does not it make me snore so? The fondly. Saviour on the cross prayed tor and blessed His "Sit down. Rarriette, and let me take your murderers--did that make them less guilty 7" cap a' whip." "Yes! yes! it did-that love-that prayer- ft How is Edgar, Winny?" that blessing, had redeeming power, or it was 66Well.~-but care-worn." worthless! But, Winny, dear, don't interrupt "And who is wi ii you-any one besides Ed- me again, I wish to tell you that it was not your gar 7" asked Harry, taking off and handing her elopement, but the shock and terror of your fa- cap, gloves, etc., to her friend. their's frantic violence and furious threats5 and "No-no one but Edgar?' replied Winny, the dread of its effects upon you, and upon him- laying them on a bed in the adjoining chain- self, acting upon her feeble frame, that so suti- her. denly overthrew her. Winny, hey call me a ~'What !-you do not say that you have no mad-cap, but I have gee good sense! and I say servant-who waits upon you 7" to you, do not let your remorse make you faith "Edgar !-aad I wait upon him, also," smiled less to your present duties-that would be worse Wiiniy. But in a moment the smile vanished- than useless." SIIANNO Winny sobbed herself quiet, and then said- "My father !-how is he 7" '*Dear child! grief don't kill whom anger keeps alive. The squire is well, only suffering from a Sinamania." "Nerve told me something of that." "Yes-it is just so- when love or fever seizes a fat old sinner, it is extremelyy apt to; go ex- tremely hard with him. I beg your pardon for speaking so, Winny, but the fact is, you know I rather likeo your father myself, so that I am a little mad, and a good deal jealous, at being overlooked for the sake of an unprincipled and meretricious girl like Miss Hirton !" "For Heaven's sake, Harriette! don't talk so of Sina!" "Ttiere it is again! I tell you that those are my settled convictions of Miss Sina Hinton, and you will arrive at the same concussions in the end I tell these things to Mrs. Summerfield, but she turns a deaf ear to me-the truth is. because I have overflowing spirits, and exu- bera~t life, and a jesting way of delivering my oracles, people despise them. I will try to gra~ serious, if it be only to be listened to." "And ~ttunt Summerfield and Imogene-why, then. do they not sed me a kind word, or line I-it would come to tue grateful as rain to the parched desert," said Winny. "Is it that roy gentle Aunt Summerfield and my Cousin lmogeiie, my sweet cousin, with her celestial serenity. cherish unkind feelings towards me?" "No, Winny-they do not-but Mrs. Sum- merfield feels, perhaps too keenly, the situa- tion of her mother-associates you too painfully with the subject. Then you know, with all her gentleness, Mrs Summerfield has very rigid ideas of filial duty. I believe that she feels for you a great deal, hut that she considers you as undergoing a penalty for error-a penalty with which she has no right to interfere, and which she has no right to alleviate! As for Imogene -l do not know what to make of that lady! She is so grave. I was over there yesterday, and as she swept through the room, she paused, and looking at me with her slowly lighting eyes-you know that peculiar expression-as if her soul were returning from a long journey, she said- '~'Do you ever see or hear of my cousin, Mrs. Ardenne?' "'No.' replied I. "'You have never visited her since her mar- riage?' "'Never.' Y.r von were friends.' "'Thick as pickpockets-only Winny nevel took me into her confidence in the affair of her marriage.' CC~*hy have 'you not been to see her, then?' "'First, because she never Invited me, of COurse-second, because Pine Cliii is fifteen 6 NDALE. 61 miles from Sacred Heart, over the worst roau on earth, and I have no way of getting there- for Uncle Burleigh has sold my palfrey, and put the money in the poor-purse-he ought to have put it in our own, for I don't know a poorer purse than ours.' "'Then I presume if you could reach her, you would like to see Mrs. Ardenne?' "'Shouldn't I like to see Winny?' "'In that case, I will give orders that a pal- frey be taken over to Sacred Heart, to remain there for your use, as long as shall be agreeable -good-morning,' and with a quiet, imperial, half-abstracted air, she passed from the room; so that you see, Winny, I owe the pleasure of this visit to Miss Summerfield, at last." "flow I should love my cousin, if she would only let me I" "There is something so strange about Miss Summerfield-a beautiful solemnity of brow, as of one who walking in the light of a high reve~ rence inspires the same feeling in others. But Winny, dear, I bring you a message from Miss Mattie Smilie; she says she thinks that the air of the valley will now be a beneficial change for you, and she wants you to come and stay a week with her." "That is so kind in her; they are the sweetest family, those dear Smilies; tell her that whether I come or not, 1 shall feel very grateful for her goodness. Here comes Edgar." As Ardenne came in, and not seeing their visi- tor, kissed Winny, Harriette jumped up t'u4ex- claimed, "Me, too, Edgar! you are on my kis- sing list now I" "And pray how long is the said list, Miss Harry, that one may know the extent of the compliment ?" "Don't speer questions, Mr. Edgar! Does the extent of the compliment depend upon the length of the list 7" "Don't speer questions, Miss Harry! No! but on the sk.orgness of it." "Then I beg you to feel highly flattered, for my kissing list boasts but one name-Winny Ardenne-that is all." "Then it shall be a variation of that pretty name, Miss Harry," smiled Ardenne, as his lips lighted swiftly upon her half-laug4ing, haif-peut.. ing ones. ~c There, Harriette; now, when ever you place another name upon your list, erase mine, for then I will never kiss you again," said Edgar, very solemnly. "Good gracious! what a se~erb punishment! I'm glad you told me, because kissing is my be.- setting ami~biity, I know! Bat just see, now, the jealous pride of man; now, who, pray, is likely to be put upon my list?" "Not Colonel Dangerfield 1" The whole tide of blood in Harriette's san egine body wust have swept peat her brow to ave died it sucbade.ppupIi~bcrlmue~s~h page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] 62 SHANNONDALE. answered, in a low, aeterminec voice, with ati iiarr ette into the little adjoining bed-room, witb indignant earnestness, emphatic as uncalled for, itt cot-bed covered with a plain whitecounterpane "Never !-and now let me alone, for though I -with its little pine dressing-table covered talk nonsense sometimes, I have the faculty of with a white cloth, and adorned with a small coming to my senses again very quickie v. Winny, glass-its little pine washstand, and white basin let me help you out with the table I" and pitcher-its two flag-chairs-its one large Edgar and Winny seemed very well pleased window, shaded by a white curtain; and lastly, with Harriette's flash of anger-they exchanged i its fireplace, with little andirons, msd a cheer- glances-Edgar smiled. The two young ladies ful blaze. then set the table, laid the cloth, and put up the -' Flow very nice this little room is-so tnug simple supper-item, a saucer of Winny's pre- and home-like already What a nice counter- served plums. The small party were unusually pane and curtains." cheerful. "This is your room whenever you come to "You are going to stay all night with us, Har- see us, Harriette-it is plain, but I hope you riette ?" asked Ardenne, as they gathered around like jfJ~ the fire after supper. "Oh! it is sweet." "Of course I am, unless that is intended as a "It is very cheaply furnished-the whole fur- hint for me to go home." nature did nor cost fifteen dollars." "On the contrary, it is only a necessary ques- "Is that possible?' tion, to be answered before I proceed to stable "Yes-necessaries are cheap. The cot, Ed- your horse in the wood-shed; also, the precursor gar made himself Hettie made the cases of the to another question, namely, can you remain mattress, bolster and pillows, and Edgar stuffed with us a fortnight ?" them-the straw cost nothing. The counter- "No, sir." pane you like so well, is nothing but cheap, "I hope to persuade you, notwithstanding, white cotton, and the fringe around it I netted. .Winny, my dear, to-day 1 received a proposition Edgar made the little pine-table and the wash- from Mr. Hardinge, to go to Washington City stand; and Hettie and I made the curtain md and transact some business connected with a table-cover; and the two flag-bottom chairs we claim he has against the Go"~rnment. He of from an old free negro, who makes bought fers to pay my expenses, and remunerate me them for a living. And Hettie and 1 made this handsomely for a fortnight's services. So, little rag-carpet on the floor. dear Winny, shall I leave you for a fortnight- "It seems to me that this ought to be Hettie's and can we persuade Miss Flarriette *to stay room." here and keep you company during my ab- "Oh! you do not know how much that sweet sence?" girl has done for us, and been to us-a poor elm- "Oh!" exclaimed Harry, jumping up and ple maiden, with nothing but her goodness of clapping her hands, with all her short, jetty curls heart-and yet she has been of all the world our shaking; "oh! I am so glad! that just suits- best friend and greatest benefactor. She has like a knife and fork, or the two sides of a pair labored with us and for us, and taught me all I of shears! I am so glad." really know. I do love Hettie so dearly. Edgar "Then you'll stay, Harriette? loves her also-and we both say that if ever we ('Not I! do you suppose we want to be torn ~ prosperous, Hettie shall share our pro- up by the wild-cats, or carried off by runaway sperity. negroes? No, indeed! But Winny shall go house with me. i'll stay here to-morrow, to CHAPTER XVIII. help her to get ready! The mild valley air will be good for her at this season, and we will keep THE SACRED HEART COTTAGE. her, two, three weeks or a month, or an indefi- nite length of time, with pleasure-and when Please siep in you come back, Master Edgar, you shall find And visit roun' an' roun'; your 'white rose' blooming freshly" Harriette Theree naught superfluous to gie pain then with more sobriety, explained the invita- Or costly to be foun', tion with which she had been charged, and Yet a' is clean. Allan Rarrssay. after some debate, It was arranged thet Harry should stay with them until the thhd day from Ardenne borrowed two horses to convey him- that, whesi Winny should return, with her to self and his little wife to Sacred Heart, aed on the Sacred Heart, there to remain during the ab-. morning of the third day they set out It was sence of Ardenne. the first ride Winny had had since her marriage, 'Now, Edgar," said Winny, "Won't you and she enjoyed It Vastly. Her spirits rose. and make a fire in Harriette's room-it is chilly." for aw'iile all her troubles except the latent, ever This done-Ardenne read tbe evening chapter gnawing remorse were forgotten. It was a bright, in the Bible, and soon after Winny condu'-ted clear, --rol rno!zsir'g--the sky was gloriously bril. I SHANNO I NDA LE. 33 liant, and the sun blazing with insufferable light. tion even for a fortnight seems intArminabl.~ and The woods rich and gorgeous beyond compari- intolerable to a youne couple who cenrio', as yet, son in their splendidly variegated autumn colors endure to be apart a day. So Winny sobried .-the burning crimson of the oak. the bright heartily as she watched the progress of Arden- green of the pines and cedars, the purple of the - ne's horse back up the mountain patti-and con- log-wood and the golden yellow of the hickory. vulsively after it han disappeared from her sight. Winny was a silent worshipper of nature. and Miss Mattue and Harriette tried to console her, ever when her heart was the most influenced but in vain. her lips were the mutest. They had a long, "Indeed I know it is foolish,~' she said, "1 delightful journey before them. Ardenne had am ashamed of it, but I cannot help it-just let 'yielded to Hettie Sinilie's solicitation and pro it pass-let me have it all out, aiid then I ehall mised for Winny that they should stop at the be cheerful," and so it followed. And indeed ferry and remain until Ihe afternoon. They I do not know who could have been miserable in reached that place about eleven o'clock, and that clean, cool, quiet, fragrant little home- were received with obstreperous demonstrations with Mattie and her benign smile, her meek, of joy by Mr. Smile, who was, poor fellow, as serene manners, and her quiet, affectionate mi- usual, slightly elevated with wine. Hettie took nistrations. Winny off immediately to a remote and quiet "Now, honey, I am going to get tea ready- room, and there they dined together. In, the which do you likd best, tea or coffee, honem' ?" afternoon the little party resumed their journey, "Both, Miss Mattie." and about four o'clock crossed the ridge, and "But which would you rather have, honey?" began to descend the little bridle.path leading "Just which you please, *~4iss Mattie." down the side of the mountain to the small and "Tea, Miss Mattie," said Harriette, to shorten sheltered glen in which the cottage aiid church the colloquy. of Sacred Heart were situated. It was a very- "Well, honey, tell me," she asked, as if de- inviting, a very tempting little place, seen from precating the trouble she was giving to have her the mountain path, so protected, so shut in by questions answered-" which iiow suits your ap- high mountains all around, so shady, still, and petite best, biscuits or egg-corn-bread, my silent! Summer certainly lingered there unwil- dear ?" lug to depart-the grass was still fresh, soft and "Either, dear Miss Mattie--please do not put green. Some of the trees still heavy with late yourself to any trouble-you are so good and fruit. Golden pippiiis, large, light green non- kind any way, but please don't trouble yourself. panel,- and scarlet apples enlivened the orchard I have a good appetite and can eat anything, es- grove, whrle bright yellow October peaches, and pecially anything of your nice cooking.' large, black English peaches, bore down the "Dear child I my dear child I it's no trouble- branches of the trees almost to the ground. indeed it ain't-it's just as easy to get one thing Coming down the mountain path they dismount- as another, honey, indeed it is, and you may just ed, and leaving the horses, they entered the as well have what you would like as not-it ain't premises by a little gate at the back of the gar- no worry to me at all, I always have to get sup- den and walked on a grassy path between rows per, you know I' of marigolds, red and white crysantheums, "Dear, Miss Mattie, you are so good to mel and other gaudy, late fall flowers This led them What makes you so good to me-I don't deserve through a long arbor covered with a grape vine, it !" said Winny, embracing the old lady-at and emerging from it they saw Miss Mattie in which Miss Mattie's serenity almost gave way, the covered back porch, very busily engaged in and she almost melted. tying up branches of fragrant herbs-horse-mint, '~Who could help being good to you, my dear sage, balm, lansey, marjoram, ~c. She was too chlld; but, honey, you did not tell me about the busy to notice them at first, but when they step- egg-corn-bread ?" ped upon the porch, she turned around with her "Oh I yes, I like it very much, Miss Mattle ID t pleasAnt face and tier own smile, as I said before, "Well, then, you shallhave a nice egg-pone kalf beatitude, half bonhomie, and weh~omed Win- Now come in to your little room, my dear child, fly, then Harriette, and laetly, and with a scarce- and lie down till supper is ready." ly perceptible shade of reserve, curtsied to - Ar- A~nd the affectionate old lady led Winny into a denne, as if a nearer approach to familiarity little adjoining bed-room, with white-washed with one of the other sex were unholy as well walls and bare ifoor, and two little windows with as forbidden. Then she conducted them into the baue paper blinds, and a little bed with a blue priest's parlor-a sacred place, shut up general-' check counterpane Between the two windows ly, but opened upon tnis and other rare occa- it had also a tall, prim little toilet-table without sions. Soon after this, Ardenne, who was obli- a cover, and a small glass, surrounded with Jiny ged to meet the stage that would pass the ferry and cheap colored prints of the Virgin Man ~the at six o'clock, took leave. Winny wept-it was saints, apostles. martyrs, etc And. lastly, a weak, but she could not help it. A first separa- small fire-place filled with cedarand surmounted page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] 64 Sh{~NNONDALE. SHANN' a mantlepiece, upon which stood a little plas- Winny and l{arriette smiled and exchanged CHAPTER XIX. t.~r cas' image of the Virgin and Child Bunches glances, buy believing the good ok lady to be of fragrant herbs hung drying against the wall, a victim of her own imagination, both in the DONNA QUiXOTE. filling the air with their aroma matt.~r of the ghost, and in the suspicion of the "Here now, honey, you can be quiet and rest holy father's alarm. Thou medley of contraries! We trust thee, yet we doubt thee, till tea is ready. Let me help you off with your They soon after retired to bed, Harry and Our darkness and our light; things. Here is a wrapper to slip on. J.'here- Winny occupying the same room. And flOWs Nght would be day without thee3 now lie down. Here is a book to read if you for the first time, Harry had an opportunity of And day without thee, night. cannot sleep. It is 'Paradise and the Perys.' knowing how very ill Winny really was. No Would you like a fire made here P' sooner had her bead touched the pillow, than her g Canton. "No, I thank you, Miss Mattie, not until cough became troublesome. As hours passed, it Harriette Joy kept her promise. As soon as night. It is warm enough." grew worse, and Harriette was kept awake all Winny and Ardenne had departed the next day, "I think so, too, honey. Well! Harry will night by the distressing spasmodic coughing of she jumped on her horse and rode over to Red. call you when supper is ready, honey," and so her friend. Towards morning, Winny tell into the Stone Hall. She found Mrs. and Miss Summer- saying, the dear old lady left the room. same deep, lethargic sleep, and her head, neck field in the eak-panneled parlor, seated near a Miss Mattie's suppers had a temptation. Her and bosom were bathed in the same profuse cheerful fire, Mrs. Summerfield engaged in tam- humble table was so extremely neat Her table night-sweat. bour.work, and imogene reading aloud to her cloth so "curd white," her old-fashioned blue "Winny is dying-her family must know this~ from Fenelon, in the original French. Imogene china cups and saucers so glistening. Then her tea something must be done, or sne will be dead in closed her book, and, without rising, bowed was so good; her cream so rich; her bread so a few months I I will speak to Mrs. Summer. gravely to their visitor; while Mrs. Summerfield light; ber butter so sweet and tresh; and her field! I will go to see Squire Darling, and he left her seat, and advanced to welcome her.- preserves so excellent, and above all her WelCome s/sail hear reason I" said Harry, as she arose ~ Harry laid off her hat, and gaily sat down be- was so hearty; her smile so kindly. It was re. the morning, and carefully letting down the tween them, and while drawing off her gloves, marked that every one had an appetite at Mat- window-blinds and closing the doors to keep out and replying to Mrs. Summerfield's polite in- tie's table. all noise that might disturb her, she softly left quiries respecting her own and Father Burleigh's When Harry called Winny out to supper, she the room and Winny to her morning's sleep.- health, the merry maiden was more than ever found Father Burleigh returned from his after- The house was kept perfectly quiet, and the struck by the deep melancholy, hardening, at noon's ride and already lathe parlor. He came for- breakfast delayed, so that it was very late be- times, into a severe gravity, that marked Miss ward and welcomed her with much kindness, and fore Winny awoke, and then she washed and Summerfield's countenance and demeanor. Her she set down to the sociable little tea.table pre- dressed herself in haste, and came out, making very dress seemed only the expression or deve- sided over by Miss Mattie, with her mneek though her simple apologies for oversleeping herself.- lopement of her inner nature ;-it was so grave pleasant smile. Winny noticed that Father Bur- Father Burleigh called her to him, and taking and sad-a close-fitting black silk, witl~ a slight leigh had broken very much, had grown appa- her wasted hand, looked tenderly, even remorse- edge of fine thread lace at the neck and wrists, rently ten years older since she last saw him. His fully in her wan face, attempted to speak, but its severe simplicity only relieved by the large, manner was grave, abstracted, yet when obser- dropped the hand and turned away-again reco- glossy, purplish-black ringlets that swept in vant of anything going on around him, very kind. verging himself, he led her to the table. three heavy divisions down her shoulders and "Why have you not been to church, Winny?" Winny remained a fortnight at Sacred Heart. each side of her bosom to her waist. Imogene he inquired, affectionately. During this time, she went over to church. She had closed her book, and still holding her fingers "Because, Father Burleigh, I have no convey- had looked forward to this Sunday as to the day between its leaves, she fixed her large still eyes ance, and the road is too long to walk." that would give her a sight of her father, or of earnestly on those of Harry, and inquired, "How-what I has not your father-hum-" some member of her Aunt Summerfield's family. slowly, The old man stopped abruptly and fell into Sunday came, and Winny was there, and watch- "Have you seen Mrs. Ardenne since you were thought. Immediately after tea the old priest ed each arrival with sickening anxiety, and with- here, Harriette ?" retired to his study, and Miss Mattie, Winny out success. Not one member of the Oak Grove and Harry gathered around the fire. Here, for or the Red.Stone Hall family appeared. At the "Yes, Miss Summerfield. I went and brought Winny returned to the 'cot- her home with me, and she remained at Sacred the hundredth time, Miss Mattie recounted the end of the service, Heart two weeks. She left us this morning." story of the ghost she had seen, to a new hearer. tage, cast down, and almost broken-spirited. To her it was an unexplained mystery still; and "They know that I am here, and avoid me," "She is well I" Miss Mattie, who had never been credulous till she said. "No, Miss Summerfield, very far from it; she that haunted night, was thenceforth, to the end "Never mind, my dear child. Repent of your 15 in a decline, if I am any judge of the matter," of her life, a devout believer in the reappear- sins. Rope and trust in the Lord, and all will said Harriette, and then recounted all she knew ance of disembodied spirits. 'She concluded her be well I" said the tender-hearted Miss Mattie. of Winny's illness, ending by saying that she account by saying, On the Friday following, Ardenne arrived, and believed Winny must die, if her heart was not "And if you please to believe me, my dear on the next day, Saturday, Winny scarcely at relieved by a reconciliation with her family, her child, when Father Burleigh came in out of the all improved in health, took an affectionate leave' taind from the incessant pressure of anxiety, and graveyard, when that night he went to watch of the family at Sacred Heart, and departed with her delicate frame from the labor and privations for the ghost, be was pale as ashes, and trem. Ardenne for their mountain home. Miss Mattie of her present lot. Imogene listened with a bling like he had an ague. I asked him if he had filled the saddle bags with the fine black grave, set countenance, and made no comment. seen anything, and he grew angry, and forbid English peaches and golden pippins, and pro- "Have you no influence with Squire Darling, me ever to speak to him about It, and so I never mised, besides, to send a "cart load" of fruits Mrs. Sumazerfield? Can you not persuade him mentioned of it asain; but I shall always think and vegetables from their orchard and garden to to forgive and receive bin daughter and ion-in- hew~Father Burleigh seen something." Pine Cliffs. law i" 6~ ONDALE. "Impossible, Harriette I I should expose mr self to insult in making 'the attempt. if Mrs. Ardenne will leave her husband and promise never to see him again, she may be received into her father's house, where she must necessa- rily lead a life of strict seclusion; those are the only terms of reconciliation." Harriette's face flushed with indignation, and she remained silent for awhile; then- "Have you, Miss' Summerfield, no power with Squire Darling ?" Imogene lifted her heavy lashes, but before her slow reply was formed, Mr.. Summerfield answered, "Miss Summerfield must not expose herself to her uncle's violence of temper, Harriette." "Very well, then," thought Harry; "thank God I have no false refinement to be shocked, and no false pride to be humbled, though it waa' be false courage that prompts me now to "'Beard the lion in his den, The Douglass in his hell;' and I will wait on Squire Darling myself." This was Harriette's secret resolution, but she did not express it. Something of a natural, though quiet kauteur in the manners both of the elder and the younger lady, ever chilled Har.. riette into reserve. Soon she took her depar- ture, declining Mrs. Summerfield's invitation t. stay to dinner, and turned her horse's head t. wards Oak Grove. Is this the Hall? The nettle buildeth bowers Where loathsome toad and beetle black are seen! Are these the chambers? Fed by darkest showers, The slimy worm hath o'er them crawling been! Li this the home? The owlet's dreary cry Unto that asking makes a sad reply. ZVicoll. Nothing could be more dreary than the aspect of Oak Grove, as Harriette approached it. Every thing about the plantation bore testimony to the despairing neglect of its master. It was very evident that Squire Darling no longer rode at morn and eve all over his estate to see with his own eyes that every thing was done properIy~ It was proved that he no longer heeded his favo- rite proverb, that, "The master's eye doth more work than the servants' hands." Fences were broken; gates down; fields littered; cattle straying; negroes dozing in the blazing autumn sun; every thing bore marks of indifference auid neglect. Harriette's spirits fell, oppressed by the scene. "At least, though, this shows that' be Iowa her still; mourns her absence still; has no spirit' of enterprise without her I Come, courage I I can do something here!' And Harry opened the gate that admitted her into tke large, grove-like yard in the centre of which stood the old gray Hall. Bat wbata4reavy page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] 66 SHANN change was here! This fine, heavily-shaded lawn, which it used to be the easy task of a score of little negro children to keep perfectly clean and smooth, free alike from litter, weeds, or fallen leaves,-this lawn was now grown thickly up with thistles, drying in the autumn sun, tall Jamestown weeds, rank with ripe pol- eon, and filling all the air with their baleful eflIn- via, and drifts of dried leaves that rattled and rustled noisily under her horse's hoofs. As yet, she had seen not a single soul beyond the lazy group of negroes she had left in the field, dozing in the hot sun. As she wended her way up the grass-grown walk, a large snake started up be- fore her horse's hoofs, and glided swiftly away. A superstitious awe had been slowly gathering over Harriette's spirit, and now a shock of fear thrilled through her nerves. She looked up at The house. The front doors and windows were all closed. Cobwebs were stretched across those of Winny's deserted rooms; dried leaves had fallen and lodged in them, and the little insect called the mason, had built its house of' clay in the corners of the sills. Deserted, desolate, and forlorn! Harriette had not spirits to go up the mildewed stone steps, and ring the rusty bell. She turned her horse's head and trotted of! towards the Quarters to find Nerve-giving a fearful glance behind her, as though she dread- ed having been seen from the house. The dreary and forsaken aspect of the place made Harry's nerves tremble as though she were doing some wrong, fearing some discovery, and incurring some punishment. Harry trotted down the hill to the hollow where were situated the Quarters, ten little white cabins each side of the street, with a larger cabin facing down the line at the upper end. This place looked scarcely less lone- some than the house. Here in the doors sat negro women, dawdling over their patching, or old men smoking, or old grannies with the woolly heads of young negroes between their knees, engaged with finger and thumb in a nameless work of destruction. Each nodded, or spoke respectfully to Miss Harry as she passed them, and rode up to Uncle Kill's house. Here she jumped off her horse, and, passing the little gate, went in. The front door war open, and gave a view of Nerve within, seated among baskets of apples, and pans and dishes, engaged in cutting up fruit for drying. "Come in, Miss Harry, chile, come in! 'xcuse me for not getting' up, 'ca'se my lap's full o' pains. Sit down, Miss Hairy, honey, sit down! Row's the ole gen'l'man, Father Bully; God bless him! Take of your hat, Miss Harry, chile, an' lay it down on table. Has you seen anything o' my poor baby? We-dem heerd how she was staying long o' you I Is she dere yet?" "She has been staying with us a fortnight, but has now returned home-she is in very bad health, Nerve." )NDALE. ttPoor baby! poor, dear chile! I knowec. ti an' I aint been to see her since that first tbt~, cause you see, Miss Harry, when ole mar~~-. found out how I had been there, he like t -i split the shingles off o' top o' the house, seared how he'd sell the fuss nigger as tuk least notice o' her, far as ever hor~'e an' u could carry them! 'Fore my hebenly Mars he did, honey! An' he said how lie meani starve or freeze the ondutiful gall to her senses to death, one or the torher!" "I am going to speak to him about Winny, Nerve 1" "I 'vise you not to! You run your head right into a hornet's nest, if you so much as mention her name, let alone plead for her! You better let him alone !-he tuk leave o' ~li sense an' de- cency 1-he'll 'suit you quick as wink !-'fore my bebenly 'Deemer, will he! You can't do nothing' 'tall wid him! He don't do nothing' but sit in that there house from morning' till night, and drink an' swill, an' every singly thing about the place is going to rack and ruin! Poor ole man Kill do the best he can-he's overseer, you know-but br'! he can't do nothin' 'tall with the niggers, cause you see, when they 'glects their duty, he t'reatens how he'll 'port them to ole master, but you know, Miss Harry, if ole master don't pay, no tensionn to his 'porte-how they goin' to mm' his treats ?" "I am sorry to hear he drinks so!" CC He don't do nothing' 'tall else from' mornin' till night, chile!" "Well! anyhow, Nerve; I came here for the purpose of seeing him, and I intend to see and to speak to him in Winny's behalf, too!" "'Fore my hebenly Marster, he'll 'suIt you; he will indeed, honey!" "Which way shall I get in, Nerve? the front part of the house is all shut up." "Stop, honey I I'll go 'long o' you," said the old woman, pushing the apple parings out of her lap into an old basket, and preparing to accom- pany Harry. They left the house, Harry leaving her horse there, and walked towards the Hall. Nerve conducted her in through the back piazza, and stopped to ask her whether she would visit "ole madam" ~1rst, or go into the parlor. Harry de. cided to see the invalid, and the old woman led the way up stairs, and to the door of Mrs. Dar- ling's room. Then the sound of voices made Nerve pause, and hold up her finger to Harry. It was Sina's voice, in a high key and insolent tone, apparently speaking to the old lady. "And Nerve shall not come up these stairs with her impudent interference, and her awk- ward blunders, and her mischief~making. If you want anything done for you, I'll do it!" A low and plaintive reply was made to this rude speech, the only word distinguishable being "Winny." SHANNC "You know it is against the orders of Squire Darling to send any message, or hold any com- munication with that young woman, and I am here to see his orders enforced" "Come, Nerve! Come! my blood is boiling! my heart will burst! let me in! it is improper, an'~ how, to listen-and to such insolence as that! let me in, Nerve, and stop that indignity, or 1 shall lose my reason, burst the door open, seize that impudent girl and shake the breath out of her body! Let rue in, Nerve; for 1 do not want to forget myself." Nerve, with an "1-told-you-so" look, opened the door and followed her into the room. The ol~ lady was sitting in her arm-chair, the very rure of imbecile suffering. Hariettte went to her and spoke very respectfully (purposely omit- ting to see Sina.) "Oh! how do you do, my dear? Did you know that Winny was gone ?" she inquired, with an appealing look of grief. "Yes, I know it-i saw Winny this morning 1" '-Did you! did you! Oh. how is Winny "' "She was over at our house she sent her love to you," replied Harry, evading the question of her health. "Over to your house! and did not come to see me!-does she know, does Winny know that I am h.elpless-r hat I have lost the use of my limbs ?" "Yes, Winny knows it, and grieves about it." "Tell her not to grieve! tell her not to grieve -tell Winny I do very well! she mustn't grieve! she mustn't grieve I you mustn't tell her any- thing to make her grieve. I'm sorry now she lnows I am helpless; but why don't Winny come to see me, then ?" "She wants to come, but they won't let her." ~CWho won't? who won't? It's my house- my jointure house! and no one has a right to prevent her !-she shall come! tell her so! tell her to come! i'll see !" said the old lady, the spirit of her youth flashing fitfully up. "Really, Miss Harriette Joy! I shall be forced to request you to leave the room, if yoh excite Mrs. Darling in this manner!" said Miss Hin~ ton, coming forward. Harry sprang sharply around, confronting the girl, and flashed upon her a look of such blight- ing scorn and indignation, that the audacity of tbe wily girl nearly wilted under it, and she continued more quietly- "Mrs, Darling cannot bear the least excite- ment, and the name of Winny-" "Mrs Ardenne, I presume you mean," said Harry, haughtily. "Mrs. Ardenne, then," continued Sina, with an imperceptible smile, "is a forbidden name in this house!" Harry fixed her dark eyes, blazing with insuf- ferable light, upon those of Sina Ilinton, 'ud tending her arm, pointed to the 'oor, saying, "Sins kiinton, leave the room! I overheard ) N DAL E . 67 your conversation before f entered! leave the room! lest I expose your insolen - o M~. $um- merfield, who will ~omnel you to lese the house I" Sina Hinton recovered er momentary quail. ing, and smiling, toucied the bell Harry re- garded her with as much surp. '- as indignation, and something even oi' admiration. She had changed very much within the last t~w in'neiitw. There was a sort of attraction, glamour, witch- craft, or what not, about that thin, pierce face, that being neither beauty noi- goodness, was more fascinating thai either -it was unity, power, strength, a diabolical individuality - The bell was answered by a servant, to whom she said, "Tell your master that I crave his presence for a few moments in this room." She spoke with an air of assured authority, and the man, bowing with great respect, with- drew to obey her. "Leave the room, Minerva," was her next order. And old Nerve, saying to Harriette as she passed-" Let us go, Miss Harry. for Sam is going to be riz here directly!" went oui. The step ol Squire Darling was heard upon the stairs, and $ina turned er dark, bright face, with its stiletto lignt gleaming out ii"- tween the wilderness of black, shining ringlets, with a fierce smile upon Harriette.. The squire entered the' room, saving, with a maudlin fondness- "What does my lightning-bug-what does my little fire-fly-what does my sprite want with me, now ?" His face was flushed, his eyes blood-shot, his step unsteady, and he sunk heavily inro a chair. Harriette saw, and groaned in the spirit "Well, what does my little mustard-seed want with me, now ?" "Send that girl from the house !" "That girl !-whieh girl ?" asked the poor man, his inflamed eyes flying around the room, and settling on Harriette. "Oh! that's Miss Harry !-that's little Nimrod !-musn't send ker away I" "Then, Squire Darling, I must go," said Miss Hinton, a flush rising to he~ brow. "You! you go! oh, never-stop! I'll send her oft! i'll do anything you tell me to do, Sins 1-tell me to march up before the whole congregation-up the altar-steps and pull Father Burleigh's nose, in the midst ot the mass! and I'll do it, my queen of love and tieauryl my so- vereign! my goddess! What am I to do, now? -put Harry out!-oh, yes! Come, Miss Harry, you must march! -it's un ungentlemanly h g to turn you out, I know! but Si commands, and Sina must be obeyed! Coin- Miss Harry! right face! forward! uiirch !" - 'aimed -ike monomaniac, ~iUI'~ toward Ha- - istt page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] 69 SHANNONDALE. SIIANNONDALE. f$ ~ishing deeply with shame and indiguation- ought to take her mother home with her, where ver ioo proud to resist, Harriette suffered him she could be treated with -respect and atten. the fir at time in my life, I mar disobey sentiment i~ not with you ~" Ardenne, and hopes t to take her arm and lead her to the door, which tion." The countenance of the priest changed fright- him; his own heart is he closed behind her. "'Taint no use, honey! Ole mar8ter ain't fully before her-his face grew thin and fierce him that she can ne~ Poor Harriette! nevet was a Donna Quixote goin' to 'sent to it! Re keeps ole miss'tess here, in its agony. and hie eyes struck into hers with perish with want, bi more completely unhorsed and discomfited! for a cloak for Miss Sinai Cause you see, honey, She had fallen, nearly buried under tbe ruins of ef ole miss'tess wasn't here, Miss Sina couldn't ~ piercing anguish, intolerable to meet-her eyes Edgar." her castle, and such a castle as it had been! stay! Cause you see, honey, people would talk, - dropped, and she paled with vague terror, as he "And to what doe said, slowly, daughter ?" All the way, as Harry had ridden to the Hall, and Miss Sina's too deep to let people talk about ~ "Girl! you know not what you do! Would "To this, my moth she was recollecting Squire Darling as he had her! So, you know, chile, Miss Sina ain't a gwine been before his daughter's elopement-brave, to let her go-an' whatever she says is law you fell the old lady by one blow to the grave? and save Winny bud E frank, generous, merry, pure, exceedingly fond gospel here, as you see yourself ~* Would you cover Mrs. Summerfield with dis- young to struggle suci of young girls, who could wheedle him out of "I must try, though! I must try! It were honor-would you break the proud heart of Imo- cuties as now surroum anything witn a few soft words and smiles ;-and shameful to be silent, and let that angelic old gene-would you bring me to a ahamefbl death? them, mother; we mu Harry had pictured herself-coaxing, wheedling, lady be tormented by a fiend like Sina Bin Yes! you have heard aright, Harriette! You ling's plan of freezing and caressing him into urbanity and forgiveness, ton I" may well gaze with those startled eyes! If you death-for that will bt and purchasing Winny's pardon with an infinite Now, would flood a whole family with infamy and hor- "Well, I listen to ye number unfortunately for all concerned, ~ar- ron offer d that fell girl! She is a demon, Har- "Let us invite Ardi of kisses and coaxes-poor Harry 1-and I riette instead of going immediately to Red-Stone riette! but a demon of transcendent power and spend the winter. aod now, instead of her safe, affectionate, fatherly Hall, and revealing to Mrs. Summerfield what malice, nevertheless!" hug may be reconciled old gentleman, whom it would be a very merit she had witnessed, determined first to infoi~m to be fond of, she finds a fallen and sensual old her uncle, Father Burleigh, and act upon his ad. _____ of some business for E beast, whose very contact was contamination! vice. It was very late in the afternoon, when "Imogene, my dearr She could have wept with shame and indigiia- Harriette reached Sacred Heart. The old priest CHAPTER XX. do not like to give aid tion! but then she thought of her Quixotiem, was in his study-and Ijarriette, after laying off ent and rebellious child and as the comic largely preponderated aver the her riding-skirt and hat, and eating a piece of IMoGRNE. penalty of her sin! U tragic forgive her, she mist in her happy composition, she laughed bread and meat-for she was nearly storved- Thou dwell'si on sorrow's high and barren place, "Unto death, mothe outright as she exclaimed-" Never was Donna went into his study, and sitting down, recounted But round ,ihout the mount an argel guard- riette said. Rer rep Quixote so completely discomfited I" Then she all that she had seen and heard at Oak Grove. Chariot~ of fire- horse of fire encamp, heard before from ~l4i sought out her horse, which, you remember, she The priest listened with deep gravity, and groan To keep thee safe for heaven! 1lZ~s. BUtt, her information from had left tied at Nerve's gate. after groan struggled up from his chest, and sigh my reason for wishing The old woman was sitting at her apple-paring after sigh broke from his lips as the story pro- When H rriette had taken leave of Red-Stone Mother, 1 have heard again when Harrriette came up. gressed-and, Hall for her Quixotic visit to Oak Grove, she consumption is not to "Well! Miss ~iarry, honey! didn't I 'vise you "Where is the end of one sin ?" he said, left Mrs. an'! ~Iiss Summerfield still sitting in single week of delay ii not to go! didn't 1 tell you, you'd get 'suited- "Where is the end of one sin ?" the wainscoted parlor. Miss Sumrnerfield did the victim, and place now what you goin' do I" "The end of it would be here and now, dear not resume her reading, but after looking of medicine! Mother. "What am I going to do? I am goingatraight uncle, if you would only go and expose this sin. steadily at her mother for awhile, she said, in cousin i" back to Red-Stone Hall, and inform Mrs. Sum- ful girl; and use your influence with Mrs. Sum. low, slow tones, "Imogene, I never t merfield of all I have seen and heard--that'. merfield in behalf of the suffering old lady; and "Mother, what is your purpose in this much since your retur what lam going to do I" with Squire Darling, (for I know if he won't affair ?" been so cold !-les.st 0: "Kik! kik! kik! ain't you got enough yet, listen to anybody else on earth, he will listen to "To remain inactive, Imogene; I cannot, affection for your cousi Miss Harry? I tell you Miss Summerfield Can't you,) in behalf of his distressed daughter !" with any sort of self-respect, again interfere "Nor did I, mother, do nothing' 'tall 'long o' ole master. Ole mars- "I may not! muat not interfere, my dear with Squire Darling's method of governing his fortune!" ter's his own master, and Miss Sina's his child I" said the priest, with a deep sigh. "As household. Indeed, Oak Grove is no longer a "Imogene, my child miss'tess; and Madam Summerfield won't thank for Mrs. Darling, she is a saint prepared for fit or pleasant olace of visiting, and wOre it not upon this matter 7" you for your news." Heaven! May her sorrows be sanctified to her for the duty I owe my mother, and the wish to "Indeed I have, cc "I don't care if she don't! I'll do my duty, less holy relatives! May she herself have a make Sina Hinton's stay there a little less iiii- have Winny and her hi and bear my testimony! come what will! I de- speedy release! For Winny! 'she has sowed pleasetir, I should never enter its doors." "Imogene this is th dare, if I were Edgar Ardenne, I should get out the wind, and must reap the whirlwind.' I can "My mother, do you not see that my uncle-" ed of me, my child! di a writ of lunacy against this old gentleman, and not interfere!" "Squire D ruling, if you please, my dear." "No, mother." kayo him confined! I could swear to his mad- "Well, uncle!" said Harriette, with a look of "Mother, why ?" "It is-and, Imo-! ness with a safe conscience ?" deep disappointment, "I counted certainly upon "You may scarcely be proud to claim the re- opportunity of fixing a "Miss Harry! I 'vised you for your good this your assistance in exposing villainy and reliev- lationship of that gentleman, Miss Summerfield. Imogene suddenly rai morning, un',you would'nt hear to it I you went ing oppression-but as I have it not, I must try You were about to say something, my dear ~" lug a quickly piercing an' ruined your head right into the fire! Now, what I can do alone! I shall go to-morrow tO "Mother, do you not perceive that Squire Dar. and then dropped the lit .1 'vises you again, not to say anything to Miss Red-Stone Hall! and reveal to Mrs. Summerfield hug's own evil passions cause all this misery, "I will invite Win Summerfield! She can't do nothing' 'tall, honey; the situation of her mother at Oak Grove!" an' she won't thank you for your news, cause you The priest arose suddenly, and walked up ~ both at 04k Grove and at the Pines 7" to me-" "1 see, my dear, that Winny's disoledienee "Mother mother 1" see no body likes to hear o' the missbehave- her, dropped his hand upon her shoulder, end has caused it all." tone of sudden, acute meat of their own nationss! now mind I tell said, sternly, "My mother, Winny's disobedience is irre- thin and pale in its ang you! please, my blessed heavenly Marster, . "You shall do no such thing, Harriette I ~ trieva/Ile-it belongs to the past-the squire's Mrs. Summerfield al don't they!" aball not interfere by one word." resentment is the present evil to be overcome, tamed her composure. LjtI~..7psm m nerfield~ that sue 5' 1 am sorry, uncle! but in this matter, ~ it is leading to general ruin! Mother, his re- "But you must-es 69 out * ptirp-)59; he hatea com;el Winny to leave not pur.~ enough to teach er do that. Winny may it she will never leave b * all this talk tend, my er: thi t we must succor dgar-they are both too ~essfully with such die- I them. We must assist st frustrate Squire Dar- and starving Winny to the chosen alternative." u, my child 1" snur' and Winny here to before spring. Squire Oar- or, it not, we may hear Igar" I disapprove of thI~! I and succor to a disobedi- I Let Winny suffer the util her father pleases to udure-" r! You heard what Her- or' agrees with wuat I tttie Smilie, who gained her rein tives,-tkat was liarriette to see her !- you say that threatened be trifled with-that a ray decide the destiny of a cure beyond the power I cannot so give up my thought you loved any one n from school; you have f all did I know of your - C until she fell into mis- ,have you set your heart y mother! I desire to island here." e first boon you ever ask- d you know it 7" darling, it gives me an condition-" sed her large eyes, shoot- glance into her mother's~ 13. ny here, if you confide exclaimed Imogene, in a pain, her face growing aish. so grew pale, but main. iust confide to me that page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] 70 SHANNO which rests upon your mind, blighting your health, blighting your beauty, darkening your youth,.oir-rshadowing my age!" Imogene, deadly pale, and shuddering in every nerve, arose, reeled, clung to ner chair for sup- port, recovered partially, and tottered from the roorn M~rs. Summerfield left her seat to accom- pany her daughter, but with a death-like brow, and frantic. adjuring gesture, Imogene repul- sed her 'Merciful Hea 'en! what is tArs? What but GUILT should bidv it..e!f ttus from even a mo- ther eyes? Whet sorrow hut aznoasz should shrink ever from a morher'r sympathy? But guilt. remorse, for Imogene? Impossible! Oh, would I had never trusted her from home! she was so hapoy! 50 fill! of life and light before she left home P none so gay as she! Now what a changel Merciful Heaven! what ,J~'es it mean? Shall [ever know? The slightest no- tics. of her melancholy disturbs her! Any ques. tion as to its cause agitats her nearly to death; I must not allude to it again I May the Virgin protect her!" Such was the mental soliloquy of Mrs. Sum- merfield, as she resumed her seat and mechani- callysirent on with heu tambouring the dinner hour drew on, Imogene re- appeared, but with a majestic gravity settled Ii upon her brow, that repelled every, even her It mother's inquiries and comments. When they it had left the tahie, and were seated again by the fire, Miss Suromerfielil inquired, "Wil you, my dear mother, send for Ardenne and Winny?" " Will it make you happy if I do, my darling child 7" ~;~f:?~i~took her mother's hand and pressed "Mother, I desire it above all things." aI will send for them, then, to-morrow I" dearest mother! dismiss anxiety on my account-believe that there is nothing worse 1 heart-sickness, as unreasonable as it is un- must he disease-for life seems to me valueless I-st 'times 1 lose all faith love for earth! and only pray for unconsciousness !-not death-for I do not live now !" "Imogene! you are the envy of the whole valley,-young, beautiful, accomplished,-an heiress, and betrothed to the most distinguished young man in the State, and yet-" "I am heart-sick and brain-sick, mother!" then, with a sudden relapse into her old reserve, It she said-" I did ant meau to trouble you, mo- ther, with my nervousness-I otily meant to re- ~ lieve your anxiety !" d "And you have not done so, lmogene I You C are ssot nervous! some dark secret shadows all your~,, mind I-some heavy grief weighs down your head. Imogene-" ND ALE. The lady had quickly forgotten her resolution of silence upon the subject of her daughter's melancholy, but was recalled to it by the in- creasing agitation of Miss Summerfield. She suddenly dropped the subject, and recurring to another, said- "I have given orders for the yellow chamber, with the adjoining dressing-room, to be prepared for Winny~" "Thank you, dearest mother! You confer a benefit on me, also, In giving me some one to care for, and be kind to-I mean some one who like the poor invalid, my Cousin Winny, really needs, really suffers for attention." The conversation dropped. Mrs Summerfield took up her knitting, and lmo~ene fell into her usual state of cold and dark abstraction. From this she was aroused by the opening of the door, and the announcement of Colonel Dangerfield, who immediately after en- tered the room. -~ CHAPTER XXI. COLONEL DANGERFIELD. He lakes the hand I give not-nor withhold- Its pulse nor check'd-nor quickea'd-calmly cold, And still he goes unmourned-returns unsought- And ott when present-absent from my inought, Oh! hard it is the heart's recoil to bear, And hide from one-perhaps another there Byron. Colonel Dangerfield entered the parlor, bowing with his usual grave and stately courtesy. Mrs. Suinmerfield arose, curtsied, and indicated a seat. [mogene nodded gravely without rising. Colonel Dangerfield took the chair on the other side of the fire-place to that where Imogene was seated, md immediately entered into conversation with Ntrs. Summerfield, who was seated between ~hem. Colonel Dangerfield was not a gentleman ivho considered his duty violated, if he failed on ~oming in to take a seat by his lady-love; nor ~as Mrs. Summerfield a lady who thought po. witness infringed, by remaining in the room dii- ing the visit of her daughter's accepted lover. Indeed, all this party seemed to shrink from anything very pronounce Nor was it until Mrs. ummerfield was summoned from the room by ter housekeeper, that Colonel Dangerfield, taking inogene's hand, led her to a distant sofa, seated mer, and stood before her with folded arms and evere brow. There was nothing lover-like in ~is aspect. Imogene's hands lay folded one ver the other upon her lap, and her eyes cast own, seemed fixed upon them. He stood there contemplating her full a minute, and then said, "Imogene Summerfield I what is the relation supposed to be subsisting between us at this mo- sent?" SHANNO She was silent; a sigh or sob fluttered, strug- gled in her bosom, but did not escape. "Did you hear my question, Miss Summer- field?" "I heard it." "Will it please you to reply 7" "I am your betrothed wife-you do not per- mit me to forget it !" replied she, without raising her eyes "In what light do you consider this engage- ment, Inogene? Will you be so good as to look at m'~, Miss Summerfield, when replying to my question ?" Imogene's brow flushed as she raised her eyes, with their slow, returning light, slowly to his face, and fluted them there so steadily, that his falcon glance fell before their calm, perusing gaze. "I inquired, Miss Summerfield, in what light you were pleased to look on our betrothal 7" "I hold it to be sacred, inviolable! at least it shall be so on my side !" answered Imogene, in a tone so grave and firm, with a sigh, involun- tary, but so profound, that Colonel Dangerfield frowning darkly, said, "You say that, Miss Summerfield, with the air of a martyr. I pray you, were your inclina- tions influenced in the least in this matter 7" "They were influenced, Dangerfield! We were betrothed, you know, when I was an infant of five years of age, and you a youth of fifteen! I was early taught, along with the Cathechism of the Council of Nice, the Lord's Prayer, the Apostle's Creed, and the Ten Comtnandrnents, a love and veneration for you, as one older, wiser, more enlightened and more accomplished than myself, and above all, as one who was destined to be my husband. I had no brother or sister, and except Winny, who lived at a distance from me, no cousin! and I thought only of you." "Yet I was absent at the university!" "Bat pro gent. with my thoughts always." "Well! and then!" Ct And then came the seven years of the revo- lution! and I, child as I was, had my whole soul fired with love of country and of liberty-- yes! and admiration of the boy-hero who, at sixteen years of age, threw down his books and seized his musket, and who, at twenty-four, re- turned, illustrious with military glory, and with the rank he bears now !" replied Imogene, with something of enthusiasm kindling her pale cheek. "And then," said Colonel Dangerfield, bit- terly, "when that boy-who in his first battle, and in every subsequent field-in all the trisis, privations, and dangers of his campaigns - in hunger and in cold-in vigil and in illness-in NDALE. 71 battle and in tent-thought only of ON. being- one small girl-a calm, proud, majestic little princess of nature whose high heart he thought wou'd demand illustrious love! when that boy returned to lay h a laurels-few or many-at the feet of the maiden-how did she receive him? You are silent, Imogene I shall I answer ? - She met him wih a kindling blush of pride and love on cheek and brow; and when, in his own proper name and person, he offered to renew his be- trothal-ho w did she receive his vows ?" "With pride and joy! With ptide and joy, Dangerfield! to be a hero's chosen wife; but with the losrn of a sister, Dangerfield! Alas! alas! I knew no difference !" "What wild words are these, Miss Summer. field? You knew no difference! Do you knee. a difference ?" inquired Colonel Dangerfield in a severe tone. Imogene had dropped her face within her open palms, and remained silent. "Those few bright, glorious days! too bright, too glorious to last! Oh! we might hive known them for a phantasmagoria! an illusion! a bright vision vanished! We parted, Imogene-you to pass three years at school, for you were but fif- teen; I to my estate, left desolate during the war, to occupy the time of yout absence with converting that estate into a paradise for your reception. The three years are passed. The full time for the consummation of our marriage is at hand. You return from school-I claim your promise; and now you entreat a delay; I accede. But if I touch your hand it turns cold in mine! Once I pressed a kiss upon your bro'r that struck a sudden paleness down your cheeks! You reeled-I thought you would have fallen! How is this, Miss Summerfield 7" Imogene arose, trembling, and would have left her seat, but he intercepted her. "Alas, Dangerfield! my hand is yours whene~ er you claim it. But, oh! listen! before you take it, you must hear a dark secret! a sin that 1 have not dared to breathe in the confessional! a sor- row that I have not dared to confide to my mo- ther! and whe~n you have heard this secret you will cast away this hand with scorn! But not yet! I cannot enter upon it yet! Let me pass, sir! lam ill! fainting! let me pass to my room! Dangerfield! I will leave our destiny in your hands I you shall be the arbiter of mine! I can do no less, nor more! Goodbye I' and gliding past him she left the room, leaving him stupified with astonishment and horror. Recovering himself at last, he took his hat, and leaving an apology with a servant for Mrs. Suminerlield, left the house. page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] 72 SHANN CHAPTER XXII. THE DAY OF REST. How still the morning of the hallowed day! The poor man's day! The pale mechanic mow has leave to breathe The morning air pure from the city's smoke, As wandering slowly up the river's banks, He meditates on Him whose power he marks In each green tree that proudly sprends the bough And in the tiny dew-bent flowers that bloom Around the roots; and while he thus surveys With elevated joy each rural charm, He hopes-yet fears presumption in the hope, That Heaven may be one Sabbath without end! Gralsarne. Yes, it is only those who toil six days in the week, that feel all the love and mercy shown in the institution of the Sabbath-in the command that makes cessation of toil a dials-rest a re- ligious service. Winny's household-work was light enough, yet to ~tser delicate frame and sink- lug health and unaccustomed muscles, it was toil. She had learned from Hettie all that was necessary to know in the conducting of her small message-and now assumed the whole charge of the cooking, washing, house-cleaning and needle- work, upon herself; and with her fragility and inexperience, it took her all day to get through; and often in the day her frail limbs would fail, her head would swim, and her sight cloud from weakness; but never for weariness-never for pain would Winny pause while anything remain- ed to be done; and when night came, she would lie down thoroughly exhausted, yet oftentimes too much fatigued and excited to compose her- self to sleep, while the very idea of the inevi- table duty of rising again early in the morning to renew the incessant and now painful daily la- bor would appal her weak nerves, and keep her awake. Then that constantly recurring, cruel cough I the first dropping of her weary head upon the pillow seemed to be the signal for its com- mencement. it would continue all night. At dawn, as usual, she would fall into that heavy sleep and profuse bath of perspiration, i*hile it seemed that a rapid and exhausting process of absorption was going on, and from which she would awake so prostrated that it seemed impos- sible to get up, and the painful eflo t required all her little strength and courage. Opiates might haVe procured her rest, but Ardenne with his ideas about drugs, objected to their use, assert- mg that their beneficial tendency was transient, while their injurious effect was abiding. Then Ardenne believed that a favorable crisis was ap- proaching, which, if well watched and improved, would eventuate in the perfect re-e4abhshment of her health. This was th hope he held out to Winny all the time. And Winny knew also, that the time would come when another claim- ONDALE. ant would need all her remaining time and care and service. it was now therefore with a wish to improve her time of comparative leisure, that Winny toiled hard to set her house in order. She never complained. Ardenne's lot was hard enough, she said, and he inevitably saw enough without her complaints. Dut when the blessed Sabbath day dawned, the day that made repose not only a privilege that might not be improved, but a duty that must be observed, Winny hailed it with grati- tude. There was no cooking done that day except that the kettle was boiled, it is true that she might not be able always to leave the house, but I in that case she passed the day reclining her wearied frame upon a little lounge drawn up to the window, if the~autumn day was warm and * bright, to the fire if it were otherwise. And Ardenne wonid sit by her side and read, and * they would converse. They bad, upon some mat- ters, imbibed opposite opinions, or prejudice., and when their opposing prejudices struck, a spark of truth, as from the meeting of flint and steel, would be elicited that would sometimes throw a ray of light into both souls never more to be extinguished. Bot~t said tbat in this mu- tual and frank confiding of all-even the most hidden and outrs~ thoughts, feelings, and expe- riences-they learned more than from all the books they had read. Thus it ever is between earnest and loving souls who do not fear to con- fide to each other their most secret thoughts, opinions, and speculations. Their home lay in the midst of a glorious scene, more glorious now iii this resplendent autumn weather. Notwithstanding all their privations-beauty and glory-ex'panded thought -high aspirations must be their portion here. It was on the day, the Sabbath day, after their return to their mountain home, that Winny ex- hausted, not indeed by work this time, but by the fatigue of her long ride of the evening previous, lay on her lounge-the little lounge made by Edgar, stuffed by Hettie, and covered with light blue calico by Winny. It was now drawn up to the open window, and Winny lay there half re- clining upon a pile of pillows, her long fair curls flowing over them-a coarse plaid shawl thrown over her, half concealing the plain whit. wrapper she wore. Ardenne was reading by her side, but his eyes continually wandered from his book to her sweet wan face, with its pure white forehead and hollow temples, its serenely arched eyebrows and drooping eyelids- "O'er which the violet vein Wandering leaves a tender stain." The sweet, wan spiritual face, with its trans- parent fairness and azure shadows I and its look of unconscious but angelic patience I If her eyes were ever lifted they ever smiled in his. It was a glorious autumn Sabbath, and a still SHAN~4 C and solemn brightness flooded with a golden light the gorgeous woods and sky, and both re- ceiving the influence of the time and place- bathed with a spirit of celestial love and beauty, notwithstanding all the wrong, remorse, and woe,--both were happy, for both felt deep as inspiration could dart its rays a still, calm con- fidence in omnipotent love and ilnal good! So reading and communing, loving and worshipping,; they passed the Heavenly day until the hour of noon, when they took their simple meal of tea, bread and butter, and preserves-and then as Winny waa refreshed they strolled out into the glowing forest with its rich and gorgeous foliage of crimson and gold, purple and green, burning in the rays of the afternoon sun. They returned from their walk-merely pausing before re~en- tering the cottage door to worship the Divinity in the setting sun, sinking like a world in a blaze, and lighting up the whole earth and sky with the insufferable glory of a general conflagration! While standing there they observed two eques- trians winding up the mountain path, now hid- den by a turn around some projecting rock, now lost in a clump of stunted cedars, now emerging and appearing in the full light-Miss Summer- fteld attended by a groom! Miss Summerfield looked well on horseback-she was not a dash- ing rider like Harrietre Joy, nor a swilt serial flyer like Winny had been, but her attitude was erect and easy-her motion slow and majestic. She wore a very dark grees habit and a beaver from which a fall of black ostrich feather min- gled with her raven ringlets. Surprised and deeply pleased to see her cousin, Winny passed her arm intq that of Ardenne and went forth to meet her. Imogene leaned down from her sad- dle and embraced her cousin, who said, with a faltering voice and deep feeling, "Oh, imogene I it is so good in you to come I I am so glad to see you !" In proof of which gladness Winny "burst out a crying." Ardenne bowed, but Imogene releasing Winny, held out her hand with a friend- ly look, and tlssn Ardenne shook it cordially, welcoming her to "Pine Cliffs" He led her horse to the block and helped her oft, and taking her arm in his conducted her into the house. "I had no idea of the length of this ride, my dear Winny," said Miss Summerfield, as she fol- lowed her cousin into the adjoining chamber. "No-it is deceiving-the distance from Red- Stone to Pine Cliffs is said to be ten miles, but by the winding of the bridle path in the ascent it makes it double that distance. You cannot return to night. I hope you will not mind the inconvenience of staying with us one night. We will make you comfortable as circumstances will admit," said Winny, while asitisting her cousin off with her habit. Imogene looked at her wan, blue, fair face, and fragile, evanescent form-and In reply pressed her affectionately to her bosom. 7 INDALE. 13 ." It will be agreeable to me, dear child I only fear the inconvenience to yourself, Wuinyl do you think I kept aloof from you with apurpo.e all this time ?" "Yes, Imogene, I thought so I-but 1 did not presume to judge your actions, far less to blame you! I felt that you were right in testifying your disapproval of my step." "My dear Winny, it was not that-' the heart knoweth its own bitterness l'-perhaps I was pre-occupied with myself." it was now Winny's turn to read in that high, regal brow, characters of profound suffering and stern endurance. It was like a mournful wail of solemn music without the words. Apparent, but not comprehensible; speaking to the emo- tions, but not to the understanding. There was something, too, that awed investigation, and Winny's eyes fell. Then- "How is my dear grandmother 7" she asked, in a low, tremulous voice. Imogene replied by telling her as much and as far as she knew, or was led to believe; among other things, that Miss Sina Hinton was very good to her, very kind and attentive, night and day, though the unfortunate lady, like many in her sad state, took a prejudice against her best friend, and disliked Miss Hinton. That they could never sufficiently repay Miss Hinton for staying there under all these unpleasant and adverse circumstances. Winny sunk down in a chair, dropped her heed upon the foot of the bed, and gave herself up to the agony of remorse and sorrows that the name of her grandmother, and the idea of her sufferings, always excited. A glance through the window, showed Mi. Summerfield that Ardenne was out in the yard, just going off to show the groom where to put the horses, and she turned and addressed her- self to comforting Winny. "Dear child, you confirm what Harriette told me. Your remorse is morbid-it is a dis- ease, and it is killing you! Winny, your very error drew upon you duties-not of regret, re. morse, but of a kind that regret and resnorse are utterly opposed to, and inconsistent with! Do you think that your immoderate remorse for your marriage will promote Edgar's happi- ness 7" "Oh, no! and I do not regret our marriage! No! come what will, in this world or the next, 1 shall never regret our marriage! lt is my disobedience I repent; its consequences to others I lament I" "Well, for that disobedience you have just.. ly, though severely, suff~red,-and deeply re- pented. Yet justice has been tempered with mercy-some of its consequencess' have been as profoundly ha~pv as others have been disas- trous. Your very sufferings have severely test- ed the love of your husband, and you i~ave page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] 74 SHA.NNONDALE I fou.ti it inexhaustible. In that love you have been profoundly iiappy.---highly blessed 1-that love at length is right, now-is religious, now -evil may surround it, but cannot touch it, cannot mingle with it! Oh 1 I have thought of tle fall of wan 1-the loss of Eden I-the goinc forth into the wilderness! And I have felt that the curse was not so great 1-the loss so heavy 1-the exile so dreary, after all 1 It was just the 'curse' that a Merciful God, a Loving Father, to keep His word, would have inficted-to save His children,, would have softened-for they were sent forth together, with. leave to love! How much more terrible would have been the curse to either, had either re- tained PARADIsE-alone !-had they been for- bidden to love!" Winny's eyes were fixed with intense inte- rest upon the solemnly eloquent countenance of Miss Summerfield, and she almost uncon- sciousi v exclaimed- "Imogene 1 you love 1" "Hush.! hush.' I am betrothed, I ought to love 1" replied she, hastily and huskily, growing so very white under the gentle, but penetrating scrutiny of her cousin, that Winny quickly withdrew her glance. Recovering herself, Miss Summerfield said-.-" I wish you to rouse, Win. ny I-the past is irreparable! Fidelity to pre- aent duties is possible and pressing Get cheer- ful and well 1-look at things broadly and in- telligently- -Heaven is always repairing the er- rors, and forgiving the sins, and bringing good from the evil of earth In the course of this work some have to suffer by the faults, and for the good of others-it is the beloved of God who are chosen for this service. God gave His only Son for the redemption of the world How trite that text, but how full of meaning-how broad-how suggestive. It is the best beloved children of Heaven who suffer here for the good of the others. If we judge by her divine spirit of love and goodness, our venerable pa- rent is one of those beloved ones-she suffers by, and through, and for others! You, Winny, needed this very schooling that you are getting -will you only improve it? My Uncle Dar- ling,-with all respect be it spoken-I fear, needs some severe discipline also. He may not benefit by it. We too often delay all the kind purposes of Heaven towards us-delay-not de- feat, for I fully believe in the final triumph of Heaven, and of good! But Winny, my dear child, I did not come to preach you an after- noon sermon, but to make you a proposi- tion." C' Well, come in to the parlor fire, it is bla- zing cheerfully now, and then we can talk," replied Winny, leading the way into the next room, eetti.'g a c~~air for Imogene by the fire, and seating i~sisslt b~ her side. CC Where is Edgar?" "Gone to the spring, to get water to fill the tea-kettle," replied Winny, a slight blush of shame (for which she mentally reproached her. self,) stinging her pale cheek. "My proposition, Winny 1 My mother and myself are lonely at Red- Stone, even now, in this fine weather, when there is so much visit- ing. But soon the winter will be upon us, and the river will be frozen over, enclosing us on three sides, and we shall be very lonely- soon, also, this bleak cliff of yours will be unin- habitable, from its exposed situation, and the severe cold. So I come, in the name of my mo- ther, as well as myself, to beg that you and Edgar will shut up your house for the winter, and come and visit us until spring Do, Win- ny 1 we should make a snug, happy family there, all of us together. We should be quite inde- pendent of our neighbors for soz~iety I" Winny took her cousin's hinud and pressed it gratefully; then she said, with much feeling ex- pressed in her tone, "I thank you, Imogene-I am profoundly sen- sible of your kind and affectionate purpose. Oh, yes, 1 thank you earnestly for your generous pro- position, and for the delicate manner of ma- king it." "And you will accept it, my dear cousin ?" C~No "No ?-why not? I cannot think you are in earnest" Winny's cheek slightly flushed; she replied, "We have nothing left but our self-respect- let us retain that 1" "Your self-respect, Winny I What do y~ mean? Your self-respect compromised by pay- ing us a visit? That is very complimentary to us, my dear Whiny I" "Imogene, people do not pay visits of only ten miles distant, six months long 1 1 tnank you, dear Imogenel If any one could mase indebted- ness look like independence-and a benefit re- ceived appear an obligation conferred-it is you with your refined and delicate tact. I am grate. ful with my whole heart, Imogene, while forced to decline your generous proposal I,' "But, my love, you had best consult Ardenne before you give me such a decided answer-he may think differently." Winny smiled, a soft, bright smile, and then she answered slowly, "Y3u may laugh at the triteness and namoy- parnbyism of what I am about to say, but Edgar and I have but one mind between us. I have only to listen to my own instincts to hear his sentiments. There comes Edgar, now, with two pails of water in his hands. You might now go to meet bim, and make the same propo- sition to him that you have just made to me.- He would feel your goodness and affection deeply as X do, and decline your proposition firmly as I did." bHANN Miss Summerfield received this decision with a look of deep disappointment. She mused in silence. She was not inclined to yield the point so easily. "Then how in the world is one to be of use to you ?" at last she asked "By doing everything to ameliorate our grand- mother's situation." "We do that, Winny, from another set of motives" "By reconciling my father ?" "We have tried in vain 1,' "By loving us yourself?" "1 do, my dear Winny, with all the heart I have." Tne entrance of Ardenne, with the pails. ar~ rested the conversation Winuy arose, tilled her little kettle, hung it over the fire, and began t~ %et the table for tea. While she en, thui engage'. Miss Summerfield turned to Ardenne, and said, "I shall not return to Red-Stone to-night, Mr. Ardenne. Will you be so good as to send my servant home immediately, that mother may not be uneasy at this unexpected absence, and direct him, Mr. Ardenne, if you please, to return for me early to-morrow morning I" Ardenne bowed, and withdrew to do her bidding In the course of the evening Imogene renewed and pressed her proposal to Winny in vain. After tea, while Winny was absent in the adjoining bed-chamber, changing the bed-linen and prepa- ring it for Miss Summerfield's occupation, Imo- gene took the opportunity of speaking to Ar- deane apart, upon the subject of her cousin's falling health and great debility, and by every argument in her power to persuade him to ac cept their hospitality for the winter. Ardenne was affected with grief when she alluded to Winny's declining health, and, for lies, severe toils; he was moved with gratitude when line- gene used every delicate and ingenuous persua sion to induce him to go to Red-Stoue, but, in the end, with earnest expressions of gratitude and esteem, he declined the offer, requesting, as his decision was quite final, that it might not be re- peated. Imogene's scheme was relinquished very reluctantly. Soon after breakfast, the next morning, her servant rode up, leading her palfrey, and Miss Suminerfield bade good-bye to the Ardennes and Pine Cliffs. CHAPTER XXIII. JANUARY AT PINE CLIFFS. 