Morton House
page: Illustration (TitlePage) [View Page Illustration (TitlePage) ]K!I #111 I, 'ii .9 MR. ANNESLEY POUND IT WAS 'ItME TO GO. CHAP. VIII. fl~ ~%) N I' MORTON lOU A NOVEL. BY THE AUTHOR OF-"VALERIE AYLMER." WITH ILLSTRATIOiS. NEW YORK: D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 549 & 551 BROADWAY, 187T2. luonthaplhe. page: (Table of Contents) [View Page (Table of Contents) ] E1MElRED, according to ACt of Congress, In the year 1871, by D. APPLETON & CO., In the OIlce of the Librarian of' Congress, at Washington. CONTENTS. OILAP. 1.-OUT OF THE DUSK . U.-MR. WARWICK'S GHOST . 1U.-PAULINE MORTON .. IV.-WHAT MRS. ANNESLEY DID . V.-AFTER TWENTY YEARS . VI.-WHAT MORTON SAID . . PAGE . 1 7 . 11 14 . 19 20 VII.-HOW A PALADIN STORMED A CASTLE . . . . VIII.-THE' ADELAIDE . . . IX.-MR. WARWICK MAKES AN OFFER 1.-THE GORDON PLAID . . . XI.-AT MORTON HOUSE . . X1.-THE TUG OF WAR . . . XIU.-MISS TRESHAM - ASKS ADVICE IV.-R. G. . . . . . XV.-MERRY CHRISTMAS . . XVL.-ST. CECILIA . .. . . XVL.-THlE APPLE OF DISCORD -. XV1H.-ST. JOHN . . . . X1X.-YOU CANNOT LET ME HELP YOU XX.-MR.' WARWICK S NEW CLIENT . XXI.-MISS TRESHAM KEEPS HER WORD XXIL-SPITFIRE PLAYS AT HIDE-AND- SEEK........... . XX11H.-A MORNING-CALL. . . 30 37 42 49 53 58 062 69 74 80 85 91 97 103 110 115 122 CHAP. XXIV.-OLD FOES .-. XX V.-MORTOI.NS~ VOIOE .. XXVI.-MR. MARKS ASSERTS HIMSELF XXVII.-MRS. GORDON'S SUGGESTION XXVII.-ON GUARD . .. . . XIXI.-THE SICK LADY .. XXX.-AN OLD FRIEND,. . . 1XX1.-FATHER MARTIN . . IXXII.-LIFE AND DEATH . IXXUL-MRS. GODNS SUSPICION XXIVY.-MR. WARWICK'S INVESTIGA- TION......... . XXXV.-TWO AND TWO MAKE FOUR XXXVL.-HEKMATED . . . XXXVI.-TO WIN OR LOSE IT ,ALL . XXXVUL-.-MEA CULPA. . . . XXXIX.-gMlSS TRiESHAM'S REPLY . XL.-GOOD SAMARITANS . . XLI.-THE LAST DEFIANCE . XLU.-ON THE THRESHOLD OF MOR- TON HOUSE . .... -XLIH.-THE -VALLEY O0F THE STHAD. . OW OF DEATH . . .XLIV.-IN THE DAWN . . . XLY.-A TURN OF FORTUNE'S WHEEL PAGU 126 133 188 142 149 153 161 168 173 180 184 191 200 206 218 221 22'T 234 241 24 252 259 . . page: 0-1[View Page 0-1] MORTON HOUSE. -.4.--- CHAPTER I. OUT or THE DU5L IT was drawing toward the close of a soft November day, some thirty years ago, when the sound of children's merry laughter burst sud- denly into the quiet garden of a quiet house, situated on the outskirts of the moderately-sized village of Tallahoma, in the populous and wealthy county of Lagrange. The sun had gone down, leaving behind him broken masses of gorgeously. tinted clouds, which were forming themselves into fanciful shapes of mountains and castles, while over the distant landscape the brooding haze of the Indian summer began to melt into the deeper purple of the gloaming; and the peculiar cool- ness that betokens coming frost, to make itself ' perceptibly felt in the pearly atmosphere. It only the llrst of the month, and as yet but few of the trees had shed their leaves. The russet of the oaks, the pale yellow of the elms, the burning scarlet of the maples, and the vivid gold of the chestnuts, were all in their glory, and formed a bright -autumnal background for the sober house which overshadowed the blooming garden, and the noisy groups that were scamper- ing up and down its paths. Very noisy groups they were; and yet their noise did not seem at all disturbing to a young girl who had followed them out, and stood lean- ing over the low garden-gate, while they played hide-and-seek among the rose-bushes, Perhaps this noise had grown an accustomed thing to her ears, as a great deal of it was her daily portion; or, perhaps, she liked children well enough to like even this their most disagreeable attribute -a conclusion devoutly to be wished by all in. terested in her welfare, since Fate had made of her that much-tried being, a governess. At all events she did not heed it in the least. The worse than Mohawk yells of uproarious Dick, the squabbling of Jack and Katy, the indignant remonstrances of elder Sara, and even the lifting up of baby Nelly's voice in injured weeping, were all unnoticed by their young teacher, who kept her eyes steadily fastened on the distant horizon, where the line of dark woods melted into the hazy atmosphere, an& the pale-blue ~ smoke curled upward from several unseen chim- neys. Not that Miss Tresham did not hear the various disturbances, But, even in the school. room, she ignored a great deal, for pea~e' sake~~ and, once out of that durauce vile, she left the children much to themselves-giving $~hem, in unimportant matters, that blessed freed~~~4f conduct and speech which no humai~ cre4~ti*o is too younger ~oo ignorant to appreciate. ~he was a stately creature, thip Katharine Tresham; and one of the women who possess * power of attraction quite apart from personal gifts. her face was not S beautiful one, by any means; yet few beautiful faces pleased either so well or so long as this, notwithstan4ing Its faults~ The gray eyes wer~e very clear and honest in their glance, but there was none of the a~1uny~gleam of violet orbs, or the dusky splendor which lwells~ in dark ones; the coniplerion was very~n4 pure, but rather pale, unless some quIck e~.tips~ or pleasurable excitement, sent a olear earn~x* glow to the cheeks; the i~ose was .traigI~t anti delicate, but not in the least classical; and, it~ the mouth was all that a mouth coul~l or should be, the unusual squareness of the kihii~ gave a 4'' - page: 2-3[View Page 2-3] 2 MORTON HOUSE. OUT OF THE DUSK* 3 finish to the face that was far from adding to its symmetry. Still, no one could deny that Miss Tresham was handsome-handsome in a very striking and aristocratic style-that her hands and feet were irreproachable in size and shape, that her lithe, sIendei~ figure was so well devel- oped that not even an artist could have wished for it around of flesh either more or less; and that she carried herself with a very distinguished manner. Most women, looking in their mirror at a face so fair and a form so noble, would have beefl tempted to murmur at the fate which had dealt with them so hardly; but this was the one point wherein Katharine Tresham proved her- self something more than mediocre. She did not indulge any vain regrets, or still more vain. aspi. rations; she did not mourn any withered hopes, or bewail any blighted' existence: but she took life as she found it, and bore its burden with a courage as cheerful as it was patient. Her em- ployers were always kind and considerate, the children were warmly attached to her, she was beyond the reach of storms that had on~e beat very roughly on her head; and as her disposition -a disposition more to be prized than gold or precious stones-was eminently one of content, she furled her sails, and rested quietly in the pleasant haven into which she had drifted, where 'the sea was smooth beneath, and the sky was bright above her. No genius, the reader will perceive; no unsatisfied yearning being, full of repressed passion and morbid longings; only a brave; bright young gentlewoman, who was Christian enough to be satisfied that God knew what was best for her; who took the good He gave, with grateful heart, and rarely murmured at the ill. She was leaning over the gate now, softly singing' to herself a verse of song, and gazing over the scene before her, with eyes that took in and enjoyed all its beauty. But, after a while, t1~e children began a game very near, and sent their shouts ringing through the clear autumn air, with such hearty good-will, that the young governess was fain to put wider space between herself and their merriment. So she turned itway, and began pacing' up and down a sh~l-' tered walk-a walk bounded on one side by the garden-fanee and a hedge of Cherokee rosO, on the other by tall gooseberry-bushes. A bright- red glow of the flaming western sky fell over her as she moved to and fro, lighting up her rich brown hair, her clear, bright eyes, and her tall, slender figure, and making a very attractive picture of youth and grace, in the midst of the lovely autumn scene. At length, she drew a small volume from her 'pocket and began to read. Thirty years ago. Tennyson's fame was yet young -not so young, however, but that , even in the backwoods of America, men had heard his name; and the girl who paced up and down the garden on that soft Indian summer evening, was steeping her soul in the beauty and music of those early poems which no after-efforts can ever supplant in our hearts. Enthralled in the sweeping rhythm, it was rather hard to be sud- denly recalled to commonplace reality by a child's eager, uplifted voice. "Miss Tresham, Miss Tresham!" sounded the cry, "Look, oh, look, what a pretty horse Mr. Annesley's on! May I-please-may I ask him to give me a ride?" "Certainly not," answered Miss Tresham, speaking with great decision, but without look- ing up from her book. "Katy, you know your mother forbade your ever again asking Mr. Annesley for a ride." "But she did not forbid her taking a ride if Mr. Annesley asked kes-, did she?" said a gay voice; and the next moment there appeared at the end of Katharine's walk, between the Chero- kee hedge and ~he gooseherry-bushes, a slender, handsome young cavalier, in riding-boots and spurs, who stood with Katy mounted triumph- antly on his shoulder, one tiny hand clutching nervously at his coat-collar, and her blond ring- lets falling in a golden shower upon his crisp dark curls. "No, I don't think she forbade that," Katha- rine replied, looking up with a smile, whether merely of recognition, or of welcome also, it was hard to say. "But indeed you are spoiling that child dreadfully, Mr. Annesley! She never sees you that she does not expect some marked atten- tion, and almost breaks her heart when you do not notice her." "And d~ I ever fail to notice her-when I see her?" asked he, swinging Katy to the ground, and coming nearer to Katharine-seem- ing, at the tame time, to bring sunshine with him in his hazel eyes and brilliant smile. "I am sure I am always very attentive-am 1 not, my little coquette?" The little coquette said "Yes," very prompt. ly; but Miss Tresham shook her head. "It seems I must refresh Katy's memory," she said. "You would scarcely believe that the other afternoon-last week some timO, I believe it was-she cried all the way home because you passed her without notice, when you were accom- paying two ladies down the village street.. It was vain to reason with her-both her mother and myself tried argument unavailingly-and she sobbed herself to sleep that night in pro- found disdain of bread and milk, or even bread and jam, for supper." "I remember the afternoon," said the young cavalier, a little confusedly. "I was riding with my sister and a friend of hers. But Katy cannot say that I did not speak to her." "Ah, but you didn't!" said Katy, eagerly, forgetting her contrary assertion of the moment before. "You spoke to Miss Tresham, but not like you always do-and you didn't notice me at all." "You shall have a ride this evening to pay for it, then," said he; "and I will be more careful in future. Miss Vernon's horse wan rather unmanageable, and occupied all my atten- tion. She does not know how to ride as well as you will when you are grown." "Is she 'fraid?" asked Katy, with great in- terest. "Very much afraid," he answered. Then he turned to Miss Tresham, and asked if she would not come and look at his new horse. "So you have another new horse?" she said, smiling. "Of course, I will come and look at him. You know horses are my weakness, and -oh! heisabeauty!" "Is he not?" responded her companion, pleased with her burst of enthusiasm. "I was sure you would admire him.-Soli! Donald!- Steady, boy!" They had approached the gate, and were leaning over it together, while the horse, which was fastened outside, began to move a little restlessly at sight of his master. "Look at him!" said that master, eagerly. "Did you ever see a more symmetrical form? And his head-is it not superbly set on the shoulders?" "He is a paragon," said Katharine, playfully. "And-he is not dangerous, is he, Mr. Annes- icy ?-I must go and speak to him." "He is as gentle as a greyhound," said An- nesley, opening the gate for her to pass out. "I only wish-" Bet what he wished was left in doubt; for he paused abruptly, while Katharine went up to the paragon, and patted his straight nose and hi~ glossy, satin neck, calling him many pet-names in her clear, young voice. "What an intelligent eye he has !" she cried, suddenly. "I really believe he understands all I am saying to him. Mr. Annesley, what is his name?" "Donald is his name; but I do not like it." "Donald? No; it is not good at all; it is not suggestive in the least; and it is not pretty either. He deserves a beautiful name." "Give him one, then," said Annesley, quick- ly. "He will be only too proud to own you as a~ sponsor. I have no aptitude whatever for such things, and my horses are usually 'the bay' and 'the sorrel' to their dying-day." "I thought you were more imaginative," said Katharine, absently. "Is he fleet?" she went on, still looking at the horse. "Tie is like the wind, or the lightning." "Is he? Then I will give you a name for him at once. Call him Ilderim." "Ilderim? You mean-" "The sobriquet of Bajazet, of course. It signifies 'The Lightning,' you know. Will it do?" "It is excellent,'~ he answered, as, indeed, he would have answered to any thing whatever of her suggestion. "From this moment, Donald dies, and Ilderizn rises like a phoenix from his ashes.-Soh! Steady, sir!" For, arching his handsome neck like a bow, the new-made Ilderim began pawing the earth so energetically with his fore-foot that he made Ka- tharine beat a hasty retreat. "What a racer he would make!" she cried, suddenly. "Is that what you intend him for?" "Why, no; I had not thought of it," he re- plied. "I was merely attracted by his beauty, and thought myself lucky to get him." "Lucky!" she repeated, looking up at him with a smile. "Most people are lucky when Fortune has never said them nay in any one de- sire of their hearts. I suppose you never wished for any thing in your life without obtaining it." * Standing there in the soft, purple dusk, with one arm thrown over his horse's arched neck, with an unconscious grace in the careless atti- tude, a suppressed eagerness in the handsome face, and a chivalric deference in the uncovered head, it was not hard to believe this-not hard, indeed, to tell that here was one of those to whom had fallen the purple and fine linen of a world which gives to others only serge; one of those to whom its wealth and fame, its love and pleasure, came, as it were, by right divine, and who now and then flash across the path of our work-day lives, and make our twilight seem more dun by contrast with their own radiant sunshine. "Yes, I have been very fortunate all my life," page: 4-5[View Page 4-5] 4 MORTON HOUSE. OT OF THll DUSK. 5 he answered, more gravely than Katharine's gay tone seemed to warrant; "but the future may overbalance the past, and you may give me my ftrst lesson in denial this very afternoon. 1? mean to ask a thvor of yen after a while." "I hope it is one that I may be able to grant," she said, quietly. "But you know my opinion on that subject." "That friendship is best ~rept free from fa- vors ?-yes. But I should like to convince you how wrong that is, I should like to make you believe that real friencl~hip never hesitates either to give or accept a favor." "Don't try," she said, lightly; "you might fail, and that would not be. pleasant to one who has never known failure. I will grant you this much, however-that, where friendship exists be- tween two people of equal position, they may afford to meet each other half-way in the matter of favors; but, where one occupies the worldly vantage-ground, it is not well for the other to accept benefits which may assume the weight of obligations." She spoke very calmly; hut a hot, red flush mounted swiftly to the brow of her listener. He 'made one hasty step forward, and then fell hack again, irritating Ilderim very much by the unin- tentional jerk of his rein. "Why do you say such things? why do you take such a tone about yourself?" he cried, with a sharp accent of reproach in his voice. "You of all women! It is grievously wrong to your- self! It is even more grievously wrong to me!" "And why should I not look truth in the face?" she asked, gravely. "To say that I am not your social equal means nothing that either you or I need blush to acknowledge. It is merely a conventional accident, and does not even touch the other ground, the personal ground on which we meet-.-meet, I am glad to think, as friends. That you are Mr. Annesley of Annesdale, of gen- tle blood and almost princely estate, is a mere chance of fortune; and that I am Katharine Tresham, governess, who teaches Mr. Marks's children for six hundred dollars a year, is equally a chance. I am of the Old World, you know. Perhaps that is the reason why these things seem to me at once a matter of course and a matter of small moment." The young republican by name, the young aristocrat by race and nature, looked at her in wistful silence for a moment. "Yet you think of them far more than we do," he said, at length, "Because I have been trained to do so," she answered, moving toward the half-open gate, "and1 perhaps I ought al~~ tQ add, because 1 am unfortunately very proud-much 'too proud to care whence I came.' You see I have not forgotten that apprenticeship to the convention- alities which I served when I spent a year as governess in England-a year I would not live over again for untold wealth." "But that was in England. You are in Amer- ica now, thank God!" Yes," she answered, with an arch gleam in her eyes, "I am in America now-America, where I am theoretically supposed to be the equal in all points of any among your county gentry-we will say, for instance, that lovely Miss Vernon. What would she think, do you suppose, if you suggested that she should call on Mrs. Marks's governess ?-But poor little Katy! See how downcast she is looking! She evidently thinks you have forgotten all about her ride." "I have not, though," said Annesley, half absently; and, looking up, he beckoned Katy to come to him. The little'girl gladly obeyed. She had left her companions to their play, and had been leaning wistfully against the gate, pushing~ back her bright curls, so as to see what was going on outside, and longing for the signal that was so slow in coming. When, at last, it did come, she bounded forward, and stood impatiently beside the horse, while Annesley gathered up the reins and sprang into the saddle. He bent down and lifted her from the ground to a seat before him, made her kiss her hand to the governess, and they were ofl the child's short dress fluttering in the evening breeze as they cantered down the road and out of sight. Katharine watched them, with a strange sort of yearning in her eyes. Perhaps she was think- ing how pleasant it would be to ride down that road, under its crimson and golden woods, in the lovely autumn dusk, with a crescent moon faintly gleaming above the still tinted west and such a stately and gallant escort by her side as he * who had just passed from her sight. Perhaps she thought of those to whom such pleasure was common, and-even the best-disciplined of us will sometimes do such things-contrasted her own life with theirs, I'erhaps she remembered that scene of last week, to which she had allud- cd-the two elegant ladies in their sweeping habits and waving plumes, the curvetting horses, the flashing bits and jewelled whips, the young cavalier, and the golden sunshine streaming over all, while she plodt~ed by in the dust and shadow. Perhaps she wondered if this dust and shadow were henceforth to be her portion; or perhaps she thought of a time when the sunshine had slept on her path too, when kind eyes and loving tones had followed her, when life had seemed fbr a short while the fair and pleasant thing which it never seems to any long, when a young girl who bore her name had smiled and talked and jested- beneath the waving palms of a distant tropic island, and when-but her thoughts went no further than this. It was only Mrs. Marks's governess who turned abruptly from the gate, and, with a resolute compression of the lips, that brought lines too hard for so young a face, b~gan the same pacing up and down the walk that had been interrupted half an hour before. It was not long before she was interrupted again, for Mr. Annesley did not give Katy a very ex- tended ride. Ilderim was brought up before the garden-gate once more, and Katy, flushed, smiling, yet regretful, lowered to the ground. Then Mr. Annesley sprang off also; but this time he did not fasten his horse to the iron staple so conveniently placed in a large elm-tree near by'. Probably something in Katharine's face warned him not to do so-he was very quickly sensitive to any change in that fare. At ~ll events, he kept the rein over his arm, and, uncovering as he advanced, spoke, half apologetically: "I am going in a moment, Miss Tresham, but-you know I told you I had a favor to ask of you. The evening is so lovely, I am sure you will not mind a few minutes longer in the open air." "Yes, the evening is very lovely, but rather cool," answered Katharine, in a tone which was cool also; "and I cannot promise to make it more than a few minutes, Mr. Annesley, for Mrs. Marks expects me to see that the children come in before nightfall." "I did not know that you were the ehil- dren's nurse as well as their governess," he said, somewhat hastily. "There you are right," she answered, quiet- ly. "But they don't obey their nurse very well, and they do obey me. So this duty has de- volved upon me-and it is not a very irksome one. I wish 1 had none that pressed more hea- The young man leaned forward over the closed gate which divided the~n. "And I wish to Heaven," he said, passionate- ly, "that I could make your life what it should be!" She shrugged her shoulders slightly. "Now, ~hnt is very kiud~ hut not ver~' wiae~ There is One who knows what is best for us; and you might spoil the whole aim and inten- tion of my life, if you went to work to improve it after your own device. Really, I am very well content with it as it is. You must not let that foolish speech make you think otherwise." "Content I How can you possibly be con- tent with such occupation, such surroundings, such compan-" "Hush!" she said, quickly; for several small listeners had grown tired of their game, and drawn near. "It is all very pleasant-sometimes I think too pleasant, to last long. But you said you had something you wished to ask me." "Yes," he answered. "I wish to ask you -well, for one thing, why you will never let r~e do any thing to make your life more endure. ble?" "You do a great deal," she replied, a sudden cordial light springing into her eyes and making them beautiful. "You do more than any one has ever done before in-oh, such a long time! Do you think I am ungrateful for the books and papers, the flowers and music that brighten my life so much? Can you imagine I do not see how much more generous you would be if I could allow it? Surely, Mr. Annesley, you do not think that I have so many friends, or receive so much kindness, but that I feel this in ~ny heart of hearts." "Then grant me one favor," he said, im- pulsively. "Promise to give me one pleasure, which will be the greatest I have ever known." "I cannot promise in the dark. What is it?" "It is not much-to you, that is. Only that you honor Ilderim by riding him." Katharine drew back a step in her surprise. "Mr. Annesley, you are surely jesting! Ride Ilderim I" "Yes," he answered, with a desperate attempt at nonchalance; "ride Ilderim-why not? You cannot say you would not like it; and I only bought him because I thought how well he would suit you. And-Miss Tresham, pray do not re~ fuse me this my first request!" Katharine was silent for a moment. Not that she had a thought of yielding to any thing so inadmissible as what he asked; but simply. bee~use she was touched by the desire to give her pleasure, which was so delicately veiled. page: 6-7[View Page 6-7] 0 MORTON HOUSE. MR. WARWICK'S GHOST. 7 "How kind he is!" she thought, "and yet, poor fellow, how foolish!" Aunesley, who had be- gun to feel uncomfortable at her long silence, was certainly relieved, but yet more surprised, when she suddenly held out her hand to him. "Thank you so much," she said. "You are so good-so kind I But, then, you know it is impossible." The action was only one of frank gratitude; but the next instant she was sorry for having given way to it. Very sorry indeed, when, glan- cing up, she saw that a carriage had approached unperceived by them, and was passing by, while several pairs of eyes looked curiously from the windows at this way-side scene. Katharine drew back her hand hastily, and a shying move- ment of Ilderim made Annesley turn at the' same moment. Thus they both looked full at the equipage, which, truth to tell, was rather a strange one for that road, at that' hour. Not that the equipage in itself was at all remarkable - only a dusty travelling-carriage, with two worn-out horses, a cross-looking driver, a large trunk behind, and numerous boxes on the driver's seat and under his legs. But the fact that it was leaving the village at such an hour, that the road was a retired one, only lead- ing to several country-houses, and to a town distant some forty miles, and that the faces which looked forth from it were totally unknown, conspired to make its unexpected advent surpris- ing. ;Strangera did not often come to Tallahoma; and ~ihen they did, it was generally in the stage- coach, and they ordered supper at the "Tallaho- mallotel," and went to bed like orderly and ordi- nary mortals. These travellers plainly intended to do neither; and they certainly did not seem very ordinary. The only outside passengers were the driver, who, as before mentioned, looked very cross, and ~ small spaniel, who looked very tired and patient. But three faces were gazing from the inside, when Katharine with haste drew back her hand, and Annesley turned round. The first that attracted their notice was one which would have claimed attention anywhere, or from any. body. A hollow, attenuated face, with features so finely marked that they stood out like pure Greek chiselling, and eyes so large and dark that they seemed shedding a flood of light over every thing on which they rested, was partially revealed under a black bonnet and heavy crape veil, and showed itself for a minute only-sinking back out of sight immediately. The two others kept their positions, and were hardly less remarkable -.hardly less remarkable, that is, to Tallahoma sight; for one was a beautiful bold-eyed boy who was staring with all his might, and hugging closely a small monkey; the other a woman whom Katharine at once recognized as a French bonne, in the usual dress ~if her class. It was a very brief gaze that the two parties interchanged aS the carriage moved by, and rumbled away in the dusk. An it disappeared, the eager little voices of the children standing around Katharine found utterance. "0 Miss Tresham, did you see the monkey?" "Miss Tresham, did you see the little boy?" "Miss Tresham, wasn't that a pretty lady?" "Miss Tresham, how funny the little dog looked!" "Dog! you're crazy! It was a monkey!" "It wasn't no such thing I It was a dog! Didn't I see it?" "And didn't I see the monkey? Silly!" "You're a silly yourself, sir I Miss Tresham, wasn't it a dog?" "Hush, children," said Miss Tresham, in her governess tone. "There were a dog and mon- key both." Then she turned to Annesley. "Who can they possibly be.?'~ He shook his head. "I have no idea. Strangers, evidently; but where they can be coming from, or where going, at this hour, I can't tell." "And such strangers! They would not be extraordinary objects on a French or Italian high- way; but in this remote corner of the world, they are rather astonishing. Don't you think so?" "Yes," he answered, "rather astonishing." But it was obvious that they had made but a momentary impression on him, for he turned at once to the subject that had been interrupted by their appearance. "Miss Tresham, seriously, is there any reason why you should not give me this great pleasure?" "There are many reasons, Mr. Annesley," an- swered Miss Tresham, gravely. "But I have only time to give you one at present, and with that you must be content-by doing as you wish, I should make myself the object of countless remarks; and I might probably in the end lose my situation. That would be paying rather dearly for a ride, even on Ilderim. ~fhank you again, though; and now, good-by." The young man looked at her in the waning light with a passion of resolvein his eyes. "You will not think of this?" he asked. "You will not even give me time to try and change your resolution?" "I am sorry to say that I can do neither," she answered, a little coldly. "It is late, and I must really go-and so ought you, for that mat- ter, since Annesdale is five miles off. Here! let me return your 'Tennyson.' I have enjoyed it I so much." He received the volume, and thrust it care- lessly into his pocket; then, while drawing on his gloves, he said: "I have received a packet of new books to- day; may I bring you some, when I come again? There are one or two I am sure you will like." "Then bring me one or two-not ~ she said, laughing. "Poor Mrs. Marks must not be frightened by another such imposing sight as, those dozen volumes you sent the other day. Bring some poetry, please. Formerly I did not care much for poetry; now I like it-I suppose because my life is so very prosaic. Once more, good-by." "Good-by," he echpcd. He vaulted on Ilderim, rode away a few steps wheeled suddenly, came back, and leaned out of his saddle toward the gate where Katharine was still standing. "Perhaps I ought to tell you," he said, "that I am not at all discouraged. You may yet ride Ilderim, and I may yet thank you for my first 'de- nial." With this, and before she could answer, he~ was gone. CHAPTER II. Mit. wAnwIcu's GHOST. Miss TRESITAM remained standing in the place where Mr. Annesley $~ad left her, for a minute or two, gazing with slightly-knitted brows after his vanishing figure; then she turned, and told the children that it was time to go in. "It is cold," she said, with a little shiver; "and I don't think there is any use in looking for your father. Since he has not come already, he is not likely to be here for an hour yet." "We'll have to wait a long time for supper, then," remarked one small murmurer; but that was all. The legion knew better than to offer any open signS of disobedience to their chief; and, although discontent was rife among them, they followed her to the house. A flight of steps led from a side-piazza down to the garden, and across this piazza a flood of cheerful light was already streaming from two windows and a glass door which opened upon it. "Why, papa's here already!" cried Katy, who had bounded up the steps before any one else and taken an observation through the win- dow. "Papa's here already! Where did be come from?" Then the door flew open with a sudden burst, and the merry little crowd rushed pell-mell into the room. A very pleasant room it was, with a spark- ling, light-wood fire on the hearth, and a well- set table in the middle of the floor-a room abounding in comfort but lacking in luxury, and with little or no evidence of what are called re- fined tastes. That is, there were few books visi- ble, and theywere chiefly of an unused kind. No pictures excepting some ugly daubs supposed to be family portraits, and not even a vase to hold the royal flowers blooming by in such prodigal profusion. The aspect of the place proclaimed substantial ease, nothing more1 There were comfortable chairs, and one or two chintz.. cushioned couches; there were various tables, with carved legs and bright-red covers; there was a glowering mahogany sideboard, 'there was a pretty little work-stand that stood in a niche near the fireplace, and there was a clock on the mantel that told the quak~ters with re- morseless exactitude. But the proprietors of the apartment were plain people, of no fashion- able pretension, and still less fashionable ambi- tion-people who were "in business," and were not ashamed of the fact; who were well-to-do in~ the world now, but who had knowmi a hard strug- gle before becoming so; who were of the best morals, but of moderate culture; and who, while they were always glad of social advancement and social recognition, never went out of their way to seek either-people, in short, who were types of the best portion of the middle class-.'-the'por- tion that is neither hopelessly vulgar nor absurd- ly aspiring-and who, in consequence of sturdily respecting their own dignity, were universally respected by those above as by those below them on Fortune's ladder. The head of the household, Richard Marks, had begun life as a very small tradesman, ~nd it may readily be conceived that the mau who sold coffee by the pound, and calico by the yard, across a village counter, was scarcely Mdc to command, or even hope for, any very exalted social elevation. Yet social elevation of a cer- tain sort came with time-as it comes to all men who trust less to fortune than to their own en- page: 8-9[View Page 8-9] 8 MORTON ROUSE. MR. WARWICK'S GHOST. 9 deavor. To his diligence and energy, and to the scrupulous honesty which made all men recognize his word to be as good as his bond, Richard Marks owed at last an assured competency and an honorable, even an enviable, position among his fellow-townsmen. To these things he owed it that the most aristocratic gentlemen of his native county were proud to hold out the hand of friendship, not patronage, to him; and that, after many years of hard labor, he was now rest- ing on his oars as cashier and virtual controller of the oxie bank which did all the monetary busi- ness of Lagrange County. His wife, although the daughter of a gentle- man-if a spendthrift insolvent deserves the name-~-had sunk so easily to' the social level of her husband that those among her friends and acquaintances who still spoke of her as "Bessie Warwick,~~ were forced to explain the obvious fact as best they could. "She never had much sense," they would say, ~ and certainly no great amount of refine- ment-though she was so pretty-pretty in a certain style, that is; and then she inherited low tastes, ~io doubt. Her mother was shockingly commop,'if you remember. It was his marriage that ruined Arnold Warwick-at least his friends always said so" But, notwithsta~ing this unflattering opin- ion, Mrs. Marks certainly proved that she had found hei# right place in the world as helper of a good man's upward career1 The best of wives and mothers-yet, like most best of wives and mothers, apt at times to become a little tire- SOtn~ especially if she once began the circum- stantial history of Dick's dreadful accident when he fell and broke his collar-bone, or how little Katy whooped through an entire summer with whooping-cough. But a sensible and kind- hearted woman with all that; one of the large class of women of whom the world knows little, and hears nothing; who are not remarkable either for beauty or mental capaCity; but who 1111 their own position in the world better than a Lady Blessington or a Madame de Sta~l could do it for them; who live a life all pure and blameless in the domestic relations, and who at ~last go down to the grave leaving in the hearts of their children a good example and a fragrant memory. In her own way, too, Mrs. Marks was a good business-woman; and the only time in her life that she had acted without due foresight and deliberation was in the matter of engaging a governess for her children. She had accom- panied her husband on a short business-visit to Charleston some two years previous -to this autumn evening, aiA while there met Katharine Tresham. ed, The young foreigner, who had but lately land- was entirely alone in the strange city; and something in her refined, ladylike appearance, together with her deep-mourning dress, touched the kind heart of the elder woman. They were boarders in the same house, and, when she heard that Katharine was anxious to procure a situation as teacher; that she could give good English and West-Indian references, and that she would much prefer the country to any city as a residence, Mrs. Marks's mind was at once made up. She did not even wait to consult her hus- ~band; she made her an offer on the spot, and it was gratefully accepted. "Indeed, my dear, 1 could not help it l" she afterward humbly confided to her lord. "It seemed so pitiful to see such a pretty young thing entirely along; and then, you know, the children learn nothing at all at school. You said yourself that Mr. Watson was good for nothing but to drink whiskey and pay attention to Lucy Smith." "I did say so," Mr. Marks replied, "but are you sure, Bessie, that your new friend will be worth much more? I don't mean, of course, that she will drink whiskey or pay attention to Lucy Smith; but, after all, there may be worse things than that. What does she engage to teach the children, and what are her terms?" "She engages to teach the children-well, every thing that is usually taught, I suppose," answered Mrs. Marks, a little vaguely; "and, as to her terms, she does not seem to know very much about them herself. She taught one year in England, and received forty pounds-that is all she knows." - "Why, that is a little less than two hundred dollars," said Mr. Marks, opening his honest eyes. "Teachers must be plenty over there at that rate. Poor thing! I'll tell you what we'll do, Bessie. She is a nice-looking girl, and there'll be no h~rm in trying her. We will offer her four hundred dollars, and take her for one year." So it was settled; and so Katharine Tresham came to Lagrange. At the end of the year her employers re- quested her to remain, and Mr. Marks voluntarily raised her salary. The children had improved so rapidly that Mr. Watson would not have recognized his quondam pupils; and the bright, even temper of the young governess made her presence in the house a kind of moral sunshine. Altogether, as Mrs. Marks was accustomed to declare, she could not have been so exactly suited by anybody else in the world; and she weuld have had no possible fault to find with ~mss Tresham if-there is an if to every thing earthly-she had been an orthodox member of that religious denomination to which Mrs. Marks herself belonged. But, dreadful to relate, Miss Tresham was that strange off-shoot of iniquity, in the eyes of Tallahoma, a blind and bigoted Papist. She had given Mrs. Marks fair warning of that fact before their engagement was con- cluded. "There is one thing I must mention," she said. "I am a Catholic. 1 know that most Protestants are very much prejudiced against the faith, and don't care to admit Catholics into their households. If this is the case with your- self, we will not say any thing more about the proposed engagement." But Mrs. Marks, although very much stag- gered by the information, replied: "My dear, I don't see that it makes any dif- ference. You will be uncomfortable, I am afraid, for there is no Romish church in Tallahoma; but, as far as I am concerned, I-I suppose we are all Christians." When the young governess followed her noisy charges into the sitting-room, a pleasant-looking woman glanced up and smiled from her seat by the work-table, while a much older man, with gray hair and frank blue eyes, gave her a hearty greeting. "Good-evening, Miss Tresham. How do you and the little ones come on ?-Well, Kelly, can you spell 'ab,' yet?" Spell it, Nelly, for your father," said Miss Tresham, smiling. "She knew it to-day, sir; but I am afraid that hanging head doesn't say much for her 'recollection of it now." "Speak up, little woman," said her father,. lifting the shame-faced scholar to a place on his knee. "Speak up-and I'l~ive you a six. pence." But bashfulness or ignorance continuing to hold the little woman's tongue, Jack and Katy, tempted by the promise of the sixpence, burst out with the spelling of the word desired, and were rewarded by being informed that the offer was not intended for irregular claimants. "I tell you what I will do, though," said the indulgent father, seeing the disappointment legi- ble on their faces. "Kelly must have her six- pence-but another shall be found fbr the first one who brings me the mail from your Uncle John's coat-pocket." "Is this mail-day?" asked Katharine, look- ing up. - "Then why did you not bring It your- self, sir?" "Because I have been in the country on busi- ness, and didn't come through town on my way home," answered Mr. Marks, good-humoredly. "I wish Warwick would come along! I want my papers-and I expect you want your letters, Miss Kate." "Letters 1" the governess repeated. "I thought you knew that I never receive any let- ters. There is nobo,~ly that I care to hear from. Indeed, the worst luck that could befall me would be a letter-unless it came from Father Martin." Father Martin was the priest of Saxford, a somewhat larger town than Tallahoma, boasting a small Catholic chapel, to which she went occa- sionally for ghostly shriving-and it was cer- tainly true that his rare letters were the only ones that had ever come to Katharine Tresham, since she first set foot on the soil of America. Nor did she ever write any that were not ad- dressed to him. She seemed to have severed every link that bound her to her former lif~, and, save in a few general particulars, her pres- ent friends knew no more of that life than if she had not broken their bread for the period of two years. "John is very late to-night," said Mrs. Marks, glancing up at the clock, as if itwas its fault that the waffles were burning in the kitchen. "I really think we need net wait for him any longer. Some troublesome man has kept him, and he at. ways begs me not to wait.-Sara, go to the door and tell Judy to send in supper. Sara obeyed; and, the next minute, two mu- latto boys began bringing in plates of biscuit and waffles. Then came some broiled partridges, the tempting odor of which caused Mr. Marks to look round with interest. "By George! that is delightful to a hungry man! Where did you get such fine birds, Des- sic?" "They were brought this morning, with Mr. Annesley's compliments," answered Mrs. Marks, rising and going to the head of the f able "~ent to me, the boy said-you have forgotten the cream, Tom - but I expect Miss Katharine knows more about them than I dos" Miss Katharine smiled slightly, but without the least tincture of embarrassment. "How could I possibly know about them I"' she page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] MORTON HOUSE. PAULINE MORTON. asked. "I saw Mr. Annesley this afternoon- did I tell you that he gave Katy a ride ?-but I assure you he did not hint that even one of the partridges was intended for me. You will spare me one, though-won't you, Mr. Marks?" In the clatter of plates and knives which fol- lowed, a step crossing the piazza outside was un- heard; and when the door suddenly opened, Katy was the first one to observe it. Sha sprang for- ward with a cry of "Uncle John! "-a cry the eagerness of which was more for the letters in Uncle John's pocket, and the promised sixpence from her father, than for the everyday presence of Uncle John himself. The new-coiner surrendered the letters to the quick little fingers that dived at once into his pocket, watched the payment of the sixpence, with a smile, and then walked to the fireplace and sat down, while Mrs. Marks sent out a requi- sition for hot coffee. "Never mind about that, Bessie," he said, in rather a tired tone. "What is on the table will do well enough. I only want to get a little warm before moving again-it is quite cool to-night." "What on earth made you so late?" asked his sister. "Business," answered Mr. Warwick, briefly. Then he sank back into his chair, and into Bilence~ It was not an ordinary face, by any means, across which the fire-light played so fitfully-no more an ordinary face than John Warwick was an ordinary man. There was little beauty in it; and that little was more the beauty of expression than of feature; not much grace of outline or delicacy of coloring. But there was force of will and power of thought; there was a keen habit of observation, and sometimes there was an almost womanly gentleness-the latter not habitual nor often to be seen, but coming occa- sienally to melt the eyes and soften the mouth, around which someJiard lines lay dormant. Take It all in all, a face so full of moral and intellectual strength that the wonder grew how this man could possibly be brother to the pretty commonplace womafl who sat at the head of Richard Marks's table. Yet her brother he undoubtedly was; and, if Mrs. Marks loved her husband with all her heart, she certainly reverenced her brother with all her soul-~--for in him all the gentleman- hood of the father stood confessed, without the father's weakness or the father's vice. He it was who had raised their name from the mire where it had fallen, and given it once more an honorable rank. He it was who had claimed his birthright of social position, and placed his foot, when that foot was yet young, upon the place his father~ had forfeited. Men already forgot the poor drunkard who had ruined others as well as himself, and only remembered that "Mr. War- wick is decidedly our most rising hwyer." In- deed, they had long since begun to be very proud of him in Lagrange, to put him forward on all public occasions, and prophesy great future ad- vancement for him. The hot coffee came, and Mrs. Marks an- nounced its arrival to her brother; but he did not move. He seemed, indeed, so deeply sunk in thought as not to hear her; and it was Mr. Marks's brisk tones that roused him at last. "What's the matter, Warwiuk, that you sit there staring in the fire, instead of coming to supper? I hope you haven't heard bad news of *any kind?" "Bad news!" repeated Mr. Warwick, look- ing up with a start. "Why, of course not.- Did you say the coffee was ready, Bessie? I beg your pardon, but I did not hear you." He rose as he spoke and came to the table. The light thus falling for the first time upon his face, some change there attracted the attention even of the children. "Unky, you've got a bad headache, haven't you?" inquired womanly little Sara, by whom he sat down. "Unky, Jack says you've seen a ghost!" cried Katy, with her mouth full, despite an angry "You hush!" and a push under the table from Jack. And Mrs. Marks herself said, "What is the matter, John? You look pale." "Nothing is the matter, excepting that I have had a hard day's work, and am tired," he an- swered. Then, catching the gaze of a pair of eyes opposite him, he added, "Do I look so shockingly, Miss Treshham, as to merit all this?" "You look as if your day's work had been a very hard one," said Miss Treaham. "That is allI think." "I don't kn6~r," said his sister, doubtfully. "John, are you certain that is all?" "Not quim," he answered, with a flitting smile. "Jack was right in his conjecture-I have seen a ghost." "A ghost!" "A ghost, Bessie. As veritable a ghgst as ever came out of a church-yard." "My dear John, please recollect that I don't like such things talked of before the children." "Oh, there is no rawbead and bloody bones in this," said Mr. Warwick, glancing round at the various pairs of eyes that stared at him from over various mugs of bread and milk. "The ghost was not even dressed in white, Katy.-what do you think of that?" "Oh, it wasn't a real ghost, then," said Katy, reathiessly. "Yes it was, though.-Come, Marks, put down your paper, and guess whose ghost I saw this afternoon." Mr. Marks laid down his paper as requested; but confessed himself unable to imagine, unless (with a sly glance at the children) it was that of old Mrs. Packham, who was buried about a fortnight before. But Mr. Warwick shook his head. It was not old Mrs. Packham, he said; but somebody who had gone away at least twenty years be. fore; somebody whom they all had known. And then he told his sister to guess. Where' upon, after much consideration, Mrs. Marks in. quired if it could possibly have been that wild son of old Joe Williams, who ran away ever so many years ago, and had never been heard of since. At which Mr. Warwick shook his head yet more impatiently. "Then tell us who it was," said she. And Katharine was struck by a husky tone in the lawyer's voice, as he answered- "I have seen Pauline Morton 3" -4- CHAPTER III. PAULINE MORTON. Ir Mr. Warwick had announced the entire destruction of Tallahoma and all its inhabitants by an earthquake, there scarcely could have en.~ sued a more astonished pause than followed the utterance of that name. For the full space of a minute, an entire silence reigned around the ~table-.--a silence which Mrs. Marks was, of course, the first to break. "You have seen Pauline Morton, John?" 'EYes," answered he, laconically. "Is she ~ "She was in town, or else I could not have seen her." "But, bless my soul!" cried Mr. Marks, "where did she come from, Warwick ?-~-when did you see her?" "Of course she came from Europe. I saw her as she passed through ~allahoma, this afternoon, late." "Well, tell us all about it," cried his sister, a little impatient at these brief replies. "What is the use of doling out news llk~ this? Tell us how she looked, and what she said, and where she is going, and what she means by coming back here?" "Did you happen to see a travelling.carriage pass here abeut dusk, laden with trunks, dogs, and monkeys?" At this question there rose a shout from the children-the eager little pitchers, whose eyes and et~rs were open to all that was going on. "We did! Uncle John, we did! And a pret- ty lady, and a little boy in it, too." "Yes," said Uncle John, quietly. "That was Pauline Morton, on her way to Morton House." "To Morton House?" repeated Mr. Marks. "Then Shields, at least, must have known that she was coming." Again Mr. Warwick shook his head. ~'No. Shields was in my office this morning about that business of a trespass on the land; and I will answer for it that he had as Uttle idea of seeing the owner of the land as you or I might have had. Besides, she told me that she had no.t afl. bounced her coming to any one." "And yet you say she went to Morton House?" "Straight to Morton House.-Heaven help poor Shields's brain this night!" "Surely you must have mistaken," urged Mr. Marks. "Surely she went to Annesdale-her own first cousin's, yoit know." Mr. Warwick shrugged his shoulders. "1 should think you would remember how little love there was between her and her first cousin, of old." "I remember," cried Mrs. Marks, "and I am sure that Pauline Morton would never ge unin. vited to Mrs. Annesley's house. But oh, John, she could not have gone to Morton House to stay to-night I-why, think of those beds tht* nobody has slept in for twenty years!" "Twenty years or not, she meant.~ to do it; and I don't think there's a doubt buV that she has done it. Twenty years! Can it be really twenty years since she went awayBesaie?" "Twenty years this past suiimcwi'saId'Mrs. Marks, decidedly. "I remember the v~y~ d~t~ Did her brother come back, John ?-~-ani~ st*rely her husband is with her?"' 10 I 11 page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] PAULLNE MORTON. MORTON HOUSE. "Her brother, she tells mc, is dead. She did not mention her husband; but I judge that she is a 'widow." "And she caine alone?" "With the exception of a child and a ser- vant, quite alone." " Her brother dead!" repeated Mr. Marks, whose somewhat~ slow ears this last item had 1., ~j7 just reached. ~ There must be some mistake about that, Johu-youmust have misunderstood her, or his death has happened very lately. It is not more than a few weeks since Shields showed me a let~r he had just received from him." "I only know that she is in deep mourning," "Mr. Warwick answered; "and that, when I glanced at her dress, she said-or, if she didn't say, she intimated-that it was for~her brother she was wearing it." "It is very strange," said Mr. Marks, reflect- ively. "He must have dropped off like his Uncle Paul; for all the rest of the Mortons that ever I heard of were very long-lived people. She did not mention his complaint, did she?" "'No. She said very little-in fact, I saw her for a few minutes only." "But her Jooks, John 1" cried Mrs. Marks, with a woman's curiosity on this important sub- ject. "Is she as handsome as ever?" "How do most women look, Bessie, when n ~ap of twenty years separates them from youth?" "'~hy,,rather the worse for wear," answered Mrs Ma4~& with a glance toward her own face,'~ as i~fieot~lin the burnished coffee-pot. "But. I ean~~imagine Pauline Morton any less beau- tiful than w~ien I saw her last." "You had better not see her again, then." she changed so dret~dfully? "She is the wreck-the ghost, as I told the children-.-of her former self." "I~ear, d&tr! to think of it! But she kas been married, ha~ she not?" "Certainly. I told you she had a-child with "And whom d.id she marry? You know there weroall sorts of reports at the time-people said she had ~iairied a count, or some such person." "'Whtch was as true as reports generally are. \Paullne Mortonhas come back as Mrs. Gordon." "Mrsiokat?" "Gordon. - IMd you ever hear the name be- 2 fore-4nponnect~On with her, Imean?" "Never!" cried Mrs. Msrks, with a decision whIch rather surprised the governess, sitting by in profound ignorance of the subject under dis- cussion. "I heard that she had married some nobleman, and that she lived in Europe in grand style; and-and-for her to come back like this, to a place she always hated! Oh, John, I don't believe it!" "That's just as you please," Mr. Warwick answered, rising and walking to the fire. "I assure you, I have the name on her own author- ity; and, as for those ridiculous stories of counts and the like, of course no sensible person ever credited them. I remember hearing that she had married an officer in the English army; and, no doubt, this is, or was, the man.-Miss Tresh- am, did you see the carriage this afternoon?" "Yes; and the lady also," Katharine an- swered. "I had only a glimpse of her face, but it struck me very much, Does she belong to the Morton House where the children and I go to walk almost every evening?" "Morton U~use belongs to her," Mr. Marks answered, dryly. "I am afraid, if she has come back for good, your walks are at an end, Miss Kate." "Oh ! " cried the children, in chorus. '~ Can't we go to ?~Iorton House any more, and make Ponto chase rabbits in the garden? Oh, papa, whynot?" , "Don't you ~iear why not?" asked Mrs. Marks, a little sh~rply-" don't you hear that the person who owns Morton House has come back to live in it? Now hush-or I will call Letty and send you straight to bed !-John, dear, you haven't told us yet where you met-Mrs. Gor- "Haven't I?" said Mr. Warwick, a44littlc wearily-he was evidently tired of the subject that was still so absorbing to his sister. "Well, it is not much to tell, Bessie. I left my office at dusk, this evening, and was on my way to the post-office to get the mail, wh~n the carriage of which I spoke came down th~.street. I glanced at it a little euriousW, wondering where it was going at that time 6f day, when a face, that :X should haverecogn~zed among thousandd' looked out, and made a aig1'j~9~the driver to stop. Be- fore I knew what:! 'was about, I was~s~iaking hands with P~iuline Morton." ( / He paused, with a half smile at the~xl~ession of eager interest on his' sister's fac~; b~ut? not- withstanding ~the smile,1 more than one of his hearers noti~d That it cost him an effort to re~ in~ie. "The first thing I remember was her saying, How changed you are I' And I looked at her, K and answered, 'I am sure I cannot be mor4 changed than you are."' "Why, John!" cried Mrs. Marks, reproach fully. "You think that was rather plain speaking I thought so myself when it was too late to recal the words. But she did not seem offended by m~ candor. She only smiled a little, and said, 'Yes~ I am very much changed-you will believe that when I tell you that I have come back to Morton to live.' I don't know what I said-something about my surprise, probably ; for I was sur- prised, as you may well imagine-but she re- peated the statement, and then, noticing that I looked at her black dress, she added: 'My poor brother !-you see I am all alone in the world.' 'Excepting,' said I, glancing at the child oppo- site. 'Yes,' she answered, quietly, 'excepting him.' Then she told him to shake hands with V one of his mother's old friends; and the boy, who is a splendid-looking little fellow, held out his hand at once, and spoke to me-no hanging of the head, and putting the finger in the mouth, Dick. After a few more words, his mother said they must go on, as she wished to reach Morton House before night. So she held out her hand, saying she would be glad to see me; and you will be shocked to hear, Bessic, that, in responding to the invitation, I called her Miss Morton." "Good gracious!~~ "It was very thoughtless, and, of course, I began a hasty aPology, being more annoyed at my awkward mistake from perceiving the effect which it produced upon her. First she flushed, and then she turned so pale that for a minute I thought she was going to faint. But she only gasped &~r breath a little, and cut short my ~tpol- ogy by saying: 'There is nothing to excuse. I am very foolish; but it has been a loi~g time since I heard that name, and it brought back so many recollections-just here. I am Mrs. Gordon now.' Then she drove off, And now that you have heard all that I know myself, Bessie, I hope you have no objection to my going out on the ~iazza to smoke a cigar." Mrs. M~rks would willingly have detained him for th~ purpose of further questioning; but she had an~hi~tinct that it would be useless. 56 / she only w~~t~~ed him as he left the roQm, and then turned\~kcr husband. "You laughed at me several years ago, Rich- ard, when I said that I did not believe John would ever forget Pauline Morton. .Pray what do you say now?" "Why, exactly what I said then," answe~d 2 Mr. Marks, looking up from the paper which he thought he shoulcj never be left to read ~in peace. - "I say that Warwick is much too sensible a m~n to be hankering after a woman he was in loire with more than twci~t~ years ago; and that-" "Oh, my dear, hush a moment !-Miss Tresh- am, will you touch the bell for Letty ?-Now, children, say good-night to yogr father, and go to bed; it is after eight o'clock." The children were evidently well drilled. They were dying to hear what was next 1to be said; but they went through the good-night cere- m~V and filed off obediently, when a tall negro- woman, in a bright red-and-yellow turban, ap- peared at the door. It is true, there was a riot in the nursery that night; .but no sound of it reached the precincts from which the young i~- surgents had been banished, for Letty. was, quite equal to the emergency herself, without~hlveking aid from the higher powers. Meanwhile Mr. Marks obst~inate1yAe~lined to canvass any further either the arrival of Pauline Morton or the state of Mr. Warwick's affections -at least until he had finished that article from whi~,h he had several times. been so ruthlessly "Those subjects will keep for some night when I haven't got any papers, Bessie," .he ~ail~ to his wife's infinite indignatiQx~-an indignation which she forthwith manife~ed 'by.taI~ing h~rsclf and her sewing over to Miss ~Tr~sham'~ sid~ "You never heard much about the Mortons, did you, my dear?" she asked, after admiring the pretty braiding that Katharine was pt~tting an apron for N'elly. "I never heard any thing," the young gove~n- ess answered, "excepting that they owned ~M1or- ton house and lived abroad~" ' ' 4 "Ah l" said' Mrs. Marl~,-with som~thii~4fa aigh; "people don't talk m~zcli abo'~t tk~in4that happened twenty years ago. But oh, ~*il~ if you could only hava seen Morton IIoAse~heIi ~the Mortons' lived' there, and when. I~a~ilii1~ was ~in her prime! Such troops1 of- scrvaat~ a~they had! such splendid horses! such furniture~ and such grounds! Why, you ~ea1i see for ~'our- self; even now, how magnificent the grounds were!'' 'i~hey must h~ve been very beautiful when they were kept up," said ~atharine, "and~liey are certainly very extensive." "I should think so, indeed! Why, 1~iere used to be fifteen acres in gardens alone! j~ re- member, when I was a girl, going to a 'camp. meeting once, where one of ~be preachers ~aid I.: '4 3' I *1 /, 13 page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] MORTON HOUSE. WHAT MRS. ANNESLEY DID. that the best idea of heaven he could give was that it would be even more beautiful than the groutads of' Morton House." "did its owners leave it?" "Ab, you may well ask! But it was all Pau- line's fault She was so beautiful and so proud that she scorned everybody and every thing here. She was never satisfied unless the house was full of strange company from the cities, and at last she told her parents that she would rather die than live in the backwoods. So her parents, who would have tried to get the stars for her if she had wanted them, loft their beautiful home and went *0 Europe-never to come back, as it turned out." "Did none of them ever come back?" asked Katharine, becoming rather interested. "None of them ever came back-until to. day. There was a young brother-only one- who grew 'up in Europe; and I have 'hcard that he laughed at the idea of returning to America to live. He must have spent money at a dreadful rate after his father's death; for Mr. Shields told John th&t the crops were always mortgaged be- fore they went into market, and we heard, not long ago, that the house itself was to be ~old. If that had 'been the case, I expect Mr. Annes- Icy would have bought it." "Why? Is he-" "A relation? Oh, yes. His mother was a Morton, and as handsome and proud as all the rest of them. She was poor, though, for her father squandered every cent he had. But her unele always treated her exactly as his own daughter, and people say he settled a very good sum on her when she married. She and Pauline were raised together like sisters; but they never liked each other. I don't know which was in fault; but they made no secret of the matter. For my part, I rather took Pauline's side, though most people were on Elinor's; but Pauline was very generous, with all her pride, and I don't~ think she ever made her cousin feel her depend- once. They even' say that Mr. Annesley was Pauline's admirer, and only went over to Elinor after he was rejected. Then there's-O John, how you startled me!" "I am very sorry," said Mr. Warwick, who had come in upon them unawares; "but I have been waiting some time for a chance to speak, and, as you seemed determined iiot to give me cue, I was obliged to take it.