The empty heart, or, Husks
page: 0Advertisement (TitlePage) [View Page 0Advertisement (TitlePage) ]POPULAR NOVELS'. By' Marion Haland I.-ALONE. IL--HDDEN PATH. XtIIOH L-MOSS SIDE. f NEMESIS V.---MRIAM. VI.-THE EMPTY HEART. VII.-HELEN GARDNER'S WEDDING-DAY. VIII.-SUKNYBANK. IX.--HUSBANDS AND HOMES. X.-RUBY'S HUSBAND, XI.-PHEME'S TEMPTATION. a.--AT LAST. (Just Published.) The novels of Marion Harland are of surpassing ex cellence. By intrinsic power of character-draw- ,ntg and descriptive facility, they hold the readers attention with the most in- tense interest and fascination-" All published uniform with this volume, at $1,50, and see by mail, free of postage, on receipt of price, by TARLETON, Pubfibher% ,? ' "' * , Y, wI.- PHEMES TEMPTATION. -. THE EMPTY HEART; OR, HUSKS. "FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE." BY MARION IARTLAND, ,' . * AUTHOR OF 'o ;-4 ALO"ONB" "HDDfEN PATM!" "N2MESIS," "MOSS-SIDE," "4MbMTAl, ",laN "; OABDNEN" "SUNJYBANK," "HUSBAANDS ND H0OM" "uaUS ' M HUSBAND" "PPmTT S TEMPTATION,'"ETo. , : NEW YORK: "ONDON: . LOW SON, . , MDCCCLXXL. ' ! page: 0[View Page 0] Entered, according to Act of Congress in the year 1870, by M. VIRGINIA TBRtnUi^. In the Clerk's Office of the District' Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. CHAPTER I. IT was a decided uncompromising rainy day.' There were no showers, coquetted with by veering winds or dubious mists, that at times grew brighter, as if the sun were burning away their lining; but a uniform expanse of iron-gray clouds-kept in close, grim column by a steady, although not violent east wind-sent straight lines of heavy rain upon the earth. The naked trees, that, during the earlier hours of the deluge had seemed to Shiver for the immature leaf-buds, so unfit to endure the rough handling of the storm, now held out still, patient arms, the rising sap curdled within their hearts. The gutters were brimming streams, and the sidewalks were glazed with thin sheets of water. The block of buildings before which our story pauses, wa, as a glance would have showed the initiated in the grades of Gotham life, highly respectable, even im the rain. On a clear day when the half-folded blinds revealed th lace, silken, and damask draperies within; when younf- misses and masters-galvanized show-blocks of purple and fine linen, that would have passed muster behind - tihe plate- glass of Genin or Madame Demorest--tripped after hoopsr or dromenaded the - smooth pavement; when pretty, jautyg onehorse carriages; and more pretentious equipages, eac se - with a pair of prancing steeds, and two O utside pasn fin lien thtwudhv'asdmutrbhn-tapa page: 8-9[View Page 8-9] "8'st THE EMPTY HEART; OR, sengers" in broadcloth and tinsel hat-bands, received and discharged their loads before the brown-stone fronts-had the afore-mentioned spectator chanced to perambulate this not spacious street, he would have conceded to it some degree of the fashion claimed for it by its inhabitants. There were larger houses and wider pavements to be had for the same price a few blocks further on, in more than one direction, but these were unanimously voted "less eligible" and " deficient in style,"' in spite of the fact that as good and better materials were employed in their construction, and they were in all respects equal in external show and inside finish to those in this model quarter. "But our block has a certain air-well-I don't know what; but it is just the thing, you know, and so convenient! So near the Avenue!"' would be the concluding argument. The nameless, indescribable charm of the locality lay in the last clause. "Just step around the corner and you are in the Avenue," said the favored dwellers in this vicinity, as the climax in the description of their abode, and " that way fashion lies" to every right-minded New Yorker of the feminine gender. But the aristocratic quiet of the neighborhood, rendered oppressive and depressing by the gloom of the day, was disturbed by a discordant sound--a child's cry; and what was especially martyrizing to refined auriculars, the lament had the'unmistakable plebeian accent. The passionate scream with which the pampered darling of the nursery resents interference with his rights and liberty of tyranny, or the angry remonstrance of his injured playmates, would have been quite another species of natural eloquence, as ?egards both quality and force, from the weak, broken wailt that sobbed along the wet. streets. Moreover, what re- spectable child could be abroad on foot in this weatherI So, the disrespectable juvenile pursued her melancholy way i , HUSKS. ' 9 unnoticed and unquestioned until she reached the middle of the square. There a face appeared at a window in the second story of a house-which only differed from those to its right, left and opposite in the number upon the door- vanished, and in half a minute more a young lady appeared in -he shaetered vestibule. ' What is the matter, little girl?" The tone was not winning, yet the sobs ceased, and the child looked up, as to a friendly questioner. i She was about eleven years of age, if one had judged from hern size and form ; but her features were pinched into unnatural maturity. Her attire was wretched, at its best estate; now, soaked by the rain, the dingy hood drooped over her eyes; the dark cotton shawl retained not one of its original colors, and the muddy dress flapped and dripped about her ankles. Uplon one foot she wore an old cloth gaiter, probably picked up from an 'ash-heap; the remains of a more sorry slipper were tied around the other. "I am so coold and wet, and my matches is all sp'ilt!" shel answered in a dolorous tone, lifting the corner of a scrap of oil-cloth, .which covered a basket, tucked for further security, under her shawl. "'No wonder! What else could you expect, if you would go out to sell them on a day like this? Go down intd the area, there, and wait until I let you in." The precaution was a wise one. No servant in that well- regulated household would have admitted so questionable a figure as that which crept after their young mistress into the comfortable kitchen. The cook paused in the act of dissecting a chicken; the butler-on carriage days, the footman-checked his flirtation with the plump and laugh- ing chambermaid, to stare at the wretched apparition. The scrutiny of the first named functionary was speedily diverted to the dirty trail left by the intruder upon the i r, page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] Jy .S T A f Hi N BXI r W X . M D X x carpet, A scowl puckered her red face, and her wrathful glance included both of the visitants as alike guilty of this desecration of her premises. The housemaid rolled up her eyes and. clasped her hands in dumb show of horror and contempt, to her gallant, who replied with a shrug and a grin. But not a word of remonstrance or inquiry was spoken. It was rather a habit of this young lady's to have her own way whenever she could, and that she was bent upon doing this now was clear. "e Sit down!" she said, bringing up a chair to the fire. The storm-beaten wanderer obeyed, and eagerly held up her sodden feet t' the red grate. "Have you no Fetter shoes than those?" "No, ma'am." l "Humph! Nor dress-nor shawl?" "No, ma'am." "'Are you hungry?" A ray shot from the swollen eyes. "Yes, ma'am!" The lady disappeared in the pantry and presently re- Aturned with five or six slices of bread and butter hastily cut and thickly spread, with cheese and cold meat between them. - "Eat!" She thrust them into the match-girl's fingers. "Wait here, while I go and look for some clothes for you." As may be supposed, the insulted oracle of kitchen mys- teries improved the time of the benefactress's absence by a very plain expression of her sentiments towards beggars in general, and this one in particular; which harangue was received with. applause by her fellow-servants, and perfect equanimity by its object. She munched her sandwiches with greedy satisfaction, watching, the while, the little clouds of steam that ascended from her heated toes. She was, to all appearance, neither a sensitive nor intelligent child, and had known too much of animal want and suffer- , I 1, - I U an 0* ' ,A-An , -. .t ing to allow trifles to spoil her enjoyment of whatever' ", physical comfort fell to her lot. Her mother at home . could scold quite as virulently as the cook was now doihng, and she was more afraid of her anger, because she begat "- while she berated her. She was convinced that she st o d :^ in no such peril here, for her protectress was one in poweir. e "iHave you eaten enough?" said the clear, abrupt voice behind her, as she held two sandwiches in her fingers, without offering to put them to her lips. : "Yes, ma'am. May I take 'em home?" ^ "Certainly, if you like. Stand up, and take off your shawl. , . '. She put around the forlorn figure a thick cloak, rusty and obsolete in fashion, but which was a warm and ample covering for the child, extending to the hem of her direass. ; The damp elf-locks were hidden by a knitted hood; and, for . the .eet, there were stockings and shoes, and a pair of India-r'ubbers to protect these last from the water. "Now," said the Humane Society of One, when the : refitting was at an end, " where do you live? Never mind t! . - "1 I don't care to know that yet! Here is a small umbrella-- a good one-which belongs to me. I have no other' for ' myself when I go out in bad weather. I mean to lend .t to. you, to-day, upon the condition that you will bring it back ? to-morrow, or the first clear day. - Will you do it 0" The promise was readily given. : "Here's an old thing, Miss Sarah!" ventured the butler, ! respectfully; producing a bulky, ragged cotton umbrella from a corner of the kitchen closet. "It's risky--trusting @: such as that with your nice silk one." : "That will let in the rain, and is entirely too large for,' her to carry. You understand, child,? You are to bring this safely back to me, the first time the sun shines. Can you find your way to this house again?" : j1 . -f I ' " * '* * ' *i:i page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] ^312 THE EMPT Y HEART; OR, Oh yes, ma'am, easy! Thank you, ma'am!" She dropped an awkward courtesy, as Miss Sarah held open the door for her to pass, and went out into the rain-- warm, dry, and shielded against further damage from the storm. Unheeding the significant looks of the culinary cabinet, Sarah Hunt turned away and ascended the stairs. She was a striking-lodking girl,' although her features, when in repose, could claim neither beauty of form nor expression. Her complexibn was dark and pale, with a slight tinge of olive, and her hair a deep brown, lips whose compression was habitual, an aquiline nose, and eyes that changed from' dreamy hazel to midnight blackness at the call of mind or feeling, gave marked character to her' countenance. Her sententious style of address to, the child she had just dis- missed was natural, and usual to her in ordinary conversa- tion, as was also the gravity, verging upon sombreness, which had not once during the interview relaxed into a smile. The family sitting-room, her destination at present, and to which, we will take the liberty of preceding her, was furnished elegantly and substantially; and there, leaning back in lounging-chairs, were Miss Lucy Hunt, the eldest datghter of the household, and her bosom friend, Miss Victoria West. Each held and wielded a crochet-needle, and had upon her lap a basket of many-hued balls of double or single zephyr worsted, or Shetland or Saxony wool, or -whatever was the fashionable article for such pretty trifling at that date. Miss West had completed one-quarter of a shawl for herself, white and scarlet; and her friend had made precisely the same progress in the arduous manufac- ture of one whose centre was white and its border blue. "Yours will be the prettiest," remarked Lucy regret- fully. ' Blue never looks well in worsteds. Why, I can't say, I'm sure. It is too bad that I can wear so few other i HTS}iS. U S . cooer 1I But I am such a fright in pink, or scarlet, or By shace of red!P "As if you could be a fright in any thing!" returned her companion, with seeming indignation. Lucy smiled, showing a set of faultless teeth that, to a stranger's first glance, would have appeared by far the most attractive point in her physiognomy. If closer examination discovered that her skin was pearly in whiteness and trans- parency, that her form was exquisite, with a sort of volup- tuouls grace; her hands worthy, in shape and hue, to become a sculptor's model; still, in the cold, unflattering light of this rainy afternoon, her want of color, her light gray eyes, her yellow hair, drawn straight back from the broad, low brow, precluded the idea that she could ever, with all the accessories of artificial glare, dress, and anima- tion, be more than a merely pretty girl. Miss West knew better, and Lucy realized the power of her own charms with full and complete complacency. Secure in this pleas- ant self-appreciation, she could afford to be careless as to her everyday looks and home-people. She saw and enjoyed the manifest surprise of those who, having seen her once in morning d;eshabille, beheld her afterwards in elaborate evening toilet. Then the abundant hair, "waved in golden ripples about the, classic head, the most artfully simple of tasteful ornaments a camellia, a rosebud, or a pearl hairpin, its sole adornment; her eyes, large, full, and soft, were blue instead of gray, while the heat of the assembly-room, the excitement of the crowd, or the exultation of gratified : vanity supplied the rounded cheek with rich bloom, and dewy vermillion to the lips. But nature's rarest gift to her was her voice, a mellow contralto, whose skilful modulations stole refreshingly to the senses amid the sharp clash of strained and higher tones, the castanet-like jingle which most American belles ring unmercifully into the ears of page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] " THE EMPTY HEART; OR, their auditors. Lucy Hunt was not " a great talker," still less was she profound or brilliant when she did speak; yet she invariably conveyed the impression to the mind of a new acquaintance of a thoroughly cultivated woman, one whose acquirements were far beyond her modest exhibition of thought and sentiment. The most commonplace phrase came smoothly and roundly from her tongue, and he was censorious indeedwho was willing to lose the pleasure afforded by its musical utterance in weighing its meaning. At school she had never been diligent, except in the study of music, and her pains-taking in this respect was rewarded by the reputation, justly earned, of being the finest vocalist in. her circle of associates. In society she shone as a rising star of the-first magnitude; at home she was happy, cheer. ful, and indolently amiable. Why should she be otherwise? From her babyhood she had been petted and admired by her family, and the world-her world-was as ready with its meed of the adulation which was her lelement. There were, besides the two sisters already introduced to the reader, three other children in the Hunt household-a couple of sturdy lads, twelve: and fourteen years of age, and little Jeannie, a delicate child of six, whom Lucy caressed with pet titles and sugar-p'umbs of flattery, and Sarah served in secret and idolatrous fondness. This family it was- Mrs. Hunt's care and pride to rear and maintain, not only in comfort, but apparent luxury, upon the salary which* her husband received as cashier of a prominent city bank, an income sufficient to support them in modest elegance, but which few besides MSrs. Hunt could have stretched to cover the expenses of their ostensible style of living. B ut this notable manager had learned economy in excellent schools ; primar y as a country girl, whose holiday finery was purchased with the proceeds of her own butter-making and poultry-yard; then as the brisk, lively wife of the iH U 3 SS. 15 young clerk, whose slender salary had, up to the time of his marriage, barely sufficed to pay for his own board and cloth6es, and whose only vested capital was his pen, his good character, and perfect knowledge of book-keeping. But if- his help-meet were a clever housewife, she was likewise am- bitioBs. With the exception of the sum requisite for the yearly payment of the premium upon Mr. Hunt's life-in- surance policy, their annual expenses devoured every cent of their receipts. Indeed, it was currently-believed among outsiders that they had other resources than the cashier's wages, and Mrs, Hunt indirectly encouraged the report that she held property in her own right. They lived " as, their neighbors did," as " everybody in their position in society was bound to do," and, "everybody" else was too intent upon his personal affairs, too busy with his private traini of plans and operations to examine closely the cogs, and levers, and boilers of the locomotive Hunt. If it went ahead, and kept upon the track assigned it, was always " up to tiie," and avoided unpleasant collisions, it was nobody's business how the steam was gotten up. Every human plant of note has its parasite, and Miss Lucy Hunt was not without hers. There existed no reason in the outward circumstances of the two girls why Miss Hunit should not court Miss West, rather than Miss West toady Miss Hunt. In a business-that is, a pecuniary- point of view, the former appeared the - more likely state of the case, inasmuch as Victoria's father was a stock-broker of reputed wealth, and with a probable millionaireship in prospective, if his future good fortune equalled his past' while Mr. Hunt, as has been stated, depended entirely upon a certain and not an extravagant stipend. But the girls became intimate at school, " came out" the same winter at the same party, where Lucy created a "sensation,"- and Victoria would have been overlooked but for the sentimen- ; , , page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] ' 1G THE EMPTY HEART; OR, tal connection between the debutantes. Since then, although the confidante would have scouted the imputation of inter- ested motives with virtuous indignation of wounded affec- tion, she had nevertheless "madb a good thing of i-" as her respected father would have- phrased it, by-playing :hanger-on, second fiddle, and trumpeter-general to tile belle, ' As if you could be a fright in any thing!" she had said naturally, and perhaps sincerely. , Lutcy's smile was succeeded by a serious look. "I am 'sadly tempted sometimes! Those lovely peach-blossom hats that you and Sarah wore this past winter were abso- lute trials to my sense of right! And no longer ago than Mrs. Crossmnan's party I was guilty of the sin of coveting the complexion that enabled Iaria Johnston to wear that sweet rose-colored silk, with the lace skirt looped with rosebuds." "You envy Maria Johnston's complexion? Why don't you go further, and fall in love with her small eyes and pug nose.?" inquired Victoria, severely ironical. "I have heard that people were never contented with their own gifts, but such a case of blindness 's this has never before come under my observation.". "No, no! I am not quite so humble with regard to my personal appearance as you would make out. Yet"-and the plaintive voice might have been the murmur of a griev- ing angel-"I think that there are compensations in the lot of plain people that we know nothing about. They escape the censure and. unkind remarks that uncharitable and envious women heap upon those who happen to be attrac- tive. Now, there is Sarah, who never cares a button about her looks, so long as her hair is smooth and her dress clean and whole. She hates parties, and is glad of any excuse to stay out of the parlor when gentlemen call. Give her her eL ;* ; " ' . * , HUSKES ' 17- '^::. books and that 'snuggery,' as she calls it, of a room inp i stairs, and she is happier than if she were in the gayest- company in the world. Who criticises her?' Nobody is jealous of her face, or manners, or conversation. And she would not- mind it if they were." - . "She has a more independent nature than yours,- my dear. I, for One, am rejoiced that you two are .unlike. I could not endure to lose my darling friend a: so::mehow I never could understand Sarah; never'could tge'ar to her, you know." "I do not wonder at that. It is just so with me, sisters though we are. However, Sarah means well, if her manner. is blunt and sometimes cold." The entrance of the person under discussion checked the conversation at this point, and both young ladies began to count their stitches aloud, to avoid the appearance of the - - foolish embarrassment that ever overtakes a brace of gossip*- -' at being thus interrupted. - Sarah's work lay on her stand near the window, where she had thrown it when the crying child attracted her notice, and she resumed it now. It was a dress for Jean- nie. It was a rare occurrence for the second sister to fashion any thing so pretty and gay for her own wear. "Have you taken to fancy-work at last?" asked Victoria, seeing that the unmade skirt was stamped with a rich, heavy pattern for embroidery. "No!"Sarah did not affect her sister's friend, and did not trouble herself to disguise her feelings towards'her. Lucy explained:" she is making it for Jeannie. She does every thing ;for that child." "You are very sisterly and kind, I am sure," Victoria continued, patronizingly. "You must quite despise Tjuc;g:y and myself for thinking of and doing so much for ourse'! while you are such a pattern of self-denial." . .';', page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] - 18 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, A blaze shot up in Sarah's eye; then she said, coldly: " am not self-denying. Have I ever found fault with you or Lucy for doing as you like?" "Oh no, my dear! But you take no interest in what we enjoy. I dare say, now, you would think it a dull business to -work day after day for three or four weeks together, crociheting a shawl which may go out of fashion before one has a chance to sport it at a watering-place." "I certainly should!"The curl of the thin upper lip would have answered for her had she not spoken. "And you hate the very sight of shell-work, and cone- frames, and Grecian painting, and all such vanities?" "If I must speak the truth, I do-most heartily!" Victoria was not easily turned from her purpose. Come, Sarah! Tell us what you would have us, poor trifling, silly things, do to kill the time." 4"If you must be a murderer, do it in your'own way. I havre nothing to-say in the matter." "Do you mean that time never hangs upon your hands? that you are never ennuye'-blasee?2" "Speak English, andjI will answer you!" "I want to know," said Ithe persevering tormentor, "if the hum-drum books up-stairs, your paint box, and your easel are such good company that you are contented and happy always when you are with them? if you never get cross with yourself and everybody else, and wonder what you were put into the world for, and why the world itself was made, and wish that you could sleep until doomsday. Do you ever feel like this?" Sarah lifted her eyes with a wondering, incredulous stare at the flippant inquisitor. "I have felt thus, but I did not suppose that you had!" "Oh! I have a' blue' turn now and then, but the disease is always more dangerous with girls of your sort-the read. , . . BUvsx s. I9 ' ' HUSKS. 19 ing, thinking, strong-minded kind. And the older you grow, the worse you will get. I haven't as much book I knowledge as you have, but I know more of the world we we live in. Ta-ke my advice and settle down to woman's right sphere. Drive away the vapors with beaux and fancy- work now. By and by, a husband and -an establishment { will give you something else to think about." Sarah would have replied, but Lucy broke in with a laugh, light and sweet. "You two are always at cross-questions! Why can't you be satisfied to let one another alone? Sarah and I never quarrel, Vic. We agree to disagree. She gives me my way and I don't meddle with her.- If she likes the blues (they say some people enjoy them), where's the harm of her having them? They never come near me. If I get stupid, I go to bed and sleep it off. Don't you think I have done ten rows, since breakfast? What a godsend- a rainy day is, when one has a fascinating piece of work on hand!" Too proud to seem to abandon the field, Sarah sat for half an hour longer, stitching steadily away at the compli- cated tracery upon the ground to be worked; then, as the dimmer daylight caused the others to draw near to the windows, she pushed aside her table and put by her sew- ing. "'Don't let us drive you away,!" said Victoria's mock- polite tones; and Lucy added, kindly, "We do not mean to disturb you, Sarah, dear!" "You do not disturb me!" was the reply to the latter. The other had neither glance nor word. Up another flight she mounted to a room,.much smaller than that she had left and far plainer in its appointments. The higher one went in Mrs. Hunt's house, the less splendid every thing became. In the state spare chamber-a story below--nothing of comfort and luxury was wanting, from page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] t'-. - THE EMPTY HEART; OR, :.: t'( hecarved rose-wood bedstead, with the regal-looking i'canpy overshadowing its pillows, down to the Bohemian ::anicut-glass scent bottles upon the marble of the dressing- :4abiet. Sarah's carpet was common ingrain, neither pretty 'nor new; a cottage bedstead of painted wood; bureau and wash-stand of the same material; two chairs, and a small table were all the furniture her mother adjudged needful. To these the girl had added, from her pittance of pocket- money, a set of hanging bookshelves; a portable desk,(an easel, and -two or three good engravings that adorned the walls. She locked the door after her, with a kind of angry satis- faction in her face, and going straight to the window, leaned upon the sash, and looked down into the flooded street. Her eyes were dry, but there was a heaving in her throat; a tightening of the muscles about the, mouth that would have made most women weep for very relief. Sarah Hunt -would have scorned the ease purchased by such weakness. She did not despise the sad loneliness that girt her around, any more than the captive warrior does his cell -of iron or stone, but she held that it would be a cowardly succumbing togFate,to wound herself by dashing against the grim -walls, or bring out their sleeping echoes by womanish wail- ings. -So, presently, her throat ached and throbbed no E longer the rigid muscles compressed the lips no more than Has their wont; the hands loosened their vise-like grasp of one another--the brain was free to think. l The rain fell still with a solemn stateliness that befitted the coming twilight. It was a silent storm for one so heavy. The faint hum of the city; the tinkle of the car-bell, three blocks off, arose to her window above its plashing fall upon the pavement, and the trickle of the drops from sash to sill. A stream of light from the lamp-post at the corner flashed athwart the sidewalk, glittered upon the swollen gutter - usi s* s ' , made gold and silver blocks of the paving-stnes. ::i:-; -' they had waited for this signal, other lights now :sh: 'a from the windows across the way, and from time: to tie broad, transient gleam from opening doors, told of there- ; turn of fathers, brothers, husbands from their day's employ- - ment. - ,: "Ia happy homes he sees the light." - "What was there in the line that should make the watcher catch her breath in sudden pain, and lay her hand, with stifled moan, over her heart, as she repeated it aloud? Witness with me, ye maternal Hunts, who read this page . -you, the careful and solicitous about many things-in - nothing more ambitious than for the advancement and suc- cess in life of your offspring-add your testimony to mmine that this girl had all that was desirable for one of her age ' and in her circumstances. A house as handsome a her i - neighbors, an education unsurpassed by any of her late school-fellows, a "position in society;" a reasonable share ' : of good looks, which only required care and cultivation on her part, to become really distingue'; indulgent parents and " peaceably inclined brothers, and sisters; read the lst, anrd [ solve me, if you can, the enigma of this perturbed spirit-;- ' this hungering and thirsting after contraband or unattaina- ble pleasures. , - :' "Some girls will do so!"Mrs. Hunt assured her husband i when he "thought that Sarah did not seem so happy as - Lucy. He hoped nothing ailed the child. Perhaps thedoc- @ tor had better drop in to see her. Could she be fretting for i any thing? or had her feelings been hurt?" ^ ",Bless your soul, Mr. H.! there's nothing the matter - 2- with her. She always was kind o' queer!" (Mrs. Hunt did not use her company grammar every day), and she's jest : eighteen year old. That's the whole of it! She'll come I round in good time, 'specially if Lucy should marry off . , ' t page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] 22 THE EMPTY lIEAIT; OR, pretty soon. When Sarah is 'Miss Hunt,' she'll be as crazy for beaux and company, and as. ready to jump at a prime offer as any of 'em. I know girls' ways!" Nor am I prepared to say that Sarah, as she quitted her look-out at the high window, at the sound of the dinner- bell, could. have given a more satisfactory reason for her discontent and want of spirits. t , ' i R us KS 28 CHAPTER II. MRS. HUNT'S chifia, like her grammar, was of two sorts, When her duty to "society" or the necessity of circum- stances forced her to be hospitable, she "did the thing" well. At a notice of moderate length,she could get up a, handsome, if not a bountiful entertainment, to which no man need have been ashamed to seat his friends, and when he occasion warranted the display, she grudged not the "other" china, the other silver, nor the other table-linen. , She did, however, set her face, like a broad flint, against the irregularity of inviting chance visitors to partake of the family bread and salt. Intimate as Victoria West was with Lucy, she met only a civil show of regretful acquiescence in ! her proposal to go home, as the dinner hour approached; and Robbie or Richard Hunt was promptly offered to escort her to her abode upon the next block. If she renmained to luncheon, as she would do occasionally, Lucy, in her hearing, begged her mother to excuse them from going down, and to send up two cups of tea, and a few sandwiches to they sitting-room. This slight repast was served by the butler upon a neat little tray, in a tMte-d-ttet service--a Christmas gift to Lucy, "from her ever-loving Victoria," and sen- timentally dedicated to the use of the pair of adopted sisters. , Therefore, Sarah was not surprised to find Victoria gone, r despite the storm, when she entered the dining-room. An immense crumb-cloth covered the' carpet; a row of shrouded \ :'s si page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] i , - . . I -' s .4 -'TIIE EhPTY HEART; O R I chairs, paked elbow to elbow, stood against the further end of the apartment, and a set of very ordinary ones were arounid the table. The cloth was of whity-brown material, and the dishes a motley collection of halt and maimed-for all Mrs. Hunt's vigilance could not make servants miracu- lously careful. There was no propriety, however, according to her system of economy, in condemning a plate or lup as past service, because it had come off second best, to the ex- tent of a crack, or nick, or. an amputated handle in an en- counter with some other member of the crockery tribe. "While 'there is life there is hope," was, in these cases, paraphrased by her to the effect that while a utensil would hold water, it was too good to be thrown away. It was not a sumptuous repast to which Sarah sat down after she had placed Jeannie in her high chair and tied the great -gingham bib around her neck. On the contrary, it came near being a scant provision for the healthy appetites of seven people. Before Mr. Hunt, a mild, quiet little man, was a dish of stew, which was, in its peculiar line, a thing- not of beauty-but wonder. Only a few days since, as I stood near the stall of a poultry vender in market, a lady inquired for chickens. "Yes, ma'am. Roasting size, ma'am?" "No; I want them for a fricassee." "Ah"--with a look of shrewd intelligence. "Then, ma'am, I take it, you don't care to have 'em overly tender. Most ladies prefers the old ones for fricassee; they come, cheaper, and very often bile tender." -"Thank you," was the amused: rejoinder. "The dif- ference in the price is no consideration where the safety of 'our teeth is concerned." Mrs., Hunt suffered. not. these scruples to hinder her negotiations with knowing poultry merchants. , A cent less - per pound would be three cents saved upon the chicken,s. t *. s -' ' ,- t and three cents would buy enough turnips for, dinner. It is an ignorant housekeeper who needs' t be informed that stewed chicken "goes further" than the same fowl made into any other savory combination. Mrs. Hunt's stews were concocted after a receipt of her own invention. Imprimis, one chicken, weight varying from two and a half to three pounds; salt pork, a quarter of a pound; gravy abundant; dumplings innumerable. It was all "stew;" and if Jean- nie's share was but a bare drumstick, swimming in gravy and buried in boiled dough, there was the chicken flavor through the portion. For classic antecedent the reader is referred to the fable of the rose-scented clay. : To leave the principal dish, which justice to Mrs. Hunt's genius would not permit me to pass with briefer mention, . . there were, besides, potatoes, served whole (mashed Ones required butter and cream), turnips, and bread, and Mrs. Hunt presided over a shallow platter of pork and beans. What was left of that dish would be warmed over to piece out breakfast next morning. The children behaved well, and the most minute by-law of table etiquette was observed, ! with a strictness that imparted an air of ceremonious re- straint to the meal. If Mrs. Hunt's young people were not in time finished ladies and gentlemen, it was not her fault, nor was it for the lack of drilling. "Do as I 'tell you, not as I do," were her orders in these ' matters. Since Lucy had completed her education, the mother added: "Look at your sister;' she is never awkward!" This was true: Lucy was born the fine lady. Refinement of manner and grace of movement, an instinc- tive avoidance of whatever looked' common or underbred were a part of her nature. Only the usage of years h . J:: accustomed her to her mother's-somewhat "fussy" wiys: Had she met her in company as Mrs. Anybody elsei"e 2 -" . {! page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] '. 26 THE EMPTY HEART; O R would have yielded her the right of way with a feeling of ,amazement and s miable pity that one who meant so well Ishouid so often overdo the thing she aimed to accomplish easily and gracefully. Following out her excellent system of training, the worthy-dame demanded as diligent and alert waiting from her butler as if she were having a dinner party. The eggless ricepudding was brought on with a state that was absolutely ludicrous; buts the family were used to the unsubstantial show, and took it as a matter of course. After the meal was over Mrs. Hunt withdrew to the kitchen for a short conference with the cook and a sharp -glance through the closets. It was impossible that the abstraction of six slices of bread from the baking of the preceding day, three thick pieces of cheese, and more than : half of the cold,meat she had decided would, in the form of hash, supply the other piece of the breakfast at which the beans were to assist, should escape her notice. , Mr. Hunt was reading the evening paper by the drop light in the sitting room, Lucy was busy with her shawl, and Sarah told a simple tale in a low voice to Jeannie, as she leaned upon her lap, when the wife and mother entered, with somtething like a bluster. .All present looked up, and each' one remarked the cloud upon elr'ow. - "6 What is the matter, mother " sJnt, m a tone knot free from alarm, t o "I am worried! That's the wh I am down- right vexed with you, Sarah, -and surprised, too! What upon earth possessed you, child, to take that beggar into my kitchen to-day? After all I have told you and. tried to learn you about these shameful impostors! I declare I was beat out when I 'heard it. And to throw away provisions and clothes upon such a brat!" ! 7 Lucy opened her great eyes at her sister, and Mr. Hant HUSB5. 2K S looked perplexedly towards his favorite, for at heart he was partial to his second child. "I took the poor creature to the fire, mother, because she was wet and cold; I fed her because she was hungry; I I gave her some old, warm clothes of mine because hers were 3 thin and soaked with rain,."' "Poor little girl!" murmured Jeannie, compassionately. Sarah's hand closed instantly over the little fingers. The simple-hearted babe understood and sympathized with, her ! motive and act better than did her wiser elders. "Oh, I have no doubt she told a. pitiful story, and shed enough tears to wet her through, if the rain had not done : it already. If you listen to what these wretches say, and ! undertake to relieve their wants, you will soon have not a dress to your back nor a house over your head. Why didn't you send her to some society for the relief of'the poor?" "I did not know where to find one, ma'am." This plain truth, respectfully uttered, confounded Mrs. Hunt for a second. I "Mrs. James is one of the managers in a Benevolent As- 1 sociation," she said, recovering herself. "You had ought to have given your beggar her address." i "Even if I had known that fact, mother, the girl would' .-. have been obliged to walk half a mile in the storm to find this one manager.' What do you suppose Mrs. James. would have done for her that was not in my power to perform? "She would have asked the child whereabouts she lived, and to-morrow she would have gone to hunt her up. If' she found all as she had been told, which is not likely--these' creatures'don't gi ve a right direction once in ten times-why, she would have brought the case before the board at their i next meeting, and they would help them, if neither of -her parents was a drinking character." / , h ' X page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] 28 \THE EMPTY HEA'RT; OR, a "God help the poor!" ejaculated Sarah, energetically. "God help the poor, if this is man's style of relieving his starving brother! Mother, do you think that hunger ' pinches any the less when the famished being is told that next week or next month may bring him one good meal? Will the promise of a bushel of coal or a blanket, to be given ten days hence, warm the limbs that are freezing to- ight? Is present help for present need, then, always un- safe, imprudent, insane?" "That'all sounds very fine, my dear."' Mrs. Hunt grew cool as her daughter Taxed warm. '"But when you have seen as much of the world as I have, you will understand how necessary it is to be careful about believing all that we hear. Another thing you must not forget, and that is that we are not able to give freely, no matter how much disposed we may be to do so. Its pretty hard for a generous person to say 4 No,' but it can't be helped. People in-our circum- stances must learn lthis lesson." Mrs. EIunt sighed at thought of the curb i put upon her benevolent desires by bitter necessity. "And after all, very few-you've no idea how few--of these pretended sufferers are really in want." This preluded a recital of sundry barefaced impositions and successful swindles practised upon herself and acq!ain- tances, to which Mr. Hunt subjoined certain of his per onal experiences, all tending to establish the principle tha. in a vast majority of cases of seeming destitution the supplicant was an accomplished rogue, and the giver of alms the victim of his own soft heart and a villain's wiles. Jeannie frank in every syllable, until her ideal beggar quite equallej the :..!" ogre who would have made a light supper off of Hop- -mjy- Thumb and brothers. "You gave this match-girl no money, I hope?" saidlMrs Hunt, at length. - "I did not, madam. I had none to give her." Impelled ,^ HUSKS. 291 by her straightforward sense of honesty that would not allow her to receive commendation for, prudence she had not shown, she said, bravely: ' but I lent her my umbrella upon her promise to return it to-morrow." "vELL!" - Mrs. Hunt dropped her hands in her lap, and stared in: speechless dismay at her daughter. Even her husband felt it his duty to express his disapprobation. "That was very unwise, my daughter. You will nevel see it again.": "I think, differently, father." "You are too easily imposed upon, Sarah. There is not- , the least probability that your property will be returned. Was it a good umbrella?" "It was the one I always use.", "Black silk, the best make, with a carved ivory handle- cost six dollars a month ago!" gasped Mrs. Hunt. "I- never heard of such a piece of shameful imprudence in all my born days! and I shouldn't wonder if you never once . thought to ask her where she lived, that you might send a police officer after it, if the little thief didn't bring it back to you?"5 "I did think of it." Sarah paused, then forced out the confession she foresaw would subject her to the charge of yet more ridiculous folly. "I did think of it, but con- i eluded to throw the girl upon &er honor, not to suggest the . theft to her by insinuating a doubt of her integrity." Mr. Hunt was annoyed with and sorry for the culprit, yet he could not help smiling at this high-flown generosity of confidence. "You are certainly the most unsophisticated girl of your age I ever met with, my daughter. I shall not mind the loss of the umbrella if it prove th be the means , of giving you a lesson in human nature. In this world, dear, it will not do to wear your heart upon your sleeve. page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] 30 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, Never believe a pretty story until you have had the oppor- 'tunity to ascertain for yourself whether it is true or false." And with these tithits of worldly wisdom, the cashier picked up his paper. "Six dollars! I declare I don't know what to say to you, Sarah!" persisted the ruffled mother. "You cannot expect me to buy you another umbrella this season. You must give up your walks indamp weather after this. I can't say that rm very sorry for that, though. I never did fancy your traipsing off two or three miles, rain or shine, like a sewing girl." "Very well, madam!" But, steadied by pride as was her voice, her heart sank at the possibility of resigning the exercise upon which she deemed that so much of her health, physical and mental, depended. These long, solitary walks were one of the un- American habits that earned for Sarah Hunt the reputation of eccentricity. They were usually taken immediately after breakfast, anid few in the neighborhood who were abroad or happened to look out at that hour, were not ,familiar with the straight, proud figure, habited in its walking dress of gray and black, stout boots, and gray hat with black plume. It was a uniform selected by herself, and which her mother, permitted her to assume, because it "looked genteel," and became the wearer. Especially did she enjoy these tramps when the threatening storm, in its early stages, kept others of her cIass and, sex at home. The untamed spirit found a fierce pleasure in wrestling with the wind; the hail that ushered in the snow-storm, as it beat in her face, called up lustre -to the eye and warm, color to the cheek. To a soul sickening of the glare and perfume of the artificial life-to which she was confined, the roughest and wildest aspects of nature were a welcome change. -t remember laughing heartily, as, I doubt not you did HUSKS. 831 also, dear reader, if you saw it, at a cut which appeared several years ago in the Punch department of Harper's Magazine. A " wee toddler," perhaps four years old, with a most lack-a daisical expression upon her chubby visage, accosts her grandmother after this fashion: "I am tired of life, grandmamma! The world is hollow, and my doll is stuffed with sawdust, and, if you please, ma'am, I should like to go to a nunnery!" . Yet, that there are natures upon which the feeling of empti- ness and longing herein burlesqued seizes in mere babyhood is sadly true. And what wonder? From their cradles, hundreds of children, in our so-called better classes, are fed upon husks. A superficial education, in which all that is not showy accomplishment is so dry and uninviting that the student has little disposition to seek further for the rich kernel, the strong meat of,knowledge, is the preparatory course to a premature introduction into the world, to many the only phase of life they are .permitted to see, a scene where all is flash and froth, empty bubbles of prizes, chased by men and women with empty heads, and oh, how often empty, aching hearts Outside principles, outside affec-! tions, outside smiles, and most pitable of all, outside piety! Penury of heart and stomach at home; abroad a parade : - of reckless extravagance anfd ostentatious profession of fine feeling and liberal sentiments! "Woe," cried the Preacher, "to them that make haste to be rich!"If he had lived in our day, in what biting terms of reprobation and contempt would he have de- claimed against the insane ambition of those who forego the solid comforts of judicious expenditure of a moderate income would afford; spurn the holy quiet of domestic . joys-neglect soul with heart culture--in their haste to seem n . u rich, when Providence has seen that wealth is not to be . .'"' desired for them I iOut upon the disgusting, indecent race .-- " page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] 32 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, ' and scramble The worship of the golden calf is bad enough, but when this bestial idolatry rises to such a pitch of fanaticism,/ that in thousands of households, copies in pinchbeck and plated-ware are set up and served, the spec- tacle is too monstrous in its abomination! This it is, that crowds our counting-rooms with bankrupts and our state- prisons with defaulters; that is fast turning our ball-rooms and other places of fashionable rendezvous, into vile carica- tures-of foreign courts, foreign manners, and foreign vices; while the people we ape-our chosen models and exem- plars-hold their sides in inextinguishable laughter at the grave absurdity of our laborious imitation. It is no cause for marvel, that; in just retribution, there should be sent a panic-earthquake, every three years, to shake men tp their senses. e Such was the atmosphere in which Sarah Hu t had always lived. In the code subscribed to by her mother, :and the many who lived and felt and panted and pushed as she did for social distinction, nothing was of real, absolute value except the hard cash. Gold and silver were facts. All things else were comparative in use and worth. The garment which, last winter, no lady felt dressed without, was an obsolete horror this season. The pattern of curtains and furniture that nearly drove the fortunate purchaser wild with delight, three years back, was now only fit for the auction V:: room. In vain might the poor depleted husbandlplead for :(i' .;,and extol their beauties. The fiat of fashion had gone forth, ... and his better half seasoned his food with lamentations, and moistened her pillow with tears until she carried her point. We have intimated that Sarah was a peculiar girl. Whence she derived her vigorous intellect; her strong, original turn of thought; her deep heart, was a puzzle, to those who knew her parents. The mother was energetic, the father sensible,"but both were commonplace, and followed, like HUSRS. industrious puppets, in the wake of others. They were t: '- " pleased that Sarah brought home all the prizes offeredaat X school, and both considered that she gained a right, by these victories, to pursue her studies at home, provided she' - B did not obtrude her singular views and tastes upon other I people. Mrs. Hunt sighed, frequently and loudly, in herd presence, that her genius had not been for shell, or bead, or worsted work, instead of for reading volumes, that did not even decorate the show book-case in the library. "If you must have so many books, why don't you pick out them with the tasty bindings?" she had asked her daughter more than once. "And I wish you would paint some bright, lively pictures, that would look handsome on the walls, instead of those-queer -men and women and 'j cloudy things you have got up-stairs. I'd have 'em framed , right away, and be real proud to tell who done them."' Sarah remained proof against such hints and temptations, and, shrinking more and more from. the uncongenial whirl around her, she turned her eager, restless spirit into her secret, inner life, where, at times, it was flattered into con- tent by the idealities upon which it was fed; at others, ramped and raved, like any other chained wild thing. The sweetest drop of pleasure sie had tasted for many a day was the thrill she experienced when the forlorn object sheI, had rescued from the power of the storm stood before her, decently and comfortably clad. The rash confidence she had reposed in so suspicious a stranger was the outgoing of a heart too noble and true in every impulse to pause, for : a moment, to speculate upon the chances of another's good f or bad faith. The great world of the confessedly poor was. an unknown field to her-one she longed to explore. Her footsteps loitered more often near the entrance of sonme narrow, reeking street or alley, down which she had prom. : ised hermother not to go, than on the spaciouspavJ, where. /X :ii page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] 34C -THE EMPTY HEART; OR, over-dressed women and foppish men halted at, and hung 'around bewitching shop-windows. She wondered how such throngs of breathing beings contrived to exist in those fetid, cramped. quarters; how they lived, spoke, acted, felt. The great tie of human brotherhood became daily more tense, as she'pondered these things in her heart. On this particular day, as she sat, silent and thoughtful, at her needle, the chit-chat:of her companions less heeded than the continual dropping of the rain without, the wail of the shivering wanderer caused a painful vibration through every nerve. The deed was done! the experiment was tried. She was ashamed that an event so trivial held her eyes waking, far into the night. At least, she said to herself, she would not be without a lesson of somell kind; would learn whether deceit and falsehood prevailed in the lowest, as well as the4 higher ranks of society. If, as she still strove to believe would be the case, the child returned the torrowed property, she would make use of her, as the means of entering upon a new sphere of research and ac- tion. After so complete a refutation of her theories re- specting the utter corruption of all people, who had not enough to eat and to wear, her mother could not withhold her consent to her petition that she might become a lay- -missionary--a present relief committee to a small portion of the suffering, toiling, ill-paid masses. She would then have a work to do--something to call out energy and en- gae- feeling in healthy exercise--and soothed by the romantic vision, she fell asleep with a smile upon her lips. The morning dawned between breaking clouds, that soon left the sky clear and bright. All through the day Sarah -watched for her visitor of the preceding day-watched with nervousness' she could not wholly conceal, from. morn to X night, for two, three days--for a week. Then she looked no longerwhile at home; her question, at entering the ss8. gj35 house, after a drive or walk, ceased to be, "Has any thing been left for me?"So palpable was her disappointment that her father forbole to make any allusion to her loss, and Lucy, albeit she was somewhat obtuse,to the finer points of her sister's character, good-naturedly interposed to change the subject, when her mother sought to improve the inci- dent to her daughter's edification and future profit. r Hant was rightin supposing that the "unsophisticated girl" had learned something. Wh ether she were happier or better for the lesson thus acquired was another thing. Once again Sarah had an opportunity for speech with her delinquent proteg. Two months later she was passing through a by-street in a mean neighborhood, very far up town, in her morning ramble, when her progress was ar- rested, for an instant, by two boys, who ran out of an alley across the walk. One overtook the other just in frontof the lady, and catching him by his ragged ollar, threw him : "That's right! beat him well! I'll help!" screeched a ,irl, rushing out of the court whence they had come. Grinning with delight, she flung herself upon the;proS. rate form and'commenced a vigorous assault, accompSnied y language alike foul and profane. r. In a twinkling she relinquished her grip of the boy's . li--jumped up and sped back into the dirty alley, with . e blind haste of guilty fear. Yes!'Mr. rHunt was a wise man, who knew t le world, d trebly'sage in her generation, was his spouse. If their ughter had never acknowledged this before, she did now?,, her disgust and dismay at this utter overthrow of her ' ,ams of the virtuous simplicity to be found 'in lowly nes, where riches *and fashions were things unknowno *i . ;. page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] 3g{6' THE EMPTY THARPT; OR, ' 1t 'I CHAPTER III. SUrmwEr had come to the country with its bloom and its beauty, its harvests and its holidays. In town, its fever heat drew noisome smells from overcharged sewers, and the black, oily paste to which the shower that should have been refreshing had changed the dust of crowded thorough- 'fares. Cleaner pavements, inthe higher portions of the city, burned through shoe-soles; glass radiated heat to polished stone, and stone radiated, in its turn, to brick, that waited until the evening to throw of its surplus caloric in hot, suf- focating waves that made yet more oppressive the close nights. The gay procession of fashionable humming-birds had commenced their migrations, steamboats and excursion- craft multiplied at the wharves, and the iron steed put forth all his tremendous might to bear onward the long train of seli-exiled travellers. The Hunts, too, must leave- town; Lucy must, at all events, have a full season, and a brilliant one, if possible, for it was her second' summer, and much might depend upon it. Her mother would accompany her, of course; and i equally of course her father could not; that is, he must re- turn after escorting them to Saratoga, and spend the re- mainder of the warm months at home. His business would :ot allow him to take an extended vacation. The boys were ;siiy disposed of, being boarded every summer at the farm- Ihouse of an early friend of Mr. Hunt's, where they were acceptable inmates, their clothes as well cared for as they 1]I1 EJ BR: ,. - . , ./i re a; home, and their morals more diligently cuirated.* i 3 ycunger girls caused that excellentf manager, their- ;her{ more perplexity, This was not the first time she .6 repented her indiscretion in allowing Sarah to "come :,.- "before her elder sister had "gone off." 'But "Sarah so tall and so womanly in her appearance that it looked or, and would set people to talking if I kept, her backe " was accustomed to excuse her impolitic move to her - ids. This summer she realized, as she had not done be-- ,the inconvenience of having two full-fledged young es upon the carpet at once. Lucy's elegant and varied drobe, and the certain expenses in prospect for her and ; chaperon at Spa, seaside, and en route, left a balance in ;, I of the sum allotted for the season's expenditure that I startling in its meagreness. Mrs. Hunt was a capital icier, 'a peerless economist, but the exigency taxed her urces to the utmost. ne morning she arose with a lightened heart and a other brow. "I've settled it!" she exclaimed to her ,and, shaking him from his matutinal doze. he "Eureka!" of the Syracusan mathematician was not a lofty in its exultation. Forthwith she unfolded to her scheme. She was a native of New Jersey, "the , A eys" she had heard it called in her father's house-had ably thus denominated the gallant little State herself in . girlhood. In and around the pretty, quiet village of wsbury there were still resident scores of her relatives '1 se very names she had sedulously forgotten.- One alone could not, in conscience or in nature, dismiss to such ion. This was her elder and only sister, long married ' respectable and worthy farmer, and living withia 'a of "the old place," where both sisters had drawn th ' breath of life. Twice since Mrs. Hunt had lived in the iad this kind friend been summoned on account of the ' page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] 3 I1 i THE, . - mgerousinessof the former, and her presence and nurt ghad restored peace, order, and health to the household. Ie earlier of these occasions was that of the second Child'a irth, and in the softened mood of her convalescence Mrs. lunt had bestowed- upon thebabe her sister's name-Sarah Benson--a huomely appellative she had ofttimes regretted : noe., At distant and irregular .intervals, one, two, three a ears, Mr. or Mrs. Benson visited their onnectios in York ;" but the intercourse grew more difficult and broken ;i Ls time rolled on and the distance widened between the plain ountry folk and their rising relations. Then, again, death I lad been busy in the farmhouse; coffin after coffin, of vary- ng lengths, but all short, was lifted over the threshold and a? ,aid away in the village graveyard, until but one was left to the parents of the seven little ones that had been given to thjem, and to that one nature had denied the gifts of speech and hearing. Grief and the infirmities of approaching Old age disinclined the worthy pair to stir from home, and their ambitious sister was too busy in building p a" set" of her own, and paving the way for her daughters' distinction, to hide her-light for ever so short a period in so obscure a cor- ner as her former home . - Aunt Sarah, however, could not forget her nurseling. Every few months there arrived some simple token of affec- ij tionate -remembrance to "the child" she had not seen -ince she wore short frocks and pinafores. The :reception of a basket of frit, thus despatched, was the suggestive power to Mrs. juntas present plal. She had made up her mind, so she informed her husband straightway, to write that very Hday-yes! that very forenoon, to "Sister Bensoll, and in- qqire whether she would board Sarah and Jeannie for a Wou 'i ple of months. ' "I don't s'pose she will let me pay board for them, but. she will be pleased to have 'em as long as they like tostay! U U b J&. ai *r, ' HUSs. KS- It's never been exactly convenient for me to let any of the children go there for so many years, and it's so fur off. But dear me 1 sometimes I feel real bad about seeing so little of my only sister !"-a heavy sigh. " And there'll be the, ex- penses of two saved, out and out, for they won't need a 'gre'at variety of clothes in that out-of-the-way place." " But how will the girls, Sarah and Jeannie, fancy being sent off so ?" inquired Mr. Hunt. " Oh, as to that, it is late in the day for my children to dispute what I say shall be done; and Sarah's jest that odd that she'll like this notion twenty times better than go- ing to Newport or Saratoga. I know her! As to Jeannie, she is satisfied to be with her sister anywhere, She is get- ting thin, too; she looks real peak6d, and there's nothing in creation so good for ailing children as the salt-water bath. They have first-rate still-water bathing not a quarter of a mile from sister's. It's jest the thing, I tell you! The wonder is it never came into my head before." Mr. Hunt had his sigh now. ' Somehow or other he was always down in the mouth when the-family broke up for the summer," his wife frequently complained, and his lack of. sympathy now excited her just ire. "Upon my word, Mr. H. ! anybody would think that -I was the poorest wife in the world to you to see and hear i you whenever I talk tot you of my plans and household af- fairs. You look as if you was about to be hanged, instead of feeling obliged to me for turning, and twisting, and con-': triving, and studying, day and night, ho* to save your money, and spend what we must lay out toethe best advan- tage. I can tell you what-there's few women would make your income go as far as I do." "I know that, my dear., The question is'-. Mr. HIunt paused, cleared his throat, and strained his nerves for a mighty effort, an unprecedented exercise of moral courage page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] ' ::' THE EMPTY HEART; q, T T is stretchetl .the question is Betsy, whether our ancome in the right direction!"Mistaking te stare of petrified inoredulity he receivedfor fixed att ention, the infatuated jn t n,. Y, :is, doubt is always forced upon me when manwentoni; " " place, s to - wQ separate in July, some to gSo toeth onee an otherbok, enering family for month s together aother, a broken, Wa drn aoutme I am growing od, and I love to have my children about me; gtoein. lhaohee isteonmjin .metne thomet ^T heroe y;i h I begin to eel the want of a home. The re is Johnsonin the "- Bank, gets five hundred less per annum than I[do; ygt, after living quietly here a few years, he ouht hi mself atuytTOlohin jr e^^ ^^ir a snug cottage .UP the river, and bas his family there in their ond itt e thin ha ndsome ncl comfortable about onhoe, every I. . . . . -dyr w hile I expect owg. -- --^enthe harness for a lont n, Ion ,e t hem. I hae bee. 'la ^ hardork! but it seems jor yInger tot .eWo"k-ar wokI Ihryy -die ani.. ; . I d on't Omtt sat-e- ifwee to me Someties that wae ould all be better satisedif we oad mre to s hOW r r ather to hold, for ourmoney; if there tha ppe cret'I drather y to hod f eret less of this straining after appearances, on study to make both ends meet." , And it has come to this t"---s. Hun t sank into a &air , This is my thanks for slaving and toil- andbegan to cry." for better than twenty years to get you and your chilren 'rtag ... ,.^rla! It is'It for mYselfthatIcare I an ers to the bone, an U+pon, a workytin g -or so a fgonth! I can bury my[ sere eand sve five, ao,. r o a wet etP'8: , n.. our hildren i thosedear,sween self in the 'counatry. 'Y a girls, that ba had the best education money can buy, at gthat to-baY visit such people as the Murrays, and Sander- ' ', sons,'ana Hoopers, andBaylors, an& meet the Castqrs an& Cisnns11s at parties-xrillionaires, all of 'er, the cream of Cn . beent, amibitiuOsor theupper crust! Idont deny'that I'haveL4he, am ' *:: 'ed hoe e that you had something of the Sam e ' t', ' B ow tO think of your comdining, Spirit n ... , 17ve been and wIWIe,. : and groaning Over the money 9.' -' J-- 'Oh' oh [ Oh" , *, H s a .i es H'IT KB . j\ " You misunderstood me, my dear; I merely questioned whether we were acting wisely in making so much display upon so little substance. We are not millionaires, whaler may be said of the girls' visiting lacquaintances, arid I trem~- ble sometimes to think how all this false show may, end."' Mr. Hunt's borrowed courage had not evaporated en- tirely. " That's distrusting Providence, Mr. H. ! It's downright sinful, and what I shouldn't .have looked for from you. I can tell you how it will end. If both of us live ten years longer, you will see your daughters riding in their own car- riages, and leaders of the tong, and your sons among :the first gentlemen of the city. If this does not turn out true, you needn't ever trust my word again. I've set my head upon getting Lucy off my hands this summer, and welloff; and mark my words, Mr. H., it shall be done." One part of her mother's prophecy was fulfilled in Sarah's manner of receiving the proposition so nearly affecting her comfort during the summer. Lucy wondered at the cheer- ful alacrity with which she consented to be "hidden away in that horrid bore of a farmhouse," and Jeannie cried as her elder sister " supposed that they would eat in Aunt Sarah's kitchen, along with the servant-men." "Lucy, be quiet !" interposed her mother. " Your aunt is not a common poor person. Mr. Benson is a man of in- dependent means, quite rich for the country. kThey live very nicely, and I have no doubt but that your, sisters will. be happy there." Sarah had drawn Jeannie to her, and was telling her'of the rides and walks they would take together, the ducks and' chickens they would feed, and the merry, plunges in the salt water that were to be daily luxuries. Ere the recital was concluded, the child was impatient for the hour of departure, and inad1hant when she heard that Aunt Sarah must be page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] 42 r .'THE EMPTY HEART; OR, heard :from before they could venture to present themselves, bag and baggage, at her door. There was nothing feigned in Sarah's satisfaction; her preparations were made with far more pleasure than if she were to accompany Lucy. The seclusion that would have been slow death to the latter was fill of charms for the book-loving sister. Aunt Sarah w3uld be kind; the novel phases of human nature she would meet would amuse and interest her; and, besides these, there was Jeannie to love and pet, and river, field) and grove for stud- ies and society. She pAnted for the country and liberty from the tyrannous shackles of city customs. Aunt Sarah wrote promptly and cordially, rejecting the offered compensation, and begging for her nieces' company as long as they could content themselves in so retired a place. Simple-minded as she was, she knew enough to be sure that the belles and beaux of the neighborhood would be very un- suitable mates for her expected visitors. If her own girls had lived, she would have asked nothing higher for themn in this world than to have them grow up respected, beloved, and happy, among the acquaintances and friends of their parents; but"Sister Betsy's children had been raised so dif- feqently!" she said to her husband. "I don't know what;we will do to amuse them." "They will find amusement-never fear," was the farmer's response. ' Let city ;:lks alone for seeing wonders where those that have lived among them all their lives never found any thing uncommon.: :They are welcome to the pony when- ever thlley've a mind to ride, and Jim or I will find time to drive them around a'most every day; and what with riding, -Rand boating, and bathing, I guess they can get rid of the time." Before the day set For the coming of the guests there ap- peared upon the stage an unexpected and welcome ally to , Aunt Sarah's benevolent design of making her niecezojourn -! HTuSS. - 43' agreeable. This personage we ill let the good woman lier- self describe. "You needn't trouble yourself to fix up for tea, dear," she said to Sarah, the afternoon of her arrival, as she pre- pared to remove her travelling-dress. "There's nobody liere besides husband, and me, and Charley, except hus- band's nephew, Philip Benson, from the South. He comes North 'most every summer, and never goes back without paying us a visit. He's been here three days now. But he is just as easy as an old shoe, and sociable as can be, so you won't mind him." "Uncle Benson has relatives at the South, then?" said Sarah, seeing herself called upon to say something: "One brother-James. He went to Georgy when he wasn't more than sixteen tears old, and has- lived there ever since. He married a rich wife, I believe,"-sinking her voice -" and has made money fast, I've heard. Philip never says a word about their wealth, but his father owns a great plan- tation, for husband asked him how many acres they worked. Then the children-there are four of them-have had fine educations, and always spend money freely. Philip is not the sort to boast of any thing that belongs to him or his. He is a good-hearted boy. He was here the August my last daughter-my Betsy--died, and I shallj never forget how kind and tender he was then. I can't look at him with- out thinking how my Alick would have been just his age if hq had lived. One was Born on thefourth and the other the fifth of the same April." Keeping up a decent show of interest in these family de tails, Sarah divested Jeannie of her sacque and dress, and substituted a cool blue gingham and a muslin apron. Then; . as the child was wild to run out of doors, she suffered he- to go, charging her not to pass the boundary -of the yard fence. A'Ut Sarah was dressed in a second mouArning de se .o ,i page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] *44 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, Jaine; with a very plain cap, and while the heat obliged, Sarah to lay aside the thick and dusty garment she had worn all day, she had too much tact to offer a strong con- trast in her own attire to her unpretending surroundings. A neat sprigged lawn, modest and inexpensive, was not out of place among the old-fashioned furniture of her chamber, nor in the ".best room," to which they presently descended. 1Aunt Sarah ushered her into the apartment with some stiffness of ceremony. In truth, she was not herself there often, or long enough to Sfeel quite at ease, her property though it wras. Alleging!the necessity of "seeing to the tea," she bade her niece ' make herself at home,' threw open a blind that she " might see the river," and left her. First; Sarah Jlooked around the room. It was large and square, and had four windows, two in front and two in the rear. The floor was covered by a well-saved carpet, of a pattern so antique that it was in itself a curiosity; heavy * tables of a mahogany dark with age; upright chairs, with slippery leathern seats; a ponderous sofa, covered with hair- cloth\; small mirrors, with twisted frames, between the win- dows; two black profiles, of life-size, over the mantel, and in the fire place a jar of asparagus boughs, were appoint- mrents that might have repelled the looker-on, but for the scrupulous, shining cleanliness of every article. It was a scene so strange to Sarah that she could not but smile as she withdrew her eyes and turned to the landscape com-r manded by her window. A\ . 'The sight changed the gleam of good-humored amuse- nent to one of more heartfelt pleasure. Beyond the grassy walks and flower-borders of the garden behind the house lay green meadows, sloping down to the river, broad and smooth at this point, so placid now that it mirrored every rope and seam of the sails resting quietly upon its surface, an i the , white cottages along the banks, while the banks themselves, HUSKS. 45 with their tufts and crowns oage, drooping willow with their tufts and crowns of foliage, drooping willows ari4 lofty elms, found a faithful yet a. beautified counterpart in the stream. The reflected blush of the crimson west upon Its bosom was shot with flickers of golden light, and faded in the distance into the blue-gray twilight. The air seemed to grow more deliciously cool as the gazer thought of the hot, pent-up city, and the beds of thyme and lavender added their evening incense. The hum of cheerful voices joined pleasantly with the soothing influences of the hour, and, changing her position slightly, Sarah beheld the speakers. Upon a turfy mound, at the foot of an apple-tree, sat Jeannie beside a gentleman, - whose hands she watched with pleased interest, as did also a boy of fifteen or thereabouts, who knelt on the grass before them. Sarah divined at once that this was her aunt's deaf and dumb son. The gentleman was apparently inter preting to Jeannie all that passed between himself and the lad, and her gleeful laugh showed it to be a lively dia- logue. Could this be Mr. Benson's nephew, the beardless f youth Sarah had pictured him to herself from Aunt Sarah's. description? He could not have been less, than six-and- twenty, had dark hair and a close, curling beard, an intelli. gent, handsome face, and notwithstanding his loose summer sack and lounging attitude, one discerned plainly traces of uncommon grace and strength in his form. "What is he, I wonder? A gallant professional beau, who will entangle me in my speech, and be an inevitable appendage in the excursions? I flattered myself I would, be safe from all such drawhacks," thought Sarah, in genuine vexation, as she obeyed her aunt's summons to tea. Perhaps Mr. Benson read as much in her pountenance, for, beyond a few polite, very unremarkable observations, ad- dressed to her when his hosts made it necessary for him to do so, he paid her no visible attention during the whole page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] " THE EMPTY HEART, OR, evening. The next day he set off, the minute breakfast was over, with his gun and game-bag, and was gone until sunset. Sarah sat at her chamber window as he came up to the back door'; and, screened by the vine trained over the sash, he watched him as he tossed his game-bag to Charley and shook hands with Jeannie, who ran up to him with the fa- miliarity of an old acquaintance. "(What luck?" questioned his uncle. "Nothing to boast of, sir; yet enough to repay me for my tramp. I have been down to the shore." "Philip Benson! Well, you beat every thing! I suppose you have walked as much as ten miles in all!" exclaimed * Aunt Sarah, with a sort of reproachful admiration. "I dare say, madam,-and am none the worse for it to- night. I am getting used to- your sand, uncle; it used to tire me, I confess." He disappeared into the kitchen, probably to perform the ablutions needful after his day's walk and work, for it was several minutes before he returned. Charley had carried the game-bag to the mound under the tree, and was exhibit- ing its contents- mostly snipe and red-winged black birds- to his little cousin. , It is refreshing to see something in the shape of man that is neither an effeminate dandy nor a business machine," soliloquized Sarah. "Ten miles on foot! +How I would like to set that task for certain of our Broadway exquisites!" "She isint a bit like a city girl!"Aunt Sarah was saying, as she followed Philip into the outer air. "I am glad to hear that she is likely to be a nice compan- ion for you, ma am. I thought,from her appearance, that you woulddsuit each other," was the reply, certainly respect, ful enough, but whose lurking accent of dry indifference: sent the blood to Sarah's face. Hastily withdrawing from the open window, anrd beyond HU SB. 47 the reach of the voices that discussed her merits, she -waited to recover equanimity before going down-stairs. In vain she chided herself for her sudden heat. Mortified she was, and even more ashamed of herself than angry with the cool young man who had pronounced her to be a fitting associate for her excellent but unpolished aunt. While his every look and intonation bespoke the educated gentleman, a being as different'in mental as in physical muscle from the fops who formed her sister's train, had he weighed her against the re- fined woman of his own class and clime, and adjudged her this place? At heart she felt the injustice, and, stimulated by the sting, arose the resolve that he should learn and con- fess his error. Not tamely or willingly would she accept an ignoble station at the hands of one whom she inwardly rec- ognized as capable of a true valuation of what she esteemed worthy. She looked haughty, not humbled, when she took her seat opposite her critic at the .tea-table. "A nice companion," she was saying over to herself. The very phrase, borrowed as it was, from Aunt Sarah's vocabulary, seemed to her seasoned with contempt. She kept down fire and shorn, however, when Mr. Benson accosted her with the tritest of remarks upon the probable heat of the day in town as con- trasted with the invigorating breeze, withits faint, delicious sea flavor, that rustled the grapevines and fluttered the white curtains at the dining-room door and windows. Her answer was not exactly gracious, but it advanced the one tempting step beyond a mere reply. Thus was the ice broken, and for the rest of the meal Aunt Sarah and "pncle Nathan"-as he requested his i nieces to style him--had respite-from the duty of active en- tertainment, so far as conversation went. To Sarah's sur- prise, Mr. Benson talked to her almost as he would have done to another man. He spoke of notable persons, places, page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] ' 6, THE EMPTY HEART; OR, and books-things of which she had heard and read-with- out affectation of reserve or a shade of pretension; and to her rejoinders-brief and constrained for awhile--then, as she forgot herself in her subject, pertinent, earnest, salient, he gave more than courteous heed. It was the unaffected interest of an inquirer; the entire attention of one who felt that he received more than he gave. They parted for the night with a bow and a smile that was with each a mute acknowledgment of pleasure derived from the companionship of the other; and if neither looked forward to the meeting of the morrow as a renewal of con. genial intercourse, both carried to their rest the effects of an agreeable surprisein the events of the evening. \.. . , ' ' . - / ' . . L. . . I * , . ^ ::- '. .