'Tis done! Dread winter spreads his, latest gloom And reigns tremendous o'e- the conquered year! How dead the vegetable kingdom lies! How dumh the tuneful! Horror wide extends lIfe desolate domain! Thompson It was the middle 01 January. i~he moan- I I ONDALE. 75 tains were covered with snow and ice; their gorges glistening with skeleton trees carved in ice; their hollows filled up with hills of snow drifts; the river far below them, frozen to the bottom, swollen and cracked open; the fields beyond a vast ocean of snow and ice, rolling off towards the cold, blue horizon, with spectral trees and houses standing here and there. Clouds darkened the sky. It was on the 15th of January. It had snowed all night. Edgar leaving Winny in her heavy, morning sleep, descended to the kitchen to open the window-shutters and light the fire. The cold was so intense, that in passing from their bed chamber to the kitchen his hands grew numb, heavy, and almost useless. He went to the window to open tbe shuttera-the snow had penetrated through the old shutters, filling up ~the spac- bet.'-en them and the window, and I frozen there, excluding every ray of light, and making the room pitch dark. It was impossible I to raise the window without shattering the I glass, and so Edgar went to the door to open it and admit the light., The snow was drifted and frozen against the door, too, for he had to pull with all his strength two or three times, and then with the last pull it came violently, though heavily open, and then-it was still dark 1-and Edgar knew that a snow-drift had closed up the whole front ot the house. There was a baek door, but no back window to this kitchen-parlor. He went and opened the door, and then turning, saw in front, from sill to ceiling, a shining bar.. ricade of frozen snow. It was still snowing and freezing as it fell. He closed the doors and lighted a candle Then he proceeded to kindle the fire-by its light you might have seen that our poor boy was frightfully changed-his face was pallid, peaked, haggard; his eyes and cheeks were hollow, the expression of his countenance despairing.--he might have been taken for the starved apothecary in Romeo and Juliet. He looked old, and our Edgar was but twenty. So much for a romantic name and a runaway watch. 1 think if his sponsors in baptism had called him Job or Barnabas, or any substantial, respectable, broad-bottomed, upright and downright name, that he never would have grown up a sonnet scribbler, and eloped with nis pretty pupil-but to call him "Edgar!" I could have told them so. Reader! if you ever heard of an Edgar, or an Eriwin, who did not let his genius, or his pas- sions, or his demon fly away with him, and who on the contrary, grew up to be a useful, stout, and well fed member of society, I shall thank you to let me know it. There is a spell, a charm, a talisman in a name If .you want to make a girl a flirt, call her "Fanny," and the chances will be good; if you want to make her anything and everything n turn, and nothing long-a medley of inconsistencies-a cbaoa ~ page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] I BrIIA NNONDALE. SH ANNONDALE. contraries, give her a long string of names, and I warrant you ebe will cook you up a sermon or a satire, preach orthodoxy with Isaac Taylor, or skepticism with S oslley; be a nun or a bac- chants through life, and having no individuality, no self, ro UNITY, at death she will dissolve into her original elements of fire and air, earth and water! But this is a digression. Mr. Edgar was neither playing flutes nor writing sonnets. He was just filling the tea- kettle and sweeping the hearth-alas! just think of a "radiant archangel" sweeping up the hearth! In truth, this was the burnt bottom crust of their cake of romance! Well! this "burn- ing and shining light," who was going t~ blaze forth upon the dazzled world with the' splendor of a newly created sun !-waa just now the mas- ter of as dirty a pair of hands, as smut, cinders, smoke, and ashes could make, as he beat the little broom against the jambs, when the stair door opened and Winny appeared, blue and half frozen, though closely wrapped in her coarse plaid shawl; she smiled an affectionate good- morning, and set herself immediately to work at the table Poor Winny had, in spite of all her promises of reformation, overslept herself so often, that she was ashamed now of attempting an apology. She took a little corn meal and be- gan to mix a cake. The tea-kettle was boiling, and Edgar asked kier for the coffee. "There is none, Edgar; the last was used yesterday morning." e Tea, then; tea would do." "There is but one making, Edgar; and per- haps we had better save that, in case either of us should be sick." "It has come at last, then," said he, bitterly, (C the time when I see you without the common- est comforts of life, such as every negro enjoys, and see myself without the means of providing them for you." "Well, Edgarj we ar~ not without the neces- aarses of life-we have meal yet-that is a com- fort." "Meal I-and how much? Tell me that, Winny I" "Row much? Oh I enough to last us two or three days." "And-then, Winny ?" "And then-I do not know what then-that is God's concern I-not ours~ for we have done all we can" "Look around, Winny I-is there anything else to sell or barter for meal ?-your carpets and quilts, your sofa-everything gone except one straw bed, a kettle, griddle and two bowls- and now that we have been married fifteen months we -are reduced to positive penury- within a week perhaps of beggary or-" - "8ta~vation ?-do people ever starve, Edgar?" (C Yes!" (C What? among their fellow creatures?" "Yes-next door to people who are dying of luxurious surfeit I" "I cannot realize rt!~1 "Do you realize that we are half buried in snow, and that this is only the rnid~le of Janu. ary ?" "Yes-but we have a good fire I" "Do you realize that we have not a cent and no means of getting a cent I-that we have no. thing between us and hunger but a little meal, and that is nearly gone? "Weil lit is likely we shalbbe hungry." "And how long do you think hunger may hint before it produces death ?" "I don't know-bow long ?" "A few days perhaps." "Well, Edgar, that is the Lord's affair-when a case is in extremity it is exclu.i~ely in the Lord's hands. Faith is 's~orih nothing, Edgar, that does not pierce the mystery of Do ith-if we are starved out of earth, which I cannot t~ink likely to happen, the eyes t~ at close here will open in heaven-i only pray to live till our child is born, and that will riot be mar y days~ and then let us all die together! Oh! to.sether, Ed. gart I have so much faith I should tot wisri you to live here, Edgar, ~i I dt'd I wish you to go with me to the 'Better Lan~l."' By this time the little torn cake was done, and she put it upon tie table. There was no cloth-it had been sold. There were only two common plates. ehy sat down to the table, and Edgar cut the corn bread into our quarters. 1'hey ate but little-there was so much despair painted on both cou~,tenances Yet sac was sorrowing for the other. Ardenne had ever spoken so plainly, so roughly almost a h~ spoke now, and here was the secret! As soon ni the little meal was over, and Winny hid cleared the table-an easy task, and they sat down at the fire, she said, "It is because you have nothing to do, d.~ar E Igar, that makes you eel 'o des;anrng--if you were at work, ev' u rhogh it shoulO hrin~c von no remu&eration, you would eel betrer~would you not?" "Oh, yes, for th~n should feel sute I was doing some one a seran "I knew that But think of this, Edgar! They also serve who wait Li-tim to labor and-to wait! to labor is easy-n~os~ or u pre- fer it ;-but- to wait-that inde' d n.d ffi ult- to labor is inspiring, encouaging, life giving- to wait is depressing, discouraging, apathetic, death like. You labored hnpeinllri Learn the harder lesson TO WAIT hopefully We will lesyn together, and see who can be the most path at and hopeful! I am sure you will he. Edgar, for you have been so all this time-onl v t lity you have failed sn instant it is hard for me to sit here with one hand folded over tne oth-r, to' it. tempts me to think myself worthless and dawdling, and '7 Impairs my self-respect more than anything else Iifefeel that whatever comes~ they meet it te- in my experience ;-ehere is the difficulty Chat gether! Ah I Eddie, recollect that when Adam makes it so hard to wait-but what help for. it and Eve sinned, and were exiled, they were ba. now? M' sle ider-our slender wardrobe is all wished together. Oh, Eddie, recollect our very in lierfect repair-our house clean and our dishes marriage rites warn us, that for no vicissitudes washed-now unless some of my neighbors would of sickness or health, riches or poverty in this kindly -eRA me work, what am I to do ?-- TO uncertain world, are we to separate-aiid never, never until DEATH part us-and remember, Ed. u have more to do, Whiny - to en- gar, that this august ritual waspassed-not by ro- disre!" mantic boys and girls, such as we were two years "That is not hard!" ago, when we talked about martyrdom and "Winny! I have not roughly taken hold of our crucifixion for each other - but by grave, privations this morning without a purpose! My wise, elderly men, Inspired by the spirit of dear Winny! my soul's dearest companion, listen God." to :~e Your father-' "Winny, my dear child, you are eloquent, bitt "Well ?-my father! You are paler than ever, one, one hard, immoveable fact stands against al~h Edg~ r! You shake as with an ague-what is the eloquence in the world." And Edgar set it? My farh~r-what ?-oh, what? before her in stronger light than ever, the ~CYour father, Winny, will receive you back hardships, perils and agonies that awaited her, -surround you with all the comforts and luxu- greater than ever she had experienced be- ries of his great wealth if-if you will leave fore. me I" She replied- "Wr y I knew that before, may heaven forgive "Oh, Eddie, don't try to persuade me so, my father for the thought!" love, please don't! Whatever comes, I can bear "Winnyl you are within a few weeks or days it. If von are with me, I am willing to suffer of your confinement. You are as inexperienced in every member of my body, except in my poor as a child, and so am I but this we both know heart I-it is such a weak, faint thing, Eddie, -that it is a time of suffering and peril-when that I fear to strike it. If I leave you, I should you will requi e comforts, friends and tender strike it a death blow I" nur bog And what have you now? an old 'C Winnyl I have used argument, persuasion, weather-beaten mountain lodge-a straw bed every means to bring you i'o consent,-now, and a handIu~l of meal!" Winny, I must tell you that it is not a matter "And God above, and one dearer than life by that lies in your own will, or at your own choice my side. Do not fear for me-God is a good at all Winny-you SHALL NOT sacrifice your- Father, and Nature a good nursing Mother! I self! You MUST return to your father!" said shall do very well I" Ardenne, getting up, buttoning up his coat, and "Not so, Winny! without proper care and at- standing on the hearth, with his back to the mention you and your child both may perish, fire, and his hands clenched behind him. Winnyl you must return to your father!" "By the way, I wonder why men always get "Never! never, Edgar! never to my father! up, button up their coats, and stand on the never anywhere without you I" hearth, with their backs to the fire, and their Edgar drew his chair to her side-half em- hands clasped behind them, whenever they in- bracing her he began a speech too long to report tend to be very arbitrary. Is it to button up here-full of reason, argument, eloquence and their resolution and heat their valor? I've seen persuasion-yes and hope Her father, he said, father do that a thousand times, with variations might relent with their submission-or he him. .-~.for, occasionally, instead of clenching his self might make a fortune somewhere else and hands behind him, he'd divide the tails of his return to claim her. In vain! he might as well coat, and bring them forward over his arms. have talked to the moon as to Whiny. She heard Men are funny people I-I wonder what they do him out and then she said, it for?" asked Winny, archly. "Oh! Edgar, when Father Bi*leigh was set.. "I wonder why women ever jest in the face of ting our fault and its consequences before us- the gravest crisis?" replied Ardenne, 'C but you did we not clasp each other's hand ahd say, will not evade my purpose so lightly Whiny! do 'Whatever comes we go to meet it together?' you understand ma? I say that you SHALL no~r and did we not feel strong and joyous then ?" kill yourself, and you SHALL return to your Ia.. "Ahi we were children then I we had no ox- thor's house!" experience then!', "Well, now, I like that I-that's delivered "AhI but children are truer, if not wiser with quite Bishop.of.Rome.ish authority-as if than adults; do not let experience make us cow- it were yea and amen-requiring no answer- ardiy or false! it is the very charm, the very silent obedience, etc.. Now 1 toll you, Pope soul and life, promise and hope of marriage, Leo Xth will find that the Godless heretic, Mar. when those who love each other dearer than tin Luther~ will do as he pleases-and replies 76 - II 411 page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] 78 SHAN NO to him ' I wiu. II myself as much as I pisase; and I wxr~ Nov return to my father's house without you!' It is no use, Eddie I tell me to do anything els~, aid I will do it-not this !" "That is always a woman's reply." ~CPerhaps so 1-you can try me! This is our first querr~'l, Eddie-~-and 'SHALL' and4 WILL NOT' are handytig pretty freely between us-and boto our hearts are nearly bursting I-not with anger, Eddie I -but with sorrowing affection~ on you;' side masked with sternness-on my side veiled ;vith levity-let it cease, dear Eddie! You are dying to fold me to your heart now, as I am itin ing to rest there-kiss me, Eddie! i~ve ma! and believe me that I can hear every- thing that comes if you can! and I know you can. You are courageous in yourself-only fear-1 ful in m~. I will never oppose your wishes in anything else, Edgar, nor in that when you sp.'aa t from your heart, but your heart was not in that. Edgar." What could he do? What would you have ilone, Mr. reader? In truth, Ardenne was almost bereft of his reason. They had struggled, and persevered, and economzed. Had done whatsoever their hands found to do, and sought work when it could not be found-had drawn their little expenses down to the smallest mijilmum-had practiced "indus- try, economy and temperance," those catholi- cons for success-unsuccessfully !-in short, had lived in a way that would have delighted the heart of "poor Richard"-and still their income and their little stock of personal property month by month diminished, until their house was nearly as bare as a shebelon tree that the locusts have deserted. Ardenne was in despair. routh is said to be hopeful, elastic. It is ig' orange rather that is elastic, hopeful! Souls that have never been prostrated with disap- pointment, young or old (if such could be), know nothing about it But let a young head receive a severe shock of disappointment, and there is nothing in life so death-like as its de- spair. It is middle age that is hopefi and elas- tic. Middle age that has seen the sky cloud up too often not to know that it will clear again- that has seen the sun set too many times not to expect its rise-seen the winter snows too fre- quently not to anticipate the spring. But youth, wira its intense sensibilities and passionate de- sires2-frost-bitten in the first "winter of our discontent," in despair believes too surely that the bloom of life, and love, and hope, and joy is allIed forever, and knowing nothing of it cannot be made to believe in another flowering season-~- "Oh! there lie such depth.' of woe - In a young, blighted spirit! Nlanhood rears A. haughty brow, and age has done with tears But youth bows down to tniserv in amez' At tie dark cioud ,'erma',t ing its freb days." NDALE SHANNONDALE. 79 Co see Winny, so suffering and so patientt l- quartered and dissected Ardenne read over again on God !-on death! "There is many a crisis that was his daily, hourly anguish! Thc few this diabolical letter: in life," says the eloquent Dewey, "when we days following the morning I nave descrlb'd were severely cold. store snow and sleet. It OAK GROVE January 25th, 15-. need a faith like the martyr's to support us.- Monday 12 o'clock M. There are hours in life like marryrdom-~s full was impossible to leave the mountain top, '~- Mat RASCAL! Sn, it has turned out exactly of bitter anguish -as full of uttr'r earthly d4~o- cause the hollows were filled up with nills of as I hoped, believed and sapected. You thoug nation; in which more than our -mew-, in which snow, through which the tops ot stunted riees by this time tQ be 1. ading the debates in our Na~ we eel that our very heart strings are stretc~- tional Congre-s, pu4h~ d on by 'Squiri' Bar- stuck out like little twigs. It was not impossi. hug's" ifiuenc ~, no doubt! "The [-lonorabi. ed and lacerated on the rack of affii~tion; in ble that they might be buried in the snows and , Edgar Xrdenne, H. R ," at the very least, if no' which life itself loses its value, and u'e ask to perish there of cold or hunger. Their little . ' 11 S. S." My service to you, the Right H ~i die; in whose dread struggle and agony, life stock of meal had been eked out to the last quart Ede.' Ardenne, U. S. S.! I have a small claim might drop from us and not be minded I Oh I before the weather began to moderate, and the before your honorable body! Will it please yo then throw neoi, it the weight of your influence ~ must our cry, like that of Jeans, go up to snow to thaw. Edgar had trapped suwiw birds Stuff!! How dare you., Mr. Knave, alter keep the pitying heavens for help, and nothing l~ut all the time, and that had helped out their den. ing po'wo"ion of my daughter more than a year the infinite and immortal can help us I" Sueb der stock of provisions. And this was only the offer to return her upon my hands? Is that your an hour had descended upon Ardenne-the fin~J twentieth of January, and the two worst snow pride? However, I am glad, for the silly font sake, that you have dared! Enclosed you will parting with Winny-her sorrows-his own do- months were to come! What would become of find a huisdr~d dolIar~-take it, and be of! with gradation-each of these enough to sear his Winny? Edgar thought and thought, until it yourself! I shalt come to fetch my daughter to. brain-but all combinedl-no marvel that spasms seemed his brain must give way; he besought morrow afterno n-see that you do not cross my convulsed his frame, and heaviest sighs rived his Winny to leave him, but Winny, in evevy thing track, or ever approach my house, for in that else so docile, in this was more stubborn than case I will shoot you as quickly and with less bosom I remorse than I would kill a mad-dog. You are . The hour of direst misery passed at last-it a mule-she could bear what Edgar could! Then thenceforth to hold no communication with Win- passed, and when Winny genrly opened the stair- in the silent hours of the night, wnile listening ny by letter, word or message I You know the door he turned almost serenely to meet her to her backing cough, he prayed God fo' pardon terms, and you know ME. DARLING. smile. Winny baked th~ corn-cake. Both knew for guidance. Then he made a resolution, and Edgar read that letter over and over again, it was of the very last meal, but neither spoke of carried it into effect. He said nothing to Wwny though each word stung him to the quick Tnen it. After breakfast Edgar said, of his intention, but privately wrote a letter to he hastily put together a few clothes, and tied "I am going to Harper's Ferry to-day, my Squire Darling, describing the situation of his them in a bundle. Then he went below, lighted dear, to see if I cannot do something." wife, his own utter inability to make her com- the fire, and, sitting down, wrote a long and elo- "Oh! I am glad to hear you say so, Eddie- fortable. an4 imploring her father's sympathy quent farewell letter to Winny. Then he enclo- anything is better than the apathy you have suf- and protection for tier. He wrote this letter, sed it in the tollowiug note to Squire Darling; fered so many days! When will you be back, and bowed his head and wept! for his prde, dear Edgar I" his spirit, his heart was utterly bowed a. PINE CLIFFS, Jan. 26th, 18-. "When you see me, love-certainly not to broken! SQUIRE DAar.iNa: Your terms are accepted: dinne~,~~ replied he evasively. Enclosed y 'u still find returned your own "Talk not of grief till thou haiti seen the fears of sure of a hundrt 1 dollars, also my farewell letter "Re has forgotten that we have no dinner I I haughty men!" to Winny. Come for her at twelve. Hand it am glad that he has," thought Winny-and uhe to her then; for [do not wish her to know of questioned him no more. Re sat by Winny, his her husband's flight till she is in her father's CHAPTER XXIV. arms. EDGAR ARDENNE arm half encircling her-he looked at her so tenderly, spoke to her so gently. Winny quietly THU UND OP LOVE IN A OOTTAGE. he would rather have could his Oh, died, wondered at a manner that would have been death have availed her, than have written this lover-like, had it not been so deeply sad, so But here upon this earth beneath, letter I Death was more welcome than disho- nearly solemn-and then he was so pale and There's not a spot where thou and I nor, and he felt dishonored. The Demon of rig~d at times. Had not Winny been the most Together for an hour could breathe' B~trou. Suicide tempted, and might have triumphed over u e , she must have suspected g ill ss of women Farewell!~' him, but he thought of Winny's anguish-he something wrong. The hours passed heavily Oh, in that word-that fatal word-howe'er thought of his mother's early prayers and les- yet swiftly along, like the last hours of a con- We promise, hope, believe there breathes despair! sons-he thought of the Scourged and Crucified5 demned criminal I ~ It was near twelve o'clock I Byron. and the widow's sons the Christian mother's 50fl his death-hour had come I he must go! he arose was saved in the hour of his bitter trial-yea, of and drew on his over-coat, took his gloves, his It was a week from the sending oft of the let- his "agony and bloody sweat." It is compara- hat-approached her, stood at the back of her ter. [t was the cold gray of an early winter lively easy, for it is heroic in all cmen's eyes, to chair looking at her. morning. Winny had been coughing and lever, die for the lovud I Who will suffer dishonor for "Row short the days are I it is twelve o'clock ish all night, and had at last fallen into that her ?-who will receive the burning smite of already," said Winny, unconscious that she was death-like lethargy, for it was scarcely sleep~ shame for her ?-no one, scarcely, for there is "dropping the handkerchief." which had become habitual to her. Ardenne no compensation, no consolation; it is the mar- Edgar started violently-" Good-bye, Win- left his pillow, and going to the window, opened t~rdom without the crown-the sacrifice of ut- ny i" the shutters and read a letter It was Squire tee, utter loss! No wonder that great groans, "Good-bye, Edgar," replied Winny, care- Darling's answer. He had received it the even- which seemed to have split his heart in their pas- lessly reaching her hand back to him without ing before, had read it also, and now, by that age, burst from his meuth-no wonder that looking up. strange fascination that leads an unfortunate great drops, which seemed to have started from He shuddered-she looked so calm so usa- author to con over and over again a review in his brain, roiled down his brow I What an hour conscious-" Get up, Winny I oh comet l want which hp or she is mercilessly hanged, drawp5 of bitterest tribulation it was I How he called a kiss before [go!" Smilingly Winny Stood up, 1?' page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] I n ). lA 1. u' ~SHkNNC and h~ caught and strained her to nis bosom. G'd hli~ss you. my Winny! Good-bye! Oh! good4y~ !" and he was gone before the smile had lgjt Winny's lips. CHAPTER XXV. THE FATHER AND DAUGHTER. , I could have stemmed misfortune's tide And borne the rich one's sneer, Ilaye braved the haughiy glance of pride, Nor shed a single tear. I I could have smiled on every blow I From life's full quiver thrown, I While I mighi gaze on ihee and know I should not be "alone." I could-I think I could have brooked E'en for a time that thou Upon my fading face had looked With less of love than now; For then I should at least have felt The sweet hope still my own, To win thee back, and, whilst I dwelt On earth, be not alone. Nay, dearest, 'tie too much,-this heart Must break now thou sri gone: It must not be !-we may not part! I cannot live "alone !" Mrs. Dinnies. Winny watched him through the window as as picked his way down the precipitous and icy mountain path, until he was lost to her view- then a cloud slowly gathered ovor her mind-s weight settled on her heart. She struggled against this in vain-blamed herself in vain. "Why, how weak I am-what a baby 1 am get- ting to be, to feel thus about Kdgar~s absence for a few hours-nonsense!" but then she sighed heavily, from a despair she could neither escape nor understand. She walked restlessly about the room-a crumpled letter lay upon the floor-she passed and trod on it several times-at any other time she would have stooped and picked it up, for she was an orderly little housekeeper; but now at last she kicked it out of the way and pur- sued her walk. Restless, restless still, she wan- dered from the kitchen into the shed, turned over all her little stock of cooking utensils, try- lug to conquer her depression by seeking some useful employment. They were all right. Then she went up stairs and over-hauled her own ahd Edgar's slender wardrobe. They were In per- fect repair. There was nothing for Winny to do unless she had possessed money to buy new ma- terials to work upon; but now, in tumbling over Edgar's clothes, she missed some of them from a closet that served them as a wardrobe. Far from suspecting the truth, she said, "Ah I poor Edgar, he has secretly taken some of his clothes to sell or to pledge; secretly, because he did not wish to hurt my feelings; what a good heart he with something like a newly kindled love of the work, Winny set herself to the exercise. Noon passed, day waned, Winny grew hungry, and there was nothing to eat; she walked about again restlessly, once more with her little foot twitched that soiled and crumpled, haunting let- ter out of her path. She sat down at last, fatigued in body, but still restless and active in mind. "Edgar must be here now in a few minutes-I will mend th~ fire!" and jumping up again, she ~went to the d6@ a'nd looked out. There was no sign of Edgar yet. But the hill was abrupt just at the top; though unseen, he might be very near. She went into thashed and brought a small arm- ful of dry wood, such as she could bring. The fire was very low. She laid down her wood upon the hearth, and looked around for some- thing to start it with. Even waste paper was scarce with her. Her eyes lighted upon the crumpled letter-she stooped and picked it up, and opened to examine it previous to burning, when a sharp rap at the door startled her, and she dropped the paper! but before she had made a step forward to open the door, it was pushed open, and her stout father, in his brown surtout, furred cap, fox-skin gloves and heavy riding- whip, stood in the middle of the room stamping the snow from his boots and over-alls. With an inarticulate cry of joy, Winny's first impulse was to spring forward, but something jerked her back, and she stood fixed upon the spot where she had dropped the letter; she tried to speak, but her heart beat too violently; she lost her strength, and tottered off to the nearest chair and sank into it, while still the stout squire stamped and blew, apparently paying more at- tention to the condition of his over-ahla, than to his little daughter. With a great effort, with a sudden 4art, Winny sprang forward and was at his feet clasping his knees, burying her face against him and gulping out- "Father! Oh, may the Lord Almighty blest you for coming. Father, forgive me I I do love you ,0 dearly! Oh! I am so glad to see you! I nearly died of joy to see you-oh! and terror, toot Father! say you forgive me! I know by your coming that you have pardoned me, dear father, but just say so "Stop, Winny! Let me go, you absurd girl~ don't you see you are hindering1me from stamp- ing the snow off, and that you are getting it all over yourself-leave off your nonsense and go and get ready-well! come! do you Iscatr me ?', "Sir ?" asked Winny, releasing her father, who immediately threw himself heavily into a chair that creaked under him. "Oh, father! dear ~a- "Yes! ready, ready, READY! is that distinct enough? and be quick, too, for the sun is nearly down !" "Ready for what, my father 7" "For what? why for to return with me to Oak Grove, where we will see if we can keep a closer watch on you than we did two years ago, and see if we cannot try to prevent you from running away with any more lackeys.~~ Winny's pale cheek flushed at this indignity, and withal her face assumed a puzzled and a troubladexpression-she did not move of course. "C6irne! come! will you hurry? It is a long ride from here to Oak Grove, and we have no moon. 1 have brought Sea Foam, and a stuffed and quilted sadolt--chitti for your accemniodation, Madam-Blood and Tinoder! look at you now! You are a pretty object to entry hoot to Oak Grove. are you not now? Zound~! and the NDA L E. SI has !-oh! a heart where one could lie down In SHANNO security for ever I" then she came down stairs. then I am so sensible of your goodness-I want Again the crumpled letter lay in her path, again to hug y si, I want to kiss you and tell you-" she kicked it away. Winny thought she had "Come, Winny; no fiddlestickiana, if you plenty of opportunity now to practice patience, please! go and get ready I said." and learn her allotted lesson ~~TO WAIT,'~ and - "Get ready. sir ?" I C i 12 ii 'I 5 "So! you don't know that my knave has run away and left you! Just as I always expected him to do I knew as long as you were a pretty girl, and a healthy girl, that he would stay with you, but when you came to this he would be off! Ha! lmighthave told youso! and nowif you want farther proof-here! read his own letter! the skulk asked me to give it to you, and I do it only because it is a good-bye-and-forever affair!" Winny took the letter, put it in her bosom, and rose up. "Why don't you read your letter? Where are you going ?" "To get ready.~~ The words were so hard and curt, the lips so white that spoke them, that Squire Darling squinted at his daughter with something ap- proaching to intelligent scrutiny as she passed out. Very soon she returned in her riding habit and hat. He got up. "My God, how white and still you are, Winnyl a moving statue! Well! I suppose its-its-its d- the fellow! Come along." He set hdr in the saddle, seated her comfort- d-l! I have a constitutUrn of iron and ada- ahly, gave the reins into her cold hands-piied mant to stand the infernal tiali' you put me th'~ litle nandi, but swore to himself that he to! By the bonee of St. Magdalene, mis- would not even press them-and they rode on tre.ut you hail enter a monastery within a few down the mountain parh. In an hour they reach- weeks from t~is! and I will leave every cent of ed the foot, and arrived at the level road that lay money I have on earth to found a hospital for re- along the banks of tue river. formed courtesans! Come! why don't you "W~iy don't you read your letter ,sow? as we move?" go along slowly-you have an opportunity." Burning shame and indignation struggled with "I do not care to read it." the joy and love Winny had first experienced on "Ha! is it so? Perhaps you do not care for seeing her father -' the knave himself? Is it so,, Winny? Say tA.#, '- Well! well! the d-l! bow you try my pa- my child, and you are indeed restored to your tience I Will you get ready, or will you not 7" father'a heart, as well as home 1" "Father! if I understand you as inviting me Winny's blue lips parted over her glistening. to Oak Grove, I thank you, but cannot go now. teeth, but she said nothing. They had now Edgar went to Harper's Ferry this morning, and reached the ferry-boat. has not returned yet-I am looking for him "Ride in first, father," said Winny, and Squire every instant," and as she said thut, suddenly Darling rode into the boat, and jumping from his parted into Winny's heart a terrible fear, lest saddle, began to pat and soothe his young hors. Ardenne should enter while her father was in "He is restive, Winny! afraid of rushing water ~bis in~nlting mood, and that some scene of vio- afraid of everything! He would be a fine horsq ence would ensue. This fear was only instanta- if he were only spirited; however, he is scarcely leous, however. It was put to a violent death well broken yet. Come in, Winny; you need a cruel certainty, not dismount." At the end of her last reply the squire laughed But the color had come back to Winny'. net loud and long- In her'shamp and confusion, cheek, and she turned her horse, stooped, patted Thnny had stooped and picked e~ej the crumpled and spoke to him; slightly raised herself in her etter, and was unconsciously turning it about, stirrup, threw out and caught the reins back vhen she recognized her father's hand-writing with a sudden jerk, and spod like lightning dowa n the superscription to Ardenne. She nervously the road towards Harper's Ferry, leaving on the pened and saw "Mr Rascal !" rapidly devour- wind a "Good-bye, father! I go to Edgar!" ug the poisonous contents; Winny crumpled it That settled it! First he thought that the n her hand, grew white as marble, and sank horse had run away with her, and had looked ate her chair, while the squire continued hi. after her in fright, but before he could prepa~ uproarious laughter. All this transpired in a to follow~, here comes the wind with its burden, ew seconds. At the end of his noise the squire and no~# he is for a moment spell bound with aid, while the tears of laughter ran down his amazement-now growling. iir, rosy cheeks "Curses on that deceitful huzzy, I sayl said page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] SHANNON DALE. / SHANNONDALE. curses on all Eve's deceitful brood for ever and hill and valley whirled, reeled behind. Away! ever I May the devil fly away with them all! away! towards the Western horizon, where the amen 1" And with such speed as age and fat lofty, deep blue mountains swept round half a could make, he tumbled up into his saddle, and sphere. Away! away! towards an opening, stated in pursuit. cleft from summit to base of the mountain, On flew Winny on her white horse-a white which let in a fliod of glory from the spirit gleaming through the air! a silver-white level sun, long and hroad, and of biindiiig light, cloud driven by the wind! like an angel's pathway to the earth Tisis On trundled the stout squire on his stout horse, was the distant view of Harper's Ferry, witn lashing, and kicking, and jerking and spurring- the setting sun behind. Away! away! she flew - * hallooing, and cursing, and swearing-rider and up this broad ray of light, that faded before horse all mixed up together in the tumbling her flying steed as a sunbeam, dimmed by a fly. struggle forward! ing white cloud I She has gained the goal-as On sped Winny I the gait of her beautiful the sun has set I Sne has reached Harper's horse a succession of flying curves so smooth and Ferry. She has thrown herself from her horse, swift she scarcely felt the motion! She only and, unheeding the group of low and drinking -Saw the rosy nostrils in the air I the silky mane loafers, filling up the rustic porch, and staring blowing I the slender white ankles and jet black at her, she has darted into the little dark pas. hoofs dart out in their lightning semi-circles I- sage-she has ran againstt Hettie, who receives she only saw the trees and rocks reel past I her in her atms-and-she has totally lost the "Oh I my lovely spirit horse! you are indeed power of utterance, while the alarming palpita. a spirit! a fairy! my beauty! my pet I" said the tion of her heart could be felt, and almost heard, silly Winny, in a fever of gratitude, to her flying At length, steed! "Edgar I Edgar 1" she gasped- On rumbled and tumbled and struggled the "My dear Mi's- Ardenne, come into my roQm," squire and his roan steed; he and his horse a red said Hettie, supporting her fast failing forr~z. and brown, noisy, discordant chaos I-trotting, "Edgar I Edgar I' - rearing, jumping, dancing-anything but going "My dear Mrs. Ardenne I-you-you-you -along I wilihurt yourself! You alarm me so much I- - This-devil-of-a-horse! he-has-a-gait Father I" -like-a-churn - dasher,-.--strait-up -and- "Edgar Aown-and-never-forward I" jumped syllable "Oh! ma'am, dear young lady, don't! Fathei, by syllable from our squire's jolted bosom, as 1 say I" the horse churned him up and down. Then with "EDGAR 1" a furious jerk at the bit, and plunge of the spurs, "On I Mrs. Ardenne, he has gone I-did not his beast sprang forward, reared up, and in a you know it? He left in the stage for Pittsburg moment our squire was bounced spinning in the an hour ago! Father! Fatker, I say I come sir, his stout legs and arms flying, and the next here! quick I quick I My God! -she's dead I" Iss~tant his stout form was stretched upon the With one long, long, lo-~e wail, as of a last read several yards ahead! while our horse turn- harp-string snapped-a last heart-string broken- ed calmly around, and churned up and down, with the last life dying on its sound, Winny tumbling towards home, apparently very well sank slowly over Hettie's arms, and slipped satisfied with his~perfos~rnance. thence to the ground. "Father I Father, 1 say I" still screamed Ifettie, trying to raise the body. C H A P T E R X X V 1 The little, round landlord rolled himself in, 'tHE RACE AND GOAL. singing out- "What the deuce is ailing of you, Hettie, She stands, as stands the striolten deer, squealing there like a stuck pig ?" Checked midway in the fearful chase, "Oh, father! Mrs. Ardenne I" When bursts upon it~ eye and ear "Heigh I what? Tkere-I said so I" - The gaunt gray robber baying near "She came atter him, to stop him I" Between it and its hiding-place- "I see that! I ain't blind, Hettie I I said While still behind, with yell and blow, so! I told 1dm so! blowed if I didn't I" said Sweeps like a storm the coming foe. .i. G. ~ the little fellow, stupid with amazement, not. withstanding. Away I away! sped horse and rider, on the "Oh, father! sh.e'.r dead! sire's dead !" wines of lightning! Away! away! like a white "No she ain't I she's in a fainty-fit! or a meteor glancing through the dark path. She sound I Let me feel her pulse! No pulse! overtook and awept past a carriage too swiftly Her temples-no not a singly beating vein! to see the arms of the Sammerfield's painted upon Put your hand in her bosom, Hettie, and feel if Its panels. Away! away! as rook and tree5 her heart beats." 8 "No! no I no! father!" said Hettie, nervously running her hand hither and thither, like a ~rigritened rabbit, in her friend's bosom. "No! father!, no! it is as still-as still as anytkissg! Oh, my goodness, skeXr dead! aiw's dead! Fa- flies! dont stand there, leaning on your knees, and staring your eyes out-don't! Help me to carry her in, and lay her on the bed! Don't you us she's dead 1-why don't you send for the doctor? Don't you see she's dead f)) exclaimed Het~ie, just as upset and as crazed as her father was stupified. "No! she is not dead!', sail a deep, sweet voice, near the group. Hettie turned, to see a gentleman in the long frock and square cap of a Catholic clergyman, standing near her. Just then the carriage that Winny had passed in her mad flight rolled into the yard. The lit. tie host, at the sound of wheels, and by the force of habit, started up to go and meet it, but checked the impulse, and would have raised Winny in his arms, but that the gentleman who ha i test spoken, now said- "Ge meet your new guests, Mr. Smile, 1 will attend this young lady," and raising her nightly, he looked to Hettie for direction. "This way, sir," said Hettie, leading the way into a little chamber. "Indeed be is the very image of Miss Sum. snerfield! He looks enough like Miss Summer- field to be her father," said Hettie, to herself, as she gazed at the stranger, unconsciously, with such intensity that he fixed his large shadowy eyes, with their slowly returning light upon her an instant, and then gave his attention to the recovering of the poor one prostrate before him. In the meantime Mr. Smile had gone into the yard to receive the new arrival just as the car- riage stopped. The footman jumped off, opened the door, let down the steps, and assisted Mrs. Summerfield to alight. Cap in hand, and bowing low, my little host rolled forward to meet her. "Is Mr. Vellemont here, sir ?" '~ Not as I know of, madam I A strange gen- tleman-a priest, is here-just this instant ap peared-and that's all I know of him-don't know how he came, nor where he came from, nor what his name is-he may be the gentleman in question 1-walk in, madam! Here, Hettie, my child I" Tkat call was mechanical also The little host always made an ostentatious show of calling out-" Here, Hettie, my daugh ter," whenever the arrival of ladies or a lady gave him an excuse to do so-as if he were al- ways proud of having a "Hettie, my daughter," to sing after. "Where is Mr. Vehement? Let him know that I am here," said Mrs. Summerfield, when she reached the parlor. "Yes, madam! yes I-you mean the gentle- sian I told you of?" "Certainly! Mr. Vellemont, the priest, who has been appointed to assist Father Burleigh, who is too infirm to perform his duties any longer." "Oh, yes, madam! I see f Will you, madam, have your horses taken from the carriage 1" "No, Smilie, I return immediately to Red.. Stone, haviiig come only to meet and fetch over Mr. Vellemont." "Yes, madam I-there is another person here, who-" "Hurry, Smilie, if you please, it is late." "Yes! yes, ma'am I yes!" smiled the obliging little host, hastening out to do her bidding. Winny was at length shocked from her Insets.. sibility by a fierce, rising pang, lsk~l forked and scattering lightning I-followed by another and another, in maddening strength and rapidity, U- til her senses were again whirled away, and lost in this vhastly storm of physical agony I Then followed a sense of sudden relief-exhaus.. tion-thenlethargy~deatb.....an~ih~ati0~. From this trance she awoke at last with a feeling of benign repose-of inexpressible, exquisite, ineffable ease. The soft, elastic swells of a down bed and~pilows embraced her fragile form, A subdued, an even light fell sweetly on her eyes. A gently reviving fragrance filled the room. The soothing murmur of distant waters was heard And all-the shaded light-the de.. locate fragrance-the murmuring sound-all came subdued to the senses of her who lay there half lost in a bathos of ineffable delight. She awoke to a sense of almost voluptuous-repose- to a quiet, delicious, animal life-she was like & new born babe, waking from its first sleep in its soft cradle-thought, memory, reason, had not stirred yet. She had not moved yet, though her sweet blue eyes were halt open, and floating in the shade of a vague, luxurious vision. This was beatitude. In this dreamy heaven of soft support, of shade, of murmur, and of faint fra.. grande, she was now conscious of something more tangible than either-it was a touch, a warmth-a gentle, but thrilling clasp upon her left hand, that lay upon the counterpane. She felt that this touch had brought her back from death-that this warmth had given life-this gentle clasp had galvanized her deadened nerves, and started her still blood into circulation agaus -that the little sinews of her small arm were delicate electric Wires, conducting the life si that touch to heart and brain, and waking them to consciousness. She was awake now I-..lif~ was upon her again I-the world before her ones more I But she received it with the feebleness of a young infant. She turned her swimming glance-the dark, shrouded figure, and pale, spi.. ritual face of the- silent watcher did not eases her either surprise or joy-she was too weak te page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] ~34 SIIANN feel either-to feel anything but affection, a she murmured, in a soft, low tone- "Gancmother." "What, my baby ?" replied the watcher catching to the side of the bed, and helping her self up, and bending over a lace full of simple love, upon the languid one. Both, seemed too feeble, in mind and body, oni from illness, one from age, to feel any strong emotion at this meeting. "Grandmother." "Well, honey I" "Is this you ?" "Yes, honey, this is me." "Kiss me, grandmother." "Yes, honey,~~ and the old lady bent over ant pressed a kiss on her lips. "Bless me, grandmother." "God love my baby." ~t Now I'll go to sleep," and she closed hei eyes again, to open them shortly. "Grandmother." "What, honey ?" "Am I awake, or asleep ?" "I think you are awake,-honey, ain't you V1 "Yes, I reckon so-but where am I 1" C~In Margaret's room, honey." ~cWhere 7" "In Margaret's room, you know, honey." "At Red-Stone Hall 7" "Yes, honey." "Well, good-night, grandmother-I am going to sleep, now," an.d a second time she closed her eyes, and dream and reality mingled together in her vague consciousness. Presently she awoke again-it was dark now~ except where a feeble yellow ray from the hearth showed where the night-taper burned. She murmured-" Grand. mother." "Do you want anything, dear Winny ?" "Who spoke?" "1, yofrr Cousin Imogene-how do you feel, Winny ?" "So nice." "I am so glad-can you eat something now, dearV' "Imogene I" "Well, my cousin ?" "Was grandmother here, just now, or was it a pleasant dream ?" "She was here, just now. We sent the car- riage for her as soon as you arrived. We knew that we could induce her to come, at last, it she heard that you were here." "Where is grandmother ?" if She has been sitting by you all day, but aew we have persuaded her to go to bed, and let me take her place by your bedside." "Where is Edgar, Imogene 7" No voice answered, nor was the question now wpeated. After a few moments- "Will you take anything, dearest Winny 7" o NDALE. SHANNO s "1-I want Edgar to come to me so much.-... shudder, or groan, or even sigh, now. Her tears, tell him to come." when they felt, rolled silently down her cheek~. No voice replied f)r some secondhand then Poor child I she had missed the joy of the two "I do not know where he is, Winny swee'e.t e~)OCh5 in her life-tier biidal and her "Send some one to look, then." m~ternitY both had been darkened and sadden- e "Where did yon lees's ISiSS, Wiv,,,~ ?" id by the sternest sorrow. The feeble one evidently struggled for clearer j S&/eral (lays passed in which Winny could memory-Ase struggled into recollectiop-s'rnd. ~carc5lV bir bald to live-she was so still, pale, dered-groaned. Imogene stooped over her. apathetic. She never testified the least surprise "Winnyl will you look at your child-your at finding herself where she was, the least grati- little daughter ?" tude for Ntis. and Miss Sommerfield's kindness, Now the full light of memory and understand- or the least pleasure at the re union with her ing broke broadly upon Winny, and she remem- grandmother; she ate so little that they gave her bered and knew all! copious doses of elixir vitriol to stimulate the "Dear Winny, will you look at your little needful appetite-she received the medicine half I daughter ?" unconscionaly, and took her meals mechanically. "Yes-yes-yes," sighed Winny. The only signs of sanity she ever gave were the Imogene lifted her gently up- -supporting her still tears of profound tenderness and sorrow she little shoulders by piling pillows behind her. would &op upon her babe-the glance of regret- Then she wept to a crib, near by, and lifting a ful aft- eton she would cast on her grandmo- light burden from it, came and laid it on the bed ther, or the wistful inquiring gaze she would before the youthful mother. - She unwrapped the sometimes fix upon Miss Summerfield's pallid flannel wrappers, displaying-the little silky brow and haggard face. It was in vain they black hair, folded features, shut up fast in tiied to interest her in passing events, or to en- sleep-the little hands, folded together and gage her in conversation-evil and good came pressed under the chin-the embodiment of per. alike-oily she would shiver at a burst of sun- fect innocence with perfect helplessness Winny shine, shudder at a peal of laughter. Sometimes gazed on her child a long time, with her thin Imogene would attempt to read to her, but it was hands clasped together, in perfect silence, until only the profound and elevating-the strong and the tears began to gather in her eyes, and t~ life-giving thoughts of those wdo had suffered roll down her face-faster and fa ter they ga. and outlived and sanctified to themselves sor- thered and tell-fatter and faster-until Imo. rows deep as hers.. gene said- One morning, while they sat together, in the "Do not weetp so, dearest Winny I" chamber appropriated to Winny's use, Imogene's She attempted to -reply-she failed in utter- melodions niid saddened voice was heard adding ance, shook her head, while the--tears poured its "music" to the following b-atiful words..- from her eyes. They fell upon the baby's face, "And now as thou sittest there I will speak to who lifted its silky lashes~ and the large, sad thse;-and 1 say-though sighs will burst from 1 eyes of Edgar Ardenne gazed unconsciously at thy almost broken heart, yet when they come her from the face of her child, back sri echoes from the silent walls, let them "Your tears are not all bitter, young mother, teach thee. Let them tell thee that God wills not 1 you have a great comfort there," said the deep, thy destruction, thy suffering for its own sake; melodious voice of Imogene. wills thee not, cannot will thee any evil; how can The babe began to move, uneasily. and then that thought come from the bosom of infinite Imogene again spoke- love? No, let thy sorrows tell thee that God I "You have an exquisite joy at hand, Winny.... wills thy repentance, thy virtue, thy happiness, do you know it? You must nurse your baby-- thy preparation for infinite happiness! Let that I she needs it now-take her to your bosom, Win. thought spread holy light through thy darkened ny,-ah, Winny, surely this is a profound happi. chamber. Toat which is against thee is not as ness-do not weep-..God is bending from the that which is for thee. Calamity, a dark speck skies, and looking at us, while I place the baby in thy sky, seemeth to be against thee; but God's He has sent you, in your arms-be grateful-. goodness, the all-embracing light and power of be hejreful-4ift your eyes, and lift your heart, the universe, forever lives and shines around thee ' and thank Him for the sweet gift, as you lay it and for thee. to your bosom." "'Evil and good before Him stand Winny received the child in silence-she had Their missions to-perform' not spoken one word since her full memory re. turned. If now she experienced the profound The angel of gladness is~there; but the angelof joys of maternity, it was so deepened, so blended affliction is there, too; and both alike for good. with sorrow, remorse and despair, that no~ one May the angel of gladness visit us as often as is I faint smile, not one ray of pleasure lights her good for us! I pray for it. Bat that angel of i features. She was very quiet. She did not affliction I-what shall we say to it? Shall we 8 'N D AL E.- 853 not say, 'come thou, too, when our Father wil-. leth; come Thou when need is~ with saddened brow and pitying eye come; and take us on Thy wings; and bear us up to hope, to happiness, to heaven; to that presence where is fullness of joy, to that right hand where there are pleasures forever more I" Long, long had Winny's tears been frozen, now at this sun of sympathy, eloquence, inspiration, they melted and ran down her face. Still her at- tention was not fixed-only arrested-unsettled aiid wandering in sad reveries and fancies, for turning her tear-bathed fa.ce to Imogene, she murmured, "Are you then that Angel of Sorror 'with saddened brow and pitying eye?' Are you that Angel of Sorrow who presided at my marriage and presided over my maternity-I do not say. 'come.' but depart from me, Angel of Sorrow, for the shadow of your wing hides from me the face of God I" One day in a more rational and practical mood she asked- "Imogene-was no effort made to recall him? I mean-because I was so 111,-so near death, Imogene, and you were so good I,' "My dear, yes-we wrote to Wheeling by the very next mail, and thinking that perhaps he might not get the letter soon enough did not wait the next stage, but dispatched a messen- ger on horse-back to Wheeling for him. How- ever before our messenger arrived he had left Wheeling no one knew whither." "And so you abandoned the chase?" "Yes, my dcar Winny, but not the purpose. ~dy mother caused notices to be inserted in all ~he papers throughout the country to 'E-r ~-e, late of Jefferson county, Va.,' recalling aim on important business. As yet, Winny, hose notices have been unproductive, flow.- ~ver, only a few weeks have passed as yet. The intices are to be continued until further orders, Lnd he cannot fail to meet one or more of them." ~" Unless he has lost himself in the boundless lV~stern wilderness, which is the most likely of LII." There was a coldness and quietness in her :one and manner that proved Wanny was n~ herself yet. "He was crazy, Imogene, mad, maddened by seing say privations and fearing for me-or he vould not have thrown me into worse affliction ~y flying." To. turn her thoughts away, Miss Summerfield aid, "Your father is much better, Whiny." No answer. "I told you several times that in pursuing you is had been thrown from his horse and severely njured." No answer. page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] 86 SIIANN "Are you not glad he is recovered, my dear?' "No." "What, Winny, not glad to hear your fathe is better I" "No." "You shock me, Winny l" "You should not have asked me, then. Mj father took my heart between his large strong hands and pressed it until it was numb. Ai first I screamed with the pain, but now I feel ac more-it is numb! Indeed it is, Imogene-it i! strange-but it is numb, stunned, silent !" While even they spoke old Gelly entered witi a letter in her hand. "Mornia' Miss .Winnyhow you 4o to-day Here's a letter from ole marster. U~icle Killus is down stairs long o' do carriage as the old gen. ~ sont. Hes come to carry you back long o' him. Ole master has been very bad, Killus says-he's demented, too, of all his sins, he says -done had Priest Bellrnont long o' him night an day-ef any man could pervert a sinner from the arrows of his course it is Priest Belimont. Ku- lus says how he would only give him dissolution on certain perditions-an' Killus says how it wur something corningg Marse Edgar and Miss Winny, an' something' bout marryin' of Miss Bina Hinton" "Be careful, Angela, you talk at random 1 and for Achilles, I suppose he has been at his old tricks of listening at key holes and adding to all that he hears there I" "Yes, honey. Well, honey, I hope it's true- that's all. Now, Miss Winny, when you done a remain' of your letter jes ring di bell an' let some of them lazy trollopeiu come an' 'tend to you-I got to go an' give out dinner." "Did you say Uncle Kill wan down stairs ?" "Yes', honey." "Tell him to come up." "Yes, honey.~~ And the old woman left the room. Winny's eyes fell again upon the letter in her hands. It ran thus- Oak Grove, March 1st, 18-. Winny, my child! How are you, my dear child? Your ba'y is six weeks old-are you well enough to come to me? I have sent the large close car- riage wito the duwn pillars and eider down com- forter triat was your mother's. I have had your mother'. r-.om fixed up for you very nicely-and 1 bays engaged your favorite, Hetrie Smilue, here as your companion. Hstr.ie has thought of every- thing that I nad forgotten. That beautiful satin- wood cr ti that was your grandmother's and then your mother's, is placed by your bed. You snaIl have your choice of all hue young mulatto girl' on tbe plantation as a nurse for your child. I shall have a garden chair for you to take exer- cise in until you are able to ride out every day. I would seid He'ttie to ride home witri you, only you will need to lie down in the carriage, and there is no more than enough room for the pil- lows, yourself and baby. I would come for you anyselt, my child, but I am as yet unable to leave ONDALE. ' my chair. I have been very ill, my child I very, very iIl.-at death's door-yes, at deaths door, r Winny I I am so strong in constitution, and al- ways had suco robust health, that I did not kiow what it was to lace deatti until it came. Come to me, my child. I hold out my arms to you. I want to bug my little yellow haired girl again. Your father, grieving for you, JARED DARLING. If you had seen the face of Winny as she read this letter-the strange, cold, sardonic smile tnat quivered on her lips, you might have guessed what a frightful change WRONG had wrought in her angel disposition. Sce opened the sheet and turning the blank page, asked Imogene to lend her her pencil--and Misg Sumrnerfield, taking the gold pencil from her belt, handed it to Winny, watching with uneasiness the frosty smile upon the grI's lips as she wrote. Winny finished her note written with a pencil on the reverse side of her father's letter, and folding, directed it. She laid it down on the corner of the dressing-table ready for Kill. Imogene took it up. "May I read it, Winny ?" She nodded an indifferent assent. Imogene's sentiment of reverence made her shudder as she read- "When you have found and restored to me the life of my life, my husband-when you will ex- tend to him an equal welcome with mt-self-then I will come to you and not till then. You need send no more letters, for I will receive none from you except through the hands of Edgar Ardenne. 'You kuow ,'/,e term*-~now me.' "WiNNY ARDENNE." "Horrible I most horrible! Winny, nothing, nothing that your father could have done to you or ~rour husband should have provoked you to write a note like that!" "I am not provoked. I wrote a cold fact." "This note shall not goI~ maid Miss Summer- field, slowly tearing it up. "You will have to reply to Squire Darling, then, for I can write no other letter-for any other letter would be false.'~ "Thea I will reply to my uncle's note-" and going to her room Imogene wrote the fo2ow- lag- Dear Sir- Mrs. Ardenne, though much better and still improving, is not in a condition to come to you. We hope she wiji tie in a few days- her child is well arid grows finely. We hope to see you at Red-Stone Hall as soon as your con- valesceni~e will remit it, V-ry respectfully, Monday morning, I. SUMMERFIEIJD. Sealing this letter, Imogene returned to Win.. ny's chamber. She found h-r in conversation with old Kill, who was almost crying for delight at again seeing "Miss Winny." He received the note from Miss Sammerfield, and turning to Winny said, "Now, Miss Winny, honey, what must I tell old master you say V' SHANNONDALE. "Miss Summerfield hal answered your mas- Icr's note. uncle." %~ Hey ?-yes I-sure 'no-;~h I knows that.~-but you, boisy-what muat I '-11 him you say to ole master 1" '; Nrirhing" "Nothin'-he' I how ti c 1" "You must go now, Ac~iilles, Mrs. Ardenne must lie down." "Yes, honey! yes, yes, chile. I only waiting' for her say something' for me to tell to ole mars- ter." "The note has everythig, Achilles." "Yes, honey I yes, yes! I knows that, too. I only waitin'-" "Will you do as I desire Achilles ?" sa d Miss Summerfi~ld, with that in -incible air of h sughti- ness arid authority wliicn she sometitI re but very seldom assumed. Old Kill bowed lowly, tu ned around hessatungly, and left the ct mber. "Now, Winny I" said Mirs Summerfiehi, when she had dismissed the old man, "now, Winny, recline on this lounge, while I sit here and talk to you. Do you intend to cultivate that sort of spirit towards your father ?" "I do not cultivate it. He drove Edgar, poor Edgar, who was so young-mad, and to an act of madness-never in his senses would he have left me. I feel, as I said-or to speak more truly, I have ceased to feel-as I told you before. 1 can- not help it." "Winny I" said she, passing her hand once or twice across her brow, as though she was con- scious of speaking as much of herself as of ano- ther; "Winny, it is difficult to govern thought; nearlyy impossible to govern feeling; but ACTION is, with few exceptions, entirely under our con- trol. ~iYou cannot, perhaps, at once, conquer and expelthat impious feeling of resentment-" "It is not resentment-it is no feeling at all." "It is the remit of resentment, however I Well I then, you cannot force a filial affection that you do not feel--and it would be wrong to affect what has no existence; but, Winny, you can pay your father filial attention and duty; still ; - you can, as soon as you are able, return to his house." "Imogene, if I weary you, I can return to my mountain cabin." "We have not, deserved that at your lips, cousin." * "Well, then, do not speak to me of returning to my father's tousel Imogene, look at me! I * am not the same being that I was two months - - ago I yet you talk to me without regard-to the revolution in which I have lost my individuality! I once told you I loved this earth better than Heaven-that I always wished to stay just here on earth, and never wished a better heaven! I love this earth no longer! I wonder how I ever thought it fair I It is hideous! it is horrible! a place of clouds arid storms! of floods and earth. quakes! The very boasted sun-shine is nothing but a scorching heat, or a blinding light-I loathe the sight of nature! I shut it out! LIFE! Once I said I loved life above all things! Now, I Aeb it above all things; it is full of disease and sin, of pain and sorrow, of persecution and suffering, of crime and remorse~ oh! it is full! brimlbl and running over of agony of body and anguishol mind! Oh! I loathe it! take it from me! Give me the peaceof nonentity." "'The peace of nonentity,"' replied Imogeno, as though she, too, were tempted to sigh for it- "But, dearest Winny you are not changed, only your environments. The earth is the same at midnietit rhat it was at noon-only the light is gone Night has darkened all your spirit, Win- ny, but you are not changed I" "Am I not? Listen! You know-for you have heard it from others-tnat I carry in my bosom a slow dearh wound, inflicted by my father! Well, for that I never felt a single spark of resentment-although I nave suffered by that wound. Well, no matter! that is a secret be- tween me and my Heavenly Father But lie drove Edgar mad, and to a deed of madness-. and never, never will I see my father until Edgar beings ue togetner-never, never will 1 re.. ceve a letter from him that in not brought by Edgar." "You look your father's child now, Winny I Nevertheless you must listen to me. Never miii~ your vows, Winny; there are some things we cannot do. We cannot sell our souls to the enemy, for the contract would be null and void, nor can we bind ourselves by oath or vow to do any wrong, for the oath or vow would not be obligatory-the only sin would be in first hav- ing taken the oath, or made the vow. You sin in saying what you have just said-you would sin more in keeping your word Listen, Whiny! Heaven and Hell; God and Satan; Angel and Demon; Right and Wrong; Good and F.vil; the Two Great Contending Powers in the UnI.. verse which we describe by each and all these names, are at last two little simple monosyl-. lables-LovE-HArE They divide the nal.. verse-they are nearly equal in power-they war always. Love struggles to redeem hate--hate- struggles to destroy love. Every sacrifice you, - even you, tiny ephemeral, make to the Spirit of Love, extends the kingdom of love-increases- the power of love. Every sacrifice you make to~ hate, extends the kingdom, and augments the- strength of hate. Each spirit speaks to you. How radiantly beautiful are the Ang-leof L~veI~ but, oh! those Spirits of Hate! how darkly beau.~- tiful they can appear at times! One calls him- self AvisNasal and with his fiery refulgence would dazzle the glfince and dim the worship ot- an angel! Another, brighter than the sun Ia - mid career, 15 GLoRY I and leads myriad.- to wav~ page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] SHANNOND ALE. SH A. N NO ND AL E. with each other. But their beauty aai their most vigilant and fatal enemies of Love! Listen splendor is all false, all seeming-they have only to the Spirit of Love-for it is redeeming, taken the semblance of the angels of ljght to wile almighty, victorious-GOD !" away the world with. If the spirit taking the ______ most deceptive form of all-the form of JUSTICE, has entered your boson,, Winny, do not listen to CHAPTER XXVIl. him, cast hir,, out-invoke the Angel of Love by deeds of Lo'ee." 55TiI~ PALSIED IIEART2' "In a word, then, you would advise me to re- turn to my father, who has inflicted inch atro- I blame no heart, no love, no fate, 'nious insults and indignities upon my husband? And I have nothing to forgive; My father, when his whole course of conduct I wish for naught, repent of naught, tended to one end-to separate us, to regain me Dirlike naught hen to live. The desolation of the soul -no, no I never will I go! it would be wrong Is what I feel- to go!" A sense of lo mess that leaves death "Ah! your spirit of hate takes a very specious But little to reveal; form now! Winoy, your filial antI conjugal For death is nothing but the thought duties never can conflict, never could. Your Of something being again naught. 'lutyis stern, immutable~unmodified by others' Festus. performance or neglect of theirs Nothing that your father has done, no wrong that he has cone It was well for our Winny that she had a fitted against yourself or your husband. frees friend like Miss Sutumerfield near her always. you from your filial obligations. Wheii your Imogene devoted herself to her cousin, and with father abused yourself, even to personal violence, all the power of her lvart end brain, sought to you did not feel that you were freetl from duty arouse her from the lethargy into which she had towards him? No! Well-but when he has fallen. abused your husband, who himself stands in a "What can one do, Winny, under any sorrow filial relation to him-when he abused your hus- but love, pray and hope? to hate will not help band in a lesser degree, you, with that ciquistle you-to despair will not help you-to rebel will deceitfulnesn~ we all practice, drew in your coiju. not help you-nothing will help you but to love gal love to cover and excuse the unfilial res~nt- and hope-to labor and pray I" ment or feeling, or scant of feeling, that you it But I have no will, no pawer to do either! cherish I This must not be, Winri! If you let inc alone, Imogene! you trouble me." yield to the temptation and to the spirit of ate, "1 may not let you alone, poor child. not until your household will be forever a discordant and I have aroused you a little. If you have no will, disunited family! That will be terrible. 1 know, consequently no power to do your duty, malts dear Winny, that it is very trysog to you-but if the attempt! and will and power will come,#nd you keep your own heart pure, and your lips pure your merit will be greater and your reward 4ligh- from the spirit of hate, you will reunite your er; you ~have control over your actions and ~mily. For, listen, Winny! Your father and through them over thought and feeling." your husband, whatevertheir antagonism may be, So esy after day Imogene talked with Winny. both love you excessively-yes, their love for Arid in thus devoting herself to the invalid in you is inordinate! In you their hearts and in- body, soul and spirit, Miss Summerfield was terests will yet unite. They must be reconciled practicing, or attempting to practice, what she -must love one another; for bath love you. preached.. She had wrested herself violently By returning to your father-by that quiet sub- from the circle of her own mysterious aA sor- mission, you will soften him; you will prepare rowful environments, and thrown herself into his heart to receive Edgar, also. Never mind the sphere of her cousin's life. .11 he has said and sworn to the contrary. As i Imogene Summerfield Possessed one eminently said before, such oaths are not binding-the sin distinguishing trait of character. So ele ared being in making, not in breaking them. He will above every other trait was this, that a Phre- not care a straw about them. You can recon- nologist must have been stru 'k with it at oce -cUe him to Edgar. And your father, with the in the high, pale forehead, towering to its big-eat impetuous force of his character, will throw 'as point-veneration. It was this that at rare in- much or more strength into his patronage of his tervals and ia inspired moments had lighted up son-in-law, than ever he threw into his persecu- the classic beauty of the marble features into lion of him. Oh! my love, away with PRiDE. such all glorious splendor I Seldom of late, how- -I it Is a fins-looking spirit, 1 allow, of majestic ever, were the chiselled features of the young mien, god-like brow, but it is a spirit of NATE! girl warmed into anything like life. Cold, still, It is one of the most alluring and dangerous of the: impassive, impenetrable, she moved a shadow spirits-one of the most powerful of the Princes through the house. She, such an enthusiast in ~ tha Confederate Empire of Hate-one of the her religion, had for many weeks past avoided the church. "1 prefer to remain with my cou- sin," was the answer she would give to her mother when any proposition to accompany her to Chapel was made, and Mrs. Summerfield, with an intense gaze into the eyes that ever f.il be fore that ['ok would sigh and go on alone. Imogene labored now for one object; she knew that Squire Darling was rapidly recovering, she knew that upon the first day that he could vent ture to ride so far, he would come over to see Winny; she wished to prepare Winny to meet him, if not with affection, at least without be- traylog aversion. But a teariul change was coming over Winny. It vas now the week before the commence- ment of Lent. It had been the time honored custom of the Catholics of this neighborhood to give a succasioil of dinner and tea-parties for a week or two previous to Lent Tnis wasp I suppose, a sort of ofl~pring of the south of Eu- rope Carnival Be that as it may, it was their custom, and so about ten days before Shrove Tuesday, Mrs Summerfield sent out invita'ions for a large dinner party. Among the invite guests of course were Squire Darling and hi.: g protege, Miss Hinton, whose continnert. dence under his roof was sanctioned by the presence of a respectahie matron engaged to k~~p house and nurse him during his convales cence. In her iiote to her brother, M's. Su o- merfi-id requested that hewould, if ne were able to bear the motion of the carriage, ride over some days before the dinner party, and re main a week or two ~t Red-Stone Hall, that the ~hange of air and the mineral water, together *th the society of his daughter, might accele- te hi#. cover. This kind note was answer ed b rival of Squire Darling in parson, look ewhat thinner and paler than when we las saw him in the arrogance of full blood ed health and strength. Indeed, instead of his brown surtout coat buttoned up, looking like an ov~r-rtuffed bag of woni, it hung rather genteel- ly upon him, so that Harry Joy, whom he, had met on the road, and who in her genial bon- homie, had quite forgiven rudeness and all his sundry other sins-told him he should text order a dandy coat from his tailor. Well! Squire Darling alighted carefully and cautiously from his carriage, and leaning on his stick and assisted by his body-servant, went up the stairs at Red-Stone I-mu, where he was liludly received by Mrs. Summerfield; his long and dangerous illness having quite softened the sister's heart toW ~tls him. I, how me at once where to find my child, M~rgaret - you have been a mother to her, Margaret, may God reward you for it," said the squire, as he limped after his sister. Mrs Summertield led him at once up stairs, and Opening a bark chamber door said. "My dear Wiiiny! here is your father," ad- mitred hun, and closing the door again, retired, leaving the father and daughter alone It was a smaf I, luxurious, but sombre chamber, A soft (ark carpet on the fior; the walls hung with a dark blue velvet paper. A tent bed. stead stood at one end, a large bay window at the other, a fire-place and grate, with two large easy chairs occupied the third bide, and a dark mahogany bureau and dressing-glass the fourth; the bedstead and window were hung with dark blue damask, and the chairs covered with the same rich but sombre drapery. Over the fire- place hung a fine large oil painting of the Ma- donna Doloroso, by Correggio. When the door closed on Squire Darling, leaving him in this still, shadowy blue room, at first the sudden change from noonday without to twilight with- in, nearly blinded him, and it was some seconds before he could make out a slight fragile form, clad in white and faintly gleaming among the dark blue pillows of a large easy chair, drawn up near the fire. He approached the chair and looked again before he could, before he dared to recognize that blue-white shade as his daugh- ter, then he burst into tears. and without a word dropped his stick, sunk down upon the carpet and dropping his head upon the arm of her chair, wept bitterly. "When pride thaws look for floods" And yet h'- saw only the physical ruin, he did not guess, perhaps he never could have understood, the moral paralysis. And there she sat, motionless, cold, imps-able. indeed like a spirit or th picture of a spirit; that tempest of tears making no more impression than if indeed she had been a shape of mist At last: "Winny! Winny! Wirings! Oh, my mother- less child! my dying child! speak to me-eo4~t don't you speak to me, Winny ?" "Father." He took the pocket-handkerchief from him pocket and wiped the tears and perspiration that streamed from his face-drew a convulsive, shuddering sigh, and tottered up on his feet- "Winny! Winny I my dear child; say some- thing to me, or I shall believe you dead already! Winny! speak to me, Winny I" ~C Father, will you take that other chair ?" "And is that all? My God! how cold and quiet you are! and this is the first time we have met since we both were so near death!" bit- terly said the father, as be sank heavily into his chair. She replied nothing, looked nothing. Be was not in the habit of controlling any emo- tion; he did not try to regain his composure-- but the perfect quietude of her manner acted upon his nerves, reducing them to something like calmness. They both sat some time in perfect silence-he gazing at her in a sort o~ still ex- citement; his gaze disturbing her as little as it would have disturbed the Madonna Doloroso above the mantle-piece. At last he broke out again, 88 89 page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] SH 4NNONDALE BHANNRONDALE. ' My G d, Winny! what is t"is? this is worse than death. The dying have more words for their friends, man you have for your father! Winny! are you armrry, and unforgiving ?" This question, the nature of which would have shocked ncr reverence some months ago, did not, however, affect her now. When it was repeated, she replied, "No, father" "What is it then, my shadow? Oh, my poor shadow, what is it?" "Nothing." "'Nothing!' heavens! how impenetrable you are! Winmy! where is your little baby? that will arouse you, if anything will. Winny! 