-Miss Tresham, I wonder if you will excuse me when I tell you that I have just found a letter of yours in my pocket, which was left there through the joint carelessness of Katy and myself; and might have been lost?" The girl looked up at him wonderingly. "A letter for me, Mr. Warwick? You must be mistaken." "How often am I to hear that to-night?" he asked, smiling. "I think, if you will look at this address, you will acknowledge that, with all my stupidity, I have hardly made a mistake." He laid a letter down on the table before Katharine, who either would not or could not hold out her hand to receive it-a letter written on thin foreign paper, stamped with a foreign post-mark, and bearing her own name in clear, legible address. Not so clear and legible, however, but that it swam before her eyes as she heilt over it; and John Warwick was startled by the pallor of the face that raised itself, and by the anguish-stricken tone of the voice that cried out, as if unconscious- ly: "Ohif you had but lost it! if you had but lost it!" CHAPTER IV. WhAT MRS. ANNESLEY DID. * Ir would be difficult to exaggerate the excite- ment prevailing in Tallahoma-Tallahoma, which was very s4gnant just at that time, for want of something to talk about, and which was blessed beyond its most sanguine expectations in the ar- rival of Mrs. Gordon. The news of that arrival spread rapidly through the village; and, while Mr. Warwick was telling his story at the Marks's tea-table, it would be hard to say how many other tea-tables were entertained by different renditions of the same facts. True, there was a very general and unsatisfactory haziness con- cerning the why and wherefore that had brought back the wanderer's steps, concerning her inten-.. tions, or even her appearance. But, then, these things promised an abundant harvest of gossip for the future; and all-absorbing for to~n!ght was the simple fact that Pauline Mbrton had re- turned. But on the morrow, after there was time for reflection, after the news had spread through the county, after the first shock of surprise was over, and people looked each other gravelyin the face, they began to ask, How had she returned? The answer was not long in coming. She, had gone away in the flush of her youth and beauty,' guarded by her parents, and with all the pomp of style and attendance which wealth could secure. She returned alone and unattended, with no husband to guard, no brother to pro- tect, no friend to vouch for her-no word of 'warninG' no single order of preparation! She came to her childhood's home and her child- hood's friends with no pleasant stir and bustle of happy arrival, but silently and unexpectedly, more like an outcast seeking shelter than a daughter claiming her rightful heritage. Other people besides Mrs. Marks remembered when the Morons had gone away, and, contrasting that departure with this return, almost involuntarily shook their heads. The first impulse of the world is always to distrust mystery. "Some- thing is wro4" they said; and many of them said it the more readily because Pauline Morton had been one of those shining marks which envy loves, and because in her proud youth she had rather provoked then conciliated such a feeling. It is exceedingly doubtful whether any state of society has ever existed since "Adam delved and Eve span," when those who were subordi. nate in the scale of worldly advantage have not felt a sort of carping dislike, and at timc~s a bit- ter enmity, toward the few whom chance or for- tune has elevated above them. We can imagine how the rabble of Athens spoke of Pericles and -Alcibiades; we can conceive that hatred which from first to last the Roman plebeinna bore their patrician masters; we can guess how bit- terly the serfs and retainers, the scorned burgh- ers, and oppressed Jews, spoke in bated whis- pers of the great feudal lords; we can read how often and how fiercely the great unknown have lashed themselves into fury against some class, some order, or some individual that birth, me- rit, or circumstance, rendered illustrious; and we can well believe that the same envy which we see manifested in a dozen petty instances every day, the same envy which was tired of hearing Aristides called the Just-has been the great moving spring of many of earth's revolu- tions, and is equally the moving spring of half the ill-nature and more than half the ill-speaking of the world. To make a small application of a wide truism, it was certainly the moving spring of most of the ebullitions of spiteful spleen in which for many years Lagrange had permitted itself to indulge regarding the Mortons. People more generous, more frank, or more hospitable, than these Mortons, it would be hard to find; but they were of good blood, and very proud of their descent; they were immensely wealthy, and spent their wealth liberally. These tWo facts were amply sufficient to excite that alloy of popular dislike which otherwise their many good qualities-qualities that even envy could not deny -might have disarmed. Not that they were un- popular in the general sense of the term; not that men denied their genial uprightness of char- acter, or failed to respect them as only the honor- able are respected. But they were too prosper- ous l The world and the things of the world went well with them; Fortune favored them in all their undertakings, while those who were less lucky could only look en and wonder why and how it was. They kept great state, and, although some of the best blood of the country was to be found in Lagrange, 'still there was no family that quite ranked with the Mortons, to whose wealth and enterprise Lagrange was indebted for mue~i of its prosperity. The old- est and by far the most stately residence of the county was the house which had been built by the representative man of the line-one Hugh - Morton of three generations back. The village, of Tallahoma had begun its existence merely as the post-office of this house; and the same house had been for many years the centre of such a lavish and refined hospitality that its reputation spread far and wide throughout the entire State. Considering their social importance, then, it was no wonder that all Lagrange was thrown into a commotion when it was announced that Mr. and Mrs. Morton were going to Europe, - ostensibly for iheir son's education, but really to gratify their daughter's whim-the daughter who was accustomed to say that life in America was worse than death, who panted for the rush and fever of the Old World as ambitious men .pant for fame, and to whom it was solely due that her indulgent parents went abroad, leaving their noble home to pass into decay while they dwelt in Parisian hotels and Neapolitan villas. - She had the more easily compassed her point be- cause there was no one of sufficient moral force to resist her. Some men-most men, in fact- would have been utterly lost in the dilettante existence thus forced upon them; but her father was just the exceptionalman who enjoyed it. If he had been born among the lower classes in Spain or Italy, he would have spent his life on a door-step basking in the sun; and, as it was, he -' spent it in morally doing the same thing. He was frank and generous to a fault; but he was intensely indolent, pleasure-loving when the pur- V page: 16[View Page 16] 16 MORTON HOUSE. suit of pleasure did not involve too much trouble, and fond df ease and luxury to an almost wom- anly degree. Mrs. Morton, for her part, was bound up in her daughter's wishes and her daugh- ter's triumphs, with a groat sympathy for both, and & great liking herself for the things that were so-attractive to Pauline. The only son was a mere ehuld. So, with none to put an obstacle in her path, Pai~iline's impetuous will carried the day. The desire of her heart was granted her, as the desires of our hearts are rarely granted to us here on earth; and, when she took her life in her own hands and went her way, it was as some gallant ship sails away from a familiar har- bor to cruise hI unknown seas, where happiness and fortune may be attainable, but where ship. wreck and disaster are much more likely to be encountered. F4 some time after the departure of the voluntary exiles, fragmentary news came back of their wanderings; of their cordial recognition by the English relatives they had partly gone to seek; of Pauline's fresh triumphs; and of their glittering life in foreign cities. ~ut all this was very vaguely told, and soon ceased alto. gether-~-fifty years ago the country-districtsof America were farther removed from such scenes than is the interior of China to-day. Soon all tidings of the Mortons ceased, and before long the Mortons themselves might have been for- gotten, had not the house which bore their name sand seemed gloomily mourning them, stood as a pei~petual reminder of their existence. Only at long inte vals certain items of intelligence still grated t e gossips of Lagrange. First came the tidi ga Mr. Morton's death; then news of ~ 'a ma riage to some one, who was van- eusly represe~nt~d of every imaginable national- ity and rank; and, lastly, the announcement of her mother's death. Then silence fell, silence complete and unbroken, although the county leader of fashion, handsome Mrs. Annesley, was first cousin to the surviving brother and sister, ha4 been reared in their father's house, and- mairied frbmit. But everybody knew that Pau- line had i~ever liked her cousin, and that it was a happy day for both when Edgar Ann~sley (who was killed in a duel a few years later) took his bride prom the door of Morton House. I~emembering all these things, a thrill of ju- te~e interest and surprise ran through the couii- ty~hen Lagrange heard of Pauline Morton's retUrn. There was not a family of good rank within its borders that did not own some con- neotion of blood or ancient friendship with Mor- ton; and not a family, therefore, which was not personally interested in this unexpected arrival. Still even these people paused and looked at each other full of doubt. If Pauline Morton had come back among them with the state which, to their imagination, was always asso- ciated with the name; if she had thrown open the old hospitable doors, and lighted up once more the old hospitable rooms; if she had bid- den her friends around her, and asked their wel- come with the matchless grace they still remem- bered-they would have been the last people in the world to question whence she came, or why she chose tq shroud her past life in mystery. But the singularity of her course awakened in them the first chill of suspicion. Why come back in this way to her own house? Why write no letters? Why give no warning to the friends who had a right to know of her inten- tion? Why ask no aid from their support, she coming back so strangely alone to claim her old position? Why ofter no explanation of her mar- riage and widowhood? Why think that her old acquaintances would take for granted the twenty years passed away from them-the twenty years in which she might have climbed any height, or plunged into any depth; unknown to them? ~Truly it was no wonder that the elders among them shook their heads'; and truly it did not look as if Pauline Morton had come back to win any very warnvweleome fron~ her kinsfolk and friends. Yetamong the former class was one person at least to whom no neutral position was possi- ble, one person on whom the burden of positive action was incumbent, and from whom every obligation of gratitude that the world counts binding commanded a speedy and cordial wel- come to the returned wanderer. This person was Mrs. Annesley; and yet her worst enemy -if, indeed, the handsome, charming lady owned any enemies-could not have contrived for her a more disagreeable surprise than the news of her cousin's arrival proved. When she heard the particulars of this arrival, she turned very pale; ~and then-went to bed with one of those bad nervous attacks which always stood her in such good stead when an unpleasant exertion was demanded, or an unpleasant duty was to be per- formed. She deplored this necessity very pathet- ically; andassured the friends who came to see her that she was especially sorry because she could not go at once to meet ~nd welcome "dear Pauline." -But these fnie~ds were by no means obtuse; they understood the matter pert~eetIy, 3I i page: Illustration-17[View Page Illustration-17] WHAT MRS. ANNESLEY DID. and told each other when they went out that it was evident Mrs. Annesley felt very awkwardly about meeting her cousin, and that they did not wonder at it. "It is unfortunate that I should be ill just at this time," Mrs. Annesley said to her daughter, Mrs. French-a pretty, fashionable-looking girl two or three years younger than her brother Morton, and lately married-on the evening of the day when these visits had been paid. "I certainly ought to see Pauline at once, and it is quite impossible for me .to do so* Yet people will be sure to think it very strange." "Mrs. Raynor told me to-day that everybody is waiting to see what you mean to do," Mrs. French answered. "If I were you, mamma, I would let them wait. A woman who comes back like this does not deserve any considera- tion." "I am not thinking of her," said Mrs. Annesley, truthfully enough. It was a little before dark, and the mother and daughter were quite alone in the chamber of the former. With the outside world it was still daylight, but here the shades of twilight had already gathered, deepening in all the nooks and corners of the room, and only dissipated by the ruddy glow which a bright wood-fire cast over the polished furniture and the softly-tinted walls. On one side of the hearth sat Mrs. An- nesley in a deep arm-chair. Her cashmere dress- ing-gown, her dainty lace cap, and her velvet slippers, were all perfect; for she had made a tasteful invalid toilet in expectation of those compassionate visitors who had just departed. Opposite, and if pos~e in a still more luxuri- ous attitude, Mrs. French was sitting-the fire- light flickering over her silk dress, and glancing back from her gold els4tdaine. She had been busy with some net~i~g; but the rose-colored web had dropped in her lap, her bands were loosely folded over it,. and her eyes were roving absently from the fire to her mother, and from he~ mother to the heavily-draped windows that comn~nded a view of the lawn before the house, and the belt of dark shrubbery beyond. Finally, she stdd, languidly: It is a good thing that Morton is away.~, "It is a most fortunate thing," answered Mrs. Ani~esley, with energy. "Morton is so Quixotic in his ideas that there really is no counting on him, and he is so unfortunately straightforward that he cannot understand the delicate management which some things require. I nut sure he would give me trouble if he were I 17 I I here; so I agree with you, Adela-it is a good thing that Mr. French wrote for him just now." "It will be at least a fortnight before he can, get back,", said Adela, who had been making some calculation of time and distance while her mother spoke. "Perhaps it may be longer, if Frank deckics to coxuewith him, as I hope he will. Then I shall keep' him here until I am ready to go back to Mobile." "It is very provoking 'that. you should need to go back," said Mrs. Annesley, pettishly. "I shall never be satisfied until you are settled in Lagrange. If I could only carry out my plans! If you could only live here ?' "Frank would never consent to it, mamma," interrupted Adela, placidly. "He sags, very truly, that Morton will be marrying some day, and, of course, bringing his, wife here; and,' then, the arrangement would tever do." "Of course, there could 'be no question of it under those circumstances-that is, If Morton decided to make this place his home," said Mrs. Annesley. "But that was not my:plan, Adds, as you very well know." "I know you thought of Morton Rouse for' him, and Anneadale for us. That would certain- ly be very 'nice. But I suppose we nuist'give up all hope of it now." "That remains, 'to be seen," answered Mrs. Annesley, quickly. "It is~ almost beyond pa- tience," she went on, "that this. iVonraA should come back now to defeat all my. pl4~ns~' Every thing wa~ so well arranged. 'Alfr~d4!~rton was perfectly willing to sell the hoflse, and Moxton could well afford to give even the exorbita~, price he asked. It is true ~hitt for tl~e same amount he could have bought the finest planta- tion in the State; but then' no other p~Iaee could be to him like that- his 'great.grai~dfather's house. Nobody knows how my heart has al- ways been set on this. ever' since Morton was a child, I have counted on seeing him owner of Morton House. ' It seemed' to. rue it'1~wb1ld even make amends for 'all I ~nce euduredAn that house, to ~ow that my sort was~ maSter thei'e~ And now this kind~ ~e~~i~ic~ ~ho. always hated me, has, come back-simply to disappoint my wishes." "It would be very nice," said: Adela, whose 'mind was still bent on the arrangement, as 'it affected her own comfort. "Frank and I could settle here, and I need nQt trouble myself any more about his disagreeable relations in Mobile. Morton could marry Irene Vernon, and live in' that tumble-down old barn that you have such page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] 18 MORTON HOUSE. AFTER TWENTY YEARS. 19 a fancy for; and you could have your rooms at both places, and visit between us, just as you liked, It is a pity that one of your cousins took it into his head to die, and the other one to come back just now." "Gordon 1" said Mrs. Annesley, slowly; "Gordon! I am confident that I once heard the name of the man Pauline Morton married and, if I could recall it now, it might be worth remembering. I am almost sure-as sure as I can be of any thing which did not dwell posi- tively on my mind-that it was not Gordon." "Goodness, mamma! Has she come back under a false name?" "I am not certain, of course; hut my- own impression is that she has. Don't mention it, though, Adela. People are talking enough about her already, and we need not circulate a fact which undoubtedly looks very badly." "You may be sure, mamma, that nobody ever acts as she is acting without some reason for it." "There is no doubt of that," answered Mrs. Annesley, with a sudden flash of something like triumph in her eyes. "But it does not surprise me in the least-nothing that I could hear of her would surprise mc. Her pride and insolence were so great that they paved a fall for them- selves. Times have changed, Adela; you don't know how strangely it makes me feel to realize that twenty-five years ago Pauline Morton was the queen of Lagrange, and to-day it is doubtful whether there is a single person of good position in the county who will move an inch to welcome her." "It all depends on you," said Adela, in her languid way. "Mrs. Raynor told me that. She says that everybody is in doubt what to do, and they mean to wait and see how you will act." "There, again, times have changed," said Mrs. Annesley, gazing into the fire. "Twenty- five years ago I was the dependent cousin whom Pauline Morton barely tolerated; and to-day it seems that here, in her own home, the question of her social recognition depends on inc." "It depends on you how people will receive her," said the matter-of-fact Adela. "If I were you, mamma, 1 would let her see this, and then -you might perhaps make your own terms, and I get Morton House after all." Mrs. Annesley gave her daughter a glance, I and laughed a little. "You are tolerably quiek-witted, Adela, and t would make a pretty good diplomatist. Certain- ly, I don't owe Pauline muchin the way ofaf good turn; and certainly, also, the advantages of the situation are on my side now. If Morton is not the owner of Morton House yet, you may be sure that it will not be my fault. By-the-by, did Mrs. Ray-nor tell you any thing of those reports we heard about Pauline several years ago?" "Nothing at all, mamma, for she did not seem to know any thing. She said there had been reports, but that they were very vague, and she had never been able to make much out of them. She said, also, that you would not speak of them; but she was sure you knew more about the matter than anybody else." "She is mistaken," said Mrs. Annesley; LL know nothing about it. How or with whom the reports originated, I cannot tell; and, simply be- cause I did not choose to contradict them, peo- ple took it for granted that I believed them and was well acquainted with all the particu- lars." "I expect you looked as if you believed them. That is a way you have, mamma." "I certainly could not look n~ if I did not be- lieve them, when they were so entirely in keeping with Pauline Morton's character," answered Mrs. Annesley, a little coldly. "She was always im- prudent and reckless to the last degree. If she has learned wisdom, it has been since she left Lagrange.-Will you ring the bell there, Adela? I must order some chocolate for my supper; coffee keeps me awake, and is bad for my nerves." The hell was rung; the chocolate was or- dered; the servant who received the order deliv- ered a message to Mrs. Fr~h about some house- hold matter which demanded her presence down- stairs; and, with the regretful sigh of an indolent person, the lady tore herself from her comforta- ble lounging-place, and departed. The door had scarcely closed on her, when Mrs. Annesley rose and walked to the window. The dusk had fallen by this time, and she could not do more than dis- tinguish the outlines of the familiar objects be- rore her-the piazzas and wings of the house, bhc graceful trees and well-trimmed shrubs that were scattered over the gently-sloping lawn. ~very thing at Anneadale was in the mast per- ~eet taste; but every thing was undisguisedly icw, and just now Mrs. Annesley's heart was ongoing for something which was old. Her hus- mnd had began, and she herself had completed, he house in which she stood; yet, charming as was in every appliance of luxury and com- ort, her perverse fancy went back to the stately rooms, dark and mellow with age, where her youth had been passed. She looked steadfastly out of the window, over the trees and shrubbery which her own hand had planted, beyond the dark woods and broad fields, until she saw-ia imagination-the noble oaks of Morton House, and the tall chimneys, from which, for the first time in twenty years, the smoke of household fires was curling upward. Then her brows con- tracted in a slight frown-a frown not sufficiently marked to darken the handsome face, or give a severe aspect to its smooth lines. "Times arc changed," she said, once more, but this time only half aloud. "Will she recognize that as plainly as I do, I wonder? Will she see that, indeed, the advantage is with me now, and that it is f6r me to decide whether Pauline Morton- the beauty, the heiress, the belle of Lagrange, twenty-five years ago-shall not be a social out- law in Lagrange to-day? whether, six months hence, Morton House shall not be in my Morton's hands?" Before long, Mrs. French came back, and found her mother sitting as quietly as ever be- side the hearth, in the dim, fire-lighted apartment. The two ladies spent the evening together, and, when they separated for the night, the lasti thing Mrs. Annesley told her daughter was that her in- convenient illness would at least serve one good purpose, in enabling her to see what other peo- ple meant to do in the ease of her cousin. Several days elapsed. Then she found that Mrs. Raynor was right, and that other people had made up their minds to the same masterly policy of inaction which she herself had been practising. So, urge~partly by this fact, and partly by a growing fear of her son's return, she became suddenly convalescent, thought a drive might benefit her, and ordered the carriage. "I won't ask you to accompany me, Adds," she said to Mrs. French. "If I should go to Morton House, the meeting would, of course, be very painful on both sides, and had better be as private as possible. Besides, I don't care to draw you into a connection that may prove a very awkward one. Frank might object to it." "Frank is not of any importance," said Frank's wife, carelessly. "But I wouldn't think of such a thing as going-not for the world! I hate disagreeable people, and this Pauline Mor- ton must be very disagreeable. Don't tell her I am here, mamma-I beg you, don't do that!" "I am not sure that I shall go to Morton House," said Mrs. Annesley. "It depends on how I feel,", she added, gravely, as she went down the piazza-steps and entered the carriage which was drawn up before them. "Mrs. Tay- lor's, John," she said to the coachman, who stood waiting his orders. And, as the carriage drove off, Adds, who was still on the piazza, saw her lean back and put her vinai~vette to her nostrils. Her point of destination was not more than two or three miles from Annesdale; so she had not time to feel her nerves in any unpleasant degree before the mottled horses swept up to a red-brick house, set in the midst of a bright- green lawn, with a brilliant hedge on either side, and an ornate fence in front. here the languid invalid was warmly welcomed by Mrs. Taylor aad some half-dozen daughters, whose ages ranged from fifteen to thirty, and whose ugliness was from comparative to superlative degree. Mrs. Taylor was a widow; her daughters were all un- married; and, since country-life is stagnant at best, and a large household composed exclusive- ly of women must certainly bestow itS energies upon some employment, the Taylors, mother and daughters, were widely famed for devoting them- selves, like the Athenians of old, to "telling and hearing something new." Their house was the headquarters of all news (reliable or otherwise) which was afloat in Lagrange, and the mint where all reports were stamped for current circulation. If Mrs. Annesley had wished to put her finger on the public pulse, and feel how strong or how feeble were its beats on the Morton question, she could not have chosen a better place for the purpose. Perhaps this had been her intention. At all events, when she left the red-brick mansion be- hind, and was on the high-road, she gave the order, "Morton House." -4--- CHAPTER V. irma TWENTY ysins. HAIr an hour later, Mrs. Annesley's footman was unfastening a large, rusty iron-gate, and. holding it open while the flashing carriage rolled majestically-through. Then he let. the wings fall together with a loud clang, and Mrs. A'inesley felt that she was within the domain of Morton House. It was rather a dreary-looking place into which .she had entered; and none the less dreary because showing evident signs of much by-gone beauty and care-dreary with a forsaken air page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] 20 MORTON HOUSE. of neglect under the soft November sky, at with the mellow glory of the November su shine streaming upon it. In all Indian-summi weather, there is a pathos of intangible sadne~ -even on the bright road, and under its glorior golden woods this was sensibly to be felt; bi here it deepened into something almost approach ing pain, something which even a nature a wholly prosaic as Mrs. Annesley's could not bu feeL "One might believe it was a graveyard, she thought to herself; as her eye swept over th broad, park-like extent around her. A sudde: break in the closely-planted trees of the avenu spread a fair picture before her eyes-a picture fair in its decay. True, the noble lawn wa, thickly strewed with the fallen and moulderin1 leaves of many autumns, and the once magnifi cent shrubbery, which on the south side stretehe away into far-reaching gardens, was now little more than an Overgrown wilderness. But ther( was an almost regal air of space spread over nIl and even neglect could not entirely destroy th matchless landscape gardening that had once been displayed here-the artistic grouping of trees and shrubs, the forest vistas, and the en. chanting vicissitudes of light and shadow so skil- fully blent and arranged. The avenue was at least a mile in length, and led almost directly to a broad, green terrace, which extended around the house, and from which stone steps descended to the drive below. The house itself was now in sight-old, large, brown, and weather-beaten. Yet, notwithstanding all the dreariness of fall- ing shutters and rotting roof, there was some- thing about it which made it not difficult to believe that it had once been the gaye~t and most hospitable dwelling in the county-a some- thing which had survived all the long twenty years when no feet had crossed its threshold save those of the servants, who once every six months opened the windows and let God's sun- shine stream for a brief space into the darkened chambers I-the twenty years when no house- hold-fires had blazcd on the cold hearths, when no masters voice or mistress's laughter, or chil- dren's merry tones, had sounded along its gal- leries, or broken the silence of its deserted rooms. "There only need a few repairs to make it again the most beautiful place in all the county," Mrs. Anuesley said to herself, as she leaned for- ward for a better view of the house, which she was now rapidly approaching-the house that had sheltered her childhood and youth, and from which her husband had taken her a bride. And, AFTER TWENTY YEARS. 21 as she bent forward in the bright sunshine, and a- looked at the dark old front, with its lofty stone ~r portico, a sudden vision seemed to rise before is her-a vision of a royal-looking girl, with a face is that was brilliant as an oleander blossom, with it hair that seemed to have caught the sunshine on i- every thread, with eyes of matchless splendor, .s w~th the profile of a Greek cameo; and the bear- it ing of a Oreek goddess. She saw this lovely ~' vision standing where Pauline Morton so often e had stood, just within the shadow of the arched a door-way, wearing the fresh-flowing muslin that e Pauline Morton so often had worn, and turning e as if to greet her with the winning smile she had s seen so often on Pauline Morton's lip. It was ~ only a moment that this picture of the past stood - framed there; but so vivid was it that Mrs. An- I nesley almost seemed to look through the open doors behind, and see the sunshine of long ago falling on the tessellated floor of the widecool hall-almost seemed to see the servants passing up and down the broad staircase7 the gay faces at the drawing-room windows, and all the life, the stir, the bustle, so long since fled forever. * It was only for one moment; the next, the yel- * low sunshine slept as peacefully as before on the closed door and vacant step. But the past had not come back in vain even to this woman's selfish heart, and, for a few min- utes, she wavered in the purpose which had brought her there. For a few minutes, she re- membered how long that roof had sheltered her, how constant had been the kindness, how lavish the generosity she had received there; she re- membered the dead who had befriended her, and, for once, the ingratitude s$ was meditating rose up to reproach her. Then her son's handsome face and gallant presence seemed also to appear on that threshold where she had so long hoped to see him master; and the mother's heart steeled itself again. "It is for him," she mur- mured; "and I should not hesitate at any thing, however painful, to serve his interest. Besides, it will depend upon herself-that is the only light in which to look at it. It will depend upon herself; and any one else in my place would act as I must do." As~ if to give emphasis to her concluding words, the carriage at that moment drew up before the terrace-steps, and the footman was on the ground lowering the steps, and ready to guard his mistress's dress from any contact with the dusty wheels. It was too late to retreat, even if Mrs. Annesley had felt inclined for any thing so recreant. But she alighted at once; ascended the steps and crossed the terrace, her ample skirts sweeping grandly over the neglect- ed walks; entered the portico, and, finding the door-bell gone, gave a summons with her para- sol on the panel. She was forced to repeat it more than once before the door opened, creaking a sullen protest on its rusty hinges, and a gray- haired servant appeared. He looked a little doubtfully at the lady standing before him, shad- ing his eyes with one hand, for the sunlight streamed full in his face; but she smiled at once in cordial recognition. "Why, Harrison, is it you?" she said. "And so you arc back in the old place. How are you?" "Oh, it's Miss Elinor! I beg your pardon, ma'am, but I didn't know you at first," the old man answered, as he took the delicately-gloved hand she extended, in the momentary clasp of his horny black one. "Yes'm, I'm back. Miss Pauline said as how she would rather see the old faces about her than any new enes, Miss Eli- nor." Miss Elmer! Yes, she was "Miss Elinor" yet, to these old servants of her uncle's house- hold; and, although she often met them, and heard the name, it had never brought back the memory of her youth as it did now, when she was standing at the door of Morton House, and heard it from the lips that had repeated to her the messages of friends and admirers in the days gone by. "And Pauline?" she said, eagerly. "I have been sick, Harrison, or I should have been to see her before this. How is she?" Harrison shook his~Jiead. "You'll see for yourself; Miss Elmer," he. answered; "and i'm afraid you'll be shocked, ma'am. But Pat glad you've come-mebbe you'll cheer her up a little." "Does she need cheering? Is she sick?" "Oh, no, ma'am, not sick, but so changed like. It was an awful shock to me, masam. Pd never a-known Miss Pauline." "I am changed too, Harrison. We all change in twenty years." Harrison shook his head again. "Not like her,'~ he said-" netlike her." Then he led the way across the hall, threw open the drawing-room door, with something of his old formality; said, "Walk in, ma'am," quite grandly, and, after Mrs. Annesley had walked in, shut the door, and left her alone with the chill and the darkness-for 'it was both chill and dark after the glowing softness of the outer air. Standing where she had been left, the lady looked round and shivered, as if with a sudden ague. This was one of the suite of reception- rooms, which she well remembered-the first one looking to thefront-but the curtains were looped back from the arch that divided it from the ad- joining apartment; and, when her eyes grew ac- customed to the dim light, she gazed straight into the room where she had been married-straight at the very table near which she had stood, and at the very pattern of the carpet which she had traced with her downcast eyes while the cere- mony proceeded. Nay, not more than a few steps from her, was the sofa upon which she sat when Edgar Annesley asked her to be his wife, and told her, in his frank, honorable way, that, although he could never love her as he had once loved her cousin, yet he would be to her a true and tender husband. There was the piano on which she had so often played duets with Pauline-there was her aunt's favorite chair; and there her uncle's whist-table. Turn where she would, some memory of the past assailed her; and exclaiming impatiently, "It is worse than meeting a procession of ghosts!" she sud- denly crossed the room, and threw open an end window. The sunshine streamed in as if glad of an entrance; and then she perceived the rav- ages of time-the mildewed walls, the moth- eaten furniture, the faded curtains. "Repairs are needed worse than I thought," she said, half aloud; and, as she said it, she fell to thinking how well these lofty rooms would look newly fitted; how admirably a rich deep green would do for the one in which she stood; and how well green became the blond beauty of Irene Vernon -the girl of all others whom she most wished to see her son's wife. She was so engrossed by these fancies, that the opening of the door did not rouse her, standing as she was with her back to it; neither did a quiet step which crossed the apartment; and it was not until a light touch fell on her arm, that she started, turned, and stood face to face with the cousin from whom she had parted twenty years before. They stood and looked at each Qther-neither speaking for a moment. They had lived together in the past as intimately as sisters; but neither of them had ever entertained a sister's regard for the other. Therefore, they felt no affectionate impulse to rush into each other's arms; and, honest in the present as in the past, they did not feign it. They did not break into any noisy greetings, or take refuge in the commoiiplaces of ordinary welcome; they did not even shake page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] 22 MORTON HOUSE. AFTER TWENTY YEARS. 23 hands-they only stood and looked at the faces over which twenty years had passed. A greater contrast than these two faces pre- sented it would be hard to imagine-one so hand- some and well preserved, so smooth of skin, so clear of outline, so suave and smiling of aspect, with aot a. silver thread in the shining black hair, or even an incipient crow's-foot around the cold ~Aack eyes; the other so worn and hag- gard, so deeply lined and darkened over, so be- reft of all beauty save the Would of feature and the magitv~kf glance, so s~iinped with the dreary stamp pi~suffering, so marked with the bitter signet of anguish, so utterly lost to all the bright bravery of the world, that, save for a proud no- bility which still dwelt in, and redeemed it-save for the lovely pathos of the eyes, and the haughty curve of the lips-there was no depth of tragedy in which it was not possible to fancy that this woman might have played a part. This, at least, was the first tangible idea which came to Mrs. Annesley's mind, as she saw that not even Harrison's dismal prophecy had pre- pared her for the extent of the change, and as she recognized how far below the surface that change had struck. This her cousin! This Pau- line Morton! This the girl who had gone away in the spring-tide splendor of her youth and beauty! "Good God! 1 can believe any thing of her now!" she thought, as she gazed in mute dismay on that world-worn face. It was Mrs. Gordon who first broke the silence. "How little changed you are, Elmer!" she said, in a rich, sweet voice; "and how it brings ,back the old time to see you again-here!" "But you!" cried Mrs. Annesley, thrown for once entirely beyond the range of her usual con- ventionalities-" you! ?auline, for Heaven's sake, what have you been doing to yourself that you look like this?" "Am I so very much changed, then?" asked her cousin, with~a smile-oh, st different from the smile that eha~wy beauty had worn who stood in the door-way and greeted Mrs. Annes. icy half an hour before! "Changed!" She stopped, abruptly; but the tone that said that much had said enough. There was a moment's silence. Then the other, taking her hand, leaned forward, and lightly kissed her cheek. "Yours is the first kindred face I have seen," she said, gently, yet with a certain diguit~. "Let inc bid you welcome to Morton House." And in the to~e, the action, there was that which took the ground from beneath sirs. Annes- icy's feet. She had come, meaning to patronize with all the grandiloquent patronage of her changed position; and one second seemed to place her back on the old level, to which Pau- line Morton had once bent with this same stately grace, but never succeeded in making her cousin forget that she did bend. For an instant, Mrs. Annesley caught her breath; for an instant, she almost forgot that she was not again the penni- less relation who was bidden welcome to a home she might share, but never inherit. Then she recovered herself, and returned her cousin s caress with more effusion than that cousin's manner seemed to warrant. ~~My dear Pauline, those words are more mine than yours. Welcome, indeed-welcome to your old home and your old friends!" "Thank you, Elmer," her cousin replied, quietly. "Pray sit down." "Of course, I should have come. to you at once, if lb ad not been ill-really ill. I am here to-day in defiance of the doctor." "Indeed! I should not think you looking badly. But it was one of your old nervous at- tacks, I suppose?" "Yes, one of my old nervous attacks," re- plied Mrs. Annesley, unblushingly. "They seem to grow worse as I grow older." "I am sorry to hear that.-.-You must be tired by your drive. I will order some refresh- ment." She moved away a few steps to ring a bell, and Mrs. Annesley bad a good opportunity for observing how straight and rigid was the dress she wore, how hideous tl* cap that covered all save a little of the hair so thickly sown with gray, and how every harmless beautifier of the toilet seemed sternly banished fron~the costume. When she returned, the latter said, wonder- ingly: "Have you turned Romanist, Pauline, and acre you going to establish a nunnery, that you dress in such a style as this? You look like a nun, I assure you." "If you had ever seen a nun, Ehinor, you would not think so," the other answered, with a faint smile. "A nun's face is always sweet and serene-not world-battered and world-worn, like mine." "ThenFwhat do you mean by this?" and the gloved hand touched the black fabric near it. "1 only mean that I have renounced the world as much as if I had cone into a clois- ter." "My dear Pauline!" "Does that surprise you, Elinor? Ah! you have not drunk the dregs of life, as I have." "Surprise me? Of course, it surprises me. But I don't understand." "No, I don't suppose~ you do. I hope there are not many people who would fully understand. -Do you know what I have come back here How should 1? "True, how should you! Well, I will tell you; for I want to make my intention clear to all whom it may concern, and you are one of those whom it does concern. I have come back to bury myself." " Pauline 1" "Is there any thing~ strange in that?" said Mrs. Gordon, with another faint, flitting smile. * "Women have done such things before-the nuns of whom we spoke, for instance." Mrs. Annesley did not answer. She gazed at her cousin with blank amazement, and yet re blank apprehension, which might in time have found expression, if the door had not been suddenly burst open, and a boy of eight or nine years old-a magnificent incarnation of blooming health and beauty-rushed into the room, ex- claiming, "Mamma!" and did not pause until he stood by his mother's side, staring with un- abashed eyes at the elegant stranger. "Oh, what a handsome child!" cried Mrs. Annesley, surprised for once into an enthusiastic ~ truth. "Pauline, is this your boy? How like youhe is! and yet, howunlike!" "He is not like me at all," Mrs. Gordon an- swered, in a hard voice. Then it softened sud- ly, as she turned to the child. "Felix, go and speak to that lady; sbe is your cousin." Felix did as he was told-extending a hand no means v~ry clean, but given with the grace of' a young pri~ice. "I am glad to see you, my cousin," he said, f~ quite loftily. And, while ~Mrs. Annesley surreptitiously wiped her fingers on her handkerchief, she turned again to her companion: "What charming manners he has! If he does not ~escmble your~elf~-and I can see now that he does not-I suppose he looks like his 2 father." "Yes," was the brief reply. "Poor child! How young to be fatherless! I presume he cannot even remember-Mr. Gor- "Yes, he remembers hin," said Mrs. Gordon, quietly.-" Felix, go and ask Harrison if he did not hear the bell." "He heard it, mamma," said Felix, prompt- ly. "He's, cutting the cake; and I came to ask you if I rnayn't have some wine-he won't give me any. "Certainly not. You can have cake-not wine. "I don't care about cake, mamma." "There is no necessity for you to eat it, then7 my dear. But we shall see if your resolu- tion lasts when it comes-and here it is." As she spoke, Harrison made his ~appear- ance, bearing a salver on which were set forth the orthodox cake and wine of country hospital- ity-the former in rich silver baskets, and the latter in slender, old-fashioned wine-glasses. While Mrs. Annesley refreshed herself with a glass of the golden sherry that had been mel- lowing in the cellars of Morton House for forty years, exchanging with her cousin a few matter- of-course remarks about the weather, expatiat- ing on the beauty of the child, who was still present, and even upon the becoming costume he wore, she was revolving in her mind the altered aspect which the last few minutes bad given to the hopes she had so long and so san- guinely entertained. How easy it is to arrange mentally a supposi- titious scene and conversation! But when was such scene or conversation ever enacted as ar- ranged? From the moment in which she heard of her cousin's return, Mrs. Annesley's busy fancy had been going over and over again a re- hearsal of the present interview; and each time she had acquitted herself to her own entire satis~ faction. She had spoken-suavely patronizing, but uncompromising in her demands; her 'cousin had answered-gratefully submissive. Not a shade of doubt or distrust of' her own powers had crossed her mind; she had believed herself to be absolute mistress of the situation. And, alas! the very first tone of ,her cousins voice, and glance at her cousin's fn~-changed. so in- conceivably though that ftce was-showed her the mistake she had made, the self-delusion with which she had been pleasing herself. Memory had played her false-memory, and the vanity that had been fostered by years of uncheckered prosperity. At the first glance, she recognized the fact that the Pauline with whom she had been holding her imaginary conversations was but a la~-flgure, an automaton of her own crea- tion, which' had moved, breathed, trembled, yield- ed, as her own inclination pulled the wires upon page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] 24 MORTON HOUSE. AFTER TWENTY YEARS. 25 which she had suspended it. The Pauline be- fore her-.ah! how could she have forgotten that haughty nature so strangely as to dream of gain- ing a moment's ascendency over it? She felt that she was defeatednven before she had struck one bldw in furtherance of her "plan." This resolution of retirement from the world-why, it destroyed every vestige, even to the very founda- tions, of the fabric she had so remorselessly reared! The old, bitter hate and envy-the old, ptill more rankling sense of impotence to harm, even to' move, this woman, who had always seemed so unconscious, if not contemptuous, of her enmity-rushed over her soul in a tide of almost suffocating passion. Baffled..-.defeated- now, as ever' before! She could have gnashed her teeth ia fury I Baffled-just when she thought success certain! And must she sub- mit unresistingl~? Might she not sting, wound, If she could not subdue, this proud nature? She would see. ." Felix, my dear, you make too much noise. Go to Babette, now," said Mrs. Garden, as the boy began a romp with the little spaniel which had followed him into the room. "Go!" "Yes, mamma." And he obediently departed. Mrs. Annesley cleared her throat nervously, rose, and set down the wine-glass from which she had been sipping, and,, returning to her chair, drew it a little nearer to her cousin's before she again seated herself. Then, laying her hand on the sleeve of the close black dress, she said, con- fidnutially: "My dear Pauline, you quite took away my breath by what you said just now. I am glad you sent the child out, so that we can talk freely. Surely, you do not mean that you intend re- siouneing society altogether?" ."That is what I mean." "Impossible! impossible!" cried Mrs. An. uiesley, assuming an expression of grave reman. stance. '"Why, what would the world say 1'" "The world of Lagrange, do you mean?" "Yes. Your own old friends, and those of your parents." "If the subject interests them sufficiently for them to say any thing, I suppose it will be some of the good-natured things which they used to say of me in the old times. But what does it matter?" "It matters every thing !.-if you do not wish to lose, your reputation." Mrs. Gordon regarded her cousin's face for an instant in astonishment. Then her brows con- tracted slightly, and a haughty light came into her eyes. "My reputation!" she repeated. "And pray, Elinor, will you tell, inc what pos. sible connection there is, or can be made, be- tween my voluntary seclusion and the loss of my reputation?" Mrs. Annesley paused a moment, partly be- cause she was a little doubtful as to what her next words should be-partly with an affectation of re- luctance to speak. She looked down at the carpet, thoughtfully-then lifted her eyes to her cousin s countenance, hoping to find there signs of alarm and perturbation. She was disappointed. Mrs. Gordon was waiting quietly for her to proceed. "Your question places mc in a very embar- rassing, a very painful position, Pauline," she began, with well-acted hesitation. "But-I think you will agree with inc that plain speaking is always best; particularly in a case of this kind, and between friends and relatives." "Undoubtedly. Plain speaking is always best between people who have a right to speak plainly to each other; and friends and relatives do possess this right," answered Mrs. Gordon, with the dignified simplicity of manner which, to her cousin's elaborate mannerism of dignity, seemed, as it always had seemed, like virgin gold to pinchbeck. Mrs. Anaesley cleared her throat again, and, lifting the top of her vinaigrette, bent her head and inhaled the salts before she replied, slowly~ "My dear Pauflne, I do not know whether you are aware that, to the eyes of the world, your life is veiled in profound mystery; that, until your return, your friends were ignorant of th~ veryname of the man you married; that, even now, the name itself is all that is known. Under these circumstances, is it much to be wondered at that some very unpleasant reports have crept into circulation ?-rcports which you would be shocked to hear, my dear, I assure you! And, if you take this strange step. of secluding yourself from the world, I cannot answer for the consequences." Mrs. Gordon had listened unmoved to her cousin s words, until Mrs. Annesley came to the last sentence. She smiled then-not scornfully, but with a sort of half-sad amusement. "Human nature i~the same all the world / over!" she said. "In the little stagnant pool, as in the great ocean of life, impertinent curios. ity and gratuitous ill-nature arc the most marked features of ' society.' But, my dear Elinor, I am surprised that you should have forgotten all about my character so entirely as to imagine~* that the 'opinion of the world' could move mc, or give me a moment's uneasiness. Don't you remember how I used to shock you with my dis- regard for the ideas and dicta of this narrow world around us? And do you think it likely that a cosmopolitan life of twenty years has taught me to rate its importance more highly?" "Good Heavens, Pauline! You do not know, you do not realize what you are disregarding !- what the reports are-" began Mrs. Annesley, with a consternation which was perfectly genu- ine-for more and more did she realize that her anticipated power over her cousin had been a chimera of self-flattery. But Mrs. Gordon inter- posed, quietly: "I have no more curiosity now than formerly about Lagrange gossip. If it amuses people to t~lk about me, I have no objection to their en- joying that gratification." "But, surely, you object to setting a stain on your good name I-on the Morton honor!" cried Mrs. Annesley, driven beyond all self-control by the careless indifference with which the other spoke. Mrs. Gordon's lip curled in a disdain so con- temptuous that her cousin shrank abashed with that consciousness of utter discomfiture in all endeavor to annoy, which had been so familiar and so galling to her in the old days, while the former said, sternly: "I have returned to my old home, soul-weary and grief-stricken-to seek the shelter of my father's roof as people sometimes quit the world for a cloister. You tell me that the' old friends' of my parents and myself are bandying about 'reports' conccrning'me; that they 'know nothing of my life,' and yet are slandering it! Well, I answer that their gossip and slander are less to me than the hum of the insects around him to the anchorite of the desert; that, for the people who disseminate or believe slanders so false, so malicious, so unprovoked-.who dare to suspect my father's daughter of any act unworthy of his name and honor-I entertain a contempt too profound for it to be any thing but passive." Mrs. Annesley was effectually silenced; but her countenance showed so plainly the dismay, mortification, and chagrin, by which she was lit- erally overwhelmed, that Mrs. Gordon, reading the expression (though not, of course, its cause), and attributing it to a fear of being personally compromised, said gravely, but kindly: "I know, my dear Elinor, that your ideas and mine do not agree as to the value of the world'~ opinion. And, if you fear that, you may yourself incur the censure of this opinion-" "Pauline, how can you wrong me by imagin- ing that I am thinking of myself in the matter! It was alarm for you which, ill as I felt this morn- ing, urged me to the exertion of showing the world at once my position toward you-my esti- mate of the reports that are in circulation-by coming to offer you the support and advice of a kinswoman." A smile of irrepressible amusement swept over Mrs. Gordon's face, brightening it into a stronger likeness to its former self than Mrs. Annesley could have believed it possible it would ever again wear. "And have these good people of Lagrange really proceeded so far in their amia- ble canvassing of my affairs, that you thought it necessary to extend a hand to save me?" she said, with almost a laugh. "I am afraid they would be disappointed, if they knew how much unnecessary trouble they have given themselves. My first order to Harrison, on my arrival, was, that no one but yourself; your children, and one or two of my oldest and dearest friends, were to be admitted. To all others he was to say tat, being in deep mourning, and in deep grief-" her lip quivered with anguish as she spoke the last words-" I must decline society. You see, therefore, that it was premature, to say the least, in the social authorities of Lagrange, to . decree ostracism to one who, for reasons entirely apart from any consideration of their existence, had no intention of accepting, far less of asking, their suffrage. It was kind of you, ~ she added, with a perfect good faith that made Mrs., Annes- icy wince, "to wish to throw yourself into the breach in my defence." "It was useless, I perceive," answered Mrs. Anneslcy, endeavoring to regain her usual man- ner, "if you persist in this strange resolution you have expressed. Nothing, which I could say or do would have any effect in righting the public sentiment, so long as you maintain the mystery which was the cause of these dreadful reports. If you would only authorize me to contradict them-to-" "Excuse me," interposed Mrs. Gordon, quiet- ly. "It is a matter of perfect indifference to me." "But for my sake!" urged Mrs. Ann~sley, who remembered well that she had many a time gained concessions from Pauline's generosity, which Pauline's pride would never have made- "for my sake, Pauline! Think what an* embar. raising position I am placed in. Pray, recon- sider your rcsolutioii 1" "My dear Elinor, I cannot do that," answered page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] 26 MORTON HOUSE. WHAT MORTON SAID. 27 her cousin. "I came here, as I told you, to seek rest. I married very unhappily, and have suf- fered much-have suffered so terribly that, but for the sake of my child, I think I could not have lived through all 1 have endured. This explana- tion I make to yourself-not for the benefit of the gossips who, it seems, are busying them- selves with my name. Yourself, and the few old friends who, I think, have a right to that con- sideration from me, shall be always welcome here, if-" she smiled-" you and they are not afraid to brave public opinion by ~omin~" "You do me injustice by the doubt you im- ply," said Mrs. Annesley, quickly. "But, for that matter, you always did me injustice." "Did I?" said her cousin, with a softer light coming into her eyes, and a softer tone into her voice. "Perhaps I did; for I was very prone to rash judgment in those wilful early days. I sometimes think that all I have endured since has only been a just punishment for the faults I cherished then. I am glad to believe I did you injustice, and to beg your pardon for it. Forgive me; Elinor-and let us be friends." She held out her hand, and Mrs. Annesley could not decline to take it. But she hesitated - a moment before doing so, and paled slightly, as she said: "We won't talk of the past, Pauline, for I dare say the fault of our misunderstandings was as much mine as yours. Tell me about poor, dear Alfred. I was so shocked to hear of his-" "Death," she would have said, had not the sudden ghastly change that came over her cous- in's face stopped the word, It was not the acute grief which cannot bear any mention of its be- reavement from careless lips, but the presence of an unutterable horror, which blanched the cheek, and gave so deep an agony to the eye, that Mrs. Annesley saw she had made a great mistake, and stammered hastily: "Pardon me; I did not mean-~-" Then Mrs. Gordon seemed to rally with an almost convulsive effort; and, after a minute, spoke hoarsely: * "It does not matter. I-I only have not learned to bear the mention of his name. Yes, he is dead. Be kind, Elinor-do not ask me any more." Mrs. Annesley could not disregard such a re- quest. She was silent for some time; half from astonishment, half from offended pride at her cousin's reserve. Then she gathered her wrap- pings round her, and rose with that motion which indicates departure. "I am sorry I cannot stay longer," she said, "but I dare not risk over-fatiguing myself~ 1 will come soon again, however." "Pray do" said Mr~ Gordon, cordially. "Give my love to Morton and Adela. Are they not with you now?" "Morton lives with me, but he is not at home just now. He has been absent for a week or two. Adela is married, and lives in Mobile,". replied Mrs Annesley, telling the truth-but not the whole truth. "Do you remember your old admirer, Colonel French? Well, one of his sons died, and Adela married the other-a very good match indeed." "Colonel French-the wealthy widower, as you used to call him? How strangely such news makes me feel. To think that Adela should be married-and to one of those little boys!" "I ought to feel old, ought I not? And yet-" "And yet you feel young, looking at me. Is it not so?" "I did not mean to say that, I assure you; but you do look shockingly. I hope you will seem more like yourself when I see you again. Good-by. I cannot tempt you even to Annes- dale?" "Not even to Annesdale." They shook hands, parted-if any thing more coldly than they had met-and, ten minutes after. ward, the Annesley carriage was rolling out of the Morton gates. CHAPTER VI. WHAT MORTON SAiD. "Jr is a good thing that Morton is not at home," Mrs. Annesley had again remarked to her daughter, when she finally made up her mind to action in the case of her cousin; and the event well justified that self-congratulation. A fortnight after the visit in which she had been so signally worsted, Morton returned, and, for the first time in his life, asserted his right of interference as head of the house. "Mother," he said, when they were at break fast on the morning after his arrival, and the ser- vants had left the room-" Mother, is it true, as I hear, that our cousin, Pauline Morton, has re- turned among us?" There was something unusually grave and formal in the tone of this inquiry, something which made AdelaFrench look up and open her eyes; but Mrs. Annesley answered with admira- ble nonchalance - es, my dear boy, she has really returned. I forgot that we heard the news the very day you left. How it must have astonished you! It was quite a shock to me; but say nerves are so easily afl'eeted I can stand very little. I sup- pose you heard it in Tallahoma, as you came through?" "Yes, I heard it in Tallahoma," the young man answered, "and, mother, I also heard some- thing else, which cannot be true." "It is a very sad affair altogether, my dear Morton," said Mrs. Annesley, quietly; "but there is nothing more likely than that you heard. some exaggeration of the matter. What was it?" She asked the question with honest indiffer- ence, for, since her visit to Mrs. Gordon, she had felt, so far as herself was concerned, upon safe ground. She knew that she had always been to Morton a sort of enthroned divinity, who could do no wrong; and it was evident that he hesi- tated now before saying any thing which might seem even the mildest censure on her conduct. At last, however, he spoke. "I heard in Tallahoma that our cousin "-he uttere& ~he last two words with emphasis-" has come back to her old home, without having re- ceived any welcome from her old friends; and that even you, mother, have failed to give her one." "I should think you would know by this time how much reliance is to be placed in Tallahoma gossip," said Mrs. Anneslcy. "As usual they have told you something entirely without foun- dation; and "-with gentle reproach-" I cannot help thinking it strange that you should credit such a thing of me." "I did not credit it!" said the young man, eagerly. "I was only afraid that it might be so, because public opinion seems dealing so hardly with this poor woman. And you kare been to see her, then?" "Of course I have," answered she, promptly. "How could I possibly neglect such a duty? We were raised together as sisters, you remem- ber." "And has she been here? Mother, she ought to be here now." "Morton !-what do you mean?" "1 mean," answered Morton, quickly, "that when a woman is slandered is the time, of all others, for her kindred to close around her; and that Pauline Morton's proper place now is under this roof." "But, good Heavens! why?" "Why?" he repeated in surprise. "Dear mother, don't you know why? Don't you know that she is doubted, suspected, slandered, if you will have a plain word; and that it is only thus we can pay the debt of gratitude we owe to those whose roof once sheltered you ?" He looked like a young paladin, with the kindling fire on his handsome face, and the shin. ing light in his dark eyes; and even his mother's heart was touched as he lowered his voice over the last words. "My son, you do not understand," she said, in a grave, troubled voice-for it was never her policy to conic to an issue with Morton," you do not understand-and you should trust to me in this matter." "You know how much I trust to you," he answered. "But in this matter-" "Why do you think it necessary to take up your cousin's cause with so much zeal?" said Mrs. Annesley, as he hesitated in his sentence. "I thought I ~aad already explained what really does not seem to require any explanation. Seeing any woman in a position of social difficul- ty, I should not feel myself a gentleman if, be- lieving her injured, I did not make at least an effort in her defence. And when I see my own kinswoman, one to whom I am bound both by ties of blood and obligations of gratitude- mother, can you ask me why I should take up her cause with all the zeal of which I am capa- ble?" "One word, Morton," said Mrs. Annesley, who had been watching him during the last speech, and knew to a nicety how far it was prudent to carry open opposition-" one word, if you please. Has it never occurred to you that Pauline Mor- ton may not be the injured victim you seem to consider her?" If she had sent a rifle-shot into her son's plate, she could not have taken him more com- pletely by surprise. He looked for one moment in mute amazement at her face, then a crimson flood shot over his brow, and was visible even beneath the black curls that rested on it. "Mother!" "Don't misunderstand me," said Mrs. Annes- Icy, quietly. "Don't think that I mean any thing more than I say. I only repeat my question- has it never occurred to you that Pauline Mor- ton may not be that injured victim which you seem to consider ~ 26 MORTON HOUSE. 27 page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] 28 MORTON HOUSE. WHAT MORTON SAID. 29 "No," answered he. "Is she not a Mor- ton?" "She is, indeed. But, in short, asltold you before, you had better trust to me in this mat- ter." "And, as I told you before, that is impossi- ble," he replied. "Tell me what you meant by such a question." But, what Mrs. Annesley meant, it was very hard-indeed, impossible-for her to explain in Morton's. straightforward fashion; for her only real meaning had been to impress him with a belief that the matter was too delicate for his management. She hesitated before answering; and then said more than she had perhaps in. tended to say. "I only meant, Morton, that I am sure you would not like to force me into giving counte- nance to a woman who may not deserve it." "God forbid I" said Morton, hastily. "But, mother, surely you consider what you arc say- ing?" "Is it likely I would not consider?" asked Mrs. Annesley, dreadfully conscious that the exi- gence of the occasion was forcing her into doing just the opposite. But then it was so necessary to quiet Morton by saying something.-" Is it likely I would not consider? Ah, you don't know hew I have suffered about this, or you would never reproach me for not doing more." "Reproach you I My dear mother, I must have expressed myself very badly if you think I meant to reproach you. Pray forgive me, if I have been hasty or disrespectful-but I feel this matter so deeply." "You cannot feel it more deeply than I do," said Mrs. Annesley, putting her handkerchief to her eyes. "My poor aunt, and my dear uncle, what a blessed thing it is that they did not live to see this day! You may think me unfeeling, Morton, but Adela there could tell you that I have been really ill, and about nothing else but this affair." "I could as soon suspect a saint of being un- feeling," said Morton, much concerned, but smil- ing a little. "Selfish, then, when I had only your welfare at heart." "You could not be selfish if you tried. But I really don't see what my welfare had to do with the matter." No, he did not see in the least, and, what was more~ Mrs. Annesley dared not enlighten him. She knew how much he desired to own Morton House, but she also knew that Morton House would be worse than valueless to him if he once suspected that it had been won by such means as those she had not scrupled to propose to her- self. "I only mean," she hastily corrected, "that neither you nor I can h~lp a woman who is so utterly reckless that she will not help herself." "And Pauline Morton?" "Pauline Morton refuses absolutely to accept any aid that we can give her." "Refuses! How? Pray be more explicit, if only in consideration of my stupidity." "I don't see how I can be moreexplicit, Mor- ton. She distinctly declines to give any explana- tion of her singular appearance among us, of the death of her brother, or of the absence of her husband-indeed, whether he is alive or dead, nobody knows. She looks as if she might have walked through a furnace of fire, or been buried alive and dug up again, or lived in garrets on crusts of bread, or-or done any thing! And she will neither receive her friends nor accept any hospitality they offer." Morton, who had risen from the table, was now standing with one hand on the back of his chair, and he did not speak for several minutes. Then he said, slowly: "Well, all this only proves that she has suf- fered, nothing more. Surely we may respect this suffering sufficiently to refrain from prying into it. Can the gossips say nothing more of her than this?" "You can best answer that question," said Mrs. Annesley, stiffly. "I am not likely to hear what gossips say of my own cousin. But I think it is more than ought to be said of anywoman." "Mother, that does not sound like you," said her son, gently. "Remember how often you have agreed with me that misfortune should never be confounded with fault. We have no right to suspect more than misfortune here." "Not if Pauline had come back as her posi- tion demanded she should come-with some guar- antee for her past, and some regard for appear- ances in the present.. Not if she-" "In one word, if she had not needed your friendship. Oh, mother, that I should hear such social cant from yourj~,s! Her old associates, then, would have been willing to extend their hands to her, if she had not needed them; as she does need them, they consider that a suf- ficient reason for holding aloof. What a pitiful world it is!" said the young man, with a sudden scorn flashing into his face; "and how much It is alike in every place and condition o~ life! Aj Mother, one more question, and I have done. I am sure I need not beg you to answer me frankly. Do you, or do you not, believe that I; Pauline Morton deserves the suspicion that seems to have fallen upon her?" Was ever diplomacy placed in a more trying position than this? Reply in the affirmative Mrs. Annesley could not, without a more daring violation of truth than even her conscience would allow; and, to answer in the negative, would be to undo all her previous work. Clear- ly, then, the only resource left was that of eva- sion, and this she employed with commendable quickness. "Good leavens, Morton! How can you ask inc to decide such a question, and about my own cousin, too? You should be more considerate of my-my feelings I" "I am asking you to be considerate of the honor of your name, mother," said Morton, half- sternly. "Do you know what people will say if you do not face that question and answer it bold. "I must consult my own conscience, and not what people will say," answered she, with dig. nity. Morton took his hand from the chair, and made a quick turn up and down the room before he spoke again. He stopped abruptly then, and fastened his eyes on her face: 'Thea, mother, you, too, doubt this poor woman?" "Doubt her?" She hesitated a moment, but, saw her way to no othcr answer than the truth. "No, Morton, I do not." "In that case, you consider her unjustly sus- pected-do you, mother?" There ~vas something truth-compelling in the direct question, in the earnest eyes, and still more earnest voice. Before Mrs. Annesley knew what she was about, she had uttered a reluctant "Yes." But, even after this, she was not prepared for what followed. She was a~tonishcd when Mor- ton crossed the floor, rang the bell, and said to the servant who answered it: 'The carriage." The door had hardly closed before Mrs. An- nesley cried: 'Morton, what does this mean?" 'It means," said Morton, "that I am going cc our cousin, and that I hope you will ac- pany me to urge her return with us to An. nesdale." His mother looked at him in silent exaspera- 4 3 tion. If she had given way to her first impulse, it would certainly have been one of fierce re- proach, since anger was burning hotly enough in her heart against this ungrateful return for all her exertion. But one thing which she had learned in life was the folly of paSsion. So she curbed herself with the steady curb which long habit had rendered easy, and answered quietly: "I am afraid you must excuse me. Dr. Rey- nolds expressly forbade my leaving the house until he saw me again. Besides, Morton, since you absolutely refuse to be guided by me in this matter, I cannot think that I am called upon to expose myself to another repulse for your sake." "Another repulse :~" "Yes, another repulse. I thought I told you that Pauline has already declined the visit which you wish me to urge on her a second time." "Did you really urge it the first time, moth. er?" "Did you ever know me lacking in hospital- ity? But, since you distrust me, go your own way, and find who is right." She spoke gravely, but without any touch of pettishness; and Morton hesitated. Perhaps, after all, she was right-perhaps, after all, he was wrong. Who was so likely to be wrong as himself, thought the young man, with the humil- ity which was his most prominent characteristic. Surely his mother was better able to judge of her cousin than he who had never seen that cousin. In trying to act up to the standard of his chivalric creed, he began to fear that he had not only been very obstinate, but also very foolish. So, after a pause, he spoke quite humbly: "I have never done such a~thing as distrust you in all my life, mother; and I am sure I have no desire to go my own way pimply because it is my own way. If you think the invitation had better not be given just at present, I am perfect- ly willing to defer it. But that is noreason for deferring my visit. Since you Cannot accompany me, I am sure Adela will." He looked at his sister as he spoke; and Mrs. French shrugged her shoulders, as she an- swered carelessly: "Indeed, I would not advise you to be too sure, Morton, for I have not an idea of doing any thing of the kind." "Why not?" "Simply because I don't choose to." "Adela 1" This was Mrs. Annesicy who broke in with a tone half-warning, half-reproach- ful. "Well, mamma," w~is the saucy reply, "you page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] 30 MORTON HOUSE. HOW A PALADIN STORMED A CASTLE. 