- HUStKS. 49 . CHAPTER IV. A' waxcr, had, passed since the arrival of the city nieces-at the farmhouse. An early, tea, one, of Aunt -Sarah's generous and appetizing repasts was over; and through the garden, out at the gate that termninated the middle walk, and across the strip of meadow-land, danced Charleyrand:JeannSie,UfoL lowed at a more sedate,pace by Philip Benson-and: Sarah., Seven days' rustication -had -wrought a. marked' change -in' the town-bred girl. .There was : lighter bound in her. step;, and in her cheek ai-clear, pink glow, while her eyes looked softly, yet brightlyj, from out :the shadow of her gypsy hat, a look. of half surprise,'half confidence, in her companion s face. . . , . , - "One week ago," he was saying, "how firmly I made up my muid ,that; .you;andl, could never be any -thing, ;but strangers to each'other! ': How I disliked you for coming down here to interfere with my liberty and leisure!" B 3it even :tfiny ou thotigit that I whuld prove a ' nice companion fori iuat: Sarah--' perceived my suitableness to, her society, w:t8ie urie reply. "Whototd-b 'hIid .so " "Not Aunt SSarah' her'self, although she considereidl it. honest praise;: -I :I.'..eaTl& it accidentally from my, wiactow, and I canii a re p appreciated the co tti. ment, which, by 'the.: wyt wa'more the ton tj the words. , ' ,:,', , ,.: , .' -'. 'And y au"1we6 -t e d^^^e to a diffe2: :':te of page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] -50 THE EMPT-Y HEART; OR, behavior. Bravo! did ever another seed so worthless bring forth so rich a harvest? I am glad I said it! Here is the boat." It was a pretty little affair--Charley's property and care, and he was already in his seat at the bow, oar in hand. Philip helped Sarah in, placed Jeannie beside her, and sta- tioning himself upon the middle bench took up a second pair of oars. A noiseless dip of the four, and the craft glided out into the stream, then up against the tide, the water rip. ling into a foamy wake on either side of the sharp bow. A row was now the regular sequel to the day's enjoyments, and'to Jeannie, at least, the climax of its pleasures. "Pull that way, please, Mr. Benson!" she cried. "There! right through that beautiful red water!" A skilful sweep brought them to the spot designated, but the crimson deserted the wave as they neared it, and left dull gray in its stead. "It is too bad'!" complained the child, pointing back to the track of their boat, quivering amidst the fickle radiance she had thought to reach by this change of course. "It is behind us and before us-everywhere but where we are!" "Is^there a moral in that?" questioned Philip, smiling at Sarah. "Perhaps so." A fortnight before, how assured would have been her reply! How gloomy her recognition of the analogy I Changed as was her mood, a shade fell over, her counten- ance. Was it of apprehension, and did Philip thus interpret it? "I could not love life and this fair world as I do, if I conceded this to be universally true," he said. "That there comes, sometimes, a glory to the present, beside which the hues of past and future fade and are forgotten, I must and will believe. Stuch, it seems to me, must be the rapture of reHoUSKS. a, . te reciprocal and acknowledged affection; the joy of reunion after long separation from the beloved one; the bliss of reconc'liation after estrangement. Have you ever thought how much happier we would be if we were to live only in the Now we have, and never strain our eyes with search:- ings for the lights, and shades of what may be before us, or with ' mournful looking' after what is gone?" "Yet is this possible?" asked Sarah, earnestly. "Does not then very constitution of our natures forbid it? To me that would be a miserably tame, dead-level existence over which Hope sheds no enchanting illusions; like -this river, as. we saw it three days ago, cold and sombre as the rain- clouds that hung above it. Oh, no! give me any thing but the chill, neutral tint of such a life as thousands are content to lead-people who expect nothing, fear nothing-I had almost said, feel nothing!" "That is because every principle of your being is at war with common-places. Tell me frankly, Miss Sarah, did you ever meet another woman who had as much character as yourself?" "I do not know that I understand the full bearing of your question." She leaned on the side of the boat, ier; hand playing in the water, her lips working in an irresoluteo timidity that was oddly at variance with their habitual firm- ness. , "I am aware," she began, slowly and gravely, "that I express myself too strongly at times; that I am more ab- rupt in language and action than-most other girls. I have always been told so; but it is natural to me. My charac- ter has many rough and sharp edges that need softening and rounding--:" "In order to render you one of the pretty automatons, the well-draped, thoroughly-oiled pieces of human clock- work that decorates men's homes-falsely so called-in these page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] THE EMPTY HEART; OR, days of gloss and humbug!" interrupted Philip with ener- gy. "I am sick to death of the dollish ' sweet creatures' every boarding-school turns out by the score. I understand all the wires that work the dear puppets-flatter myself that I can put them through their paces (excuse the slang!) in as short a time as any other man of my age in the country. The delightful divinities! A little music, and a little less French; a skimming of the arts and sciences; and it is a rare thing to meet one who can tell an art from a science ten days after she has graduated-a stock of pet phrases- all hyperbolical, consequently unmeaning-a glib utterance of the same; a steady devotion to balls, beau-catching, gossip, and fancy-work; voild the modern fine lady-the stuff we are expected to make wives of! Wives! save the mark! I never think of the possibility of being thus en- snared without an involuntary repetition of a portion of the Litany-' From all such, etc., etc.!'" He plied his oars with renewed activity for a moment, then suspended them to continue, in a softer tone: "And this is the representative woman of your Utopia, Miss Sarah?" "Did I intimate, much less assert, such a heresy?" re- jponded she, laughing. "But there is a golden mean some- Wiere-a union of gentleness and energy; of domestic and literary taste; of independence and submission. I have seen .such in my day dreams. She is my ideal." "Which you will one day embody. No reproachful looks! This is the sincerity of a friend. I have promised' never to flatter you again, and do not violate the pledge in speaking thus. From my boyhood, I have made human nature my study, and it would be hard to convince me that I err in this case." , "You do! indeed you do!" exclairhed Sarah, with a look of real pain. "I lack the first characteristic of the portrait ^s I have drawn. I am not gentle! I neer was. I fear that I never will be!" "Let us hear a competent witness on that head. Jean- nie!" to the child, who was busy spelling on her fingers to Charley; his nods and smiles to her, from the far end of the boat, being more intelligible to her than were her at- tempts to signal her meaning to him. "Jeannie!" repeated Philip, as he caught her eye. "Come, and whisper in my ear which of your sisters you love the best. Maybe I won't tell tales out of school to the one you care least for." "I don't care who knows!" said the saucy, but affection- ate child. "Sis' Lucy is the prettiest, and she never scolds me either; but she doesn't make my clothes, and tell me nice stories, and help me with my lessons, and all that, you know. She isn't my dear, best sister!"And, springing up suddenly, the threw her arms around Sarah's neck, with a kiss that answered the question with emphasis. Sarah's lip trembled. The share of affection she had hitherto dared to claim as her own had barely sufficed to keep her heart from starving outright. She had often dreamed of fulness of love as a stay and comfort, as solace and nutriment in a world whose wrong side was ever turned to her. Now there dawned upon her the sweetness and beauty of a new revelation, the bliss of loving and being beloved. Over life floated a warm, purple tinge, like the sunset light upon the river. For the first time within the reach of her memory her heart rested! In the smile whose overflowing gave a tender lovelines to her features, Philip saw the effect he had wished and anticipated, and, motioning to Charley to let the boat drift with the current, he picked up the guitar, that by Sarah's request' was always taken along in these excursions. "The dew is on the blossom, And the young moon on the sea; page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] 654 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, It is the twilight hour- The hour for you and me; The time when memory lingers Across life's dreary track, When the past floats up before us, And the lost comes stealing back." It was a love song, inimitable in its purity and tenderness, with just the touch of sadness that insured its passage to the heart. Sarah's smile was softer, but it was a smile still, as the melody arose on the quiet air. When the ballad was concluded, she only saidi; "Another, please!" Philip sang more thjan well. Without extraordinary -power, his voice had a rich and flexible quality of tone and a delicacy of expression that never failed to, fascinate. To the rapt and listening girl it seemed as if time could bring no more delicious fate than thus to glide on ever upon this empurpled, enchanted stream, the summer heavens above her, and, thrilling ear and soul, the witching lullaby that rocked her spirit to dreams of the youth she had never, had, the love for which she had longed with all the wild intensi- ty, the fervent yearning, her deep heart could feel. Still they floated on with the receding tide, its low wash- ing against the sides of their boat filling up the pauses of the music. - The burning red and gold of the sky cooled into the mellower tints of twilight, and the pale curve of the young moon shone with increasing lustre. Jeannie fell asleep, her head upon her sister's lap; the dumb boy et motionless as stone, his dark eyes fixed on the moon; there seemed some spell upon the little. party. Boat after b at "passed them, almost noiselessly, for far into the clear evening went the tones of the singer's voice, and the dullest header could not withhold the tribute of admiring silence until e-. yond its reach. - i And Sarah, happy in the strange, restful languor tLAt locked her senses to all except the blessed present, dream d H IS K 1B. 55 on, the music but a part of her ideal world, this new and beautiful life. Into it stole presently a theme of sadness, a strain of grief, a heart-cry, that, ere she was aware, wrung her own heart-strings with anguish. "The long, long, weary day Is passed in tears away, And still at-evening I am weeping. When from my window's height I look out on the night, I am still weeping, My lone watch keeping. "When I, his truth to prove, Would trifle with my love, tHo'd say, ' For me thou wilt be weeping, When, at some future day, I shall be far away; Thou wilt be weeping, Thy lone watch keeping.' "Alas I if land or sea Had parted him from me, I would not these sad tears be weeping; But hope he'd come once more, And love me as before; And say, ' Cease weeping, Thy lone watch keeping.' "But he is dead and gone, - Whose heart was mine alone, And now for him r1m sadly weeping. His face I ne'er shall ee, And naught is left to me But bitter weeping, My lone watch keeping." 'If ever a pierced anid utterly hopeless soul poured forth its plaint in musical measure, it was in the wondrously sim- pie and unspeakably plaintive air to which these words are page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] 5 . - THE EMPTY HEART; OR, set. There breathes in it a spirit wail so mournfully sincere that one recognizes its sob in the very chords of the accom- paniment. The mere murmur of the melody, were no words uttered, tells the story of grieving desolation. Sarah did not move or speak, yet upon her enchanted ground a cloud had fallen. She saw the high casement and its tearful gazer into the night, a night not of music, and moonlight, and love, but chill, and wet, and dreary. Rain dripped from eaves and trees; stone steps and pavements caught a ghastly gleam from street lamps; save that sorrow- ful watcher, there was no living creature 'abroad or awake. She grew cold and sick with looking into those despairing eyes;. the gloom,the loneliness, the woe of that vigil became her own, and her heart sank swooning beneath the burden. As, she ceased the song, Philip looked up for some com- ment. or request. To his surprise, she only clasped her hands in a gesture that might have been either relief from or, abandonment to woe, and bowed her head 'upon them. Puzzled, yet flattered by her emotion, he refrained from in- terrupting her; and, resuming his oars, lent the impetus of their stroke to that of the tide. Nothing was said until the keel grated upon the shelly beach opposite the farmhouse. Then, as Philip stooped to lift the unconscious Jeannie, he imagined that he discerned the gleam of the sinking moon upon Sarah's dripping eyelashes. , The fancy pursued him after he had gone up to his room. Seated at his window, looking out upon the now starlit sky, he smoked more than one cigar before his musing fit was ended. It was not the love-reverie of a smitten boy. He believed that he had passed that stage of sentimentalism ten years before. That Southerner of'the male gender who has not been consumed by the fires and arisen as good as new from the ashes of half a dozen never-dying passions before he is eighteen, who has not offered the heart and haud, * "'"'. HUSxS. .K which as often as otherwise constitute his chiefest earthly possessions, to some elect fair one by the time he is one-and- twenty, is voted "slow" or invulnerable. If these suscepti- ble sons of a fervid clime did not take - to love-making as naturally as does a duckling to the pond by the time the eggshell is fairly off of its head, they would certainly be ini- tiated while in the callow state by the rules and customs of society. Courtship is at first a pastime, then an art, then when the earnestness of a real attachment takes hold of their impassioned natures, it is the one all-absorbing, eager pur- suit of existence, until rewarded by the acquisition of its ob- ject or thwarted by the decided refusal of the hard-hearted DIulcinea. This state of things, this code of Cupid, every Southern girl understands, and shapes her conduct accordingly. Sportively, yet warily, she plays around the hook, and he is a very fortunate angler who does not in the moment of fan- cied success discover that she has carried off the bait as a trophy upon which to feed her vanity, and left him to be the laughing-stock of the curious spectators of this double game. She is imperturbable to meaning 9quivoques, receives pretty speeches and tender glances at their current value, and not until the suit becomes close and ardent, the attach- ment palpable to every one else, and is confessed intso many words, does she allow herself to be persuaded that her adorer is " in earnest, and really desires to awaken a symFu- pathetic emotion in her bosom. Philip Benson was no wanton trifler with woman's feel. ings. On the contrary, he had gained the reputation in his circle of an invincible, indifferent loker-on of the pseudo and real combats, in Love's name,':that were continually transpiring around him. Chivalrous in tone, gallant in ac- tion, as he was, the girls feared while they liked and admired him. They called him critical, fastidious, cold;- and mock 3* page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] 58 - THE EMPTY HEART; OR, ingly wondered why he persisted in going into company, that, judging the future by the past, was so unlikely to fur- nish him with the consort he must be seeking. In reality, he was what he had avowed himself to Sarah-a student of hluman nature; an amateur in this species of social research -than which no other so frequently results in the complete deception of the inquirer. Certainly no other is so apt to find its culmination of devotion in a cold-blooded dissection of motive, morals, and sentiment; an unprincipled, reckless application of trial and test to the hearts and lives of its vic- tims and final infidelity in all human good, except what is concentrated in the inspector's individual, personal self. Grown dainty amid the abundant supply of ordinary mate- rial, he comes at length to disdain common " subjects." Still less would he touch one already loathsome in the popu lar estimation, through excess of known and actual crime. But a character fresh and noble from the Creator's hand; a soul that dares to think and feel according to its innate sense of right; an intellect unhackneyed, not vitiated by worldly policy or the dogmas of the schools; a heart, tender and delicate--yet passionate in love or abhorrence; what an op- portunity is here presented for the scalpel, the detective acid, the crucible, the microscope! It is not in fallible mortality to resist the temptation, and even professors of this en- nobling pursuit, whose motto is, "The proper study of man- kind is Man," are, as they allow with shame and confusion of face, themselves mortal. Of all the dignified humbugs of the solemn farce of life, deliver me from that creature self- styled "a student and judge of character!" In Sarah Hunt, Philip discovered, to his surprise, a rare "specimen ;" a volume, each leaf of which revealed new matter of interest.. The attentions he had considered him- self bound to pay her, in order to avoid wounding their kind. hosts, were soon rendered from a widely different motive. HUSKS. 59 It did not occur to him that he was -transcending the limits of merely friendly courtesy, as prescribed by the etiquette of the region in which he was now a sojourner. He was by no means deficient in appreciation of his personal gifts ; rated his powers of pleasing quite as highly as did his warmest admirers, although he had the common sense and tact to conceal this; but he would have repelled, as an aspersion upon his honor, the charge that he was endeavoring to win this young girl's affections, his heart being as yet un- touched. "Was it then altogether whole?" he asked himselfto-night. with a coolness that should have been an immediate reply to the suggestion. Side by side, he set two mental portraits, and strove de- liberately, impartially, to discern any traces of resemblance between the two. The future Mrs. Benson was a personage that engrossed much of his thqughts, and by long practice ,in the portrayal of her lineaments, he had brought his fancy sketch very nearly to perfection. A tall, Juno-like figure, with raven locks, and large, melting eyes, unfathomable as clear; features of classic mould; an elastic, yet stately form ; a disposition in which amiability tempered natural impetu- osity, and generous impulse gave direction to gentle word and deed; a mind profoundly imbued with the love of learn- ing, and in cultivation, if not strength, equal to his ,own; discretion, penetration, and docility combined in such pro- portions as should render her her husband's safest counsellor, yet willing follower; and controlling and toning the har- monious whole, a devotion to himself only second in degree, not inferior in quality, to worship of her Creator. This was the ideal for whose embodiment our reasonable, modest C(elebs was patiently waiting. Answer, oh ye expectant, in. cipient Griseldas! who, from your beauteous ranks, will step into the prepared niche, and make the goddess a reality? page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] 60 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, And how appeared the rival picture in comparison? "No, no!" he ejaculated, tossing the remnant of his third cigar into the garden. "I must seek further for the ' golden mean.' Intellect and heart are here, undoubtedly. I must have beauty and gra'ce as well. Yet," he continued, relent- ingly, " there are times when she would be quite handsome if she dressed better. It is a pity her love for the beautiful does not enter into her choice of wearing apparel!" In ten minutes more he was asleep, and dreamed that he stood at the altar with his long sought ideal, when, as the last binding words were spoken, she changed to Sarah Hunt, arrayed in a light blue lawn of last year's fashion, that made her look as sallow as a lemon, and, to his taste, as little to be desired for " human nature's daily food." Poor Sarah! The visionary robe was a faithful reflection upon the dreamer's mental retina of a certain organdie which ha/d formed a part of Lucy's wardrobe the previous summer, and having become antiquated in six months' time, was altogether inadmissible in the belle's outfit of this sea- son. "Yet it cost an awful sum when it was new!" reasoned 'Mrs. Hunt, " and will make you a very useful dress while you are with your Aunt Sarah. It's too good to cut up for Jeannie!" "But the color, mother?" objected the unwilling re- cipient. t "Pooh! who will notice that? Besides, if you had a good complexion, you could wear blue as well as anybody." Sarah's stock of thin dresses was not plentiful, and, re- calling this observation, she coupled it with the fact that she was growing rosy, and, dared to equip herself in the azure garment, with what effect she did not dream and Mr. Philip Benson did I HUISxK. 61 CHAPTER V. ON a pleasant, although rather cloudy forenoon in July, our young pleasure-seekers carried into execution a long- talked-of expedition to the Deal Beach, distant about ten miles from Shrewsbury. By Aunt Sarah's arrangement, Charley and Jeannie oc- cupied the back seat of the light wagon, and Sarah was to sit by Philip in front, that she " might see the country." Having accomplished this apparently artless manmeuvre, the good woman handed up to them a portly basket of luncheon, and two or three additional shawls, in case of rain or change of weather, and bade the gay party "Good-by" with a satisfied glow in heart and face. To her guileless apprehen- sion there was no question how affairs were progressing between her niece and her nephew-in-law; and in sundry conferences on the subject between "husband" and herself; it had been agreed that a matrimonial alliance would be the best thing that could happen to either of the supposed lovers. In her simple, pious soul, the dear old lady already blessed the Providence that had accomplished the meeting and intercourse under her roof, while she wondered at " the strange things that come about in this world." Philip had been aware of her innocent attempts to facili- tate his suit for several days past, and Sarah's blush, as she hesitated, before accepting the proffered seat by the driver, showed that this move was so transparent as to convey the alarm to her also. For a full half mile Philip did not speak, page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] ,e62 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, except a word now and then to the pair of stout grays, who were Uncle Nathan's greatest earthly boast. He ap- peared thoughtful, perhaps perturbed-so Sarah's single stolen glance at him showed-and in the eyes that looked straight onward to the horizon, there was a hardness she had never seen there before. - She was surprised, therefore, when he broke the silence by an unimportant observation, uttered in his usual friendly tone, and for the remainder of the ride was gay and kind, with a show of light-heartedness that was not surpassed by the merry children behind them. There was hardly enough variety in the unpicturesque country bordering their route to give the shadow of reason- ableness to Aunt Sarah's pretext in selecting her namesake's seat, and, despite her escort's considerate attentions, Sarah had an uncomfortable ride ; while her manner evinced more of the haughty reserve of their introduction than she had shown at any subsequent stage of their acquaintance. The grays travelled well, and a little after noon they were de- tached from the carriage, and tied in the grove of scrub-oaks skirting the beach. While Philip was busied with them, the others continued their course down to the shore; the children, hand-in-hand, skipping over sand-hills, and stopping to! pick up stones; Sarah strolling slowly after them. She had seen the ocean- surf before, but never aught like this, with its huge swells of water, a mile in length, gathering blackness and height on their landward career; as they struck the invisible 'barrier that commanded, "Thus far and no farther!" break- ing in white fury, with the leap of a baffled fiend, and a roar like thunder, against their resistless opponent, then recoiling, sullenly, to gather new force for another, and as useless an attack. The beach was wide and uneven, of sand, whose\ whiteness wouldl have glared intolerably had the day been sunny, drifted into hillocks and undulating HuBUS. 63. ridges, like the waves of the sea. Here and there the hardy heathr found a foothold amid the otherwise blank sterility, the green patches adding to, rather than lessening the wild, desolate aspect of the tract. Fragments of timber were strewn in all directions, and Sarah's quick eye erceived that it was not formless, chance driftwood. There were hewn 3eams and shapely spars, and planks in which great iron bolts were still fast. When Philip overtook her, she was standing by an immense piece of solid wood, lying far beyond the reach of the highest summer tides. One end was buried in the sand; the other, bleached by sun and wind, and seamed with cracks, I was curved like the extremity of a bow. Her late embarrassment-or hauteur was forgotten in the direct earnestness of her appealing look. "Am I mistaken?" she said, in a low, awed tone. "Is not this the keel of a ship?" "It is. There have been many wrecked on this coast." "Here!" She glanced from the fierce, bellowing break- ers to the melancholy testimonial of their destructive might. '"I have never heard that this was esteemed a dangerous point." "You can form but an imperfect idea of what this beach is in winter," remarked Philip, signing to her to seat herself upon the sand, and throwing himself down beside her. "I was here once, late in the autumn, and saw a vessel go to pieces, scarcely a stone's throw from where we are now sit- ting. The sea was high, the wind blowing a perfect gale, and this schooner, having lost one of her most important sails, was at the mercy of the elements. She was cast upon the shore, and her crew, watching their opportunity, sprang overboard as the waves receded, and reached firm ground in safety. Then came a monster billow, and lifting the ves- sel farther upon the sapd, left her careened towards the land. It was pitiful to see the poor thing! so like life were her page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] " THE EMPTY HEART; OR, shudders and groans, as the Tc:6.ilurf beat against her that my heart fairly ached. The spray, at every dash, aroso nearly as high as her mast-head, and a cataract of water swept over her deck. Piece by piece she broke up, anda we could only stand and look on, while the scattered portions were thrown to our very feet. I shah never forget the sight. It taught me the truth of man's impotence and nature's strength as I had never read it before." "But there were no lives lost! You were spared the spectacle of that most terrible scene in the tragedy of ship- wrzk." "Yes. But the light of many a life has been quenched in that raging caldron. A young man, a resident of Shrewsbury, with whom I hunted last year, described to me a catalogue of horrors which he had beheld here, that has visited me in dreams often since. An emigrant ship was cast away on this coast, in midwinter. High above the roar of the wind and the booming suif, was heard the cry of the doomed wretches, perishing within hail of the crowd of fellow-beings who had collected at news of the catastrophe. The cold was intense; mast, and sail, and rope were coated with ice, and the benumbed, freezing wretches were exposed every instant to the torrents of brine that swept over them like sleet. The agony was horrible beyond description, but it was soon over. Before the vessel parted, the accent of mortal woe was hushed. Not a man survived to tell the tale!" -For an hour, they sat thus and talked. The subject had, for Sarah, a fearful fascination, and, led on by her .absorbed attention, Philip rehearsed to her wonders and stories of the mysterious old ocean, that to-day stretched, before them, blanched and angry, under the veil of summer cloud, until to his auditor there were bitter wailings blent with the surge's roar; arms, strainedand bare, were tossed above the dark, HuSK. -65 serpent-like swell of water, in unavailing supplication, and livid, dead faces stared upon her from beneath the curling crests of the breakers. That day on the Deal Beach! How quietly happy was its seeming! how full of event, emotion, fate- -as its reality! Charley and Jeannie wandered up and down the coast, fill. ing their baskets with shells and pebbles; chasing the re- tiring waves as, far as they dared, and scampering back, with shrieks of laughter, as the succeeding billow rolled rapidly after them; building sand-houses, and digging wells to be filled by salt-water; exulting greatly when a rough coralline fragment, or a Jelly-fish of unusual dimensions was thrown in their way. They all lunched together, seated upon the heather-clumps, around Aunt Sarah's liberal hamper. "Sister!" said Jeannie, when the edge of her sea-side appetite was somewhat blunted by her repast, "I like living here better than in Now York-don't you?" "It is more pleasant in summer, my dear." "But I mean that I am happier here! I wish you would write to mother, and ask her to let us live here always.' "But what would she do without her baby?" asked Phil- ip, emphasizing the last word. The little lady bridled instantly. "Cousin Phil! I do wish you would, never call me a 'baby' again! I am seven years and two weeks old. I could get along very well without mother for a while. Of course, I would go over sometimes, and pay her a visit and get new dresses. Shrewsbury is a nice place; I would like to buy that pretty white house next to Uncle Nathan's, and live there-sister, and Charley, and Hand you-if you would promise not to tease me ever!" "Thank you!" said Philip, with admirable gravity, seem- ing not to note Sarah's heightened color'at this proposal of copartnership. "You are very kind to include me in your page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] " THE EMPTY HEART; OR, household arrangements, and nothing would please- me bet. ter, if I could stay here. But you know, Jeannie, my dear little cousin, that mny home is far away from this quarter of the world. I have remained here too long already." There was a touch of feeling or nervousness in his voice. "I had a letter last night, reminding me that I ought to have left a week ago, to join a party of friends, whom I promised to meet in New York, and travel with them until the time for our return to the South." He did not look at Sarah, but she felt that the explanation was intended for her-that, whether intentionally or not, he was preparing her for a blow to heart and hope. "I shall be obliged to leave Shrewsbury and all my friends there, to-morro'w morning, Jeannie!" v The child's exclamation of dismay, and Charley's quick, mute remonstrance to his cousin, as his playfellow commu- nicated the news to him, gave Sarah time to rally firmness and words. "This is unexpected intelligence," she said, calmly. "We shall miss you. Your kindness has, directly and indirectly, been the means of affording us much pleasure during our visit to our good aunt. It will' seem dull when you are gone.". There was a flash in Philip's eye that I oked like pleasure -a mixture of relief and surprise, as he turned to her. "I am selfish enough to hope that you will miss me for a time, at least. I shall not then be so soon forgotten. We have had some pleasant days and weeks together; have we not?" "I-have enjoyed them, assuredly." She was a little pale, Philip thought, but that might be the'effect -of fatigue. Her cheek was seldom blooming, unless when flushed in animated speech, or by brisk exer. cise. She spoke of his going with politeness, that seemed B usKs. 67 scarce one remove from carelessness; and, man-like, his pleasure at the thought that their association in the country house had not been followed by the results Aunt Sarah wished and predicted, gave way to a feeling of wounded vanity and vexation, that his surimer'scompanion could re. linquish him so easily. While] he repeated to himself his congratulations that his friendly and gallant attentions had not been misconstrued, had not awakened any inconvenient, because futile (" expectations," he wondered if it were a pos- sibility for a girl of so much sense and feeling, such genuine appreciation of his talents and tastes, to know him well-- even intimately--without experiencing a warmer sentiment than mere approval of an agreeable associate's mind and manners, and Platonic liking for him on these accounts. With the respectful familiarity of a privileged acquaint- ance, he drew her hand within his arm, as they arose at the conclusion of the collation. "We have yet two hours and more to spend here, before we set out for home. We can have one more walk and talk together." They took but one turn on the beach, and returning to their morning's seat beside the half-buried keel, tried to talk as they had done then. It was hard work, even to the man of the world, the heart-free student of human nature. Gradually the conversation languished and died away, and, for a while, both sat silent, looking out upon the sea. Then Philip's gaze came back to his companion--stealthily at first, and, as she remained unconscious of his scrutiny, it lingered long and searchingly upon features, form, and attire. There were white, tight lines about her mouth, and a slight knitting of the brow, that imparted a care-worn look to the young face, it pained him to see. Her hands were clasped upon her knee, and the fingers were bloodless where they interlaced one another. Was she suffering? Was the page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] 68 . THE EMPTY HEART; OR, threatened parting the cause of her disquiet? If this were so, what was his duty as a man of honor-of common hu- nmanity? And if he were forced to admit that he held her happiness in his power, and to accept the consequences that must ensue from his idle gallantry and her mistaken r ad- ing of the same, was the thought really repulsive? , Would it be a total sacrifice of feeling to a sense of right? It was a repetition, grave and careful, of the revery of that July night, two weeks ago. t Sarah's hat-a broad-brimmed "flat" of brown straw-had fallen back upon her shoulders, and the sea-breeze played in her hair,.raising the short and loose strands, and giving to the whole a rough, "frowzy" look. Her plain linen collar and undersleeves showed her complexion and hands to the worst possible advantage. Upon her cheeks, this same un- i friendly wind had bestowed a coat of tan and a few freck- les, that were all the more conspicuous from her pallor, while, her fingers were as brown as a gypsy's. 'HHer gray poplin dress'had lost most of its original gloss, and being one of Mrs. Hunt's bargains- " a cheap thing, but plenty good for that outlandish Shrewsbury"-already betrayed its cotton warp by creases that would not be smoothed, and an aspect of general limpness--a prophecy -of speedy,: irremediablo shabbiness. Cast loosely about her shoulders was a light shawl, green, with black sprigs-another bargain; and be- yond the skirt of her robe appeared the toe and instep of a thick-soled gaiter, very suitable for a tramp through damp sand, yet any-thing but becoming to the foot it protected. With an impatient' shake of the head, involuntary and positive, Philip closed his final observation. And cutting of a large splinter from the weather-beaten timber, against which he leaned, set about trimming it, wearing a serious, settled face, that said his mind was fully made up l What had Sarah seen all this while? HaSr8. S 69; r Heavens, over which the films of the forenoon had thick- a ened into dun cloud-curtains, stretching above, and enwra p- ping the world; a wild, dreary expanse of troubled waters,., whose horizon line was lost in the misty blending of sea and sky, ever hurrying and heaving to moan out their unrest :! upon the barren beach. In the distance was a solitary sail; X nearer to the land, a large sea-bird flew heavily against the wind. In such mateless, weary flight, must her life be passed; ; that lone, frail craft was not so hopelessly forlorn upon a gloomy sea, beneath a sky that gloomed yet more'darkly-- . as was her heart, torn suddenly from its moorings-anchor, and rudder, and compass gone! Yet wh6 could syllable the mighty sorrow of the complaining sea? And 'were there words in human language, that could tell the anguish of the swelling flood beating within her breast? "Going away! To-morrow!" For a little space this I was all the lament she kept, repeating over to herself. i Pregnant with woe she knew it to be, yet it was not until I she was allowed to meditate in silence upon the meaning'of the words that she realized what had truly come upon her. She had thrown away all her hope of earthly happiness-- risked it as madly, lost it as surely, as if she had tossed it- a tangible pearl-into the yawning ocean. Her instinct assured her that, were it otherwise, the tidings of Philip's intended departure, his suddenly formed resolution to leave ner, would have been conveyed to her in a far different manner. Her keen backward glance penetrated Aunt : Sarah's simple wiles; his obvious annoyance thereat; his determination to save himself from suspicion ; his honorable fear lest she, too, should imagine him loving, where he was only civil and kind. Yes, it was all over! The best thing she could hope to do, the brightest prospect life had now for her, was that her secret should remain hers alone, until the troubled heart moaned itself into the rest which knows page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] 70 THE EMPTY J;EART; OR, no waking. She was uged to concealment. All her exists ence, excepting the sweet delusive dream of phe past three weeks, had been a stern preparation for this trial. But she was- already weary and faint-fit to lie down and die, so intense had been the throe of this one struggle. "How long is this to last? How long?" The exclamation actually broke, in an inarticulate murmur, from her lips. "Did you speak?" inquired Philip. "I think not. I am not sure, I did not intend to do so!" "Grant me credit for my forbearance in not obtruding my prosaic talk upon your musings," he went on, playfully. "It was a powerful temptation-for I remember, constantly, that this is our last opportunity for a genuine heart and i head confabulation, such as I shall often linger for, after I leave you-and sincerity You have done me good, Miss Sarah; taught me Faith, Hope, Charity-a blessed sister- hood!" "May they ever attend you!" "Amen! and thank you! And what wish shall I make in, return for your beautiful benediction?" ' Whatever you like. My desires are not many or ex- travagant." "Youare wrong. You have a craving heart and a crav- ing mind. May both be fed to the full, with food convenient for them-in measures pressed down, shaken together, and running over." "Of what? Husks?" was Sarah's unspoken and bitter reply. She could not thank him, as he had done her. She only bowed, and, bending forward, took up a handful of the fine white sand that formed the shore. Slowly sifting it through her fingers, she waited for him to speak again. Was this careless equanimity real or feigned? The HU I SS. 71 judge of character, the harpist upon heart-chords, made the next move-not the candid manly friend. "I am going to ask a favor of you-a bold one." "pay on."- "By the time I am ready to retrace my steps southward, you will be again settled in New York. Will you think me presumptuous, if I call at your father's house to continue an acquaintance which has been, to me, at once agreeable and profitable?" The fingers were still, suddenly. A warm glow, like sunrise, swept over cheek and forehead. A smile, slight but sweet, quivered upon her lips. Drowning in the depths, she heard across the billow a hail that spoke of hope, life, happiness. "We will all be glad to see you," she said, with affected composure. "Not half so glad as I shall be to come. Will you now, while you think of it, give me your address?" He handed her a card and a pencil. She wrote the re- quired direction, and received in exchange for it the now smooth bit of wood, which had afforded occupation to Philip for half an hour past. It was tendered in mock ceremony, and accepted smilingly. Upon the gray tablet was inscrib- ed, "Philip Benson; Deal Beach, July 27th, 1856." A playful or thoughtless impulse caused him to extend his hand for it, after she had read it, and to add a motto, stale as innocent in his eyes: Pensez d moi!" "I shall preserve it as a souvenir of the day and place," observed Sarah, slipping it into her pocket. Twilight overtook them before they reached home, and. tlhe night was too cloudy and damp for a promenade, such as they often had in the garden walks and lane, or for the customary family gathering in the long porch. Yet Aunt Sarah was surprised that Philip was apparently content to page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] 72 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, ; f spend the evening in the sitting-room, with herself and husband by, to spoil the tete-d-tete he must be longing for. Still more confounded was she, when, after her clever strategy of coaxing Uncle Nathan into the kitchen, that the coast might be clear, she heard Philip's step close behind them. "I must clean my gun to-night, aunt," he said, taking it from the corner; "I shall not have time to do it to-mor- row." With the utmost nonchalance he began the operation, whistling softly a /lively air over his work. Aunt Sarah gave her partner a look of bewildered despair, which he returned by a confirmatory nod, and a smile, half comic, half regretful. After breakfast next morning, the nephew-guest said affectionate farewells to his relatives and Jeannie; a grave, gentle adieu to Sarah, accompanied by a momentary pres7 sure of the hand, that may have meant much or little; and upot-the snug homestead settled a quiet that was dreari- ness itself to one of its inmates. / HUSKs. 73 CHAPTER VI. MEANWHLE, how had the time sped to the nominal head of the Hunt household--the solitary, toiling father and husband? The servants were dismissed when "the fami- ly" left town, although Mr. Hunt continued to sleep at home. A peripatetic maid-of-all-work-what the English denominate a char-woman-was engaged to come early every morning to clear up the only room in the establish- ment that was used, before the-cashier went out for his breakfast, which he procured at a restaurant pretty far down'town. The same quiet coffee-house furnished him with dinner and an early tea, after which last refreshment he was at liberty to pass the evening in whatever manner he liked best. There was nothing in the city worth- seeing at this season, even if he had not lost all taste for shows and gayety. Those of his acquaintances who were not absent with their wives and daughters, were living like himself, furniture in overalls; carpets covered; apartments closed, with the exception, perhaps, of one bedroom; and had no place in which to receive him if he had been in the habit of visiting, which he was not. He was very tired, moreover, by the time night came on, and as the heat increased, and the days grew longer, his strength waned' more and more, and his spirits with it. Meekly and uncom- plainingly he plodded through his routine of bank -Otis so steady and so faithful that his fellow-workers anud-: customers had come to regard him as a reliable fifxttie a page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] THE EMPTY HEART; OR, piece of machinery, whose winding up was self-performed and whose accuracy Was infallible. When, therefore, on a sultry August afternoon, he turned to leave his desk ai the close of business hours, grew terribly pale, and dropped upon the floor in a fit of death- like faintness, there was great consternation, and as much wonder as if no human clock-work had ever given out before, under a like process of exhausting demands. Clumsily, but with the best of intentions, they brought him to his senses, and in half an hour or so he was suffi- ciently recovered to be taken home. There was a twitch- ing of the\lips that might have passed for a sarcastic smile, as he heard the proposal to convey him to his house; but he only gave his street and number, and lay silently back in the carriage, supported by his friends, two of whom insisted upon seeing him safely to his own abode. " "Is this the place? Why, it is all shut up !" exclaimed one of 'these gentlemen, as the driver drew up before the dusty steps. Mrs. Hunt's orders were that the entrance to her mansion should present the most desolate air possible during her absence. It had " an aristocratical look in the summer time, when everybody but nobodies was rusticating." Again that singular contortion of the mouth, and the master (.) of the forlorn-looking habitation prepared to descend, fumbling in his pocket for his pass-key. "I am obliged to you, gentlemen, for your great kindness, and will-not-trouble-you-longer." In trying to raise his hand to his hat for a bow, the ghastly hue again overspread his face, and he staggered. Without further parley, his two aids laid hold of him, one on each side, and supported him into the house, up one, two flights of linen-draped stairs, to a back bedroom. Mrs. Hunt would have let her husband faint on the side- I I H KS. 75. walk before she would have received company in that chamber in its present condition; for the handsomest arti- cles of furniture stood covered up in another apartment, and their place was supplied by a plain bureau, wash-stand, and bed belonging to the boys' room, a story higher up. The wisdom of this precaution sas manifest in the signs of neglect and slovenliness displayed on all sides. One could have written his name in the dust upon the glass; there was dirt in every corner and under each chair and table; the wash-basin was partly full of dirty suds, and the towels and counterpane shockingly dingy. These things were not remarked by the intruders until they had got their charge to bed; resisted no longer by him, for he began to comprehend his inability to help himself. "There is no one beside ourselves on the premises, not even a servant," one of them said, apart to his associate, after a'brief absence from the room. " If you will stay with him until I come back, I will go for a doctor." The invalid caught the last word. "Indeed, Mr. Hammond, there is no need for you to do any thing more-no necessity for calling in a physician. I am quite comfortable now, and shall be well by morning." Mr. Hammond, who was a director in the bank, and sincerely honored the honest veteran now prostrated by his devoted performance of duty, 'took the hot, tremulous hand in his. " I cannot allow you to peril your valuable health, my dear sir.. Unless you positively forbid it, I shall not only call your physician, but drop in again myself this evening, and satisfy my mind as to whether you require my presence through the night." He was as good as his word; but no amount of per, suasion could induce Mr. Hunt to accept his offered watch. He would be "uneasy, unhappy, if his young friend sacri page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] 76 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, ficed his own rest so uselessly," and loath as he was to leave him to, solitude and suffering, Mr. Hammond had to yield. At his morning visit, he found the patient more tractable. After tedious hours of fevered wakefulness, he had en- deavored to rise, only to sink back again upon his pillow- cdzzy, sick, and now thoroughly alarmed at the state of his system. He did not combat his friend's proposal to obtain a competent nurse, and to look in on him in person as often as practicable; still, utterly refused to allow his wife to be written to on the subject of his indisposition. I "I shall be better in a day or two, probably before she could reach me. I have never had a spell of illness. -It is not likely that this will be any thing of consequence. I greatly prefer that she should not be' apprised of this attack." Mr. Hammond was resolute on his part-the more de- termined, when the physician had paid another visit, and pronounced the malady a low fever, that would, doubtless, * confine the sick man to his bed for several days, if not weeks. "It is not just to your wife and children, Mr. Hunt, to keep them in ignorance of so important a matter!" he urged. "They will have cause to feel themselves aggrieved by you, and ill-treated by me, if we practise this deception upon them." Mr. Hunt lay quiet for some minutes. "Perhaps you are in the right," he said. "Sarah would be wounded, I know. I will send for her!" he con Iuded, with more animation. "She wili come as soon as she re ceives the letter." "Of course she will!" rejoined Mr. Hammond, confident. ly; "you are not able to write. Suffer me to be your amanuensis." He sat down at a stand, and took out his pen. "Where is Mrs. Hunt at present?" HUSKS. 7 "I an not sure, either at Saratoga or Newport.' i Mr. H ammond looked surprised. "-But it is necessary, sir, that we should know with some degree of certainty, or the letter may miscarry. Perhaps it would be well to write to both places." "The letter! Both places!" repeated Mr. Hunt, with perplexity. "I alluded to my daughter Sarah, sir, my second child, who is spending the summer with her aunt in Shrewstury, New Jersey. May I take the liberty of asking you to write her a short note, mentioning my sickness in as guarded terms as you can use, and requesting her to come up to the city for a few days? She has my youngest child-- a little girl--with her. If she can be contented to remain with her aunt, Sarah had better leave her there. She would be an additional burden to her sister if she were here.?" Whatever Mr. Hammond thought of the marked prefer- ence shown to the daughter above the wife, he said nothing, but proceeded to indite the desired epistle, adding, in a postscript, on his own account, that he would take pleasure in meeting Miss Hunt at the wharf, on her arrival, and for this purpose would be at the boat each day, until she made her appearance in New York. He went, accordingly, the next afternoon, although very sure that she could not have received his letter in season to take that boat. Mr. Hunt had proved to him and to him- self the utter impossibility of her coming, yet his eyes brightened with expectancy as his friend entered, and faded into sadness as he reported the ill-success of his errand. "He is evidently extremely partial to this one of his children," thought Mr. Hammond, as he paced the wharf on the second evening, watching, amid noisy hack-drivers and express-men, for the steamer. "I have seen the girls at parties, but do not remember their names. One of them is very pretty. I wonder if she is' Sarah!' page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] 10 . THE EMPTY HEART; OR, It was growing dusk as the boat touched the pier. So dim was the light, that Mr. Hammond was. obliged to - station himself close beside the gangway, and inspect the features of each lady passenger more narrowly than polite- ness would, in other circumstances, have warranted. They hurried across, men and women, tall and short, stout and slender, until there tripped towards him the figure of a young girl, attired in a gray dress and mantle, and carrying a small travelling bag in her hand. She would have passed him, had he not stepped forward and spoken. "Miss Hunt, I believe!" In the uncertain twilight, he could see that she grew very pale. "How is my father?" v Thete was no preamble of civility or diffidence; no re- serve in addressing him, a mere stranger; no trembling, preparatory queries; but a point-blank question, in a tone whose impatient anguish moved his kind heart; a piercing look, that would know the truth then and there! "He is better, to-day"--and he led her out of the press 'of the onward stream. "He has not been dangerously ill. W Ve hope and believe that he will not be." "Is that true "Her fingers tightened upon his arm. "It isl! I would not for the world, deceive you in such a matter." "I be:ieve you! Thank Heaven' I feared the worst!" She covered her face with her hands, and burst into tears. Hammond beckoned to a hacknman, closet by, and when the short-lived reaction of over-weought feeling subsided so far as to allow Sarah to notice surrounding :objects, she was seated in the carriage, screened from curious or impertinent gazers, and her escort was nowhere to be seen. Several minutes elapsed before he again showed himself at the window. * ' H UBS K S. '4 "I must trouble you for your checks, Miss Hunt, in order to get your baggage." Already ashamed of her emotion, she obeyed his demand without speaking. "You have given me but one, ^he said, turning it over in his hand. ' "That is all, sir." "Indeed! You are a model traveller! I thought no young lady, in these days, ever stirred from home without half a dozen trunks." To himself he added, "A sensible girl! An exception to most of her sex, in one thing, at any rate!" Sarah sat well back into her corner, as they drove up lighted Broadway, arid was almost rudely taciturn, while her companion related the particulars of her father's seizure and subsequent confinement to his room. Yet, that she listened with intense interest, the narrator knew by, her irregular breathing and immovable attitude. As they neared their destination, this fixedness of attention land posture was exchanged for an eager restlessness. She leaned forward to look out of the window, and when they turned into the last street, quick as was Mr. Hammond's motion to unfasten the door of the vehicle, her hand was first upon the lock. It was cold as ice, and trembled so much as to be powerless. Gently removing it, he undid the catch, and assisted her to alight. The hired nurse answered their ring, and while Sarah brushed past her, and few up the stairway, Mr. Hammond detained the woman to make inquiries and issue directions. "It is all very dreary-like, sir," she complained. "Every thing is packed away and locked up. There's no getting at a lump of sugar without a hunt for the key, and all he's seemed to care for this blessed day, was that his daughter should be made comfortable. He sent me out this after page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] 80 THE EM'PTY HEART; OR, noon to buy biscuits, and sardines, and peaches for her tea, and told me where I'd find silver and china. It is not at all the thing for him to be worrying at such a rate. He'll be worse for it to-morrow, and so I've told him, Mr. Hammond." "Perhaps not, Mrs. Kerr. His daughter's coming will cheer him and quiet him too, I doubt not. I will not go up now. Please present my regards to Mr. Hunt, and say that I Will call to-morrow." He purposely deferred his visit untilthe afternoon, sup- posing that Miss Hunt might object to his early and un- ceremonious appearance in the realms now under her con- trol; nor when he went did he ascend at once to the sick- chamber, as was his customi before the transfer of its superintendence. Sending up his name by the nurse, he awaited a formal invitation, among the shrouded sofas and chairs of the sitting-room. "You'll please to walk up, sir!" was the message he re- ceived; and the woman subjoined, confidentially, "Things is brighter to-day, sir." They certainly were. With wonderfully little noise and confusion, Sarah, assisted by the nurse, had wrought an utter change in the desolate apartment. With the excep- tion of the bureau, which had been drawn out of sight into the adjoining dressing-room, and the bedstead, the com- mon, defaced furniture had disappeared, and its place was supplied by more comfortable and elegant articles. Th( windows were shaded, without giving an aspect of gloon to the chamber; the bed-coverings were clean and fresh f and the sick man, supported by larger and plumper pillow$ than those among which he had tossed for many wearj nights, greeted his visitor with a cordial smile and out' stretched hand. "I thank you for your kind care of my daughter las HUSKS. 81 evening, sir. Sarah, my dear, this is my friend, Mr. Ham. mond, to whose goodness I am so much indebted." "The debt is mine no less," was the frank reply, as she shook hands with hei new acquaintance. "We can never thank you sufficiently, Mr. Hammond, for all you have done for us, in taking care of him." "A genuine woman a dutiful, affectionate daughter!" was now Hammond's comment, as he disclaimed all right to her gratitude. "'None of your sentimental, affected ab- surdities, with nothing in either head or hear!" This impression was confirmed by daily observation; for politeness first, then inclination, induced him to continue his "professional" calls, as Sarah styled them. He seemed to divide with her the responsibility of her position. Its duties were onerous; but for this she did not care. She was strong and active, and love made labor light-even welcome to her. A competent cook was inducted into office below stairs, and household matters went forward with system and despatch. The eye of the mistress, pro tem., was over all; her hand ever ready to lift her share of the load, yet her attendance at her father's bedside appeared unremitting. His disease, without being violent, was dis.- tressing and wearing, destroying sleep and appetite, and preying constantly upon the nerves. To soothe these, Sarah read and talked cheerfully, and often, at his request, sang old-time ballads and childish lullabys to court diversion and slumber. Occasionally Lewis Haammnond paused without the door until the strain was concluded, drinking in the notes with more pleasure than he was wont to feel in listening to the bravuras and startling, astonishing cadenzas that were war, bled in his ears by the amateur cantatrices of the "best circles;" then, when the sounds from within ceased, he delayed his entrance some moments longer, lest the song* 4* page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] 82 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, stress should suspect his eaves-dropping. He ceased to speculate upon the reasons of Mrs. Hunt's protracted ab- sence at a time when no true-hearted wife could, from choice, remain away from her rightful post. When, at the expiration of a fortnight from the day of the attack, the physician deelared his patient feebly, but surely conva- lescent, his ybung friend had decided, to his entire satisfac- tion, that things were best as they were. Mr. Hunt had made a most judicious selection from the female portion of his family, and what need of more nurses when this one was so efficient and willing? He caught himself hoping that the fussy dame he had met in: society would not abridge her summer's recreation on account of an ailing husband. He had designed going to Saratoga himself, for ten days or two weeks; but he was very well. It was diffi- cult to get away from business, and this affair of Mr. Hunt's enlisted his sympathies so deeply, that he could not resolve upon leaving him. If he had never before enjoyed the bliss that flows from a disinterested action, he tasted it now. Mrs. Hunt was not kept in total ignorance of what was transpiring at home. Sarah had written, cautiously and hopefully, of her father's sickness and her recall; repeat- ing Mr. Hunt's wish that his consort should not hurry back through mistaken solicitude for his health and comfort; and they were taken at their word. A week elapsed before an answer arrived-a lengthy missive, that had cost the writer more pains and time than the preparation for her annual "crush" generally did. She was an indifferent penman, and sadly out of practice; but there was much to be said, and "Lucy, of course, circumstanced as she was, could not spare time to be her scribe." The significant phrase underscored quickened Sarah's curiosity; but there was nothing for the next three pages HUSE S. 83 that fed or quieted it. They were filled with minute direc- tions about housewifery-economical details, that would have served as capita- illustrations of "Poor Richard's" nlaximns; injunctions, warnings, and receipts sufficient in quantity to last a young, frugally-disposed housekeeper for the remainder of her natural existence. It was a trial to this exemplary wife and mother, she confessed, to absent herself so long from her home duties; but circumstances had compelled her stay at Saratoga. Of their nature, Sarah had already been informed in her sister's last letter. "' Which I cannot have received, then-"Sarah inter- rupted herself to say, as she read to her father: "I have not heard from Lucy in four weeks. I have thought hard of her for not writing." "But," concluded Mrs. Hunt, "matters looks well just now, and I know your father will aggree, when he beers all about our season's work, that our labor and Money has: been a good investment. Take care of the keys yourself, Sarah. Be pruedent, keep a sharp Lookout on the cook, and don't negleck your poor father. Your Affectionate mother, E. HuNTr. "P. S. Your kitchen Girl must have a Great deel of spair Time. Set her to work cleening the House, for you may expeckt us home in two weeks, or maybe Less. "E. H." Lucy had slipped a note in the same envelope-a thin, satiny sheet, hardly larger than the little hand that had moved over its perfumed page. Her chirography was very running, very light, very ladylike, and, we need not say, very italical "Mamma tells me, Sarah dear, that. she has given you a hint of how matters are progressing between your humble servant and our particular friend, of whom I wrote in my page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] ,84 THE EMPTY HEART; OR last. The poor, dear woman flatters herself that it is all her work; but somebody else may have his own opinion, and I certainly have mine. I have had to caution her re- peatedly, to prevent her from showing her delight too plainly to my 'Goldfinch,' as Vic. 'and I have dubbed him. Don't be in a hurry with your congratulations, ma chre. iThere's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the -lip;' and although the season is so near over, I may yet see some one whom I like better than His Highness.' Vic. has a beau, too--a rich widower, less fascinating than my devoted; but a very agreeable man, without encumbrance, and very much smitten. So we pair off nicely in our rides and promenades, and, entre nous, are quite the talk. You are a good little thing to nurse papa so sweetly--a great deal better than I am. I told my knight of this proof of your excellence the other day, and he said that it was only what might have been expected from my sister! Don't you fel flattered. Poor fellow! Love is blind, you know. "Love to papa. I am sorry he has been so unwell. I do not imagine that I shall have time to write again before we leave this paradise. We will telegraph you when to ex- pect us. Perhaps I may have an escort home-some one who would like to have a private conference with my re- spected father. -Nous verrons! "Lovingly, LTjCIE a Mr. Hunt twisted -himself uneasily in his arm-chair as his, daughter, by his desire, reluctantly read aloud the double letter. A shade of dissatisfaction and shame clouded his countenance when she finished, and he sighed heavily. "I am glad they are still enjoying themselves," said Sarah, forcing a smile. "Lucy has secured a captive too, it appears-one whom she is likely to bring home at her chariot wheels." HUSKS. .S "In my day daughters were in the habit of consulting their fathers before giving decided encouragement to any admirers, strangers especially" said Mr. Hunt, with dis- pleasure. "In these times there are no parents! There is the 'old man' and 'the Governor,' who makes the money his children honor him by wasting, and the 'poor, dear woman,' who plays propriety in the belle's flirtations, and helps, or hinders, in snaring some booby - oldfinch.' It is a lying, cheating, hollow world! I have been sick of it for twenty years!" "( Father! my dear father," exclaimed Sarah, kneeling be- side him, and winding her arm about his neck. "You mis- judge your children, and their'love for you!" "I believe in you, child! I cannot understand how you have contrived to grow up so unlike your sister and your-" The recollection of the respect his daughter owed her moth- er, checked the word. "You do not deal fairly with Lucy's character, father. She has one of the kindest hearts and most amiable disposi- tions in the world. I wish I had caused you as little anxiety as she has. Remember her obedience and my wilfulness; her gentleness and my obstinacy, and blush at your verdict, Sir Judge!" She seated herself upon his foot-cushion and' rested her chin upon his knee, looking archly up in his face. She was surprised and troubled at this degree of acrimony in one whose habitual manner was so placid, and his "Judgment so mild; but, for his sake, she was resolute not to show her feeling. He laid his hand caressingly upon her shoulder, tnd sank into a revery, profound, and seemingly not pleasant. Sarah took advantage of his abstraction to remove the wrapper of a newspaper received by the same mail that had brought her letters. The operation was carefully per- page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] 86. THE E MPTY IIEART; OR, formed, so as not to invite notice, and the envelope laid away in her work-box. She knew well who had traced the clear, bold superscription, and what initials composed the mysteri- ous cipher in one corner of the cover; nor was this the only-token of recollection she had from this source. The article marked in the number of the literary journal he had selected as the medium of correspondence, was an exquisite little poem from an author whose works Philip had read to her in the vine-covered porch at Shrewsbury. Slowly, longingly she perused it; gathering sweetness from every word, and fancying how his intonations would bring out beauties she could not of herself discover. Then she took out the wrapper again, and studied the postmark. On the: former papers he had sent the stamp was illegible, but this was easily deciphered--"Albany." "So near! He is returning homewards!" was the glad reflection that flooded her face with joy. "Sarah!" said her father, abruptly. "Do you ever think of marriage?" "Sir?" stammered the girl, confused beyond measure. "I mean, have you imbibed your sister's ideas on this subject? the notions of ninety-nine hundredths of girls in your walk of life. Do you intend to seek a husband, boldly and unblushingly, in all public places? to degrade your- self by practising the arts they understand so well to catch an 'eligible' partner, who may repay your insincerity ankdmercenary views by insult and infidelity-at best by in- difference! Child! you do not know the risk match-making mothers and husband-hunting daughters run; the terrible retribution that may be--that often is in store for such! I had rather see you and your sister dead, than the victims of that most hateful of heartless shows-a fashionable mar- riage! Poor Lucy }I poor Lucy!" "I hope you are distressing yourself without reason, sir. * 1i - ' HTSKS. 87 Mother is not the person to surrender her child to one whose character and respectability are not indisputable. Nor is Lucy sentimental. I do not fear her suffering very acutely from any cause." "I grant that. You would be more to be pitied as an un- loved or unloving wife, than she. I tremble for you some- times, when I thinks of this chance. My daughter, when you marry, look beyond the outside show. Seek for moral worth and a true heart, instead of dollars and cents!" "I will! I promise!" said Sarah, her amazement at his earnestness and choice of topics combining to shake her voice land constrain her smile. '"But there is time enough for that, father dear. When the man of heart and worth sues for my poor hand, I will refer him to you, and abide entirely by your decision." "Mr. Hammond is down-stairs," said the servant at the door. And Sarah, gathering up her papers, escaped from the room before he entered. ' ,. . page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] 88 THE EMPTY HEART; OR} CHAPTER VII. MR. HUNT was able to resume his place in the bank several days before his wife returned. Uncle Nathan had brought Jeannie home as soon as her father could leave his room, and the boys had likewise been written for; so that the fam- ily reunion was apparently near at hand. Weak as he was, Mr. Hunt met his spouse and daughter at the d6p6t, and the noise of their entrance in the lower hall first apprised Sarah of their arrival. To the bound of pleasurable excitement her heart gave at the certainty that they had come, succeeded a sigh at the termination of the free, yet busy life she had led of late--the probability that she would be compelled to resume her old habits of feeling and action. Driving back the selfish regret, she ran down to welcome the travellers. *j "How well you're looking, Sarah!" said Mrs. Hunt, after kissing her. "Hdeclare, if you was, to 'arrange your hair different, and study dress a bit, you would come near being right down handsome." "' Handsome is as handsome does!"' quoted Mr. Hunt, stoutly. "According to that rule, she is a beauty." . "Thank you, sir!" said Sarah, bowing low. And she tried -to forget, in her sister's affectionate greeting, the chill and heart-sickness produced by her mother's business-like manner and- compliment. X "Having disposed of one' daughter, she means to work the other into merchantable shape!" was her cynical deduc- tion from the dubious praise bestowed upon herself. HUS K S. 89 Mrs. Hunt pursued her way up the steps, examining and remarking upon every thing she saw., "Them stair-rods ain't so clean as they had ought to be, Sarah. I'm afraid your girli are careless, or shirks. When did you uncover the carpet?" "Some time ago, mother, while father was sick. There were gentlemen calling constantly, and the cover looked shabby, I thought." ' It couldn't be helped, I s'pose; but the carpet is mote worn than I expected to see it. With the heavy expenses that will be crowding on us this fall and winter, we can't afford to get any new things for the house." Lucy, who preceded her sister, glanced back and laughed meaningly. And Sarah was very glad that her father had not overheard the' observation, which confirmed her belief that the beauty's hand was disposed of without the form of consultation with her natural and legal guardian. Dinner was announced by the time the travelling habili- ments and dust were removed, Sarah had spared no pains to provide a bountiful and tasteful repast, at the risk of in- curring her mother's reproof for her extravagant proclivities. But the dame was in high good-humor, and the youthful purveyor received but a single sentence of deprecation. "I hope you have not been living as high as this all the time, Sarah!" "No, madam. Father's wants and mine were very few. I foresaw that you would need substantial refreshment after your journey." "You was very thoughtfhl. We both have good appe- tites, I guess. I know that I have." "Mine will speak for itself," said Lucy. "You have no idea how that girl has enjoyed every thing since she has been away," observed Mrs. Hunt to her'lius- baud. "'There was Vic. West, who took 'it into her head page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] 90 THE EMPTY HEART; ORB that she ought to look die-away and peaking, and refuse food, when her beau was by; but Lu., she just went right along and behavednatural,'and I'm sure that somebody thought more of her for it." Mr. Hunt's face darkened for a moment; but he could not find fault with his eldest child on her first evening at home. "So you have been quite a belle, Lucy," he said, pleas- antly. "Better than that, Mr. E.!"Mrs. Hunt checked her triumphant announcement as the butler re-entered the room. "I shouldn't wonder," she resumed, mysteriously, " if Lucy was disposed to settle down into a steady, sedate matron after her holiday." "Don't you deceive yourself with that hope!" laughed Lucy. She was evidently pleased by these not over-delicate allu- sions to her love-affairs, and, like her mother, extremely complacent over the result of her recent campaign. Sarah felt that, were she in her place, she would shrink from this open jesting upoq a sacred subject; still, she had not ex- pected that her sister would behave differently. Lucy's na- ture was gentle without being fine; affectionate, but shallow. She would have had no difficulty in attaching herself to any man whom her friends recommended as " a good match," " provided he were pleasing in exterior, and her most devoted servitor. The sisters had no opportunity of private converse until they adjourned to the parlor for the evening. Lucy was very beautiful in a'blue silk, whose low corsage and short sleeves revealed her superb shoulders and rounded arms. Her complexion was a rich carmine, deepening or softening with every-motion-one would have said, with every breath. Her blue eyes fairly danced in a sort Of subdued glee, very HU S S. 91 -harming and very becoming, but altogether unlike the ten- der, dewy light of "Love's first young dream." "( How lovely you have grown, sister!" said Sarah, ear nestly. "Oh, Lucy, I don't believe you rightly value the gift of beauty-as I would do, if it were mine!" Nonsense!"The dimples, that made her smile so. be- witching, broke her blushes into rosy waves, as the conscious fair one turned her face towards the mirror. "I am pleased to hear that I fhi passable to-night. We may have visitors. A friend of ours has expressed a great desire to see me in my home-' in the bosom of my family.' Ahem!" She smoothed out an imaginary wrinkle in her bodice, an ;xcuse for. tarrying longer before the glass. "He came to town with you, then?" ventured Sarah. Lucy nodded. "And promised to call this evening?" En Right again, my dear!" She was graver-now, for she had conceived the happy no- tion of appropriating to her own use a cluster of white roses and buds she discovered in the vase on the marble slab under the mirror. If any thing could have enhanced the elegance of her figure and toilet, it was the coiffure she immediately set about arranging. The flowers were a present to Sarah firom Lewis Hammond; but she thought little of him or of them, as Lucy laid them first ou one, then the other side of her head, to try the effect. "Anid you really care for him, sater?" came forth in such a timid, anxious tone, that Lucy barst into a fit of laughter, "You dear little modest piece of romantic simplicity! One would suppose that you were ptppmng the question yourself, from your behavior. Care 6or him? Why shouldn't I? I need not say ' yes' unless I dc, nced 1?" "But you take it so coolly! A betrothal is, tU 2, tach a solemn thing." page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] 92 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, "And to most other girls, perhlaps. (There! if I only had a hair-pin. Don't rob yourself! thank you! Isn't that an improvement?) As I was saying, why, should I pretend to be Obnsive and doleful, when I am as merry as a lark? or lovesick, when I have never lost a meal or an hour's sleep from the commencement of the courtship until now? That is not my style, Sarah. I am very practical in my views and feelings. Not that I don't play talking sentiment in our genuine love-scenes, and I really like unbounded devo- tion on the other side. It is decidedly pleasant to be adored. I was surprised to find how I enjoyed it." ( Oh, sister! sister!"Sarah leaned her forehead on the mantel, repelled and well-nigh disgusted by this heartless tri- fling-this avowed counterfeit-so abhorrent to her feelings. But Lucy was as much in earnest as she could be on such a theme. She went on, unheeding her sister's ejaculation. "You must understand, of course, that we are not posi- tively engaged. I gave him-Goldfinch-a good scolding for violating the rules of etiquette by addressing me while I was away from home; but it was just like him. He is as impulsive as he can live. To punish him I refused to answer him until after our return to New York, and his interview with father. He would have written to him on the spot, had I not forbidden him. He behaved so beautifully, that I consented to his taking charge of us to the city, and I sup- pose the rest must follow in good time. How melancholy your face is! Are you very much afflicted at the thought of losing me? Why, Sarah! my dear child, are those tears in your eyes? If she isn't crying in good earnest!" And Lucy's musical laugh rolled through the rooms in her enjoyment of the joke. What else could it be to her, elate with her success in achieving the chief end of woman-the capture of a rich and handsome, in every respect an unex- ceptionable lover? HUSKS. 