1 say! where is your child ?" "In the crib, in the corner, father!" "Ah, it is so dark in this gloomy room, I can- siot see. Which corner? Oh, yes ~ "Wail you band it to me, father? I have not left my chair for many days, except to go to bed." "So! and they leave you here elope?" "They are all kindness. 1 prefer it See, here at my right hand, hangs a bell-rope; when I want anything, I have only to ring it." He now got up, and going to the corner, lifted the child from the crib and brought it to his daughter. He laid it on her lap. "Why, Win- nyit is all quietness, like yourself! Why Win- ny-what makes you so cold-so unlike your- self. Coma! let me see you nurse your baby I" "I do not nurse her!" "Not! not nurse her?" "No. I have no milk for her-never had after the first few days !"' "Oh II see! I see," said the father, with his voice full of pity. "Yes, I see! poor little mo- ther, and poor little babe! But it is a great comfort to you, Winny I" No reply. "Say, is it not, my dear child? you love it very much, it is all the world to you, as you are to me, Winny. Say, isn't it so? say, Winny ?" "'No,' again! My God! what! 'No'-did you bear what I asked? I asked you, if you did not love your child ?" CE "'No!' Good Heavens! 'no!' Is the girl idiotic, then ?" (C No, only numb." "'Numb I" and what may that mean; Heaven I be good to us ?" "Listen, father. I tell you what is true. It seems to me as if I had been dead and brought to life, with the loss of half my life-half roy- self. Listen, father; some intellects are annihi- lated by sorrow. It seems to me, that my affec- tions have been paralyzed by grief. It is true Before this babe seas born, I loved it. I feared so much lest it should die; or Ishould die and e ye it alone in the world. I prayed God to preserve us both, or let u~ both die Father, that was the last affectionate telling I had After ~ays of agony of body, and anguish of mind, in.. sanity-and a temporary deatn, 1 woke-but before 1 saw my babe, my heart, my very breasts were palsied. I had neither inilk for Its sustenance, nor love for its life. I feel nothing -not gratitude to my aunt and cousin, not aflec- ton for my grandmother, not adoration for my Creator, nor love for my Saviour, nor tenderness for my habe; no, nor regret that this is the case. Jfeeil nothing." On! she is crazy! she is crazy! she is crazy!" "Father, i am not the lease insane-my mind is clear and active-so active that I am con- stantly examining this curious phenomenon-this annihilation of my affections." "On! she's crazy! she's crazy! ihe's crazy! Why did they not tell me so before this! Mar- garet! Imogene! mother! Margaret, I say! Where the d-l are they all? Oh! my God, she's crazy !" *' Come back, father. Come and sit down. 1 am not crazy-not mentally crazy. This ,h~ insanity, lather, or rather idiocy, but it is it!' of the heart, not of the brain. My mind is cl~ see, father, so clear that I can almost erplai~~" matter. Yes, I think I can explain this thing better than any philosopher or physician, be- cause you see, father, I have experienced it. Yes! I can define insanity.~. Sit still, father. in- sanity is a partial suppres4~4i~ and a partial ox- altation of LIFE insane persons are unconscious5 or dead to some things, and suPernaturally co scions of and alive to others. The la ife in the heart and brain. Father, si am not mad. In Heaven, it is said, the im i-taos, mo'.t, the Seraphim love most-the ore, we know that the Cnerubim have the largest and most active brains, arid the Seraphim the largest and most active hearts. Sit still, latner- woat was I saying? Oh! about insanity. Toere is an insanity where the life is suppressed in the brain-the intellect; ar:d exalted in the heart, the affections; as in the case of my grand- mother; and the subject becomes like a seraph tuac loves most; and you call their love, dotage, Irivelling, idiocy. And there is an insan~ where the life is suppressed in tre heart arM affections, and supernaturally developed in the ~raiu, toe intellect-and thu subject becomes an distraction of' intellect, like a cn~-ruh *' ~o knOw. nost-aud you call tue iusp~ratio~s, ravieeg .f I were to tell you all I know, later, you .all it raving." "For instance, now?" inquired the wretched ether, fixing his eyes on hip coild, and gulp. ng down his emotion by a strong effort "Why, father, when you used to smile upon ne, it would light a smile also in my face. It expressed your love for me, and your pleasure in me, and excited mine. Well, father, 1 know all nature is int.-lli~ent and loving as well asani- mate-the sun is a great being who loves our earth and all his other family of planets. And the sunshine on our earth is a conscious loving smile-and the reflected light is a conscious lovn4 response." "Oh-h-h-h heaven!" "Y.s, fat her, don't groan. You call it LIGHT5 fatficr I kno~v it iS LOVE ~,, "Oh-h-h-h, Winny, my child, my child!" "1 know more, father. I know I can't love, because I have got nothing to love through-my heart you see, is broken down,-could 1 see if my eyes we'e out, father ?-weil, but this is what I know-that. I shall die-that my spirit will leave this halt' ruined body with the broken heart, and that it will be clothed with a new incorrup- tible body-with a new heart that can never be broken~ hud that with tlsat I shall again worship God and ova you, Edgar, my baby-all people. I used to believe this because the priest said it t-notv I am raised to know it!,, " Oh&?~snj-child! my child !" ~~I' knw more, father-and oh, listen, lest I should forgi.t to tell you, for I know so many new things, for knowledge comes so fast-it flows on and on-and the new drives out the old -and I want you to remember this." "Oh-h-b-h!" "As myheart and my affections were destroy- ed. by sov~b~w, so the hearts of others are de- stroyed by.~rong, by injustice, by slander, by neglect, by itial-education-and you call the Heart de~rave,4, corrupt, perverted, and so it is, but ~not the spi-it! Father, It is the spirit that suffers-at death, freed from its ruined and mal- tteated body, it will be redeemed, freed, clothed upn, and will manifest itself good as happy. T is gives me no joy now, father! it is cold knowledge-it gives me no joy because 1 cannot feel. I can only thick-but I know that when I get a new, whole heart, I shall be glad of it in heaven, and I say this as a blind child would say, I shall see when I get new eyes in heaven." Again Squire Darling groaned bitterly, then as his child did not speak again, he seized her hand -iopins-ves hoping to find fever there to ac- count for this fearful wandering of the, mind, but no, her pulee was even and rather slow. lie picked up his stick, and fait as his remaining lameness would allow, he hurried from the cham- ber in search of Mrs. Summerfield. In the mean- time Mrs Sumrnerfield was engaged in conver- sation with her daughter. 91 CHAPTER XXVIII. NIGHT IN DAY. The mmd that broods o'er guilty woes Is like the scorpion girt by fire, In circle narrowing as it glows, The flames around iheir c~.pmive close. Till inly scorched by thousand throes, And maddened in her ire, One sad and sole relief she knows, The sting she nourished for her foes, Whose venom never yet was vain, Gives but one pang and curt-s all pain And darts into her desperate brain. So do the dark in soul expire, Or live like scorpion girl by fir&; So writhes the soul remor~e hath riven- Unfit for earib-undoomed for heaven-- Darkness above-despair beneath-- Around it flame-beneath it death. Byron. Immediately upon leaving Squire Darling at the door of his daughter's chamber, Mrs. Sum- merfield had passed down the long, dividing hail, with the intention of seeking a private interview with Imogene. In truth, Mrs. Summerfield had parental griefs of her own, and not, as in Squire Darling's instance, of her own creation. What hand had she, in fact, in producing the great sor- row that was day by day visibly consuming the health and flesh and beauty-the very life of Imogene? she who was "innocent of the know- ledge" of its cause. Her heart was even more than usually oppressed upon this day. It could not have been otherwise. Since the prepara- tions for this large dinner party commenced, Miss Summerfield had fallen into deeper gloom- health, flesh and life had wasted with greater end fearful rapidity. She had forsaken even Wiarty. She died hourly. Mrs. Summerfield opened the door of her daughter's chamber and entered. She paused a few steps from the cen- tre of the room, arrested by a still picture-still but full of tumult, like a painting of a battle, ox of a tempest. Imogene's chamber was beautiful and luxuri- ous-it was all that great wealth, an artist's taste, and a mother's love could make it. It was the largest front room. T wo lofty windows from ceiling to floor, opening upon a balcony, commanded a view of the Snenandoafi and the mountains beyond. But these windows were now shaded by curtains of purple satin damask, lined with orange colored silk. The space be- tween the windows was filled up with a large Raphael, a Virgin and Child surmounting a smell but elegant altar. Before tbis altar knelt Imogene, her hands clasped, her face upraised, her lips struck apart, her brow corrugated, her eyes srrained~nay, her very ringlets bristling as it Were with anguish. Yes! there was grief, remorse, terror, despair, 90 page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] SHANNONDALE. s HAN NONDALE. all braided in letters of fire upon that ghastly me-thou wilt compel me-I am frt'nzied row, face I Ote would say a criminal in vie at of his I believe! Yes, I am! Hear it ten! I ,aw execution, a sinner in view of inevitable and GUILTY! Yes, yes, mother! I. your only child, eternal perdition might look so! Well mieht the stand here steeped to the very lips in guilt! yea, sight strike down all color from the mother's yes! guilt beside ~a'hich the murderer's crimson cheek, all strength from the mother's limbs- soul would pale !" never before had she seen a harassing agony like "Stop! stop! in mercy, stop!" exclaimed Mrs. this! Struck motionless with grief and fear, the Summertield, holding her temples tigtitly. But mother stood gazing on the image-the image Imogene had no power to s'op. still and stormy and terrible as the picture of a "Yes, GUILT !~ I dare not go to confession! I volcano in flames! dare not enter a church! I am eteeped to the Unable at last to bear it longer, she went and lips in guilt! lost in a sea of guilt! guilt that has laid her hand upon the upturned, agonized brow, no name on earth to specify its nature, to express and said, its enormity! aye! guilt tnat has closed heaven! "Imogene !" that has barred purgatory! that has opened wide With the fearful spring of a wild beast the the gates of hell for me I" girl bounded to her feet, and with a look half of "Stop! stop! in mercy, stop! I loose my terror, half of defiance, she turned sharply senses!" around. " Would I could lose mine I" "It is I, Imogene !" said the half heart-broken "Lost girl! repent! repent I" mother. '~i cannot! I am doomed! day by day 1 sink "My mother!" she exclaimed, violently agi- deeper into this perdition !" tated. "Oh, God! I have watched ove' her! prayed for Mrs. Summerfield threw her arms around her her day and night-how can she have fallen into daughter, forced he~r to a gorgeous lounge near- crime! Imogene, my heart is broken.ZI shall sat down and drew her to her side-drew her die-but, oh, my child! you are mad to think head down upon her bosom, and pressing her that you are past the m~rcy or God! repent! there again and again in speechless strength 0± confess! expiate! go to Father Burleigh! Nay, love and sorrow. I will send for him to come h~re! I am mad! "What wouldst thou, my mother ?" I know not what I say! tell me the nature of "On, Itriogene, my child, my child, conAde in your-your crime." me! No matter what it is! If it were partible! "No-rszvxa will I tell that, my mother !" if it could be possible !-if thou art GUILTT~ Imo- exclaimed Imogene, in a tone so stern, so deter- gene! eoaftde in me! lay thy guilt upon my mined, that spite of everything, it arrested the heart! 1 would take it all! the guilt, the re- agonizing examination. With exhausfin~ reac- morse, the punishment! all, Imogene, to give tion, Mss Summerfield had sunk into the ~corner peace to thy soul! Confide in me, oh, my of her lounge, and hurled her face in the pillows. child !" Mrs. Summerfield dropped her face on her bands. "Mother, you charge upon shadows !" There they remained, without change of atti- "Thou hast nor GUILT upon thy soul then, tude, without speaking another word, hour after child! 1 was mad to think it! Yet thy sorrows hour, until the sun went down-until the shades maka me mad, Imoitene ~" of night gathered darkly in the room-until the "Mother! what shall I do to give thee servants, missing Mrs. Summerfield, came to peace ?" seek her-then she arose mechanically, stooped "Do! convince me that thou art not dying- and kissed imogene, and silently left the room. of-grief, REMORSE! I know not what! Alas! Miss Sommerfield did not appear at the supper you never enter a church I you never go to con- table. Mrs. Surnmerfleld took tea tete-a-tete session! Imogene, when were you at confession? with her brother, who, as soon as they were Now, I insist upon your telling me that I" seated, said, somewhat petulantly, "Not since the Easter that I was sixteen "I have been hunting you all over the house, years old." Margaret! Good Heavens! it seems to me you "Nearly three years! Imogene! nay, now! are very indilerent about my poor child! But by all my love for you! by all the d~.sy-no! by you are so blessed in your daughter, that it all the love you owe me! tell me! I implore makes you selfish, Margaret. A little trouble thee! I adjure thee, tell me-thy secret! But, would improve your heart." And then he went my Gof, Imogene; you are changing frightfully on to tell her of Winny's wanderings. Mrs. before me-you grow fierce as a tiger or a ma- Summerfield, with a painful effort to recall her niac !-vour eyes sparkle! they blaze! In the own wandering thoughts, endeavored to reassure name of Heaven, what is it, then ?" him. It was only the effect of sorrow and debi- Bitterly and fiercely spoke out the transformed lity, and would disappear when three causes maiden. . were removed. If Edgar Ardenne could be found "I would have spared thee! thou wilt not let anzl brought back, Winny would speedily re. cover. There was nothing fatal in Winny's dis- order Indeed, compared to her own grief, every grief seemed light to this poor mother. At the name of Edgar Ardenne, the face of the squire grew black as night, whereby you might know that however he might pity Winny, he still hated Ardenne. CHAPTER XXIX. DAT IN NIGHT. Oh! lightly, lightly tread! A holy thing is sleep, On ihe worn spirit shed, And e~ cc that wake to weep. A holy thing from heaven, A gracios, dewy cloud, A covering mantle given The weary to enshroud. Oh! lightly, lightly trend !"- Revere that fair, still brow, The nicely d~ooping head, The long hair's willowy flows Ye know not whit ye do, That call the slumberer back, From the world un~cen by you, Unto life's dim, faded track. Hennzns. Mm. Surnmerfield could not sleep that night. "I wonder if she sleeps? alas, no! she lies and tosses as I do! How many nights, my heaven! has that poor girl waked and suffered! night after night, and week after week, yes! and month succeeding month, until health and flesh and beauty have wasted away! and my child is haggard at nineteca! I will go and see if she sleeps I" and so saying, Mrs. Summerfield arose, slipped on a dressing gown, took the shaded night taper and crossing the passage, entered imo- gene's chamber. It was very quiet. She list" ened. There wait no sound, no motion, no sigh; nothing to suggest that the occupant of the chamber waked. Mrs. Summorfield approached the bed-gradually ani cautiously advanced the light-started! almost exclaimed with surprise at what she saw! she approached the taper again and looked more intently. Was that imo- gene? That the girl "steeped to the lips in gtil" and haggard with remorse? That! Mrs. Snmnmerfild turned the cylinder of the taper, ralilag a strong light, and flashing it upon the sleeper. Was that Imogene, the girl so lately can~umod with guilt and remorse? What, that radiant sleeper flooded with the glory of some celestial vision? Yes! that was truly Imogene, transfigured and glorified in sleep! how beauti- ful she looked! and how happy! even to ecstacy. The cover was thrown off her boaom-~the beau- tiful bosom only slightly veiled by ~he long binek ringlets that glided and twined caressingly 93 about it-her arms, the long, loose sleeves faUleg below the elbows, were thrown up over her head, carrying half her ringlets with them. The face was glorious with a beaming j y; the eye- brows raised, arched and open; the lips full and slightly apart with a dreamy smile; the cheeks faintly colored; the whole complexion of face, arms and bosom, roseate; the muscles all full, elastic, slightly inflated, as by rising joy or life; a very gentle per~piration and regular breathing assured the mother that this was really health- ful sleep and happy dreaming. Inspired with hope, the mother dropped upon her knees and thanked God, saying, "This girl may be an erring maniac, but she is not guilty! Thank Gad! The guilty never sleep, never dream like that! If it were so, then indeed would the wandering fancies of poox Winny have struck upon some truth I" She knelt, and watched her long-receiving from the radiant sleeping face a balm for all the wounds the haggard face had given her. Oh! long she knelt by the side of the beautiful sleeper, loath to leave her-loath, for fear that the lost vision would never return to bless her sight, and soothe her fears again. At last sh~ left the chamber and returned to bed, to lie there and wonder at the strange occurrence. S~e thought of all that she had read of trances, ecstacies, on which, when the body seemed to sleep, the soul was absent-but all she remem- bered of such cases, only convinced her that this sleep of Imogene's was neither trance nor ec- stacy-the soul was not absent from that glori- fied body! no !-it was very present-present in its most exalted lif~e-makmng radiant the coun- tenance of the beautiful sleeper-no-this was a healthful sleep, and a heavenly dream-but what, then, was the remorse, that consuming Imogene all day long, was lifted frhm her soul at night? The lady was an early riser-she was up with the sun. She saw nothing of Imogene un- til they were all assembled at breakfast, when her daughter catered-pale, still, cold, impassi- ble as usual, and took her seat at the table, as unlike the radiant and celestial dreamer of the night before as she was to the tortured, half- frenzied sufferer of the day before "Have you seen Winny this morning, Miss Summerfield ?" inquired her uncle. "Yes, sir,-I have just left her room. She has not yet risen-" "How is she then, my dear ?" "As usual." "And who is with her?" "Our grandmother. She has the adjoining room to Winny. She stays with her always." "She was not there when I went in yester~ day, and, by-the-way, I have not seen her mo- ther-how is she?" "She is improving in health-she le quiet and 92 page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] 94 SHANNO NDALE. hsppy since her re-union with Winny-she is I will do it 1-only do not probe my soul so. dotngly fond of the baby, and passes all her Mother, is there anything I can do to satisfy time in Winny's chamber, except an hour in the you 7" afternoon, when she retires to take her nap. "Yes I-go to church, Imog~ne 1-co regular. You will find her there after breakfast. She ly. Lent is setting in-the de'.otions of the sea- breakfasts with Winny." son will calm your mind Nedr Eaate in-go to "Yea 1-well 1 poor Winny! poor child! you confession-receive the blessed euehsri~t, and really think, Margaret, that she is not entirely you will have peace. Say, Imogene, will you out of her mind 7" do so 7" "She is unsettled and fanciful. I have seen "I will go to church, mother, that is all I can such cases before. Her mind will grow quiet promise." as her health improves." * "The rest may follow," mid f he lady. "Qiiet 1-now God forbid she should grow Again that night her mother bIt her bed, and any quieter then she is! Quiet! I do not know stole to the chamber of her daughter. * Again 'which is the more quiet, ehe or the Madonna she found the beautiful sleeper radiant with the Doloro'a over her mantelpiece-by the-way, light of some celestial viion-her exaltation take it down! hang there a picture of a little higher than before-her flesh slightly inflated- boy and girl riding on a jackass, or anything as though a happy spirit breathed through every that looks pleasant or half silly, aid down, also, pore- her skin roseate- her brow open, arched, with the dark curtains-let in a fluod of sunlight and terenely joyous 1-her lips rosy, dewy, and -and instead of my poor old mother, turn little half apart in a beaming smile I-her very finger Nimrod, turn Harry Joy in on her." ends, half lost in the shining ringlets, were rosy "And shock her into convulsions-for that and elastic with the high tide of life 1-the gen- would be the end of it," replied Mrs. Summer- tle perspiration, the regular breathing, attesting 1l.tid. "No, my brother, our treatment is the healthful sleep-the radiant brow and smi- wisest; hypocondriasis may be so cured, but hog lips revealing the happy dre m 1 Again the real sorrow is not so fooled." After a little mother knelt by the bedside, and offered up converseton-" I have sent the carriage for thanks to the Divine Father, that mo watched Father Burleigh and Harriette, brother," said and blessed her daughter eluinber. Then rising, the lady. and looking a kiss upon that heavenly brow, she "Have you 7" left the chamber. CCY 5" The few days preceding the dinner party, "Well, we shall have company enough here, passed in this way :-In the day, Imogene was presently. I have sent my coach for ~ pale, cold, still, reserved, or if her reserve was "You should have brought her with you." noticed, violently agitated, almost convulsed. "Yes, but you see Sina would not ride so In the night, in sleep, so roseate, warm, alive long a journey alone with me-Sina is so fool- and radiant. lab, so old-rijaidish." Sir a Hinton arrived upon the evening of the "Miss Hmnton is a very discreet young lady- day she had been sent for. Just as she alighted over.particular in some things, I admit." from the carriage, the coach containing Father Rising, they left the table and separated. Burleigh and Harriette, drove up. Tacy met on The squire wending towards Winny's chamber. the piazza-Miss Hioton immediately advanced Mrs. Samtnarfield, drawing her daughter's arm to the old priest, and held out her hand-he stop- within her own, turned into their mutual sitting- pod, shrank from her, and shuddered. Harriette room. turned her back when she saw her approach. "How are you, this morning, my love 7" Miss Ilinton, without the least embarrassment, *~ Steady, sane,-mother I no more of yester- went on, and was received at the hall door by day I" Mrs. Summerfield, who pret~sed her hand kindly, "No, no I-but, Irnogene, do you know that before she passed out to welcome the priest and Colonel Dangerfield has returned 7" -~ his eccentric niece. No one saw the smile of "Has he 7" fiendish malice that flickered, flame-like, around "How quietly you say that 1 Yes, he has, the crimson lips, and gleamed from the black lmogene. He is at 'The Soldier's Rest.' I eyes of the girl, as she went up stairs, attended sent a card of invitation to him yesterday-this by a maid, to change her dress. morning he sends back a reply, declining the This toilet was soon made, and she descended visit, and excusing himself. Irnogene, what is to the drawing-room. I said that Sina bad the meaning of Skis ?" changed-had grown into a sort of fiendish "Ho knows, mother, that his presence dis. beauty. She was vane small, verge slight, very tresses me." elegant and graceful-her features were sharp "And why, Miss Summerfield?" and fierce, but her command of them so perfect, "Stop! mother! stop 1-I beseech you, stop! I that thi~' daughter of man," might have drawn Tell rae of anything I can do to please you, and down from heaven a "son of God," by the faso.g. SHANNOND ALE. 95 nation of her smile. She wore a dark blue satin, just see how the mention of the subject alarms closed fitting, and no ornament, except the aim I Did you ever tell Mrs. Snmrnerfield of long, blacir, spiral ringlets, the ghost ~, on saw, Father Burleigh? D.d he, When s1ie appeared at the door, Squire Dar.. Mrs. Summerfield I" ling immediately arose, crossed the room, and "No-but I did hear a strange report-was it gave her his arm, and conducted her to a seat. ever investigated, Father Burleigh ?- -ever ex.. "W~ the side of Father Burleigh, if you please, planned ?" inquired that lady suddenly turning * or in' her between Father Burleigh and Mrs. to the priest, and noticing now, for the first Sumev~rfield. 1 wish to sit near Mrs. Summer- time, his extreme pallor and violent agitation. field, and I wish to ask that dear old gentleman "Good Heavens 1-Father Burleigh 1-Miss about us precious health and spirits," said Sina, Hinton! A glass of water 1-quick! Father I with her piquant smile, what is it 1" "As you please, wilful sprite 1-till dinner, "N-nothing! A-a vertigo I I am subject but after dinner you sit with me, you know!" to it-it will pass away 1', rejoiced our squire, forgetting his troubles in Miss Hinton had flown from the room, and the charm of Sina's voice and smile, now returned with a glass of water, which she Well, he took her straight up to the sofa upon pressed upon the priest's acceptance. He ye- which sat Mrs. and Miss Suinmerfield and Fa- -ceived it from her 1ia~l with averted eyes, and ther Burleigh, saying- strong symptoms of hy~kophobia. After a while "Here! hliss Hinton, will accept no seat but she took the empty gtai, from him-beckoned one between Mr. Burleigh and yourself, Marga- her humble servant, Sqdire Darling, from the ret I-~he loves you both so well I" and smiling, opposite side of the room, 'gave it to him to take withdrew. out, and turning, bestowed her affectionate at- To divide her witcheries, Miss Hinton took tensions again upon the suffering Father. Mrs. Summertield's hand, and drawing it on her "Are you better now, dear Father- own lap. caressed it between her own small, um-m-m-me ?" tenderly cooed my dove, neat. dark fingers, while she leaned shoulderwise and 1mg against my old raven, lovingly. affectionately towards Father Burleigh, and "Yes, yes, 1 tim better, now I" raising her dark, beautiful head, with all its fall- "1 am so relieved I Indeed, my own nerves ing ringlets, and lifting her flue eyes lovingly have been dreadfully shattered by a dream I had towards his, she cooed-in softest tones-- last night." "Oi-h-hI I've longed to see you so much, "A dream!,' exclaimed Mrs. Summerfield, dear Father! How do you do? Urn-rn-rn-me! whom we know to have heen very much into- You do not look well, Father-are you in good rested in the philosophy of night sleep, and health- Urn-rn rn-me 7" dreams. "My health is failing, Miss Hinton," coldly Even the cold, still, abstracted Imogene was and haughtily replied the priest, turning pale aroused from her apathy. with fear and disgust. "A dream 1" she repeated, fixing heriarge, "Urn-rn-me-I teared so," pathetically cooed commanding eyes steadily upon Miss Hinton, Sina, still keeping her eyes lovingly raised to his who, passing her hand to and fro across her -" I am afraid you do not go into society brow, as if to charm away a shadow there, re- enough. You must give us your company for plied- a day at Oak Grove, and bring Miss Harriette "Oh, yes, a ds-eam !-a dreadful dream! with you-really you must now, I intend to cx- Listen, Father Burleigh, for I wish you to give act tnat promise before you leave," and then me absolution for such a wicked dream" there partedd from the softness of her eyes a The priest raised his head, and fixed his eyes quick, stiletto-like menace, quickly withdrawn, in doubt and fear upon the countenance of the but understood. - malign girl. Mrs. Sumfnerfield was also gazing ther 7" "My soul was in purgatory last night!" "You will come-will you not, dear Fa- at her. "1--I shall be too happy!" ~asped the priest, "AhI I believe it quite possible for the soul shrinking from her leaning shoulder, as from a to be in heaven or in hell during sleep," said the fire. lady, in a low but earnest voice. Imogene start- Then changing her tone to one of arch ban- ed violently, the blood rushed to her very brow, tearing, she turned to Mrs. Summerfield, and dying it almost purple, and very slowly receding, said- left it of a death-bke pallor. Mrs. Summerfield "Do you know that Father Burleigh once saw saw this and suppressed a groan. a~ ghost in the chutch..yard 7" "My dream!" said Miss Hinton was this- The priest was ghastly with illness, dread, Listen, father! to my loathing-or all three~ * D ItMON DREAM. "Look, Mrs. Summerfield 1-look at Father "Methought the night wan dark and stormy. ~ Burleigh I-I declare he believes in ghosts I- stood upon the shore of Chesapeake Bay. The page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] 96 SH A N N 0 N DA LE. s~y was pitch black, except that toe bay in a seething ternpest,-its waves rolled up from t e bottom and luminous with phosphorescent light, roared and r-ncked to and fro like the blue flames of a measureless sea of fire, fl4m ng up against the inky sky and tinging the black clouds with a lurid blood colored light! The wind ran groan- ing, howling and shrieking like a maniac-demon around the horizon! The thunder broke over head with the terrific report of an exploded world, rolling in fragments down the abyss ot space! The ligtitpiiig glared around with the consuming light of a firmament in conflagration! The phosphorescent waves of the stormy bay burned pale and blue beneath the sudden and insufferable blaze of light! S S * S S S Bitt tossing to and fro from one pale, blue flaming wave to another was seen -what do you think, Fa- ther Burleigh !-a sKELETON-boat ?" questioned the fell girl fixing her eyes suddenly with their lurid light full upon those of the priest. The attention of her hearers had been too absorbed by the magnetic power of the demon girl to notice the increasing and alarming illness of the priest, who now fell forward in a swoon I Toe company started up in dismay and contusion- bells were rung violently, servants ran in hur- riedly-tne old man was raised and laid upon the sofa-a groom was dispatched on horsebai-k for a physician and in the terrors and consternation that ensued no one thought of the termination of Sina Hinton's Demon Dream. She knelt by his side, bathed his temples with hartshorn, watched his returning life with the deep interest of malice, and when at last he opened his eyes, stooped and hissed in his ears- "When you give me another public affront look for another-' vertigo."' All this time Harriette Joy was in Winny's chamber playing with the baby, chatting with the old lady, and doing her cheerful best to make every one there happy. CHAPTER XXX. - CLA UDE VELLEMONTE. "Sublime significance of mouth, Dilated nostril full of youth, And forehead royal with the truth, With sovran eyes of depth profound- And yet, The power of life was in them set." liTre. Browning. The day of the dinner party came. The hand- somely furnished drawing-room was decorated and thrown open, and according to the cere. monious custom of the day and neighborhood, Mt-s and Miss Summ'~rfield, supported by Squire Darling, stood near the de~or to receive their: nests They were rather a handsome trio. Squire Darliig "neatly, trimly dresed-fresb as a bridegroom," in his suit of specklese black, which well became his fair complexion and fair blue eyes, cleared by recent illness, and his soft light hair. Squire Darling betrayed a conscious- ness of looking exceedingly well. Mrs. Sum. merfield was a lady of rare ma roniy beaty, as I have before hinted-her tall and fiusdy rounded form was arrayed in a full dinner co~turne ot rich black velvet and a small slight gossarrser cap set off without concealing the heavy bands of glossy black hair parted above her noble brow. Miss Summerfl0ld wore a crimson satin with full and open sleeves and open corsage, with chetnisette and under sleeves of tine lace in full and deep falls. Her long black ringlets flowing down as usual in their divisions were without any orna- ment beyond a single string of pearls around her classic head. Imogene seemed paler, thinner than ever. Nay by the contrast of her glowing dress and long black curls her face looked hag. gard, ghastly--but, alas I little did Miss Sum- merfield think or care about her looks. She leaned wearily upon her. uncle's arm and receiv- ed her guests with a politeness so evidently forced as to call forth remarks such as these when the latter had passed out of hearing. "What can be the matter with Miss Summer. field ?-and of all wonders ~vlere is Colonel Dan- gertield ?" and the simplest and dullest of their visitors would immediately combine these two circumstances. Nearly all the expected visitors had arrived, and Miss Summerfield nearly sinking with fa- tigue had just requested permission to leave her post when the name of "Mr. Vellemonte" was announced, and Squire Darling felt the form re- clining upon his arm start and quiver as If pierced by an arrow! and whispering hastily, "You are fatigued, Miss Summertield, and I must lead you to a seat" would have done so but that the gentleman announced immediately af- terwards entered the room and stood before them. Squire Darling bowed very lowly and gravely, and Mrs. Summerfield with more titan usual sauvity greeted her new visitor and took him off to a seat. "That is the new priest!" "That is Mr. Veliemonte, the new pastor of Sacred Heart." "Row remarkably handsome! how singularly graceful I" "How strangely like Miss Summerfield! Did you ever see such a likeness I" were the sup- pressed whispers of the company as Mr. Velle. monte crossed the room and tok a seat near a lady of his own congregation The subject of their comments was indeed singularly hand- some H~ was ~ fine specimenof a harmonious- ly developed vital tesn~,eiament. I fear he would not-interest the poetic reader, for with all ~is SHA~I N remarkable beauty, health was the great and striking peculiarity of his being. He was the ideal of physical, mental and moral HRALTH. The impersonation of a vigorous LIFE. Lir~ was in every limb and feature-in every expres- sion, gesture and motion. Strange! but when you saw him you became conscious that every one else in comparison was more or less out ol health. He was tall and rather full.formed-his countenance was very fine-his forehead was high and broad-his face rather long, but his cheeks and chin so full and round as to give the whole face a beautiful oval cast-his complexion was clear and sanguine-his hair a warm auburn, and his eyes clear blue-his mouth perfectly beautiful in form and expression-yet with all this difference of form and complexion he was startlingly like dark and haggard Imogene. It ~ was impossible to analyze this startling resem- blance, for when closely examined it was so in- tangible that it would disappear, and you would say it was a hallucination-there was none at all -until he would look at you or speak, and then the resemblance-say almost the identity would half terrify you. There sat the subject of this description cheerfully conversing with thelady on his right hand. From the time of his entrance a new spirit seemed infused into the hitherto for- mal and silent company. Conversation received an impulse, and pleasant talk and merry jest and happy smile went around-and around like a pleasant agitation-affecting all but Miss Sum- merfield, who, in a remote corner, sat alone and woody. Soon Vellemonte arose and mingled with the crowd, diffusing life and gaiety as he passed. "Dear me! I think he is very lively for a mi- nister of the gospel I" said a sour visaged lady in a hissing whisper, unconscious of being heard by the subject of her remark. Vellemonte turned quickly around and dropped his eyes, raining light and blessing and joy upon her, and then passed on. The lady's brow cleared as by magic, and warmed and exalted she, too, passed on her way rejoicing in light. Through the crowd he was seeking Harriette. He found her-and the merry maiden sprang joyously to meet him. "I want you to take me to Mrs. Ardenne's chamber," said he. And Harriet, with a "Certainly! please come this way I" led him out. She took him straight up to Winny's apartment. "Now do you wish me to go in ?" CC Yes," said he, with his hand on Harriette's short curls. "Yes, I wish you to come in." And they entered. Winny was in the same arm-chair-in the s~e still attitude. The old lady sat in the one ~ite, smiling to the babe that lay in the crib b.M~ her. A brighter smile bloke like a burst of uI~bine over the old lady's face. as the young 9 O N D A LE. 97 priest entered. Even Winny's cold face lighted up. He took the hands of each-and then sat down between them. 5 When he left them a half hour after, the face of the old lady was lighted with intelligence-and that of Winny, with emotion-at last. When he reached the drawing-room the people were all going in to dinner. He took the arm of Miss Summerfield, and drawing g it within his own con- ducted her to the table; and during the passage, while her arm reposed on his, her excited nerves grew calm, her heart quiet, her mind clear, as by a miracle. He sat by her side during dinner-.- watched her attentively, and waited on her zealously. When dinner was over, he again drew her arm within his own and took her back to the saloon to a distant fauteuil, and sat down beside her-his clear eyes turned with interest upon her haggard face, seeking to read there the seci~et of her misery. The other guests who had fol- lowed them into the saloon, dispersed themselves in gay parties over the room. None approached their fauteuil. He was still perusing her coun- tenance. Her eyes were dropped-yet here was no disturbance, no paleness, no trembling, no shrinking from that clear and searching gaze. All was calmness. At last he spoke, and his round full liquid notes were melody. "Imogene, we meet at last-meet for the se- cond time for three years; and I find you, oh so frightfully altered! Imogene, I knew nothing of this. I knew you had never entered the chapel since my arrival, but I conjectured that devotion to your cousin prevented you. I did not guess that you had been ill! Have you been ill, Imogene?" "In body? no," replied Miss Summerfield, without lifting her eyelashes. "Then you have mentally -suffered, Imogene I it is even as I feared. Tell me the cause of your trouble, Imogene. Ha I do you shudder so! and grow pallid, and drop your face upon your hands! Nay, nay-look up, imogene, raise your eyes to mine I I would soothe, not agitate you; look at me, Imogene ?" Was there mesmerism or magic in those soft full tones-full of compassion as command? Miss Summerfield, with the involuntary docility of a child, slowly raised her eyes, and slowly let them meet his own-his clear deep eyes, whence light and life, blessing and joy, streamed into hers; filling her heart with peace-raising her soul to a new sense of life. It was as though that glance had rent apart the curdling blood that now flowed healthfully through all her veins-flushing her cheeks, lighting her eyes, and elevating her spirits. He was a shade paler, a degree sadder, as he said, - "I will not ask you for your secret again, Imogene. Souse day you seill tell s7 sue. But I will ask you to come to church. Promise tue that." page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] 9$ SHANNONDALE. "Yes, I promise it-the more readily that I have passed my word to my mother to do so." "That is well Imoge~e, look in my eyes and reid my soul deeply as your glance can pierce- and for anything that lies deeper than that, ask me and I will tell you." "Why do you say this to me ?" "Because I read in your countenance, among other things, a wonder, an interest, and a cu- riosity." "Nothing more "Yes! something more! Bhall Itell you what Iread-, Imogerze 2', "No !" exclaimed Imogene, shuddering vio- lently, struck with a sudden convulsion. The hand of the priest fell slowly and lightly on hers, and her agitation subsided. "Now, Imogene, you might, if you so pleased, tell me the darkest secret of your heart, and it would grow bright in the communication; or, you may ask me for mine-you may sift me tho- roughly." C~ Tell me, then," said Miss Summerfield, CC the secret of your power." "My power? Imogene, the evening is plea- sant, though cool; will you come on the lawn ?" And without waiting her reply, he cheerfully arose, took her hand and drew her through the glass doors, and down the marble steps to the lawn. "Now, my power-which power, Imo- gene. I have severaL" C' Listen, then! Three years ago, before SI had ever seen you, I was attacked with typhus fever. I was in extremity, and a priest was summoned to annoint my hands and feet for burial. You came. I was speechless, sinking-you gave me extreme unction-your touch struck all the electric cords of life; you prayed by me-and your voice called back the departing spirit-I lived! I knew my life giver! Explain that." "Imogene! I earnestly desired your recovery. I prayed for it-believed in it; and sought with my strong electric life to galvanize yours into s new vigor; that is all." '~ Again! we met around the death..bed of an old, a very old lady. We believed her dying of age, sorrow, and palsy. You were summoned. lou anointed the sick with oil -prayed by her, touched her -and she lived! How was that?" CC ~ said if this aged woman dies now and thus -a young heart will be smitten with an incu. rable remorse through life! 1 believed in the possibility of restoring even her. I prayed for it! I strove for it! God heard my prayer, and blessed my effort, and she lived !" 'CA eksrd time! My cousin Winny became a mother, and fell into a sudden lethargy that was all hut death. Her senses were suspended. Her 'poise was gone She was pronounced dead- onlyyou averred it was not so. You sat by'her for hours, with her hand clasped in yours. Life passed egain itito that rigid form-ahe recovered -she awoke." C' And when I felt the cold hand warm and thrill in mine, I laid it upon the lap of her gra'id. mother, who sat upon the bed, and went out- went to return the most hearty thanks for a granted prayer, that ever inspired my soul." "There is something more in this than you have explained. At least there is more than I apprehend. Listen yet! This day, before you came, our company was formal, silent, stiff You entered, and the gloom was dispersed; the for. mal became easy and suave; the silent were set to chatting pleasantly; the stiff unbended, the sad became merry; the sullen gay! Come, tell of this!" ~CImogene, I can better explain this! Imogene, you put a lump of sugar in a tasteless glass of water, and the whole fluid is sweet; you put a few drops of perfume in a vial of sweet-oil and all becomes fragrant. Imogene, everything in the material world has its correspondences in the spiritual. I am always happy, Imogene; and whither I go, I carry happiness. I am filled with faith; I inspire others with faith. I am very strong; I strengthen those I meet. 1 have per. fect health. My influence upon all with whom I converse, is wholesome. Are you satisfied?" "Not yet! By what power do you draw me out? By what power do you calm my nerves, quiet my mind-yet set me talking-to talking as I should never talk if I were not under a species of influence, of which I am conscious, but which I do not comprehend." "By WILL, Imogene !" "Yes! yes! but how does that will act upon mine! Tell me." CC You are scarcely prepared for that know- ledge yet, Imogene; however-" he fixed his eyes with their dazzling rays of light, full upon hers and said-" shall I tell thee, Imogene ?" "No," exclaimed Miss Summerfield, with sudden energy. And again that hand sank slowly, lightly, softly upon hers-and again the delirium of her nerves subsided, and she grew serene and be- came cheerful. Rising, he left her side now and went through the room, like a sun-ray spreading light and cheerfulness. Many of the visitors present, saw, for the first time, their young pas- tor out of the pulpit. All admired him; he drew all hearts as well by his perfect beauty, as by the subdued joyousness of his expression and manners. Only one dark form withdrew before him, keeping far out of his way, lurking in cor- ners, gliding by walls, hiding in the midst of a group or within the shades of a curtained bay window. One person that he had never yet chanced to meet face to face-&ne Hint.,.. Mrs. Summerfield rejoiced to see the new healthful che~fulness that her daughter revealed, Ascribing it at once to the influence of her pas.. SRANNONDAL... Question. Answer 99 CHAPTER XXXI TEE DARK 5EO~BT. Can nothing less than sinning sate the eoul, Can nothing but perdition serve to nest Our hearts~ Festws. Man seek~ happiness in low or unworthy objects ;-that is his sin: he does not find it there; that is hi~ glory Dewey. she dared look forward to the dearest object of "No, mother, do not light the candle, or I her temporal aspirations-her daughter's mar- could never tell you-come, mother, sit with rings with Colonel Dangerfield. Indeed she had me on that low lounge under the window-. yes- most painfully felt that the delay of this expected draw the curtain back-unclose the shutters- marriage, without apparent cause or any expla- let the still, holy starlight in-there-so that 1 nation, had subjected them to conjecture and can dimly see your form while my face is in comment, ill to be braved by a spirit high as shadow. Put your arm around me. mother; let hers. Now her long depressed hopes arose. me lay my brow upon your soft shonlder----so- Night came. Her guests dispersed. Imogene do not speak yet. mother; let me tell you as I made her good-night with a smile-a smile! she j should talk in a dream Nay, ! am in a dream; had not seen one on her waking face before for let me tell you before I waken, or before my three years! And there was a fervent joy in the mood changes, when the rack would not wring "good-night and God bless you, my child !" that my secret from me. Are you listening, mother? she breathed in parting from tier daughter at the Press me closer if you can, but do not speak-do door of Imogene's chamber She went to her not make me too wide awake-let me speak, act, own room, and having prayed retired to bed, and as in a dream." immediately fell asleep. A gentler, closer embrace of the soft arm--a "We war not with flesh ani blood (only,) but j gentle kise of the soft lips was the only answer, with powers and principalities of darkness." The day was near dawning. The mother and Mrs. Summerfield was suddenly startled from daughter were seated on the downy settee with her deep sleep, by something-a dr'~atri-a shock their backs to the window. Otis of the mother's -a sudden and unaccountable terror; and spring- arms was around the waist of her child, whose ing up in bed, shook as with an ague fit. A mo- forehead rested on her shoulder; her other hand ment passed so, and then the strong mental con- clasped that of Imogene. Miss Summerfield trol of the lady subdued the agitation of her commenced in a low, monotonous tone, like one nerves, and she arose and struck a light. Her first thought was her daughter. With an un- accountable presentiment and a vague terror, she passed into Miss Summerfield's room. She went up to her bed-started! suppressed a shriek at the appalling sight that met her eyes. Deathly pale, frightfully distorted, violently convulsed, yet sleeping still-wa. that form. Oh, the agony! oh, the anguish written on that written brow of the sleeper I Down and out went the candle, with her delirium of alarm. "Imogene! Imogene! awake! awake!" she exclaimed, raising the girl in her arms. Miss Summerfield slowly opened her eyes-slowly, ~re slowly than ever before, Earns back the light of her soul to them. "Imogene! my child, my child-what is all this ?" Miss Summerfield was now calmly looking on her mother's face. She arose, and giving her hand to that mother, said-" And are yotw nights, as well as your days, disturbed by care~ for me, my dear mother? Come, I will tell thee my ~atk secret-thou shalt guide me. Come, mother! let us go into your chamber-here it ispnrgatory-.your room is a psiosful and holy heaven." indeed talking in sleep and fearful of waking. C' It is three years-nearly four, mother; since I went from home to school, is it not? Well, mother; I was joyous then, was I not? Life seemed--yes, life was, very brilliant, very daz- zling to me! I was filled with enthusiasm and joy! Perhaps the highest joy I felt then, mo. ther, was in the ardent admiration of my-.-oi my-of Colonel Dangerfield, Wherever I might be, I seemed alike to walk in the light ef a glori. ous vision; and the most glorious feature, the god of that vision wa~ Colonel Dangerfield. Yes, mother, whether when I was packed intr a close stage.coach on my journey to school, oi in the crowded first-class room, or in the recrea tion grounds, or the chapel, or the dormitory- wherever my body, or even my intellect might be, my spirit was roaming through palace, halls, grounds, with Dangerfie)d. The ring he p!aee'i upon my finger at parting, the miniature that he hux(g upon my bosom seemed to me holy as the holiest saint's relict. They were my t.jis.. mans; I would clasp them in prayer; 1 *~lk.4 apart as in a golden dream, Everything mi* item-ed to this one idea-. Dangerfield. In all my~ occupations, amusements and studies, this was tor, she hoped that this might continue. More than ever of late, she had been possessed of the idea that her daughter's melancholy arose rather from a distempered mind, than from any exter- nal and tangible cause. She had been crowing to believe Imogine the subject and victim of a monomania. This she now hoped would yield to the spiritual influences of religion. And as 'the evening wore away, and she saw Imogene emerg- ing more and more from her moody abstraction, beaming into bright and brighter life; once more page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] 100 the Alpha and Omega.- '-the beginning and the end. Yea, this was the '~enrre around which my whole life revolved. Did [read bistor~r? I saw nothing there so prominent as the noble Roman matrons, the noble wives of history, and said iii my profoundest heart. even such a wife will I be to my noble American I Did I weary in any task? I looked upon my ring, upon his miniature, and said, for thy sake, for thy heroic sake, I will conquer repugnance, I will caster this ta~k; and then my heart would fire WiLh enthusiasm, and the toil itself would ca4 a reflex pleasure, ex- quisite as profound 1 lid i.ot mingle with my school fellows. All deep joy shuns levity as sorrow does-yes, more nan sorrow does. Sor- row may seek to disguise or distract itself in levity, but earnest joy is always serious. So I walked apart in a golden dream My compa- nions called me haughty; my teachers charged me with absence of mind; and they were right. No nun among my teachers hired such an 'inner life' as I did. My life was 'hidden' mdccl with-not with a 'heavenly,' but an earthly 'bridegroom.' Yes I I was indeed 'Glory's Bride'--in issag~i nation. "Dangerfield was my enthusiasm, my wdrsaip, my secret treasure, and I would be glad when my head was on the pillow, and the real world was dark and silent, was gone from me, and vista after vista of the ideal '.orld, each more glorious than the other, would open before me 'in the bright pageant of a midnight dream.' The great cities of the earth, the kingdoms of the world, and the powers thereof, passed in rapid and daz- zling succession-a magnificent panorama before my mind's eye-and first and last, and most glorious there, lighting up my dream as the sun lights up day, radiated-IhisGEarIEw. Oh! can 1 make you see how splendid beyond one's bright- est conceptions of heaven these all-glorious visions were ?" "You loved him, Imogene j Oh, Imogene; you loved him so mitch! You might have been happy as prosperous! Alas, what followed? I wait to hear." A profound sigh, followed by a deep silence, answered her. At last. "Do you recollect, mother, that I was scarce- ly' fifteen years old then, and by no means pre- cocious 7" "Yes, yes; I remember-but go on-or rather I mean-take your time, my dear child." "Mother, I loved him not. I never loved him, never could, never can love him I" "IMOGENE I are you then indeed mad? You give me the history of the most rapt and passion- ate devotion, and end by saying that you did not, could not, can not love the man I" "Mother, was it thus you loved my father 7" "No, not with such enthusiasm; he was a most worthy man, and I loved him truly, sober- ly, and faithfully; for I was awidowat eighteen, and never re-married." A long pause followed this, and then Imogene resumed the conversat;on "No, mother, not so; you loved my father; for you loved, and .[ did not-my passion, for it was a passion, if one ever fire; a numan soul.-- was of the imagination only-it was the fever, the enthusiasm, the very ecstacy of HERO -won- surv !-nor more, nor less." "Oh, Imogene! there is something behind yet ~~There is, and yet- Well! you know, mo- ther; or perhaps you do not know, that the holy and secluded sisterhood are most voracious after news of the outside and unholy world! Of all the dwellers upon earth, they are the most in- veterate gossips! '17 hey gossip wito the elder girls, for from them after their return from visits out, they get the newest newsy and to them they impart any morsel of interest that they, in the seclusion of their retreat, may have picked up from a casual visitor. Thence it fell out that from the sisters, at last, the elder girls found out the secret of my betrothal; and then one by one, and little by little, they sought to edge into my confidence. One young lady would inform me that her father had been chairman at the great dinner given to Colonel Dangerfield at Rifu- mond; and saying that she believed he was of my neighborhood, would ask me if I were per- sonally acquainted with him. Another would tell me that her eldest sister had been on the committee of ladies appointed to present Co- lonel Dangerfield with a sword from the la- dies of Winchester. I always acknowledged the acquaintance, but did not encourage farther questioning; however much the glow that would kindle on my cheek might betray me. Sometimes I Would come suddenly into the re- creation room and find a group of girls discussing him and me! 'heiress of an immense fortune,' 'yes! already engaged;' 'yes, indeed! I guess he is! my father says he will be Secretary of War next term ;~ 'I heard my Uncle Peter say, that he would run for Governor at the next elec- tion,' &c., &c. Alas! mother, I suppose you think I tell you all these petty details to stave off as long as possible-the truth" "Nay, courage, my Imogene; 1 have grown very calm; tell me now calmly what next 1,' "I will tell you. I too am quiet now. I dreaded the telling of this story, or the com- mencement of it, as one dreads the first incision of the lancet; but now the pierce is past, the vein Is opened, and the blood flows freely I" "My child, talk plainly, quietly; do not law dulge in such ghastly ractaphors." "I will not. 1 will go on soberly; for now methinks it is more like a dream than ever. Mother, I lived in that world of ideas, glory sad joy, until typhus fever broke out in the school, I SHANNOND ALE. SR ANNO NDAL~ 101 and I was among its first victims. Our oh Chaplain and Father Confessor died; a success. was appointed temporarily to fill his place. Thu happened before I was taken ill, yet the success sor had not arrived yet. Mother, more thai ever in the delirium of fever, was my mind ab sent from my body-not in a world of joy an glory as before, but in one every way the re verse. Visions of fire and smoke-vast sheets of flame scorched and suffocated me; visions 0: blood sickened me with disgust and horror; al one moment I was wrapt in the flames of a burn ing city, and at another sinking in a sea of gore. All the horrors of all the wars I ha'; ever read of in history were re produced and re-enacted around me. All the fields of carnage-all the sacked cities and murdered children-all--all the horror without the glory! And through all wat that intolerable feeling of burning fire! and that insufferable, loathsome, suffocating smell of fresh blood! Oh! it was horrible! horrible! horrible! and more horrible than all, by a grotesque phan- tasy, as the presiding Demon of this hellish storm, moved hither and thither through smoke and flame and blood, the hideous, the blackened and deformed caricature of - Danger/leld! Me. thought he gave the word of command rhat sped the cannon ball on its errand of destruction into the peaceful town; with the ubiquity of a dreamer I stood within a dwelling with the split and blackened walls still shivering around me; dead bodies in fragments lying about; gray haired women; little boys and young girls; Innocent victims! and worse than all, oh! pitying angels, a babe, the sole survivor of the family-a young babe lay under a table with both its legs crushed ofl." "Hush! hush! Imogene! those ghastly visions of your delirium! It was owing to the high fever -the blood in your bead!" "Sometimes my visions would escape from the poignant anguish of individual and detailed saif- fering, and lose themselves in a dilating horror, less painful because bewildering. It seemed that my demon-warrior and bridegroom had built me a throne of the bleeding bodies." "Hush, hush, imogene, you excite yourself, and terrify me-go on quietly, my dear-what next 7" "Mother, this-gradually, very gradually, the fire burned low; the fever cooled; the vision of flame and blood departed, leaving me only the haunting memory; then my soul fluttered- floated-wavered towards the light of conscious- ness and reason; still it was not a recovery, or an atvakening, it was more like a healthful tran- sition in a dream I became quiet, cool, moist, half-conscious of a cool and vapory perspiration, a~d a pleasant 'lumber. A cool, delicious touch, like a snow-flake on my brow, at last awoke * Fact Letter from Mexico. 9. I me. I opened my eyes and looked up-livin%, r sane, restored, happy-looked up to meet a, pair of eyes brooding over mine-eyes so clea~ and - pure in their beautiful depths, tbat it seemed 1 could look deep down a boundless heaven within. - Those eyes !-L saw-I felt only those eyes- I they were another visioii to me-a vision of - new life-of love-of joy-streams of light pour- ed from their orbs into mine, illuminating, f strengthening all my being. They talked to me so much in that instant of time. They said- * 'Awake! arise! put on thy strength, for thy Redeemer cometh' They said...A Even as now I has passed away that horrid dream of flame and I blood, so will at last pass away all the crime and anguish of earth! &nd as now thou aast awakened cool and happy-so, at death, shalt thou awake from the fever dream of time to the life of heaven, and to the eternity ot good.' Then the eyes set, as the stars go down, or else my eyes closed on them to open on another a;id a celestial dream. I heard a silvery rustle of pleasant voices-and saw a white-winged troop of angels-.and lighting up the radiant browbf one were the beautiful, clear eyes of my guar- dian spirit. Methought they hovered around a death-bed, waiting trie birth of the angel-and as they talked, it seemeui to me that thi- deatk was the second birth spoken of in the ~criprures -that as the body is born into the mate- rial world in the first birth, so the soul is born into the spiritual world at death-the se- cond birth-that the body must be delivered of the soul before the soul can inherit the kingdom of heaven! I realized then how death was the entrance into a vastly higher life.. ifother I it is one thing to hear this said over and over again, until the words have no meaning, and another thing to realize it as a truth-as the new reve- lation of a truth I" Imogene paused, and then resumed-" So I floated about in the atmosphere of that silvery dream-bright, radiant, dazzling as a mist of liquid diamonds-and still the sun of that celes- tial union was the clear eyed angel-showering rays of light as he moved. Such were the bliss- ful visions of my reviving life." Imogene stopped acain. Day was dawning now. The early sounds of awakening life .jegan to be heard turkeys uistlna out of their roosts in the trees close by the window, cocks crowing, geese cackli.ig, ad the muflbd sound of cattle rising from their lair in the grass and still Imo- gene paused, trembling, as it were, upon the verge of her revelation. And her mother silently pressed her hand. "Mother, "Pen by my bedside sat a form wh.'se verte presence diffused an atmosphere of health around me; o'ten my dry. hot hand was clasped by a large, soft, cool palm, that seemed to have the power of allaying my fever; this was before 1 could converse, mother; and then at page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] SH AN N ON D A LE . SH A NN ON DA LE . last a voice fell on my ear-a voice so lull ot hec~ime-,s now-the day-star of my life! ibelody-oh I of mn-e I-of faith, hope, Iove,-of loved-k love him still! Yes, with [fly Whole subdued joyousness-that my beail-which had body, soul, and spirit 1-with my whole being lain torpid or frozen through all the enthusiasm -he became~- is now, the central life of my of m ~' hero-worship -my heart now stirred with- heart-the soul of my soil-the sensorium of in my bosom, like a new being, awakened by, my spirit-that part of me which shall be im- vibrating to--that sound. And, mother, when mortal-or I am crazy 1" tba gaze, and voice, and touch were absent from The silence of the mother here was complete my side, my life would sink, struggle, rise, and -absolute. A long pause ensued, and then she sink again-the dark water of death surging groaned out, rather than spoke- around to engulf me. - And my spirit would "A p jest at the altar! Oh, God! the sacri. flutre- ')ver The surface of Hades like a dark lege! the horror! the woe! Lost! lost child, bird over a darker sea. But when that hand and why did you not struggle with it? Why did touch came again, it summoned me back to life- you not cling to your fidelity to Dangerfield? to Heaven. Sn, vibrating between death and -to your enthusiastic hero-worship, rather ?-. life, doubt and faith, fear and hope, gloom and why did you not wrestle with this terrible sin ?" joy, my convalescence advanced; and ever I "Wrestle, mother preserve my hero-worship, coud hear of an 'ingel of restoration, who went mother? As well might night wrestle against about with healing on his wings among the sick the dawning of morning. As well might revel- -the sinful or the responding." lers, by keeping their torches alight, hope to put "Speak without metaphor, if you can, Imo- off the sun from rising, as I try to keep out this gene. Who, then, was this missionary?" love by clinging to my hero-dream I" "He, too, I heard had left his books, and en- "Oh, lost! lost girl I" tered the army as a lad--or rather I should say, "I said it was bootless to struggle with this followed the army, for his post was always in growing power, mother-but yet I did struggle the tents of the ill and dying, or upon the field, -and suffered I I suffered I Mother, I had a among the wounded; exposed to all the dangers fine vital temperament when I left home-had I of battle, yet never mingling in it. When the not? My fore arm measured twice the size War was over, he returned to his books, to leave of my wrist. I had a fine complexion, too-see them soon, when a' pestilence broke out in the me now 1-flesh all dried from me-consumed in city, and again his post was by the bedside of the fervid heat of my remorse. Oh, in chapel, the sick and suffering, and such success attended after my recovery-in chapel, I have set through his efforts, that many superstitious people be- a service, without once lifting my eyes to the lieved his power to be miraculous; indeed his altar-knowing, feeling, that but to look upon medical skill was great, and the greater part of him was guilt-feeling, even in the love of his those he attended in the two-fold capacity of voice a keen joy-a poignant, piercing, thrilling physician of mind and body, recovered. It was delirium of j~iy! quickly avenged' by a horrible faith in his almost miraculous skill that had sum- remorse. 1 absented myself from churc~i; but moned him to our convent." can one escape from sin? No, no, the fever and "But wno, then, was this missionary ?" the ague-the burning and the freezing of alter- "Ab, mother, have you not divined? This nate joy and remorse-of anguish and ecstasy, gifted son of God, was-Claude Vellemonte!" convt.4ed my soul, even in solitude. Mother! "Our young pastor ?" mother 11 am not exaggerating-this destroying "Yes!" excess of emotion was stronger than the strong "Imogene, you are fantastical. Why here in words I have used to express it-yet I was not our quiet neighborhood, Mr. Velb-monte has insane-this was a delirium of the nerves-a wrought the same miracles, if miracles you frenzy of excited paason-but not insanity -for would call the wholesome effect produced by though in this fever, flesh and blood were fused his fine manhood,-that healthful, beautiful, and dried away; yet never was my mind more strong and potent harmony of body, soul, and active, more clear. I kept away from church, spirit, that invests the possessor with almost under the excuse of indisposition, wnich, indeed, miraculous power over the nerves, and hence was the truth, as my looks must have testified! over the minds and bodies of less perfect be- Do you understand, mother, that it was remorse ings " which 1 suffered from most? -remorse for feelings "He seemed to be charmed against 'the ar- that I did not, or codd not subdue! A sense of row that flieth by night, and the pestilence that awful guilt; of awful sacrilege! ~n, mother, I walketh by noon-day "' , was very nearly frantic-the more sotbat I dared "Well, my child! well! what has this to do not unbosom myself to any one-I who for tri- with your-your secret-your tin ?" fling error suffered such compunction that I had Miss Summ~rfield Shuddered within her mo- no rest un il it was off my mind by confession other's embrace . and absolu'ion-I now bore this burning ssise 'Everything! everything, mother 1-this maa of deepest guilt, and dared not cleanee my soul of it! Mother, with their clear.eyed charity and symnarhy, the good sisters suspected that my malady was rather mental than corporeal, and so they tried to ease and cheer me; and lastly, mother, as the very climax of my trial, they sent- Claude Vellemonte himself to talk to me- 1 made an excuse, and declined to receive him. Ttien, mother, I wrote to you, expressing a wish to return home-you came and brought me here. I tried to baneh ever v thought, every memory or Claude. I prayed, fasted, tried to lose my- self in study; tried to uproot one image in my heart, and plent another there! in vain, mo- ther! I tried to look on Colonel Dangerfield as I had looked b4ore--to love and venerate him- to beimev~d owed to him my very being Oii, worse than vain. See, mother, what remorse has con- surned my heart, for treachery to my betrothed huibdaul for my impious, my sacrilegious love for an anointed priest of God! And when, after months had passed--months of criminal love and consuming remorse, and I had nearly withered to the ruin I am now, we met again, suddenly, unexpectedly, at the bedside of my grandmother. When I met his eye-when he touched my hand -it was like a lightning stroke! The blood atagiiated in my heart-I reeled-and for a mo- ment, lost myself." She paused, and then re- sumed, very gently, in a lower, quieter key, and in a thin and silvery clear tone-" My mother, do you think' I have been mad? Yes! since I left tue convent-since my return home, I have been mad at times-sometimes frenzied with such a poignant sense of guilt, that I have thought in this sacrilegious love, I had commit- ted the unpardonable sin-the sin against the Holy Ghost-and then, indeed, I was often near betraying myself by breaking out into actual raving madness! Oh, often when you and others thought me so cold, so quiet, my superficial composure covered ~n internal storm, that threat- ened each instant to break out in open iladness; therefore, mother, when you touched the subject of my secret anguish-therefore I had to escape, for my more than life, my sanity! for I was in momentary dread and danger of losing the slight but perfect self-control I exhibited. There was but a ptper wall between me and raving madness! And I knew if this was once burst through, all was over with me! I knew if I should lose my self.command I 'should also forfeit my self-re- spect, and the respect of others! And with all my guilt and remorse, I was haughty still! Mother, 1 dreaded to meet him more than 'death and perdition! 1 absented myself from church, and when he came to the house, I kept out of sight. I did not expect him here at the dinner party; he came, and therefore I was taken by surprise! But, mother, now the mystery again, for after the first shock of my nerves had passed, his glance, voice and touch had a magnetic pow- er of tranquilizing and strengthening me-he 103 affected me now as he had in the first hours of my recovery from death-sickness. Mother, 1 know not the spiritual mystery of what I next experienced, but it was this-I read God's mer- cy in his eyes-heard God's blessing in his voice-felt God's love in his touch- You saw how cheerful I was, mother. I retired to rest, arA then came a re-action, a demon-dream, from which you awoke me. Verily, 'we war not with flesh and blood, but with powers and prin- cipalities of darkness.' But, mother, that whole- some influence of yesterday evening has given me strength at last to confide in you, and I feel better for it-speak to me, dear mother." Mrs. Summerfield sat silent for a long time -with her hanos clasped together upon her knees-with her eyes strained upon her handa, and a look of unutterable anguish on her brow. She was appalled by what she, like Imogene, looked upon as a sin of the deepest die, for which earth scarcely contained a parallel or heaven a pardon. "Speak to me, dearest mother! Tell me now what I am to do and I will do it." "Oh! lost, lost girl! You say that you were not mad until after your return home! Alas! you have been mad from first to last! possessed of a devil one might almost think 1" "Patience, dearest mother! look on my poor worn face bind you will have patience." "Oh I Imogene, Imogene, this is the bitterness of woe 1" "Look at me, dearest mother." "Oh, Imogene, my child, would that thou hadst died in thy cradle, in thy innocence I" "Oh, that I alone could suffer now, my mo- ther!" "Oh, imogene, would that I could suffer for thee! I alone! would that I could die, if that would cleanse thy soul from its black guilt!" "ONE has done that for me, mother! calm yourself, mother-tell me, what shall I do?" "Oh, Imogene, the tender arms of the holy mother church are ever stretched out in mercy, in supplication to her erring, her sinning, and suffering children! Your brilliant worldly pro- spects have vanished in darkness, Imogene! and with them all my earthly hopes of happiness! No matter for your lost splendid prospects, or my lost happiness, they weigh lighter than a feather against the heavy weight of this 'enormous guilt! Repent-confess-expiate! un- less thou wouldst be wretched in the next world as in this! Seek the confessional on Sunday after vespers and pour this tale of sin into the ear of Father Burleigh! God and all His saints and angels be praised for the comfort of the con- fessional! There, poor sin crushed child, thou must go 1-Imogene I" "My dearest mother!" "I am half crazy with trouble. I have no confidence in my judgment just at this moment! 