31 surely don't think I am going to let Morton tyr- annize over me as he does over you? When one doesn't mind one's husband, one isn't likely to mind one's brother-do you think so? He must get him a wife, if he wants somebody to go with him whenever he takes a fancy to visit super- annuated beauties." "I did not ask you to go as a favor to my- self; Adela," said her brother, a little haughtily. "So much the better," answered she. And, at that moment, a servant opened the door and announced the carriage. "I was wrong," said Morton, turning to her. "I do ask it as a favor to myself. Will you go?" "Not on any account," said the young lady, with emphasis. "Nothing would induce me to go. I hate disagreeable people-besides, the Raynors and Irene Vernon will be here to din- ner to-day, and I would not tire myself out for the world. Ifyou will go, that is no reason.why 1 should be so silly." U Have the car taken back, and my horse brought out," said Mr. Annesley to the servant. After this, there was ten minutes' rather un- comfortable silence in the room. It was broken at last by Adela, who had sauntered to the win- dow, and, with admirable nonchalance, announced the appearance of the hors~adding the gratui- tous information that he did not look quite as well groomed as usual. "Probably not; those scamps grow careless if I am~away from home a week," said her broth. er. He turned to leave the room, saying to his mother, "1 shalL not be back until dinner." "But you must be back in iime for dinner- don't forget that, Morton," she said, anxiously. ~ shall not forget it," he answered. When the door closed on him1 Mrs. Annesley drew a deep breath of relief; and looked at her daughter, who was still standing by the window. Their eyes met, and Mrs. French laughed. "?oor Morton, how simple he is 1" she said "I wondered you had patience to fence with him so long, mamma. Do you think he means to spend the morning at Morton House?" Mrs. Annesley shook her head. "I wish he did," she answered. "He means to spend it in Tallahoma. "Mamma," said Mrs. French, setting her teeth I sharply, "I would make an end of that business, if I were you." "Suppose you could not, Adela?" "As if you could not always do any thing you waat to," "Morton is terribly obstinate." "Morton is like wax in your hands." There was a moment's silence. Then, not very relevantly, as it seemed, Mrs. Annesley said, "When does Irene Vernon leave'?" "Not before New Year. You know she is en~ gaged to spend Christmas here." "Yes, I know." They said nothing further-but, after another minute or two, Mrs. French kissed her hand, and gayly waved it to some one outside the window. "It is only Morton," she said, as her mother came forward and looked over her shoulder. "I am wishing him good luck." They both watched the graceful rider out of sight; and Mrs. Annesley, as she turned away from the window, said, with a low and somewhat bitter laugh, "Let him go. He will not be ad- mitted farther than the door of Morton House." -4-- CHAPTER VIr. 110W A PALADIN STORMED A CASTLE. In all the sweet South there never was a softer or more beautiful morning-robed in gorgeous autumnal dress, and glorying in a lavish affluence of balmy air, and golden sunshine, and draping haze-than that on which the young owner of Annesdale rode forth to try his fortune at Morton House. Shortly after leaving his own gates, he over- took an open carriage full of ladies, who were chattering gayly, and who burst into a chorus of welcome when llderim's handsome head appeared beside them. "Mr. Apnesley! What a surprise!" "Why, Mr. Annesley, where did you come prom?" "When did you come back, and how are rou?" Only one of the fair bevy-the fairest among hem-said nothing; but she smiled and held ut her hand; and neither the smile nor the etion left any thing to be desired. Mr. Annesley answered all the inquiries, and changed all the civilities of the occasion; and hen rode along by the side of the carriage, rest- i~ one hand lightly on the door, while with the ther he restrained Ilderim's eager impatience; nd the stream of conversation flowed on in easy ad lively current. "You have been to Mobile, Mr. Annesley?" sked the gay young chaperon of the party- pretty Mrs. George Raynor, who had been a Miss Vernon and a Mobile belle before she married, and came to dazzle Lagrange with her beauty and her fashion. "Oh, do tell us something about it, for we are almost dying-irene and I-for news of all our friends." "With all my heart," said Morton, smiling; "but where shall I begin? I was only in Mobile foi a few days, and I scarcely saw any thing of the people you would care to hear about." "Ah, I care to hear about anybody," cried she, with fervor. "And, if you did not see any- body, just tell me what they are talking about in the city. I wish I had known you were going, I would have asked you to take a package to Aunt Lucy-and, perhaps-to bring me a bon- net back." "You are glad she did not know, are you not, Mr. Annesley?" said Miss Vernon, laugh- ing. Morton smiled only, in reply to the last ques- tion, preferring, it seemed, to answer Mrs. Ray- nor's remark "If I had not left home so hur- riedly, you should have known," he said. "But I did manage to 'see year aunt, and she charged me with a great many messages to yourself and Miss Vernon-the chief of which," he added, turning to the latter, "I feel tempted not to deliver." "Is it so very disagreeable, then?" asked she. "It will not be at all disagreeable to you, I am afraid; but she urges your speedy return to Mobile, and that will be very disagreeable to Lagrange." "Lagrange will have to support the desola- tion as best it can, and I have no doubt will be able to endure it," said Miss Vernon, a little coolly-thinking, no doubt, that the compliment would have gained point and strength by a more personal application. Then a cry broke from the other two young ladies, who were both Misses Raynor, plain in looks, plain in manners, and therefore blindly admiring the Vernon beauty, and emulous of the Vernon style. "Oh, Irene, you surely will not think of leav- ing us!" "Irene, that is VOV~J mean of your aunt, for she knows you promised to stay until after Christmas." "Nonsense l" said Mrs. Raynor. "Irene knows she is not going until I am ready to go with her; and only George can say when that will be-he is so provoking! Mr. Anuesley, I do hope that when you are married, you will treat your wife with some consideration." "1 shall endeavor to do so, Mrs. Raynor," answered Morton, with mock-gravity-for all Lagrange knew that George Raynor waS the most thoroughly hen-pecked husband in the county-" I shall come to you for instructions how to act. But you have not told me what has heen going on here since 1 left." Nothing has been going on in any way,~~ said Mrs. Ilaynor.-" Irene, what have we been doing ?-any thing at all?" "Vegetating and yawning, I believe," an- swered Miss Vernon. "But these principal occupations have been varied by much gossip, and a little scandal, lately." "Oh, yes l" burst in Mrs. Raynor, with the greatest animation. "Lagrange has been in a perfect ferment of gossip for the last three weeks, Mr. Annesley, about that curious Miss Morton, or Mrs. Gordon, or whatever her name may be, who has come back like a ghost, and set everybody talking themselves hoarse. Qf course you have heard of her?" (She did not give him time to reply.) "For my part, I be- lieve that she murdered both her husband and her brother, and that she has come here to bury her remorse, and give Lagrange a standing topic of conversation. I am sure- Good gracious, Lonisa, what is the matter? Is there a cater- pillar on my bonnet?" The inquiry was not entirely without reason, for the elder Miss Raynor had been making signals of silence and distress for the last five seconds, without being able to at~raet her heed- less sister-in.law's attention. "No, indeed, Flora," she said, blushing with that ever.ready and not always becoming blush of eighteen. "But you surely forget-Mr. An- nesley is related to-" "To my murderess?" cried-Mrs. Raynor, ex- tricating herself from the difficulty with the mer- riest laugh in the world. "A thousand pardons, Mr. Annesley! But you know how heedless I am! I am sure I need not apologize for mere jesting." Mr. Annesley's face had taken an expression which few people had ever seen upon it before. A stern coldness transformed it so entirely that the ladies exchanged glances of surprise and dis- may. He bowed quite haughtily, as he said, with gravity: "Personally, I could not of course be of- fended by what was not meant to touch my- self. But I must confess that my ideas of 30 31 page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] 32 MORT 'jesting' do not agree with those of Mrs. Th nor." "I am very, very sorry," cried that lad eagerly, coloring a little, and slightly disco scored by his manner aad words. "You mu really forgive me, Mr. Annesley! I did not r member at the moment your connection wii Mrs. Gordon. Indeed, it never occurred to a that you would care. Adela talks just as ever~ body else does." "1 am sorry to hear it," said Mr. Annesle' in the same tone as before. "And, really," continued Mrs. Raynor, rall: ing from her momentary embarrassment, and r~ covering her usual nonchalant gayety-" rcall~ Mr. Annesley, you are very unreasonable. only repeated what everybody is saying. Pra don't hold me accountable for the reports!" Mr. Annesley's face relaxed into a smile- rather grave, it is true-as he answered: "Yo are right, Mrs. Raynor. It was unreasonabh nay, it was folly in me 'to resent what is in it self. so trifling a matter as these reports. Gos sipsinust have something to talk about, of course It is I who must beg your pardon for having for gotten this." "Why, Mr. Anneslcy, I don't know you!' exclaimed Mrs. Raynor, astonished, annoyed, an~ amused, all at once. "I always thought you s model of amiability; but you are not amiable at present, I assure you. I did not know that you had laid lance in rest, in Mrs. Gordon's defence, or I should not have said a word. And, by-the. way, don't flatter yourself that you are her only champion. Irene has been doing battle in her defence from the first." "Have you?" said Morton, turning quickly to Miss Vernon. "I hope you will let me ad- mire and thank you for it." "Pray don't," answered she. "I only heard a woman assailed, and felt for her-that was all." Before the gentleman could reply, Mrs. Ray- nor s light tones broke in again: "I positively victimized myself by going to church last Sunday in order to catch a glimpse of this ghostly lady; and would you believe it, Mr. 4nnesley, she did not come! I wonder if she i~ver means to come? But somebody said that a splendid-looking child, who sat in a pew next the pulpit, was hers." "Oh, yes," chorused the Misses Raynor, "and zucli a woman with him! 1f you could have aeca her bonnet! And, what do you think, Mr. Annesley ?-she actually sat up and said her ON HOUSE. ~y- beads all the time Mr. Norwood was preaching-- and that under his very eyes!" ly, "She is evidently a Frenchwoman," said Miss a- Vernon, "and of course a Catholic. No doubt st she took that means to avoid joining in what she 'e- considered heretical worship.-Are you going, ~h Mr. Annesley?" ic "1 am reluctantly compelled to do so," said y~ Mr. Annesley, who had drawn Ildenim from the carriage.dooi~, and himself from that soft contact y, of silk and lace; that near neighborhood of a slender, well-gloved hand; that faint, dainty fra- ~- grace of fresh millinery; that capricious parasol i. fringe which was never still, and which would ~, persist in sweeping his face, and that subtle, in- I tangible charm which, like an aroma, seems con- y stantly exhaling from a lovely and well-dressed woman-" I am compelled to do so-for here is - Morton House, a~d to it I am bound. You dine u at Anneadale today? Then you may expect a ~, full account of the wonders and mysteries within these gates. Good-morning." He lifted his hat-the ladies bent their heads with a general flutter of plumes and ribbons-- the carriage swept on in a yellow cloud of dust, and the young man found himself alone before the gates of Morton House. I Like his mother, he too felt, when those gates closed behind him, as if he had entered an en- chanted domain-a domain over the neglected beauty of which there rested a mournful still. ness, deeper and more pathetic than mere soli- t~ide; where brooded a solemn air of repose, and a subtle power of awaking thought and as- sociation which we have most of us observed in those places where life once ran riot, and from which it has long since departed forever. The young man involuntarily bared his head as he rode slowly along beneath the drooping trees; and patches of golden sunshine, flicker- ing softly down, fell on the rich black curls and the face that was subdued almost to mournful- ness. There was to him an indescribable pathos in the stately quiet around him. He thought of the by-gone voices that had once sounded along this avenue, of the gay hearts that had gone their way brimful of life and joy, and the sad hearts that had found even the beauty of~Kature a weariness and a mockery-well, they were all equally at rest now. He thought of the bright children who had played beneath those trees; and of the fair ladies who had dreamed sweet fancies under their shade, or-who knows ?-.- dropped bitter tears upon their mossy roots. The sod lay het~vily enough over those Jorely HOW A PALADIN STORMED A CASTLE. faces now; and it mattered little whether they had known most of the smiles or of the tears. Then he thought how often his father had passed here, with all manhood's brightest hopes stirring at his heart, and all manhood's proudest resolve in his breast-yet how little either the hope or the resolve had availed to change his fate. Mor- ton felt a bitter pang at the reeollecti~n of that father who had gone so early out of his life, but whose memory had ever remained with him as a vision of all that was most noble in simple chiv- alry-a lesson which had done more to mould the boy's character than all the precepts of living teachers. And he was going now to see the woman whose fatal beauty had wrecked the hap. piness of that father's life! He knew-every- body knew-that Edgar Annesley had poured out his love like water at Pauline Morton's feet, and that she had scorned 'him as she scorned all others in that proud heyday of her youth and power. And now there seemed a retribution in the fact that Edgar Annesley's son came forward as her sole defender against the fickle world that had once fawned at her feet. "It is the only revenge he would have wished," thought the son, placing, as he always did, the father in his posi. tion. "But he would never, for one moment, have considered it revenge, lie would have re- garded it as a duty, and thought himself happy in performing it. Ah, I shall never master the whole essence of his knightly creed and practice -he who was a very Bayard, and yet thought that he only fulfilled the common duties of a gentleman." And here, after all, had been the great secret of that resolution which so much surprised Mrs. Annesley. The young man had set out in life feeling himself his father's repre. sentative, and he had never felt this more than when slander' set its mark on the woman his father had loved. He had spoken to his mother as a Morton; but his warmest interest in Mrs. Gordon's cause rose from the fact that he was an Annesley. There, indeed, rose his true ani- mating impulse; and there was an anchor to hold him steadfast through any opposition. Suddenly, when he was ahout half-way to the house, a sound broke on the stillness-a shrill, childish voice that caused Ilderim to start and prick up his satin cars with ominous haste. When he had been brought to order, Annesley was able to comprehend that words of alternate entreaty and command. were apparently being addressed to himself by some unseen person. "Hol~! Monsieur! monsieur, come here!" cried the voice, in a strange mixture of French 33 and English. "Pardonnez-moi, but that nasty Babette-" The rest was lost in consequence of a sudden movement on Ilderini's part, which demanded all his rider's attention. When this exigence was passed, Morton stared about him in utter bewil- derment, for "the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token" of any human presence beside his own. "Who is there?" he demanded at last-- sending his own voice in the direction from which the other had proceeded. "Holloa !- who is there?" Thea the same childish tones replied, impa. tiently: "It is me-Felix Gordon. I wish you would make haste, monsieur, for my arm is very tired" Guided by the voice, Annesley now saw in the grove on his right a small figure clinging half to the trunk and half to the lower limb of a large tree, and thus suspended fully fifteen feet above the ground. "Good Heavens!" he cried. Then, spring. ing from his horse, one or two quick bounds car. ned him at once to the foot of the tree, where he perceived the peril of the child's position more clearly. The limb had evidently broken under him, and left him clinging with one hand to a fragment of it while he braced his feet against a gnarled knot of the tree, and thus par- tially relieved himself of his own weight. But it was only partially; and relief from the preca- rious position was impossible without the aid which bad so opportunely and so accidentally arrived. Morton did not waste any time in words. He saw that the face which looked down upon him was very self-possessed; but he also saw that it was very pale, and marked the painful rigidity of the attitude. He threw his gloves near a small velvet cap that lay on the grass, and the next moment was climbing the tree with the agil- ity of a school-boy. But when he began to approach the child, he saw that caution was necessary, or he 'would dislodge the boy's foot and send him crashing to the ground, for he could do little more than steady himself by his hand. Therefore, the rescuer crept carefully on the opposite side of the trunk, hardly allowing himself more than the merest clasp of it, and, when he was once safe among the bou~hs, ascended to a considerable height befor& he paused. Then, with extreme care, he descended from limb to limb until he reached the one im- mediately above the boy. There he seated him- page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] 34 MORTON HOUSE. HOW A PALADIN STORMED A CASTLE. 35 self~ and finding it secure spoke for the fin time. "Now I am going to draw you up to m When I take hold of your collar, you must h go the clasp both of your feet and your hnnc Don't be afraid; for I shall not let you falL" "Ma foil I am not likely to be afraid," sai the boy, half-scornfully. "But, if you are goin~ to do it, you had better make haste." Bending over, Annesley took a firm grasp ol the clothing that encircled the soft young neck and with one vigorous lift placed the child be fore him. His eyes were closed, and he was white t the lips, so that at first Anneslcy thought h had fainted. But the next Instant the fringe lids lifted, and a smile of triumph came over th( pale face. "Babette said I could not do it; but I have done it," he cried. "It was not my fault thai the limb broke." "It was not your fault," said Morton, kindly; "but it was an accident which is likely to happen at any time, and yea must not risk your neck in this way again. I may not be within call next time." "No," said the boy. He glanced rapidly and somewhat wonderingly over the face and form of his deliverer. "I am very much obliged to you, monsieur," he added, with the grand manner which had impressed -even Mrs. Annesley. "But, je ne vous connais pas-that is, I do not know you." "I am your cousin," answered Morton, smil- ing; " and my name is Anneslcy." "Ahi" said the boy; and as he strove to steady himself by altering his position, he gave a faint cry of pain. "It is nothing," he said, quick- ly, in answer to his companion's look of inquiry, "only my arm-I hurt it." "How?" "When the limb broke. Ah, I should have got down ifI could have used it-but I couldn't, you know.~~ ~' tet me see if it is much hurt," said Annes- ley; and, after the child had unflinchingly borne an examination, he pronounced it only sprained. "The bone is all right," he said; "but you were a brave fellow to hold on with one arm when the other was in this condition." "I'd have hurt both, if I had fallen," said hi~s new acquaintance, with a half-comh grimace- adding quickly, "but, monsieur, let us go down." "I have been thinking how we shall manage that, and I don't see very clearly yet. This is ~t the first thing to~ be done." He drew a small flask from his pocket, and held it to his com- ~. panion's lips. "1I$rink, my boy-it will burn ~t your throat, but never mind that-~you need I. it." The boy drank eagerly-far too eagerly, An- cI nesley thought; for he soon drew the flask ~ away. "That is enough-I don't want to unsteady your head for the descent." "Bah!" said the child, in the scornful tone - which came so strangely from his childish lips. "Bab, monsieur! Do you think I could not drink twice that much, and be steady yet?" "I should be sorry if you could," said An- I n~sley, gravely. The dark eyes flashed upon him suddenly. "Pourquoi, monsieur?" "Because it would show that you must have had very bad training," said Morton, quietly. "No child of your age ought to know the taste of brandy-much less, drink it as you did just * now. Who gives it to you?" "Alas! no one now," answered the boy, with candid regret. "Papa gave it to me sometimes -but that was only to worry mamma-and St. John gave it to mc very often." "But surely your mother does not like it to be given to you?" The small shoulders achieved a Gallic shrug which was simply perfect. "I should think not, indeed, monsieur! Mamma will not even let me drink a glass of wine-and IJabette, nasty thing! always tells her if I do." "Then, if I had been in your place," saidMor- ton, impressively, "I would not haVe taken that brandy, unless your mother had given it to you herself." The boy gazed at him wonderingly. "Mon- sieur, why not?" "Because I should have felt bound by her wishes, especially as she was absent," said Mor- ton, as gravely as befitted the character of Men- tor, with which the occasion had invested him. "A trust, my boy, is a thing which cannot he held too sacred. Come, I see you are very sen- sible, and I need not talk to you as I would to most children-I can speak to you almost as if you were a man. You mean to be a gentleman, do you not?" "I am a gentleman," was the quick reply. "I am glad to hear you say so. Ilut do you know what is the chief thing that makes a gentleman? Not blood, not birth-they are good in their way, but they won't do by themselves- not any one thing so much as the capability of being trusted." "Mamma says so-but she is a woman." "Well, I am a man, and I tell you the same thing. What is more, I tell you that nobody who bore the Morton name was ever lacking in this capability. Look round! do you see all this, which will be yours some day-these noble trees, and those broad fields yonder? Well, the men who owned all this before you were men who, if a trust had been given them, would have held it till they died-held it as you held that limb a little while ago. You are a Morton in courage, why not be a Morton in honor as well?" The sudden question took his listener en- tirely by surprise. He looked up-still with' wonder-into the earnest face which bent over him, as he said, slowly, "I am a Gordon, mon- sieur." "I know. But you are a Morton also; and, whatever the Gordons were, the Mortons, at least, have always been brave and loyal gentle- men. I could tell you many a story about the men of your name-and then, perhaps, you would think that such a name was worth ~~aring.~~ "Tell me," said the boy, eagerly. "St. John used to tell me about the Gordons; and I liked to hear how they killed men and ran away with women, and drank wine and brandy." "Then I am afraid you would not like my stories," said Morton, "for I have nothing of the sort to tell you. The men of whom I 4eak never did any of those things. They were simple, hon- orable gentlemen, who lived quiet lives, but who knew how to be true to their friends, to honor their God, and to serve their country; but not one of them would have put that flask of brandy to his lips!" Felix's large eyes opened widely. "Mon- sieur! Did none of them drink brandy?" "Oh, yes," said Morton, "I suppose all of them drank brandy, and sometimes more than was good for them. But none of them would have done so if they had been put on their honor not to do it by somebody who had a right to exact such a promise." Felix looked thoughtful. It was evident that a new light had dawned on his mind-a light very different, when presented by this handsome young cavalier, to that which had been urged by his mother. At last, as he did not speak, Annes- ley broke the silence. "Now, we must get down, or your mother will be uneasy about you. Were you alone when you climbed up here?" "No; Babette was with me. She said I should not do it, and I said I would--and I did! ~he tried to hold me; but she isn't strong, though her arms are so big; and, when I kicked her, she had to let me go." "Who is Babette?" "My bonne," answered the boy, with a gri- mace. "St. John says I am too old-I shouldn't have a bonne." "But, as you have got one, you ought to treat her properly. I am sorry to hear of your having acted asyou did. Horses kick-not gentlemen." "st. John says I ought to torment the life out of her, and then she will go ~ ~C And then your mother would get another, perhaps a worse one. Who is this St. John? He seems to have given you very bad advice." "He was papa's secretary, and I liked him; but mamma hated him." "Then you certainly ought not to obey him so well. Now let us move forward. How does your arm feel 2-well enough to bear a weight?" "N-.o," said Felix, regretfully. "What do you want me to do "I wanted you to clasp your arms round my neck, while I go down the tree. But we must compromise with yourf feet. Do you think you can hold on with them? '~ The boy laughed. "It will be funny," he said, "but I think I can." "This way-let me lift you to my shoulder. Are you firmly seated? Now, hold tight-take a grasp of my collar." "I'll do it." And he did do it, with a vigor which threat- ened strangulation unless their descent was very speedy. "Here we go!" said Mox~ton, gayly. "Pity we haven't got an audience for this feat in gym. nasties." And, lightly swinging loose from the bough on which they had been perched, he clam- bered down the trunk, without in the least seem- ing to feel his burdened condition. In less than a inmate they were standing on the ground laughing together in friendly good- fellowship. Ilderim had taken his departure some time before, so the sylvan solitude was all their own. "Now for this arm of yours," said Morton. "It must be attended to at once; and your clothes are considerably the worse for, your mis- hap. What will your mother say?" The boy shrugged his shoulders. "She wiir think of this,?' he said, touching his arm. bette will scold about the clothes."' page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] 86 MORTON HOUSE. THE ADELAIDE. 37 "Oh, J'dare say you can hold your cv against Babette. Is the avenue the short way to the house?" "No; I'll take you a shorter one." They set forward amicably, talking as th went. And, as they talked, it would be hard 1 say which of them conceived the most cordi liking for the other. On Morton's side it wr more than half pity, for he perceived the mon perversion of the child's nature, and read plain his reckless rebellion against the curb held ove him by feminine hands. But he saw the element of much nobility, together with the proofs of muc bravery, and the latter in itself delighted him The boy's face kindled when he spoke of heroism and, if it did not kindle when he spoke of chiv al~'y, it was because the principles of ehiva1r~ were foreign teachings to his mind-not be cause the nature was incapable of holding them Some sinister influence had plainly been at won with him-some influence like that which ha~ marred many another gallant nature-and had indissolubly associated valor with evil, and weak. ness with good, in the~ boy's apprehension. Pride of a certain sort had been duly instilled, but it was very far from being pride of a right sort-if indeed, there be a right sort. Annesley was puzzled by the strange contradictions that un- folded themselves before him. But he was more interested than repelled, and he could not help thinking how pleasant it would be to draw these warped conceptions straight. Perhaps he was something of a Quixote in those early days-too prone to amateur philanthropy. But there was that about him which caused most people to for. give the failing; and, considering how soon such inipulsive 'generosity is cooled and cured by later y~ars, they could well afford to do so. His heart yearned now over this fatherless boy-this boy who was his own kinsman-an~jl even while he talked to him of sports, and dogs; and horses, and on all the topics most dear to a boy's fancy,~ he was mentally considering how he could gain a sort~of4ght of tutelage over him. It all depended on that unknown woman whom he was going to meet-that woman whose sworn defender he had already constituted himself; and he began to feel more anxiety about her reception of him, than he had suffered himself to entertain before. This anxiety was soon set at rest; for, as they came in sight of the Felix uttered an exela- mation. "There is mamma now, and Babette, too-the horrid thing! They are coming after me." "Go and speak to them, then," said Morton, rn quickly. "They do not see you yet. Go at st once." The boy hesitated a minute; but, at the sec- ond bidding, he went-speeding like an arrow ~y straight to the terrace-steps, which his mother ~o was hastily descending, accompanied by Babette ii -the latter talking eagerly, with many gestien- L5 lations-while a group of servants followed be- d hind. y Annesley advanced deliberately, an amused r spectator of the scene which ensued of Babette's s stormy outcries and reproaches, of the mother's b passionate caresses, of the half-defiant, half- L. triumphant story of Felix, of the interested ser- , vants who brought their dusky faces near and - nearer-and of the final moment when all eyes ~ turned toward himself. - Then he came forward more quickly, very gallant and handsome in presence, very easy and graceful in bearing, yet with a slight tincture of embarrassment at the semi-heroism of his posi- I tion. * Mrs. Gordon met him with outstretched hand, and so warm a light in her eyes that he marked none of the ravages of time, but only saw'that they had spoken truly who called Pauline Mor- ton's beauty without peer. "Oh, thank you, thank you!" she cried in that soft and melo- dious voice which had never yet failed to fasci- nate an~onc who listened to it. "I owe my dar- ling's safety to you! How can I thank you enough!~~ "You must not thank me at all," said An- nesley, bending to kiss the fragile-looking hands that had grasped his own-and there was some. thing very courtly in the action, though it was one of unstudied impulse-" or you will make me fear that you forget I have a kinsman's right to serve you and yours." She read his face all over with one glance of her eyes, then spoke impulsively: "Ah, my kins- man, indeed-for I see you are Edgar Annes- Icy's son.~~ There was something in the tone which pro- nounced his father's name that touched Morton's heart to the quick-won it, indeed, for this woman who had wrecked that father's happi- ness. It seemed to him that in her voice there was an echo of the admiring reverence, the re- gretful tenderness, which always thrilled his own soul when he thought of. that brief life and pre- mature death-an echo he had never before heard on any lip-not even his mother's. He feW that one other beside himself appreciated the spirit which had passed from earth without itS due nieed of lasting honor; and an emotion of almost passionate gratitude sprung up within him. Per- haps Mrs. Gordon read the meaning of the swift & change that came over the frank young face; for she smiled kindly, and, laying' her hand on his arm, said: "Come. Let me welcome my kinsman to Morton House." And then Annesley found himself led forward into the castle which had been declared impregna- ble-a paladin, invested for the time being with a sort of chivalric triumph, and quite the master of the situation. CHAPTER VIII. THE ADELAIDE. "Now, Katy," said Miss Tresham, in a tone of authority, "you must say this lesson, my dear -and you must not mumble the words so that I cannot bear them, either. Take your finger out of your mouth, and hold up your head. Now begin-' A ~ "'A verb,"' drawled Katy, "'is a word which signifies to be, to do, or '-to do-or-or -is that all a verb signifies, Miss Tresham?" "'To suffer,"' prompted Jack, in a loud whisper, with his eyes fastened on the pages of his arithmetic. "Jack," said the governess, severely, "take your book and go and stand up in the corner, at the other end of the room. In a few minii~es I shall see if you know your own lesson well enough to be prompting Katy with hers. You will have to learn a French verb after school, for breaking rules.-Now, Katy, I will give you one more trial. 'A verb is a word which signi- fies to be, to do, or to suffer.' What~ next?" Very well. Go on." For Katy, having de- livered this much in a very loud voice, came to a sudden, dead stop. "'Verbs are-are of two kinds '-ain't they of two kinds, Miss Tresham?" "Go on, my dear," said Miss Tresham, with severe patience. "'Verbs are of two kinds,'" repeated Katy, dubiously, as it' the statement was, in her own opinion, a very doubtful one; and there she paused, and fell to twisting the corner of her apron. "Hold your hands still, and go on, Katy," said the much-tried governess. "'Verbs are of two kinds,"' repeated Katy, once more, and apparently in a state of despair. "'Verbs are of two kinds-positive, compara- tive, and super-'" Here an audible titter from the other scholars was silenced by a look from the teacher, and a well-thumbed grammar was held out to its owner. "Take your book, my dear, and put it aside. After school, you will have to learn this lesson. Now, children, get your slates and let me see your sums.~~ A slamming of desks and shuffling of books ensued, followed by the appearance of various slates, more or less covered with cipherings, all of which were submitted to Miss Tresham. She' took the one nearest her, and began casting up the column of figures. There was a temporary silence in the school- room, for all eyes were anxiously following the movements of the governess's pencil, and the only sounds were her strokes on the slate, as sh~ made her firm, round numerals, and the swaying to and fro of some boughs before the open window-boughs that wc faintly stirred by a soft, southern breeze, and between which the golden sunshine streamed across the school- room floor, across Katharine's dark-blue dress and bright brown head, across Jacl~'s darned jacket, and Sara's neat check apron, and smooth little tails of plaited hair. Unfortunately, how- ever, this window was directly over the front- door; and when a quick tread was heard advan~ cIng up the walk, and into the piazza, followed by a knock which echoed through the house, there 'was an instantaneous end both of silence and at.~ tension. "Hallo! who can that be?" cried Jack. "I bet it's Tom Ford, come aft* his gun, Dick! I told you you'd no business " "Hush, Jack!" said Miss Tresham.-" Here, Sara-here is the mistake in your sum. When you added up this line of figures, you forgot to carry there-" "Miss Tresham, if it's Tom, mayn't I go and give him his gun?" asked Dick, anxiously. He had been listening with all his ears to the muffled sounds below, but had failed to distinguish any thing to set his mind at rest. "I'll 'go and look over the banisters, an~ see who it is," said Jack, briskly, and he made a dart toward the door, but waa promptly arrested by the governess. "Come back this instant to your seat, Jack! It does not concern you to know who iS down- stairs.-Dick, if it is Tom Ford, your mother can V / "' M s page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] ii f £ p T 01 ax MORTON HOUSE. have the gun given to him. Now, be quiet and "I did 'in. But mistis come out, and asked attend to me. Five into thirty-eight goes how him to walk in, and told me to come up and tell often? I am asking you, Dick." you he was here anyhow." "Five into thirty-eight," repeated Dick, re- "He must excuse me. I never see any one moving his eyes hastily from the door, upon in the morning," Katharine said again, and re- which they were fixed. "Five into thirty-eight turned to the lessonshe was engaged with. goes '~ "It's Mr. Annesley," announced Katy, in a The servant disappeared, and blank dismay, loud voice, seasoned with discontent, settled over the ehil- "flow do you know?" demanded Jack, ca. dren. They had been unusually trying during gerly. the whole morning, and this interruption left "I heard him," she answered joyfully; and them almost unmanageable. They felt that Miss she jayiped down from her seat, and ran to the Tresham's refusal to see Mr. Annesley was an window. "Yes, it's Mr. Annesley-.-I see his outrage on themselves; and the perversity and horse I-Oh, Miss Tresham, please let me go stupidity with which they revenged themselves down I" would have exhausted any patience less long- "Take your seat," said Miss Tresham, briefly, suffering than hers. Perhaps it exhausted even "and don't let me hear another word." hers; but, if so, she did not afford them the "But he will go!" cried the child, turning gratification of seeing it. On the contrary, she first red and then pale, "and I won't get to see sat, a model of quiet authority, and held them him at all. Miss Tresham, please let me-." unflinchingly to the task in hand; but is was of "Katy, did you hear me tell you to take your so little effect that, when at last the welcome seat?" stroke of twelve told their release from the "But he will go!" repeated she, half-pas. school-room, only Sara. was able to close her sionately, half-entreatingly. looks and take her departure. "Ba-a! Now, cry like a baby about it," "The rest of you are kept in," said Miss said Jack. Tresham, looking at her watch, "and it, will "I'll cry if I want to!" was the angry re- depend on yourselves whether you get through tort, in time for dinner. If not, I shall leave you "I don't think you will," said Miss Tresham, here, and send some bread-and-water up to you. quietly. "If you don't come this instant to your -Jack, take Levizac there, and study 'moudre' seat, I will lock you up in the closet." for recitation; Katy, go to your grammar; now, Katy gave a great gulp; but she knew the Dick, let me see if you are still unable to cipher battle was an unequal one. ~he remembered out this sum." sow often she had got the worst of similar en- The threat of bread.and.water was not with- ~ounters, and she moved slowly and sullenly tow- out effect on Dick's hitherto obtuse brain, giving srd her chair. When she was fairly seated, Miss to it a sudden insight into multiplication and rresham turned ag~n to the arithmetic, division which it had lacked before. With little ~tDick, you have not yet told me how often further trouble the sum was worked out to Miss lye goes into thirty.eight." Tresham's patisfaction; and, when he had seized "seven times, and three over," responded his cap and scampered off, she was able to turn )iek, who had, meanwhile, been ascertaining the her attention to the other delinquents, who still act by the aid of isis fingers. sulked in different corners over their respective "And how often does-" grammars. "Tap, tap, tap," at the door-which was They found the struggle which they had pro- romptly thrown open b~ Jack, before Miss yoked a very hard one; for the young governess ~esham could utter a word. A servant stood stood steadfastly at her post, and never flagged ataide. "Mr. Annesley's down-stairs, ma'am," in word or sign all through the weary hour which e said, addressing Katharine. followed. A very weary hour it was, and, when She looked up and frowned 'a little, the dinner-bell pealed through the house, she was "Whom did he ask for?" looking pale and exhausted, though the battle "For you and mistis both, ma'am." was fought and won. The two valiant chain. "Tell him he must excuse me. I never ~ee pions had just finished their recitations, and sy one in the morning. You know this, Tom. were looking quite crestfallen as they put away rhy diiln't you tell him so at once?" their books and closed their desks. Katharine THE ADELAIDE. did not even have time to smooth her hair, or s add a single adorning touch to her plain morning- I costume. Mrs. Marks was very punctual herself; and liked punctuality in other people, especially I with regard to meals; so, with one deprecating glance at the little school-room mirror, Miss ~ Tresham ran down-Stairs. As she saw Ilderim still standing beside the front gate, she did not need the sound of a cer- I tam ringing laugh, which came through the open door, to tell her that Ilderim's master was in the I dining-room. The next minute she was shaking hands with him. "See how forgiving I am," he said, with a smile. "You refused to see me, and I not only wait your pleasure, but I encroach on Mrs. Marks's hospitality without the least remorse. Have you been victimizing those poor children forth last hour on my account?" "The matter lies just the other way," she answered. "It is they who have been victimiz- ing me on your account, until I wished that yon had timed your visit better. I make no apolo- gies for not seeing you. I believe you know my school-hours." "I do know them; but I thought you might relax your rule for once, since I have been away so long. However, Mrs. Marks was kind enough to see me, and has enter- tained me so well that I did not find the time long." "Indeed, then, Mr. Annesley, you must be fond of hearing about children and chickens," said Mrs. Marks, with a good.humQred laugh; "for I don't remember talking about any thing else. I felt sorry for you, but I knew there was no use in going after Miss Katharine. She never will come down in her school-hours." "And you're quite right, Miss Kate," said Mr. Marks. "Work is work, and play is play, and, in my opinion, the two should never be mixed up together.-Mr. Annesley, Let me help you to a piece of this duck.-Bessie, what is that you have before you?" "Some beef of my own corning," answered Mrs. Marks, with all a housekeeper's pride.- "Mr. Annesley, you must take some, and tell me what you think of it." Mr. Annesley accepted a mammoth slice, and, with commendable industry, ate a considerable portion of it, praising it the while highly; it is to be hoped, sincerely. Then the conversation turned upon the dif- ferent methods of corning beef, and a grave dis- cussion ensued, in which Morton acquitted him- 89 elf with credit, and much pleased his host and hostess. These good people, though even to their own hearts they would not have acknowledged such a hing, were not a little flattered by the attention vhich it had lately pleased the young owner of ~nnesdale to show them-attentions the source ~f which they were shrewd enough to suspect, ut which in themselves were no slight tokens )f distinction, as distinction was reckoned by ~he Tallahoma world. Already more than one mvious friend had said to Mrs. Marks: "How often Mr. Annesley comes ~to see foul" To which Mrs. Marks replied, quite indiffer- ently: "Yes, he is so fond of the children, and Richard likes him very much." Therefore, although she sometimes had seri- ous doubts concerning what was to be the end of his evident fancy for Miss Tresham, she could not find it in her heart to discourage his visits. "He is such a gentleman-there can be no harm in it," she once said to her husband, when she felt an unusual qualm on the subject; where- upon honest Mr. Marks answered in his way: "Harm, indeed I What harm could there be? I'll warrant him for a gentleman-Edgav Annesley's son couldn't well be any thing else- but, even if he wasn't, I should think Miss Tres- ham was old enough, and had sense enough, to take care of herself." On the understanding, therefore, that Miss Tresham was old enough, and had sense enough, to take care of herself, Mr. Annesley's visits had not been discouraged. Indeed, he was so bright a visitor that it would have been hard for any, either gentle or simple, to close their doors to him. As he sat at the table now, it was wonderful how he managed to adapt himself to the tone of his entertainers. Often gay, always pleasant, and invariably courteous, he talked household economy to Mrs. Marks, polities to her husband, and nonsense to the children, with an ease that amused Katharine. There was none of that offensive air of "You see I put myself on your level," which some people assume when they at- tempt this kind of thing; but, on the contrary, such a frank charm, such an art, or rather such a gift of throwing', not a pretence, but a reality of interest into every thing he touched, and such a happy power of enlivening the dullest subjects, that the most sensitive person could not have found a shade of patronage to resent. He proved 4 page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] 40 MORTON HOUSE. so entertaining that even Mr. Marks lingered over the passage and entered that gloomy solitude the meal, which was usually a very business-like known in the Marks household as "the par. ceremony; and, when at last he rose to go, apol- br." ogized for his departure. A very gloomy solitude it was, for the chil- "I am sorry to say that I must be going," he dren were strictly forbidden to eater it, and, remarked, with genuine regret. "But I leave being used only on state occasions, it had none you to the ladies, Mr. Annesley, and I don't cx- of that air of comfort which pervaded the rest poet you'll miss me much." of the house. The stiff horse-hair chairs were He knew perfectly well that his young guest ranged with regular uniformity against the walls, had not come to see him; but he could not rid while a long sofa, with hard back and harder himself of an idea that it was "impolite" to seat, occupied a position on one side of the lire- leave him in this way. place, where a brass fender, polished to the ex- But Morton replied that, though he was sorry treme of brightness, enshrined two equally bright to lose Mr. Marks's company, he had no doubt andirons and a paper screen of wonderful device. the ladies would manage to take care of him. Over the mantel there was a bouquet of flowers, And, as the bank was in need of its cashier, which bloomed all the year round (under a glass Mr. Marks said good-day, and departed. shade), a pair of silver candlesticks, a pair of Immediately thereupon Annesley turned and empty vases, and various similar articles, ar- looked at Katharine, who was still seated at ranged with due attention to mathematical pre- - / table, showing Nelly how to eat rice~pmid~ng vision. A round table occupied the centre of without sharing it between her dress and the the floor; and on this reposed various books in table-cloth: gorgeous bindings-chiefly standard devotional "What do you say?" he asked, with a smile, works. In a corner stood the piano, and near it "Will you accept the responsibility?" a stand on which lay a music portfolio hearing "Is it a very heavy-one?" she inquired. "I Katharine's name. expect-nh, Nelly, see how you have spilled that The owner of this name gave a slight shiver spoonful !-I expect to be equal to. it, Mr. Annes- as she entered the sacred apartment, and, in- icy, if you won't ask too much in the way of en- stead of proceeding directly to the piano, she tertainment." walked across the floor, and opened one of the "fr will only ask one thing," said he-for closed windows. "No, no; not that one," she they and Nelly had all that end of the table to said, as Annesley moved toward another, with themselves, as Mrs. Marks was at the moment the manifest intention of following her example. giving some order to one of the servants at the "If you open that, it will let in the sunshine; and ether, while Jack and Dick squabbled Over a Mrs. Marks will not allow such a thing, for fear custard in the middle, of fading the carpet. Though, I am sure," added "Well, and what is it?" she, with a comical glance at the vivid hues "That you will let this child alone, and come spread under her feet, "I think the carpet * and sing something for me. I have not heard would be much improved by a little fading. any good music in auch a long time. Not However, that is all a matter of taste. Now, since-.' what shall I sing?" "Since when?" she asked, as he paused. "My old favorite," said Morton, lifting the lid "Since I heard you last," he answered, with of the piano. "You know what that is." grave sincerity. She smiled, sat down to the instrument, and, Katharine laughed, and made him a little softly touching the keys, began to sing the "Ade- bow. laide" of Beethoven~that most pure, most ten- "After such a compliment, I should be very der' most spirit-like strain that ever breathed in ungrateful if I could refuse.-Mrs. Marks, will immortal tones the common story of our coni- you come with us to the parlor?" mon human love! And as she sang it-as the "After a while, my dear," said Mrs. Marks. glorious notes of the great master soared aloft in * "But don't wait for me.-You, Jack I - you, her rich young voice, as all the sordid things of Dick !-.Tom, take that custard from both of life seemed fo fade away, and all earth to grow them." more lovely in the divine glory of that tide of A stormy scene ensued, in the midst of which sound-it was not strange that the passion which ~A~ncsley and Katharine made an escape, shrug- is ever fed by such strains' as these deepened o~ ging their shoulders in sympathy as they crossed the mobile face beside her until one glance would THE ADII have told her the story of his heart, without any need of words. But she did not give that glance. When the song ceased, when her voice fell into silence, and the last vibration of those mournfully pas- sionate cadences had died away, she made an effort to speak lightly; and, without taking her eyes from the keyboard, said, "Will you please look in that portfolio and find me the Ave verum? I will sing it for you to-day, though I could not do so the last time you asked me." Half.mechanically, he obeyed-glad 'of a mo- ment's time in which to collect himself before the words were uttered that he now felt impelled to speak. Temptation had gone so far, that he could resist no longer. Whatever might be the result, he must lay his heart at this woman's feet, and tell her that it was hers to accept or reject. That magic song had stolen away all ha most steadfast resolves; for he had never intend- ed to declare himself thus prematurely. He al- ways had meant to make a formal demand for his mother's consent, and then to woo the girl he loved as if ske had been the one whom Fortune placed so far above the other! It was always the way of the gallant gentlemen who had borne his name-if poor and humble the maiden whom they loved, they sought her with more state than if ~he had been the highest in the land. So, Morton had meant to come, when he offered his hand to Mr. Marks's governess; but the sudden force of passion was too strong for him. Words suddenly rushed to his lips, and in another mo- ment Annesdale and all its belongings would have lain at Katharine Tresham's feet, if Fate had not intervened. But, turning over, with absent mind and careless hand, the sheets of music, he came to a copy of the song he had just heard, the song which had stirred every fibre of his heart-the sad, passionate, beautiful "Adelaide." As he took it up, there fell from between the leaves an open letter. He caught it, as it was fluttering to the floor, and almost unconsciously his eyes fell on the first lines. They were written in a man's hand, and stood out black and clear on the white paper. "Mv DEAREST KATUAnINE: I am terribly un- certain whether this letter will reach you, but at * least-.-" This much Mortoxi could not avoid seeing- more than this, he did' not read. Indeed, the hot, sharp pang which shot through his heart LAIDE. 41 sent a mist to his eyes which jvould have pre- vented his doing so, if he had felt such a thing possible. Then he strove to steady himself. Might not Katharine, for aught 'he knew, have brothers, uncles, cousins, a dozen relations, from whom such an address might naturally be per- mitt~d? What a jealous fool he was! He would speak to her immediately, and her first look would show him his folly. So he did speak -with just a slight quiver in his voice to betray his anxiety. "Miss Tresham." Katharine turned quickly, and,' as her glance fell from his face to the open letter in his hand, Morton's heart gave a great bound-then sud- denly stood still. For she did not smile in recognition of a friend's epistle, nor blush that rosy red which greets a lover's missive; she did not hold out her hand or utter one word-she only turned ashen pale, and shivered from head to foot as if with a sudden chill. There was an instant's pause: then Morton spoke hastily, as if eager to relieve a possible fear. "I found this a moment ago, Miss Tresham. Do you leave your letters where any one might find and read them?" She did not answer-only held out her hand toward him. "It may not be of importance," he went on; "but still " "It is ofimportance," she broke in, passion- ately. "To think that I should have left it here! I must have been mad I" She took the letter, and, walking to the fire~ place, struck a match, set it on fire, and watched it burn until the last fragment was ashes. Then she shivered once more from head to foot. "I must have been mad!" she repeated. And there was something in the tone and action which settled like ice upon the man who loved her-the man who, a moment before, had wellnigh asked her to be ha wife. He could sooner have put his hand into the fire she had kindled than ask that question now. Not that any suspicion of any kind had entered his mind against her, but simply that he felt chilled to'the very heart. The women who had always made his ideals of the sex werO women mntct 'whose stainless lives there entered no pages that all the world might not read; and not a 'worldling of the world held more firmly than this chivalric but most fastidious gentleman the great maxim of the world, "Distrust secrecy.~~ So, when Mrs. Marks bustled in a few mm- page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] 42 MORTON HOUSE. M. WARWICK MAKES AN OFFER. 43 utes later, her advent was a relief to him as ii as to Katharine, and, for the half-hour which sued, that good woman had all the burden of c~ versation on her own shoulders. Then Mr. Annesley found it was time to g so he made his adieux and took his departure riding very slowly from the gate where lider had stood so long, and unmindful of the wisti glances sent after him by poor little Katy, who heart had been set upon a ride.. When Katharine was left alone in the park her first act was to go and toss over the litt ~feathery heap of ashes on the hearth, to see th no end of paper remained. Then she raised h face with a weary sigh, half of relief; half pain. "All gone!" she said, aloud. "But Gc only knows when that may come to me which can never, never cast from me, as I now ca~ these ashes!" -4-- CHAPTER IX. MR. WARWXc~ MAKES AN OFFER. Az.rxn that day~ the Marks household saw n~ more 9? Mr. Annesley for some time. Even i the walks which Katharine regularly took witi the children, they ceased to meet him, as ofter before; and they might have thought hirnabseni from home, if'they had not seen him occasionally~ ride past on his way to and from the village~ Katy mournedd this sudden desertion faithfully but even for Katy's heart there proved at last to be a balm in Gilead, and it came in this way. Between the well-cultivated fields which Mr. Marks called his own, and the stately Morton woods that stretched to meet them, and bore the Morton name for many a long aiiile, there lay a strip of land belonging to the latter, which, hav- ing been "thrown out" for years, had made that place dear to every child's heart-an old field where broom-straw and young pines disputed possession with blackberry-bushes and wild fruil~. trees; where strawberries by bushels were to be found in spring, and sweet, delicate wild-flowers bloemed in profusion; where the boys of Talla. hom~ came when they wanted to arrange strictly px*ate'racing or shooting matches; where there wasaiways a ring ready for amateur circus per- fo~tue~~s; where there was a " branch"' in Which minnows and crawfish abounded (not to speak of the best p~ssib~e mud for mud.pies), and where the Marks children spent as much time,~ 4 0 1 reIl the whole year round, as was left at their own en- disposal. )n- One day they came home from this favorite resort full' of momentous intelligence-they had o; made a new acquaintance. When the name of - this new acquaintance was heard, the interest of mm the elders was scarcely inferior to that of the hi children; for it was Felix Gordon-the little se prince, as people began to call him, on account of his proud young beauty and grand young man- ir, ners. Ic "And he's downright jolly, mamma," cried at Jack, in his vociferous way. "I thought he was er a baby, you know-having a great big nurse f following him about all the time; but he isn't a hit of a one. And he says he hates her; and d he says she ain't going to mind him any more." I "But he's got a boy that follows him now," ~t said Dick; "and he orders him about just as if he was a man." "But' I thought his mother kept him so close, he was never allowed to see anybody?" said Mrs. Marks. "lie must have been there without her knowledge." "He says he can go anywhere he pleases now, provided this boy goes along with him," ) answered Jack, whosevolubilitymade him spokes. man for the party, whether the others would or 1 no. "He says Mr. Annesley talked his mother into 'lowing it; and he says he's going to have a pony soon as ever Mr. Annesley can find one for his mother to buy." "And he says I may ride it!" broke in Katy, determined to have an utterance on this point at least. "My daughter!" said her mother, reproving. ly. "I hope you were not such a forward little girl as to ask him." "Oh, no, mamma; he promised me his own self." "Oh, did he?" cried Jack, sarcastically. "Well, I reckon he did-after you'd been hint. ing like forty! She told him she liked riding, mamma, and she kep' a-telling 'him so, till he was 'Wgecf to ask her. Yes, missy, you know that's so!" "I don't," retorted the little lady, angrily. -"' 'Tain't so, either, mamma; he asked me his own self." "Why didn't he ask Sara, too, then?" in- quired provoking Jack. "She's a great deal prettier than you are-you stuck.up, forward thing!" "He did ask me," said Sara's quiet little voice.-" He turned round and asked me just after he asked Katy, mamma; and just like he was a grown-up gentleman. But 1 told hina no, I was much obliged to him, but I was afraid of horses." "And that was what Katy ought to have told him," said Jack, looking severe reproof at Katy. "But I ain't afraid of horses," cried she, indignantly; "and I oughtn't to have told a story.-Mamma, he is so nice. Mayn't we please go to see him ?-he asked us." "Yes, mamma, he asked us-mayn't we 1"' chorussed all the rest. But of this, Mrs. Marks would not hear. "You may go to see him, if he comes to see you," she said; "but otherwise-Certainly not." With this condition, the children were obliged to be content-trusting to their new acquaint- ance for its fulfilment. But their new acquaint- ance either would not or could not fulfil it. He met the little Markses every day in their favorite place of resort; and every day they brought home more wonderful accounts of Felix's say- ings and doings; but Felix himself never a~- peared. And so the Indian summer came gradually to an end; the soft, blue haze faded from the landscape; a few fierce storms tore all the bright leaves from the trees; and Winter-at least as much of winter as the fair South ever knows-was seated on his throne. His first act of power was a nipping frost, accompanied by such a "freeze" as had not been known in that region of country for a fabulous number of years -a freeze which, to the amazement of every. body, spread a sheet of ice over a small mill-pond near the town, and put all the boys of Tallahoma figuratively on their heads, and literally on their backs. In the new field of amusement thus opened, neither Jack nor Dick were behiadhand; and one day they joined in begging Miss Tresham to come and witness their prowess. "Sara and Katy want to see some skating," said the boys, who were not bad brothers as boys go; "and mamma says they can't come out to the pond, 'less you'll come too, Miss Tresham. Please, do- it's such fun." go~d "Is it?" said Miss Tresham. "But it is cold fun, too, for people who don't skate. Have you got a fire out there?" [ "Oh, the biggest sort," cried both boys,-in a ~ breath. "And we'll make it up splendid, if 1you'll come, Miss Tresham." sa Tresham looked doubtfully out, of the window. It was certainly cold; but the boys rere anxiOuS; Katy and Sara looked unutterable hings; she herself felt that she needed exer- ~ise; and, then~-the wind was not blowing! Phat is such a great point in a climate where itill cold can never be very dreadful. "Do you want to g~ very badly?" she asked, rith a smile, of the two little girls. And they-who knew by that smile how bheir cause was won-answered, eagerly: "Oh, ycs'm; oh, Miss Tresham, indeed we do!,, "Very well, then; we will walk out after Elinner. And as for you "-she shook her finger at the two young skaters-" if you deceive mo about the fire, I will never trust either ~f you again." They made the most effusive promises, the two young scamps, who were secretly burning to be oiL "Never mind, Miss Tresham, I'll see about it," said Jack, grandly. "I'll make them bring heaps of pine-knots, and they shall all be put on when you come.-But, I say, Dick, look sharp-it's time we were off." "Off!" echoed the governess. "Are you not going to wait for dinner?" "We can't," said both in a breath. "But Mom Judy promised to have us a basket ready, and we'll eat it on the road." (Theydid not mean the basket, but its contents.) "Don't change your mind, Miss Tresham.-we'll look for you." "You shall see me," answered she. "I hope you will enjoy yourselves." They had the grace to thank h~ir; and then were off, running down the passage, leaping down the staircase, as if the fate of a nation depended on their speed; and filling the house with that stir and clatter, that healthful noise and pervad- ing sense of vitality, which only the presence of boys can diffuse. After they were gone, Miss Tresham and her two young charges drew near the school-room fire, and waited for the sound of the dinner-bell. It came at last, breaking in upon the oft-told story of the "Fair One with~ the Golden Locks;" and they went down together, the children claim- ing each a hand of their young teacher, and mak- ing quite a pretty picture when they entered the dining-room. At least, so a gentleman thought who was standing before the fire with a paper in his hand, and at sight of whom Katy burst into an ercia. nation. "Why, unky! I thought you never came to dinner." page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] 44 MORTON HOUSE. "I have come to-day, at any rate," said he. dinner-table," said Katharine; "but the poor "Do you mean to say you are not glad to see bushes are melancholy sights now. Did you me?" notice them as you came through the garden, Mr. "Oh, yes, so glad-ain't we, Sara? But, Warwick?" unky-" Here a sudden pause, and a tiptoe "Yes," answered Mr. Warwick. "Your peeping into "unky's" coat-pocket. cloth-of-gold buds, especially. The frost did "Well?" said he, apparently unconscious not spare you even one." of this fact. Mr. Annesley'll send her some prettier how- * But Katy was too busy for speech. She had ers," remarked Katy. "He always does; and I detected a brown-paper parcel in that receptacle, like them better than ours." and she was bow intent on an abstraction of the "No doubt of that, you true daughter of same-a design very well favored by Mr. War- Eve!" said Mr. Warwick, who had sufficient dis- wick's deep interest in politics. Then came a creation to remove his eyes from Katharine's face, shout. and transfer them to the saucy little speaker. "Oh, Sara, look! Mamma-Miss Tresham-. "It would be all the same, too, if we had the look!" japonicas, and Mr. Annesley sent the roses.-.- "French candy, I declare!" said Mrs. Marks. What is it, Bessie?" "John, you really ought not to be so extrava- "Do come to dinner," said Mrs. Marks, who ~ant. You ruin these children." had finished piling the ham before her with * "Oh, mamma, it's so nice!" said Katy, with well-cut slices, and was at leisure to observe a crystallized fig in one hand, and a rose-flavored thftt the leg of mutton, at the other end of the triumph of confectionery in the other. table, had ceased to steam. "Richard, you are "So nice, is it?" said her mother, severely, surely warm by this time?" "And pray, where arc your manners? Have "Moderately," said Mr. Marks, as he left the you offered Miss Tresham any ?-or even your fire with a regretful sigh and went round to his uncle? No; you need not do it now". (as Katy seat, which had two comfortable sluices of( air penitently gathered up the paper in her two little blowing upon it from two ill-fitting windows. hands), "I hear your father's step on the piazza, After his short grace was finished, and he be- and dinner is ready.-Tom, put that candy on the gan to carve the leg of mutton, he observed the mantel-piece." absence of Jack and Dick. "May I have it as soon as dinner's over, "So those young scamps are off to the pond mamma?" asked Katy, watching, with regretful again!" he said. "I wonder they don't kill eyes, the elevation of the candy. themselves. Everybody seems pond-crazy! All '~ Yes, you may have it; and I hope you will Tallahoma has gone out on a general jollifica- offer the rest of us some," said Mrs. Marks, tak- tion." ing her seat at the head of the table. "I am "We are going, too, papa," cried Katy, eag- fond of candy myself.-Well, my dear, it is cold erly. "Miss Tresham is going to take us this * out-is it not?" - evening " This was addressed to Mr. Marks, wIlo, com- "Is she? Well, I'm sorry for Miss Tresham, ing in from the outer world with the state of the then. I know you little ones have tormented her thermOmeter written legibly on his nose, made into it." straight for the fireplace. "No," said Miss Tresham, speaking for her- "Cold! I should think so, indeed," he an- self, "I shall really enjoy the walk. How far is sw~ered, "Almost cold enough to nip a man's it to the pond?" ears. I never saw such a spell of weather but "A good two miles," said Mr. Warwick once before in my life." "Rough miles, too; so I would advise thick "And that was not in December, 1 am sure," shoes and warm wrappings," said Mr. Warwick, surrendering possession of the Dinner went off in short order; and, when hearth-rug. it was over, the children ran for their cloaks and "No; I never saw any thing like it in Decem- hoods without demanding the candy, which Mrs. her before," answered Mr. Marks, standing with Marks suggested should be taken along and hi~ back to the firO, and critically sCanning the feasted on beside the pond. table over his wife's head. "Our mild weather "Wrap up your best," said Mr. Warwick, always lasts until after New-Year." with a smile, as the young governess rose to "Last Christmas we had garden rosea~m the follow. "I shall stay here to see-and admire," MR. WARWICK MAXE~ AN OFFER. 45 he added, when the door had closed on her.- "What a pretty creature she is, Bessie!" "And as good as she ~s pretty," said Mrs. Marks. ~nthusiastieally. "The children love the very ground she walks on; and, if ever I had a lucky day in my lire, it was the day I met Katharine Tresham." The table was cleared oft; draped with its bright-crimson cover, and wheeled into its ac- customed corner; the last plate and goblet whisked away to the pantry, the fire replen- ished, the hearth swept, the cheery dining-room looking the cheeriest, when Katharine came in again. She found Mr. Warwick the only occupant of the room-Mr. Marks having gone into town, and Mrs. Marks into the kitchen. It was that important era in housekeeping known as "hog. killing time," and the lard and the sausages ab- sorbed Mrs. Marks almost as much as the pig- tails and the roasting thereof distracted the chil- dren. Katharine uas not surprised to find her gone, but she was surprised to see Mr. Warwick, who looked up from his newspaper as she en- tered. "Ready?" said he. "I gave you thirty min- utes, and you have only taken fifteen. Well-" with an amused glance from her bontiet to her shoes-" I think you can safely defy the weath- er." "I think I am ridiculously wrapped up," an- swered she; "but panics are infectious. You have all been talking about the cold till I de- luded myself into a belief that it must be Sibe- ria; while the truth is, that I opened my window just before I came down, and it is absolutely pleasant." "So much the better for your walk, then. But I think you'll change your mind when you are once out-of-doors." Just here there was a rush. in the passage outside; and the two little girls flashed into the room in their warm cloaks and bright-crimson hoods. Then came an outcry. "Why, Miss Tresham's all ready, and we don't have to wait-how nice!" "Katy, don't forget about the candy." "Unky, please hand me down the candy." "Do it up tight." "Miss Tresham, please tie this knot. I can't get my gloves off." "You little torment!" said Miss Tresham. "flow can I do it when I have my own gloves on? Ask Mr. Warwick." "Unky, please." 