93 nlistl' she said, raising her finger.- "He has come! Your eyes are red! Run, and make yourself presentable!" The door, opening from the hall into the front parlor, swung on its hinges as Sarah gained the comparative ob- scurity of the third and rear room. A strong impulse of in- terest or curiosity there arrested her flight to enable her-to get a glimpse of her destined brother-in-law. Lucy had not mentioned his proper name, since her earliest letter from Newport had eulogized a certain George Finch, a Bostonian, wealthy, and attentive to herself. Sarah's backward glance fell upon the visitor as he met his queenly bride elect directly under the blazing chandelier. It was Philip Benson! / Chained to the spot by weakness or horror, the looker-on stood motionless, while the suitor raised the lily fingers he held to his lips, and then led Lucy to a seat. His voice broke the spell. As the familiar cadences smote her ear, the sharp pain that ran through every fibre of her frame awakened Sarah from her stupor. How she gained her room she never knew; but she had sense enough left to direct her flight to this refuge-and, when within, to lock the door. Then she threw up her arms with a piteous, wailing cry, and fell across the bed, dead for the time to further woe. Alone and painfully she struggled back to consciousness. Sitting upright, she stared wonderingly around her, unable to recollect what had stricken her down. , The chamber was imperfectly lighted by the rays of the street lamp opposite, and with the recognition of objects within its narrow limits there crept back to her all that had preceded her retreat thither. For the next hour she sat still-her head bowed upon her knees, amid the wrecks of her dream world. Dreary and loveless as had been most of her previous life, she had never endured any thing like this, unless one page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] " THE EMPTY HEART; OR,! miserable hour \ipon the Deal Beach, when Philip broke the tidings of his intended departure, were a slight foretaste of the agony, the utter despair, that claimed her now for its victim. Since then, she had been hopeful. His promise of a visit, the tokens of remembrance he had transmitted to her every week, had kept alive memory and expectation, and this was his coming! this the occasion she had pictured so' fondly, painted with the brightest hues Love could borrow from imagination! She had heard again the voice that had haunted her, dreams, from their parting until now --heard it in deeper, softer tones thana it had ever taken in speech with her; heart-music which told that his seekings and yearnings for the one and only beloved were over. And was not her quest of years ended likewise? Truly, there are two senses in which every search, eyery combat may be said to be closed; one when the victor grasps his prize, or waves aloft his sword in the moment of triumph; the other, when, bleeding, maimed, or dying, the vanquished sinks to the earth without power to rise! A tap at her door started Sarah. She did not stir until it was repeated, and her father called her name. A stream of light from the hall fell upon her face as she admitted him. "Daughter, what ails you?" was his exclamation. "I am not very well, father." "I should think -not, indeed! Come in here and lie down!"He led her ,to the bed, and, lighting the gas in the chamber, came baqk to her and felt her pulse. She knew what was the direction of his fears; but to correct his misapprehension was to subject herself to further questioning. Passively she received: the pressure of his hand upon her head, the gentle Stroking of the disordered hair; but, when' he stooped to kiss her, he felt that she trembled. HUSKS. . "Dear child! I shall never forgive myself if you have taken the fever from me!" "I do not fear that, father. My head jaches, and I am, very tired. I have been so busy all day, you know." "Yes, and for many other days. You are, without doubt, overworked. 'I hope this may prove to be all the matter with you. A night's rest may quite cure you." "Yes, sir," she answered, chokingly. "You will excuse me to -, down-stairs?" "Certainly. Would you like to have your mother come up to you?" "Oh, no, sir! Please tell her there is no need of it. I shall be better to-morrow." "Your sister"-and he looked more serious, instead of smiling--" has a visitor. Her friend is an acquaintance of yours, also, it appears-the Mr. Benson whom you met at your aunt's in July." - . "Yes, sir. I know it." "I understood you to say that Lucy had never said positively who her lover was; but this was not the name you told me of, as the person whom you imagined him to be." "I was misled for a time myself, sir," replied the poor girl, pressing her temples between her palms. "I see that I am tiring you. Forgive me! but it is so natural to consult you in every thing. I must trouble you with some questions, which it is important should be an- swered to-night; before this gentleman and myself have any conversation. Is Mr. Benson a man whom you consider worthy of trust? Your mother represents him to be enor- mously wealthy-a reputation I had concluded be possessed, fi'om Lucy's pet name for him. It is well that your sister has a prospect of marrying advantageously in this respect, for she would never be happy in an humble sphere; but page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] VO L r ir XL -a. J . X' m JL' V n antiquated people like myself regard other things. as of greater consequence in concluding a bargain for a lifetime. ,Is your opinion of Mr. Benson favorable as to disposition, principles, and conduct?" ,Sarah's head rested on the foot-board of her couch, in weariness or pain, as she rejoined:. "I saw and heard noth- ing of him, during our intercourse in the country, that was not creditable. His uncle and aunt are very partial to him, and speak of his character in high terms. Their testimony, ought to have weight with you, forrthey have known him from his boyhood up.' "It ought and does! I am relieved to hear all this very much pleased!" said Mr. Hunt, emphatically. "I have all confidence in Nathan Benson's judgment and integrity. I hope his nephew is as sterling a man. Thus far," he con- tinued, playfully, "I have learned but one thing to his dis- credit, and that is, that having seen this one of my daughters, he-could' afterwards fall in love with the other." e / t I am not beautiful and good like Lucy, father." "Very dear and lovely in my eyes, my child! Again forgive me for having worried your poor head with my inquiries. I was unwilling to decide a matter where Lucy's happiness was involved, without obtaining your evidence in the case. A last good-night! and God bless you, my dearest, best daughter!" Sarah held up her face for his kiss without attempting to speak. This burning ordeal, the harder to endure because unexpected, was over. She, was as weak as a child with -conflicting passions when she arose and endeavored to undress. -After stopping several times to regain breath and strength, she was at last ready to creep into bed, there to lie Until morning broke, sleepless and suffering. Her sharpened senses could discern her father and mother's voices in the sitting-room, in confidential talk-in terrupted, by and by, by Lucy's pure 'mellow tones, appar- ently conveying some message to the former. Itsim port- was easily surmised, for his step was then heard in the hall and on the stairs, until he reached, the parlor where Philip awaited him. Their conference did not occupy more than twenty minutes, which time Lucy spent with her mother- how gayly, Sarah could judge by the laugh that, again and aga in, reahed her room. Mr. Hunt returned, spoke a few sentences in his calm, grave way, and the closing door was , followed by a flatter of silk and fall of gliding footsteps, as Lucy went down to her now formally and fully betrothe:l husband. "Husband!" Yes! it was even so! Henceforth the lives of the pair were to be as one in interest, in aims, in affection. Erelong, they would have no separate outward existence in the eyes of the world. Was his chosen love, then, in a truer and higher sense, his other self- the being ought so long and carefully? The prettyfiancte would have stretched her cerulean orbs in amazed wonder at the ridiculous doubt, and asked, in her matter-of-fact way, how the thing could have happened, if it had not been intended? Philip's indignant affirmative would have gained fervor from his exultant consciousness of possession-so novel .and sweet. But one above stairs, taught sagacity by the depth of her grief, looked further into the future than did they, and read there a different reply. She heard the clang of the front door as it shut after th young lover, and, in the still midnight, the echoes, faint and fainter, of his retreating footsteps-the same free, light tread she used to .hearken for in porch and hall of that river- side farm-house.; and as the remembrance came over lfer' she turned her face to the wall, murmuring passionately, "Oh I if I could never, never see him again "I This feeling, whether born of cowardice ordaespration, ' t ' , , . page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] '98 ' THE EMPTY HEART; OR, s' the ruling one, when her mother looked n upon her bEle orebreaast, and expressed her concern at finding- her "incerely a nt e enugh t get up, mother-!"Sarah said sincerely, and Mrs. Hunt, reading in the parched lips and blood-shot eyes proof of the justice of the fears her husband had expressed-to her the preceding evening, resolved that the doctor should see her "before she was two hours In vain Sarah qntreated that this should not be done, and prophesied her r covery without his assistance For once her parents were a unit in sentiment and action, and the physician was summoned to his second patient. All febrile symptoms were to some extent contagious " he affirmed; , and while Mr. Hunt's malady was not gener. ally classed with such, it was very possible that his daugh. ter had contracted an analogous affection, in her constant attendance upon him." This decision Sarah dared not overthrow, much as she wished to do so, when she saw how it afficted her father Undaunted by any fears of infection, Lucy repaired to her sister's chamber when she haddespatchedher break fast. "Isn't it too provoking that you should be sick just at this time?" she began, perchingherself, schol-girl fashion, on the foot ofthe bed. I really admired yopur staying up' stairs last night; but f did not dream that you really were not well. I promise you that I made Capital of your ab- sence. I told Philip(how odd it sounds, doesn't it?) that you ran away when he rang the bell, because you had made a flight of yourself by crying over thg prospect of my I Lug you, and that I had no doubt - . h grieveda- y i"fo a headache. He wanted o know forthwith if you objected'to my marrying him; but I said 'No;' that J. t HUSKS. 99 you were charmed with the match, and preferred him to any other admirer I had ever had; but that we-you and H were so devoted to one another, that it was acute agony to us to think of parting. About ten o'clock he asked to see father, and they soon settled affairs. When I went down again, he tried a little ring on my finger that he always wears, and it fitted nicely. So I knew what it meanfit -when he put it back upon his own hand, and that with that for a measure he could not go wrong in getting the engagement. ring. I clo hope it will be a diamond. Vic. West declares that she would not accept any thing else. I considered,for a while whether I couldn't give him a delicate hint p6n the subject, but I did not see how I could manage it. And don't you think, while I was studying about this, he fancied I was sober over ' the irrevocable step I had taken,' and be. came miserable and eloquent at the suspicion! I wish I could remember all he said! It was more in your line than mine! But he is a good, sensible fellow, with all his romantic notions. He has a handsome fortune, independent of his father, left him by his grandfather, and we are to live in Georgia part of the year only, and travel every summer. Mother says his account of his prospects and so forth to father was very satisfactory, but she has not got at all the par. ticulars yet. Father is so worried about your sickness that he cannot spare a thought for any thing or anybody else. The light from that window hurts your eyes-doesn't it? I will let down the shade." But Sarah lay with her hand protecting her eyes, when her sister resumed her position and narration. "We are to be married in December. He begged hard for an earlier day, but I was sure that I could not be ready before then. As it is, we shall have to hurry when it comes to the'dresses, for, in order to get the latest fashions, we must wait until the eleventh hour, Won't I ' astonish thea page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] 10oQ THIE EMPTY HEART; OR, natives' down South? I couldn't state this to P1hilip, you know; so Ireferred him to mother, who is to say, when he asks her, that her preference would be to keep me just as long as she possibly can. Entre nous, my dear, our good mamma has said truer things than this bit of sentiment- but 2n'importe I These embellishments are necessary to such transactions." Miss West's friendship or curiosity could not endure lon- ger suspense, and the intelligence that she was below checke&the monologue. "I will run up again whenever I can," promised Lucy, by way of compensation for 'her abrupt departure, "and keep up your spirits by telling lyou all thtat I can about our concerns. But Philip is to take me to ride this afternoon. I forbade him to come here before then, but I don't much think that he can stay away. Don't be vexed if you don't see me again in some hours. Vic. and I are about to settle our trousseaux. If you believe me, we have never been able yet to decide upon the wedding-dresses!" And she vanished, warbling delicious roulades from a duet she had engaged to sing that evening with her betroth- -ed. She showed herself up-stairs again, whep she was rea- dy for her ride and the carriage at the door--very fair, very bright, and very happy. She was exquisitely dressed, and called on her sister to admire her toilet and envy her her escort. Sarah listened to the cheerful exchange of cautions and promises between her motherland Philip, at the door beneath her open window, and to the rolling wheels that bore them away. Mrs. Hunt received none of her friends that day, being busy " getting things- to rights;" and for a like reason she 'absented herself from her child's sick-room, content with sending u', Jeannie, now and then, to inquire how she was 101 getting on. In the abjiet loneliness that oppressed her, when the first violence of passions had spent itself, Sarah would have been relieved in some measure bythe society of this pet sister, the sole object upon earth, besides her father, that had ever repaid her love with any thing like equal at tachmnent. But the child shrankm like most others of her ag e, from the quiet dark chamber of illness, and longed to follow her mother through the house, in her tour of obser- vation and renovation. Sarah detected her restlessness and ill-concealed dislike of the confinement imposed upon her by compliance with her humble petition, , Please; Jeannie, stay a little while with your poor sis- ter!"And her sensitive spirit turned upon itself, as a final stroke -of torture, the conviction that here, also, love and care had been wasted. he"Go, then!" she said, rather roughly, as Jeannie wavered, "and you need not come up again to-day. I know it is not pleasant for you to be here. Tell mother I want nothing but quiet." "I have had a splendid drive!" said Lucy, rustling her many flounces into the door at dusk. The figure upon the bed made no response by motion or word. "I do believe she is asleep!" added the intruder, lowering her boie. "lI suppose she is tired and needs rest." And she went out on tiptoe, Sarah was awake a minute later, when her father came in to see her. She smiled at him, as he "hoped she was better," and asked whether she might not get up on the morrow. Mr. Hunt thought not. The doctor's opinion was that perfect repose might wardl- off the worse features of the disease. She had better keep her bed for a coupl, of days yet, even should she feel well enough to be about He sent up her dinner to her room with his own hheS; and page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] 10o2 THE EMPTY H-EART; OR, when she learned this, she strove to do some feeble justice to the viands, but without success. Philip dined with the family that day by special appoint. ment ; and, shortly after his' arrival, Lucy again presented herself in that small third-story bedroom. a "Choose I which hand will you take?" she cried, hiding both behind her. Sarah would make no selection; and, after a little moro trifling, the alder sister brought into sight two elegant bou- quets, and. laid them beside the invalid. ' This is Philip's present-' a fraternal remembrance,' he told me to say. Here is his card. Doesn't he write a love- ly hand? The other is from your admirer, Mr. Hatmond. What a sly puss you were to make such a catch as he is, without dropping us a hint! He is rather too sober for my notions; but he is getting rich fast, they say. He left those ' flowers at the door himself, and insisted upon seeing father' for a moment, to know exactly how you were. Cannot you hurry up somewhat, and let us have a double wedding? I showed the bouquet to Philip, and told him of your con- quest, and he was as much pleased at your prospects as I was. Did you ever see such magnificent roses? your beau paid five dollars, at the lowest computation, for these flowers. I congratulate you upon these signs of liberality!" Sarah had heard only a portion of this speech. Her eyes were fixed upon the card hber sister had put into her hand: "Will Miss Sarah accept this trifling token of regard from one who is her stanch friend, and hopes, in time, to have a nearer claim upon her esteem?" "-Very neatly turned, is it not?" said Lucy, satisfiedly. She had read it on her way up-stairs. "What shall I say to mliim from you?" "Thank him, and explain that I am not able to write a reply.*" , XUSKS. so103 This meagre return of compliments assumed a tone both grateful and sisterly as Lucy rehearsed it to the donor of the fragrant offering.' The barest phrase of civility came gracefully and meaningly from her tongue. Serene in mind and countenance, she seated herself at the piano, and, as Philip took his stand at her side, he wondered if the world theld another couple more entirely adapted each to the pe- culiar soul-needs of the other, more perfectly happy in the, knowledge of mutual affection. Like the generality of the- orists, your student of human nature is prone to grievous error when he reduces his flawless system to practice. In one respect, the two certainly harmonized well. Both loved music; both sang finely, and their voices accorded without a jarring note. Mr. Hunt read the evening papers in Sarah's room; turn- ing and folding them with great circumspection, lest their rattling might annoy her, and detract from her enjoyment of the music. How could he guess the infatuation-that caused her to listen greedily to sounds, under whose potent spell feeling was writhing and brain reeling? In every pause between the songs there arose in her memory two lines of a poem read long ago, when or where she knew I not:- "Seek not to soothe that proud, forsaken heart With strains whose sweetness maddens as they fall " The performers had just completed a duet, in which each voice supported and developed, while blending with the other, when Lucy took up the prelude to a simpler lay; re- peating it twice over with skilful variations, as if she were, meantime, carrying on a colloquy with her companion, that delayed the vocal part. This was ended by Philip's raising alone the burden of the plaintive German air Sarah remem- bered so truly--"The long, long, weary day." page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] 104 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, As his voice, full and strong, with its indescribable anfl irresistible under-current of pathos-flowing out here into passionate melancholy-swelled and floated through tho quiet house, Sarah sat upright. "Father! father!" she whispered, huskily, "I cannot bear that! Shut -the doors!--all of them, or I shall go mad!" She was obeyed; Mr. Hunt hurrying down to the par- lors to silence the lovers, with the representation that, Sarah was too nervous to endure the excitement of music. For the remainder of the evening, a profound stillness pervaded the upper part of the mansion-a silence that, to Sarah, throbbed with the melody she had tried to hush; and look where she might, she gazed into that rainy, ghastly night- the pale, comfortless watcher, the shadowy type of her deeper, more blighting sorrow. $ . HUsKs. 105 CHAPTER VIII, FOR three days Philip Benson lingered near his beautifui enslaver; on the fourth,i he carried a sad, yet trustful heart upon his Southern journey. Sarah had not seen him once since the evening of his coming. Through Lucy, she re- ceived his adieux and wishes for her speedy recovery. On the next day but one she left her room, and appeared again in the family circle-now complete in all its parts. In that short season of bodily prostration, the work of years had been wrought upon her inner life, Outwardly i there was little alteration save that effected by physical weakness; but in her views of existence and character, of affections and motives, the doubter had become the skeptic; the dreamer the misanthrope. To the gentler and more womanly aspirations that had for a season supplanted the somewhat masculine tendencies of her mind and tastes had iucceeded a stoicism, like the frozen calm of a winter's day, uniform as relentless. This was the surface that locked and concealed the lower depths she bad sworn should be forever covered. Others could and did live without hearts. She could thrive as well upon the husks and Sodom apples of this world's goods as did they; holding as Life's chief good, complete and final subjugation of all genuine emotion, which, at the best, was but the rough ore-fit for nothing until purged, refined, and polished in its glitter. She found no other creed that suited her present desperate mood-so well as the most heartless code of the thorough worldling -the devotee to show, and fashion, and wealth. page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] 10'6 THE EMPTYHEART; OR, Such was her mother, whose domestic virtues were extol- led by all who knew her; such, behind her mask of tender grace and amiability, the sister who had won, by these fac. ' titious attractions, the heart for which Sarah would have perilled life, sacrificed ease and inclination, bowed her proud spirit to the estate of bond-servant to his every caprice, become-the willing slave toe his tyrannical behest. Yet Philip Benson was a professed judge of character; a man of sense, education, and'experience, and, knowing both girls as he did, he had made his choice; set the stamp of his approval upon the shining, rather than the solid metal. The world, as its young would-be disciple believed she had at length learned, was made up of two classes: those who floated, and those who sank. To the latter she determined that she would not belong. These and kindred thoughts were rife in her mind, and stirring up many a spring of gall within her bosom, one morning as she lay back in an arm-chair in the sitting-room, listening with secret scorn to the prattle of the pair of be- trothed maidens-Lucy and her friend. Lucy's engagement- ring was a diamond, or, rather, a modest cluster of these precious stones, whose extreme beauty did not strike the casual eye with the startling effect of Victoria's more showy gage d'amour. This apparent difference in the value of the two was the source of many discussions and considerable heart-burning, disguised, of course, and threatened in time to produce a decided coolness between the attached wearers of the articles under debate. On this particular day, Victoria, after some adroit skir- mishing, brought out as a "poser" the fact that, to lay the question to rest without more ado, she had, since their last interview, been to Tiffany's, and had her ring valued. Lucy's face was all aglow as her soul-sister named the price i of her treasure. She clapped her hands joyously. HUSKS." ' . Isn't what the joke of the season, mother?"--as that personag, entered. "Don't you think that Vic. was as cunning as we were? She carried her ring to Tiffany's yesterday, too. Wouldn't it have been too funny if we had met there? Mine came from there, they said, and it cost a cool fifty dollars more than yours did, dear!" Victoria flushed hotly; but further controversy being useless and dangerous to her, she acquiesced with assumed carelessness in Lucy's proposal, that, since both were suited, the rival brilliants should not be again referred to as a dis- puted matter. They accordingly turned to the safer and endless conferences upon the trousseaux, whose purchase must be commenced immediately. Their incomplete lists were produced, compared, and lengthened-Mrs. Hunt suggesting and amending; Sarah surveying the busy group with the same intense disdain she had experienced throughout the conversation. "Oh, I forgot to tell you! Margaret Hauton called on me yesterday!" exclaimed Victoria. "Did she come here, too?" "Yes; but we were out. What did she say?" queried Lucy, breathlessly. "Why, the stupid! creature never alluded to my engage- ment; and when I mentioned yours, pretended not to have heard of it before. I took care she should not go away as ignorant on the subject as she had come, and-I know it was wicked in me, but she deserved it--all the time I wa praising your Goldfinch, and telling how handsome and lib- eral he was, I sat looking down at my new ring, slipping it up and down my finger, as if I were not thinking of it. but of the giver. She could not help seeing it, and, to save hec life, she could not keep from changing countenance." "Good!" said Lucy. "Do tell me how she is .ooking now?" page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] gs]L08: THE EMPTY HEART; OR, C Common enough! She had on that everlasting lilao silk, with the embroidered flounces, although the style is as old as the hills-and that black lace mantle, which, blap- pening to be real, she never leaves off until near Christmas. But her hat! black and corn-color. Think of it! corn-color against her saffron skin! When Ipretend to lead society, I hope to dress decently. IBut I had my revenge for her supercilious airs. Mr. Bond--George-called in the after- noon to take me to ride. I told you of the handsome span of fist horses he has been buying. Well! we concluded to try the Bloomingdale road, and just as we were sailing along, like the wind,- whom should we overtake but my Lady Hauton, lounging in her lazy way (she thinks it aristo- cratic!) on the back seat of her father's heavy, clumsy barouche-not a -soul in it but her mother and herself. Didn't I bow graciously to her as we flew by! and again, as we met them creeping along, when we were coming back? I wouldn't have missed the chance of mortifying her for a thousand dollars." Lucy laughed, with no sign of disapprobation at the coarse, vindictive spirit displayed in this petty triumph of a small soul. "How many evening-dresses have you put down on your paper, Vic.?" "Half a dozen only. I will get others as I need them. The styles in these 'change so often that I do not care to have too many at a time." "There you will have the advantage of me," said Lucy, ingenuously. "It will not be so easy a matter to replenish my stock of wearable dresses. I wish I had asked Philip about the Savannah stores. I wonder if he knows any thing about them?" "He ought to-being such a connoisseur in ladies' dress. I declare I have been absolutely afraid of him since * . * - ' r \ H IT K S. m109 I heard him say that he considered a lady's apparel a criterion of her charac ter." "He has exquisite taste!" said Lucy,withpardonable pide in her lover. ' It is a positive pleasure to dress for him. He sees and appreciates every thing that I ould wnish to havehim notice, He has often described to me- what I wore, and how I looked and acted the evening he fell in love. How little we can guess what i before us! I did not care to go to the hop that night, for Mr Finch was to wait on me, and he was so stupid, you know, after we discovered that it was a mistake about his being rich. I think I see him now, with' his red-face and short neck! Oh dear! the fun we had over that poor man! I told you- didn't I, Sarah-that we named him Bullfinch, because he looked so much like one? When Phil. came we called him Goldfinch, and the two went by these names among us girls. The Bullfinch heard of it, and he was ridiculously angry!' So I put on a white tarlatan, that one with the double jupe, you know, Vic., festooned with white moss rose-buds, and I had nothing but a tea-rose in my hair. I danced once with the Bullfinch-one of those soleinn quadrilles that are only fit for, grandmothers-and vowed- to myself that I would not stand up again, except for a Polka or the Lancers. While I was sitting down by the window, saying 'Yes' and 'No,' when Bullfinch spoke, Mr r- Newman introduced ' Mr. Benson' to ' Miss Hunt,' and the work was done!" "No more waltzing, then!" was Victoria's slyly mali- cious sequel. "I did not care so much for that as I thought I should!" replied easy-tempered Lacy. "You cannot find a man who has not some drawhack. Before I had a chance for another round, mother there managed to telegraph me that my fresh acquaintance was worth catching. She' had gotten page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] his whole story but of Mrs. Newman. He let me know pretty soon, that he had some queer scruples about fancy dances, and I thought it best to humor him for one evening, or until I should ascertain whether he was really ' talen' or not. I have never repented my self-denial, although I grant that it cost me a struggle to give up 'the German.' "George lets me waltz to my heart's content," said Vic- toria. "He is the very soul of indulgence. As to laces- I have not a thing fit to wear. I must get every thing new. I am glad of it! I enjoy shopping for them. If I have a passion, it is for laces!" A sneer curled Sarah's lip, and Victoria, happening to glance that way, could not mistake its application, whatever she might surmise as to its origin. "I suppose you despise us as a couple of love-sick girls, Sarah?" she said, with a simper designed to be sentimental, whereas it was spiteful instead. "I think love the least dangerous of your complaints," i was the rejoinder. "What do you mean?" "Just what I said!" (' She means that people do not die of love in these days," exclaimed Lucy, whose pleasure-loving nature always shud- dered at the idea of altercation in her presence; her sensa- tions, during the occasional sparrings of her sister and her friend, bearing a strong resemblance to those of an innocent white rabbit, into whose burrow a couple of belligerent hedgehogs have forced their way. "You will understand us better one day, when your turn comes," shid Victoria, with magnanimous condescension. "I shall remind you then of your good opinion of us." "4 You may." "I .would give any thing to have you engaged, just to see how you would behave. Would hot you, Lucy?" '"Yes; if she were likely to do as well as we are doing. Philip says that you have many fine qualities, Sarah. He quite admires y 'I." The complacent betrothed had none but the most amiable intentions in making this patronizing speech; therefore, the angry blood that surged over her sister's face at hearing it would have been to her but the blush of gratified vanity, had not the sparkle of her eye and the contemptuous con- tortion of her mouth undeceived her. "Indeed he did say so!" she hastened to repeat. "And he was in earnest! He said something else which I don't mind telling, now that he belongs to me fast and sure. He said that he sat up until twelve o'clock one night after you had been out boating, deliberating whether he should be smitten with you or not. There!" The color retreated as quickly as it had come. But for the consciousness of Victoria's malicious scrutiny, Sarah could not have summoned strength to utter a word. "An equivocal compliment, I must say!" she retorted, sarcastically. "Your gallant Georgian's confessions must have been ample and minute- indeed, if they comprised such distant approaches to love affairs as the one you honor me by mentioning. I do not think that I have ever heard of another case where a gentleman considered it necessary to enumerate to his fiancee, not merely the ladies he had loved, but those whom he had not!"She arose and left the room. Poor Lucy, rebuffed and overwhelmed, caught her as- tonished breath with a sigh. "Can anybody tell me what I have done now to fret Sarah? She is so cross since she wa8 sick i" "And before, too!" mutely added Victoria's shrug and lifted eyebrows. "We must bear with her, my dear!" said the prudent'il moth,r. "Her nerves are affected,. the doctor saya." b 'j. page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] HtIE EMPTY HEART; OR, Victoria made random pencillings upon the important list-her thoughts in fast pursuit of a notion that had Just struck her. She was neither witty nor intelligent; but she possessed some natural shrewdness and a great deal more acquired cunning. She detested Sarah Hunt, and the pros. pect of obtaining an engine that should humble her arro. gnt spirit was scarcely less tempting than her own chance of effecting an advantageous matrimonial settlement. Whllile she was engaged in defining her suspicion to hcr- self, and concerting measures for gathering information witi 'egard to it, Mrs. Hunt went olt on some household er'alI and Ltcy was obliged to descend to the parlor to see callers. "Don't go until I come back, Vie. It is the Dunhams and they never stay long," she said, at quitting her asso- ciate. "Oh, I always make myself at home here, you know, my ,dear!" was the reply. Jeannie was sitting on a cushion near the chair Sarah had occupied, dressing her doll. "It won't fit!" she cried, fretfully, snatching off a velvet basque she had been endeavoripg to adjust to the lay-gure. Bring it to e I can fix it " offered ctori, in- ningly. It'stod tight just here, yousee. Iwillripopen the seam and alter it. Who makes your dolly's clothes?" She was well aware that but one member of the family ever had leisure to bestow upon such follies; but it suited her plan for Jeannie'to introduce her name. "Sister Sarah." " This is a pretty basque. When did she make it?" "Yesterday." "Oh! Ithought perhaps she did it while you wee in the country, and that the doll had fattened as much as vo' did there." Jeannie laughed heartily. HUSKS. 13 '"tou had a nice time there, I suppose?" pursued Vic- toria. "I guess we did!"Her eyes danced at the recollection. "A splendid time! I wish we lived at Aunt Sarah's! There isn't room for me to move in this narrow house." Mr;' Benson was there a day or two, was he not?" "Yes, ma'am-a great many days! He took us all around the country in Uncle Nathan's carriage. I love him very dearly!" "Did vou ever go sailing with him?" "Every evening, when it was clear, in a pretty row-boat, He used to take his guitar along, and sing for us. He sing#ill beautifullly! Did you ever hear him?" "Oh, yes! Did your sister always go boating with you?" Th-e spy, with all her hardihood, lowered her voice, and felt her face warm as she put this leading question. "Yes, ma'am, always. Mr. Benson would not have gone without her, I guess." "Why do you guess so?" The little girl smiled knowingly. "Because-you won't tell, will you?" Why no! Of course I will not." "Charley said it was a secret, and that I mustn't say any thing to sister or Mr. Benson about it, for they would be angry." - "Who is Charley?" "Don't you know? He is Aunt Sarah's son. He is- deaf and dumb; but he showed me how to,-spell on my fingers. He is a nice boy-" "Yes; but what was the secret?" "He said that Mr. Benson-cousin Phil. I call him when I vam talking to him-was sister's beau'; and he would take, me off with him when:-e went to drive or walk, because, you know, theynJ'grhtiot like to have me hear what they / . page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] !:.-.4 ,4 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, were talking about. They used to talk, and talk, and talk I and sister had a great deal more to say, and looked prettier than she does at home. I will tell you something else, if y u won't ever let anybody know it. I never told Aunt Sarah even, only Charley. Sister cried ever so long the night after Cousin Phil. went away. She woke me up sob- bing; but I made believe that I was, asleep; and in the morning her pillow was right wet. Charley said that all ladies that he had read about in his books did so when their beaux, left them." "See ]here, my little lady!' -said the dissembler, with a startling change of tone. You are altogether mistaken- you and Charley both! Mr. Benson is going to marry your sister Lucy, and never was a beau of Sarah's. Be very i careful not to talk about Charley's wicked story to your father, or mother, or sisters, for they would be very much displeased, and maybe punish you for repeating such fibs. Little girls ought never to hear or know any thing about courting or beaux-it's naughty! I won't tell on you, if you will promise never to do so again. I am shocked at you! Now take your dolly and go!" The frightened child encountered Lucy at the door. Miss West had calculated her time to a minute. Her eyes swim- ming in tears, her features convulsed with the effort to keep back sob and outcry, Jeannie started up to her attic play- room. Sarah's door was ajar, and engaged as she was with thoughts of her own troubles and insults, she could not but remark the expression of her darling's face, in the momen- tary glimpse she had as it passed. "Jeannie! come back!" she called. The child hesitated, half way up the next flight. Sarah repeated the summons, and seeing that it was not obeyed, went up and took the rebel by the hand. '( What is the matter with you?" - HUSKS. A reddening and distortion of visage, and no reply. Her sister led her back to her chamber, shut the door, and put her arms around her. ," Tell me what ails you, dear!" Jeannie fell upon her comforter's neck-the repressed torrent breaking through all restraint. "Oh, sister, Ican't help crylg! Miss Vic. West has been scolding me l" "Scolding you ! She ! I willgodownand speaktoer this instant! HoWtavec she ?" "No, o! please don't! She told me not to say any t hing to u abou it. "The contemptible coward!" said Sarah, between her teeth. ' How came you to have any thing to do with "Mother a sister Lucy went down-stairs, and she said she would alter my dolls basque, and-and-and" a fresh burst of lamentation. "There, that will do, pet! I see that she only made it worse!" soothed Sarah, believing that, in the unfinished state of dolly's wardrobe, she had discovered the root of the trouble. Never mind, dear! I will set all that to rights directly. Now wipe your eyes, and let me tell you something. This afternoon father is to take me to ride, and you shall go, too. As for Miss Victoria, we wiet her pass, and keep out of her way, hereafter." - Secretly, she was very angry-far more so than she was willing to have the child suspect. As the patient fingers repaired the effects of the original bad fit, and Miss West's meddling, Jeannie stood by, thankful and interested,!yet ashamed to look her wronged sister in the eyes. Not that she had the remotest conception of the mischief that might grow out of her imprudent disclosures; but she had broken faith with Charley, been accused of tattling and indelicacy, and warned too stringently against repeating the offence to * \ E page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] 'll6 THE EMPAY HEART; OR, suffer her to relieve her conscience by a full confession to the being she most loved and honored. At four o'clock Sarah and her charge were ready, accord- ing to Mr. Hunt's appointment. The carriage *as likewise punctual; but from it stepped, not the parent of the expect- ant girls, but a younger and taller man--in short, Mr. Hunt's particular favorite---Lewis Hammond. Jeannie, who had stationed herself at an upper window to watch for her father's appearance, was still exclaiming over this disap- pointment, and Wondering why "Mr. Hammond must call just now to keep sister at home," when the footman brought up a note to Sarah. It was from Mr. Hunt, explaining the cause of his un- looked-for detention at the bank, and stating that Mr. Ham- mond, whom he had met earlier in the day, and acquainted with his design of giving his daughter this ride, happened to drop. in, and seeing him engaged with business, had asked leave to officiate as his substitute in the proposed airing. He urged Sarah to take Jeannie along, and not hesitate to accept'Mr. Hammond's polite attendance, adding, in phrase brief, but sincere, how lightly he should esteem his hour of extra labor, if he knew that she was not a sufferer by -it. Sarah passed the note to her mother, and drew her shawl about her shoulders. "'Of course you'll go!" said Mrs. Hunt, radiant with gratificatiop. "It is perfectly proper, and Mr. Hammond is very kind,'m sure." She was hurrying towards the door to convey in person her thanks for his gallantry, when Sarah spoke firmly and very coolly: " I will say whatever is necessary to Mr. Hammond, if yol please, mother. I shall go because father wishes it,and for no other reason. Come, Jeannie 1" , U 8s E;s. "Won't she be in your way?" asked Mrs. Hunt, awed, but not extinguished. "I No, madam." Sarah suffered Mr. Hammond to place her in the carriage, and himself opposite to her; and keeping before her mind carefully the fact that he was her father's friend, perhaps the savior of his life, she unbent, as much as she could, from her distant, ungracious bearing, to sustain her part of the conversation. She must have been purblind not to see through her mother's wishes, and manoceuvres for their ac- complishment; but to these views she was persuaded that Mr. Hammond was no party. She saw in him a sedate, rather reserved gentleman of thirty-two or three, who had passed the heyday of youthful loves and joys; sensible and cultivated to an uncommon degree for a man of business- for such he emphatically was. . A poor boy in the beginning, he had fortunately attracted the regard of a thriving New York merchant, and retained that favor through the years that had elevated him from the lowest clerkship to a partnership in the now opulent firm. For probity and punctuality no man in the city had a higher reputation; but his virtues were of that quiet nature which, while they inevitably retain regard once won, are slow to gain admiration. To matrimonial speculators, as in financial I - circles, he was known as a "'safe chance," and many a pru- dent mamma on his list of acquaintances would have rejoiced had he selected her daughter as mistress of his heart and fortune. Whether he was aware of this or not could not have been determined by his modest, but dignified deport ment. He did not avoid company; went whither he was invited, and, when there, comported himself like a conscien H tious member of society, talking, dancing, or listening, with ! g as due regard to law and order as he manifested in his daily business life. Fast girls called him "awfully matter-of-fact," page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] "8 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, and " terribly sensible;" fast youths of the other sex pult him down among the "old fogies," and wondered what he did with his money. "Could it be possible that he saved it!"He was intimate nowhere except in the household of his whilom employer and present partner, whose daughters were all married and settled in houses of their own. If he had ever cared to look twice at the same lady, the watchful world had not yet laid hold of this marvellous departure from his fixed habits. -His intercourse with Mr. Hunt's family was, as we know, purely accidental in its commencement, and in its earlier stages might have been induced by humanity or friendship for, the sick father. In Sarah's brain there had never arisen a suspicion of any ulterior motive in the pointed attentions directed of late to herself. Before Lucy's return, the care of her invalid parent and her day-dreams had engrossed heart and thought to an extent that precluded much inquiry into other themes. Since that memorable night, inward torture had abstracted her mind still more from outward impressions. This afternoon she talked calmly and indifferently to -Mr. Hammond, without an idea that he made any greater effort to please her. To Jeannie she was tender beyond her usual showing, in remembrance of the wrong done the sen- sitive child in the forenoon. Mr. Hammond emulated her in kindness to the third member of their party; and in the comurs of their ride, raised himself unwittingly to the rank of rivalship with "Cousin Philip," her model gentleman. Mr. Hunt came out to assist his daughter to alight, upon their return. There was a heartiness in his acknowledg- Inent of his deputy's politeness, and invitation to enter the ,house and pass the. evening with them, which Sarah had seldom heard him employ towards any visitor. Mr. Ham- mond may have remarked it likewise, for his declinature HUSKS. 119 was evidently against his inclination, and coupled with a promise to call at an early day. His visits were not alto- gether so agreeable as formerly, for he was received An the spacious parlors on a footing with other callers, and in the presence of several members of the family; still he came repeatedly, with pretext and without, until his sentiments and design were a secret to no one except their object. Wrapped in the sad thoughts that isolated her from the rest of the world, even while she made a part of its show, Sarah omitted to mark many things that should have been significant signs of under-curreimts, and tokens of important issues to her and those about her. Lucy had ceased to harp perpetually upon her lover's perfections and idolatrous flattery to herself, and while the wedding arrangements went vigorously forward, the disengaged sister was rarely annoyed by references to her taste and demands for her sympathy. There had never existed much congeniality between the two, and their common ground was now ex- ceedingly narrow. Lucy was gentle and pleasant, peace- fully egotistic as ever, and Sarah understood her too well to expect active affection or disinterestedness. The only part of her behavior to herself to which she took mental exception was a certain pitying forbearance, a compassionate leniency with respect to her faults and foibles, that had grown upon her of late. Once or twice the younger sister had become so restive under this gratuitous charity as to reply sharply to the whey-like speeches 6f the mild elder, and, without any appearance of wounded feeling, yet with not a word of a pology or reason for so doing, Lucy had left the apartment, and never hinted at the circumstance afterwards. Lucy was certainly the soul, the very cream of amiabili- ty. It was unaccountable to her admirers-and they in. cluded most of her associates-that Lewis Hammond, with page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] T120 THE, EMPTY HETART; OR, his peculiar habits and tastes, should prefer that severe- looking, strong-minded Sarah. But be it remembered that he had learned this love under far different influences; in circumstances wholly unlike those in which he now beheld its object. His respect for unobtrusive intent and feeling.; his longing for a home which should be the abode of -sacled domestic virtues; and the sweet peace that had fled firom the habitations frequented only by the frivolous, heartless, and vain-these found in the sick-room of the father, and the affectionate fidelity of the daughter, something so like the embodiment of his fancy of earthly happiness, that he ac- cepted as abenignant fate the accident which had admitted him to the arcana of their private life. Sarah's temporary illness had taught him the meaning of his dreams/, by seeming to peril the chances of their fulfilment; and. from that hour he strove6 patiently and sedulously, as it was his habit, to seek all great ends for the acquisition of the leart whose depth he, perhaps, of all who knew her, best under- stood. I The most impatient person of those directly or indirect- ly concerned in the progress of this wooing was Mrs. Hunt. Her husband, with unwonted firmness, had forbidden that any one of the household should speak a word in raillery or otherwise to Sarah touching Mr! Hammond's intentions. "However earnestly I may desire his success," he said to his wife-" and there is no man living whom I would rather call ,'son'-I would not influence her by the weight of a single syllable. Hers is the happiness or the misery of a life with her husband-- Whomsoever she may choose, and hers shall be the entire choice. If she can love and marry Lewis Ifammond, I shall be gratified; if not, she shall never liguess at my disappointment T "La, Ai- H.! you are, as foolish and sentimental as the girlherself 'For my part, I ain't such a saint, and I do say, s a s h. 121 t that if Sarah Hunt allows such a catch as this to slip through her fingers, she shall hear a piece of my mindl" , Iinsist," said Mr. Hunt, with immovable resolution, I " that Sarah shall be allowed to follow thefguidance of her f own will in this matter. It is not often that I interfere with your plans; but in this one instance I must be obeyed!" With which astounding declaration of equal rights, if not of sovereignty, he left his consort to her reflections. Ignorant of the delicate watchfulness maintainedover her by this best of friends, Sarah walked on her beclouded way -without hope, without one anticipation of any future dis- similar to her present, until awakened with a shock by a formal declaration of love from Lewis Hammond. 6 a $' I . - . * page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] 122 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, CHAPTER IX. IT was at the close of an evening party which both tho Hunts attended, and where Mr. Hammond's devotion was as marked as any thing so modest could be, that Sarah felt him slip an envelope into her hand, as he put her into the carriage. Surprised as she was at the singularity of the occurrence, and disposed to take offence at the familiarity it implied, she had yet the presence of mind to conceal the missive from Lucy, and talk about other things, until they were set down at home. In the privacy of her chamber, she broke the seal and read her first love-letter. It was a characteristic composition. If the strong han? had trembled above the lines, the clear, clerkly penman- ship did not witness to the weakness. Nor was there any thing in the subject-matter that did not appear to Sarah as business-like and unimpassioned. It was a frank and manly avowal of attachment for her; a compliment implied, rather than broadly stated, to her virtdes; the' traits that had gained his esteem, then his love-a deprecatory sentence as to his ability to deserve the treasure he dared to ask-and then the question I in plain black and white, unequivocal to 'bluntness, simple and direct to curtness. "As he would ask the price of a bale of goods!" burst forth Sarah, indignant, as she threw the paper on the floor, and buried her burning face in her hands. "That there comes sometimes a glory to the Present, beside which the hues of' Past and Future fade and, are, HUSKS. 123 forgotten, I must and will believe. Such, it seems to me, must be the rapture of acknowledged and reciprocal affec- tion!" This was the echo memory repeated to her soul. She saw again the gently gliding river, with its waves of crimson and gold; breathed the pure fragrance of the sum- mer evening; floated on, towards the sunset, with the loved voice in her ear; the dawn of a strange and beautiful life, shedding blissful calm throughout her being. And from this review, dangerous as it was, for one fleet- ing instant, sweet, she returned to the proposal that had amazed and angered her. Lewis's undemonstrative exterior had misled her, as it did most persons, in the estimate of his inner nature. Kind, she was compelled to confess that he was, in the remembrance of his goodness to her father; his demeanor was always gentlemanly, and she had caught here and there rumors of his generosity to the needy that prevented a suspicion of sordidness. No doubt he was very well in his way; but he wanted to marry her I With the intensity of her fiery spirit, her will arose against the pre- sumptuous request. It was the natural recoil of the woman who already loves, at the suggestion of a union with anoth- er than the man of her choice; the spontaneous outspeaking of a heart whose allegiance vows haves been pledged and cannot be nullified. But' she would not see this. -Upon the unfortunate letter and its writer descended the storm of passionate repugnance aroused by its contents. With the reaction of excited feeling came tears-a plentiful show- er that relaxed the overwrought nerves, until they were ready to receive the benediction of sleep. Lewis had not asked a written or verbal reply. "I will call to take you to drive to-morrow afternoon," he wrote. "Should your decision upon the question I haver proposed be favorable, your consent to accompany me in page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] ! f ,%; 1241 THE EMPTY HEART; ORB :ride will be understood as a signal that you have- accepted my graver suit. If your conclusion is adverse to my hopes, you can signify the same to me in a letter, to be handed me when I ask for you. This course will spare us both embarrassment-perhaps, pain. In any event, be as- sured that you will ever have a firm friend in "Yoars truly, "LEWIS HATfMOND." Sarah's lip curled as she reperused this clause of the letter 'on the following morning. "I It is a comfort to know that I -have not to answer for the sin of breaking my ardent suitor's heart!" she said, as ;f: she drew towards her the sheet upon which she was to indite her refusal. It was brief and courteous-freezing in its punctilious civility, and prepared without a pang, or a solitary misgiving that its reception would not be ,philosophl ically calm. Her design was to intrust it to the footman, to be delivered when Mr. Hammohd called; and as the hour approached at which the expectant was to present himself, she took the note from the desk, and started down- stairs with it. The sitting-room door was open, and, aware that Victoria West was in there with Lucy, Sarah trod very softly as she neared it. Her own name arrested her as she was going by, She stopped involuntarily. "I thought Sarah a girl of better regulated mind," said Victoria, in a tone of censorious pity. "Of course she suffers! It is the inevitable consequence of an unrequited attachment. Such miserable folly, such unpardonable weak- ness brings its punishment with it. But- by sympathies ,Xe all yours, my dearest. I only wish you were not so sensitive. You are not to blame for her blind mistake." : I cannot help it 1 said Lucy, plaintively. "It seems so ' EU S s S. 125 sad that I should be made the means of depriving her of ! happiness. I wish I had never known that she was attached to poor Philip. I can't tell you how awkward I feel when any allusion is made in her hearing to the dear fellow, or to our marriage." "I meant it for the best, dear, in telling you of my dis. covery," replied Victoria, slightly hurt. I know that, my dear creature I And it is well that I should not be kept in the dark as to the state of her affec- tions'. I only hope that Philip 'never penetrated her secret. I should die of mortification for' her, if he were to find it out. It is a lamentable affair-and I am sure that he is, not- in fault. What did you, say that you gave for that set -of handkerchiefs you showed me yesterday?' "The cheapest things you ever saw! I got them at !, Stewart's, and they averaged six dollars apiece! As to Mr. Benson, I trust, with you, that he is as unsuspecting as he seems; but he has remarkable discernment, you know. i What I could not help seeing, before I had any bther proof than her behavior, is not likely to have escaped him.", Half an hour later the twain were disturbed in their con- fidences by the sound of wheels stopping before the house, followed by a ring at the door. Victoria, ever on the alert, peeped, with feline caution and curiosity, around the edge " of the curtain. " What is going to happen? Look, Lucy! Mr. Ham- mond in a handsome light carriage, anid driving a lovely pair "of horses! I never thought to see him go in such i style. How well he looks! Take care! he will see you!" 3Both dodged as he glanced at the upper windows; but resumed their look-out in time to see the light that was kindled in his face when Sarah emerged from the front door. He was at her side in a second, to lead her down the steps, and his manner in this movement and in assisting her into , page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] 126 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, the carriage, the more striking in one generally so self-con- tained and deliberate, inspired the pair of initiated observers with the same conviction. As the spirited horses disap- peared into the Avenue, the friends drew back froim their loop-hole, and stared each other in the eyes, with the simul- taneous exclamation--"They are engaged!" They were engaged! Lewis felt it with a glad bound of 'the heart-but a minute before sickening in deadly suspense : felt, as he seated himself by her side, that the sorrows of a lonely and struggling youth, the years of manhood's isola- :tion and unsatisfied longings, were swept from memory by this hour of abundant, unalloyed happiness. And Sarah felt it! As her hand touched his, at their meeting upon the steps, a chill ran through her frame that told the consummation of the sacrifice which was to atone for past folly; to silence, 'and brand as a lying rumor, the fearful tale that bruited abroad the revelation of that weak- ness. In her mad horror at the knowledge of its discovery, 'she had' rushed upon this alternative. Better an estate of honorable misery, than to live'on, solitary, disgraced, con- demned and pitied by her meanest foe! Now that the irre- versible step was taken, she experienced no sharp regret, no wild impulse of retreat, but a gradual sinking of spirit into hopeless apathy. Her veil concealed her dull eyes and stolid features, and to Lewis's happy mood there was nothing surprising or dis- couraging in her disposition to silence. With a tact for which she had not given him credit, and did not now value aright, he refrained from any direct reference to their altered relation until they were returning homeward. Then chang- ing his tone of pleasant chat for one of deeper meaning, he said:-: "I -have dared to hope much-everything- from your consent to become my companion; fr this- afternoon. Be- 127 fore I ventured to address you directly, I had a long and frank conversation with your father." "What did he say?" asked Sarah, turning towards him for the first time. "He referred me to yo for my answer, which, he said, must be final and positive, since he would never attempt to influence your choice. In the event of an affirmative reply from you, he promised that his sanction should not be with- held." Sarah was silent. She comprehended fully her father's warm interest in his friend's suit,-which the speaker was too diffident to imply, and how this expression of his wishes set tlhe seal upon her fate. . "We are poor and proud! Mr. Hammond is rich and seeks to marry me!" was her bitter thought. "It is a fine bargain in the eyes of both my parents. It would be high, treason in me to dispute their will. Mr. Hammond has conceived the notion that I am a useful domestic character, a good housekeeper and nurse, and he isawilling to bid lib- erally for my services. It is all arranged between them! Mine is a passive part, to copy Lucy's sweet, submissive' ways for a season, for fear of frightening away the game, afterwards to attend to my business, while he looks after his. I have chosen my lot, and I will abide by it!" "Have I your permission to call this evening and inform your father of my success-may I say of our engagement?" asked Lewis. "It is best, I suppose, to call things by their right names,"' replied Sarah, in a cold voice, that was to him only coy. He smiled, and was about to speak, when she resumed: "Since we are virtually[ engaged"-she caught her breath as she brought out the word-"I see no reason why we should hesitate to announce it to those whose right it is to know it." page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] 128 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, "Thank you! That was spoken ike the noble, unaffected woman you are! Will you always be equally sincere with me--arah ." Hisaccent trembled with excess of emotion in calling the name. Is it, then, an easy lot that you have chosen, Sarah Hunt? You, whose pride and glory it was to be truthful, who spurned whatever assimilated in the least degree to decep- tion, what think you of a life where a lie meets you on the threshold, and must be accepted and perpetuated, if you would preserve your name and position in his eyes and those of the world. "It is the way two-thirds of the married people live!" you were saying to yourself, just now. It may be so; but it is none the less a career of duplicity, per- jury-crime I "I-will endeavor to please you!" she faltered, her face in a flame of shame and confusion. ; And this was the hue that mete Lewis's eye, as her veil was blown aside, in her descent to the pavement, a blush he interpreted to suit his own wishes. Mr. Hunt appeared in the door-way as she alighted, and read in Hammond's smile and joyous salutation all that he most desired to learn. When the door was closed upon the departing suitor,i the father drew his best-beloved child to him, and kissed her, without a word of uttered blessing. "It would' break his heart were I to recede now!" thought Sarah, as she bore hers-heavy, hard-up to her room. That evening was the proudest era of Mrs. Hunt's exist. ence. Two daughters well engaged-- unexceptionably paired offl What mother more blest than she? Where could be found other children so dutiful? other sons-in-law so acceptable? By breakfast time, next day, she had arranged every thing--Sarah's trousseau, her house, and the double wedding. j TS K S. 129. Lucy expostulated here. "But, mother, this- is the first of November." ( I know that, my dear; but the ceremony will not come off until Christmas, and much can be done in six weeks for your sister-your work is so' forward. Then, again, 'tisn't as if Sarah couldn't get every thing she needs right here, if she shouldn't have enough. It will be tremendously expen- sive-awful, in fact; but we must make sacrifices. We can live economical after you're married and gone, and save enough to meet the bills." "If you please, madam, I prefer a plain outfit, and no debts," said Sarah's most abrupt tones. "If you please, my dear, I understand my affairs, and mean to do as I think proper," retorted the no less strong-, willed mother. Sarah was not cowed., And as to the time' you set, I cannot agree to it. I presume that in this matter I have- some voice. I say six months instead of six weeks!" "Very well, my love." Mrs. Hunt went on polishing a tumbler with her napkin. She always washed her silver and glass herself. "You must settle that with your father and Mr. Hammond. They are crazy for this plan. They were talking to me about it last night, and I told them that I would engage to have every thing ready in time; but you must be consulted. I never saw your father more set upon any thing. He said to me, private, that he did hope that you wouldn't raise any squeamish objections, and upset their arrangements." Mrs. Hunt took up a handful of spoons as composedly as if she had never stretched her conscience in her life. - Sarah's head drooped upon the table. She was very, very ' f:: miserable. In her morbid state of mind she did not dream of questioning the accuracy of her mother's assertion. That a marriageable single daughter was a burden to one parent 6* page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] THE EMPTY 'HEART; OR she knew but too well; that to this able financier the pros. pect of getting two out of the way, with the cclat of a douible ceremony that should cost no more than Lucy's iiuptials would have done, was a stupendous temptation, she also perceived. But that the father whom she so loved; whose sick-bed she had tended so faithfully; whose lonely hours it was her province add delight to solace-that he should acquiesce-nay, more, rejoice in this indelicate haste to get rid of her, was a cruel stab. "Very well," she said, raising an ashy face. "(Let it be as you say. The sooner it is over, the better." This clause was unheeded by her mother and sister. Had they heard it, they might have understood it as little as they did the composure with which she joined in the work which was begun, without an hour's delay. In this trying junc- ture, Mrs. Hunt came out in all her strength. Her sewing- machine (she was one of the earliest purchasers of these in- estimable time, labor, and money savers) went night and day; she shopped largely and judiciously, giving orders to tradespeople with the air of a princess; "Jewed" her butcher; watched her pantry, and served up poorer dinners than ever. Jeannie's winter outfit was ingeniously contrived from her sisters' cast-off wardrobe; Mr. Hunt's and the boys' shirts and socks were patched and darned until but a trifling quantity of the original material remained; and this pearl of mothers had her two-year-old cloak and last season's hat "done over" for this year's wear. Foremost among the visitors to the Hunts, after this latest engagement was' made public, was Mrs. Marlow, -the wife of Mr. Hammond'b benefactor and partner. Sarah was out when she called; so Mrs. Hunt received her, and dis- covering very soon that, in spite of her husband's wealth and her splendid establishment, she was not, as Mrs. Hunt phrased it to her daughters, "one mite proud, and thought the world and all of Lewis"-the mother opened her heart' to her so freely, with regard to the prospective weddings and her maternal anxieties, that Mrs. Marlow was em- boldened to introduce a subject which had taken hold of her thoughts so soon as she heard from Mr. Hammond of his expected marriage. She had a daughter, resident for the winter in Paris, whose taste in female attire was unquestionable, and her good-nature as praiseworthy. If Miss Sarah Hunt would prepare a memorandum of such articles as she would like to have selected in that emporium of fashion, she would promise, for her daughter, that they should be forwarded in time for "the occasion." "Some friends of mine, now abroad, have kindly offered to bring me over any quantity of fine dresses with their baggage," said the complaisant old lady; "and, as I do not need their services for myself, I can smuggle in whatever your daughter may order. You would be surprised at the difference in prices here and .there-to say nothing of the superior excellence and variety of the assortment from which one can choose. My friends will return early in December. Therefore, should you like this arrange- ment, I ought to have the list and write my letters to- morrow." Energetic, fussy, snobbish Mrs. Hunt! She stood an inch taller in her shoes at the imagination of this climax to the glory of the dual ceremony. "Trousseau ordered directly from Paris !" She seemed already to hear the envious and admiring buzz of her set; saw herself the most blessed of women-her daughters the brides of the season. She would order for Lucy, also; for the longer the list the more iim- portance would the future Mrs. Hammond acquire in the sight of her husband's friends. They could not know that it was not for her alone. Then, as Mrs. Marlow intimated, page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] it would be a saving. Here, like a cold shower-bath, came the agonizing query--"Where was the money to come from?"It would never do to run in debt to such people as tile Marlows. If they were hard-pressed shopkeepers, who needed the money, it would be another thing. No! the . cash in hand, or its representative, must accompany the memorandum. , Sarah was secretly pleased at this obstacle, for she 3 despised the ostentation and extravagance going on in their : hungry household. Strive as she did, with wicked perti- nacity, to conform herself to the world's code, there was as yet too much of the ancient and better leaven left to permit more than an outward obedience to the dictates of customs so irrational and tyrannical. I That very evening there arrived a letter that settled the :t question, and inflated Mrs. Hunt's collapsed spirits to an expansion hitherto unequalled. It was from Aunt Sarah to her namesake niece; a guileless, fervent expression of goodJ swishes and unabated affection, and a request from "hus. :i band"and herself that she would accept the enclosure as a mark of that hopeful regard. . -1' "Since our daughters died"-wrote this true and gentle I mother--" we have always intended to give you just exactly what we would have done one of them, as a wedding- present--as you were named for me, and I had nursed you before your mother ever did, and you seemed in some way to belong to us. But since you paid us a visit we have feltiX nearer to you than ever, and seeing that the Lord has pros- pered us in this world's goods, we have made up our minds to give you a double portion, dear, what both of our girls would have had, if it had pleased our Father to spare them to have homes of their own upon earth. Living is high in New York, but we have calculated that what we send will buy your wedding-clothes and furnish your house." I i at u i - S The enlosed gift, to Sarah's astonishment, was a check ,pon a city bank for a thousand dollars! I "Was there ever such a child for luck?" exclaimed Mrs. Elunt, clapping her hands. "What a fortunate thing we lent you down there when we did! That was one of my plans, you remember, Mr. H. Really, Lucey, our little Sarah understands how to play her cards, after all! I never did you justice, my dear daughter. I ain't ashamed to confess it. This puts all straight, and is real handsome in sister Benson-more than I expected. Go to work right away upon your list, girls We'll have to set up the best part of the night to get it ready. Ah, well'! this comes of putting one's trust in Providence and going ahead!" Sarah thought, with aching heart and moistened eyes, of Aunt Sarah's mind-pictures of the neat apparel and snug dwelling she deemed proper for a young couple just be-, ginning house-keeping, and rebelled at this waste, this frivo- a 1ous expenditure of her love-portion. Mr. H unt sidedwith her, so far as to urge the propriety of her doing as she pleased with what was her exclusive property; but, as i- a majority of former altercations, their arguments and poe ors of endurance were no matchfor the determination and Tco-d of the real head of the family. With a sigh ofpain, &.s- gust, and despair, Mr. Hunt succumbed, and, deserted by her ally, Sarah contended but a short time longer ere sha yielded up the cause of the combat to the indomithble victress. ,':' ; page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] 134 THE EMPTY!HEART; OR, CHAPTER X. TaB bridal day came; frosty and clear, dazzlingly bright, by reason of the reflection from the snow, which lay deep and firm upon the ground. "What a delightful novelty this is, coming to a wedding in a sleigh l" lisped one of the triad of bridesmaids,who were to do double duty for the sisters. "How very gay it makes one to hear the bells outside w! ve they come, Vic.?"e bel18 outeide' Have they Victria, whose marriage was but one wteek off, was, true to instnutland habit, on the looklout behind the friendly curtain. She nodded. "Yes--both of them, but not together. What a magnificent sleigh that is of the IMarlows! They brought Mr. Hammond. See the Bridegrooms shake hands on the sidewalk! That looks so sweet and brotherly! They will be up here almost directlyi I suppose." The attenldants inmmediately began to shake out their robes and stroke their white gloves. TLey were collect d- in thesitting-room so often mentioned, and the sisters were alsb present. In accordance with the ridiculous custom of very parvenu modern marriages, although the ceremony was to take place precisely at twelve o'clock, daylight was care. fully excluded from the parlors below, gas made its sickly substitute, and the whole company was in full evening costume. "Am'I all right'?" inquired Lucys with a cautious wave of her flowing peil. "Look at me, Vie.!" You are perfect, my dearest!" replied the devoted par my e h dearest!"areli HUSKS. 