102 page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] 104 SRALNNONDALE. but yours is an ~wfu1 sin and must have an Now could Sina have kept herself the pure awful expiation! Imogenel I needscarcely de- abstraction of diabolical intellect that she had mand it-yet-promise me that what ever the been before, she had yet possessed the satanic expiation may be that he assigns you-you will power of working out of all these difficulties and nor shrink from it-you will go through it!" profiting by her past mistakes. But under the "Oh I I will! I will! however severe I-how- influence of a human love, however little it ever repugnant! however galling 1-nay, the might deserve the name, the demon-girl lost snore severe, repugnant, galling, the more readily much of her power. And this was the rise and witi 1 accept the penance-as I hope for pardon progresss of Sina Hinton's weakness. From the -as the Lord hears me I" frst moment that she had set her eyes on Cob- "Amen-embrace me, Imogene-nay, child, nel Dangerfield, his martial figure, handsome weep for yourself not for me-I am not well 'hce and gallant bearing, had strongly attracted now, Imogene, but-but, 1 shall get over this!" her. For some time she resisted this fascina. The sun was now up and shining broadly and tion and resisted it successfully; not because he brightly into the chamber. The mother and was the betrothed of another, and it was moral- daughter, sorrowful hut calm, and understanding ly wrong, but because he was the betrothed of each other, separated to perform their morning another, and it was useless and dangerous to her toilets As Miss Summerfield opened the door own peace and prospects. Therefore she wrest. of her mother's chamber leading out into the ed her thoughts from this perilously charming hall, a dark form suddenly sprung awny and officer and fixed them upon her plans of personal fled down the passage too swiftly to be recog- aggrandizement. So time passed; but as it passed nized in the dusky hall where the window blinds she found out an estrangement between the be. yet remained closed. It was with a feeling 0f trothed pair, and with the newly revealed possi- vague foreboding that Miss Summerfield now ability her hopes arose, and with her hopes her sought her room. passion; and with her passion her scheming be- That morning after breakfast the remaining gan. Sina Hinton was always a regular atten- Visitors departed, leaving the family at Red- data at church. It was not likely that a young Stone Hall to the quietness of their domestic lady so point device in matters of propriety should circle, neglect public worship. Colonel Dangeifield CHAPTER XXXII. THE cuaszn WITH success. Vaulting ambition dotli o'erleap itself And falls on ihe other side. Shaksyeare. Now in despite of pride were worse than bondage to become his bride, Oh ihat thi, dotage 01 his breast would cease, Or seek another and give mine release, Byron. Sina Hinton had outwitted herself if ever an intriguante did; she had done too much and too well; she was cursed with too much success. Wishing to banish the daughter completely from her father's heart and home, she had exiled Ar- deiine, broken the heart of Winny, and so opened the bosom of Squire Darling for the reception of his suffering child: that was failure the first. Then having wished to supplant that banished chili in the home, heart, and fortune of her fa- ther, sne had played her part so well, that instead of adoping her as his daughter, the fat and rosy old squre must needs fall desperately in love with her and woo her as his wife 1--lastly having essayed through the morbid conscience and guilty fears of the priest to obtain a perfect command of him, and through him of his most powerful pa- rishioiiors, she had overdone the thing so com- pletely as to terrify the poor old man into dota~e and imbecility-thereby rendering him unfit for] her use. from-not any very fervid religious feeling-but from a habit of childhood and youtn, not to be broken now, was always punctual in his atten- dance on divine service. His pew was quite on the opposite side of the building to that of the Summerfield family, but it was side by side with Squire Darling's pew, of which, since the mar- riage of Winny, the infirmity of the old lady, and the illness of the squire himself, Miss Hin- ton was the sole occupant. Now as Colonel Dangerfield would sit in that pew so cold and stern, he would some times catcfs a pair of large, dark, tender eyes fixed in mournful sympathy upon him, which would drop their long lashes upon a crimsoning cheek quick as detected. Such beautiful eyes! they were veiled from his sight only to haunt his merry. Hush I-he would not whisper to his own heart-lie would not listen if his heart whispered it to him-that there was anything but accident in what made that corner of the pew where he could lean at ease and see, without looking at, those shadowy eyes-so comfortahie. Nonsense! there was no- thing in it! that corner fitted his back, and the other 'the opposite corner was some how-le/X handed-i know not to what, unless it was to S~na Ilinton's soft dark eyes! But sometimes when the Summerfield pew on the other side of the church happened to be empty, Miss Hir.ton would prefer to sit there; and some how or other he would find his old position uncom- fortable, and a change to the "left handed" cor. ner of his pew an inevitable necessity to rest SHANNONDALe. lOb himself. There was nothing in that either. It haps, never gave the subject a thought at ali. was very natural he should get tired of one p0- At all events his impression of Cobonel Danger- sition after a while, and as to his turning around field was that of his being a married, or a half like a needle to the magnet of Sina's dark eyes, married man, and therefore safe; for, believe that was preposterous! he had known Miss Rib- me, no other young man could have visited his ton a year, and it was too absurd to think of house so frequently, without exciting the jealous falling in love with her now. True, however, suspicion: of the mature lover. he had never seen those haunting eyes till lately. It was not until his visit to Oak Grove The third Sunday, Sina Hinton purposely absent- and upon the day of the dinner-party, when ed herself from church to give him a chance of missing Colonel Dangerfield from the company, knowing how it would feel to miss her. And in he had been led to put some questions to Mrs. truth, that Sunday-it must have been because Summerfield relative to the reason why the gal. his new suit of broad cloth was not a good fit- lant colonel was not present; why the marriage CC those cursed tailors are so awkward,"-but no did not come off'; when it was expected to take seat in the pew was comfortable I-he tried 6oek place, etc. By her replies-cautious as they corners, each of which was infinitely worse than were-he learned, to his consternation and great the other I-then he tried the middle of the pew, alarm, the estrangement between Dangerfield which was no better I-and with all he was af- and Imogene. And his suspicions once aroused, fficted with a creak in the neck and an obliquity they fairly outstripped the truth, and now he be.. of vision that continually turned head and eyes lived that Miss Hinton, in the spirit of co- in the direction of the front door! This grew a quetry, had wilfully and wantonly come betweeng little better, however, as the service commenced the betrothed couple, and wiled away the aflec- and progressed. I think that sermon did Colonel tions of the lover from his mistress. On! wnat Dang.-rfield much good ;-the seed this time fell a generous rage he was in! He swallowed it upon gond ground and brought good fruit, as you He kept silent! not for the world would he have shall presently see. The text-" For I was sick breathed one word of his suspicions to Mrs. Sum. and in prison and ye visited me not," and the ser. merfield. No! he meant to avenge his own mon by the inspired and eloquent Claude Velle- wrongs, and those of Imogene. in silence, him- monte was upon Christian Charity and Brotherly self. He meant to punish the coqu~tte--but--- Love. Immediately after the sermon, my colonel as he meant to marry her also, not one syllable gets into his carriage and is driven towards home. would he breathe against her good name-not But after being driven eight miles on the road and one word that would lower the high opinion he within one mile of his own magnificent home- knew his sister held of her 0 i, no! Squire when 1ie came to a cross road leading into Oak Darling, with all his coarseness, was tar too Grove, he calls the coachman and tells him to proud br that His prospective wife must be turn to the left, with the benevolent intention of actually sans reproehe. even it she did not merit visiting and cheering Squire Darling, then laid up to be. She ria4 wronged him, and he would deal with his bruises. with her for it~b u~ his 'vrong aid his "en~eance He drove up to the front door, alighted and ~.. should be a secret between himself, his love, and tered the hall. Sitting reading in the hall was God. He tool~ a cheerful leave of his sister and Miss Hinton. A quick flash of malign mirth, niece, making them promise to vi~tt him soon at triumph and joy, irradiated her face as she saw his house, he b ~cde an affectionate adieu to h',s mo- him, and then it quickly passed away. Rising, ther and little~daughter, telling tuem that as soon she met him with her own peculiar grace, and as ever Winny hould be able to leave her room he invited him into the parlor. lIe spent an hour with would come t4~ fetch them home; he bade good.. her there-he thought it was only five minutes. bye to Sina Hi4ron, saying that the arriage would Then she sent to see if Squire Darling had awak- return in the afternoon, to convey her to Oak ened from his mid-day sleep. And soon the Grove; and so he left Red-Store Hall. Miss squire came hobbling in. Colonel Dangerfield Ilinton had promised Mrs. .Suwm~rfield to re- Was pressed to stay to dinner; and Colonel Dan- main there that day until sunset; and at sun. garfield-the sermon fresh in his mind-kindly set the carriage having returned, she also staid; nay, he did more-.he spent'the whole af- took leave of the Summerfields, and lelt Oak ternoon and evening, and rode home by star- Grove. light, having first promised to come frequently- It was bright starlight when the carriage a promise that he performed faithfully. Now, rolled through the gates and up the straight be it remembered that our squire had not Miss gravel road to the front of the old grey Hall. Sina Hinton's lynx eyes, and swift and sure ap-' Miss Hinton skipped out and tripped up the old prehensions-he knew no more than the man in mildewed stone stairs, quite innocent of any the moon of any estrangement between his niece suspicion of the scene awaiting her. and her betrothed. if they did not hurry them- Old Uncle Kill met her in the hall. ann bow- selves in getting married, he thought it was be. ing low, said, "Miss Hinton, master .ire,1 me Cause they were not quite ready, or rather, per- to 'form you soon as '-o" eo~ .- ~- r M page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] 106 ' SHANNONDALE. ho" rie'd 'quest de favor of your company in his v'~ry righeous indignation, I send for yea... owi pa ~ment " to take you to task-to lecture you; you look W. cii, Achilleii ?" asked Sina, cheerfully- but in my eyes, and 1 am disarmed; you speak "the lubra.-y, his study, the parlor ?" to me, and I am your slave! Oh, Sine! I can. De library, Misc Hinton, if you please; Ill not scold you now-I forgive you, Sine Love light on up." rave! do love me, child-my beauty! My sweet, 'Go on before, then, Achilles," said Mies wild bird, do not flutter away from my bosom! Hi ton, stepping lightly after the old man up the love one! take my whole fortune-take every. stairs, thing. I have everything you want; only love It was a long, snug room, carpeted, and wita me! On, SinaI are you ambitious? are you a great oak fire on the hearth; Squire Darling fond of distinction? of admiration ?-as it is ma. war standing with his back to the chimney- deed but natural that a young vivacious girl like standing in the very same attitude the recollec- you should be? Oh, Sina, if you are, I will satis. tion of which used to amuse poor Winny so fy your ambition, your girlish love of distinction much--when Miss Hinton entered the room. and admiration to the very utmost! You shall He uiteppemi forward to meet her immediately- have the handsomest establishment and equmpage and taking her hand drew her up before the in the whole State. I will pull down this old fire; standing with his back to the fire he set house, Sine, and rebuild it on a scale of magnifi. her before him, placed his hands upon her slight cence, that shall eclipse 'The Soldier's Rest'- showuers, and looked down full in her face. the famous seat of Colonel Dangerfield-(set fire Sina was not annihilated, nor did she lose her to him!) Oh, Sine! he does not love you as I presence of mind-she dropped her sweeping do! You will find that aut, yet I he wno can black lushes over her dark elfin eyes, and corn- trifle with Herrrett-hold on to Imogene, and pressing her lips and holding her breath, forced coquet with you. He does not love you as I do; up as charming a blush of bashfulness as ever for what woman do I seek~ but you? Every face beguiled a simple country squire out of his looks flat to me but yours-every woman seems senses! AhI bewildering was Sine then, with common-place to me but you I Oh, Sine! rIo her slight but elegant figure perfectly shown hy not treat my heart like it was a piece of tough the closely fitting blue-black satin dress -with beefsteak! you do, you bloody-minded little her long black lashes sweeping the now crimson tyrant I You cut it this way, and slash it that ehee1r~-the crimson lips compressed, and the way-'--and pound it tender, and then lay it on the long black ringlets drooping from her brow and the coals to broil giving it a turn sometimes- fulling upon her small but beautifully rounded Fmzz.z-z! Oh, Sine! have mercy I mercy I" said bust. the possessed squire, sinking exhausted into a "Come, look up at me, Sina; I want to see great arm chair-his fair brow and fat rosy cheeks your face." streaming with perspiration and team, as he Sine raised her large dark eyes with an ex- held out both arms to his little evil sprite- pression of brooding tenderness to his face, to "Come! oh, come! give me a kiss; my heart is his eyes. He slightly trembled, like an agitated hungry-come to my bosom once; my heart is great jelly, at the witchery of that challenged starving-I',m a fool, a jackass! I know it well gaze. while I'm talking." "Well, sir! I am looking at you!" Miss Hinton wasn't Titania; she hadn't taken "Oh-o-o-o-oh! um-m-m-m!" groaned, blowed the love potion, and was not enamoured of the the squire, with the perspiration starting on his jackass. She didn't "come." On the contrary, brow- she walked composedly to the other side of the "Welt, sir! I'm looking at you ~" room, pulled the bell cord, ~rraking it peal of "I know you are, you little witch! I feel it, rings, and returning to the fire piace, drew a you little galvanic-battery! Drtp your eyes chair to the corner, set her feet upon tht. fender, this moment, and let go my hands; do you want propped her eloow on her knees, and leaning for- to kill me outright?" ward dropped her head upon her hand, in an at- "You have my hands, sir." titude more weary than graceful. ~'So I have! I swear I did not know the dif- "C~1ow then, what the mischief is that for ?" ference Sine! witch! sorceress! imp! elf! asked the squire, dropping his arms signing, or whe err you to Satan ?" rather blowing violently, and gazing at her with "You are m~ cousin, are you not, sir?' watery red eyes. "YeW 'in Phhhertigibbt." Hetore she could reply, a servant entered the "Then 1 guess he was my uncle I" room in answer to the belL ~'Hum. I snonldn't wonder if there was some "Is tea neiirly ready ?" asked Misra Hinton. impudence behind that! if one could get the "Yes, M se." tIme to make it owl Sina !" ' Tell Munerva to have it upin this apartment, "Sir!" and to mace baste, for I am weary and nearly ex- "Why the zouuuds is it, the- .~ fit of t~ ~ d SHANNC "Y em, Miss ;" and the man dPappearecl "Are you, Sina, my dear-ace you so tired? Come here, Sine, my little girl-let me lay your little black head on my bosom, and I will rock you until you are rested. Come, Sinai my heart is bursting-give it some relief I" And Miss Hintois edging cautiously around the room, reached the back of the big chair, and dropping her hands upon his shoulders, while he could not see her witching countenance, cooed as follows: "My dearestdearest friend-my benefactor- my more than father--believe me, I esteem and venerate you beyond all others on earth. I will be your daughter, your maid-iervant I will live with you always, and serve you faithfully-but -.-but-but-" here Sine dropped her forehead upon the sack of the chair; "but do not talk to me of love. It is not right. 1 am a great deal too young for you and too silly. How would your sister like it ?" "D- my sister !'~ growled the squire. "Do not say. so-how indeed would your daughter and son-in-law approve it ?" "Saran fly away with my son-in-law! What has he to do with it? Cone! I see how it is!- you wish to put me in a rage I 'Swr-i)u-h~w!' I'm astonished at you, Miss ilinton! never al- lu e to that pernicious feb w again!" "I beg your pardon, sir. Believe me, it was inadvertent. I am extremely sorry I" "Son-in-law! he! the d-l! you've added an- other reason to the many 1 have already for ha- ting him!" "Oh, sir, forget it I 1 am very much griev- ed!" "I'll forget it, Sina, if you will come round here and sit on-" "Squire Darling! my dear friend, my more than father__" "Zounds! don't keep telling rae that I 'more than father!' presently she'll say I'm her grand- father!" "My kind, noble benefactor !-listen to me- listen to me-I will be a (laughter to you-" "FURIES! who wants you to be my daugh- ter? daughter indeed! My daughter and some-, body else's wife? Ha! set you up with it! and somebody else, too! No! you shall be my wife sind anybody else's daughter you please! Come, you have raised a conflagration in my heart, Sinai It is not to be extinguished with a few tears You should not have done it! Young girls should be careful how they creep into a neart like mine! it is very apt to close upon them! to become their prison-yes, and their inquisitorial fner~ dungeon at that! You must oe my wife, Sinai I positively will take no de- nial! none! Come around here, S;na, and sit by me! Come f-why the girl seems to have no eonfirl~. - i me-none! "Squire Dan n~, I .vill come and sit by you, INDALE. 107 but ynu must remember that you are a Virginian gentleman, and that no gentleman of this chi- valrous State ever was known to offer nisult---1 mean to give distress to any woman-orphaned -helpless-unprotected and his guest I" "Come, Sina, come sit by me 1 1 will try to keep my senses if I can! Oh! Sina, Sine, Sine, Sine, you ring in my ears like the burden of a tune! Come I" She came around and drawing the chair to his side sat down. '~I must talk to you right seriously, Sina, if I can keep my head from splitting! You've be- devilled me, girl! You have been with me two years. During that time you have been to all intents and purposes mistress of my house and servants-during all that time I showed you all the respect due from a host to his lady guest- did I not ?" "Oh, you did! you did!" maid Sine, clasping her hands with a touching air of gratitude. (" Yes you did, you ugly old brute! you made love to me all the time as much as I would let you!") was the mental ad&lition. "But, Sina, you pretty little kitten! you wouldn't leave me alone-not you! You'd come purring around me, and putting your little velvety paws upon me, and nesiling close to me, and singing softly to me, and all in such an innocent, kittenish, bewitching way,. that-that-confound me! if I can help catching the pretty black kitten to my bosom, let her bite and scratch and claw ever so much I" and for- getting Virginian chivalry, honor, gallantry, hospitality, he suddenly caught. the girl to his bosom nearly crusriing all ner little bones in his bear like hug, and naif suffocating her with kisses-exclaiming between them- "Aye, scratch and claw, my little bramble bush !-spit and snarl, and bite, my little kitten! Hey! my little sal-ammonia! but you are sharp! you are piquant! you are exhilarating I Ha! I wonder if these sweet lips-no, these fragrant, poignant lips of yours are not that fountain of youth at which I shall recover youth again !" "I'll! I'll hill you!" exclaimed the enraged and half suffocated girl. "Kill away, my tigress! kill away, my sprite. Oh! it is so good to be scratched and bitten by you! It must be heaven of heavens to be killed by you!" Sina suddenly ceased to struggle, burst into tears, and dropping her head on his shoulder, sobbed violently. And he ceased to Worry her, and stooping over her stroked the dishevelled hair from her brow and said, soothingly, * "Sine, my little girl, hush-don't weep-I love you, Sina-my love is honorable if ever man's love Was. It seeks to do you no ill, nor wrong, it Reeks to enshrine you in honor and safety. I must marry you, Sine! Make up your mind to it, my little girl! for there is positively no alter. page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] 108 S HT A NN O native. 1 must m.'trry you, my little girl, but that will be the very first and last arbitrary act I ever did or ever will show you. Oh, Sina, I will be so good to you if you will only be my dear little wife. Child! I will love and cherish you mote tenderly than man ever did woman before. Su-h a good husband as I will be to you, Sinai Your every wish shall be a law to me and mine!" All this time Sina was lying in his arms, her head upon his shoulder, sobbing as if her heart would rreak, while he continued speaking softly, "Child, haven't you heard the old ladies say 'It is better to be an old man's darling than a young man's slave?' I know my rival, Sina! It is Dangerlieli (curse him). Little girl, will A. lov~ you as I shall? I am not only faithful, 1 am faitk. And he a young, gay, handsome, ce- lebra ad officer of rank in the army. Sina, he'll never he true to you You'll have half-a-dozen unworthy rivals No! he'll never love you as I do-never? and it is more necessary to a wo- man's happiness tbat she be loved than that she loves Come, Sinai forgive my roughness! I loved you so dearly. %iiod help me! it was an irresistible temptation !-the Virgin pardon me! -to have you sitting there with your hands folded, and your face sparkling between your black ringlets turned up to mine! forgive me, Sina! with all my rudeness and all your beauty, nothing would have tempted me to treat any woman so, whom I did not intend to marry in spite of all heaven, earth, and hell !" " Oa!'my dear benefactor, forgive me," said the wily girl, "for I have been violent too-but you do not know how dear a-never mind! You -you will kindly give me a few days to think~ Dangerfield, your rival! My dear benefactor, how easily these mysteries are unravelled when one has the key to them. Think now of Colonel Dangerfield seeking me to induce me to use my influence with Miss Summerfield in his behalf- for Miss Summerfield has discarded him, while he is still passionately attached to her !" "Dis-! what/tim"' "Yes! but this is almost a breach of confi- dence, which neither the Colonel nor the Sum- meflelds might like. I tell you this to tranquil- lize you, that is my only excuse: Pra3f do not mention it to any of the family unless they first name it to you !" "Dis-! Well! Now, Sina, say! Oh, Sina, say? You'll be my dear little wife, won't you? Don't keep me on the tenter hooks of suspense any longer. Don't torture me again! Come! speak; you seill, won't you ?" "My dear protector, please give me two days to think of it; will you ?" "Well, well! if I must, I must, without any sort of doubt. Here they are with tea." I'? DALE. And at that moment Nerve and Kill entered with two waiters, to arrange the table As soon as tea was over, Miss Hinton excused herself, and retired; while Squire Darling communed with himself to the following effect. "What Sina says, may be all very true; and in the main I believe it is; but then again, I do not like the fellow poking about here so often; and if Into gene has really discarded him-what ever could possess the girl to do it? why next thing he'll be for consoling himself with some other wo- man. And what woman so likely as Sjna? Finally! confound him! lowe the man nothing! 1 am under no obligation to receive the man here! my house is my castle-and-hospitality be sunk where the sacredness of hearth is con- cerned! Ergot P11 forbid the fellow the house! and if he wants to know the reason, I'll tell him!" And the next day proved the squire quite as rude as his word. Miss Hinton was sitting at an upper front window the next morning, when Colonel Dan. gerfield rode up. He bowed low as the mane of his horse, in answer to her nod and smile of wel- come. When he alighted, she left the room and came to tbe head of the stairs, from whence she heard his brisk knock, saw a servant go to the door, heard his deep-toned voice enquirer . "Is Squire Darling at home ?" and the false answer, "No, sir." "Let Miss Hinton know then, that I am here," said the Colonel, preparing to enter. But the man held the door in his hand. and re- plied, in the face of the truth, "Miss Hinton is not at home, sir. She left here this morning with my master, to go to Red-Stone Hall 1" Miss Rinton's face kindled with indignation, and she made one bound with the intention of running down stairs to refute the falsehood, when she felt her waist clasped from behind, and the hard voice of Squire Darling saying, "No you don't, my darling! What you told me last night I believe to have been true-but then it related to the past, and perhaps the pre- sent, but gave no earnest for the future. 'Fore wit is better than after wit'-' A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush'-and-' It's foolish to 'lock the stable-door after the steed is stolen.' Ergo, I practice 'fore wit;' I keep my 'bird in the hand,' and I secure my stablesdoors before 'the steed is stolen;' so be easy, my little girl !" The fell girl's brow grew black as night, as she turned away from him to conceal her rage, and sought her chamber. Squire Darling staid home all day. That night, after the family had retired to rest, the dark girl stealthily left her chamber, (securing tl~e door on the outside,) passed silently down th~ stairs, out of an end door, entered the stables, saddled a horse, and rode swiftly from the house. SHANNONDA LB. CHAPTER XXXIII. 'THE 5OLDIRfl'5 axST.'1 - A palace beautiful to see; Marble perched, and cedar chambered, Thing with damask drapery: Bossed with o~nameuts of silver, Inierlaid with gems and gold Filled with carvings from Cathedrals Rescued in the days of old; Eloquent with bo~ks and pictures, all that luxury can afford; Warm with statues which Pygmalion Vi ght have fashioned and adored. In the forest glades and vistas Lovely are the light and gloom; Fountains sparkle in the gardens, And exotics breathe perfume. fctacka~,. Let me pick up some of the dropped stitches in this complex net. Colonel Dangerfield, im mediately aftt~r his last recorded interview with Miss Summerfield, had hurried home. The next morning he had written hasty notes of adieu to Mrs. and Miss Summerfield, and set out upon a longjourney. Ooly very recently he was sup- posed to have returned. He was now at "Th' Soldier's Rest," the modest name he had given to his magnificent winter residence near Win- chester Since his return he had not once ap- proached Red Stone Hall This, as we have seen, had filled the heart of Mrs. Summerfield with uneasiness, roused to anxiety, when he de- clined her invitation to dinner. Well it might be so in a place where domestic and social pro- priety of conduct is so strictly enforced and ob- served, and where a departure from established nile. of manners is visited with the same severity as a dereliction from morals. It was well known throughout the whole section of country, that the heiress of Red-Stone Hall was affianced to Colonel Dangerfield ;-.that she had been withdrawn from school to fulfil this engagement; that CQlonel Dangerfield had made splendid preparations at "The Soldier's Rest" for the reception of his bride, and gossip about the costly furniture im- ported from London, Paris, and Constantinople, was circulated with the usual quantum of ex- aggeration, until curiosity was on the qui-vive for the day when the imposing nuptial~ should be celebrated, and the magnificent mansion with its superb apartments, gorgeous furniture, and splen- did decorations, should be thrown open to public reception and inspection. But days had chased days; weeks had slipped gter weeks; months had followed months; ~ second year had succeeded the first, an4 silver edged and sil- ver sealed cards of invitation summoned the eighborlng gentry to Red-Stone Hall; and the eet repose of the Soldier's Rest was ixi- roken-and what had befallen the wedding? 109 The good people of Jefferson County, you may be certain, had something to talk about. The perfect sleep of the Soldier's Rest remained un- disturbed;-the gorgeous saloons, halls and cham- bers remained closed ;-ali except the bachelor apartments of Colonel Dangerfield, situated in one of the back buildings. The curious passer by, peering through the semi-circle of lofty Lombardy poplar trees that surrounded the front of the lawn, saw only through their foliage a distant, broad expanse of glistening white mar-. ble, with row above row of highly polished, dark mahogany shutters, closely shut-the front view of the mansion white, cold, impenetrable and re- pellant as the brow of its lady elect. But as in the woman, could you have seen be- low that cold, severe surface, you would have shrunk away in horror, scorched and blinded by the fire burning there,-burning more intensely, consumingly, for its very suppression ;-so in the mansion could you have passed those marble walls, and through those polished oak galleries, halls and saloons, you might have come to a room where the light of day was excluded, where among the deep shadows sat or moved a tall, dark form-like a bad thought in a black heart~ a dark form, gloomy and glowering, upon whose countenance the lurid glare of a red coal fire cast. up a weird, demoniac lght, giving the passion- ploughed visage a yet more fell and fatal aspect; and you might have fancied that this white and glistening marble palace was the snow-covered surface of a volcano, and this murky room, with its deep black shadows and lurid red light, was the centre, the forge of the burning lava, and this dark giant moving among them the demon'- prince of the earthquake and fiery irruption. And there might have been more truth than fancy in the conceit, for in that house, in that room, in that form, in that ,1wart~ lurked, burned the spark of a passion, should it blaze out, fatal as ever fiery flood that, bursting from the bosom of a volcano, buried a city in hot lava-deeply wounded self.esteem-jealousy that had outlived the love that first gave it birth Now as he walked about the floor-the fire casting his long, black shadow up to the ceiling -he seemed restless, anxious with the expecta- tion of somebody, or something; he would go to the window, look out into the night, return and trim the fire, walk twice or thrice across the floor, open the door and peer out into the dark- ness. At last the light, swift fall of a palfrey's hoofs fell on his ear, and then starting, he seized a paper match, applied it to the fire, then to the wicks of a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and lot the scene was changed as by enchant- ment. It was no longer a baleful, black figure, moving fearfully amid black darkness,~ made visible by gleams of lurid red flame. The rays of the chandelier poured down in a thousand rainbow-colored streams of dazzling light, upoa~ page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] 110 SH A.NNONDAL E the form of a very handsome martial looking man in the prime of life, arrayed in a splendid undress uniform, and standing amid a scene of luxury a sultan might have envied. Of all the gorgeous apartments in that magnificent man- sion, none could compare with this small room for the very perfection of its adornments. The chandelier had just blazed around, when the door opened, and Sina Hinton stood in the midst of the scene; her small, slight figure attired in a closely fitting crimson satin, her jet black hair pendant in a mass of glittering spirals down her beautifully rounded shoulders, her thin, fierce face sparkling with excitement. Colonel Danger- field made an impulsive start, as though he would have caught her to his bosom, but with a quick, fierce gesture, she repelled him. Casting her riding hat with all its plumes down upon the carpet, she threw herself into a luxurious chair, and lay there, her crimson drapery warmly glow- ing in the light of the chandelier, her form and face palpitating, quivering, sparkling, blaring not unlike a small mass of fire, or a grenade half exploded, that still continues to jet and sparkle. Colonel Dangerfield checked the first impulse of astonishment, composed himself and approached Iter soothingly, "Why, Sina, Sina. What is the matter, Sina, * Sina ?" he said, cautiously approaching his hand to her h~ad, and deprecatingly, furtively'stro- king her head, as you would that of a fierce, beautiful pet cat you wished to caress, yet fear ed it should bite. Wh' then, Sina, Sina, my little salamander! my little fire queen, what is it? Who has set a match to my little powder maga- zine, now? Who now has fired my little gre- nade?" Sne struck off his hand sharply. He folded his arms across his chest thenand stood quietly and silently before her, watching her still glow- ing, sparkling scintillating with agitation. "Recollect yourself, Colonel Dangerfield, and respect me," she said at last, fiercely. He remained in the same attitude, patiently waiting for her to recover herself. At last, in~ spied by a bright idea, he turned to a small but elegant table, upon which stood several cut-glass decanters and wine glasses, and pouring out some wine, brought it to her. She pushed it away, saying, "No-would you add fire to fever? Water!" Obediently he brought a glass of water, and taking it, she quaffed it at a draught. This cooled her somewhat. Returning the glass to him, she said, "Dangerfield, bear with me! You should not cress me in a mood like this-when the wild-cat is stirred up in me as it has been to-right I" ~s Compose yourself, Sina." "Vorgiv-' me-another glass of water I thank you. I am steadied now.. -IA.p.. Dangerfieldi you got my note 1" "Yes, my delightful little torpedo, I receive your note; and have prepared my poor, lonely apartments as I best could, for this bright presence 1,, "Ah I Mary, Virgin Mother I am I never to be free from this sort of address ?" "What mean you ?" "Colonel Dangerlield I I have been indiscreet in coming to your house; yet if you knew the motive that has driven me to throw myself thus upon your magnanimity for protection-you would excuse-you would pity-succor the de- fenceless orphan girl !'~ wept Sina, bowing tier head till all her bright ringlets fell, veil like, over her witching face. "My dearest girl, explain yourself! do, Sina! Come! I am your friend-confide in me," said he, kindly taking her hand, and looking in her countenance. Sina turned her face away-stooped till her ringlets fell and veiled it, and then said, in a half stifled voice, "How shall I. tell you! how shall 1 tell you with this garish light glaring around-with your eye upon me; how, oh! Virgin Mother! shall I tell you! you of all men ?" "Nay now, I entreat you speak, Sina! Come, speak low! 1 will listen." "Ah, Dangerfield! can you not imagine the only thing that would drive me from 04k Giove, to seek advice and assistance of you-what! no answer! Shall I have to tell you then-" continued Sina, in a smothered voice, burying her face in the cushion. "That, that, that Oak Grove, that Squire Darling~s house is no longer a fit and proper home for me! There. it is out!" "SinaI Miss Hinton, you surprise me beyond measure!" "Is not my position a cruel one? Oh, is it not ?" "My dear Sina-my dear young lady, could you not have sought shelter with Mrs. Summer- field." C~Ah, sir! do you not see the reusori why I could not; the brother and sister-the father and daughter-the uncle and niece, so long estranged -so recently re-united; would you have bad me, for any selfish motive of my own, however excusable, expose that wrong which would have made more mischief between them?" This was said with an air of sincerity that would have deceived an angel-it thoroughly gulled Colonel Dangerfield. "True! most true, my high-hearted girl!' "Therefore, sirs I 4sne to you, as the only friend I knew. I cocts~ to ask you to procure, among your i~umerous acquaintances, a place 55 governess in some gentleman's family for me- and to do it quickly; and to consider with wie how I shall g' t of-what oxi-use I shall make, so as not to expose Squire Darling to his sisl~er's indignation! Can you assist me in my de- sign?" "Undoubtedly! But, Sina, I love you! love you! Let my love shield you from this servi- tude you would enter! ah, hear me, Sina!" '.Colonel Dangerfield lit is late; I must re- turn home," said Miss Hinton, rising and pick- ing up her hat. But Colonel Dangerfield caught her hand, and gently forcing her back into' the chair, said, "Not yet, Sina-and not alone; I must ride with you, when you go. And now you must listen to me. 1 love you, ~ ~ "Sir, I must depart." "Sina, my bird, you must not yet! Sina, I love you! love you; and you love me! Tell me that my affection is not altogether indifferent to "Sir! Sir! those are words you should not speak; I should not hear I" "You love me, Sina !" "Let me depart, sir !" "Yo~i do love me! every word and gesture proves it! Now tell me why these words are "Oh, sir! for many reasons. Miss Summer- field--" "'Miss Summerfield!' Well, you said there were mcny reasons; what others 7" "Sir. if Miss Summerfield were~ out of the queetion-you are a wealthy man! I a poor ~' Why, so much the better! Come, gina! any more reasons-come-come-- coma;" and with every ward, he approached his hand towards Sina's curie, as though he would have played with them-but Miss Hinton drew off and re- pulsed him. Never had SlIm permitted him so much as to lift her dark little hand to his lips. "I assure you, dearest Sina, you are a very in. consistent girl-you are at once the most prudish, and the roost indiscreet girl I ever saw! Come now! I challenge you to set up another reason for me to overthrow. Ahi you cannot do~ it I" "Yes, sir, I cans" said Sina, turning suddenly with one of her dazzling, blinding smiles; "yes, sir, I can! a rule my mother taught me before I i ever left her I" "Good! your mother's rule-what was it?" "Au! I will not tell you I" "I insist upon hearing it. Com~, your last I reason for not responding to my love; your mo- ( other's rule." "Never to talL~ of love, till my lover talked of 3 Srr'sage!" said Sina, with an arch, bright, be- ii Wildering smile. Colonel Dangerheld grew serious all of a sud- i ten. ~' Ruin. I think I do not misunderstand b you, binal Tell, me! this old sinner-this- e eurse him! I beg your pardon, Sinai He wa~ g wr~ rind,,, was he?" C The blood rushed to Sina's brow. S ST LT ""^TT A " H ANN LI A 1.1 Ed. 111 CC Rude! he pursues me with a loathsome suit -to become his wife! he follows me from room to room; my own chamber is scarcely sacred in his eyes; he denies himself anti me, to my own visitors; he stays home all day to prevent my visiting or receiving company If I ask to go out, he tells me that one horse is lame, another broken-winded, a third has cast a shoe, and the blacksmith is sick, and so on. I cannot be alone with. him a moment, that he does not press his suit; but as for being rude to me-that is the extent of his rudeness, as yet; but 1 fear him! he has no Colonel Dangerfield s fine sense of honor. I fear him horribly. I must leave his house. And that reminds me, sir, to tell you that 1 must now bid you good-night." "A moment, Sinai I wish to understand you. Why did you not take day time for this visit 7" "Because I was so closely watched! I am no more than a prisoner at large at Oak Grove." "Sinai listen to me! and reply to me as you list! I will dare to be candid for once! You are an exceedingly fascinating girl You im- press with a keen joy almoeL painful in its ex- cess." "Th.at's exceedingly candid! lovers have been that candid with ladies since Adam courted Eve I" laughed the elfish girl. "Patience! you will have no cause to com- plain of my candor-listen then. You know that there is a betrothal between myself and Miss Summerfield that .is not yet broken off. I leave had a very strong attachment to Mii.s Summer- field! I esteem her more highly than any lady I know. I should be prouder of her as a wife than of anybody I know-am 1 candid, Sina 7" "Well, I have a vague notion that you are," laughed Sina "Good! Now I have a vague notion that un- less 1 find Imogene's affections have strayed- (here Sina's eyes scintdlated).-that betroth- ruent may be consummated in marriage; but in the meantime~ my God! I love you so much I what am I to do ?" 1"Pity this is not Turkey, sir, since you love as both, for then you could marry us both I" said llna. "Witch I I-did not say I loved Imogene cx- ictlyl I love you. Listen-hear me out, Sinai -if this betrothment is broken off, and it will e, if, as I said, Imogene's fanc'~ has strayed-i. here again Sina's eyes blazed) then in that case, iina~ I am a free man, with a free hand to offer rou; and in that case, also, Sina, I bad rather ave given fifty thousand dollars than that Squire )arling had ever been rude to you, or that you ad entered my house tonight! My wife isbould e as far above suspicion as the stars above the arthi Do not turn away and weep, my uoor irli You were unfortunate, have bee,, todis- reet, that is all. You are so brav& auri pure, ma, that you do not see lurkin-' danger, luskin~ page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] 112 SHA NN sin. Come, cheer up, my own Sina, and tel me if you know-and prove it if you can -that Irno- gene has been unfaithful to her contract? Say, Sine, can you satisfy me of this ?" "And do you think, then, that I am so base as to ~etray.my friend? Let me depart, Colonel D .ngerfleld, for it is clear that the longer I stay here the worse you think of me ?" ~' No. I do not-the longer you stay here the ~etter 1 think of you, my generous but wild and imprudent girl! Come, then, Sina, I will attend you home, and see you again soon." "Alas! where? for be you sure I shall not ven- ture here again!" "Nor would I have you, Sina. I will visit you at OaIA.lrove." CGAh! No! no! no. siotatOakOrove! You would be denied admittance, and I should be persecuted afresh!" "Then we must settle where to meet as we go along," said Colonel Dangerfield. They left the luxurious room. He placed her in her saddle and leaving her there went and got his own horse in preference to calling a servant under all the circumstances, and throwing him- self into his saddle, he rode swiftly around and rejoined Sina A half hour's brisk ride brought them ~o O&k Grove. &t the gate Colonel Dan- gerfield said, "Now, Sina, I must see you once more soon, my dear girl, let me come here, that is the stra fht forward and proper course." ANn! no! ~ot here! not yet! Stop! I shall be at vespers Sunday afternoon. I shall wait in our cm tamed seat near the confessional used by Father Burleigh! that is a safe and most unex- cepionable place of meeting, for I shall stay after vespers to confession, as it is Father Bur- leigh's Sunday in the bo~ - the Sunday after next being Mr~ Vellemonte's. Do not you come into my pest until after vespers and after the con- gregation has left. Good-night! good-night!" "A kiss, Sina, one kiss!" "No, no, I save such marks of affection ror my husband, whoever he shall be," laughed Sina, flu tig through the gate and casting back a smile and glance so full of glamour, that. Dangerfield liked to have leaped the fence after her. " Air!" smiled the wily girl to herself, "I think I shai.l bring about something at this chapel yet. I heard Imogene's pretty love story once I'll see if I can't hear it again in com- pany. It is too good to be enjoyed sobus. And as for Dangerfield, he must be the company, be- cause seeing and hearing is believing." Then she stabled her horse, and softly entering the house passed up the stairs. ONDALE CHAPTER XXXIV. FHR vESPER HOUR AT 5AORED HEART. Sunday came. The Sunday upon which lmo. gene Summerfield was, according to promise, to unburden her bosom of "the perilous stuff" that had so long lain and festered there. Miss Sun. merfield was serene, though still melancholy. The corrugated brow, the strained eye, the col- lapsed cheeks and angular lines of anguish were I no longer visible-nor was her sleep that preter- natural ecstacy it had seemed before. Srae was in her chamber that morning preparing to ac- company her mother to church. It was the habit of those families who lived ten, fifteen, and even twenty miles from Sacred Roart, to leave home very early on Sunday morning, or Pu. mediately after a very early breakfast, and go to church to stay all day, that is through the early mass, the sermon, and the evening vespers-ta. king with them one or two servants and u ham- per of provisions. And it is one of the queer and picturesque sights periuliar, I believe, to the old and sparsely settled counties of MaryLand and Virginia, to see the small country church, in its grove of trees, with carriages and horses tied to almost every tree, and after the sermon, negroes lounging about, or feeding horses, and famiLes at lunch in their carriages or even in their pews. Mrs. Summerfield, besides a hamper of provi- sions for her own family, always took a bottle of crusted port or of champagne, and some rare dainty besides for Father Burleigh; and frequent. by after vespers were over in the evening, Miss Mattie Smilie would come to her pew door with her round face, meek, chastened smile and plea- sant voice, and press Mrs. Summerfield and '*Miss Imogene" to stop in at the cottage and take a cup of tea and some of her nice egg-pont to warm them before their ride home-and as frequently Mrs. Summerfield would smilingly accept the affectionate invitation. That little Miss Mattie was so neat and nice and fragrant! though I think somehow or other the dear old soul never got any new clothes. In church you might always see her in a faded light calico gown "clean as a penny," and "neat as a new pin," and a faded, light colored cleaa shawl, and an old-fashioned clean straw bonnet, with, a washed and ironed ribbon on it, with a blue- white crimped, full cap border all around her dear old edifying face. And there was always that smell of fragrant dried herbs about, her, for Miss Mattie's clothes, house, table, and bed linen, when not in use, were literally "laid up in lavender," or bergamot, or sweet marjoram, or sassafras, for her clean old chest-drawers and presses were full of them. And indeed in my infancy when [ heard for the first time of the "odor of sanctity," I thought it had reference to Miss Mattie, her fragrant dried herbs and her SHANN( 5~~flf5~ relics. When in her extreme old age I once visited herald she hung around my neck an Agsrus Dei, a small pink satin heart stuffed, and in the very middle of the stuffing a relic t)3e size of half a rice grain, saying it was the bones of St. Agnes, Virgin and Martyr, and that it was a "protection against temptation"-it smelt so fragrant of lavender and bergamot, that saints bones and aromatic dried herbs entered my head together, and have never been separated since. She used to make me fancy, too, in spite of all the glistening and bristling new finery of a country church, that light colored "fady" cali- coes, and old poke bonnets with washed and ironed ribbons, were the very neatest and sweetest dress in the world. One thing I felt sure, that Miss (~Iattie was the very cleanest, neatest, most fragrant little fat and rosy old lady 1 ever looked at, and the mildest, meekest, most composing and refreshing old lady I ever talked with. She had but one trouble in the world, and that was, as she would say, with her good smile, "Poor Sammy and his ways," meaning-if you have "forgotten to remember" the relation-Mr. Sammy Smilie of Harper's Ferry, and she only regretted her poverty because she would have no money to leave to pay for having masses said for the repose of Sammy's soul after his death. No bright young child, no beautiful and good girl ever brought more quiet sunshine into a church or dwelling than did Miss Mattie, with her edifying manners, as I said, half bonhom- mb, half beatitude. She would mildly and smi- lingly exhort the rich to trust in God and try this nice soup, in the same sentence; and talk of the joys of Heaven, and the juices of this nice new ham so strengthening to the stomach and so gocd to coax a lingering appetite, in the same breath. She would kneel down quite naturally arid pray for the conversion of people's souls and the cure of their cholics, in the same tone. I am not sure when her chickens had the pip that she did not make it a subject of fasting and prayer. I knew very well when she lost her well worn and faded thread gloves, she fasted and prayed every day till they were found, for she told old Nerve so, who replied to her, "Well! I should be afraid to bother my bless- ed heavenly Marster about such trifles." c~But, honey, it wezrn't a true, it cost me three-fippenny bits, and I had not had 'em over two years, and they were jest as gqod as bran new except that there was about six or seven, or in- deed for that matter it might have been eight little darns in 'em; and that-was-all, and neither do I think that the Blessed Lord and the ever blessed Virgin ia in defiant to what grieves their childun-~even gloves - because you see, honey, I sinful poor creature as I am, pity even a little duck with the gapes5 or a fly drowned in tim water, and is the Lord alay less loving than what I am?" 10' )NDALE. 113 But this is a flagrant digression-I must stop. Though I could go on much farther With details about the old priest's housekeeper, very interesting to me, certainly, but not so much so I fancy to you, and I some how regret that at the end of this tale of real life, I shall have to drop Miss Mattie without having made you ac- quainted with half her meek and enduring virtues. Mrs. Summerfield had put her basket of lunch into the hands of her servant, with directions to stow it away in the box of the carriage, and to mount himself, speedily, and be ready to at- tend them to open the gates, and then she had gone up stairs to see Imogene before their depar- ture. ~C How do you feel now, my dearest child ?" she asked, stealing her arm around her Waist as she stood before a glass arranging her hair, "Calm, mother, very calm." "I am pleased, Imogene, there is one thing I never mentioned to you." "Well, mother ?" "That night upon which I woke you up, was not the ~rst night I had watched by you while sleeping." "My dear, dear mother! did I merit such goodness at your hands ?" "Yes, Imogene, my love, why not? Besides, Imogene, I will tell you-what--now I fear you will never prove, in your own self, namely-that a mother's love never slumbers nor sleeps. But, Imogene, there at your bedside I witnessed a phenomenon I cannot ~ "Well, mother ?" "Pei~haps you can explain ~ "I do not know-let me hear it." "You-but tell me first, how did you usually rest, imogene ?" "Delightfully, mother. My life, indeed, was 'two-fold-sleep had its own world."' "Ab !-go on." "Full of bitterest remorse, and most insuffer- able anguish, as my days were, mother, I could not tell you how delicious were my nights, my' dreams-nor how the blissful visions of the night enhanced the misery of the next day. It was a psychological mystery, mother !-I had no control over my dreams. I have believed in the possibility of controlling dreams, but I could not do it. I would pray, read, fall asleep re- peating a prayer, and instantly be transported by sleep into another world-into a higher, deep.. or, broader, fuller sense of existence, into the midst of visions that Would seem far more real to me than does this waking life." "And the specific nature of' those visions, Imogene ?" "It is difficult to recall them In all their glory, mother-mother, they leave on my mind a vague memory of unutterable happiness, for which I should nevertheless feel unmitigated regret, for page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] 114 SHANN~ -listen, mother, mind, in all these I had one, but one companion-the one that 1 have made my idol-the priest, Claude Vellemonte I" "Oh, Imogene !" "Listen, mother, as soon as I fell asleep, he stood by my side; we wandered, hand-in-hand, through marble halls, cooled with sparkling fountains; perfumed with myriads of flowers; musical with millions of birds; and thence, into the saloons, hung with richest and rarest paint- ings, with niches filled with marble statues; through, into chambers of more splendor and luxury than Eastern poetry and magnificence could imagine; and thence again, into gardens of more than ideal beauty, and exuberance of exotic vegetation; and through orchards of rich and blooming tropical fruit; into vineyards, where the purple grape, like clusters of rubies, hung amid leaves of emeralds; out into fields of ever fresh verdure, cool and green, and gently undulating off to the distant light-blue, transpa- rent horizon; through forests of mighty trees; and at every step the vision extended, or our soulsexpanded, and the horizon grewwiderand at last we took in the whole earth, from pole to pole, with its mighty oceans, studded with green tro- pical, and with icy arctic and antarctic isles, with its navies and sea-ports; the broad conti- nents, with their long rivers, lofty mountains, burning volcanoes, nations, kingdoms, towns and cities I All these passed in panorama before our vision! Yet, mother, in all this, my happi- ness-the very climax of my joy was-6y my I side! Can I tell you how we talked? The earth floated off below, as we soared into space. Then, looking down, we saw the floating globe. I That vision of the earth, seen from above, is distinct in my memory. The great globe of I forest-covered land, and isle-studded water, with the Northern icebergs glancing in the sun. I I never realized how little room the cities, towns and villages-all the dwelling places of man, j took up in the green earth, till I saw it in my I dream, floating below me, like a ball of green and variegated land, sparsely enameled with cities; and of blue water, thinly dotted with islands. Then, mother! what shall I tell you I of the glory of the heavens, as seen in my vision -worlds-oh, as far more glorious than this., as I the sun at noon-day is more glorious than a taper. I I tire you, mother.?' t "No-but that will do-I understand now the e happiness of your sleep, I have heard physi. I clans say, that some mindo absorbed in sorrow s all day, will, by a natural re-action, a merciful d law of our being-pass into another set of ideas, I and dream blissfully at night. I sometimes c thought of that while watching you." s "Ab, my dear mother, how you lost your d 'cest for your brain-sick, heart-sick child. But ahl c the sin of my blissful dreams w~as-their travel- ~ ling companion." ~N T A T. W ~IIANNOND ALE. 11~ "No more of that, (lear Imogene. This even. log you will cleanse your soul 01 that involunta. ry sin. Come, Imogene, it is time to go, my ~lear." "Sina, I shall go with you to church, to-day," said Squire Darling to Miss Hinton, that morn- ing at breakfast. "Shall you, sir ?" asked the young lady. "Yes, I shall; and 1 shall stay all day, and return with you alter vespers." "Do you not think it will be too much for you, sir? Recollect, you have not ridden so far yet-nor have you yet attempted to sit up all day, without your mid-day nap." "Tender creature! I can take my mid-day nap in my comfortably cushioned pew, between morning and evening service, as well as not-so please to have a chicken fried, and some ham, and tongue, and pickles, with bread and butter, and a bottle of sherry, put up in a basket, Miss Hinton." "Certainly, sir. "By-the-way-have you seen Colonel Dan- gerfield lately, Sina ?" "No, sir." "When did you see him ia.st ?" "Upon the morning-Friday morning, I be- lieve it was, when you denied yourself and me to him!" "Is that intended as a reproach, Sino? Yes, [did deny you to him, my little dear! my tor- menting little joy! my sweet, sweet Sina! Do von think, my pet, my little black bantam pou- Let, that I am going to let that cockerel of a young officer plume his gay feathers, and strut ibout my barn door? No indeed, Sina! And besides, pretty little black-haired Sina, I am go- .ng to church with you to-day, to take care of ~ouI AhI Sina, 1 shall have twice as much oy of you, my little crab-apple, because 1 know hat fellow in the moustachen and epaulettes is wished, confound him! No, Sinetta! 1 do rot nean once to lose sight of you, until the law has ~ivcn me a property in you, and a right to reak any civil or military coxcomb's head who lares to know whether you are handsome or homely! What !-the mischief !-a girl I have iad in my house two years! and loved all the line-for a blue and buff fellow, with a couple of paulettes, to come-to intrude-to invade my iouse, and want to rob me of its dearest trea- ure, its brightest ornament? No, indeed! The 1-1 fly away with all dandies, civil and military, say! They are in league against the unity f my home, and the peace of my heart! One onnetizing, musickizing fellow carries off my Laughter, which was bad enough-and now an- thor Signior Don Monsieur Orlando Moustacirie rants to carry off my sweet-heart, which is in- initely worse! Thunder and lightning I-it's a I wonder I had not broke the fellow's head when saw approaching the church. She smilingly he 'eme here last Friday morning I" greetec triat lady, as she alighted from the car- "Squire Darling, [told you before, and I tell Piage, and she affectionately saluted Imognne, you again, Colonel Dangerfield is not, and never whose high, pale brow, dark, serious eyes. and can be your rival I" serene lips-whose whole sweet, solemn coun- And I know better, pepper-pod! you little tenancy, wore the expression of rapt religious viper you I I know that every unmarried man in abstraction and exaltation As if absorbed in the parish is my rival! Haven't I eyes ?" high and fervid devotion, and fearing to break "U~.e them then, sir, and see a little, pale, her train of thought and feeling, Imogene mere- hard-favored girl, whom nothing but her black ly silently pressed Miss Mattie's hand, a~ she eyes and black hair redeems from utter hideous- passed on, and immediately entered the church ness" and her pew. Mrs. Summerfield followed, and K "Ah. good I-nothing but black eyes [-and took a seat by her side. accompanied by Miss in them a spell, a glamour, a power that would Mattie, who passed on to her own pew, at the wile an arch-angel from heaven! You tnke a upper end of the church. Theae were scarcely raking aim at a man with those eyes, and he is seated when another party entered-namely: perforated through and through-annihilated, our stout and fair-haired squire, strutting porn- and reels and staggers like a ship before it set- pously on, wiping the perspiration from his rosy tles and sinks, Nothing but your-eyes! Good! face with his scarlet bandanna pocket-handker- -the bird has nothing but her dong; the sphynx chief in one hand, while under the other arm nothing but her riddle; Jupiter nothing but his was securely tucked his little evil sprite, Sina, thunder-bolt; and you! nothing but your ey&s!" in her tight-fitting, fiery crimson satin, and long, "It seems to me, sir, that you are angry jetty ringlets, and perilous eyes. The dangerous with me without a cause. Your manner toward i eyes were cast demurely down, and the long, me is as full of hatred, as of friendship I" black lashes and ringlets drooping. On strutted "Ah, Sina, I am provoked. Set fire to that our squire, clipping her little arm close to his fellow !-why the furies didn't I shoot him ?" side, with his head erect, should*-rs thrown "Indeed you terrify me~ Squire Darling." back, chest expanded, and every gesture breath- "Well, then, let me marry you, Sina, and it ing determination and defiance, to what, or of will all be over. Come, what hinders, this whom-who could tell? Sina, possibly. He morning-in church-before mass. Come. Sina, passed Sins into his pew, and closing the (loot, let it be so I Oh, Sina, I will take such good seated himself by her side, and between her and care of you. I will treat you so well-love you everybody else, just as the altar door opened, so dearly-come, SinaI" and Mr. Vellemonte appeared in his surplice, ~. Squire Darling, you promised not to mention followed by six lads, as sacristans- Soon the this subject to me again for four days." sublime chant of the mists-era commenced, fol- 'Ehur days !-by the d-l and all his angels! lowed by the oremu.s, and then the Holy Niass. Fb,~r days, when it was only cseo-wlen the The sermon from the text, "Love one another," lou.- are out, she'll say eight-then sixteen, and was eloquent with that spirit of light and love next, thirty-two I" that peculiarly distinguished Mr. Vellemonte's "No, I will not, sir, indeed I will not. It was preaching. At the close of the sermon. when four days-they will be out on Wednesday even- he came down from the pulpit, and passed on ing, and on Wednesday evening I will give you before the altar, his countenance was elevated, an answer." irradiated with a high, celestial inspiration. "You will ~ "His face was as the face of an angel." Imo- "Indeed I will I" gene, too, had caught from him the spirit of reli.. "Without fail 1" gious ecstasy, and sat there in her pew, rapt in "Without fail I" a sort of inspired trance. When the congrega- "We'll see! Come, it is time to be off to tion were retiring, little Miss Mattie, breathing church." of bergamot through all her clean, faded clothes, came up to the pew door to ask Mrs. Summer- Miss Mattie, in the Sacred Heart parsonage, field if she would not come into the cottage, and was getting ready for mass, mildly lecturing stay to vespers. There was a fine fire in the Barriette between times, upon sundry improprie- cottage parlor, and she was going to get a cup ties, and disorders of drei's and manners, to of strong coffee, as the day was chilly, she said. which the merry girl wa~ particularly addicted. Now Mrs Summerfield knew that the contents And as soon as she was ready, she went out in of her hamper would be a valuable addition to her old-fashioned straw bonnet and faded buff.. the meagre cottage fare, and therefore she at white shawl, and frock, and well thumbed once accepted the invitation, giving orders to mass-book, and pocket handkerchief, scented her servant to take the hamper into the patio.- with a sprig of lavider between its folds, to nage Squire Darling now came up, with hjs meet Mrs Summerfield, whose 'carriage ~he little inflammation of the heart still tucked under page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] 116 SHANN his arm, and greeted his sister and niece. He and his brain-fever joined the cottage party, and ordered of! their basket in the track of Mrs. Suumerlield's hamper. Miss Summerfield re- quested to be left alone in the church. Her wien excited no surprise. It was not unusual- such retirement, for self-examination and prayer in the time of Lent So Imogene was left to her meditations in the lonely church, while the rest of the party migrated to the cottage parlor. In their route thither, they passed several par- ties, like themselves, coming from a distance, and staying all day at church. Dear little Miss Mattie smiled, and nodded meekly, as she pass- ed them, looking very much as though she would like to have them all along, but that was im- possible-the tiny cottage not having the capa- cit.ies of a large hotel for accommodation; so Miss Mattie bad to content herself with promis- ing mentally to invite some among them next Sabbath, and all, each in their turn. Squire Darling followed last of all, with his little ring- lotted infatuation still hanging on his arm. "Ab, my little Carditis I -he wasn't here to- day! Isn't it a pity, now? My dear little blaze, I'm sorry for you-you burn quite blue upon the occasion I" "I do not in the least understand you, Squire Darling!" "Don't it-the innocent! Colonel Danger- field was not at church this morning I" "Was he not-I did not observe." "Oh! ho-ho-.-ho-ho! as if one could be- lieve that 1" The fat squire was in an angry, jealous, mock- ing, yet triumphant mood. Miss Hinton dropped her long, black lashes, ~.nd long, black ringlets, and looked persecuted and patient. She was temporarily delivered from her tyrant, at the pic-nic dinner-table in the cottage kitchen. Evening came. Vespers were over. The con- gregation were departing. Squire Darling with a look of huge gratification tucked his beautiful crimson sin under his arm, and prepared for a start, saying, brutally, "Ah! my dear Cardialgy-not here this evening either! however, misery likes company, my dear Ruby, and there is Miss Harry, whose heart is breaking too, in the same cause-and there is my superb niece looking like a martyr, infatuated with the stake! Come along, Cardi- ..lgy, let us go home." "Thank you sir! I have accepted an invita- tion from Mrs Summerfield, to. return with her to-night!" said Miss Hinton, with a look of malice. "The d-l you have !" exclaimed the thun- derstruck and enraged squire. *Hep.rt.burn. ONDALE. It was no use though. His anger was per- fectly impotent. He was tempted to go to his sister, with Sina under his arm, and say to her, "Here! this is the cause of the fatal estrange. ment between Dangerfield and Imogene,"-but as I said before, in his greatest fury, Siria's honor was not forgotten. Re would bitterly upbraid and brutally tyrannize over her himself, but he would not expose her to the slightest reproach from any otherT-so the squire bolted his fury, and took leave of Sina and his sister, telling hex that he should send the carriage for Miss Hinton, early the next morning- Mrs. Summerfield went again into the cottage, to wait until her daugh- ter's religious exercises were over. Father Bur- leigh went into the confessional. Miss Summerfield-her pale brow still lumi- nous with the glory of inspiration, passed on to the church~ The inside of the church -the splendid altar-the gorgeous pictures-were all glorious in the golden lustre of the setting sun, that pouring through the western windows, yel- low-flooded the whole sdene. The altar occu- pied the centre of the north end-the pulpit the right hand corner, and the confessional the left hand; both these were hung with scarlet drapery, and glowed hotly in the sunshine--a few moments-and then-even as Imogene entered the confessional-the 5~~5 disc dropped behind the near mountain, and the whole church fell into sudden gloom. It was about this time, that Sina-expressing a wish to retire to the church and prepare her soul by seif-examisration and pray&, for the sa- crament of confession-left Mrs Summerfield. It was deep twilight gloom, when she softly glided in her serpentine motion up the aisle and slippeJ into a closely curtained box, near the confessional, and never used but as a place of strict retiracy for meditation, previous to con- fession. She had been here perhaps five minutes, whpn the curtains were parted and another person en- tered. It was Col. Dangerfield. He pressed her hand in silence, awed by the holy stillness of the place, and passed on to the seat she indicated on the other side of herself, and nearest the con- fessional. He sat down and turned to speak to her-when she raised her linger to her lips, in token of silence, just as the profound stillness of the church was broken by the low tones of a deep, rich voice, saying-"Bless me, Father, be- cause I have sinned." He recognized Imogene's full, round tones, in the opening of the ritual. There was a pauses-disturbed bythe solemn, but inaudible voice of the aged priest. Col. Danger- field with a start of surprise-got up-would have left the pew, but that Sina put her hand upon him, with an imploring look, and pressed him down into his seat, just as Miss Summer- field's low, melodious voice was heard again in the comfiteor-but the words were nearly inau- S I-I AN N 0 dible, until she was heard to murmur, "I accuse myself of having given to the creature-the love -the adoration- -the worship due only to God" Then, her voice was again inaudible during the five or ten minutes that her rich, deep tones trembled onward in her story. Then her voico ceased. There was a dead, dead pause.- Again Colonel Dangerfield started to icave, but Sina turning very pale, leaned against the front of the pew, barricading the door, and signed to him that she felt extremely agitated-horrified by what it appeared she had heard, though he had not! she signed to him to wait a moment, until she should have recovered herself. Re dropped again into his seat, with a dark frown of impatience. This eaves-dropping, although it was, on his part, and he believed on Sina's, quite involuntary, and although he actually as yet, bad heard little or nothing,-was neverthe- less, extremely repugnant to his sense of honor. Now the deep, stern, awful voice of the priest arose-yes, deep, stern and awful as that of the Judge at the last day-falling upon the ears of the stout soldier, and of the little demon by his side with awful impression-with the thunder of the final doom. The first words of the so- lemn denunciation were lost, and nothing was heard distinctly until he said, "And lastly, oh, thou pernicious girl 1-since thou hast dared in defiance of God'.~ blighting curse, to lift thy impious thoughts and sacrilegi ous eyes up to the Lord's annointed-the holy one of Israel-the beloved son 01 Christ-the gi1te~l young brother whose exalted piety has endowed him, in the opinion of the people, with the gift even of miracles-hear thy sentence I- through thy very sin shalt thou do penance!- through thy very sin shalt thou have added to the fires of consuming remorse-the shame of utter self-abasement, and of utter humiliation! Hear! To this pure and holy man shalt thou go, and to him, who, in the untarnished image of hi. Maker, is of too pure eyes to behold iniquity, -to him shalt thou confess thy impious-thy sa- creligious love-that in his utter loathing of thy degradation and thy guilt, thou mayest grow to apprehend its enormity; and from him shalt thou receive the sentence of penance, he shall think most necessary to expiate thy atrocious crime, and to save thy else too surely lost soul, from ut- ter perdition!" A long, low scream of "mercy! mercy!" a heavy fall-and then Colonel Dangerfield, start- ing to his feet, upsetting his little devil in his haste, and rushing to the confessional, raised the fainting form of Imogene Summerfi~ld~ and bore it from the church, and into the cottage. * . . . a a An hour afterwards, Imogene opened her eyes. The shame, the terror, the anguish, were alJ gene. Her face revealed a heavenly serenity- nay, indeed, it seemed that while her body had NUA1S~E 117 beer. lying in insensiburty. her soul must have been in heaven, and received some divine inspi- ration, for when she opened her eyes, her coUrt- tenance beamed with a celestial glory, even on the stern old priest bending over her bed; and her tones were full of earnest love when taking his hard, old hand between her own, she said, "I thank you for making him my judge! I accept it! to him will I reveal my whole soul-from him receive my sentence-and suffer it, what. ever it be, with, oh! how much joy I" "Sina, I am free! Sina, will you have me?" ~Yes.~ Then, Colonel Dangerfield folded the wily sy- ren to his bosom, imprinting on her lips the very first kiss she had ever permitted, deeming him- self "very blest." CHAPTER XXXV. THE DEMONIAC. I am disgraced, impeached and baffled here; Pierced to the ~il with anger'e venomed spear; The which no b~1m can cure but his heart's blood, Which breathed this poison. Shakspeare True to his promise or his threat, Squire Dar- ling had sent his carriage over to Re',-Stone early the next morning; and as Mrs Simmer- field, pre-occupied and abstracted. did not h'n.k ~to invite Miss Hinton to prolong her stay at Red- Stone, our syren had no alternative but to return to her hated home. As she was about to enter the carriage, a servant of Colonel Dangerfield's rode up and put a note in her hand. She opened it hastily and read SOLDIERS REST. Monday, April let. Mv DEAREST SINA :-I have been thrown from my carriage and nave been laid up all day-with a sprained ankle-nothing verse. on)y that it prevents me having the pleasure or seeing my dear girl to-flay, and waiting upon Squire Dar- hug, as I intended to do, lot th~ purpose o' an- nouncing to him our engagement. I am so dreadfully ennnyee, that I am almn4 teinpten to ask my brave. in;iscreet girl, to come aid pay me a visit; at least I certainly will not lec' ure her as before if she does, as "circumstances alter cases." Thine, longii.g to s e thee H. L. DANGERFIELD, Miss Hinton put this in her pn.