4 "I suspect Miss Tresham could do it better with gloves than I can without," said "unky." But he tied the knot very deftly, neverthe- less; and then slipped the package into his pocket, much to the astonishment of Katy and Sara, who raised a frightened cry of expostula- tion. "Unky 1" "Oh, that's Indian-gift!" But the Indian-giver turned quietly to the governess. "May I go along, if I promise to show you the best road, and not to promote any disturb- ances?" Katharine looked surprised. "Are you in earnest, Mr. Warwick?" "To be sure I ama in earnest," said Mr. War- wick.- "I came home for the purpose of taking these little ones out; but they will enjoy yo)ar company more than mine. Only, as I don't like to break up my day for nothing, may I go too?" "Of course, you may. - Children, do you hear? Your uncle is going with us." The afternoon was dazzlingly bright when they went out into it; and Mr. Warwick was soon forced to acknowledge that Katharine's judgment of the temperature was better than his own. Being bright and still, the atmosphere had softened very much, and seemed~ to them almost mild as' they walked in the full glow of the winter sun. "This will be the last day of skating," said Mr. Warwick. "Indeed, I doubt if the ice is safe now. I think I shall stop Jack and Dick as soon as we get there." "Even if the ice broke, is the water deep enough to drown anybody?" asked Katharine, to whom a mill-pond did not suggest any thing much to be feared. "It is not less than twelve or fifteen feel in depth," said her companion. "I used to swim in it when I was a boy, and I know it well-be- sides, the waters are very full just now. On the whole, I think those young gentlemen had better rest on their laurels." "If there Is any danger, yes, indeed. But we can't stop themanow; so please don't let us talk about It and make ourselves uncomforta- ble." They did not. On the contrary, they talked of other things much more agreeable. Mr. War. wick could not help feeling that many a man might have envied him his position, and that there l~iid seldom been a lighter form or a page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] 46 MORTON HOUSE. brighter face than the one now walking beside self-love which-let us disguise it as we may, is, and smiling upon him; while Katharine, for her after all, the root of most of our discontent. We part, had never been one of-the girls who can think too highly of ourselves and our own deserts. find little or nothing to say to a man who is not If we would only try to recognize ourselves as we young enough or foolish enough to be converted really are, we should feel so ashamed of our re- into an admirer. indeed, these two had been pining that I think we would be content ever friends in a certain reserved but sincere fashion afterward to take whatever God is good enough ever since the young governess entered the Marks to give us,' and leave the choice of good or bad household. She was often more nearly approach. fortune to Him." ing the confidential with him than with any one "Do you speak from experience?" else; and they fell into something of n personal She smiled a little. strain now as they walked along the rough foot. "Can't you tell that? One reads such things path, and tri ulAed thetneelvcs rio more about hi books, hut one only leams them in one's own the children than just to keep their crimson heart. It seems to me it is always easy to tell hoods in sght. whether it has been read or learned." "Yes, I pity you," Mr. Warwick was saying, Mr. Warwick did not reply; and they walked "and all the more because you don't seem to on silently for some time, no sound breaking the pity yourself. If you were discontented, prob. stillness save the echo of their own tread and the ably I should not trouble myself to sympathize children's merry tones floating back through the with you. But, as it is, I 'think very often that clear air. Just here their road was through a you have a hard lot for such a young person." pine-fcrest; the tall, straight trunks rose on "~anypeople younger than I am have a every side; the deep, sombre green stretched much harder one," said Katharine, quietly. away far as the eye could view; the ~oldeu sun- "Does that never occur to you? It always does shine streamed with a mellow brightness through to me." the stately arcades; and, although there was "But not people who seem so essentially born only a slight breeze stirring the tree-tops, the and fitted for other things." sound above their heads was like the distant "What sort of things do you mean?" murmur of the sea. It put Katharine strangely "I think you know. Wealthluxury, the in mind of the ocean; and, together with the appliances of refinement, the power of being soft carpet of pine-straw under their feet, and generous-for I think you would be generous the aromatic fragrance of the forest around, if you had the power-and of putting your tal- came back to her afterward-recalling that after. ents ~o some better use than their present one." noon, and giving its events a picture-like distinct- A flush came over the girl's fac~ as he spoke, ness in her memory. At last Mr. Warwick said, but died away before he finished., thoughtfully: "That is the way my own vanity speaks to "It is not even as if you had been born to me sometimes,'1 she said; "but I never listen to this sort of thing." such suggestions. I go and get Dick's sum, or "But I was born to it," she answered, quickly. Sara's exercise, and drum away the phantom with "All my life I knew that some day I must earn the rule of three or the evocative case.'1 my 'own bread. That was the reason why my "But it comes back?" aunt-my dear, kind aunt-was so careful to "Yes, sometimes. Then there is nothing to educate me thoroughly. She could give me noth- be done but to face it boldly, and ask myself if I ing besides an education." am really so weak and vain as to think myself Almost before he had time to' consider the better than the millions who have toiled to their incivility of the question, Mr. Warwick' had lives' ends, more humble and more unknown asked "Why?" than I am~ if better talents than any of mine "Because she was an officer's widow, and her have not gone dowu into the dust soundless; pension ended with her life," Katharine answered. and if".-her voice sank slightly here-" I am "But, while she lived, I had a very happy time wiser than He who orders our lives for us from -and, after that, it did not matter." their beginning even to their end." Her voice choked, as she uttered the last "And then?" words; and her companion did not need to ".4Lhd' then I think that I cannot be suf- glance at her,'to know why she drew down her flei~tly grateful for all the blessings my life has veil so hastily. He gave her time to recover kn~a; and I try to crush down the vanity and herself, and then said, kindly: 'I "Courage. ilemember how young you are. Happiness may come to you yet, in the form you like best." "And what is that form?" He shrugged his shoulders slightly, as he had a habit of doing over any knotty point of legal evidence. "I may be mistaken, but it seems to me you would like best the happiness that could give you all those things of which you have so keen an appreciation - pictures, music, amusement, and the admiration which all women value so highly.t' "I certainly like all those things," said Kath- arine, with a little sigh; "but I assure you, I can live without them and be happy too. No, Mr. Warwick, you have not hit upon the one great gift which Happiness must bring in her hand when she comes to me-or else not be happiness at alL" Mr. Warwick looked at her intently. Did she mean Morton Annesley's love, he wondered. If so, why did she speak of it thus frankly to him? It was not like Katharine Tresham to do so. "Tell me what it is?" he asked. The clear, gray eyes-pure and truthful as God's noonday-met his own, as she answered, quietly: "It is the gift of peace." After that, nothing was said for several min- utes. Katy came dancing back with a spray of holly which was duly admired, and which, at her request, Katharine fastened in her brooch. Then, after she ran forward again, Mr. Warwick spoke: "Miss Tresham, I am going to say some- thing which may seem impertinent, but which, I trust, you will take as it is meant-in simple kindness. I have noticed, for some time past, that you have not been quite yourself, that you have grown thin, that your spirits are less even than heretofore, and that some trouble is evi- dently preying upon you. Is not this so?" Katharine caught her breath, paling percep- tibly. "I hoped no one had noticed it," she said. "I am sure I may safely say that no one but myself has done so," he answered. "I atn a very close observer-Nature gave me the habit, and my profession has taught me its importance -but you are a very good dissembler. The trifles in which you have betrayed yourself were light as air; but the driftwood shows the direction of the current, you know. I did not need to hear what you said a moment ago, to convince me that something is wrong with you. If it is any 47 thing ideal, I can do nothing for you; but if it is any practical trouble, such as comes to 'us all sooner or later, why, I trust you believe me to be your friend." "Yes," she said, simply; "I am glad to be- lieve it." "And I am glad to hear you say so; for I have watched you closely, ever since you entered my sister's house, and I have never yet known you to trifle with truth. That, first, made, me like you, I think-for, of all virtues, it is at once the greatest and the rarest. If you believe me to be your friend, there is not much more t~ add. A woman-even a woman as brave as 'you are-is such a helpless creature in the world, that she is often made to suffer acutely through her weakness and her ignorance. In any emergency, therefore, I hope you will remember that my ser- vices are at your command." "Thank you," said Katharine, lifting her face' toward him, with a grateful light shining over it. "You are very kind, and there is no one to whom I would as soon go. But-" she paused a moment, and added, slowly-" I must bear my burden alone." He turned and looked at her. The light had faded, and the young face seemed to have hard- ened into a self-contained power of endurance. The mouth was set, the eyes were resolute, and, as she met his glance, she repeated her words in the same tone: "I must bear my burden alone." "I cannot help you?" "No. You are very good; but only He who laid it on me can take it away." Again they walked on silently; and the'law~ yer felt half inclined to indulge in his quiet, cynical shrug. "It is Annesley, after all," he' thought. "What a fool I was to suppose it could be any thing else-and a still greater fool to make such an offer! The very pine-trees might afford to laugh at the idea of my playing confidant and console~ in a love-affair!" Then he glanced at the face beside him, and felt again a sudden conviction that itwas not An- ne~Iey-not any cross in love, or ordinary heart- disaster-which brought such a look of suffering and resolve to those earnest eyes. An impulse hardly to be accounted for, and not at all to be analyzed, made him suddenly extend his hand, and place it on Katharine's arm. "One word more," he said. "You are en- tirely unprotected byany friend or relative; this~ fact must excuse the request I am about tomake. Will you promise to come to me if you ever stand' 4 MTh WARWICIC MARES AN OFFETh page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] 48 MORTON HOUSE. in greater need than you do at present of service bright shawls were laid over the roots of trees or advice?" to form impromptu easy-chairs, gay, scarfs and Katharine paused and looked at him wi~t. hoods dangled from the boughs, the golden sun. fully. "Mr. Warwick," she said at last, "I can. shine streamed over all with a glory and beauty nQt promise what I am never likely to per. entirely its own, ai~d the majestic forest stretched form." around in its solemn grandeur. "You mean-?" Katy and Sara darted forward, while Miss "I mean what I said before-that I can only Tresham and Mr. Warwick followed more slowly carry my burden to God, and He only can release ~toward the nearest tire. As they approached, me from it." two ladies and two gentlemen, who were stand- The keen lawyer-glance regarded her earn. ing directly in front of it, drew back, and Ka. estly-searching, perhaps, for some shadow of tharine found herself facing Mrs. French, Miss shame or fear-but it only found a steady dig. Vernon, Mr. Annesley, and a stranger whom she nity on the pale face, and an open candor in the had never seen. Neither of the ladies noticed eyes that looked brave enough to face death it. her, excepting by a stare-well-bred on Miss selfiunflinehingly. Vernon's part, ill-bred on Mrs. French's-but "You are strong-for a woman," he said, Morton bowed as if to a grands-dame, and the after a while; "but your hour of weakness may other gentleman gave a glance of the most un- come. I hope you will remember, then, that my disguised admiration. offer still holds good." "What a pretty woman, Annesley!" Katha. "Yes," she answered, quietly, "I will remem- rine heard him say, after she had passed. "It ber it with gratitude." can't possibly be one of the Tallahoma belles." There was nothing more to be said. They Annesley's reply was inaudil3le; but its tenor resumed their walk, and, after a minute, fell into was easily to be surmised, from the long other topics-talking until they caught a glimpse "Whew!" which' was his companion's com. of frozen water shining through the trees, and ment, and which, evidently, would not have Katy called out, joyfully: been the only one if Mrs. French had not "Here we are I here's the pond!" broken in. "Here is the pond, certainly; but here are "Quite a nice person, too, I have heard- not the skaters," said Mr. Warwick, glancing that is, for her position. She has something of over the sheet of water which lay all silent and good style about her, don't you think so, Irene? glittering before them. "They must be. lower I wonder where she got that pelisse-the cut of down-nh I yes, I see them now. This way, Miss it is excellent. But look at the fur on it-rca! sable, my dear, as sure as you live. What very He led the way around a small headland, for bad taste-for her!" the outline of the pond was very irregular, and "Why for her, Adela?" asked the blnff a picturesque scene burst suddenly upon them- frank tones that were certainly not Morton's. a scenevivid with color, and bright with animated "Why shouldn't she wear a pretty thing as motion, 'set in the midst of the winter landscape. well as other women? I suspect she needs all This p~rt~on of the -pond was alive with skaters the consolation that pelisses and furs can give in every. stage of proficiency and non-proficiency, her." One or tWo seemed at home on their skates, a "Don't talk so loud, Frank, and don't be so fewmauaged to keep their feet andinove with a silly," was the unceremonious reply. "Pedple tolerable degree of ease; but the vast majority ought to dress according to their rank inlife, or were hopelessly sliding about, and ignominiously else what's the good of there being ranks in falling down every other minute, to their own dis- life? 'For my part, when I see anybody dressed cozetiture and the immense amusement of the so absurdly, I feel as if I never wanted to put spectators on the shore. These spectators were on a handsome thing again." not by any means contemptible in point of num- "I wish you would stay of that mind," bers, for three large fires were blazing as only laughed the gentleman. And Katharine felt lightwood can blaze, and grouped around and certain that he was the legal possessor of all about each were knots of young people, chil. Mrs. French's pretty toilets, and all Mrs. French's dren, and servants. In the background stood long bills I several empty carriages, and quite a goodly array "Shall we go over to the next fire?" asked of horses. Camp-stools and baskets abounded, Mr. Warwick, whose face looked amused and THE GORDON PLAID. 49 contemptuous both at once "I think it is bet- ter than this." Katharine assented, and they moved away, just as Miss Vernon's clear tones sounded with quite a bell-like distinctness. "I think a pretty woman has a right to adorn her beauty to the utmost of her power, wherever she may be placed. That is one right of the sex for which I shall always be an advo- cate, Adela." I' "But the working-classes, Irene-" "We are not speaking of the working- classes," interrupted the other, with a very cool disdain in her voice. "We are speaking of a member of a liberal profession, I thought. I hear that Miss Tresham is very charming, and for a long time I have had a fancy to know her. -Mr. Annesley, you are a friend of hers; will you introduce me?" "With pleasure, Miss Vernon," said Morton, coloring quickly "I shall be very glad to do so, if you are in earnest." "Of course I am in earncst.-Adcla, won't you come also?" "I?" Mrs. French drew back in astonish- ment. "Irene, you are surely jesting-you are surely not going to be introduced to Mrs. Marks's governess ~ "You will see," said Irene, with a slight nod and a merry laugh. "Carry her to the car- riage if she faints, Frank.-Mr. Annesley, may I take your arm?" CHAPTER X. TUE GOUDOK rLAID. Tns latter part of this conversation Katharine had not heard. She had moved away to the other fire, and was talking to Mr. Warwick about ~Jack's skating. So her surprise was entirely un- affected when Annesley's voice spoke her name, and, turning, she saw him standhg close beside her, with a beautiful, golden-haired vision lean- ing on his arm. "Miss Tresham," he said, hurriedly, "allow me to present Miss Vernon. She is anxious to make your acquaintance, and-" "Hopes you do not object to having it taken by storm," interrupted Miss Vernon, offer- ing her hand. "You must excuse me, if this is an unceremonious proceeding, Miss Tresham; but I am very anxious to know you, and I hope you do not object to knowing me." It would have been hard to do so under the influence of that gracious smile-for Irene Ver. non could be very gracious when she chose-and Katharine answered, with her usual simplicity of word and tone: "You do me too much honor, Miss Vernon. I am very glad to know you" "Are you?" asked Miss Vernon. "Is not that speech a mere effort of courtesy?" "It may be an effort of courtesy," answered Katharine, smiling; "but it is true, also." "Then I may congratulate myself upon mak- ing a favorable impression for once in my life," said the young lady. "People don't usually~ike me when they first know me; in fact; some of them don't ever like me at all." "Don't they?" said Katharine, amused at 'this frank confesaion~ "That is strange; for I should think you would always be liked." "Are you always liked?" "Well-really, I don't know. But I think I am rather popular-at least with these." And she laid her hand on Katy's curly head. " Their good-will is not worth ~ said Miss Vernon, carelessly. "It is so cheap-a few sugar-plums will buy it." "And won't different sugar-plums buy the good-will of older people just as easily?" asked Morton, abruptly. "So you have turned cynic!" said Miss Ver- non, glancing round at him. "I thought you left 'that to mc." "Doh't slander my favorite objects of trust, then," answered he, laughing. "I must be- lieve in children, or in nobody.-Katy, don't you mean to come and kiss me?" While Katy, nowiBe loath, went to bestow this favor, Miss Vernon turned with a shrug to her new acquaintance. "I wonder if he thinks that child would like him if he were poor and ugly?" "She likes me," said Katharine, smiling, "and I am neither rich nor beautiful." "You are lovable, though, and that is bet- ter than either," said Miss Vernon, with a slight sigh. Katharine looked up in surprise; but, be- fore she could answer this unexpected conipli- mont, the young lady had turned to MTr War- wick, and was asking him if he meant to skate. "I?" he said, laughing. "What hat'o I done, Miss Vernon, that you should suspect me of such an indiscretion?" "You have worn a pair of skates, Mr. Wae. wick; for t heard Mrs. Raynor say this morning page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] THE GORDON PLAID. 51 50 MORTON HOUSE. that John:Warwick-isn't your name John ?- so slenderly fashioned, and every movement of was the only person she ever saw who seemed at every limb was so harmonious with the spirit home on the ic?2' of the whole, that, aided by the floating curls "Twenty-five years ago, the compliment may and waving scarf; it almost looked as if the have been merited; hut I hardly think I need wind wafted him over the ice. He soon be. blush for it now." came fully aware of his own skill, and began to "Have you forgotten how to skate?" indulge in vagaries quite impossible to the novice "I don't know. I have not attempted it in this slippery amusement. He made wide cir since I was a boy." des, then swooped suddenly upon some knot of "Ah, pray try [" said the young lady, with inexperienced amateurs, scattering them to the the air of one who was not accustomed to ask right and left out of his path, and generally favors in yam, "I never saw skating before, leaving two or three prostrate behind him; he and I am so anxious to see at least one good seized the hand of some unlucky trembler, and skater 1" carried him forward at a rate which soon left him "You would see a very poor one, if I were so breathless in a waste of ice, with no hope of re- foolish as to expose my awkwardness," said Mr. turn, his malicious guide having taken flight to Warwick, smiling, another quarter; he snatched some half-dozen "Who can skate, then? None of those peo. hats, and made for the centre of the pond, scat- plc out yonder can, unless skating thing." g is a very ugly tearing them broadcast on his way; he indulged in solitary waltzes and ballet-like pirouettes; he "Annesley ought to," said Mr. Warwick, played a thousand antics for his own amusement glancing at that gentleman, who had drawn and that of the many eyes watching him; and near andwas talking to Katharine. "He spent then he suddenly darted away down the pond. four years at a German university, and they "Oh, I hope he is not going out of sight l" learn skating as well ~s metaphysics there." aaid Miss Vernon, with a very genuine tone of Miss Vernon turned to Morton, as if intend- regret. "I never saw any thing more beautiful. ing to speak, and then as hastily turned back Do, somebody, make him come back. Mr. An- again. nesley, I believe he is under your charge-please "He would not thank us for disturbing him speak to him." now," she said. "Look at those people out yon- "Speak-to whom?" asked Mr. .A.nnesley, der, and tell me who you think gives most prom- turning. "I beg your pardon, Miss Vernon, but iso of learning to skate." I did not hear - has Felix been doing any Her companion looked as she directed, and at thing?" once singled out a child with floating, blond Miss Vernon replied by pointing to the slen- curls and a plaid scarf, the fringed ends of which der figure and floating scarf which were already* fluttered in the wind as he skimmed along the vanishing round the headland. "You are the ice, only person whom he has not been entertaining," "I cannot tell from here who it is, but there she said. is no one else to compare with him," answered "Good Heavens!" cried .Annesley, "and I Mr. Warwick. "He skates as if he had been promised his mother th~t he should not venture boi'n in Russia." on the ice! How could I have been so careless; .&nd don't you know who he is?" cried his -Felix, come back! Felix [-don't you hear?" - companion, eagerly. "Why, I thought every- Felix paused a moment, as the clear voice body*-Iuiew him! That is the little Gordon- came ringing oyer the ice; showed that he heard, 4on't yen see? He looks as if he might have by waving his hand with a gesture of gay de- been bor~i rn the purple." fiance, and then showed that he did not mean to Mr. W~rwiok said, "Indeed!" And then heed, by coolly continuing his onward course. they both watched the elfin skater, who only a In another moment he had vanished from sight few minutes before had, made 'his appearance on around the jutting point of land. the ice. He was, indeed, without peer; the very Miss Vernon laughed---.she evidently sym- spirit of grace seemed to animate his motions, pathized with the bravery of this open rebellion and his skating was such as is never seen out - while Mrs. French, who was standing by, of a northern latitude, and of whichthe inhabit- shrugged her shoulders significantly. ants of southern latitudes can f9rm, at best, but "People can't manage to conduct a flirtation a fanit conception. The lithe young figure was and take care of a child at the same time," aba said to her husband, in a tone sufficiently audible for Morton to hear. But Morton took no notice of the remark. He only turned round to the by-standers, and asked if anybody could lend him a pair of skates. Unfortunately, nobody was able to do so. Skates were very scarce articles, and whoever was so fortunate as to own a pair1 lent them to his friends by turns-an arrangement which re- sulted in the temporary possessor being worried out of all his enjoyment by two or three impa- tient candidates who wanted to know "if he meant to keep going all day, or if he didn't mean to give anybody else a chance to do some skating?" Therefore, all shook their heads when Morton made his request, and several voices replied that Tom Jones had a pair of skates, but that Frank Smith was using them. "What do you want to do, Mr. Annesley?" Katharine asked. "I want to go after the little scamp," Annes- Icy replied. "I ought to have paid more atten- tion to him; but how could I think of his play- ing me such a trick, when he knew, too, that only my persuasion induced his mother to let him come?" "This is very ungrateful conduct, then." "Is it not ?-Katy, run yonder to that knoll, and see if he is coming back." Katy obeyed, bounding up on the rising ground at the headland, where a stately group of young pines stood like sentinels; and, in a few minutes, returned with the intelligence that he was coming back. "You will not need to go, after all," said Miss Vernon to Annesley. "That remains to he seen," he answered. "I don't much think he will come to shore of his own accord.-Thank you, Price." This to a young man who handed him a pair of sluites over two or three intervening shoulders. Then, while he sat down to buckle them on, Felix came bearing back into sight-a more beautiful pie. ture than ever, all alone in his childish grace on the glittering expanse of ice. "Oh, the little darling!" cried several enthu- siastic young ladies; while the boys of all ages stared in open-mouthed, admiring wonder of his skilL "Is he coming to shore?" asked Morton, who could not see, partly because he was sitting on the ground, and partly because several people were standing before him. Two or three voices an- swered the question-not very satisfactorily. "I think so." "No, he isn't." "There he goes-he's oft' again." "That's splendid! That is skating!" "He's bound up the pond this time." "Yes," said Katharine, to whom Morton looked inquiringly. "He certainly has no inten- tion of coming to the shore. He is going up the pond at a rapid rate." "lt's a pity somebody' can't make him come back," said a man's voice near. "All skating is something of a risk to-day; but the ice is very unsafe in that direction." "Are you sure of that, Mr. Mills?" asked Morton, starting to his feet. "Very sure, sir," answered Mr. Mills, grave- ly. "My wagon was hauling ice from there this morning, and I don't think it would have borne the weight of a man then." Morton made no answer, but Katharine saw that he changed color, and immediately swung himself down the bank, which happened to be quite high just there. The next minute he was gliding over the ice with a swift, steady case of movement which proved his own proficiency quite equal to that of Felix. A chorus of ad- miration followed him; but the young man evi- dently heard none of it. He was bending every nerve in pursuit of the gay little will.o'.the-wisp who fleeted forward all the faster when he per. ceived that a chase had been instituted. Away went the two figures up the pond, the pursuer steadily gaining on the pursued, and both near- ing fast the dangerous ice of which Mr. Mills had spoken. Once Annesley paused and uttered something half-warning, half-command; but the young insurgent paid no attention to it, and the only result was that it lost Morton several yards - of distance. When he started again, however, he seemed scarcely to totich the ice, and the in- terest of the spectators had reached a very ex- citing point when a cry of mingled dismay and triumph rose from a knot of boys on the water's edge. "He's got him!" "No, he hasn't!" "Hurrah! He's slipped away!" "Well done, little one!" And Katharine looked in time to see Felix dart out of the grasp Morton laid on him, and, shooting under the outstretched arm, skate away faster than ever, leaving only his scarf as trophy in the disappointed captor's hands. "Well done, indeed i" cried Mips Vernon, with a ringing laugh of enjoyment. "I am so page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] 52 MORTON HOUSE. AT MORTON HOUSE. 58 glad he got away. I should be so sorry if ended. It is better than horse-racing, and adore that! Who will make a bet ?.-Adela, wi you?" "Certainly not," replied Mrs. French, severe ly. "I think it is disgusting. Morton ought t have more dignity than to make such an exhibit tion of himself. I really think-" But Miss Vernon was already speaking ti Katharine. "Miss Treshamn, will you? As many pairs ol gloycs as you please on the Gordon plaid." "Do you mean Mr. Annesley?" asked Katha rine, laughing. "He has the Gordon plaid ni present." "No, indeed; I mean on the rightful ownei of the Gordon plaid. Bless his brave little heart? Where is he now I"' "Yonder he is," said Mr. Warwick, who wam standing by, a quiet and much-interested specta. tor. "ilut Almesley is gaining very fast upon him; so perhaps you had better not register your bet just at present. See! he almost laid hold of him. There, now he has doubled again. After .J), you may-my God!" A sudden wild cry from Mrs. French-a mur- mur of horrorfrom the erowd-and out on the ice, where there had been two figures a moment be- fore, only-one. This was a terror-stricken child, while, where the ice had broken through, there still floated one fringed end of the Gordon plaid. On the shore, a rush, a commotion, a sound of many voices, and a lady in violent hysterics. Katharine never knew much of what ensued. She heard Mr. Warwick's tones take the lend, and bring aome quiet out of the uproar; she saw a confused mass of men and boys dash across the ice with a reckless disregard of dan- ger, and she sat down sick and shuddering to await the result. Miss Vernon sat down by her, Neither said any thing, yet there is no doubt that each was conseibus of the presence of the other. Mr. French, meanwhile, had left his wife to get out of her hysterics as best she could, and had gone to the rescue with the rest; so, finding nobody to take any notice of her, she somewhat sub. sided, and stood sobbing and asking questions which it was impossible for any one to answer yet. To those watchers on the shore it seemed hours, but it was in reality only a short time be- fore the many strong arms which broke up the ice and buffeted the water so bravely, gained t their reward-before they raised to the surfitee I and bore shoreward, with a rush of triumph, 11 that which seemed so awfully still and white when they laid it down at Katharine Treshaza's feet. o They said it was not Deatb, but she could scarcely believe it was Life, when she looked at the pale face with the wet hair clinging round ' it,'and at those rigid hands which still grasped the silken scarf. But, even while she looked, there came a long, gurgling sigh through the half.parted lips - -the lids slowly lifted-the dark eyes gazed up at her pitying countenance as if in a bewildered dream-and her name was spoken with that ten- der, yearning accent which would make any name of earth beautiful. "Katharine!" Then, before sh~ could utter one word, they closed again, and Mr. Warwick said: "He has fainted!" A little while later, after Mr. Annesley was sufficiently recovered to thai~k his rescuers, to answer all the inquiries of his friends, to enter his carriage, and be driven home, Mr. Warwick came up to Katharine, and asked her if she felt inclined to perform a deed of charity. "It depends a good deal upon the amount of exertion required," she answered, with a smile. "Iam a little tired. But let me hear what it Is. He pointed to Felix, who stood at a little dis- tance the centre of an admiring group, and quite as nonchalant as ever~ "I promised Morton to take that young gen- tleman home, and to give as mild a rendering of his exploit as is at all consistent with truth. Rut I begin to doubt my diplomatic ability. I think you could do him more service than I; and, in short, I want you to take the matter off my hands. Will you?" Katharine looked slightly aghast. "Mr. Warwick, Iwould be glad to oblige you, but-but I am a mere stranger---and Morton. House!" "That is the very reason why I ask you," said Mr. Warwick, coolly. "Considering all things, I think a mere stranger might be more welcome in Morton House than an old aoqu~dnt. ance like myself. Will you go?" She hesitated a minute longer. Then, re- membering what might be his reason for wishing to avoid Mrs. Gordon, answered quickly: - "Yes, if you think I can do any good, I will go." "If you cannot, I am sure it will be for the first time," he answered, smiling. "Yonder comes the carriage which Annesley promised to send back, so you see you have no time to change your jnind. Let me put you in, and see you oil'. Then I will take the children home." He put her in, called Felix and presented him, closed the door, watched them drive away, and never thought, until long afterward, that he was the direct means of first bringing Katharine Tresham under the roof of Morton House. CHAPTER XL AT MORTON HOUSE. THE whole of that afternoon, which looked so bright to the gay loiterers beside the pond, Mrs. Gordon had spent in the silence and shadow of the Morton-House library, deep in dusty and tedious accounts which had been submitted to her inspection by Mr. Shields, the agent of the Morton estate. It was not a pleasant occupa- tion, hut it was one to which she had courageous- ly set herself immediately on her arrival, and in which she had not flagged even when the terri- bly-involved condition of affairs had been brought plainly to her perception. Debt, difficulty, mort- gage, ruinous sacrifice! That was the sum-tolal of the heritage to which she had returned; and, what the old agent unhesitatingly called '~the most tangled business in the country," was what she took in her woman's hands to attempt to make straight again. She succeeded better than might have been expected-succeeded sufficiently to rouse Mr. Shields's honest admiration, and make him tell Lawyer Worruck that he had never seen such business capacity in any woman be- fore. But it was weary work at all times, and never more weery than on this afternoon. So weary that, when she came to the end of a long column of figures, she dropped her pen with a tired sigh, and, leaning her head against the back of her chair, sat motionless for some time. - On this repose, however, Babette broke in suddenly and unceremoniously, just as the last rays of the setting sun flashed a gleam of vivid light across the pale, tired face. "Madame, pardorrnez-moi," she began, hur- riedly, as her mistress's eyes opened wide in some- what haughty astonishment. "But madame al- ways said that if any thing~happened to M'sieur Felix, she must be disturbed, and I dared not-" "Felix!" cried the)nother, with a sudden start of alarm. "Felix! Is any thing the mat- ter with him?" "Indeed, madame, it was not my fault; but that stupid-" "Babette! Is any thing the matter?" "Non, madame, non," cried the maid, startled by the tone of her mistress's voice. "M'sieur Felix is all safe-but that stupid Harrison has let in a. lady." Mrs. Gordon gave a deep sigh of relief. "You frightened me very much," she said, rebukingly. "You should not talk so much at random. What has Felix to do with a lady? He is at the pond with Mr. Annesley." "But, madame, the lady has brought him home." "The lady! You must be mistaken." "Indeed, no, madame. I saw them; and that stupid " "Then it is Mrs. Annesley?" Babette shook her head. "C'est une demoi- sells," she said decidedly. "I saw her myself, madame; and M'sieur Felix-" "Hold your tongue?" cried a shrill, indig- nant voice at the door. And the next moment, "M'sieur Felix" himself had rushed into the room, and thrown his arms round his mother. "Mamma, don't listen to h~r! i'll tell you all about it-but promise first you won't be angry." "That depends on whether there is good cause for being angry," said his mother, push- ing back the bright curls from the glowing face, and looking anxiously into it. "But I can promise not to be very much displeased if you will tell me the exact truth." "That's what 1 mean to do, mamma. But lilsa me first, and-go away!" he added, with a sudden stamp at Babette. The Frenchwoman looked unutterable things at him, tossed her head, and held her ground firmly, until Mrs. Gordon herself bade hem~ go. "But the lady, madame?" "I will see her in a minute-you need, not wait." Babette gave another glanceat Felix, and then retired, with offended dignity rustling in every garment. Her only solace was to go and rate Harrison, and this she immediately proceeded to do. Katharine, meanwhile, left alone in the large empty drawing-room, began to revolve the awk- page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] 54; MORTON HOUSE. AT MORTON RoUSE. 55 warduess of her position. She was sorry noiv that she had acceded to Mr. Warwick's request. It seemed so much like forcing an entrance into Morton House. As for mediation or explanation -Felix's impetuosity had spared her all ques- tion of that. Was nobody ever coming? Would it be very wrong to go away without having seen the lady of the house? Perhaps, after all, that might be best. She would wait ten min- utes longer, and, if by that time Mrs. Gordon had not made her appearance, why-she would go. She had hardly arrived at this determina- tion, when the ~door opened, and a pale, stately woman stood on the threshold. Katharine rose, but before she could utter one of the words of apology trembling on her tongue, Mrs. Gordon crossed the floor, and ex- tended her hand with a warm and cordial ges- ture. £~ Miss Tresham, I owe you many thanks. It was kind of you to take charge of my wilful boy. Pray forgive me that I have kept you waiting; but he has been giving me an account of his ad- ventured" This, or something like it, was what she said; but no words can embody the gracious and ex- quisite charm of manner which at once set Kath- arine at ease-at once made her feel that, instead of being an intruder, she was a welcome guest. A few words told why the duty had devolved upon herself-a few more gave the leading facts of the matter; after which, she rose to take her departure. But this Mrs. Gordon would not per- mit. "You are cold, and you must be tired," she said. "It is a point of hbnorwith Morton House that no guest has ever left its door in either of those conditions. This room is my aversion, it is so cheerless. Let me take you to my sitting. "You are very kind," said Katharine, over- come with wonder; "but the carriage is waiting for me, and-" "If you will allow me, I will have it dis- missed, and take the responsibility of sending you home." "I am afraid Mrs. Marks will be uneasy." "I am sure she will be able to spare you," said the lady, with a slight smile. "Come, Miss Treshas~, I am not accustomed to pressing hos- pitality~ but in this instance I really cannot con- sent to let you go. Shall I put my request on another ground? Shall I tell yew that I am lonely this evening, and that a strange face is a great relief to me? I have not felt~this desire for companionship before in many a long day. Will you have the heart to disappoint it now?" "No,"said Katharine, with her frank, bright smile. "If my society can gratify your desire, I shall be very glad to stay. But-" "But I regard the matter as settled," said Mrs. Gordon. Then, after ringing the bell, and sending an order of dismissal to the waiting car- riage, she led the way across a large, cold hall, into one of the most thoroughly-charming rooms, Katharine thought, she had ever seen. A first glance only gave the impression of rich color and luxurious comfort. It was some time before the eye recognized the different elements that went to make up such an attractive whole -the heavy curtains, the velvet carpet, the deep, inviting chairs and touches, the many appoint- ments where taste of the most rare and judicious kind had presided. When Katharine entered, it was empty, but a faint fragrance of flowers came over her as the door opened, and a soft moonlight seemed to fill the room-the glow of two large lamps being toned by tinted shades. Dusk had fallen by this time; and the lamp-light and ruddy firelight made a pleasant contrast to the cold, frosty night gathering outside the open hall- door, and melting into indistinctness the out- lines of the rolling hills. "Oh, what a beautiful room!" cried Kath- arine, so involuntarily that Mrs. Gordon smiled. "I am glad you like it,". she said. "It is th~e oviy room I have refurnished; but I cannot endure the stiff' old-fashioned furniture which reigns paramount in the rest of the house. Ex- cepting my cousin, Mr. Annesley, you are the only person who has been admitted here." "It is beautiful I" Katharine repeated, as she sat down by the glowing fire, sunning her- self like a tropical flower in its heat. "I have never seen any thing more luxurious-and I love luxury.)~ Mrs. Gordon smiled again, perhaps at this candid confession, perhaps at the undisguised enjoyment which prompted it Then she drew forward a large chair, and seating herself, leaned back in its soft depths. The firelight played quiveringly over her face, and Katharine had time to mark every furrow which marred its beauty before Mrs. Gordon spoke again. At last she turned to look at the young girl, and said, rather abruptly: "Miss Tresham, my desire to keep you was not entirely without reason. I have heard Mor- ton Annesley speak of you very often, audi was sure of one thing-either that I must like you, or that~ he exaggerated as even a lover has no right to exaggerate." Katharine started. This was plain speaking, indeed. She started, and, if she also blushed, it might have been surprise as much as any thing else that caused the emotion. " Excuse me," said Mrs. Gordon, who noticed both the start and the blush. "Perhaps I have not paid sufficient regard to the proprieties of expression; but when one grows a little old, they seem so useless. Why should we hesitate to call a thing by its right name?" "Why, indeed," answered Katharine, quick- ly, "if it be a right name?" "We won't argue that point," said Mrs. Gordon, with a slight laugh. "I don't think a lover's tale is worth telling, excepting by him- self. And here comes tea." The door opened as she spoke, and Harri- son brought in a tray. No other servant ap- peared; but in a few minutes-without even so much noise as the rattling of a plate-a small round table stood between the two ladies, bear- ing a glittering equipage. "Are you still English enough to prefer tea, Miss Tresham, or will y~u let Harrison give you a cup of coffee?" asked Mrs. Gordon, as she poured out a cup of the first, which was strong enough and black enough to have satisfied even Dc Quincey. "For my part, I always take this. Will you join n~e 7" "Not since you have given me my choice," said Katharine, with a smile. "I have never yet learned to endure tea-though 1 have tri~d heroically, in compliment to other people's taste." "Not people here, surely?" "Oh, no. Everybody here drinks coffee. I meant the people in England." "And yet you are an Englishwoman?" "No; I am a West-Indian-and very proud of it. I love my dear island, with its brilliant skies and tropical palms, as much as I hate the mists and fogs of England." "You have been in England, then?" Katharine shrugged her shoulders ruefully. "To my cost, yes." "In what part? I ask because I am very familiar with it, and perhaps you saw the coun- try to disadvantage." "1 was in the north, near the Scottish border. I saw the Scottish shore from my window every time the fog lifted, and did not enjoy it nearly as much as I should have done if I could have stopped shivering even for one day." "But was there no summer while you were there?" "There was a time they called summer-a time when the trees had leaves, and the sun shone with tolerable brightness. But our winter. days in Porte Rico are much more balmy." "Porte Rico! But I thought-that is-" You thought I was a British West-Indian. Well, so I am. I was born in Jamaica; but I scarcely remember it at all. When I Was very young, my aunt moved to Porte Rico, and took me with her. We lived there entirely, and I never was in England until I went to an old friend of hers, who obtained a situation as gov- erness at Donthorne Place for me. It was a very-" She stopped-uncontrollable surprise forcing her to do so. Mrs. Gordon had suddenly turned so pale that even the dim light failed to conceal it, and her hand shook until she was obliged to put down untasted a cup of tea which she had been in the act of raising to her lips. There was a moment's silence; then she looked up, white as a sheet, but forcing herself into a sort of rigid calm. "Pardon me, Miss Tresham; and pray don't look so much alarmed. It is only an old pain that came back to me just then. My nerves are shattered, and I show it-that is all.-Harrison, you will find my case on the side-table there. Give me two spoonfuls of the bottle on the right as you open it." Harrison obeyed. Mrs. Gordon drank eager- ly the dark liquid which he brought her in a slender wineglass; and a faint, subtle odor rushed over Katharine, which told her at once what the draught had been. After that she needed one explanation the leSs for the lines on her hostess's face. It was the latter who, after a short silence, spoke first-quietly, but with a certain sup- pressed anxiety which Katharine's ear was quick to detect. "You surprised me very much by the men- tion of Donthorne Place, Miss Tresham. I was once in the neighborhood, and I remember~ it quite well. How long were you there?" "A year," answered Katharine, concisely, having her own reasons for reticence on the subject; "a year-oae of the most disagreeable of my life, and one that I would not live over again to win a crown. I cannot bear to talk of it, and, of course, it does not interest you." "On the contrary, if you will pardon me, it interests me very much. Do you "-she leaned page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] 55 MORTON HOUSE. forward with an eagerness which startled Kath&. Gordon, smiling-..." you seem so little like a gov. rifle-" do you ever hear from them-the Don- erness. What a disagreeable life you must find thorns 1'" it, especially in your present situation!" "Never. To judge by their unConsciousness "No; very much the reverse," said Katha. of my existence whem I lived, in their house, I rine, quickly. "Mr. and Mrs. Marks are both should say that they would not even remember kind to me; and I shall never forget how gen- my name now." erously they took me into their service when I "From ~io friends-no one that you left in was an entire stranger to them." the neighborhood?" "It was like J3essie Warwick~" said Mrs. Katharine drew back. She was not only 5cr- Gordon, quietly. "I remember her in the old priced; but she looked-even her preoccupied time as very warm-hearted and very impulsive, questioner noticed that-as if awakened to some but rather silly. She was pretty, but so decided. sudden fea'. ly underbred that nobody wondered when she * "No," she said, slowly; "I have no friends married much beneath her." -there or elsewhere. I had not even an ac- "She seems to have found her right place in quaintance in the neighborhood. No one ever the world, however~" writes to me. Why do you ask?" "Most women do, or else have sufficient sense "I might truly answer, because I am very to seem as if they do. It is seldom you find one uncivil," replied Mrs. Gordon. "Solitude fos- weak enough, or strong enough, to beat against ters many bad habits, and I must beg you to the bars. Then, what are we most inclined to exanse me on that' score. I will not offend in do-pity or seorn her? Either, God knows, is the same way again. Indeed, there is nothing I hard enough to bear." She paused a moment, so mueh detest as ouriosity.-..-Harrison, you may then changed the subject abruptly. "Do you take othe tray; we have finished." see much of John Warwick? Is he often at his Harrison and the tray made an exit as noise- sister's house?" / less as th4ir entrance, and, after the door had "He lives there," Katharine answered; "and closed, Mrs. Gordon was again the first to speak yet I cannot say that I see much of him. He is -very pleasantly and graciously. absorbed in his profession, and seems to take "'Miss Tresham, I see that coincidences have very little pleasure in society." left its no option but to think that we are meant "But you like him-do you not?" to be friends; and one must never gainsay Fate, "I like him extremely. He is very quiet; you. know. Do you think you have Christian but no one could live under the same roof with charity enough to come to see me sometimes, him and fail to see that he is one of the most without exacting the ceremony of visits in re- thorough gentlemen, as well as one of the kind. tu~rn I' I am such a recluse that I cannot think eat of men. I have heard that he can be very of leaving ~n.y cell to encounter daylight." hard sometimes; but I can scarcely believe it, "Katharine looked up with an astonishment when I remeixiher how gentle he is to 'his sister which showed itself in every line of her face, and the children." She could scarcely believe that these cordial Mrs. Gordon looked at her with a smile. words of invitation were addressed to herself "You are his friend, I perceive," she said. by the saree lips that had declined the visits of "I ought to be," the girl answered, quickly, all' the old hereditary friends who had a right to with the remembrance of what he had said to her entein~ Morton House. The cordiality was in Mrs. that afternoon stirring warmly at her heart. "In. Gordon's eyes as well as in Mrs. Gordon's tones, gratitude has never been one, of my many faults." however. So, after a short pause, she answered, "I hoped he would have married long before with the frank grace that all her life had won this," said the other, with a wistful light in her for her ~o much liking: eyes, that Katharine was not slow to interpret. "Indeed, you are very kind, and I shall be "I do not know any one whom I should better very glad to come. I have few acquaintances like to see happy.-.any one whom I would sooner -none who consider my society of any import- exert myself to help along the road to happi. ance so it would be strange if I were not ness." flattered by your invitation. It will be a great "Mr. Warwick is not ounbappy, I am sure," pleasure to me to see you again when I can.0 said Katharine, almost resentfully. "He is not But my time is not my own, you know." one of the ziten who have no life it' they have no "I cannot help forgetting that," said Mrs. fireside. I thiitk a wife would decidedly bore AT MORTON HOUSE. him. He has his clients and his law-books- that is all he wants. No one need pity him for imaginary loneliness." Mrs. Gordon enclosed her lips, as if to reply; hut, before she could do so, the door opened, and Harrison startled them by the announce- ment that Mr. Warwick had come for Miss Tresh- am. Katharine started up at once, full of self- reproach. "How very inconsiderate of me to have stayed!" she cried, eagerly. "I might have known they would be uneasy; and it is such a long walk to have given Mr. Warwick! How very, very inconsiderate of me!" She repeated the last expression several times, for her vexation was not least in the thought that she had forced upon Mr. Warwick the very thing he wished to avoid, and brought him to the very house he least desired to enter. "Don't look so distressed and penitent," said Mrs. Gordon. "It was my fault, not yours; and I am sure he will not mind the walk, especially as he need .nnt repeat it.-Harrison, order the carriage, and show Mr. Warwick in here." "No! no!" cried Katharine, hastily. "He has had so much trouble about mc, pray let me go to him at once, and-and not keep him wait. ing. I shall not mind the walk at all." She was drawing her wrappings around her as she spoke, and evidently meant to go at once, if Mrs. Gordon had not interfered very decidedly. "I will not hear of such a thing," she said. "You must wait for the carriage, and I must send for Mr. Warwick.-Harrison, show him in at once." Evidently, Mrs. Gordon had been accustomed to the habit of command. Her quiet tones had so much authority in them that Katharine found herself yielding without a word. She sank into her seat, and the next minute Mr. Warwick en- tered the room. Whatever he felt, he certainly showed nothing beyond gentlemanly self.posscssion, as he came forward, meeting Mrs. Gordon's cordially-extend- ed hand with his own, and answering her words of welcome so easily that Katharine felt relieved. What she expected, she could not have told; but certainly something unlike this. Not any falter. ing, or trembling, or turning pale-she knew the grave, reserved lawyer too well to fear that-but at least some token that his pulses were beating as fast as they surely must beat in presence of the woman who, for twenty-five years (if his Sister spoke truth), had stood between him and all thought of other women-some token differ- ent from the quiet presence of every day, from the cool glance that saw so much, and the terse speech that said so little-yet they were all there, and as mnch unchanged as if Pauline Morton's eyes were not looking into his face from the grave of the past. Presently he crossed over to Katherine and stopped at once the words of penitence with which she was prepared to greet him. "No," he said, "you must not. think any thing of thekind. I came because I wanted to -and a little because Bessie has been uneasy. You know how highly developed her nervous system is. Well, she has been arranging the programme of a very tragic entertainment-Mr. Annesley's horses running away, and leaving you senseless and bleeding in some wayside ditch." "I am very sorry," said Katharine, toomuch disturbed to laugh. "It is very kind of Mrs* Marks to take the trouble to be uneasy about me-I am very sorry. I ought to have thought, Mr. Warwick; and then you nee4 not have had all this trouble." "I told you a minute ago that it wasno trou- ble," he said, a little shortly. Andy as Mrs. Gor- don advanced, he turned and began 'speaking about Felix. "He is quite the hero of the hour," he said. "In fact, he has taken Tallahoma so entirely by storm, that I hope, for the sake of example, you will not let him enter the town to-morrow-he would certainly receive a popular ovation." "He is not likely to leave the grounds of the House for some time to come," answered his mother, gravely. "I have had a lesson by which I shall profit. Felix's management has been a point at issue between Morton and myself, and the occurrence of this afternoon has showed me that I am right and he is wrong." "May I not. intercede on the side of mercy?" said Mr. Warwick, half jestingly, half in earliest. "You will not think me presumptuous, I 'am sure, when I tell you that nothing so much shames, or so soon cures untrustworthiness.-even the slight, childish form of it which Felix showed this afternoon-.-.as the sense of being trusted." She looked up .at him, with a deep flush on her pale cheeks, and a sudden light in her eyes, that startled both Katharine and himself. "You speak of what you l~now," she said, In a low voice. "You speak of those' in whom'the sense of honor, and the power of being shamed, is born. But you don't speak of, you don't know, the blood that child has in his veins. I page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] 58 MORTON HOUSE. THE TUG OF WAR. 59 know-and, believe me, I can best deal with it." "Excuse me," he said, hastily. "1 did not mean-" She interrupted him., "Any thing but kind- ness, I know-only you don't understand. Now tell me if you have heard from' Morton. I sent to inquire, and the answer Was very satisfactory -but I fear he may have sent it merely to quiet my uneasiness." "Hardly. No doubt he is well by this tim6, and probably will make his appearance to answer for himself to-morrow..---Miss Tresham, I am at your service whenever you feel inclined for the walk before us." "The carriage-" began Mrs. Gordon. But, at that moment, Harrison once more opened the door, and announced that the car- riage was waiting. "You will come to see me, will you not?" asked the lady, as Katharine bade her good- night. "I don't like to see you go, without an assurance that you will return." "I will certainly come," said Katharine, with a smile even more bright than usual. After a few words they took leave, and Miss Tresham found herself xolliug rapidly along the road to Tallahoma, and assuring Mr. Warwick that she felt much less tired than excited by her unusual adventures. -4-- CHAPTER XII. THE TUG or WAit. Tes morning after his escape from drown- ing, Morton Annesley woke with that uncom- fortable' *eight on his mind-that pense of some- thing disagreeable, either past or impending- with which every one is familiar who has ever sought sleep rather as a refuge from tormenting thou~t, than as that "sweet restorer" which Nature intended it should be. For the space of several minutes he could not think what had occurred; then suddenly a throng of recollections rushed over him; he recalled every thing that had happened. He remembered the adventure at the pond, and the scene thnt followed his rescue; he remembered the looks and tones of the people who had addressed him; and, above all, he remembered the expression of Katharine Tresham's eyes, when, for one brief second, he glanced up into them! With a sharp, impatient exclamation he sprang up and began to dress. Some reminiscences prick worse than needles, and to him there could scarcely have been a more disagreeable reminiscence than this. Not even Katharine's eyes could take the sting out of it! There was such a mock heroism about the whole affair, that he fairly ground his teeth over it. Some people would have enjoyed the .iclat thus conferred upon them, while others, recognizing the ludicrous aspect of the adven- ture, would have laughed it off with that genial good-nature which it is the best policy in the world to affect, if it be not really possessed. But Morton, poor fellow, did not possess, and could not affect it. Which aspect of the matter-the heroic or the ridiculous-was most distasteful to him, it would be hard to say, or against which he chafed most impatiently. It provoked him to think how Lagrange had gossipped and would yet gossip over the occurrence; and it is to be feared that, in his irritation, he was not so lenient in his feelings toward Felix, as Felix's quixotic protector ought to have been. But there was a good deal of disappointment mingled with this irritation. He had taken so much interest in the boy, he had striven so har~l to make him compre- hend the moral obligation of a trust, and the chivalric standard of honor, that he was chilled and disappointed by his failure; and felt, if the truth must be told, not a little out of patience with the ungrateful wilfulness which had placed him in his present position. What this position was with regard to Miss Tresham, he had only a faint idea. He knew that he had said something -that he had committed himself in some way- out there beside the pond, before all those peo- ple (in his own mind, he was ungrateful enough to call them those confounded people); but what it was he did not know, and certainly had no in- tention of inquiring. Only it made one thing certain-he could not l~gsitate any longer. The tug of war-did any misgiving of his heart tell him what a tug it would be ?-must come with his 'mother, and, one way or another, his fate must be decided as only Katharine could decide it. With his mind full of these thoughts he went down-stairs, across the hail, and out of the open front-door. The morning was very bright, for the atmosphere had capriciously changed; the ther- mometer had risen from its unwanted depression of the few preceding days, and the air that greet. ed him was soft, as if the dead Indian summer had returned, or the spring was about: to burst. The sunshine was pouring in a dazzling flood over the lawn and piazzas; the grarelled sweep' before the house sparkled as if its stones had all been precious gems; the evergreens, dotted about in every direction, seemed to have put on a bright.- er emerald hue; and a bird that was perched on a magnolia hear by, was pouring forth its whole heart in glad rejoicing that the cold was over and gone; that the blue skies, and the soft air, and the golden sunshine, had returned. We are all more or less susceptible to such influences as these; and Annesley, as it chanced, was keenly alive to them. At the first sight of the bright outer world, and the first note of that trilling lay, his depression suddenly vanished, and his spirits rose like mercury. Almost unconsciously he caught up the notes of the little feathered songster, and, as he went down the steps and turned toward the stables, he was whistling to himself almost gayly. He found Mr. French talking to the head groom, while one or two subordinate stablemen were rubbing down a large, black horse, that stood patiently undergoing the operation. "Good-morning, Frankr" said Annesley, com- ing up. "What brings you out so early? Noth- ing the matter with the Captain, I hope?" "I am sorry to say there is something the matter with his shoulder," said Mr. French, look- ing round. "He fell lame while I was riding home, yesterday afternoon. By-the-way, how do you feel after your ducking?" "lam well, of course,~~ said Morton, a little ungraciously, resuming his usual manner as he went on:" I am concerned about the Captain.- Lead him out there, Jim, and let me see how.he walks." The Captain was led out, and the Captain walked very badly. Some accident had plainly befallen his right shoulder; and the two gentle- men were soon in deep discussion and examina- tion, aided by Isaac the groom, and John the coachman. Various remedies were suggested, and one or two were tried. It was some time before the poor Captain was remanded to his stall, and the two gentlemen bethought them- selves of breakfast. "You can take him to the stable, Isaac," said Mr. French, at last. "I'll l)e out again after breakfast and look at him.- Morton, are you coming?" Niorton said "Yes," rather carelessly; and 'they turned into a broad walk which led to the house. With the Captain dismissed from his 'mind, Mr. French remembered something he 'wished-or, rather, had promised-to say to his brother-in-law. "A man's opinion always has ~so much weight with a man," his wife had re- marked to him. "You must be sure and tell Morton what you think of this nonsense." Mr. French had promised that he would; but now he began to wish that he had not been so rash. Sup. pose Morton were to be offended? "Hang it 1" thought the other, candidly, "I should be of- fended myself if anybody were to meddle in my private affairs. I wish I had not promised Adela. It is none of my business if he chooses to make a fool of himself." Then he cleared his throat and looked at the abstracted face beside him. "Are you sure you don't feel any the worse for your exploit yesterday?" he asked, by way of introduction to what he meant to say. "I should think you would, Morton." "Why the deuce should I?" asked Morton, pettishly. "I'm neither a child nor a woman. Confound the exploit, Frank! can't you let it alone?', "Oh, of course," said Mr. French, a little surprised "I didn't know you were sensitive about it. I'm sure it made you rather a hero- at least in the eyes of the ladies. Some of them were exceedingly interested, I can tell you." Then, after a pause-" Morton, I suppose you know what you're about, but don't you think you may be going a little too far with-with one of them?" "With one e~ them!" repeated Morton, giv- ing a start. "Whom do you mean?" he asked, more quietly than his companion had expected. "I don't understand." "I mean that Miss Tresham who lives in Tallahoma, and is a teacher, or something of the sort," answered Mr. French, who, as he had once begun, was determined to blunder through. "Of course, you know your own affairs best, and I hope you won't think me interfering; but I thought I would give you a hint. Young women's heads are so easily turned, and old women's tongues are so confoundedly long, that one is obliged to be careful." "I am much obliged to you," said Annesley, in a tone which contradicted the words, for he was more angry than he would have liked to con- fess; "but I believe I can manage my own af- fairs-and I prefer to do so." "I beg your pardon," said Mr. French, begin. ning to be a little offended in turn. "I didn't mean to be impertinent. I'm an older man than you are, and I thought I would give you a little' friendly advice. It's a devilish disagreeable thing to be talked about as people wilt talk in ~these country places; and of course I never supposed you were in earnest about the girl. page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] THE TUG OF WALl. 61 60 MOIITON HOUSE. I'm eonf~dent, I need not tell you, Morton, tha such a thing would nearly kill your mother." "You must allow me to be the best judge o~ that," said Morton, stiffly.. And there the con versation cnded~ Mr. French shrugged his shoulders, auc thought to himself that he had known how ii would be, but that at least he could tell Adek he had done his best; while Morton walked on with his breast fairly in a flame. So he hai made such a fool of himself as that! He ha~ betrayed every thing so plainly that his brother. in4aw felt obliged to come and force his advice upon him! Ikideed, it was time that he spoke if only for Katharine's sake, since ha had com~ mitted himself, and involved her to such an ex- tent as this. Foor Morton! In his single- minded sincerity, it never occurred to him that Mr. French htd been prompted to the unusual character which he had assumed. He took it simply as the consequence of his own unguarded conduct; and it confirmed rather than shook his resolution. It would have gone hard with Adela if she could have known the result of her hus. band's interibrence. Breakfast passed oft' quietly, but rather silent- ly. .Adela did not make her appearance, and, although the three others talked at intervals, there was a sense of constraint hanging over them, and theydid not remain very long at table. Mr. French was the first person to leave the room, taking out his cigar-case as he did so. Then Morton rose and walked round to his mother,. "Will you come to the library?" he asked. "I have something to say to you." She linked up at him, and, in a moment divin- ing his purpose, her heart sank. But she had sullicient presence of mind to smile into the grave, earnest eyes regarding her. "certainly I will ~come," she answered, "but I must first see Adela, and give orders about din- ner-.~that is, if you are not in a hurry." ~I a~sn not at all in a hurry," he replied. "If you w111 come when you are at leisure, that will do. You will find me In the library," he added, as he took up a paper and left the room. lIe ~went to the library, but he soon found that he could notread. It is one thing to hold a paper open before the eyes, and quite another to ~ay Intelligent heed to its contents. Morton did th~ ~rst iliuigently'.