135 site. "How I admire your beautiful self-possession! And as for you, Sarah, your calmness is wonderful! I fear that I should be terribly agitated"-blushing, and casting a meaning smile at Lucy. Sarah's statuesque repose was broken by a ray of scorn from the eye, and a slight disdainful smile. Whatever were the feelings working beneath her marble mask, she was not yet reduced to the depth of wretchedness that would humble her to accept the insolent pity couched under the pretended praise. She vouchsafed no other reply; but re- mained standing a little apart from the rest; her gloved hands crossed carelessly before her; her gaze bent down- wards ; her whole. posture that of on-e who neither iaited, nor hoped, nor feared. '( Who would have thought that she could be made such an elegant-looking woman?" whispered one of the bride- maids aside to another. "She has actually a high-bred air! I never imagined it was in her. So much for a Parisian toilette!" "I adn so much afraid that I shall lose my color when we enter the room," said Lucy, surveying her pink cheeks in the mirror. " They say it is so trying to the nerves, and I am odious when-I am pale." * "Never fear, my sweetest. It is more likely that the un- avoidable excitement will improve your complexion. There they are!" returned Victoria, hurriedly, and-unconsciously, no doubt-the three attendants and one of the principalsin the forthcoming transaction, ";struck an attitude," as the sound of footsteps approached the door. Lucy had only time for a whisper-a last injunction-to her faithful crony. "Remember to see that my veil and dress hang right when we get down-stairs." And the mas. culine portion of the procession marched in in order. Sarah did not look up. She bent her head as the formal page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] 136 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, exchange of salutations was executed, and yielded her hand to the person who took it in his warm pressure, and then transferred it to his arm. It was one of the freaks, thus de- nominated by her acquaintances, in which she had been in- dulged, that she desired to have her marriage ceremony pre- cede her sister's. She assigned what Lucy at least consid- ered a sufficient reason for this caprice. "Nobody will care to look at me after you stand aside, Lucy. Keep the best wine until the last. My only chance of getting an approving glance lies in going in before you attract and fix the public gaze." She had her way. A limited number of select friends were admitted to behold "the ceremony ;" yet the parlors were comfortably filled, excepting in the magical semicircle described by an invisible line, in, the centre of which stood the clergyman in his robes. 'Still dull and calan, Sarah went through the brief r61e that fell to her share. "Behaved charmingly," was the unani- mous verdict of the beholders, and surprised other people, as well as the' complimentary bridemaid, by her thorough-bred air and Parisian toilet. Without the pause of a second, so perfect was the drill of the performers, the wedded pair stepped aside, and made way for the second happy couple. Lucy's solicitude on the score of her complexion was needless. As the solemn words were commenced, a rosy blush flickered up to its appointed resting-place-another and another--until, when Philip released her to the congratulatory throng, she was the most enchanting type of a radiant Hebe that poet ever sang, or painter burned to immortalize on canvas. ' Philip stood beside her and sustained his portion of the hand-shaking and felicitations until the press diminished, then stepped hastily over to where Hammond and his bride were undergoing a similar martyrdom. Until this moment Sarah had not looked at, or spoken to him--had never met Hu sxs . 137 him face to face since their parting in the summer at Aunt Sarah's. Now, not aware who it was that approached her, she raised her eyes with the serious dignity with which she had received all other salutations, and met his downward gaze-full of warm and honest feeling. "Sister!" he said, and in- brotherly fondness he bent to- wards her, and left a kiss upon her mouth. A hot glow, the lurid red of offended modesty or self-con- victed guilt, overspread her face; the lips parted, quivered, and closed tightly, after an ineffectual effort to articulate; the room swam around her, and Mr. Hammond caught her just in time to save her from falling. It was Nature's vengeful reaction for the long and unnatural strain upon her energies. She did not faint entirely away, although several moments elapsed before she regained perfect consciousness of her sit- uation and surrounding objects. She had been placed in an easy-chair; her head rested against her father's shoulder, and on the other side stood Lewis, almost as pale as herself, holding a glass of wine to her lips. Around her were grouped her mother, Lucy, and Philip. The guests had withdrawn politely to the background, and maintained a re- ,spectful silence. "What have I betrayed?" was her first coherent' reflec- tion; and, with an instinctive perception of the quarter where such disclosures would do most haan, her eye turned with a sort of appealing terror to Lewis. His heart leaped at the movement, revealing, as he fancied it did, dependence upon his strength, recognition of his right to be with and nearest to her. "You are better," he said, with a moved tenderness he could not and cared not to restrain. The words, the manner, were aninexpressible relief to her fears, and trying to return his smile, she would have arisen but for her father's interposition. page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] -10 0.' THE EMPTY HEART; OR, "Sit still," he advised. "Mrs. Hunt, Lucy, Mr. Bens(n, will you entertain our friends? She will be all right in a little while, Mr. Hammond." "Tthleauz vivants l" said Lucy's soft, rich voice, as she advanced towards the reassured guests. "This is a part of the performance not set down in the programme. Quite theatrical, was it not?" It is very possible that Philip Benson would not have re- garded this asiaa apropos or refined witticism, had ay one else been thespeaker; but as the round, liquid tones rolled it forth, and her delicious laugh led off the instant revival of mirth and badinage, he marvelled at her consummate tact, hel happy play of fancy (), and returned devout thanks to the stars that had bestowed upon him this prodigy of grace, wit, and beauty. Sarah rallied speedily; and, contraly to the advice of her father and husband, maintained her post in the drawing-room during all the reception, which contin- ued from half-past twelve to half-past two. It was a gay and shifting scene-a 'sparkling, murmuring tide, that ebbed and flowed to and from the quartette who formed the attractive power. Silks, laces, velvets, furs, and diamo ds; faces young,' old, and middle-a ged; handsome, fair and homely; all decked -in the same conventional holi- day s-ifle . bodies tall and short, -executing ever variety of bow' and courtesy.; voices sweet, sharp, and guttural, utter- ing the senseless formula of congratulation-these were Sarah's impressions of the tedious ceremonial. Restored to her rigid composure, she too bowed and spoke the word or sentence custom exacted--an emotionless automaton in seeming, while Lucys matchless inflections lent interest and beauty to the like nothings, as she rehearsed them in her turn; and PhIlilip Benson, having no solicitude for his bride's health or ability to endure the fatigue, was collected enough to compare the two( and, while exulting in his selection, to HUSKS. 4139 commiserate the proprietor of the colder arid less gifted sister. At last the trial was over; the hospitable mansion was closed; the parlors deserted; the preparations for travelling hurried through; and the daughters went forth from their girlhood's home. Philip had cordially invited ,Sarah and Lewis, by letter, to accompany Lucy and himself to Georgia; but Sarah would not hear of it, and Lewis, while he left the decision to her, was not sorry that she preferred to jour- ney instead with him alone. It was too cold to go north- ward, and the Hammonds' now proposed to proceed with the others as far as Baltimore, there to diverge upon a Western and Southern tour, which was to occupy three weeks, perhaps four. . page: 140-141[View Page 140-141] "Uv THE EMPTY HEART; OR, I fi CHAPTER XI. DvRINGI the month preceding his marriage, Lewis Ham-. mond had spent much time and many thoughts in providing and furnishing a house for his wife. His coadjutor in this labor of love was not, as one might have expected, Mrs. Hunt, but his early friend, Mrs. Marlow. His omission of his fu- ture mother-in-law, in his committee of consultation, he ex- plained to her by representing the number of duties already pressing upon her, and his unwillingness to add aught to their weight. But when both girls were married and gone, i and the work of " getting to rights" was all over, this iude- fatigable woman paid Mrs. Marlow a visit, and offered her i assistance in completing the arrangements for the young housekeepers. "There is nothing for us to do," said Mrs. Marlow. "Lewis attended to the purchase of every thing before leav- ing; and the orders are all in the hands of a competent upholsterer whom he has employed, as is also the key of the house. I offered to have the house-cleaning done, but Lewis refused to let me help him even in this. Heis very methodical, and rather strict in some of his ideas. When the premises are pronounced ready for the occupancy of the future residents, you and I will play inspectors, and find as much fault as we can." Mrs. Hunt went around by the house on her way home. It was new and handsome, a brown stone front, with stone balconies and balustrades; but three stories high, it was true, yet of ample width and pitch of ceiling, and-as she , H ITs x . 141 discovered by skirting t]e square--at least three rooms deep all the way up. The lcat. tion was unobjectionable; not more than four blocks from the paternal residence, and in a wider street. On the whole, she had no fault to find, pro- vided Mr. Hammond had furnished it in such style as she would have recommended. She had her fears lest his sober taste in other respects should extend to these matters, and hinted something of the kind to her husband. "I have confidence in Mr. Hammend to believe that he will allhw his wife every indulgence. compatible with his means,' was the reply. Mr. lunt did not deem it obligatory upcnu him to state that his son n-law had conferred with him upon numerous ques- tions pertaining to Sarah's likes and probable wi hes; that he ^ had examined and approved of the entire collection of furni. ture, etc., selected for her use. Why should he, how could he, without engendering in his wife's bosom the suspicion : that had accounted to him for Lewis's choice of the father as an adviser? namely, that the newly-made husband had l! gained a pretty correct estimate of this managing ladys e^y character, her penny-wise and pound-foolish policy, and in- ii tended to inaugurate altogether a different! one in his hose. I Regardless of Mrs. Marlow's polite insinuation that their room was preferable to their company until all things shouM be in readiness for inspection, the ambitious mother made ! sundry visits to the premises while they were being fittead up, and delivered herself of divers suggestions and recoir- : mendations, which fell like sand on a rock upon the presid ing man of business. On the day appointed for the tourists' return, Mrs. Mar low's carriage drew up at Air. Hunt's door, by appointment I to take the mistress of the house upon the proposed visit of , criticism of her daughter's establishment. Mrs. Marlow , was in a sunny mood, and indisposed to censure, as was . . "I *k page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] "2 ITHE EMPTY HEART; OR, evinced by ejaculations of ple'asure at the general effect of each apartment as they entered, and praise of its component parts. Mrs. Hunt was not so undiscriminating. The mil- lionnaire's wife must not imagine that she was dazzled by any show of elegance, or that she was overjoyed at the prospect of her child's having so beautiful and commodious a home. "The everlasting oak and green!" she uttered, as they reached the dining-room. "It is a pity Mr. Hammond did not select walnut and crimson instead! Green is very un- becoming to Sarah." "Then we must impress upon her the importance of cul- tivating healthy roses -in her cheeks, and wearing bright warm colors. This combination-green and oak--is pretty and serviceable, I think. The table is very neatly set, Mary," continued Mrs. Marlow, kindly, to the tidy serving- maid. "( Keep an eye on the silver, my good girl, until your mistress comes. Mrs. Hunt, shall we peep into the china. closets before we go to the kitchen? I have taken the liberty, at Lewis's request, of offering to your daughter the services of a couple of my'protegees, excellent servants, who lived for years with one of my own children--Mrs. Moirland, now in Paris. They are honest, willing, and, I X think, competent. The man-servant, if Lewis sees fit to keep one, he must procure himself." The china, glass, and pantries were in capital order; the kitchen well stocked, light, and clean, and dinner over the fire. "You will be punctual to the minute, Katy, please!" was tile warning here. "Mr. Hammond is' particular in the matter of time." "And you will see that my daughte has a cup of clear, strong coffee!" ordered Mrs. Hunt, magisterially. "She is delicate, and, accustomed to the very best of cookery" HUSKS. 143 And, having demonstrated her importance and superior housewifery to the round-eyed cook, she swept out. To an unprejudiced eye, the whole establishment was without a flaw; and, undisturbed by the captious objections of her companion in the survey, Mrs. Marlow saw and judged for herself, and carried home with her a most pleas- ing imagination of Lewis's gratification, and Sarah's de. lighted surprise with the scene that was to close their day of cold and weariness. By Mr. Hammond's expressed desire to his father-in-lrw, there was no one except the domestics in the house when. they arrived. As the carriage stopped, the listening maid opened the door, and a stream of radiance shot into the misty night across the wet pavement upon the two figures that stepped from the conveyance. "In happy homes he sees the light." The mental quota- tion brought back to Sarah the vision of that lonely evening, ten months before, when she had moaned it in her dreary twilight musings at the window of her little room. "Dreary then, hopeless now!" and with this voiceless sigh, she crossed the threshold of her destined abode. With a kindly greeting to the servants in the hall, Lewis hurried his wife onward, past the parlor doors, into a library sitting- room, back of the show apartments, warm and bright, smiling a very home welcome. ere he placed her in a deep cushioned chair, and, press- ing her hands in his, kissed her, With a heartfelt--"May you be very happy in our home, dear wife!" "Thank you!" she replied. "It is pleasant here, and you are too kind." "That is impossible where you are concerned. Sit here, w while I see to the trunks. When they are carried up- stairs, you can go to your room. Throw off your hat and cloak.", page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] "4 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, He was very thoughtful of her comfort-too thoughtful, because his love made him watchful of her every look, word, and gesture. She was glad of the brief respite from this vigilance, that allowed her to bury her face in her hands and groan aloud. She' had no heart to look around her cage. No doubt it was luxurious; the bars softly and richly lined; the various arrangements the best of their kind; still, it was nothing but a cage-a prison, from which death only could release her. The trim maid came for her wrappings, and directly afterwards Lewis, to take her up-stairs. "Not a very elaborate toilet, dear," he said, as he left her for his dressing-room. "You will see no one this even- ing but our father and mother, and they will remember that you have been travelling all day." When she was ready, it lacked still a quarter of an hour of dinner-time, and she acceded to Lewis's proposal that they should go over their dwelling. By his order, there were lights in every room. The graceful furniture, the well-contrasted hues of the soft carpets, the curtains and pictures showed to fine advantage. Every thing was in place, from cellar to attic; not a symptom of parsimony or cheapness in the whole; and all betokened, besides excellent judgment, such conformity to, or unison with her, taste, that Sarah, with all. her heaviness of heart, was pleased. She was touched too with gratitude or remorse; for, when they were back in the cozy sitting-room, she laid her hand timidly on that of her husband, and Paid, falteringly: "I do not deserve that you should take so much pains to gratify me, Mr. Hammond.' Over Lewis's face there flushed one of the rare smiles tlit made him positively handsome while they lasted. He grasped the shrinking fingers firmly, and drew his wife close to his side. H UxS . 145 "Shall I tell you how to repay me for all that I -have done, or ever can do, to promote your ease and enjoy- ment?" ' "If you please." But her heart sank, as she foresaw some demands upon a love that had never existed-a treas- ury that, to him, was sealed and empty; yet whose pov-- erty she dared not avow. "Call me 'Lewis,' now that we are at home, dear. I cannot realize that you are indeed all mine-that our lives are one and the same, while youn continue that very proper ,'Mr. Hammond.' ' ' "It comes more naturally to my tongue, and don't you think it more respectful than-than-the other?" "I ask no such form of respect from you. I do not fear lest you should fail to 'honor and obey' me, you little paragon of duty! Believe me, dearest, I fully understand and reverence the modest reserve, that has not yet ceased to be shyness, in the expression of your sentiments towards me. You are not demonstrative by nature. Neither am I. But since you- are my other self, and there is no living being nearer to you than myself, ought we not to overcome this propensity to, or custom of, locking up our feelings in our own breasts? Let me begin by a confession of one un- comfortable complaint, under which I have labored ever since our engagement. Do you know, darling, that I abso- lutely hunger--I cannot give any other name to the long- ing-I hunger and thirst to hear you say that you love- me! Do you remember that you have never told me in so inmany words what you have given me other good reasons for believing? I need but one thing this evening to fill my cup with purest content. It is to have you say-openily, fearlessly, as my wife has a right to do-' Lewis, I love YOU?' It need be a source of no unhappiness to be m ed to "( It need be a source of no unhappiness to be married to - X1 1 ^ page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] L6 THE EMPTY HEART; ORB, a man whom one does not love, provided he is kind and - generous" say match-makers and worldly-wise mothers. Perhaps not, after one's conscience is seared into callosity by perjuries, and her forehead grown bold as brass; but the neophyte in the laudable work of adaptation to such cir- cumnstances will trip in her words and color awkwardly while acquiring this enviable hardihood. Sarah's head fell, and her face was stained with blushes. One wild impulse was to throw herself at the feet of him whom she had wronged so foully, and, confessing her madj wicked deception uponAis holiest feelings, pray him to send her away-to cast her adrift, and rid himself of a curse, while he freed her from the gentle, yet intolerable bondage of his love. "Dinner is ready!" announced -the servant. Sarha's senses returned, and with them self-control. With a strange } smileft she glanced up at him-a look he did not under- standi yet could not guess was born of anguish-- and sa'd, with a hesitation 'that seemed pretty and coquettish to him--"Lewis! do you hear? May it please your worshi I am very hungry!" "Tease! I will have my revenge yet! See if I de not!" Laughing lightly, she eluded his outstretched arm, and, sprang'past, him into the hall leading to the dining-room. She assumed the'seat at the head of th' table with a burlesque of dignity, and throughout-the meal was more talkative, * nd frolicsome than he had ever seep her before. So cap- tivated was he by her -lively discourse and bright looks,. that he was sorry to hear the ring, proclaiming the coming. of the expected visitors; The dessert had not been re-. moved, and the. girl was instructed to show them itrme-' diately into the dining-room. A toast was drunk to the prosperity of the lately esr HUSKS. 14T tablished household, and the gentlemen went off to the ibNrary. "Always see to putting away your silver, Sarah!" coun- selled the mother. "'And you had ought to get a common set of dinner and breakfast things. This china is, toonice for every-day use. Of course, Mr. Hammond can afford: to get more when this is broken; but it's'a first-rate rule, child, as you'll find, to put your money- Wfhere it wiU show most. That's the secret of my management. Mrr. Hammond must give you an allowance for housekeeping and pin-money. Speak to him about it right away. "Men are more liberal while the honeymoon lasts than they ever are afterwards Strike while the iron is hot.. You can't complain of your husband, so far. He has set you up very handsome. If I had been consulted about furnishing, I would have saved enough off of those third-story chambers and- the kitchen to buy another pair of mirrors fori your parlors. The mantels has a bare look. I noticed it. directly I1 went in. To be sure, the Parian ornaments are. pretty and tasty, and expen- sive. enough-dear knows! but they don't make much of a display." "I do not. like the fashion of. lining wallsiwith mirrors," said Sarah, in her old, short way; "and- am satisfied with the house as it-is. Shall we join the gentlemen?" Nothing had, ever showed, her more plainly the degradae tion of her false position than the confident air hernmothen wore in making her coarse observations, and instructing her as to the method of managing her generous,. confidinghus4 band. It was -the free-masonry of; a mercenary wife, whose spouse would, have been better- represented- to. her-mind %by his money-bag than his own proper:person, towards;anotheri of the; same craft, who rated her lawful banker by correa sponding rules. "Will I then really grow to be like her and her associt page: 148-149[View Page 148-149] "8 THE EMPTY HEART. ORB -ates?"Sarah questioned inly. "Will a fine house and its fixtures, will dress and equipage and pin-money so increase in importance as to fill this aching vacuum 4in my heart? Will a position in life, and the envy of my neighbors, make up to me for the loss of 'the love of which I used to dream, the happiness which the world owes me yet? Is this the coin in which it would redeem its promises?" Mr. Hunt's mild features wore their happiest expression this evening. He arose at the ladies' entrance, and beckon- sd his daughter to a seat on the sofa beside him. "You are a little travel-worn l" he said. "Your cheeks are not very ruddy." "Did you ever see them when they were?" asked Sarah, playfully. "She was always just that pale when she was a baby," said Mrs. Hunt, setting herself in the arm-chair proffered by her son-in-law. "Lucy stole all the roses from her." Sarah Pmay have thought that other and more grievous thefts had succeeded this doubtful one, but she neither looked nor said this. "And that reminds me, ' r. H.! Did you bring Lucy's letter for Sarah to read?" "I did." Mr. Hunt produced it. "Keep it, and read it at your leisure, Sarah." "They are supremely happy, I suppose?" remarked Lewis, with the benevolent interest incident to his fellowship of feeling with them. "For all the world like two turtle-doves!"Mrs. Hunt rejoined. "Their letters are a curiosity. It is 'Phil.' and ' Lucy' from one end to the other. I mean to save them to show to them five years from now. Hot love is soon cool, and by and by they will settle down as sensible as, any of the rest of us. You don't begin so, I see, Sarah, and I am pleased at it. Between me and you, it's two-thirds of it humbug! There is Victoria- West that was! She looks I' us ' S. -149 ready, m company, to eat up that .ean monkey of a George Blond. I don't believe but she shows him the other side of the pictures in private." Sarah heard her father's-suppressed sigh, and felt, without looking up, that her husband's eyes sought hers wistfully. The unobservant dame pursued her free and easy discourse. Mr. Hammond was " one of the family" now, and there was no more occasion for choice grammar or fine sentiments before him. "Not that I blame Victoria for taking him. He was a good offer, and 'she wasn't much admired by the gentle- men-rich as Mr. West is. Mr. Bond is twenty-five years older than she is, and wears false teeth and a toupee; but I, suppose she is willing to overlook trifles. She watches outi for the main chance, and will help him take care of his money, as well as spend it. Vie. is a prudent girl." l "Lucy-Mrs. Benson-was at home when she wrote, was she not?" interrogated Mr. Hammond. "Yes, at his father's. His mother keeps house, and Lucyi has nothing to do but ride, visit, and entertain company. She says the house is crowded the whole time, and she has so many beaux that Philip stands no chance of speaking a word to her. She is perfectly happy." ,Notwithstanding the various feelings of the listeners, none of them could resist this picture of a felicitous honeymoon, so naively spoken. Lewis's laugh cleared the vapors from his brow, and the pain at Sarah's heart did not hinder her from joining in. "And the ousted bridegroom, perforce, seeks consolation in the society of his fair friends?" said Lewis. "If this is the way young married people show the love-sickness you complained of just now, Mrs. Hunt, I am content with our more staid ways-eh,. Sarah?" "Quiet ways suit me best," was the answer. '% page: 150-151[View Page 150-151] 1b0 - THE EMPTY HEART; OR, "'Still water Tuns deep,' " quoted Mrs. Hunt. I4I used fo worry over your stay-at-home habits and eternal study of books, Sarah;, but I'm ready to say now that you was sensible to behave as you did, as it has turned out. I don't mean to, flatter Mr. Hammond, but I'd ten times rather you had taken him than a dried-up widower like George Bond." ,' Thank you!" bowed Lewis, desiroius of diverting atten- tion from Sarah's growing uneasiness beneath her mother's congratulations. Mrs. Hunt held on her way. "I never had a fear lest Lucy shouldn't marry well. She was pretty and attractive, and knew too much about the world to throw herself away for the sake of love in a cottage. But now the danger is over, I will allow that I used to mistrust Sarah here some- times. You was just queer enough to fall in love with some adventurer with a foreign name, and never a cent in his pocket-yes, and marry him, too, in spite of all that could be said and done to prevent it. I was forever in a ' feaze' about you i fancying that you was born to make an out-and- out love-match-the silliest thing a girl can do, in my opinion." "You never dreamed, of her 'taking up,' as the phrase is, with a humdrum individual like myself," said Lewis. Nor, to be' candid, did I, for a long time, Mrs. Hunt. Yet I can- not say that I regret her action, disadvantageous to herself though it was. I wrote to you of our visit to New Orleans, did I. not, sir?" he continued to Mr. Hunt, inwardly a little disgusted by the frank revelations his mamma-in-law was making of her principles-and plans. The subject so interesting to most wedded people, so enm- brassing to one of the present party, was not again intros iuced during the elder couple's stay . When Lewis returned to the library, after seeing them out, Sarah sat where he % l U s. 151 had left her, her hand shading her eyes-deep in thought, or overcome by weariness. "You had better go -up to your room, dear," said Lewis. "I wonder you are not worn out completely." She arose to obey; walked as far as the door, then came back to him. - "It may appear strange to you that I should speak openly of such a suspicion; but I must beg you not to suppose for an instant that in my acceptance of your offer of marriage, I was actuated by mercenary motives. You look sur- prised"--she hurried on yet faster while her resolution lasted-" but I could not-rest without doing myself this act of justice. Much that mother said to-night might-must have led you to this conclusion. I would not have you think worse of me than I deserve, and of this one act of baseness I am innocent." "My precious little wife, how excited you are! and over what a nonsensical imagination! Suspect you-the noblest as well as the dearest of women-of selling yourself, body and soul, for money? Listen to my speech now, dear Sarah!" He sat down and pulled her to his knee. "I esteem you, as I love you, above all the rest of your sex--above any other created mortal. I know you to be a pure, high-minded woman. When I part with this persuasion, may I part also with the life that doubt on this point would render wretch- ed! Judge, then, whether it be possible for me to link this holy realization of womanhood with the thought of another character, which I will describe. I hold that she who enters the hallowed state of wedlock through motives of pecuniary interest, or ambition, or convenience-indeed, through any consideration save that of love, single and entire, for him to whom she pledges her vows, stands, in ihe sight of her Maker and the angels, on a level with the most page: 152-153[View Page 152-153] 152' THE EMP.,TY HEART; OR, abandoned outcast that pollutes the earth she treads. I ;,e shock you, I see; but on this subject r feel strongly. I l;" have seen much, too much, ,of fashionable marriages formed for worldly aggrandizement-for riches; sometimes in pique at having lost a coveted lover. With my peculiar senti- ments, I feel that I could endure no heavier curse than to contract an alliance like any of these. I repeat it, I believe' in -Woman as God made her and intended she should live, if for no other reason than because I recollect my mother, ; "boy as I was when she died; and because I know and have ?:: {. you, my true, blessed wife!" . , * ,. c . -, . ,"t,.-- -' ', / ,' '. . ' ;/ \ vHUSKS. 153 CHAPTER XII. A YEAR and five- months had passed away since the even, mg when Lewis Hammond held his conscience-stricken wife upon his knee, and told her--in fervid words that singularly belied his calm and even demeanor at other times-of his faith in and love for her, End his abhorrence of the sin she felt in her trembling soul that she had committed. Yet she had not the superhuman courage required to contradict a trust like this. There was no alternative but to keep up the weary, wicked mockery unto the end. 4"But in all these months she must have learned to care for him!" cries Mrs. Common Sense. "There is Tnhing disagreeable about the man. He is not brilliant; yet he has intelligence and feeling, and is certainly attached to his wife. I have no doubt but that he indulges her in every reason a- ble request, and comports himself in all respects like an ex- emplary'husband." Granted, to each and every head of your description, my dear madam! But, for all that, his obdurate wife had not come to love him. I blush to say it; but while we are strip- ping hearts let us not be squeamish! There had been sea- sons, lasting sometimes for weeks, when her existence was a continual warfare between repugnance to him and her sense of duty; when she dreaded to hear his step in the hall, and shrank inwardly from his caress; watched and fought, until strength and mind were well-nigh gone. Mark me! I do not deny that this was as irrational as it was rep- 7*- page: 154-155[View Page 154-155] - 154' THE EMPTY HEART; ORB, i - ; :rehensible; but I have never held up my poor Sarah as a ;:/ model of reason or propriety. From the beginning, I have :a" made her case a warning.! The fates forbid that I should commend it to any as an example for imitation! A passion- ate, proud, reticent girl; a trusting, loving, deceived woman ahopeless, desperate bride-whose heart lay like a pulseless stone in her breast at the most ardent love-words of her husband, and throbbed with wild, uncontrollable emotion at the fraternal tone and kiss of her lost and only love-I have no plea for her, save the words of Infinite compassion and Divine knowledge of human nature, and human woe: "Let him that is without sin among you cast the first stone at her!" The highly respectable firm of which Mr. Hammond was thejunior member, was adding, if not field to field, thousand to thousand, of the wherewithal for the purchase of fields, br, what was better still, city lots. Mrs. Lewis Hammond had set up her carriage about a year after her marriage; said I equ/i]e being a gift from her generous husband on the oc- casion of the first airing of the little ".Baby Belie," as she : pas always called in the family. Not until subsequent events P had endowed it with -deeper and saddest interest did Sarah readAldrich's beautiful poem bearing the above title. Lewis's mother's name was Isabella. Her grandchild re- ceived the same, which became "(Belle" on the mother's tongue, and then, because it was natural to say "Baby" too, the pretty alliteration was adopted. To a man of Lewis's domestic tastes the advent of this child was a source of the liveliest pleasure, and the tiny in- mate of his household was another and a powerful tie, bind- ing him to a home already dear. But to the mother's lonely life, so bare of real comfort or joy--haunted by memory and [rkened by remorse--the precious gift came like a ray of :-?eaven's purest light, a strain of angel music, sgying to H; TKS. 155 care," Sleep!" to hope, "Awake, the morning cometh!"Be- neath the sunshine of so much love, the infant throve finely, and without being a greater prodigy than the nine hundred and ninety-nine miracles of beauty and sprightliness who, with it, composed the thousand " blessed babies" of the day, was still a pretty, engaging creature, whose gurgling laugh and communicative " coo" beguiled the mother's solitude, and! made cheerful the lately silent house. It was late in the June afternoon, and arrayed in clean white frock, broad sash, and shoulder-knots of pink ribbon, the small lady sat on her mother's lap at the front window, awaiting the appearance of the husband and father. Sarah had altered much since her marriage; " improved wonder- fulls," said her acquaintances. There was still in her mien a touch of haughtiness; in her countenance the look that spoke profound thought and introspection. Still, when in repose, her brow had a cast of seriousness that bordered on melan- choly; but over her features had passed a change like that wrought by the sculptor's last stroke to the statueThe mould was the same-the chiselling more clear and. fine. Especially after the birth of her child was this refining pro- cess most apparent in its effects. There was a softness in her smile, a gentle sweetness in her voice, as she now talked to the babe, directing its attention to the window, lest the father's approach should be unnoticed, and he disappointed in his shout of welcome. "How affected! gotten up for show!" sneered the child less Mrs. Bond, as she rolled by in her carriage, on her way to her handsome, cheerless home and its cross master. "She has chosen her position well, at all events," rejoined her companion, a neighbor and gossip, who had taken Lucy's place in Victoria's confidence. "Ridiculous!" She spat out the ejaculation from the overflowing of her spleen. "I could laugh at her airs, if page: 156-157[View Page 156-157] T 6 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, they did not make me mad! One would think, to see her as she sits there, that she had decked herself and the child - to please a man that she doated upon-like the good wives we read of in novels." "And why shouldn't she be fond of him? He is a good- hearted fellow, and lets her do pretty much as she pleases, I imagine, besides waiting on her like any lover. I often meet them riding out together. That is more than your husband or mine ever does, my dear." "They go quite as often as we desire their company, I fancy. ' Mine does, I know. Perhaps if we had the reason for parading our conjugal devotion that Mrs. Hammond has, we might wheedle our lawful lords into taking a seat along- - side of us, once in a while. There's nothing like keeping iup appearances, particularly if the reality is lacking. If Lewis Hammond knew some of the pretty stories I could teal him, about his Sarah', love-scrapes, he would not look so sublimely contented with his three-story paradise. The elega#9clothes he piles upon that squaw of his are prepos- terous, and she carries them off as if she had dressed well all her days. I tell you, she never looked decent until she ,put on her wedding-dress. You have heard of the fainting- scene that took place that morning, I suppose? Old Mother Hunt said it was ' sensibility,' and ' nervous agitation ;' the company laid it to the heat of the room; and I laughed in my sleeve, and said nothing. If that woman aggravates me much more, I will remind her of some passages in her experience she does not dream that I know." i Do tell me what you mean? I am dying of curiosity I! Did she flirt very hard before she was married?" "She never had the chance. Lewis Hammond -was her only offer." . C What was the matter, then?" "I can't tell you now. It isi too long a story. The next It . s U x S. 15, time she frets me, as she does whenever she crosses my path, maybe you will hear the romance. Shall I set you down at your door, or will you enliven me by spending the evening with me-? I do not expect other company, and- George falls asleep over his newspaper as soon as he has desp:atched his dinner. Come in, and I will show you the loveliest sofa-pillow you-ever beheld; a new pattern I have just finished." "Thank you! I would accept the invitation with pleas- ure, but I have not been. home since breakfast, and James makes such a fuss if he, does not find me in the nursery, tending that whimpering baby, when he comes tp at night, that it is as much as my life is worth to stay out after six o'clock. Any thing for peace, you know; and since we wives are slaves, it is best to keep on the blind side of our masters." The day had been warm down town, and as Lewis Ham- mond stepped from the stage at the corner nearest his house, he felt jaded and dispirited--a physical depression, aug- mented by a slight headache. A business question which he had talked over with Mr. Marlow, before leaving the store, contributed its weight of thoughtfulness, and he was not conscious how near he was to his dwelling until, aroused by a sharp tap upon the window-pane, he glanced up at the animated tableau framed by the sash-the smiling mother, and the babe leaping, and laughing, and stretching its hands towards him. "This is the sweetest refreshment a man can ask after his day of toil," he said, when, having kissed wife and child, he took the latter in his arms. He was not addicted to complimentary I speeches, and while his esteem and attach- ment for his chosen partner were even stronger than they had been in the heart of the month-old bridegroom, he was less apt to express them to her-now than then. In one \ - . / page: 158-159[View Page 158-159] -' .* 1;J .' THE EMPTY IEART; OR, :? : respect,- andonly onee, his wedded life had brought him ?disappointment; Unreserved confidence and demonstrative :. affection on his side had failed to draw forth similar exhibi- ..- tions of 'feeling from Sarah. Kind, thoughtful; dutiful , scrupuio1sly faithful to him and his interests in word, look, ' and deed, she ever was. Yet he saw that she was a. - . changed being from the fond, impulsive. daughter, whose ". ministry in her father's sick-room had won for her a hus- ; band's love. Her reception of his affectionate advances was passive reception merely, without apparent return. * 'evedr /: he had ceased now to ask it, had she once said tohbijl the phrase he had craved to hear--"I love you!" :),Yet :he would as soon have questioned the reality of his ; iexistence as that she did love him. He held inviolate his trust in the motive that had induced her to become his wife, and in :this calm confidence he was fain to rest, in the ab- sence of protestations that would have gladdened his soul, while they could hardly have strengthened his faith in her affection. FPew wives, however loving, have been more truly cher. ished than was Sarah, and of this she was partially aware. If she had remained ignorant of Lewis's sentiments and wishes with regard to herself, until the grieved and unre- quited love had subsided into the dull aching that does not, like a green wound, create, by its very smart, a spe- eies of eicitement that helps one bear the pain; had he glided gradually into the joyless routine of her life's duties, and bided -his time of speaking until he had made himself necessary to her comfort and peace, he might .have won a willing bride. But what omniscient spirit was there to instruct and caution him .8 He met and loved her, supposing -her to be as free as himself,- like an honest, upright man, he t lid .that love, and, without a misgiving, placed - his honor , and his happiness in her hands. "* ' - . H \ K . 159 Sarah could not have told why she revolved all this m-i her unquiet mind as he sat near her, playing with their; child; yet she did think of their strange sad history, andi' firom the review arose a feeling of pity, sincere, almost tender, for him, so worthy and so deceived.'- She. remoe m- bered with abasement of spirit how often she had been ready to hate him as the instrument of her bondage; how wrathful words had arisen to her lips at the moment of his' greatest kindness ; how patiently he had borne her coldness-; how unflagging was his care of and for her. Over the dark, turbulent gulf of the unforgotten past that sundered 'their' hearts,'she longed, as she had never done before, to call to him, and confessing her sin against Heaven and against him, to implore pardon for the sake of the 'spotless, babe that smiled into the father's face with its mother's eyes. Would he be merciful? Slowly and emphatically memory repeated in her ear his denunciation of the unloving wife, and courage died before the menaced curse. "Fudge! Fiddlesticks! what frippery nonsense!" cry out, in a vehement storm of indignation, a bevy of the Common Sense connection. "Are we not staid and respect- alble matrons all? Do we not rear our daughters virtuious- ly, and teach our sons to honor father as well as mother?' But who of us troubles herself with raking in the cold ashes of her I long ago' for the bones of some dead and gone love -a girlish, folly 'of which she would be ashamed now?' What cares Mr. Common Sense, among his day-books and ledgers, in his study or in his office, how many times his now correct helpmeet pledged eternal fidelity to other lovers before she .put. her last crop of wild oats into the ground, and settled four life with him? What if some of us, may be all, if driven hard, should admit that when we stood up" before the minister we underwent certain qualms-call thtemn pangs, if you like at the thought of Tom This, or Harry, YO page: 160-161[View Page 160-161] 1i . , * A 'i 'i 160 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, -That, or Dick The Other, who, if circumstances had permit- ted, we would have preferred should occupy the place of 'Theman whom we actually held by the hand!' While. meni can choose their mates, and women can only take such as propose to them, these things will happen. After all, : who is hurtl?"You aver that none of you are, mesdames, and we would not call your word in question. Ladies so conscientious -must, of necessity, be veracious, even in love affairs. "I am a thoughtless animal!" said Lewis at the dinner- table. "There is a letter from Lucy!, Open it--don't mind me! I will crack your nuts for you while you read\ , t it." I iThere was a troubled look in Sarah's eye when she laid 1 it down. "Lucy says they are certainly coming North this year-that we may look for them in a week from the date of this. This is rather sooner than mother expected them. Her housecleaning is late this season, in consequence of hei rheumatic spell in May." a- "Let them come straight here! What should prevent them. There is an abundance of room for them--baby, nurse, and all. It will be a grand arrangement!" said Lewis, heartily. Sarah was backward in replying. "Father and mother may object. I would not wound them by interference with their guests." "I will answer that mother will thank us to take care of them until her scrubbing and scalding are done. And Lucy would not be willing to risk her baby's health in a damp house." "I will go and see mother to-morrow about it," concluded i; BSarah. She still appeared dubious as to the expediency of the proposed step, a thoughtfulness that did not wear away ' "',during the whole evening. ; ,/ : 8 . 'HuSKs. 161 The Bensons had not visited New York the preceding year. They were detained at the South by a combination of causes, the principal of which was the long and fatal ill- iess of Philip's mother.' Lucy had written repeatedly of her 'intense desire to see her home once more, declaiming against the providences that had thwarted their projects, like an im- patient, unreasonable child. "Philip says it is not convenient for him to go just yet," said her letter to her sister, " and that our part of the coun- try is as healthy as Saratoga itselfy; but I have vowed that I will not wait one day beyond the time I have set. It sets me wild to think of being jn Broadway again-of visiting and shopping, and seeing you all. ,We hasve been so dull here since Mrs. Benson's death, and Philip is as solevmni as a judge. One of his married sisters will stay with the old gentleman while we are away.. O Sarah! I am sick of housekeeping and baby-nursing! It will do well enough for me when I need spectacles and a wig; but now, while I am young enough to enjoy life, it is insufferable!" "Not very domestic, is she?" observed Lewis, folding up the letter, which Sarah had handed him. Ah! it is not every man who has such a gem of a wife as I have! It ap- pears to me that the married women of these days are not satisfied unless they have a string of beaux as long as that of a popular single, belle. How is it, little one? Do you eer catch yourself wishing that your husband were not such an old-fashioned piece of constancy, and would give some other fellow a chance to say a pretty thing, when you are in company?' "I do not complain," said Sarah, demurely. "Not in words, perhaps; your patience is wonderful in- every thing. But how do you feel when you see your old neighbor, Mrs. Bond, waltzing every set with the gayest gailant in the ball-room, while your jailor does not like to page: 162-163[View Page 162-163] 'i.' e :"-"1 2' THE EMPTY HEART; OR, have you 'polk' at all, and favors your dancing only with w; ; -smen whom he knows'to be respectable." ; "I feel that Mr. Hammond is a sensible man, and careful of his wife's reputation, even in trifles, while Mr. Bond-' , ' .Go on! finish your sentence!" u Arid his lady are a well-matched pair!" I Much as she disliked Victoria, and knowing that she was hated still by her, Sarah deemed it a necessary and common act of courtsey to her sister's friend to call and apprise her ,' , of Lucy's probable visit. "It is not convenient for mother to receive them for . a week .yet, on account of certain household arrange- - ments," she stated, in making known the object of her +-. n visit to her ancient enemy. "So you will find Lucy at our house, where her friends will be received as if they were :f" - my own." : " You are very polite, I am sure!' replied Mrs. Bond, smothering her displeasure at Sarah's studied civility, and noting, with her quick, reptile perceptions, that she was to be tolerated as she fancied Sarah would imply, merely as S) ; aLucy's early-associate. "And, the Bensons are to be with i$ . , you I shall call immediately upon their arrival. Poor, dear Lucy! I long to see her. She has had a vast deal of trouble since her marriage-has she not?" "Except the death of her mother-in-law, she has had nothing. to trouble her that I have heard of," answered Sarah, rising to go. - My dear creature! what do you call the wear and tear i.[i, of managing a husband, and a pack of unruly servants, and looking after aghaby? And she was such a belle! I wonder -: if she is much broken!" "- ' : ';Come and see!"' Mrs Hammond was at the parlor door., "I will--most assuredly! How do you like their being rH ' ,d - H n s E*6. I 63 quartered upon you? What does that pattern husband of yours say to this?" "Madam!" said Sarah, surprised and offended'by the rude query. . "Oh! I don't mean that it would not be very delightful for you to have your sister with you; but there was a fool- ish rumor, about the time of your marriage, that you and Mr. Benson had some kind of a love-passage, down in the coun- try; and I thought that Mr. Hammond, with his particularly nice notions, might retain an unpleasant recollection of the story, which would prevent him from being on brotherly. terms with his old rival. Men are terribly unreasonable mortals, and perfect Turks in jealousy! We cannot be too careful not to provoke their suspicions." Not -for the universe would Sarah have betrayed any feel- ing at this insolence, save a righteous and dignified resenit- ment at its base insinuations; but the ungovernable blood streamed in crimson violence to her temples, and her voice shook when she would have held it firm. "Mr. Hammond is not one to be influenced by malicious gossip, Mrs. Bond, if, indeed, the report you have taken the liberty of repeating was ever circulated except by its author. I cannot thank you for your warning, as I recognize no occa- sion for jealousy in my conduct or character. I am account- able for my actions to my conscience and my husband, and I release you from what you have assumed to be your duty of watching and criticising my personal affairs. Good-morning." "I struck the sore spot! no doubt of that!" soliloquized Mrs. Bond, recalling Sarah's start of pain and blush at the indelicate allusion to Philip Benson. "' That woman stirs up all thel bile in my system if I talk two minutes with hear. If there were- half the material to work upon in that vain, 'weak Lucy, that there is in this 'sister, I would have my revenge. As for Lewis Hamrmond, he is a love-sick fool l1 page: 164-165[View Page 164-165] X ;." 164 THE' EMPTY HEART"OR, ,: :, . ,Sarah's cheeks had not lost theirflush, nor had her heart ceased its angry throbbings, when she reached home. In the solitude of her chamber, she summoned strength and resolution to ask herself the question, so long avoided, shun- ned, as she had imagined, in prudence, as she now began to fear, in dread of a truthful reply. , t/ When she married Lewis Hammond, she loved another. Fearful as was this sin, it would be yet more terrible were she now to discover a lurking fondness, an unconquered weakness for that other, in the heart of the trusted wife, the mother who, from that guilty bosom, nourished the little being that was, as yet, the embodiment of unsullied purity. It was a trying and a perilous task, to unfold deliberately, to pry searchingly into the record of that one short month that had helY all the bloom and fragrance of her life's spring season; to linger over souvenirs and compare sensations- a painful and revolting process; but, alas! the revulsion was i 'not at memories of that olden time; and as this appalling conviction dawned upon her, her heart died within her. t ', The nurse was arranging Baby Belle for'the possible re- :' option of her unknown aunt and uncle, that afternoon, when Mr". Hanmmond came into the nursery, her face as pale and set as marble, and silently lifted the child from the girl's lap to her own. For one instant her cheek was laid against the -/ a velvet of the babe's; the ringlets of fair hair mingled with f- ' 'her dark locks, before she set about completing its unfinish- ed toilette. With a nicety and care that would have seem- : - ed overstrained, had other than the mother's hands been :i' = busied in the work, the stockings and slippers were fitted on the plump feet; the sunny curls rolled around the fingers of the tiring woman, and brushed back from the brow; the -worked cambric robe lowered cautiously. over the head, lest the effect of the coiffure should be marred; the sleeves loop. ed ul with bands of coral and gold, a necklace, belong;ug to HU SKS. 16t5 - the same set, clasp'ed around the baby's white throat, and she was ready for survey "Now, Baby Belle and mamma will go down to iheet papa!" And with the little one still clinging to her neck, she met, in the lower hall, her husband ushering in Lucy and Philip BensoIL .q page: 166-167[View Page 166-167] I -t 1.66. THE EMPTY HEART O0B, CHAPTER XIII. BREAKFAST was kept back an hour next morning to await Lucys tardy appearance. "She was sadly wearied with her journey," apologized Philip, and Sarah begged that she would keep her room and have her meals sent up to her- an hospitable offer, which Mr. Benson negatived. Lucy did look tired and unrefreshed, and, to speak more plainly, very cross. Her hair, in its dryest state of pale yellow, was combed straight back above her temples; her skin was sallow; her wrapper carelessly put on, and its dead white unrelieved by even a bow of ribbon at the throat. In- voluntarily Lewis glanced from the uninviting picture to his : household'deity, in her neat breakfast-dress of gray silk :" i, faced with pink, her glossy hair and tranquil features, and said to himself, in secret triumph, "Which is now the beauty? None of your trumpery ornamental articles for me!" ::: Philip's eyes were as keen as his host's, and the probabili- ty is that he instituted a similar comparison, however well his pride succeeded in concealing the act and its result. :',/ - Citting short his wife's querulous plaints of the discomforts o: travel., and the horrors of nervous sleeplessness, he open- ed a conversation with Mr. Hammond in he subdued, per- fectly-managed tones Sarah remembered so well, selecting such topics as would interest a business man anda citizen : of acommercial metropolis. Lucy pouted, and applied her- self for consolation to her breakfast. i -With a strange mingling of emotions, Sarah listenedto- ,. ,, I, , 1, 7 the dialogue between the gentlemen, She was:anxious that- Lewis should acquit, himself creditably. Brilliant, like Philip, he could never be; but in sterling sense, not many nmen were his superiors. She had never had cause to be ashamed of him; for one so unpretending. and judicious- was not liable to make himself ridiculous. Whence, then, the solicitude with which she hung upon his every word I: her disappointment when he did, not equal the ideal reply she had fashioned, as she. heard the words that called it forth? Several times she joined in the conversation, inhv/a' riably to corroborate Lewis's assertions, or. to supply some*?;: thing h had omitted to state. Philip Benson was a student of huran nature, Was his mind. sufficiently. abstracted from his domestic annoyances to divine the motive that Sarah erself only perceived afterwards- in solitary self*- examination? Not love of, or admiration for the intrinsio excellence of the man whose name she bore; not fear lest his modesty should lessen his merits in-the eyes of others; but a selfish dread that his acute interlocutor, discerningiin him, not ing likely to attract or win the affection of a woman such as he knew her to be, might guess her true reason for marrying Mr. Hammond. The timorous. progeny of one guilty secret can only be numbered by the minutes during which it is borne in the bosom. Like the fabled Laceda- monian boy, Sarah carried the gnawing horror with a forti- tude that looked- like cheerfulness. Habit cannot lighten' the weight of a clinging curse;-but strength, and hardness: come in time, if the burdened, one is not early crushed by, his load. The sisters spent most of the day in Lucy's room; thq latter stretched upon- the- lounge, as: she declared, "cosr pletely used up." Mrs. Hunt came, around early in dbe forenoon, and into her sympathizing-ears the spoiled child; poured the story of her woes and wrongs; Sarah sitting by. page: 168-169[View Page 168-169] ' ' * ; ' , ' - ' - - , ' 168 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, All ,^ ith a swelling, rebelliqus heart. With indecorous contempt for one of the most binding laws of the married state--in- violable secrecy as to the faults of the other party to the momentous compact-mother and daughter compared notes upon their husbands, and criticised the class generally as tile most wrong-headed, perverse, and dictatorial of all the necessary evils of society. Mrs. Benson, the elder, and her pleasure-loving daughter- , in-law had differed seriously several months before the death ; of, the former. Philip, while espousing 'his wife's cause to Ad the rest of his familly, had, in private, taken her to task for Ad- what he considered objectionable in her conduct; her heads ? ,' of offence being mainly extravagant love of gay company, and the gallant attentions of gentleman-visitors; neglect of dress and all efforts to please, when there was no company by; and a decided indisposition to share in the household duties, which his mother's increasing feebleness made onerous to her. "Ah, mother!" sighed the interesting complainant, raising ::i herself to shake up her pillow, then sinking again upon it. "If girls only realized what is before them when they marry, few would be brave enough to change their con- dition. When I picture to myself what I was at home--a / petted darling-never allowed to inconvenience myself when it could possibly be avoided; courted in society; free as air and light-heartedi as a chil,; and then think of all -that I have endured from the unkindness of strangers, and the--well-the want of sympathy in him for whom I had given up my dear old home and friends-I ask myself why I did not remain single!" Thle prudent matchmaker shook her head. "Marriage is a lottery, they say, my dear; but I am very sure that single life is a blank. You had no fortune, and in the event of your father's death would have been almost destitutea I am HUSKS. 169 sorry that your father did not insist upon Mr. Bensonls giving you your own establishment at once. I hope, now the old lady is out of the way, you will have things more according to your notions." "Don't you believe that! As if there were not two sisters-in-law, living but four miles off, and driving ovrei every other day to 'see how pa is.' That means, to see whether Lucy is letting things go to wreck and ruin. I understand their spiteful ways!! Philip shuts his ears when I talk about them; but I am determined that I will not bear nmuch more meddling!" Decidedly, Lucy Benson married was a woeful declension from the seraphic spinster depicted in our earlier chapters; but, as in time past, so in time present and to come, the sparkling sugar, whose integrity and sweetness appeared indestructible, while it was kept dry and cool, if dampened, undergoes an acetous fermentation, and the delicate sweet- meat, exposed to the air at a high temperature, becomes speedily a firothing mass, evolving pungent gases. The pretty doll who anticipates, in the connubial state, one long fete-day of adoration received, and benign condescension dispensed, is as certain to awake from this dream as- from. any other, and upon the temper in which she sustains the disenchantment, depends a vast proportion of her future welfare and peace. Luy's behavior to her babe was a mixture of childish fondling and neglect. Fortunately, the little "Hunt's" special attendant was an elderly woman, long established a, 'lMaumer" in the Benson family, and her devotion to her charge prevented any present evil effects from his mother's incompetence or carelessness. Philip's pride ini and love for his boy were extreme. When he came in that evening, Sarah chanced to be in the nursery adjoining her chamber, watching and inciting the two babies to a game of romps. , ^ page: 170-171[View Page 170-171] THE EMPTY HEART; OR, She held one on each knee, the nurses standing by in amused gratification. "That is surely my little man's voice !" said Philip, as he and Lewis came up the stairs. " Let me see !"-and Mr. Hammond peeped into the play. room. " Walk in!" he continued, throwing the door wide open. '" Isn't there a pair of them ?" " And a nurse worthy of the twain!" replied Philip. oIe stooped to the invitation of the lifted arms, fluttering, as if the owner would fly to his embrace. "What do you say of him; aunty? Is he not a passable boy?" " More than passable! he is a noble-looking fellow. He resembles you, I think," said Sarah, quietly. "Do you hear that, Hammond ? Your wife pronounces me ' more than passable--a noble-looking fellow !' So much for an adroit hint. Is she given to flattelry ?" "((Not she ! returned Lewis, laughing. " She never said as much as that for my looks in all her life. I have one con- solation, however; the less she says the more she means !" He went into the dressing-room, and Philip, still holding the child, seated himself by Sarah. "-How odd, yet how familiar it seems, to be with you once more, my good sister! What a succession of mis- chances has made us virtual strangers for many months past! I had almost despaired of ever holding friendly con. verse with you again. I wonder if your recollections of. our visit to Aunt Sarah are as vivid as mine. Do you remember that last sad, yet dear, day on the Deal Beach ?" Baby Belle was standing in her mother's lap, her soft, wvarm arms ,about her neck; and around the frail, sinking human heart invisible arms, as warm and close, were up- holding and strengthening it in the moment of mortal weakness. . " Very distinctly. Many changes have come to us both since then." " To me very many! I have grown older in heart than in years." Then, evidently fearing that she might other. wise interpret his meaning, he subjoined : " We have had a heavy bereavement in our household, you know. Your changes have all been happy ones. The enthusiastic, rest- less girl has ripened into the more sedate, yet more blessed wife and mother." Press your sweet mouth to the convulsed lips, Baby Belle! veil with your silky curls the tell-tale features, whose agitation would bewilder, if not betray! Philip was stroking the head of his boy, and did not see the uneasiness of his companion. i " Have you heard of Uncle Nathan's death ?" she asked, clearing her throat. He lcoked surprised at the inquiry. "Yes! Aunt Sarah wrote immediately to my father." "Ah! I had forgotten that they were brothers. 1My memory is treacherous. ExcUse me! I am wanted in the dining-room!" Lewis met her just outside the door, and stopped her to bestow the evening kiss he had not cared to offer in Philip's presence. "Why, you are s rosy as a peony!" he said, jestingly. " Has Benson been paying you compliments, in return for yours to him ? I must look after you two, if you carry on at this rate." With a look he had reason subsequently to recall, but which only pleased him at the time, she raised his hand to her lips-a look of humility, gratitude, and appeal, such as one might cast upon a slighted benefactor-and vanished. A merry family party gathered around the Hammond's generous table, that afternoon. All the Hunts were there page: 172-173[View Page 172-173] 172 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, from the father down to Jeannie, who was fast shooting up into a tall girl, somewhat pert in manner, but lovable despite this, at times, unpleasant' foible. "Sister Lucy," she said, after an interval of silence, "Ellen West said, at school, to-day, that you were a great belle when you were a young lady; were you-?" "You must not ask me, Jeannie!" The old smile of conscious beauty stole into Lucy'scheeks. "Was she, sister?"Jeannie referred the case to Sarah. "Yes, my dear, she was ve r'y eautifil," replied the latter, simply. "She isn't now-not so very handsome, I mean--no hand- somer than you are, sister!" "Jeannie! you forget yourself!" interposed Mrs. Hunt. "Why, mamma, I did not intend to be rude! Only I thought that belles were always the prettiest ladies that could be found anywhere." "By no' means!" corrected Lewis, willing to help his wife's pet out of a scrape. "' There are many descriptions of belles, Jeannie: handsome, rich, fast, add intellectual." "And as papa was not rich, I suppose you were eithel fast or intellectual, siste6 Lucy!" persisted the child. "I thought her pretty fast when I tried to catch her,' said Philip.-"Mrs. Hunt, Mrs. Hammond, Mrs. Benson; have you ladies decided in the course of to-day's congres what watering-place is to be made the fashion by our clique next month?" Mrs. Hunt replied that they inclined to Newport; -princi- pally on account of Lucy and the children, who would all be benefited by the bathing. Lucy was sure that she should tire of Saratoga or the Catskills in a week, whereas she adored the ocean. "What says Madame Discretion?" said Lewis, merrily, to his wife. \ , t HUSKS. 175 "Except that it would break up the family party, I had rather stay at home as long as it is prudent to keep the baby in town; then, if you could go with us, spend a month at some mountain farm-house or sea-side cottage," she answered. "Hear! hear!" commanded Philip. "Behold a modern wedded dame who prefers seclusion with her liege Iord to gavety without him! The age of miracles is returning!" "Is the case, then, so anomalous?" retorted Sarah, the red spot in her cheek alone testifying to her embarrassment. "Are your Southern matrons all public characters?" "I can answer that!" said Lucy. "They are slaves! housekeeping machines-nothing better!" "How many more weak places are there in this crust of, family chit-chat, I should like to be informed!" thought the annoyed and uninitiated Hammond. "Here goes for the spot where there is no danger of anybody's breaking in!" He spoke aloud. "A tempting proposal was made to me this morning. It is considered advisable for one of our firm to go abroad for a couple of months, perhaps longer, to divide his time among the principal manufacturing districts of England, Scotland, and France. Expenses paid by the firm, and the term of absence indefinitely prolonged, if the traveller wishes- it. Mr. Marlow is tired of crossing the ocean, and presses me to accept the mission." "What did you tell him?" It was Sarah who spoke in a startled voice that drew general notice to her alarmed face. Her concern was a de- licious tribute to her husband's self-love, if he possessed such a quality. At least he loved her well enough to be pleased at her manifest reluctance to have him leave her. "I told him that I must ask my wife," said he in a meek tone, belied by the humorous twinkle in his eye, and loving half-smile about his mouth. -"See what it is to be one under page: 174-175[View Page 174-175] 174 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, authority, Benson! A man dare not conclude an ordinary business transaction without the approval of t!: powers that be." When Sarah accompanied her sister to her chamber that night, the passee belle put a direct question. "Tell me, Sarah, are you as much in love with Mr. Ham- mond as you seem to be, or is it all put on for the benefit of outsiders?"' "I am' not apt to do any thing for the sake of mere show; nor do I care for the opinion of 'outsiders,' as you call them," rejoined Sarah, amazed at the cool audacity of the inquiry, and disposed to resent Lucy's confident expectation that she would avow the cheat, if such there were, in her deportment i You used to be shockingly independent, I know. What a ridiculously honest little puss you were! How you de- spised all our pretty arts and necessary affectations'! How you hated our economical mother's second-best furniture and dinners! / I don't believe Victoria West has ever forgiven you for the way in whi h you lused to take to pieces what you styled our 'surface talk and surface life!' I thought, however, that you had discovered by this time, that one cannot live in the world without deceiving herself or other people; I prefer making fools to being one. Heigh-ho! this life is a very unsatisfactory business at the best. What a heavenly collar that is of yours! One thing I do wish, and that is-that my husband were half as fond of me, or as rood to me, as Lewis s to you!" HU Ks. 1 \ CHAPTER XIV. "EWIS HAMIOND had thrown the whole weight of his in. fluence in the family conclave, into the Newport scale; and to this popular resort Sarah went, in July, in company with the Bensons, her mother and- Jeannie, Wvho was made one of the party at Lewis's request and expense. Th igenerous fellow acted in conformity with conscience and jtfgment in this temporary exile of his treasures; and, consient in his purpose of rendering it a pleasure excursion to is wife, he made very light of his prospects of lonely widowrhood, rep- resenting, instead, the benefit she and the babe would draw from the sea-breezes, and his enhanced enjoyment of his weekly visits, because they were so far apart. He went with them to the shore, at their general flitting, and spent two days; saw for himself that those whose comfort was nearest his heart were properly accommodated; privately feed chambermaid and waiter, with hints of future emolument to accrue to them from special regard to the wants of Mrs. Hammond and her infant, and returned to town with the unenviable consciousness of having left at least three- fourths of himself behind him.. A brisk rush of business beguiled him of the aching, hol- low void for a few hours after he-got back. Not even Baby Belle s accents could be heard amid that roar and whir. But at luncheon-time, while waiting for his order to be filled at a restaurant, the dreary, solitary void overtook him--a fit of unmistakable home-sickness, that yet caused him to recoil at -^ page: 176-177[View Page 176-177] 176 TH EMPTY IIEART; OR, theidea of entering the deserted house up-town, when even. ing should oblige him to seek a lodging. How were Sarah and baby getting along without him? He was afraid that Lucy was not, in all respects, as congenial a companion as he could have wished his wife to have, and that Mrs. Hunt's undisguised worldliness, her foolish love of fashion and dis. play, would often annoy and mortify her sensible and right- judging daughter. Benson was capital company, though- a gentleman every inch of him! and very firiendly to Sarah. But for her reserved manners he would act the part of a real brother to her; in any case, he would be kind, and see that she wanted for nothing. Thhn-shot into his head by some unseen and unaccount- able machlpery-there darted across his mind a fragment of a conversation he had overheard, at entering his parlor, the day before the Benisons left. Philip and Lucy Were standing before a miniature painting of Sarah and her child, completed and brought home a short time previous. Although seem- ingly intent upon the picture, their conversation must have strayed far from the starting-point, for the first sentence that reached the unintentional listener was a tart, scornful speech from Lucy, that could by no stretch of the imagination be made to apply to her sister. "If you admire her so much, why did you not marry her when you had the opportunity? She was willing enough!" "Take care you do not make me regret that I did not do so!" was Philip's stern rejoinder as he turned from her. The- change of position showed him that Lewis was pres- ent, and for a second his inimitable self-possession wavered. ]ecovering himself, he reverted to the pictrile, and called upon his host to decide some disputed point in its artistic ex- ecution which he and Lucy were discussing. "Poor fellow! he has learned that all is not gold that grlit- ters!" mused Lewis to the newspaper he was pretending to HU S S. 1" read. "Lucy had a high reputation for amiability before she was Mfrs. Benson. There is no touchstone like the wed- ding-ring to bring out one's true qualities." He sat with his back to the entrance of the saloon, and the table directly behind him was now taken possession of by three or four new arrivals-all gentlemen, and apparently on familiar terms with one another. They called for a boun- tiful lunch, including wine, and plunged into a lively, rather noisy talk. Lewis closed his ears, and applied himself in earnest to his paper. He started presently at a word he could have declared was his name. Restraining the impulse to look around and see who of the group was known to him, he yet could not help trying to determine this point by their voices. One, a thin falsetto, he fancied belonged to George Bond, who was no more of a favorite with him than was his better half with Sarah. Lewis regarded him as a conceited rattle-pate, whose sole talent lay in the art of making money-whose glory was his purse. "Why should he be talking about me here? Nonsense; I was mistaken!" and another page of the newspaper was turned. "When--I leave my wife at Newport, or anywhere else, in the particular and brotherly care of orie of her former flames, publish me as a crazy fool!" said the wiry voice again, almost in the reader's ear. "He doesn't know old stories as well as you do, perhaps," remarked some one. "I should think not! When my wife pulls the wool over my eyes in that style, horsewhip me around town, and I won't cry ' Quarter l' Sister's husband or not, I'll be hanged if I would have him in my house for two weeks, and he is such a good-looking dog, too!" He stopped, as if his neighbor had jogged him, as Lewis looked over his shoulder in the direction of the gossip. A dead and awkward silence ensued, ended at last by the 8* page: 178-179[View Page 178-179] 178 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, pertinent observation that the " waiter was a long time bringing their lunch." In a maze of angry doubt and incredulity as to the evi- dence of his senses and suspicions, Lewis finished his meal, and stalked out past the subdued and now voracious quar. tette, favoring them with a searching look as he went by, which they sustained with great meekness. All the after- noon a heavy load lay upon his heart-an indefinable dread he dared not analyze; a forboding he would not face, yet could not dismiss. "You are blue, Lewis!" said Mr. Marlow, kindly, as they started up town together. "This is the Worst of having a wife and children; you miss them so terribly when they are away. 