~ke, and the carriage rolled on towards Oak Grove. Arrived at the fork in the road where the leit hand turn led to t.he "Soldier's Rest," Miss Hinton called to the driver, "Uncle Kill! Uncle Kill I" "Turn down to the left; I have a letter to take from Red-Stone Hall to the "Soldier's Rest " "EhI what! yes! certainly, Miss! .ukawas it you said I" page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] 118 SH A N N Miss Hinton repeated her order. "Can't do it, Miss." '5Wlirst? how dare you, sir, disobey my order? Turn instantly to the left!" "Sorry I can't obligerate you, Miss Sina; but ole master's orders to fetch you straight home were very peremptolute." - "See here, sir i you insolent fellow!" said Sina, burning with rage, "turn immediately where I tell you, or you shall meet with severe punishment." "Tnat may be a doubtingency, Miss Sina, if I don't; whereas, if I does turn out with you, it'! be an absolutive certainty I" and so saying, the old negro put whip to his horses and drove furiously to ~vards Oak Grove Arrived there, Miss Hinton went into the diaw- ing-room, an4 sent for S~nire Darling. Squire Darling was having a conversation with old Kill. Poor old Kill! he thought by his literal obedience to ordei a to merit his master's approbation. So it was with visible delight that he related hie little altercation with Miss Hinton, taking care to say, however, that he would very gladly have obliged Miss ~1inton, if he co* have done so without disobeying his master. Our stout squire fell into a rage with Sines, inhat positively threat- ened to end in an apoplectic fit. But with his habitual care for Miss Hinton's standing in the household, be relieved himself, and deluded and alarmed poor old Kill, by bursting into a fit of violent fury upon kim. demanding to know why he did not mind Miss Hinton? His own com- mands were to be obeyed, it was true, alecats, ex~epiing when Miss Ilinton'i wishes interfered! He (old Kill) knew that! He ought to have his bar" head broken! It should be done the next time such a thing occurred! Now we all know that had poor old Kill committed the mistake of taking Sina to the Soldier's Rest, he would have virtually signed his own passport to cotton fields of Mississippi. And in fact the old man still suspected as much hiq~iself s how- ever, with a deprecating "reverence" he re- plied, that he was very sorry to have mistaken his master's wishes; that it was not yet too late to remedy the error; that the horses were still quite fresh; finally that he could then drive Miss Binton where she wished to go. "No SIR! It is dinner time! Miss Hinton is also very much fatigued I I shall not permit her to go over all that ground again! Begone i" It was at this moment that the message from Sina arrived, calling him into the drawing-room. He went in. putting a violent restraint upon him- self, welcomed her home, and desired to be in- formed of her particular pleasure and purpose in sending for him. '1 "Colonel Dangerfield 'is indisposed at the 'Soldier's Rest.' I am the bearer of a letter from Red-Stone Hall to him. I wished to take it there at once, but your man, Achilles, refused I 'ON DALE to drive me thither. Now I wish you i:o give order. that I may go." "Not for tue world, my dear Miss Hinton I you are mad! A young lady visit an unmarried gentleman at his home! Upon no account what. ever! 1 will take the letter myself. Where is it, Sinai" "Excuse me, sir, 1 must only deliver this let. ter with my own hand.' "Ahi who is it from, Sinai My sister? Imogene 1" "Squire Darling, it seems to me that you are cross-questioning me!' ft Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho I" laughed the squire. "No, my dear Sinai but in a word, I cannot send you to the 'Soldier's Rest' to-day upon any pretense whatever! Let the Red-Stone Hall folks find their own messengers. Anything else, Miss Hinton, that I can do for your pleasure- not that! not that, my dear Carditis! It is too much to ask of a man! What, the d-~-.l! ar~ you so deeply disappointed at not seeing him at chapel all day yesterday, that you must go and make him a visit to-day ?" Whether Sina Elinton's guardian demon de. served her that night or not, I do not know. Certain it is, however, that she was not one to brook control, or bear disappointment. The time was not ripe, openly to defy Squire Darling, if indeed defiance would have served her turn at all. Be that as it might have been, at eight o'clock, Miss Hinton bade good-night to Squire Darling, and retired to her own room-not to stay, however; very soon she cautiously emerged from the chamber, and creeping stealthily down stairs, saddled a horse with her own hands, and left the house as before, unconscious of a dark figure on horse-back perseveringly dogging her course. The same luxurious chamber, the same hand- some occupant awaited our little villain; the only difference being that Colonel Dangerfield, in a gorgeous dressing-gownreclined in a large, easy chair, covered with gold colored satin, with his wounded foot resting upon a cushion. "My dear, brave, imprudent girl! I knew you would come! but why then not come in the day-time and 'with a proper escort ?" Sina explained, with luxuriant embellishments, the occurrences of the day. "My dear Sinai to what a tyranny yon are subjected. But take courage, Sinai As soon as I can get a boot on this cursed-I beg your pardon-I meant to say this crippled foot, I shall go over to Oak Grove, and paying Squire Dar- ling the respect due him as your guardian, little is he deserves it, I shall ask leave to visit you it his house, informing him of our engagement it the sa~ne time. I do trust, my dear love, that shall be able to come over to-morrow" SHANNOND ALE. Sina exerted all her powers of fascination that evening, and with unprecedented success; never was a rational man more thoroughly bewildered, a christian man more completely bed~ivllled than was Colonel Dangerfield when Sina left him that night. Look where he would, or shut his eyes if he pleased, the image of a fiery and intoxica- ting sprite in crimson satin, whose eyes were grappling hooks, whose ringlets were nets and meshes, caught and entangled him. In the meantime our little scamp pursued her way lame, where a warm welcome was await- ing her, of which by the way she was quite un- conscious. Squire Darling paced up and down the long area of his library, cursing the lameness that still prevented his mounting a horse. Now he stood with his back to the glowing hickory fire; now he walked to the window and looked out into the night; now he pulled the bell rope violently, unil the whole house resounded, and the whole grove echoed, bringing in a servant. "Has Achilles returned yet ?" "Curse him, he is very slow! Do you be on the watch for him, sir, and as soon as he comes, do you take charge of his horse yourself, and send him without the loss of a moment's time to me." "Yes, sir; anything else master I" " No, go l,~ The man withdrew. "Satan snatch the fellow! what keeps him so long-nine-yes, by Jove, ten o'clock, and he not returned yet." He seized the bell rope and gave it another succession of violent jerks. The man immedi- ately re.entered. "More light here! My candle is sinking in its socket." "Yes, sir! Uncle Kill has come, Sir I I hear his horse's hoofs gallopping into the yard now." "Out of my sight then, in double quick time, and send him up here; let Aim bring the candies." C~Yes, sir," and the man withdrew. In a very few minutes Uncle Kill entered the room bearing the lights. "Ahi you have come! Set them on the chimney-piece! Now then-yo~i kept a watch over your young lady." "Yes, sir." * "You followed her at a respectful distance- near enough to protect, yet not near enough to annoy her." "Yes, marster-no, marster-I means she never knowed nothing' 'bout my hem' on to her track!" "Be careful of your phraseology, sir I On Aer tresek! On J2vZiss.Hinton'e track-what insolence is that?" ' 119 "I beg your and Miss Hinton's pardons sir; I meant to say how she never knowed as how she had a faithful sarvint behind her a keeping' df a watch over her for to keep off purl." "Very well! but now then, if it be in you at all to give a consecutive narrative, do it~" "Sari,, "If you can tell a straight story, confound you! tell it. Where and when did you first see Miss Hinton after ihe left the parlor 1" "Yes, sir! at the md door, sir I" "When-what hour ?" "At half-past eight o'clock, sir I" is "Yes, by the devil's dam, whose daughter she I,' muttered the squire, between his teeth, "that was the hour she took leave of me for the night, saying that she had already kept me up beyond my time, which was true, and that she would then go to bed herself, which was false. Well, sir! what then I" "You, see, roarster, how it wur very dark, and I was a-settin' underneath them there stone stairs as goes down from that there same md door, and every singly soul 'bout the plantation wur gone to bed, 'cept 'twur you, master, and me, and one other person. Last I heerd the door over 'hove my head open, and creak, and shet, and a soft pit pat, like a little cat's steps a comm' down the stairs; then I peeped out from underneath my bidin' place, an' I cotch my eye on to Miss Sina-least-wise, I mean- an' I swear to man, sar, it wur the Lord's blessed truffe-I seed in the black dark-and it wur so thick, black dark, you might leant up aginat the darkness and gone to sleep-the darkness walled you up all around; 'deed it seemed like it wur not possible to get through it without cutting your way through the solid darkness with a strong an!" "The d-l, sir I go on wita your story I,, Ct Yes, sar-yes, master! well, in course, ~ couldn't see Miss Sina, for there wasn't a singly star in the sky, but what I did see wur-and it is the blessed Lord's holy truffe-ker two e~'ev~ large and shinin' like two stars near the earth, and moving along in the solid darkness like wolf's eyes, and that was all I could see of her!" "Be careful, you black rascal! mind yourself, sir, and know of whom you spesir I R'~flect, sir, that you were ordered to follow that eccen. tric young lady at a respectful distance for her protection," said the squire, almost vainly try. ing to reconcile his system of espionage with-the idea of perfect confidence in, and respect for his charge, with which he wished to impress his household. "Go on, sir." "Well, master, she, 1 mean the young lady, sir, Miss Sina Hinton p~sed on through the solid darkness without no light 'cept 'twur her bla- zing eyes! beg your pardon, sir, on to the stable, sir, where she leads out and saddles a creetur that war no less than Fleetwood, as she knciwed A page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] 120 * wonned the golden cup at the Battletown race last fall." "Yes !-well ~ "She saddles of him quick as wink, jump into the seat, and is off like a streak of light nin'." "Well! well! you followed her ?" "Yes, sur, yes, master, but not en to tin ereetur I most in general rides, and that is what] wanted to 'xplain to you, sir, cause I neve: makes ure o' the bloods, sir, 'cept in a case oi 'cessity-more especlailarly in the night season~ sir, cause "Zounds, sir! go on with the narrative with. out flying digressions upon horse-flesh." "Yes, sir. Yes, master. She sour progress- ing on a flyin' peece o' horse-flesh, and that wa: the reason why I knowed Chally could neves overtake that there-cause you see, master, as I often explainedd afore, sir, that time Marse Ed. gar and Miss Winny-" "Set fire to 'Marse Edgar and Miss Winny,' where the jack-o'-lantern are you wandering now?" "Yes, sir! yes! I was jes gwine to explainn how it wur all along o' Chally." "D-n Chally! "Yes sir! I say so too, axing your pardon, 'ca'se ef it hadn't o' been for he-" "Thunder and lightaina! what is all this about Charlie to do with it? Where did Miss Hinton go ?" "Yes, sur! She goed straight through the forest road towards Soldier's Res', sir I" "And then-" "Then I saddled Lightfoot, sir, though he wur one o' the best bloods, 'ca'se if I had rid Chub "Zounds and the d-l! if you say Chally again I'll be the death of you. Come! what next ?" "1 gallopped arter her, sir, hard as I could till she must o' heern me." "Blockhead!" "No I wur not, sir! cause when I heern her stop to listen, I stops and turns softly side o' the road and goes into the woods, till 1 heern her go on again. Then 1 thought as there wur no turning' for half a milemay be I had better 'pond on to the dsrk an' ride swift past of her an' wait fur her at the fork, an' so I did, sir, and she stopped when she heern my creeter comin' and stood stitl some where in the dark-some 'ore 'side o' the road, tell 1 gailopped past. I got to the fork and waited under the trees till 1 heerd her come sweeping past like a gale o' wind up the right han' road, an' then 1 know.~d how she sour goin' to the Soldier Res' for true, an' no whar else-so I followed after her soft and swift, an' kep nigh to her, too, 'ci~se 1 wur on Light- foot-where as ef I had o' rid my ole creetur Chally-" s "Fire and blood! if you go off on Chally agein I'll split you down." "I didn't, sir! 1 didn't! 'deed I didn't go of! on Chally as I wur about to explain , 'deed he - ain't fit for to be rid no longer. 1 good off on Lightfoot as I said, sir, 'ca'se I had had 'nough experiencee o' Chally" "Humph, Achilles, you know what lam when I I turn pale, and what 1 mean when I speak low. Now, mark me, tell me about Miss Hinton with- out once diverging from the straight line of the story-without once again naming Lig~foot, Fleetwood, Charlie or any of your four-footed * friends and acquaintances. Now, then, go on." "Yes, sir! well, sir! I keeps a hind o' her all the way tell we comes to the glen-then I takes a short cut through the glen and brings up under- neath the poplar trees as circles round three * sides o' the lawn. 1 ties my creetur in a hidy place and runs 'long under the fence till I gets roun' to the back o' the house. The back gate wur open an' I slips in, and goes whar I sees a light a glimmerin' through the 'netian blinds o' a great big md window, a~ I afterwards found out wur Colonel Dan gerfield's own room. So 1 hides myself under 'neath of the vines o' the portico. All wur dark; all wur still. Presen'ly I hear a hoss step soft and muffly like. Then I hear somebody drap soft off the hoss, and come light as a cat mos' to the groun'; nex' I sees two shining' eyes comm' through the dark; thez' the door 'long side o' me opens an' a blaze o' light pours out jes as Miss Sina flits in; an' the door shots agin. Then I goes 'roun' and up the steps an' peeps through the key hole, but the shiel' wur down so I couldn't see nothing' 'tall; then I tries peep through the window shutters, but I couldn't see a singly thing." "Who the d-l, sir, authorized you to look through the key holes and window shutters ?" angrily exclaimed the squire, though it is to be presumed that if old Kill had made any disco- veries, the squire Would not have been averse to hearing them and profiting by his servant's eavesdropping. As it turned out a fruitless peeping, however, our squire could afford to in- dulge in a fit of virtuous indignation without loss. "'Deed, sir, I thought," commenced old Kill, excusing himself. "Oh! the fiend! what business had you to think? Well! and then ?" "Then, sir, I comed away, an' left her there, 'ca'se I thought how Colonel Dangerfield would be sartain sure for to see her safe at home." "Let us see-what time was that ?" "Nigh as 1 could guess, sir, I think how it wur about nine o'clock. It tuk me jes about half a nour to go, and half a nour to come-only jes that much, 'ca'se you see, sar, 'fore wit is better nor after wit,' and I had the fore wit 'stead 0' ridin 0~ ole Chally I rid Lightfoot, 'ca'se you see, sar, I knows ole Chally's deblish S HA N N ONDA LE . SI{ANNONDALB. 121 ways o' ole-'ca'se you see, sar, it wur all along -the light form was caught in the arms-to the o' ole Chally " bosom, of the stout squire. Ii.. slight start. but "That you are kicked down stairs, you infer- no scream! not even an exclamation! only a low, nal old villain!" vociferated the furious squire, determined, husky, suiting the action to the word, and then throw. "Who are you, spy ?" from the bad but brave ing himself into a chair, while a deadened rum- girl. ~ ble-bumble-tumble was heard going slowly and "Your humble servant, Miss Sina Hinton, and safely down the carpeted stairs. Up jumped the poor master of the house!" the squire with a sudden impulse, and going to "Squire Darling!" the door, sung out, "At your commands, Miss Hinton!" "You, sir! tick yourself up and return here "Sguire Darling!" immediatelyy" "Your most humble and obedient, Miss Hin- "Yes, sir !" said the old man, making his ap- ton!" pear~nce. "SQUIRE DARLING!" "Look you here, sir! I was only trying you. "Will you have ocular proof, Miss Hinton I~D I son Miss Hinton on that expedition. A secret "Do I dream, sir ?" and confidential treaty with Colonel Dangerfield, "Yes! very fallacious waking dreams." which, as he is laid up in lavender with his "At my chamber door at tAds hour, sir, ~jou!" sprain, and [am on the shelf with my remain- "Even so, Miss Hinton, at this hour of the mit lame:wss-Miss Elinton as the person most night, half-past ten o'clock!" replied the squire, in the confidence of both had to exec~ite !" ironically. "Jes so, sir." "And what may be your business here, may "There then! Now never let me hear of this 1 inquire, sir?" demanded' iSina, haughtily. night ride again from you or from anybody else, "To welcome Miss Hinton home from her for if you do! You know me." midnight ride I" "Jet so, sir," and glad to get off, old Kill pre- "What mean you, sir?" cipitately retreated. "That you are discovered, Miss Hinton! - Come, Sina! accompany me to my roorri-to After he had, left the room the jealous and en- some place where I can take a look at you!" raged man walked several times up and down and drawing her arm within his own, he forcibly communing with himself as follows: led her down the whole length of the passage "Now shall I call her here when she returns, andvinto the library. Then closing the door, he or shall I wait till to-morrow morning? Nay, locked it and put the key in his pocket Then to-night! It shall be to-night! I will go and taking the lighted candle from tee candle-stick, lie in wait to catch her in her hasty and guilty he flashed it towards Sina, saying, insultingly, return-in her fright, her tremor. Then I will "Come! let's see you !" accuse her! overwhelm her with mortification! Miss Hinton sprang sharply~around and con- and then-why then, perhaps, because I know fronted, defying him. with all her flagrant coquetry, she is too cold "By heaven, Sina! you ride out at midnight and cunning not to be pure-why tlsen I will for- to catch beauty from the star-light! This mo- give her! for by Beelzebub, bad as she is, I can- ment you look as fierce, sleek, and beautiful as a not, will not resign her! Yes! I will forgive young tigress I" He flashed the candle over her her, and if she has a heart lurking anywhere in and gazed at her with admiration as well he her cold bosom. she must melt at that! I mean might. Hers was the beauty of the tig~r; the -I will forgive her on certain conditions; name- beauty of the serpent; the beauty of fire; bright, ly, that she marries me forthwith-and then-and ardent, fierce. tnen-and then let me catch your eyes or heart There she stood! her slight and elegant figure, wandering, my lady, that's all !" clad in the tightly fitting, crimson satin, her Full of these contending passions and purposes small and graceful head adorned by a little black -(he was talking in one breath of forgiveness velvet riding cap, from which lohg black plumes and revenge)-he hastened out ~of the room, tipped with crimson, mingled flame-like with the went down the pas~age and pausca before Sina's splendid fall of glossy black ringlets thrown out bed-room at the opposite extremity. He turned, into glittering relief by the cri~ison bodice. his back, folded his'arms and leaned against it. There she stood! one hand resting upon the He might have been there perhaps twenty mi- back of a chair, the other carelessly twining nutos, when a side door, about half way the among her rich ringlets, her thin cheeks burn- length of the passage, and leading down a flight ing with excitement, her splendid eyes flashing of back stairs, opened cautiously, closed slowly with defiance-her whole darkling, elfin face, and softly, and a light, stealthy cat-like step, keen, bright, fierce and threatening as a drawn only to be heard in the dead silence, came pit- stiletto! And there for an instant he 4ood, look. patting up the passage. It was pitch dark. The ing at her intently, until he began to tremble- squire held out his arms. The light step fled on then he returned the candle to the candle-stio* 11 5 page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] 122 SRANN on tte mantle-piece, and went and drank a dec-p draught of ice water to cool his fever and settle his nerves. Miss Hinton observed the action and smiled with scornful triumph. "Well! I told you, Sina, that you are dis- covered!" "To-be-what ?" demanded Miss Ilinton, deliberately "How cool you are to be sure !" "Yes, though 1 have not quaffed a quart of ice-water 1" "Do you understand that you are found out?" "To be what? as I asked before !" "You have been watched-traced to the Sol- dier's Rest-seen to enter the bachelor apart- ments of Colonel Dangerfield's house. Come, ex- plain that, madam, if you please!" "Certainly; though I might assuredly ques- tion your right of inquiry." "Wells Come! the explanation Let's near your fine trumped up story! I warrant you have oe that would bam-boozie a Yankee law- yer! Come, I wait !" "Keep cool-don't be in a hurry!" "Ho-ho-ho! the duplicity of the woman; you want a minute to invent a story. Come! no delay, now!" Oh! no hurry. Life is long; a young man like you, has quite a future before him!" -. Good! you try to inflame my anger! I-I will keep my temper !" "Will you take a glass of ice-water to help you uio it?" Go to the deuce, ma'am, or explain your pretty piece of folly, if you expect to continue under my own and my sister's protection!" "Good! My pretty piece of folly? Let's see -which pretty piece was it? I have forgotten -I have so many; one of the pi'etty pieces of folly, is the act of standing here listening to you !" -' You' have no choice, my caged jay I You- were-seen I" "Yes, sir !" "To-leave-this-house-" "Yes, sir !" "At-nine-o'clock-at-night! "Yes, sir!" "You were traced-" t~Yes, sir!" ft To Soldier's Rest !" "Yes, sir I" "Aye, mock me~ You were seen to enter-" Ct ~ ~ SC Colonel Dangerfield's bachelor apartments!' "Yzs, am! !" "Explain that!" "Yes, sir-.-I entered Colonel Dangerlield's bach'dor apartments because-" '~ Well! because-" SH A NN ON D A-LE. )NDALE. "Because his matrimonial apartments are not yer open!" The blood rushed to Squire Darling's head- his throat swelled-his lace turned black--the veins started like cords-he trembled all over- he staggered, sank into a chair; the perspira- tion started, streamed from his face this save4 Squire Darling from a stroke of apoplexy, I do believe. He tremblingly drew a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his eyes again and again -heaved a profound nigh-drew a deep breath, and recovered himself. Sina was burning, blazing, sparkling, scintil- lating-mirth, scorn and defiance, in every glow of her crimson-draped figure, and every flash of her fierce and elfin features. "Au-audacious! un-unblushing girl!" gasp- ed the nearly suffocated squire. "Why should I blush I" "She-she glories in her shame 1" "In my innocence, and the perfect safety of my position, sir !" "The perfect safety of your position, you shameless-oh! my Lord! I do not wish ~o for- get that she is a woman!" "Ah, ha! now we are going to have re- hearsed another comedy of jealousy!" "Jealousy ! not so, my dear girl! Do not flatter yourself that I shall amuse you with any such food for satire, this evening-useless as ab- surd! No, Sina~ but you need to be looked after and taken care of." "Possibly you would recommend a strait- jacket, sir!" "Possibly I might, Miss Hinton-at all events you need to be controlled; and I must have a better right than now I have, to control you. And now, this night, Sina, and before you leave this room, we must come to a down-right under- standing." Her tone changed. She left off her flippant, half-scornful manner of replying, and seating herself composedly, she said, "!es-it is as well thht before I leave the room, we do come to a distinct and final under- standing; pray proceed, sir." "Then, Miss Hiuton, are you ready to give, me your hand to-morrow ?" "No, sir !" "When then?" " P1 ever, sir I" "Never !" 'Most assuredly, never !" "Ha! we'll see! pray why ?" "Because, sir, I have promised the said sallow. little digit to Colonel Dangerfield I" "The d-l! no! that can't be! I swear it is a falsehood! I beg your pardon-I mean a mistake I" "Colonel Dangerfield will call on you to-mor.- row, sir, in your capacity of my sort-of-guar- dian!" 123 "It's not so! what! Dangerfield! he! so Aaughty!" "Exactly, sir! so haughty, that he defies the commentaries of his neighbors, and dares to please himself in the choice of a wife. even when that choice rests on a penniless girl like me I" "Here's a dell of a tuss! Oh! it's all an imposition! It can't be so! Wtiat'i~ more, ±t shan't be so! by heaven shan't it! What! Dan- gerfield! he is betrothed to Imogene !" "She has discarded him, sir, or set him free, which amounts to the same thing !" "The d-l! I knew you were trying to en- trap him. I knew you were flirting desperately with him-but I knew that you w~re too selfish, cold and fierce, to come to any harm; and I never Ireamed that he would wish to marry you?" "Thank you, sir !" "Sins! he shall not have you! By the blood of Beelzebub! he shall not have you to save his, to save your own life I" Miss Hint~n smiled contemptuously "And what is more, I will have you myself! I've used persuasion, entreaty, long enough; now I'll try something else-for, though all tue power of heaven, and the ingenuity of earth, and the malignity of hell, were league to prevent ~t, I will have you!" Miss ilinton laughed scornfully. "Why don't you answer me, girl ?" "Because you rave-and it is folly to reply to raving. How on earth, I should be glad to know, are you to prevent my marrying whom I please ?" "How? i'll go to him, and say that I have been this girl's lover for two years-during the whole of which time she has lived with me !" Miss Hinton raised her splendid eyes, blazing with defiance, to his. "And if you do, sir! you will but endorse what I have told him myself! You will but give him a new motive for hastening our marriage, that I may be the more speedily released from this persecution!' "By heaven, then! he shall not have you! What! you that I have had in my sight for two years-you that I have been habituated to be- lieve my own-you that I have adored-when I have looked forward even to long future years-" "Of gout and plethora, and being nursed-an enchanting prospect for me, sir! I always looked upon you as a father, Squire Darling; and as a daughter, I would even nurse you in your old age aull infirmities !" "Confound daughters! old age! infirmity! in- deed; that is insulting! By heaven, Miss Hin- ton, you need not think of marrying that cursed whiskered fellow! He shall not have you to save his life, or your own. If the worst comes io the worst, I will go to hiut, and will say that which you may very readily guess, Miss Hintois and which will prevent his marrying you !, Now Siria turned deadly pale with fear. and rage. Her very lbs were white, and trembling as she said "You! a Virginian gentleman! a Darling! No! you will never do that !" "Will I not? Miss Hinton, I am the only one you can, in any sort of honor, marry. I love you-wish to marry you-will settle a fortune on you-will place you at once at the head of society in this neighborhood; but, Sina, if you persist in this fancy for my rival-,se help me heaven, I will go to Colonel Dangerfield, and whisper that in his ear which shall lead him to break withyou!" "You will not! no, you will not do that," frantically exclaimed Sins.. "Look in my face and see if I will not!" "Do IT, 5IR~ THEN !" ~t last, in fury, broke out Sina. "Do it! but do not hope that that perfidy will serve you! For, look you! 1 am a fiend incarnate! My mother's mistehiess wrongs! my own! have made me so! The only human feeling I have, is an affection for Dangerfield- an affection that shall not be wounded! shall not, under any contingency, while he only loves me! For, oh! listen man! that stan'ieth there talking of some weak counterfeitthsx thou call'st love! and mixing it up with carriages and horses, and houses, and marriage settlements! Listen! I love Dangerfield-he loves me! and neither your perfidy, his pride, nor my own soul's salvation, shall separate us! No I no! no! I will follow him! live with him! ilve for him! I had rather be Dangerfield's servant, his dog, than your wife, with all the emoluments of that honor- able office! and feeling, as I do, there were luas shame in it !" Her face worked, nay con- vulsed with the warring passions of anguish, despair, and rage! Strange, but the storm, the tornado raging in her bosom, attracted him powerfully ; he had been very pale-now his face flushed deeply; he stretched out his hand, caught her-strained, her, struggling, to his bosom- cleared her ringlets from her agonized face, and ~half suffocated her with kisses, exclaiming be- tween them, "And I will tell him that tf&u.r I have had her in my arms-thws I have strained hem to my bosom!' "Bold !" said Sins, in a low, deep, stern, con- centrated tone of rage- "You hug yqur death- be warned! release me. or Iwill KILL YOU "1 lose my time," sneered he, resuming his caresses-and saying between them, "Ah! lit.. tie kittens snarl and slit, but seldom bite like n',bler animals !" Iwill kill you !' Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho! so you threatened once page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] 124 SHiNNONDALE BHANNC before! I am not scared! Oh! I'll tell him! this news. Go at once, my aear; and now, Mi. to swallow it. This settled her nerves, and coin- 0! I'll tell him! that-thus! and thus! and nerva, tell me, how did this occur ?" inquired posed her mind, so that she drew a long breath, thus! I have suffocated her with kisses a hun. Mrs. Summerfield, as, pale with horror, she heard and remained silent. Mrs. and Miss Summer- dred times!" the news of her brother's state from ol~l Nerve, field gravely awaited her word-so gravely, that "Ann that THUS she finally punished with early on the morning succeeding the scene at the poor woman, looking at them, said- - DEATH, a violence she could not prevent!" said Oak Grove, described in the last chapter. "You ant mad 'long o' me, are you, Miss Bina, swiftly snatching a short dagger from her "Oh! Miss Mar'get! Oh! chile! Oh! my Mar'get f-are you Miss 'Genie ?-'cause you bosom, and driving it to the hilt in his chest. blessed Heavenly Ntarster!" sobbed the poor see, cluld'en, 1 nussed you both-mother an' Suddenly, with a sharp cry, he bounded up, old woman, wringing her hands and writhing her chile. Miss Mar get wur the first chile as ever dropped her, pulled the blade from his bosom body, as though in acute bodily pain, and about I missed. forty years ago come this nex' Au- and cast it down, exclaiming, "Serpent! be you to roll on the carpet. gust; an' I nussed you, Miss 'Genie, nineteen really have fangs then I" A dark stream of blood "Imogene, my love, go and get her a glass of years go come this nex' May; an' I nussed Miss Winry seventeen years ago come this nex' trickled from the wound; he tried to stanch it brandy." with his handkerchief. She had started to her "Oh, no! no! no I-no brandy! no brandy!- -nex' Apri4-'deed I did, child'un I-'deed I feet, and stood pale and rigid. They looked at it wur all &lang o' that 'fernal truck that my didn't l~,on~ she difl'ence, an' ef you on'y leave each other, poor, dear ole man, the 'fernal fool! let Sam get me take Miss Winny's little wee puny baby On the carpet between them, glittering and 'head o' him so far as to lif' his ban' 'gin his own home 'long o' me to the quarters, an' put little flashing in the fire.light, lay the tiny jewelled begotten master! 'deed it wur, honey! 'deed it piece o' clear fat bacon in its little fis' to suck, poignard. the blade wet with blood. wur, chile! Take the darned etarnal devil's you soon see difl'unce. It git fat, and grow like "Aye, sir, look at me! I have no fear of blood out'n my sight! Oh! my blessed, patient, sin, 'deed it would. Miss Mar'get. 'Fore my blood! no dislike to shed it! I do not mind tak- heavenly, loving, long-sufferin' 'Vine Marsterl Blessed Judge it would, Miss 'Genie." in~ life! do not fear to lose my own! Send now have marsy on top o' a poor ole sinnin' nigger "Imogene, my child, go and hurry them with and denounce me!" 'oman, as has live' through all th'. sorrows o' the carriage, and send some one with my bonnet "Unhappy girl! I have no intention to do- this sorro~~ful worl' to the a~'e of sixty .five years and shawl. I must hasten to Oak Grove, for it ounce you !" old-for to see her dear darliii' ole is clear that we, shall get nothing out of her." dear, 'panion "You ai' "I mad 'long 0~ me, child'un, are you "Say that a youthful girl-an orphan child, was heave his senses away, an' turn a darned etarnal -'cause ef Sam got 'head o' poor ole man Kill- cast, helpless, upon your protection. Say that fool in his ole days, an' lit' his han' ag'in' his she confided in your honor; say that you perse- own lawful master! Oh, Lord! Oh, massyl (there, I might o' known that onfort'nate name cuted her with an odious suit, which, when she does hanging hurt much? 'cause I gwine be wan't going to turn out to no good 1)-it wan't rejected, you punished her with loathsome ca hung in his place I-'deed I am, Miss Mar'getl my fault, but my sorrow enough! You ain't dresses which she had no strength to prevent -'fore my blessed, Heavenly 'Deerrier i am, mad 'bag o' me, child'un, are you ?" Say that when she would have avenged herself, honey !-'cause I'm his own la" fin "ito~ an' ~ This was said in & low. slow tone, of such pi- teens deprecation that M her heart was brave! her eye steady! her hand two been together fifty years come nex' Christ. ins. Summerfield an- firm! and her steel sharp! and she drew some mas Eve at night, sence we firs' tdok up 'long served gently- bad blood! Though thanks to six inches of fat o' one another I-'deed it is, chile! an' Ivegot "Oh, no-we are not angry with you-how you are not mortally wounded after all !" She a lawlul right to wide (divide) all his troubles I should we be? We feel very sorry for you- finished with a wild and bitter laugh, and wa~ 'fore my lovin' Led I have, chile! an' so long ~ only we would like you to tell us as we go along, turning to leave the room, when he faintly re- Sam did get 'head o' him poor, dear ole heart- what really has happened."~ "the carriage is ready, madame," said a ser- called her, saying feebly, the darned, etamnal ole fool !-I neans to be "Sina, Sina! 1 forgive you; but-but-for hung I-'deed I do, honey; 'cause you see, honey, vant, entering at the same moment that Mrs. heaven's sake, a. surgeon-I die,'5 and fainted. it's perdination 'nough to go an' hf' his ondutiful Summerfield's maid appeared with her cloak and ole han' 'gin his own lawfully begotten master, bonnet. S 'out anything else" Oh. Miss Mar'get, honey, "Come, Minerval you must return in the a CHAPTER XXXVI. try to 'suade the poor, forsok ole sinner to 'fess, carriage with me." an' save his poor mortal soul! Sam does 'ceive "Oh, no, ma'am, Miss Mar'get, 'deed you THE A~RH5T. the poor ole soul so, an' makes him so hIm' to inns' 'xcuse me. I gwine down the jail-house, to 'suade ole man Kill to 'foss, an' then to bail Loa.-He! He never did ii sir I swear to Heaven his own poor dear soul's normall good, as to make he never did it! him 'ny all about it I Oh! Miss Mar'get, honey, him out!" Officer-eSome one did! And when one ma~~'s mur it's downright awful to one as loves him like I "Bail him out I" dered, it stands to reason another must does, to stan' by an' hear that poor ole mad "Yes, honey,-yes, chile,-yes, Miss Mar'- ~ be hanged. Ifaimonde I creetur set an' swear till his throat swells up ut get. 'I know how I ain't got no money, but I ~ to choke him, as he never did do it, an' never thank my Heavenly Jesus, I got what's o' more t "But this is horrible! Good Heaven! My would do it, even in 'fence o' his own life! 'more valuation to me than goole-I got my poor ole ~ brother assassinated I His mostiaithful servant 'an even he'd go an' 'bel against his Led I-when black body, an' l'll go bail long o' that' 1 go Achilles arrested for the murder. In the name we all know how he did do it I" tell 'em for to let poor ole man Kill go an' put a of Heaven, woman, stop your raving, and give "Good Heaven I can we get nothing more me in his place-'cause you know, Miss Mar'- ~ me a more intelligible account of what has hap. satisfactory from you than this? Imogene, love, get, its bad 'nough to have the sorrow o' sin, a f poned I Harriette Joy, my dear, go and order give her some ether, she is hysterical." be poor ole sick 'mm', 'out bein' 'fined irr jail, s the horses to be put to the carniake immediate- And so she was, poor old soul. sobbing, gasp- 'sides which, you see, Miss Mar'get, he's not -~ ly. Lock Mrs. Ardenne's door on the outside, ing, wringing her hands, and swaying her body been usen to bela' 'fined to one spot. He's been ' md take away the key, so that no indiscreet to and fine. Miss Summerfield, full of pity, usen to bela' on ole Chally's back, from airly in t servant may overwhelm her or my mother with brought her some ether in a glass, and forced her tbS mornin' till late at night, ridin' from fbi' to '1 11* 'ND ALE. - 125 fbi', lookin' axter the niggers-don't look so sorry, Miss 'Genie, honey-'twon't go so hard 'long o' me to take his place in jail, 'cause, you see, I've been usen to a sitting-tary life, which 'ould go hard long o' him, ai has allus been a-horse-back from "fore the rising o' the sun, to the goin' down o' the same,' as the Ten Commandments says." Mrs. Sommerfeld explained-while she array- ed herself in her bonnet and shawl-that it was impossible for Nerve to bail her husband out of jail in the way proposed. Poor old Nerve open- ed wide her eyes at this, and replied with more indignation than we have ever seen her dii.. play- "Not I-not let me pawn myself for my ole man! Well! I mm' say, as I never murmurs at anything my blessed Lord in heaven, or my pastors an' masters on the yeth thinks proper for to do-but I mus' say !-that that's very nard, and very 'rannical, very!-when they let a rich person bail their frien' out'n jail with money- they won't let a poor person bail their out with all they* got--their poor ole body I" and dropping down at the front door, whch they had all now reached, the old woman rolled on the marble pavement, giving herself up to sob- bing and groaning. Mrs. Summerfield stooped down and said, gently- "Nerve, do not cry. I will bail Achilles out-if it be possible. Don't cry. Get up, and ensue with me." Her kind words, and a glass or two of water, helped the poor old creature upon her feet, and she entered the carriage with Mrs. Summerfield. "Take care of your cousin, Imogene. If no- eessary, 1 will send the carriage back for beth ~.f you, and in that case, you will know how to bring her without alarming her" It was not until they hat! ridden some way, that Mrs. Summerfield could draw from Nerve anything like a connected statement of what had ~efallen. At last, however, she said- "Why, you see, Miss Mar'get, honey, las' sight, 'bout nine o'clock, poor ole man Kill, the ~ussed infunnelly ole fool! 'stead o' 'tim' to his sones' bed like a christian ole nigger as has sot ~ut to sarve his Jesus ought to do, he gits up rem 'long side o' the fire where I was a-toas'in' ~' my poor ole feet-goes to the cupboard and akes a big pull at the whiskey jug-'deed he lid, honey !-and he draws on his great coat. Kill! where you gem' this time o' night V I ay,-'deed I did, chile! I ax him where LO gwine, and he, 'stead o' satisfying' o' his law- iii 'panion, buttons up his coat, up to his chin, ~n' lookin' mighty stiff an' pompous, says, 'he vein join' out on, secret confotential business I' Fore my blessed Lord he did, honey I-the fl~' ime as ever my ole man give me shortness I So 'was hurtedtotheheartan'Iknewkiowztwur page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] 126 BHA N N O N DA LE.- e o' Sam's doing's, else he'd o' told me, his lawful wife So I tried to 'suade bim, an' he said-' wimmin oughten to know everything,'- 'deed he did, Miss Mar'get I Sam had got the poor profane ole forsok sinner so in his power as to make him say to his own lawful wife-' wim- mm oughten to know everything!"' " Go on." "Well, you see, Miss Mar'get, he goed off, 'out another word, an' I goes to bed, but I didn't sleep, though I wur fur 'nough from guessin' how bad it wur a-goin' fur to turn out! So I laid. an' I tossed, an' I tumbled, an' I heard tbe clock strike ten-'leven-twelve I then sure as i'm a livin' sinner, Miss Mar'get, at that lone- some, wicked hour o' midnight, all of a suddint, I hears ole master's bell ring-' Ting-a-ling- a-hng-a-ling-aling-ting-ting !-tang a.lang- a-lang, a-lang-a-lang--TANG-TANG ft-as if the whole blue chiny ruff of the sky had fell down-smash I-an' then it stopped, all on a sud- dint! an' then I jumped out o' bed, an' hawled on my clothes, an' ruined to the house, fas' as ever my poor ole legs could tote me I an' when I got there, I foun' the housekeeper running , an' the house-servants all running , an' we ruined all towards ole master's door, an' tried to open it, an' it wur locked, an' we listened, an' all wur still as death in there, an' then we rapped, an' the awfullest groans answered o' us, an' short, quick screams, an' then we busted of the door ope'n, an' as we did, something' rushed out past of us, an' we couldn't see what it was in the dark, an' bless the Lord, when we went in it was ptch dark a'mos', 'cept the murky fire-light, an' by it we saw ole master, a-layin' with the side o' his head across o' the andiron, which wur knocked over, an' down underneath of him, jes as if he had fell an' struck it I an' we see the cesudlestick on to the floor, an' the candle out, jes as if some on' had hey it down o' purpose- an' we see a little, bright, shining' little p'inard, a-sblnin an' a-flashin' on the rug, jes like a little live wiper snake! Well, we lighted of the can- dle, an' we lifted ole master up, an' underneath of him war a little puddle o' blood!" "Good Heaven!" "True as I 'm telling of you Miss Mar'get, honey! 'sides which there was a fusionn on the lef' side o' his head where he mus' o' struck the han' iron as he fell!" "Good Heaven!" again exclaimed the pale and horrified lady. "Yes, honey I yes! an' now comes the wuss o' it-while some of us wur a tryin' to bring too old marster-the housekeeper an' some o' the men servants went a searching' o' the room, an' oh! my 'Vine Marster! oh! my heavenly Desm'-r! oh! roy massiful Father! as ever I should live to see it! as eve'r I should live to tell it! a--! oh! on! . xl" sobbed and groaned the BRHA N N ON D A LE . old woman, rocking herself to and fro and wring, an' her mouth covered with white foam. all the tog her ~ands. time she wur shrieking' 'I did it, I did it.' It Mrs Summerfield controlled her intense ann. wur clear to see the poor gall wur driv ravin' ety, and waited with apparent patience till the 'stracted mad 'long o' the scare! But what old woman should proceed --which she soon did war awful to hear, wur that as soon as that poor in the following strain of bitter lamentation. forsok ole Kill, heerd the poor mad gall 'cuse "Oh! my lovin' Lord! as I should a' live to herself, the cussed infunnelly ole d-l snatched see an' to tell it I--there they toun' that poor at the chance, an' though he had not spoke ~ ole misfortunate chile, ole Kill, a-hidin' a-hinds word in his own fence afore now, hf' up his windy curtain an' froze still, an' strike dumb voice an' say 'yes that wur the trsiffe 'cause he 'long o' scare! an' they pulled him out right saw her do it!' Oh! my blessed Heavenly Mars- afore my face, an' his eyes wur a-startin' ~n' ter when a darned eternal fool do sell his soul his teeth wur a chatterin' an' his knees WIII to the devil there ain't no md to his devil- a-knockin' agin each other, an' the poor ole ments!" fool coulden' give a single bit o' 'count o' "You seem to be so sure that your husband himself !-'deed he could n't! an' the house- did this! I think that some weight should be keeper, she sent off two men, one arter a stur- attached to Mite Hinton's self accusation!" geon, an' other arter Colonel Dangerfiel', he "Lor' chile! 1 wish it had been she 'fore it bein' the nighest neighbor 'sides bein' a magis- had ever been poor old man Kill, but, honey, there ter. All this time, two or three o' us had laid war '~t no chan('e o' its bein' any body else but ole master down on a soly, an' wur tryin' to he, cause you tee, honey, wasn't the door busted bring him to life! one o' the men wanted to open--was n't it fastened on the inside, an' bleed him with a pen knife-but I told him how was n't ole Kill foun' Ijidin' in the room, so scare, I thought he'd los' blood 'nough 'ready, an' he did n't knox-i what to say ?" another wanted to pour whiskey down his throat, "True! most true !" but I felled him ef he did'n' take the cussed in- "And did n't the house-keeper say as she wur funnelly stuff out 'n my sight, how I 'd heave it wak'm up in the' night, by hearing o' ole master out'n the windy, an' so I would 'n let them try aix' Kill in loud altercation? Ah! Lord, Miss no speriments till the sturgeon come." Mar'get, I don't love that young gall a bit! I "But Miss Hinton? Where was Miss Hinton don't believe no good of her! but she didn't do all tbis time ?" that ttiere! I wish to the Lord she lied!" "Yes! bless the Lord! well you may ask "Did the doctor get there ?" Miss Marg'et! Soon as ever the house keeper "The sturgeon? yes, honey-an' Colonel Dan- had snatchedd the two men-an' had my poor gerfie!' too. An' Colonel Dangerfiel' had ole ole sinful, sufferin' angel tied han' an' foot an' Kill lock up till this morning , an' the sturgeon lain on the floor-oh, Lord! oh, dear! oh, Lore!! had ole mareter took off to his room, an' Miss oh, dear! better I had never lived to see such a Sins took off to hem, and he hisself widied the sight!" cried the phor old soul again, loosing all night 'tween them two-bein' fuss 'long o' ole self-control in her anguish master, an' nex' 'long o' the poor gall-oh! Lord, "But, Miss Hinton ?" how I do wieL it had been she sure enough I" "Yes, honey! yes, chile! Yes, Miss Mar'get, "What opinion did the doctor give of his pa- I gwine tell you, oh, Lord! Well, soon as she tents ?" had time fur to look about her, the house keeper "Yes, honey-he said how ole master's wuss sent one o' the galls for to wake up Miss Sina, case was a confusion of the horse-pit as had an' presently the gall ran schreechin' back in stunned him, an' how Miss Sina's wur a Sarah to the room, white as a ghos' an' shaking' like Bell (cerebral) information as had drive her a nager, an' putten another se-are on we-dem, crazy I" for we thought Miss Sina mus' be wilterin' in "That was last night! Row are they this her blood too, but mos' 'fore we could think morning ?" that,-as the nigger gall corned running' in "'Cisely the same, chile! please my blessed screechin' an' screamin'-in rushed Miss 8mB Reav.~nly Marster, they are, Miss Mar'get. Ole herself like' a 'stroy'n' flame o' fire-her eyes master layin' like he was dead-~-an' Miss Sina sparking', her arms flyiri' over her head, her hair ravin' like she was 'stracted-'deed they are !- streamin' behind-an' scarce no clothes en her Ole muarster stupid so nobody can't roust him- back-ravin' 'stracted MAD! an' shriekin', I killed Miss Sina ravin' so nobody can't hold her !-ole him! '~e deserved it! I'd do it again." Kill layin' in jail, where Colonel Dangerfiel' "Merciful Heaven!" emittedd him airly this morning' ~o wait till he got "True as I'm tellin' of you Miss Mar'get-it over his scare 'fore he 'xaxnined him agin I" wur another one then we had to throw down by I said that the bridle' path between Red-Stone main force and bind-all the time she war Hall and Oak Grove xvas very beautiful-upon a -reasnin' an' strugglin'--her eyes fiamin' like the margin ref the river-through the deep forest fire--her hair twietin' an' within' wipers. '-over the tops of rocks, etc. The carriage road 127 was a different affair-up and down steep hills all the way-now the coach would be laboring slowly and heavily up he steep hill -and now rushing, tumbling, and thundering down with a a tumultuous rapidity, that threatened every in- stant to pitch the back of the carriage over the heads of the horses Old Nerve held on to the side loops desperately, with both hands, and at last called out to the driver--" I say Bob! drive careful, honey! 'ca'se you got an onlucky passen- ger 'board, 'deed you has! Drive careful, chile! 'ca'se you see ef you goes an' breaks my neck, I can't be hang in place o' poor ole man Kill, 'deed I can't-(I wonder if hanging' does hurt bad,) drive careful, honey, down this drea'ful- Lord have massy upon top of us The last word jumped out with a heavy re- bounding jolt, that, however - brought them safely to the bottom of the hill, and in full sight of Oak Grove Hall. In ten more minutes, Mrs. Summerfield had arrived-alighted--and followed by Nerve, had entered the house. CHAPTER XXXVII THE TRIAL. Let the prisoner be placed at the bar Legal Form of lntvitatiois. I'll see, before I doubt; when I doubt prove; And on the proof there is no more but this- Away at once with love and jealousy. Shakspeare. £here was quite a crowd of people assembled at Oak Grove. There is nothing, neither wed- ding, christening, nor funeral, for bringing people together like a catastrophe, particularly if there is a mystery in it. On seeing the state of Squire Darling, Mrs. Summerfield had thought proper to send, first for Miss Summerfield, old Mrs. Dar- ling, and Mrs. Ardenne, from Red-Stone iall. These three ladles had arrived, accompanied by Harriet Joy, who was always ready to offer her assistance in every species of distress. Next she had sent for Colonel Dangerfield, in his capa- city of magistrate, and lastly, for Father Bun- leigh, to be on the spot "in case"-to quote the vague language used to prefigure an expected dissolution-" in Case anything should happen" Squire Darling's wounds had been dressed, and be lay upon his bed flat on his back, perfectly motionless, his eyes half open, but "lacking speculation," his lips blue and glutinous, his skin of that gray paleness, which is usually the gathering shades of death. Winny, weak and pale, sat by her father's bed, her "numbed" affections slowly reviving at the piteous sight. Sina Hinton, in the opposite wing of the build- ing, lay tossing and tumbling, or violently strtg- ~liog, and filling the air with her maniac '-'reams. Rettie Smihe and her father, who had come over page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] 128 ~SH~N at the first news of the calamity, had as much a they could do to hold her down during one of he paroxyams of frenzy. She was possessed wit the idea that she had murdered Squire Darline and was about to be led to the scaffold for th crime; all her desperate shrieks and violent struggles were to escape the visionary exeen toner. There could be no greater trial to th good little landlord and his tenderhearted daugh ter, than to witness this agony of frenzy. Poo: little Sammie Smilie she always took for thi execurioer, and would shriek horribly when h4 Would approach to hold her, to prevent he: throwing herself upon the floor, or dashing he: head against the wall. This hurt his feeling more than anything~ "Me a hangman- the Lore save ncr soul Me! as allus goes out ofsight and hearing when ever they kilt a chicken for dinner. Do I loal like a Jack Ketch, 1 asks any candid soul ?" the little fellow would say, sitting down, puffing and blowing and panting, and wiping his innocent, round face with his speckled, yellow handker. chief. "Hettie, do I look cruel, honey ?" "No indeed, father! you look just like what you are, the very best man in the whole world, I don't care who the others may be, even if they ave priests, or presidents--don't mind what she says. father-she is raving mad ~ These conversations would occur after Sina, with her violent struggles and shrieks, had quite worn out her strength, and lay in a state of tem- porary quietude from exhaustion. And it was singular that no one noticed her raving, or at- tacted any suspicion to her from the fact of her selfaccusation. What motive in fact could Miss Hinton be supposed to have for deadly enmity to Squire Darling? On the contrary, every one supposed them to be on terms of the most per- fect conflden~e and cordiality There was one indeed who grew pale and stern suddenly, when he would hear of Miss Hiuton's "maniac fan. cies"-Colonel Dungerfield He had, it is true, upon the strength of the strong, and but for one fact known only to Colonel Dangerfield himself, overwhelming circumstantial evidence, incarcera- ted poor old Kill, but he dared not trust his own greatly biased judgment with the onus of com- mitting him for trial-he preferred being assisted by the cool heads and unburdened hearts of two ref his brother magistrates. Old Kill had been confined-not in jail yet, as poor Nerve and his fellow-servants for his better security had been led to suppose-but in a distant chamber in the house, there to await the arrival of the other magistrates. They came about noon. One a stern, severe looking man; tall, lean, dark, bilious, exceed- ingly given to ferreting out incipient insurrec- tions; his whole grave and still deportment cx- pressing solemn "self-esteem." His name was Bock. And the other a nice, pretty, smiling, NO~JD ALE. 5 skipping little gentleman, exquisitely well dress. ir ed; every expression, tone and caper, denoting h dapper "approbativeness" The name of tlus !, pleasant little fellow was Lovejoy. The court e was held, or rather the examination was con. Lt ducted in the parlor. The three magistrates occupied seats at one end of ~he room. "1. Rock, e Esq.," occupying the centre chair. and flanked -, on the right by the pretty little Mr. Lovejoy, r and on the left by the stern and sad Colonel B Dangerfield. A long table was before them, at a one end of which sat a clerk, with pen, ink and r paper before him. The family and visitors then in the house were requested to be present at the examination. And indeed by this time the house swarmed with all sorts of people. The servants, I with frightened looks and whispering tones, were collected in the passage ways. Presently poor old Kill was led, or rather drag. I ged in, half dead with terror, and between two constables. He was the perfect ideal of abject guilt. His looks would have been evidence enough to any jury to bring in a verdict of GUILTY. Yes, his face then would have hanged him. He was followed by old Nerve, weeping bitterly, and goaded in by a man with a stick, walking behind her. Kill was placed before his judges, and then Nerve threw herself on his neck weeping and hugging, and hugging ~nd weeping; while between sobs and gasps she en. hosted him as follows- "Oh I Killus, honey I 'fess, chile! 'less! tell ole master up there-(I. Rock, Esq., sitting bolt upright, very dark and threatening,) tell ole master up there how Sam got the better of you! do, chile! Oh! Killus, 'less! an' save your poor, mortal soul! Oh, honey! fear not them as kin kill the poor, ole, 'firm, black body, but fear Him as can cast both body an' sot4 in hell! Oh, Kim.! you an' me is ole, we is! an' we hasn't got long to stay on this yeth, we hasn't! not many days we hasn't; an' if they goes an' takes away these few days, it ain't no 'count 'pared to 'ternitv-don't less risk eternityy long o' tellin' lies! don't !" 'CL-I-i ain't got nothing' to 'less 'bout! I-I never didn't do it, Minny !" chattered the teeth of poor old Kill. "Order, in the court !" thundered dark Mr. Rock. "Yes, master! yes! I will order in the court, in one minute. Is it out in the yard? You go, Bob, an' order in the court. while I talks to my poor, ole, sinful, sufferin' angel! Bob'll go, mar- ster! I only wants for to 'suade my poor ole 'panion to 'less an' save his poor, mortal soul. Killus~, honey! Kilus! listen to me, honey! don't look so scared! I essay, it ain't so bad after all, an', an' it'll soon be over-the death !-an' then think o' the long eternity , if you'll 'less, an heava the bad truck oft your poor soul!" SH A NN O ND A LE . 129 "I-i ain't got nothin' to 'fess, I keep on tell- wakened by loud voices in the squire's room lug of you !" sobbed o~d Kill. She heard the squire's voice in a very high key "Oh-! Killus! Killus, honey! you an' me is and then a sudden fall, a violent bell ringing, an~ ole, we is! an' we'll soon be in eternityy anyhow; sudden pause; then the door was burst open, liii an' does you think your poor ole Minny could squire found wounded and senseless, and the o1 joy herself 'long of Mary, an' Joseph, an' Jesus, negro hid behind the curtain. Several of tin u~' Abraham, an', an' Isaac, an' Jacob, an' Gin- house-servants were called, and all corroborated rel Washin'ton, an' the other ladies and gent- the testirflo~y ol the housekeeper in every par. 'men in Heaven, ef she seen how her poor, ole ticular. Item-Nerve "thought" some one rush. Killus was keeping' company long o' the devil, an' ed out as they all rushed in, but could not take ii Judas, an' Ben'ict Arnolt? No, honey! no! you upon her conscience to swear to it. As none o: hear rap at the door! an' when Sam get up an' the other witnesses knew anything of this occur open it, you see your poor ole Minny stain' rence it went for nothing. SUMMARY: 01d Kill was there, come to stay 'long 0' you, an' the devil, committed to the county jail to await his trial an' the t'aitors! Oh! Killus, save your poor, for assault, with intent to kill his master-. mortal soul, an' mine, too-'fess, Killus! 'fess I" capital offence in the Southern States. "If," wept the old man, with his head dropped upon his hands, "if anything could make this here bitter hour, when they 'cases me, 'fore Miss CHAPTER XXXVIII Mnr'get an' ail my children, o' killin' o' my own master, as I. loved nex' bes' to God A'mighty- CIRCUMSTANTIAL EvIDENCE. any bitterer !-- it would be to hear my ole 'oman flow little do they see what is, wh~ frame think so wicked 0' me! Their hasty judgment upon that which seems. It must not be supposed that the magistrates had set there in patient silence, while this scene was being rehearsed before them. Colonel Dan- Had Squire Darling died in his insensibility, it gerfield indeed had been stern and silent, but "I. is certain that old Kill would have been hanged Rock, Esq," had made several attempts to en- upon strong circumstantial evidence. No soonci force order, and would have done so, only that also, had the prison door clanged to upon the gracious Mr. Lovejoy interfered and prevented poor old soul, than he nearly gave himself upfor him, using the ostensible argument that some- lost, and began assiduously to prepare for deaths thing might be elicited from the scene- Soon, if shuddering, shivering, compressing his throat however, they put an end to if, and while old with his fingers to realize how painful the stran- Kill, half fainting, was heW up between two con- gulation might be, and gasping out frightened stables, old Nerve was sworn to give in her testi- ejaculations to Heaven for mercy, could be called mony; and out of all rule and order, and with a preparation. When the jailor, who was also streaming face, she turned to the prisoner and turnkey, brought him supper, he fell down on his said, knees, and clasping his hands, with tears in his "Kill! ef my testament hang you, chile, I eyes, he besought him to let him our-only to can't help of it, honey! 'deed I can't, my poor, let him out I -he had a hundred dollars! he had dear, ole darlin'! I obligedd to 'fess the trufic! been saving them all his life long, buried in a 'deed 'fore my Heavenly Marster an' Judge, I bee-gum-marster jaior should have it all if he has, chile!" would only let him out-- oUT; oh! to get OUT! it And in fact, Minerva's testimony bore very was so horrible t~ be shut up there even all night hard upon the prisoner, to woit: His taking the -even if nothing worse came of it The joilor deep draught of whiskey-going out late at night was sorry for the poor old soul; tiied to corn- -refusing to tell her where-her next seeing fort him, but told him it was impossible to grant him-when at the alarm the door of Squire Dar- his request. Old Kill tossed and tumbled on his ling's chamber was broken open, and the master straw all night-groaning, "This here comes was discovered prostrate and bleeding, and the of eaves-dropping! Oh, Lord! oh, Lord! this man dragged half dead with terror from behind here comes of eaves-dropping-it does I" hear the window curtain. Through ~ll sorts of cross- morning he formed a resolution, and when the questioning, Nerve stuck to this story. At last turnkey brought him his breakfast, he expressed she sat down, weeping, sobbing, and gasping it in these words-" Marster, I wants you, of hysterically. The housekeeper was next called, you please, sir, for to send for Colonel Danger- sworn, and deposed, that between ten and eleven flel', 'deed 1 does, sari I gwine to 'fess-'deed o'clock she had been awakened from her sleep I is, sir! I ain't gwine to fly in the face o' my by hearing Squire Darling in loud abuse of his 'Vine Marster any longer! I gwine to 'fess, man Kill; that she distinguished Kill's voice in 'deed I is, sir I" reply many times, but could not make out what .s' No, uncle, I wouldn't do such a foolish thing was said. She said there followed a silence, du- as that, indeed. No body is bound to criminate ring which she slept; that at last she was again themselves." I I I r page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] 130 BIfANNtNDALE. But Kill evulently thought that his only chance "iBsg your pardon, master, but he 'mande4 now lay in telling the truth. He reiterated his me, sir, an' I wur bound tc 'bey, so I fouled her request that Colonel Dangerfield might be on to your house night afore las', an' when 1 brought. seed her enter 1 goed back 'cordin' to orders, and A messenger was dispatched to C% The Sol- telled ole master; then, sir, he hey himself into dier's Rest;" and soon returned, accompanied a passion 'long o' me, and knocked me heels over by the Colonel. He entered the cell, and found head flown stairs-" the poor old prisoner sitting down on the straw, "And served you right, you old villain I" with a silk handkerchief thrown over his head, "'Cisel7f so, sir! Well, while I wur a rubbin' and his face bowed upon his hands Colonel o' my bones, he calls me back, an' swears me 2 Dangerfield himself looked sombre, care-worn never to say a mortal word to any livin' soul and exhausted. He leaned with his back to the bout it; an' then 'misses me agin. Well, mars- wall of the poor cell that did not boast a single ter, while I wur goin' slow like out, I hears ole seat, folded his arms, and after gazing a moment master leave his room, an' go an' lay wait for at the bowed and collapsed form before him with that young tall who hadn't 'nv yet I Well, a ray of selfish hope in his face, he said, master I now come the sin, an' the shame, an' "Well, old man, von sent for me-what do the suflerin'. You, see, master, I aiim had a you want ?" laud'ble 'sire after inferation-so I goed into "To 'fess, master, 'deed I does, sir I" master's room, an' hid ahind the windy-cur- Now the countenance of Colonel Dangerfield tins, 'case I wanted so bad to hear what he positively brightened gwine say to her. Well, bless the Lord, pres- C "To congress! what? You actually did-" en'ly he comes pullin' her in by the han'-" "Yes, I did, master I 'Fore my Heavenly Colonel Dangerfield grew black in the face. 'Deemer, I did I" "Then he 'gun scold her. Then she 'gan 'fen' "You poor miserable old creature I What herself Then he shame her for gwine see gem- tempted you to commit such a crime ?" men in his own house. Then she brag on gwine ~ It wur all along o' eaves-droppin', 'deed it be married to you, sir-" wur, master I But I never thought how it Colonel Dangerfield made a movement expres- ~ would come to this here!" sive of disgust and impatience. "The wages of sin is death I" "Then he sweared how she shouldn't have ft True, Lord f~3 you, sir! Then she laughed scornful an' said "Old man, I wished to hear your confession how he couldn't 'vent it. Then he telled her for my own private satisfaction, and for the ex- how he'd tell ~.iou how she had been-I couldn't culpation of an innocent person, who-but no exactlyy hear what-but something' dreadful, for matter~~ Miss Sina screamed right out, an' said, 'No! no! "Yes, sir! yes, master, it wur for the ex- no! he would never do that!' An' he sweared by pulsion o' a poor innocent' sinner as I fessedd, all a~ wur good an' great an' sacred, how he would do an' say jis that, an' how then, sir! you "I was about to say that you are not bound would never look at her, but spurn her away. to eriminate yourself." Then Miss Sina got awful mad, an' high words "Yes, sir, 1 knows it-but you see, master, riz, an' final, ole master he cotch Miss Sina up 'less I crimerates myself, you'll keep on o' think- in his arms, an' 'gan for to kiss her, as he said ing' as it wur me sticked the little pi'nard in he had done a thousand times afore-an' pres- ole master's stomic" en'ly I heerd her speak deep an' threatening' like "In the name of heaven, old man, what do thunder-an' then I peeped out, an' saw some- you mean ?" exclaimed Colonel Dangerfield, thin' gleam and disappear, an' a scream, an' a growing again suddenly alarmed fall, an' then, blessed be my Heavenly Lord --the "I mean how it wur Miss SINA, marster! room turned all roun' with me, an' I never please the just Judge above, it wur, marster, for knowed a singly thin' till I foun' tho room full o' I seed her a-doin' of it, an' that there wur what people, an' me tied han' and toot, an' a layin' on I had to 'fess, for it wur all along o' eaves-drop- the floor, an' Miss Sina strugglin' in the hands pin', master, as I seen it, an' wur cotched there, of four women, as wur tryin' for to hold her- an' am here!" ravin,' foamin,' her eyes wild, her arms flyin' over '~Tell me all about this!" commanded Cob- her head, her hair streamin', and screaming' how -nel Dangerfield, with frowning brow, set teeth, she did it herself; ~n' then I memorized where I and closely riveted arms. was, an' all about it; an' I riz up, an' I telled * "Why, you see, marster- 016 master, he 'em how yes it sour she, 'case 1 seed her do it; 'spected how you an' Miss Sina wur on wery an' they wouldn't hear to it; an' telled me to friendly terms so he sot me to watch Miss hush a tryin' to put my crime on top o' the poor Sina-" mad gall. Even my ole 'orr~an-" (here Kill Colonel Dangerfield tied his eve-brows up ground his knuckles into his eyes) "yes, Into a hard knot. master, even my ole 'oman livedd me for to be SH A NN ON DAL E . 131 guilty. There, inarster! that wur what I had the Circe to magnetize his vital secret from his to 'tess, 'deed it wur, sir I an' it wur all the truth bosom-but you read that he would not, or could please my just Heavenly Judge, it wur, sir! not resist her fascinations; and in spits of his Now, sir, if you'll only give me a chance to bitter experience of her first treachery, and her speak to my poor 'omaN an' take some o' the palpable inflexibility of purpose to betray him, load often top 49 her poor 'stressed mm', I be so he trusts her again, and is finally ruined. much bulgedd to you, sir! 'deed I would, mars- There is no doubt on earth that had Sina Hin- ter! 'Fore the Lord, I would, sir I" ton been once more on her feet, with that melo- It is impossible to describe the expression of dious voice and those alluring eyes once more Colonel Dangerfitild's countenance and attitude under her sane control, she would have wiled during this recital. His facc expressed the bit- her victim to believe just what she pleased; but ter sorrow of one who discovered the woman he self-cheated with her own duplicity, and self- loved to be worthless; the bitter self loathing stung to madness by her own fierce passions, the of one who found himself out to be grossly duped girl now raved in high delirium, or lay in fits of -shame, disgust, rage, determination-all sup. complete prostration and insensibility. There pressed but intense. At la~± he spoke. was a changepassing over her illness now. Every "Achilles!" fit of frenzy was less violent, and every relapse "Sir I" into insensibility was more complete, and in the "Speak nothing of this to any one, until I latter state now her features began to wear the come to you again." pinched expression, and her complexion the "Not to my ole 'oman, sir ?" grayness of approaching dissolution. "Yes! I will send her here; you may clear yourself with her-but in that case detain her True to his promise, Colonel Dangerfield sent here until I come I" old Minerva to the prison. This was the first "'Cise4~ so, sir !" opportunity the jealous surveillance of the oflI- And Colonel Dangerfield left the prison. Now cers had permitted the old couple to talk tog~- this story of Kill's corresponded so well with his ther. Now as Nerve entered, she threw herself well-known character of eaves-dropper, and upon the neck of her old husband, and "lifting agreed so well with other circumstances in con. up hervoice,"wept aloud, exhorting him between section, that Colonel Dangerfield could have no her sobs and gasps to "'tess." blessed doubt of its truth. Indeed frequently "I has 'fessed," said the old man, and went before this, and during the absence of Sina, he on to explain to her the simple circumstances had been struck with the most painful suspicion- that had led to his being suspected. which, in her presence and under the miraculous Tears expressed all Nerve's emotions-if ~e fascinations of her manner, had entirely dissp~ were ailbeted, she wept; if she were highly pared, and for which he had mentally and se- amused, she laughed till she wept; and now her verely reproached himself-seeking to make tears came in floods, to express the joy she felt, amends to her for his silent doubts, by throwing as she clasped and kissed her old life-long friend into his manner the greatest devotion, again and again, sobbing and laughing in her Reader, have you never been tormented by foolish fondness. such a state of affairs? Among all your ac- "My ole chile is innocen'!-my dear ole chile quaintances, are there none whom you in your is innocen'-he has' 'fended of his 'Vine Mar- cool and sober moments of solitude and reflec- ster I-he hasn' lifted of his han'agin his yethly tion, know to be at heart, selfish, and calculating master! Oh! it is sich a comfort for to know -yet whose fascinations of manner will corn- my dear ole chile is an innocen' lamb-is a pour, pel you to abjure your instincts, arid even till dear, innocent , suflerin' ole angel!" you with remorse, for ever having cherished And so she sobbed, and laughed, until her an evil thought of them? Do you remember the dear old angel said-- anecdote told of Sheridan and one of his credi- "But, ole 'oman, honey, bein' innocent' as an tors whom he had victimized an hundred times, unhatch chicken ain't a-gwine save me, long as and who going to him full of fury to collect his circumferences make so much 'gin me !" debts or throw the debtor into prison-came "-Oh, Killus, honey, I ain't got a singly fear! away not only without fulfilling his purpose, but -'deed I isn't, honey! Only when I thought actually a hundred pounds poorer than he went- how you was guilty, then I was sad and sufeuia' Sheridan having magnetized an additional hun- -now I's joyful-I is not got a singly-nothin' dred pounds out of his pocket by way of a loan, ain't no 'portance, prisonn to your bein' mao- And then there was Sampson and Delilah. cen'." One would think that after the syren had tricked While they were yet speaking, the turnkey him twice-hud twice falsely and traitorously entered, and told Kill that he was free to leave sought to deliver him bound into the hands of his the prison, for that an order had come for his be. enemies, failed and been discovered; that Samp- lug set at liberty. son would have licen wise, and not permitted - "There, Killus! there I-didn't I tell you how page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] 132 S HA N N OND A LE your innocence would shine out as the light- sages, a low, deep, prolonged wail rose and dida' I tell you so, my dear ole chile 2" swelled upon the ear! They hurried joyously away-reached Oak "The Lord have inassy upon us I" ej.rculated Grove, where their fellow servants received the old creature, trembling. "What was that?" them with loud demonstrations of joy at the outer A second time it arose~pon the air-swelling in ~arm gate-then, as they approached the house, a volume of sound and sorrow, and died away in they became silent, and whispered to Kill and quivering anguish. "Lord save us-what was Nerve that death was in the house. 0 d Ktll that?" again cried the old man. thought it was his master, and grew very ashy "Huth, Uncle Kill !-it is Sina I-she is dy- in the face-he entered the housewith noiseless ing," said Harriette Joy, as she emerged from a steps. His companions dispersed. He met Co. side door, which, as it opened, gave a glimpse of lonel Dangerfield, looking grave and sorrowful. a darkened chamber, a canopied bed, and emer- He bowed to the Colonel, and begged to know if ging from the deep shadows of the picture-the he might see his old master. Colonel Danger- shadows of surrounding curtains and dark-draped field assented, and the old man passed slowly figures, gleamed a wild and maniac face, with and reverentially up stairs. He tapped at the streaming hair, and long, thin, pale arms thrown door, which was opened by Hrtrriette Joy, who aloft-like streaks of light among black clouds. silently admitted him. The room wIse in semi- She closed the door instantly on this horrible pie- darkness, but lying on the bed he recognized his ture. Harrietteapproachedhim-anddrawinghim master, pale and prostrate, but certainly not dy- down the passage, said-"Uncle Kill, she is dying ing-he could see that, even in this subdued -dying horribly-unshriven-unanoirsted-go.. light. Father Burleigh sat by the head of the ing as no soul should go, into the presence of its bed. The old man approached cautiously, and Creator. Father Burleigh can do nothing with stood silently by the bedside. It seems that he her. Even if a glean~ of reason returns, she had been sent for, or expected, for his master laughs horribly in his face, and tells him that feebly extended his hand to him, and faintly she will hear him when they both renew their acquaintance in - Oh, you know the place "Poor-poor-poor-poor devil !" and dropped she said. It is horrible. Uncle IC 11, you must his hand and voice, exhausted. After a few ml- saddle the fastest horse in the stable, and go to nutes, looking at him, he said, very faintly- Sacred Heart for Mr. Vellemonte, He can still C~ They-would have hanged-you-for eaves- the fiercest tempest I ever saw ante in a sinful dropping. I told you how-it would end I" And human breast-perhaps he can bring quiet to after another interval, he motioned for a restore. this stormy soul." tive, which Harriette put to his lips. When he "Yes, honey, yes! yes, chile! But, Miss had drunk this off, he motioned to Father Bar- Harry, for the pityful Lord's sake, honey, tell leigh and Harriette to leave him alone with his me how it comed 'roan' as my innocence was servant. When they left the room, he turned to made manifest' as the sun at noonday-jes tell Kill, and said, in a stronger voice-" So, Kill!- me that, an' P11 ride like Sheriff was a-hind of s'pose I'd died in a stupor I-you'd been execu- me 'deed I will, Mica." ted on strong circumstantial evidence-all owing "Why, Mr. Lovejoy remained in the house to to your habit of eaves-dropping." watch the event of Squire Darling's wound, and "Yes, master! I knows itli knows it, sar ! he gave strict orders that if he should return to 'deed I does! l's cured, sir I-'dee'l ~ ~ ~ consciousness, he, 1 mean Mr. Lovejoy, should be summoned immediately, to take advantage of "Glad to hear it I-but I sent for you to say, what might be a temporary return to reason that on pain of my severest displeasure, you are only, to take down his deposition. Well! as soon not to mention to any soul, the scene that you as your master gave signs of returning conscious- witnessed." "No, sir! I won't, sir !-'deed, sir, 1 won't!" ness, we sent for him. An hour after, during his examination, your master testified, to every "Have you spoken of it, to any one? one's astonishment, your entire innocence of "No, sir 1.-to no one, sir, 'cept it wur to Co any participation in his assassination, and more, lonel Dangerfield, and to my old 'oman, sir." refused to discover the guilty party-of that "Dangerlleldl-yes! it was as well he knew guilty party, however, alas I" added Harriette, it I-and Nerve-go, now, and enjoin Nerve to there can be now~no doubt upon any mind-and silence-for if ever I hear of this subject again, I say this now, because I believe you to have from any quarter, I shall know it came from you been a witness to the whole scene-and to ad- and .N~ert's-in which case-come! 1 do not like vise you as you value the peace of your master's to threaten, but you know me I" family to be forever silent upon the subject." "Yes, sir!" "1 gwine to, Miss Harry-'deed I is, chile I,' "Well, go I" "There now, hurry, Uncle Kill, and get Mr. The old man bowed himself from the room. Vellemonte here." As he glided along the darkened and silent pa.- The old man hurried to tho stables once SHANNC again, saddled the best blood in the stalls, and l~astened to Sacred Heart. He returned in two hours, attending Mr. Vellemonte. The young priest passed immediately into the chamber of the dying maniac. I suppose some would say it ~sas mesmerism, some mere mannerism, while others, with a better faith, would define it to be the po~ erof religionthat enabled the young priest to compose the raving girl, who, settling into her last repose, lost that agonized contraction of the features that had, since her illness, marked her countenance even in its moments of exhaustion. One hour after this Sina Hinton died. Her funeral took place the third diy from that of her death. The event 'was broken gradually to Squire Darling; who, nevertheless, suffered a severe relapse. It was a fortnight before the convalescence of the squire permitted his rela. tives to return to their home-taking With them Winny, whose feeb.lenrss required the~ constant attentions of her aunt and cousin. CHAPTER XXXIX. 3'&THEIL BURLETORS CONFES5ION Oh! thou dead And everlasting witness! 'whose unsinking Blood darkens earth and heaven! what thou art now I know not! but if thou see'st wh.tt I am, I think thou wilt forgive him whom his God, Cati ne'er forgive, nor his own soul. Byron's Catn. The deeply tragic events at Oak Grove had so shattered the nerves of the good old pastor of Sacred Heart, that he now lay stretched pros- trate on his humble bed at the cottage parsonage. Miss Mattie Smilie, Harriette Joy, and the young curate, Claude Vellemonte, vied in their atten- tions upon him. But the influence of the young curate was as heretofore the most healthful. His took and tone and touch were as usual life-in. spring. "I don't know what snakes me feel so," said Miss Mattie Smilie, as she tsusied herself setting out "bulbouses" in the garden; "butsomehow or other good and great as he is, it does feel to me as if Mr. Vellemonte oughten't for to be a priest I" Why?" asked Harry' Joy, "I want you to tell me why, because I have often had that thought myself?" "Why, it feels to me as if he were too full of life." "Levity 2" "Levity 2-what's tbat 2" "Why flippancy-lightness of conduct-a-a gayety-joyousnessl" "N-no~---not-thatbut too fullof LiFE-that's the word I I don't know any other." And so in- INDALE. 