~ but, with all his efforts, he conid not achie#e the second. He dreaded the intefrylew with his mother so much that he eagerly c~esiied It to be over * and Ito caught t himself listening to every footstep in the hall outside the door, hoping it might be hers. At last he threw down the paper, and, rising, walked - restlessly across the floor. There was not a pleasanter room at Annes- dale than this library, nor one that he liked bet. ter; but today it might have been an irksome cage, to judge by his impatient movements to * and fro. From the fireplace to the windows, and I from the windows to the fireplace, he paced; until I finally lie paused before the latter, and, leaning one arm on the mantel, gazed steadily at an en- graving which hung above it-a "St. Cecilia" he had brought from Dresden. Something in * the outline of the uplifted face reminded him * of Katharine. It was not so much a resem- blance as the suggestion of a resemblance. But it had struck him often before, and now it brought her face vividly to his mind. By some strange perversity of association, it also brought to his recollection that day when she sang the "Adelaide" for him, when he had chanced upon the open letter, and when her strange conduct had so chilled and repulsed him. He was still thinking of these things, and his face looked unusually grave and troubled, when the door opened and his mother entered. She crossed the room, and, as he did not turn, she laid her hand on his arm. "You wished to speak to me, Morton?" she said. "Here I am." "My dear mother, thank you," he answered, turning quickly. "1 did ~iot hear you come in- how quiet you are!" - "1 was afraid you would be tired of~wait- ing for me," she said, sitting down in a deep arm-chair. "Adela is quite unwell, and I stayed with her some times I thought that, if you wanted to see me about any thing of importance, you would have told n~e so." "I wanted to see you about my own affairs," said Morton, plunging headlong into the subject he now felt tempted to avoid. "I want to ask your advice about a very important matter- to me at least," he went on, faintly smiling. "Mother, I have lately thought of marrying." The room suddenly went round and grew black before Mrs. Annesley's eyes. She extend- ed her hand almost unconsciously, and clutched the corner of a table near by to steady herself. Her worst fears were realized; but she had suf- ficient self-control to look up quietly, and say-' "Well?" "Well," he answered, knowing that tate worst could not be too quickly told, "I fear that lank going to disappoint you. I fear that the woman I Jove, the woman I wish to marry, is not the woman whom you would have chosen for me. But in this matter, no human being, not even the nearest and dearest, can judge 1~or us," he said, gently taking the hand which she had laid on the table. "We can only judge for ourselves, and abide by our choice through good or through ill. Mother, will you not give your sanction to~ my choice?" She suffered her hand to remain in his; but hereycs looked cold, and her voice sounded hard when she asked- "What is her name?" "Her *name" he answered, "is Katharine Tresham. My dear mother,"' he continued, eagerly, "don't judge her by her surroundings, don't think of the position in which Fortune has placed her. Only judge, only think of her as you will see and love her for herself, as you will-" He was stopped by a gesture from his moth- er, as she drew back her hand. "Go P' she said, bitterly. "I have heard enough. If you had the heart to come and stab me like this, you will not heed any thing I can say to you. Go! Only remember that, if you do degra do yourself in this way, you will cut yourself off from me forever. I will never re- ceive that woman as my daughter; I will never, as long as 1 live, suffer her to cross the threshold of this house!" "Mother!" It was a cry of astonished, grieved reproach, which at any other time would have gone to her heart5, but she had now so entirely lost command of herself, and of the emotion which seemed suf- focating her, that it rather provoked than allayed her anger. She had feared and in a measure an- ticipated this for a long time; but it did not make the disappointment any less poignant when it came-it did not teach her any better how to bear it. "Mother," said Morton, gravely, "you can- not be yourself-you cannot be in earnest when you utter such words as these." "Go!" she repeated, once more, in a voice choked with tears. And, as there was nothing else to be done, he walked sadly across the floor, and stood silent- ly at one of the windows, waiting for what would come next-waiting to see whether his mother would recall him, or whether she would leave the ~roomwithonlythoselastbitterwords. A long time passed-an hour it seemed to 5 the young man, and it was in reality many min- utes-before any sound broke the stillness of the room. Then Mrs. Annesley said: "Morton!" He came to her side. "1 am here," he answered, gravely but gent- ly. She lifted a face that was white even to the lips, and held out her hand. "My son," she said, "forgive me. I did not mean to pain you; but the shock was so sudden, and very hard to blar." "My mother, my dearest mother!" he said. It ~vas all that he did say, but he bent down and kissed the hand she gave him, and peace- or at least a semblance of it-was once more established. After a while it was Mrs. Annesley who spoke first. "Morton," she said, "have you considered this well?" "I have considered it well," he answered. "Your mind is made up?" " My mind is entirely made ~ "You are determined to inflict this distress upon mc, and to ruin your own life by such a misalliance?" "I am determined to ask Miss Tresham to be my wife," said the young man, looking pale but unshaken. "I would have asked her long ago if it had not been that I hesitated on your account. But now it is not possible for me to hesitate longer." "Do you mean that you have committed yourself?" she asked, hastily. "In absolute words-no. Dear mother, don't~ pain me by combating my resolution," he said, with his eyes full of appeal. " Only tell me that, if she consents to marry me, you will welcome and try to love her." "Tell me one thing, Morton," said Mrs. An- nesley-" what do you know of this woman whom you ask me to receive as your wife? When a man marries he should know all the previous history and all the connections of the woman he chooses. Tell me, my son, what do you know of hers?" ~ She touched his cause in its weakest point, * and he knew it. The thoughts he had been revolving when she entered the room - the thoughts that had sealed his lips ever since the day he saw Katharine last--rushed upon him suddenly with overwhelming force, and for sev- oral minutes he could not reply. Then the truth came in one word- "Nothing." 4 page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] 62 MORTON HOUSE. "Nothing!" his mother echoed, in a ton of grieved astonishment. "Nothing, Morton And yet you ask me to welcome her as a daugh ter? My son, my dear son, what can you b( thinking of? Where is your sense of what ir due to yourself aud to your name?" "I know nothing about her," he said, "but] can trust her. She is too pure and noble ever to have done any thing that she need blush for." "But, good Reavens! her relations, her friends-what may they not be?" "I do not think she has any. I have never heard ,her speak of them." "And you think that a good sign? Oh, Mor- ton, Morton!" "It is not a bad sign, mother," said Morton, beginning to look a little less patient. "Many a girl is friendless, many a girl is obliged to earn her bread as Miss Tresham is doing. It would be cruel to doubt her because Fate has dealt hardly with her. It is true that she has never mentioned her past history or her family cir. ournatances to me; but I have never been in a position to receive such a confidence." "And you will ask her to marry you without knowing more than this?" "I should be a cur, not a gentleman, if I in- quired into her affairs before asking her." "Oh, my son, what madness!" "Mother dear, be patient with me," he said, gently. "Don't you see-can't you tell how hard I am trying to do right? If I had only myself to consider," he went on, wal~ring again from the fireplace-to the window, and from the window to the fireplace, "I would sacrifice my wishes to yours. But-but I am afraid it is too late as far as she is concerned." "You put her before me, then?" "I put my honor before every thing." "Your honor should lead you just the other way," she said, lapsing from self-restraint into anger again. "A gentleman's first duty is to his name. What will you be doing with yours when marry thus?" "I will not be degrading it," answered he, firmly. I' Mother, you do not know Katharine Tresham. If you did know her-if you would know her-you could never speak 01 her in this manner." "She has, taken you from mc, Morton. She has steeled your heart against all my entreaties; she has made you forget what is due to yourself -how can I do other than hate her? flow can I stand by silently and see you marry an adven- turess'?'" MISS TRESHAM ASKS ADVICE. "Mother!" The exclamation was so stern that for a mo- ment Mrs. Annesley shrank. But, before she could speak, Morton gave a great gulp, and hur- ried on: "Forgive me, but this had better end. There is no good in prolonging a useless discussion, and I see now that this is useless. I only pro- voke you, and am pained myself. So I will go. Don't forget that I am very sorry to have grieved you, and, if possible, still more sorry to act against your wishes for the first time in my life." She let him go-as far as the door; but, when his hand was on the knob, her voice called him back. lIe rcturncd at once, and, rising, she met him half.wav. "My son, forgive me," she said. "You have never in your life before grieved or disappointed me; you have often given up your will to mine; you have never once failed in respect or duty to me. It is only just, therefore, that my turn for sacrifice should come. I never thought it would be so hard; I never thought you would desire to throw away your happiness in this way. But, as you will do it-why, take my consent, and God bless you!" The young man caught her in his arms with something that was almost a sob. "Mother, my dear, kind mother!" he said. "You don't know how much I longed to hear those words. Thank God, they have come at last!" He thought the tug of war was over; hut, as he clasped his mother in his arms, it would have been strange if he could have known-if he could even faintly have imagined-how corn pletely she had out-witted him, and how the worst struggle was yet to come! -'---4-- day? Oh, Miss Tresham, that's so good of you!" "Why, we'll have two long weeks! Thank you, ma'am, so much." "Don't thank me," said the governess, with a smile. "I should have kept you hard at work till Christmas-Eve. Your mother told me to dis- miss school to-day, and that it will not be re- sumed till the Monday after New-Year. So, you see, you have two good weeks." "Oh, haven't we!" "Well, show your gratitude by giving me no trouble to-day~ I will hear the geography first." For the next fifteen minutes they were all busy locating capitals, settling boundaries, and describing countries. The children were so ani- mated by the holiday prospect before them that they did remarkably well; and the class was about to be dismissed, when the door opened without any preparatory knock, and, instead of a servant, Mrs. Marks entered, with every sign of surprise and discomposure in her manner. "Good Gracious, Miss Katharine, what'stobe done! To think of such a thing just now of all times, and me deep in the mince-meat!" Katharine looked up in astonishment. It was not often that Mrs. Marks used such a tone of supreme vexation, or appeared so red and wor- ried-not often that she gave a glance so full of chagrin at her befioured dress an4 large do- mestic apron. "What on earth is to be done?" she re- peated, as Katharine's eyes met her own. "I never was so taken by surprise in all my life! To think of !rer--" "What is the matter? Who is it?" asked the young governess. "I don't understand." She understood the next moment, when Mrs. Marks pushed two cards across the table toward her-two cards exactly alike in appearance~ and both bearing tire same name: CHAPTER XIII. MISS TRESHAM A5H5 ADvIcE. Two weeks went by very quietly, and brought Miss Tresham's happy scholars to the beginning of their Christmas-holidays. "Do your lessons well to-day, children," she said, as she entered the school-room on a certain Friday morning, and found them gathering about the blazing fire. "This is the last of school until after New-Year." They all looked up delighted. "To-day! And Christmas not till Thura- Katharine was too well bred to show exactly Low much surprise she really felt. So, after one repressiblee exclamation, she hurried off at once Ito sympathy. "Indeed, dear Mrs. Marks, this is very in- 63 convenient! I hardly wonder you are vexed. Wouldn't it be possible to excuse yourself?" "Excuse myself-to Mrs. Annesley!" Evi- dently that was not to be thought of. "Well," said Katharine, with quite a prac- tical inquiry, "why don't you go and dress? It will not take you many minutes to smooth your hair and put on your black silk. ShallI help you?" "You! Why, I came to tell you that you must go down at once." Was Mrs. Marks distracted? Katharine eer~ tainly thought so, as she drew back and gazed at her in sheer amazement. "I go down to- see Mrs. Annesley! Mrs. Marks, what can you be thinking of?" "How are you~ going to help yourself?" de- manded Mrs. Marks, impatiently. "She came to see you just' as much as she did to see me- indeed a great deal more, I expect, if the truth was known. Tom said that she gave him one of those cards for Mi8s Tresham." "He must have ben mistaken." "How could he be?" "I don't know," answered Katharine; "but he must have been." "My dear," cried Mrs. Marks, almost angrily, "what is the use of this? If you don't believe Tom, I can tell you that I listened through ~ crack of the pantry door, and that I heard Mrs. Annesley ask for you. Of course she came to see you; and of course you must go down as soon as you have dressed. Come-quick 1" She laid her hand on Katharine's arm and strove to lead her forward; but the girl drew back with a decided motion. "No," she said. "If I go down at all-if you are sure she asked for me-I will go down exactly as I am." Mrs. Marks looked aghast. "In tlrat old dress! Oh, my dear, consider how important it is that you should make a good~ impression. Mrs. Annesley is so elegant-you have no idea! What would Mr.-" A glance from Katharine stopped her short. "I am breaking my ~rsual rule in leaving the school-room to go down at all," she said; and since I do it prineipr~y to give you time to change your dress, I certainly shall not make anyalteration in my own.-Children, look over your sums; I will be back soon to attend tt them." Before Mrs. Marks could utter another word of expostulation, she left the room and was de-' scending the staircase. 62 page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] 64 MORTON HOUSE. MISS TRESHAM ASKS ADVICE. She would scarcely have been a woman, how- ever, if she had not stopped a moment outside the parlor door, partly to be sure of her self. possession, and partly to glance over her dress -the same dark-blue merino which she had worn the last day Morton was there. When she opened the door, the room looked as rigid and cold as ever-perhaps a little more so, considering that the day was gloomy-but on the stifi; black sofa sat a figure, the grace and elegance of which would have brightened even a duller scene, and which rising, with a soft rustle of silk and velvet, met Katharine in the middle of the floor. If Mrs. Annesley had expected some timid, blushing girl whom she could awe or patronize into reverence, ~he must have been greatly sur- prised at sight of the calm, stately young lady -unmistakably a young lady-who met her with such quiet ease. "Miss Tresham, I presume?" she said, in- quiringly-for despite all that Morton had told her, she could not believe that this was Mrs. Marks's governess. And Katharine answered with Katharine's own straightforward dignity: "Yes, I am Miss Tresham. Pray sit down, madam. Mrs. Marks will be bere in a minute. She desired me to apologize for her delay, and say that she was very much occupied when you came." "I am sorry to have disturbed her," said Mrs. Annesley, hardly conscious of what she did say, and only noting with a sharp pang every separate charm of this girl's appearance and manner. Then they sat down, and when the lady spoke again it was with a perceptible effort. "I have heard a great deal about you-Miss Tresham-" she did not say from whom-" and it has been a regret to me that I have not been able to pay this visit sooner; but I am a very great invalid-so much of an inValid, that my friends are kind enough to excuse a great deal of social neglect from me." Katharine thought there were very few traces of illness apparent in the smooth, handsome face before her; but she had enough of tim habitude of society to accept the apology, and answer it with a few words of conventional sympathy- wondering the w~ile, why it had been at all necessary to offer it. "Thanks-you are very kind," said Mrs. An- nesley, in acknowledgment of her condolence. "Yes, sickness is a dreadful thing-more be- cause it is apt to make one neglect one's duties, than for any other reason, 1 think. Some peo- ple don't allow it to interfere, I know; but I have never been strong-minded. If I feel badly, I am sure in lie on my sofa, even with the con- sciousness of something that ought to be done." "We are all of us prone to do that, I think," said Katharine; "and 1, for one, real cannot admire the people who treat their bodies as cruel drivers treat their horses, and goad them into exertion whether they feel like it or not." Mrs. Annesley smiled faintly. "You are very good to say so, when I see plainly that you have no personal knowledge-no personal experience, that is-of the malady to which I allude. Do you sing much, Miss Tresham? I see the piano open, and surely your pupils have not yet ad- vanced as far as Mozart." The conversation rather flagged during the "minute," which unaccountably lengthened into ten or fifteen, before Mrs. Marks entered; Katha- rine began to grow a little impatient, and to'won- der what could possibly be the motive of this visit. Had Mrs. Annesley merely come to gratify her curiosity, or what other meaning was hidden under her cold civility, her languid common- places, her keen though not ill-bred scrutiny? The young governess felt that she was under- going a sort of examination; that she was on trial, as it were, before this fine lady; and, feeling it, almost unconsciously she resented it. . She who was usually so frank and cordial in her manner, was now reserved, almost haughty; while Mrs. Annesley made matters worse by a shade of patronage-half unconscious, half it is to be feared, intended-which did not please the girl who had once told Morton that she was "un- fortunately very proud." It was a relief to both of them when the door at last opened, and Mrs. Marks came bustling in, looking as if she had been hastily squeezed into her black silk, and had not yet recovered from the process. Katharine watched the greeting between the two ladies-Mrs. Marks's hearty cordiality, a little tempered by awkwardness'mi the one side, and Mrs. Annesley's condesce~ding suavity on the other-with quiet amuse~t~ben she kept her seat for a few minutes longer, thinking that, after they were fairly launched into conversation, she would go back to her waiting pupils; but, as it chanced, this intention was frustrated. Just as she had decided on leaving the room, Mrs. An- nesley turned to her. "I waited until Mrs. Marks was here, Miss. Tresham, before I made a request ~Whieh is partly the reason of my visit this morning. A few young people are coming next week to spend Christmas at Anaesdale, and if you will be kind enough to waive ceremony, I should be very glad for you to make one of the party. Will you come?" With all her self-possession-and it was even more than people gave her credit for-Katharine started. Was it possible that it was Mrs. Annes- Icy who gave this gracious invitation? -who asked her to meet a party of young people (which was a modest way of saying the Wie of Lagrange) at Anneadale, which was the head- quarters of gay hospitality? For a second she could not answer from absolute surprise; but she suddenly caught a glimpse of the ludicrous astonishment on Mrs. Marks's face, and it piqued her into an immediate reply. "You are very kind," she said, looking, with her clear gray eyes, into the languid, handsome face; "I do not think much of ceremony, as a gcniu-al rule, and I should be glad to accept your invitation, if it were possible. But it is not pos- sible. 1 never leave home." "You never have left home, perhaps,~~ said the lady, smiling a little. "But, if you will par- don me that is no reason why you should not begin to. do so Are you fond of gayety? I think Auiesdale might tempt you a little in that way. Adela and Morton always manage to get up something amusing at Christmas. But I will not urge you-i will leave the matter to Mrs. Marks, and let her say whether or not you shall go." She looked at Mrs. Marks, and Ydrs. Marks, who had recovered her powers of speech by this time, was ready in a moment to take her cue. "Indeed, I am sure Miss. Katharine knows how glad I would be to see her go," she said. "It's very kind of you, Mrs. Annesley, to ask her. She has a very dull time, shut up here with Richard, and me, and the children; and I hope she won't let any of us stand in the way of her taking a little pleasure when there is such a good chance for it as this." "I take charge of the children out of school, as well as in," said Katharine to Mrs. Annesley. "Mrs. Marks is anxious to give me pleasure, but my going would cause her a great deal of in- convenience; so I hope you will excuse me for declining your invitation." "As for taking care of the children," said Mrs. Marks, before Mrs. Annesley could speak, "that's Letty's business, my dear, ai~d not yours, as you know. You've spoiled her to death by looking after theta yourself, and the sooner she learns to do it again, the better.-I hope you don't think we work her to death," said the good woman, turning her attention to Mrs. Annesley, with startling rapidity. "She took it all on her- self, and I begged her again and again not to worry about ~thcm, though it's true they're so much improved-especially in their manners- that you'd hardly know them for the same chil- dren." "Surcly their manners would not suffer if you left them for the short space of a fortnight," said Mrs. Annesley to Katharine. "For the matter of that," said Mrs. Marks, "I promised their Aunt Lucy that Katy and Sara should pay her a visit this Christmas; and you know, my dear, you don't have much to do with the boys." "Mrs. Marks is evidently determined to get rid of me," said Katharine, with a smile, to Mrs. Annesley; "but I flatter myself she would miss me after I was gone. And so I think I shall abide by my resolution and remain. "My dear," said Mrs. Marks, solemnly, "if you take my advice, you'll go." "Take her advice by all means, Miss Tresh- am," said Mrs. Annesley, "or else give me one good reason for your refusal." But one good reason, as society reckons good reasons, Katharine could not give. In our arti- ficial condition of life, it is not considered a valid or even a courteous excuse to say that you have no desire to perform a certain action, or to go to a certain place. It is hard to imagine what could, be a better reason for ordinary social refusals than the simple statement of disinclination; but, according to the rules of a certain arbitrary but very ill-defined code, it will not answer at all. If a man asks you to his house, you must not say that you don't want to come, but that you "have pressing business," or "a previous engagement," or a sick wife, or a dead uncle, or any other lie that may be convenient. If he finds you out, he will not be offended, he will take the pious fraud as it was intended. But if you.had simply told the truth, and said that you felt unwilling to come, he would have had good right to be in- suIted. Knowing this as well as Mrs. Annesley, Katharine hesitated. She did not want to go to Anneadale, and she did not meamj to go if she could help it; but still, social usages had a cer- tain power over her, and, hemmedd in by Mr~. Marks on one side, and her visitor on the ether, she hardly knew what to say. Mrs. Annesley saw her embarrassment, and came to her relief. "I am sure you think me very rude te press 64 MORTON HOUSE page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] 66 MORTON hOUSE. MISS TRESLIAM ASKS ADVICE. 67 you in this way, Miss Tresham; but I am reall; very anxious that you should make one of ow Christmas party, and that anxiety must plea my excuse. I see that you are half persuaded and I am sure that, when you think the matte over, you will find there is no reason why yot should not oblige us. My son you know already. and my daughter will be very glad to meet you. If I give you until tomorrow to consider, will yea promise to say 'yes' then?" "I am sure it is quite impossible," Katharin began. But the lady had already risen, and was hold. ing out her hand in parting salute. "I shall either come or send for your answer tomorroww" she said; "and I b~g you most sincerely to let it be favorable.-Mrs. Marks, I leave the cause in your hands. Promise me that you will make her come!" "I'll do my best," said Mrs. Marks, dubious- ly; "but Miss Katharine's very hard-headed, and I'm afraid she'll go her own way." "So much the better, if that way lies toward Annesdale," said the mistress of Anneadale, gra- ciously. Then she shook hands with both of them, gave Mrs. Marks an invitation to Annes- dale in that vague, general way which means "good-morning," told Katharine she was sure she would not disappoint her, and finally swept out, leaving behind her a faint fragrance and a vivid impression of affable smiles and soft speeches, and shining silk and rich velvet. "Bless my soul, how she was dressed!" said Mrs. Marks, as soon as she was safely out of ear- shot. "Did you notice the quality of that silk? I never saw any thing half as heavy in my life. It must have cost three dollars a yard, if it cost a cent; and what an elegant bonnet! Well !" -with a long breath-" I am sure I never was more surprised in my life! I thought she would have been just the other way. But there's no telling what people will do for their children; and~ after all, she mayn't be as proud as people Bay. ~obody could have been more polite than she wal this morning. I was astonished you did not agree to go," she went on, addressing Katha- ripe, with mild expostulation. "Of course you know 'your own affairs best; and I don't mean to intrude my advice upon you-for advice is a thing that everyhodyis ifnxious to give, and no- body's thankful to get-but you know what she came for, my dear, snd I can tell you that she has done a great deal for ker~; and, if you want my opinion, you'll be a great foo-simpleton, if you don't go to Annesdale." "Then you will certainly consider me a great simpleton," said Katharine, coolly, "for I don't I mean to ~o to Annesdale." With this ultimatum, she walked off to the waiting arithmeticians, and left Mrs. Marks to return to her mince-meat with what degree of interest she could muster. Dinner was over, and the short winter after- noon was more than half gone when Katharine opened Mrs. Marks's door, and, showing herself in her bonnet and cloak, asked if the former had any objection to her taking the children to Mor- tOn House. "They are anxious to return Felix's visit," she said (Felix had, a fortnight before, made his long-promised call), "and Mrs. Gordon was kind enough to ask me to come to see her; so, if you have no objection, we will walk out there." "I haven't the least objection," said Mrs. Marks, looking up from her work, and wonder- ing not a little at the grand acquaintances tier governess was making. "I am glad you are going to take the children yourself; Miss Kath- arine, for you can see that they don't behave badly, or make themselves troublesome to Mrs. Gordon. Isn't it rather a long walk, though? " "Not for me," said Katharine, and shut the iloor. The day had been overcast from its dawn, and the afternoon was very gray and gloomy when the governess and her merry troop went out into it. Every thing looked sombre and tintless, the bare trees stood out against a dull, leaden sky, the distant hills seemed desolate and brown, the broad fields were perhaps the most cheerless ele- ment of the s~ene, with their dun-colored hedges, their wide expanse of sere plants, and their frag- ments of unpicked cotton hanging in melancholy shreds from the withered stalks. All around the horizon was a broad band of pale-yellow light, and this, together with the singular softness of the aj~mosphere, made Katharine sure that there would soon be a change in the weather. "It will rain to-morrow," said Jack, looking up at the sky. "Miss Tresham, don't you feel the wind? Papa sdys that when it blows this way, it always brings.rain. There, Ponto !-there goes a rabbit, sir!" Ponto, who was a large Newfoundland dog, had been brought along for the purpose of chas- ing rabbits, and was not at all averse to the amusement. In fact, he saw the poor, little furry wanderer before Jack did, and was off at a mad gallop, followed headlong by all the chil- dren. A turn in the road soon hid them from the sight of the governess., and she gave a high of relief. She liked them, and their bright ani- mal spirits never jarred on her as the spirits of grown people sometimes did; but just now she was glad to have the sombre winter scene all to herself, and much obliged to Ponto and the rab- bit who had secured this solitude. To her, as to a great many other people, there was a singular charm in the leaden sky, the bare woods, and brown hills, the dun neutral tints which went to make up the scene. Afar off; between some fields, there was a clump of trees, and a small house from which a column of blue smoke rose against the sky. Katharine looked at it wist- fully. "I wonder if the people who live there are bappy?" she thought. "I wonder if they look for any thing, expect any thing, dread any thing! Oh, me! I am sorry for them if they do!" As she went her way, between the zigzag rail fences and sear hedges, this train of not very cheerful thought colored the whole scene. She thought that she liked it because it agreed with her mood; but, in truth, if her mood had been different, every thing would have borne a different seeming to her eyes. So it is with us. If our hearts are heavy, the most beautiful landscape that ever smiled grows dark and dreary; while, if they are light, the sunshine from them over- flows and colors with its own tints all the world around us. Katharine's world was made up of dull neutral hues just now, leaden grays, and cold browns, and dun, dark purples. We have no right to put the earth in mourning for our own troubles, but many of us do it nevertheless. Morton House was farther off than she had remembered, and the afternoon was very nearly spent when she and her noisy charges walked up the avenue, and came in sight of the circular terrace and the brown old house set in the midst of it. This was Katharine's first fulfilment of the promise she had given Mrs. Gordon, and she could not help feeling a little nervous with regard to what her reception might be. Would the lady be kind and gracious, as she had been before? or would she think that, for a stranger, Miss Tresh- am was presuming too speedily on her invita- tion? "She is said to be very eccentric," Kath- arine thought to herself, with a slight feeling of dismay-" one of the people who can be charm- ing one day, and freezing the next, Mrs. Marks says. Will she be charming or freezing to-day, I wonder? I almost wish I had not come." It was too late for retreat, however. At that mo- ment, from some quarter or other, Felix espied them, and bore down with a shout of pleasure. Five minutes later, they were entering the hall. Felix left them in the drawing-room, while he went to announce their arrival to his mother, and in a moment returned, accompanied by Har- rison. "Mrs. Gordon's compliments; would the children please go with Mass Felix to the nursery; and she would be glad to see Miss Tresham in her own room." This was the substance of the mes- sage delivered by the servant; and, while Felix led off his visitors, with eager assurances that the place where he was going to take them was not a nursery at all, but a good, big room, where his playthings were kept, Miss Tresham followed Harrison across the hall, and was ushered into the pleasant sitting-room where she had been intro- duced before. Mrs. Gordon was lying on a couch by the fire, and looked very ill, her visitor thought. She raised herself; however, and, extending her hand, smiled with pleasant cordiality. "So you are really as good as your ~vord, Miss Tresham, and have come to see me. I need not say you are heartily welcome. Sit down. Is it not very cold and gloomy out-of-doors?" Evidently, if Mrs. Gordon, was "eccentric," and had different moods for different days, this was one of her most gracious moods, and one of her brightest days ~At least, so Katharine thought, as she felt that her instinct about the visit had not misled her, and as, obeying the motion of her hostess'~ hand, she sat down by the fire. She did not know whether to allude td the traces of suffering so plainly marked on her companion's face; but the latter relieved her uncertainty on this point at once. "I have been quite ill," she said, "and I am sure you think that I am still, in looks at least, the worse for it. At my age, one shows. so plainly things which pass unnoticed in youth. If you had come a day or two ago, I could not have seen you; but to-day I am grateful for the presence of such a bright face." The bright face smiled and blushed a ~ttle at this, but soon recovered its usual composure. "I am glad I came, then," said Katharine. "I was a little doubtful, thinking I might trouble you. But I always mean what I say myself, and I gave you credit for meaning what you .said when you asked me to come." "You were quite right," said Mrs. Gordon, smiling; "I meant exactlywhat I said, and' per- haps a little more. I have lived a long, time in the hottest fever of the world," she went on, "and this stagnant life is almost too much for page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] 68 MORTON HOUSE. R. G. 69 me. In a measure, it was pure selfishness which made me press you to return. I cannot ask the people of Lagrange to come here. I have gone out of their life and their world forever. But you are different. The first moment I saw you, I knew that you were different; and I knew, or thought I knew, that you would be a person worth knowing, and a companion worth having." "You flatter me," said Katharine, with her breath a little taken away. "I never flatter anybody," answered Mrs. Gordon, coolly. "You l~now as well as I do that, although you are not particularly pretty, and, for aught I know, may not be particularly clever, you are particularly attractive. I don't wonder-" she paused, with a smile; then added, "Won't you take off your bonnet, and spend the evening with me?" "I should be very glad to do so; but I have the children under my care, and I must take them home before dark" "Can't they go home by themselves? can't Babette take them? Well" - as Katharine shook her head in reply to both propositions- "I won't press you. But leave the children at home another day, and come prepared to spend the evening. Surely, your holidays begin very soon now?" "They have begun already. Today was my last of school." "I am glad to hear that. I can hope, then, to see you often in the course of the next two' weeks?" "I-don't-know," said Katharine, doubt- fully. The moment afterward she caught a look of surprise on Mrs. Gordon's face, and went on, hastily: "I mean that I may not be at Mrs. Marks's during the holidays. I received a Christmas invitation today, and I have' been doubting whether or not I should accept it. Would "-a pause ..-" would you think me very impertinent, Mrs. Gordon, if I asked your advice abo~it doing so?" "I should not think you impertinent at all, Miss Tresham; and I should be very glad to ad- vise you to the best of my abilit~ieaving selfish- ness out of the question." Katharine sat still and looked in the fire for a minute, puckering' her brow into a slight frown as she' did so. Then she turned round and smiled at her hostess. "Don't think me very vacillating and irreso- lute," she said; "but the fact is, I declined the invitation this morning, and I told Mrs. Marks at diuae~' that I positively would not accept it; yet such is the perversity of human nature that I am half inclined to retract my own words now, and go. If one or two doubts could be solved for me, I think I should." "And can I solve those doubts?" "If you choose, I am sure you can. Of course, you know enough of your cousin to tell-" She stopped short, for Mrs. Gordon raised up and looked at her with astonished eyes. "My cousin?" she repeated. "You surely don't mean Mrs. Annesley?" "Yes, I do," said Katharine, laughing a lit- tle. "You can't be more surprised than I was. I had never seen Mrs. Annesley before; and this morning she called on me, and absolutely asked me to spend Christmas at Anneadale-more than that, she would not accept a refusal; but, when I declined the invitation, said that she would give me until to-morrow to consider, and would send for my final answer then. Now, if I am not impertinent, pray tell me what she means by it, and what I ought to do." Mrs. Gordon sank bacon her cushions, and smiled. Instead of answering Katharine's ques- tion, she asked another: "You say that you would like to go?" "Yes," said the girl, frankly. "I like pleas. ure very much-more than is right, I am afraid -and I should like very much to go. It has been four years since I danced the last time," said she, looking at Mrs. Gordon gravely; "and I should like to go to another ball. There is al- ways a Christmas ball at Annesdale, Mrs. Marks says. If I knew why Mrs. Annesley asked me, and if I could be sure that she really wants me, I should certainly take the goods the gods pro. vide, and go." "Go, then," said Mrs. Gordon. "Take the goods the gods provide, and enjoy them while you can. I am able to set your mind at rest on both those points. I think I know why Mrs. Annesley asked you; and, as she asked you, I am sure she wants you to go." "This is your advice?" "This is certainly, my advice." "Not given because I was foolish enoughto say that I liked pleasure, but honestly and sin- cerely?" "Honestly and sincerely," answered Mrs. Gordon, smiling. "You don't suppose I would think you worth much if you had not youth enough in you to like pleasure? The loveof it is born in us, and is the strongest cord that draws us heavenward; as well as the heaviest fetter that binds us to the earth. Don't grudge your youth its natural impulses and pleasures. Believe me, the apathy and the distaste of later life will come on you soon enough." "But Annesdale-" said Katharine. "Go to Anneadale, by all means. I don't simply advise; I am bold enough to urge you to do so. Shall I tell you why? You are not a simpering, foolish young lady; so I think I may. It is evident that Mrs. Annesley, from personal reasons-don't blush, my dear, for I don't mean to be as plain-spoken as I was before-is anxious. to see and know you. She has taken a better way of doing this than I should have given her credit for-a more delicate way, that is. Don't deny yourself a pleasure, and repulse her at the same time. If you have any liking, any cordial friendship, for Morton, meet his mother's ad- vances frankly, and go to Annesdale." "But," said Katharine, blushing deeply, de- spite her companion's admonition to the con- trary, "that is exactly why I hesitate. Mr. Annesley has been very kind to me - if we were on the same social level, I might almost say very attentive-and I don't know what con-. struction might be placed upon this visit." " My dear," said Mrs. Gordon quietly, "society is a state of hollow but very useful forms. We all know that they are hollow, but still, we all observe them. Mrs. Annesley has asked you to spend Christmas at Anneadale, and you are not supposed to know any thing of the motive for this invitation. If any motive is concealed beneath it, what difference does that make? 'If she asks you for one reason, and you go for another, what matter of that? Have you not lived long enough in the world to know that life -this outside, social life-is merely a game of chance and skill? This visit will bind you to nothing. The day after you come away, or the day before, for that matter, you will be at per- fect liberty to reject Morton if he asks you to marry him. I hope you won't do any thing half so foolish, though," she added, with a smile. "I knew his father well; and Morton is Edgar An- nesley over again. No girl could ever do bet- ter than to accept him." "I am sure of that," said Katharine, kindly and cordially. Bum she did not say it as if she had any personal interest in the question of accepting or rejecting the young owner of An. neadale. She spoke with~ her eyes fastened thoughtfully on the fire; and when she looked up, she added suddenly, "Then, once for all, you advise mete go? "Once for all, I do. Will you prove an en. caption to most adviceasking people, and take my advice?" "Yes, I will," said the girl, rising and stand- ing before the fire, with the ruddy light flicker- ing over her bright face and graceful figure. 1 am very much obliged to you for giving it," she went on; 't aiid I should be very ungrateful if I did not take it after you have been so frank with me. I shall write to Mrs. Annesley to-morrow, and tell her that I accept her invitation. May I come to see you when I return, and tell you how much I have enjoyed myself?" - "Come to see me certainly, and tell me all about it. I shall be very glad to hear every thing. But must you go now?" "Yes, it is growing late, and we have ~ 'long walk from here home. Neither the children nor myself mind it, though," she added, as the word "carriage" formed on Mrs. Gordon's lips. "I must bid you good-evening, and I hope you will be well when I come again. With a sudden impulse which, if she had stopped a minute to consider, would certainly have been repressed, she bent down and laid her lips on Mrs. Gordon's cheek. It was a very light caress, but the latter felt it and started. Then she looked up with a smile. "You are certainly very charming," she said. "I don't wonder that others, besides myself~ have found it out." -4-- CHAPTER xiv. n. a. WHEN Mrs. Annesley reached home, she found that the whole family of Taylors, mother and daughters, had arrived at Annesdale during her absence, and were established to "spend the day," according to the irksome custom which then prevailed, and for that matter still prevails, in country districts. Their bonnets were laid aside, their work was brought out, and the draw. ing-room was full of the sound of their chatter and laughter, when the lady of the house entered. Poor Adela was on duty, and gave a glance corn. pounded ludicrously of resignation and disgust to her mother. Mrs. Annesley telegraphed a reply in much the same spirit, then swept for- ward and greeted her guests with effusion. "Dear Mrs. Taylor, what a pleasant surprise 1 How kind of you to come!" etc., etc.-" Maria, how well you are looking ! - Fanny, has your. page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] 70 MORTON HOUSE. R G. 71 neuralgia quite gone ?-Augusta, I need not as] how yos are-I never saw you more blooming Of course you have come to spend the day. cannot think of letting you off1" etc. They all spent the day with religious exact tude. It was nightfall before the last item o~ news was discussed, the knitting-needles am worsted-work put away, the bonnets resumed and the carriage ordered. Mrs. Annesley gav a heart-felt sigh as she stood at the window anc watched them drive away. "What a relief P she said. "It is dreadful to think what bore~ those people are!" ~ "The night is going to be dark, and the roadt are very heavy," said Adds. "I shouldn't b surprised if they had a bad time getting home- and serve them right, tool for staying so late Now, mamma, what news? I have been dying to hear, ever since you came; and I thought they never were going." "Nothing very satisfactory," her mother an- swered, without turnin'r round. "She declines to come, ~ "What!" said Adela; and~ even in the soft mingling of firelight and twilight, it was evident that her face felL "It can't be possible that she declines to come, mamma!" "She does, though. She refused the invita- tion absolutely and mit very courteously." "Then what will you do?" "What I will do is yet to bedecided-what I did do was to decline to accept her refusal. I in- sisted on her taking a day to consider the mat- ter, and said 1 would send for her answer to- morrow." "That is snore than I should have done," said Adela, flushing. "She will think she has ~gairted every thing." "She is welcome to think so,";was the quiet response. "It is nothing but insolence!" cried Mrs. Freneb. "I wish I had her in my power, I'd- Pd stinngle her! Mamma, I don't see how you ever submitted to it!" "We must submit to a great deal, Adds, if we want to carry our points." * "And do you think you will carry this one?" "I thinkehe will come." "But if she don't?" "Then I shall be disappointed, but not seri- ously so. All I need is time; and time, I think, I can induce Morton to grant me. Since I have given a conditional consent, he has promised that he will not speak until I have seen and judged of.-.--of this governess." "I should make that a long process." "No; for I hope it will not be long before I I have proofs concerning her which not even Mor- ton can disregard.'t, "And meanwhile?" "And meanwhile, she cannot fail to suffer by I close contrast with Irene Vernon. She is not pretty, Adela." "N-o, mamma, not prett~r, perhaps-but I handsome in a certain style that men like. If you could have seen her talking to Morton at the pond that day! It was all her fault that he lost sight of that hateful child, and had such a frightful accident. Of course, Irene is a beauty -but I wouldn't trust to this girl's not being - pretty, if I were you." "Trust to it! You don't suppose I have lived to my age, without learning that there are many things besides a pretty face that make a fool of a man. It certainly is not this girl's face * which has turned that poor boy's head. Let mc see-what is the day of the month?" "The nineteenth," answered Adela, wonder- ing a little at the question. Mrs. Annesley walked to the fire, making some calculation as she went. Mrs. French, who had meanwhile taken a seat, watched her with languid interest, She did not pretend to under. stand all her mother's schemes; but her reliance was, in a different way, quite as complete as Morton's. She had the m6st profound admira- tion for her mother's diplomatic abilities; and did not honestly believe that any cause was hope. less as long as she retained the management of it. "Well, mamma," she said, at last, "what are you thinking about?" "I am thinking," answered Mrs. Annesley, absently, "how long it takes a letter to go to London, and an answer to return." "A- letter ?-to go?-" Adela sat up and stared at her mother. "A letter to go to Lon- don! Mamma, what do you mean?" "I mean," said Mrs. Annesley, glancing round at the closed door, as if to make sure that nobody was within hearing-" I mean that I have no idea that my son shall marry an adv~n- turess; and that I have been making inquiries about Miss Tresham for some time." Mrs. French' gave a little scream, half of excitement, half of slightly comic alarm. "Good gracious, you don't say so! Why, this is becom- ing quite interesting. Wouldn't Morton be vexed if he knew? Tell me all about it, mamma-how long ago did you begin, and what have you found out?" "I can't tplk about it here," said Mrs. Annes- ley, a little nervously. "Morton might come in any minute; and I would not let him know for the world. When I have found out what I want to know, I shall lay the matter before him~ but, until then, he would not listen to any thing I could urge. His scruples on the subject are ab- surd." "Most of his ideas are," said Mrs. French, coolly. "Dear me, there iz his step in the hail! May I come to your room tonight, mamma, and hear all about it? Say yes, please." "I suppose you may, though I am half-afraid to trust you. "Never fear about trusting me. I'm not like some foolish women, who tell every thing to their husbands. Frank is a good fellow, and tells me all his secrets; but he doesn't hear any of mine. -Do you, Frank?" "Do I what, Adela?" asked Frank, who en- tered at the moment in a very splashed and dis- reputable cOndition. "1 don't mean to stop a minute," he said, hastily, as he was transfixed by his wife's glance. "I only came in to tell you what splendid luck we've had. I never saw the pond so flush of ducks before. Morton's a better shot than I am, and he bagged no less than-" "Frank, if you don't go up-stairs this minute and take off that abominable corduroy, I will never speak to you again!~~ cried Mrs. French, in a high-treble key. "It smells horribly! Who cares about your miserable ducks? I don't!" "You'll care about eating them, 1 expect," said the good-natured Frank, as he left the room rather crestfallen, and went to change the objec- tionable corduroy, which, being thoroughly wet, had, in fact, a: very fs~r from agreeable odor. A few minutes afterward Morton entered, and, having had the discretion to e~nnge his dress, was welcomed more cordially than his fellow- sportsman had been. In answer to his mother's inquiries, he said that they had had a very good day's sport; that the ducks were plenty, and, by no means hard to approach; and that their game-bag wasfull. "Frank enjoyed it extremely," he said, in a tone that was rather tired. "For my part, I am not as fond of sport as I used to be." "I suppose it takes a fox-chase to rouse you," said Mrs. Annesley. "By-the-way, there will be so~ne fox-hunting next week, will there not?" "To be sure," answered Morton. "French was talking about it to-day. Langdon, and Tal- cott, and half a dozen more, will be here, who~ care for little besides fox-hunting. I wrote t6 Godfrey Seymour and told him to bring his hounds with him when he came." "Isn't your own pack a good one?" "The more the merrier, you know; and no hounds are like Seymour's. He has the best- trained pack in the country." "I hope he will come." "I hope so, indeed, for his own sake as well as on account of his dogs. There isn't a better fellow living than Godfrey. Is your party quite made up, mother?" he went on. "If there is anybody else to be invited, you know you ought to be attending to it. Almost everybody has made engagements for Christmas by this time.~~ "There is nobody else to be invited," said Mrs. Annesley. She paused a moment, then added, c~uietly: "I gave the last invitation in Tallahoma to-day." "In Tallahoma!" echoed her son. "Whom did you ask in Tallahoma? John Warwick?" "No, quite a different person. Miss Tresh- am." The young man started. That name was the last he had expected to hear, and looked at his mother for a moment in surprise. Then he went round to the back of her chair, and, bending down, kissed her brow just where the hair was parted. "My dear mother, thank you," he said, sim- ply. "Don't thank me," said Mrs. Annesley, in rather a hard voice. "I need not tell you that it cost me a struggle, Morton. But I promised you tO see and know her, and I thought this oppor- tunity the best for the purpose. People will wonder, no doubt; but we must submit to that." "Let them wonder," said he, a little haught- ily; but his tone softened, as he added: "You were quite right; this will be the best opportu- nity for seeing and knowing her. Is there noth- ing that I can do for you, mother?" he went on. "Is there nothing you could ask of rile? I should like to show you in some way how much I appreciate the sacrifice you have nmade.~v "Yes, there is one thing," said Mrs. Annes- icy, perceiving her advantage, and seizing it without an instant's hesitation. "You can cer- tainly do one thing for me, Morton. I have asked this girl here for your sake. For my sake promise me that while she is here you will refrain from' paying her any marked attention, that you will not give people any opportunity to couple your name and hers together." page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] 72 MORTON HOUSE. R. G. 73 Morton's brow contracted a little. He thought his mother had taken an unfair advan- tage of his offer, but he did not say so; indeed, after a moment, he saw that he had no alterna- tive but to consent. He had rashly laid himself open to this, and he must abide by his own words. * "I promise," he said, a little coldly, "but I did not think you would have asked such a thing of me." His mother rose and laid her hand on his shoulder. "Why, my dear son? Why should I not ask it of you? You know where all my hopes for you are fixed. Can you wonder that 1 do not wish you to put an impassable barrier between yourself and their fulfilment?" He knew what she meant-he knew she was thinking of Irene Vernon-so he did not answer. He had very sensitive ideas of his own, and he showed them in nothing more than in the reti- cence he always observed with regard to topics like these. Nothing would have induced him to mention Miss Vernon's name in a connection of this sort. After a while, he sighed a little, and put his arm round his mother. "You must bear with me," he said. "Moth. er, dear, it is hard that at this late day I should begin to be a trouble to you; but be patient, be hopeful, and perhaps in time we may live it down." Mrs. Annesley went to her own room early that night. She was tired, she said her drive to town and the Taylors together had quite cx- hansted her, and her only chance of being mod- erately well the next day was to retire at an hour that Adela was fond of calling uncivilized-Ade- la's pet idea of civilization being to go to bed at one o'clock and rise at twelve. To-night, however, Mrs. French made no demur at the move. She yawned and said the Taylors had done for her, too; then bade her brother good- nigh~, and followed her mother up-stairs. "You are going to smeke?" sh~ said to her husband, who muttered something of the sort in the hall below. "Oh, very well; take your time about it; I am going to mamma's room for a while." Her face vanished from over the balustrade, and the minute afterward the two gentlemen heard her dress rustling along the upper pas. sage, a~md the opening and closing of Mrs. An- nesley's door. "They are good for a two-hours' gossip at least," said Mr. French, on hearing this. "That's their notion of 'going to bed early and getting a long rest!' Come, Morto~, we'll have a smoke. Do you know where the papers are that came this morning" ~" In Mrs. Annesley's chamber a large fire was blazing brightly and making the whole room radiant with that beautiful glow which a judi- cious mixture of pine, and oak, and hickory, can alone diffuse, when Adela entered. It rendered any other light almost unnecessary; but a lamp burned with quiet, steady lustre on the table at Mrs. Annesley's side, and, scattered around its base, were several letters and a newspaper. She looked up from the pages of one of the former when the door opened and she saw her daughter. "I thought your curiosity would not let you remain downstairs long," she said. "Come in, bnt be sure and close the door securely." "Well, mamma, I'm all impatience," said Adela, after she had waited some time, and her mother took no further notice of her, but went on reading the letter she held. "Look at that, then," said her mother, push- ing the newspaper across the table and pointing with her finger to a particular paragraph. Adela took it up wonderingly. The sheet was mammoth, and proved to be a copy of the London Times, in date five or six months old. Following the direction of the finger, her eye fell at once on the following advertisement: "If the friends or relations of Katharine Tresham, formerly of the British West indies, and lately of Cumberland, England, are desirous of knowing her present whereabouts' and ad- dress, they can obtain this information by ad- dressing R. G., box 1084, Mobile, Alabama." Adela first stared, then caught her breath, and looked up at her mother. "is it possible you wrote this, mamma?" "Yes, I wrote it," Mrs. Annesley answered. "I could not let matters go on as they had been doing for months past. I felt, and i still feel sure there is something wrong about the girl. Being confident of this, and seeing Morton's growing infatuation, i knew that to lift the cur- tain from her life was the only hope of saving him, if i have done her harm, she has only herself and her ambitious schemes to thank for it. Any parent would hold me more than justi~ fled in the means i have used." "Oh, as for that," said Adela, "i think the means are excellent. But i wonder how you ever thought of them, and how did you get this inserted"'" "I sent it to Mr. Russell when he was in England last summer, lie is thoroughly trust- worthy, and will neither mention the fact nor ask any questions. it was inserted in the Timas for a month, and he sent me this copy." "Did any thing come of it?" "Something came of it sooner than 1 had ventured to hope. Before the advertisement had appeared a week, a letter was written, and reached me in due time." She handed a letter across the table, and Adela received it eagerly. Her curiosity was fairly in a flame, and, although she tore open the folded sheet very hastily~ she had still time enough to observe that the paper, writing, and whole style of the missive, were unexceptionable. It was evidently written by a man, and was quite terse: "If H. G. can give any accurate information concerning the present whereabouts and address of Katharine Tresham, formerly of Porto Rico, in the West Indies, and lately of Dornthorne Place, Cumberland, England, he will be entitled to the thanks of her friends, and can obtain a liberal reward by addressing Messrs. Rich & Little, Lincoln's Inn, London." After Adela read the last words twice over, she looked up at her mother, and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't think the reply gives much more information than the advertisement," she said. "'When that came," answered Mrs. Annesley, "I saw in a moment that I had gone to work wrong-that instead of offering to give informa- tion, I should have asked for it. I saw there was a secret to keep; and this friend who offers me a liberal reward, and refers me to a couple of lawyers, was as much interested as the girl herself in keeping it. I felt sure, however, that he did not know her whereabouts, that he was honestly anxious to be enlightened. In that case, I thought I saw my way, and this is what I wrote. Again she pushed a letter across the table, and again Adela took it up and read: "If the gentleman who referred R. G. to Messrs. Rich & Little will communicate his own address to box 1084, Mobile, Alabama, he can obtain the information he desires, and be spared the payment of a reward." "Well! and what was the answer to tkis?" "The answer to this came very shortly, and puzzled me not a little. Here it is." The second missive, in the same writing, and on the same paper as the first, was in turn handed across the table and read: "Mr. St. John has received H. G.'s letter. If R. G. possesses any real knowledge of Miss Tresh- am's place of abode, and objects to communicate. ing that knowledge through Mr. St. John's law- yers, he can address directly- "HENRY ST. Jous, EsQ., "Peste Restante, "Mr. St. John !-Mr. St. John's lawyers!" re- peated Adela. "Well, Miss Tresham certainly seems to have a grand sort of person interested *in her! Dear me, mamma, suppose she has run away from her friends, and is really a lady, after all? " "She is much more likely to be an adventure~ ess," said Mrs. Annesley, bitterly. "That high. sounding name did not deceive me for a minute. By return mail, I forwarded her address to Mr. Henry St. John, and requested some information concerning her, for personal and family reasons. No answer whatever came to that letter. After waiting some time, and finding that none was likely to come, and that evidently nothing had occurred to call Miss Tresham away from La- grange, I wrote to the lawyer in Mobile, through ~vhom I received these letters, and requested him to make inquiries in London about this Mr. St. John. He did so at once, and I am now waiting to hear the result. It may be some time before I obtain the facts I want, but every thing is pos- sible to patience and money, and I shall obtain them in the end. if it takes my whole fortune," she went on, passionately, "I will obtain them, sooner than let my son wreck his life by marry- ing this woman." "I am inclined to think that Mr. St. John is a nice person," said Adela, gravely regarding the two letters that lay open on the table before her. " I am sure he is a sharper," her mother re- torted, "and probably in league with Miss Tresh- am. Why he should have noticed my advertise. ment at all, puzzles me." "Perhaps because he was afraidd somebody else would," said Adela, too lazy to do battle for her own "nice-person" theory. "Well, main- page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] 74 MORTON HOUSE. MERRY CHRISTMAS! 75 ma, when do you expect to hear something definite about him?" "I wrote to Mr. Burns the other day, taking the inquiry," her mother answered. "I was looking over his reply when you came in. There it is-you can sec it if you choose." "Of course i choose," said Adela; and suiting the action to the word, she took the indicated letter and opened it. Mr. Burns was thb Mobile lawyer of whom Mrs. Annesley had spoken, and this was what he said: "DzAn MADAM: Your favor of the 3d ultimo came safely to hand. In reply to your inquiries, I am able to say that I hope soon to hear from my agent in London, with regard to the infor- mation you auc anxious to receive. I anticipate little difficulty in obtaining this information, if the addresses which you have furnished me are at all correct. The solicitors at Lincoln's Inn will certainly be able to satisfy you concerning. the real character and standing of Mr. St. John. If we should meet with any difficulty there, it will be a little more troublesome, but quite as practicable to make these inquiries through other channels. In either case, you ~nay be sure of receiving reliable information in a com- paratively short time. I have also forwarded to myagent your copy of Mr. St. John's letter, giv- ing the name of the place where Miss Tresham resided in Cumberland. By prosecuting his in- quiries there, he may be able to learn something of this lady. I hope to receive a letter by the middle of the month, and will forward it to you immediately. "Assuring you of my continued secrecy, and acknowledging your desire that I will not spare expense, I remain, "Very rcspectfi~lly, "WILLIAM F. Buass." Adela philosophically folded up the letter, and returned it to her mother. "1 see now why you gave your consent," she said. "You wanted to make Morton defer mat- ters, and so gain time~" "it was my only hope," said her mother. "I knew that if once Morton spoke to the girl, he would hold fast to his word through every thing. Now 1 may stave oil' a declaration, until 1 can show hint who and what she is." "if that is your hope, I should think you were very unwise to ask her to spend a week in the same house with him." "And you don't know that by this very thing I took the surest means of binding him to his promise. He would do any thing sooner than * break it now, that I have, as he thinks, made such a sacrifice for him. But that was not my only reason for asking her. I wanted her here -in my power, under my hand. When the let- ter from London comes, I want to give her a choice between open exposure, or leaving La- grange. Then I do not believe that, once con- trasted with Irene Vernon, she could continue to attract Morton." Adela shook her head. "That's your mistake, mamma," she said. "Morton has known Irene Vernon as long or longer than he han known this girl, and do you suppose he never contrasted them in his mind? I am as anxious as you can be that he should fall in love with her; but I don't think it is like- ly just now." - "We shall see." "Yes, we shall see. But, for my part, I don't believe Miss Tresham will come. I am sure she has sense enough to distrust an invite~ tion to Annesdale." "That may be; but, nevertheless, I think she will accept it." The event fully justified this belief. The next day was cloudy and stormy in the extreme, but Mrs. Annesley dispatched a messenger to Talla- homa, and waited anxiously for his return. In an hour or two, a damp note, woefully limp, and odorous of wet linsey, was brought to her. She opened it with two fingers, read the few lines which it contained, and looked up at her daugh- ter with a smile. "it is all right, Adds," she said. "She will come." CHAPTER XV. ~nnnt CI{RISTMASl Wxnxzsnxv was Christmas eve; and on Wed- nesday the Annesley equipage rolled majestically up to Mr. Marks's gate, and the children rushed pantingly in with the intelligence that the car- riage had come for Miss Tresham, and the driver said would she please be as quick as possible, for his horses were impatient, and didn't like to stand. Miss Tresham did not- keep the impatient horses, or their more impatient driver, waiting very long. Her trunk was packed, and her ben. net had been on for an hour at least; se--there was nothing to do but say good-by-which, how. ever, was very far from being a short ceremony. There was Mrs. Marks and Mr. Marks, and Mr. Warwick (it was immediately after dinner, which accounted for the presence at home of these two gentlemen) and all the children, and most of the servants, to exchange farewells and good wishes with. Mrs. Marks kissed the young governess as if she had been her own daughter, and bade her take care of herself and look her prettiest, and enjoy herself her best; Mr. Marks shook hands heartily, and hoped she would have a very merry Christmas, and they would all miss her, and keep her Christmas-gifts till she came back, and the children pressed round tumultuously, and list- ened distractedly, while she told Mrs. Marks that if she would look in the top drawer of her bureau the next morning, she would perhaps find that St. Nicholas had visited it; and the servants bobbed up and down in the background, and thrust forward their ebony hands with many " Christmas gift, missis I Wish you merry Christmas, ma'am 1" while Mr. Warwick stood by, and looked with his quiet smile at the whole of it. "I'll take you to the carriage, and bid you good-by there," he said, when Katharine at last turned and extended her hand to him. "You'll never get oil', at this rate. Has the trunk gone out?" "Done strapped on, sir," said Tom, appearing at the open door, and speaking ovcr Judy's yellow turban. "Done strapped on, sir; and John says the horses-" "Tell John to hold his tongue about the horses.-Miss Tresham, when you are ready, I am at your service.