'But you will get used to it. Make up your mind at ,the eleventh hour to cross the water, and stay abroad three months. You will be surprised to find how easy your mind will become after a couple of weeks." "I am satisfied, sir, without making personal trial of the matter, that men become inured to misery, which seemed in the beginning to be insupportable." 1Mr. Marlow laughed, and they separated. Lewis sighed as he looked up at the blinds of his house, shut fast and grim, and still more deeply as he admitted himself to the front hall, that echoed dismally the sound of the closing door. His next movement was to walk into the 'parlor, throw open a shutter, and let in the evening light upon the portraits of the dear absent ones. There. he stood, scanning their faces-eyes and soul full of love and long- ingq-until the mellow glow passed away and left them in darkness. The comfortless evening repast was over, and he betook : himsel f to the library, Sarah's favorite room, as it was also 'i:i is. Her low easy-chair stood in its usual place opposite his at the centre-table, but her work-basket was missing; H U S K S. 179 likewise the book, with its silver marker, that hb was wont to see lying side by side with some volume he had selected for his own reading. But one lay there now, and there was an odd choking in his throat as he read the title on the back. He had expressed a wish for it in Sarah's hearing some-days before, and her delicate forethought had left it here as a solace and keepsake, one that should, while re- minding him of her, yet charm away sad feelings in her absence. Even in the exterior of the gift, she had been re- gardful of his taste. The binding was solid and rich; no gaudy coloring or tawdry gilt; the thick smooth paper and clear type were a luxury /to touch and sight. Lewis was no sentimentalist, in the ordinary acceptation of the term, yet he kissed the name his wife had traced upon the fly-leaf ere he sat down to employ the evening as she by her gift tacitly requested him to do. But it was a useless attempt. The book was not in fault, and he -should have read it intently, if only because she had bestowed it; still, the hand that held it sank lower and lower, until it rested upon his knee, and the reader was the thinker instead. The most prosaic of human beings have their seasons ofl reverie-pleasing or mournful, which are, unknown often to themselves, the poetry of their lives. Such was the drama Lewis Hammond was now-rehearsing in his retro- spective dreams. The wan and weary mother, whom he remembered as always clothed in widow's weeds, and toiling in painful drudgery to maintain herself and her only boy; who had smiled and wept, rendered thanksgivings and uttered prayers for strength, alternately, as she heard Mr. Marlow's propo- sal to protect and help the lad through the world that head borne so hardly upon her; who-had strained him to her bosom, and'shed 'fast, hot tears of speechless anguish at their parting--a farewell that was never to be forgotten in page: 180-181[View Page 180-181] 180 THrE EIPTY tIEART; On, any- meeting on this side of eternity; this was the vision,. hers the palladium of love, that had nerved him for the close wrestle with fortune, guarded him amid the burning plough- shares of temptation, carried him unscathed past the hun- dred -mouths of hell, that gape upon the innocent and un- wary in all large cities. Cold and unsusceptible as he was deemed -in society, he kept unpolluted in his breast a fresh living stream of genuine romantic feeling, such, as we are apt to think went out of fashion-aye, and out of being- with the belted knights of yore; wealth he had vowed never to squander, never reveal, until he should pour it, without one thought of self-reserve, upon his wife' He never hinted this to a living creature before the moment came for revealing it to the object of his choice. He was a "predestined 'old bachelor!" an "infidel to love and the sex," said and believed the gay and frivolous, and he let them talk. His ideal woman, his mother's representative and successor--the-beauty and crown of his existence-was too sacred for-the gaze and comment of indifferent world- lings For her he labored and studied and lived; confident - ! in a fatalistic belief that, at the right moment, the dream would become a reality--the phantasm leave her cloudy height for his arms. Love so beautiful and intense as this,- like snow in its purity, like fire in its fervor, cannot be won to full and elo- quent utterance but by answering love-a sentiment identi- cal in kind, if not equal in degree; and Sarah Hammond's estimate of her husband's affection was, in consequence of this'want in herself, cruelly unjust fin its coldness and pov- erty. 'His patience with her, transient fits of gloom or way- wardness in the early months of their married life; his noble forgetfulness of her faults, and grateful acknowledg. ment of hel most trifling effort to please him; his unceasing oare; his- laish bounty-all these she attributed too much 'I '" USKS8 ' s1 to natural amiability and ;conscientious views of utv; toyo little to his warm regard for her personallv. In this per suasion she had copied his conduct in externals so far as she' could; and applauding observers adjudged the mock gent to be a fair and equitable equivalent for the rare pearl she had received. Lest this d igression, into which I have been inadvertently betrayed, should mislead any with the idea that I have some design of dignifying into a hero this respectable, but very commonplace personage, return we to him as he hears eleven o'clock rung out by the monitor on the mantel, and says to himself, "Baby Belle has been asleep these three hoursI and mamma, caring nothing for beaux and ball-room, is preparing to follow her." Beaux and ball-room! Pshaw! why should the nonsensi- cal talk of that jacknapes, George Bond, come to his mind just then? The whole tenor of the remarks that succeeded the name he imagined was his disproved that imagination. But who had left his wife at Newport in the care of a. "good-looking" brother-in-law? who had been domesticated in the family of the deluded husband for a fortnight? Pshaw again! What concern had he with their scandale ous, doubtless slanderous tattle? "Why did you not marry her when you had the oppor- tunity? She was willing enough!" Could Lucy have spoken thus of her sister?. Sarah was barely acquainted with Philip Benson when Lucy wedded him, having met him but once prior to the wedding-ayat the house of her aunt in the country, from which place his own letter, penned by her father's sick-bed, recalled her- How 'far from his thoughts then was the rapid train of consequences that followed upon this-preiminar act of their intercourse! Did that scoundrel Bond say "Hammond?"It was not ? , page: 182-183[View Page 182-183] a common name, and came quite distinctly to his ears in the high, unpleasant key he se disliked. A flush of honest shame arose to his forehead at this uncontrollable straying of his ideas to a topic so disagreeable, and so often rejected by his mind. "As if-even had I been the person insulted by his pity- I would believe one syllable he said of a woman as far above him in virtue and intellectl in every thing good and lovable, as the heavens are above the earth! I would despise my- self as much as I do him, if I could lend my ear for an in- stant to so degrading a whisper! I wish I had faced him and demanded the whole tale; yet no! that would have been rash and absurd. Better as it is! By to-morrow, I shall laugh at my ridiculous fancies!" "Scratch! scratch! scratch!"The house was so still in the approaching midnight that the slightnoise caused him a shock and quiver in the excited state of his nerves. The iterruption was something between a scrape and a rap, three imes repeated, and proceeding, apparently, from the bookcase at his right. What could it be? He had never seen or heard of a mouse on the premises, nor did the sound much resemble the nibbling of that animal Ashamed of the momentary thrill he had experienced, he remained still and collected, awaiting its repetition. "Scratch! scratch! rap!" It was in the bookcase-in thelower part where were drawers shut in by solid doors. These he had never explored, but knew that his wife kept pamphlets and papers in them. He opened the outer doors cautiously, and listened again, until assured by the scratch- ing that his search was in the right direction. There were three drawers, two deep, the third and upper shal- low. This he drew out and examined. It contained wri. ting-paper and envelopes, all in good order. Nor was there any sign of the intruder amongst the loose music and peri. i HUB EB. .[O; odicals in the second. The lower one was locked-no doubt accidentally, for he had never seen Sarah lock up any thing except jewels and money. Their servants were honest, and she had no cause to fear investigation on his part. Feeling, rather than arguing thus, he removed the drawer above, leaving exposed the locked one, and thrust his hand down into it. It encountered 'the polished surface of a small box or case, which he was in the act of drawing through the aperture left by the second drawer, when some- thing dark and swift ran over his hand and up his sleeve.\ With a violent start, he dashed the casket to the floor, and another energetic fling of his arm dislodged the mouse. His first care was to pursue and kill it; his next to examine into the damage it had indirectly produced. The box-ebony, lined with sandal-wood--had fallen with such force as to loosen the spring, and lay on its side wide open; its treas- ures strewed over the carpet. They were neither numer- ous, nor in themselves valuable. A bouquet of dried flowers, enveloped in silver paper, lay nearest Lewis s hand, as he knelt to pick up the scattered articles. The paper was tied about the stalks of the floweqrs with black ribbon, and to this was attached a card: ' Will Miss Sarah accept this trifling token of regard from one who is her stanch friend, and hopes, in time, to have a nearer claim upon her esteem?" The hand was familiar to the reader as Philip Benson's. Why should Sarah preserve this, while the many floral to- kens of his love which she had received were flung away. when withered like worthless weeds? The pang of jeal- ousy was new--sharp as the death-wrench to the heart- strings, cruel as the grave! The card was without date, or he would have read, with a different apprehension of its ' meaning, the harmless clause-- And hopes im time to have a nearer claim upon her esteem." There was. a time, then, when, as Lucy had taunted her husband, be might have t . * , page: 184-185[View Page 184-185] married her sister! when Sarah loved him, and had reason to think herself beloved in return! What was this sable 'badge but the insignia of a bereaved heart, that mourned still in secret the faithlessness of her early love, or the ad- vnerse fate that had sundered him from her, and given him to another? Crushing the frail, dead stems in his hand, he threw them back into the box, and took up a bit of dark gray wood, rough on one side--smoothed on the other into a rude tab- let. "PhAii Benson, -Deal Beach, Jul 27th, 1856. Peusez ' moi/"But ten days before he met her at the wharf in New York to take her to her sick father! but three months before she plighted her troth to him, promised to wed him, while in spirit she was still weeping tears of blood over the inconstant! for he did not forget that Philip's engagement to Lucy preceded his own to Sarah by eight or nine wees. There were other relics in the box; a half-worn glove, training the shape of the manly hand it had inclosed- which,' he learned afterwards, Philip had left in his chamber at the farm-house when he departed to seek gayer scenes; a white shell, upon whose rosylining were scratched with the point of a knife the ominous initials, "P. B.," and be- neath them ' S. B. H.," a faded rose-bud, and several printed4 slips, cut from the columns of newspapers. He unfolded but two of these. One was an extract from Tennyson's "Maud"-the invi. tation to the garden. Breathlessly, by reason of the terrible stricture tightening around his heart, Lewis ran his eyes over the charming whimsical morceau. They rested upon and-reviewed the last -verse: "She is coming--my own, my sweet I Were it ever so airy a tread, My heart would hear her and beat; Were it earth in an earthy bed, HUSKS. ' 185 "My dust would hear her and beat; Had I laid for a Century dead, s Would start and tremble under her feet, And blossom in purple and red." He did not discriminate now between printed and writ. ten verses. These were love stanzas sent by another man to his wife, received and cherished by her, hidden away with a care that, in itself, bordered on criminality, for was not its object the deception of the injured husband? The most passionate autograph love-letter could hardly have stabbed him more keenly. The other was Mrs. Browning's exquisite "Portrait." And here the reader can have an explanation the tortured man could not obtain. With the acumen for which Cupid's votaries are proverbial, Philip Benson, then at the " sunrmer heat" degree of his flame for the Saratoga belle, had recog. nized in this poem the most correct and beautiful description of his lady-love. Curiosity to see if the resemblance were apparent to other eyes, and a desire for sympathy tempted him to forward it to Sarah. She must perceive- the. likeness to her divine sister, and surmise the sentiment that had in- duced him to send it. -A-little alteration in the opening stanza was -requisite to make it a "perfect fit." . Thus it was when the change was made:-- I will paint her as I see her: ---- times have the lilies blown Since she looked upon the sun." The poetess, guiltless of any intention to cater for the wants of grown-up lovers, had written "Ten" in the space made blank by Philip's gallantry and real ignorance of his charmer's age. For the rest, the "lily-clear face," the " fore- head fair and saintly," the "trail of golden hair," the blue eyes, " like meek prayers before a shrine," the voice that page: 186-187[View Page 186-187] 186 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, I "Murmurs lowly * i As a silver stream may run, P Whiich yet feels you feel the sun," were, we may safely assert, ,quite as much like poor Sarah, when he sent the poem, as they were now like the portrait he would-if put upon his oath-sketch of his unidealized Lucy. It was not unnatural then, in Lewis Hammond, to over- look in his present state, these glaring discrepancies in the picture as applied by him. With a blanched and rigid coun- tenance he put all the things back into the box, shut it, and restored it to its place. Then he knelt on the floor and hid his face in his wife's chair; and there struggled out into the still air of the desecrated home-temple, made sacred by his love and her abiding, deep sobs from the strong man's stricken heart-a grief as much more fearful than that of widowhood, as- the desertion and dishonor of tha loved one are worse -than death. '^ "r ' I # , . X Hvsx s . 18 i HUSK S. CHAPTER XV. IT was the "grand hop" night at the head-quarters of Newport fashion. Sarah, characteristically indifferent to gayeties "made to order," had determined not to appear below. The air of her room was fresh and pure, and a book, yet unread, lay under the lamp upon her table. Her sister and mother had withdrawn to dress, when Jeannie's curly head peeped in at Mrs. Hammond's door. Her features Wore a most woe-begone expression. "What has gone wrong, Jeannie?" inquired Sarah. "Why, mamma says that I will be in her way if I go into the ball-room; and it will be so stupid to stay out the whole evening, while all the other girls can see the dancing and dresses, and hear the music. And sister Lucy says that chil- dren are 'bores' in company." "A sad state of things, certainly! Perhaps I may per. suade mother to let you go." "Yes; but if she does, she will sit close against the wall with a lot of other fat old ladies, and they will talk over my head, and squeeze me almost to death, besides rumpling my dress; and I so want to wear my tucked pink grenadine, sister!!" "And you would like to have me go down with you; is that it?" Jeannie's eyes beamed delightedly. 'Oh, if you only would!" Sarah looked down into the eager face and saw, in antic'i pation, her own little Belle imploring some boon, as impor page: 188-189[View Page 188-189] a.:10, THE EMPTY HEART; OR, tant to her, as easy to be granted by another as this, and consented with a kiss. "Run away and bring your finery here! Mother is too busy to attend to you. Mary can dress you." The order was obeyed with lightning speed; and Sarah' still beholding in the excited child the foreshadowing of her darling's girlhood, superintended the toilet, while she made herself ready. "What shall I wear, Jeannie?" she asked, carelessly, holding open the door of her wardrobe. "Oh, that lovely fawn-colored silk, please! the one with thesblack lace flounces! It is the prettiest color I ever saw; and I heard :Mrs. Greyling tell another lady the night you wore it, when brother Lewis was here, you know, that it fwas one of the richest dresses in the room, modest as it looked, and that the flounces must have cost a penny!" "Probably more!"' Sarah proceeded to array herself in the fortunate robe that had wod the praises of the fashionably distinguished Mrs. Greyling. Her abundant dark hair was lighted by two coral sprigs, which formed the heads of her hair-pins, and, h]andkerchief and gloves in hand, she was taking a last sur- vey of Jeannie's more brilliant costume, when there came a knock at the door. "Mr. Benson i" said Mary, unclosing it. X "May I come in?" he asked. The tidy iary had removed all trace of the recent tinng operations from, the apartment, which was a compound. of parlor and dressing-room, -necessary adjunct to the small chamber and smaller nursery, leading out of it, at the side and rear. "You may!" replied Sarah. "Here is an aspirant for ball-room honors, who awaits your approval." Mademoiselle que vous etes charmante! IX am pene. H USs . 8S trated with profound admiration!" exclaimed the teasing brotJher-in-law, raising his hands in true melodramatic style. Jeannie laughed and blushed until her cheeks matched the grenadine. \ "Mrs. Hunt told me that you had changed your mind, and intended to grace the festive scene with your presence," continued Philip, addressing Sarah. "She and Lucy are there, and the dancing has begun. I came to escort you and our fair debutante here-that is, unless some one else has offered his services and been accepted." "That is not likely, since Mr. Hammond left us in your care. Do not your fourfold duties oppress you?" "Not in the least. If all my charges were as chary of their calls upon me as you are, my time would hang heavily upon my hands. No one would imagine, from your reluc- tance to be waited upon, that you had been spoiled at home. If Mr. Hammond were here now, he would tell you to draw that shawl--" ' It is an opera cloak!" interrupted Jeannie. "A ball-cloak to-night, then, is it not? I was saying that, although the night is not cool for sea air, you had better wrap that mantle about your chest and throat as we go out." ,Just outside the door a waiter passed them with a note in his hand. He stopped, on seeing Philip. "Mr. Benson! I was on my way to your rooms with this, sir. Philip stepped back within the parlor to read it by the light. It was a line from a friend who had just arrived at another hotel, notifying him of this- fact. It required no reply, and leaving it upon the table, he rejoined his com- panions. "See mamma! Isn't it just as I said?j' whispered Jean- nie, as she established herself beside her sister in a comfort page: 190-191[View Page 190-191] 190 TTHE EMPTY HEART; OR, able corner that, commanded a view of the spacious hall and its gay, restless sea Of figures. Sarah smiled at discovering her mother sandwiched be- tween two portly dowagers; one in purple, the other in lavender silk; all three bobbing and wavingmin their ear- snest :confabulations, in a style that presented a ludicrously marked resemblance to the gesticulations of a group of Muscovy ducks, on the margin of a mud-puddle, held by -them in their capacity of a joint-stock company. "I see that Lucy has taken the floor," observed Philip. ,' She will not thank me for any devoirs I could render her for the next three hours. If they get up any thing so hum- drum as quadrilles, may I ask the pleasure of your company for the set?" 'If you wish it--and my dress is not too grave in hue--" "And too decorous in its make, you were about to add, I presume:" he'finishedthe sentence bluntly. "It forms a . refreshing contrast to the prevailing style around us." Lucy here flitted into sight, and her very bare arms and shoulders pointed her husband's strictures. A stool, brought into the room for the use of some child or invalid looker-on of the festivities, now-stood empty under Sarah's chair, and Philip, espying-it, seized upon and drew it forth. When i sealed, his mouth was nearly on a level with Sarah's ear. ; "This is pleasanit!" he said. "We are quite as much isolated from the rest of mankind as if we were sitting among the heathery hillocks on Deal Beach. You do not love the visions of those tranquil sunny days as I do. You never allude to them voluntarily. Yet you have had less to convert your dreams into every-day actualities, tedious and prosaic, :than. I have. I stand in direful need of one of the - old lectures, inculcating more charity, and less study of co mplex motives and biassed tendencies in the machine we call ,Ma. Begin! I,am atyour mercy."'i ' si lUH Js 8 . 191 "4I'havo forgotten how to deliver them. I am out of practice." "That is not surprising. Your husband is behind tht age he lives in-and so are you. You two would make Blarnum's fortune, could he ever persuade the public of your idiosyncrasies." "What are you talking about?" "Look around and through this room, and you will un derstand one part of my meaning. Do you remark the preponderance of married over single belles? and that tha most tenderly deferential cavaliers are husbands, and not dancing with their wives? I could point out to you three men, leaders of the ton in this. extremely reputable, emi- nently moral assembly, who, it is whispered among the knowing ones, are married, and, having left their domestic associations for a season of recreation, boldly attach them- selves to certain stylish young ladies here, and challenge observation, defy public censure, by their marked and in- creasing devotion. I meet them strolling along the beach in the morning; riding together in the afternoon; and' when not engaged in this evening exhibition of toilet and f muscle, you will find them pacing the moon or star-lit pi- azza, or, perchance, again sentimentalizing on, the shore until the witching hour draws near." "You surprise me!" "You have no right to be surprised. You have the same X thing continually-before you in your city. Every fashion- able hotel or bqarding-house can supply you with such. flirtations by the dozen. A married woman who declines the polite services of all gentlemen, except her husband and near relatives, is a prude, with false scruples of propri- ety and delicacy. Let her legal partner complain--he is cried out upon as a despot, and you can trust -the sweet an gel of an abused wife to elude his vigilance-violence, ihe page: 192-193[View Page 192-193] 192 TEE EMPTY HEART; OR, terms it--for the future, without altering -her conduct in aught else., Do you see that pretty woman in blue-the one with the madonna-like face? Her tyrant is here but ponce a week--fom Saturday until Monday-then hies back to the business he loves as well as she does her pleasure. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and the forenoon of Saturday, any mustachioed puppy may walk, talk, drive, and flirt with her-bask in the ra3ys of those liquid orbs. When the rightful lord appears, she is demure as a nun, patient as a saint, dutiful as Griselda, to himn and him alone. Do you begin to understand why I congratu- lated you upon having a husband of the olden, stamp? why, I do from my heart felicitate my friend Hammond upon having gained, as a helpmeet, one of that nearly obsolete species-Woman!" Sarah's embarrassment was painful, and but indifferently concealed. She felt that it was barely excusable, in consid- eration of his fraternal relation to her, for Philip to speak so plainly of this social blemish; and altogether unpardonable, while he did not, or could not, prevent his wife's participation in the questionable gayeties he assailed so unsparingly. Re- ply she could not, without implicating Lucy in her reproba- tion, and he must perceive her difficulty. This was the trouble that lay uppermost. At her heart's core, the uneasy feeling she ever experienced in conversation with him; the stirring of the entombed love, of whose actual death she had horrible misgivings; the incongruous blending of past emotion with present duty, were now aggravated by the enforced acceptanlce of unmerited praise. Her woman's instinct, her experience as a wife,- told her that the cause of the sinful recklessness, the contempt of the true spirit of the marriage tie, was not the fruit merely of the vanity and thirst ftor, adulation, to. which it was properly attributed. 'With the recollection of her own life, the education she had- HUSXS. X :193 received at homet the hateful, yet, even to her independent spirit, resistless decrees of society, there 'swelled up within her bosom something akin to Philip's bitter cynicism. Un- der this spur, she spoke. "And from these signs of the times, you would argue an inherent degeneracy of womanhood--a radical change in its composition, such as some anatomists tell us has taken place in the structure of our bodies--our blood-our very teeth. A dentist, who filled a tooth for me the other day, imparted divers scientific items of information to me that may illus- trate your position. 'Enamel, madam, is not what enamel was in - the days of our ancestors!' he affirmed pathetically; 'the color, the very ingredients of the bone, the calcareous base of the teeth, differ sadly from the indestructible molars of fifty ye.,rs ago.' At this passage of his jeremiade, he chanced to touch the nerve in the unhappy ' molar' he was excavating, and, I am persuaded that I suffered as really as my grandmother would have done, had she sat in my place." She paused, and beat time with her fingers on Jeannie's shoulder to, the wild, varying waltz that swept the giddy crowd around the room in fast and flying circles. J "Your analogy asserts, then, that at heart women are alike in all ages?" "Why not, as well as men?" "Then why does not action remain the same, if that be true?" "Because custom-fashion, if you prefer this name--a unaccountable, irresponsible power--owing its birth often- est to accident or caprice, says, 'Do this l' and it is done! be it to perpetrate a cravat-bow, a marriage, or a murder!" Another pause-in which music and, dancers seemed sweeping on to sweet intoxication-so joyous in their abandon were the gushing strains; so swift, the whirl of 9 page: 194-195[View Page 194-195] 194 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, the living ring. The fingers played lightly and rapidly on Jeannie's plump shoulder-then rested on a half-beat. "Yes!"She was looking towards the crowd, but her eye was fixed, and her accents slow and grave. "Hearts live and hearts love, while time endures. The heart selects its mate in life's spring-time, with judgment as untaught as that of the silly bird that asks no companion, but the one the God of Nature has bestowed upon it. But see you not, my good brother"--she faced him, a smile wreathing her lip-a strange glitter in her eye--"see you not to what woeful disorders those untrained desires, this unsophisticated , following out of unregulated affections would give rise? It would sap the foundations of caste; level all wholesome dis- tinctions of society; consign the accomplished daughters of palatial halls-hoary with a- semi-decade of years-to one- story' cottages and a maid-of-all work; doom nice young men to the drudgery of business for the remainder of their wretched lives, to maintain wives whose dowries would not keep their lily-handed lords in French kids for a year; cover managing mammas With ignominy, and hasten ambitious pa- pas to their costly vaults in--as Dickens has it-' some gen- teel place of interment.' Come what -may of blasted hopes and wrecked hearts, the decencies of life must be observed. Every heart has its nerve-genuine, sensitive, sometimes vulgarly tenacious of life-but there are corrosives that will eat it out; fine, deadly wires, that can probe and torture and extract it. And when the troublesome thing is finally gotten rid of, there is an end to all obstacles to judicious courtships and eligible alliances!" She laughed scornfully, -and Philip recoiled, without knowing why he did so, as he heard her. T That is all very well, when the iature of the contract is understood on both. sides" he sai gloomily. I doubt, however, whether the beautiful economy of your systen a U SKs. v 195 will be appreciated by those whose living hearts are bound to the bloodless plaster-casts you describe." "These accidents will occur in spite of caution on the part of the best managers of suitable marriages. By far the larger proportion of the shocks inflicted upon polite cir- cles arise from this very cause. Pygmalion grows weary of wooing his statue, and wants sympathy in his disappoint, ment and loneliness." The dance was ended. The fantastic variations of the waltz were exchanged for a noble march--pealing through the heated rooms like a rush of the healthful sea-breezq. The spark died in Sarah's eye. Her voice took its habit- ual pitch. "I have permitted myself to become excited, and, I am afraid, have said many things that I had no right to think- much loss to utter. If my frieedom has displeased you, I am sorry." "The error-if error- there were-was mine," rejoined Philip. "I led the conversation into the channel; you, af- ter'awhile, followed. I believe there is no danger of our misunderstanding each other." "Darby and Joan! good children in the corner!" cried Lucy, flushed with exercise and radiant with good humor, as she promenaded past them leaning on the arm of a young West Pointer, a native Southerner and an acquaintance of Philip's. If his wife must flirt and frolic, he was watchful that she did not compromise him by association with doubt- ful characters. On several occasions, the advances of- gay gentlemen, whose toilets were more nearly irreproachable than their reputations, had been checked by his cool and significant resumption of the husband's post beside the belle, and, if need existed, by the prompt withdrawal of the unwilling lady from the scene. Theecadet laughed, and, convinced that she had said a witty thing, Lucy swam by. page: 196-197[View Page 196-197] h 196 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, ' The common sense of our tropes, rodomontades, and al- legories is this!" said Philip, biting his lip, and speaking in a hard tone. "The only safe ground in marriage is mutual, permanent affection. You meant to convey the idea that if each of these dressy matrons, humming around our ears, had a sincere, abiding love for her husband--and each of. these gallant Benedicts the right kind of regard for his wedded Beatrice, the vocation of us corner censors would be gone?" "Well said, Mr. Interpreter!" she responded, in affected jest. "This point settled, will you take my arm for a'turn through the room before the next set is formed? They are talking of quadrilles. I shall claim your promise if a set is made up, unless you are not courageous enough to brave the public sneer by dancing with your brother. Come, Jeannie, and walk with us." Two sets of quadrilles were arranged at different ends of the saloon. Philip led Sarah through one, with Lucy- who considered it a capital joke-and her partner vis-d-wis to them, Jeannie, meanwhile, remaining by her mother. The summer nights were short; and, when the dance was over, Sarah intimated to her younger sister the propriety of retiring. Mrs. Hunt's head ached, and she esteemed the sacrifice comparatively light, therefore, that she, too, had to leave the revels and accompany the child to her chamber. Sarah's apartments were on the same floor, several doors further on. Having said "Good-night" to the others, she and Philip walked slowly along the piazza, light as day in the moonbeams, until they reached her outer room, the parlor. *n "I hope you will experience no ill effects from your dis. sipation," said Philip, in playful irony. "In a lady of your staid habits, this disposition to gayety is, alarming. Abso a auasl-s.. 197 lutely eleven o'clock! What will Hammond say when he hearsthestory? Good-night! Don't letyourconsoiene keep you awake t" Sarah opened the door softly, that she might not strtle the baby-sleeperintheinner room. The lamp was slinin g lrightly, and by it sat--her huband! brightly,A page: 198-199[View Page 198-199] !tJ7 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, CHAPTER XVI. "EWIS had entered his wife's room within fifteen minutes after she left it. He looked so ill and weary that the girl, Mary, gave a stifled scream of fright and surprise. "Are you sick, sir?" she asked hastily, as he threw off his hat, and wiped his pale forehead. "Shall I tell Mrs. Hammond that you are here? She weft down to the ball- room awhile ago." "What did you say? No!" replied he, shortly. His frown, rather than his tone, silenced her. He had picked up the envelope Philip had dropped on the table, and his face darkened still more. Too proud to question a servant of her mistress' actions and associates, he believed that he had gathered from this mute witness all that Wvas needful to know. As a privileged habitue of the cosy bou- doir he had been at such pains to procure and make fit for his wife's occupancy, another, had sat here and- read his evening mail, while awaiting her leisure; careless of Lp- pearalines, since the deceived one would not be there to notice them, had tossed this note downwith as much frye- :dohe would have done in his own apartment. T i;ough the open windows poured the distant strains Of the band; and, seized by a sudden thought, he caught up his hat and strode out, along' piazzas and through halls, to the entrance-door of the ball saloon. As Sarah's ill-fortune )rdained it, the piercing glance that ran over and beyond ,he crowd of spectators and dancers detectecdher at the in- ,* stant of Philip's taking his lowly seat at herside. Jeannie's pink attire was concealed by the drapery of a lad y, whose plae in t he set then forming was directly infront of her. tLewis saw but the two, virtually tete--tgte ; and, as he onb tined fleeting glimpses of them through the shifting throng, marlked Philip's energetic, yet confidential discourse, and the intentnesswith which she listened, until, warmed or ex cited by his theme, Sarah lifted her downcast eyes and spoke, with what feeling and effect her auditor's varying expression showed., The gazer stood there likea statue, unheeding the sur prised and questioning looks cast by passers-by upon his travelling-dress, streaked with dust-his sad and settled visage, so unbefitting th e scene within-while Philip made the tour of the room, with Sarah upon his arm, until they took their stations for the dance; he, courteous and atten- tive-she,smiling and happy, more beautifu in her hus band's eyes than her blonde sister opposite; and he could stay no longer. If ltary had thought him sick and cross at his former entrance, she considered him savage now, for one who was ordinarily a kind and gentle master. "You can go to your room?'" he ordered, not advised: "I will sit up for Mrs. Hammond!" "I have slept in the nursery, sir, while you were away. "That cannot be to-night. I will find you some other place."'r -lHe had no intention that the anticipatea conversation with his wife should be overheard. "I can stay with a friend of mine, sir, only a few doors off.'7 Quiekly and quietly the nurse arranged the night-lamp and the child's food, that her mistress might have no trouble during her absence, and went out. page: 200-201[View Page 200-201] : , 200. THE EMPTY HEART; OR, Baby Belle'slumbered on, happily wandering ihrough the guileless mazes of baby dream-land; one little arm, bared from the sleeve of her gown, thrown above her head-the hand of the other cradling her cheek. The father ventured , to press a light kiss upon the red lips. In his desolation, he craved this trifing solace. The child's face was con. torted by an expression of discomfort, and, still dreaming, she murmured, in her inarticulate language, somepettis expression of disgust. "My very child shrinks from me! Itisintheblood!" said the unhappy man, drawing back from the crib. 'If his resolution had waned at sight of the sleeper, it was fixed again when he returned to his chair in the outer room. le raised his head from his folded arms when he heard Philip and Sarah approaching, but did not otherwise alter his position. Tile low tone of their parting words--one soon learned by th sojourners in hotels and watering-places, where thin, partitions and ventilators abound-s, to hi the' cautiously repressed voice of affectionate' good-nights. Butone clause was distinct,What will Hammond say, when he hears the story?" 'They Jested thus of himl, then. One of them, at least, should learn ere long what he would "Lewis! you here!" Sarah changed color with amazement and vague alarm--. emotion thatparalyzed her momentarily. Then, as she dis- cerned the tokens of disorder inhis dress and countenance She hurried forward. "'What has brought you so unexpectedlyi Are- you sick? Has any thing happened?p'- Ie did not rise; and, resting her hand on his shoulder, she stooped for a kiss. But his stern gazeinever moved from hers-anxious and inquiring-and his lips were like stone. H U SR ,' 201 "Lewis, speak to me I If you have dreadful news to tell me, for pity's sake, do not keep me in suspense!" .. "I have nothing to say that will be new to you," he said, without relaxing his hard, cold manner, "and not a great deal that ought to have been kept back from me when I wished to marry you, believing that you had la heart to give me with your hand." As if struck in the face, Sarah sank back into a chair, speechless and trembling. "Yes! had you been sincere with me then, grieved and disappointed as I would have felt, I would have respected you the more, and loved you none the less for the dis- closure. But when, after a year and a half of married life, I learn that the woman I have loved and trusted with my whole soul-from whom I ihave never concealed 'a thought that it could interest her to know-has all the while been playing A'false part-vowing at the altar to love me and me alone, when she secretly idolized another; bearing my name, living beneath my roof, sleeping in my bosom-yet thinking of, and caring for him, treasuring'his-keepsakes as the most precious of her possessions--is it strange that, when the tongue of a vulgar gossip proclaims my shame in" my hearing, and other evidence proves what I thought was his vile slander to be true as gospel-is it strange, I sayi that I am incensed at the deception practised upon me--at the infamous . outrage of my dearest hopes-my most holy feelings?"- She threw herself at his feet, clasped his knees, and im- plored him, chokinglyn to "forgive" her. "Oh if you knew what I have suffered!" - "What you have suffered!"He folded his arms and looked sorrowfully down at her crouching figure. " Yes! you were not by nature coarse and unfeeling! The violence you have committed upon your heart and every'principle of o 9 . . page: 202-203[View Page 202-203] 202 THE EMPTY H"EART; OR, delicacyg and truth miust have cost you pain. Then you loved hia!" "Once! 'a long while ago!" said Sarah, 'hiding her face in her hands. "Take. cal!"There was no softness now in his tone. "Remember that I have seen you together day-by day, and that glances and actions, unnoticed at the time in my stupid blindness, recur to me now with terrible meaning. For once, speak the true voice of feeling, and own what I know already, that all the love you ever had to give belongs still , to your sister'sbhusband!" s"I will speak the truth!"Sarah arose and stood before him-face livid and eyes burning. ': I did love this man! - I married you, partly to please my parents, partly because I found out that by some means my secret had fallen into unscrupulous hands, and I was mad with dread of its ex. posure! ilt seemed'to me that no worse shame could come upon meithan to have it trumpeted abroad that I had bestowed my love unsought, arid was ready to die because it was slighted. I have learned since that it is far, far worse X to live a lie-to despise myself! Oh! that I had died then!"' She battled with the emotion-that, threatened to overwhelm -her, and went on. "Once bound to you, it has been my hourly endeavor to feel and' act as became the faithful wife of a kind, noble man. If, sometimes, I have erred in thought-if my feelings have failed me in the mo- ment of trial--yet, in word and deed, in look and gesture, I have been true to you. No one have I deceived more thoroughly than Philip Benson. He never suspected my unfortunate partiality for himself; he believes me still, what I would give worlds; to become in truth, yo r loyal, loving wife! It is well that you know the truth at last. I do not ask you how you have obtained the outlines of a disgrace- ful story, that I have tried a thousand times to tell you, but 203 was prevented by the fear of losing your favor forever. This is my poor defence-not against your charges, but in palliation of the sin of which they-justly accuse me. I can say nothing m ore. Do with me as you will!" "It is but just to myself that you should hear the cir-; cumstances which accidentally revealed this matter to me. He narrated the scene at the restaurant, and the discovery of the evening. Hie evinced neither relenting nor sympathy in the recital. Her confession had extinguished the last ray of hope, cherished, though unacknowledged by himself, that she might extenuate her error or give a more favorable construction to the evidence aga:inst her. Itwas not singu- lar that, in the reaction of disappointment, he was ready to believe that he had not heard all; to imagine that he could perceive throughout her statement a disposition to screen Philip, that was, in itself, a proof of disingenuousness, if not deiberate falsehood. She denied that hehad ever been aware of her attachment or had reciprocated it. What meant then those words--- hopes in time to hate a nearer claim?" what those impassioned verses? what the linking of their initals within the shell? the motto on the wooden tablet? While these subtle queries were insinuated into his soul by some mocking spirit, he concluded the history of the discovery of the casket. , "I have never opened it since the night before I was married," said Sarah, with no haste of self-justification. "I put tinto the drawer the day after we went to ou house. 'Ithas notheen unlocked from that day to this. \ ; "Why keep it at all, unless as amemento of one still dclear to you?" "I felt as if I had buried it. I said to mysef: 'If the time ever comes when I can disinter these relics and show them to my husband, without a pang or fear, as mementoes of a dead and almost forgotten folly, he shall destroy them, page: 204-205[View Page 204-205] 204 - THE EMPTY HEART; OR And that time ha s never arrived."' She Would have spoken, but her tongue proved tritorous She crimsoned and was silent. iewis smiled drearily.. "4 You see that I know you bets ter than you do yourself. It is well, as you have said, that ou at from yobast. Ipityyou! If could, I would release forum bonage. As it is, Iwill do all that I can "Never!" cried Sarah, shuddering. "ave youforgot- "nI have nt Hisvoie Hshook for a second. "She is all that unites Us ow. For the sake of her future-her good name-an open separation ought to be avoided, if possible,-if it be inevitable, your conduc must not be the ostensible canue. To qouiet malicious tongues, you mut yoaun here awhile longer under your mothers care. To a mplnsh the same end, I must appear once more in publiel and on apparently friendy terms with-your brother-iy-law. When your mother returns to the ity, you had best go too, and to your own house. Your brother Robert is now sooteen ears old-stead and manly enough to act as your Protectur. Invite him tostay with you, and also Jeannier "What are you:s o be th eak' myreahooo, 8a...o..... , y o be speaof my choosing another protector? a u A pvery incompetent one I have proved myself to bel ahbe tyourned,-ith the same sad sniDe. Ihavenot bee tal ouo from yourself. I sail for Europe day after to. 'deis ertmelo f yPouI o a ever loved me) do not deset me our shild yo from I will reobmitsto any'punishs HU8ss. E 205 ment but this!"-. She clung anew to his knees as she poured out her prayer. Not a month ago she had turned pale with fright at the suggestion of this voyage. It was sheer acting then I awhy not now? "Objections are useless!" he said. "'My arrangements are made. I have passed my word." "But you will not leave me in anger! Say that you will forgive me! that you will return soon, and this miserable night be forgotten!" "Shall I tell you when I will return?' He raised her head, and looked straight into her eyes. "When you write to me, and tell me that you have destroyed the love-tokens in that box; when you bid me come back for your sake- not for our child's! Until then, I shall believe that my presence would be irksome to you. It is necessary for our fhouse to have a resident partner in England. It is my ex- pectation to fill that plade for some time to come; it shall be for you to say how long." Bowed as Sarah's spirit was beneath the burst of the long-dreaded storm and her. accusing conscience, her womanly pride revolted at this speech. She had bumbled herself in the dust at the feet of a man whom she did not love; had borne meekly his reproaches; submitted dumbly to the degrading suspicions that far transcended her actual sin: but as the idea of her suing servilely for the love she had never yet valued; of him, indifferent and independent, awaiting afar off- for her - etition -hers, whom he had abandoned to the scornful sneers of the keen witted hyenas of society; to the cross-examination of her distrustful rela. tires; the stings of. remorse; left in one word to terself[- as this picture grew up clearly before her mind, the tide of feeling turned. "You reject my prayers and despise my tears!" she said, I p m tears page: 206-207[View Page 206-207] 206 THNE EMPTY EART; OR, -proudly. ",ou refuse to acceptofmyhumiliati6n. Yet yo" d not doubt me as yo u would have me b-lieve that I throw back the ichar 11 L do!, .Eseyou would pnot dare to trust me-at he keeper of I throw back the charge in your teeth, and tell you that your conduct gives it the lie! I have asked you-shat on memhat- I did!--to continue to me the shelter of yr name and presence; to shield me, a helpless woman, more unhappy than guilty, from the ban of the world; and you deny me every tiling but a contemptible shadow of'e- spectability, hich the veriest fol anpenetrate. Iwould nothave ybu suppose that your generousan integrit--h I ....u. confidence in my mneegrty"-s,-he brouot out-the words with scathing con- tempt--'will deter me from sinking to the levl you are Pleas ed tn pra you t- c ei veg a to the lh I as are Pleasnd toass gn me. If the native dignity of myt woman - my innocent babe do not hold me back from ruin, be as- sured that the hope of winning yourappovalwil not. To pr you I makmise no ped es o f reormation I offer but one promise. Ifyour choose t remain abroad until I, in spirit, kiss your mfee, and pray you to receive a love such as mostu men. ar glad to win by assiduit of attention; and every pea art-whch you would force into being by wifu se yourmeans for her h maiten nce- till reside in your house. Ifshedies, oryou take h er from me, I will not Owl you my support forndsingle day more!" Lewis grew pallid to hi lips; but hetoo, was proud, and histubborn will ws c into bold exercise. ,eryoWell! Itcis in yourchoie to a cned e to my proIc, sitions-m or unot. A share in al that I have is yours. hot lewis 'T palid'- t , his H s ; bu HUSKS. 207 only during the child's life, but as long as you live. Before. I leave America, I shall deposit for you in your father's bank a sum which, I hope, you will find sufficient to mainl tain you in comfort. Your father will be my executor in this matter. I shall not confide to him the peculiar circum- stances of my departure, leaving you at liberty to act in this respect, as in every thing else, according to the dictates of your will and pleasure. At the end of a certain term of years specified by law, you can, if you wish, procure a divorce, on the ground of my wilful and continued desertion of you; in which case, the provision for your support will remain unchanged. As to the child-the mother's is the strongest claim. I shall never take her from you. Do not let me keep you up longer, It is late!" With a silent inclination of the head, she withdrew, and lie cast himself upon the Sofa, there to lie during the few hours of the night that were yet unspent. He had arisen, and was standing at the- window when Sarah entered in the morning. But for the dark shadows under the eyes, and the tight-drawn look about the mouth, she appeared as usual; and her " Good-morning," if cold, was yet polite. "I imagine"' she said, as the gong clashed out its second call, "that you wish me to accompany you to breakfast, ant. to preserve my ordinary manner, towards you when others are by. Am I right? . "You are. This is all I ask. The effort will not be a tedious one. I leave here at noon." Arm in arm they directed their steps -towards the great dining-hall-to the view of the spectator as comfortable and happy a pair as any that pursued that route on that summer morning. Together they sat down at tables , and Mr. Hammond ordered "his lady's" breakfast with hs own. Mrs. Hunt bustled in shortly after they were seated, page: 208-209[View Page 208-209] 208, THE EMPTY HEART; OR, full of wonderment at having heard from Sarah's maid of her master's unexpected arrival; while Jeannie gave his hand a squeeze as hearty as was the welcome in her smiling face. The Bensons were always late. So much the better. There were more people present to observe the cordial meeting between the brothers-in-law, made the more con- spicuous by Philip's surprise. The genuineness of his good Smirits, his easy, unembarrassed manner, was the best veil that could have been devised for Sarah's constraint and Lewis's counterfeit composure. It-did not escape Philip'seye that Sarah ate nothing, and spoke only to avoid the appearance of singularity; and he believed that he had discovered the origin of her trouble when Lewis communicated his purpose of foreign travel. When the burst of surprise subsided, the latter tried suc- cessfully to represent his plan as a business necessity. Lucy, who never saw an inch beyond her nose-morally and mentally speaking--except when her intuitions were qickene'd by self-love, was the questioner most to be dreaded. ," Why dbn't you go with him?" she mquired of her ister. "He should not stir one step without me, if I were in your place. Only think! you might spend six months in Paris!" S"How would Baby Belle relish a sea voyage!" returned Sarah. "INonsense! How supremely silly! One would suppose that she was the only member of the family whose comfort was to be consulted. Rather than expose her to the possi. bility of inconvenience, you will deprive yourself of profit and pleasure, and be separated from your husband for nobody knows how long. This shows how much these mJdel mnal. ried people really care for one another. When put to the test they are no better than we poor sinners, whom every. HU I s. 209 body calls flirts. Phil, are those muffins warm?This one of mine has grown cold while I was talking." "How are the horses, Benson?" inquired Lewis. "Have they been exercised regularly?" "Yes, and are in capital order. You coulM have left us no more acceptable reminder of yourself than those same fine bays." "If you have no other engagement, suppose we have themra up before the light carriage after breakfast, and take a short drive." "Agreed, with all my. heart! 'unless Mrs. Hammond quarrels with me for robbing her of a portion of your last morning with her." "She will forgive you!"Lewis rejoined, to spare her the effort of reply. From her window Sarah saw them whirl off along the beach in sight of the hundreds of spectators oh the sands and about the hotels, and recognized the ingenuity of this scheme-for proclaiming the amicable feeling- between the two. "But one more sedene, and the hateful mockery is over!" thought the wife, as she heard her husband's step outs'.le the door on his return. She snatched a paper from the table, and seemed absorbicd in its contents, not looking up at his entrance. Lewis made several turns through the room, sighed heavily, and onoo paused, as if about to address her, but changed his mind. Then sounded from without the fresh, gurgling laugh of a child, and the nurse came in with the baby--rosy and bright-from her morning walk on the shore. Sho almost sprang from Mary's hold at sight of her father, and disg missing the woman with a word, he took his dar:ing into his arms, and sat down behind his wife. InflexiKlo f stJlcn, Sarah tried not to listen, as she would not see tl m; }bat page: 210-211[View Page 210-211] 210 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, she heard every sound: the child's soft 'coo of satisfaction as she nestled in the father's bosom; the many kisses he inp- printed upon her pure face and mouth with what agony Sarah - wellknew -the irregular respiration, sometimes repressed, until its breaking forth was like sobs; and the proud, miserable heart confessed reluctantly that, in one respect, his share of their divided lot was heavier than hers. She was not to witness his final resignation of his idol. Under color of summoning Mary, he carried the infant from the room, and came back without her. "It is time for me to go now- Sarah!" His voice was calm, and its firmness destroyed what slender encouragement she might have drawn from the scene with his child, to hope for some modification of his resolution. "Will you write to me, at regular intervals, to give me news of Befle?" "Certainly, if such is your wish." "And yourself? you will be careful of your health, will t; , -, And, if I can ever serve you in any way, you I:-llNet me know "It is not likely that you can; thank you." There was a silence of some moments. Sarah stood -playing with the tassel of her morning robe, pale-and com- pose. "Sarah!"Lewis took her hand. "We have both been hasty, both violent'! Unfeeling as you think me, and as I wpay have seemed in this affair, believe me. that it almost kills me to part from you so coldly. It is not like me to retract a determination, but if you will say now what you lid last night-- Do not go!' I will stay, and be as good a husband,to you as I can. Shall we not forgive, and try to forget?" The denn of resentful pride was not so easily exorcised. HUSKS. " At a breath of repentance-a suggestion of compromise, the fell legion rallied an impregnable phalanx. She was frozen, relentless; her eyes, black and haughty, met his with an answer her tongue could not have framed in words. "I have nothing to say!" "'Nothing!' The ocean must then separate us for years-it may be forever!" "It was your choice. I will not reverse it." "Not if you knew that if you let me go0I would never return?" "Not if I knew that you would never return!" Without another word, without a farewell look, or" the hand-grasp mere strangers exchange, he left her there-the stony monument of her ill-directed life and affections, the victim of a worldly mother and a backbiting tongue! S page: 212-213[View Page 212-213] ,212 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, "GHow gay llrs. Hammond has grown lately!"said Mrs, reyling, the fashionablecritic r of the -- House draw ing. room. "'Do ou see that she is actually walting to-night? She moes well, too! That pearl-colored moire antique is 4Ae'^S ?^ hl he -Houe dolr aW ooe " Donnit f yose^ ed iMrsacPartly wtho to- ango on She mo ves well, too ! Tat peal-colored m organization, andsome and t have ost every cent of nine dollars a yard. She is partial to heavy silks, it seems. It gives an ar of sameness to her dress ; otherwise she shows very tol- have heard it sai that she was a regular dowdy before she was married," observed Mrs. Parton, who was also on the co mmittee of censure"-a self-appointed organization, w hich found ample employment in this crowded nest of pleasure-seekers. Her husband is perpetually making he- presents and she dresses to please him." "Humph! I distrust these pattern couples ! husband doesn t approve of my doing this--won'thear of my acting so! are phrases easily learned, and sound so fine that one soon s into the habit of using them. What a flirt /rs Benson is! That is the fifth young man she has danced ',with this evening. I pity her husband and baby!" "Ie does not look inconsolable! I tell you what my no. tion is: he may love his wife-of course he does-but he admiresher sister more. See howhe watches her! Dlrs Tomes told me that she was standing near him the first time Mrs. ]-armmond waltzed, and that he seemed real worried. When the set was through, she came to look for a sea t, and Ius Ks. 213 he got one for her. As she took it, he said something to hter which Mrs. Tomes could not hear, but she laughed out in his face as saucy as could be, and said: 'Oh, I am learning when I anim in Rome to do as Romans do I Doesn't my elder sister set me the example?'" 'He could say nothing then," said Mrs. Greyling. "Those girls played their cards well. The Hunts have very little, if any thing, besides the father's salary, and the family was very obscure." Mrs. Greyling's paternal progenitor was an opulent soap- boiler, who was not ashamed, during her childhood, to drive an unsavory cart from one kitchen door to another. But he counted his thousands now by the hundred, and his children ranked, as a consequence, among the ' upper ten." She continued her charitable remarks: "Somehow the old lady contrived to keep up the appearance of wealth, and married both daughters off before their second season. Mr. Benson is reputed to be rich; but for that matter these Southern planters are all said to be rolling in gold. Mr. Hammond is certainly making money. ]Mr. Greyling says he is a splendid business man." 'He sailed for Europe a week ago, you know." "Yes; and since then madame has been the belle of the ball. The old story-' When the cat is away, the mice will play-" "Sarah," said Philip, an hour later, "will you walk on the balcony with me? You are heated, and the air is balmy as Georgian breezes. It will do you good." "Are you going to scold me " she? asked, archly, before she would take his arm. "No. I have no right to do it if I had the disposid tion." - There was no moon; but the sky was strewed thickly with stars, and the white foam of the surf caught and held page: 214-215[View Page 214-215] 214. THE EMPTY HEART; OR, tremulously the sparkles from the bright watchers above. Philip did not- appear disposed to converse, and Sarah waited for him to begin. Meanwhile, they strolled on and on, until;.the murmur of the ocean was louder than the music of the saloon band. The sea moaned to the stars, as it had done to the sunless July heavens on that day so memorable in the history of one of the pair-the day of shipwreck stories and a real shipwreck-none the less disastrous, that the treasures and their loss were hidden from all but the bereaved one. To many it is appointed to lead two lives: to think and feel as well as to act a double part; to separate, as inexorably as human will can decree, past hopes andjoys-past sorrows, and, if practicable, past memories from the thoughts and emotions of the to day in which they exist. Thousands keep up the barrier until deith ends the need of watchfulness and labor; the coffin-lid coyers the faithful mask that has smiled so patiently and so long above an aching heart. Yet dammed up passion is a dangerous thing. If hearts were so constituted that they could be drained like pestilen- ,tial marshes, the flood conducted off in harmless and straight channels, then, indeed, might hypocrisy rejoice, and sleek decorum sit down at ease. As it is, genteel propriety and refinedreticence are perpetully endangered by the unfore- seen swell of some intermittent spring, or the thawing of some ice-bound stream, that is liable to overleap or tear away the-dike--ingulfing in an instant the elaborate struc- tures years of toil have cheaply purchased. - Such was the moment when, withdrawing her hand from Philip's arm, Sarah struck suddenly-fiercely-upon her breast, and cried: "Oh! why cannot I die and end this mis. ry!" - "Sarah!" "Isay I can bear it no longer I Others do not suffer thus I HUSKS. 21: If they do, they die, or lose-their reason. I will not endutre it, I tell you!" ' Sister 1' "Do not call me by that name, Philip Benson! You know better!" She leaned forward on the balcony railing, her eyes fixed on the sea. Her deep, hurried breathing was like the pant of some worried animal, gathering strength, and, with it, courage for renewed conflict. To her last words the mys- terious plaint of the sea lent meaning. Philip, too, remem- bered that barren shore, the tumbling breakers, the solitary, sea-bird's labored flight landward. Was this his work? It was but a flicker of truth-dashed out the next second by a- blow of indignant will. "You may forbid me to address you by this title, Sarah; but you cannot hinder me from sympathizing in your sorrow, and trying to befriend you. If my companionship is unwel- come, allow me to conduct you to your room. I cannot leave you alone here; where there is continual passing." "You are right. Regard for appearances is the one thing needful," she said, mockingly. "I must be a dull scholar, if I have not learned that. I am sane again now-fit to as- sociate with other sane people. If you please, we will go to the ball-room instead of up-stairs. I am not acandidate for solitary confinement yet!" "Mrs. Hammond, I heard a gentleman inquiring anxious- ly for you just now ' called out a lady, in passing. "He said that you promised to dance with him." "I did. Thank you for reminding me. A little faster, niy good brother!" She hurried him into the saloon, where they were met immediately by her would-be partner. Philip, bewildered and uneasy, watched her motions through the evolutions of the dance. She talked rapidly and animatedly, keeping her page: 216-217[View Page 216-217] 2186 THE EMPTY HEART; OR cavalier in a broad smile, and confirming her lately won reputation of awit. Her eyes shone; her color was high; she was "really handsome"--as the "censure committee" had occasiolI to remember at a later day, when it was spoken of in a very different tone from that employed by a member of the distinguished sisterhood in addressing Mrs. Hunt on this night. "You are a fortunate mother, my dear madam, to have two such brilliant daughters. They eclipse the girls en- tirely." Y' I shave nothing to complain of in my children, ma'am. It (one--I did my best by them, and they have repaid me a,- thousandfold.' "Now, I am ready!" said Sarah to her brother-in-law. "I release you,' Mr. Burley!" waving her hand to her late attendant as a princess might to a courtier. Vexed and, disturbed by her unsettled manner and queer - freaks, Philip gave her his arm, and conducted her through the throng. "Lewis has had fair winds, and must now be nearing the end of his voyage,)' he remarked,-as they sauntered along - the piazza.' "Ah! he is on the sea to-night! How strange! I had not thought of that" - "I see nothing wonderful in the idea, as he has not had time to cross the Atlantic sinceh e left these shores," return- ed Phillp, dryly. "The oddest thing I can think of at pres- ent is yourself, Sarah!" "I am aware of that, Philip. Do not speak harshy to we!l You may be sorry for it some day." ' ;They were at her'door. Her softened manner moved him, and as she offered her hand, he took it with fi'aternal warmth. - ' Forgive me, if I was rough! I have not understood you this-eveniog." HUsis. . 217 "It is not likely that you ever will. Time was-but it is folly to allude to that now! Think of me as kindly as you can-will you? You have wounded me sometimes, but never knowingly. I cannot say that of many others with whom I have had dealings. Good-night." The little parlor was still. Mrs. Hammond never kept her maid up, to assist in her disrobing, if she intended re- maining out until a late hour. Nurse and child were quiet in the adjacent i ursery. Closing the door of communication, Sarah stripped her hair and arms of their ornaments; took off her diamond pin, then her rings, and laid them away in her jewelry case; divested herself of her rich dress, and drew from her wardrobe a plain, dark wrapper, which she put on. Next she sat down at her writing-desk, selected a sheet of paper, and wrote a single line--when a thought struck her, and she stopped. A momentary irresolution ended in her tearing off a strip containing what she -had penned, and holding it in the flame of the lamp until it was consumed. "Best not! best not!" she muttered: "Doubt may bring comfort to the one or two who will need it. Let them doubt! Save appearances if you can, my poor mother would say." A. smile of unutterable scorn glimmered over her face. She pushed away the desk and walked to the window. From the distant ball-room the throbbing waves of music still rolled past on the summer air, and blent with themr was the solemn undertone of the surf. Did men call its mighty voice a monotone? To her it was eloquent of many and awful things-not frightful. What was there of terror in thoughts of rest, endless sleep, rocked for ages by the rising and falling tide, hushed inth dreamless repose by the music of the billows? No more of a vain and wearisome life; no more baffled aspirations and crushed affections; no more disheartening attempts to find and reach the right- 10 page: 218-219[View Page 218-219] t8..- . THE EMPTY HEART; O,S to follow m the steep, rugged path of duty, and shun the easy, alluring way to which heart and memory were ever pointing; no more of stern rebuke and sneering taunt; no more galled pride and outraged womanhood; no more ly.;g gayety, smiles, and repartee, when the spirit was writing in impotent agony, longing to shriek out its inten- sity of woe I Only sleep, rest, peace! "Sleep! rest! peace!"She gasped the words feverishy, as they seemed to come to her on the breeze. Might she not seek these now! now Not yet! The grounds, the- beach were still populous with groups of strollers. She would be seen-perhaps recognized-probably frustrated in her purpose. Leaning her head against the -casement, she sat there an hour-not debating, still less wavering in her resolve, only waiting until flight would be safe-and thinking! thinkinhg. thinking! until her brain whirled. A thwarted, warded, disjointed existence had hers been from its beginning. Denied food suitable for her mental and, spiritual need; denied sympathy, air, and expression of suffering; under the slow torture of this starvation, every avenue to goodness and liberty hedged up, and,. for the future, temptation, repudiation, loneliness, perhaps a sullied name-who could dispute her right to try release by one brief pang she alone could feel? Who would miss her? Not the world that flattered her wealth and wit, her laces, silks, and diamonds'; not the mother and sister who wor- iShipped the gilded Juggernaut "Society ;" not he who was that night sleeping soundly on the same sea that would em- bosom her in her sweeter, deeper slumber. Shocked he might be at' an event so unexpected and uncommon. His next sensation would be a'relief at his deliverance from a burden, at his freedom to come and go as he liked-no longer banished by her obstinacy and his own. He had loved her as most other men do their wives--a bond HUSKS. ' 219 too weak to bear a heavy blow at their self-love. She had sinned beyond forgiveness in his eyes. Of Philip she thought with a mingling of tenderness and resentment. His unthinking gallantry had been the root of her sorest trouble; but it was unthinking, not wilful wrong. Nor was she the only, sufferer. His heart was well-nigh as hungy as hers. Within the past week, she had seen this more clearly than ever before, and he hadfelt it I Lucy's narrow mind, her insipidity, her inordinate vanity, her selfish idolatry of pleasures that wearied him; her is. relish for intellectual and domestic enjoyments, displayed in its most objectionable form, in her indifference to his com- pany, and her neglect of her child--these were working out their legitimate result in his alienation from her, and attrac- tion towards the once slighted sister, whose large heart and mental gifts he now valued at their true worth.- To repel him, as .much as to drown her cares, Sarah had plunged into the vortex she had heretofore avoided. She had heard that there was temporary solace in this species of dissipa. tion. The cup was, for her, sparkleless and bitter, from surface to dregs. She was saving him with herself by this final step! He would realize this truth, in the throe that would shake his soul when he found that she was gone; perhaps, even in that anguished hour, would bless her for having showed to him, while she drove him back from, the abyss they were together approaching. It was no idle vaunt she had made to Lewis, that the principles inherited from her father would save her from overt sin. Thus, thus would she flee the temptation, when the heart 'had left the will to battle unaided. Her father! the gray old man who was toiling through this suminer's heat, in his deserted home, as he had through so mainy summers gone! he who- had never given her an * }-' page: 220-221[View Page 220-221] 220 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, impatient or angry word-whose pride and joy she still was The stroke would be severe upon hin. Yet he would not refuse comfort. There were still left to him his boys--fine, manly fellows; Jeannie and his baby grandchild -his lost daughter's gift. Tears rushed into the hot, wild eyes with this last image, but she would not let them flow. "Is it not better that I should leave her now, when the parting will give her no pain, when one little week will blot out my memory entirely from her mind, than to wait until she can recollect and miss me?" The music had ceased. The revellers had dropped away faster than they had collected, when once the movement was maide to retire. The murmur of the deep was the only sound abroad; the stars were the. only sentinels. Sarah arose, threw a shawl over her head, and cautiously un- locked the door. A strong rush of air blew it from her hold, and as she caught it, to draw it after her, she trod upon some object lying on the floor. Mechanically she stooped to pick it up. It was an infant's shoe, a dainty little gaiter, that peeped, during the day, from beneath Baby Belle's white skirt. To Sarah's touch it eemed that the lining still retained the warmth of the child s foot. Never, oh, never, was the patter of those baby feet to make glad music for the mother's ear I Others must guide and sustain her trial steps; others smooth her daily path; others direct the inexperience of the girl in the perilous passes where that mother had fallen and perished I "Oh, may I not bless her before I leave her forever?" she cried to stern iResolution. And Conscience rejoined, with meaning severity: "Is it you who would breathe a blessing above her purity?" "Suffer me, then, to take the farewell look I dared not' grant myself before!" And while Resolution faIltered at the impassioned appeal, A. H SKS. 221 she opened the nursery door and stole to the side of the crib. The night-lamp shed a feeble halo over the table whereon it stood. The rest of the room was in darkness. Mary's light bedstead was close to the crib. Was hers that hard, short breathing, that sent a start and chill through the hearer? A touch' to the lamp threw a blaze of light over nurse and child. A sharp cry rang through the chamber. "Mary! Mary! get up!" The girl sprang to the floor before she comprehended the meaning of the alarm. Mrs. Hammond had sunk into a chair beside the crib, from which she had snatched her infant. Baby Belle's head was strained back; her hands clenched; her limbs stiffened in a deathke spasm. The eyes were rolled out of sight under the lids; and the four little teeth--her "most precious pearls," the fond mother had called them-were hard-locked within the purple lips. Terrified as she was, Mary had the presence of mind to run for assistance. Mrs. Hunt and a physician were soon on the spot, and every appliance of the healing art that promised relief-to the sufferer was used, but with partial effect. Sarah saw nothing but the child; heard nothing but the doctor's -calm orders. "You do not try to help her!" she said, impatiently, as a convulsion, more fearful than any that had preceded it, seized the delicate frame. "I could not do more, were it my own child, madam!" He was an elderly man, whose -charity for fashionable mothers was very scant, and, having seen Mrs. Hammond in the ball-room the evening before, he was not prepared for the solicitude she manifested. 'You had better let the nurse take her!" he said, more gently, as Sarah, with difficulty, held down the struggling hands that might do hurt to the head and face. page: 222-223[View Page 222-223] 222 THE EMPTY HEART;. OR, "Nol I will have no one touch her but myself! The morning broke, the day heightened into noon, and the paroxysms only abated in violence as the babe's strength. declined. Steadfast to her word, the mother had /not once resigned her. She had herself immersed her in the warm baths, applied the poultices, and administered the medicines prescribed. Mrs. Hunt was compassionate and active; Mary sorrowful, and prompt with whatever service she could perform; Lucy frightened and idle. Philip, who had often been in the outer room to make inquiries and offer aid, if any were required of him, was told, just before sunset, that he could go into the chamber. Mrs. Hunt invited him, -and the information she added gave to his countenance a look of heartfelt sadness as he followed her. Sarah sat in the middle of the room, so altered that he could scarcely credit the fact of her iden- tity with the being he had parted from the previous nighit. Her- eyes were sunken, her features sharpened, and her complexion had the dead, grayish hue of an old woman's: In her arms lay the babe, and, as she crouched over it, her mien of defiant protection suggested to him the idea of a savage animal guarding her young. He could not say whether or not she was, aware of his presence, untilhe knelt by the dying child and called it by name. "Baby Belle, do you know Uncle Philip?" The dark eyes, soft still through the gathering film, moved slightly, and Sarah said- ' Speak to her again 1" "Will Baby Belle come to uncle?" This time there was no sign of consciousness. The wee hands clasped in the mother's grow colder and colder, and !be breath fluttered slowly through the parted lips. The '-und was near, and Philip's pitying accent expressed his asense of this. HUSKS. 