133 deed felt every one even while worshipping their gifted young curate. I have spoken before of the half suppressed joyousness of heart that was the very illumina- tion of his highly vitalized beauty, and of thaL power springing from perfect healthfulness of body, mind, and spirit-rising above circum- stacces, and making glad every gloomy scene, bright every dark scene; magnetizing the sick with health; inspiring the septic with faith raising the responding by hope; softening the hardened, and redeeming the reprobate sinner by love! Jt was in the fullness of this power that Claude Vellernonte sat by the bed of Father Bur- leigh on the afternoon of the Sunday next pre- ceding Easter. He had composed his patient into a refreshing sleep. He had slept many hours, and still Claude Vellemonte retained his seat by the bed watching him steadily. At any sign of restlessness Claude would quietly slip his arm under the aged head, raise it tenderly, change the pillow, let the weary head down easily again, draw out his arm, and smoothing back the thin gray locks from the sunken tem- ples, decompose him to sleep. If again he stir- red, a few pauses of the cool hand over his brow and temples stilled him into deep repose-so his rest was protracted for many hours. At last Claude Vellemonte knowing that he had slept long enough suffered him to awake. The yorrng man sponged his hands and face with cold water and ~ologne, and gave him a glass of barley water flavored with lemon-juice. Then he changed his pillows and resumed his seat by his side with cheerfulness. "Claude," began the old priest. C~ My father!" answered the young man. "My son in years-my father 1 had almost said in wisdom and in grace I-~ bless ne for 1 have sinned.'" "May God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost bless thee, my father!" "Son, I have somewhat to say to thee I" "Speak, father, I listen" "Draw the curtain, shut out the light, close the door, for it is a long and dark story I have to tell thee, my son I" Claude Vellemonte did as requested and re- sumed his seat at the bedside of the invalid. He took one of the old wasted hands within his own and held it while the old priest gained strength to tell his story. "Claude, did it never occur to you that I had a life-long sorrow and remorse 2" "I have seen it, father, and hoped for the day when you would confide in me and share your burthen with me-to-night, I thank God, that you have strength to do so-I listen." And he pressed the thin hand, and his young strong life seemed to send energy through all the feeble nerves of the invalid. The old priest com. menced his story. page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] 134 SH&NI'l Tif E SECRET UJIIME. Claude Vdlemontei I was early left an orphan with my ti~in sister. We were placed by the executor of our father's will in the same Mo- nastic school for education-she in the female department-i in the male. We were then fif- teen years of age. 1 admired that sister of mine with an enthusiasm that no words can describe! I loved her with a strength and devotion to which no words can do justice. She was my sole thought in the present, my sole object in the future I She was my love, my religion, my idolatry! If I had an ambition for wealth, rank, power, or fame, it was that she might be crown- ed with glory! The strict rule of the seminary in which we were placed forbade our meeting. The boys and the girls, or it would now be term. ed, the young gentlemen's and the young ladies' department had not even a chapel in common, but each had its separate place of worship and its distinct pastor. Once a month, however, I was permitted to see my sister for half an hour in the ladies' parlor, In the presence of one of the siBterhood. These, restricted as our intercourse was, were the very brightest moments of my sebool days. Veronica was beautiful! Brothers do not generally see their sister's beauty, but 1 felt Veronica's extreme loveliness in my heart of hearts. I could see in every succeeding visit J paid her, a ne~ unfolding of beauty-some new fresh leaf of the sweet bud blooming forth I How I longed for the time to come when we should be of age-be emancipated from school life, and when I should take her home and have her with me forever. Then as I watched her growing into such woliderful beauty; I would think that even then some rurin would see and love her, would win her deepest love and wile her fioun me, and a pang of jealousy would dart through my heart. I strove with this feeling- I partly conquered it. I grew to look upon Ve- ronica's future marriage as a certainty, and ac- customed myself to think of passing my life in her home as the bachelor brother and uncle- and of making her children my heirs. And yet I was very much discontented with this prospect, and sighed for the past days when we had been the whole world to each other. Yes I I dreaded now the longed desired emancipation from school -.1 dreaded it as the greatest misfortune that threatened us. Evil.' that we dread seldom happen to tea. Years passed slowly enough over our heads- and every successive yeilr Veronica matured in beauty, and I loved her with a deeper devotion. But another change besides maturing of her loveliness, was coming on her. She grew-not cold to me, but-indiffirene to me, I bad almost said uacsrnscious of me. Her beauty was get- ting a devotional character. Her expression be- casseelevated, rapt, inspired. She was growing to resemble some pictures of the Virgin Mery. I ON DALE. sometimes thought her high style of countenance inadvertently caught, as it were, from the inces- sant contemplation of some beatified saint's or virgin's image. My soul felt darkened and chill- ed as though she had withdrawn her light and warmth from me, and was breathing it incense like to heaven. The time approached fur our leaving school, which was the period also at which our guardian would surrender up to us our patrimony, and we should establish ourselves in the world. I was totally unprepared for what happened next. Upon the day we were to have left the seminary we assembled in the ladies parlor in the presence of the Lady Superior, the Chaplain of the institution, our guardian, and an attorney. There we were to be put in posses. sion f the title deeds of our patrimony, before taking leave of our many years' abode. It was there that I received from the lips of the Lady Superior the information that say sister had de- termined to take the veil! I could not, I would not believe it I I appealed to Veronica herself. * She confirmed the report of the Lady Superior. Her answer was conclusive. I was overwhelmed with affliction. I would not give her up. I said and did everything I could think of that might affect her resolution! In vain! I used argu- ment, persuasion, entreaties, tears! To no pur- pose! but it seemed,-to fix her determination more firmly! Let me do others justice also. The Lady Superior, the sisters, the Chaplain, all thinking perhaps that her ignorance of life in the world, and her serene life in the convent might have unduly biased her inclinations, had tried to prevail on her at least to delay her purpose for a few years-to go out and see the world she pro- posed to abandon before giving it up forever. They wished, in fact, to take no unfair adv3n- tage of her ignorance and inexperience. The arguments and persuasions satisfied their own ideal of strict justice, but had no sort of effect upon Veronica's resolution unless, as mine did, they confirmed her determination. She was in- fatuated-mad-as the sequel proved. Nearly frantic with grief I took my leave of Veronica the same day. Our Chaplain consoled me. He assured me again that every possible delay should be made, while every means was used to test the sincerity of my sister-that there was little doubt that she, like many others, would reconsider her resolution- that very few were the "called, chosen, and faithful" brides of hea- ven. Again let me be just to the convent. Every means were in fact used to test the strength of my sister's resolution, but only with the effect of settling her more firmly in it. Never was a new postulant admitted with more caution, for all seemed to feel her step premature and ,ll con- sidered. She was kept two years in the convent as postulant before being permitted to enter upon her noviciate. - I, alone and lonesome, went out into the world SHANNON DALE. 135 I with something like the f~ clings of a poor pri- from the desert, flowing with delights, leasing soner just released from ~s long iuvy-isoument, on her beloved? Thou art all fair, my beloved. knowing few, caring for one. I went to see meek and beautitul. Come from Libanus my Veronica take the white veil of a novice of the spouse-come from Libanus. Come, thou shalt Order of Mount Carmel Let me desc~ ibe to be crowned" After this song died in melody you the ceremony of her a way, the Lady Superior receiving from the bishop the girdle of the oider~ fastened it around TAKING THE W IITE VEIi.. I the waist of the young novice, while the bishop The chapti was full-es to crowded. Such a said," When thou wast younger, thou didat gird rare event ever attracts it great crowd. I sat thyself, and didst walk where thou would'st, but among them broken.hear~ed, and evish~ng for when thou shalt be old, another shall gird thee, death. Presently, the door on the right of the in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and altar opened, and the bishop, preceded by two of the Holy Ghost, Amen" Then holdinir the priests and four sacristans, entered and took their blessed veil over her fair head, he said, "Receive places at the altar. In a few moments after, the white veil, the emblem of inward purity, the door on the left of the altar opened, and a that thou mayest follow the lamb without spot, procession of nuns, headed by a cross-bearer, and and mayest walk with Him in white, in the chanting "Oh Glorioso Virginum," cute ed, and name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the slowly approaching the altar, ranged themselves Holy Ghost, Amen." The Lady Superior then before it. In the midst of them was te new adjusted the veil, and Veronica rising-, received postulant, my young, my beautiful, my glorious the mantle of the order from the bishop, and sister Veronica! I sate nothing now but her- handing it to the Lady Superior, was arrayed in I felt nothing but death! High Mass was cele- it-while the bishop said-" May the Lord re- brated I know, but I did not see it. A scrmon store to thee the robe of immortality, which by the bishop folio 'ed, but I did not hear it. thou didst lose in the prevarication of thy first All that came next, passed like a sickly dream. parents, in the name of the Father, and of the At the conclusion of the sermon, a hymn to the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Amen" Virgin was chanted. Then Veronica was led by Being now arrayed in the full habit of the or- the Lady Superior, up the steps of the altar- der, Veronica again knelt, holding her blessed and kneeling there with clasped hands and bowed taper, while the bishop, after sprinkling her with head--her golden ringlets drooping, and her holy water, prayed in an audible voice, extend- white drapery trailing down the carpeted steps; ing his hands over her. After which, turning to was interrogated as follows, by the bishop. the altar, in the name of the young novice, the "My child, what do you demand ~" bishop chanted the "Regnum Mundi," &c. "The mercy of God, and the holy habit of re- "The empire of the world, and all the gran- ligion," replied Veronica, in a sweet, clear voice. deur of this earth, I have despised for the love ei Is it of your own free will that you demand of the Lord Jesus Christ. whom I have seen, the holy habit of religion ?" whom I have loved, in whom I have believed. "Yes, father!" and towards whom my heart inclineth." "Reverend mother," said the bishop, turning Then the choir of nuns took up the strain and to the Lady Superior, who remained near the sung-" My heart bath uttered a good word, I postulant, "have you made the necessary inqul- speak my works to the king, I have gktosen to ries, and are you satisfied ?' be abject in the house of my Lord Jesus Christy e~ Yes, father," replied she Glory be to the Father," &c. As the chorus "My child," resumed the bishop, turning to finished the "Quem Vidi," the young novice Veronica, "have you a firm intention to perse- prostrated herself before the altar; the bishop, vere in religion to the end of your life, and do priests, sacristans, nuns, all knelt while the so- you hope to have sufficient strength to carry con- lemn "Veni Creator," was sung. Many pray- stantly the sweet yoke of our Lord Jesus Christ ers followed. Then the young novice rising, - solely, for the love and fear of God ?" approached the Lady Superior. and knelt before "Rely ig on the mercy of God, I hope to be her-she rising embraced her, while the nuns. able to do so." approached in quiet succession, and gave her the - The bishop then arose from his chair and cx- kiss of sisterly love. After which, they retired tending his la ds over her head in benediction, again to their seats, while the whole ch3ir burst said --" What the Lord has begun in you, may forth in the joyous "Ecce quam botvmT' At - He perfect. May the Lord banish from you, the the end of which the bishop pronounced the be- old man with his works." nediction, and the holy sisterhood retired in the - CC Amen," responded the novice, while the orderly procession in which they had entered.- priests intoned the solemn chant, "In exitu Is- The congregation dispersed. raci," at the end of which, the nuns took up I was the last to leave the chapel. I left it5. another and more cheerful strain, singing in heart crushed. clear liquid tones, "Who is she that cometh up I believe I was always then, a shy, un*oeiak page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] 136 SHANN( boy. I lived at home without even getting ac- quainted with my domestics. I found no friends, not even business friends. I had not even busi- ness connecttons-no particular tailor-no par- ticular hatter. I furnished myself with what I needed, at the first shop that presented itself al- ways. 1 suffered in my loneliness. Perhaps it was my own fault. I seldom, very seldom vi- sited Veronica lt was such a mockery then to see her face within a grate, and her form swath- ed in the shroud-like white bands, and draped with the white mantle and veil of the order.- Twelve months from h~r entering upon her novi- elate, she took the black veil. Let me recall the day of her TAKING THE BLACK VEIL. The Ritual of the assumption by a novice of the Black Veil, that is to hide forever, the world from her eyes-the pall that is to cover forever the brow of the living dead,-is, Jet me tell you, if you have never seen the august and solemn ceremony-much more profoundly im- posing than that of the initiation of a mere pos- tulant by the reception of the white veil. For weeks before the important day arrived, a xumbr of a novice being about to take the black veil, went all over town and country. The awful ceremony was, even then, so rare in this country, that an immense crowd gathered, and from the earliest hour of its being opened, the chapel was crowded. I repaired to the chapel slowly and with a dying heart. I arrived late, and finding no seat, was forced to take a stand in one of the aisles near the altar. It was a beautiful, gor- geous and solemn autumn day-the warm, still, sun rays, poured richly through the stained glass of the gothic Windows, flooding the church with glorious, though mellowed light. Amid the great crowd, an awful silence reigned-an awful stillness, too, moved only by the quivering of the gorgeous, many colored sun rays. Presently, as before, the door on the right hand of the altar noiselessly swung open, and a train of sacristans in robes, entered, preceding the bishop, priests and deacons, in their canoni- eels, and followed by the holy brotherhood in long procession, and took their places within, before, and about the altar,-the bishop occupy- ing the centre. The door on the left now swung noiselessly * open, and a procession of the holy sisterhood en- .tered, preceded by a cross-bearer, while the .e~ioir chanted as before-" Veni Creator."- * '1'hey ranged themselves quietly and solemnly, before the'altar 1.'he novice approached from among them, and lcnelt before the altar. The act of profession, * with pen and ink, lay near her. The bishop now intoned from the altar, the solemn 'lEmitte Spi- uitum tuum," &c., "Send forth thy spirit and - they shall be created?' while the novice re- ) NPALE. sponded, "And thou shalt renew the face of the earth." Then followed a prayer by the bishop, at the close of which he blessed the black veil, that lay near the altar. Then a chant was intoned alternately by the bishop and the candidate be- fore him. Next a prayer, at the end of which, the bishop sprinkled the black veil with holy water, and in the name of the Blessed Trinity, at the close of which rite, the gospel for the oc casion, was chanted by one of the officiating deacons. The Lady Superior and the Sub-Priox. ess, then led the novice to the grate, where she was interrogated as follows, by the bishop within. "My child, what do you demand I" "My father, I most humbly beg, that I may be received to the holy profession." "My child, do you consider yourself suffi. cienti, instructed in what regsrds the vows of rIigion and the rules and constitutions of this institute? And do you know the obligations ~ ou contract by the holy profession ?" "Yes, my father, by the grace of God." "May God grant you perseverance in your holy resolution and may He deign in His mercy to consummate what He has begun. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Ame~~~ After this the organ pealed forth its rich tones, at regular intervals, announcing the solemn Mass of the HolyGhost. During all this time the novice continued kneeling before the altar-the Lady Superior on her right, the Sub-Prioress on the lett. At the end of the Mass, several prayers were offered up, several psalms chanted, and then the Sub-Prioress,-- taking the lighted taper from the hands of the novice, laid the act of profession b4ore her. She arose, took It up, approached the grate, and holding it in her hartd, chanted the "vota mea Domini," &c.;-"l will pay my vows unto the Lord, in the sight of all His people, in the courts of the house of the Lord I" Then kneeling again, the Comfiteer was said, after which, the bishop pronouncing the "Domine non sum dignus," &c ;-" Lord, I a~n not worthy that Thou shouldat come under my roof," approached the grate bearing the Holy Eucharist, which he held before her while she thus pronounced her vows-reading- "In the name of our Lord and' Saviour, Jesus Christ, and under the protection of His immacu- late Mother, Mary, ever Virgin, I, Veronica Burleigh, called in religion, Sister Veronica Giu- liana, ol che Most Holy Trinity, do vow and promise to God, perpetual poverty, chastity, obedience, and the service of th'i poor, sick and ignorant, to persevere unto the end of m~r life in this Institute of our Blessed Lady of Mount Car. mel, according to its approved rule and consti- tution, under the authority, and in presence of you, my Right Reverend Father in God, Paul SHANNOND ALE. Peter Andrews, Bishop of this Diocess, and of our Reverend tvlother, Catherine Wilmington, called in religion, Ignatia, Mother Superior of this Convent of our Lady of Mount Carmel, this 2~th day of October, in the year of our Lord, 18-." Then writing her name, and making the sign of the cross after it with the pen, she passed the deed to the Lady Superior, who knelt at her right and. The most interesting-the most awful moment of the august ceremonial had now come-the moment when, having pledged herself to her di- vine spouse, she was to receive, in return, his pledge and earnest of mystical union; that in- stant was arrived, when the bishop, repeating tue following words, administered to her the Holy Euchariet,-'. What God has. commenced in thee, may He Himself perfect, and may our Lord Jesus Christ preserve thy soul unto life everlasting. Amen." Turning from the grate, and kneeling to the Lady Superior, Veronica received from her hand the consecrated ring, while the whole choir rang out again in the "Veni Spousa Christi ;"- "Come, Spouse of Christ." Veronica then sang with solemn and touching effect-" Suscipe me, Domine," three times, in honor of the Blessed Trinity. Then kneeling, she received the Black Veil from the Lunhop, who said, while placing it on her head- "Receive the holy veil, the emblem of chas- tity and modesty, which mayest thou carry be- fore the judgment seat of our Lord Jesus Christ, that thou mayest have eternal life. Amen." Then rising from her knees, and standing up, * holding her lighted taper, the newly professed nun sang the "Posuit Signum ;"-" He has placed Hi-s seal upon my forehead," &c. Then followed the august rite of the bishop's benedic- tion from the altar-responded to in every clause by the now kneeling nun. Then was chanted the "Itegnum Mundi," at the end of which Veronica prostrated herself, and while thut; lying metaphorically dead, the glorious '*Te Deum" arose from the whole Holy Brother. hood and Sisterhood, in full choir. I s~aw no more. My head reeled. I felt that * NOTII. I have had repeated opportunities of seeing the ceremony of taking the Whiie Veil and the Black Veil at the Convent of~the Visitation, at Georgetown. Nevertheless, for this authentic de- scription, I am indebted to arare volume, kindly loned roe lbr ib' purpose by a Roman Catholic cegyman. I thought that the ceremony would be inirresti g to mot of my readers, as among even the few who have opportunities of witnessing the rites, there are fewer ~.titl who ean get near enough the altar to see or are sutlicienily familiar with the rituti to follow the rapid enunciation of the officiating prietts and deacons in the services conducted in L-.ain. 137 the shroud, the coffin, the pall, the grave, had swum in darkly between me and aU I loved on earth. I do not know how I left the chapel. CHAPTER XL. THE SECRET CRIME CONTINUED. Ah! wretch believed the spouse of God in vain, Confessed within the slave of love and man .Pope. I was ill for a long time after that ceremony. Whefti I recovered, the world had lost its chatms, if indeed it had ever possessed any for me. I resolved to follow the example of my sister. I determined to enter the priesthood. I re entered my college, and commenced a course of theolo- gical reading the same year. I became interest- ed in my studies- strongly attracted to my chosen vocation. I grew to think that I was called to it. I think so still. I grew quiet- then~ cheerful. In due course of time I was ap- pointed to this same ministry. Here I made many friends, found congenial pursuits, and was very happy in my calling, until one day, when I received a letter from the Reverend Lady Supe- nor of the Carmelite Convent, of which Veronica was professed sister. Imagine the overwhelming sorrow with which I learned that my sister had fled her convent, abjured her religion, and mar- ried! Bowed to the earth with grief and hnmi- liation, without saying one word to any one as to the cause of my journey, I suddenly left this neighborhood and repaired to the convent, to learn there the particulars of the flight. All that the Abbess had written was confirmed, and more was told me. Veronica had fled, and the companion of her flight was a handsome, gay, and fascinating man, of high rank, and of irre- proachable reputation certainly-whom, by the way, I had sometimes seen in my father's house, and who, the last year of our stay at home, when Veronica was about fifteen years of age, had paid the beautiful child rather marked atten- tion. How he found access to her again, how he contrived to wile her away, no one knew. They were married by special license at one of the Protestant Churches. He had forced the sisterhood to give up, or perhaps they had volun- tarily yielded the considerable property she had brought to the institution. I learned that he had taken her home to a small farm in one of the lower counties of Marl land, that formed an item of her property, and where they were now living. I was deeply grieved, but this marriage was be.. yond remedy, of course. I returned in deep mortification to my pastoral charge. I wrote many letters to my sister, exhorting her, with every argument and persuasion in my power, at least to return to the bosom of the mother page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] 138 SHANN( church. I wasted a great deal of controversial theology upon her, to little or no effect. I never received an answer; I doubt whether she ever got my letters; I have much reason to believe they were intercepted by her husband. Finally, in despair of ever receiving a response, I ceased to write to her. Years passed. And then, thinking that time might have brought some change favorable to a free communication be- tween us, I wrote to her again, but received no answer. A second time I ceased to importune her with letters. Several years elapsed, and then came a yearning of the heart for the com- panion of my childhood, that obliged me to set out on the long, rough, country journey, to visit her. I travelled on horseback, and it took me six days to reach the mouth of the Patuvent, where her farm lay. I arrived at nightfall, find- ing there the aged overseer, who had always farmed the land or my father during his life- time. The old man, with his aged wife, now occupied the farm-house. He invited me into the large, old-fashioned parlor, where his wf~i received me -~ ith much cordiality. He took my hat and gloves, laid them aside, gave me the easiest attn-chair in the cosiest corner of the ample fireplace, and set a little etand, with a pitcher of cider and a tumbler, by my side. Then requesting his old wife to hurry supper, he drew the other great arm chair to the opposite corner of the chimney, and sitting down pre- pared to entertain me if I were inclined to con- versation. I lost no time in inquiring after my sister and brother-in-law, Mr. and Mrs. Joy. He gave me the following facts, which I shall, for convenience sake, put into my own words. When Frank Joy first brought his bride home he furnished the house with much taste and ele- gance. Her mother's and her father's old friends -~the most exclusive of the county aristocracy1 flocked around them -the story of her elope- ment from a convent had preceded them, but in that Protestant neighborhood, onJy made the beautiful bride more an object of interest and ~iriosity Great attention was shown them, es- pecially as her family was one of the oldest and most extensively connected in the county. On their pats also, the rites of hospitality were munificeritly dispensed. A series of elegant little dinner parties, and very select petits coverss were given by them. These were more rcchirche' I than the entertainments of the neighborhood usually were. They were greatly admired, as also were the accomplished host and beautiful hostess This was, or seemed, a very charming change to the simple recluse, who now found herself a great. lady (on a small scale), the cen- tre of an admiring circle ot friends. A severe winter advanced upon them, how- ever; the snow was Iwo feet deep on the ground, the waters of the bay near the shore were crust- ed, the river was closed, the free interchange of ) N DALE. visits in the neighborhood was interrupted; la- dies certainly could not get out in that severe weather; their visiting was embargoed. Not so the hospital ities of the Coast House. A suc- cession of select and elegant oyster suppers and champagne parties, for gentlemen onlr, replaced the former entertainments. From these, of course, Veronica was absent; but Frank Joy, with all his elegant accomplishments and grace- ful fascinations, was there in power-and so those select suppers attracted the elite of county. Veronica was certainly very much alone at this time, and would have felt very lonely doubtless, but that her husband loved, her sincerely, earnestly, passionately, and that cost- soled her fully for the loss of all other society. An event soon occurred, however, that seri- ously interrupted her happiness. One night when she had retired to bed at an unusually late hour, leaving her husband at sup- per with his friends, she fell into a sweet, deep sleep, from which she was suddenly aroused by loud and angry words in high contention. The excited tones came from the supper-room. She started in terror from her bed. The chamber clock struck three. She listened. The voices grew sharp and fierce in conflict And "Cheat!" "Swindler!" "GAIWuaxa I!" were the terms of reproach she heard scornfully coupled with her husband's name. She did not hear his voice in denial--smooth, graceful, slippery, and fascina- ting as a serpent he seemed. She heard his melodious tones without catching the words. But a flash of light had fallen on her life, and revealed many, many obscurities she had not been able to understand before. Meanwhile the ugh, arrogant, and overbearing voice was loud in its epithets of "Gambler! 6lackleg! SHARPFIt !',~ insultingly bestowed upon her handsome and ac- complished-her beloved Frank I Dressing her- self quickly, she descended to the supper-room, threw open the door, and stood pale and trem- bling within. The voice that had been high, sharp and fierce in angry and scornful invectives a moment before, now instantly ceased. With that cbivalric-nay, with that almost religious homage which Maryland men, even in moments of high excitement or intoxication, pay to wo- men-they all became quiet and ge~illemanly as soon as Veronica made her momentary appear- ance among them. Only her Fra'~k moved to- wards her in his graceful manner, and looking in her face with a fascinating blending of tender- ness with command, dreer her arm within his own, and with gentle force, conducted her frou the room back into their own chamber. "Remain here. I will return and explain soon -soon as I get these infernal fellows-I mean * gentlemen, away," and he left her. An instant after she heard his sweet, melodious voice, defending himself with persuasive but ignoble eloquence. She had been religiously ~HANN4 brought up-educated in a spiritof love, charity, and forgiveness-yet! if these charges were false she would have had her Frank rather thrust them down the throat of the charger, than plead his defence in this sweet, melodious tone! and if tree !-but he loved her dearly, she knew it, she would ask him! No! she could not do chat either I Ask him! that would be to insult him; should she insult him also-she! just after he had been subjected to so much ~ontumely-no I no! no! never! Presently she heard the company disperse quietly-his eloquence, or their consideration~ for herself, or both had prevailed. Frank trip- ped lightly up the stairs-entered laughing, laughing gayly. Oh! how she wished he had not laughed. Whether true or false the charges -that laugh was too ignoble then I He crossed the chamber-threw himself gayly and grace- fully into a chair, and drew her to his bosom. "My pet! my soft, my delicate, my trembling little pet! So they woke you up with their noise, and terrified you with their violence." Nothing could be more soothing, snore affec- tionate than his manner. She replied, "Well, never mind now. It is all over, dear! And you are very good, instead of getting an- gry as some men would, because I came in upon you then-only to feel sympathy with my wo- manish tremors. 1 ant not given to such trem- bling, however; I never was!" "My darling! I have so much sympathy fQr these womanish tremors, that if they ever alarm them again, the brutes I they shall never come here again! that is all I" "'Never come here again!' I hope some of them will never dare! Oh! Frank, keep your forbearance, your tenderness, for your little spoded wife-pot for them! resent! punish such insult, as you forgave to-day !" "'Resent! punish!' is that the advice given by my little nun ?" he asked, gently caressing "Indeed it is, Frankyl I can bear offence my- self, but I can't endure to see you bear it! I cannot, indeed, Franky! Oh! please stretch that man at your feet, with the poker, the very next time he calls you such names! do, Franky! it is I, your timorous little wife, who loves you, too, that asks you to do it, because I can not live to see you bear insult!" "What! knock down General 'Hector Mount- leopard! a man four times my weight, and twice my age, dear'?" "'?es! it age don't bring respectability, 1 do not see why it should be respected !" "Ab! but suppose in knocking him down with the poker, I kilt! him, and am hanged for it? how then ?" asked Frank Joy, with a charming archness. "Oh! I never thought of that! I never once thought of that' ' only thought of the insult ~NDALE. ' 139 deservitig punishment! I only thought of en. forcing a respect to my Franky's dignity-" "Yes, you impulsive little creature! It is your charming red hair, that makes you so fiery- tempered! For it is red, you little vixen! Gol- den, your admirers call it! Yes, but it is red- gold! Kiss me, darling! and forget all the, rude brutes that have disgraced themselves and terrified you, this evening!" She was soothed, not satisfied. All the next week there were no suppers. At the end of the week, a handsome set of jewels arrived from Baltimore for Veronica. It was with a gay af- fectionate smile that Frank displayed them be- fore her. Veronica had, just at this time, an al- most childish passion for dress; this was, of course, the greater for its novelty; the re-diction of her re-nunciatory enthusiasm at the convent. "The greater the sinner, the greater the saint," is a familiar proverb. The converse of that ap- peared to be tgue in Veronica's case. For a time, amused by her baubles, she almost ceased to think of the incident that had troubled her so much at the supper. A dinner~party was given, at which, among other guests, peeredd General Hector Mount- leopard; but notwithstanding Frank's warning to her, and his gay and smiling request to her, to be courteous to all his guests, Veronica met the General with a freezing hauteur, that with all his arrogance, seriously discomposed that gen- tleman's self-possession. At the end of the din- ner, Frank looked grave and displeased, for the first time in their married life; and Veronica was unhappy. For what purpose could Frank be so servile to an arrogant and purse proud man, who had grossly insulted him? And why should a man like General Hector Mountleopard, appear again at the table of a host whom he had degraded with such epithets as 'Sharper-Black~ leg'?' But the latter question was more easily answered. Few, indeed, could resist the fasci- nations of Frank Joy's sunshiny temper and sparkling wit; and that singular look of candor in his broad white open brow-with its cluster- ing black curls! (Look at Harry's, it is the same brow!) Weeks passed, and still the handsome, gay and alluring man, drew constantly around him the gentry of the neighborhood. Veronica had a great concentrativeness of mind. Any impor- tant idea that once seized her-possessed, ab- sorbed her. Little things were constantly oc- curring to feed and keep alive the suspicion ex- cited by the quarrel at supper. As Winter ad- vanced towards Spring, she could but observe that the county ladies neglected her. Proud and shy she kept at home. Her husband was amassing large sums of money, she knew-by what mean4 she did not know. The warm, af- fectionate, confiding intercourse, that had hith- erto existed between them, was cooling of. Ij page: 140-141[View Page 140-141] 140 SHANN( was not-she felt it-from any declension of love on either side I it was because some wrong thing had come between them. One day Frank Joy had a large dinner-party. The company sat late over their wine; and then kept up their revels all night. Veronica did not sleep at all. The noise assisted her mental anxiety, and kept her awake. At dawn of day, the wild, disorderly company broke up. Frank * Joy came, gay, laughing, roystering, but sober, up the stairs. Stopped Veronica's questioning with a kiss-and began to pack his portmantua for a journey. "Why, where are you going, Franky ?" "To Baltimore, on sudden business," he an- swered; and the next hour he embarked in a packet that passed, and was oft sure enough. She afterwards discovered that the "sudden business" was the deposit of a large sum of money in bank, which he did not deem it safe to keep about the house~ In the course of that day a carriage rolled into die yard. A venerable lady, clothed in black, descended from it, and leaning on the arm of a young fragile girl, tot- tered feebly towards the bouse. Veronica, from the windows ~f her sitting- room, recognized Mrs. Martha Downs and her grand-daughter-Mrs. Mountleopard, the youth- ful wife of General Mountleopard. This was the first visit Veronica had received for many months; and it took her rather by surprise. She threw a large thin shawl about her shoulders, and went down to meet them. They were already in the parlor. There was a gravity upon the face of the old lady, a distress upon that of the young one, that startled Veronica with a vague presentiment. She went up to them and wel- comed them, courteously offering her hand. The old lady gravely withdrew hers, and immediate- ly opened the subject of her visit. She spoke in severe terms of their (Frank and Veronica's) having allured her son-in-law to their house-led him into intoxication and gambling, and won large sums of money from him; of his having, the preceding night, been made drunk, and swindled out of an immense amount of money. Shocked and indignant, Veronica's red, "golden red" hair, fairly bristled with scorn and anger. And she said it was not to be sup~vosed that she knew anything about her husband's amusements among his gentlemen guests-but that it was very absurd to hint, far less to say that he, who was almost a boy in years and in thoughtless- ness, should be able to tempt a veteran sinner ilke General Mountleopard. "AhI you think we don't know I You think we are deceived by your affectation of youthful simplicity I But we know-all the neighbor- hood knows that you two are in league! that your husband is as great a rogue as you are! that with your youth, beauty, wit, fascinations, you charm all the young, and delude all the old )NDALE. of the neighborhood, to their destruction I All the county know that you keep a gambling. house I and the authorities are already advised of that circumstance. And 1 come to counsel you to re-fund, and save yourselves from the vengeance of the law, and my unfortunate son- in- law from utter ruin I" Language can ill describe the mixed and blen- ded emotions of scorn, anger, suspicion, and shame, that raged in the high spirited woman's bosom. She grew white. She arose from her chair, tottered to the corner of the chimney-piece and pulled the bell rope. A servant entered. "Show these women out," she said, with cold and ashen lips, and trembling, left the room. That night Veronica was prematurely confined of a dead infant. A fortnight after, when Frank Joy returned, he found her still dangerously ill. She recovered. But neither the loss of their child nor the ex- treme illness of Veronica, arrested the down- ward course of the infatuated gambler. If it were a fact that he drew men to their ruin with an irresistible fascination-it was also a fatal truth, that he himself was the charmed victim of a passion, a fiend who was his tyrant. I described Veronica as possessing a high spirit and an ardent temperament, great concen- tration of mind, and intensity of feeling.. It was in vain now, that Frank 3oy sought, by his charming caresses and sparkling aaljies of wit, to beguile her thoughts and feelings from dwel- ling on the disgraceful facts rec~tIy confirmed to her. Perhaps no one, not even her husband- ahi least of all he-no one but myself, her com- panion from the cradle, could estimate the vie. lence of the mortal struggle that now ~onvulsed her soul-the struggle between her passionate at- tachment to her husband, and the high uncompro- mising sense of honor that urged her to oppose, to the death, all that was evil in his character and conduct. He had been to her a sort of oracle-an em- bodiment of her high ideal of moral and intel- lectual excellence. It was because he had looked upon her monastic vow as a superstitious act, that she had been led to view it in the same light. That was the infatuation of passion. But now she discovered, with wbat extreme anguish of soul, few who did not know her wquld understand-that her beautiful, her accomplish- ed, her most excellent one, for whom in' hee~ fond and blind idolatry she had abandoned her con- vent and her religion-whom in her madness she had suffTered to take the place of all intermediRte between her soul and God-was-what? Gain- bier, cheat, cowARD I She never even in her thoughts, degraded him with these names-yeZ this was what she gradually felt him to aye, even as she would feel the approach of ~ death, for at killed her! But I am anticipating. Aeshe recovered temporarily from ber illness- SHANNO DAE the orgies at Coast House were revived in ten-' His depart fold energy. She utterly, and to the death, as I . said, opposed them. Had she not loved Frank What I hi so truly-taken his faults to heart so bitterly- ed from the suffered vic.&nous0,, one might say, all the bit- from those 4 ter remorse and humiliation he should have suf- wards from fered; had s~e been content, as some women are had gone. ~comfortably to take all the good her husband bad no static coiil~l bring her, and quietly to wash her hands Office, when of all the evil through which it came-them she I wrote to it might have been happy in this world-might at letter the ne least have been free from personal inconvenience passed on m~ -personal violence; for Frank loved her if he ed myself fo loved anything. Perhaps she did not go the right hood before, way to work, to reclaim him. Perhaps she could through the a not have reclaimed him at all. At all events, these settle when once assured of his vice-when once all lower part ol barriers of esteem and delicacy were thrown ney to undei down between them, she bitterly upbraided him; my sister. sternly and stubbornly setting her face against I heard it loi his proceedings. Frank's good humor was great, old Coast H but not invincible. This opposition from her, at passed, and last aroused his anger-and many quarrels oc- I g~rew to U cured between them. Veronica was no patient tremely inte and resigned victim; neither was she a weeping and lasting I and wailing one. No I the same fire of tempe- loners, amon rament, that burned with such intense devotion in the very r when fed by religion-blazed fiercely now when lonel Summe blown by a righteous anger-for it was righteous Darling, and in itself, only evil in its ezcets. Often when he two families would be holding his revels below, she would gradually toc suddenly appear amidst them with her red hair my heart. flashing, and her eyes blazing with indignation, and father, and by the mere power of her moral force, they repaid however injudiciously exerted, disperse the revel- them as ~ s lets; but oh I these scenes would be followed years passed by others of great, of revolting violence, when of my sister. once the guests had departed, and they. were my secluded alone together-and the beautiful, fascinating ened when I and debonair gentleman, would be transformed ties were no' into a perfect demon of vengeance and cruelty! -but these ~ Professed nun as she had been, she was na- and mothers turally neither saint nor angel-only a beauty. bringing thei ful, high-spirited, woman; she therefore took sister seized no sort of ill-treatment patiently; but, alas I her ceased to be fragile form did not second her high spirit, and appearance~ she suffered frightfully at these times! She solete "tale might have evaded all this, by leaving him; but think of her she would not do that. Like, almost any other light-a met unperyert.ed woman, she felt that any sort of a path of life, life .eitls her husband, was better than any sort young spirit- of a Jife without him, (only she wab determined quickly fallci not to second, but to oppose his evil doings;) and account ;-oi so thought Frank by his wife, and fiercely as grave, where they quarrelled, he would have done anything ed Into dust; on earth, except give up the gaming-table, before news of her.- he would have let her go. -unexpectec So passed the year. to the perpet The first of the next January-having, locust- tion of which like, stripped the neighborhood as nearly as he ty-seven-thi could do it,-Frank Joy left the Coast House un- all my days s der the care of the overseer, and left the State. with terror! 141 ure was as sudden as a flight. 1 9 9 9 9 ~ve now told you was partly gather- lips of the overseer, and afterwards ~f others-some details long after- my sister. 1 inquired where they rhe overseer informed me that they nary home, but that now their Post- last heard from, was N.'w Orleans. ~y sister that night, and mailed the xt morning, at the first post-town I return home. I bitterly reproach- r not having visited her neighbor- though then two hundred miles LImost unbroken wilderness between nents and the settlements in the Maryland, was a very perilous jour- 'take. I received no answer from ['he old overseer died the next year- ig after, by a mere chance-and the ouse was shut up. Several years till I heard no tidings of Veronica. iink she was dead. I became ex- rested in my parish; formed a strong Friendship for several of my parish- g whom were then old Mrs. Darling, ioon of her life and beauty, and Co- rfield, who afterwards married Miss became the father of Imogene, The of Red-Stone Hell and Oak Grove k the place of my blood relations in ['hey were as dear to me as mother sisters, brothers and children; and my love an hundred fold; I was to on-a brother-or a father. Many away, during which I heard nothing Many changes had taken place in parish. The children I had christ. first entered upon my clerical du- w grown up, some of them ma~ed~ vere girls who had married young- whom I had christened were now k infants to the baptismal font. My forgotten. Her name had long since mentioned. Her mysterious dis- rith her husband had become an ob- of old times," and 1 had grown to only as a brilliant and transient eor that had flashed upon my early and disappeared forever-as a fierce -early perjured-early rebellious- ~, and quickly called to her dread , I thought of her distant, unknown her bones had long since moulder- -when, one day, I received sudden -that-peat God I-that suddenly! ily I-blindly f-fatally f-led me in- ration of that crime, the contempla- turned my hair snow white at for- e memory of which has darkened rith remorse-alarmed all&y nights page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] 142 SHANNC CHAPTER XLI. THE SECRET CRIME CONTINUED. Aye! Heiv~'n and e~mh do cr~ ' Thiposeible !" The shuddering angels 'round the eternal throne, Veihg eh'-mselves in glory, r-hriek 'impossible!" But hell doth know it true. Materin's Bertram. Many times during the recital of this story the old man ta~i paused aud rested. Now he stopped to take anme refreshment, and then strengthened and calmed by the composing manner of his young attendant, went on with his story. There is nothing that strikes me with more force than the often utter unconsciousness of a great criminal before the crime, of the terrible precipice of guilt upon which he stands. "Is thy servant a dog that he should do this thing ?" was the honest and indignant question of the self-ignorant Hazael.; to the wise, far-seeing prophet. Even so honest would have been the indignant repudiation echoed from the very heart of rn-any a criminal, if foretold his crime a week, a day, sn hour, before its perpetration! Sudden, unexpected, almost irresistible temptation falls upon an unprepared soul, passions aroused to almost maniac fury nearly or quite overwhelm reason and self-control; such is the history of most crime. He who was free from crime as the greater portion of his fellow beings when he lost his self-possession, finds himself a criminal at whose deeds a world shudders-tyke he comes ~to himself," and ah! there is nothing on earth or in hell so wretched ~s his remorse. The les- son should teach us this n-great pity for the criminal; strict watchfulness over our own dan-' gerous passions. I was one day reading in my small study a rare old ilumluated volume of the fourteenth century, that Mrs. Summerfield, during her then late bridal tour, had picked up at New York, and just presented to me; my feet were on the hob, for it was a chilly day in September, just waking a fire comfortable. I was extremely comforta- ble in mind and body-little dreaming that I was then enjoying my very last hour of earthly ease -that in twenty minutes more the first of a series of events should occur that should deprive all my future of peace. Had any one in that nour of e~sy enjoyment foretold a sudden ca- ramity of which I should be the victim; a fire that should consume me; a fall from a horse, or a carriage that should kill me; a sudden illness that should carry me off; I should not have been scornfully incredulous at least; for such things happen in some part of the world every week- but !-bad any prophet or angel foretold a sud- den crime of which Ishould be the perpetrator- I should have felt like repulsing the prophecy in the indigpant language of Hazael, "is thy ser- vant a DOG that he should do this thing ?" Well, to go on-I was sitting in ease and comparative innocence, when Mattie came smiling in- she was a woman of early mid-age then-and laid upon my reading-desk a letter. I took it. up carelessly. I had no correspondents of mudi interest. I started slightly, ho~eever, when 1 noticed the post-mark Green Mdle- the super- scription was in a strange hand to me. 1 broke the' seal-and merely read- CoAsT Housz, near Green Mills, September. My Only Brother -If possibly you ate yet in the land of the living, and yet resident at Sacred Heart, where 1 shall direct this letter, hasten mi- mediately to Your only sister in extremity, VERONICA. I rode like lightning to Squire Darling's. I borrowed the swiftest horse in his stables, and that same night set out for Maryland-I rode as for life. Oh, no one knows or could ever know how I loved that long lost twin sister of mine- my only love from infancy to age. I hurried on half delirious with joy, expectancy, and-fear! "Extremity !" what extremity? Extreme ill. ness-death? Should she be dead when 1 should reach Coast Rouse? I shuddered and hastened faster on-perhaps it was only extreme poverty! That indeed might have been reasonably pre- dicted from the wild improvident course of their lives. AhI if poverty were the extremity, how easy to spare from my own provision enough to sustain her slender wants-or, had she children? A hundred thoughts, anxieties, anticipations rushed through my mind as day and night I hur- ried on-still blaming myself for an unchristian loss of self-possession. 1 had nearly killed Squire Darling's valuable "blood" by the time I reached Green Mills. 1 left him exhausted at the inn and hastened on, on foot, to Coast House. I knew something of the present condition of the old homestead from hearsay-the house nearly ruined-and standing alone in an acre or so of thistle and weed cover- ed land-the farm sold and annexed to surround. ing large plantations-a few squalid huts in which vegetated a few wretched old negroes, past service, who were suffered to keep a foot- hold on their native soil, and gain a meagre living by trapping small game, fishing, wool picking, knitting coarse stockings, etc. That evening! What an evening it was! It was growing dark, and an army of storm clouds were mustering in the North-West as I approach- ed Coast House. I heard the dull booming of tite bay against the cliffs like the opening of s cannonading. The naked house loomed large and black through the dusky night. I clambered over the broken heaps of stones that had long ago formed the wall, and with a heavy, heavy sinking of the heart, went up to the great door of the formidable looking black front. 1 rapped, and my rap echoed mournfully-hollowly throng ~ki A~ ~ the vacant and deserted halls. All was dark an silent-and in the stillness I heard the mutterir of the coming storm and the booming of the ba' I rapped again-feeling faint with vague terror- again the cannonading of the bay against the cli was the only sound that fearfully broke the s lence. I turned the handle of the lock an pushed the door open-it fell with a heavy, lou clang that aroused all the roaring echoes of tb cavernous old house. I felt ashamed of th nervousness that shook me like an ague as passed on over the fallen door, and opening side door on the right, went into the room that ha been the family sitting.room of old. As 1 en tered, the lurid light of a smouldering fire in th ample fire-place, revealed the form of an inflrr woman who had risen from her seat, still holding on the arm of the chair, supporting her frail forni "Did you not hear me knock P' asked 1. "Hear you knock-no! how should I hear yo knock, amid the noises of this place? I hea only-the wind roaring through the house-win dow-fiames shaking, sashes rattling, shutter sometimes falling off! A door felijust now! bu what do you want ?-ke is not here ityon are om 01 Onem " "I wait-1 want-is Mrs. -, do yot know whether any of the family of the proprie tor is about ?" The womab was looking at me wistfully- searchingly-then sinking back in her chair, shi exclaimed, almost inaudibly, "My God! my brother." CC Veronica! oh, no! no! this is not my sis- ter!" 1 knelt down before her, took her hands, and gazed intently into her face. I could read there not one single look of my sister !-the features were different, the expression was different. Could this old and haggard woman possibly be Veronica? I was pierced through with a real and painful doubt-as kneeling I held her hands and gazed iWo her face. "Am I so very much changed, then?" she asked. "Changed! You are revolutionized-you are exchanged if indeed you ever were my sister! Oh! Veronica! Veronica! my sister! my sister!" 1 dropped m'~ head weeping upon her lap, and her head fell upon mine, and her arms entwined me. Whell this was over, I arose and sat by her side. "Have you eat any supper ?" she asked. "No, Veronica, nor have I any appetite to eat." "Yet you 'must do so," she said, and going to the old corner cupboard, she took out a little tea-kettle and filling with water from, a bucket on a bench, she hung it over the fire and threw on more chips from a pile near at hand. It seem- ed indeed as if the sitting-room of the ruinous old dwelling served t.s parlor, kitchen, scullery, wood-shed, and for every other purpose. ~1LJJNJJALE. 143 ed "Veronica, since you will have supper pre- g pared; let me prepare it I Heavens! how feeble ~. you seem," said 1, ashamed now that 1 had let her lift her hand to serve me. ft "Ah! I am accustomed to these things! I n- have cooked for Frank a long time," she said, *d drawing out a little table and setting some miss- d matched crockery ware upon it; after which she .e dropped trembling and fainting into the chair, e and I saw with grief how much the little effort I~ had fatigued and exhausted her~ a "Ah, Veronica,, of all our people i~ there none d left to wait on you ?" She smiled. e "Christie takes care of my little house-keep- fl ing, but Christie goes to her quarter at night. g Besides, this evening 1 want you to myself." L. She got up and made the tea; put a corn john- ny cake and a piece of cold roast rabbit on the ~ table, and invited me to sit down. I did so to r please her, forcing an appetite I did not feel. "To-morrow if you stay with me you shall ~ have some oysters," she said-" old Tom is ~ going down to the oyster-banks to get some. ~ You never get them where you live up there in the Virginia mountains-they will be a welcome old rarity to you." Oh, it hurt me so to hear her talking of small paltry comforts for me, while she herself seemed to try to conceal some great grief that yet her heart-broken look still betrayed. "My poor sister, I thank you. But do not trouble yourself about my eating-it is giving undue importance to a trifle.~ I shall do well enough. I am neither invalid nor epicurean." "Ah! well! perhaps I do give 'undue ira.. portance' to the subject-but then it is habit. I have been caterer and cook for an epicurean all my life nearly." This was the second time Veronica alluded to this fact. After supper I would not permit her to wash up the dishes, but pushed the table baek myself and drew our chairs to the fire, which I mended and made to blaze brightly, and sat down I looked inquiringly into Veronica'sfaee. Up tothis time I had not asked her a question of her life, nor did 1 intend to trouble her with one, but resolved to wait until she should voluntarily confide in me. I did not even know whether her husband was living or dead; whether, if living, he were with her; whether they had any children; or indeed any other fact of her late married life. She replied to my look of interest by saying, "I wrote to you, my brother, under a sure conviction elf approaching death, in order to con- fide to your care one charge-the child of my old age I" "Your old age, my sister-my turin sister! why, I am in the prime of life, and the few silver threads mingling with my black hair were - page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] 144 SHA~NNONDALE. whitened by trouble, not time-trouble for ~,ou, and cloak, and he drawing me after him, hurried Veronica 1" down and out of the house, and fled to the "1 am~sorry for that. Yes I my old age~ Some beach. There, while waiting the passage of the snateral& wear out soor er than others, and s'ime packet, his agitation defies all description ills have harder usage than others. 1 was of a ma- furtive glances thrown out over the country; hi, aerial qu ckly worn out, and of a spirit tnat sudden pallor when the sound of horses' feet quickly consumes such; besides I had ~'uch were heard upon the distant road, all betrayed usage, and bad usage. I have led a wild, wild the extreme terror of a criminal in mortal fear life since I saw you last I am aged at forty- of pursuit and arrest. The packet passed at two." length,-stopped, put out a boat, took us on "Ab, Veronica! my sister! my sweet sister! board, and in an hour from the time of my sit.. I know it! I have heard something of your puller- ting quietly in my chamber, I found myself un. ings before ycu left the table. Oh! the wsstah!" expectedly on board of a schooner flying be- "Hush I Let no idle words be spoken. I sent tween Baltimore and Norfolk We reached the for you to give into your charge-my last gift- latter city late in the night. A vessel was to a legacy-the child of my old age, as I said- sail for Charleston, South Carolina, with the first whose advent I am daily expecting-whose blith morning tide. We embarked on bonr1 of her, I can never survive. I am too old, too broken. and in due time reached that city. There I I have suffered too greatly and for too long a thought we might have rested and breathed- time. I have been the mother of children already, Not so. He inquired for a vessel for New Or- and never possessed two living at the same time. leans. One was to sail in a few days, and it was I have seen them perish one by one-from expo- with the greatest restlessness and the utmost sure to the inclemency of the weather in cold trepidation that he awaited the time of sailing. climes;* from the baleful miasma of hot un- He changed his name, dyed his hair, and kept healthy countries; from want, fatigue, ill usage, quiet. The day came, we sailed. We reached from which I had not always the power to shield the city of New Orleans We put up at fashion. them, or neglect which could not always be able hotel. The first thing I saw on the parlor avoided. Their very graves lie far apart." table was the daily paper; the first paragraph "Have you led such a widely roving life, that met my eye was the advertisement of a re- then, Veronica ~ ward of five hundred dollars offered for the ap- "Listen!" she said, and then she gave me the prehension of a forger to the amount of twenty following account. I will not repeat what I have thousand dollars, and the name of that forger already told you, namely, that which I learned was Francis Joy, of Coast House, Green Mills, from the old overseer; but continue her story Maryland! 1 was not given to fainting, scream- from the point at which he left it; . or, rather, ing, weeping, paleness, or any other interesting from an event that occurred a few days before feminine tremors. I think that grief, fea., error- they left the State, and I will tell you in her tification-every feeling was lost in a storm of own words: unutterable scorn and auger. He just then hur- Things had gone on in this way, after the ned into the room, and met my eyes flashing loss of our first child, from bad to worse, until with a consuming wrath, no doubt, for 1 felt one day when I was sitting in my chamber alone, them so !-and-for I never was either a scech he suddenly ran into the house and up the stairs, or a meek woman! brother, we should tmve and, breathless; said- had a terrible scene, without any sort of doubt, "Veronica I prepare instantly to set out with but that he, who had seen the advertisert~ent, me from here !,, fearing to trust too much to his disguise and "in the name of Heaven, what do you change of name, had come in to hasten our de- mean I" exclaimed I, terrified at his blanched parture. We went to the city of Mexico. Ho countenance and trembling frame, had a very large amount of money with him. I if I have no time for explanations! none! my think that before he fled, he had taken time to liberty! my life! depend upon my instant flight, draw all his money from the various banks ii but I will not leave you! Be ready; we must which it had been from time to time temporarily take the packet that passes here in fifteen ml- deposited. I think also that he had placed the nutes!" arrangement of his business in the hands of one All the time he spoke, he was wildly empty- of his comrades, who remained behind, and who ing a wardrobe of its miscellaneous contents, also cheated him, in refutation of the adage that and rapidly packing them into a trunk, while teUs us there is "honor among thieves." The with the speed of fear, he locked and strapped forgery-you heard of it, my brother 1" it down, and hastily calling two men, dispatched "Never-nor is it strange that I should not. them with it to the beach. Few papers reach our secluded neighborhood, "Fire and flames! why do you stand gazing and those few are weeklies, from which all un- there 1" he angrily.asked of me. necessary matter is expunged; besides, I was is ohe in a bewildered dream, I put on bounet indebted for my reading of newspapers to Squire IAN1~O1WDALB barllng and to Colonel Summerfield, and it is stances were rare, asic followed by a bitterness is likely that had the advertisement, or any of regret and self-reproach on his part, that I notice of that forgery appeared in our papers, never knew himto feel for any other act. He over they would have carefully withheld them, and seemed to think that he could never do enough concealed it from me. You must know, also, *to convince me of his sorrow; he would tell me tha~ though I constantly thought of you, dear -what, indeed, I knew from my experience of Veronica, I never spoke of you. As for the him, that intoxication generally metamorphosed forgery, things of that sort follow each other a person; totally reversing, for the time being, with such lamentable rapidity, that a new in- their natural disposition; making the naturally stance quickly supplants an old one in public ill-tempered good-humored and gentle, and exci- thought." ting the good-natured and cheerful to irritability "Yes, that is so," my sister said, and then and anger. I could easily forgi~re him s.ll his continued- abuse of me. It was, at worst, only a piece of We lived in Mexico two or three years. He savage human nature to strike when angry.- had a very large sum of money, as I said, and Alas, there are more disgraceful things than made a great deal more; and so we lived in that in civilization, and for those things, I con- style. He spoke Spanish Like a native, and had tinued to disagree with him. In this way we lost none of his fascinations. I saw victim after led a wretched life, certainly, though we were victim ensnared and lost. I never ceased to ex- too strongly attached to each other to separate. postulate with him, and where another and a He took me with him,-~-opposing his manner of gentler woman would have wept, I upbraided! life all the time, itt all his tramps through the It was my nature to quarrel rather than to cry! country, and I, in spite of every inconvenience, And he would, sometimes, when I had in my was very willing to go. I think when people utter scorn o1~ his courses said something to him quarrel and part, there is certainly no love at almost too plain and bitter ever to be forgiven, bottom. We quarrelled like two very bad chiF- gaily attribute it to my "red hair," and laugh- dren or two tigers, loving each other dearly be.. ingly caress me. Ah! it was because he was tween the times. Yes, positively, we quarrelled such a splendid fellow, ruined, that in spite of until not our love, but the eseaning of words was his gigantic faults, I loved him so passionately! worn ottt with constant us~ and the abuse meant quarrelled with him so fiercely! and would have nothing. We stayed in Mexico several yeage- reformed him violently !-since it was not in me in the city of Mexico two or three years. You to do it gently. Ah, yes! he was a magnificent and others will think we were very wrong to failure I-a splendid ruin! He had no faults to- contend so. Our quarrels, at least, were of wards me. He had no infidelity towards me-in my getting up. I could not patiently see him all our married life, he was faithful to me-in go on as he did, even though iI.should reap the thought as in deed. I know and feel it! Not- benefit; neither could I leave him upon any ac- withstanding all our fierce contentions, he loved count. Twice I wSs arrested with him when me through all! He loves me still! Gray-hair- we were both indicted for keeping a gambling ed, haggard as I am, while he, though older, re- house. I~. of course, had nothing to do with it, tains all his pristine strength and beauty-he unless my constant and unremitting opposition loves me still! Though at last I have abandon- was "aiding and abetting" the unlawful enter- ed him, he loves me still! He will love me prise; yet I was positively better contented ever! he will come here to seek me! He had when equally sharing all his bad luck. We magnanimity toward me! When we have quar- were compelled to leave Mexico. We dared not relied violently, and I, in the very frenzy ~ yet return to the United States-we went to Ji~. anger at seeing one I loved so well, acting~s* vana. We spent several years there. There wrongly, have said words no other man on we had another child-a little girl that lived a earth could have forgotten or forgiven, he has whole year, and grew very dear to her fat'hez'- freely forgiven them, laying them all upon the and to me she was a treasure and a consolation scape-goat-the ~' red hair ~" beyond value. I lost her in her second summer, "And did these contests always end ~ and then my health failed. quietly ?" I asked, recollecting what the old Ten years had now passed since we left the overseer had told me of personall violence" States, and thirteen years since our marriage~ even before they left Maryland. "Did these We returned, under another name, and lived affrays always end sO quietly 1" about in various places in the South for four or Her pale face flushed over, five years. I had, in the course of those years, "Alas, no! How could it be so? Generally, two other children-little angels who seemed indeed, my bitterest reproaches were met with to have just flitted .through this world on th.~ a caress, or, at worst, with a jest, and his worst swW way to Ileaven;-..Qne grave is iii the word in rejoinder would be, 'ked Hair;' but prai4es of the North-West Territory, ~ there were times, whoa ~under the influence of in tlaa forests of KeAtuckj~ Do I tell you this wine, Ire would cruelly abuse rae.. These in- waste of life coolly £ did not tak~itsoj isoki 13 I, I 1~ F page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] 146 SHANNC my hair is quite gray, and am, you know, but forty4wo!. We led a tramping, vagrant life; 110w he would be joined to a gang of counter- feiters-now one of a company of travelling gamblers. In all his tramps, I was by his side, often the only female in a gang of from six to twenty men, always exposed to rudeness, often to insult. He would not permit me to re- main behind, nor would I have consented to stuy. I was ever by his side, frequently expos- tulating, opposing, upbraiding. You would have' thought, in so many years of opposition, that I would have grown weary of the task and aban- doned it; not so I I had an untiring spirit, -though always, elway.s his companion, I was never his accomplice I Within the last few years his temper had be. come very gradually soured and irritable-his habit of intoxication increased fearfully upon "' him. I suffered often and frightfully frdm his violence of anger and frequent drunkenness. We were in Mississippi with a gang of bogus, coiners, when I made the discovery that 1 should probably bring another babe into the world to perish from want and exposure. He and his gang were travelling in a caravan, in the guise of harmless emigrants. Many mile. of fatigu- ing travel, many days of anxiety and nights of sleeplessness and exposure, had at last made me 111-very ill-so il-i that I was obliged to stop. They left me i-n a woodman's cottage, on the banks of the Mississippi. He left me my trunk and a considerable sum of money-every cent he himself had, in fact, and as much more as he could wrest from the reluctant pockets of his comrades. He gave me in charge of the wood- man and his wife, exhorting them to take the greatest possible care of me, and promising mu- nilcent pay when he should return in a month. He took leave of me with visible reluctance, returning again and again to press a kiss upon my feverish brow, and to repeat his charges and his adieu.. As for his comrades, I believe they would have been glad, only that they must have regretted the loss of their cook and seamstress, for I made their coffee and sewed their buttons on. A few days' rest and peace restored me. I was up in a week. Oh! I cannot make you ut- derstund how highly I appreciated the quiet, so- cI~uded sacredness of that little humble family circle-the honest, hard-working woodman and hisinrlustrious wife, and their aged parents, and tbir young children, supported by their hard but honest work. I, who had lived for nearly twen- ty years a vagrant, wandering life, the strolling * NOTE-In the wandering life of the adventurer's wife, I have invented no fiction, hut simply related fadis-taking care touuppress all that was mo~inr probable in their real e~erienee~ I had the story 1'rosaoaewhohad itfrosu4he lipaofthesufteringt ~NDALE. companion of counterfeiters and blacklegs! it seemed to me like Heaven to be there-a peace was falling on my spirit. Strange! though this was my first parting with Frank, and thouh 1 had always dreaded such a parting above all things, yet now I did not feel it very painfully; every painful feeling was lost in a sense of peace and rest,-a feeling of ceeeation from evil-doing. Impossible, my brother, to make you or any one else comprehend who has not experienced it.-.- After that, I began actually to dread the coming of Frank, and my forcible re-union with the band. I began to wish ardently, for some quiet, secluded place, whore I could give life to my babe in safety, and rear it in peace-perchance in goodness. You know that I was always impulsive, im- petuous. Well, I formed the sudden resolution of returning home-returning here. For me to make a resolve, is to execute it. I wrote a letter to my husband, explaining my reason for leaving -packed my trunk-liberally paid the woodirian and his wife for their care of me, and the day before Frank was expected to re-pass again on his way South, I left. I believe our boats passed each other as I was going up the river, and he down. Well, I arrived here about six weeks since. Old Christie and Tom did not at first know me, but they soon recognized me. I have not been happy since I came, however; the fore- shadowing gloom of approaching death darkens over my spirit-I feel that I shall not survive my child-I feel so more than ever to-night.- My brother, promise that you will- stay with me till all is over. It will not be many days, per- haps not many hours. - "I promise, but, dear Veronica, do -not give way to such mournful thoughts-your first half of life has been very wretched, that is a sure earnest that the latter half will be blessed and happy-no long life is miserable from youth to age-and yours wilt not be !" "4' 1 live !-I believe you I-no life was ever wretched from yo\sth to old age, and mine will not be-i-f I live-but I shall not live, my bro- ther I I feel it! Bear with me!" At that moment a sheet of intense and blinding lightning flashed forth, filling the scene with in- * sufferable radiance, fo~owed by a clap of thun- der, whose report seer~ied to shake the founds. lions of the earth! The storib that had been gathering all this time had ntrw broken out with fury Amid the rattling and rolling of the thun- der was heard a loud-resounding crash, and a heavy, continuous, tumbling fall. Some part of the old building had been struck, and was tutu- bling down.~ Veronica was pale, but self pos- sessed. I seized my staff, and ran ~ut to see the amount of the damage done. A broad sheet of lightning illumined the landscape, and showed tud a wing of the old house in ruins. While gazing on it, awild shriek arose ans~slthe 8H&NNO!IDALE 147 storm, and rang though the house !-another I- perpetration of a crime while in a fit of som- and another I-each more despairing than the nambulency-and indignation and terror-the preceding. I rushed into the house, staff in hand, feeling of a deluded and entrapped man who had struck open the door of the sitting-room, where still something more to fear-the feeling of a I had left Veronica, and there I found her, sting. victim, not of an injured, possessed me. All gling fiercely in the strong, rude grasp of a tall, this time I was getting upon my feet and totter- dark, iron-framed man, with the most diabolical ing towards the house. I entered like a culprit, countenance I ever saw. I saw her carried off, halfinsane. I had a vague intention ot finding helpless, in his arms! 1 lost my senses! I out Veronica, and seeing how much eke might threw myself on him furiously with the uplifted know of the transactions of the night, which stick, shouting, or trying to shout-" Put her were by this lime taking quite a distinct form down I" and the next thing I recollect, my vic- in my memory. 1 entered the house-.r ~o or tim was lying dead before me, and the stick had three old negroes were in the wide passage- fallen from my hand! I missed Veronica-she some knew me and saluted me; I thought they was not there-i did not know wkere she was would wonder at my soiled and wet clothing, gone-I did not care! I saw nothing but the but they did not appear to notice it; they were dead victim before me! I felt nothing but blood- indeed taken up with a matterof far more ira- guiltiness and terror I-and this was so ex- portance; I passed them, and entered the sitting- trenie, that I turned deadly sick-dizzy, and room; there I saw two old white women who blind-my knees smote together numbly-I had lived in the neighborhood; they had known shook with an icy coldness! I cared not for me as a young man, they recognized, and spoke Veronica now! I cared for nothing !