~~ "I am ready now, Mr. Warwick," said Katha- rine; and wiih a last bright glance around, and a last "Good-by all 1" she went out of the open door, across the piazza, and down the front walk, attended by Mr. Warwick, and followed by all the children and servants. Mr. and Mrs. Marks went no farther than the piazza, but they stood there and watched the departure. "if ever I thought that suck a thing would be!" said the good wom- an to her husband, as she saw Katharine enter the carriage, and bend forward ever the closed door to shake hands with Mr. Warwick and give Nelly a last kiss. Then a touch was given the ins- patient horses, the carriage disappeared, like a glittering vision, round a turn of the road, and the group at the gate returned slowly to the house-all excepting Mr. Warwick, who went on to town, and, although it was Christmas Eve, and high and low, and rich and poor, were all alike rejoicing and taking a holiday, sat himself do~vn to his grim law-books, and seemed to find the same interest in them that he found there every day. - Meanwhile, Katharine was driving at a rapid and easy pace over the country road that led past the gates of Morton House on to Annesdale. The short December afternoon was more than half gone, the shadows were long, and the yellow sun- shine streamed with bright but sad pathos over the distant hills and leafless woods, as the car- riage swept along; the driver and footman talked on the box, and the girl inside, leaning back on the soft cushions and :watching the fields and clumps of trees fly past, asked herself if she was awake or dreaming, if she would really arrive at Annesdale after a while, or if she would rouse up in her own room in Mr. Marks's house. On the whole, she came to the conclusion that she was awake, when the Annesdale gates flew open at the approach of the carriage, and, sweep- ing round the carefully-kept circle, Katharine found herself before a handsome house of soft gray color, built in the Italian style, and spread- ing over a great deal of space, with large wings and many piazzas. The doors of the haIl were wide open, and three or four gentlemen were standing in the front portico. One of them came forward when the carriage stopped, and, putting aside the footman, began opening the door himself. He was a frank, pleasant-looking person, whom Katharine recognized as Mr. French. "I hope you have not found it cold, Miss Tresham," he said, as, after fumbling at the handle for some time, he at last wrenched open the dooi~ "They ought to have put the win- dows up to protect you better. Let me bid you welcome to Anneidale. I hope you will have a merry Christmas with us. Did you ever spend Christmas in the country before?" His voice and his smile were both very genial. Katharine felt glad that her first welcome had been from him, instead of from her formal host- ess. It seemed somehow to promise better, to be a better omen of that merry Christmas which everybody just then was wishing everybody else. She answered him, as they went up the steps to- gether, and, when they entered the door, the first thing that met her eye was the greeting- MERRY CHRISTMAS! in enormous letters of evergreen fronting the en. page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] 76 MORTON HOUSE. MERRY CHRISTMAS! 77 trance, and running along the gallery that was part of the noble winding staircase which swept around the large octagon hail. On every side of this hail swung heavy garlands in which the deep glossy green of a dozen different perennials con- trasted with the crimson berries of the holly and the glistening pearls of the mistletoe. Every picture gazed from a frame elaborately decked; and the large chandelier that swung in mid-space looked like a massive hanging basket, with its many wreaths and long drooping sprays of ivy "How beautiful 1" said Katharine, standing still to admire. "How very beautiful 1" "Yes, it's pretty," said Mr. French, smiling. "But wait until you see the drawing-rooms. The hail was rather slighted this year, and-Ah, here's Mrs. Anucaley.", He broke off thus, as a door on one side opened, and two ladies came out. One was a young and tolerably pretty girl, who ran forward and button-holed Mr. French without ceremony, while Mrs. Annesley welcomed Katharine with more cordiality than the latter had expected. "Have you seen Spitfire? Oh, Mr. French, do tell n~o if you have seen Spitfire?" cried the first, in a tone of deep distress. "My dear Miss Tresham, I am very glad to welcome you to Anneadale," said Mrs. Annesley, with pleasant courtesy. "I am sure that some of your horrid hounds have got hold of him!" cried the anxious in- quirer. "I am afraid you were detained, and must have found it cold,~' said Mrs. Annesley Katharine was rather confused between the two; but she managed to leave the Spitfire re- plies to Mr. French, and assure Mrs. Annesley that she had not been detained, that she was not cold, and, that she hoped she had arrived in time for dinner-it having been understood that she should dine at Annesdale on Christmas Eve. " In very good time," answered Mrs. Annes- Icy. ~' It has not been ten minutes since the ladies went np-stairs to dress. These holiday tiniest the servants are entirely upset," she added, "and, with all my efforts, I cannot get dinner be- fore five o'clock. It is not so much fashion as necessity which decides my hours. Will you go to your room now ?-Maggie, I suppose you will come when you find your dog?" "I am just going with Mr. French to look for him," answered the young lady, to whom this last question had been addressed. "I don't trust a word these miserable servants say, Mrs. Annes- icy. They all have a spite against Spitfire, and I believe they would be glad to see those hateful hounds worry him to death. I'll be up-stairs when I find him, but not l~fore." She walked out of the front door, followed by Mr. French, while Mrs. Annesley drew Katharine toward the staircase. "This way, my dear," she said, quietly. "That is Miss Lester," she went on, as they mounted the steps together. "She is a nice girl, but rather spoiled, and quite eccen- tric. We can hardly wonder, though, for she is a great heiress, and an only child, se-here-this is your room." It was a charging apartment, large and airy, with deep, broad windows looking to the south, two canopied and curtained beds, and richly- carved rosewood furniture. A bright fire was burning on the hearth, the toilet-table was glit- tering with crystal essence-bottles and the like, while two maids stood before it, one engaged in holding and the other in plaiting a long braid of rich, red hair. "This is Miss Tresham, Becky," said Mrs. Annesley, addressing the former, who at once dropped a deep courtesy. "Is every thing in order?" "Yes'm," said Becky, staring with all her might at the new-coiner. "Then, Miss Tresham, I trust you will be comfortable, and I will leave you to your toilet. I hope, by-the-way, you don't object to sharing your room. The house is so crowded, that I am obliged to quarter Miss Lester and yourself to. gather, as you perceive. You don't mind it? I am so glad; for many persons do, and in that case a hostess is rather embarrassed. Dinner at five.-Becky, be sure you attend to Miss Tresham well." "Won't you take a seat, ma'am ?" said Becky, wheeling a chair to the fire, after her mistress had left the room. And, as Katharine took the seat, she knelt down on the hearth-rug and began unlacing her shoes. "Never mind that," said Miss Tresham, smil- ing. "Don't let me take you from your work." "Mistiss told me I was to wait on you," said Becky, looking up from the shoes. "That's my business, ma'~im, as long as you stays here." "Indeed! I hope we shall get on well to- gether, then. And does that girl wait on Miss Lester?" "I belongs to Miss Lester," said the girl in- dicated. "I'se waited on her all my life.- Becky, where'd you put the curling-tongs?" "You'll find 'em behind the looking-glass," said Beeky.-Then she glanced up at Katl*$ue and added, with a negro's honest admMQ~ "You're the prettiest lady I've seen yet, ma'am." "Hush 1" said the pretty lady, laughing. "You must not flatter me, or we shall not get on at all. If you want to begin your duties, you may take these keys and open my trunk. I must dress as soon as I get warm." Before the process of getting warm was fin- ished, or the process of dressing had begun, the door opened, and the young lady whom Katha- rine had seen below catered the room, followed by a shaggy little Scotch terrier, who inconti- nently rushed at Miss Tresham, with a vicious snarl. "Spitfire, Spitfire 1-behave yourself~ sir ~" cried his mistress, with a stamp. of the foot, which Spitfire minded about as much as if she had bade him go on. "Don't be afraid of him," she said to Katharine, as Spitfire danced round and round, barking vehemently. "He is the best fellow you ever saw, and he wouldn't bite you for the world." "I don't trust him, ma'am 1" cried Becky, who had retreated into a corner and was valiant- ly defending herself with Katharine's shoes, while Spitfire, who had deserted Miss Tresham, devoted his energies entirely to her. " Oh, ma'am, please call him away! Oh, Lord, he's sure to bite me 1-Get off; sir 1-get off!" "Hush, you silly thing!" cried Miss Lester, with another stamp of her foot, which Becky obeyed better than Spitfire had done. "Come here to me, pet-come hcre.-Cynthy, catch him and make him stop." Cynthy put down the curling-tongs and made a lunge at Spitfire, who rewarded her exertions by turning his snapping and snarling against her. Katharine fully expected to see the maid badly bitten; but it seemed that Spitfire's fury was, after all, mere sound. lie submitted to be captured, and, with a last futile bark at Becky, lay dowli on the hearth-rug and growled to him- self. "There, now 1-are you not ashamed of your- self?" said his mistress, addressing him in an expostulating tone.-" Don't you ever be foolish enough to threaten him with any thing again," added she, turning severely to Becky. "If you do, he certainly will bite you; for nothing makes him so angry as to be threatened.-Miss Tresh- am, since we are to be room-mates, we might as well make friends. What do you think of Spit- fire?" "I think he is very well named," said Kath- arine, who had shared the panic. 8 "Cousin Tom named him," said the young lady. "lie thought it was an appropriate name, and I kept it because it was unusual. In fact, Spitfire is a very unusual dog." In ill-nature, do you mean?" "No, in sense. Look how intelligent his eyes are-I really believe he could talk if he chose. Then 1 like him all the better for his temper-it is such a contrast to those insipid poodles that most girls fancy. I have a bull-dog at home- a great, splendid fellow, named Bulger-but papa would not let me bring him abner" Katharine mentally applauded "papa's~~ wis- dom as she looked at Spitfire triumphantly estab- lished on the hearth-rug, and thought that it might have been her unlucky chance to have been also domiciled with a great, splendid fellow of a bull-dog. She soon found that her new ac- quaintance was very pleasant and very easy to get on wfth-a little spoiled, perhaps, as Mrs. Annesley had said, and decidedly a little eccen- tric, but exceedingly unaffected and good-natured. Contrasting her with many common specimens of the genus young lady, Katharine concluded that she was fortunate in her companion; and she listened with amusement while Miss Lester's tongue ran glibly on, now to the maid, now to herself~ "Get out my purple silk, Cynthy, and the ribbons to match. Did you quill the point lace in the neck, as I told you? A pair of satin boots, while ycu are in the trunk.-Miss Tresh- am, did you ever spend Christmas at Annesdalo before? No? Then I am sure you will be de- lighted-every thing is so charming. For my part, I am always glad to get away from home at Christmas. The servants have holiday, you know; and there is so much trouble about get- ting any thing done. They spend their whole tlme dancing in the cabins; and if you want the fire made up, even, you have to ring half a dozen times before anybody comes. I always go away from home Christmas; and, if I can, I always come to Anneadale. Adela and I went to school together. Don't you like her very much?" She stopped after this question, and Katharine replied that she had not the pleasure of knowing Mrs. French, at which Miss Lester's face cx. pressed the liveliest surprise. "Why, I thought she stayed in Lagrange a great deal. I don't live in Lagrange, you see. I live in Apalatka. But you know Morton, don't you ?-and oh, isn't he nice?" "I know Mr. Annesley, and I think him very pleasant." page: 78[View Page 78] 78 MORTON HOUSE. "He's delightful, that's what he is" said Miss, Lester, a little indignantly~ "Cousin Tom Langdon, and Godfrey Seymour, and Frank French, and a dozen more, are 'pleasant,' but Morton is simply delightful. I could fall in love with him," said the young lady, with startling candor. "Then, why don't you?" s~sked Katharine, who began to think that her new acquaintance was more eccentric than she had at first sup- posed. "Because there would be no use in it," an- swered the other, with a sigh of frank regret. "Everybody has settled that he's to marry Irene Vernon, and no doubt he will, after a while. She's pretty enough, as far as that goes; but, dear me, looks are not every thing-are they, Spitfire ?-Cynthy, come here ~nd take down my hair. I positively won't be dressed for dinner at this rate." With the efficient aid of Becky, Katharine's toilet was soon completed, and, when the~ lest touches were given, fully deserved the enthu- siastic compliments of the maid. "You looks as pretty as a picture, ma'am," said Becky, smoothing down the dress of some soft, blue fabric, that was cut in a style which really made the girl resemble an old picture. "If you only had your hair rolled up and powdered, you'd look for all the world like my great grandmother!" cried Miss Lester, turning round and much inconveniencing Cynthy, who was busy fastening the body of the purple silk. "Is that the first dinner-bell? Good gracious, Cynthy, make haste !-t[erc, Beeky, come and help her.-Miss Tresham, would you mind look- ing in the tray of that trunk and handing me my jewelry-box?" In the midst of the commotion which ensued, a knock at the door passed quite unnoticed, and, after one or two vain repetitions, they all started when it opened and Mrs. French appeared. "Oh, Adela, you are just in time!" cried Miss Lester, lifting up her hands. "I'm only half dressed, an~ hurried almost to death. Do, there's a dear! come and help Miss Tresham put these ornaments in my hair." "Indeed, I have not time, Maggie," said A de. Ia, very coolly. "On the contrary, I have come to earry off Miss Tresham. I knew that of course you would not be ready, so I thought I w9uld pilot her down-stairs.-I am Mrs. French. You'll let me introduce myself~, won't you?" she said, turning and offering her hand to Katha- zine, This was very pleasant and in five minutes Miss Lester was left to the tender mercies of Cynthy and Becky, and Katharine was going down-stairs in amicable companionship with Mrs. French. She had time now to see the grand scale on which Annesdale was built; to admire the hall paved in black and white marble, and the staircase that swept round and round until it ended in an observatory on the roof. "It is very handsome," the governess thought to herself; but she was of the Old World, and had seen too many noble residences to be impressed by the splendors of Annesdale. "On the whole, I think I like Morton House better. It is not so new." "Our party is not very large," Mrs. French was saying. "Not more than thirty people in all, and more gentlemen than ladies. I always like for them to be in the majority. This way, Miss ~resham.-.this is the drawing-room." She opened the door, Katharine entered, and for a minute was quite dazzled. It had been a long time since she had mingled in society, and even under ordinary circumstances this large, richly-hued room, all ablaze with wax-lights and full of well-dressed people, would have made a startling contrast to the gray twilight that filled the hall. Then, no amount of social usage can make it a pleasant ordeal to face a number of absolute strangers just at the time when they have nothing to do and little to talk of, and so are at leisure for criticisms and remarks more agreeable to themselves than to the objec iere- of. Katharine's courage sank down to zero, but nobody would have imagined it. On the con- trary, she looked so stately and self-possessed- so full of that rare, graceful ease which only the highest social culture can give-as she followed Mrs. French across the room, that everybody was immediately afflicted with an inordinate curiosity to learn who she was. All of the Lagrange people knew her by sight; but most of the present company were strangers in La- grange; and a sort of thrill of inquiry ran round the room. "What a splendid-looking woman 1" said the gentlemen. "Dear me, what an elegant girl!" cried the ladies. "Who is she ?" both parties demanded in a breath. When it was known who she was, the inter- est decidedly subsided. A governess who lived in the family of Mr. Marks ~at Tallahoma, was by no means a very important person in Lagrange estimation, and after a short time the only feel- ing that remained was one of curiosity to know why she should have been invited to loin the 78 page: Illustration-79[View Page Illustration-79] RE STOOD QUITE SILEFJ', WATCHING THE GRACEFUL FIGURE AND FAIR FACE. Cx~r. XV~ I MERRY CHRISTMAS! party. Thanks to Katharine's own prudence, there had never been much gossip about Mr. An. nesley's attentions; and although some few peo- pie shrugged their shoulders significantly, and said that it would be as well to be civil, since no one could tell how soon Mr. Marks's governess might be transformed into the mistress of An- nesdale, the majority passed the matter over as a whim of their hostess, and thought no more of it. The young host was standing by the fire- place, talking to Mrs. George Raynor, when a gentleman near him said, "Who is that hand- some girl who has just come in with your sister, Aunesley?" And, turning quickly, he saw Katharine. She did not see him, fQr to her eyes the scene was one confused mingling of light, and color, and strange faces. But she had not been sitting down more than a minute when a well-known voice said: "Won't you speak to me, Miss Tresham, and let me tell you how glad I am to see you here~?" She glanced quickly round, and the bright, handsome face she knew so well was looking down at her. With a smile, her hand went out to meet his. "Thank you, Mr. Annesley," she said. "Of course, I know to whom I am indebted for being here. You must believe that I am very much obliged for the pleasure." " You are mistaken," he answered. "You need not think that I hayc any share in the matter. I need not tell you that I am delighted, that I am happy to see you at Annesdale, but the I1~casurebecame twice a pleasure when my mother asked you, without the slightest knowl- edge, on. my part" Katharine opened her eyes a little; and, if it had been anybody but Annesley who spoke, would certainly have doubted the assertion. But, before she had time to reply, Mrs. French broke in-Mrs. French; whose ears were gQod, and who had no such implicit reliance on Mor- ton's promise as that which her mother had ex- pressed. "Miss Tresham, is Morton asking you to help us~ in our Christmas-Eve arrangements? He said he thought perhaps you would." "I said I was sure you would," said Mor- ton. "Adela has arranged some tableaux and music for the edification of our friends; and I felt sure you would aid, if need be." "Morton describes very badly," said Mrs. French. "Some tableaux and music are very in- definite. In the first place, it is no tableaux at 79 all, but only a little scenic effect; and, in the second place, we have arranged the musical pro- gramme, with the exception of one part. We want a Christmas anthem-solo. Will you sing one for us ? "What sort of an anthem?" "Any that you can orwill sing." "Would the 'Gloria' from Mozart's Twelfth Mass answer?" "It would be charming! Will . you sing that?" "With pleasure-.but-no. I cannot. My music is not here." "I will send for it," said Morton, before his sister could speak. "A messenger shall go in- stantly." He started up, and was about to leave the room, when Katharine called him back. "1 must send a message to Mrs. Marks," she said. "She would not kno~r where to find the music else. Please tell the servant to. ask her to look-" ''Had you not better come to the library and write a note? It would be much inoje cer- "Don't carry Miss Tresham off, Morton," said his sister. "Dinner will be ready in a "I won't keep her a minute," he answered ; and, without giving Katharine any optioa~in the matter, he drew her hand within h~s arrn,~a~xd led her from the room. The chandelier was li~hted by this time, and the hall looked brillian~inafl its guise of holly and mistletoe. To* Katharine, ~it suggested a large mystic temple; end Miss Lester, who was just then descendin~ the stair. case, might have passed for its priestess, in her rich purple silk and pearl ornaments. She stared a little, but Morton gave her no time to speak; he led his companion hastilyfoi~ward, and opened the library-dior. "You will find pen, ink, and paper, on that table," he said. "I will go to finda niessenger, and be back for your note in a second." Almost in a second he was back, and, closing the door behind him, came and stood by the table, while Katharine da#bed elf a few lines to Mrs. Marks., "Tell her to send all your music," he said. That was the only suggestion he made. lie stood. ~iiita silent, watching the graceful figure and fair face that made such a pretty pic- ture, seated by the table with its shaded lamp, and the dark book-lined walls behind. It looked so home-like to see her there-there under his own roof, in his own especial room-that the * page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] 81 80 ~~MORTON HOUSE. S.CILA young man had hard work to keep his lips sealed But in that very spot he ~ad promised his mothe not to speak without giving her warning, and h4 would hold fast to that promise through an~ temptation. When Katharine looked up, he wa~ gazing, not at her, but at the St. Cecilia over th~ xnante1-pieee~ and, when she extended her note he took it and put it into his pocket. "I will de liver it to the messenger as soon as I have seer you to the drawing-room," he said, "I had bet. ter take you back at once, or Adela will be impa. tient." Katharine felt sure of this, and rose to go but at the door he stopped-stQpped as if h must say something, however little, before lcttin~ her go. "One word, Miss Tresbam," he said, hurried. ly. "You don't know how very, very happy ii makes me to see you here." -4---.- CHAPTER XVI, sr. CEciLIA. AFTER dinner, Miss Tresham was sitting alone in a corner of the drawing-room. But let no one suppose from this statement that she was feeling snubbed or neglected, and, consequently, misan- thropical or cynical, in even the least degree. She had been taken in to dinner by Mr. Langdon -the "cousin Tom" of whom Miss Lester made frequent mention-and she had found him ex- ceedingly pleasant, while he, for his part, had been decidedly charmed. Nevertheless, after dinner he drifted away; but there were others ready to fill his place, and if, instead of being entertained, Miss Tresham was sitting alone, it was as much a voluntary withdrawal on her part, as any thing else. In fact, the young governess soon found that she was among, but not of, these people, who laughed find talked in Mrs. Annesley's drawing- room. They were all of the best school of breed- ing, and, meeting her on neutral ground, they never dreamed of showing that, under other cir- cumstances, they would *not have considered her an equal. Vulgar incivility, and more vul- gar patronage, were simply impossible to them; and when they accosted her there was no shade of manner to show that it was a condescension on their parts, and an honor on hers. But they had their world, and she had hers. They knew~ each other, and each other's friends and affairs, and had a hundred topics in common; while she might have dropped from a cloud, or been trans- r ported from the Sandwich Islandsfor all she knew of these matters. One or two ladies had tried to talk to her, but somehow there was not much to be said on either side. Did she like Lagrange ?-had she lived there long ?-did she riot think Anaesdale a beautiful place ?-were - not the rooms prettily decorated ?-Adela French had exquisite taste, and had cut out all the let- - ters herself. Did Miss Tresham like German * text? After some disjointed efforts of this descrip- tion, it amused Katharine to hear the same per- son turn to a group of her friends and launch into conversation of the most animated kind. She would grow eloquent on Laurie Singleton's * marriage, and who his wife was, and what her grandfather's name had been,~rilrid-~hi what de- gree they were related to the Churehillsiind how Judge Churchill had sent the bride a diamond necklace, and how elegant were the dresses, that hail been ordered direct from Paris. "After all, it is no wonder that these people find it difficult to talk to me," thought Katharine to herself. As is generally the case, she got on better with the gentlemen. Even the ordinary man inhabits a less narrow and conventional world than the ordi- nary woman, his very position as man giving him a wider field of knowledge and a freer scope of thought. Thea, few men are not stirred into conversational effort by a fair face and a pair of bright eyes; and, where two strangers of the same sex would sit and stare at each other, two strangers of different sexes will soon find topics on which to grow sociable. "The governess is really charming," Mr. Langdon had told his, friends; and few of them felt disposed to doubt the assertion. But still, they were engrossed with pretty girls, whom they knew very well, and to whom it was no effort to talk, and the charm- ing governess, by degrees, wandered away into the corner already mentioned. There she sat, like the historic little Jack Homer, with whom we are all acquainted; but lacking the Christmas pie with which that hero solaced his retreat. Instead, she opened a book of engravings, and tried to appear interested in its contents. A ripple of talk was sounding all round her, a pretty dark-eyed girl was singing at the piano, a glorious fire roared on the hearth, the wax-lights burned with that steady lustre which no brilliance of gas will ever rival, the pictures gazed, the mirrors gleamed out of green- wreathed frames; people eame and went eontixiu. ally, and the whole bright scene was, to Katha- rine, like a play-a picture-something scenic and unreal, but yet very attractive. She liked it better than her book, which was full of portraits of dead-and-gone beauties-as if the earth was not as rich in loveliness now as ever, or as if any one in his senses would give one face where life still brightens the eye and colors the tints, for all the cold silent beauty that ever mocked decay on canvas. "There is no one here half as pretty as Miss Vernon,". thought Katharine; and, as she thought it, Miss Vernon crossed the room, and came up to her. "A penny for your thoughts, Miss Tresham," she said, smiling. "I have been watching you for some time, and I am sure you were thinking how foolish and frivolous we all are." "On the contrary, I was thinking how pretty you all look," answered Katharine, smiling in turn. "Why should 1 think you fQolish or friv- olous? lt is only people of very superior wis- dom who can afford to do that sort of thing, and, for my part, 1 must confess I always rather doubt their sincerity. You may be sure Dioge- nes would never have been able to make a suc- cess in society, or else he would not have taken up his residence in a tub, or gone about with a lantern searching for what he could easily have found by God's own day-light." "I am glad to hear you say so, for indeed I think there is more good in the world-even in the fashionable world-than cynics give it credit for. We look too much at codes, and not enough at individuals-that is all." "And we are too prone to judge hastily fi'om the outside, to decide from mere appearances," said Katharine, making a personal application of her truism, and thinking how little she had expected to find this young beauty so full of the frank, sweet grace of true womanhood. "Adela tells me that you are going to sing a Christmas anthem for us," said Miss Vernon, changing the subject. "1 am so glad, for I want to hear your voice." "I am afraid you will not hear very much." "Will I not? Then Mr. Annesley has cer- tainly lost all sense of truth. If you will excuse mc, however, I will take the evidence of his word until I have that of my own ear. When will your music come?" "Mr. Annesley sent for it before dinner, and it ought to be here now." "Surely yes-since it is eight o'clock. But, na doubt, the messenger went on into town, and guns, and fire-crackers, and every description of noise, reign there to-night. No creature is so young or so old, so careless or so indhl'erent, as not to remember and rejoice that this is Christ- mas Eve." "I know what it was last year," said Katha- rine, with a slight shrug. "I never saw people throw themselves with such abendoa into rejol- cing. I like to see it; yet I cannot help won- dering how many have any remembrance of the cause which draws it forth." "If you mean devout remembrance-thought of Who came to-night, and why He came-I am afraid there are but few. But still, at least they do not forget Him, and is it not better that Christ- mas should be celebrated thus, than passed over in cold silence?" "Oh, a thousand times better! Don't mis- take me enough to suppose that I think other- wise. But I wish the two could be united." "Yes) so do I," said Miss Vernon, slightly sighing. It was just at this moment that a servant en- tered the room with a large parcel, which he took to Mrs. French. She was talking eagerly, and opened it without thinking-whereupon a music- portfolio tumbled out. "Oh, it is Miss Tresham's music!" cried she; and, while the gentlemen picked up the scattered sheets that strewed the carpet, she carried the half-emptied portfolio over to its owner. "Miss Tresham, your music is come," she said, with a smile. "And you must really ex- cuse me for opening it. I was not thinking, and Guy handed it to me without saying a word. Here is a note-I have not opened tkat, too. Do look and see if the 'Gloria' is all right'' While Katharine was looking for the "Glo- ria," and failing to find it, Mr. Langdon came up with several pieces of music in his hand, from one of which he was humming a few liars. "Miss Tresham, do you sing this?" he cried. "It is a lovely thing, and I have never found any young lady who l~new it. 1 heard Malibran sing it wheui I was in Europe. Won't you sing it for me ~ "Not if you heard Malibran sing it last, Mr. Langdon.-Mrs. French, the 'Gloria' is not here. It must-" "Here is some more music, Mrs. French," said a gentleman, coming up. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Talvott.-Miss Tresham, here is the 'Gloria' now. Miss Tresham, Mr. Talcott I introduce this gentleman partly be- cause he is worth knowing, and partly because I ST. CECILIA. 80 page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] 82 ~~~MORTON HOUSE.. STEII.8 ~1 V 33 ii a g b Ce w ri al cv ar Wi gli all dr of seefrom his face that lie has something he wants sanctuaries, and yearned to make one of tho you to sing." happy multitudes who, like the Magi of old, bent Mr. Talcott, who was young and rather dif- before their hidden Lord. But something whis- fident, bowed and blushed. pored "Pence l" She stepped to one of the "If Miss Tresham would not mind," he said. Windows,? and drew back the curtains. The "I see a song her c-a little ballad-that my night was clear starlight, and the great dome another used to sing; and that I would like to of heaven seemed fairly quivering with radiance hear." -fairly ablaze with the splendor of myriad con- " Your mother is not half so terrifying as stallations set on a field of deepest steel.blue. In Malibran," said Miss Vernon, laughing. "I am the east, one great planet glowed like a lesser sure Miss Tresham won't refuse." moon. All the frosty night lay sparkling and But Miss Tresham did refuse, or rather Mrs. still before her, but she knew that, over yonder, French refused for her. Tallahoma was ringing with merry uproar, and "I won't hear qf such a thing," said the lat.. that, beyond Tallahoma, towns, and cities, and ter. "Miss Tresham can sing for you all to. villages, echoed the same mirth. morrow; but to-night I don't want anybody to As she turned her gaze to a hill on her left, hear her voice until he hears it at twelve o'clock. a broad red glow met her eyes-the light from -Irene, will you come with me a minute. I the negro.cabins, in which was seen the shifting want to consult you about-" of many forms, and from which, if the window What was not audible, had been lifted, she could have heard the well- The two ladies walked away talking, while loved sound of ~he fiddle and the banjo, and the the two gentlemen lingered to look over Miss sound of dancing feet. And it was all because Tresham's music, and show her what they wanted of Bethlehem that for a short space the world her to sing the next day. forgot its feverish strife, and lapsed into these Katharine had the rare art of being able to childlike pleasures! 0 Christian heart, rejoice nake herself agreeable to several people at once; and take hope! Better to honor ignorantly than :o neither of them felt do It-op, and both of them not to honor at all, and, while you gaze forth sigh- srere so well entertained that they felt no inch- mg, wider and wider spreads the light of that star nation to change their quarters. In fact, they which once shone above the Child of Nazareth. cinained so long, that a lady on the other side While she was still at the window, and Mr. C the room gave it as her decided opinion that Talcott still talked unheeded commonplaces, there Bss Tresham was a flirt, was a stir in the room which attracted her atten- "Look how she keeps both those men pinned tion. The door opened, and a servant entered o her side!" stid this astute observer. "I carrying an enormous silver bowl filled with egg- ever saw a girl who wasn't a flirt succeed in nog, made after a receipt which was the secret of omg that. Of course, there's nothing in keep- certain Southern households under the old regime. ig one man, for the poor cres4ure may be in Another followed with a, salver, bearing glittering ach a position that he simply can't get away. goblets and baskets heaped with cake of every at, when there are two, either one of them can order and degree. These refreshments were the o at any time, and, if they stay, it is certainly regulation "Christmas cheer,~' and thirty, twen- ecause they are well entertained." ty, nay, ten years ago, Christmas Eve would Hour after hour the night slipped away-gay scarcely have seemed Christmas Eve if they had dk, laughter, and music, wade it speed fast, and been lacking. After the bowl was deposited in w of theBe heedless people remembered that, state on the centre-table, the bearer turned and bile they jested, the minutes rolled on to the addressed his young master, who was standing ~rge of the great Feast of the Nativity. Ratha- by. no alone thon~ht of the mystical sacrifice which "The Kris-Kingles is out here, Mas'r Mor- 1 through this night circles the world, as, wher. ton, and they heard as how some of the ladies er the ancient Church has planted her stand- said they would like to see 'em." d, the midnight-mass is offered, the altar blazes "Isaid so!" cried Miss Lester, starting from th starry lights, the fragrant incense rises, the a sofa, where she had been ttte-d-t.~te with an irre- id voices break forth, and with their triumph. sistible.looking gentleman-.~..that is, a gentleman t .strains echo those who sung, eighteen hun- who thought himself irresistible-" Isaid so, Mr. ed years ago, to the shepherds on the plains Annesley. Do let them come in! I am so fond Judoa. She alone thought of the crowded of Kris.Kingles!" 82 "Certainly, Miss Maggie," said Morton, laugh- ing. Then to the servant: "Tell them they may come in, Victor." Victor said "Yes, sir," and, apparently much gratified, retired with his grinning associate. After a short interval, which the company in the drawing-room devoted to the egg-nog, there was a shuffling of many feet outside the door, a subdued tittering, a touch or two of the strings of a banjo, then a chorus of voices broke into the wild refrain of some negro.ditty, and, when the door was thrown open, the redoubtable Kris- Kingles-the mingled terror and fascination of every Southern child-appeared drawn up in the hail. To Katharine alone it was a novel sight, the fantastically-dressed and masked group in the foreground, and the dusky faces, beaming with pride and delight, that made a semicircle round the wall, and peered in at the open door. "What are they for? what do they do?" she asked of Miss Lester, who chanced to be stand- ing by her. "Oh, don't you know about Kris.Kingles 2" cried that young lady, with surprise. "Why, on Christmas Eve some of the negroes always dress up in this way, and go round to all the cabins, and sometimes scare the others nearly to death. t can remember when I was a child I used to be awfully afraid of them. When they come in the house this way, it is 'for Christmas-gifts. I wish they could dance for you-you would like to see that.-Mr. Annesley, would it hurt the floor very much if they danced one dance for us? Miss Tresham never saw any Kris-Kingles before." "It would not hurt it at all," said Morton. "Boys, give us a dance before you go." The "Kris-Kiagles" were not at all bashful, and needed no second invitation. In a minute, the measure of the music changed, and, still ac- companyilig it with their voices, they broke into a wild, uncouth dance, impossible to imagine, and equally impossible to describe. "I don't wonder children are afraid of them," thought Katharine, as she watched the hideous pasteboard masks bending backward and for- ward, the agile feet that kept such well-marked time, and the fantastic figures threading in and out of what seemed inextricable mazes. Some of the steps were most remarkable, and various double.shuffles and pigeon-wings elicited the liveliest applause from tha audience. But the performance was soon~ over. "Dat's 'nuff, boys," said the leader, coming to a pause. "Don't let the white folks git tired of you. Make your bes' bow now, and tell de ladies and gentlemen you wishes 'em a merry Christmas and a happy New-Year." "Merry Christmas and happy New-Year to you all!" echoed the ladies and gentlemen afore- said; and most-of them went out into the hall to bestow that Christmas-gift which the Kris- Kingles had delicately refrained from asking. After this, the gay pageant filed out, and went its way over the hill to the quarters, the united voices swelling into fuller song as they receded, and waking all the echoes of the silent night. "It is eleven o'clock," said Mrs. French, as she went back into the drawing-room, where Mrs. Annesley and a few elderly ladies had the fire all to themselves. "It is time to arrange ourtableaux, as Morton calls them-Irene, Maggie, Flora-all of you-come 1" Most of the young ladies rose at this sum- mons, and left the room. The gentlemen fell into knots, and talked principally to each other, during thc half.hour which followed. Moi~ton snatched a few minutes with Katharine; but his mother soon managed to call him away. At the end of the half-hour, a messenger came from Mrs. French for Miss Tresham. At a quarter to* twelve, a servant entered, and put out all the lights. The hush of the next fifteen minutes was very impressive. Such an idea had never entered Adela French's head; but to more than one pros.. ent unconsciously solemn thoughts came, and this darkness seemed to typify the shadow which rested over the world before the blessed light of Christmas dawned. In the midst of profound ~silence, the clocks began to strike twelve. At the first stroke, the folding-doors which divided the two drawing-rooms, and which had been rigidly closed all evening, moved noiselessly apart; into the darkness flashed a dazzling flood of light, a scene so brilliant that it almost blinded the vision, and a chorus of~silvery voices, breaking into the "glad tidings of great joy." Not being very well used to scenic effects, the spectators held their breath In astonished adini- ration. The room into which they gazed was wreathed with garlands, and blazing with lights until it lost its semblance of a room, and looked rather like some enchanted palace. At the far- ther end, an arch of green was thrown, and above, in illuminated letters, ran the insorip.~ tion, "Unto you is born this day a Saviour.'~ Under the centre of this arch stood the Christ.. mas-trec, glittering from the lowest limb tG the highest summit with countless tapers and colored lights. Behind was a stage, arranged in careful a I 83 ST. CECILIA. page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] 84 MORTO] perspective. Gazing from the darkened toom, the full glory of the abounding radiance seemed to centre here, giving an effect beyond descrip. tion to the figures upon it. In the foreground was an Oriental group-the Judean shepherds, as they watched their flocks-while beyond and around were slender forms clad in pure white, whose voices rose in one united chorus as they sang an anthem exultant enough to tell the world Who had entered it on that December night. As the chorus died away, the tones of a cabi- net-organ fell on the ear, and in the midst of a hush, so deep that it could almost be felt, one pure, liquid voice rose and soared aloft in the sublime "Gloria" of Mozart. In all the great world of tones, there is hardly a strain which, * for triumphant majesty and noble worship, can equal this. There is scarcely more than an alloy of earth and earth's supplication in it. We for- get that we are still "poor banished children of Eve," that we are yet "weeping and mourning in this valley of tears;" we catch the spirit of the angelic hosts, and our hearts are borne upward by the tones in which the master's genius and devotion live forever. "Gloria in excelsis Deo!" sang the ineffable sweetness of that silver voice, and few were so cold or so careless as not to echo the cry. In the breathless silence, every word of the grand old Latin was audible, and every word stirred those listening hearts. How full of glorious triumph rang the voice in the "Domine Deus! Agnus Dci! Films Patris!" Flow it seemed smote with a sudden remem- ~rance of humanity, a sudden yearning sense of need in the "Qui tollis peceata mundi! misc- rere nobis 1" FLow grandly it rose again to the very gates of heaven in the "Quoniam tu solus Sanetus!" and, after one great burst of inspired praise, sunk at last into silence. When the solo ended, people remembered where they were, and, turning, stared at each other. Who was it? What voice had carried them so far out of themselves, and out of the world in which they lived-the smooth, conven- tional, easy world, in which Christmas was only a pleasant occasion of friendly meeting and con- vivial sport? All these lights and wreaths, this ta&eazc arrangement, and chorus of pretty girls, were a very agreeable entertainment to the eye; but here - here was something which seized them unawares, and, wrenching them cut of their ordinary life, made theni realize what it was they had met to celebrate, forcing upon them thoughts which to the common worldly B'T HOUSE. mind are any thing but agreeable. It was the greatest proof of Katharine's triumph that her * earnestness~ had so far communicated itself to * them that they thought of her and her voice only as a secondary consideration. "How beautiful!" they cried, when it was over; but they waited until it was over to do so. There was no time to say much, for the chorus broke into the noble strains of Milton's "Hymn on the Nativity," and the last verse was still echoing when the folding-doors closed on the scene. The company found that, while they were en- grossed, servants had entered and relighted the candles; so the drawing-room looked quite like itself when they turned round-only very, very commonplace, after that glowing world of sight and sound. Mrs. Anneslcy was imin~liately overwhelmed with congratulations, and soon, to her great annoyance, beset with inquiries con- cerning the singer of the "Gloria." Gopd Heav- ens! what a beautiful voice! Was it r~tally that girl who is said to be a governess in Tallahoma? Where could she possibly have learned to sing so divinely? "For all we know, she may have been an opera-singer before she came to Lagrange," said Mrs. Annesley, striving hard to conceal her vexa- tion, and to speak in a careless tone. "Adela was very anxious to secure her voice, which is, as you say, really beautiful; so I asked her here. But I should not like for any one to think that she is a friend of ours." "By George! who would have thought the pretty governess could sing like that?" said Mr. Langdon to Morton Annesley To which Morton replied, stiffly enough, that he always knew Miss Tresham had an exquisite voice, for he had often heard her sing. "It did not astonish me at all, ~ he said. "The pretty governess!" he repeated to him- self; as he walked off. "And that is the way they talk of her 1 I wonder how I shall ever contrive to iiold my tongue during this week which is to come?" When the folding - doors were once more opened, and the company were bidden to ad- mire and inspect the Christmas-tree, which was loaded with gifts, Annesley went up to Katha- rine and held out his hand, without in the least regarding the people standing near. "Let mc thank you for a pleasure which I shall always remember," lie said. "You have given me my best Christmas~gift. I shall never again think of St. Ceiling without thinking of THE APPLE OF DISCORD. ~joss. Don't Catholics always have a patron- saint? She ought to be yours." It was verging close upon two o'clock when the party finally separated, and Katharine went up to her chamber. On opening the door, she found that Miss Lester had preceded her, and was sitting on the hearth-rug, engaged in petting and soothing Spitfire. "Cynthy left him up here by himself all the evening," said the young lady, indignantly, when Miss Tresham appeared. "I can't imagine what she meant by it. Of course, she knew that she ought to have brought him down to the drawing- room to me. The poor fellow can't bear to be left alone. Miss Tresham, wasn't it all charm- ing? There's no place like Annesdale, I think. The Christmas-tree was beautiful, and all the presents ~so elegant! Oh, dear! "-with a tre- mendous yawn-" I am terribly sleepy. I am sure I shall not get up till dinner to-morrow." CHAPTER XVIL TIlE APPLE OF DIscoaD. Miss LESTER fulfilled her own prophecy, and remained in bed the better. part of the next morning; but Katharine rose at a reasonable hour, and went below. As she paused at the foot of the stairs, debating in her own mind which one of the numerous doors around was likely to lead into the breakfast-room, a step sounded behind her, and a pleasant voice said: "Good-morning, Miss Treshain. Merry Christ- mastoyou!" "Good-morning, Miss Vernon," answered Katharine, turning to face the speaker, who had come down the staircase in her rear, and - was close at hand. "Merry Christmas to ~jou I Is it not a beautiful day?" "Delightful I" said Miss Vernon. "Let us go to the front door, and look at it." To the front door they went, accordingly, and met the full brilliance of the sparkling winter morning-the floods of dazzling sunshine,- the refraction of light from the gravel sweep, and the frost-gemmed trees and shrubs that stood out clearly in the transparent atmosphere. "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men of good will !" sang Miss Vernon, softly, as she stood and looked out, shading her eyes with one hand, while the sunbeams turned her hair to shining gold. "I ~Mk~ your translation better than ours, 85 Miss Tresham; and, oh, I wish you would teach me to sing the Latin as you sang it last night! It seemed to me I never heard a language half so beautifuL You don't pronounce it as our uni- versity men do." "No, indeed, I do not," said Katharine, smiling. "I call their pronunciation barbar- ous, and so does anybody who has ever heard the other. I'll teach you the 'Gloria' with pleasure, Miss Vernon." "Thank you; I shall remember the promise. Do you know that, like Lord Byron, you have waked up this morning and found yourself famous-as far as it is in the power of Annes- dale to bestow fame?" "Not I." "Well, it is true, nevertheless. Everybody is talking about your voice. Here come two of your audience now. Ask them if it is not so." Katharine, whom the sunlight was nearly blinding, looked in the direction indicated, and perceived two gentlemen advancing along a side- path to the house. As they came near her, she saw that one of them was Morton Annesley, and the other a tall, stalwart, sunburnt person, who had been presented to her on the preceding even- ing as Mr. Seymour. Before she could answer her companion, they came up the steps, and, all smiling and slightly purple from the cold, were making their Christmas greetings. They had been to the stable to look at their horses; had found the morning charming, but rather cool; and were on their way back for breakfast-had the ladies been to breakfast? "Not yet," said Miss Vernon. "We will take you in and give you some hot coffee as a reward for your exertions. What can there be so inter- esting in horses, I wonder, that men should go out and stand in the cold for the pleasure of leek. ing at them? Mr. Seymour, I heard those hounds of yours making a terrible noise this morning. When are you going on a fox-hunt?" "To-morrow morning at three o'clock, ac- cording to our present arrangement," said Mr. Seymour, smiling; and to Katharine, standing by, it was evident that this stout Nimrod was like wax in Irene Vernon's dainty hands, and before the glance of her sunny violet eyes. "And may I go too ?-Miss Tresham, did you ever go fox-hunting? It is the most delight- ful thing in the world.-Mr. Seymour, may I go too?" "I am afraid it is impossible, Miss Irene." "But why? Don't I often go, when I'm down in Apalatka?" Im I page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] 86 MORTON "Certainly you do. But it is different here. This is a rougher country, and we may have to ride eight or ten miles before we start a fon-at least, A.nnesley says so." "I think there is very little doubt of it," said Annesley. "Miss Irene, I am afraid there is no hope of your going; but I am sure Sey- mour will bring you the brush of the first fox that dies, and you can hang it at the side of your bridle.-By-the-way," he added, turning suddenly to Miss Tresham, "won't you try Ilderim, now that you are here? I should like it very much, and, if you would like it too, there is no possible reason to be urged against it." "Mr. Annesley, I "-here she broke down, and laughed-" I really think you ought not to tempt me so. If I would like one thing more than another, it would be to ride ilderini." "Then, for Heaven's sake, why do you hesi- tate to do it?" "Don't be profane, and I will tell you .after a while. Now, we must go in to breakfast." They went in, and found the breakfast-room bright and cheery, and full of the sound of chit- tering dishes and pleasant voices, it was on the east side of the house, and the bright sunlight was pouring across it in long lines of level light. Half n dozen round tables took the place of one long, solemn board, and at five, out of the six, sociable groups were drinking their coffee and eating their steak with healthy appetites. The four who came in now took their seats at the unoccupied table, and smiled and nodded in answer to the greetings given from all sides. Miss Veraun, in particular, came in for a large share of these. "Irene, here are some oysters!" cried one young lady. "Do you know they came from Mobile packed in ice, and Mr. French says they were brought specially for you? Take some; they are very good." "You are very good," said Irene, looking at Mr. French. "Is it possible they are fresh?" "Taste them, and see," said Morton, setting a dish before her. "The cold weather stood our friend.-Miss Tresham, do you like oys- ters?" "Who does not like oysters, Mr. Annes- ley?" "A great many people here in the back- woods, I assure you. Ask Mrs. Dargan over there what she thinks of them." "I think they are abominable, and not fit for a Christian to look ~ said Mrs. Dargan, with a shudder. "I would just as soon eat frogs." HOUSE. "There is nothing better than a good fricas- see of frogs," said Mr. Langdon, who prided himself on being cosmopolitan in tastes and ideas. "You are right, too, Mrs~ Dargan - there is something in the flavor not unlike oys- ters." "I said nothing about the flavor!" cried Mrs. Dargan. "Goodness, Mr. Langdon! you don't suppose I ever tasted onc of the things?" "If you went to France, my dear madam-" began Mr. Langdon. "I should be afraid to open my mouth after I got in the country, for fear I might be made to eat some of their dreadful concoctions without knowing it," interrupted the lady. "Then let me advise you not to go to the co~rntry, for a fasting.tour would be any thing but plensant.-Annesley, my good fellow, what is the best way to eat an oyster?" "Each to his taste," answered Annesley, with a smile. "Not by any mean5," said Mr. Langdon. "The best way, in fact, the only civilized way, is-raw. in that case, they only need a little pepper and salt." In this vein the conversation flowed back and forth - trivial,. but very easy and unre- strained, and occasionally sparkling with a touch of humor or pleasantry. Katharine liked it, as she liked soft fabrics, and rich rooms, and delicate perfumes; for, alas I Mr. Warwick was right, and she was by nature cursed with that sensitive appreciation of refinement and the ap. plianees of refinement which makes life in the lower grades of society nothing more nor less than a positive torture. After a while, Mrs. An- nesley came over and sat down by her. "I suppose I must not include you, Miss Tresham, in the parties made up for church this morning?" she said, by way of excuse for her advent. "No, I shall not go," answered Katharine, who thought the question quite unnecessary. "Fortunately - should one say fortunately about such a thing ?-gentlemen are not very de- vout," said the lady. "If they were, I hardly know how all these good people would be con- veyed to hear Mr. Norwood preach.--Irene, I be- lieve i heard you promise Morton that he should drive you?" "You heard me promise Mr. Seymour," said irene, who saw Mrs. Annesley's schemes for throwing Morton and herself together, and al- ways quietly managed to defeat them. "He asked me-or, no, I believe i asked him -, but, THE APPLE OF DISCORD. 87? whichever it was, I am to have the pleasure of that she had a whole set of disreputable rela. going behind those beautiful grays of his." lions who came and lived with him." "Miss irene, you are utterly faithless," said "A drunken father," said Mrs. Dargan, sol. Morton, laughing. "I shall ask Mrs. Raynor to emnly. "Poor Harry at last had to order him console me for your desertion." out of the house. Do you know any thing "She will tell you that George is afraid to about Miss Tresham's family, Mrs. Annesley?" trust her with your horses." "My dear Mrs. Dargan, how should I?" - "I shall not ask George any thing about it. asked Mrs. Annesley, becoming less and less Yonder she is now." amused. "I don't vouch for Miss Tresham in He rose hastily, and went up to Mrs. Raynor, any way. I am civil to her because she is who entered the room at the moment. Mrs. An. under my own roof; but she is here in-well, I nesloy watched him ~with a smile, then quietly may almost say in a professional capacity." took the vacant seat by Katharine. She was "We know that," said another lady-the very gracious, and talked so pleasantly that the mother of the Mr. Talcott who had been atten- girl was half beguiled out of her unconscious tive to Katharine the evening before. "But, distrust and dislike. But she noticed-even a then, is it right to throw temptation in the way duller woman would have noticed-how cleverly of the young? It seems to me that tAa~ is the her hostess contrived that, in leaving the break- light in which to look at it. The girl is certain- fast-room, she should be separated from Morton. ly pretty, and, what with her looks and her sing- it was only what Katharine herself had intend- ing, she might easily turn the heads of-of some ed; but, notwithstanding this intention, she could of these young men. I am not thinking of my not help resenting Mrs. Annesley's interference, own son," said the poor woman, who was think- However conscious we may be of our social draw- ing of nobody else; "but there are plenty others backs, it is not pleasant to have the perception here, and-and i can see that they find her very of them thrust remorselessly upon us. More attractive." annoyed than she would have thought possible "She is an atrocious flirt, that is very clear," by such a ti-ifling evidence of what she already said Mrs. Dargan, sharply. "I read her at once, knew very well, Katharine went upstairs; and like a book; and I really wonder, Mrs. Annesley, while she was assisting at Miss Lester's toilet, that you did not see what efforts she has made and cultivating Spitfire's acquaintance, her name, to attract your son." if she had only known it, was the topic of con- "Morton paid her some attention at my re- versation with two different groups below-stairs, quest," said Mrs. Annesley, with her heart sink- Most of the young ladies were engaged in ing lower every minute. She carried it off very putting on their wrappings for the drive to hravely; but really a terrible distrust seized upon church; but in the drawing-room a council of her. had she really done mischief', after all? In elderly ladies was convened around the fire, and the effort to bring Katharine fairly within the Mrs. Annesley found herself courteously but de. scope of her power, had she thrown a firebrand cidedly on trial, into her party, and made Morton's infatuation "My dear Mrs. Annesley, I can understand the subject of the observation which it had hith- why you wished to gratify Adela in bringing her erto escaped? Almost all who deal in schemes here," said one of the vigilance-committee; "but, and stratagems, must sometimes know the dread if i had been in your place, i really would have of having overreached their own end-and, hay- thought twice about it. She is a dangerous girl ing once known it, they must be aware that few - I can see that - and with all these young dreads are more terrible. "Good Heavens! men-" what do they find in her so attractive?" she "The young men can take care of them- said at last, almost impatiently. "She seems selves, i suppose," said Mrs. Annesley, smiling, commonplace enough to me." but in her heart feeling any thing but amused. "Well, do you know, I think she is very "indeed, i think they are twice as foolish as pleasant," said a mild voice from the sofa, where girls," said the first speaker, hastily. "You the senior Mrs. Raynor sat-a gentle, pensive hardly ever hear of' girls acting as many of lady, all bundled up in a cashmere shawl, them do. There was poor Harry Anderson-lie "She is a pretty creature, and her manners are married a governess, and she was so extravagant so nice. She talked to me for some time last that she nearly ruined him, lie did not know night, and I took quite a fancy to her. She told any thing about her family, either; and I hear me a great deal about the West indices, and t ] page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] 88 MORTON ROUSE'. think the climate would certainly suit me. If George is able to leave home, I shall try it next winter." The other ladies exchanged significant glan. ces. Mrs. Raynor could afford to take a fancy to this girl, for both of Mrs. Raynor's sons were safely tied in the bonds of matrimony, and there- fore not in a position to make fools of them. selves. While,~ as for them-there was hardly one of them who had not some young man, some son, or nephew, or prospective son-in.law, for whose safety of head and heart she was at that moment quaking. Meanwhile, the objects of all this solicitude, the young men aforesaid, were smoking their cigars in and around the front piazza, and, in their free-and-easy fashion, canvassing the gov- erness, who, to them, simply stood on her merits as a woman. It may be as well to state that Morton was absent, for, if he had been present, the conversation would certainly have received a summary cheek. "I believe I will send up and ask Miss Tresh- am to go to church with me," said Mr. Langdon, watching meditatively the elegant equipages which, one after another, swept up before the door. "My horses arc not quite as fine as Sey- mour's, and my buggy isn't half as new as An- nesley's; but, still, I think I'll ask her.-Here, Sam-go up to Miss Tresham's room, and give her my compliments - Mr. Langdon's oomph. ments-and say-." "You may spare yourself that trouble, Tom," said Talcott, who was. standing near. "Miss Tresham isn't going to church." "Did she tell you so?" "No; I didn't ask her-but she told Mrs. Annesley so. I'd have asked her myself; if it hadn't been for that. But3 then, I remembered -she is a Romanist, you know." "How the deuce should I know?" "You might haveheard her say so-as I did. I asked hey something about that song last night, and she told me she was a Catholic. I suppose that's how she came to know Latin. She must be amazingly clever." "She is certainly amazingly pretty," said Sey. mour, laughing, while Langdon gravely smoked his pipe, and regarded the horses. "My test of beauty is, whether a woman will make any showing by the side of Irene Vernon. I saw them both together this morning, and Miss Treshain not only made a showing, but a very good one. Who is she? Where does she come from, anyhow?" "You know Marks-the man who is cashier of the bank in Tallahoma?" said George Ray. nor. "Well, this girl is a teacher in his family. He picked her up somewhere, and they do say" -here the speaker looked significantly myste- rious-" that one of our friends, not a thousand miles away, is seriously smitten." "Who ?-Talcott?" asked Langdon, looking round. "I smitten!" cried Talcott, reddening up in a minute. "Why, good Heavens! I never thought of such a thing. She's very nice; and I got on very well with her last night-but I don't see how you could say such a thing as that, Ray~or~~ "There's something in a guilty conscience, Fred," said Raynor, laughing. "I was not even thinking of you. I was thinking of-well, it don't matter who. She i~ a pretty girl, there's no doubt of that," added he, candidly. "Flora tells me that Irene has taken quite a fancy to her, and that is remarkable, for Irene doesn't often take fancies-especially to women." "She is too nice for a governess," said an. other smoker. "Talcott, you'd better go in for the prize. She wouldn't cost you much trouble, and that's a consideration." "Stop that, Hal," said Seymour, gravely. "I can't bear to hear a woman talked of in such a strain. Governess or no governess, Miss Tresh. am is a lady, and should be treated as one. Now, I would sooner insult her to her face than behind her back." "Who thought about insulting her!" de- manded the other, flushing, and looking offended. "You didn't, I suppose; but it is a badhabit to talk in that way, and, if I were you, I would break myself of it." What the recipient of this frank advice would have replied, was a matter open to conjecture. He frowned, and his answer would probably not have been very amiable, if a group of brightly- dressed girls had not at that moment come down the staircase, and crossed the hail into the piazza. Immediately all the bustle of departure be- gan, and, before long, carriage after carriage rolled out of the open gates, and down the bright, sunlit road. Mrs. Annesley's was the last to leave, and, when her foot was on the step, she turned suddenly to one of the servants standing near. "To-day is mail-day," she said. "Has any- body been to the post-office, Joe?" It was at once evident from Joe's face-a good deal blank, and a little foolish-that such I an idea as mail-day or post-office had never entered his Christmas-beset mind. Holding his cap between two fingers, he scratched his head with the others, as he replied: "I don't believe anybody have thought about it, mistiss." " Take a horse and go at once, then, ~ said his mistress. "Don't forget i~ now-for I shall expect to find the mail when I get back." "I sha'n't forget it, ina'amn." And, as Mrs. Annesley drove oil; she had the satisfaction of seeing him take his way to the stable with laudable haste. An hour later Katharine was crossing the hail, when a servant entered with a large and well-filled mail-bag slung acro's his shoulder. "Letters, ma'am?" he said, touching his cap, as if the announcement must necessarily interest the young lady. But she shook her head with a smile. "I am not expecting any thing," she said; and with that was passing on, when, through the open drawing-room door, Miss Les- ter's voice sounded. "Did I hear something a bout letters, Miss Tresham? Oh, yes, there they arc. Would you mind looking over them, and getting mine for me? I know mamma must have written, and I hate to move-Spitfire is comfortable, that I can't bear to disturb him." To prevent Spitfire's being obliged to relin- quish his position on his mistress's dress, Kath- arine made the messenger empty the mail-bag on a table near at hand, and began looking over the different letters. There were some for al. 1 most everybody, and she soon found Miss Lea- ter's. As she was turning away with them, she 1 noticed that one missive had dropped to the 1 floor, where it lay face downward. Stooping to pick it up, she saw that, although it was a large, I heavy letter, the address was to Mrs. Annesley I -and, seeing this, she cOuld not help looking at it a little curiously. There could be no mistake in the character, it was "business" all over, from the seal to the very post-mark, and did a 'C not Seem like Christmas," Katharine said to a herself. Such a letter should not be opened a until the great festival was over, she thought; a but still she laid it on top of the pile, and, leav. a lag it with its great broad face upward, went I into the drawing-room to Miss Lester. When the party came back from church, and " filled the house with the gay sound of their voices, Morton chanced to be the first person a to go up to the hall table and examine the mail. & The large, double letter seemed to puzzle him n too. He took it up and looked at it, much as J THE APPLE I OF DISCORD 89 Katharine had done, then laid it on one side as if for further examination, and tossed over the others. "Here, Seymour Langdon - Talcott," he cried, "here are letters for nil of you, and for the ladies, too. Where have they all vanished to ?-Miss Irene, don't you want to hear from home? Here are two letters with the Mobile post-mark on then~-Miss Alice, here is one for you.