2'3 ElI* 8 R 8*2 "Give her to me, dear Sarah! It is not right for you io keep her longer." "She is mine " " The glare that came to her eye with the three words revealed a desperation that would have done battle withl the King of Terrors, had he appeared in visible shape to claim his victim. More faintly, slowly, trembled the life over the sweet mouth, and the hands, like waxen shapes, lay pulseless in the mother's clasp; while through the silent room flowed the dirge of the sea. Shaken by the freshening breeze of even- ing, the shutters of the western window swung ajar, letting in a golden ray upon mother and child, and along that path of light the untarnished soul of Baby Belle was borne by its waiting angel--home I I j. ;",. -i page: 224-225[View Page 224-225] 224 THE EMPTY lIEART; OR, CHAPTER XVIII. AUNT SARAH sat in the wide porch at the back of her house, knitting in hand. It was a still, but not oppressive August afternoon. There was not a ruffle on the bright surface of the river, and the long meadow grass was as smoothly spread out in the yellow sunshine. From the poultry-yard on the left arose a pleasant murmur, and now and then a stray hen tip- toed around the end of the house, singing idly as she rambled. Charley lay on the green mound--his old reading-room- with a book before him, and to him Aunt Sarah's motherly eyes turned most frequently. Those kindly orbs were dimmer than they were two summers ago, and the gentle face was a thought more pensive. A glance into the sitting-room win- dow, from where she sat, would have showed one Uncle Na- than's empty arm-chair in the chimney corner, and above it were suspended his cane and broad-brimmed hat, just as he had put them off when he took his departure for a country where neither shelter nor staff is needed. Aunt Sarah's sap had a widow's border now; and in her faithful heart there was a sadder void than the death of her children had crea- ted-loving parent though she was -,and yet more plentiful springs of sympathy for others bereaved and suffering. Her rocking-chair was set near the entrance of the iall that bisected the dwelling; and the front and back doors being open, she had a fair view of the public road, whenever she chose to look up the lane. The Shrewsbury stage .net the boat at four o'clock, or soon after; and hearing a rumbling - H T s' s. 22a' along the highway, which she knew presaged its transit through this end of the village, the old lady leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the trunks upon the roof; this being all she could distinguish with certainty above the fence. "Why, it is stopping here!" she ejaculated, getting up to obtain a better look. "Who upon earth can it be?" The coach rolled on, and the passenger for the farm-house came through the gate and down the lane. She was dressed in black, wore a crape veil, and carried a small hand-trunk. With hospitable instinct, Aunt Sarah advanced to the front porch to meet her, still entirely in the dark as to who it could be." "She has a different look from any of the neighbors; and there's nobody in York that would be likely to come to see me, except Betsey's people, and it can't be either of her girls!" At this stage of her cogitations, the visitant reached the step on which the hostess stood, and put away the long veil from a face so worn and seamed with grief, so hollow-eyed and old,that the good aunt screamed outrightin her distressed astonishment- "Sarah, dear child! can this be you?" "What I am now, Aunt Sarah. May I come in and stay with you a little while?" "Stay with me, poor darling! As long as you like, and welcome! Come right in; you don't look fit to stald!" She was not; for, now that the necessity for exertion was removed, she was faint and trembling. Aunt Sarah helped her up-stairs to the room she had occupied at her former visit, undressed her, and put her to bed. Sarah submitted like a child, too much exhausted to resist being made an invalid of, or to offer any explanation of her singular apparition. She had not slept ap hour at a time for many nights; yet when she had drunk a cup of tea, and tried to eat a bit of toast her aunt prepared and brought up to her, she fell into a profound o10* page: 226-227[View Page 226-227] 226 THE EMPTY HEART; O R slumber, which lasted until long after sunrise on the follow. ing morning. Unclosing her eyes then, they rested upon the dear face, shaded by the widow's cap, that watched at her bedside. A shadowy phantom of a smile flitted over her features at the recoo-nition. - "It was not a dream, then?" she said, languidly. "But I have dreamed of you often, of late--every night in which I have had any sleep. Aunt Sarah, I must tell you why I came to you!" "Not now, dear," Aunt Sarah hastened to say, seeing the wild stare and the cloud return to her countenance. "Wait until you are stronger. I will bring up your breakfast, and when you have eaten it, you may try to dress, if you like. There will be time enough for your story, by and by. Char- ley is in a great fidget to see you." Sarah submitted to the delay; but it was plain that she was not satisfied:with it-and that her mind would be easier when once the tale was told. Aunt Sarah hindered her no longer a time than sufficed for her to take the much needed refreshment, to bathe and dress, and to see and exchange a few sentences with Charley, who supported her down to the sitting-room. There, resting among the pillows of the lounge, Aunt Sarah beside her, with the ubiquitous knit. ting-work in hand, lest too close observation should con- fuse her niece, the stricken one unfolded the whole of her sad history. , No more affecting proof could have\ been given of her prostrated mind and will than this unreserved recital. The secret she had sold conscience and liberty to preserve, she communicated now without a blush. Here-where she had formebd the intimacy that had shadowed so darkly her after days--she detailed every step of the wrong course to which this weakness was a key; went over all--the stormy parting with her husband; her conviction of the mutual U s :s. 227S peril she and Philip were tempting in their daily com- munion; her resolve of self destruction,--as circumstantially as if she were relating the biography of another. Aunt Sarah, horrified and pitiful by turns, struggled with indifferent success to maintain equal composure, and against growing doubts of the narrator's sanity. It was a striking and instructive contrast: the world-weary woman returning for consolation and advice to the simple-minded matron, to whom the artificial existence she now heard de. picted-its gilded vices and giddy round of vanities; its trials and temptations-were a wonderful, a monstrous tale,- as foreign to her sphere of principles and feelings as if they had transpired in another world. But when Sarah came to speak of her child, her manner changed, her voice was hoarse and uneven, and over the care-worn visage there went such alternations of fierceness and heart-breaking sor- row that the listening mother, upon whose soul the shadow of her- own childrens' graves still lay long and dark, could hear no more in silence. "-My poor girl!" she cried, falling on her knees, and throwing her arms around the reclining figure. "Dear child! Our Father in Heaven pity and. comfort you! There is no help in man for such trouble as yours!" Sarah had not shed a tear in the course of her story. She said afterwards that she had not wept since they took her dead baby from her clasp; but at this burst of un- feigned sympathy, this gush of pure love and compassion, the burning rock was cleft, and a blessed flood streamed from it. For some minutes they wept together without restraint, and when the more quiet grief of the elder mourner was repressed, the other still clung, sobbing, to her bosom. Aunt Sarah held and soothed her as she would have done a e sorrowful child; stroking away the hair from her forehead, j f ! page: 228-229[View Page 228-229] 228 TitE EMPTY HEART; OR, drying and kissing the tear-stained cheeks, witlh many ar epithet of fond reassurance. '"Let me finish! There is very little more!" resumed Sarali, keeping her aunt's hand fast in both of hers. ' We went back to the city, and the next day we laid her in Greenwood. We stayed at father's--I would not return to the house that used to be mine. Father was very kind, and mother meant to be; but she tormented me with sugges- 4tions and consultations about my black clothes. Lucy was pining to get back to Newport. She said it was hot and dull in New York. Philip wanted to comfort me, but I shunned him, and I think he was hurt by-my conduct; but it was best, was it not, Aunt Sarah?" "Certainly, dear!" "I had often imagined myself lonely before; but I nevel 'dreamed of such a horror of desolation .as filled my soul during the two days that I remained there, after all was ove, Twenty times each night I would start from a fever- ish doze, thinking that I heard my baby cry or -moan, as she did in the intervals of those awffil onvulsions; and then would come in upon me, as if I had never felt it until then, the truth that I could never see her again, and that my wicked, wicked intention of deserting her had brought this Judgment upon'me. I could not stay there, Aunt Sarah! I heard other voices besides my child's in the air, and saw strange, grinning faces in the darkness. But the worst was to see that, to every one but me, the world was the same that it had ever been. Father looked grave when I was in his sight; but the children could laugh and talk as if nothing had happened, and I have seen mother and Lucy chatting merrily in the room with the dressmaker over my new dresses, while they were criticizing the crape trim- mrings. And I had buried my last earthly hope in my baby's gravel Then I remembered you. and how you sItrSB. 229 had talked to me of your lost children, and how you had assured me of a home in your heart and house when- ever I chose to claim it, and I believed in you, Aunt Sarah! There are not many whom I do trust; but I was sure you never said what you did not mean. I would -not tell them that I wals coming, for I feared they would prevent me. I slipped out of the house when none of them were at home, * and went to theJnearest hack-stand, where I got into a car- riage and drove down to the boat." "My dear, did you leave no letter to let them know where you had gone?" "No, ma'am. I was afraid they would come or send for me, and I cannot go back." "But your father--your mother! Did you not think how distressed they would be when they missed you? And your reputation? What will be said when it is known that you have left your father's house, and no one knows where you are? You are very weak and tired, dear; but you must sit up, right away, and write a note home. Tell them that I will take care of you as long as you like to stay with me; but don't lose a minute! You may be in time for the after- noon boat." - Sarah obeyed; and the careful old lady hurried Charley off to the boat, with directions to place the billet in the hands of the captain, who was a personal friend, and could be relied upon to post it directly he reached the city. Mr. Hunt replied without delay. Sarah's absence had given rise to the most harrowing conjectures, made plausible by her extreme melancholy'and fitful behavior since her infant's death. The police had been privately notified of her dis- appearance, and cautiously worded advertisements inserted in the papers. He regretted to add that Mr. Marlow, who, as Mr. Hammond's nearest friend, was informed of the dis. tressing occurrence, had thought proper to communicate the * page: 230-231[View Page 230-231] 20O THE EMPTY HEART; OR, intelligence to Mr. H. before Sarah's note arrived, and the steamer bearing the letter had sailed. Mr. Hunt expressed himsejf as entirely willing that his daughter should remain in her present retreat until her health of mind and body was retestablished, but did not conceal his disapprobation of the manner of her leaving home. 1 Aunt Sarah looked concerned as she read this epistle, which her niece had passed over to her. "1 am sorry for your husband, my dear. This affliction, coming so close upon the other, will be a dreadful blow. It is a pity they did not wait awhile, until they knew some- thing of your whereabouts, before writing to him." "I am more sorry that the news must be contradicted," was the reply. "As we are now situated, the certainty of my death would be a relief to him. This'was my reflection that night--" She left the sentence unfinished. ' "My dearl"Aunt Sarah removed her spectacles and surveyed her niece with her kind, serious eyes. "Have you made up your mind to live separate from your husband for the rest of your life?" "What else should I do, aunt? He will never -come back unless I promise to lovee him, and that cannot be." "IThat doesn't alter the fact of your duty, as I look at it. You ought to make him an offer to do right, at any rate. It would have been easier and pleasanter to live with him, if you had felt for him as a woman should for the man she marries ;, but you are married to him, and in the sight of the Lord you ought to cleave to him, and him only. That is a solemn covenant, dear--'for richer, for poorer; for better, for 'worse!' 'Those whom God hath joined together, let not man put asunder!' It doesn't excuse people, who take these vows upon them when the right spirit is wanting, that they never thought how awful the engagement was. Their obligations are just the same, whether they love or not." HUs x8 . 231 "The responsibility does not rest with me. I performed my duty while we were together. The separation was his act, and he must abide the consequences. I have erred greatly, Aunt Sarah; but ever since the night of our rupture, my conscience has been easy with respect to Mr Hammond. I confessed that I had misled him, and begged his pardon. Could I do more?" "Put the case to yourself, child! Do not be angry if I speak out my mind, and use against you some things you have told me. When you saw that Philip was growing to, like you better and better, and that you felt nearer to him every day, why did you determine to die sooner than. to have things go on so?" - "Because it would have been a crime for us to love each other--infamous treachery to my sister, to his wife, for us:to name the word between us." "And how would Lucy have felt, if you had come to an understanding and spoken out the true feeling of your hearts?" "Hers is a careless, indolent nature, but this insult would have aroused her. She would never have forgiven him or me, had she suspected a wairmer sentiment on either side than that of friendship." "But an honorable, affectionate man like your husband, who thought his wife the most precious thing in the world, was to forget his disappointment, overlook your lack of love and truth towards him, only because you allowed that he had found out your real feelings at last, and all the excuse you could give was that you could not help them! You were the one in fault all the way through, from the day you engaged to marry him, up to the minute when you would not say the word he begged from you to keep him at home. It is right that all the advance should come from you." High-spirited as Sarah was, she was not angered by this page: 232-233[View Page 232-233] 232 THE EMPTY HEA'RT; ORE plain-speaking. "Faithful are the wounds of a friend;" and she felt that she had but this one. Aunt Sarah stu. died her thoughtful countenance before she renewed' the argument. "I am an old-fashioned woman, dear--born and bred in the country, where, thank God! I have spent all my life. But I've been thinking about your story of the way people act and feel up there in York, and maybe in all other great, fine, money-making cities, and my notion is just this. I look back of their pushing and straining after riches, and show, and worldly vanities; every man for himself, and the one that climbs highest, forgetting as soon as he gets there that he was ever any lower, and ready to kick over anybody that tries to get alongside of him; and I see that they have lost sight of the second great commandment-' Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.' Thin I look back of this too, and It see where the greatest sin is, and-dear, bear with me! I see where you have gone furthest astray. Here's a pas- sage I was reading this morning that tells the whole story." She raised the Bible from the table, and laid it upon Sarah's lap, pointing as she did so to these words enclosed in- brack- ets:-- "'Because thou hast forgotten the God of thy salvation, and hast not been mindful of the rock of thy strength, there-' fore shalt thou plant pleasant plants, and shalt set it with strange slips. In the day thou shalt make thy plant to grow, and in the morning shalt thou make thy seed to flourish; but the harvest shall be a heap in the day of grief and des- perate sorrow l" Mrs. Hunt would have' regarded as an insult any express- Pd doubt of her religious principles and practice. She had a desirable pew in the fashionable church which was nearest her residence, and, stormy Sabbaths excepted, it, was gen- erally full at morning service. When her children were H U 8 s S. 233 presentable as to looks, very young babies being seldom pretty, they were offered in fine lawn and Valenciennnes at the font for the rite bf baptism; and not a confirmation had passed since her daughters were grown, that she did not fancy how interesting they would look, kneeling before the surpliced bishop, heads gracefully bowed, and the regards of the whole congregation fixed upon them. Sarah never icould be brought to the performance of the commonest act of public worship, unless it was to rise with the rest, when a standing posture was prescribed by the prayer-book; and she shocked her mother by declaring that she only did this because she was tired of sitting! Lucy's serene grace of de- voutness was beautiful, if not edifying to behold. Those who occupied adjacent pews involuntarily suppressed their responses as her mellow tones repeated, with melancholy sweetness--"Have mercy upon us, miserable sinners!"And as the melting cadences entranced their ears, the lovely penitent was speculating upon the probable cost of Miss Hauton's Parisian hat, or coveting Mrs. Beau Monde's sable cloak. If Sarah had ever heard of regeneration, it was as a tech- nical phrase of the church articles and christening service. Of its practical meaning, its inward application, its absolute necessity to the safety of the soul, she had as vague a con- ception as a Parsee orl New Zealand cannibal would have formed. She had read the Bible m' connection' with rhetori- cal lectures, and admired it as a noble specimen of Oriental literature. What other associations could she have with it t A handsome copy of the Holy Scriptures, surmounted by a lboolk of common prayer, lay on a stand in Mrs. Hunt's third and rear parlor, and was dusted when a like attention was paid loathe other ornaments of tables and &tagyres. Au Oxford edition, russet antique, formed one of the wedding. gifts of each of the sisters, and in due time was laid in pioua page: 234-235[View Page 234-235] 3s4 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, pomp on its purple pillow in the library corner. It was hardly strange, then, that the quotation, so apposite to the -case in point, shofuld fail to impress her very strongly. Aunt Sarah had gone out, deeming solitary reflection the best means of enforcing the lesson she had tried to inculcate, and, after re-reading the two verses, without further appropria- tion of their meaning, Sarah turned leaf after leaf of the vol. ume, catching here and-there a sentence of the large print, so grateful, to the failing sight of her who was its daily student. -"David said unto hIs servants-'Is the child dead?' And they said, ' He is dead!"' The smitten chord in the mother's heart sent out a ring of pain, and her listless hand paused upon the open page. It is a simple story--the royal parent's unavailing wrestle with the Chastener, the dread end of his suspense, and the affliction, made manifest in the calm resignation, the sancti. fied trust of the mourner. But when received as Sarah read it, with the vision of a similar death-scene intermixing itself with its unadorned details, the fresh blood still welling from the wound made by the tearing away of a portion of one's own life, every line is fraught with truth and pathos. "Can I bring him back again? I shall go to him, but he hall not return to me!" "Go to her I Oh, if I could! My baby I my baby!" To the low; sad cry succeeded a season of yearning and -of tears. It was an echo of the wail of the heathen mother who, centuries ago, having seen her babes slain before her eyes, cried aloud, in unselfish agony, as the s word, reeking with their blood, was plunged into her own bosm- "Oh, my children! where are ye?" Sleep on, in thy lowly bed upon the hillside, sweet Baby Belle! Like the pale buds that are fading with thee in thy narrow resting-place, thy mission on earth is accomplished. USKS.-- -I 2 35 Joy, young-freed spirit, if, stealing through the melodies of Heaven, there comes to thee the whisper of that mother's call! Fair lamb! the love that folded thee in the Shepherd's arms designed likewise, in recalling thee, to lure the wander, ing parent home I 8 - , page: 236-237[View Page 236-237] ' 23-6 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, CHAPTER XIX. "MY DEA:. LEWIS: Before you receive this letter, you will have had the explanation of my disappearance from New. York. A merciful Providence directed me, in my partial derangement, to this peaceful retreat. Here I have found rest for body and soul-peace such as the world'could never give, the heart, even were it not bowed down by a sorrow like mine. Not that I forget past errors; nor that the review does not humble me in the dust. I confess, with shame and bitterness of spirit, my wasted years, my un- sanctified affections, my evil passions. But for the assurance of the Father's pardon, the Saviour's loving pity, the black catalogue would strike me dead with horror and anguish, It is a fearful thing to be made to see one's self as she is to scan in terrified solicitude the record of a life, and find there nothing better than pride, misanthropy, falsehood hatred of men-rebellion against God.- It is a sweet ex perience to taste, however tremblingly, the consolations of the Friend who invites the weary and heavy-laden to drav near and learn of Him. In His strength-not in that feeble ness I once called power-have I resolved to lead a nem life. Of the causes which have contributed to produce thit change, we will speak more at length when we meet. "When we meet!' Lewis, will you, can you forget you manifold wrongs and come back to me? I do not plead now, ' for the sake of our child.' Her sinless soul Tence forth can know no pain or woe. God saw that I wDs no RUSB S. 237 worthy of her; and He took her. In the earlier weeks of my selfish mourning, I had no thought of your bereavement. Latterly, I have longed to comfort you, for I know that your heart is riven by this stroke. She was your joy, as she was my angel of peace. Her loss is our common sorrow.. Shall it not draw us together? Yet, as I have said, our estrange- ment cannot now affect her. Thoughtless of evil, she passed- away. Had she lived, the Omniscient only knows what grief and mortification might have darkened her pathway. Nor do I desire a reconciliation as a shield from the world's sneer or ban. I)hold its applause and its censure alike cheaply. In- prosperity, its favors were painted, tasteless fruit; in adversity, it would have fed my starving heart with husks. But for my sake-by the thought of my late and sore repentance; by the remorse that must gnaw my spirit, when I remember your noble trust in me, your un- swerving fidelity, your generous love and my base requital of it all; by the sorrow that never leaves me by day or by night-forgive me, and return to the home we have bpth forsaken! I will serve you very faithfully, my husband I I have gained other and higher views of the marriage relation within a short time past. However presumptuously I may have assumed its responsibilities, however unworthily I per- formed its duties in former days, I would enter upon our re- engagement with a solemn sense of what I owe to you and to Him who united us. You must have despised me at our parting, and since. Perhaps you have come to think of me with dislike as well as contempt. I will bear this-grievous though the burden will be-as a part of my righteous punish- ment. I will never murmur--never, even in thought, accus4t you of unjust harshness, if you will grant me the opportunlity to make what amends I can for all you have lost and suf fered through my fault." Sarah was still 'far from strong; and wearied as, muoh by page: 238-239[View Page 238-239] 238 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, the intensity of her feelings as by the manual effol of writing, she laid the pen down, and leaned back irn the cushioned cnair. Her table stood in the parlor beneatl the window overlooking the river. The room was prim and dean, as of yore, with its straight lines of chairs; its sh ning specks of mirrors; the grim black profiles above the m ntel, and the green boughs in the fire-place. The outer scene as in its general features that which the girl had surveyed,- ith pleased surprise, the July evening of her arrival here, two years ago. Only two years I The sufferings and life-lessons of twenty had been crowded into that brief space. The meadows wcre growing, sere, as if scorching winds had swept over them, and the stream reflected truthfully, yet, one could have fan- cied, sadly, the changing foliage fringing its borders. But the sky, with its tender blue .nd its fleecy clouds, ever shift- ing, yet ever retaining their likeness to one another--the river's smooth, steady flow, were the same; fit emblems both of them of counsels which are mercy and truth through all their workings; of love that Abideth forever! The train of thought was replete with refreshing to the spirit that-was striving, in prayer and watchfulness, to adhere to the right, to accept, with meek submission, all that her cup yet held of pungent or nauseous lees. There was no affectation in the humble tone of her letter. She would pot begin it until she had mastered the stubborn remnant of her native pride. It should be nothing to her that her husband had wilfully separated himself from her, and refused her overtures of reconcilement. If this was unkindness, it was all she could reproach him with in the course of time they :had spent together. He had been a true friend, an honorable protector, and dimly still, but more justly than ever before, she perceived that into his love for her there had entered none of-the merely prudential considerations, the cool calcu- qu e o f,. t h e m e r e I y , ?r u d I HUSKS. 3239 lations, wherewith she used to account for his choice of her- self as a helpmeet. Where, in the world's heartless circles, could she point out another wife as much indulged, as much honored in public and in private, as she-once was by him? Mournfully, if not lovingly, she dwelt upon the countless evidences of his cordial fulfilment, in letter and in spirit, of his part of their mutual engagement, with something of the sinking of heart the alchemist may have felt when, after he had, by a mechanical and habitual fling of his arm, tossed the eagerly-sought philosopher's stone into the sea as a worthless pebble, he discovered that the divining steel he held had been changed to gold by its touch. To whom of us has not an experience similar to this come? It may be that the eyes which once besought affection with dumb and disregarded eloquence are closed and rayless for all future time; the lips that told, with modest frankness, how dear we were to hearts we cared not then to win, are now but silent dust. Or, perchance, grieved by indiff rence, repelled by unkindness, those hearts have sought and found in other loves solace for the pain we, in our blindness, in. flicted. It matters little whether they be dead to all the - world, or only to us. 'In either case, the longing and despair of our lonely lives are rendered the more unendurable from the flash of tardy truth that shows us, side by side with our ; actual poverty of heart riches, the tranquil beauty of the pictured "might have been." Aunt Sarah had gone on a visit, to a neighbor, the hired ? ,irl was in the distant wash-house; and Charley considered t his duty to linger within easy reach of his cousin, should J he need him for any purpose. To guard her from allchance I If intrusion, he stationed himself on the Iront porch steps, 'ith his book on his knee. For an hour, he read on unitn- erruptedly; then, glancing up as he turned a leaf, he saw a entleman coming down: the gravel-walk. He looked thim page: 240-241[View Page 240-241] -240 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, and anxious, and his restless eye wandered from door to windows, as in expectation of seeing some one besides the boy. With a ready apprehension of his infirmity, only to he accounted for by some prior knowledge of the person he paluted, he tookfirom his pocket a card, which he presented before he shook hands with the silent host. Charley's in- telligent face was one beah of pleasure as he read, and his warm grasp showed his sympathy in the happiness he fancied was in store for his cousin.\ Inviting the guest by a gesture to follow him, he went softly to the parlor-door, tapped lightly-too lightly,. indeed, to attract the notice of the musing occupant of the room, then drew back the bolt, ad- mitted the stranger, and delicately withdrew. Sarah heard the door open and Charley's retreating foot- steps, End, supposing that he had peeped in to see that she was cotmfortable and wanted for nothing, she did not look around. The intruder stood still one step within the room, as if unable to advance or speak. The languid attitude of the figure before him, so unlike the self-poise and quiet ener- gy of her former deportment, her black dress, even the wast- ed hands dropped so wearily upon her lap, told of the storm that had passed over her, the utter revolution in her life and nature. A struggling sigh he could not repress 'broke from the gazer's breast, and Sarah turned hastily to- wards him. She did not swoon, as he feared she would. A thrill, like an electric shock, shook her from head to foot; a wild inquiry looked from her eyes; a question of the reali- ty of the appearance, succeeding so closely to-did it grow out of her reveryl? Lewis put this imagination to flight. "Sarah!'? he said, pressing in his the hands she extended mutely. "They told me you were lost, and I hurried home to find you. I could hot. wait for your pernission to come to you, when I learned in New York that I had a living I EBH 8 ES. 241 wife! The loss of the child was heavy enough; but this--" He could say no more. "I am thankful! I am glad that you are here!"A fant, beautiful smile shone, over her wan features. "And ouI baby, Lewis! We must remember that she is an angel - now!" , - page: 242-243[View Page 242-243] 842 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, CHAPTER XX. To no one except Aunt Sarah were the facts of the estrangemnent and reconciliation of her relatives ever re. vealed, and within her faithful bosom the secret was hid den as securely as in a tomb. Great was the chagrin of gossips, male and female- when it was known that Mrs. Hammond's strange fight from her father's house, which had leaked out nobody knew how, and been variously construed into 'an elope- mnent, a freak of derangement, and a deliberate intention of suicide, i according to the degrees of charity possessed by the theorists, was a very innocent and unromantic journey to the country home of her favorite aunt and godmother, a lady of ample fortune and benevolent heart, who would, in all probability, make her namesake her heiress. Under her care, 'and for the benefit of the seclusion so con- genial to one in her affliction, and the salt air so necessary for the restoration of-her impaired health, Mrs. Hammond had remained until her husband's return from abroad. Mrs. Hunt had told Mrs. A., who had told Mrs. B., who re- peated it to Mrs. C., how he had not stopped in Aew York an hour after he stepped ashore from the Adriatic. He hurried to the bank, and ascertained from Mr. Hunt that his wife was with her aunt, and that a boat which would land him near Shrewsburv was to leave in fifteen minutes. So he drove down post-haste, and jumped on board of her after ihe plank had been drawn in and the wheels began to move. atrsxs . 4S There never was a more devoted husband or a more attached pair, Mrs. Hunt affirmed. "More than she could say for that flirting Mrs. Benson and her other half," agreed A. B. and C., unanimously. "Tier conduct at Newport was scandalous, and would have been outrageous if he had not watched her like a lynx!" said Mrs. Beau Monde, who had never been able to secure one-half as many admirers as had Lucy, and hated her as honestly as if they were a couple of Biddies aulling caps for Patrick or Murphy. "I don't see why he should have felt jealous, I am sure. He wasn't dying of love for her! That could be seen with half an eye. They say he loved Mrs. Hammond before he addressed her sister, and married this one out of spit e," re- joined Mrs. Townes, who had made bauz yeu at the distingu Southerner for three whole evenings, and won only the most indifferent glances in requital. Mrs. Hammond behaved very prudently!" pronounced Mrs. Greyling, , and dressed very well. I suppose Mr. Hammond brought her some elegant things from abroad. Pity she is in mourning, and must dress plainly at present! If I were in her place-as it was only a baby-I would not wear black more than six months, unless it was very becom. ,ing. " "She has become very religios, you know," said Mrs. Parton. "Indeed! People are apt to, I think, when there has been death in the family," concluded Mrs. Greyling,pensive ly. I remember, when my poor sister died, I used to look forward to church and Sunday with real pleasure. I could not go anywhere on week-days, you know, although , there were piles of tickets lying in my card-r ceiver, and we had just taken a box at the opera that very winter! I de. clare, I should have lost the run of the fashions entirely, page: 244-245[View Page 244-245] - . 244 TfiE ,EXPTY HEART; OR, HUSEK. and forgotten people's faces, if I had not gone to church. I dare say, too, that she finds some comfort in religion-poor woman I if what the preachers and good books tell us be true." Had-Sarah found comfort?' k Look we, for reply, to the chastened lustre of the- eye, where once burned 'restless fires, like the sunward gaze of , the imprisoned eagle, to the holy serenity struggling through and finally dispelling the clouds of memory and regret that, at times, would rollin -between her soul and the bright, sustaining hope upon which Faith would have its regards forever fixed; to her. daily life, sanctified by prayer,-. benefi- ;cent/ in good works, and by its unostentatious loveliness wi nnpg others, first to admire, then'to imitate; to the wife- fly shtnission and loving kindness of her bearing to her bhus '.' '.,',. id, her grateful estimate of the affection he lavished upon i her, the deep, true tenderness growing up in her heart for- ,: this fond and noble companion; look we, lastly, to the '4 -snowy marble guarding that tiny mound in Greenwood, where the mother once believed that- hope and joy were :buried to know no awaking. or 'RP - BET44V,' INFANT DAGTAr S- OF WIrlS ANDIe SABAH 7 AMMOND. SHE WENT HOME - July 16, 1858, aged 8 months. , .. it wea with thee t Is it'wel with thy husband? it wenU with the child?"And she answeed "FOR BETTER FOR WORSE." page: 246-247[View Page 246-247] 'FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE." "I could never love where I did not respect." "Then, if you ever cease to respect me, I shall know my fate without being informed of it by word of mouth." "How absurd!" Their marriage day was just a month old, and they had' spent a long afternoon together, without other companion; strolling along the river bank, penetrating the cool, deep recesses of the woods, or climbing the bold steeps that jut- ted over the brink of the stream. It was a wild, moun- tainous district, and they had not seen another being besides themselves in their ramble. The wife sat now upon the summit of a huge, shapeless mass of gray stone, and the husband lay on the mossy carpet that covered the broad, flat top of the boulder, his head in the lap of his bride.- A finer specimen of manly beauty can hardly be imag- ined than he presented in this attitude of careless grace. His hat lay beside him on the moss, and the hand that toyed with his hair had tossed it back from his forehead- perhaps unwittingly, more probably because the owner -of the hand wished to have a better view of the visage she thought the. handsomest in the world. His, brow was ( D;; page: 248-249[View Page 248-249] 248 FORBJIrTE, FOR WOESE.? smooth and fair-not too high; his eyes, large, dark, and soft, had the rarely attractive quality of changing color with every phase of emotion. Just now, they were brown, lov- ing, and happy, with the least possible sparkle of fun shining up through their depths. His nose had the straight comeli- ness and delicate nostrils of the Greek Antinous; his chin- was well-shaped and slightly cleft; and a jetty moustache, curling and silky, showed to dazzling advantage a set of perfect teeth. If there was a flaw in the face, it was the ( mouth. Beautiful and sensitive as a woman's, it was a :trifle too small, and the lower lip too full to bear out the impression of manliness and strength created by the rest- of , " his physiognomy and his athletic frame. He was six feet in height, -with the shoulders and muscles of a gladiator, without the brutal outlines that characterize the coarser- blooded human animal. He was not a dandy, yet the care- fiul arrangement and stylish pattern of his clothing, although it was -a simple sunminer suit of light cloth, and the cut of his hair, would have told the observant looker-on that he -was aware of and appreciated his personal gifts. "Handsome. Syd Bentley" had been the toast of the girls, the envy of his fellow-bachelors too long not to have arrived at a tolerably accurate estimate of his reputed worth. He had been told that he was irresistible .ever since - qll he discarded roundabouts; told, in so many words, by his mother and sisters, in whose eyes he was a nonpareil of man- -hood; by his masculine associates, some grudgingly, others freelt and generbusly; and, in yet more flattering language, 'by the alluring glances, the 'sighs' and blushes of his fair acquaintances. Nor were his good looks his solitary recom- mendation to popular favor.\ His wealthy father had dis- bursed untold sums for his education and travelling ex- penses.,. He was a fine conversationalist; sang well and danced gracefully; rode like a Centaur; was a ecunning mas- FOR J'rm', FOR 'WORSE." 249 ter of fence, and a match for any second-rate pugilist in box- I ing. To these latter manly accomplishments the ladies of this age are beginning to incline more and more seriously as the preachers of " muscular Christianity", increase innum- bers and reputation. I have said enough of this "pet of the petticoats" to demonstrate beyond the possibility of cavil, the fact that he was an eminently eligible parti. Everybody predicted that he would make an astonishingly brilliant match. The girls admitted reluctantly that he had a right to aim at the "brightest particular " of their shining ranks, while the most envious of their escorts " supposed that as society was now constituted, a fellow like Bentley had only to signify where his choice had fallen, to marry whomsoever h6e pleased." Therefore, when the report took wind and was speedily bruited abroad, that he was paying attention (that is the tech- nical phrase, and a very stupid one it is, according to my ideas) to Kate Morgan, who was certainly no beauty, and hardly a belle, in any sense of the term, pretty heads, not a few, were tossed high in indignant aspersion of the depraved taste of their 'Adonis, while gossips of the masculine gender opened incredulous eyes and chuckled in malicious glee over this evidence of the favorite's fallibility. I have intimated that Kate had, in the judgment of some, certain rather equivocal pretensions to belleship. Nobody - even the most fastidious critics of womanly beauty- even called her ordi- nary-looking or absolutely uninteresting. "She was a pecu- liar girl," said her young lady friends, "with somewhat' strong notions upon some subjects, but her principles were excellent." Commendation artfully de sgnRicd to terr if rny weak-minded youth from approaching her, and to put upon' their guard the large proportion f--ladies' men who dislike women of decided character. She had her defenders. Those who were honored by her friendship raved about her intel- page: 250-251[View Page 250-251] 250 4 ^FOB .B.,-H, FOR WORSE." % ' . . lectual attainments; her fascination of manner and speech; her lofty soul; her nobility and independence of spirit and thought; her eminent virtues as daughter, sister, and friend. One talent all agreed in )attributing to her. She was a splendid musician- a skilful instrumental performer and an exquisite vocalist. Sydney Bentley was originally drawn within the magic circle of her influence by her wonderful voice, and, his fancy once caught, he shortly' became the most obsequious of her slaves. "It is sheer infatuation!" sighed his eldest sister, who had her reasons for disliking the match. "I have reasoned with him, dozens of times, about his outrageous folly, but one might as well argue with Vesuvius in mid-eruption." In truth, 91a that was best and most earnest in the nature of the spoiled favorite of fortune was brought into sight and action by this one great passion of his life. It spoke vol- umes in favor of the original material composing his heart that self-conceit had not injured it to the extent of disquali. fying it for a genuine and hearty devotion to another. openly avowed and honestly believed that the lady of his love was his superior, mentally and morally; did homage, cordial-and free, to her character and charms,- a tribute of which any woman might justly have been proud. It touched Kate Morgain as naught else of appreciation and attachment Bad ever done. At first, it may be that she was not insensible to the distinction conferred upon her by the marked preference evinced by the reigning idol of soci- ety, for her presence and companionship above that of the beauties and heiresses who strove, more or less openly, to attract his notice. She would not have been woman had not this natural thrill of vanity ,ppetrated her heart and disposed her to partial judgment. 4,her new wooer. If she chose to attribute the dawning prepossession to the love; for sesthetics which found food for delight in the contemp lation . .. ** A FOR B."T ER, FOR WORSE." 251 of this physically model -man, she was not the first one of her sex and kind who has preferred to deceive herself in the like case. As their acquaintanceship ripened into intimacy, and she became conscious of what were his real sentiments respecting herself, the feminine weakness was displaced by love, the intensity of which fairly terrified her. She was noted among her associates for her critical discrimination of character and motives; was famed, and, by some, feared for her unerring perception of the vices and foibles that make poor mortal nature a revolting study to people of squeam- ish stomachs, or who like to take the world--including the inhabitants thereof-comfortably. But, now, she applied no tests. The most romantic of impulsive school-girls never received an ideal more absolutely upon trust than did she her real flesh-and-blood hero. A hero he was, in her esti- mation-the embodiment of all that was lovely, grand, gra- cious, and brave in romance and poetry. Their courtship was rapid. It could not have been pro- tracted in the circumstances of mutual attraction I have enumerated. The engagement was not -longer than was positively neccessary for the preparation of the trousseauz, and Sydney's impatience at this delay was flattering to his bride as itwas diverting to his friends. After the wedding -a quiiet, family affair, according to -ate's desire --they set off upon a three weeks'tour of the Lakes and the White Mountains, settling down, in the fourth, for rest and the further enjoyment of each other's society at Hawks- nest, the handsome country-seat of Mr. 1Bentley, Sen Their; ostensible reason for scaling the almost perpendpiciu- lar face of the rock where our story finds them, was to gain a good view of -the sunset on the range of mountains that shut in Hawksnest and the small valley surrounding it like the walls of an amphitheatre. Both had a true, warm' love for Nature in all her moods, and a lively appreciation of , , page: 252-253[View Page 252-253] 2532 C FOB ETTER, FOR WORSE." attractive phases of these which would have escaped eyes less sensitive to such iinfluences, and less finely trained to 'note and examine themn. But, when Kate called her hus- band's attention to the broadening splendor of the West, she had but a slight response. He did not so much as lift his head from his resting-place, and, looking laughingly down to chide his indifference to the scene, she discovered that his gaze- was riveted upon her, instead of upon the distant hills.. "What are you dreaming about?" she asked. "I am not dreaming. I seem just to have awakened to the knowledge that I have married the. most glorious-look- ing woman in the 9country." Kate blushed deeply, and put her hand} over his eyes. "Nonsense! I can say to you as did my shrewish name- sake to old Vincentio, after addressing him as a blooming maiden. It is "'your mistaking eyes I That havebeen so bedazled with thge sun That everything you look on seemeth green.'" He let the hand lie where she had placed it. t"You cannot shut out the picture from my inner optics. It is painted there indelibly. Do you know, you sorceress, that it is a sin for any human creature to worship another as I do you?" The wife withdrew the covering from his eyes, and gazed down into them with intentness that was almost sad. She was actually beautiful at that instant. The cheek, usually pale, was dyed with warm .rose-color; thesweeping fringes ' of her gray eyes darkened them to blackness, and her mouth quivered with a smile the touch of pensive thought but made more sweet. She had a noble, intellectual head, and the lowly bend of this added intensity, not easily expressed FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE. o 25. by words, to the devotion that shone through her face; as the sunlight through a porcelain picture, bringing grace and loveliness out of what was, a moment before, a blank surface. "It humbles me to hear you use such language, Sydney! Humbles and frightens me! I dread the moment of your real awakening, when you shall find of what common stuff your idol is composed. Yet I enjoy the illusion while it lasts. The happiness of one such moment as this outweighs, in my mind, all the grief, pain, and disappointment I have endured in the whole of my previous life." 'Yet you would cloud this by fears of an event that is never to come to pass!" answered Sydney, in tender rebuke. "This is no wild love-dream, remember, dearest! My pride in and affection for you, are founded upon the sure basis of a thorough knowledge of your nature; the matchless treas- ures of your mind and heart. I have seen enough of other women to know how far you transcend them all in whatever makes womanhood adorable; but"-with an impatient, and slightly ludicrous change of tone--"as I have often had occasion to remark before, in connection with this sub- ject, where is the sense of trying to express myself :pon it? You are unique, my Koh-i-noor! If there are b lie in my diamond, I shall never descry them. My respect increases in exact proportion with my love, until the former now amounts. to reverence, the latter-again to repeat myself-- to worship."5 He drew her lips down to his, then settled his head once more into the position that suited him so well. Kate spoke, musingly, afer a brief pause,- "Must not affection and esteem grow together, if affection grows at all? I could never love where I did not respect." She met her husband's rejoinder, - that given in the second sentence of this chapter--with playful petulance. 22 page: 254-255[View Page 254-255] 1254 cFoE B'ITiK, FOR WORSE." "Hlow absurd! Why not speculate as to your fate, if you were transformed into -Bluebeard or Caliban?" Sydney was the serious one, now. "No: my natural amiability, and my gentlemanly breeding, will prevent me from becoming a cruel or odious monster in your sight. But I have weaknesses, dear, which you must detect sooner or later, try to hide them as I may and as I shall do. I dread the clear glance of your eye lighting upon one of these, more than I would the frowning inspection of a thousand others. Don't try to stop me! I am not seized with a fit of ultra humility, nor am I inot talking for the pleasure of being contradicted. This is a candid turn-- that is all. I do not apprehend that you will ever think me really base and wicked -.only that you may come in time to despise me for failings foreign to your upright na- ture. There may be'iron-- gold, if you will have it so- at any rate good metal of some description, in my composi- tion, but it is sadly mixed with clay. Recollect, darling, when you discover what a fallible child of earth your hus- band is, that I had the honesty to warn you of this, and believe, through all the misgivings that may beset you, as to the wisdom of the act that gave your happiness into my keeping, that I am strong in one thing,-my love for you, and my faith in..your nobility and goodness. I may fail in my attempt to emulate these, but I can perceive their exceeding beauty." 'Kate's eyes were dark with tears, and her voice shook as she entered a passionate protest against his cruel judgment of himself. "A highwayman, or a parricide, could not paint his own portrait in more dismal and frightful colors! she concluded, poutingly. . "Are you meditating sacrilege, or a bank robbery? If I believed one-half of what you have said, I should be afraid to stay here alone with you." "I have not planned either of te crimes you name." x A DFOE BE"ER, FOR WORSE.) '55 The sunny humor, habitual to Sydney, dispelled the melan- choly that had tinged his, to her, enigmatical speech. "-But for the fear of having my ears soundly boxed, I might ven- ture upon the assertion that I had already committed both by stealing into the temple of your affections and possessing myself of your most precious treasures. Look at the sky beyond Round Top! Did you ever see a more delicious bit of ultramarine? And the crimson and gold of the eastern clouds vie with these of the west in glory." The moun- tains were wrapped in purple shadows, that would soon be black, and a thin mist was stealing up to their observatory, from the river, when they descended reluctantly from their rock, and chose the shortest path homeward. ('It will be moonlight, in the course of an hour," said Sydney, on the way. "But, if there were no risk of your taking cold, it would be advisable for us to go liome. I am apt to forget that while we are in the country we conform to the primitive habits of the region in our meal-times., F]zi7a is a great stickler for punctuality. I do not believe that she was ever a minute behind time in her life, upon any occasion, great or small." "If we except her delay in choosing a partner for life," returned Kate, lightly; turning her-smiling face towards him. The jest was not received as merrily as it was made. Kate noticed this instantly, and felt the lack of sympathy in the spirit of her remark, in spite of Sydney's attempt to laugh. He changed the subject by pulling her shawl higher ,upon her shoulders, and inquiring if she felt quite warm.' "The mountain air grows cold as soon as the sunlight is withdrawn," he said. - I must bring an extra shawl along for you, on our next ramble." "I am very comfortable, thank you," said Kate, iA ai tone thatdiscouraged further conversation. page: 256-257[View Page 256-257] ;. 256 CC 'LRFOR iBE'rr'z, FOR WORSE." The more she thought upon his forced laugh and failure to answer her in words, the more uncomfortable she became. The unpleasant sensation was heightened by the conscious- ness that there had been-asuspicion of spitefulness in her reflection upon the spinsterhood of her sister-in-law. For she had not been under the same roof with her a dozen hours, before she made up her mind that there was a strong likelihood that their intercourse would result in reciprocal dislike. This persuasion she had studiously concealed from her husband, and -the idea that he had caught a glim- mer of the truth from her unguarded remark was mortify- ing. Else, why shoulds he tacitly decline the discussion of his sister's old-maidism? Steppiag over the stones and gnarled roots of the forest- path, and seeming to listen to his pleasant talk upon various topics, a thought struck, like a bodkin-thrust, at her heart. Was Eliza, as his sister, and a blood: member of the Bentley family, to be held sacred from slighting, or jesting comments even- from her-his wife? Was the tie of consanguinity one that would not brook the touch of an alien's hand - alien by birth and lineage, although he had sworn, before *Heaven and men, that she was henceforward to be the near- est and dearest of all earthly relations? Another suspicion s xl6ed her ere she caught her breath from the pain of the first, She had imagined, long ago, that her marriage had been a most distastful one to Eliza. That energetic lady - , managed everything else pertaining to the Bentley interest, and was manifestly chagrined that the negotiation of the aljiaNce of her only brother with some highly-favored daugh- ter o0f Eve had not been intrusted to her diplomatic and executive abilities. Perhaps Sydney was fully aware of this, and avoided all conversation that might lead to her discov- ery of a' crcumstance that could not but pain and embarrass her. I ' C; FOR BIarRlt, FOR WORSE.?) 257 He broke the chain of thought when she had reached this point. "I am afraid that you are weary, my pet! Am I walk-l ing too fast for you?" "Not at all!" "What makes y ou so quiet?" he continued, bending to look into her face. - "I am never talkative at twilight," she replied, arousing herself. - "Are you not quite happy?" -"Of course I am!" cried Kate, laughing more than was altogether natural.!"Of course I am! Very happy Why shouldn't I be?" "I fancied that you spoke sadly-that was all! I beg your pardon." He had certainly a swepet temper, and his confidence in his wife's word was absolute. It was unreasonable and un- kind to allow a trifle so light to discompose her; but her spirit was still slightly, though not visibly ruffled when they reached the house. As fate would have it, 'Eliza was stand- ing upon the pia. watching for them. Those who have read Thackeray's "Newcomes" can never forget his mention of Lady Kew's little black dog, and the subsequent dissertation upon other curs of the same com- plexion that infest nearly every family in the civilized world. Eliza was the proprietor of this interesting quadruped in the Bentley household, and, according to the custom of other households, more and less amiable, every member of it was in competition with the rest in the laudable task of humor-f ing the vile' cur, tossing it propitiatory tidbits in season and out of season; feeding it with superfine dainties whenever it menaced an assault, and redoubling their assiduities di- rectly after it had made the round of the establishment, snarl- 22* , ' page: 258-259[View Page 258-259] 258 FOR Be:Tl't , FOR WORSE." ing, and worrying, and bIting like any other mad thing that ,deserved a short shrift and a long cord. ' Don't irritate lia!" "Eliza would not like that!" ". liEa says this must be done," were unanswerable dissua- sives or inducements in the mouths and ears of every one, from the father down to the least grandchild. Those who had grown up under this regime look it as a matter of course, a condition of their existence, mhich they accepted with vary- ing degrees of patience-generally good-naturedly, being, in the main, peaceable and kindly tempered; but the invariable policy of conciliation struck novices and lookers-on as con- temptible in itself, and unjust to the rest of the family. Kate's sense of right and propriety was offended by it, from the day of her arrival at the country house, and hardly an hour had elapsed since, in which she had not fresh occasion for wonder and indignation at the one-sided state of domes- tic government. She had held her peace, however; with- held from verbal or looked disapproval by the thought of the newness of her introduction to the home-circle, and the fear, of offending others with the irascible maiden, with whom, to be candid, she'would have relished a rousing tilt, that would grant her the opportunity of giving the virago a :wholesome supply of plain truths, pungently delivered. WTell.!" said the watcher, as the absentees walked up hef sxteps, "I began to think that we should have to ring fie ialarm bell, or send out a man with a lantern, to look after you. You have been married about long enough, I should think, to bear in mind that seven o'clock is our tea hour." - Kate felt the blood warm her cheeks unpleasantly, but she naturally left the task of replying to her husband. He laughed good-naturedly. "We have had what the theologians call'an abiding sense' of that fact for the past hour, Lizzie. But we lost our way coming home, and made "FOR BEWE'RK, FOR WORSE." 259 an unpremeditated detour of, I suppose, a mile and a half. You must overlook our tardiness for this once. It is a mercy that we did not need the man and the lantern, in dead earnest." I Kate glanced up quickly, her lips forming into a smile at this outrageous fabrication Sydney's face was as grave as a judge's. "You had better keep your eyes open the next time you turn pathfinders," said F'liza, only partially 'appeased. "Supper has been waiting for you this half-hour." Kate escaped to her chamber to lay aside her walking- dress, whither Sydney followed her almost immediately. "What an adept you must be in hoaxing! You carried the last one through with admirable gravity. I was tempted to believe you, myself," she 'said, fiing that he did not re- fer to it of his own accord. "What do you mean?" with a puzzled air. "I alluded to the romance of the ' Lost Pedestrians.'" "Oh, my fib to Eliza. I have served a long apprentice- ship at the trade. I flatter myself there are not many men who can lie themselves out of a scrape with a more- honest face than I can," Kate's hand fell from 'the collar she was pinning about her throat. "Lie out! O Sydney!" "White lies, I mean, child! necessary equivocations, par- donable deceptions, agreeable exaggerations, and the like. How shocked you look I It is what everybody does, only some bungle so atrociously in the attempt as to spoil every- thing. Who tells the truth at all times and in all places?" do!" was upon Kate's 'tongue. It was arrested by the recollection that the self-vindication would imply cen- sure of her liege lord, "and make too serious a matter of a jest," she continued, to herself. "Biut I wish he. would un- deceive Eliza without delay She certainly believes him page: 260-261[View Page 260-261] 260 "FOR BMTK,rk, FOR WORSE.." to be in earnest, and has, no doubt, repeated the silly fiction to the whole family by this time. I do hate to be made the subject of general ridicule, even for a little while." Her surmise was correct. Old Mr. Bentley was especially facetious upon the misadventure, advising his son to take a hatchet along when he again committed himself and his spouse to the labyrinthine windings of the forest, and " blaze" the trees, as he went, after the manner of pioneer back- woodsmen, or to fill his pockets with pebbles and drop one, every few rods, as did Hop-o'-my-Thumb on his road to the castle of the ogre. Incident of any kind was so rare in the ' " level life they were leading in their country quarters, that this trifling event was hailed as a godsend of fun. Sydney bore the banter merrily; but Kate, who, according to her own confession, had a great (dislike to unseemly raillery, fretted secretly under the allusions, covert and open, to the love- lorn condition of the grown-up Babes in the Wood, as Eli'za styled them, which had prevented them from knowing the points of the compass, or seeing landmarks like Round Top and Steeple Mountain, which were visible for a hundred miles on every side. She would not feign atausement at what appeared to divert Sydney immensely, and Eliza, ob- serving this, directed the full tide of her ridicule in her direction, when her father-in-law inquired into the cause of her very sober demeanor. "She is thinling what a beautiful pair of corpses Robin Redbreast would have covered painfully with leaves by this time to-morrow evening, if kind fortune had not guided them out of the heart of the trackless wilderness," said the agreeable sister.- "You should have seen her face when she came in! She looked as if she had been crying for a week, and two monstrous tears were still 'rolling adown her lovely nose.'" a "liza!" ejaculated Kate, in infinite disgust. "tFOg lIfn, FOR WOREs. 261; A burst of laughter at her earnestness of deprecation drowned whatever she would have said. The Bentleys always laughed tremendously, upon principle, whenever Eliza essayed a witticism, however lame or flat it might be, and her jeux d'esprits were invariably either clumsy or fatuous. "I appeal to Sydney whether you had not been dissolved in grief, all the while you were wandering affrighted through that ten-acre grove," said the spinster, boldly. "Indeed, he confessed as much to me after you had run up-stairs to bathe your eyes in rose-water. Didn't you, Sydney?" "If I did, it was in confidence, and you had no right to make the confession public," replied he, still laughing, at what Kate could not see. The whole episode was foolish and witless beyond expression to her refined notions. Syd- ney marked her downcast looks. "Never mind, Katie!" he said, affectionately, but still carrying on the jest. "Don't look so reproachfully at me. I'll never tell tales out of school again. I had no idea you would take it so much to heart." This was said as they arose from the table, -and he passed l' his arm about hiswife's waist as he spoke. She would have eluded the embrace had not the regards of the rest been upon them, and her good sense told her that any display of pettishness would be the prelude to' afresh volley of teasing. They walked thus to the door on their way to the piazza, when ETliza called after them, mockingly,- cThat's right, Syd! make your peace wfth her if you can! A terrific curtain lecture is in reserve for you, and you will do well to have it over as soon as possible. I would not be in your place for a fortune. I have a suspicion that your better half is peculiarly gifted in that line." Again Sydney's sole rejoinder was a laugh, that-sounded like a puerile cackle to Kate's excited senses for excited a r. page: 262-263[View Page 262-263] ' FOR BEi'tE, FOR WORSE." she was,--childish as she would have been ready to call such emotion in another,- angry beyond anything that Syd- ney could have conceived possible, regarding the whole scene from his different stand-point. ; She freed herself from his hold by a movement that was decided without being rude, and, instead of repairing with the others to the piazza, which was the summer smoking-room of the gentlemen, and the resort of the ladies on warm evenings, she turned up the staircase leading to her room. "Where are you going, little one?" called Sydney from the foot of the steps. "I shall be back directly!" she replied; and when out of his sight at the turning of the hall above, she flew along the passage as if pursued by a pack of furies. She locked her door and fell into her seat flushed and panting. She had been insulted! held up to general derision; made the laughing-stock of one who was inferior to her in every respect; whom she disliked and despised, and her husband, he whom she had named her hero and her master, had not defended her! nay, more, he had actually joined in the coarse nonsensical banter! And all through fear of offending that detestable shrew, Eliza. Rather than anger her, he would sit calmly by and see his wife openly assailed, vilely persecuted. Here she found that she was crying fast and hard with vexation, -with wounded feeling, she thought. In blissful ignorance of the tempest he had aided is sister to raise, Sydney smoked his cigar below, in abounding peace and quietness; his shapely boots crossed upon a foot- rest, his then betrothed had embroidered as a birthday gift for him three months before, and discussed the affairs of the nation and " our foreign relations " with his father, and the exceeding beauty of the night with his mother and sisters. True, Kate was wanting from the family circle, but he was not afflicted by an absence that must be of so short duration. o: . He never borrowed trouble--this youthful Sybarite, to whom life had, thus far, been a cloudless morning. How was he to divine what salt showers were falling in that locked chamber overhead? As the red, swollen rim of the moon appeared above the pine-tops, Anna, the youngest sis-" ter, a somewhati romantic girl of eighteen, began to warble Schubert's Serenade." Sydney loved music next to his wife, and removing his cigar from his mouth, he fell into a sonorous, yet mellow bass, that set the echoes of the nearer hill-tops to vibrating. Kate dried her tears when she heard that. "He is insen- sible as stone!" she said, contemptuously. Until then, she had intended to remain within her barred door until he came to seek her, and to sue for forgiveness,-Now, she determined not to give him this advantage of a private settlement of the quarrel. She smoothed her hair, bathed her eyes with ice-water until the lids were nearly bloodless, and descended to take her accustomed place in the evening group upon the porch, with the haughty nonchalance of a young princess. "Here is a seat!" said Sydney, offering a chair next to his. She accepted it with thanks. To decline it would have elicited a tender inquiry from him and a sarcastic one from Eliza. You see, she was beginning to fear the famous little black dog, too. But when he laid his hand in her lap, she did not close her fingers upon it as usual, whereat he turned to her with a look of surprise. He might as well have ad- dressed the mute appeal to the Sphynx,-" staring right on, with calm, eternal eyes." "I heard you singing," she was saying, kindly iand pleas- antly to Anna. "It sounded delightfully up-stairs. What was that little ballad you were humming in my room, this morning, while you were sketching the view from my win- dow? 'Lady mine! were all the words I caught." page: 264-265[View Page 264-265] 264 A "FOR Brrl'Dm FOR WORSE*. "That is as old as the hills) said Eliza. "But very sweet and pretty, to my taste," returned Kate, quietly negligent of the objection. 'Sing it, dear; will you not?" to the younger sister Anna was pleased that her vocal efforts had won the appro- bation of so competent a judge, and at once launched her fresh young vioce upon the rippling stream of melody tpate had designated. "That lover deserved nothing less than the loss of he r he insulted by his doubts I " exclaimed Sydney, when the last lines had been sung. "What woman of sense and Spirit would endure the reflections upon her constancy set forh in every verse? They make his loving repetition of Cady Oine an unmanly sneer. Listen! -- "' Thou art pure as mountain snows, Lady mine I Ere the sun upon them glows, k Lady mine I But the noontide hath its ray, e And the snow flakes melt away, And hearts- why may not-thine, Lady mine? Love without faith is not worth a rush " "Hearts do change, however," answered Kate, senten-. tiously. i"Not When they have been really won. Once gained, they are1 gained foreverl" persisted the lover bride- groom. "You liked the words well enough when Rita Lambert sang them!" said the inevitable 'Rl;za. "There are some dozens of songs, all love-sick, that never fail to remnind me of the tedious sittings and endless promenades: you and she used to have out here, last summer, before she administered the rebuff that sent you flying off, by daybreak one August morning, to Saratoga, to find healing for'your stricken spirit. FORB BirT , FOpB WOBSE ." 265 You never knew, I suspect, Kate, that you caught his heart in the rebound? ' "I knew quite as much about it as did anybody else," re- joined Kate, apparently uninjured by the sudden missile. The little black dog was rampant forthwith. "Deluded soul!" with -a disdainful sniff. ' But as Syd says about the crying scene in the woods, I wont tell tales out of school. I don'i mind cautioning you on one point, though. Rita is coming to us next week. You had better keep a close watch upon your husband while she is here." "I will trust him!" said the wife, involuntarily. Sydney's hand clasped hers tightly and warmly, a token of gratitude that changed bitterness into sweetness before his whispered "Thaank you, my darling!" reached her ear. : He spoiled it all, the next moment, by saying, in the delib- . I erate tone of one who is considering a very dubious question, "I am not sure that it is safe for you to place too much reliance in my fidelity under the circumstances tiiza men- tions. I am but human." There is but little in the' last sentence as it meets the eye, but he contrived to throw intp it a mournful significance that excited the mirth of all his auditors with one excep- tion. Kate was sensitive and straightfoward, besides being madly in love with her handsome husband, and she could not understand the motive that beguiled him into jesting upon I a topic so delicate as his constancy to htr, or--what amounted to the same thing-her ability to retain the love : she had won. Besides being foolish and in-bad taste, such v sentiments were utterly inconsistent with those he, had s:j expressed, not three minutes ago,-"Once d, gained gained forever." She prided herself upon her knowledge of human nature, but she had not yet learned that niety-nine out of every , " hundred men, who have achieved a repuation a lady page: 266-267[View Page 266-267] :26i6 C' FOP. BU'rifR, FTOR WORSE O killers, never part with the memory of their triumphs in that line, or the ambition to maintain the character in which their laurels were gained, even if they live to be an hundred, save one, years of age. "Still in the ashes" of their ancient charms " live the wonted fires " of conceit and desire- to prolong the day of their conquests. Had Kate / understood this, she might have overlooked the spice of{/ masculine vanity that prompted her husband's remark, anqd laughed with, rather than at him, or she would more pro- bably have winced and wondered at the flaw in her em- bodied ideal. As it was, there was left upon her mind by the occurrences of the evening-all of them pitiful trifles in the recital- a shadow, like that mape by an acrid breath upon steel that, however polished, is yet imperfectly tem- pered, or not altogether pure. She forbore to reveal the divers uncomfortable things that had disturbed her equani- mity when she had the opportunity of private conversation with Sydney. Explanation and apology were for him not her. He offered neither. The simple truth was that upon his accustomed ear Elia.'s spiteful darts rattled like peas from a boy's pop-gun upon a warrior's helmet. If the patter became too sharp and continuous, he got out of the way, or threw a sop to her ill-conditioned Cerberus. Gen- erally, he made it a rule to forget all about her picayune battery by the time she was through speaking. That a sen- sible woman like Kate should ever attach- the least impor- tance to anything his sister might say or 'do when in "one of 'her humors ' never entered his 'comfortable imagination. In that one adjective lay the key to "handsome Syd -Bent- ley's" character. He dearly loved comfort of body and spirit. The incessant petting that had been his portion from babyhood had not spoiled his sweet, equable temper, or rendered selfish impulses naturally generous and noabe, or vitiated the powers of an excellent mind. But it had "FOR Br-J, PFOB WORS E 267! engendered a love of ease, and the belief that freedom from sorrow and annoyance was his birthright. To' secure this, he would exert himself as few other inducements could tempt him to do.- He got out of, or around a difficulty whenever he could --seldom over one; and when the obstacle of his 6in-tre - a French word he was fond of- was stubborn, he had the rare faculty of forgetting it- putting it behind his back. * , 4 , , . . ' . - ,g page: 268-269[View Page 268-269] -268 "aFOR Io M;ii, FOR WOESE?. (ITA PTERiJ IL IT occurred to Sydney, several times, during, the week succeeding the evening described in the last chapter, that Kate was more quiet than was her wont, and once or twice, that it was a sad quietness; but his affectionate queries as to the cause of her depression, if such existed, were easily parried, so easily that she was cut to the quick by his seeming indifference to her visible unhappiness. He was the more astonished, therefore, when, upon the day pre- ceding Miss Laambert's arrival, she broke out impetuously w ith Sydney, I wish you" would tell me truly if you were ever in love with this, girl who is expected to-moerrow! They were sitting upon she spot where we had our first 9gimpse of them,- "Sunset Rock, K Kate had named it,- side by side, her head upon'his shoulder. They had been 'silent for perhaps five minutes, and he started at the vehe- ment question that ended the pause. Hey-day!" he said merrily. What. is the meaning of this? You are not growing jealous, surely, my pet?" "Not jealous! No; I should scorn to be that! At least"--more slowly tI think I should! But it an- noys me to hear Rliza's perpetual allusions to your 'old flame' and Love's first young dream,' and the needof re- doubled brilliancy on my part, if I would not be eclipsed, and the like unkind remarks. If I knew the truth, I should not be so entirely at her mercy." - "rFor BEsklIT, FOR WORSE." 