-thought to me; I inquired for my sister; they looked a; of nothing !-saw nothing I-felt nothing I-but me with eyes full of pity, and one of them con- the terror that was within, and the terror that ducted me up stairs and into a chamber, where was before me! I thought 1 had the night-mare! 1 found agrouji of poor neighbors gathered around I smote my temple hard with my doubled fist! a bed upon which my sister lay---d~,ing- On I bit the ends of my fingers, to wake myself up! the lap of one of the women near her lay a new I tried to shout for Miss Mattie to come and born infant. When Veronica turned her dy~ shake me, but th~ words died inarticulately in my eyes on me, they pleaded so plainly-" Come to throait-I was smothering-suffocating in blood, me, my brother," that I made my way through i'~ struggled-shuddered-partially iecovered- the neighbors, and stood by the side of her bed. still as one under the influence of somnambulency Still her eyes were turned pleadingly to mine, I picked up my victim, and hurried through the and I bent my ear down low to catch her faintly tremendous storm towards the bay. Oh! how whispered words- ghastly the green-pale face of the corpse shone "It wasFinanky who was here last night." in the terrible flashes of 'lightning !-how I pray- I nodded-I had not been certain of it before. ed-how I tried to wake up! I hurried towards "Where is he 7" the tempestuous bay-pitch-dark as the sky was I shook my head. She looked earnestly at above, the waters o' the bay were luminous, as me, and then turned her failing eyes towards her with a phosphorescent light, and rolled towards child. I raised it, and laid it before her. She the shore like a sea of greenish fire- I lifted my fixed her eyes in silence upon its little face, and victim aloft with a giant's strength, and as I then raised them, eloquent with love and plead- prepared to hurl him into the wild waters below ing, to my face I stooped down again, to give -1 thought I should surely start and wake! her an opportunity of whispering-.-- Tkat was a crisis .n the horrid, dream that muat "You will adopt her as your own 1" arouse me! As I threw the corpse in I heard "Yes, I will !-indeed I will I~' the plunge !-saw the tempestuous and fiery wa- "You will educate her yourself?" ters open-sparkle--flash-and close-and the "Yes I indeed I will I" horrible--the ~seeming dream-passed mt. in- "In the Catholic faith?" sensibility. " Do you wish it 7" When I awoke, the rising sun was shining "Yes. I am a Catholic again!" broadly aslant the morning landscape-the herb- This little conversation had exhausted her. age iras all glittering-sparkling with dew-.-artd She lay silent a long lime. She signed for her the bay flashing in the sunlight, brightly, gladly, babe to be. placed near her face-was raised, and U if it bad never felt a storm, or opeiued and kissed it-then fell back. She did not speak closed over a murdered corpse ~ waidripping much after that- She died within an hour wet, and fearfully confused in intellect; a vague Did Igrieve for the lost sister-found at night, korror- was resting heavily on my soul, which t. be lost in the morning? No I-oh n.4~.i-srmo. [could neither shakei~ff nor interpret. -Aradual-. thing4t heavier than any grief oppr~ued me. ly as recollection rdturaed, I experience a Perfect memory bad returned, and fllle4~i. with sickening terror, but at Arstuot remorse. - I felt enrinoding remorse 4 ~mers~ I have borne as thought had been heated4 by Satan into the ~er nine.. My sister'. funeral tqpk1plisoq o~ page: 148-149[View Page 148-149] 148 SH A N the third day. My appearance there (I means that neighborhood ) was so natural that it cause no gossip. even in a gossiping community Frank Joy's sudden arrival and~ sudden disap pearance, was evidently unknown. I placed m: little niece out to nurse in the neighborhood- again shut up the house, and returned to Sacres Heart with death! yes! with 4e11 in my Loul lt was not till I found myself again in my com portable library at home, among my books ans papers, that I realized to the utmost, the terrible thing that had ~iappene4 tb me. My hair turne perfectly , white in a week "See how he love his sister!" sad my kind and confiding parish. ioners-but they were wide of the truth. Ye ronica! alas! much as I had loved her! deeply as under other circumstances 1 should hays mourned for her! 1 thought not of her now every affection! every emotion was swallowed up ir one absorbing remorse! At the end of tw( years, I went down again into Maryland, an( brought back with me my little niece, Harriette whom 1 namedafter our mother, at my sister's request. I even took Harriette the more as a satisfaction to the manes of the father, than as a memorial of love for the mother. Ah! ne feeling! none! could divide the empire of my sail with the one possessing, absorbing, consu- ming remorse r Harriette keeps that alive I- she has not one look of her mother 1-she has the very features and complexion of her father! Frank Joy's countenance laughs out to me from Hartiette's face. Years7-years of utter misery, have passed. Purgatory cannot be-hell cannot be worse than my remorse. Oh! often have I wished that accident might reveal that guilt which I lacked the moral courage to confess! And yet, with strange inconsistency, at the slightest chance of discovery I would turn sick with te.rror. In such unutterable sufferings had passed half a century, when the evil destiny of the neighborhood sent Sina Hinton here- Un- til her arrival, I had supposed my dreadful se- cret confined to my own burning soul. Soon at- ter her arrival, for purposes best known to her- self, she particularly sought my acquaintance, and my ear in every-in every company where we met- An inexplicable look of Frank Joy in her face, sickened me from the first. "Yet she is not at all like Harriette, whom you assert to be the image of him." "Both are,.and yet, as you say, they are not at alllike each other. Butit isnot unusual Take the fsce ofalmostanyofyouracquaintancesobserve how different-how opposite it appears at sundry times-yet you are so familiar with this change -this metamorphosis, that it does hot strike you. But notice again, there may be two children of the same parent strikingly like the par~at, yet totally unlike each other-resemblances do not lie alone in features, complexion, or even ex- pressioa; but in the curves and lines of -the ~TONDALE SHANNONDALE. 149 ii apace. between the features to which the habi. ~ live to meet the exposure-the disgra e- "Alas, alas! not for that have I felt this bit- d tual spirit gives a character: It is in this in- the scorn of esteemed triends-tne arrest-trial ter remorse,-but for BLOOr,-ouxrA'rnuss!" stance as though Harriette, with her father's condemnation-BOAFPOLD----all that appalled "Father, drink this cordial ~" sai~ Vilemonte, complexion and features, had inherited her fliO me through life~-making me bear what I truly holding a glass to his lips. He drank it off obe- r their's spirit, which gives them character. It is believe now to be the greater punishment~-un- diently. Vellemonte set the glass away, and - as if Sina, with some one else's features and merited love and veneration-sno1ln~ unHORSE" taking the then old hand within his own, he I complexion had caught a similar spirit to that oj "Father, you have, with the exception of looked with earnest meaning in the priest's face, Pran* Joy Or, to make my meaning still more that one sINe lived a most exemplary life! Who and said-" Father, this venerable hand is free - clear-suppose that at birth a human be- so self-denying, so prayerful, so charitable as from the stain of bl ood. Frances Joy, this sup- I ing become possessed of a good and an evil you v' posed murdered victim-L Ivus !" n spirit, (or inclination,) and that he transmits "Alas! it might deceive the world !-it never "WHAT!!" exclaimed the old man, starting I these in turn to his children If Harriette and comforted me ~', up, with the energy of youth, and staring wildly I Sina had been sisters-.both closely resembling "Father, do you know that the only fault you in the face of his young companion "W.ljat! !" - their parent-in Harriette would predominate have to reproach yourself with-yet, after all, it again he exclaimed ~ Speak again! Am I - the good spirit, in Sina the evil i"' is the fault of which men least like to be accused 'mad? Am I sane? Do I dream ?-or am I "May they not possibly have been half-si.. . - is COwARDIcE-or, perhaps, to speak. more awake ?-or did you say- Holy Virgin! I am ters?" gently, a want of moral courage? And that losing my reason, for 1 understand you to say- "Preposterous! Sina is the child of Charles want il moral courage~ is one~ of the iuoe~-itnot Ha! hal ha! You will laugh at me-that- but I Hinton, a poor Irish gentleman, of good descent, the most fruitful cause of all the error, sin and don't laugh atme-that-pity the poor old man, and of Mary Darling, a distant relative of Squire suffering on eart~i. I have another case in my whom remorse has nearly, or quite, maddened- I Darling. They were married In Georgetown at mind, besides your own. Father, review your I that- Oh! it is too wild even for a madman's least three years after-after-after that fatal supposed crime You hear screams-you rush brain-that-bear with me-t at Frank Joy, I night upon the 6ay. Sina was born the second in, to find your sister struggling-then being wuom I murdered-lives-lives !-Lxvzs! !- year of their marriage, five years after the-the carried off, fainting, in the arms of a ruffian-by LIVES!!! Ha! ha! ha! ha !-ha! ha! ha! death-well! the murder of Frank Joy," said one fell blow you stretch the man lifeless at your h-a-a-a-a-a-h!" and he fell back in strong con. the old man, shuddering- He continued--" She, feet-and straigbtway, in terror at what you vulsions. Sina Hinton, knew my secret, by what *inexpW have done, lose your self-possession, your self- I have heard Mr. Vellemonte say that no joy - cable circumstance, I do not know. She, by control --lose yourself alt ogether-become a ever was seen or conceived to equal his joy !- - dark but alarming hints disco'~ered to me that mere half-maddened animal, actuated by the the joy that nearly killed him with its excess! she knew my crime. She used her knowledge mere brute instinct of self-preservation, and seir- No human heart receiving back its best beloved as a constant terror to me-used it as a hand4~ ing your victim, fly with him, and hurl him into from the arm~of deatit-n~criminal, pardoned by which to wield the great and unmerited infle- the abyss of waters. Grant that all that ~as on the scaffold, couki feel, could conceive, the ence I held over my wealthiest parishioners, the effect of a terrific delirium of the nerves, delirious joy of this wild soul, frantic en its exul- By that means she grew into the favor and af~ produced by excessive fright and horror-still, station at deliverance from the guilt of blood! sections of Mrs. and Miss Summerfield-of Squire if in the days that followed your sister's funeral, "LIvES! LIvES! he has r.rRs.l . LIrE I" these Darling and his family; by that means she you had gone to a magistrate, made a deposition, were the words he repeated ov~r 'and over obliged me to perform the marriage rites between and invited an investigation, you would have again, in a perfect ecstacy of rapture. Ah! the Edgar Ardenne and Winny Darling; by that been saved a lifetime of misery. You have sut deep despair of his former remorse could only means she -held me inactive when I would have fered all this from the sin of cowardice and con- I be weighed and estimated by the delirium of his mediated between the parent and the child; by cealment. Oh! when I see the unutterable ml- present joy He made Mr. Vellemonte reiterate that means she won through me the high esteem sery ensuing from one single sin on earth, I his statement many times, wille he himself of Vol. Dangerfield, even before she allured hi. shudder at what the retribution. of eternity may echoed it, in jubilant, insane gladness! He asked love; by that means she betrayed Miss Summer. . be." for no particulars-seemed to care for none- field into making her confession where her be- "I thought of making such a deposition, but no- fact could excite the least interest beside the trothed could hear it; by that means she has shrunk from doing it. Every day of deI~y made overwhelming truth that swept all else from his brought about all the misery that has befallen the declaration more difficult-years rendered heart and mind, possessing, absorbing both, and us~ her object the Possession of the Oak Grove the - revelation nearly impossible. Who would expressed in the two words "ni LIVES" It property-her end, to be caught and killed 15 have giver credence to my statement? Who took all Claude Vellemonte's great magnetic her own trap. A hundred times I have of late, would not rather have supposed it to be an en- power to calm him at last-nor could 'he effect been on the Point of this revelation; a hundred deavor to shut off a portion of the weight of re- this for a long time. He gave him a powerful th~xes have paused, as much from a horror of morse, or of fear, by making a miserable corn- opiate, and put him to sleep-but out of the overwhelming with affliction the Summerfields, promise with conscience, and telling a part of medst of that sleep the old man would bound, who love me*s a father, and of killing, outright, tne truth? What evidence had I to present of and seizing his watcher, forcibly demand- old Mrs. Da~Iing, my friend for fifty years, who the truth of my story ?" "Did you tell me Frank Joy is ALIvE-or did never, nevor~aould survive the shock of the di.. "Strange, that your mind, which moves with I dream? Oh! for the Virgin's sake, speak cover, and all the terrific train of events that such power, clearness and decision in the affairs quickly !" must ensue. Why do I at last confess ?-at of others, should~ be so weak, and clouded, and Then Vellemonte would satisfy him, and then last, when my safety seems otherwise secured by uncertain in your own concerns Did yuu make the same scene of delirious joy would be enacted the death of my only foe? This, then, is thO no account of-the ability and readiness of Provi- again. Vellemonte remained by his side all reason: I feel the near approach of i)EATJ5.-5~ dence to assist you? It is as I said, indeed!- night, and left him only in the morning, with the certainly, that there can be no doubt 1 1 0 moral cowardice is the fault with which you intehtion of taking an hour's sleep He left sure that I skeW never rise from this bed; li-i have to reproach yourself!" Miss Mattie by the patisnt.'a .id~ but the pa. 13~ page: 150-151[View Page 150-151] 150 SRANONDALE. tie~it was anything hut patient, and no sooner grief,'remorse, and terror Without your inter. had Claude Vellemonte thrown off his clothes, ference-without any merit of yours, the um and lay down, than a ta~ at his door awoke him, comes to life,-or, to Zig/a ~ you are beside and Miss Mattee begged that he would please to yourself with joy. Now, is this reasonable! come to Father Burleigh, who was "out of his You are the same man now that you Were last lunacies, and talking such a heap of horrible week-nothh~g you have done or left undone hag nonsense!" and Vellemonte returned to the bed- produced this change-why now should you be side of the invalid, to re-assure and re-comfort so metamorphosed ?" him "Claude Vellemonte, you are irreverent to old Well! I do not know anything more stupid in age. I command you to read Fenelon on huni. a story of real life, than dwelling upon scenes of lity and reverence, but first tell me how thege illness, unless it be for the purpose of teaching things came to your knowledge-Arst o/ all, nag patience, which we shall scarcely learn itt the and tell Mattie that I am hungry again, and ask bedside of honest Father Bunleigh, therefore, I her to have tea early,*with muffins 1" shall pass over the few days that elapsed before Claude Vellemonte rung the bell, gave this ur. he was strong enough. steady enough, and sane der, and then, with unusual gravity, resumed ii~ enough to hear the particulars of Frank Joy's seat, arid commenced his explanation. escape and recovery. "Father, you were wIli Miss Hinton at her death-bed?" "Yes- It was a beautiful Spring day, and the win- "'By many adeath-bed I have been, dows of hiachamber were open, and the sunshine And many a sinner's parting seen, and the fresh air came in laden with tbe per- But never aught like that.' fume of flowers and the songs of birds, and Fe- BiLlilig propped up an oca I could not bear it! I resigned my nest to .rnz. among do ~';ny pillows end fresh, fragrant sheets and soft comforters, solacing himself with a bow] of' chicken soup, while Claude Vellemonte sat, with his health-giving countenance, on one side, - and Miss Mettle stood, with her jovial, edifying smite. on the. other. In spite of all he had said about dying~ he was very much better, indeed, and sipped the savory chicken soi~p, and smack- ed his mouth after each sip, in a way that made good Miss Mettle's digestive organs thrill for sympathy and joy Well! Father Burleigh was aoL ;he first man that grief had prostrated upon his death-bed, and that joy had raised from the dead.. Neither was he the first man that ever predicted his own speedy death,~and turned out a false prophet. Giod Father Burleigh eat his soup as if he had taken out a new lease for his llfe~ and meant lb ~ourish his body to enjoy it withall-he then put the bowl to his lips, and drained it, and then he asked Miss Mattie if there was any more 'in the pot? Of course there was; and Father Burleigh got it-" bless his dear \mouth 1" Miss Mettle said, as she car- ried out theempty bowl the second arid last time, leaving Claude tQ amuse the convalescent. "Now you may tell me, if you please, about Frank Joy's escape, and where he lives, and all about it! God bless Frank Joy, how much lam obliged to him for coming to life! God bless Frank Joy, I love him so much! Is there any- thing you know of that I can do to serve him?" said the old man, earnestly. "Hoer strange your joy is, father! I was about to say, how irrational! Juat contemplate It! Almost without your fault a -nan loses hi~ life; at least without intending it, you killed him (,'eu thds&), and you are overwhelmed with with your almost miraculous skill 1" "Yes, I was with her in her last hours. I was with her when she died. I received her confess. sion. I gave her absolution I" "You received her confession! You gave her absolution I" "Yes! She had a lucid interval before her deatL We improved 'that. She was not all evil 1-if she had been, she would not have imid. dened-the good that was in her would not have taken such awful vengeance upon the evil, it is of her confession that I wish to speak. It is at her request that I make a part of it, which concerns the welfare of others, public 1" "Claude !-Claude Vellemonte !-none---seone but you, could have subdued the haughty and rebellious soul of that evil girl !-haughty and rebellious, even in her madness !-ftone but you could have won from her a confession, or dared to have given her .absolution 1" "Death is a great tamer, ~he passed away, peacefully as a child-her last breath breathed out upon my bosom. I was not afraid of that sin-bowed young head! You saw her wicked- ness 1-you did not know all that made her wicked. 'Judge not, lestye be judged.' You will feel less hatred of poor Sina, when you know all her dreadful wrongs-her' mal-educa. tion. It is too painful a subject to relate in de- tail; neither am I willing to fatigue you with it. In one word, Sina Hinton is really and truly the daughter of Frank Joy, by his second wife, whom he, in the third year of his widowhood married, under his alias of Hinton!" "You astound me !" ~c She~ was informed of her father's history, and of your connection with it-that you sue,' posed yourself his murderer, wl4le she knew S HAN NO ND A 151 that 'he lived-thus she had you in her power, "Either of his daughters! Good Heavens !.-~ through your terror, and not through your guilt." 'why, sure enough 1 Harniette and Sina were half "Fool! fool! that I was! Yes, I see it all sisters! Thank Heaven, she is dead 1' now! But, his escape 1-tell me how that hap- 'He wrote to Sine-and after a few letters, in- pened 1" formed her that the priest of the parish where "Very simply-your blow upon' his head had she was, had a crime upon his conscience, out of stunned him ~you plunged him into the water, which she. might make her fortune, if she, play- whose waves returned him upon the beach im- ed her cards right. Miss Hinton began to wach mediately-the shock recovering him. He re- you closely. Then her father chanced to inquire, vived-got up-recalled his scattered senses-re- in one of his letters, if she had met Harriette solved upon a fearful vengeance on his would-be Joy, the priest's niece-and to hint that the se-' murderer, and carried his resolution into effect! cret crime was connected with the nativity of W7rar vengeance could be so awful as that he that young lady. Immediately, and not unree- took upon you-afflicting your whole life with an sonably under the circumstances, Sina assumed awful remorse and terror? He lurked about the the fact that Harriette was not your niece, but very neighborhood for a day or two; found out owned a nearer and dearer relationship to you- the death of his beloved wife-beloved in spite however, the girl in probing your soul as she did, of all his vices-found out your adoption Of her was too cautious not to deal exclusively in gene- infant daughter-was willing that she should be realties. ~he was in confidential correspondence reared by you-he intending to claim her when with her father, however, and it is evident that he had sufficiently revenged himself upon you- all her malign plans, with the single exception mind I he charged you with, and hated you for, of her designs upon Colonel Dangerfield, were your supposedpensuasionof his wife awayfromhiinuv suggested and encouraged by her father. It -for your indirectly causing her death, and his was just before the marriage of Winny Darling bereavement, and for your deadly assault upon and Edgar Ardenne, that her father, feeling full him, and Heaven only knows, for how many assurance of her abilities, confided to her his own other imaginary reasons besides-for hatred has history, together with your secret, and supposed many and various inexplicable causes. He dared crime. This, of course, put you completely at not remain in the neighborhood, where he was the mercy of the wily girl, and she did not heel- constantly in danger of being recognized and ar- tate to use her power I" rested, and to which he had only come in secre- "No! it was the night before the marriage of cy, to repossess himself of his wife. He left it Winny and Ardenne, that she told me, in eo in a few days. He wandered about the country many words, that she knew my secret, and for two years-at last went to Georgetown, took darkly threatened to deliver me up to ~ a new name, and after a few months' acquaint- SCAFFOLD Ofi, the pernicious girl I" ance with her, married the daughter of his host- "Poor girl !-be merciful' What good pre- ess, Mary Darling, the mother of Sina. He cept did she ever -hear? What good example lived very unhappily with his second wife. In did she ever see? She possessed intellect of a the third year of their marriage, Sina was horn, high order-courage, spirit, and enthusiasm! They continued to live very quietly with Mrs. With a good moral training, she would have Darling until Sine was seven years of age, then made a very superior woman. She was a most the old lady died, and he, possessing himself of noble creature, utterly ruined, as her parent all the property she left, converted it into ready had been before her! God, be pitiful!" money and went off, leaving his wife and child "Oh! the pernicious girl 1-what gratuitous, in extreme destitution. Sine's motirer was not vain tortures she made me suffer!" naturally a good woman, and wrong had made "What tortures she suffered herself! though her worse She evidently brought up her daugh- she had the fortitude and courage to conceal ter badly. When Sine was sixteen or seventeen them! What tortures 1-why, listen I-they years old, she was selected by her distant rela- closed in madness and in death! AhI b.eJi~ve tive, Squire Darling, as a companion for his daughter." me, Father, as a general 'rule, however deeply I the injured suffer, the injured suffers mere!" "Oh, yes! I know all that land I know her I "Yes, I dare say! Ugh 1-the horrible girl! machination. to marry Winny to Ardenne, and Don't mention her to me again 1-it makes me supplant her in her father's heart-and I know shudder 1-my teeth chatter 1-a-ring the bell, the torture she inflicted on me, in bending me to and tell Mattie I am chilly~ I want a nice, hot her purposes -tell . me something I do not cup of tea, and. some cream toast!' know!" said the old invalid, impatiently. Claude complied. and then said- "1 am about to do so," replied Claude Velle- "There is a duty I have yet to perform. monte, good-humoredly. ~~Soon after Sina's ar- Squire Darling must be made acquainted with rival here, she received a letter from her long- all the hand she had in persuading aii~l inisl'~ad- lost father; who, it appears, had never quite lost j ing the youthful lovers into ' th~ir.,il4tR~te& trace of either of his daughters." I marriage. At the time I left, he we~s vet 'ei6aM~i a 1 page: 152-153[View Page 152-153] Ii2S H AN N 0 N DiA L E . to bear any agitation-new, as soon as I can be spared, I must hasten to Oak Grove, and use my best efforts with Squire Darling for the recall of Ardenne." "Yes! and I will go with you-so shall Har- riette-we will all use our united influence. Mrs. ~ummerfield shall go also-so shall Imo- gene f-so shall Winny f-so shall the old lady! -come, we will all re-assemble at Oak Grove, as soon as ever I can get up, and that will be very soon I" Claude, Vellemonte's reply was arrested by the entrance of Miss Mattie with the tea-tray. CHAPTER XLII. IMOGENE AND THE YOUNG i'RIES1~ OP ST. JOSEPH 'S. * And now the morning sun is up And shines upon that ble.'sed day, And cheers it with his brightest ray, And his golden beams are shed On the penitent's fair head, As her sad confession pouring To the priest her sin deploring, In penitential holiness She bends to hear his accents bless, With absolution such as may Wipe our mortal stains away. Byron. "But, ahi hrsogene, what humiliation! what shame! my dear, dear child, what a trial." CCAh, mother! he bade me measure the ex- tent of my, sin by the mortification it caused me to confess it I" " Ah, my poor girl, what a degradation! would that I could bear it for thee, Imogene. Alas! alas! what humiliation for my Irnogene I" "My sweet, my good, my darling mother! do not weep so! I do not feel it as you say! I feel my heart fillerI and warmed with a full, deep comfort, and my soul exalted by a strange, sweet fervor! dear mother lit is well with thy child !" "Alas! Imogene, caust thou not guess what will be the probable expiation of thy guilt I" "1 think I can divine it, mother, when I shall have confided my sin of sacrilege to my spiritual Judge-he will assign me the expiation of the veil and the convent-" "And thou, Imogene?" "Oh! I will accept any doom from his lips with humility, and find a strange, sweet pleasure in enduring it! I will enter the convent and take the veil, and that ceremony will be-our betrothal for eternity I" said Imogene, with en- thusiasm. "And thy mother, Imogene ?" Language cannot convey the heartbroken tone of bitterestanguish in which the almost bereaved mother put this question. Even line- gene's exalted countenance grew still in a blank expression almost of despair as she said, "The Mater Doloroso will be thy support1 my mother! Think of Ma's' resigning her only, her spotless, her devoted son to the shameful and agonizing death of the cross for the sins of others; bow to the will of Heaven, and thou shalt be straightened to give up thy erring daughter to the easy expiation ,of conventuni seclusion and prayer. You will find a child in every saif. firing daughter of earth that thou can't succor, my mother!" "Ah! Imogene-dost thou think that I can replace thee so easily? Oh! Imogene, shall I remain in the world when thou art gone? No, child, no! I will not forsake my own old mo- ther! I will cling to her while her earthly life lasts, but then I too will offer my remaining days and my great sorrows to God within the walls of the cloister." Deeply distressed by the despair expressed even more in her tones and looks than in her words, Miss Summerfield turned and silently pressed her mother to her bosom. This scene occurred upon the morning of Easter Sunday, the day set aside for the tissigned pe- nance of confession. The carriage was waiting below to take the mo'lhor and daughter to chapel. They entered it and were driven to Sacred Heart. It was a glorious Easter Sunday! all nature was waking up in joy-never was the earth so green and fresh, the sky so blue and clear, the sunshine so bright and glancing; never were the flowers so abundant, so beautiful and fragrant; never were the birds so numerous, musical and glad! It was yet very early as they alighted at the church door and entered Sacred Heart. The congregation had not yet begun to assemble. The church was empty. Mrs. Suminerfield took her seat in her own p.ew, and, Imogene having embraced her mother, silently left her others to her private devotion and reverently sought the Tribunal of Confession, where, by a previous appointment, sat the young priest of St Joseph's as spiritual judge. She dared not trust lierceif to look up at the grave though youthful and beautiful countenance of her spiritual guide- but she felt the face of an archangel beaming down on her. Silently she knelt at the grating, folded her hands upon her bosom and b6'wed her head in prayer. Then, without change of pos- ture, her full rich voice was heard in low tones pleading- "Father-I have sinned against Heaven and before thee! Bless me, father, because 1 ha ~ sinned!" The fair hands of the young priest were ex- tended and fell lightly, softly upon the beautiful and shame bowed head-the radiant countenance of the young priest shone brightly, warmly over her, and his harmonious voice responded in tones of fullest blessing: "May the Lord be in thy heart and on thy lips, that thou mayest truly and humbly confess B I 162 * This singularly trying epnfession of a sinful pas- sion to the reverend object, was really enforced as the most Appropriate and most humilia'ing expa'ion to be conceived of. It is' one of those things that a fictionist would not invent, and dare scarcely copy from life. SHANN( thy sins-in the name of the Father, and of the Son. and of the Holy Ghost. Amen." Again Miss Summerfield lowly inclined her head, and in an almost inaudible voice began the repetition of the penitential words of the comfi- teer. "I confess to Almighty God," &c., &c., &c, but her voice continued to sink and fall, and her color to rise-she paused There Wa. silsi' broken very gently at last by the encouraging voice of the young priest saying~ in w tojies, "My child, you should endeavor to bear in mind that you are in the presence of God; that it is to God that in reality you open your heart~ Win the blessing of Heaven upon your confes- mon by namingftrst the sin, whatever it may be, that you feel i"ost reluctant to confess-for this act of se1f~rorq~est and humility will be most accepable in expiation." Again Miss Summerfield bowed her head, and wuemured in nearly inaudible tones, "[ accuse myself of having broken the first and greal: commandment. I have had another god but one. I have given to the creature the worship due only to the Creator. I have not loved God above all things. I have borne over- mu.~h hwe to the creature. 1 have thought ir- reverently of holy things. I' have despaired of Gud's mercy." Again her voice died away in silence, and her head drooped lower, fell upon her bosom He waited for her to recover herself, but she re- mained silent, overwhelmed He reached and took her hands, folded them between his own, and in a voice full of commanding tenderness, said, "Imogene-name specifically the sin that troubles thy bosom that I may be able to judge the state of thy conscience. Can a physician prescribe who does not know the natur f his patient's disease and symptoms? Spea4r, Imo- gene Offer, in the serene spirit of self abuega- tion, thy strong repugnance in expiat.4i of thy fault---~peak, Imogene I I adjure thee!" C' Thou hast given me a command 1 had rather died than obey-but-thou hast given it t? me! Listen, tfren I I have loved-thee, loved thee, more than any other being on earth-more than God. Mav'st thou-may God forgive me t"~ Ost~rwhelmed with shame her head fell for- ward upon the grating as in a swoon, but she had not swooned. Silence fell again between them. At last-" Hast thou any other thing with )NDALE 153 which to accuse thyself, Imogene ?" he inquired, in a low tone. "None-none," she murmured. "Hear me then, Imogene Your greatest fault has been-a want of fortitude and faith in God-in your mother and your spiritual guide; and that moral cowardice and unbelief has caus- ed your greatest suffering-in leaving your mind to a dark, a blind, and a false misapprehension of yourself, of me, and of our circumstances and duties. Had you cleared your bosom of this secret from your first discovery of its existence, you would then have saved yourself and others all the sorrow that has grown out of it. Will you look at me, Imogene? You have not raised your eyes to mine since you kneeled down here. What is there in my face to alarm you? Will you look at me, Imogene ~ She raised her eyes and met the calm, clear gaze of the radiant eyes through which the pure, strong soul shone so truthfully. She felt that there was nothing in those eyes or that soul to shrink from. He took her bands between his own, and gazing down into her upraised eyes, spoke: "Can you, Imogene, whenever in the future,' a sin or a sorrow troubles you-~can you lay that sin or sorrow on my heart ?'~ "Oh! 1 can-I can as on the bosom of the Virgin Mother!" "Can you, Imogene, confide every secret of your soul to my keeping ?" "Oh! I can as to the bosoni of my Saviour." "Will you trust me implicitly with the gui~.. dance of your life? .Will you confide your earth- ly and immortal welfare to my care 7Y~ "Oh, I will! I will! so trustingly! so confi- dently! so gladly! even as to my God !" The young priest folded his hands together and remained for awhile absorbed in meditation, or in silent prayer At last stretching forth his hands as in benediction, he said, in a sweet, but solemn voice, "Daughter, I am about to pronounce the abso~ tion and remission of thy sins." "But~ Holy Father, my penance-my expia- tion ?" murmured Imogene, very gently-.di~- dently interrupting him A singular but inexpressibly sweet, benignant, and happy smile illumined his features for an in- stant, and then passed away, leaving oiz ~ countenance an elevated solemnity befitting the confessional, he replied, with grave tenderness, "Trve, my penitent-thy expiation-do not believe that for a single instant I had lost sight of that necessity; I did but delay thy sentence. The time, the place, and the manner of thy penance, I will reveal to thee to-morrow, in thy mother's house and presence. Thy expiatihit, Imogene, will be the work of thy whole life; nay, it will change the whole course and purpose of thy life; it will affect thy earthly and iminer- tal destiny~ and that of others through thee. page: 154-155[View Page 154-155] 154 BRAN! Thou will find in its course, much of trial; muc of toil; frequent occasions for self-denial; muc of suffering for the sake of others, wh'~ may, their ingratitude, disappoint and grieve thee; short, much of every sorrow; but thou shalt als find more of compensation; more of well-earne comfort and enjoyment; more of gratitude an love from others; more of heart-felt, soul-fell social and religious happiness I" A pause gave Imogene an opportunity of reply ing.; a certain fervor of emotion impelled her t reply. She murmured in tones, low, but, oh! s fbll of earnest feeling, "I understand thee; I had even anticipate this manner of expiation. My mother is als prepared to hear it. We spoke of it this morn ing. She is resigned. I understand thy dela; also, and thy soothing, strengthening words Thou wouldst prepare me; thou wouldat comfort and strengthen me to hear and bear the door thou shalt so compassionately pronounce Fea not for me; it will not be bitter-the fate. I will be sweets coming from thee. Pear not; accept it! Only one thing I will plead for-thoi wilt be present at the ceremonials that shall sea my destiny-thou wilt if possible-if it may b permitted.-thyself receive my vows -ehysel place the veil upon my brow, the ring upon m~ finger?" "It shall be so, Imogene. I solemnly promise thee to be present at thy religious espousals- and, Imogene-" here he took her hands, foldin; them between his own-" Imogene, look up.' She raised her eyes to his, that were looking ful upon her. They gazed into each other's eye till soul met soul, and then he continued in tone of sweet solemnity, "And, Imogene, thai ritual will seal our union for all eternity-dosi thou believe it I" "-Oh! I do! I do! I do know it so well-fee it so deeply. I used those very words to express t!lat very conviction this morning I" He looked long into her eyes. and then said, "1 am about to absolve thee, Imogene I" She crossed her hands upon her bosom and bowed her bead in the very devotion of reve- rence. He extended his palms, which descended slowly, and fell lightly, softly upon her graceful head, and said, "May the Almighty and Merciful Lord give thee pardon, absolution and remission of thy sins, and bring thee to life everlasting. May our Lord and Saviour absolve thee; and by His au- thority I absolve thee from every bond of ex~ communication, and of interdict as far as I have power and thou hast need. I, therefore, do ab- solve thee from all thy sins, in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost May whatsoever food thou. shalt do, or evil thou shalt suffer, be to thee, unro the remission of thy sins the increase of grace, and the recompense of life everlasting. Amen." qONDALE. h Re ceased. Imogene remained kneeling in h silent prayer a moment, and then rising, slowly n and reverently, but with a peaceful a'd radiant n countenance, was about to leave the confessional, o when their eyes met in a long earnest gaze. He d did not withdraw his-she could not drop or veil d hers. A strong, an omnipotent attraction seized, ~, maddened, nearly1maseered her! To turn away from him was not painful, it was agonizing; it was not difficult, it was deathly-not parting o from one beloved, but the inevitable, the violent o rending in two of soul and body. She passed from the confessional. The light and warmth d that had hitherto sustained her-the healthful, o .strengthening and happy influence of the young priest upon her whole being, seemed abandoned. y A change slowly, coldly, darkly overslept her spirit. Never did one going from a genial, t warmed and lighted home out into the dark ri night and freezing cold, feel the transition phy. r sically so slowly, painfully, as she did spiritual- t ly. She reached her pew dizzy, suffocated, blind, I swooning nearly, and sinking down in her seat; ii and without looking at her mother, she dropped I her head forward upon the front of the pew, e while her despairing thoughts took something f like this shape- ~ "I shall see him but twice more in ~py whole life; to-morrow .vhen he comes, and in his s sweet, commanding tones, tells me to enter a - convent; when 1, intoxicated with his presence, ~ and powerless, under his will, shall, with a smile, hut an illusory smile, accept the destiny, as I 1 did just now. He will then leave me, and I shall * fall into despair, as 1 do this moment. Years will pass, and I will vegetate through a loath- I some life, like that of a rank, aquatic weed, on the damp walls of some sub-marine dungeon. Then we shall meet again, and for the last, last I ti-me. And again, and for the last, last time, shall come the short lived joy, ecstacy, insanity, of his presence. When he whom I love so devo- tedly, who loves me so entirely, will place the ring upon my finger, the black veil on my brow, and disappear forever from my view. And then - -and then-and then I shall sink into a living death-be inhumed alive! Shall I live? can I exist, a poor, divided being, in a .living tomb? AhI yes; for I am the strongest of a strong and long lived race- We are hard to kill; myself the most indestructible of the whole. Nothing- no, nothing but a conflagration, or some other catastrophe ending in a violent death, can pre- vent my spending sixty or seventy years of a living death in the grave of the convent." strong and fearful reaction was movingwithin her. Her whole strong heart, soul and intellect, was in open insurrection Her whole nature rising in terrible and uncompromising rebellion against the tyranny and the violence put upon it. Wave upon wave of passion rolling up from the deeps of her soul, stormed in her tempestuous ~HANNO NDAL.E. bosom, exciting there wild ann sinful, and frr kee-, unprecedented thoughts. - "Is Heaven itself worth purchase at this price, this awful sacrifice? Alas! I madden! I sin! I am only good; I am only strong; I am only reli- gious; 1 only live when Claude is with me, or when I feel that his spirit is near me-as just now at the confessional-as sometimes at home. I am evil; I am weak; I am irreligious; I die when Claude is absent, and withdraws his thoughts from me as now! It is not insanity; It is not falsehood; it is not even fancy; but it is truth-God's holy truth-that I am but the divi- ded and quivering moiety of a human being when separated from Claude's presence, and absent from his thoughts. I cannot! I cannot! I can- not- I" For the first time, perhaps, in all her life, Imogene, forgetful of - her surroundings, lifted up her voice and wept! Wept! nay, her whole soul and body was v;olently convulsed; her whole nature for the first time passionately re- belled against her destiny The mother and daughter were as yet quite none in the church; but it was to be expected every instant that some one would come in; that soon the chapel would fill Mrs Summerfield especially, fearing such a probable interruption and observation, stole her arm enitly around her daiff'ilter's waist, and murmured, in gentle tones, C Imogene, love, the congregation will be gathering soon; if you canflot compose yourself we bad better return home, dear, lest we draw observation upon us." "Oh, yes! home-home--let ps go home I" gasped Irnogene; and they were quietly arising to leave the pew, when the deep, rica tQnes of Claude Vellemonte at the pew door, arrested them. He reached his hand over to Mrs. Sum- merfield to shake hands wito her. The mother's brow crimsoned for an instant at the sight of the young priest, until she met his eyes, so full of strength and purity, when her agitation subsided. The storm in Imogene's bosom was also stillefl The magnetic, the fabled miracidqus power of Claude Vellemonte was once more felt by both mother and daughter, as he stooped over the lat- ter and said, "Imogene, what Is the matter? Compose thyself, my dear child. Before and above all things, believe in thy Father's love. - He who created thee, loves thee, Jipogene; desires thy happiness; believe and receive this, for it is true; hear His words ' Verily I say unto you, there is no man hath left house, or brethren, or sister, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or land, for my sake and the gospel's, 1c 'But shall receive an hundred fold ~ew us ThUS viwn-houses, and brethren, and sisters, and mothers, and children, and lands, with persecu- tions---and in the "vorld r0 come eternal life.' Thus you see, Imogesie, 'Godliness is profitable in all 16&5 things, having the promise of THIS r~rrz, and of the life to come' But, lmogen~, to avail thyself of Gospel promises, thou must believe in and $ se.pon thess. Imogene, repose on tne promises. Be believing- Be calm. Be cheerful Have~ a modest confidence us the mercy of thy Divine Parent. Remain here, Imogene- 1 will see thee again to-morrow-" He stroked her brow gently, and was gone. That day the young priest took for his text the Scripture: "Whoever will lose his life for My sake and the kingdom of Heaven's, shall save it." His text and sermon were singularly ap- propriate to Easter Sunday, the morning cele- brating the Resurrection of our Saviour from the dead; and as singularly appropriate to the state of at least one of his hearers. He spoke of the Saviour's voluntary resignation of His life. Of the anguish, the terror, and the failing, dying faith of His disciples, as they witnessed His arrest, His trial, execution, and burial. Of the deep, the utter despair that followed that event. He dwelt upon this picture so earnestly, so ole- quently, that even his hearers were cari'ied back, in imagination, eighteen hundred years, and felt that all hope had gone down with the Saviour to the grave. Then as he turned sunward to the glorious morning of the resurrection, his whole countenance was transfigured before them, and beamed with an archangelic radiance and powe as he depicted that startling, that electrifying denouement. The surprise, the joy, the ecstasy of the disciples, in hailing again their risen and glorified Lord and Saviour, now proven Lord and Saviour beyond the shadow of a doubt! their re- newed and strengthened faith, renewed and strengthened, for all eternity. Finally he drew from this a consolation for all christiaps tempted to despair. Their buried bye and hope, buried, forever, in their thoughts, would rise again! would rise in joy! in glory! and surprise them into an ecatacy of gratitude and worship! * But 1 feel that in giving this third-hand re- port of Claude Vellemonte's inspired and most eloquent Easter Sunday sermon, I am doing him injustice. Very weakly do his great, strong words,-very coldly do his fiery words, flow through my feeble pen. In fine, there waa more than one soul raised, comforted and strengthened that day! At the close of the services, Claude Velle- monte announced that Father Burleigh had re- covered his health, and expected, with the bless. ing of Heaven, to resume his place in the pulpit upon the next Sunday- That in conse- quence of that and other circumstances, which would be duly made known to them, his own *hort and delightful connection with the congre- gation of the Sacred Heart Chapel would ~d with the services of that afterr.don, wben l~e should take an affectionate and a final leave 9 his beloved charge. Thie.circuxnatance, in the page: 156-157[View Page 156-157] 156 event of Father Burleigh's recovery, was to natural and too much to be expected, to cause any surprise how much aoever of regret it might and did occasion. The congregation was then dismissed. The mother and daughter returned home. Imogene, at least calm, if not happy. CHAPTER XLIII. THE CONTEMPLATED EXPIATION. Her down-bed a pallet. her trinkets a bead; Her lu~tre one taper that serves her to rend; Her sculpture the crucifix nailed to her bed, Her paintings one print of the thorneovered head; Her cu-hion the pavement that wearies her knees; Her music the psalm, or tile tAgh of disease Grijin-Sister of .lVlercy.. "Oh, mother, mother, let me seek rest imme- diately I - let me think, let me take time for self recollection. I know not wht'.~' has happen- ed, what is ahniut to happen to me. clearly! I shall co mad in this confusion I-this chaos!- Mother, I had selfpossession and fortitude once, ha~ I not? In the uttermost bitterness of my anguish and remorse, I governed myself, did I not? I retained my own self-respect, and com- manded the respect of others, did I not? i can -do so, not much longer! 1 hold my self-govern- ment by the slightest tenure, that threatens every instant to give way. I have emotions of wildness! Indeed, I think I am going mad! 1 am not now the same being from one hour to another 1-exalted one hour into an ecatacy 01 religious enthusiasm, and plunged the next into the depths of a profound despair 1-thus the waves of my soul rise and fall, and beat their shores, in my bosom! This must be madness, if' the mad can be half- conscious of their condition -end yet-and yet-It seems to me sometimes, I fiat only my ecstacy Is madness, and that my despair is soundly rational! A.h, if it be so, let me go mad. kind Heaven 1" "My love! my dear love! my Imogene! you are not mad-or going mad-yours is a delirium of the nerves--a frenzy of excited emotion-do nor have such dreadful thoughts I dismiss them from your mind! The really insane are never conscious; if they were, they would get sane again You must have sleep, my love I indeed you must!" ~ Let me go merrily mad, not melancholy mad, kind angels 1" exclaimed iinogene, with a wild, hysterical laugh! How unlike herself! Really' alarmed now for her daughter's reason, Mrs. Summerfield with difficulty subdued her own emotions, and souebt to so~tbe Iinogene. She used every moral and material means within her reach, to compose her violently excited nervous system, and finally succeeded in getting her to bed av.d 'ullin~ hsr to sleep. There was ).ND ALE. ono sleep, however, for Mrs. Summerfield. The lady paced slowly up and down t~e gorgeous but dimly lighted chamber of her daughter, think- ing, with deep anxiety, of all the cases of insa- nity she had heard of, arising from religious fa- naticism, where it conflicted violently with some natural law of our being. Then she passed in review the whole history of Imogene's life, since her return hoi~e, and all that she had re- vealed of her life at school. The visions of her illness, it is true, were probably merely the tem- porary effect of virulent fever; but the visions of her convalescence were a more alarming matter. And after her arrival at home, her profound melancholy even deepening to gloom; her days of depression, her nights of elevation; and what was still more dreadful, her violent, opposite and inconceivable alternations of mood, within the last few weeks; being at one hour so deeply despairing, at another exalted into such a beavei~ of rehgioos ec.sta~.y, and anon, so in- effably serene; all these things presented them- selves to the mother's mind in a new and terri- ble light. Yes, yes, wounded affections, violated natural laws, religious fanaticism, were taking a terrible vengeance upon their subject, in doing this work of mental destruction upon Imogene. Her over- burdened and over-wrought heart and brain were desperately struggling for existence amid the horrors of this furious moral typhoon, and her glorious intellect in imminent danger of ship- wreck amid the metaphysical breakers a' ound her. Now, perhaps, for the first time in Mrs. Sum- merfield's life, a doubt of the righteousness of that ecclesiastical doctrine by which her daugh- t~-r was made to suffer such extremity of an- guish, remorse and humiliation, which would eventuate assuredly in confl.rmed madness, arose in the mother's mind; but it was immediately suppressed as sinful. Not so easily, however, were her too well grounded fears for Imogene subdued. Nothing but the common life would restore Imogene to sound health of mi"d and body People were not created with five senses, and put 'pon ttiis solid earth, covered, as it is, with material beau- ties and pleasures, to lose their sense in spiritual abstraction, any more than to degrade them in excessive luxury. The medium! the medium! There was right-there was wisdom. IVI . Sims'. merfield nowfelt this, but, for her immo~tat soul's salvation, she dared not thin& it out! So she sighed and groaned, and paced up and down the gorgeous chamber, till at length she went and prostrated herself before the image of the Virgin, on the elegant little altar we have described be- fore. Here, in silent prayer and meditation, she spent the remaining hours of the night. Mean- while, from the united effects of mental and phy- sical exhaustion and of an opiate, Miss Summer. field slept soundly. SR&NI'IONPIALE At dawn, t he lady arose from her knees some-' CC He should have let us know his condition." what calmed, but wearied, and opened the win- "Ah, mother! we ought to have inquired fnto'~' dew shutters, to let in the first faint, gray light it once more. It was so much more natural in of morning. This was not enough to allow her him to seek aid from their father; and you know to dispense with the lamp, for she wished to look a mind so distressed as his was then, is not sl- at the quiet sleeper. But Imogene was not ways capable of reasoning in the best manner, asleep, and as the lady approached her bedside, But what we have to do now, Is, to bring him and stood there, she raised her .t hite arms from back here, if possible-then to reconcile my uncle the cover, and putting them around her neck, to him that will not be impossible, if he be drew down her face to kiss, IYiuimiiring, made acquainted with all the 'art and double- "Mv pale mother, you have watched all dealing which that unhappy girl used to betray night!" them into their indiscreet marriage." "Never mind me, love! How are you, Imo- "No-for my brother's greatest anger against gene 1" Ardenne, was kindled by the, thought that he had "Calm 1-every nerve at rest now, dear treacherously sought the affections of his daugh- mother" ter, and married her for a speculation; he did "Ah, yes, this is one of your seasons of sere- not dream that W'~nny, poor child, quite inno- nity, my child 1- fallacious, illusory it is," gently did most of t~ne love-making herself-and thought the lady, looking mournfully at her that Miss Hinton did the match-making. ZVtns daughter. Imogehe passed her hand over her of us thought that we were all misled by that brow once or twice, covered her face with both poor, misguided Sina. Well, the advertisement hands, lay so for a while, and then looking up,. shall he renewed to day, and kept up until some- said, thing transpires. Much do I fear, however, that "Do you know Mr. Vellemonte comes here Ardenne has perished in the Western wilds." ihis morning, mother ?" "And then, mother, Winny, what a desolate, "To take leave of us ?-yes, my child, I poor child I When I am gone, mother, keep her know it" in your heart and home as your own daughter. "And, mother, to pronounce on me the sen- She, poor one, needs a mother-even as you will tence of my doom; you divined it, mother.- then need a daughter. Comfort her, mother, Are ~ on, also, prepared at last to hear it ?" and you shall be comforted." "Yes yes, my child; and yet--yet-was it- Mrs. Summerfield's tears flowed again, sad for this, oh! God-" were again stayed, and resolutely wiped away. The lady', voice failed-she dropped her head "And, mother, the disposition of my wealth; upon the aide ot the bed and wept. She was ac you, s~ richly jointured, donot need It; never. customer to self-"iecipline though, and so she theless, you must have half. Of the other half soon stayed her tears, raised her head, and dried it will take but a very small portion te dress a her eyes. While Imogene said, slowly and bride of Heaven-and the bulk I will make over solemnly, to Edgar Ardenne. That will make him inde- V "'Only God is great'-only eternity is per- pendent of his father-in-law, as it is best for him manent. This life will end at last, and you and that he should be; and Winny will be better I, mother, will meet in eternity, never to sepa- pleased than if 1 gave the money to herself. If rate again." Then, after a pause, she said, Ardenne returns, mother, persuade them both to "There is one thing belonging to time, and to live with you. Let them be to you children- this world, that I must arrange, mother-that get interested in their children. For you audI, advertisement for Edgar-has it been suffered to mother-we shall meet in Heaven." drop from the columns of the newspapers ?" Mrs. Summerfield premised everything her "Yes, my dear; it seemed to elicit nothing, daughter wished. She would have promised apy- and I have not ordered its continuation." thing then. "Mother, I wish you to order the renewal of that advertisement without delay. It cannot do CHAPTER LXIV. harm, it is to be cautiously and delicately word- ~ sunrursa- ed, as before-and it may at~length meet the eye of Edgar, or of some one who knows his place of Sunrise will come next! abode. Alas; you know it is the only chance. The shadow of the night is passed away! My uncle enforced a promise from nun, that he Here begins your true career. would never seek Winny again." Look up to it! All now is possible- "How wrong that was, in Edgar, to give it." The glory and the grandeur of each dream, "Yes, very wrong, but Edgar was scarcely And every prophecy shall be fulfilled. nineteen; he saw Winny on the eve of becom- Brownie6'. Lual~ ing a mother, and herself and child in imminent This was Easter Monday, be it remembered- danger of perishing with cold and hunger-for it and about tea o'clock in the day, whes~ Miss was the depth of'Winter, you recollect." Siinimerfield sat in the parlor awaiting the ar~ 14 page: 158-159[View Page 158-159] 459 SHANN riv~ of the young priest. It was the front par ~- br on the left hand of tbe hail, and whose tall, front wintiows corumandeil a view of the grove- dappled and rolling lawn, which heaved in green waves down to the river-of the encircling river with us tree-fringed banks, and of the blue chain of lofty mountains shutting in the whole scene. A servant entered, and placing a card in Miss Summerfield's hand, retired. She read it indo- lently, without at first taking in its meaning. She looked at it again, and grew pale as she read the namt~ engraved on it aloud-" MONS. Lz Duo LIz VELLEHONTE What does this mean?" She looked up, and Claude Vellemonte stood be- fore her; or, was this indeed the young priest of St. Joseph's? No! for the priestly garb was gone-and this gentleman wore a quiet citizen's dress of speckless black.-.and yet, indeed, it was Claude Vellemonte, and not another, who, ad- vancing, now, and replying to her question, be- gan to say, "it means, my dear Imogene~-.~~ But before he Went any farther, he sat down an the sofa beside her, passed his arm around ~her waist, and drawing her head upon his bosom, bent and pressed his lips to hers in the very first, virgin kiss he had ever given woman! or she had ever received from man I It was a life- giving kiss to both! and he gazed down in her radiant eyes with a smile of pure ecstatic joy, lighting another smile in her face, such as only children or angels wear! And she! Was she shocked, alarmed-was she even surprised at this sudden, this unprece- * dented joy? or, seas it unprecedented? No! for even thus they had often met in the spiritual land, in dreams, that seemed as real as this! No! It seemed so right, so natural, or rather, every thought and emotion was swallowed up in a feel- ing of measureless content, as she lay there in the pure .srms of her spotless, her almost divine lover-as she lay there, lost In a trance of joy. Nor one word of explanation had been spoken- yet* she was so naturally, so inexpressibly hap- py! While Claude dazed down upon her, his radiant eyes showering blessings, and more di- vinely blessed himself in the sense of giving, than of receiving happiness. At last he mur- mured lowly under his breath, "You beautiful and happy child! Oh, to hold you tiuts! It is even more of Heaven than my visi ins promised---to have your head lying here, where in dreams only it has ever laid! Ah, rest your head here, on my bosom, where it has so long ached to rest I where I have so much longed to have it! You darling! you good! you beau- tiful, happy child!" "Ah~ CIaud~! my heart must break with its exee's of love for God and yoi~!" "Oh, Imogene! my soul's bride for so lougi ONDALE. My spirit-bride! My dream-bride, embodied at last, and on my bosom! My dream-bride." * "My dream-lover !" "My measureless content! Oh, Imogene! Imogene I,' he murmured, hovering over her lips again, lighting softly on them. "You thought of me all this time! You loved me all this time-and Claude, I always knew it!', "Always! Always! Imogene, I was with you in niy dreams! By day, 1 would conscien- tious!y dismiss you-but 'sleep has its own world,' governed by its own laws-there 1 ever found you again." "You were ever with me in your dreams ?" "Ever-ever, Imogene I" "I knew and felt it! My days were wretch- ed; but my nights were unutterably happx !" "My beautiful embodied dream. Mv happy dream embodied, and in my arms! Why, Imo- gine, you are so real, I cannot realize you! Long glossy purple locks! majestic brow, and glorious eyes! and lips! Ah! my beautiful dream-bride! I shall never! never! never! wake up again and lose you;" and stooping, his lips grew fo hers again! "Mr. Vellemonte!!! Father Vellemonto ! !!! I am HONORED! ASTOUNDED I" exA~laimed the voice of Mrs Summerfield, who at this '~ritic.si moment appeared, and was struck still in the door, like a statue of horrified astonishment in its niche; "Mr. VellArionte Father V~-llemonte, I my! you horrify me beyond measure! In the Virgin's name, what dreadful sacrilege is this ?" They do not see or hear her-for "Heedless as ihe dead are they 0; aught around. above, beneath, As if all else had passed away- They nn!y for each other breathe." "Mr Vellemo ate! FATHER VeUemorue! Do you Wish to i~ir..r. me, then 1" "Oh! my dream bride! my beautiful embo- died spirit bride !" murmured the entranced man, straining her again and again to his beom, and pressing fervent kisses on her brow and eyes and lips, in the very ecstacy of rapture! "My God! 1 shall presently madden! Imo- gene! my daughter! Mrss SUMMHRPTELD !~! ex- claimed the deeply scandalized lady, in the en- tremity of distress. "Ak, Claude! my archangel! when did I die? I do not remember-when came 1 to Heaven, Claude ?" sighed Imogene, quite lost in a trance of joy. "FATHER VHI.rziworsTn, release my daughter, this moment!" exclaimed the lady, flying to- wards them. Claud~e now looked up-did he drop Imogene? No, indeed! Had a thunderbolt fallen at his feet, he wouPi not have dropped h~r theii I Re took time to kiss her agman, and gather her S H AN NO NDnA LB. closer to his bosom, before he answered, entire- ly at random, an observation whose sound he had only beard. "Yes, madam, certainly!" "You shameless man!" cried the excited lady, in a choking voice. / A sense of the absurdity of the whole thing, now struck Claude, who, with the first inclina- tion for humor that had visited him for many a day, now arose, and setting Imogene upon her feet, presented her to her mother, and said, "Mrs. Summerfield, let me crave your con- gratulations fo-r my betrothed wife-Madame La Duchesse De Vellemonte !" Tue lady had been very red before, she now grew deadly white-a look of unutterable sor- row chased every expression of anger from her face, and gazing on them both wit~h profound pity, she said, in a voice full of grief- "Ah, my God! 1 see it all now! God knows that they have both gone mad!" Srn.itten~with compunction for the pain he had given her, Claude Vellenionte took her hand in the most respeetfnl manner, and said- "Mrs. - Summerfield 1-mother-my honored mother! I am neither mad nor guilty, iwr is yovr daughter, whose faith in me, was to her-- ~nowiedge. What I say to you, only requires your consent and blessing, to make it truth! You knew before that I was the son of the ban- ished Duke De Vellemonte, who, during the .Reignof Terror, became a refugee in this con;- try, an I died at St Joseph's; you know that I obeyed his dying will rather than followed my own vocation, in entering the priesthood; you know he chose this life for me because he thought the patrimonial title and estate forever gone; and because his last days were characterized by extreme religious dev&ion. Three years ago I fouWd that I loved Imogene too well to make a good priest. I struggled desperately with this feeling, until I discovered that Imo~eire loved me. I struggled with it then no longer, but, 83 I was yet scarcely entered upon my clerical du- ties, I wrote to Rome a history of the whole matter, praying our Moft Holy Father a'dispensa- tion. from. my vows, but leaving my destiny en- tirely in his hands, expressing the fullest dis. position to resign myself to his wi!l. While I was making this appeal from America,. some of wy father's old friends, who had gained the high favor of the Emperor, remembered the exiled son of their banished friend, and exerted their interest for me. The end of both their ~n- tercession and my petition was, that six weeks ago two packets arrived for me, one from Paris, containingdispatchesthatre-investedmewith my late father's title and eStates, and recalledzne to Paris; and the other, comprising a dispensation from my priestly vows-that dispensation to take effect after vesper hour on Easter~Sunday evening." tgg Then, turning to Miss Summerfield, he said- "Imogene, my child: di'! I anticipate the date of this dispensation by~n hour?- did I not faithfully pay the uttermost farthing ot my duty, even in the trial of hearing thy enforced and ex- piatory confession? Did I ever, by word or look, offend thee? I heard thy confession, line-. gene, because, my child, my approaching dis- pensation did not wipe from thy soul the sin of sacrilege you committed in loving a priest-and because that penance was laid upon thee by thy Father Confessor, and obedience to thy spiritual guide, was necessary. When I absolved thee of thy sin, Imogene, I could not assure to thee a compensation for thy sufferings, for that would have then been a breach of the vows which bound me until evening. But when 1 saw thee so meekly resigned to give up all the pleasures of the earth, and in the seclusion of the convent expiate thy error by devoting thyself to God- I could and did say, in the words of Christ- 'Verily I say unto thee that no man hath left house, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mo- ther, or wife, or children, or lands for my sake, and the gospel's; but he shal! receive an hun- dred fold now in THIS TIME--houses, and bre.- thren, s.nd sisters, and mothers, and children, and lands with persecutions; and in the world to come, eternal life!' But oh! thou faithless and despairing child, thou did'st not bind it to thy bleeding heart. It was my faith, my Izn6- gene, that saved thee. Ah, Imogene's mot'ier! I have a vocation for the priesthood !- Heaven doth truly know that 1 have! But not for ice necessary celibacy-I have too large a human hear!; for that-and had this great tide of nato- ral affections been turned back upon my heart, it would have become a burning and cenautwug fire, that would have dried up all the' milk, of human kindness in my nature; all the blocd in my veins; all the flesh on my bones; and this fine, vital temperament of mine, thai. enables .me to do so much for others more feeble-would have changed. In body I should have grown bilious, sallow, thin, and leathery; and the ruin of mind and soul would have been still greater. I should have become bigoted, fanatical, asee.- tic, harsh, given to persecution. Those few cruel priests whom history records as standing reproaches to the holy mother church, were con- scientious men, of ardent temperaments, whose strong natural affections, turned back from theu~ natural course upon the heart and brain, becatna furious fires, exciting them to deeds of cruelty; for such men must -~rv, must feel their i4ij~ if not in human loves, why then in human, Or thor, in fiendish hates, and in the excitet2i~ that scenes of blood afford!. History has dealt severely with them, because philosol~hy ha not revealed them. No, Mrs. Summerfie!d, all mez~ are not fit for the priesthood~ nor all women for the #loister, .who~ rashly enter the one orAhe page: 160-161[View Page 160-161] 180 SHAfOt4DAL~. other. I said I had a vocation for the priect- reputation of miraculous power-he had even hood. but not for the celibacy. Understand me. very much improved her physical health. The secular duties of~he priesthood, and of the "Hydropathy and Mesmerism-the two great Sisters of Mercy, are incumbent upon every son ministers of health, happiness and life-were and daughter of God on earth! The ministry; Divinely pre-figured in the religious ordnance of to the sick, the poor, sinful, and the prisoner, are Baptism, and the Laying on of Hands," said ~ some of them; for these 1 have a special mis- Divinely-inspired man, himself "an example of sion, and am especially endowed; for no amount of sin, disease or suffering has power to disturb my health, cheerfulness, faith, or hope; there- fore I can impart from the fullness of these blessings to those who have need; and therefore I these secular duties of the priesthood, while I live, will I perform in obedience to the text- 'Freely have ye received-freely give."' CHAPTER XLV. WINNY. Courage !-you travel through a darkeome cave, But still as nearer to the light you draw, Fre4 galee will meet you from the upper air, Ai~d wholesome dews of heaven your forehead lave, And darkness lighten more, till full of awe, You stand in the open sunshine, unaware. R. C Frenck. Winny Ardenne I-have you lost sight of that gentle sufferer, reader ?-is she forgotten, be- cause, in the noise of violent and conflicting passions, and the shock of sudden and tragic events, the still music of her gentle life is tin- heard? She is not forgotten by any one near her. Mrs. Summerfield, amid her heavy domes- tic trials, and Imogene, in her suffering, had still fopo$ ioom in their hearts for Winny. The old lady, who, now that her affections were satisfied with the presence of her "baby," had fallen into that still, smiling, blissful dotage, beautifully termed "second childhood," that state which is neither quite of earth, nor quite of heaven, but seems a happy lingering of the soul between hotly --that loving, lovely close of a long and good earthly career, which is not death, but an easy, gentle~ translation of the soul to God-the old lady was Winny's constant companion. Those three children, 1 mean grandmother, Wiuny, and baby, occupied one room at Red- Stone, and Gelly waited on them. Claude Vel- lemonte often came to visit and cheer them. In Winny, indeed, he found a special object for his life giving mission, and he devoted himself to her with all his cheerful and hearty faith, hope, and charity. Perhaps no one in the world be- sides Claude Vellemonte, could have "minister- ~ so successfully to this heart and "mind dim. eased." He had awakened Winny's dormant re- ligious affections, strengthened her faith, and re- vived her hopes; and with that great hygeiange- fame, whose possession had acquired for him, :~a~iong his more simple-minded parishioners, the his own fair creed." When Claude Velletuonte had succeeded in scattering that burning spot in Winny's breast, left by the old wound-when he had raised her spirits, and she was no longer suffering fron pain, or "numbed" by despair, he told her that she must return to her father's house, and take her station daily by his sick bed; and Winny, who ever obeyed his voice, as though her Ba. viour had spoken by his lips, got into a carriage with her grandmother and her baby, and made old Nerve "burst out a-crying" with joy, by getting out of it at the door of Oak Grove Hall. Claude Vellemonte had more than one good rea- son for directing this move, to explain which, I must go back a little. It had not been deemed safe by his physicians to inform Squire Darling of the fate of Sina for som: we4s, although for many reasons, known only to himself, he seemed darkly to suspect it. When at last the manner of her da~ath Was made known to him, he received the news very quiet- ly, merely saying, to himself-" Yee-yes-yes -yes-insanity was hereditary in one branch of her mother's family-her uncle died in the lunatic asylum, and one of her aunts died of a brain fever!" Then he turned his face to the wall, and spoke no more for hours. All that day and night he refused both food and drink, and from that time he sank into deep gloom. "Shall I never, never be happy again ?" said the miserable man, as he tossed and tumbled about, among the bed clothes and pillows.* Old Nerve, who was sitting c9mfortably in a large, soft arm-chair, before th& fire, in her ca- pacity o~ nurse, and occupying herself with toasting her fat feet, and looking atthe pictures in a splendidly bound Bible-a copy utterly for- bidden to vulgar fingers, on account of its splen- dor-now turned her head, and took u long, ex- ceedingly self-complacent look at her master. "Shall I never, never see another happy day ?" groaned the now feverish and excited man. "Never, sarI never! sartain as you're a libin' sinner, 'til you 'solves that farm, as I telled you 'fore !-'til you 'solves that farm o' Debil Dar- lin' & Compiny. The 'Compiny' o' the farm is gone, praised be, my blessed 'Deerner I.-. and that ought for to be a~warnin' to you." "Who spoke to you, you in-" faltered the squire, checking, for the first time in hijlife, a profane-word upon his tongue. "Nobody didn't ear, chile, but the spent o' the Lord, an' 'Woe is me if I preaches i~ot the SIIAN NONDALE. gospel.' Can't help of it, master, chile, ef you does git mad-Can't, indeed, honoy-'caze I talks to you fur your own good, an' I tells you again, you won't never be happy on this blessed fruitful yeth 'til you breaks long o' Sam, an' sets out to sarve your 'Vine Marster an' Lord, as any ole gemluin as has come to your time o' life ought for to do l" "Oh, oh, oh!,' groaned the poor man, tossing about his arms. "Yes, honey!' I hopes you's groanin' for your sinr-'deed I does." "Oh! oh! oh!" "Yes, chile, that's right! I hopes you's 'eider- in' now how you's made other people groan- 'deed I does, chile !" "You infernal-oh! oh!" C(Ah, Lord, see that, now! when i'm a-pro- phecying of the Bible to him for his own good, -but that's always the way Sam's children talks to the Lord's little ones !-ef he had the power this blessed minute, he'd heave sornethin' at my poor ole head, and split me down! but, praised be my blessed Marster, he ain't got the power; he done stretch out there, an' 'bilge for to hear the truffe now, ef he turned a def year to it all his life before. An' I gwine give it to him good !" said Nerve, in a tone of determination, being-in the full knowledge that her master was entirely in her power-wonder- fully strengthened to preach the Gospel. "Don't you know, you poor ole sinner, as he who 'fends one of the Lord's little ones, had better have a maelstrome strung around his neck, and be hang ed to the top o' the trees? an' ain't .1 one the Lord's little ones as you're fending ' of ?-.. Ain't this here persecution ?" Here g pillow Was launched at her head from the hands of the enraged squir-e,.who instantly fell back, exhausted with the effort. Nerve tos-aod up the whites of her eyes, and, crossing herself devoutIy~ejaculated~ "Oh, may the Lord 'give this poor ole forsok sinner, and lead him to ~pentance, and not cut hIm off hI his sins. I 'gives you, ole master, chl~e, 'deed 1 does; I 'gives you, an' I pixies of you; an' I heaps coals o' fire on your head I" Oh! oh! oh I" "-They bums, does they?" "You'll .fill me I" "No, I won't, honey; I pasties of you! 