-Yes, Miss Mary, I am sure I saw your name a minute ago." He was soon surrounded by an eager group, for it is surprising how everybody-excepting, perhaps, a jaded business man-is excited by the prospect of letters, how fond everybody is of re- ceiving them, and how shamefully remiss about answering them. Those who had got letters, were sitting on the chairs nearest around, reading them, and those who had not, were standing about, looking very discontented, when Mrs. An- nesley entered and walked up to her son, who was opening his own. "Any thing for me, Morton?" she asked, as carelessly as possible. Her son looked up with a start, and held the large missive toward her. "A letter from Burns," he said. "I wonder what he is writing to you about? He ought to know that I don't like you to be troubled with business matters." "I wrote to him, and this is merely a reply," Mrs. Annesley answered. "It is about my own business, Morton-you need not be afraid that I ~.rill meddle in yours," she added, a little bit- terly; and before he could reply, she had taken the letter and passed on upstairs. As soon as she was safely within her own oom, she tore open the sheet of paper that in ;h6se days did duty for an envelope, and, with- )ut glancing at the lawyer's letter, drew forth he enclosure which it contained. She spread it n the table before her, but her excitement was 0 great that for a moment she could scarcely ec-then a mist seemed suddenly to clear away, nd, though she still trembled with eagerness, he was able to read the lines on which depended o much. The letter was addressed to Mr. inras, by his agent in London, and ran thus: WM. F. BURNS, EsQ. "DEAR SIR: In reply to your favor, I am en- bled to say that I have called on Messrs. Rich Little, and found them quite ready to afford 10 any information regarding Mr. Henry St. ohn. He is known to them as the friend and page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] 90 MORTON HOUSE. secretary of one of their clients-a wealthy Scotch gentleman; and, although. they have never done business on his own account, they speak highly of him from personal acquaintance. With regard to the lady, however, they were de- cidcdly reticent. When I pressed my inquiries on this score, I was checked very shortly, and reminded that a matter of private business could not be discussed with any but the person or per- sons immediately concerned, and that, if I wished information about Miss Tresham, 1 had better apply to'Mr. St. John. I took the hint, and Mr. St. John's address, and went to Scotland to see him. When I reaQhed the house to which I had been directed, I found it closed and deserted. The servants informed me that both the pro. prietor and his secretary were absent, and, it was supposed, had left the country. Being near Cumberland, I then went to Donthorne Place, and made my inquiries. Here I met with more success. The lady whom I saw answered my questions without any hesitations Miss Tresham had been in her family for a year, and had given entire satisfaction. She had not been discharged, but had resigned the situation of her own free. will, and against the wishes of her employers. The lady knew nothing of Miss Tresham's ante. cedents, except that she was a West Indian, and had come to her very well recommended. She seemed much surprised when I asked her if she knew any thing of her after her departure from Cumberland, and replied at once in the negative. From none of the servants or hangers-on about the place could I obtain any more definite infor- mation. Miss Treshamn seems to have been very well liked while she was in Cumberland, and to have left a g'ood name behind her when she went away, but nobody considered her of sufficient importance to inquire about or take interest in after she passed out of their lives. "1 am very sorry that this information is so meagre, and that I have not been able to give you more satisfaction, but 1 have been stopped at every turn-first by the solicitors, then by Mr. St. John's absence, and finally by the com- plete manner in which all trace of Miss Tresham had vanished from Donthorne Place. If you wish any further ihquirics prosecuted, let me hear from you without loss of time. "Respectfully, etc., "T. W. WAnD." Mrs. Annesley read the letter to its end-r-.her lips parted, and her breath coming more quickly, with every minute. When she finished she stopped a second-in blank astonishment, as it were-then let her face drop on her hands, while something like a dry sob rose in her throat. This was all l She had steadily worked herself into the belief that some terrible disclosure was to reward her exertions, some disclosure that would at once open Morton's eyes, and place Katharine in her power; and now this cruel let- ter came, and, after all the hope, all the expec- tation, left the mystery as complete as ever! Surely it was bitter! Surely it was hard! She paid no heed to the lawyer's letter lying unread before her. She knew so well what he said, that the mere thought of reading the curt, busi- ness-like sentences filled her with disgust. For a time she felt as if her whole plan, and, with her plan, the whole tissue of herlife, had suddenly come to an end. if she could show him nothing worse than this, Morton would marry the girl, and then- But she was not a woman to remain long in such a mood as this. Soon she came to herself; and the first proof which she gave of it was to take up the lawyer's letter and read it. "I will see what he has to say," she muttered. This was what Mr. Burns had to say: "DEAn MADAM: Herewith you will find en- closed the letter from London of which I spoke in my last. I am sorry to say that my agent has not justified my opinion of him. The informa- tion which he sends, any child, who had been told to make the inquiries, could easily have ac- quired. lie tells us no more than we knew be. fore, and does not throw ~ single ray of light on Mr. St. John or Miss Tresham. I am very sorry, and a little ashamed to think that at my age I should have employed a man who could do no better than this. "You ask for my opinio~i of the matter. I know too little yet to form or express an opinion, but if you decide to prosecute your inquiries, I would advise you to do so through certain chan- nels of secret inquiry which are now established in all large cities, and employ agents so well trained in the work, that for a consideration- and, generally, it must be confessed, a very large consideration-it is possible to learn any thing about anybody. This mode would be expensive but secure; and if you wish to track the secret down, in the shortest possible time, I would counsel you to let Miss Tresham alone, and fol- low Mr. St. John and his employer. It is evident to me that there is some close connection be- tween them, and what you desire to know. May ST. JOHN. 91 not Mr. St. John be acting for his employer in the matter? I merely throw out the suggestion. Trusting that you will let me hear from you on the subject, 1 am, "Very respectfully, "WM. F. BuaNs." When Mrs. Annesley put down this letter, she felt that her face was burning. It was the cool proposition of the lawyer, the coQI words, "certain channels of secret inquiry," which had suddenly showed her where she was standing, and what she was doing. She said "Good Heavens C" all at once, as if she had received an unexpected blow; and then she was silent, and tried to look the situation in the face. She was a selfish woman, and a woman whose whole heart was bound up in her children and their interests-bound up~ not with the tender devotion that would make some women martyrs, but with a steady force that would have sacri- ficed all the rest of the world to them-but she was not at all the scheming intrigan~e of ro- mance. If she proved merciless in the ease of her cousin, it was not so much from that desire for Morton House which long indulgence had fos- tered, as from the rankling dislike born of early envy. With regard to these inquiries about Kath- arine, she had begun them, and from the first looked upon them as the purest matter of duty. As she told Adela, she had made up her mind that the girl was an unprincipled adventuress, and she would have thought it wrong to hesitate at any means which would remove her from Morton's life. To-day, for the first time, a feeling of dismay came over her. What was she doing? Was this indeed a thing which no man or woman of even the merest worldly honor should be guilty of? She was coolly advised to prosecute secret inquiries into the private life of people she had never seen, and the advice s'!ruck her with a sudden sense of shame and humiliation. "It is for him-for Morton," she said, as she had often said before; but somehow the words did not bring theirusual reassurance and consolation. This, however, was not the time for consider- ations like these. She remembered with a feeling of impatience that it was Christmas Day, that her houge was full of guests, and that her own place was down-stairs. She put the letters into her secretary, and rang sharply for her maid. But while she changed her dress, she was think- ing of the great solemn dinner before her-the Christmas dinner par excellence, like which there I was no other throughout the entire year-think ing of Katharine, thinking of the expostulating remarks she had heard that morning, thinking also of the letters she had read, thinking of the entire failure of her scheme, and wishing that she had not so uselessly thrown this apple of 'discord into the midst of her well-ordered party, but had left it in peace in Mr. Marks's garden. "What on earth will come of it all?" she said to herself; as she slowly went down-stairs, and the sound of Katharine's voice rose from the back drawing-room, mingled with the rich, deep tones of the organ. Mrs. Annesley knew what sort of faces the ladies in the front drawing. room were wearing, and she actually felt cow- ardly about going down to meet them. It would have been strange, and consoling, too, perhaps, if she had only known that, when she laid down her weapons, Fate took them up, and from that time forth ceased not to fight for her. CHAPTER XVIII. ST. JOHN. As time went on, matters, from the ladies' point of view, grew decidedly worse instead of better. Perversely enough, the gentlemen per- sisted in paying attention to Miss Tresham, in stoutly maintaining that she was pretty, and in finding her very entertaining. No girl of the party could gather a larger circle of admirers teund her, or keep them amused for a longer space of time-not even Irene Vernon, with all her beauty. How Miss Tresham managed it, nobody was able to explain; but that she did manage it was, to say the least, amply proved. "She must necessarily suffer by a comparison with Ircad Vernon," Mrs. Annesley had said, with profound confidence in her own assertion. What words, then, can describe her dismay when she found that there were others besides Morton who had sufficiently bad taste to find a charm In those gray eyes and that pretty mouth, which Irene Vernon's regular features lacked? "There is no use denying the fact," Miss Les- ter said, with a little play of the eyebrows, pecu- liar to herself; "Miss Tresham throws us all in the shade; and for my part I should like to know how she does it."~ Mrs. French, to whom this speech was made, shrugged her shoulders with considerable impa- tience. "She does it simply on the strength of being I page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] 92 MORTON HOUSE. something new," she answered. "Men are such fools about a new face! They talk of the fickle- ness of women, when the fact is, that ekey would grow tired of Venus herself." Whether or not this was a correct solution of the matter, it was at least certain that Miss Tresham made a sensation-a sensation not 4o be doi~bted, and which took herself as much by surprise as it could possibly have taken anybody else; She enjoyed it, and entered into it with great zest. As she had told Mrs. Gordon she was fon4 of pleasure, and here was pleasure of the best kind, mingled with that elixir of ad- miration which is the sweetest draught that can be put to the lips of youth. Mrs. Marks would hardly have recognized her quiet governess in the bright, handsome girl who laughed, and talked, and sang at Annesdale, and who, all of a sudden, developed a power of attraction that quite carried the young men out of their senses. The young ladies were piqued and puzzled, but they managed to console themselves with their own sworn admirers; while the elders looked on in amazement and indignation, too deep for words. roor Katharine! If they had only known it, they need not have grudged her this short holiday of natural,, youthful enjoyment. Even while her heart was lightest and her spir- its at their best, a sudden dark cloud arose, and the sunshine went out of her sky for many a long day. Rapidly and pleasantly the time flew by. Anybody who has ever been in a country-house of this description, knows how rapidly and how pleasantly time can fly on such occasions, yet how impossible it is to give any exacL descrip- tion of the enjoyment that helps its flight. Pee- plc, as it seems, are doing a dozen things at once, and they all go to make up an harmonious whole. There are flirting couples behind the 'curtains of the bay-windows, in the shady re- cesses of the library, in the hall, on the piazzas, walking over the grounds-in fact, flirting is the chief amusement and grand order of the day. Then, there are groups around the piano, and small card-tables, and billiard-players, and peo- pie continually driving up in carriages, and riding off on horseback; and servants coming and go. ing, and dogs everywhere, and a perfect tide of life flowing here and there, and centering every day around the dinner-table. Usually in the morning, about three or four o'clock, there was an uproar of hounds, and horns, and horses, that roused every sleeper in the house, when all the gentlemen, with the exception of one or two who were considered hopeless sybarites, went fox-hunting-dropping in again, about mId-day, either flushed with success or dispirited by fail- ure, but in either case quite ready to take up their respective flirtations just at the point where they had been left off. On such a morning as this-.a morning when the hunters werd out and had not yet returned, and the ladies were wandering about aimlessly or yawning in each other's faces-Katharine sat by one of the drawing-room windows trifling over some needlework, when Irene Vernon came up to her. "Are you busy?" asked the young lady, ab- ruptly. "If you don't mind leaving that work, suppose we take a walk? it is a lovely day." Katharine did not mind leaving the work at all; so she put it down, got her bonnet and shawl, and in a few minutes was walking by Miss Vernon's side out of the front door. They went down the piazza steps together and turned into a path to the right, that, winding down among the shrubbery, soon led them out of sight of the house. Irene gave a sigh of relief when the last glimpse of the chimneys was shut out, and they had a wall of green on one side, and a fair out- look of rolling country on the other. iy. "~ am so glad to get away," she said, frank. I lose all patience with those girls; they don't seem to have an idea what to do with them- selves when the gentlemen are absent. They mope about, and are ennuyc~es and stupid to the last degree, and all because they are thrown on their own resources for a few hours. It is disgust- ing 1" said the young lady, with an expression of face that quite suited her words. "It is really enough to make one ashamed of being a woman!" "It is natural, I suppose," said Katharine. "Why should it be natural ?" retorted Miss Vernon, indignantly. "It is not natural at all- it is the way they are taught and trained. Men are not so," she went on, with an impatience that amused her listener. "You never hear of their pining and moping because there are no women about. They like each other's society a great deal the best; and. they always take it when they can get it. It is only women who are so absurdly and disgustingly dependent-who can find no zest or amusement whatever in the society of other women. Heaven only knows why! I am sure I would rather be talking to you than to any man of all the party." "Thank you," said Katharine, smiling. Then ST. JOHN. she added, archly, "Won't you even make an exception in favor of Mr. Seymour?" "Why should I?" asked the young lady, carelessly. "He is a good fellow-dear, old Godfrey!-and I have known him all my life; but, excepting for that, he is no more to me than any other man. Is there anybody sioa would prefer as a companion?" "Nobody at all," answered Katharine, still smiling. "Indeed, I sjiould be at a loss to think of anybody, unless I chose Mr. Langdon, or Mr. Talcott, or that very singular Mr Hallam, who makes me afraid he is going to snap mybend off every time he begins to talk." "Or Morton Annesley," said her companion. Katharine started, and gave a keen glance at the face beside her, but failed to read any thing there. Miss Vernon was walking along tearing a geranium-leaf to pieces, and did not even raise her eyes. "I don't know why I should make an excep- tion of Mr. Annesley," said Miss Tresham, a little distantly. "I thought he was a friend of yours," an- swered Miss Vernon. "If I had a friend, I would not speak of him in such a tone as that." "If you had a friend!" repeated Katharine, a little surprised. "Have you no friend, then?" "Of my own making, independently of family liking and hereditary connection, and all that sort of thing? Not one. All my life I have wished that I might stand on my own merits and see if I could gain a friend who would like me for myself. But I have never done so, and, in- deed, it would be quite useless, for, if I cannot attract people with so many aids to win their re- gard, what would I do without these aids? I should be simply hated-that is all." "You are one of the last persons in the world I could possibly have expected to hear talk in this way." "Because I am pretty and rich? Neither of those facts make me less unamiable or less unpopular. Not that I care for the unpopular- ity, but I should like to have one or two friends, and I have none." She made the statement in a quiet, decided tone, and Katharine was astonished, and puzzled, and sorry all at once. "Miss Vernon," she said, "I am sure you do many people great injustice." "Of course I am not talking of my own fain- ily,"said Miss Vernon, "They are fond of me, as one will be fond of one's own flesh and blood, let it be ever so disagreeable. And I am very 7 93 disagreeable," she added, looldng the young gov- erness straight in the face. "I have really been considering you very charming," said the other, trying to preserve an appearance of gravity. "Then you are the first woman who ever did so," answered her companion. "The most of them think me detestable, and, indeed) I don't wonder-my temper is so easily upset, and my tongue is so sharp. I try to keep it under con- trol1 but somehow I can't. I don't ever hear you make ill-natured remarks, Miss Tresham; and yet you are not silly either. How do you man- age it?" "I don't know that I often feel inclined to make ill-natured remarks; but, whenldoI don't give way to the inclination." "And I always give way. Then, people think, 'How hateful she is!' ~and, honestly speaking, I don't blame them. As for my ad- mirers, some of- them like me for my face, and some for my fortune; but, if I were to try for- ever, I could not secure half as much genuine admiration as you have obtained, without trying, during the last few days." "Miss Vernon, you do yourself as much in- justice as you do other people. Yon are clever, and frank, and unaffected-what more could a woman wish to be?" "I am sharp, and haughty, and ill-natured," said Miss Vernon, summing up her bad qualities with an utter disregard of this attempt at con- solation. "If you knew me long enough, you would be repelled like everybody else. I really l;elieve Godfrey Seymour is the only person who knows all my faults and likes me in spite of them; while I like him-poor, dear fellow 1-as if-as if he was a great Newfoundland dog." "No better?" "Not a bit better." She spoke decidedly, and Miss Treshans could not help feeling a little sorry for the gentleman who was liked in this canine fashion. "He de- serves something better," she thought; but it was none of her business to say so, and they walked on silently, the bright winter day lying in still beauty all around them, birds singing over their heads, and a faint, purple mist softening the distant hills like a harbinger of spring. Again it was Miss Vernon who spoke first, and spoke abruptly: "Miss Tresham, do you know it is a plan ~f our respective relations to marry Morton Mines- Icy and myself to each other?" "I-" Katharine was quite taken aback by Ii page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] 94 MORT( 'thisunexpected question. "Yes, I have heard something of the kind." "A nice idea, isn't it?" said the young lady, with a smile that was rather too bright to be natural. "I don't think I ever heard any thing more absurd. Frank French is my cousin, you know, and so Adela and Flora took it into their wise heads that Morton and I would make a good match, without any regard to the triffing fact that neither of us ever had any fancy-any special fancy, that is-for the other. Of course, he was repelled by my temper, as everybody is, while I-well, I never thought of him at all. I should have been a fool if I had, considering that he never was~ more than civil to me. He is a charming gentleman, though," she said, look- ing at Katharine, "and any woman whom he loved would do well to marry him." They were almost the same words that Mrs. Gordon had spoken, little more than a week be. fore, and, hearing them thus the second time, they filled Katharine with a sudden sense of sur- prise and amusement, which it is impossible to describe. She understood perfectly what assur~ ance it was that Miss Vernon wished to convey to her, and the humor of the situation overpow- ered for the moment every other consideration. It was strange enough that his own cousin, a woman steeped to the lips in the traditions of her class and the pride of blood, should have advised her to marry Morton; but for this young beauty, this girl, who, according to the vulgar melodramatic idea, should have been her "ri- val," to echo such advice! A comic vision of Mrs. Annesley's horror rose before Katharine, and almost made her laugh. "I suite agree with you," she answered, as quietly as she had answered Mrs. Gordon. "Th& woman whom h~ loved, and who loved him, would do well to marry Mn Anneslcy.~ But how is this? We have come round to the gates." "By a longer route than the carriage-drive, but one just as sure," said Miss Vernon, smiling. "See! there is some one coming in. Shall we turn and go back the way we came?" Before Katharine could reply, Spitfire, who had lately taken quite a fancy to her, and had condescended to follow her out, made a' wild rush at the figure just entering the gate, barking with a degree of fury almost incomprehensible, considering the size of the body from which the sound proceeded. Notwithstanding his insigni- ficant appearance, he quite startled and over- powered the newcomer. This person-a tall, slender, well-dressed man-backed against the )N HOUSE.ST. JOHN. 9 gate, and began kicking at his assailant with one foot, which proceeding, of course, irritated Spitfire to the extreme of canine wrath. "Call him off! call him off!" cried Miss Vernon to Katharine. "He will bite the man, or the man will hurt him, and that would make Maggie furious, you know. Do call him off!" Katharine called and called again; but Spit. fire, who did not obey his mistress, was certainly not likely to obey her. He danced round the stranger like a dog that was possessed, and gave no sign of heeding. So Katharine went forward and addressed the other combatant, who kicked quite as furiously as Spitfire barked. "Fray don't do that!" she cried. "He won't bite, I assure you, and-" She stopped short. Miss Vernon, standing at a little distance, looking on, saw her suddenly put her hands to her face, and utter a low cry. The kicker dropped his foot, and, disregarding Spitfire, made a quick step forward.~ "Katharine 1" he said, eagerly-" my dear Katharine!" But at the sound of his voice the girl raised her face, all white and drawn, and held out her hands, not to welcome, but to keep him back. "You!" she said, hoarsely; "you!" "Yes, I," he said, so much the more self- possessed of the two that it was evident this meeting was not entirely unexpected on his part. "I ~thought you would not be~unprepared. I wrote to you not long ago. Did you not receive my letter?" She made an effort to speak before she suc- ceeded; then, with a sort of dry.gasp, the words were articulated "Yes, I received it; but I thought-I hoped -that is, I was fool enough to think-to hope- that you might care for me sufficiently to leave me alone." "To 'leave you alone, my dear Katharine?" His face expressed the liveliest surprise. "Am I not your natural protector, your-" "Hush!', 'she said, so fiercely that he abso- lutely started back. "Let me hear none of that cant! What do you want with me, now that you have come?" "I must see and speak to you," he said, a little sulkily. "Will you take me to the house?" "To the house? to be asked who and what you are? My God, no! Wait here a moment; I will speak-" She left him, and hastily followed Miss Ver- non, who, with well-bred consideration, had walked out of ear-8hot of the conversation. Hearing Katharine's step behind her, she paused and turned. "'So you found an acquaintance, Miss Tresh- am?" she began, with a smile, when the terri- ble pallor of the girl's face startled her. "Good Heavens! what is the matter?" she cried, in sudden alarm. "Nothing - nothing," answered Katharine, striving to force a smile that only made her look more ghastly; "only I-lam obliged to ask you to return to the house without me. This gentle- man is an-an acquaintance of mine, and I must stop to speak to him. You will excuse me, I am sure. "Certainly I will excuse you," said Miss Ver- non, trying hard to keep her surprise out of her voice. "But, if you will pardon mc, had you not better take your friend to the house? I am sure Mrs. Annesley-" "I cannot do that," said Katharine, nervous- ly. "I could not think of taking such a lib- erty. Then, no privacy is possible in the house, and I must see this gentleman privately. My dear Miss Vernon, if you will only be kind enough not to say any thing-" "Of course, I shall not say any thing," inter- rupted Miss Vernon, hastily. Then she called Spitfire, and, without a sin- gle backward glance, disappeared down the path. When the last flutter of her dress vanished from sight, Katharine turned and beckoned to the man, who was still standing where she had left him. He obeyed the signal with alacrity; and, as he walked quickly forward, she moved on in front of him~ and did not pause until she had reached the most secluded part of' the grounds - a deep, bosky dell, where a little brook ran, and where they were entirely safe from observation. There she turned and fhccd him-white, but by this time composed and rigidly braced, as it seemed, for any thing.' "Well," she said, with icy coldness, "what isit?" "By Jove! my dear Katharine, your Amer- ican sojourn seems to have improved the warmth of your affections," said her companion, with a smile. "Is this the only greeting you have for me - me, who have come so far to see you?" "St. John," she cried, passionately, "let me hear no more of this! I cannot, will not,' bear it! You have already worked me all the harm' 'that it is 'in the power of one person to inflict upon another. You are here now, in. defiance of your most solemn obligations, to injure me fur- ther; and yet-and yet you dare' to talk like this! For Heaven's sake, let me hear no more of it!" "That is just as you please," said he, with a relapse into sulkiness. Nothing was said after this for several min- utes. The two figures 'stood silently facing each other-the leafless trees and dark evergreens all around them, and the limpid stream flowing at their feet. Katharine's bright winter costume made a beautiful "bit" of color on the some- what sombre landscape-her companion being, in appearance at least, less interesting. Yet he was not an ill-looking man; on the contrary, many people would have called him handsome, and been justified in doing so. He was, in age, somewhere between twenty-five and thirty-cer- tainly not younger than the one or older than the other - he had a slender, elegant figure and a dark, well-modelled face-a face with a good complexion, dark eyes, thin lips, and a painfully-narrow forehead. The man was not a sensualist-no man with that mouth could have been-but a physiognomist, looking at him, would have said that he was selfish and unscru- pulous, and in so saying would not have gone very far wide of the truth. It was Katharine who spoke first. "You asked me if I received your letter. Did you get my reply?" "It was impossible for me to have done so," he answered. "I left England Immediately after writing that letter. Was there any thing of im- portance in yours?" "Nothing," she answered, drearily. "I asked you to let mealone-that was all, I mighthave known how useless that was - I. might have known that you never did, nor ever will cousid~r any one but yourself. 'How did you find ~ut where I was?" she added; turning upon him suddenly. "You gave me no explanation of that, and I don't understand how it was" "There are a great many things you don't, understand, 'm~iy dear Katharine,", said he, in a patronizing tone. "This must remain one of them. I found out where 'you were just as 'I should find it out if you were foolish enough to go and bury yourself and all your fine talent in the South Sea Islands. I have ways and means -believe me it is useless to attempt tG hide from me. I thought I should never reach this place," he went on, with a shrug of the shoul- ders, "and when I at last, arrived, and thought DN HOUSE- 95 page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] 96 MORTON HOUSE. YOU CANNOT LET ME HELP YOU? 97 all my difficulties were over, I went to the worn. an with whom you lF~e, and she told me-" "What!" cried Katharine, starting. "You have Seen Mrs. Marks?" "Certainly I have," answered he, coolly, "and a dozen or so children, besides. It was she who told me you were here. Did you think I found it out by instinct?" "And what did youtell her to account for your inquiries?" asked Katharine, almost wring- ing her hands. "Oh, St. John, you surely have not told her-" "Not'hlng at all," said he, roughly. "Don't make a fool of yourself! Am I the devil, or do I look like him, thttt you should be so afraid of. claiming connection with me? I told the woman -she looks like a respectable cook, by-the-way -that I was a friend of yours, from England. She was evidently very curious, but I thought that was enough for her." "And what am I to tell her when I go back, and she speaks of you, as she is sure to do?" "Tell her that I am your brother."* "I will not," cried she, indignantly. "Wellwhatever lie may be convenient, then. I~an~ ready to play any part. We might com- promise on uncle, since you objeCt to brother, for I am afraid ~ am rather young to attempt the rdls of father." "St. John, be serious," she cried, with some- tiring like a sob in her throat. "Don't you see that I cannot bear such wretched trifling. Oh! if you had ever cared for me in the least degree, you would never embitter my life like this!" "If you had a grain of common-sense, you would not make such a fuss over nothing," said he, in4atiently. "Have I not a right to see you when and where I choose? I will go up yonder among your new associates and assert it, if you say so." "Jif you date!" said she, blazing out upon him, *ith sudden indignation. "Yes, if you dare! You have tracked me down, and I am willing to buy my peace of life at any price you oboes. to ask-short of this. St. John," she said, sitting down on a rustic seat near by, "this is too much for me. Tell me at once wha~t you want-and----and let me go." He walked away from her for a short dis- tance, biting his under lip abnost savagely; then he turnedabruptly, and can "You know what I want~' he said. "Itis * always the same thing-the cursed need of money. Can you let me have any?" "I can let you have the most of my two * years' salary, which is in Mr. Marks's hands, if you will go away then, and leave me in peace." "So you only care to buy my absence," he said, with a dark cloud coming over his face. "Ask yourself how I can care for any thing else," she answered, sadly. "But such as the money is, you are welcome to it. I saved it for you, and meant to send it to you-so you are welcome to it." He moved away, and took another turn-- came bac~t again and caught her arm. "I would not touch a penny of it, if ruin was not staring me in the face," he said. "But, as it is, I see no other chance-not one." "Has that man-that Fraser-thrown you oft; then?" "Curse him, yes-completely!" "And you have only me?" "I have only you, or you may be sure that I would not have come for any such greeting as this has been." She rose suddenly and held out her hands to him. "Forgive me, St. John," she cried, with a sudden pathos in her voice. "I did not under- stand. I thought you had come merely to dis- turb and make me wretched., I will do any thing in the world for you that I can-you know that. If you say so, I will go away with you, and we will try to live together, and to begin a new life, in some new place." "And drag each other down, like a couple of millstones. That would be wise, indeed! No, I will only be cur enough to rob you of all your s~ivings, and then I will go away and leave you in the peace you talk so much about. When can you let inc have the money?" "To-morrow-I cannot see Mr. Marks to-day. I will meet you in Tallahoma, Or else you can come back here. I will show you a private way to enter the grounds, and this is a very retired place. I shall have to write a note. I suppose you are at the hotel?" "Yes-registered as Mr. Johns. Don't for- get that." Katharine flushed. She had an instinctive horror of an alias and this one seemed to her so unnecessary. "Who would have known the other name here?" she asked. "Nobody, probably; but I believe in precau- tionary measures, always. Well, I shall look for a note to-morrow, appointing a place where I can see you again. I can tell you, by-the-way, that you are putting yirnrself in a very bad position by this assignation business. It would be much bet. ter, and much safer, to take me to the house yonder, and present me as a foreign fricud." "I cannot--I will not!" she cried. "It might be better, perhaps, but I would rather run more risk, and meet you where nobody has a right to question who and what you are." "Just as you please. It is your own affair," said he, carelessly. "Are you coming to show me the private entrance you spoke of? I am sure to meet somebody about those large gates." She went and showed it to him-quaking as she did so, lest some one should meet them; and when he was once safely beyond the boundary of the grounds, she gave a deep sigh of relief; and sped like an arrow toward the house. -4-- CHAPTER XIX. YOU CANNOT LET ME HELP von? WHEN Katharine entered the hall, the sounds which proceeded from the drawing-room assured her at once that the vigil of the ladies was over, and the fox-hunters had returned. On the stair- case the first person she met was Annesley, who was descending as she went up. He stopped and held out his hand. "Good.morninc~ Miss Tresham," he said, with a smile. "We are back again in a most dispirited aud luckless condition-dogs and all fairly outwitted by a fox. Won't you come and take a game of billiards, and help me to forget it?" "Not just now," said Katharine, hardly knowing what she was saying. "I-I am just going to my room." He started a little, and still holding her hand, gazed earnestly into her face. "Something is the matter," he said, quickly. "I never saw you so pale before. Katharine- Miss Tresham, has anybody done any thing to annoy you?" "Nothing," she answered, eagerly. "Why should you think so? Everybody is very kind. There !-~.please let me pass. I am not well." "Something is the matter," repeated he, still oblivious of courtesy, and keeping his place be- fore her. "If you would only tell me-if it is any thing I could. set straight-" "It is not any thing you could set straight," interrupted Katharine, almost wild to get away. "Mr. Annesley, will you-'will you please let me pass? I have told you I am not well." He moved aside, and, disregarding the pained look on hia face, she fiewby, and the next mo- ment he heard her chamber door open and shut. The young man stood for a minute where she had left him-pain gradually giving way to surprise on his face. Then he went down, and, as he crossed the hall, his mother came out of the library and joined him. "Are you going out, Morton?" she said. "Iwill walkwith you a little way. I have some- thing to say to you." "I was not going out," he answered; "but I can go, if you wish to speak to me." Without any further words, they passed out, and took the same path which Katharine and Miss Vernon had taken an hour or two before. After they had gone a short distance, Mrs. An- nesley was the first to break the silence. "Was tha Miss Treshain you met on the staircase, Mor "Yes, it was Miss ~3.1resham," he answered, and in a moment it flashed across his mind that somebody had been guilty of slighting or annoy- ing Katharine, and that his mother knew of it. "Something was the matter with her," he said. "I never saw her look so before. She did not seem like herself at all. Somebody must hate offended ~ continued the young man, with suppressed anger in his voice. "Mother, if you know who it is, if any-" "Stop a moment, Morton," said Mrs. Annes- Icy, with dignity. "You forget that you are speaking of your own guests-of ladies and gen- tlemen who are incapable of being rude to any one. Nobody inside the doors of Anneadale has done any thing to wound or annoy Miss Tresharn; but what has occurred outside of them," she added, significantly, "it is quite beyond my power to say." "What do you mean ~ asked Morton, to whom this distinction was quite unintelligible. "I mean that something has happened which I think you ought to know. I was in the obser- vatory an hour or two ago, showing the view to Mrs. Dancey, when I happened to have myatten- tion directed toward the entrance gates. I Saw two figures which I easily Identified as Miss Tresham and Irene Vernon emerge from the shrubbery just as a man was entering the gates. Of course, at such a distance the action was rather confused to my sight, but I could distin- guish very plainly that a recognition took place between the man and Miss Tresham, and that, after Irene Vernon had first gone on alone, he and she entered the shrubbery together. I thought it singular; but nothing more, until I page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] went down-stairs, and, after a while, Irene came warned you. Since you will not heed the warn- in-still alone. I asked her what had become ing, you must pay the penalty of your obstinacy of Miss Tresham, and ~he evaded the question. and folly, but my heart sinks when I consider It was only when I told her what I had seen, what a penalty it-will be. We had better go that she acknowledged she bad 'left Miss Tresh- back to the house now-I have a great deal to am in the grounds with this stranger. She had do." - evidently been requested to keep the matter They went back to the house, and did not secret, for she begged me not to mention it, and, speak of the subject again; but, though Morton of course, I shall not do so-excepting to your. had so summarily silenced his mother, he could self; who certainly have a right to know. When not silence the thoughts of his own mind, or the you met Miss Tresham, she was just coming in; throbs of his own heart. "What did it mean?" and all this happened I should be afraid to say he asked himself again and again, with the same how long before." feeling which had overpowered him when that "Did Miss Irene know the man?" said Mor- letter, which had been the direct consequence of ton, speaking very grimly, his mother's act, had dropped from the pages of "No, she had never seen him before. He the "Adelaide." His perplexity was not ended, was a stranger, she said-and young and hand- nor his anxiety stilled, by the fact that Miss some." Tresham did not appear agidn that day. She "And what explanation did Miss Tresham was lying down-she had a headache, he was give to her?" told, when he inquh~ed about her; and, with this "She did not tell me. She was very reticent, mnst unsatisfactory information, he was obliged and evidently disliked to mention the matter att to be content, and make, or try to make, himself all. I asked her why she had not urged Miss agreeable to a score or more of people. It was Tresham to bring her friend to the house. She fine social training, no doubt, but very unpleas- replied she had done so; ~but that she-Miss ant in the process. Any thing that teaches you Tresham-had declined." to conceal your feelings, and smile in the face "And there is no doubt of this?" said Mor- of the world when your heart is breaking-if ton at last, after a pause. ~hearts ever do break 1-is considered a benefit; "There is not the least doubt of it," answered and, certainly, Morton made great strides in this his mother. Then1 after 'a minute: "Morton, is branch of social art that day. He had to hear a it not all as I told you? Can such a woman as great many remarks from other people, too; for this be trusted?" Langdon, Talcott and Co., were quite concerned "What has this to do with the question of for Miss Tresham's indisposition, and kept say- her being trusted?" he asked. "Do you think ing how very unlucky it was, and the ball that I will donut the wom~tn who is every thing to night, too I "There is no danger but that she me, because some man-some friend or relation, will be well enough for th~ ball," said Miss Les- perhaps, of whom we know nothing-comes to ter, who heard some remark of this description. see her, and she, meeting him in the open air, "What 1 any girl in her senses stay away from keeps him there, instead of taking him into a the ball-and such a bull, too? I'll believe it house full of people like that yonder?"' when I see it, and if you care to wager, Cousin "'But why should she ask Irene Vernon to Tom, I'll bet you a new collar for Spitfire, that keep the matter secret, if it was only some friend she comes down!" or some relation, as you say?" "I'll wager, certainly, Maggie," said Cousin "Did Miss Vernon say that she had asked Tom. "A new collar for Spitfire, is it ?-against her?" - ' what?" "No; but I saw very plainly-" "Oh, any thing you choose. Shall we say a "You are determined to see every thing purse? I wouldn't, if I was not sure that I against and nothing for her, mother," he said, shall not have the trouble of making it." a little wearily. "Can't you put the matter as "A purse, then," said he, taking out his if it 4~ol1eerned somebody else ?-can't you see note-book, and entering an imposing register that if it did concern somebody else, you would of the wager. not think it t~f any importance?" Dinner was early that day, for the ball was to "I see that you are wilfully blind, and wil- come off in the evening, and it was necessary fully determined to go your' ow~i way," she an. that the whole force of the establishment should sw~red. "Well, I have done my duty-I have be employed in preparation. This was the ball of which Katharine had spoken to Mrs. Gordon, of which she had thought as the first and great- est item in her Christmas 'enjoyment; and now it was with a sick heart and ~ throbbing head that she faced the prospect of it, and the neces- sity of rising to dress. As she lay on her bed with the room darkened, the fire burning with a soft, crackling content, a wet handkerchief over her aching eyes, and a bottle of cologne-water in her hand, some despairing thoughts on the perversity of human circumstances occurred to her. She had come to Annesdale meaning to leave her weight of anxiety behind, and to en- joy herself for a short time with the natural en- joyment of youth; and all of a sudden every thing was dashed with bitterness! Poor Katha- rine! Very stern troubles were staring her in the face, but still she had time to give a sigh to her murdered pleasure. "If it had only been the day after the ball I" she thought to herself -and it is to be hoped that she will not be ac- counted utterly frivolous for doing so! She had at last risen languidly, and was look- ing with critical attention in the mirror, regard- ing her pale cheeks, her red eyes, and her swollen nose, wondering if it would be possible to bring all these features into order, or if she had net better make a virtue of necessity, and resign the ball, when the door ope~ied and Miss Lester en- tered. - "So you are up!" cried this young lady, in her liveliest tone. "I am glad of that-glad because you are better, and because I have a wager on your going to the balL You are going, are you not?" "I was just considering about it," said Katharine, doubtfully, "Come and tell me what you think. I am looking frightfully, you see." "I don't see any thing of the kind," said Miss Lester, whose opix~ion was rather biased by personal interest. "Your eyes are red and -your-nose-a little. But that is because you have been crying. If you don't cry any more, by the time, you are dressed they will be all right. Then you are pale; but a little rouge .-.do you ever use rouge?" "You don't think it a sin, do you?" "I don't think any thing about it. As a matter of persoi~al taste, I don't like, and don't use it.-...that is all. I confess, however, that the sight of it affects me very much in the same way that a coarse perfume does. The two things always seem to me to go together." "I don't use it myself," said Miss Lester, philosophically, "but0a great many girls do. I have a cousin who paints dreadfully. However, paleness is becoming to you-.-you are generally pale-and I think you might go down. Dancing will soon give you a color, if any personal ar- guments are needed, Cousin Tom is half crazy to see you, and Spitfire will get a new collar if you go." Katharine thought of the unwelcome visitor whom Spitfire had forced upon her notice that morning, and felt very little of the grateful esteem which would have made her anxibus to secure a new collar for him. But still she suf. fered herself to be persuaded-especially as she did not need very much persuasion-and, after a short gossip in the fading twilight, the serious business of the toilet began. The ballroom at Anneadale formed a wing of the main building, and had been built by Morton since affairs came into his hands. It was a large, and (for a ballroom), decidedly tasteful apartment-ornamented sufficiently to avoid the look of disagreeable bareness, yet not overloaded by any means, and with every facility for light and warmth. It was a beautiful apart. ment, Katharine thoughts as she entered it for the first time that evening, and saw the lofty ceiling painted in brilliant.fresco, the double line of columns down the sides, the heavy green gar- lands that swung in festoons from one to ax~other, and the lights glittering in every direction, shin. ing on the scarlet holly-berries, and reflected back from the smoothly-waxed floor. Qn a raised stand at the upper end of the room the band was pealing forth a march, and the, guests, who had been lingering in the drawing.room~, in the green-house, in the library, in every place that was thrown open to the public, began .to pour in. A few couples were promenading in time to those strains, but with the majority there was an exciting rush to make engagements, and secure a desirable position in certain desirable ball-books.-" Are you engaged for the third set, Miss Josephine? "-"May I have the fifth, on your list, Miss Annie..? "-" Stand back, Tom, I have a word or two to say-Miss Mary, mayW~ I have the second?"-" BelIa, I wish you wquld remember that mamma don't llke you to waIts." "Certainly, Mr. Ford, you can have the pleas- urepf-the tenth set, did you say? "-"Pancey, who is your partner for the first cotillon?-Get one, man, in a hurry, and be our vie4.vi&-Miss NeIly's and mine."-" Stop there, George, step -come here and help us to make up a set,"- 98 MORTON HOUSE. YOU CANNOT LET ME HELP YOU? 99 99 98 MORTON HOUSK page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] 100 MORTON "A polka, did you say, Mr. Anderson? I never dance the round dances." All this was sounding at once in Katharine's ears, as she stood near a large pillar, looking very pale and pretty in her white dress, wreathed with blue convolvulus, when Annesley came up to her. "I have been looking for you everywhere," he said, hastily, "and I have only time for a word. Will you give me the second set, and save two or three more for me?" "I cannot give you the second set," she an. swerved. "It is Mr. Talcott's." "The third, then?" "That belongs to Mr. Hallam." "The fourth-fifth-sixth---.any thing I Per- x!iit me-" he suddenly leaned forward, and, taking the little ivory toy that hung at her waist, ran his eye rapidly over the list of en- gagements, scribbled his initials in two or three vacant places, then, with a smile and a "Thank you," was gone. A moment later, Mr. Langdon left the side of a young lady with whom he was negotiating for a waltz, and claimed Katharine's hand for the dance about to commence. The measure of the music changed, the confused mass of figures formed into magical squares, the wall- flowers of both sexes fell back and clustered around or beyond the columns, and the amuse- ment of the evening began in earnest. To Kath- anne it would have been like enchantment, at another time; but now, above the sound of the music, the tread of dancing feet, the shifting to-and-fro of brightly-clad forms, she saw one face and hbard one voice that banished all gayety from her heart, and took all lightness from her step. Despite her efforts to the contrary, she seemed so unlike herself that her appearance struck a gentleman standing near the set in which she was dancing, a gentleman whose tall head towered somewhat above the throng of lookers-on-for all La Grange was in force there that nght, the county people thinking nothing of a ten-miles' drive to Mrs. Annesley's Christ- mas-balL His intent gaze caught Katharine's attention at last. In the course of cIwss~ing back and forth, she looked up, saw him, and smiled. "Oh, Mr. Warwick 1" she said, in a tone that surprised her partner. "Mr...-tsko?" he asked, looking round. "Mr. Warwick," answered Katharine, still smiling, and nodding to Mr. Warwick across the set. "I am so glad to see him," she went on. "It is like a home-face in the midst of strangers. I must speak to him as soon as the cotillon is over. I want to ask about Mrs. Marks, and the children, and all of them. I feel-" She stopped suddenly, and her face changed so much that her. companion absolutely stared. A sharp recollection came to her of the differ- ence that these few days had made in her life, of the man who had seen Mrs. Marks, and the in- quiries which~ would meet her when she returned to the familiar house in Tallahoma. Of course Mr. Langdon understood none of this, and, seeing her hesitate and turn pale, he at once conceived a suspicion of Mr. Warwick, and glanced across the room at that gentleman. Being somewhat reassured by his sedate, middle-aged appearance, he took up Katharine's sentence. "You feel-what? Not home-sick, I trust?" "I feel as if it had been such a long time since I left home," she answered, absently. "That is always the ease, you know, when one has been among new scenes and new people..- First gentleman and lady, did they say? You are the first gentleman, Mr. Langdon." Meanwhile, Morton was dancing with Miss Vernon, in quite another set, at the upper end of the room. He thought, and so did a great many other people, that Irene had never looked more lovely than on that night. Fashions change very much in thirty years, and to de- scribe her costume would probably be to bring a dreadful picture before the eyes of to-day; but everybody said how charmingly she was dressed, and certainly the shining pink silk that she wore, with rich point lace falling from her shoul- ders, was as becoming as possible. Then her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were bright, and her hair looked like spun gold, as it gleamed about her graceful head. Morton, who had never thought very much about her beauty, suddenly opened his eyes, and achnired it with quite a fervor of enthusiasm. "I never saw you look so well," he could not help telling her more than once - though the remark strictly inter- preted was any thing but a compliment. "Perhaps you never looked at me before," she said, though she hated herself for ~aying it. "Nobody else seems to think that I am looking unusually well to-night." "Shall we take a vote on the question, for I don't fancy the imputation of being a mole or a bat?" "No, thank you. I'll take the fact of my unusual good looks or your unusual good-nature, for granted, in preference to that. A propose of appearance, don't you think Miss Tresham is looking very well ?" r HOUSE. "Very pretty, but not very well. She is too pale." "YeS, but she is one of the few people to whom pallor is becoming. And those morning- glories-are they not beautiful?" "Yes," said Morton, catching a glimpse of the morning-glories in question, as their wearer moved forward in the dance. Then he saw his way to a sudden inquiry, and made it without loss of time. "I met Miss Tresham on the staircase this morning, just after my return, and she seemed very much distressed and agitated. I hope nothing unpleasant occurred while you and she were in the grounds 1"' "Nothing," answered Miss Vernon, with a reticence that did not escape his observation. "How did you know that I was in the grounds with her?" she added, with a keen glance at him. "My mother told me," he answered. "Don't think that I was busying myself with matters which did not concern me," he added, with a quick flush coming over his face; "but when I met Miss Tresham, I saw at once that some- thing had annoyed her, and I thought it might be something I could remedy, so I went to my mother "-at the moment, Morton really forgot that his mother had gone to him-" and she told me that you had been with Miss Tresham, and mentioned that she met some one-" "I did not mention it at all," interrupted Miss Vernon, bluntly. "Miss Tresham asked me-that is, I thought it likely she would not care for me to speak of the matter, so I wa~ sorry Mrs. Aunesley had seen the-the person come in the gate. I answered her questions, that was alL I shall not s~nswer yours, Mr. An. nesley, so I beg you won't ask any~~ "I am not going to ask any," said Morton, a little amused. "I would not think of such a thing as meddling with Miss Tresham's afl'airB. But she seemed so much agitated.-" "Things agitate at one time, that would have no effect at another," said Miss Vernon, coolly. "I should probably be agitated if I was living in Russia and you suddenly appeared before me -though there is nothing at all agitating in see. ing you here, you know." "I understand. But Miss Ti~csham I am sure ca'ii have no reason for concealing.-" Miss Vernon interrupted him again, remorse. lessly. "Miss Tresham did not ask me to conceal any thing, Mr. Annesley; but I have learned by expe- rience that silence is golden, and speech is silver HOUSE. YOU CANNOT LET ME HELP YOU? 101 101 -or base copper, rather, when it takes the form of silly tattling. I do as I would be done by. There are many reasons which might make me wish to conceal-that's a hateful word I-the visit of some embarrassing friend or relation, from people who had no right of espionage over my conduct, and so I am not quick to suspect other people for doing the same thing." "Thank you," said Morton, before he knew what he was about. Then he added, with a blush: "You don't know how much I admire and respect such sentiments. rhere are not many women like you, Miss Vernon." "There are thousands much better," said Miss Vernon, with a sharpness that quite took him by surprise. While this conversation was going on, the cotillon ended, the last bows were made, and, as Mr. Langdon was leading Katharine away, Mr. Warwick came up to her. "Shall we go into the drawing-room and get an ice ?"the obliging Cousin Tom was saying, when he found himself summarily put aside. "Mr. Warwick [-I am so glad to see you," Katharine cried; and Mr. Warwick 'looked at her companion, as he said: "I have a great many messages for you, from Bessie and the children. Do you care about hearing them?" "Of course I ~ answered she, warmly; and upon this, she withdrew her hand from Mr. Lang. don's arm, and took instead the one Mr. Warwick offered. "I will see you again, when the fourth set comes round," she said, with a smile, to the former gentleman, and in this way he found himself deserted, just as he had flattered him- self with the expectation of a pleasantly unin- terrupted ~ftc4tlte. "So Anncsdale and all its gayety has not made you forget Tallahoma and the school- room?" said Mr. Warwick, as they walked away. "I could hardly realize that you were yourself when I saw you dancing a little while ago." "'If I am I, as I do think I be,' '~ said Kath- arine, with a laugh, "I have certainlynot for- gotten the school-room, or anybody connected with it, Mr. Warwick. How is Mrs. Marks, and how are the children ?-did Sara and Katy go to see their aunt ?-and has Nelly's cough given any more trouble?" "Bessie and all the children are well, and sent you m6re love than I could carry-Katy and Sara did not go to their aunt's, and Nelly's cough iS quite well, I believe." page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] 102 MORTON HOUSE. "Has nothing happened since I went away? I feel as ifa~r~tdeal ought to have happened." "I think e ~t~lng has gone on exactly as usual, excepting 1~t ~t ziiay conipliinent you to hear that you have be~u ~rery much missed by everybody. When Dick cut his hand the other day, he disgraced his manhood by crying because you were not there to bandage it up." "Has Dick cut his hand? I am so sorry. How did he do it?" "I was foolish enough to give him a box of tools as / a Christmas.gift, and the result was three accidents in the course of as many days. Katy was very ai~ious to come with me to. night." "I wish you could have brought her," said Katharine, sincerely. They bad left the ballroom by this time, and were in the drawing.room, which was thronged with people laughing, talking, eating ices, mak- ing picture-like groups everywhere. "Is there a quiet spot to be found any. where?" asked Mr. Warwick, looking round. "Twenty years ago, I might have liked this kind of thing; but now I find that I am very much out of my element. You know those mes- sages I told you about. Is there a quiet place in which I could deliver them?" "Suppose we try the library," said Kath- arine. They crossed the hall to the library, and found only one or two whist-parties in posses- sion of it. At the farther end, a sofa was fitted into a sort of alcove between two bookcases, and to this Katharine led the way. She sat down first, and looked up at her companion out of the soft gloom-her white dress and the blue flowers in her hair showing in bright re- lief against the dark background. "Will not this do?" said she, smiling; and somehow the little scene came back to John Warwick long afterward, touching him again as it touched h~m then. "Yes, it will do very well," he said, sitting down by her. Then he added, suddenly, "You are looking very badly. ilave you been sick?" "Not at all," answered she, growing a little paler. "I have been quito well, and enjoying myself very much. Do you know.thatyou have terribly keen eyes?" she added, trying to laugh, aud not succeeding very well. . - "I hope I 'have serviceable eyes,". he an. pitered ; "but it would not ~require very. keen ones to see that something is the matter with you. If you have not been sick, you have been worried-and that is worse. I may be blt~nder- tug in speaking of it," he went on, "and, if so, you must forgive me, but I was struck by the change in your appearance when I saw you dancing." "I have been sick all day," said Katharine, forgetting her contrary assertion of a moment back. "That is, I have had a headache and been in bed with it One does not look very well after a thing of that kind." "No," said Mr. Warwick, regarding her with a pair of eyes which, for the first time, she found uncomfortably penetrating. "If you have been in bed all day," he added, "I suppose you did not see a visitor, who called at lassie'ss this morning, and whom shedirected here?" Dim as the light was, he noticed-he could not avoid noticing-the crimson tide which in a moment spread over her face and neck. "Yes, I saw him," she answered; and, as she spoke, she gave a piteous, imploring glance, that reminded him of the look sometimes seen in an animal's eyes before the knife of the butcher descends and strikes home to the heart. Its unconscious pathos touched him; but the lawyer in his composition enabled him to perse- vere. "Bessie's curiosity was quite excited," he said. "You know it takes very little to excite her, and it seems that the gentleman-whom she described as young and handsome-asked many questions about you. That was enough to form the groundwork of a romance, which she has 'building ever since. Her only fear is, that you may be induced to leave her, and that, she says, would break her heart." "Mrs. Marks is very good," etild Katharine, forcing a~smile. "But she, need not fear. I am not likely to go away. The gentleman who called to see me was "-a pause, and. w. great gulp of rage and self.contempt-" was. ~ ~ersen whom I knew in England." "So he said," remarked Mr. Warwick, rather dryly. "I hope he did not annoy Mrs. Marks in any way?" said Katharine, catching the intonation of his voice. "I-I do not think she is likely to see him again. He will leave Tallahoma in a few days-to-morrow, perhaps." "He did not annoy her at all," Mr. Warwick answered. "I hope I have not said any thing to make you think so." There was a pause after this. Katharine felt faint and sick, but she kept her seat.-.-what- ever he should say next, she must be ready to I answer. Mr. Warwick, meanwhile, said nothing -this face looked somewhat severe, as he gazed past her; but that was its'usual expression wheu at rest. In this lull, the voices of the whist- players sounded. "Three by cards, and two by honors, sets us five, and four before, is nine." "You should have returned my lead of spades, Mr. Barry, and we might have-" "If you had led out trumps, as you ought to have done," cried an excited voice from the other table, "they could not have made a trick. I held every high diamond, sir, and every one of them trumped U' "We threw away the game by that play of hearts, Mrs. Dargan. It gave them the lead, and then-" This was the kind of talk which came in and bridged over Katharine's suspense. It is aston- ishing how oddly conscious people are of such things at such times. When the last great struggle comes, and the soul is about to go forth, shall we, even then, hear and notice the bird that sings at our window, and the child who laughs in the street beloW? "Miss Tresham," said Mr. W~rwick, turning * round abruptly, "do you remember the day we walked out to the pond, and I told you that some- thing was preying on your health and spirits?" "Yes," Katharine answered, "I remember it." "And do you also remember that I asked you if I could do any thing to relieve you?" "Yes, Mr. Warwick, I remember that also-~ very gratefully." "Well, I don't wish to force your confidence, but one glance at your face to-night told me that the anxiety which I saw then had made greater strides-had, in fact, been realized. As I told you before, if it is any thing relating to ideal troubles, I can do nothing for you; but if it is real-if it is practical-Miss Tresham, remember that I am both a man and a lawyer, and that~ in either character, I am ready to serve you." "Mr.War$ick, you are very good-you are more than good," said Katharine, almost ready to give way to the childish relief of tears. "Don't-please don't think me ungrateful. I feel your kindness in my very heart, and-and thank you for it. But I cannot do anything else." "You cannot let me help you?" That ended the matter. After a minute, Mr. Warwick rose and offered his arm. "Your part- ners will be looking for you," he said. "I must not monopolize you so long. Have you any message for Bessie?" "My best love, and tell her I will see her to- morrow." "What, are you coming back to Tallaho- ma?" "bTot to stay-I promised to rei~iain here until after New-Year-but ~n business. There is Mr. Talcott coming for me now." "I have been looking for you everywhere, Miss Tresham," said Mr. Talcott, quite breath- less. "The dancing began some time ago, and I am afraid we shall not get a place unless we make haste." "Don't let me detain you," said Mr. War- wick. "Good-night." "Shall I not see you again?" "No, I only looked in to be able to tqll Bessie how you are getting on. I am going 'back to town now." lIe was as good as his word, and Katharine had no further glimpse of him that night; but amid all the music and dancing, the gay voices and bright smiles, his voice sounded, and she heard again and again the words, "You cannot let me help you?" Her heart gave back an an~ swer, for every now and then she caught herself murmuring, "If I only could 1-ab, if I only could!" CHAPTER XX. ML WAawrcn's ~iW cLiE&T. AnOUT the time that Katharine threw herself down on the bed, and was foolish enough to cry until she made her head aebeBabette was tramp- ing along the road which led from Tallahoma to Morton House. She had been sent on an errand by her mistress, and was returning with two or three large parcels under her arm, dis4aint'ully regardless of the fact that she was the object of much attention and remark on the part of sev- eral em all boys in her rear. They ktiew better than to come within reach of her hand, of which more than one of them had felt the weight ;but,. taking care to keep at a respectful distance, they followed her beyond the corporate limits, In- deed, Bahette was a sufficiently remarkable ~gure to excite attention in a place much more used to 'remarkable figures than quiet Tallahoma. Be~ sides her usual foreign costume, she had, in con- sideration of the muddy state of the roads, MR. WARWICK'S NEW CLIENT. 103 page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] 104 MORTON HOUSE. mounted a pair of sabots, and in them she went boldly clattering along, with her dress tucked up even shorter than the walking-skirt of a fashionable girl 9f the present day. "Good gracious, aunty,-where'd you get your shoes?" more than one audacious boy inquired; but aunty's short nose only went a little higher in the air, and her keen black eyes only gave a lit. tie quicker gleam by way of reply. Her fierce appearance quite awed the good folk of the vii. Iage. They had an idea that she was a sort of drager*eas, whom Mrs. Gordon bad imported fez special guard and defence. Poor Babette, whose temper was irascible, but who was really of an excellent disposition, and whose appearance only was against her, had no idea that when she walked into a shop, with her large gold ear-rings bobbing on each side of her swarthy, stern-look- ing face, the clerks fairly quaked, and would have given any thing to avoid the perilous duty of serving her. She was well served, however; and sbe had made her purchases and was finally on her way home-tramping along the narrow foot-path that ran by the side of the muddy road, close under the zigzag rail-fences, humming to herself in French a sort of jingling refrain, and now and then casting looks of defiance behind to see if any of her troublesome train were in sight. They had given up the pursuit, she found at last, and the gates of Morton House were al- most in sight when a man's figure appeared, advancing with quick strides along the foot-path toward her. Babette hardly noticed him, her head being full of other things, for she was mak- ing a rough calculation mentally of the money she had spent, and deciding that she had been cheated beyond that point where forbearance is said to be a virtue. It was all her mistress's fault, however. She had bidden her buy the things, and never mind about the price. "Eh bien) if people will be extravagant 3" Babette said to herself with a shrug. Meanwhile, the gentleman was thinking just as little of this strangely-clad figure clattering along the road to meet him. In fact, he did not notice her at all. He was thinking of other things, too, and gnaw- ing his u~ider lij~ as he had gnawed itin speaking of the snone~ a little while before. It would be hard to tell which of them was thrilled with the strangest shock of surprise when they came sud- denly face to face, and, looking up, recognized each other. 1" gasped Babette, and the par. "Mou Dieu eels absolutely rolled out of her arms into the * mud, as she stood helpless and aghast before * him. "What !-Babette!" cried the other, in as- tbnishment evidently as great and uncontrollable as her own. He put out his hand and grasped her arm, as if to make sure of the fact of her bodily presence. But Babette rudely pushed him away. Evidently she had no more desire than Katharine had mani~sted to salute him cordially. ~' Keep your hands to yourself, Monsieur St. Jean," she exclaimed, sharply. "Mon Dien I- what are you doing here ?