269 Sydney laughed heartly ("My precious child!" he said, recovering himself, "what a frightful man of straw you have been manufacturing for your discomfort -and my amusement! Is it possible that you mind Eliza's fanfaron- ades? They affect me about as seriously as does the rust- ling of these leaves above and about us in this westerly wind. She does not mean one-hundredth part of what she says. It is only her way; a habit she acquired when she was a gay giddy girl, and has not laid aside. When you come to know her better, you will learn that she post sesses some admirable traits and a throughly kind heart. She always shows the worst side first." "He defends her readily enough at the least approach to censure from me!" thought the wife, sullenly. "But she may deride. and berate me all day long, and he dare not utter a syllable in my defence. Is +his diffidence, or moral cowardice?" Sydney mistook. the meaning of her-lowering brow4 "Will you smile again for me, dear,- if I assure you that' I was never the least bit in love with Miss Lambert? that I never desired to marry any other woman than her whom 'I now hold by the hand,' whom I hope to hold closely and fondly, as I do this moment, until we go down, hand in hand, into the dark valley at the'end of life?" . Her disengaged ain crept around his neck, and her blushing, happy face was hidden upon his shoulder. "Thank you! thank you! I did not- know, until now, that I am so gloriously happy. How I dreaded lest you' should say that you had loved and wooed her before you, did me!" - "Do you'know, little one, that it is naughty to be greedy?" said Sydney, with the playful tenderness that 'became him more than any other mood, smoothing her brown- hair, 23* R.; * I '" page: 270-271[View Page 270-271] 270 . G"FOE Blelro EK, FOR WORSE.." then lifting her head with gentle violence that he might search her eyes with his. "Indeed, I am not selfish --so selfish, I mean, about any- thing else; but I have been miserable, and uncharitable, and cross "- He stopped her mouth with a kiss. C"No more hard words about my wife, madam! But "-laughing again- "how emphatically you brought out those words 'that girls'! You looked so spiritedly beautiful as you enunci- ated them, that I cannot regret the occasion that excited your ire, Wait until you, see the dangerous rival, Katie darling, before you conclude that I was ever 'daft',with love"for her. She is pretty, insinuating, and clever, after a certain fashion, but she has no more real heart than there is in an iceberg. 'She is a mere flesh-and-blood doll, with nature's own red and white cunningly laid on, dressed in 'the height of the mode, with exquisite taste in the matter of ribbons, laces, and -perfumes. Further, this deponent saith not." Miss Lamnbert was expected to supper the next evening; and when Kate appeared in the family sitting-room a quarter of an, hour before the carriage which had been sent for her returned from the depot, Rliza met her with a disa- greeably mea ning smile. "Got up to order, I see!" "How handsome you are!" said Mrs. Risley, the married sister, whom Kate liked and esteemed as thoroughly as she despised the elder. "Sydney ought to see you just now, while your roses are fresh and new." \ "C He is remarkably well entertained where he rejoined Eliza. "I doubt if he would exchange his present compan- ion for any other." He' had gone in the carriage to meet the guest. Kate-as was but natural and seemly-had attired her- FOR B-HfiTER FOBRWORE." 71 self as he liked best to see her, with just a sufficient touch of ambition to outshine the new-comer to make her crimson guiltily at Eliza's coarse comment. She had said to herself, up to that instant, that her foolish jealously of the red-and- white doll had evaporated into the merest mist befre Syd- ney's; emphatic denial that there, had ever been any tender passages between him and the beauty. She had been very happy since the restoration of her confidence in him, and she was resolved not to regard pin-pricks, however annoying they might be. So, she smiled gratefully at Mrs. Risley's compliment, and seated herself near Mrs. Bentley, a placid old lady, who had thrown up the reins of government to her energetic eldest daughter so many years before that she had outlived the very memory of freedom. "You are looking very sweetly, my love," said the amiable mother-in-law. "White is very becoming to you." "I must beg leave to differ with you there, at least," contradicted Eliza. "She is too dark and sallow -to look' well in anything but bright colors. It is a pity, Kiate, that your style is not more decided. You are neither very fair, nor yet a clear brunette. Rita Lambert, being an ,lnmistak- able blonde, with a brilliant complexion, looks magnificently in white." , It was very hard to bear-these continual exhibitions of personal animosity and violations of the commonest rules of civility and good breeding; but Kate was a genuine lady in nature and breeding, and she restrained her orising choler. Since the mother and sisters failed to rebuke the rudeness offered her, it was not her place to complain of it. - ,She would not have had time' for remonstrance, indeed, . for the carriage rolled around to-the front entrance as 'liza. ceased speaking, and the four ladies pressed-into the piazza ., to receive the favorite visitor. Kate did not arise from her seat, and was left alone in the parlor. She distinguished, i "id ** page: 272-273[View Page 272-273] :' 9t2'72 " FOE BERld, FOR WORSE." ;aaid the confusion of other voices, a strange one, --a mellow contralto, -the accents of which affected the ear as the downy surface of silk velvet thefinger-tips. "I have been telling him that, he has acquired the look and air of ' Benedick the married mau' sooner than any other person I ever saw," was the one connected sentence that reached the solitary inmate of the drawing-room. Then Eliza's thin treble jingled discordantly upon the dulcet tones, "Hasn't he? You see, Sydney, I am not the only one that thinks yol have been tamed in a marvel- lously short time." Sydney made some jocular retort, and as the clamor of women's voices died away up the stairs, he entered the room where his wife awaited him. His eyes kindled in falling upon her, and when she arose to receive his kiss, he smiled and said a caressing word. His next movement --a singularly abrupt one for him whose motions were habitually deliberately graceful-was to approach a mirror and inspect his full-length image as therein re- flected. "HOTave I really grown so much older and graver, 4Itie, love? Do you see any marked change in my ap- pearance?' "Since when?" she asked, somewhat shortly. His mind was so full of the derogatory criticism passed upon his good looks, that he had not noticed hers, was more blind to the pleasing effect produced by her tasteful apparel and heightened color than his mother and sisters had been. Kate - albeit her besetting sin was not personal vanity -felt the oversight keenly. "Rita Lambert will have it that I am quite another man from ithe onie she parted with a year ago. She more than intimated that I was looking sober and dull,--pss as she put it.." s v Fo FOR B]E-ru 'FOR WORSE." -' :: : Looking up to scout the assertion of the saucy belle, Kate's face beamed suddenly with love and pride, approxi- mating adoration. "Apollo was never more royally beautiful!" escaped her, before she knew what she was saying. Royally beautiful! The epithet was not too forcible for the features and figure upon which her eyes feasted. The honest outhurst of the fond heart went straight to that of- the hearer. What signified the praise or disapproval of others while this loyal lover was his-all his--and he perfection in her estimation? (atching the contagion of her impulsive manner and speech, he dropped to one knee upon the rug at her feet, and raised her hand to his lips. "My queen! noblest, dearest-and, to me, fairest of women!" She bent low to kiss his forehead, without care or thought of rival or mischief-maker. "For decency's sake I' said Eliza, angrily, from a side door. "For decency's sake, don't be enacting your private theatricals in this part of the house! You can rehearse in your own room to your heart's content. I never saw such absurd and shameful carryings-on as we have here, nowa- days. Sydney, I am astonished at youl" -- The stress upon the pronoun rendered her insinuation too offensive for Kate to brook. "Do you hear what she says?" she exclaimed, 'to her husband, her cheeks white as her dress, and her eyes sparkling with anger! "Am I to endure this always, without complaint or redress?-to be hourly browheaten, slandered, insulted, and you not speak in my de- fence?" , "Hush! hush! my dearest!" Sydney glanced nervously towards the open door. ,"' liza is in jest"- "Not I!?' interrupted his sister, stoutly. I ,1A page: 274-275[View Page 274-275] 274 ; o. BEY VEmj FOR WOESE." "Everybody laughs at love scenes," continued the worse than perplexed ,Benedick. "I dare say we--you and I, my pet! --would be highlly diverted ourselves, were we to stumble upon a tableau mivant like that which Eliza inter- rupted. She did not mean to wound you "- "Don't apologize for me! I can take care of myself! If your wife has taken umbrage at my language, I don't call upon you to protect me, Only fools and cowards run scream- ing to husband' whenever any one crooks a finger at them. Pah!" and the virago left the field clear, before her brother could recover wits or breath to answer her latest and most audacious remark. ' Kate sank upon a sofa, and buried her face in her hands. - I am very sorry this has happened, my precious one!" said Sydney, sitting down by her and trying to draw her to- wards him. R"liL a was very wrong. She had no right th address you, or to speak of you in the way she did"- ) c Why didn't you tell her so, then?" demanded the out- raged bride, confronting him sternly. c"Remember, I shall' never appeal to you for help, comfort, or protection again no, not if the knife were at my throat, and 'I knew that a word from you would save my life!" Sydney'drew back aghast. ', Kate! are you raving? You cannot mean to say such terrible things!" "I always mean what I say, and I am not afraid to say what I think!" Without waiting to witness the effect of this, double-header," she shook off his hold and marched put of the room. Sydney had a profound respect for appearances; and sorely discomposed though he was by this stormy episode, he met Miss! Lambert, as she descended to the parlor, twenty minutes later, with the urbane cordiality that rendered him so popu- lar as a hiOt, and a handsomely turned compliment to heir- ninmpaired comeliness, which won from her a recsi ,FOAR BEIlTfI ,/FOR WORSE?. 275 tipn of her expressed judgement as to the traces of time and matrimony upon his. She had been premature in pronounc- ing her verdict, she was graciously pleased to acknowledge. He was looking quite his former and younger self. "But where is Mrs. Bentley?" she asked, looking around the room. "I am all impatience to behold your divinity." "She has been siffering with headache all day; she is lying down, just at present. I hope, however, that she will be well enough to appear at supper-time. Her desire to meet you surpasses yours to know her." What further lie he would have improvised to cover the awkward gap left by his wife's retreat to the rear was not to be proved. - At this point of his discourse he detected a lurking glimmer of malicious amusement in Miss Lamben's eye, and the truth rushed upon him, to wit, that his' beloved sister Eliza - with her customary contempt for the ordinary expediencies and proprieties governing most family squab- bles -had, without doubt, primed her favorite Rita with the latest bit of household scandal before she left her dress- ing-room. Controlling his countenance as best he could, he exchanged ao few not very dexterous sentences of badinage with the fascinating visitor; resigned her to his sisters, and wended his way with a quaking heart, to his wife's chamber. Her scornful words had cut him deeply, but the smart was already less keen than it had been at first; and gauging her nature by his own more placable one, he hoped to find - her amenable to reason and coaxing. He had no reproaches for her. Why should she not be as willing to forgive and- forget? All young married people had these slight alteria- tions, - passing clouds, -that made more fair and dear the restored sunshine. 'Kate unlocked the door promptly at his familiar tap, but left him to turn the bolt for himself. This waS an ia pioius begnlinng, but he mist not be daunted : page: 276-277[View Page 276-277] 2-76 ( ^'FOR BETTERO FOR WORSE.) by trifles. Since the task must be accomplished, he would go straight on with -the work of reconciliation. He had ex. pected to see her dissolved in tears, but her eyes were dry - and resolute. "Come, my beauty!" he said, in blithe coaxing. "Tea will be served in a few minutes, and Mi s Lambert is in the parlor awaiting anxiously an introduction to you." I am not going down." ": lat .?', queried Sydney, incredul us as to the fidelity of the auriculaxs that conveyed to his mind the stunning reply. "I shall not leave this room until Rliza asks my pardon for her unprovoked insolence!" rejoined Kate, in calm deter- mination. Sydney absolutely staggered to the nearest chair. "'Don't say that, my love, I beg! You do not know how obstinate she is! She will never retract one iota of what she has once said." "Very well I Then I stay here, until it pleases you to take me away from this house, never to return." "Kate, my sweet girl! in mercy to my father, my. mother, and the sisters who have not offended you--who love you 'dearly, and wlo would be heart-broken were they to know of this unhappy estrangement; in pity for me, whose very soul is bound up in your happiness, do not persist in this cruel resolution! You punish the. innocent with the guilty!" He talked on and on, arguing, soothing, and entreating., Kate stood like a statue, every line of her face fixed and pitiless. In the midst of the scene the tea-bell rang. SydAeyJ wasain an agony. , i This wretched storye will go the rounds of my acquaint ances-!' he exclamed, in frantic despair. R"ita Lambert would enjoy nothing more than t9 get hold of it, and reptat FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE." 2" it to everybody she meets who -ever saw or heard of me. D I shall be the laughing-stock of town and country! I can never hold up my head in the world .again!" Kate turned. A swift change went over her countenance. It was not relenting, or sympathy with his anguish. It looked more like contempt. "I am ready Il shall we go down now?" She would not suffer the fondling with which he would have thanked her for her altered purpose; paid no apparent heed to his praises of her good sense and amiability. While he was still pouring these forth she walked past him to the door, and he only overtook her upon the staircase. Miss Lambert, who had been gloating -over the anticipa- tion of witnessing a conjugal thunderstorm, was disappointed at seeing them enter the supper-room, arm in arm, he radiant and talkative, she colorless and taciturn;-but that Kmight be , her usual deportment to strangers. ,j "She can be agreeable enough, when it pleases her High- : ness," Eliza had said to her friend, in sketching her new and unloved sister, "but at other times she is lofty as a duchess.. I should as soon have thought of Syd, with his ardent temperament, marrying a graven image, as such a woman." - Miss Lambert quickly concluded that the present was one of the " other" and ungenial times, and was not dainted by i the iciness of the bride's demeanor. The beauty was not the doll Sydney had described her. She was a magnificent :I blonde, with a cieamy skin, dark-blue eyes, melting lips, and golden hair. She, too, had chosen to bedeck'herself I. white on this evening; a sheer muslin, that floated in .re- dundant waves downward from her pliant waist, and rolled in fleecy heaps upon the floor, and that softened, without : i concealing the bewitching contour of her arms and shoul- ders. A scarlet shawl had slipped from the latter to her i . ' , page: 278-279[View Page 278-279] 278 - cFOR BETTER, FOR3 WOtSE i elbows, and supplied they needful dash of coloring to the- picture. She saluted Kate effu ively, and the unimpas- sioned reception of her demonstr tions put a slight check upon Sydney's recovered cheerfulness. "I sincerely hope that your headache is much better!" said the sympathizing Rita, when Ishe ha4 squeezed Katers hands very hard in both of hers, and been "s80 rejoiced to meet one of whom she had heard ,so much." I have so longed for this momenti Sydney I I beg your pardon- Mr. Bentley"-correcting herself irith charming naivete- "told me that you were suffering intensely. I am a martyr to headache, myself; therefore I can feel for you. Do you often have these turns?" "Very seldom! I did suffer for a while," replied Kate; "but I am better now; quite well, indeed, thank you!" Sydney caught the-meaning of the equivoque, and bit his lip." But he did not interpret the language of the scornful ray that gleamed suddenly through her long eyelashes. "He is consistent, at all events," was her thought." He X puts his principles into practice whenever occasion warrants their exercise. He 'has 'lied ' ps both ' out of the scrape,' t aid done it with his usual cleverness." The evening went off gayly. Sydney had never shone to greater advantage in person, conversation, and musical dis- play. Rita was graciously lavish of flattering phrases, hon- eyed words, and languishing glances; Eliita, caustic and unscrupulous of others' feelings ald opinions, yet in a very :- decent humor for her. In originality and sparkle of thought , :'ilAte bore off the palm, and she appreciated her superiority as thoroughly as did the exultant husband, whose beamiing eye or delighted smile applauded her every bOn-mot. Stilli there was nothing that could be mistaken for geniality in her words or manner. Her wit was like the play of northern :. lights upon ice, -weird-like and dazzling. Even Miss Tanm. "FoR BOlTR E, FOR WORSE." 279 bert was kept at a respectful distance, and there were few who could remain proof against her blandishments. "Sydney!" she said, abruptly, by and by. "'Again- forgive me! It is hard to forget old habits." "Don't trouble yourself to forget this one," rejoined Syd- ney, pleasantly. " "'Mr. Bentley' is very stiff and awkward from your lips. What were you about to say?" "To ask if y'ou saw Rachel as Camille in 'Les iHoraces,: when she was in this country." "I did. Why?" "Look at Mrs Bentley--not your mother, your wife- - as she stands now, and tell me if you do not see her wonder- ful resemblance to the great artiste?" - Kate and Anna were engaged upon the famous duet in Norma. Anna was singing, and Kate stood quietly by, /awaiting her turn. She wore a dress of white alpaca, with a very full and long skirt. The evening was a cool one, in l early autumn, so cool that a wood-fire had been kindled upon the hearth. Kate had coughed slightly an hour before, , and Sydney, taking alarm, had rushed up-stairs for a shawl. Man-like, he had chosen to bring down the handsomest she possessed, -a white one, with a rich Indian border, the only article of dress, he had as yet given her. She had thanked . him, quietly, as he folded it about her, and Miss Lambert had gone into ecstasies over the beauty of the cashmere. Kate wore it, as she did everything else, gracefully, Her a white draperies fell in motionless curves and folds, that - looked like classic marble. Her eyes rested upon the piano- , keys and Anna's swift fingers; her mouth was sad and stern. "Rachel was very homely, was she not?" asked Elixza, feigning childish simplicity. "She was beautiful when' she willed to be so," responded i o AA( page: 280-281[View Page 280-281] 280 , FOB B 'lr tM FOR WORSE.3 Miss Lambert adroitly. "You observe the likeness, do you not?" to Sydney. "I certainly do! It is wonderful, as you say " T He was gazing at his wife, as if he would never let her pass from his sight. Kate's hearing was remarkably acute. She had not lost a word of all this, although Anna was ex- pending all the strength of her sweet little voice in agonizing entreaty that Norma would in pity hear her. But she did lose that look of prideful affection, and the smile that accom- panied his reply. Fliza saw both, and her acidulated nature overflowed. "How differently people are impressed by the same ob- jectl Now, I was just thirTlinin that Kate reminded me painfully of -a corpse, laid out, c la mode, in white mering, with a bunch of flowers upon her breast." This referred to a bouquet held carelessly between Kate's fingers. "You Shocking girl!" cried Miss. ambert with a hys- terical giggle. Sydney was silent. A nna glanced up surprisedly, at Norma's delay in begin- ning her part, and all conversation was suspended as the responsive burst of passionate music filled the room. &"When the heart is cold that should have cherished jEvery hope of joy it falsely gave, \ Wouldst thou have me live? AhI no, wouldsnot I My only haven, alas is but the grave I ;FOB Birl'EE, FOB WORSE.^ 281 CTEA IEIm III. "KATE, I met Rita Lambert in the street to-day." "Ah !" The interjection did not encourage a continuation of the subject,'and Sydney waited a moment before renewhng the conversation. "She sent her love to you, and told me to say that she meant to waive ceremony wit such old friends, and come to see you." e^ "Did she say when I might expect her? "She mentioned to-morrow evncounirage I thinuatio. Wn of thet be perfectl y convenient to you? "Quite as conve nienr asa other time. Kate leaned over to tave up here sick Chi ld from the crib, and bucomsied to herself with her, smoothing her hair, adjusting her wrapper more comfortably about her limbs, and moistening the hot e lips. Then she laid the little head upon her shoulder, and : commenced rocking her to and fro. , "How is she to-night?" asked Sydney, affectionately, stroking the feverish cheek with his cool fingers. He was, a very woman in his knack of treating invalids - and babies. - "About the same." "Papa has something pretty in his pocket'for Lulu!"5 -: pursued the father. "Will she .come and see it?" The little one sat up and stretched out her arms. "Papa's dar- ?;: ,1 2 ' , ' page: 282-283[View Page 282-283] -t4$ -"a B : C c;?. 'En E:FOR WORSE. L -li"g!- murmured Sydney, taking the light weight into his --oxwn. ' ' She has fever still, has she not " i , Sh]e' hals, all the tinne," answered, Kate, in patient weari- -:/ :ine ikbble to repre'sia struggling sigh. It ught tthe husbands ear. 'You are not anxious tab Jhatrw. you, dear? I met the doctor, to-day. :He saysfthat -er symptoms are the .inevitable consequence of scarletifever, such as is sees in dozens of other cases in his dafil^y: r. -Eit M assuredl me, voluntarily, that there was nooccasion iiI. I am much more uneasy about you I than on her account Children have a wonderful surplus of lvitality. She wall oAme out all right, by and by. You are growing very-thin and pale, my pet! It gives me an inces- sant heartache to note and think upon the change. Whe'n baby grows, up, she must never forget what manmrna has done and suffered for her, during this sadly anxious Fall." Kate made no answer. Not a muscle changed in her still, grave face. She wrapped the child's a fthanT about her feet, as she lay in her father's arms, engrossed by the examination of her new treasure, a picture-book emblazoned in glowing and varied colors. The mother resumed her chair, and seemed to be occupied by an elaborate piece of needle- work But her eye never, in reality, left Lulu. She' had been married more than six years, and this frail bud only had been given into her bosom. She was now in her third year - v*a remarkably pretty child, a softened minia ture of her handsome father; yet so delicate that the mother had never known the perfect sweetness of proprietorship in this, heaven's best gift to her woman's heart. One after another, the maladies incident to infancy had done their will upon 'i:ie fragile little being, until, it seemed as if each had left :br'no strength to meet and cope with the next. Still, she did resist the blighting influences, and, within the past week, , , sc FOR BhiBR, FOR WOBE. 283 ; the watchful nurse had allowed herself to hope that the elasticity of constitution which had borne her through so -- much might eventually triumph; her cares be abundantly rewarded by the establishment of healthful vigor. She was not dreaming of this 'to-night, however,-while her needle moved rapidly through the slip she was fashioning for her darling. She was doubting whether the dainty garment might not become her baby's burial robe. The apprehension had started into life out of the apparent plenitude of her husband's confidence in the child's convalescence. "He is trying to deceive me. The doctor has admitted to him the fact that my baby is in danger. His pretended ? solicitude' about ay health is a plausible blind for his true feelings respecting her." She asked no questions. Her life seemed failing her, drop by drop, as she followed to its heart-rending conclusion the fancy that had gained a lodgment in her mind; but there was no present remedy for the slow torture, for that felt like mortal heart-sickness.& "He would not tell me the truth if I begged for it upon my bended knees. If he did, I should not believe him. " The shadow of distrust that had fallen upon Kate Bent- ley's spirit with the beginning of the second month of her marriage, lhad increased steadily until it was enshrouded in hopeless gloom. Never too merciful in' judgment, she had brought her kindly-tempered husband-easy of con- science 'and facile of speech-to the test of her ringid rules of morality and taste, and found him wanting. Iis careless tongue she condemned as wickedly mendaeiodus his, dread of annoyance, his horror of disagreement with' those he loved, moral cowardice. Her eyes once opened to these flaws in a character she had wilfully chosen to con- - ! i sider faultless, her verdict far outran the positive evidence , ; of hi-unworthiness, and she believed him in nothing. - In page: 284-285[View Page 284-285] 28i4 ; XFOBR 1FFOORR WORwESE/ stead of regarding his foibles as mere offshoots, the pruning of which would bring symmetry out of irregularity without touching the vital part of the plant, she had settled stub- bornly down into the persuasion that the stock was evil to the root., Not to another living being had she ever breathed a hint of the deadly corrosion that was eating into the fine gold of her wedded happiness. She was bound to him for life, and she must support, as she could, the wretchedness result- ing from her great mistake. She would be to him still a faithful and obedient wife yes! and a loving-despise herself as she might and as she often did, in that her affec- tions- yet clung, like ivy to ruins, to the fragments of her shivered idol. Yet she felt a thrill of pride, sometimes, in his beauty, undimmed by the years that had passed over them since their bridal day; in his heroic presence, his manly accomplishments, and conversational powers. Her heart had not learned to beat evenly when other tongues praised these things in him, and congratulated her upon her fortunate lot. -- She schooled herself to .indifference; to the meehasnical performance of the duties incumbent upon her as wife, housekeeper, and mother. For weeks together she would delude her reason into the conviction that this conscientious regard for moral and legal obligations was her sole incentive in making his home pleasant to himself and M hiss friends; could meet, unmoved, his loving eyes, land -receive, without a quicker motion of the languid blood, the caresses that had once been sweetest luxuries; could reply, in measured, passionless accents, to his fond inquiries as to the origin of her visible depression. Again, in an un- ,guarded moment; when the thirst of the emptied heart was at its height, a fond word, an act of tender generosity,- it might be the inflection of a tone that recalled those early, blissful days,--would rend the frozen rock to its centre, FopFOR JBE'.tl, FOR WORSE!., 285 and the tide of anguished yearning baffle her attempts at control. At these seasons she had wept hysterically upon his d bosom, or lain in his arms for hours together, the great silent tears gathering and dropping; grief he could not fathom or understand, but which distressed him none the less because the source lay deeper than his ken. Gradually, he had ceased to inquire into the cause of her disquiet. When the fit came on, his arms and heart were open to- her as ever, and his fond soothing as freely bestowed. In the cold reaction, the hauteur or apathy that succeeded the indulgence, he likewise, refrained from remonstrance. He never complained of her, let her humor be reserved or recklessj gloomy or sarcastic. What he suffered as these periods of apparent indifference lengthened and the break- -. ing up of the frost occured at rarer intervals, she never thought. "Nothing hurts him long!" she would reason, bitterly, when a pained look crossed his face, or his voice, always : gentle to' her, had a pathetic cadence that touched her,; against her will, in her angry or contemptuous mood. "Nai- tures like his have the faculty of forgetting whatever mars their selfish ease. For that matter, how can I be sure that the sorrowful expression andsad tone are not counterfeits!"I Lulu. was mightily entertained, for a time, with her ' pictures and her father's explanation of them; but at length the mother detected a sharper ring in her eager voice, noticed that she was growing excited and irritable. . 1 "Let me take her!" she said to her husband; "slie iill weary you." "Not she! Papa is never tired of amusing his birdling. I wish you would leave her entirely to my care and lie down for an hour, dearest" . Conscious that she had been guilty of a virtual equivoca- :i page: 286-287[View Page 286-287] :286 "FOR B}.-, FO R WORSE." tion in not assigning the true reason for her interruption, Kate colored-slightly. "-She is talking too much, " she replied, without noticing h his affectionate proposal. "The doctor warned me against excitement." Putting by her work, she tried to coax the little one to resign her plaything. "Lulu shall have it again, to-morrow. Mamma will rock her and sing a pretty song." "No!" screamed the child, clutching the books with one hand and twisting the fingers of the other in her father's luxuriant hair. "I don't love you one bet! Go away, naughty, ugly mammal Lulu will stay with her sweet, pretty papa!" '. There! my baby mustn't cry 1 Shall papa walk awhile with her?" asked Sydney, pressing his cheek to hers, and hushing her sobs as by magic. "And the beautiful book shall sleep, in Lulu's arms while she is riding!" :Kate had not avoided the slap aimed at her face by the. tiny hand, but she paid no outward regard to it. Retreat- ing to her chair as the child became composed, she took up her work. "His policy in everything I " was her medita- tion. '-Temporizing and flattering! raising no issue that cunning or coaxing can avoid; not even to set a mother right, to uphold-her authority in the eyes of her child!" Forgetful that she had cautioned him against exciting the sick babe, not two minutes before, she observed, with envy that was not far removed from savageness, the pair in their turns through the room; the feeble hand still intertwined in the raven jar, and the-weary head sinking lower and lower toward the father's shoulder, until it lay there in motionless slumber. Sydney continued his walk and the low murmur of his lullaby until the picture-book slipped fromt the nerve- less fingers rto the floor - then he halted in front of his wife with a happy, satisfied smile. :FOR BETTER, FORl WOBE." - 287' "Papa is not a bad nurse, after all, is he? Shall I lay her in her crib, or do you wish to hold her?" "She will rest more quietly in her crib. It spoils a child to hold it upon the lap after it is once fairly asleep," an- swered Kate, frigidly; and Sydney felt rebuked for having suffered the precious head to lie upon his shoulder one in- stant after the golden lashes had fallen together. Without offering to touch the sleeper, Kate smoothed the sheet and warmed the pillow, and motioned her husband to lay his burden there.. Then she turned away, leaving to him the task of covering the child. '- "M]y beautiful angel!" said the fond father, kissing the sunny curls floating over the pillow. "She grows more lovely each day- does she not?" - ", She is a very pretty child!" without a look toward her. 1 Sydney's task of love being accomplished, he came to the back of his wifes chair, and rested one arm upon it, watch- ing her darting needle and the work that grew under it.' "That is very handsome! Is it for yourself?" - "No; for Lulu." He said no more, when she did not offer to unfold the . " pattern for his further admiration. One might have fanciet . him abstracted, but his thoughts did not wander beyond the silent figure before him. These reveries had become habitual to him when she was indisposed to converse. Her moods were often less than inviting; seldom so repellent as that which now possessed her. j She had not, however, concealed her feelings so adroitly that he had not gathered' from her demeanor and chance utterances that her married: life had proved to her:"a bitter disappointment. This, a! humiliating discovery to any husband, is pregnant with keenest mortification and sorrow to those who-:have .loved most truly, striven most faithfully, to bring abo oy result. He had not succeeded in makia^g Les happy, page: 288-289[View Page 288-289] 288 OR FOR orl'tl, FoB WO RSE " ardently as he had hoped to do this. Yet how hard and how long lhe had tried to meet her every wish, to ward off icare! Not that he had any just cause for complaint. She 'had consulted his tastes and comfort -in every arrangement of her household; been a true wife to him in sickness and in health; winning daily upon his regard by her womanly virtUes, the graces of her mind and person, her steadiness of purpose in all worthy enterprises, her avoidance of all that was mean and base. He loved her with a depth and sincerity which was a higher tribute to her character than had been the'more' demonstrati e passion of the honeymoon. She seldom encouraged him to express this in words, and the pain of repression, at first so new and sharp, had settled' into a dull aching that never left him. It had made a different man of him than the buoyant, sunny-tempered Sydney Bentley, who, people used to say, was born to good fortune, it appeared to come to him so naturally, and he was so well suited to the enjoyment of the bounties showered upon him by nature and circumstance. Trouble went hardly with him, especially the pangs of grieved affection; but, in the strength of his lov e for hber, lit was easier to endure these and make no sign, than-to see his wife droop with mysterious sadness, or unexpressed desire, and not dare ask why she mourned. "Dare!" That was just it! He stood, with bound hands and sealed lips, andsaw the distance between them grow wider and wider. Her will was not to be questioned, and that will was an: impassable barrier to,his inclination to search out the reason for their growing estrangement, his loj'grig to restore matters to their old footing. Her lightest wish. was Mhs law, and she knew her power. He feared her frown more than the reprobation of the whole world beside, and she knew that too, It was impossible to- brood upon thse things and not "FOR BE"rrfm , FOR WORSE." 289 grow restless under the yoke, let her who imposed it be never so dear. He caught himself wishing, in a vague, sad way, that she were less-rigid in her ideas of light and wrong; less scrupulous in her performance of what she held . to be duty, in its remotest particulars; wishing, in brief, that she were more like other women, or he better suited to her needs. She had left him behind, -so he excused the tinct.- . ure of disloyalty-in this thought;-outstripped him so far in the march toward excellence that he could not hope to as- pire to her level, and he felt lonely. He had never, until this hour, allowed the shadow of a reflection upon her con- duct to enter his mind, but he was weary with disappoint- ment and ehilling failures. His nature craved . "A creature not too bright and good For human, nature'sdaily food." He was tired of making all the advances and receiving all the repulses. Kate looked hastily up at his heavy sigh. Her eyes were full of tears, and the- unguarded movement dashed one over the brimming lids. She averted her head, as she felt it upon , her cheek. i "I am a pitiful fool!" said Sydney, inwardly. "But I'll be hanged if I can stani'that I 1'll risk ;anihilation first! stake all upon one chance!" He knelt down by her ' side and wound his arms about her. "Kate, love! my pre- cious wife! What is this nameless, terrible sorrow that is " killing us both? What have I ever said or done to wound :(:: you so deeply that for weeks and months together I am " 1 never blessed with a real heart-smile, a voluntary word ofi love? Upon my knees I pray for a return to the dear, early days of our love. If tears came quickly then, smiles i ; were more ready to chase these away.. I know the fault .I must be mine, mine alone; for you are the soul of goodness and justice. You would not inflict the horrible pain Ihave 25 -" r r' " - . - l page: 290-291[View Page 290-291] 290 "FOR 1B'rETjR FOR WORSE." felt in the dread lest I might have forfeited your love and respect, without excellent cause for punishing me. Have I not done penance long and severe enough to atone for my unintentional wrongdoing? And I so love and worship you; my darlingI my darling!" He would not let her go, although she struggled to un- t bind his arms. His pleading eyes, misty with feeling, gaied up into hers; his mouth quivered with pain, and his voice was plaintive as a child's. Kate was terribly tempted. Tempted to forget his weak- ness, his laxity of principle, his manifold deceptions and. miaisrepresentations, his deficiency in moral heroism, -all the blemishes that had degraded her impossible ideal into the very human and therefore very fallible man; temptl d to bury these in the recollection that he was still her hus and, whom she had taken ( for better, for worse," in a compact naught lut death could annul ; tempted to cast over ever blot that marred her present conception of his character, thy veil of pitying affection; to cling to him yet more truly bepause of the frailties that begot that compassionate tendernesr; and while clinging, strive to correct the faults which had wrought his debasement in her esteem, and her consequent misery. Before this temptation, whether it was the Weak plea of a woman's too partial love, or the instigation o her guardian angel, her usually firm will swayed and stralined momentarily, like a reed before a rushing, mighty yind, then stubbornness- she hailed it as rectitude-returned to her spirit. , She ceased to struggle. Unmoved in aspect and calm intonation, she gazed straight, into the mournful eyes that besought her clemency. She even lifted a lock that had strayed over his forehead, and laid/it back, but it was rather the action of a mother rectifying a chance disorder FOR 'rrXBIC, FOR WORSE." i 29i in the appearance of a grown-up son, than the toying of a wife with her husband's silky hair. , "My poor Sydney I Are you then nhappy, too? Dear, return to the blind, blissful days, of which you speak is im- possible. I should only deceive you were I to' raise hopes I can never, fulfil; were I to lead you to suppose anything else. With me, the desire has failed with the expectation. This is a merciful provision of nature. When we have ceased to hope, we learn, with greater or less 'eas to curb I our wishes. We are no longer boy and girl lovers, each, believing the other a combination of angelic perfections, and - life to be made up of midsummer holidays like our wedding- , day. That phase of our joint existence has passed. It is, hereafter,'t16 be remembered as the tender graceof a day that is dead.' You know that can never come back." She Ipaused. Still the fixed look of supplication; still = the clasp-of the arms that bound her waisit like bands f - steel. ' S "It was bitter to let it go, dear! to see the romance fade, - little by little, one ray after another, out of one's life. But we are too wise to waste our time in useless lame ntations over the irrevocable. Let us accept our destiny as it is, ' like a brave man and a submissive woman. Duty, when , rightly pursued, is not a bad substitute for hope." The sad eyes lingered upon hers with one last look, so earnest and penetrating, she feared lest it had read her soul , to its depths; then closed,--a quiet fall of the lids that sig- 1 nalled to her apprehension the farewelllto hope she advised. I When they were lifted, the mist was gone. Dry desolda tion, that expected and asked nothing, was there in its place. I In arising, he stooped over and kissed her. i' Let it be . as you wish. I would not force your love and confidenee. i Mine cant never change. I was never good enough fr you. :*: page: 292-293[View Page 292-293] 292 ' ^Y,;r"RFOR Bg FOE WOESE. . I warned you,\long ago, -that you would, some day discover this for yourself. I think that I loved you -well enough to have made hayself over again, if you would have liked me ,better for the change. But let it pass You never say what you:-do not mean, and you say that it is too late." -Another sentence, and her rigid self-possession must have given way. The!simple dignity of his acquiesence in her verdict; his gallant vindication of herself :from all blame in their estrangement, wrought more powerfully upon her de- termination: than oceans of tears and volumes of protesta- tions couild have done.: The sentence was not spoken. He laid:his hlnd upon her head, in blessing oras a token of for- gie iss,.if he had aught in his mind of which other men mighthavae complained, and left the house. She listene :until the echo of Ihis. slow footfall died away in the quiet :-street ;tAhen bent her forehead upon the railing of thebabyb'sYerib, too wretched to-pray or to think- connect. edly. "iI have cut away the last prop that stood between me and utter despairi " she murmured, by and by. "But it must haveo come at some time. As well now as later! - De- lay would have made:'the wrench no easier." , During Lulus illness, her mother had spent many nights upon a low beddin the chamber adjoining her own, and which, :was' fitted, up as a temporary nursery. The child required much attention at night, and hero'restlessness and the attendant bustle in the room would -have distiiurbed the fatheer's slumbers as well asthose of the untiring nurse. , '- "IfCould not sleep if she were awake," Kate, had replied oto herisband's entreaties that she would permit him to relieve her protracted vigils. "It is, unnecessary that two should' lose their rest, when one can 'do all that is neede for helt noimfort. . Yet, each night, Sydney hadl come into the nursery before \ FOB RlWfTcJ FOR -WORrE I . 29 . retiring, with minute inquiries as to the health of the little one and her mother's ability to sustain the fatigue of-the approaching watch, and not left them until Kate had; lain down and Lulu was asleep. ' To-night, he came home at the' usual hour. There had been an undefined dread upon the, wife's spirits iUntil she heard the click of his key in the outer door, that she might never see him again; that his solemn, unspoken leave-taking presaged a final separation, She had undressed and betaken ' her aching head to the pillow, half an hour earlier,-a freak of pride or wifuilness, which she deludedherself into fancying was'a judicious measure for one suffering and exhausted as she undoubtedly was. In reality, she, meant that he should . not imagi e that she had sat up for him or expected his i accustomed visit. The childish folly was sufficiently pun- ished by the agony of expectation that hearkened to- every sound from the adjacent chamber; to Sydney's- slippered footstep upon thet carpet; the rattle of his watch-chain, as he laid it upon the marble top of the bureau; the fall of a book he had accidentally struck from the table; and still he did not approach the door of communication. Finally, the line of light beneath this went out, and all was quiet. For the first time since their marriage day, he had laid himself down to rest without kissing her " good-night." . - The haggard countenances of both, when they met in the breakfast-room, showed that their rest had not deserved the name; but neither alluded to the conversation of the previous evening. They talked of Lulu, whose fever had left -her entirely, and whose clearer eyes and playful tricks they hailed as auguries of speedy recovery; of the weather;; the morning news; of everything excepting themselves. There was no need for Kate to play the defensive, now, against the loving demonstrations and inquiries she had learned--to ' avoid lest they should beguile her into openness of speech page: 294-295[View Page 294-295] FOR 'l-r'Efii, FOR WORSE." and corresponding warmth. Sydney's tone was friendly, kind, pleasant. A third party at their meal would have decided that there was nothing to conceal on either side; that he was as fond as are a majority of husbands; a trifle more attentive to his partner's wants, perhaps; but, that he, with his lady-like and self-possessed wife, had outlived the period of wedded sentimentalism. And nine out of ten people would have decided that their behavior was eminently decorous, pre-eminently sensible, and quoted, knowingly, the hackneyed saying setting forth; the interesting character of love talk and love scenes to the parties engaged in it, and their exceeding stupidity to the beholders thereof. "When did Miss Lambert say that the would be here?" inquired Kate, in pursuance of her laudable design of pre- venting awkward breaks in their chat. "To tea, this evening. She said something of a wish to pay you a visit of a day or two, but I did not encourage the intimation. I mentioned in reply, that Lulu occupied much of your time." There had been a scarcely perceptible shadow on the wife's brow, as the proposed visit was named, a knitting of the forehead, which the husband knew signified dissatisfac- tion. It had vanished when the concluding clause of his remark was spoken. "Where is she staying?" "With her sister, Mrs. Shenley." "She has been in St. Louis for two or three years, has she not?" "She has. Her eldest brother lives there. She is the youngest of a large family." "Has she altered much since you last saw her?" "Hem-m-m! No; I think not. She looks just about the same. I expected that shewould have married at the Cc FOR {B'ITrs , FOR WORSE.? 295 West, but she seems to be in no hurry to resign the liberty she evidently enjoys." Et cetera, etc., etc., until breakfast was over, when Sydney arose from the table, kissed his wife formally; took up his child in a warm embrace inquired if there were anything he could do for the pleasure or comfort of either during the day; advised Kate to leave Lulu with the nurse long enough to take a walk or ride herself in the bracing outer air, and went off to his office for the rest of the day. Their divided life had fairly begun. page: 296-297[View Page 296-297] 296 FomoR sBjmal FOR Woma.." CHArPJ:K IV, ATbE h ad, a call that dasy, at noon, from Doctor Russell. He had been the family physician and personal friend of the Bentleys for years, and, like some other popular practition- ers, was a bit of a gossip. "I saw Sydney for a moment, yesterday, in Moulin's saloon," he said, when he had pronounced his little patient decidedly better. "He was discussing a capital ice in capi- tal company; namely, with Miss Lambert. I had not seen her before in an age. She wears wonderfully well, and looks refreshed, instead of blase, after her Western campaign. She was never handsomer than on yesterday. I stopped to pay my respects to her, and to corroborate Sydney's decla- ration that our small lady here was not so ill as to render it inexpedient that Miss Lambert should accept his invita- tion to visit you." "He told me that your report was encouraging," re- marked Kate, quietly. The doctor! was very scrupulous in whatever had the remotest bearing upon his professional reputation. "Oh! as to that I had very little to say. 'Doctor! he called, as I was passing, 'are you in too great a hurry to do me a good turn?' I answered that I was at his service. 'Then please certify to Miss Lambert that my- little Lulu is not too sick for us---Mrs. Bentley and myself - to enjoy the society of our old friend. I have been begging her, for half an hour, to gladden our sombre dwelling-by the sun- FOB B'lrrlJ, FOR WORSE." 297 shine of her presence, but she is obdurate.' The sly rascal remembered, you see, that flattery was the belle's natural aliment! I merely replied that I did not consider the child dangerously ill, although, to be candid, I did not like the constant recurrence of the febrile symptoms. They are rare in convalesence from such an attack as she has had. - I am more rejoiced than I can express to you, my dear madam, to observe their abatement to-day. Good-morning! I shall do myself the pleasure of calling while Miss Lambert is with you." "Mamma., mamma!" repeated Lulu, impatiently, tug- ging at her mother's sleeve, ten minutes after the man of medicine and news had made his smiling bow; "Lulu wants a drink!" Kate put the goblet to her lips with a dreamy, preoc- cupied air. She smiled in replacing it upon the stand--a gloomily sarcastic curl of the mobile mouth one would not care to see twice upon a woman's face. "Lulu must lie still awhile, now. Maamma has a letter to write," she said, giving the little one her new picture- book. She sat down at her desk and dashed off the following note to Anna Bentley:- "MY DEAR SISTER, - Sydney met Rita Lambert yester- day, and invited her to take tea with us this evening. She objected to mnaklng a longer visit on account of Lulu's sick- ness. Can you see her during the forenoon, and ask her, in my name, to pass a week with us?, And cannot you spare as much of your valuable time to her and to us? Lulu is very much better, but I cannot as yet leave her entirely to the care of her nurse. Meanwhile I am poor company for Sydney. He needs enlivenment, and I know no two peo- ple who could cheer him up more effectually than his pet page: 298-299[View Page 298-299] 298 " FOR BIWI', FOR WORSE.. . '. sister and his old favorite Rita. Please say to TNJ."i:/ : bert how earnestly I desire her compliance with: mii.; ; tion, also, that I would give my invitation in persn-,, wer " it not that my convalescent is exacting of mamma:sh inoti-e to-day. Come early, and let me know at what hour., I y send for your trunk. Love to mamma and ERlii a TihOy must spare you to me for a few days. It has been wlg:- while since I had a:real visit from you. "Affectionately, "KATE BENTLEY.? Sydney walked heavily up the steps of his own dwelling that evening. Kate might have thought her heroics thrown away had she known how completely the recollection of Ritas- proposed visit had escaped his memory, He had encountered her upon the threshold of the confectioner's saloon; they had eaten their ices together, and, partly because it was natural and easy for Whim to say things agree- able to his listeners, partly because he was honestly pleased at meeting an old aquaintance, he had rattled on after the fashion of his bachelorhood, brightly and thoughtlessly, with no prescient warning as to the dragon's teeth he was sowing. He unlocked the front door, and a burst of merry music greeted his ears, ceasing, while he yet stood in the hall,'and succeeded by the softer and more joyous sound of laughing voices. Peeping furtively in at the parlor door, he. saw Kate seated by the fire with Lulu upon her lap, Anna kneel- ing upon the carpet before the two, playing with her niece --and, towering before them in one of her finest poses, ex- pressive of tender benignity toward mother, babe, and aunt, was Rita's voluptuous figure, fuller, and, if possible, more instinct with seductive grace than when she played the willing Chloe to -his Stephen in the moonlighted garden- i FOR BJil'riVEi, FOR WORSE." : 299 :aks ad piatzas of his father's country-house seven years ,; rFew 'women liked Rita Lambert; because, insinuated the i ungalant stronger sex, it was considered " the proper thing " for most men, who had the opportunity offered them, to go i through the form of homage at the shrine of her overween- ing vanity. At twenty-six years of age, when most of her contemporaries were beginning to lose the lustre of their early charms, she had bloomed into a wanton luxuriance of beauty, the sight of which purchased for her no increase of favor in femnnine eyes, while the men went into madder ecstasies than ever over her affluence of charms. Up to this day, Kate had never been jealous of Sydney's admiration for her. It was too openly expressed, and avowedly too exclu- sively a mere pleasure of the eye, for a reasonable wife to fear. Furthermore, until now she had always been confi- dent in the strength of her tenure upon her husband's affections. Distrust his other protestations though she did, i when he declared his love to be unchangeable in fervor and hers alone, she had believed him. The doctor's good-natured loquacity had set a germ which had grown faster than Jonah's gourd, and borne fruit more poisonous than helle- bore. - The!casual meeting in the street had been a prolonged ! interview in the saloon of a fashionable confectioner; Rita's proposal to visit her, a hardly-wrung consent to his importu- r nities that she would t brighten his sombre dwelling by the sunshine of her presence ;" the doctor's reassuring statement ' of the chllild's improvement in health, a trumped-up story to allay her maternal fears and insure his favorite a longer x stay beneath his roof than would be compatible with pro- priety or humanity, were the mother, meanwhile, racked by duplicity sent her thoughts back to the evening ou which .. .. i page: 300-301[View Page 300-301] 800 "FOR BETT, O --WORSE." she had first heard Rita Lambert's name. "His former flame," Eliza had styled her. "I believe it now!?' Kate said between her clenched teeth. "I was a fool not to see and believe it then!" Close upon this came the daring resolution to invite her to the house and watch them with her unsealed eyes. She haid begun to relent in her purpose of treating him as one who had forfeited all claim to her confidence, to whom she was united by a nominal, because a merely legal tie; begun to question secretly whether it were indeed possible for love to outlive respect. Now, iLove and Pity fled affrighted before the beldame Justice, las she. seized the scales in one hand,-the rod in the other. To secure the evidence neces- sary to convict the accused man, the devotee of this grim- browed goddess stooped to subterfuge; wrote a letter, every third line of which was a lie, to decoy the accomplice into her righteous trap. She, observed the meeeting of the sus- pected pair with perceptions sharpened to the last degree of asurness. The flash and glow that went over Rita's blonde visage, ;the responsive smile upon. Sydney's ; the clinging touch of the hand; the cordial heartiness of his verbal wel- come to his home,-none of these passed unnoticed, con- trasted as they were, with the careless familiarity of his greeting to Anna, and his formal address to herself *vhen his devoirs as host had been paid. - The passion for conquest was natural with Rita as was the act of respiration. Perhaps, if the choice had been offered her, she would have prefered to undertake the fasci- nation of an unmarried man. If he were intensely " eligi- ble," there was always the ulterior motive of securing a settlement inlifre; but such chances being few, she as often tried her skill upon the lawful property of other women as upon that which, as yet, belonged to nobody in particular, and, was, therefore, fair game. It was nothing to her, and "FO:B BETEE, FO R WOrSE." 301 less than nothing, that she occasionally broke a simple lov. ing heart by the practice of her diablerie. If she bestowed more than a passing thought upon such insignificant inci- dents, it was to congratulate herself that one of the " demure kind," as she denominated all wives who were content with the queendom of their own homes, asked for no loftier niche in the world than the highest places in the affections of their husbands and children, -" the hateful, starched, prim, over-good sor,-- thusMiss Lamberts set wrote these down, ' --that one of these, the coquette's natural enemies, had, however sorely against her will, been compelled to lower her spotless crest and -own the regal flirt her conqueror. A "pattern wife" is, in the vocabulary of the gay sisterhood, a more opprobrious term than even " old maid." Rita had come nearer to breaking her heart, or whatever portion of her frame did duty for that usually necessary organ, for love of handsome Syd Bentley, in his bachelor- hood, than she had ever done before or since. He had slighted her, as she imagined, and she had neither forgiven i nor forgotten the affront. It is superfluous to remark, after i adverting to this fact in her early history, that her aversion i to "married prudes " and s" model spouses," in the abstract, was aggravated into rancor in this instance by a sense of de- feat and a hankering after revenge upon the audacious : creature occupying the place she had selected as her own. For the furtherance of this pious design, she could not have asked a fairer opportunity than her rival'had afforded her .? by her invitation to pass a week in the society of her cov- a eted victim. Anna was extravagantly fond of children, and Lulu, her only niece, was her greatest pet. When Kate moved to carry her up stairs, after supper, the doting auntie quar- relled with her for the privilege of playing bearer toher im- r perious little majesty, and gained her point, transferring j 26 page: 302-303[View Page 302-303] 302 "FOR B;riE ijK,- FOR WORSE.? the light burden from the mother's arms to her own, and bearing her off in triumph. Kate followed to undress and put the child to bed. The two dallied over the operations of disrobing and bathing the delighted babe, after the fashion of all child-lovers, paying the inevitable penalty in enduring the sleepless and peevish fit that' succeeded the untimely frolic. Finally she was quiet in bed, and nearly, if not quite asleep, and Anna made a feint of with- drawal. Her sister-in-law stayed her. "Leave Rita to entertai Sydney a little longer," she said. "I want to have a long talk: about your affairs. I have hardly had a chance to say a word to you for a month past. Sit-down " } Said " affairs " signifying Anna's recent betrothal to " one of the nicest fellows in the world," she was not loath to sink to the low seat pointed out, rest her elbows upon Kate's knees, and enter into fullest particulars touching the embryo trousseau, the time when "it" would probably "come off, " and a thousand other things pertaining. to the important " it.." "You see, Katie dear, there-is no peculiar propriety in a long engagement,' said the frank fiancee. Ed is doing a good business, and we have known each other for years and years. I wouldn't marry a man whom I did not know thoroughly-his faults as well as his virtues." "You are right there!"Klate suppressed a sigh, and - meant that her srrile should be encouraging; not incredu- lous. Anna was not renowned for keenness -of spiritual perceptions, and she prattled on, unaware of anything in the expression of her listener's eye or face that should have dampened her enthusiastic happiness or cast a doubt upon her boasted, familarity vith her lover's character.' Kate led 'her on, seeming 'to hearken with a show of affectionate interest, while her ears were really sensitive only to sounds "FOR BJsruLC, FdB WOSE." 303 from the parlor beneath, the subdued hum of conversation, and, by and by, a. melancholy prelude upon the piano, ex- quisitely played; then ERita's voice, cooingly insinuative in song, as in conversation, beginning the musical phase of her campaign in the ballad, "Sleeping, I dreamed, Love." Sydney did not sing-it with her--a certain token to his wife that his had been the selection of the music. She saw him clearly as' with her bodily vision, standing behind the siren; his 'head bowed, and eyes softened to languish- ing by the magic strains and more potent witchery of- the rendering. He used thus to bend and listen when she sang to him during their short, happy engagement, which they, like Anna and her lover, saw no expediency in lengthen- ing beyond the earliest convenient limit. - And in this remembered attitude she found him, when she assented, at length, to Annoas proposition that " this was a very selfish enjoyment; that Rita would t hink it queer, and Syd scold if they did not go down. Duets and trios superseded solos when the rapt couple at I the instrument were interrupted by the entrance of the late : tenants of the nursery. Anna. liked to sing with her : brother, and furnished a somewhat feeble, but sweet second to Miss Lambert's spirited soprano. "Come, Kate!" said her husband, the frost of his imper- fectly learned reserve melting under the influence of his favorite art, "Rita is not familiar with this song. She will play the- accomnpaniment, if you will sing.? He made a motion to cross the room and lead her to thepiano, but her coldly civil accents stayed his advance. "Please excuse me- I I am' both weary and hoarse to- night; I came to hear, not help make music.' , She sat, down by the centre-table with her work, and the concert proceeded. It appeared, upon a cursory, exarmina.- tion of the collection upon the music-rack, that at least fifty .: page: 304-305[View Page 304-305] 3Q4 4 DFOE BE'tT, Foe WOE8E O new and " divine" pieces of music were lacking " to complete such an assortment as you two should have) Mrs. Bentley." This, from the sirn, directing her blandishments Kateward. "If I could sing as you do, and could always command such a basso,"-- beamingly upon Sydney,-"I am afraid that ,my fate would be that of the weaker, or more excitable thrush, of the pair celebrated if fable: that I should sing myself to death --pass away in musical breath." "( Euthanasia!" observed Sydney, smiling. He was pencilling down the names of several of the duets she, had mentioned, and did not see the countenance of the beauty. Kate did, and detecting the touch of embarrasment depicted thereupon, was certain that she did not comprehend the answer she had received. "A shallow, superficial parrot!" was the wife's mental criticismi "Yet he admires gloss and chatter. All men do 1 " She did justice, however, to the adroitness with which the parrot covered her ignorance. "Anna., dear I " with girlish eagerness, catching at a sheet the other was turning over, "isn't that the sweetest of all earthly duets-the one we used to be forever singing in ",lang syne," dear lost "lang syne?" Let me have it, please " She warbled a measure like a nightingale, if nightingales ever, have contralto voices that nothing can suprise into shrillness. "That one line has painted a whole picture for me! I can see the mountains, dark with evergreens; the flash of the, silver rivers down the valley; the tree-shadows upon the lawn, and the glitter of the moonbeams upon the dewy grass; just as they looked on that never-to-be-forgotten summer. Heigho! put it away, my darling, or I shall grow romantic. Ladies of an uncertain age should rise superior to sentimental reminiscences!" "OEO, Bjrlrr, FOR WOESE." '305 Before any one could remark upon this pensive passage in talk that was usually lively to gayety, the keys tinkled under her fingers like a concert of fairy guitars, and she broke into a charming little serenade:- I 1i . "'When the BPslirI Is heard o'er the sea, r dance the Romaiika, Sweet love, with theel" ' "Sydney " She did not correct the appellation by "Mr. Bentley," in the seeming forgetfilness of her present surroundings into which she was prone to lapse, on this evening. "Sydney! do you recollect that glorious night on the sea-shore, when we waltzed on the sand, and how after the dance was over, you caught up a guitar belonging to one of the party, and sang the ' Romaika'? It is strange what a charm such memories have for me 7 " Kate-u-nsmiling and taciturn- apparently absorbed in her sewing, contributing nothing to the general fund of en- joyment,-the type of a rigid task-mistress, who spared her- self no more than she did others. Beyond the centre-table, with its shaded burner, the blonde enchantress, all bloom and radiance - steeped in the mellow lustre shed down from the brackets on either side of .the piano -herself the incar- nation of light and warmth; ready to reflect his smile, or echo his sigh; to sing him into transient oblivion of pain, or to sympathize sweetly in what she but vaguely guessed ifrom the shadow that overcast his eyes when a break occurred in her pleasing flow of words, spoken and sung. Sydney, too, had his pictures to study that evening, and hejwas a man,-very man, moreover; one who liked sunshine and ease, and shuddered at gloom, let it overshadow either body or spirit. Nobody knew his idiosyncrasies better than did his wife, but she did not bestir herself to render less p a tif ql 26* page: 306-307[View Page 306-307] 306 O FOR B7:TE11, FOR WORSE." the. contrast presented for his inspection by the two figures we have drawn. With persistency and system she would have condemned as malignant in another, she carried out the programme she had arranged for this decisive week. She withdrew into the background whenever her husband appeared in parlor or library, and granted Rita every accessory to her'beauty and wiles the exacting flirt could have desired, had her wish been law. So utterly indifferent did Mrs. Bentley appear to the progress of the renewed intimacy that, Circe sometimes eyed her in wonderment and suspicion. Was the woman a born fool, or was she wrapped in a fatal lethargy by mistaken confidence in the strength of her. hold upon her handsome lord, while he was being drawn nearer and nearer the uncertain and slippery verge where society- that despicable despot' whom, nevertheless, no one except a downright madman ever yet did despise--declares inno- cent flirtation to end and crime to begin? Rita's delicate foot had trodden sufficiently close to the precipice in bygone days for her to understand perfectly what were her bearings now. She had also drawn others far into danger; witnessed their feeble struggles and subsequent recklessness, and she believed the tempting prey she now sought to ensnare was safe in her -silken toils. But she had never before had assistance in this pretty and most Christian sport from such a quarter. r "Positively she has not only resigned him to me, but she pushes him into my very grasp!" muttered the tempt- ress, as she surveyed her finished toilet in the mirror in her chamber on the, last evening of her stay in the hospitable mansioR. "Can she hold her treasure cheaply? Hi she found him too' costly' for every-day wear?" A ', She was not choice in her language when soliloqttNug; coarse-minded people seldom are; and what profesional 4If, . "FOR BETEl't j FOR WORSE." 307 flirt, especially if she be' a woman, is not coarse in Anna had accepted an invitation to take tea with "Ed's " parents, who were, according to her, like their son, "the nicest people in the world," and Rita contemplated com- placently the prospect of a tkte a tmte which should accrue to her profit and pleasure. "He shall commit hl;mself, even tIhough no positive advantage can result from commital now. But it will be a consolation to hear from his own lips that I have conquered -that he laments me. Better late than never, and half a loaf is better than no bread. If I had done my work as well seven years ago, his destiny and mine would ,have worn a very different aspect. But I was a green girl then- nim- pulsive and over-anxious. I have always been haunted by the idea that he saw the hook under the bait. So much the greater the victory now! -" She descended to the parlor, her shining silk trailing and rustling down the stairs like the supple coils of a real serpent. The apartment was empty of humap occupant; but Psyche, Sydney's tiny King Charles spaniel, lay coiled up, a flossy ball, upon a cushion before the blazing grate. Rita sat down upon the carpet beside here her sheeny robes spread widely, and giving back the fire-rays from a hundred folds. Leap- ing sparks of prismatic hues betrayed the diamond-cluster below her white throat; the steadier glow of the opal upon her finger suggested the beautiful oriental descriptionof the gem, - " a pearl with a soul imprisioned in it. There were tuberoses in her hair and belt, and the room was soon filled, with the powerful, yet languorous oder. Psyche raised her curly head and winked her black eyes very fast and' hard at the dazzling apparition that had disturbed her nap.- But ' at the gentle, monotonous play of the& jewelled hand over f i her. silky coat, slumber resumed its sway, and she sank anew page: 308-309[View Page 308-309] A FOR ,B1TrTEX, FOR WORSE.;- into her drowsy paradise. Rita did not like children, although she could go into ecstasies, over what she called, behind their parents' backs, "nursery furniture." If mamma or papa were worth winning, she " did" petting, including baby-talk, gracefully as she captivated husbands and made mortal enemies of wives. But the genus baby was to her a disagreeable animal, to be shunned whenever policy permitted such avoidance. Of dogs and horses she was really fond. Had Lulu and Psyche fallen into the fire together, and the choice been offered her of saving one of the two, I am afraid she would have dragged out the spaniel without a moment's hesitation. It was not in her nature to be cruel to dumb things, she was wont to say; with osten- tatious tenderness. Perhaps Nero might have murmured a similar. sentiment over his basket of pet puppies, while his pleasure-gardens were lurid with the la.mes fed by burning martyrs. Waiting there in the scarlet fire-light,-she was a very East Indian in her love of-heat,- Rita began to croon a love- sick trifle that had yet in it a wild pathos which commended it to the ear and heart of the listener: "My soul, in one unbroken sigh, Breathes forth its love for thee; More fond than, parent'slove for child Or bird's for mate on tree.. For thee I for only thee , She repeated the refrain over and over, just above her breath, a sound hardly louder than the crackle and sigh of the kindling sea-coal upon. the hearth, but it drowned the noise of Sydneys entrance. Hie was close beside her before she betrayed the slightest suspicion of his presence. "Alone?" he said, playfully. "And 'most musical, most melancholy l' Don't rise! You look comforta4 ad picturesque as you are!" He took for himself : ,low c FOR BEmi'K", FOR WORSE.? 809 canseuse she had designedly left at her right hand, yet far enough forward for her to see him without changing an attitude she knew could not be improved. "You came in so softly that I should have believed you a vision of my waking dream, had you not spoken," she said, naively. If he recognized the implication that his image had played a prominent part in her reverie, he neither said.nor looked as much. Indeed, he seemed inclined to lead her away from the subject of her sentimentalizings over the embers. Where is Anna ? " he asked. "Gone to take tea with the Warrens, like a dutiful daughter-in-law elect." "And Kate ?" "Up-stairs, I fancy. I have not seen her since dinner." "You have been lonely, I am afraid." "A little blue; that is all! I ought to be ashamed to confess it, I suppose. But I have had a happy week, and it is over !" "Make it a fortnight " suggested the host, readily. "Why should I1 That would be gone more quickly than a day has often passed for me, in other circumstances, and I should be as reluctant to go at the end of the time as I am to-night. All the sweets of life fly from me before I have fairly tasted them. I should be willing to die the next moment if I could quaff one perfect draught of bliss -just one ! "You would find it evanescent as the rest of human delights." ! " Maybe so; but it would be worth the trouble of living twenty, thirty-yes, forty years, to enjoy one such seond !" "The trouble of living I" repeated Sydney, as he might page: 310-311[View Page 310-311] 310 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE." reason with a pouting child. "What cause of complaint have you against Fate, I wonder!" "What is your quarrel with her?" she retorted, instantly, directing a keen, upward look at his face. , He changoed countenance and color, and hastily evaded the thrust. A phrase of thoughtless gallantry came most easily to his tongue, "Let me see your eyes again, Rita! Do you know that they are opalline, to-night? They match your ring in lustre and in the fire that glimmners far" down within them.*" She did as he bade her. But the fire was nearer the sur- face, now. It deepened and spread into passionate expres- sion until he grew dizzy and breathless with gazing, yet held by some mystic magnetism of the senses or will, he could not - withdraw that gaze. The woman's whole frame was vivified by the electric flame. The mouth trembled, while it smiled; the hands, that had lain crossed upon her lap until now, were clasped and slightly lifted in a gesture of marvellous grace; her chest heaved high and quickly; she was as lovely as angels ever are, or as fiends would appear when they steal angelic guise. Suddenly, when the pantomime was at the height of its beauty, a flood of softness rushed up, dimming the unholy, 'fire. "No, no l" she cried, lehemently. "They are not opals. They are said to have the power of winning and keeping love for the possessor. Who loves me? Who ever loved me long? I am the idol of an hour! the spoiled plaything of a day! the selfish diversion of a week! And. in my fresh,' happy girlhood, I'dreamed of such different things I I 'have been burying broken hopes all my life long"!" She dropped her head upon his knee and sobbed aloud. 'When he slipped his hand beneath her forehead to raie it, he felt the hot tears upon his fingers., ' FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE." 3" " Rita, dear child ! This distress is the morbid fancy of a sad moment!" commenced Sydney, making a tremendous effort to confine his consolations within the limits of broth-. erly kindness. "Yes, I have always felt that you believed me shallow- hearted- incapable of deep feeling !" she interposed sharply, but it sounded like a cry of pain, not of temper. "You are mistaken! I, with many others of your friends, do credit to your depth and warmth of feeling." " Friends I Don't mock me by using that word! " she broke in again, her face kindling into an angrier illumination. " Don't drive me to desperation, Sydney, or I shall say that which you ought not to hear--which I shall wish to-mor- row I had died sooner than said! Forgive me! I do not know what I am doing or saying I But I am so sad-hearted and lonely. For years, my existence has been one long disappointment. And I have fancied that you were not happy. I hoped you would sympathize with me, or, at least, respect my sorrow. I will be stronger now. I could not bear your contempt I" , | She uttered the incoherent sentences with a feverish rapidity that bewildered Sydney more and more. "My dear girl I How wildly you talk ! My contempt ! We have known and loved each other too long for that thought to trouble you" "Ah I" The sigh sounded as if it had torn through the heart before reaching the lips, and ere he could anticipate her intention, the beautiful head lay upon his shoulder, so near his cheek 'that her warm breath fanned it. He did not shrink from her. Few men would have experienced an instant impulse to rid themselves of a burdenso lovely. But he withheld the caress she evidently expected. The eloquent wordless appeal elicited no passionate response. page: 312-313[View Page 312-313] 312 ". FOB areWT', FOR WORSSE" Whether or not she would have resorted to other wiles or reproached him for his insensibility, was not to be proved. The sliding doors of the adjoining library rolled soundlessly back, and, chancing to glance in that direction, Sydney saw his wife staning in the archway surveying the group upon the rug. With the force imparted by a great horror, as one leaps to his feet in a nightmare, he threw off the beauteous, yet hateful thing that had crept into his bosom. She had changed into a spotted, venomous serpent, when contrasted with the embodiment of pure womanliness he had ever held his wife to be.' A second look at the doors showed him the empty arch. The warning apparition had disappeared silently as it had come. Rita had fallen to the floor, nearly crushing poor Psyche, who, rudely aroused from her bed of ease, limped, yelping, from the scene of action. "For Heaven's sake, what was 'it?" gasped Rita, strug- gling to regain her footing, and approaching Sydney, as he leaned upon the mantel, his hands pressing his temples. He groaned and shuddered at her touch--a gesture of aversion which she mistook for suffering. cAre you ill? -What startled you? Were you stung, orhur"?5 ,i tng! Yes, fatally! Hurt to the heart! My wife was^:,tanding over there, girl I She saw and heard us I At which appalling announcement Rita laughed aloud. "Is that all? Well I what of it?" "What of it? It means that I am ruined--undone-- wretched for Time, and, for aught I can tell, for Eternity!" "Don't you believe itl Heroics might deceive another woman, but between us there need be no disguises on this head. Do you take me for an idiot, Sydney Bentley? Do- FOR BErVl'CI, FOR WORSE." 