'deed I does, chile, an' I takes all your deblish ways in good part!" "Do, oh, do hush-oh! talking-" "I can't, chile; I can't, indeed, honey! I'm a talkiri' to you for your own good I 'deed, 'fore my 'Vine Marster I am, chile! i'm a setting' of your sins afore you. This is the fuss chance as ever I had in all my life, o' doin' of it, an' it may be the Las', so I gwine to 'prove it, an' give it to you good-.."deed I is, chile!" "I'll-oh! oh! i'll-" groaned the highly 14 181 feverish man, tossing about wildly amdng the sheets, and grasping crazily at the pillows. "Well, do, honey! Yes, ole master, do heave the other pillow at my head; do, chile, of It eases of your poor ole conscience any; an' the bolsters, too, honey, an' the counterpane, an' the sheets, chile, of it makes you feel any bet- ter 'bout the heart; dough, ef it don't, 'hape you'd better not tire of yourself." "Oh! oh! I shall-i shall-go distracted!" cried the sick man, with the rising strength of fever "Yes, ole master, honey, you may kick and strain (plunge, struggle,) as much as you please, an' fling your arms an' legs about in that on. decent manner, as no gemman ought for to do afore a lady, but you can't get out'n that bed to do nobody no harm, praised be my blessed Lord, so you's got for to have your sins set afore you good-'deed you has, honey! I ain't a gwine fur to tell you how you stormed, and mv, and drur your spectaclee ole mother in a paralyplectic stroke, and how you hey the hand-iron ates~y head, 'cause all that's writ down in the i4i#s 'count book 'gin you; an' I ain't a gwine to-say a singly word 'bout you running' arter Muse Ed- gar like a tearing mad bull to gore him through the body, an' 'bout your heaven' of a sword at Miss Winny, the blessed baby! an' a smashing' of her innocent' little breas'." "My God! oh, who will deliver mc-"- "Yes, master, chile, groan, honey, it's good for your poor 'mortal soul: groan for your on- -~--- dutiful behavement to your own dear chile, as you mortally wounded fuss, an' then starved an' friz' into a gumptionn, an' then tore away from 'ier husband' an' broke her heart I Ak, my ~.or', I wonder what her mother, Miss Angefly, up an Heaven, thought when she looked down keen Heaven an' saw how you were marvin' of her orphan gal-" "Oh! oh! for God's sake-Winny !" cried the tortured sufferer, beginning to wander in his mind "No, I'se not a gwine to say anything' 'bout tkat, 'cause that's writ down underneath of the other. An' I ain't a gwine to say nothing' 'boa; your takin' to drink, an' fetching' a 'grace on your colored people, till we wur all '~hame' to tell anybody who we 'longed to I" "Winny! Winny! my child! my child! psee ~er oW !" raved the tormented man, floundering vio~ently. "No more ain't I a 'gwine for to ~ay nothing' 'boht your kickaro' of poor ole Kill dwn 'cause every body knoi#s how km mad you tie ekae, and blessed be my 'Vine Saviour, it didat kill hiss; 'sides which, when you served my dear ole angel so, it seemed like a pilia' up of your measure' of wickedness, for the Lord didn't Let you do a singly thing else, but g~ you right to do debil, an' 1w.- you ua~ ydv ss~eP' page: 162-163[View Page 162-163] 162 8HANN~ "Wmny, my child! I-I'm burning sp !" "Is your pillows hot~ A', marst~r, chile. they isn't half as hot as you know where is ?" "Oh! oh! i'm in flames, and a fiend tor- meats me! "Now, rure as he is a livin' sinner, he thinks as he is in that there, and that I m wnat's-his name 1! See the 'fects o' a guilty conscience; but he knows what I'm a sayin' of well enough; hem! hem! but master, honey, what l's bound for to set 'fore you in its proper callers is this here: your ondutful behavement to your own dear chile. Jes' now you was a makin' of a great 'mount 'bout your not hem' happy-how * can you 'spect to be happy when you've done hey all your happiness away? The Lord give you plenty o' happ'ness, an' you he~ it all out'n doors; an' now you talk 'bout hem' happy as ii you 'served to, an' as if you thought your 'Vine Master an' Lord (so Nerve was very fond of giv- ingj her master a master in his turn,) hadn't no other sarvints to 'vide for 'sides you, an' hadn't nothing' else to 'tend to but bakin' o' frosted eskes o' happiness, an' sending' of 'em down on waiters for you to heave out'n the windy! Lord! how happy you 'serves for to be, any how!- Ole master, I say, listen to me now, an' stop a kicking' about in that ungemmanly manner; it's rale indecent, 'sides which, it'll tear the sheets, so it take me a week for to mend them, '&ause, you know, I ain't as young as I use for to be, no more an' you, though praised be my Heavenly Lord, I thinks I'se led a more 'spectable life- ~isten to me now, fur I am 'bout to tell you a piece of righteous, Gospel truffe, an' you must hear to it-an' not lot it be a heaven' of pearls afore swine! Listen, then I You 'pendi upon your 'Vine Lord to make von happy-other peo- ple 'ponds upon von to make them happy. Now this is Gospel: Yost won't never be no happier ~ourae1f till ~ou tries for to make them as 'pends os yoss fer happiness, happy! 'fore my blessed Heavenly Judge won't you, if it wur the last word I had to speak on the yeth! An' them as 'ponds 'tirely 'pon you for happiness is no stran- gers an~ ailing. (~.Iiens), but your own dear near's chile, Misa Winny, an' that there poor motherless boy, Mars. Edgar, as you druv off in the dead o' winter to the Devil's Icy Peak- or some place; an' now what you has got to do, if you w&nts your poor ole sinful soul save', is this here: jes' sea' for Marse Edgar back from out yonder an' giv' him a lif' in the world, as an Jssnes' da4dy-in.law as has broke 'long o' Barn' m' sot out for to sarve his 'Vine Marster in his ole days, ought for to do. 'Deed, I think I'se a samplee to you! It hurted "p heart, When the gal I fetched up, fotch a 'grace on we-dem by heavin' of herself away on a poor white man's son; but see what I does! Why, I sex, 'what's done can't be ondone an' I gives the poor me- ONDALE. therless boy, 'cause he loved my baby any how, an' my baby's heart was wrapped up in him. An', 'deed, I never did think myself so very much 'bove the young man, as a person might s'pose; an' ef he wur for to come back an' 'have himself as he ought for to do, i'd give him all the encouragementt in my power. Sure we are all poor creturs, an' ekel in the sight o' the Master, un' so if he comes back un' 'haves him. self, 1 don't care what anybody says, i'll 'cou rage the young man! "Ar-r-r-r-r-h! ar-r-r- r-r-h!f ar-r-r~r-r-h!!! he's a murdering' of me! Ar-r-r-r-r-r-r.r ff1!" yelled old Nerve, in the strong grasp ot the fever-maddened man, who with the new and ter- rible strength of delirium, had suddenly sprung from his bed, dragging the sheets behind him, and seized his tormentor by the nape of her neck. "Ah-r.r-r-r-r-r-rf f!!'~ yelled Nerves once more extricating herself an instant from his strange. ling fingers. "Oh! praised be my 'Vine Mars- ter. Mr. Vellemonte! is you comed at last," exclaimed phe, running for shelter into the arms of Claude Vellemonte, who had just then hurried into the room at the .sound of shrieks; "he's! he's got larum-terrors! (delirium-tremens;) he's got larum-terrors! he's got larum-terrors, as use for to follow of him when he was a drinking' man-as sure as he's a livin' sinner, he's got larum-terrors I" "Has he been taking any alcoholic spirits ?" asked Claude Vellemonte, when he had succeed- ed in getting him back to bed, and composing him. -" Sir?" "Has he been drinking?" * "Oh, Lor'! no sir; not a drap-no, sun On'y I was a setting' of his duty afore him, and he hey himself into a passion long o' me, an' fetch on this here." ~~What were you doing ?" "A-settin' of his sins afore him, an' a.prophe. cyin' o' the Bible to him-as a faithful sarvint aught for to do.1' "And you raised his fever and fre~zie4 him Nerve, do you want to kill your masteA?" "Me, kill him! Lor' forgive you, Mr. Velie- monte! why, I'm the bes'frien' he's got in the worl', an' the truest! war'n't we too fotch up together like brother an' sister-me an' ole master? life, want to kill him!" "Bat you will certainly kill him, if you worry hun so." "I was a preaching' of the gospel to him, surf" "But-as I have warned yost before.-you have no mission, no vocation, for that work." "Bsiz I" "No esacI, then." "Yes, sar-yes-suocation-yes, that's the most genteelest word; nack is rale, down low, poor, white pooplo~s talk; wo-what's it, mars- ter P' SIIANNO1~DALE. e~Vocation." "Wocation! yes-thanky, sir! yes-i'll re- memberize it!" "You must remember also, not rashly to han- die holy things, as you do. Nerve, you are a well- meaning woman, if we except a Blight vein of sly malice; and a sensible one, barring an over- weening self-esteem; but you have certainly, nearly killed your master to-day, by preaching out of time and place. 'There is a time for all things,' said the wise man; and the truth is to be spoken 'in love,' said the apostle." "Yes, sir." "Now, if you will promise never more to speak until I give you leave, I will, on my side, promise, that before the year is out, you and Kill shall be free, with a little house, well fur- nished, and a little plot of ground, with a horse, a cow, pigs, and some poultry." The result of this affair, was, that Claude Vellemonte, on returning to Red-Stone Hall, had first sent Winny, now somewhat recovered, to Oak Grove; and then going to Sacred Heart, had dispatched Harriet Joy as general protector. But Claude Vellemonte had more than one mo- tive for sending Winny to her father, for though it was certain that the fecble-one could do no- thing in the way of nursing him or even sit by his bedside for any great length of time together, yet her attendance there was a duty, and her mere presence bad a salutary effect upon the health of the invalid, and exercised a softening and redeeming influence upon the heart of the father. We know that when he first saw Winny after her illness his heart had melted, and his tears had fallen at the sight of his suffering child; that he might then have been led to re- pent his harshness, had his thoughts not soon been monopolized by the corroding jealousies and anxieties of his absorbing passion for Sinai and his judgment been unduly influenced by that wily girl, who knew, even amid their fierce quarrels, how to turn his anger against Edgm~ Ardenne, whom she ever artfully presented to him as a heartless adventurer, who had specula- ted upon his daughter's affections and his own wealth and influence. And ~our honest squire, who had less keenness of perception than via. len~e of temper and stubbornness of will, con- tinued to act upon that view~ of the case up to the time of the catastrophe. But now, under the influen~.e of the discipline of Sina Hinton's awful death, and his own prolonged illness, could he lay there on his bed of slow convalescence, and not be led to deen reflection on the past, or could he turn his eyes to where his daughter sat In her arm-~hair by his bedside and see his pale, suffering, but uncomplaining child, heart-broken by his own harshness, and not wish to bind up that broken heart, and, if possible, to give it happiness? 163 CHAPTER XLVl. THE 1WAIDEN's IlirERcussIOre. The quality of mercy is not strained; It droppeth as ihe gente rain from Heaven Upon the place beneaih: It Is tw ce blessed; It blesseth him that gives and him that takes; 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becoaes Tac throne monarch better thab his crown. . B B * * B Though justice be thy plea, consider this- That in the course of justice none of us Should see salvation: We do pray for mercy; And that same prayer doth teach u- all to render The deeds of mercy. aShakspeare. How quiet it was in the sick room on Easter Tuesday morning. A small, bright fire was burning in the grate at the same time that-for the weather was dry, clear and pleasant-the windows were slightly raised and the blinds partly open to let in the fresh and "sunny air." They had done breakfast and the room was made very tidy and cheerful, and the now rapid ly recovering invalid, newly shaved and refiosh. ed, sat in bed propped up with pillows. The old lady placidly smiling to herself, reposed in an easy chair by the fire. While Winny sat by hex father's bedside with her baby sleeping on her lap, as though she had forgotten to lay it down; she was looking at her baby in a pensive, half- abstracted manner. ~he was silent, patient and serene as ever, she had fallen into one of her reveries, and did not know that her father's eyes, full of mournful affection, were gazing on her. Her thoughts were far away. He leaned over and supporting his head upon his hand, while he rested on his elbow, fttretchied his other hand out, and laying it affectionately on her pale, golden hair, said, "Winny, my child f" She looked up. "What are you thinking of, my dear child 1" She dropped her eyelids, and two large tears rolled slowly down her cheeks. "Winny, my child, have you ever heard from Edgar since he went away ?" Now the tears streamed. t~Say, Winny f-I have a reason for asking you, my love." A suffocating sob of-.-- "No-never-never once," was the almost unintelligible answer. "Did you love him so dearly then, Winny ?" Her sobs grew now hysterical-she leaned her face down upon the side of the bed. "Don't cry, Winny, my dear, don't cry!" But Winny sobbed the more. "Don't cry, Winny, don't! Affairs are not so desperate as you think may-be, child! Don't cry so much 1" "Father I-let mo-it is thefirst time-I've page: 164-165[View Page 164-165] [64 SHANN sled ~ tear-since he went away! You calle him 'Edgar'-kindly-and that-that-touche my heart-and-and-let me cry!" sobbed Win ny, convulsivelywhile the poor father, who couli not guess the good this great thaw of congeale tears was doing her-fretted and fumed. As sooi as Winny could speak she commenced again, an bet~oeen broken sobs said, "Father! forgive-not Atm, for he was not t~ blame, but-in., for It was my fault! 1 lovec him so much, so much, so much, father I-fa- ther, forgive me-bless and dismiss me, that may go and seek him!" "Seek him, poor child, do you know where he is 1" "No, father, but God will lead me to him!" ")!ou! you, poor, thin, pale thing, that pani when you come up stairs." "God will strengthen me, father! Give me your blessing and let me go I" "Wouldn't it be better to bring Edgar back here ?" "AhI father, if you would-if you would- you would make me 50,50 happy! but, oh! fa- ther! how will you find out where he is ?" "1 know where he is !" "You, father! you know where he is I Oh! father, if you do indeed, for the blessed loving * Saviour's sake, tell me! tell me!" "He is in the wilds of the North-West Terri- tory, living a hunter's life." "And you will bring him back? Oh, father, you will make your only child happy! you will bring him back!" "1 do not know, my child, just yet, I'll see !" replied the squire, who found magnanimity a new and exceedingly difficult lesson to practice. "Oh I father, you have my life and death in your hands-give me life I" "Winny, my child, hope ali things-this I will tel! you for your comfort. I t~ok you from Pine Cliffs and permitted Edgar Ardenne to leave the State, broken-hearted, because I was justly incensed against you both, and wished to punish you both, as well as to try kim-to test his fideli- ty and integrity. I wasn't sure he was alto- gether evil. Though I disliked him so much, that I cared not the toss up of a penny whether he stood the test or not, yet in the event of his standing it, I was full determined to bring him back to you. I was compelled to be silent as the grave about it, and even act a malignity 1 did not always feel, in order to blind people to my thoughts, and give my test a fair chance to work. W ll, I never lost sight (morally speak- ing) of Edgar Ardenne for one hour after he left here, or for one hour since-you know who left in his company. "No, sir." "Willie Smiie, Hettie's cousin, and 1 wrote to him, and have been in secret correspondence with him ever since." O NDALE. f "Oh, father!' - "It is absolutely necessary, my dear! A pen. - niless man who carries off an heiress is an object I of suspicion, and must be submitted to a severe I test before confidence may be safely reposed in him. Well !~ 1 am happy for your sake, Winny, I to say that As has stood the teat-he has been true even to the severe condition that obliged him not to seek a re-union with you." "Father, father! ~,iou compelled him to make - that promise?" "Yes! and then 1 was in earnest-my mote merciful thought was an after thought. Well, Winny, he has stood the severe test, and so, as the devil himself can't unmake him your hus. - band, the father of my grandchild,, and my own son-in-law-perhaps-mind, I say perAGpa- I'll some day write for him to come home." "And 1, father, will never cease to pray you to do so until 1 see my prayers of no avail, and - then, with my baby in my arms, I will go and seek him." While tbis scene was taking place above stairs, another was transpiring below. "Monsieur Le Duc De Vellemonte" had ridden over to Oak Grove, and asked for Harriette Joy, who still remained there as a temporary acting mistress of the house. The news of his change of cir- cumstances had preceded him in a note carried by a messenger from Red-Stone, who, every morning, was dispatched to inquire after the squire's amendment. Claude De Vellemonte was closeted with Har- riette Joy, and his manner was very serious and her eyes were red with weeping. He had been confiding to her Sina's whole secret history.- When he had finished, he said, "And now, knowing that when we bad sup- posed him to be getting well, the news of Miss Hinton's fate threw him back so dangerously, I have been, up to this time, fearful of opening up the subject to Squire Darling again; fraught with so much pain as the story of her perfidy must be. Still, in justice and in mercy to Winny and Edgar Ardenne, he ought very quickly to know how those children were betrayed into marriage byanother~s artful misrepresentations." "You may tell him with safety now, I think; at least it is not right longer to delay," said Harriette, wiping her eyes, and resuming her cheerfulness. "I will go up~and inform him that you are here." And she went. "Yes," said Squire Darling, "let him come in!" and soon after, Claude entered the sick chamber. "I suppose 1 may be permitted to congratulate you upon the happy change in your circumstan- ces, Monsieur Le D;mc De Vellemonte," said the squire, gruffly iii tbA.tone 'f-"l s'pose you SHANNO; think yourself a very importantpersonage-who the d-l gave you leave to be any happier than any body else ?" "Thank you, squire. Wish me joy of a hap- pier coming event-my approaching union with your niece, Miss Su~nmerfield." "Ah, indeed! When is that to come off 1" "Our marriage is delayed by circumstances over which you yourself have the greatest con- trol. Your own restoration to health, and-par- don me-the re-union of Winny and Edgar Ar- "Father Vellemonte I-I beg your forgiveness, Monsieur Le Duc-I am not-because I happen to have been ill-grown feeble as a child, to be tutored by all around me I" said the squire, in an irritated tone; for like all other rather weak- minded persons, he was very much afraid of ha- ving it supposed that he could be influenced. "1 do not presume to wish to tutor you, my good sir; 1 have only certain revelations to make that will throw a new light upon that affair of the elopement." "Revelations! Humph!it seems to me that you have become a book of Revelations 1" "Are you strong enough to hear a somewhat tedious story V' "Don't know, indeed, Father Vellemonte- beg your pardon, Monsieur Le Duc 1" "I will make it short as possible, then," said Claude, with unruffled serenity, and forthwith commenced giving him the whole history of the runaway match. Squire Darling listened with unusual self- command, only ejaculating "Humph I" and "Ah I" at certain points. He showed not much pain at the discovery of Miss Hinton's perfidy; for, in reality, his quandom passion for Sina was of that nature which required the pre- tence of its object to -excite it; and now, be. tween the loss of her presence and his own ill- ness, it became to him only as the memory of a severe fever. He listened to this secret history with some degree of satisfaction. He began to feel a wish, and, indeed, a positive necessity of recalling Ardenne, and he wanted very much a plausible excuse for relenting. A feeling more lively than this mere satisfaction, an emotion of generous regret, and a wish to compensate the boy and girl he had so deeply injured, crossed his mind, and impelled him to exclaim, "By Heaven! there - are ~not reams of paper enough in all Jefferson county for me to write to Edgar on!" but instantly, angry with him- self for this escapade, he relapsed into more than usual sullenness of silence, and heard the story to an end with a solitary "Bumphl" at its conclusion- Then, when, after silently await- ing his comments for awhile, Claude ventured to inquire concerning his probable course of action, he said, importantly, "This matter requires mature deliberation, ~DALE. 165 Father Vellemonte-I beg your pardon, Mon-~ siour Le Duc I" 1 am afraid, reader, you do not do half justice to the goodness that dwelt in Harriette Joy's merry heart. She was waiting on the steps for Claude when he came down. "And so you could get nothing out of him," she said, when Claude had told her the resu1~V his visit. "He takes time for mature deliberation." "Yes~ A judge taking time for mature deli- beration as to whether he will pardon, or not, and when, and bow far, while the culprits are bound upon the rack. This must be put a stop tot I will go myself and talk to him I Be is fond of me. I-will go and coax him." "Do not go, my dear Harriette, to-day; he is too much excited, and I am afraid of a return of fever, therefore heft him so suddenly. Go to- morrow morning, my dear child," said Clabde Vellemonte, squeezing Harriette's hand, and leaving her. "I will go up and stay with your father, Winny, dear, while you and grandmother (Harry, since coming to the house, had always affectionately called the old lady grandmother,) eat breakfast," said Harriette, the next morn- ing, and accordingly she ran up stairs and enters- ed the squire's room. He was up now, and seated in a crimson damask arm-chair by the fire. He was dressed In a blue velvet dressing- ~ gown, and a many-colored Chinese night-cap. And by his side stood a nice little mahogany stand covered with a white cloth, and an eb.gant litle breakfast service for one person. Nerve was standing waiting on him. "Will you take some breakfast, Miss Harry?" cheerfully inquired the squire. "Indeed, I'm afraid there's not enough for yourself," laughed Harriette. "I do not, in fact, know that there will be enough for teuo, since the second one is little Nimrod; indeed; I half repent my invitation- say 'no, thank you,' Miss Barry I" "No, thank you, sir; I came up only to wait on you. Nerve, go down and nurse the baby!" "Nuss the baby! I think its'bout time I'd done o' that there," said Nerve, grumbling, but obeying. Harriette had chosen her time well-when re- freshed by a good night's sleep, and by his bath1 Squire Darling "newly shaved-fresh as a bride- groom," sat in his handsome dressing-gown and cap, in his large, easy chair, bythe genial, bright fire, enjoying all the creature comforts with the infinite, the Ineffable gusto of a conxslescent. Barry went at her innocent flattering with little tact. She buttered his buckwheats for him- kept alive the fire in the chafing-dish under ~ls: venison steak, and cut of the ebolde pis. ~ page: 166-167[View Page 166-167] 166 SHANNONDALE. SHANNONDALE. 167 laid on his plate. And finallyafter he had eaten and lingered long over a very hearty breakfast, she lighted his meerachaum and handed to him- rolling away the stand at the same time. But ~Aeu Harry, the transparent little hypocrite, eat dew on a low stool close by his side, and lean- ing her elbows on the arm of his chair, rested nor chin upon the palms of both hands, and look- ~ up in hi. face, very sweetly informed him she loved the fragrant smoke of the meer- schaum better than any perfume in the world! Ahi Miss Harry! this coaxing and flattering an old gentleman of Squire Darling's kith, is not the wisest thing in the world-as you will presently livid to your cost. She liked tobacco smoke bet- ter than anything in the world! The mendacious little sinner! Squire Darling, himself, was not to be gulled by that very flimsy piece of deceit! He took his pipe out of his mouth, and looking down at her with an affectionate archness, said, "God Almighty bless you, Harriette I you can ~ more play a part than the simplest infant!" Harriette dropped her eyelids, blushed deeply, and looked intensely mortified at the idea of being thought incapable of deceit. "Well, what is it, Miss Harry? for, of course, all this wheedling means that you want some- thing of me!" "Yes, I do," said Harriette, in a low tone, "but it was not for'myself." "Of course it was not-who ever heard of you're ever saying, doing, or thinking anything ~ fbr yourself. God bliss little Nirnrod! How refreshing a good girl is," said the squire, pat- ting her black, curly haired head approvingly, and stroking down her damask cheek. "Now what is it, Harriette, for, be sure, there is a good chance of your suit being gained-there are few things I could refuse little Nimrod." "Then I wish, if you please-I should be so thankful to you if you would-would----would not be so extremely hard-hearted and cruel to poor dear Edgar and Whiny!" "'Hard-hearted and cruel,' humpht Your manner of advocating a cause should immorta- lize you as a diplomatist, Miss Harry!" dryly commented the squire. "Well, I spose that's wholesome truth, and no flattery," he added, mentally-then speaking aloud to Harriette, he said, "Well, what am I to do." "Deal justly by them, sir !" "Humph! there it is again! no appeal to- well! it's well i'm inclined to favor her peti- tion," thought the squire, and then he said, "And if I do, Miss Harry, what then ?" "Oh, sir! they will be so very happy ?" "And I?" "Oh, sir! never mind about you "The d-l." "1 mean, sir, that there is nothing to disturb your, happiness, and that we are not anxious on - the ~ubj~ct." "Humphi but I should be alone." "You would have the company of your daugh- ter and son-in-law, and their child, or children, sir!" "Oh! my daughter and son-in-law-they will be absorbed in each other--and as for their child, or children-ain't you ashamed, Miss Harry, by the way, to be speculating upon conse- quences 1 1 am not fond of babies." "Well, sir, at least you will have-" "I will have nothing!" said the squire, "and the fact is, that~I am not going to sacrifice my- self for undutiful children." "Oh, sir! you-" "1 WON'T! D- if I do!" exclaimed the squire, who was in one of his wilful moods, and wished to torment Harriette-whose want of diplomacy had certainly contributed to raise the present perverse spirit. "No, d- it I do!" repeated the squire. Harriette coaxed, entreated, wrung her hands, wept. "No, d- if I do !" was all the satisfaction she got. Harry renewed her coaxing, entreating, and weeping. In vain. "No, d- if 1 do !" was the finale. "Oh, mercy!" said Harriette, "I tbo'ight you had repented; I thought you were going to re- form! and here you are, as wicked as ever, and swearing as hard as ever!" "When the devil got sick, the devil a saint would be; When the devil got well, the devil a saint was he!" "Oh, indeed it is too shocking to hear you- and I am going away, Squire Darling," said Harry, "more in sorrow than in £nger," rising to depart. "Come back,~ little Nimrod-' thou almost persuades me to be a Christian.' Come back, little girl." "No, Squire Darling, I will not come back- you distress me too much!" said Harry, deeply wounded to see one who should be a father in Israel, acting and talking with so much irreve- rence and profanity. "Come back, little Nimrod; I have somewhat to say to thee concerning Edgar a~d Winny !" "Well, sir!" said Harriette, returning. "It seems to me, you have abandoned their cause very rashly," said the squire, who, after all, liked well to be coaxed by her. At it Harriette went again with all her might and main. "You say you love Winny, sir! Ah! you cannot I If you did, you would sacrificeany selfish feeling for hersake." "Do you love Winny, little Nimrod ?" "Ak, ask Winny if I do not, sir !" "Then you would be willing to do a great deal for her sake!" "Tryine, sir!" "It is in your power to make her happy!" "How, sir I" "By re-uniting her snd her husband." "1 guessed that much, sir, fot that only woulc make her happy-nothing else certainly would I mean how is it in my power?" "You can purchase their pardon." "How, sir? I say again." "Will you promise to do anything I wish you to do-if I promise to pardon them, and recall Edgar?" "Yes, the Lord hears me! I will, sir!" said the rash and unsuspicious girl. "Anything!" "Any thing on earth, sir, in the range of my power." "Hem!" Come closer to me, Harr~ot. You are a dear, honest, large-hearted child! Ho~v nice it would be to have you always here, and be sure that I should not have some fine fellow walking around, and carrying you off some day I as was the case with Winny. Harriette, my dear," he said, stealing his arm around hex waist, and drawing her up to his side-" are you engaged ?" "Encaged, how sir ?" "To be married, I mean!" "No, sir." "Well, then, Harriette, it most assuredly is in your puwer to effect a reconciliation between me and Edgar Ardenne I" said he, giving her a squeeze "I do not comprehend you, sir," observed Harriette, in a low voice, with a rising color. "You do! you little rogue I" giving her ano- ther squeeze. "I want to go to breakfast, Squire Darling!" sai4 Harriette, flushing with embarrassment be- tween her disagreeable position and her dislike of hurting his feelings. "So you shall, in a moment; butyon promised to be mediator between me and Edgar." "Yes-well! if you want me to give you a ki~s-why as it is you-I'll give you two, if you'll oriiy let me go now and carry some com- fort to Winny." "Ah! Harriette, I want to marry you." "You are making fun of me, Squire Darling," said Harriette, growing pale. "I have too earnest and sincere an esteem for you, Rarriette, to 'make fun' of you. I want youto promise yourself to me, on condition of my xnaking Edgar and Winny, whom you love, happy I" Harriette was silent~ "Come, what do you say?" " say you are not in earnest, Squire Darling; ani that the conversation distresses me-ez- trestely " "Before Heaven, I am in earnest in what I am about to declare to you-namely, that~ou shall never draw fro~.n me apardovz for these ilj~rn, until you promise to give me your hand in mar- riage-and that as soon as you will give me that promise, I will dictate a letter that you shall I write to Edgar Ardenne, recalling him to Oak I Grove! Come, will you be generous-will you be magnanimous-will you be self-sacrificing l~, "To your own children, you will certainly be magnanimous, sir!" "Will I? Humph I I never professed to une~ 1 derstand that branch of Ethics-and I swear to you, that 1 will never grant your petition for I their pardon, until you grant my petition for your hand." A profound sigh from Harriette, who dropped her head upon her bosom, was the only answer. "And I say that the very hour you promise me your hand, I will write to Edgar. Comet what do you say to that ?" "I say, sir, that I cannot see any good reason why their happiness should depend upon your possessing my hand," said Harry, looking down piteously at the threatened digits. "What! see no reason? I'll tell you then! If Winny and Edgar are re-united, I shall be very lonesome, and need a companion; and I want you.~~ A deeper sigh from Harriette followed. All this time, with his arm around her waist he held her close to his side. "Come, Harriette, have you never heard the old ladies say, 'lt's better to be an old man's darling than a young man's slave?"' "No, sir! I never heard any body but old gentleman say that! "But you can't deny that it is better to be en old man's darling than a young man's slave." "Yes, I can and do, Squire Darling, for in the latter case, at least, one might be able to love their master, which would make the slavery sweet, you know; and then, sir, there is such a thing as being a young man's darling, and an old man's slave, which is not only very much more horrible, but very much more likely to be the case I" "That is very severe! Pray, what is your reason for thinking so ?" "That as a general thing there is too much sympathy between the young to permit them to tyrannize over each other much." "You think, then, it is impossible for a young woman really to love an elderly man well enough to marry him?" "Nay! I do not sayso; lonlysayitisim.. possible for me. Let us drop the conversation, Squire Darling." "By no means, till you decide, for happine. or misery, the fate of Winny and Edgar, whom you profess to love so well 1" "Oh! sir, you will not affliet~me with this trial!" ' I swear~te. yno5 by~ everything good~~tj eud sacred, that I nevet, never, ndslMuiwiU. page: 168-169[View Page 168-169] 168 SHANfONDALE. you a pardon for Edgar, till you have grant- "I do not care for horses any more," said ed my suit, and that I will write it the minute Harriette, who was now very pale and grave. you do-come, will you have me?" "Don't tare for horses any more I By the "I don't want you, Squire Darling I" way, certainly I-I believe you have not ridden "Neither do I want to forgive Edgar! but out, or joined a hunt since Imogene returned come, if you'll marry me, I'll do it !" from school, and Dangerlield, confounded him, "I wON'T!" said Harry, flinging away from left off riding with you 1" him, and bouncing out of the door. She encoun- "No," said Harriette. 'tered Winny on her way to the nursery-Winny, "Well! never mind! draw that writing-table pale, feeble, suffering, patient-and her heart up to me, and do you go and tell Winny to pro- smote her! She had the power-ak., of giving pare to receive her husband, as soon as a letter instant happiness to that sufferer. Should she can reach Fort C , and Edgar Ardenne withhold it from her? After all, it would make travel back." so many other people so ver~~' happy, and only Harriette obeyed, and then escaped from the herself' uncomfortable. With one of her sudden room, and running to Winny's nursery, caught and generous impulses, she bounced back into her to her own beating heart, and breathlessly Squire Darling's room, and stood before him, pressed her there. breathless, panting-" Squire Darling, I wILL!" "Why what is the matter, dearest Ear- "That's a dear girl! Wien ?" riette?" "When Edgar Ardenne is once fairly recon- "Oh! Winny! Winny 1-6. happy, Winny .'- diled with you, and established here in the be happy, or my heart will break! for I have house 4" bartered all my days for your happiness !" and "That's my generous girl! Now draw that' being on the very verge of hysterics, Harry broke writing-table up to me-I will write immediate-. suddenly away, and ran to her own room, to ly to Edgar." have a good cry, all alone. "It is all right," "Squire Darling-atop!" she said, "all right !-it is only I that am wrong. "'Stop,' hey ?-what ?-have you receded it is all right-I see that as plain as can be. It from your promise ?" - is a social economy, that one so unconnected in "No, sir-but before closing this agreement, the world as I am, should be disposed of for the at as proper for you to know-" good of others, who have fathers, and husbands, "Well ?" and children to be made happy. Miss Mattie "That-that-that-" used to gather up everything that was of no sortef "Well, what ?" use, such as waste paper and stray straws, and "1 used to like-like-like-" put them away, saying that they would do to "Somebody else better than you can ever like kindle the fire with. That was all right. So me. Is that it ?" I it isright that I, who am nothing but a piece of "fes, sir," murmured Harriette, in a low waste paper, should be used to light the fire on tone. this domestic altar again. Pooh! am I, too, "And that somebody else ?-was ?-well I getting foolish, and talking in figures of speech? why don't you speak ?" Is it such a calamity, Harry, to be sure of a "Colonel Dangerfield." pleasant home like Oak Grove, with such dear "Sink that fellow to perdition l--.-he is cer- daily companions as Edgar and Wlnny, the old tainly my evil genius! 1 wonder what there is lady and the baby-and-and-ugh I-well, yes about him so bedeviling? He's a vain, fickle -Squire Darling, too-if he'd only get his teeth hllow I-all these young men are, Harriette- med." there is no constancy in any of them, till they come to my years." "Constancy," Harriette smiled to herself. One month after this event, Claude Vellemonte "He flirted with you desperately, Harriettel and Imogene Summerfield were united by Father It was very wrong-he ought not to have done Burleigh before the Altar of the Chapel of Sa- it~' cred Heart; the only witnesses being the mem- bers of the families of Red-Stone Hall and Oak. "We were' 6otk much to blame, sir I-I even Grove. It was thought most decorous, under more than him-let it pass!" the circumstances, to omit all the usual wedding "Don't think of the blamed muzzle-mouthed festivities, and so the bridal party returned coxcomb, Harry! I am so glad Imogene jilted quietly home to Red-Stone Hall, where they soon him for a Duke, which was exactly the trick he commenced preparations for sailing to France,' would have played her for a Duchess had he had to which country Mrs. Summerfield promised to the chance! Forget him, Harry! and think of follow them at some future period. the nice time you'll have with me! Only just think of the her...., little Nimrod! You may break your neck on a different steed every day When Harriette Joy returned wi~ Squire ~ month" ' Darling, Winny, and the old lady lsiO~k Grove, SEAN N OND ALE. after witnessing the marriage, she found a letter waiting br her. It was post-marked "Win I chester," and directed in a familiar hand. Ear- riette's head swam, and her ey~ s filmed over an instant, as she took it and sank into a chair to read it. When she had finished, the letter drop- ped from her hands, her face fell upon her palms, and quick tears trickled through her fingers Squire Darling was watching her. Now he' laid aside his paper, took up the letter, and asked, "Harriette, what's the matter-may I read this 'U, "Yes, sir, and answer it, please," and she wiped her eyes and smiled. Squire Darling turned the letter to read it. It was a long, long epistle, full of history, meta- physics, inner lifefascination, moral light, expla- nations, protestations. etc.,for four closely written and crossed'foolscap pages; the object of it being to persuade Harriette Joy that Henry Lee Dan- gerlield, amid all the vacillations of his heart, turned at last to her, "true as the needle to the pole," and ending with an offer of his hand and heart, imploring a speedy answer. Squire Dar- ling, with his spectacles on his nose, and one~ short, fat leg crossed over the other, leaned back in 'his chair and read this lengthy piece of logic, passion and metaphysics, with many a "Humph!"* and "Ha!" and "Fudge!" and "Trumpery!" Then he folded up the letter and deposited it in his coat pocket, uncrossed his knees, took oil his specs, and looking at Earn- ette, said, "Now, do you know what the vernacular of this grandiloquence is? Just this, Harry, my dear! As he can't get Imogene, or-hem I- he'll take you! don't you see it?" "No, sir, I don't! I think in his heart he liked me better than either of the other two I" "Oh! ho, ho, ho, ho, ho! women were made to be fooled!" "Well! any how, it does not signify now~ sir; don't let'h talk about it I" "But I am to answer this letter ?" "Yes, sir, if you please." "What must I say ?" "Tell him I cezn5t~ you know, and-anything you please." "That's a wide margin-I will." CHAPTER XLVII. A FAMILY REUNION. I cannot speak, tears so obstruct my words, And choke me with unutterable joy. Otwa~j A hundred thousand ueIcmes! I could weep- And Icouldlaugh~l'mligat-and heavy-WELcoME! Skaispeara. Two weeks passed agreeably'enough to all the dwellers at Red-Stone Hall and Oak Grove. 169 Monsieur and Madame do Vellemcinte were yet at Red-Stone. Harriette Joy still at Oak Grove. Squire Darling, who never did anything by halves, either in the way of falling out or of ma- king up with a friend, had availed himself of his first strength In this fine 3une weather, to go on a journey to meet Edgar Ardenne, who was on his .way returning from the West Sammie Smnilie was staying at Oak Grove, during the absence of the proprietor, as a sort of general supervisor of the premises, and protectorofthewomen. Rettie Smi- lie, the faithful companion of Winny in joy as in sorrow, was there also, up to her eyes in confec- tionary and pastry cooking. Hettie had her own little private joys, hopes and expectati.ns- had not her father sworn off from drinking?- was not Willie Smille-Cousin Willie, coming home with Edgar Ardenne? and when he came, was not somebody to be married and go to house- keeping at that dear old Pine Cliffs, which was newly repaired and neatly furnished by Squirts Darling? AhI Hettie tripped about, thinki4- this a very bright world after all is said! Harri- ette Joy was to be married when they returned, but no preparations for that event especially were on foot. It seemed to have been tacitly arranged that her wedding should come off quietly, and her position in the household be that of an upper housekeeper. And Harriette, who had no time to think about it, and no talent for making herself an object of compassion, never said a word; but ran about very busy and merry, exhorting, commanding, entreating the servants, and superintending a general cleaning, polishing, and embellishing the house, against Edgar came. The bloom of hope had returned to Winny's heart, and the rose of health to her cheek; and ig ever Harriette betrayed any emotion, it was one of pleasure, as she would stop in her flitting hither and thither, and catching Winny to her bosom, kiss her blushing cheek. She was so happy in Winny! One injunction she had laid on Squire Darling with the force of a command -that he should keep them advised of his pro- gress towards home, and send a messenger a few hours in advance, so that Winny's fragile nerves might be shaken as little as possible. The squire had promised this. At length, early one morning, as the old lady, Winny, Harriette and Hettie were sitting at breakfast together, a horseman rode up to the house, and dismounting, entered the hall, and handed a letter to Harriette. It was from Squire Darling, and ran thus- VIRGINIA HoTzL, Winchester, June 15, 18.-.. My dear little sweet-heart- It is dark, and we have just this moment arrived here. 1, Edgar, and the whole party. I shall dispatch a fellow with this to-night to let you know that eariy to- morrow morning we set out for Oak Grove, We shall be with yma by sunset. Heveteft ready against we cease. Have all the~*~I. page: 170-171[View Page 170-171] 170 SR A N N 0 ND A L E. we like there to meet us. Kiss mother, Winny, "Wwny, mylove, you must not receive him Hettie and the baby. Charge them to me, and here in the midst of all these people, nen~- and I'll pay you when I come. dear though they are. It would be too bad. Let Yours, fondly and faithfully, JARED DARLING. me take you toyour own room," and half leading, half carrying the nearly fahati~g girl, Harriette left her in her chamber, and returned to the It was evening. The setting sun was bathing piazza in time to see Sqnire Darling alight irom the whole sky and earth in a flood of crimson his carriage followed by Edgar Ardenne, Willie -glory. In the supper-room at Oak-Grove stood Smilie, and-really that was too wicked in him-. a table covered with a rich, white damask cloth, Colonel Dangerfi'ld! set out with an elegant service of Sevres' por- "Where-where is Winny ?" inquired Squire celain, and a costly set of elaborately chased sil- Darling, looking around and slinking hands right ver plate, and illuminated by a large chandelier and left, in which example he was followed by hanging from the ceiling above it, which was al- the others. "Where i. Winny? I don't 5ee her." ready lighted. "She is in her chamber,' replied Harriette, On the piazza stood one group of persons con- pale, but self-possessed. sitting of Father Burleigh, Claude Vellemonte, "In her chamber! so best; Edgar, my son, ge Imogene, Mrs. Summerfield, Harriette and Win- seek her there-it is the same old place, and-. ny; and another group composed of Miss Mattie Harry I" said he, turning, and taking Harriette Smile, Sammie and Hettie; lower down, on the by the hand, "Harry, come here !- Danger- steps, sat Nerve, Kill and old Getty, while scat- field I-" Colonel Dangerfield stepped up.- - tered about the lawn were the other domestics, "Here she is-take her! She is the very best, all waiting, all watching tbe approach of a tra- dearest child that God ever made or the sun ever veiling carriage, attended by an outrider, and shone upon-take her!" said the squire, with a which was now very near the outer gate. Har- red and tearful face, and a voice trembling with ~ riete, with her arm around Winny's waist, sup- emotion. "Love her! She has taught me, by ported her against her bosom, but, as the car- simple example and experience, a trite lesson, riage drew near the house, seeing that her charge but a true lesson-that-to be happy myself I had grown very pale, and feeling that she trem- must try to make others happy-bleseed be - bled fearfully, Harriette stooped and said, ~d ~,' THE ESP ry() S H A N N O N~D A L E . page: 172-173 (Advertisement) [View Page 172-173 (Advertisement) ] GARRETT & COMPANY, I A*D DSA.L535 IN Cheap Publications, Magazines, &c. NO.18 ANN STREET, NEW YORK, Will in future - present greatly increased facilities for PUBLISHING, SELL- ING AT WHOLESALE AND RETAIL, and especially for the most important deportment of their business, Of Booksellers, Dealers in Cheap Literature, Agents, Postmasters, etc., with promp. titude and dispatch. 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ALLEN SINCLAIR; OR, A LOVER'S ADVENTURES. Price 25 cents, 5 !' page: 178 (Advertisement) -179 (Advertisement) [View Page 178 (Advertisement) -179 (Advertisement) ] Garrett 4. Co.'s List of Publications. W. LI. Maxwell's- Novels. THE ADVENTURES OF CAPT. BLA~E. Illustrated. 200 octavo pages. 50 cents. The Adventures of Capt. Blake is a thrilling work, replete with adventure, incident, character and plot of an exciting description. It will preve one of the most popular novels of the season. The interest excited Is very ~ea~and we regret that it will not bear such division as would enable us to give an intelligible extract.- Dispatch. THE BIVOUAC; OR, THE RIVAL SUITORS. With beautiful illustrations. 190 octavo pages. 50 cents. This capital book is of the "Charles OMalley" school; full of dashing adventures, love intrigues, brilliant sketches of battle sceises. in which the inspiring, headlong charge and terrible defeat are detailed with all the farce of truth. The warlike descriptions ivill vie with the m6gt animated scenes in Alison or Ziapier; and the hEinorous portions of the book have no peers but in the pages of Lever or Lover. Novels by Samuel Lover. RORY O5NORE. A ROMANOR This work is illustrated, and contains 230 octavo pages. Price 50 cents. "Man is the only animal endowed with the faculty bf Laughter, and why should he not, then, on all fitting occasions, carry out the happy designs of his creation I' He ,(lmonld-he should! and not merely with Vie cynical grin of a dyspeptic hyena neither, but in good rouiid, hilarious, window-rattling bursts, sue asalmost every page of Lover's Irish Stories wiil throw him into.-Saturdcp Courier. HANDY ANDY. A NOVEL, One of the most humorous works ever written. Illustrated. Price 50 cents. A CAPITAL NOVEL THE ADVENTURES OF NICK COSTIGAN; - OR~ - TIIR~LADDER OF G~YI1D.. By the author of "Wayside Pictures," etc., beautifully illustrated. Price 50 cents. The only fault we can find with this attractive book is its titie for although "Mick Costigan" (as rich a specimen of the impulsive, mvarm~heartedbhuudering Milesian as ever Lever portrayed or Power delineated,) a p pears in almost every chapter with his droll hpmor and laughable pranks, t lie work is brimful of interest of ahi ghier and stronger kind. The author in the "Ladder of Gold" intends to sketch time career of Hudson, the Ihinons Railroad King, who by a series of lucky speculations suddenly sprung fros~m comparative poverty to a Itothichilds. Every page teems with bold and startling incident, lit up with dashes of the snout brilliant wit, frequently diversified by touehesyf original amid unctuous humor. A TRUE PICTURE O~' NEW YORK BY NIGHT AND DAY. THE ADVENTURES OF TON STAPLETON; - on. NEW YORK BY NIGhT A~!D hAY. By the author of "Criminal Records," etc. 128 pages, Svp., with numerous illustrations. 26 cents. That admirable novel, entitled "Tom Stapleton." is at last put up in boolc form, having some years ago adorned the pages of the Brother ~tonatbau,, weeltlylouroial, Mt. ~1oeure, the usulhior, has decidedly won by it a place for himself on level with his countryman, ~harld&Lever. ~'hie scenes are numerous and the charac- ters drawn with Inimitable faithfulness. It is rtdotentwith wit and waggery, and gives an insIght into life and living In New.York, which is enough to surfeit ~hQ curiosity or explode the pent-up mirth of a hermit I- Truth sits upon his pen throughout, and where the great Irish novelist, Lever, goes into the excess of cariea- ture, Moore is within tho bounds of probability, and therefore worth as much again, The author of "Tom Stapleton" is one of tho~e men who are really uidv4xstageous to the World they live in, for they see its faults and follies, paint its peculiarities, and hold the miru~or up t~ nature In such a style, that all must be good- humored even thong rejected on.-Read it, re~d it, friends.-Bs~ffaIo Express. 6 I Gairett 4~ Co.'s List of Put~wations. Humorous Books. I MRS. PARTINOTON'S CARPET BAG OF FUN. Leach, Phia Henning, Hine Tenniel~ 0rowq ill;Cruikshank, Meadows. Doyle, Goater, and ~thers, and Illustrated with over 150 of the most l5~ngbable ngrn4pgs ever designetl, from drawings by Darley, McLeunaa, a collection of over 1000 of the most comical stories, amusing adventures, side-splitting jokes, oheek~extending poetry, funny conundrums. QUEER SAYINGS OF MRS. PARTINGTON, ~eart.rendiog puns, witty repartees, etd.. etc. The whole illustrated by 150 comic wood cuts. l2sno. 300 pages. Ornamented paper cover, 5~ cents. 016th, gilt, with tinted frontispiece b~' Barley, 76 cts. This entertaining book is well printed on line white paper, and contains 300 pages, with tinted frentispiece by Darl4y Over 20,000 copies of this work have already been sold. LAUG1II!~G GAS. AN CYCLOPEDIAA OF WIT, WISDOM AND WIND, BY~ SAM SLICK, JIL Comically illustrated, with 100 original and laughable Eng~avings, and near 500 side-extending jokes, and other things to get fat on; and the best of it is, that everything about the hook is new and fresh. All new-new designs, new stories, new type-no comic almanac stuff. It will be found a complete e antidote to "hard times." Price 25 cents. DASHES QF AMERICAN HUNOIL. DY HOWARD PAUL~ ~SQ. - With numerous Laughable illeistiations on tinted paper, trom designs by John Leach. 520 pages. Paper cover, 50 cents. Cloth gilt, 75 cents. This work contains, in its 320 pages. some thirty of the most amusing articles we have ever perused, redo- lent with not only humor but with wisdom a~d pathos: the happiest days and most ipoqeent recreations of our youth are lieso recalled. For life-like portraits, quaint and quiet droll2ery, laughter-mdvirig scenes abroad and home, wherein real live Yankees live, and move, cud talk, we recommend this book. But humor is no~all the book contains; there are beautiful word-pictures, the very poetry of description, blending ~vith the poetry of life, asd being in sentiment and language so pure that they may be read aloud in the most refined circles, we present these sketches as most agreeable fireside companions. The book is printed in handsome style, on good paper, and with amusing engravings. The English edition sold to the exteust of 20,000 copies. DR. VALENTINE'S COMIC LECTURES. A Budget of Wit and Humor; or, Morsels of Mirth fort-the MelWncholy. A certaiii cure for the Dices, and all other serious cons~laints. Coin p rising Comic Lectures on Heads, Faees, loses, Mouths. Animal Magnetism, &c., with Specimens of Eloquence, Ti~ansaetions of Learned Societies, Delineations df Eccentric Characters, Consic Songs, etc., etc. BY DR. ~V. VALENTINE1 The favorite Delineator of Eccentric Characters. Illustrated with 12 Portraits of Dr. Valentine, in his mnst Celebrated Characters. l2mo.; cloth, gilt. 75 cents. Ornamental papex cover, 50 cents. DR. VALENTINE'S COMIC NETANORPHOSES. Being the second Series of Dr. Valentine's Lectures, with characters as given by the late Yankee Hill. Em- bellished with jmutoerous portraits. Ornamental paper coves', 110 Oents. Cloth, gilt, 75~ The celebrated Dr. Valenfine, whose nanme alone, to those who have heard him, is sufficiefit to excite the risibilities of the most sedate. All who want & good laugh must get this book, and they Will not be disa p pointed. - A lively, spai'kling, humorous affair. Dr. Valentine Is one of tbe best delineators of character since the days of Mattbgws, of facetious memory. His Yankees, Old Womeuand Frenchmen, are ~v9nderfeliy *amei esid always draw dowim heavy rounds ofapplanse from his audiences. We commend the book cor~ll*lly to 6hir'rdaders, for its wit, humor, and originality. _________________________ BOOK OF STUDENTS' SPREES AND AIYVENTURESd YALE COLLEGE SCRAPES; or, HOW THE BOYS GO IT AT NEW HAVEN. Price 26 cents.. This is a book of 114 pAg~s~ containiu~ accousi~s of' all the noted and fas~us 4~raii~s" a~d "Sft~e6~' of which students at Old Yale have been guilty for the last quarter of a century. It is known that the mont cele- brated wits and authors in the country have generally graduated at this College. Some of thellsnnlest andmost laughable scenes have been enacted there, that imagination can conceive; and now these doings have been written down by John D. You, and printed in a book. Ii Sc~apes" a~e all genuine. Ir. Vose gives his own name as a voucher that these Copies of either of the above works will be sent to any address free of post&~e. Enclose the prie,4f the book In ~ letter, and addt.ess It to the pcblisher& 1 Li page: 180 (Advertisement) -181 (Advertisement) [View Page 180 (Advertisement) -181 (Advertisement) ] Garrett 4. Co.'s List of Publications. Works by Alexander Dumas. ROSA WOODVILLE; OR, THE J&ILOR'S DAUGHTER. TRANSLATED BY FAYETT~ ROBINSON, ESQ. Price 60 Cents, A brilliant Rom~uce, and one which will fascinate the reader equally with" ~onto Cristo" and "The Three Guard~men." Our skillful author here presents the public with a tale whose s~xtraosdTnary iotere4 will take it by surprise. The narrative is a perfect running fige of incidents, wrought out with an energy, piquancy and power which keep the readerAa a constant whirl of breathless excitement from the first page to t~e last. Love, mystery, Intrigue and adventure are mingled with an intricacy which, in the opinion of the 'bader, must puzzle even the s.~izard pen of Dumas himself to unravel. Nevertheless it is unraveled, and thah~with a delicacy and naturalness which smite the reader with the most profound, and at the same time th&aooat agreeable, astonishment. It is utterly impossible to commence the perusal of this work and lay it aside without finishing it. THE YOUNG CHEVALIER OR, THE DISPUTED INHERITANCE. TRANSLATED BY THOS. WILLIAMS, EBQ. Price 60 cents. Park Benjamin, in speaking of this celebrated author, says: DusW has all th~prigbtlineasof Paul De Igock, without his vulgarity; all the fervor of Sue, without his boast; all the picturesque powerof Ilaizac, without his obseu~ity. His invention Is never-failing; his wit is ~er fertile and ready. You read and marvel at his facility and copiousness; at his fancy, humor, strength~ : you are always diverted; you never yawn; you never say, 'Confound the fellow, why does he prose after this fashion?' He never roses; he Is like an accepted lover, always agreeable. TUE COUNT OF MORIAN; OR, WOMAN'S REVENGE, Price 60 cents. WOMAN'S LOVE; OR, THE BRIDAL EVE. Price 26 cents. PAUL JONES; OR, THE SON OF THE SEA A TALE OP THE ~AMERICAN NAVY DURING THE REVOLUTION. Price 26 cents. G. W. M. Reynolds' Novels. THE COUNTESS of ARNHEIM; or, THE MAGIC LANTERN of THE WORLD With numerous beautiful illustrations, containing 200 large Svo. pages, Price 60 cents. ANGEL~ WILDOM; 01. THE MYSTEEZES OP ALTENDORY CASTLE. 2 vols. 440 pages, beautifully Illustrated. Paper, $1 00, This Is unque.tlou~blythe best of 41. W. hi. Reynolds' book4. The scene are thrilling tn the extreme; the haracten boldly drawn and admirably contrasted-the good with the bad. THE MYSTERIES OE' OLD LONDON; ~O1. THE DAY5 OP HOGARTH~ This Is a thrilling Novel, written In Mr. Reynolds' best veIn. 307 I~rge 8vo. pa~e*. PrIce 50 cents. RQBERT KACAIRE; OR, THE FRENCH BAIiDI2~ IN ENGLAND. X~ndsomeIy Illustrated, containing I8~ 8vo. pages. PrIce 30 coats, *8 Garrett 4. Co.'s List of Publications. Eugene Sue's Gei&brated Novels. THE FRENCH FORTUNE TELLER; OB.~ THE KY~TERIOU8 STRANGER. Price 60 cents. This is one of those lively and spirited Romances of PirenchIlfe and Intrigue which Sue l~ so famous for portraying. His "Mysteries of Paris' has immortalized him, and this story is quite as good. The characters are vividly drawn, and sustained throughout with striking fidelity. The portrait of ANATALD, a cold, specious, ambitious intriguer, for example, is rendered with an impressive faithfelness, which, once read, can never be obliterated from the memory. The character of the beautiful DuNn Is a brilliant yet melancholy likeness of the easy virtue wl~ich marked the female representatives of the proud, wealthy aii~ corrupt upper classes of her day. The touching history of poor MARIA FavzAu-a type of the fairer portion pf the Bes*rgeoise-wlll be read with mournful interest, affording as it does a vivid contrast between the nm~oralA of the upper and middling ranks, end the utter want of protection which virtue, when allied to beauty, has in the Trench metro- polls, against the lechery of aristocratic libertines. THE WIDOW'S WAL1~; OR THE MYSTERY OF CR1~E. WITH NUMliItOUS ILLUSTRATIONS. Price 26 cents. This Is one of hi. Sue's ingenious tales of the mysteries of everyday life in a great city. The scene is 0! course laid in Paris, and tIme story will give the reader an insight into the private life of the honored and distinguished, the wealthy and pious. and also the horrible rascals of that vast metropolis. tn the course of this great romance, Sue, (while lie adds much to the interest of the plot,) exposes the causes which drive so many thousands of the men of Paris to gambling, robberyand the galleys, and womra to prostitution and the Morgue. While It is entirely free from any offensive thoughts or language, it unveils the terrible social evils that exist in French society. THE MYSTERIES OF THE PEOPLE. IIY ZUGIINE SUE. Author of "The Mysteries of Paris," etc. 1 vol., paper, containing 194 pages closely printed. 1'rlce 60 cents. So admirably written in this Incomparable book, that all th&vigilitnce of the French spIes and police hav* been unable to prevent the circulation of i~milIions of copies in every department of France. Sue has given us, in the above powerful romance, another vivid and startling picture of the sufferings and struggles which aristocracies entail upon the peopLe. The work abounds in incident, and is rc.iplete with inter- est from the opening chapter to the close. The oliaracters are dl~amvu and sustaimied throughout with spirit and fidelity. The action is rapid, and the story absorbingly intense. Rarely have we perused a volume which had for us so deep an interest. It fascinates the senses, like a beautiful woman, and gives the reader no rest till he has completed the story. ATAR GULL; OR, THE BRIDAL EVE. BY EUGENE SUE. Translated by William Henry Herbert, Esq.~ with a letter from the author to 3. Teulmore Cooper. PrIce 26 centa. This is another of these startling tales in which this writ~r indulges. This, contrary to his usual custom, is written without any apparent object. other than the delineation of the wicked character, which makes us fear and distrust ourselves and all mankind. It Is written with much power. THE W4ND~RtNG JEW. Translated from the Trench, by Henry Win. Herbert, Esq. 2 vole. 663 close octavo pages. *1.00. THE ADVEIfTUIIZS OI~EROULES HA~DY. Price 26 cents. HELENE; OR, THE CHILDREN OF LOVE. Price 26 cents, Ooples of the abpve justly celebrated work will be sent to any one by return of mail, on the receipt of S cents in letter. Address the letter to the Publishers, andyon will thes. r~mceiv~ the work by return of snafl free of postage. 9. page: 182 (Advertisement) -183 (Advertisement) [View Page 182 (Advertisement) -183 (Advertisement) ] Garrett 4~ Co.'s List ofRublications. 'Startling Developi~nts.. THE MYSTERIES AND MISERIES OF SAN FRAiCISCO. BY A DISTINGUISHED CALIFORNIAN. Price 50 cents. This is no mere dkeatfon of fancy. Stern facts abound on every page. Any one at all familiar with Califor. ala society-Hi~h or Low-will at once recognize the Persons described, whether at the Mines, at the Gain. hung Hell, the ourt of Judge Lynch, in the 'Politidal Arena, or in the. mazes of Califoenia business, detailed with a carefulness and minuteness which cannot fail to enable all his friends and relatives, and general acquaintance, to recognize his portrait at a glance. All who have friends or relatives there-pAl who have been there-and all who have ever had a desire to go there-should, by all means, purchase this book. GIDEON GILES; OR, THE STRUGGLES OF LIFE. BY THOMAS MILLER1 ESQ. Author of "Godfrey Malvern,' etc. Illustrated. Price 50 cents. This work is the life of a poor rope-maker and his daughter, struding against poverty and misfortune. The daughter is beautiful, modest; and captivating. Sir Edward Lee, the great man of the book, notwithstand- ing wife and daughters~ falls in love with ~lien Gile~, and concocts a plan to carry the unwilling maid away To do this he employs a villain, with whose real character lie is unhappily unacquainted, and who wishes the destruction of the girl from motives of revenge, himself being a rejected suitor. Timers are plots and counterplots, in which the rope-maker and unsuspecting daughter are the victims. The delineations of char- acter arc excellent; Ben Burst, Mine host of Fallow Deer Ins, ~he Gipsy encampment, and Jeal, the Gipsy's Daughter, are all drawn to life. The book ends, as all such kooks should, in the happiness of the principal characters. There are some tragedies; and. the hero, Walter Northcot, a little too perfect. That does no herm-siR ely a model for the gentlemen to copy. GABRIELLE; OR PICTURES OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION, BY C.' SPINDLES, Author of "The Jew," etc. Price 50 cents I: This hook contains 205 closelyprinted octavo pages; and is really a most excellent story, which every purchaser will be pleased with. The '~eader of it will become familiar with the Court of ~ unfortunate Louis ,~VI.-with the gigantic l~Ilrabeau-the terrible Danton-time enigmatical Robes- pierre-the monster M'arat, and some of thos& illustrious generals who supported the cause of free. elom against the combinations of princes and aristocrats. He will, moreover, have the pleasure of tracing the fortunes of a hero who fought with Washingtop and Lafayette for the independence of America, and of being almost a witness, we might say, of those grand, achievements by which the supernatural genius of Nape. leon astonished the world. BEFOIL~ AND BE~IIND THE CURTAIN; - oa - FIFTEEN Y~ARS' OB~ERVATIQN A~XONG~T THE THEATRES OF YORK. DY DR. WM. NOIITIIALL. Author' of the "Life of Yaliked Bill." 230 pates. Price '10 cents. ~opie~ of either or all of the ~move capital novels will be sept to army address in Ins country per mall, *a t*ceipt of the price enclosed in a letter and addressed to the ~mnblishers. Garrett 4~ Co.'s List of Publications. A Guide for Young Men who Visit the Great Metropolis. NEW YORK IN SLICES. WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS. BY AN EXPERIENCED CARVER. lein~ the original Slices published 10 the " Ne~v York Tribune." With ~,nmerous illustrations. Containing 128 pages. Price 25 cents. 5lie~ 1. Broadway: 2. ChathCm Street; 3, Wall Street; 4, The Tombs; 5, The Five Points; 0, The Gem. hung limies; 1, TIme Pawimbroker Shops; 8. Mock Auctions; 9, The Intelligence Offices; 10, The Markets; ii, TIe lIhors; 12, The Firemen; 13, The Needlewomen; 14, The Press; 15, The Literary Soirees: 16, The Omniosiers; j7, The Baling Houses, No. 1; ii, The Eating Houses, No. 2; 19, Delmonico's; 20, Tlm~ Dandies; ~i1, The Liquor Groceries; 22, The Imumigramits; 23, Sunday Excursions; 24, The Theatres 25, Oyster Cd- lars; %. Sunday in New York; 27, Behind the Scenes; 28, Newsboys; 29, Patent Medicine Men; 30, Balls and Belles uf Tamninaiiy Hall; 31, Thu Art Union; 112, The flowery; 33, Manufactures of New York. Ore lOo,000 copies of this work have been sold. It is a rimre book. Any person that reads it will never get taken i~ "Laugh and grow fat." Tales of New York Life. CAROLINE TRACY, THE MILLINER'S APPRENTICE; - Os, - LiFE IN NEW YORK AMONG THE LOFTY AND LOWLY Being the Itomantic Adventures of ~ Young Girl in New York during 1847 and 1848. Price 26 cents. This is a spirited romance of New York LIfe, and exposes some ofthe mysteries of this great city, in a way which will make the uuimiitiatcd stare. I~ is a book of near 100 closely-printed octavo pages. THE MIDNIGHT QUEEN; OR, LEAVES FROM NEW YORK LIFE. BY GEORG~ LIPP4l~D, 'BSQ. Price 25 cents. This is a new Novel, by time gifted author of "The Quaker City," which created a great "furore" some years ago. It ~i s spirited picture of Nemv York Life. The Theatres, the Ball Rooms, the Gaming Tables, and every other pl.~ee of amusement in the great metropolis, receive dueattention. 'The characters are drawn with a masterly hand, and truthfully represent every cast, from the Broadway inns to the Bowery B'hoy. THE BELLE OF THE BOWERY. Price 25 cents. Au entertaining history of Life in and aroc~nd New York-showing how young women who have no homes get along, and how young green-horns are changed into Bowery boys, etc. It is a rich, amusing, and highly entertaining story. ELLEN GRANT; OR, FASHIONABLE LIFE IN NEW YORK,' Price 23 cents. THE ADVENTURES OF CLARENOR BOLTON; OIL, LIFE IN NEW YORK BY JOSEPH A. SCOV1J4~E5 Editor of "The Pick." 104 octavo pages, with numerous illustrations. Price 25 cents. THE ORPHAN SEAMSTRESS. A Narrative of lanocence, Guilt, Mystery, and Crime. By the author of" Caroline 'I'racy." PrIce 25 cent4 This narrative of events In NewYork is especially interesting; as ~t alludes to incidents which .v~r~newu-. paper reader must remember. Copies of either of the above works sent free of postage to any address In the United States. 'it' ii Garrett 4. Co.'s List of Publications, GRACE WELDEN; OR5 THE BEAUTIFUL BONNET GIRL. A Tale of Boston and its Bay. Price 26 centA. PAUL DEVERELL; OR, TWO JUDGMENTS FOR ONE CRIME. A Tale of the Present Time. Price 25 cents. JOSEPHINE; OR, THE MAID OF THE GULF, A Tale of the Sea and Land. Price 25 cents. Pierce Egan's Celebrated Works. QUINTIN MATSYS; OR, THE BLACKSMITH OF ANTWERP. Beautifully illustrated. Price 60 cents. This Is ai~eprln&, arrd one of the mo8t thrilling. ro~nantlc and fascinating stories that had found its way to th. public heart and mind from any quarter. It is full of dramatic action-portraying every variety of thought and feeling, and compares favorably with the best modern novels. Indeed, it is among the best ever ws~ten. PAIR ROSAMOItD; OR, THE QUEEN'S VICTIM. Price 60 cents. 11 This Is one of the most remarkablei nances that was ever written, ant may be classed as a standard book. Itte strictly a historical tale, interwoven with such a number of ingenious, life.llke, and probable incidents, a .5 to make the story one of ~enulne pathos. It is an old story which millions of people have read, and mil. llon~;yetis~iliorn, will read. It Is complete In 232 double.column large octavo pages, and illustrated with 1jessKravan~s on tinted paper. 1 I Professor Ingraham's Novels. Below we give a list of the most celebrated Bovels of this talented author, MONTEZUMA; OR, THE SERF CHIEF. A Tale of the Last Pays of the Aztec Dynasty. 238 Svo. pages. Price 60 cents. THE DANCING FEATHER; OR, THE PIRATE SCHOONER. A thrilling Sea Tale, Price 25 cents. OLPH; OR, THE PIRATES OF THE SHOALS, PrIce 26 cents. Garrett 4~ Uo.'s List of Publications. Celebrated Revolutionary Novels. HARRY BURNHAM, THE YOUNG CONTINENTAL; - OR. - THE ADVENTURES OF AN OFFICER OF THE REVOLUTION. BY H. BUCKINCHAM, ESQ. 1 vol. paper, containing 256 closely printed large octavo pages. Price 60 cents. No American can read this interesting tale without being at once a wiser and a letterman. Harry Duruham will furnish, though dressed in the alluring garb of rosaaiace, a relisthie narrative of the Continental War-with incidents of patriotism and anecdotes hitherto unrecorded that must make at valuable ~s a text book to theC student of American History. ____________________________ BYRON BLO~DAY; A TALE OF THE REVOLUTIONARY WAR. BY NEWTON H. CURTIS. Author of "The Ranger of Ravenstream." etc. Price 25 cents. The incidents of this charming story were taken from the northern part of New York, in the year lilT, and is a work of groat interest. It is a matter of pride to the American people that our own country has authors and incidents of a traditionally character sufficient for a very attractive volume, and are becoming just as popular as those of foreign manufacture. This we recommend to the lovers of fiction. THE RANGER OF RAVENSTREAM. A ROMANCE OF THE EARLY HISTORY OF AMERICA. BY NEWTON H. CURTIS. Author of" The Prairie Guide, etc., etc. Price 26 cents. It is almost unnecessary to speak in praise of Mr. Curtis' stories. ~ver~'body who has read one of thes~s will desire to read all. This one is a historical narrative of the most e~citsng and thrilling ipterdit. It opens during the troublons times on the Mohawk river, when Sir William Johnson was Governo~~, and party' spirit ran high between Whigs and Tories; an4 when the cruelties of the Indians were brought to bear agalnet'tls. Whigs. Its historical features are particularly interesting. THE PATROL OF THE MOUNTAIN; OR, THE DAYS OF '76. BY NEWTON H. CURTIS. Author of "The Scout of the Silver Pond," etc., etc. rrice 25 cents. This is a highly interesting narrative of events pertaining to the Revolutionary War-setting forth the hardships, trials, privations, and miseries which beset tbose a and pat~otic apirits who brought about the Freedom of America. It is fell of interesting and thrilling adventure, and will especially "eightall these American readers who are feud of the history of their country.. THE SCOUT OF THE SILVER POND. BY NEWTON H. CURTIS. Author of " The Maid o Sar c1 etcge~c.. Price 26 cents. cheapest book that has been published in it long time. The scene Is during the Amesican Revolutloss-thse times that tried men's souls. The incidents here detailed are told in a sprightly and agreeable manner, and if you once begin to read the book, you will read every~word with asrucla pleassassa, We-~aave never read Those who are fetid of reading sphM.ed and well-written historical romance. wil~l Bud this the best and novel that pleased us better. The incidents and adventures are all hastorlesl,~ Snd the~plot Is entirely new to us, THE WOODMAN'S RIFLE; A TALE OF THE AD~EUICAN R~V~LUTION. BY MISS SARAH HOWE. This t~ a story of the most thrilling interest. Price 26 cents. PAUL JONES; OR, THE SON. OF THE SEA, A Tate of the American i'~avy during the R4olutien. BY ALEXANDER DUHAS. Price 26 ~seuts. Copies of either of the above celebrated works will be sent to any one by return of mail, on tk~rceI$ ~f 4 the p ride in a letter. Address the letter to the publishers, and you will then receive the work by r~twru 1sf mail, free of postage. 13 I Garrett 4-~ Co.'s List of Pu6licatiQns. Newton M: Curtis' Celebrated Novels. The Morni~g Star, in speaking of the late lamented Mn. CURTIS, says: "TIe made himself thoroughly master of almost everylucsdent in our Revolutionary ansialsassd we have the result of his studies in all his deeply ia. interesting nov51~. Hi~ plots never outrage probability, she characters are nobly drawn. and his familialty with the "times that tried men's souls' enables him to introduce in his seorks many episodes of the adventures and thrillio~ danger which so often beset our forefathers in jhat perilous period. In a word, his novels are re. I mance~4f $~ douta~y'~ hl{sl9ty. pemled by anelequent writer, shosa patriotic heart burned within him as ha chronicled the achievements ot our gallant forefathers." ThE PRAIRIE GUIDE ; OR, TEE ROSE OF THE RIO GRA~IDE. Price 25 cents. D~4N~LOI~DAY; OR~ THE BLUE RANGER OF THE MOHAWK. A Tale of the American Aevolution. Price 25 cents. -THE MAID O~? SARANAO;A TALE OF TUE ~WAR OF 1812. Prreo 26 ceflts. THE RANGER OF RAVENSTREAM. A Tale of the tevolutionary War. 110 pages. PrIce 26 cents. THE HUNTED CHIEF; 0R, THE FEMALE BANDIT. A Tale ~ f the Mexican War. Price 25 cents. THE PATROL OF TR~IW~OUNTAIN; OR, THE DAYS OP 17~'6. A Tale of the As.sierlcan Revolution. Price 25 cents. THE SOOU~I OF THfl SILVER POND. A Tale of the American Revolution. THE ~MA 1~RICID~'S DAUGHTER. .A~ Tale otRvent, wiulch oc6irred In the City of New York twenty years ago. Price 26 cents. "~ This is it' atorj'iif WfIlllng' frater~lontaining a narrav0 of a Mysterious Crime and its Consequeneec. It $~roaueea thip i~tad6? Into ell"eoi~ts of queer company, from that of a forger and bogus.uaoney maker, to the ~.fsztasd ctste'llswyer, who isdeterteihedto snake his fortune if possible. THE VICTIM'S REVENGE. (A Se~idl~ Prjce 2& dent,. THE STA~R 0E' THE FALLEN. - A 8eq~wl to the above. Price 26 ecats. SongBooks. WOOD'S MINSTREL SONG BOOK. The best and caseapest colltc~ipn of Son~ ever pubijalied. With numerous Illustrations. Containing a selec. II tion of the most ~ ~ Tripe, Tha~ts, ~a$b, Parodies. Ilurlesques, etc. Also, Penny Stories, Satirical Joke,, Quaint Sayings, Couundi~i"ns, Repartees, etc., as told by the oeleblatcd~.?*Iorn. 84 pages. Price 12j cents. ii WOOD'S NkW 1*LAIITATION MELODIES. ~V~stasaltrg ~' ~ordaia hi Hard Road to Twi~el," &h~ii ~6 other Sorsts and Consic Stories. Also numerous New I Cknsshsdruxsa*, ste. Ptioe I2j coats. ~Z WHITE WOLF ;OE, THE SECRET BROTHERHOOD. ' BY PAUL FETAL. Author of "The Mysteries of London," etc. 104 octave pages. Price 25 cants. ~*E KO~XTAIN OUTLAW; OR, THE SECRET PASSWORD. A Tale of Wild Adventure. lrice 25 cents. the RAVENSDAL~; OR, THE FATAL DUELI ~y author of "The Plr~t Pals. Utep," "Rose 8omme~ville," etc. Price e~nts. ~DWAED SAV~ILL~;1O2~, ~HR RESCUED NWNS OT BARON ST. LEGER. A Tale of a Qenvgnt's Secrets. Price 26 cents. Copies of the above justly celebrated works will be stnt to any one by return of mail, on r~,eceit of the price iaaiettsa'~ Address the letter to the Publishers, azid you will then receive the work by return 4mail, free of 9 14