313 you imagine that I have not seen from the first month of your marriage--ay! from the very moment I first saw you together- that you were pitifully mismatched? that it was impossible she should ever content you? She is a cold- hearted automaton, loving her husband just as much as the law and the gospel tell her to do." "1 Not another word:! Do you know that you are speak- ing to me of my wife?" The movement and tone of command restored something like dignity to the abject figure. "She is a good, pure, noble woman, whom I love! You are not worthy to loose the latchet of her shoe--to kiss the hem of her garment - while!" -H-e turned away. Rita remained where he had left her, while he paced the room in extreme agitation. She, too, was wounded to the quick, but she would not lower her colors. There was a spice of dare-devil in her composition at all times. It was rampant now, and her smile was dangerous, as she watched the restlessfigure striding over the carpet. i "Brazen it out!" she said, sententiously, seeing he ] showed no inclination to return to her side. "I can never meet her eye again!" was the reply. Coming up close to her, he asked, between his set teeth, with a sinister gleam in his eye that had in it more of hate than any other emotion, which assuredly resembled love least of all,- "If I leave this country to-morrow for Europe will you go with me? Dare you stay here after this disclosure?" tRita laughed again, in genuine and contemptuous amuse- ment. "Dare I? i Why should I go? Does it follow because you are a coward, that I must be one? Moreover, I question seriously whether any disturbance will follow what your fears have magnified into a 'disclosure.' My humble opinion is that Mrs. Bentley will not vex her immacu- 27 page: 314-315[View Page 314-315] 314 ;FOR F r1ET'. FOR WORSE.." late soul -about what she has seen, if indeed she could discern anything clearly in this flickering light. Nor' do I think that if she drew from her discovery the inferenc that we were in love with one another she would fly into hysterics over it, or do aught else that was not cool and proper. A wife who does not exert herself to retain her husband's affection, should not :complain if he appreciates another's charms. At all events, it is a good plan to wait and see what mischief is done before one betrays himself by covering it up. As to your European elopement, with many thanks for the honor done me -by your offer of the trip, allow me to infarm you that no woman of spirit would be likely to close in with a proposal delivered in that style. When I sacrifice counitry, friends, and -fair name to link my fortunes with those of one'of creation's lords, it will not be. for one who regards my companionship in his flight as a pis aller. I hear the tea-bell! Mrs. Bentley is the soul of punctuality, as of all other first-class virtues." She swept him a m&cking curtsey in passing on her way to the door, showing her white teeth in a smile, as she did so. He neither moved, nor spoke. He was transfixed by this abrupt abandonment of her seductive disguise; the disdain with which she had flouted his insane proposal. The shock over, he trembled at the imagination of what would have been his situation had she loved him W6ll enough, or been so mad as to closein with it. Had he been dreaming? was his next question. He could have persuaded himself of this, but for the bruised cluster of tuberoses that lay on the carpet, having dropped from her hair when he pushed her away. He picked them up and flung them into the fire with an execration. "A vile plot " he mnuttured. "She meant to ruin me, knowing all the while that she was safe. She is a demon, and I am a fool!" FOE BETTER, FOR WORSE.5" 315 The patter of small, uncertain feet came along the hall, and Lulu rattled the knob of the door: W0 Papa!" she cried, as he unclosed it, "1 Mamma says you must, tome wight away down to supper. And Tousin Rita says, hurry up, tause the muffings is all detting told, and she is dweadfully hungry i" * ! i ' -4 page: 316-317[View Page 316-317] FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE." CFTAP'iTK VI. WHEN Sydney entered the supper-room, with Lulu in his arms, Miss Lambert was standing at the back of her chair discoursing volubly to her hostess of the "loveliest" Parisian wedding-dress she had examined at the room of a fashiona- ble mantua-maker, that day. "You can imagine -you, who have such perfect taste yourself- you can conceive better than I can describe what must be, the effect of the point-lace flounces looped over this superb skirt, with the darlingest, most perfect tuberoses you ever beheld! I mean to have the counterpart o$ this toilet when I make Mr. Nameless the happiest of men. You could absolutely fancy that you inhaled the perfu ne of my favorite flowers, so life-like were they." Sydney sickened at the words and the penetrating ,clov- ing odor diffused through the dining-room, as it had been through the parlor. ~ "It must have been very handsome !" was Kate's pcjitely commonplace reply. "We are waiting for you, my deir I" Few phrases are more meaningless than the conventional "My dear," with which wedded couples of long staiding are accustomed to address one another. But this did not slip from Kate's lips from fdrce of habit. Sydney understood that she used it for a specific purpose; that while it was to con- vey no tone of affection to his ear, it was to serve as a bar- rier against inconvenient inquiries or awkward reserve; in short, that what she had witnessed less than half an hour ago 27* FOR BET'I'IE FOR WORSE.)) 817 was to be as if it never had been, while the blue eyes that looked so soft, and were, in reality, so cruel, were, upon their every look and action. Before they quitted the table, he was actually tempted to admit the supposition that she must have been misled by the flickering blaze, as to the position in which she had lately beheld him, while Rita, skilful dissembler as she was her- self, was morally certain that this was so. Kate was more gracious than usual to her guest, even pressing her to pro- long her visit; and when assured that stern necessity drew the reluctant Rita from her present delightful quarters, "hoping for a repetition of the favor, some time during the winter." ' You will be down stairs soon, will you not? " coaxed the hypocritical charmer, when Mrs. Bentley called to Lulu that she must go to bed. "I have had a horrible turn of the vapors this afternoon, and when I went to Sydney for con- solation, what do you think he said? " "I am sure I do not know." Kate was stooping to take the child in her arms, and spoke carelessly. "Why, instead of sympathy, I was treated to a lecture- a scathing one, too!" with a reminiscent shrug which Sydney understood--"a regular scolding for my childishness and morbid notions and general unlikeness to his nonpareil of a wife. If I didn't love you so dearly myself, I should soon learn to hate you, you are so constantly held up as an ex- ample for the humble imitation of my imperfect self. You never have the blues, he says." "Very seldom," answered Kate, Tnakig another effort to get out of the room. Rita was at her heels. "This is my last night here, remem- ber! and I have seen so much less of you than I hoped I should do when I accepted your kind invitation, that I leave with a sense of disappointment. I mean to devote this page: 318-319[View Page 318-319] 318' c FOR BET"ERr, FOR WOERSE." evening, or' so much of it as you can spare for me, to get. ting acquainted with you. Mr. Bentley tells me he has an: engagement out." Sydney did not stare at this unblushing fabrication. He was stolid beyond the capacity of feeling her covert insults. "I must ask your indulgence for fifteen or twenty minutes," said Kate, composedly. "Lulu will suffer no one excepting -myself to put her to bed. When she is asleep, I will come to you. Plea se amuse yourself as you like until then." Rita pursued Sydney into the library, when the coast was clear. He looked around angrily as she rustled in, and re- moved his hat from his head. He was selecting some cigars from a drawer full of dainty Habaaas, and refilling his pocket- case, prior to going out. "Don't be alarmed, or vicious!" said Rita, in her sweet- est manner. "I haven't come to torment you before your time. I only want to ask if you are not convinced that I was in the right: that your wife either didn't see, or that she doesn't care?" -"She would not have subjected herself to your contemp- tuous or pitying regards, had she seen and heard all that passed, even if the knowledge thus gained had afflictedher A beyond the powers of endurance of an ordinary woman." Another shrug, and a curl of the amused lips. 'C Quoe cest drole this determination to be miserable-this persistency in remaining uncomfortable! I thought you were one of my kind. You needn't say, ' Heaven forbid!' as I see you are longing to do. I mean simply that I gave you credit for more philosophy, for a disposition to take life by the smooth- est handle it presents, and not dash yourself against the jag- ged edges. I should not be ,surprised if your intention at this instant were to atone for your latest peccadillo by an hour spent upon your knees in the matrimonnial confessional. Eh?" "OEOR BEZYri'ElR, FO WORSE." 319 Sydney lighted a cigar, and walked out of the apartment without answering. Rita did not speak until she heard the clang of the front door behind him. Then her features were distorted by rage and mortification. " "The pitiful coward! the great, foolish baby! I would never have wasted a single round upon him, had I suspected of what stuff he was really made! .I am glad he didn't propose to me when he was a bachelor. I should unquestionably have accepted him, and made my- self miserable for the remainder of my days. Fancy my being tied for life to such a milksop! He is gloriously handsome, though! If he belonged to me, I would put him into a glass case as a parlor ornament!" She could swear and vow to herself that she rejoiced in her fortunate escape Ifrom the fate she pretended to believe would have been hers, had her girlish wishes been fulfilled but she was intensely chagrined at her failure; ashamed of the undignified issue of her grand siege. She had never en- joyed an "affair '" more. The unexampled facilities offered her for carrying it on had precluded the necessity of labori- ous intriguing on her part, and the partner to the in- teresting pastime was well whrth the trouble of catching. But the most pungent and flavorous sauce to her pleasure had been the idea that she was undermining that love and respect for his wife ,which had grown into a proverb among the fast men 'and women of her set. I, the writer of this latter-day chronicle, am too thorough- going a utilitarian to enter appreciatingly into the spirit of a flirtation witha man already married. If I must be alto- gether candid, I confess to an-old-fashioned-prejudice that bids me distrust the moral principle, along with the kindli- ness of nature of her who indulges her vanity at the risk of her own reputation and another's peace of mind. I am a page: 320-321[View Page 320-321] 820 FOR BETlTEK, FOR WORSE." dear lover of fair play, and when two celibate coquettes en- gage each other in a test-duel, I may have my private opin- ion of the good taste and delicacy of the exhibition, but I do not trouble myself with fears and misgivings as to the consequences of the affray. If either party come to grief in the sequel, it is only a matter of individual hurt, and the odds are greatly in favor of the supposition that the worsted combatant deserves all that he or she got, and a scratch or' two more. If the mock fight result im the enslavement of both, Hymenosteps in decorously, and winds -up the affair to the satisfaction of the world at large and the (present) de- lectation of the pair most nearly interested in the ceremony. But this careless or malicious infringement upon the solemn rights of another, and that other an unoffending sister, is dead contrary to my code of morals, and, I may as well add, religion. , If God has ordained marriage as the highest state of earthly felicity, and His solemn "Let not man put asun- der!" warned off the sacrilegious touch from the repository of wedded loves, the conduct of those who vote flirting with single men- or women-an insipid entertainment in com- parison with the triumph and excitement of a so-called Pla- tonic afaire with the husband or wife of somebody else, is more than " imprudent" or "equivocal." It is a deliberate sin against the Divine law, even though the intimacy never transcend the limits of what a lax fashionable public opinion calls propriety. , Rita Lambert had ruined the peace of Sydney -Bentley's household as effectually as if she had eloped with the hus- band and father, and set the town to ringing with the scan- dal the guilty pair had brought down upon two honorable families. And those who have marked her course to this point, will acquiesce in the assertion that wounded vanity and wornanly pique had more to do with averting this dis- "FOR BEr:'RI, FOR WORSE." 321 aster than compassion for the injured wife- far more than had virtue or delicacy. , She spent the evening rather dully for one whose greatest delight in life was t/ create and to experience a " sensation." Kate's work-basket stood ready to her hand, and in the in- tervals of conversation her needle was active. She did not exert herself to talk, yet her guest had no just occasion to complain of her taciturnity. There was little in common between them; and the two minds were so opposite in mould and tone, that their range of topics was circumscribed. At nine o'clock, Rita excused herself from sitting up later upon a plea of a " sleepy headache," and betook herself to her dormitory, where, let us hope, her dreams were more inno- cent than the meditations of her waking hours. Kate's hands fell nerveless, her calm features darkened convulsively, when her abhorrent companion was gone.; She was like one who, scared by a vision of tempest or fire, awakes to find the imperfect yet horrid fancy exceeded by the real danger encompassing her. She had said, "I will know all!" and now that the extent of that terrible " all" : opened up to her realization, she was stricken with dumb paralysis at the revelation. Step by step she forced herself to contemplate the truth. Sydney had never loved her as he did this fair, false creature, who had, stolen treacherously into her-home. Conscience interposed here,- "Whom you invited hither to tempt him to sin-to do this wicked wrong against virtue and yourself. If they have committed it, are your skirts clear? Are you not, in a great and comprehensive sense, your husband's keeper?" The smart of the telling blow moved the numbed spirit to sentiency. "Constancy which cannot withstand the glozing arts of a bold, bad woman is not worth having!" she uttered, audibly. "From this hour, he is no husband of mine! He page: 322-323[View Page 322-323] 822 FOR BEETTEEl FOR WORSE. has chosen his path. Let him walk in it. His sin is upon his own head - not mine!" For three dreary, formal, wretched days, the hollow seem- ing of polite intercourse went on between the alienated pair. They sat at the same board, and in the presence of the ser- vants talked together upon indifferent subjects, as if the one torturing subject were not gnawing in the mind of each. Sydney still went through the routine of asking every morn- ing if he could serve her in any way, and Kate returned a sentence of acknowledgment, accepting or declining his offer. He still sent home from the markets the delicacies he knew she preferred, and she studied his taste in the preparation of her bills of fare. For all else that could have told that they were not strangers, or chance fellow-lodgers in the same house, each might have been ignorant of the other's character and name. The fourth evening, Sydney appeared in the snug sewing- room, where Kate now sat habitually from tea until bedtime, unless there were calls for her below. She looked up in sur- prisej not agitation, at the uncommon occurrence of a visit from him-to her sanctum; set a chair forward for him, and, without resuming her seat, awaited the expression of his wishes with the deferential mien of a housekeeper who at- tended upon his master's commands. "You will oblige me by, sitting down," he said; "I pre- fer to stand. I shall not detain you many minutes." She bowed slightly and obeyed. He took up his position upon the opposite side of her work-table, resting the knuckles of his left hand hard upon the top of it. "Do not let me interrupt your sewing." Again she complied with his request, setting stitch after stitch with clock-work regularity. "I would not have intruded upon your privacy, had there got existed imperative reasons for my seeking this inter- "FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE.? 323 view," he continued, in the forced) dry tone he had before used. "I am here to communicate to you the details of a plan which has been agreed upon this day by my father and myself. You are aware that we are the largest tea importers in this city, and in order to carry on our busi- ness successfully, we found it expedient, many years ago, to establish a branch of our house, forwarding merchants, in Shanghai, China. We have reason to suspect gross mis- management on the part of our agents there. It is thought best that one of the firm should sail immediately to investi- gate these disorders and rectify them, if practicable. I have offered to go. The vessel will sail to-morrow at noon. I have made arrangements that will, I hope, secure your com- fort during my absence. My father will provide you with whatever funds you wish. I have directed him to pay over to you, monthly, the sum we now expend for housekeeping and other family expenses, and as much more as you need. I beg that you will not hesitate to draw freely upon the amount deposited in his care. It is for your use alone; subject only to your order. One of the clerks from our office, a steady, trusty fellow, will occupy a room in this house at night, that you may not feel yourself unprotected in the event of alarm from sickness or any other cause. I hope, moreover, that you will invite some lady, a relative or friend, whomsoever you like, to live with you." ! The cold sweat was pressed in great globules through every pore of Kate's body; her fingers were like frozen clay, but they kept up their mechanical motion, and. the stitches they fashioned were still minute and even, although the face bent over them was livid. 3 Sydney cleared his throat before recommencing. "I leave with less unwillingness because Lulu is rapidly regaining health and strength. I have but one favor to ask of you. You may refuse it if you consider it unreasonable, and I ' *^ page: 324-325[View Page 324-325] 324 "FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE." shall not murmur. Let me hear, now and then, of her. You can send me a few lines under your own hand; or if this will be an imposition upon your time, a message in my father's letters, telling me that you are both well, will answer the same purpose." A dead silence. In the pulseless stillness of the room could be heard the hiss of the taut silk, as it was drawn through the fabric in the wife's hind, the faint buzz of the gas-light' overhead. The dry, strained voice took u the word agai: "If there is anything else which you would like to have attended to before my departure, you will greatly oblige me by men- tioning it now. , My preparations have been made in such haste, it is very possible that I may have omitted something of importance. It is my sincere wish to leave nothing un- done that could contribute to your welfare and happiness." He stopped short, arrested by a change in the aspect of the figure opposite, a quiver, like the tremor of a tree before the breaking of a storm; a visible variation in the shuttle-like motion of the hand; a lower droop of the head. He thought her impulse had been to interrupt him by some cor- rection or suggestion. The movement, slight, scarcely dis- ceraible save by eyes sharpened, as were his, -by love and suffering, seemed to him to signify dissent, to negative his closing words. If the fade had not been so studiously averted, he would have seen a singular smile wring the lips-a desolate win- try contortion, more foreign to joyousness than weeping would have been. The mouth moved too, in syllabic utter- ance, but the whisper was inaudible. The word formed by the stirred muscles was the one he had just used. "Happiness!" Then she gathered up her forces and was mistress of herself once more. "Thank you! I have no amendments to suggest. I have no doubt that the arrange- F FOR BET-M'n , FOR WORSE." 325 ments you have already made will be altogether satisfactory. How long shall you probably be absent?" Lest he should imagine that she felt any personal anx- iety in his reply, she looked up and showed him features pale but still-stillness that was tranquillity itself com- pared with the disquiet of those that met her view. There were beads of agony upon his forehead; a cadaver- ous hue had supplanted his habitually clear complexion; his eyes were hollow and large, and the hand he raised instinctively to hide the twitching mouth shook as with an ague. He was suffering dreadfully. Kate could not disbe- lieve this; but had he not deserved it all? Was he-ot the destroyer of her happiness -a traitor, liar, and hypocrite? She set these counts prominently in order before her mind, and her courage augmented in the review. "That is altogether uncertain." "Excuse me. I should not have asked the question." ( "You had a perfect/ right to do it. If I knew omything about it myself, I would not hesitate to reply decidedly as to the length of my stay." Kate picked up her needle and took a dozen careful stitches. - "I hope you will have a comfortable voyage. It . is unfortunate that you should be obliged to sail in win- ter." Sydney caught at the shadowy objection. "Do you dis- approve of this step? Does it seem to you precipitate? ,If you think it ill-advised, I can reconsider the matter." - "By no means. I approve of the scheme so far as I , comprehend it. You could not wait until spring, since, as . : J you have said, your presence is required in the foreign house. What can I do towards getting you ready? What shall I pack?" "Nothing. You are very kind, but I will not trouble : you. I have put up all that I am likely to need." ! 28 ::'-v . ; page: 326-327[View Page 326-327] "FOR BE'TER, FOR WORSE." Kate went on with the work she had offered to lay aside. Her manner said plainly that she regarded the con- ference closed. Sydney lingered. He had laid hold of the tall back of an antique chair, and the fingers seemed to be one with the carved wood, so tight was their clutch. "One word!" His tone was less firm and more husky. "I cannot leave you without attempting to qualify the im- pression made upon your mind by the scene you witnessed accidentally last Friday night." If he had expected to see her wince at the allusion, he was mistaken. She was entirely prepared for what followed the falter in voice and bearing. "And twish to confirm your opinion that my intrusion was accidental," she -answered, unmoved. "I did not know there was any one in the parlor when I pushed back the doors." Sydney put aside this needless explanation without note. I have been culpable enough, heaven knows! have sinned too deeply, in some respects, to hope for your pardon. But, in this one instance, I was less in fault than appearances warranted you in believing. You saw the worst. If you had not lost faith in me before, I might be able to clear my- self from this new and most injurious suspicion. I can only declare-upon the word of a man who feels that this may be the last and only opportunity ever granted him for setting himself right in. the estimation of one whom he honors and respects more than all the world beside--that, from the hour in which I first knew you, no one else has ever disputed your place in my heart. In spirit and in letter I have been true to you. I do not expect you to credit this wholly now. Your confidence in me has been too rudely shaken to allow this. But something within me tells me that the time may come when it will comfort you to remember what I have just said; when you will do my afection for you tardy justice-but it will be justice. I should be content to wait--only time passes so slowly!" He was forgetting himself, and he paused to collect his senses. His next sentence sounded both timid and formal. It might have been the effect of embarrassment induced by sris wife's freezing silence. Kate believed it the restraint put upon speech by conscious guilt. "No other woman has ever heard from me a syllable de- noting disloyalty to you." 1Her eyes flashed scornfully. There was no longer any flutter in her demeanor. She sat haughtily erect, her eyes bent upon her everlasting stitching, the glittering needle and its whip of crimson silk darting in and cat of Lulu's Cashmere cloak. The mother was forever at work for her idol. 'Will you not promise me to recollect this when I am gone, Kate ?" The cry of anguish drew forth the late reply: "Why should I, Sydney? I am not angry with you or with her! I learned nothing that night. The shock was not what you suppose it to have been. I knew all before; knew that she was an earlier love than I, and that her old supremacy was re-established. I do believe you would have been faithful to me if you could. But it was not in your nature. With you, the affections are stronger than principle. It is often so. Women are very artful, and men-most men--are very weak. Let it pass! No good can come of raking the fire into a fiercer glow. If we would part friends,-and there is no reason why we should not,-it is unwise and unkind to refer to this subject. A volume of protestations to the contrary would not convince me that I am in error. You are acting prudently-most judiciously-in quitting the country for a few months, or years, as the case shall page: 328-329[View Page 328-329] 8328 "- i "FOe BETT FO WORSE." require. While I live, and our outward relations remain unchanged, you can never be more to her than you are now. The width of half the globe cannot put us- you and me- further apart than we already are in heart and in interests. A prolonged absence is best for us both, and if you will make it long enough, it is the surest means for the attain- meat of a desirable end." He made an impetuous step toward her. "Kate! Can it, be my wife who so coolly decrees our separation! who designates the, step by which a divorce is to be attained! A divorce! Think of it! For us, who once loved one another so well!" "Once!" with the dreary gleam that had broken up the dead calm of her features awhile before. "Once is not now! It is the initial step that counts in the dissolution of the marriage tie, as in everything else in this world. That step I did not take!" This, their last private interview, ended there. The house was in a bustle all the next forerioon. Mrs. Bentley, Mrs. Risley, Elza, and Anna, were there to assist in getting the voyager ready, and finding his one trunk packed and strapped, and that he had himself gone down town to settle a few parting matters with his father, the four disconsolate relatives sat themselves down to "keep up poor Kate's spirits" by keeping their own down to the lowest possible ebb. Paler than any ghost, every nerve in her head ting- ling with keenest pain, she whom they meant to console was the most composed member of the family party. "Just as I always said!" remarked Eliza, when her mother, after the wont of mild elderly ladies, whose tears lie \ very near the surface, and whose hearts are so soft that the wounds inflicted by unkind fortune close up with comfort- able rapidity, complimented her daughter-in-law upon her "amazing strength of mind," and "command of her feelings," FOR BETTER,?OR WORSE." 329 and wished snivellingly, that she " was mistress of her emo- tions, but this parting would kil1 her-she knew it would! she had a presentiment that she was not long for'this world; but she had hoped td die in her nest, with all, her children about her; and to think that Sydney, the only boy she had left to her old age, and the best son a mother ever had, should " - regular break-down and general unintelligibility. "Just as I always said!" said the acute Eliza. "There is nothing more deceptive than appearances, particularly where newly-married people are concerned. A hot beginning is almost sure to have a cold ending. Kate's supernatural self-command reminds me of the story of the man who said he thought his wife so sweet during the honeymoon that he wanted to eat her up, and he had -been sorry ever since that he had not done it!" Mrs. Bentley tittered through her tears. "How very funny you are, my dear! She is the best company I know Katie, love, when one is depressed. She has such a flow of spirits!" Eliza was not to'be diverted from her purpose by sugared crumbs of compliment. "As I was saying, this excessive billing and cooing for a few weeks, invariably subsides into the iciest sort of friendly regard when the weeks have grown into years. The devoted v wife sheds fewer tears over her husband's departure for the world's end than she once poured forth over his absenting himself for three hours from the heaven of her presence." Kate had learned long since to pay no apparent regard to the needles and pins which tumbled from Eliza's dry pur- plish lips as rapidly as did the frogs, spiders, and scorpions, from the rosy mouth of the bad little girl in the fairy tale. The sharp spinster made so many passes at her nearest and 28* page: 330-331[View Page 330-331] ( FOR BE'i'EE, FOR WORSE. odearest of kin, that it would have been miraculous had she in every irnstance, failed to touch a vulnerable point. This one went straight home to the sorest spot of Kate's heart; but her face grew no whiter, -that could hardly have been, -and she could smile without essaying a reply. Eliza did not relish replies as a general thing. She preferred to feel that she had routed her enemy pro tempore, foot and horse; demolished what she had struck, root and branch. A nota- ble exception to the rest of her sex, she was never satisfied without having the last word. Grant her that, and she was benignant- for her. Noon drew on apace, and Sydney came in, with his father, to say that he must be gone withn the hour. His wife had provided a bountiful luncheon, and the family discussed it in full conclave. Mrs. Risley, only, of the ladies, noticed that Kate could not eat a moutlfifl, an inability she covered cleverly by attention to the wants of others. Sydney's cor- responding lack of appetite was commented upon pityingly by his mother 4loyingly by Apna, and sourly by Eliza. "Are you Arsick in anticipation ?" asked the latter. "f I were in your place, I would reserve my display of sentimental qualmishness until it was beyond my power to get a civilized ieal. You can pine then at your leisure. without losing such oysters and quails as these. And the sheep's eyes you have been stealing at Kate ever since you sat down are all thrown away. She has been telling us how resigned she is to your departure. You never did a more sensible thing, if we areto believe her. Rita Lambert, now, would return your lovesick glances with compound interest, but your wife is made of different metal." " I am thankful that she is! spoke up Sydney, boldly and fervently. Eliza peaked her eyebrows fretfully. "Heyday! what has happened? Have you quarrelled with belle Magrit, or FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE.' 331 is that a bit of flummery intended for Kate's benefit, a sweet- meat which she can roll under her tongue while you are away? You wouldn't derive much consolation from the process, let me tell you, Mrs. Sydney Bentley, if you had met them as I did, one moonlight night a fortnight ago, walking arm-in-arm, he staring down into her eyes, she staring up into his, like a couple of enamoured calves! " "I do not recollect it," began her brother. "Of course not! I didn't expect you to see so insignifi- cant a personage as I am. But I saw yoe. Moreover, I passed so close to you that I could hear every word you said. I heard you talking about an 'uncongenial union,' and she sighed dolefully in reply. It is just as well that he should go to the antipodes, Kate. Ilquite agree with you on that head. The whole town is ringing with talk about his re- vived flirtation, and people wonder how you can stand by and suffer it." "It is high time you were off, my boy!" said old Mr. Bentley, hastily. He dared not incense the little black dog by rebuking his owner's slanderous tongue, but he noted the crimson that dyed Sydney's brow, and the spark that shot up wrathfully in his eye at this outrageously indelicate and unfeeling speech, and he brought up the conversation all standing." Not a muscle of Kate's countenance quivered at the new attack. Eliza could divulge nothing which could affect her; for the wife knew more than the sister's most uncharitable imagin- sings had ever pictured. What difference could her silly revelations make in a destiny already black as midnight ? The leave-takings were quickly over. Mother and sisters wept profusely, Mrs. Bentley and Eliza, who were to accom- pany Sydney to the wharf, shedding as many tears as the others. Lulu cried loudly, clinging to her father's neck, and protesting that he should not go. Old Mr. Bentley blew his .1V page: 332-333[View Page 332-333] 332 - - FOR BE'SRI, FOR WORSE." nose repeatedly, and the two servant girls buried their faces in their aprons after saying " farewell" to their kind master. Kate, dry-eyed- and unhysterical, moved about the group, putting on Mrs. Bentley's cloak;} restoring the cane her father-in-law had let fall; tightening the buckles that bound Sydney's travelling-shawl, life-preserver, and telescope into a compact bundle, and herself coaxing Lulu from the- arms that could not voluntarily release her. , Take her up-stairs, Bessie! Mamma will come to you pretty soon now, love," she said to nurse and child, as she opened the door to allow the former to make her exit with her shrieking charge. Turning back toward the centre of the room, she was met by her husband. He caught her in an embrace that threatened suffocation, straining her to his breast so closely that the mighty throbbings of his heart shook her from head to foot, and kissed her wildly once, twice, thrice, with an irrepres- sible sob, conveying to her ear alone his anguished farewell. "My wife! my wife!" Wheh he let her go he looked at and spoke to no one else, but rushed from the room and house. Mrs. Risley and Anna. followed him to the door. They had not thought it singular that Kate had declined going down to the vessel, although Eliza had exclaimed at it as unnatural and unwife- like, and Mrs. Bentley had plaintively wondered that " she did not want to see the last of her husband." Being women of refinement, no less than warmth of feeling, the younger sisters sympathized with the shrinking from a public display of grief- the disinclination to make a spectacle of herself and her emotions for the edification of the gaping crowd upon the quay,.which they imagined influenced the wife's refusal to be one of the carriage-party. They were surprised, and disposed to be indignant, how- ever, that she did not'appear in the hall or at the window as J FOR B"ETTEE FOR WORSE." 333 the carriage drove off, and sorry for Sydney when his last sad, wistful look at his home was not repaid by another glimpse of her, by a loving nod or a kiss flung after him that he might thenceforward connect with that parting view. They exchanged meaning glances respecting the omis- sion as they lost sight lof the vehicle at the corner, looks of disapprobation and dawning resentment at the slight offered their beloved brother, that gave way to serious concern and tenderest pity when they returned to the parlor and found Kate in a dead faint upon the floor. She had not stirred- an inch from the spot where her husband had left her. t . " ' ,', page: 334-335[View Page 334-335] 334: "'FOB B'rrl. FORD WOBSE." oHAP' TR VII. SYDNEY sailed for the Orient in December, and Mrs. Sydney Bentley was as much lost to society for the rest of the winter and throughout the spring as if she had been his compagnon du voyage, or had entered a convent to secure more complete seclusion from the world. So said her gay acquaintances whenever the absence of the husband and wife from their accustomed haunts was spoken of. There were several reasons for this retirement other than that popularly received as the main motive of Kate's non-appearance abroad; to wit, her regret at her handsome partner's departure, and disinclination to visit alone the spenes they had formerly enjoyed in company. First, these had really lost all attraction to her care-laden spirit. Next, Rliza's words touching Sydney's entanglement with Rita Lambert were ever with her,-"The town is ringing with talk about the revived flirtation." She would not afford ad- ditional food for scandal-pander to the vitiated appetite already busy with the story of her husband's infidelity'and his indifference to her neglected condition. Besides, her health was anything but firm , and there was no prospect of immediate improvement. lime and. patience would bring relief in due season, but time was weary-footed and lagged on his toilsome route, and she had not tutored her nature to patient endurance. Mrs. Risley called one afternoon, late in March, to invite her to ride with her, and was met at the door by the intelli- "FOR B'jK, FOR WORESF 335 gence that Mrs. Bentley had not left her room that day, and was, the servant believed, more unwell than usual. The kind-hearted little woman had a sincere regard for her sister- in-law, and it was genuine solicitude that sobered her bright countenance as she ran up-stairs and presented herself in the invalid's chamber. Kate lay upon the lounge by the window, wrapped in a white dressing-gown, and gazing with mournful listlessness up at the spring clouds, soft and fleecy, with promise of warm rains and balmy airs. She started and colored faintly, as if interrupted in forbidden reverie, when Mrs. Risley tapped at the half-open door. "Ah, Mildred! is it you? I was thinking of you just now, and hoping you were enjoying this lovely weather. It is unseasonable, though, and affects me unpleasantly. I lack the energy to move a finger." The confession, so unlike the lately active and diligent Kate, struck painfully upon Mrs. Risley's ear. Few things were more to be dreaded for one in the speaker's condition than this apathetic disposition of body and mind. "I have come to sue for the pleasure of your com0pany in my afternoon ride," she said, encouragingly. "It is as ,mild as June out-of-doors, and everybody is abroad, walk- ing or driving. If youcan once reach the carriage you will feel better." i Kate shook her head. "I have had a wearing headache all day. I am seldom entirely free from headache, now. ' I think it is because I rest so badly at night. And when the pain leaves me I am fit for nothing but to lie still and be thankful, in a dull, stupid way, that it has gone at last. I could not bear the motion of a carriage; but I am none the less obliged to you for your thoughtfulness of my com- forlt. "Headache and sleeplessess!" repeated Mrs Risley, sit' page: 336-337[View Page 336-337] 336 "FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE." ting down by the sofa, and taking in hers the dry, thin fin- gers lying upon the pillow. "We must look to this. Have you seen the doctor!" q Kate made an impatient gesture. "The doctor! What ican he do? What does he, or any other man know about a woman except what she chooses to tell him? I can manage myself better than he can instruct me how to do. There is nothing the matter that will not come all right, by and by; nothing which I cannot bear well enough generally. Only, to-day, I am weak and nervous, and having been, for a won- der, a little lonely, I was so, foolish as to run on with a string of complaints to you, like a spoiled baby. I suppose I was betrayed into the folly because you are the only friend who has blessed my sight for twenty-four hours." The affected levity did not deceive the auditor. "You are too much alone!" she remonstrated. "You should have accepted Anna's offer, and let her spend at least half her time with you. This was Sydney's wish, papa says. He dreaded your being lonely more than anything else. He enjoined upon papa the duty of seeing you himself every day, -of sending mamma and the girls in as often. Papa and mamma are out of town, you know?" "Yes. Anna begged leave to stay with me while they were away, but Eliza seemed to think this hardly fair; and, after all, I am fond of a quiet life." "It is not good for you, just now " persisted the elder matron. "And Sydney will be displeased when he hears 'that his parting request has been disregarded. We did not understand, at the time, why he laid such stress upon it." Kate turned away her head suddenly, while a burning flush suffused her neck and the cheek visible to her com- panion. "He did not know--he had no idea that there was any - FOR BETER, FOR wORSE." 37 -that it would be inexpedient for me to spend all my time in solitude," she said, with turried incoherence. "He sus- pected nothhing then. Ia kows nothing now." "Is it possible? 5My dear sister, you amaze me! Yet I am greatly relieved, too! I have thought it very strange -quite unlike his usual loving consideration for your wel- fare and wishes, his watchful care of your health, that he should leave you at this time for an absence of such length. Anna and I have talked the matter over several times, and I own to you that we have blamed him severely." "You were unjust," returned Kate, but inot with the eager haste generally manifested by an affectionate wife in defending her husband from unmerited censure. "I knew that he must go; that it would be wrong for him to remain here a day longer, and I would not throw a straw in the path of his duty." "It is you who were unjust there - cruel to yourself and to him!" said the sister-in-law, in gentle chiding. "Poor fellow! his heart will smite him grievously when he learns how you have needed him. You may talk to me all day about yourl fortitude and independence of others' help, and you cannot convince me that you are are not suffering hourly for the want of his care and petting. Such a good nurse as he is, too! Your conduct was very brave, very heroic and unselfish, but extremely foreign to the practice of most wives. If we haven't a right to- be firstin our hus- bands' thoughts, haven't the best claim to their time and attention, where is the use of being married? Shanghai might go to Jericho, and all the tea in China and America to the bpttom of the Red Sea, before I would let my Lewis leave me at such a time," continued the little lady, wa'ing vehement. "I don't believe there is another woman in the city capable of making the sacrifice you have done." "None of us can tell what we are capable of bearing and 29 page: 338-339[View Page 338-339] 338 "CFORE SIr'lf,- FQR WORSE]s doing until our day of trial comes," answered Kate, lacon- ically. Without divining the full import of this truism, Mrs. Ris. ley was deterred' by her manner from pursuing the subjiect that had given rise to the observation. The succeeding silence had lasted long enough to be awkward, when ANnaes step was heard upon the staircase, and she brought her fresh face and pretty spring attire into the room. e"The greatest piece of news!"she exclaimed, scarcely waiting to kiss her sisters. "Rita Tlamnbert is going to be married!" "Bah I I have heaird that a dozen times before l-"-said Mrs. Risley, incredulously. "But there is no mistake this time I She has commenced the preparations for her trousseau. She showed me her list,. Most of the dresses are to be bought in Paris, and as to lingerie and laces, they throw my modest outfit into the shade. She vows that she must and will have a velvet cloak and a camel's hair shawl. Her brother-in-law has half pro- mised to give her the shawl, and she asked me if Sydney wouldn't select it while he is'in China. She has seen some lovely ones that were purchased in China, she says. So I am to write to Syd forthwith and broach the important matter; for although she is going to work in such a hurry, the affair is not to come off until September. Still, as Rita says, one needs six months, at the very least, in which to get decently ready. I declare, she is the most fortunate girl alive I She has scores of rich relations who are crazy to marry her off, and they have promised her all sorts of hand- some presents. One old great-aunt is to have her diamond bracelet broken up and the stones reset in a brooch and ear- rings for her favorite niece, and an uncle, a wealthy dry- goods merchant, is to give her a point-lace shawl, and another aunt the wedding veil"- ' ' o FOR BT'rlt), FOR WORSE." 339 "And another the husband?" queried Mrs. Risley, laiigh, ing af this breathless rigmarole. ."( Or has this petty appen- dage to all the bridal magnificence been overloooked altogi ther in the family arrangements?" "2hat is just what he is! a petty appendage to the wed- ding finery!" cried Anna, scornfully. "I wouldn't marry him if he were ten times as rich--and he is a reputed millionnaire. He was once a member of Congress, too, and Rita hopes he may secure a foreign appointment some day, . when she can queen it as Madame l'Ambassadrice among kings and nobles. You should hear her run on!" It is enough to hear you! She didn't mention his name, then!" "Of course she did, dozens of times! Haven't I told you? She engaged herself, last week, to fr. Pepper, the nabob, who has lately bought Oakland, the palatial country seat up the river." "He is old enough to be her father; a withered yellow little man, who looks like a Jew, with his hooked nose, big diamond studs, and twinkling black eyes!" was Mrs. Risley's amazed criticism upon the fair Rita's chosen one. "A girl who has had such excellent offers .! I am ashamed of her and my sex! fairly disgusted with such mercenary conduct!" "She doesn't pretend to be dying with love for him," laughed Anna. "She means, according to her statement, to secure the best portion of this world's goods she can for herself. , In her earlier and romantic days, she hoped to find money, beauty, and talent united, but a long and diligent ' search for these hidden treasures has convinced her that the gods bestowed these gifts as solitaires- never set, them in clusters. You can guess how she rattles this nonsense off." "She is a heartless, scheming coquette, who has sold her- self for money," observed the married sister, energetically. "I am glad you see through her plausible mask at" last, page: 340-341[View Page 340-341] "FOR is;Trrl FOR WORSEE." Anna ! I have never liked her since she angled so boldly for Sydney, that first summer she spent with us at Hawksnest. I chanced to overhear a portion of her conversation with him upon the piazza, the evening before he left for Saratoga. You remember how surprised the rest of the family were when he announced his resolution to set off immediately for the Springs. The girl positivey shocked me by her daring wiles. She almost threw herself at his feet, yet she looked so beautiful and talked so artfully that most men would have fallen headlong into her snare without seeing it. Sydney heard all her sentimentalisms, and answered all her cunning questions, as a married man of fifty might have replied to a child of twelve, whose pertness amused him. But when she had gone up stairs, he came to my room and told me what had happened. 'This is getting to be rather too strong for my taste,' he said. 'I don't want to marry the girl. If I stay here I must either flirt with, orbe rude to her. I shall take refuge in flight. She is young, and inexperienced. She will learn wisdom in time.' " Why have you never told me this before ?" asked Kate sharply. Both sisters started at the tone. "For two reasons, my dear," rejoined Mrs Risley. "I did not like to prejudice you unnecessarily against Rita; she is a spoiled beauty, whose mother died when she was a child. It seemed unkind to say anything about what I was convinced was her early disappointment in husband-hunting, so long as she remained single or disengaged. Besides these scruples, I never doubted but that Sydney had enlightened you as to the character of the 'flirtation' to which Eliza had so often referred. Women of Rita's stamp never die with unrequited affection. They sear over the wound, which is oftener in their self- esteem than in their hearts, and" - "Marry Mr. Peppers, with diamond pins as big as cart FOR AB1E'TER, FOR WORSE.," 341 wheels and purses deep as wells!" finished Anna. "He isn't as tall as she is by half a head! How could she ever look at him a second time, if she had once fancied herself in love with our noble, splendid, gallant Syd !" When the sisters had goner Kate lay still in the twilight, thinking over the story she had heard. Once in his life, then, it appeared that her husband had resisted the enchantments that overthrew his defences at a later day. With respect to that earlier entanglement, she had wronged him. He' had spoken truly in protesting that, up to his marriage, he had never known a sentiment of affection for the syren that had wrought his subsequent ruin. Could there be, also, a grain of truth in the solemn asseveration he had pressed home upon her memory, in the persuasion "that the time might come when it would comfort her to remember it" ? It had not come yet! She could defend him, to her sister, from the charge of neglecting to provide aright for her happiness and well-being during the present trying season of her life; might keep up before his relatives and the world a brave and comely show of wifely duty, but at the secret tribunal of her heart he stood a condemned criminal still, recommerided to mercy by naught 4ave the occasional weak wail of the woman's nature, that ret clung with tenacity which Reason called infatuation, to the mixed clay and metal that made up the idol she had formerly worshipped with spirit, will, and reason. A stern look - a fierce despair came over her countenance now as she conned, for the thou- sandth time, the history of her married life. " He has robbed me of everything! He took me from my father's house -from my free, happy, hopeful girl-life, with its atmosphere of protecting love and tenderness; he has torn away the brighter existence I had pictured to myself as growing up beneath his promised love and care, Stripped of hope and love, as well as joy, I am nothing better than a 29* page: 342-343[View Page 342-343] 342 ^POR BET1ER, FOR WORSE." piece of dead driftwood at the mercy of every wave. I gave -a him my all, and he cast it from him. Oh, my lost love! my beautiful, beautiful dreams! my wasted life!" The poor, thin fingers could not keep back the tears, and her growing weakness rendered her less able, each day, to maintain a semblance of calm resignation to Fate. She was not the strong, self-contained woman she had been when her husband pleaded vainly for her pardon. She could not have looked into his eyes, to-day, and told him of her lost faith in his truth. She trembled and wept in the extremity of her desolation, as the feeblest girl might have done. Had she asked herself the cause of this distress, she would have an- swered in the same spirit as did the consumptive girl whose "J'e me regrette" is, if one of the most egotistical, one of the most pathetic plaints upon record. A wasted life! a lost love! departed faith. Grant the truth of these three bereavements, and what has earth left in her gift that is worth a glance of the depressed eye, the lifting of the nerveless hand? Only Duty, and Duty is a grim substitute for Love and Hope. "He will come home w ien he hears that she is married! she said, in the lessening throes of the paroxysm. ' It will be several months before that happens, and then I shall not be here!"! April passed, May came and went, and the long, hot June days brought to the public mind alluring pictures of country houses and rural, or seaside wateringplaces. The Bentlays would not leave- town for the shades and mountain airs?of Hawksnest so early as usual, this year. One and all, t ey' were uneasy about Kate. Her wan face, sunken eyes, creeping step, and fluttering breath awoke the serious apprehensions in view of the approaching draught upon 'er strength. She \surveyed the prospect that alarmed tlem with apparent calmness. Once, she had talked openly to * . XD ;FOR BET"E, FOR WORSE." 343 Mrs. Risley of her belief that she would not survive her sickness. "I have few worldly preparations to make for the change," she said. "It is seldom that a wife-and mother can be so easily spared. My death will not be a very sad inconveni- ence to any one. You will take Lulu and care for her as you do for your own children. You have no little girl. I give you mine. If her father should - I mean when he shall marry again, I think he will respect my wish, and let her stay with you. I do not want her to be subject to a step- mother's whims. Your rule will be more mild than mine. Sydney always said that I was too rigid; .that he was, at times, 'afraid of me. It would have' hurt me to see her learn io shrink from her mother." Mrs. Risley was weeping, while the speaker did not shed a tear. "And your husband?" interrogated the former. ." If your presentiment should prove to be correct,-which I hope and pray may not come to pass, - what shall I say to' my poor, distracted brother?" "He will suffer for a little while!" rejoined Kate, smil- ing sadly. "He has a tender heart, poor fellow! But he will need no message from me other than a repetition: of what I have often said to you, --that I never blamed him for going when he did. It was the only thing for him to do in the circumstances. His absence has spared him sorrow and anxiety, and he was not made- to cope with trouble." About a week after this conversation, as Kate was alone, one afternoon, in her up-stairs sitting-room, the maid--a new servant- brought up word that a lady, wished to see her. She had given no name, and would not detain Mrs. Bentley ten minutes, but she must see her upon important page: 344-345[View Page 344-345] 344. (FOR EiT'TE, FOR WORSE.." business. Languidly wondering at this message, Kate or- dered her to be shown up.. A rush of blood 'bathed her white cheeks as Rita Lam. bert, insolently gorgeous in the ripeness of her beauty, sailed in. With" her blooming complexion, full, laughing eyes, and rich round tones, she seemed to absorb what little of vital force yet remained in the invalid's trembling frame. She could just incline her head in reply to the gracious salutations poured-forth by the intruder, and point to a chair more distant from hers than Rita had, evidently de- signed to take. "As you please!" said Mr. Pepper's affianced, swimming \off to the position designated. "I beg your pardon for for- getting, until this moment, that you dislike the perfume of tuberoses. I never use any other extract. It suits my style so well, and I like to identify myself with one flower -to make its essence a part of my individuality. Violets, verbenas, and heliotropes, are well enough in their way, but they are missish -only fit for school-girls. How are you to day?" "I am very far from well," rejoined Kate. "I must ask you to state your errand as 'briefly as possible. I cannot endure much fatigue." "Nor I spare much time! I am to ride with Mr. Pepper at half-past six. I shall leave town to-morrow to return no more as Miss Lambert. I am to be married in September, from the country house of my brother-in-law, Mr. Smythe. You will receive cards; and let me assure you, at this early date, that Mr. Pepper and myself will account ourselves highly honored by your presence on the happy occasion." Again Kate bowed, silently. Rita opened a white fan, from which fresh waves of her favorite perfume flowed towards Kate with each sway of the snowy plumes. 0' I have been very busy all day," pur- C ,FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE." 345- sued the visitor, not hurrying herself in the slightest degree. C"Settling accounts is generally esteemed an unpleasant task, but I quite enjoy it. It is such a comfortable feeling to be assured that one leaves clean scores behind her everywhere. And that is why I am here. You have a'trifling account against me of six -months' standing. You have been labor- ing under the impression ever .since the last night I spent here that I had won your husband from his allegiance to you - in plainer English, that he had been making love to me. You are mistaken. I did try my hand on him, I con- fess. It is a habit I have. I never see a man who is tolerably attractive, that the desire does not seize me to make him acknowledge my attractions.- I enjoy admira; tion. So do all other women, but most of them are ashamed to own it. I tried hard to persuade your hand- some, brilliant husband to find me also handsome and fasci- nating. I amused him, and he rather -liked me. Liked to talk and sing with me, and look at- me as he did at other good pictures. I did not fancy you. I do not-- like you now, but I mean to set you an example of magnanimity. When I fell to crying on that memorable night, my head somehow dropped against- Sydney's shoulder. There was no harm in that. We had known each other for years and years. Maybe he patted it. -I really forget whether he did or not; bult he did not talk love to me, or kiss me. He was as cold as any great-uncle, until he spied y6u standing in the library-door, and then he flew into a tower- ing rage at me, charging me with having ruined him, calling you an angel, and all such extravagances. This is the naked truth. I ought to have undeceived you then, I sup- pose. I did feel shocked when I heard that he was going off in a hurry, to the other side of the globe, for I surmised that it was because- you wouldn't live with him after what had happened., But. it costs one's pride something to make page: 346-347[View Page 346-347] 346 - - FOR JSlTT4rER, FOR WORSE." a confession like this. I am a fool to do it now; but Eliza said you were sick and low-spirited, and I thought perhaps my amusing story might enliven you somewhat." "You mean that you heard I was a dying woman, and the thought of my ill-will made you uncomfortable," an- swered Kate, in a stronger voice than that in which she had before spoken. "I am glad to find that your conscience is not altogether callous. You are about to marry. I am not\ surprised that you feared to enter your new estate with this unconfessed sin resting upon your soul. I, too, will be candid. Grievous as was your guilt, by your own showing; you did not murder my happiness. If your feeble hand could have crushed it, it would not have been worth the trouble of preserving. Mr. Bentley, long ago, informed me what was the real nature of your connection with him. I am conversant with all the facts of the case. I hope the mutual confidence of Mr. Pepper and yourself will be strong enough to defy the attacks of Suspicion and jealousy; that the efforts of you: rivals to dethrone you in his affections will be as ineffectual as yours have proved in this instance." She had sat erect in her chair to deliver this reply, and now dragged herself up to her full height, upon Rlita's rising to go. "I Might have spared myself the time and pains spent upon this business, it seems," said her visitor, still saucily, although her rosy cheek had put on a deeper tint, and she bit her lip before speaking. 'There is a satisfaction in doing right for right's sake, I have heard good people say. I suppose this act will be set down to my account some- where. Good-by. Give my love to Sydney when You write." The- cook came in, as the billows of tuberose odor were rolling down the stairs. "Poor Peggy Mohun is in the kitchen, mem, in great dis- PFOR MBE'x FOR WORS:E.1) F 3g tress. Her man has been taken off to jail, and she-has come to ask you the what she'll do to get him out." Peggy had been Kate's maid in her girlish days; had fol- lowed her to her new home when she married, and herself wedded, a year later, a good-looking young rascal of an Irish- man, who had kept her in hot water ever since. "Say that I can see her for five minutes -no more!" replied'Kate, desperately. "I am very tired already." Peggy carried upon her breast a babe two months old, and behind her came her mother, a respectable-looking body, with another-- a stout boy of fourteen months, in her arns. Peggy's face was stained with tears, and was further dis- figured by a large bruise upon the left cheek. The mother wore an air of angry discontent. "Well, Peggy," began her former mistress, " what is the new trouble?" "'It's the ould one, mem!" put in the;mother, before the sorrowing wife could open her lips; and, with characteristic Milesian eloquence, she proceeded to unfold the case. Brian Mohun-- bad luck to him!" had been on a " frolic " for a week; had drunk up every penny he had in the world; pawned his best clothes and his wife's besides, and wound up his list of misdemeanors by beating the unoffending Peggy, until her mother's screams -not her own-- brought in a policeman, who trotted off the truculentpater failias to the nearest station. The next morning Peggy wasi unable to leave her bed, and ignorant of the need of her doing so. The mother slipped out and appeared against her promising son-in-law at the justice's court, and, aided by the policemad and the doctor who had been called in to dress Peggy's wounds, made out so black a case that the prisoner was sentenced to three months' imprisonment in the city jail. "Which I never would have give evidence that would page: 348-349[View Page 348-349] 348 " FOE BETTER, FOR WORSE." have hurt a hair of his head, Miss Kate?" interposed the sobbing Pegogy. "And I shall take it hard of mother to my dying day that she took advantage of his being overtaken, whin she knows there niver breathed a kinder man norhe was when he was himself. Nor was it kind to the poor childher, the innocents! Their father will be breaking is heart for the sight of thnim for three long months, andwhin he does come out the disgrace will be on him, and the how will he iver hould up his head ag'in-he that used to be so proud and bould!" "The disgrace is not that he has been to jail, Peggy," said Mrs. Bentley. "It is that he was so wicked and cow- ardly as to lift his hand against you--a woman and his wife." "It was the liquor, mem!" pleaded the wife, eagerly. He wouldn't hurt a fly, except whin he had taken a glass. He was the best husband in the land I " "Jist to hear her!" said the angry mother. "Sorra a bit does he care whether she has a bed under or a blanket over her, so long as he has his tipple! But for me, mem, she and the bit ones would have starved and froze "- "Hush, mother, darlint!" prayed Peggy, gently and sorrowfully. "The poor lad is down now, and it looks mane to be picking up his fault. It's not for the likes of me to stand by and hear them talkedof For heismehus band, Miss Kate, and Vve promised to be thrue to him- thrue till death; and it's like cutting a vein of me heart to go ag'inst him. And the baby is the very moral of him, mem!" turning the tiny creature towards Mrs. Bentley, with maternal cunning, not doubting but the resemblance that appealed continually to her charity would have its effect 'upon the lady.; ^ "I am sorry to seem unkind, Peggy," was the reply. "But I honestly think that your husband has acted very a FOR BETTER , FOR WORSE." 34:9 badly, and that he ought to be punished severely. If he loved you and your children, he would have-conducted himself very differently." "Arrah, Miss Kate! and it's the sad thoughts I have upon me lonely bed of nights. I mind the many times I've been thried with him--and I've a timper of me own! and whin he's come in, a bit the worse for dhrink, or jist whin the fit was going off, I've been sore-hearted and impatient, and spake sharp to him. I'd afeared I've dhriv him back to his cups whin I might a-coaxed him away from thim, as 'twias my right to do. For it's his wife I am, Miss Kate, and it was yourself put the good word into me mouth whin I tould you I was maning to marry Brian. 'It's a shlemn thing, Peggy,' says you. 'It's for life you are taking him. Through evil report and good report,' says you; 'for bet- ter and for worse!' Don't thry to turn away me heart from him now that the evil report and the worse has come!" "I will do what I can for you!" gasped Kate, faintly. "You are a good, brave wife, Peggy! But please go now. I am feeling very sick and weary!" When the maid, alarmed by the woman's report, hurried up to her mistress' room, she knocked several times without receiving an answer. Then, undoing the latch softly, she peeped in. Mrs. Bentley knelt before her easy chair, her face hidden upon her arms, sobbing violently, ejaculating brokenly, and, to the girl, unintelligibly. "But I think she was praying for Mr. Bentley," reported the girl, afterwards, to Mrs. Risley. "She said 'Sydney,' three times over. And in less than half an hour her bell rang, and she told me to send for you and the doctor, for she was cruel sick!" About midnight Mrs. Risley received her brother's son in her embrace, and took him out of hearing of the sick-room. High fever and delirium had set in before Kate recognized 80 page: 350-351[View Page 350-351] 350 ;'FOB BETT , FOR WORSE." the existence of her babe by look or caress, .and the danger of supervening convulsions was imminent. Only the hired nurse sat by the bedside where Sydney Bentley's darling was battling for her life. Her moans and cries fell upon dull, unsympathizing ears, except when Mrs. Risley and Anna crept to the threshold and wept to hear their brother's name repeatedIjn every intonation of love and entreaty. On the tenth nigt she grew more quiet; ceased to toss and mutter, and finally lay still, breathing softly as in slumber. It was near daylight when she unclosed her eyes. The room was in deep shadow, but there was light in the next one, and low voices were audible through the open door. "Her life hangs upon a thread!". said the family physi- cian, mournfully; and a woman answered, "'She will not last through the day, in my opinion!" Then they began to whisper. She was then dying! She had contemplated this event with philosophical coolness, if not sentimental complacency. But by the great terror that fell upon her spirit - the horror of loneliness and dread of the judgment to come--she knew that she had never understood what death was. She strove to put her hands together; to articulate with her palsied tongue some form of prayer. It was the clutch at a straw of a soul drowning in the ocean of Eternity, that rolled in cold surges higher and higher with each priceless second. Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who tres- pass against 2us." Nothing else came in response to her desperate effort. Still drowning, the past crowded fast and distinctly upon her recollection. Implacable, pitiless in judgment and in con- demnation, she had lived unforgiving, and she was dying unforgiven. Quick to see and ready to censure her husband's , FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE." 351 faults, she had never striven in love and faithfulness to - correct these. Still less had she put them steadfastly out of sight, and, by dwelling upon his gentleness apd generosity, his affec ion for, and forbearance with her, so magnified the lustr of his fine qualities as to lose sight of the spots that disfigured his character. She had been no wife to him -but a "igid, unsparing critic, whose severity had driven him to avert her displeasure by deception, to seek happiness in other associations than her society. She envied poor Peggy, with her bruised cheek and aching,-loyal heart. "It's like cutting a vein in my heart to 'go against him!" had pleaded the ill-used wife. And she, petted, pampered, wor- shipped as she, at this late hour, believed that she had been, had banished her husband from home and country-perjured herself- lost her life and her soul! "As we forgive those who trespass against us!" He would never know that she had forgiven him; that against her will she had loved him always; that her last thought was made up of longing for him and remorse for the sorrow -she had cost him; useless regrets and vain yearnings for a glimpse of him - a word of endearment - a silent kiss! She had chosen to live alone; to suffer without companion- ship and sympathy. She must die alone! Still struggling, she was swept out into cold and darkness. Tones called her back that might almost have pierced the ear of the dead. "Kate! my precious wife!" Then a deep sob and an impassioned murmur, - "O God! spare my best beloved!" The least possible tinge of color warmed the pallid lips and cheeks; the dark eyes opened slowly upon a manly face bathed in tears. Stand back! ordered the doctor., "She knows you! The shock will be too great! . . "It will do her good! It has revived her already " cried page: 352-353[View Page 352-353] 352 aFOR jsErrf'ic FOE WORSE. Sydney, not offering to rise from his knees, or to withdraw his arm from beneath his wife's pillow. Kate smiled, like a weak, happy child, and whispered one word,- - Stay!" "Always, darling." She rallied in the sunshine of his presence with a rapidity that won from those who heard the particulars of her extreme illness, extravagant encomiums upon the doctor's skill. He had, it was asserted, snatched Mrs. Bentley from the jaws of death, an achievement made more arduous by the relapse she had had at sight of her newly-returned husband. Kate knew better than all this, but she could afford to let the world form its own opinion. It was enough for her to believe that she owed her recovery, under Heaven, to the powerful magnetism of'the agonizing love that would not let ,go its hold at the bidding of the grim enemy himself, and that she purposed solemnly and gratefully to devote that restored life,* next to that Heaven, to her husband. Mrs. RKisley had written secretly to her brother upon learning that he was ignorant of the especial need that existed for -his presence. Within an hour after the receipt of the letter, he was on board ship bound for his native land. And they lived together happily ever afterward? I have not said it. Both had great and stubborn faults, strengthened by years of indulgences and the eyes of each were fairly open to the existence of these in the other. Love works ,miracles, but the progress of these improve- ments is slow. Nor is the agent in these transformations the unreasoning, idealistic affection that rarely outlives the first half-year of married life. Kate had ceased to adore her handsome husband, but the fulness of humility and gentlest charity that had supplanted idolatry led her to strive to restore the warped lines of his character to the just perpen- , g- FOR!I fiC, FOR WORSE." 353 dicular, win him to complete confidence in her love, and the certainty of her lenient judgment of his shortcomings; to overlook foibles, and do honor to traits that were in themselves good and commendable. "He may have been' weak. It is certain that I was wicked. Who am I that I should judge him?" she had frequent occasion to say to herself. And from the reflection would arise such meekness of spirit, such tenderness of bearing and language as put Syd- ney upon his guard against the besetting sins that might wound this kindest, most loving of monitors. Of the trying initial period to their domestic peace they never speak; sel- dom remember it, except in their prayers. It is not pleasant to recall a great agony, although it-may have been the birth throe of joy as great. When the wife was strong enough to bear it, they had one long frank conversation upon the sub- ject of their estrangenment. Once, some months later, Sydney would have renewed the subject, beginning with a self-depreciating remark. Kate checked him, by a caress, serious and sweet. "That is a sealed book!" she said. "Forgiveness without forget- fulness is a mockery." THE END. io page: 354-355 (Advertisement) [View Page 354-355 (Advertisement) ] * \ - * W @ \ * , , k NEW BOOKS Recently Published by Go W. CARLETON & 00., New York, Madison Square, Fifth Avenue and Broadway. N B.-TVM PMBLINERS, upon receipt of the price advance, w send any of the following Books by mail, PosrTG EE, to any part of the United States. This convenient and very safe mode may be adopted when the neighbor- ing Booksellers are not supplied with the desired work. Marlon Harland. ALONE.-- . . 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Swift . $2.00 THE GOLDE N OROSS, and poems b Irving Van Wart, jr. $I.50 ATUALIA .-A new novel by Joseph H. Greene, jr.. $1.75 REGINA, and other poems.-By Eliza Cruger. . .$1.50 THE WICKEDEST WOMAN IN NEW YORK.-By C. H. Webb. 50 MONTALBAN.--A- new American novel. $. * .75 MADEMOISELLE MERQUEM.--A novel by George Sand. .$I.75 TRS IMPENDING CRISIS OF THE SOUTH.-By H. R. Helper. $2.00 OJOQUvE-A Question fora Continent.- do. .$2.00 PAtIs IN 1867.-By Henry Morford. . . . $.75 THE BrsoP's so0N.--A novel by Alice Cary. . $I-75 CRUISE OF THE ALABAMA AND SUMTER.--ByCapt. Semmes. $1.5o HELEN COURTWEAY.-A novel, author "Vernon Grove." $1.75 SOUVENIRS OF TRAVEL.---By Madame OctaviaW. LeVert. $2.00 vANsqUItED.--A novel by Agnes Leonard. * . $I.75 WILL-O'-THE-WISP.-A chld's book, from the German $1.50' irouROABK.-A novel by Kamba Thorpe. . . $I.75 THE ORRISTMAS FONT.-A child's book, by M. J. Holmes. $i oo POEMS, BY SARArn T. BOLTON. . . . $.50 MARY BRANDEGEE--A novel by Cuyler Pine. . . .75 RENSHAWE.- do. do. $..75 MOUNT CAlvARY.-By hMatthew Hale'Smith. . . $2.00 PROMXTI U3S IN ATLANTIS.-A prophecy . . .$2.., xTITa AG'ONIST3sE.-An American novel. . . .$zoc ? ' fr iI , 8 - ; I ' '- I I \ p ' Jo I I ** I pI o * , i v '4 r