-as if madame, poor lady, has not suffered enough for you to leave her in peace" - "So your mistress is here!" said he, quick- ly. "Good Heavens! how near I was to going away without knowing it! Where-where is she, Babette?" But the very question betrayed him. Ba- bette saw that this encounter had been acci- dental, and that whatever reason had brought him here, the presence of Mrs. Gordon had no share in it. "How near I was to going away without knowing it!" he had unwittingly said, and Babette's ears were quick. So were her wits for that matter, and in a moment her reply was ready. She had no time for cunning subterfuge or evasion. The plain road to mislead hint was in downright falsehood, and in downright false- hood she unhesitatingly took refuge. "Madame is not where you are likely to find her, M'sieu St. Jean," she said, with ill-simulated triumph. "Thanks to Ic boa Dieu, she is far enough away, and it is not I who is going to tell you where she is. Ma.foi! I would tell the devil sooner!" she added, bitterly. "You are telling a lie," said the gentleman, coolly, "and that is not what 1 expected of a good Catholic like you, Babette. I wonder what the priest will say to this when you go to confes- sion. Babette's face fell for an instant; but xhe remembered what was at stake, plucked up courage, and answered boldly and volubly: "It is not for a scoffing heretic like you, l5'sieu St. Jean, to tell Christian people that they are liars. I say that madame is not here, nor anywhere that you are likely to find her. And I'll thank you," she went on, raising her voice, "to stand~ out of the path and let me go on." "Where have you be~n, and where are you going, and with whom do you ljve, if your mis- tress is not here? "asked St. John, coolly keep- lug his position in front of her. "Mon Dicul what business is It of yours?" demanded she, bursting kite One of the sudden furies to which the servants of Morton House were well accustomed. "I shall tell you nothing," she continued, tremblingwith passion. "Madame is not here. I am staying with u~w arnie-I have been to town to make purchases. If you will not let me pass, I shall go round you." "Pass, by all meanS," said he, moving aside with a peculiar smile. She carefully gathered her parcels out of the mud, and, hugging them close in her arms, marched stolidly by him-grateful for, yet halt' incredulous of, this welcome release. She had not gone five paces before she heard his step be- hind, and knew that he was following her. In- stantly she faced round upon him, her black eyes gleaming, and her swarthy face all aglow. "Comment, M'sieu St. Jean!" she cried, in- dignantly. "You say I may pass, and, after I pass, you follow-you dog me! Call you this conduct of a gentleman?" "If you won't give me any information, Ba- bette, I must simply find it out," said he, laugh. ing at her anger. "You needn't excite yourself. I am only going with you to your friend's. There is no harm in that, I am sure." "My friend does not wish to see you," said Babette, almost out of her senses, with indigna- tion. "She would sprinkle holy water if you came in sight of the door.". "1 have no doubt of that," said he, still smil. ing so provokingly that she felt inclined to throw her muddy parcels in his face; "but still, I must accompany you." "Eh bien! then I shall not go," said she; and, to his great surprise, she wrapped her shawl around her more comfortably, and sat down deliberately on a large stone that lay in the fence corner. Once seated, she looked up at him triumphantly. "I can stay here as long as you can, M'sieu St. ~ she said, "and per- haps a little longer" For the first time sh~ had the best of the situation, and, for the first time also, St. John lost his temper. "Confound you!" he said, savagely. "Do you. suppose I am such a fool as not to know that your mistress is near at hand somewhere, and that you are lying like the father of lies him. self? Do you suppose I can't find out without any help from you? I have only to walk into the village yonder, and ask a few questions, to learn all that I want to know. I shall ask them, too; and you may tell your mistress, with my MR. WARWICK'S NEW CLIENT. 105 compliments, that 1 shall do myself the honor of calling on her before the day is over.~~ With this, he turned on his heel, and walked off toward the town. Babette eagerly watched him out of sight; she even followed him to a bend of the road, and saw his figure 'vanish in the distance, before she could.believe that he was really gone, and that he might not return and dog her steps. Then, as fast as the sabots would al- low, she hurried to the house, making no pause until she had burst in upon Mrs. Gordon with the news which she knew would be to her the most unwelcome that could be told. "Madame!', she cried, as the startled lady looked up from her cushions in astonishment; "madame 3-Ahi what a misfortune! It is ter- rible 1-it is enough to break one's heart," said the excitable Frenchwoman, almost sobbing; "but, as I~was coming back from town, madame, I met- out here - in the road - Monsieur St. Jean!" Mrs. Gordon, who had not done more than languidly cross the room for weeks, gave one cbnvulsive bound from the sofa, and stood erect on the fleer. "Babette!" she gasped. More than that she could not say. "Monsieur St. Jean!" repeated Babette, lift- ing her arm with a tragic gesture, as if she called upon Heaven to witness the truth of the fact she asserted. "'I met him in the road, ma- dame, not farther from the gate than you could throw a stone; and ah, mon Dien!" said she, shaking her head," what shall I have to suffer for all the lies I told!" "St. John!" said Mrs. Gordon; and she had hardly said it when she grew white as a sheet, and sat down suddenly. "Yonder 1-that phial on the table," she panted, brokenly, as Babette hurried to her. Well used as she was to these attacks, the maid was frightened-she had never before seen her mistress look like this; she had never known her face so ghastly, or her breath'so painfully short. The seves-lt~ of the paroxysm did not last more than a minute; but, when it was over, Mrs.' Gordon sank back on the sofa Ut- terly exhausted. "Wait..nwait a little," she said, when Babette began to speak, a~sd the lat- ter had discretion enough to hold her toilgue. She bathed her mistress's face for some time in silence, and it was not until Mrs. GQrdon opened her eyesand said, "Well, Dabette?" that sh~ broke into a voluble history of her encounter, and of all that had been said on both sides. By the time she finished, she had worked herself Into page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] 106 MORTON HOUSE. such a state of emotion, that she was fairly weep- ing and'wringing her hands. "Madame, let us go!" she exclaimed. "Let us not stay here. He will eome.-M'sieu will come - and he will take you and make you wretched. Madame, let us go !-Mon Dien! let us go!" "Soycs tranquille!" said Mrs. Gordon, faint- ly. ."We must bear what we must' bear, my poor Babette. But younecd not fear-he will not take us again.. Go and order the carriage." "To leave here, madame?" "No-only to drive me into town. Don't waste time, Babette.-g'o!" Babette went, 'and, when she returned, she found her mistress dressing with trembling haste. "My bonnet, ]3abette," she said; and, as Ba- bette ran to seek the bonnet, which had not been used since her mistress entered Morton' House, two months before, she could not help~ wondering vaguely what this sudden movement~ meant Whatever it was, Mrs. Gordon certainly looked more like herself than she had done in many a long day before. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks were flushed, and, as she tied the strings of her bonnet, and drew the long crape veil over her face, she, felt with a strange, wild thrill, that stagnation was over, and the breath of life and combat bad come to her again. It made another woman of her. It gave her strength, and will, and purpose, that no one would have dreamed of her possessing as she lay languidly on her sofa, and watched one dull day after another 'go by. Before she entered the carriage, she had all the windows put' up, and all the curtains put down. Then she bade the coachman drive to Mr. Warwick's office in Talla- homa. To Mr. Warwick's office in Tallah~ma the lumbering old carriage ae~ordingly proceeded, rousing a good deal of interest in the quiet streets of the little village, and startling a group of loungers who were sinking their pipes in the bright sunshine outside Mr. Warwick's door. The lawyer himself was not of the number. A man had called on business, and he had taken him into the office about ten minutes before the carriage appeared. His astonishment, therefore, waS great when two or three men came tumbling into his door without any warning, and all at once, "'Warwick, here's the Morton carriage!" they 'cricd, excitedly. "What the deuce does it mean 1' Can ~frs.-Mrs. Gordon be coining here to see '~ The Morton carriage!" repeated Mr. War- wick, startled, despite himself. "I don't know, I have no idea what it means," he added. "Are you sure it is coming here?" Before the others could reply, the carriage drew up before the~ curb-stone; and, the next moment, a half-grown negro boy apjearcd at the office door, cap in hand. "Mr. Warruck, mistiss says she would like fur to see you on pa'tic'lar business, sir, if you is at leisure. If you ain't, she say she will come back when you is." "Where is your mistress?" asked Mr. War- wick. "ln the carriage, sir." "Tell her I will be there in a minute." He turned to his client, who was listening with open eyes and mouth. "Mr. Sloan, I am sure you will excuse me for deferring this business at present. Mrs. Gordon has come in from the country, and I can't put her oil'. Just leave the deed, and I will look over it, and you can call to-morrow." Mr. Sloan was burning with curiosity, but the lawyer's quiet manner left him no room for ap- peal. He put down the deed, and made his exit, followed by the smokers. "Warwick won't want 'us, either," they said, and filed off without wait- ing for a hint to that effect.. No sooner was the coast clear, than Mr. Warwick; who certainly would not have hesitated to say that he did' not want them, went out to the carriage and opened the door. "How are you, Mrs. Gordon?" he said, cour- teously, shaking hands with the black-draped and closely-veiled figure inside. "I am quite at leis- ure to attend to your commands. Will you come into my office, and let me hear what I can do for you?" "Arc they all gone?" inquired Mrs. Gordon, who had taken an observation through the car- riage-window. "I wish to see you alone." "They arc all gone," he answered, extend- ing his hand again, to assist her from the car- riage. She descended rather feebly, as he observed, and, feeling the worse for her unusual 'exertion, leaned heavily on his arm as they crossed the pavement. When he caught a glimpse of her face, as she put her veil partially aside on enter- ing the office, it looked so pale, that he was afraid she might be about to 'faint. He placed her in a chair beside the fire, closed the door, and went hastily to a side-table, where he poured out a glass of water, and brought it to her. "Will you let me suggest that you ar~ too much' mu~ffied up about the face?" he said.' "Permit I MR. WARWICK'S NEW CLIENT. and he drew the masses of crape back, as she put the water to' her lips .for a moment. Seeing her countenance thus more distinctly, he was' shocked by its appearance, and confirmed in his'drcad of a fainting-fit. He pulled asmall table that was close by, to her elbow, and set the glass of water, which she now gave back to him, upon it. Then he crossed the room to one of sev- eral walnut bookcases that were ranged around the walls, opened a door that revealed to sight three shelves full of respectable-looking volumes bound in calf, while the fourth, and lowest, seemed to be doing duty as a sideboard. From among two or three decanters he selected one, also a wineglass, and returned to Mrs. Gordon's side. "You look very pale, very ill, I may say," he remarked; "drink this wine. It will do you more good than water." "Thank you," she said, taking the wineglass which he had just filled. "You are very kind. Yes, I believe I need it." She drank part of the wine, put the glass on the table, and turned to him. "Sit down," she said, with a slight motion of her hand toward a seat opposite. "I shall not faint, and I have a great deal to say to you." It was some time before she spoke~ Whether it was the memory of the past-of the different manner in which they two had once known each~ other-or whether it was merely the all-absorbing thought of the threatening present, something overpowered her, and it was some time before she could collect herself sufficiently to break the silence. At last, with an e~fort, the' fir~t words came. "Mr. Warwick, for a reason that I will tell you presently, I stand in need of the advice of a lawyer. I have come to apply to you for that advice. But, even more than I need a lawyer, I need a friend, and the service that 'only a friend can render me. I venture, therefore-you may think without any claim-to ask if you remein- her the old time sufficiently to care to render me this service?" - "Mrs.' Gordon must surely have forgotten that she was once Pauline Morton, before she could ask me such a question," said the lawyer, flushing slightly. "There are hereditary claims of friendship between us," he went on, ha'stiiy, ~as he saw an answering flush rise to the pale face opposite him, "and there is, moreover, a particu- lar claim. When I was a' struggling boy, your father aided me in a manner 'I can never forget. What I am to-day, I owe to his generous kind- 107 ness. I will gladly do any thing in my power to serVe his daughter." Mrs. Gordon understood, as not many pea- pie would have done, the delicacy which made him speak thus-which made him allude not to herself, but to her father. Understanding it, she appreciated what she had only felt before, that thisman could indeed be trusted, and that he spoke truly when he said that he would do "any thing" to serve her. Instinctively she held out her hand. "Thank you," she said. "I felt sure that I might rely on you; but I am glad to hear you say that you will help me. .Ah, it is~ a terrible thing to be a woman," said she, looking at him with pathetic eyes. "If I were like you, I should not need help." "We all need it in some form or other," an. swered he. "None of us are so strong as to stand quite alone.?? "But it is only a woman who is entirely at the mercy of another; who may be crushed in a hundred different ways-each more cruel, 'more bitter than death. Mr. Warwick, tell me-what power, short of murder, does not the law give a man over his wife?" "It gives him a great deal," said Mr. War. wick, regarding her keenly, and reading the ex- citement written on her face. "But what inter- est has this subject to you? A widow-" He was stopped by a gesture from her. Sud- denly she extended her hand, and taking up the wine, drank it off. Then she put down the glass with a ringIng 'sound, and, leaning forward, looked steadily into his eyes. "God forgive me!" she said-" God forgive me that I am forced to say it, but He has not been kind enough to set me free. The first thing 1 have to tell you is that I am no widow. My husband "-the word nearly choked her-" is liv- ing. Mr. Warwick started, but the surprise was not nearly so much of a surprise as might per- haps be imagined. He had suspected some- thing like this before. It is hard to tell what slight circumstances first sowed the seeds of sus- picion in his mind, but he had long felt an in- stinct that Mrs. Gordon's seclusion and impene- trable ; reticence were not characteristic of a widow, but o( a woman who had still some- thing to' fear, something to hide from.' Then, no one knew the business of the Morton. estate as he did, and he had not faile4to make hisown comments on the fact that, in taking possession of this estate, Mrs. Gordon had absolutely re- ] page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] 108 MORTON HOUSE. 109 * fused to go through any of the usi~al legal forms. There was no one to contest her claim, she said, and so she quietly assumed her right of control without any sanction from the law. Over this obstinacy, Mr. Shields shrugged his shoulders. "It's a woman's notion of doing business, Mr. Warwick," he said. l3ut Mr. Warwick himself was of a 'different mind, lie suspected how it was; though the suspicion scarcely took definite form in his brain. He had other and more im. portent things than Mrs. Gordon's private affairs to consider; and notwithstanding the boyish sei~timent for which his sister still gave him credit, Mrs. Gordon herself was no more to him than any old friend~ liked sincerely-liked with a certain tenderness, perhaps, on account' of the past-but making no part of his daily life. And so it was, that he felt very lit1~le surprise when she told him that she was not a widow-that her husband was living. "Do not blame me more than you can help," she went on, a~ he did not speak, "Do you re- member how proud 1 used to be in the old time? Well, that pride has not quite been crushed out of me. I could not bear to come back here and tell these people what hitter ship- wreck had overtaken me I I could not bear to spread before them the history of-of such n life as mine I" "Why did you come back at all?" said he hardly knowing what else to say. "' Because it was a place of refuge-and I had no other. Because it was the one place in the world where he was ' least likely to come- least likely to' think of searching for me. When the last awful blow fell," said she, growing fear- fully white, "I looked round despairingly and wondered where I could go. Then, like a relief from Heaven came the thought of my father's house. Here I could be safe, here I would be untroubled, here I might live and die unmolested by him. But I have only been at peace a little while. To-day Babette met an agent whom he ha~ sent in search of me." "An agefit?" "An unscrupulous tool, whom he retains for uses of this kind, named St. John. As soon as he conveys the information of my whereabouts, that man-my husband-will come here. It is not sue lie wauts,~t Is ~'elix-but if he takes the child, ho must take me too. What I wish to sak you "ia this "-she rose, and stood before him, with an eager yearning in her eyes-" can hWtake ~lslm from ~ne? Does the law give him that powe~-.-here?" The lawyer's heart was touched with pity for her; but truth was uncompromising, and must be told. "If he can prove that he is his father, it gives him that power anywhere." The woman-the helpless creature to whom the law gave no power-sank down again into her chair, and covered her face with her hands. When she looked up at last, that face was tense and bloodless. "Then I must ask that service of which I spoke a short time ago," she said. "Will you take my poor boy, and put him somewhere- away from me-where he will be in safety, and -and cannotbe found?" Mr. Warwick started, and, for a moment, looked more than surprised-in fact, he looked almost aghast. Here was a proposition indeed 1 that a lawyer who respected the law as the most sacred of earthly obligations, should be instru. mental in ei'ading it I-that a man who was full of the dominative opinions of his sex, should lend his aid to a scheme that removed a child from the just control of its father! Pauline Morton certainly stretched the cord of ancient friendship to its utmost tension, when she made such a demand of him. "Mrs. Gordon," he said, gravely, "I would do' any thing to serve you-any thing that was right; but I am not sure this wonldbe right. A father always has a paramountelaim to his child." Instantly all the woman in her blazed out upon him. "A paramount claim, given by whom?" she demanded. "It is you men that make the laws that grind poor women to the earth-not God, not religion, not any thing that should be re- spected 1 It is you who tear the very hearts out of our breasts, and then talk of right and power to do so. Yes, you have a right-the right of the strong to trample the weak! You have a power-the power of the master over the slave! God knows there is no other. But I might have been sure a man would never help me against a man. Therefore, I shall do what must be done, myself-and only ask, you not to betray me." "Stop, Mrs. Gordon," he said, as she rose and moved toward the door. "Stop a moment," he added, following her. "You must not leave me like this. Remember that I have not re- fused to help you. I stated a general fact when~ I said that a father has a paramount claim to his child. It is certainly true, as a general 'fact; but in particular cases, that claim is sometimes forfeited. If I am to serve you, I must do so I MR. WARWICK'S NEW CLIENT. with my eyes open-I must know whether the claim has been forfeited in this instance." "I think I can convince you of that," said she, faintly, as she sat down again. "I am not strong enough for such violent emotion," she went on, panting slightly. "Wait-wait a lit- tle, and I will tell you alL" "Take your time," he said, kindly. "If I do that, I should never speak at all," she answered, hurriedly. "I must do it at once. You heard of my marriage some fifteen years ago, did you not?" "We heard of it vaguely. You kept up no communication with Lagrange, you know." "I married a Captain Fraser, an English officer," she went on, apparently unheeding his reply. "I was very much in love with him," she said, with a trembling, scornful smile; "and he-well, he seemed to be in love with me. I was beautiful then, you know, and I had been very much 'admired. He was highly connected, and he was very handsome-I honestly believe that those were the only reasons I had for liking him. I thought myself able to judge of char- acter, and rank and good looks dazzled me, as they might have dazzled any village school-girl. WellI married himand I cannot tell you of the life ,I led afterward. Look at my face. Every hour of it is written there! Captain Fraser left 'the army, and we lived on the Continent-there is not a city of Europe that is not full of bitter memories to me. After my mother died, the life 'grew worse. My husband was dissipated, and recklessly extravagant. My poor brother"'-~her voice almost choked' her-" helped me as much 'as he could. It was my demands that went to impoverish the estate, and-and I hear that he has all the blame of it. As time went on, and 'matters grew worse, I would have separated from my husband, if it had not been for Felix, He, who was my youngest child, alone lived, and I could not leave him. It would hare been bet- ter, perhaps, if I had done so, for "-she stopped here, and something like a ghastly horror came over her face-" for as matters grew no better, as ill-usage increased, my brother at last lost patience. He met us at Baden, where Fraser was at his worst, and-and there was a violent quarrel. I don't know how it ~was -.- I have never heard any particulars-but he-my broth. er-was killed by that man whom the law calls my husband!" Almost ~neonsciously, Mr. Warwick uttered ~an exclamation of horror, but white as was her 'face, parched as were her lips, she hurried on: 8 "The next day I was half mad, and I did not know where to turn; but on one thing I was do- termined-that was, never to see him again. He and this St. John had been obliged to leave Ba- den, but he sent me word to go to Scotland, where we had been living for some two or three years-I forgot to~ say that an uncle ha4 died, and left him a large estate, with the condition that he assumed the name of Gordon. Instead of going to Scotland, I came to America. He knows how I always hated the country, and I was sure he would never look for me here-be- sides he had hardly more than the vaguest idea of where Morton House was situated. 1 relied on all this, and I thought I might liveisere, and- and train Felix to be a gentleman. But you see how it has ended I I might have known I could not defy the cunning of these two. It is Felix they want-not me! If they take him, it will be to make him what they are themselves. And sooner than see him that," she cried out, pas- sionately," I could find the strength to kill him with my own hands!" Without a word, Warwick rose from his seat, and took two or three turns' up and down the room-then suddenly came back and stood before her, looking at her worn, haggard face. "My God 1" he said, "what you must have en- dured I And you went away from us for this?" "Yes, for this. Don't-don't speak of the old time. I cannot bear it now," she cried out, suddenly. not speak of' , answer "No, I will ~ he kindly. "I was only thinking-it seems' hard that mistakes should sometimes be punished as bitterly as sins. Well, you were, right. I will help you to thc very utmost-of my power As long as I can prevent it, the man of whom you speak shall never obtain possession of, your son." "But the law- "Such a man as the one you describe Is slot; likely to have recourse to the law, in the fls!# place-especially in a foreign land. But, If be did, the law could only assign the child to him4 it could not find him for him. Get Felix ready for a journey, and I will arrange my plans; mean~ while, and will communiq~t~with you to-morrow at latest. Do not ~e surprl~&I or unprepared if I call for the child ~tq~ very early hour. in thu morning. That Islf~1~ere is need of haste in the matter." "Yes, yes-there isjreat need of hastn-4m- mediate haste. I do not knowbow near:slsy hus- band may be. Probably he is in America."~ page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] ~.IO MORTON HOUSE. MISS TRESHAM KEEPS HEll WORD. iii "This St. John cannot himself molest you?1 "Not unless he were to entice Felix away The ~hildwas always veryfond oisn-.--hemigh do that," said she, suddenly rising, with terror ii her eyes. "1 must return at o~ice to Mortoi House. He told J3abette that he was comiul there. Good Heavens! I don't know wha' may happen while I am away." Mr. Warwick did not attempt to detain her He saw that it would be cruel to do so. Hei fears were causeless, for Babette was fully aliv to the danger, and St. John could sooner have snatched Felix from the den of a lion than fron~ Morton House, guarded by her, and garrisoned by a troop of servants; but all the same it would have been useless to reason with, and still more useless to detain, a woman whose nerves were strung to the pitch which Mrs. Gordon's now Were. He saw this, and opened the office-door. "I will see you tomorroww" he said, and, as he said it, she uttered a sudden, half-stifled cry, and eaught'his arm- "There I - there!" she gasped, shrinking back into the room, and pointing eagerly across the street. His eyes followed the motion of her hand, and he saw a slender, well-dressed man sauntering alone. "That is the man?" he asked, though the tiyestion was almost unnecessary. "It is St. John!" cried his companion, with a wild burst of tears. "It is'the wretch whom I have not seen since-since-" He put her gently into a chair, and said in a quiet voice, the very tones of which were reassur- ing, "Trust to me, and try and compose your. self. If you allow yourself to become unnerved Ia this manner, you will put yourself entirely at the mercy of this man, if, by any accident, he succeeds in gaining admittance to your presence. And the child-you must th~nk of him. For his sake, endeavor to control yourself." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked to the window, and followed Mr. St. Jolstt's retreating figure with his eyes, as far as it could be seen. It was a good thing that Mr. St. ~Tohu was thinking deeply; or that keen glance might have made itself felt -not com- fortably. Few men iike to be scrutinized in that seam~ching faslil~n and this man especially had good reason for avoiding it. When he finally turned a cOrner, and was out of sight, Mr. Warwick went back to his companion. "He is gone," he said, gently. "Let me put you into the carriage now, Mrs. Gordon." She extended her hand silently, and he con. ' ducted her out. After she was in the carriage, an4i the door had been closed, she leaned forward t and spoke. "God bless you I" she said. That was all; but the words, and the sound of the r rich, sweet voice that had spoken them, lingered with him long after he went back into his office, and sat down to Mr. Sloan's deed. -4-- CHAPTER XXI. MISS TRESHAM KEEPS HER WORD. THE morning after the ball at Annesdale, Katharine was one of the few people who came down-stairs at the usual hour. Most of the ladies kept their chambers, and the gentlemen dropped into the breakfast-room at irregular in. tervals, looking the worse for their night's amusement. Miss Tresham received many corn- pliments on her matutinal habits-all of which she answered by a faint smile. "1 don't de- serve any credit for my energy," she said. "I should have liked very much to sleep longer, and probably would have done so, if 1 had ifot been obliged to go to Tallahoma this morning." Mrs. Annesley was sitting at another table and talking to quite another set of people; but she caught the last words and turned round. "Did I hear you say something about Talla- homa, Miss Tresham? I hope you are not in- tending to desert us?" "Not unless. you prohibit my return," an- swered Katharine, smiling. "I was only talking of going into ,town for a while this morning.-.-on business," she added, as she saw a slight expres- sion of surprise on Mrs. Annesley's face. "Hear! hear!" cried Mr. Langdon, laughing. "'On business '-that is, to buy six yards of rib- bon, or a pair of gloves. Howgrandly you ladies talk!" "To buy something much more important than many yards of ribbon, or many pairs of gloves~" answered Miss Tresham, gravel~i. Then she turned to Mrs. Annesley, and asked if she could send her into town. "Certainly. The carriage is it your service," her hostess replied. "At what hour shall I order it?" "Immediately after breakfast, if~you please," - Katharine answered. immediately after breakfast, Miss Tresharn went up-stairs, and put on her bonnet and cloak. Wh 1 she came down, the carriage was standing before the door, and, while she was con~ratulat. ln~ herself ou her escape from eompanionshii and questioning, lo I from the drawing-room sallied forth Mrs. French arrayed in full out-doo~ costume. "You don't object to taking me along, dr you, Miss Tresham?" she asked, with a smilk that Katharine could not help thinking had th least possible tinge of malicious enjoyment in it, "Mamma wants me to go to the Andersons, and they live on the other side of Ttdlahoma. I can drop yvu in the village, and call for you as I re- turn, if you say so." Katharine said so with the best grace she could summon, and in this way found herself fairly hooked to make the best or worst of Mrs. French during a five-miles' drive. For a while, the latter spared her any conversational exertion-being full of the important subject of the ball, on which her tongue ran as glibly as possible. "Was it pleasant, Miss Tresham ?-did you really enjoy yourself?~' she asked. "Did other people seem to be enjoying themselves? Of course everybody told me that it was delightful; but 1 have said such things dozens of times, when in fact I had been nearly bored to death. After one has told stories of that kind one's self; one isn't apt to believe other people, you know. I am so glad you think every thing went oil' nicely. Our ball has become quite the Christ- mas event in Lagrange, and I always like it to be nice. It often strikes me that it is a very daring thing to bring a hundred or so people to- gether, and leave them to umuse themselves-for that is what a ball really tomes to, you know." "Indeed I don't know," said Katharine, smiling. "On the contrary, I think it Is on the hostess that the success or failure of a ball principally rests. You must not try to shirk the success of yours, Mrs. French." "Oh, it was mamma who played hostess," said Mrs. French, with a shrug. "I took no more responsibility of that sort than any of the guests. When I come home, I tried to forget that I am married; and I generally succeed in enjoying myself quite as much as if I was a girl with a dozen or so of admirers. By-the-by, we were talking over the ball this morning, and there was quite a discussion going on as to who was the-belle of it. Tell me who you think is best entitled to that distinction." "That is bard to say,?? answered Katharine, trying to keep her wandering thoughts to the sul4eet in question. "Everybody has a different opinion as to who was the belle of the ball. I think Miss Vernon was the most beautiful woman present; but whether other people thought so, or whether that constitutes bellehood, I really don't know." "I should say that the woman who was most sought and admired was the belle," said Mrs. French, decidedly. "You were very much admired, Miss Tresham," she went on, with sur- prising candor. "Any. number of people asked me who you were, and said you danced so grace. fully. I suppose you learned to dance in Europe -in Paris, perhaps." "Indeed, no," said Katharine, smiling and sighing both at once. "I never was in Paris. I learned to dance at home-in the West Indies -where everybody loves it so." "But you are English." "I am West Indian," said Katharine, flush- ing a little. "Please don't call me English, for I am no more English than you arc. Your grandparents, or great-grandparents, probably came from England, and so did mine-that is all." In this strain, the conversation went on until Tallahoma was in sight, and Katharine, instead of being fresh and ready for what was before her, felt already wearied and downcast. "Where shall I tell John to stop, Miss Tresh- am?" asked Mrs. French, with her hand on the check.string, as they entered the town. "At-" Katharine stopped a moment. She was about to say "Mrs. Marks," but a timely recollection of the lateness of the hour, and of the many detentions that would await her there, came over her.' It was imperative that she should see Mr. Marks at once, and that the business which brought her to Tallahoma should be transacted without loss of time; so she fin- ished her sentence by saying-" the bank." "The bank, John," said Mrs. French, with a little arch of her eyebrows. Then she added, laughingly, "I must tell Mr. Laugdon that your business in Tallaboma really was business.. One doesn't go to a bank to buy ribbons and gloves." "I am going to see Mr. Marks about say sal- ary," said Katharine, more annoyed by this re- mark than was strictly reasonable, and thinking she would put an end to any and all conjectures concerning her business. "My dear Miss ~resham," said Mrs. French, a little shocked, "I hope you don't think that I meant any thing-that I was so impertinent as to be curious about your affairs. I really beg your pardon, if I said any thing to make you think so." page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] 112 MORTON HOUSE. "You did not say any thing," answered Katl anne. "I ought to beg your pardon for mention ing them~-only one certainly does not go to bank to buy ribbons and gloves." "This is the place now," said Mrs Preneli looking out. "Shall I call for you here, Mis Tresham V" "At Mrs. Marks's, if you please," said Kath anne, as the footman opened the door, and sh descended to the sidewalk. "I shall be bad in about two hours," was the last thing sh~ heard Mrs. Preach say, as the carriage drov~ ofl~ Watching it out of sight, the girl said Thank heaven I" with fervor, then turned~ and, opening a gate just before her, went up short walk bordered with green box, to the dooi of a somewhat gloomy-looking brick house. 5h knew the place well, for, during her first year of residence with the Marks family, they had lived here; and it was only because the children were growing large, and the house, with the bank apartments *deducted, was uncomfortably small, that they' had removed to the outskirts of the village. Nobody was more glad of the change than Katharine; but still, her local attachments were strong, and she gave a kind smile round the yard, with every nook and corner of which ehe had been familiar. She even stopped mo- ment to examine a rose-bush, that was clambering over the porch, before she went in. The passage which she entered looked dark and cheerless, but, on a door to the right, theword "Bank" was con- spicuously lettered; and, as this door was ajar, a large, well-lighted room, with a counter run- ning across it, was visible. Here all was well- knowmi ground; so Katharine walked in without any hesitation. Two gentlemen were standing at a ibeplace behind the counter, and they both turned as she entered. One was Mr. Nfarks, the other Mr. Warwick. A young man was busy with accounts at the other end of the apart- ment. "Why, ~[iss Kate, is it possible 1" said the cashier, meeting her in his hearty way. He sl~ook hands, and seemed so' glad to see her, that ~athanine, who was thoroughly unnerved, felt half-inclined to cry. It is astonislii~ig how every emotion with a woman takes the form of that inclination. "Yes, it is I, Mr. Marks," she said; and, while she was making inquiries about Mrs. Marks. and the el~ildren, Mr. Warwick, after speaking to her, took his departure. "I'll be back in the course of an hour," he said to. Mr. Marks; and then he went out-looking, Kath- m- anne thought, a little more grave than' was i- usual with him. a Her own business was soon transacted. If Mr. Marks felt any surprise at the demand she , came to make, he had discretion enough not to s show it. "The whole amount, Miss Kate?" was all that he said. "The whole amount, if you - please, Mr. Marks," she answered. So, after a due examination of accounts, and due adding ~ up of interest, Katharine found no less a sum than one thousand dollars in crisp bank-notes, paid to her across the counter. Her heartgave a great leap. She had been so little accus- tomed to the command of money in her life, that this seemed to her a 'large amount-quite a moderate fortune, in fact. "Surely it will buy my freedom," she thought to herself;' with a stm~ange pang at her heart; and then, while she signed a receipt for the payment, a sudden I thought occurred to her, and she startled Mr. Marks by dropping the pen, and looking up at him. "Mr. Marks, I am sorry," she said, hastily, "but could you let me have the amount in gold?" "In gold!" echoed Mr. Marks, so much as- tonished that he could not help showing it. "In gold, Miss Kate?"' "Yes-if it will not inconvenience you- if-." "If it will not inconvenience you, my dear young lady," interrupted the cashier, laughing a little. "You'll find it rather troublesome, I think; but of course the bank is always ready to pay specie when demanded on its notes. Do you want all that money in gold?" "All, if you please." "I must go down into the vault for it, then. We don't keep specie up here," he added, smil- ing. As Katharine stood waiting for him to re- turn, she hurriedly reviewed the situation in her mind. Regarded in any light, it was a rather em- barrassing one. To conceal a thousand dollars in gold about her person was simply impossible; to carry it in her hand through the streets, with- out exciting much observation, and incurring much fatigue, was equally impossible. Yet what was to be done? If she paid the bank- notes to S~. John, he would certainly convert them Immediately into specie; and, as the notes might readily be identified, this would subject her to a great deal of unpleasant conjecture and possible inquiry. The only way to avoid it waste draw th~ gold at once; and yet, in that I case, the problem still remained-how was she to take the amount either to Mrs. Marks, or to An- ncsdalc, being unfortunately unprovided with any convenient pocket or satchel? Necessity, how- ever, is the best spur, not only to invention, but to fertile expedient. As Mr. Marks 'reii~tered the apartment, a solution for her difficultyflashed through Katharine's brain. She thanked him, after he had counted the last one of the ringing yellow pieces down before her; and, while he was methodically tying them up in a canvas bag, she asked, quickly~ "Mr. Marks, would you object to my seeing a friend in the parlor yonder, across the pas- sage?" "Certainly not, Miss Katharine," answered Mr. Marks, speaking without the least hesitation. "By all means, see a half-dozen friends there, if you desire." "One will do," said Katharine, acknowledg- ing this pleasantry by a faint smile. "Now one thing more-will you give me a pen and some paper?" Pen and paper were obligingly placed before her; and she wrote a few lines, folded, sealed, and addressed the note to Mr. Henry Johns. As she was about to leave the room in search of a messenger, Mr. Marks spoke "If it's a note you want taken anywhere, Miss Kate, Hugh can go for you. He'll not be sorry for a ~ he said, nodding toward the 'clerk. "If Mr. Ellis won't mind," said Katharine, looking at him with a smile. The young man put down his pen, and came forward with an air which plainly showed that he did not mind. In shy, boyish fashion, he was quite an admirer of Miss Treshapi, and she knew it. "You are always ready to oblige me," she said, giving him the note, with a smile that al. most turned his head. Then she followed him into the passage. "See the gentleman yourself; please," she said; and Hugh promised that he would. After he was gone, she went into the un- furnished parlor, and walked up and down the floor, thinking the bag of gold which she kept whispering to herself would buy her freedom- at least, for the present. After a while, how- ever, she found it heavy, and put it down on the window-sill, for tables or chairs there were none. Then, as she stood waiting, the forlorn aspect of every thing around began to strike her. Pew things are more forlorn than an empty room-a room of bare floor, naked walls, uncurtained win- dows-and when, together with these things, the day is cloudy, and the prospect without not a whit more enlivening than the prospect within, it would take a very strong mind indeed to with- stand the effect of time and place. Some people are peculiarly susceptible to influences like these, and Katharine was one of them. Those who knew her well thought she deserved a great deal of credit for being as quiet and full of practical common-sense as she generally proved herself; for she possessed in unfortunate degree that sensitiveness to outside events, that capability of being deeply affected by outside things, which sober, phlegmatic folk are fond of calling "non- sense." Engrossed as she now was by thoughts of the coming interview, she was not so en- grossed but that she noticed at the time, and remembered afterward, every separate detail that went to make up the scene around her-every grotesque figure on the sickly green wall-paper, every cobweb across the dusty, fly-specked win- dows, every tree and shrub in the yard outside. She was looking at her watch, and thinking how fast time was going, when the' click of the gate.. latch make her start, and, looking up, she saw Hugh Ellis ushering in St. John. As they 'entered the passage, she opened 'the parlor door, and motioned the latter to enter. When he obeyed, she closed it againand, with- out speaking, walked to the window where the bag of money lay.~ Taking it in her hand, she turned and held it out as he approached. " Here it is, St. John," she said. "I wish it was more, but, sueh as it is, you are .welcome to, it. Don't think that I grudge you one shilling when I say-will you go imow and leave me in peace?" "You think of nothing but yourself;" said he, without touching the money. "Prom first to last, you have thought of nothing but your- self, and of being 'left in peace.' Yet, there are people who call women unselfish." "If I think of myself; who forced me to do so?" said she. "St. John, don't let us recrimi- nate now. Here is themoney. Take it-believe me, you are welcome to it." "As's. price to get rid of me." "No-as a relief freely given." "It's a devilish mean thing to take it," said he. But still he did take it-opening his eyes a little at the amount. "You must have been hoarding, Katharine," he said. "Or else they pay like princes here." "They pay very well," she answered, "and I / MISS TRESHAM KEEPS HER WORD. 113 page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] have not spent much. I have had no need to I so.,, "What is the amount?" "A thousand dollars. I took gold, becan I thought you would prefer it to bank-notes." "This is better," said he, a little absent He weighed the bag in his hand, with an expe gesture. "Two hundred pounds stenlin.'" sal he. "Katharine, is it worth while to say that am much obliged to you?" "No-it is not worth while." "Very well," said he, coolly. He opened the bag, took out some of th coin and looked at it, put it back, and tied u, the mouth again. 4Something slightly nervous i the action, struck Katharine; but, as he did no speak, she spoke herself. "You will leave Tallahonia to-day, SI John?" "No," said he, sharply. "Why should yoi think so?" "I don't see what should detain you," shi answered. "I-this is all I can do for you." "I am not considering you," he said, coldly. He turned and walked up and down th room, looking absently at the doors and win. dews as he passed. "Is this rickety old place a bank?" ho asked, tfter a while. "Yes, it is a bank-that is, the bank is in the ether room." "Humph I They must offer a premium for feats of burglary." "It is seCure enough," Katharine answered -.--adding, suddenly, "St. John, don't waste time like this. Tell me what you mean by saying that you will not leave here." "I mean that I have found work to do," he answered, coming back, and pausing before her. "I mean, Katharine, that I have found ~he thing I most need, and least hoped for-a claim on Fraser." "A claim I-kere !-St. John, are you mad?" "If I tim, it is the luckiest fit of madness that ever came to anybody," he replied, with a short laugh. "No, I am quite sane, and I tell you-" "Rush I" said Katharine, catching his arm with a force that surprised him. "Hush I-what is that?" They both stood quite silent, and listened- St. John full of astonishment, Katharine full of suspense. Through the closed door, there came the sound of a rustling dress a~md a m~oman's voice in the passage beyond. As soon as Miss Tresham I 14 54 y ri 0 ] p a t Li s heard this, she turned and glanced out of the win- dow near by. To her dismay, the Annesley car- riage stood before the gate. "I must go," she said, hastily. "It is Mrs. French. St. John, don't keep me-I must go." "Who is Mrs. French?" he asked, impa- tiently. "I want to see you-I want to speak I to you about this business." "I cannot stay now," she said; and, as she spoke, she moved rapidly across the room, and unclosed the door, just as there came a knock on the other side. Opening it suddenly, she faced Mrs. French, who was standing with her hand uplifted, ready to knock again. "Oh, Miss Tresham," said she, rather taken aback. "I beg pardon-I hope I did not dis- turb you? The Andersons were not at home, so, thinking you might still be here, I called on my way to Mrs. Marks. Mr. Marks told me that you were in this room, and I merely wanted to let you know that I had come-I hope I did not disturb you." "Not at all," said Katharine, perfectly con- scious that, despite the obstacle of her figure, Mrs. French's eyes had fully explored the room, and fully scrutinized St. John, who was still standing near one of th~ windows, and imme- diately within her range of vision. "1 am ready to go," she added. "Don't let me detain you." "My time is quite at your service," said Mrs. French, with most obliging sweetness. "I can wait in the bank until you have finished your business." "I have entirely finiAhed it," answered Kath- anne. In consequence of this reply, Mrs French had no alternative but to turn from the door, and allow Miss Tresham an exit. As she walked down the passage, Katharine paused a moment, and motioned St. John to approach. "If you are anxious to see me, you can come out to Annesdale," she said. "If what you have to say is important, you can meet me to-morrow in the place that I showed you before." "At what hour?" he asked. "I will try to be there by twelve," she an- swered, after which she closed the door, and fol- lowed Mrs. Frennh. "Shall I tell John to stop at Mrs. Marks's?" asked this lady, as she moved aside to let Kath. anne enter the carriage. "I believe not," Miss Tresham answered. "I won't detain you. It does not matter, since I shall see Mrs. Marks in two or three days." I 114 MORTON HOUSE. SPITFIRE FLAYS AT HIDE-AND-SEEK. 115 "Home, John," said Mrs. French, gathering her silk dress in both hands and stepping into the carriage. Ten minutes after the equipage rolled out of sight, Mr. Warwick came down the street toward the bank. As he entered the gate, he met St. John, who was just going out. A glance only passed between the two men; but some- times a glance can be very significant. The ren~embrance of the lawyer's keen eyes gave the adventurer an uncomfortable feeling as he walked along, with Katharine's thousand dollars safely stowed in his pockets, while Mr. Warwick went straight into the bank and asked Mr. Marks what "that man" had wanted there. "That man 1- whom do you mean?" in- quired the cashier, in a tone of surprise. "That St. John, or Johns, as I believe he calls himself-what did he come here for?" "St. John !-Johns ?-Thcre has beennobody here of that name," said Mr. Marks, looking puz- zled. "In fact, there has been nobody here at all since you left, excepting Mrs. French, who called for Miss Tresham." "The gentleman Mr. Warwick means is the one Miss Tresham sent for," said Hugh Ellis, looking up. "I saw him as he went out of the gate." "Miss Tresham sent for him?" repeated Mr. Warwick. He said nothing more, but walked to one of the windows, and stood there for a minute gazing out. Then he turned and came back to his brother-in-law. "Don't think I am meddling," he said, "but if it is not confidential, I should like to know what Miss Tresham's business was. Did she say any thing to you about that man?" "She said nothing about any man," replied Mr. Marks. "She came to draw her money." "Her money l,~ "The whole of her two-years' salary," said the cashier. "A very pretty little sum it was, too," he added, approvingly. "A thousand dol- lars down in gold." "Why did you pay it in gold?" "Because she requested it-from a foreign- er's distrust of our paper, I suppose. I did not think of it before," he went on, "but it looks a little as if she meant to go away. If she did, I should be very sorry, for I don't know where I could find another teacher who would suit us all as she does. As for the man, I don't know any thing about him. She wrote a note, and sent it by Hugh; but he hadn't been here l I more than ten minutes before Mrs. French came." "Did Miss Tresham go away then?" "Yes, she went away then." Mr. Marks paused a monient, looked at his brother-in-law, and added, hastily: "I hope there's nothing wrong about the man, Warwick? It did not occur to m~ to think any thing-somehow I always feel as if Miss Tresham could be trusted as we don't trust every woman of her age.~~ "I am sure Miss Tresham can be trusted," said Mr. Warwick, quickly. "You don't sup- pose I was thinking of her? Whatever the man may be, there's one thing certain-she can be rustedd." "I am glad to hear you say so," responded Mr. Marks, looking relieved Surely you did not need to hear me say so? Now, about my business. Mrs. Gordon asked nie to get this cheek cashed for her. She wants the money at once." -4-- CHAPTER XXIL srirrinz PLAYS AT rIIDE-AND-sEEx. "Msmrmri~," said Mrs. French, entering the drawing-room where her mother was sitting with half a dozen ladies, "have you any idea where Miss Treshiim is? We want to rehearse the tableaux for to-morrow evening, and she is not to be found." "I saw her go to walk a little while ago," said Mrs. Annesley, looking up from her em- broidery. "She went out toward the shrub- bery, Adela. You had better send for her if you need her." "Send Mr. Langdon," said Mrs. Baynor, laughing. "I wouldn't advise you to do any thing of the kind, if you want to see either of them sodh again," remarked Mrs. Dargan. "T'hat young man is really absurd!" she added, with cQnsid- erable asperity. "Send Maggie Lester and Morton," said Mrs. Annesley. "Spitfire will soon find her for them." "That is a good idea!" cried Mrs. French, and, by way of putting it into execution, she im- mediately returned to the library where the prin- cipal portion of the party were assembled. A lively examination of engravings, and discussion of costumes, was going on here, and a great deal page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] 116 MORTON HOUSE. of interest and excitement was afloat; for, thirty years ago, tableaux were by no means the v9ry common and very boring amusement which they are at present. In those days they were quite novel, especially in country districts-and, in consequence of the novelty, were considered very fascinating. Not long before this, Mrs. - Fr~jch had assisted at an exhibition of the kindin Mobile, and she itus anxious to intro- duce the new amusement into Lagrange. Hav- ing abundant material at hand, in the matter of pretty girlsobliging gentlemen, and an unlimited command' of costume, she determined on giving a New-Year entertainment of this character. All. the company received the idea with enthu- siasm, and the only danger was that their zeal might outrun their discretion, inasmuch as they seemed anxioiis to prolong the entertainment in- definitely by representing every conceivable scene, and personating every imaginable character with- in the range of history or fiction. At length, however, this vaulting ambition a~as somewhat curbed, and the programme, after much weeding, wa~ finally made out. Of course, the usual trou- ble. about the distribution of parts-the trouble which is the bane of private theatricals, and all afihirs of the kind-ensued. But, by judicious management, the stormy waters were allayed, and, after many compromises, peace was at length secured. But only peace in partial form. Char. actors being settled, dress yet remained i~n open question; and, when Mrs. French entered the library, a warm discussion was in progress. "Itell you it.ought to be black velvet and pearls," Miss4.ester i~as saying, decidedly, as her friend walked up and touched her on the shoulder. "Let the black velvet alone just now, Mag. gie,"~she said. "I want you to go out into the grounds mid look for Miss Tresham. Mamma says she went to walk. I wouldn't ask you, only you are so fond of exercise; and, if you take Spitfire, hewill soon show you where she is. We must have her to settle about the dress of Queen Mary~ Please take Morton with you, and see if you can't find her." "Do you hear that, Mr. Aunesley?" asked Miss Lester, who was ready at once for the part assigu~d hex'. "The morning is charming, and I should like nothing better than a walk. Spit. lire will like a game of hide.aud-seek, too. He will find Miss Tresham for you in no time, Adela. Meanwhile"-this to the lady to whom she had beentalking before-" remember that I sayblack velvet and pearls." Spitfire was quite willing for a walk and i~ game of hide-and-seek, 'while Morton, for his part, was heartily tired of talk about doublets, and ruffs, and colored lights, and gauze screens. "Oh, we can't let Mr. Annesley go-we haven't settled on the costume of the Master of Ravenswood yet!" cried one or two ladies, as he rose with alacrity to follow Miss Lester from the room. "He won't be long," said Adela, philosophi- cally. "What do you think Lucy Ashton ought to wear ?-a bridal dress, of course; but in what shape?" "Which w~y .shall we go, Miss Lester?" asked Morton, as they descended the front steps together. "We will ask Spitfire that," the young lady answered. "Here, Spitfire ! - seek, sir, seek! Find Miss Tresham-Oh, I forgot," as Spitfire stood looking very confused and irresolute. "I must have something of Miss Tresham's to show him. Mr. Annesley, run into the hail and see if you can't find me something." Mr. Annesley did as he was bid-that is, he walked into the hall, and returned after a minute or two with a long crimson scarf. "I think this is Miss Tresham's," he said. "I have seen her wear it several times." "Here, Spitfire, here!" said his mistress, shaking the scarf at him, as if she was a mata- dore and Spitfire was the bull she wished to en- rage. "Here, pet! and now go and seek Miss Tresham." Thanks to the instructions of" Cousin Tom," Spitfire was tolerably well trained. He sniffed at the scarf, then trotted about a little, sniffed at the ground in much the same disdainful fashion, and finally set off toward the shrubbery. "Come on," said Miss Lester, beginning to walk very fast; and Morton came on, as request- ed. Fast walking is not the most graceful thing in the world, as we who livb in this day have ample opportunity for observing; but, on the 81st of December, when the sun is clouded over, and the air decidedly sharp, it is at least a com- fortable thing. .Miss Lester's cheeks had bright roses in them whei~ at last she came to a halt. "Where has Spitfire ~one?" she cried, laughing~ "I am afraid we shall have to look for him, with. out the advantage, which he has, of a nose as a guide." "This way, I think," said Morton, and he turned down a path that led into the wildest and prettiest part of the grounds. The woods, which had been enclosed here, were left almost ~htirely I as Nature arranged them, excepting that the en- cumbering undergrowth of the forest had been cleared away, and now and then a rustic seat was placed in some shady nook. In spring, summer, or autumn, a lovelier spot was not to be found within the borders of Li~grange; but it looked cheerless enough on this bleak December day, with the leafless trees standing out like fine pen- cii tracery against a dull, gray sky, and the brown earth covered only with dry, fallen leaves. "I don't think Spitfire came this way," said Miss Lester, a little pettishly, for she did not fancy walking down a steep hill with the as- ~sured certainty that she would have to walk up again. "I am sure he did," said Annesley; "but, if you are tired, we won't go on. No doubt he will bring Miss Tresham to us after a while. Here is a seat-pray sit down." "No, we might as well go on. There I-is not that Spitfire that I hear?" It was Spitfire, undoubtedly. From no other canine throat could such a volume of shrill sound have issued-a vehement barking, of the most in- dignant kind, that was borne with singular dis- tinctness through the still air. "He can't be attacking Miss Tresham in that way," said Morton, quickly. "Oh, no," said Spitfire's mistress, with the coolness which characterizes the owners of bad dogs, when those dogs are annoying or terrifying other people within an inch of their lives. "He -he has met somebody else-somebody that he don't know. Let us walk faster," she went on, more eagerly, "or he may be hurt.' "The somebody may be hurt, do you mean?" asked Annesley, as he quickened his pace in ac- cordance with her own. "Surely Spitfire will not really bite?" "The somebody l" echoed the young lady, with an indignation that startled him. "You don't suppose I am thinking of the somebody- I mean that Spitfire himself may be hurt." "Oh!" said the gentleman, thus enlightened -then he added, with a smile, "perhaps he may. 1 wQuld ,not answer for what I might do under such provocation as that." "That" was the furious sounds of rage to which Spitfire was giving utterance as they ap- proached. Other sounds were also audible now -Katharine's voice calling him oY, and a man's voice angrily bidding him be gone. "Some one is with Miss Tresham," said Mor- ton, stopping with an instinctive hesitation-an instinctive remembrance of that other meeting SPITFIRE PLAYS A 116 LT ~HIDE-AND-SEEK. 117 of which his mother had spoken two days be- fore. But he stopped too late. Urged by a fear for Spitfire's safety, Miss Lester rushed eagerly for- ward, and he could not decline to follow. A few more steps brought them into the little dell, of which mention has before been made, and there the combat was raging hotly-Spitfire barking fiercely, and making frantic dashes at the feet and legs of St. John, the latter defending himself with considerable bravery, and Katharine trying, by alternate persuasion and command, to draw off the assailant. Upon this scene Miss Lester rushed, just as St. John lost patience, and, stooping, took up a stone. Before he'could throw it, his arm w~s peremptorily caught. "How dare you I', cried the indignant and breathless owner of Spitfire. "How dare "-a long pant-." dare you throw stones at my dog? I wonder you are not ashamed of yourself-a great big man like you to be afraid of a little dog like that!" "Excuse me," stammered he, turning round in astonishment, and finding himself in the grasp of a young and pretty woman. "I did not mean tohurt him-but he attacked me without provoca. tion, and "-he added, with a sud~1en effort to re- cover the self-possession that had escaped him- "'though he be but little, he is fierce.' You must confess that." "How could you let him do it?" said Miss Lester, turning to Katharine, "and when Spitfire -poor, dear fellow-came out to look for you, too! But what is the matter ?-are you not well?" "Yes, I am well," said Katharine, trying to smile-a piteous attempt which touched Annes- Icy-" but first Spitfire, and then you, startled, sue a little. I was not expecting any one." "Adela sent us to look for you," said Miss Lester, turning her back on the gentleman, al the more determinedly because she was dying of curiosity to look at~ him. In her own fashion, shewas a girl of very high-minded ideas, though; and she kept her eyes steadily fastened onKath- anne's face. "Adela sent us for you. ~She' wants to rehearse the tableaux, and you forget that you are Queen Mary and Joan of Are." "I did forget it entirely," said Katharine. "I will go back with you at once. Mr."-.--she paused a moment - " Mr. Johns, perhaps Mr. Annesley will be kind enough tc~ show you the way out of the grounds." "Certainly," said Mr. Annesley, with a grave, page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] 118 MORTO~ bow, "unless y6~u will permit me to suggest the amendment that you introduce me to your friend, and that he will do me the honor to return with us to the house." Katharine cast a quick look of mingled appre- hension and entreaty at St. John before going through the form of introduction, in a voice that was not quite steady. She might have spared herself the apprehension she entertained. St. 4ohn was equal to the occasion. He bowed with easy grace, and regretted that he could not accept Mr. Annesley's courteous invitation; then bowed again to the ladies, as Katharine said to Miss Leste~', "Shall we return now?" "With all my heart," the young lady an- sivered., "Here, Spitfire! here pet! I am afraid to leave him there," she went on, as Katharine and herself mounted the hill. "He has evidently taken a great dislike to that gen. tleman, and, when Spitfire takes a dislike to any. body, he never gets over it. He-your friend-. was about to hurt him when I came up." "I thYnk not," said Katharine. Then she added, suddenly: "Don't call him my friend. I know him, and he chanced to be here and meet me-that is all." "You know him I" repeated Miss Lester, looking at her. "Excuse me, but you say that as if you did~not like him." "I don't like him." "Then, if I were you," said the oilier, with sudden frankness, "I would not meet him in this sort of way. I wouldn't do it for a man I liked, end I am sure I would see a man I didn't like shot ten times over first. Don't think me imper. tinenti Miss Tresham," she went on,"butllike yo~s, and I thought I would tell you how people consider such things here. You are a stranger, and perhaps don't know our customs. Of course, I shall not gossip about the matter, and, as for Morton Annesley, he is true as steel; but still, If I were you, I wouldn't do it. Are you offend- ed with me?" "Not ifl the least," said Katharine, smiling faintly. "You mean kindly, and, therefore, I could not be ~ffendcd. You simply don't under. stand.~' The last words were uttered so quietly, and with so much unconscious dignity, that they had their effect upon Miss Lester. She hesitated a minute before answering. "No, I don't understand, of course, and I don't mean to judge either. But I can see how things look, Miss Tresham, and it was of looks tbat I was speaking." I HOUSE. "Yes, I know," said Katharine, absently. Meanwhile Morton and the companion who had been presented to him were crossing the grounds to the side-gate through which St. John had entered. A few commonplace remarks about the weather were interchanged as they proceed- ccl; but, when they reached the gate, instead of opening It, Anneslcy stopped and faced the other. "Excuse me, Mr. Johns," he said, gravely, "if I ask leave to speak a few words before we part. Of course, I do not know why you pre- ferred to see Miss Tresham in the grounds, but permit me to remind you that the house is only a short distance from the place where I met you, and that any one of Miss Tresham's friends is cordially welcome there." "It was by Miss Tresham's own request that I met her where I did," answered St. John, coldly. "I will bid you good-morning, with the assurance that I shall not invade your domain again." "I hope you understand that it was on Miss Tresham's account that I spoke," said Morton, flushing a little. The other lifted his hat with a courtesy so ceremonious that it had not a little of mockery in it. "In Miss Tresham's name, allow me to thank you," he answered. "The only thing that puz. zles me is the cause of this kind solicitude." "Miss Tresham is one of my mother's guests," said Annesley, with a good deal of unconscious auteur. He. opened the gate, and raised his own hat, as St. John passed through. Nothing more was said~ on either side. They parted with a couple of stiff bows that would have become a pair of duellists; and, as St. John strode away in the direction of Tallahoma, Annesley went back to the house. When he entered the hall he was at once waylaid by Mr. Langdon, and marched szolens votes. into the back drawing-room, where a re- hearsal was going on. "No mutiny, young man," said the latter, as Morton tried to get away on a pretext of busi- ness. "I was sent in search of you, and it is as much as my lie is worth to go pack without you. Queen Adela is ?e,~mant just now, and she would think nothing of ordering my head to be taken off for disobedience of orders. In with you!" He gave his captive nt time for expostula- tion, but ushered him straight into the room where the ~tage of Christmas Eve was again erected. Strangely enough the two women whom Morton had last seen together in the I SPITFIRE PLAYS AT HIDE-AND-SEEK. grounds were the first on whom his eye fell as he entered. They were now confronting each other in tragic attitude-Miss Lester as Queen Elizabeth, Katharine as Queen Mary, in the famous scene from Schiller's "Marie Stuart." In these days all the world knows that scene, for all the world has seen Ristori act it. But then it was something neW, and something for which the world of Lagrange was indebted to Morton Annesley. He, knowing and admiring Schiller with all the enthusiasm of a German * student, had suggested the picture, and given his opinion concerning a proper selection of the characters. "Maggie Lester would do for an immensely. flattered ~Queen Elizabeth," he said, laughing. "She can't deny that her hair is red. And, if you were to put a Marie-Stuart coif and curls on Miss Tresham, I am sure she would look like the Queen of Scots. The color of her hair and the cast of her features are not unlike the portraits of the royal beauty." When he came in just now poor Queen Mary was thinking of any thing else but her cowering rival or her deadly wrongs. She saw him enter, and, though she could not turn her head, she shot a wistful glance out of the corners of her eyes which Mrs.Frcnch caught as well as himself. This astute lady had made nothing of Maggie Lester's reserve and self-possession. But a look at her brother's face told her all that she wanted to know. "He has seen him!" she thought; and the knowledge acted on her like a stimulant, enliven- ing her spirits as if by magic. After that the tableaux went on bravely, for everybody was held well in hand by their fair ruler, and nobody ventured on any open signs of weariness or dissatisfaction. It was not until the rehearsal ended, and most of the companyhad dispersed to dress for dinner, that Katharine found an opportunity of speaking to Morton. He was standing near the sttge, directing the servants, who were arranging some of the decorations, when she walked up to him. "Mr. Annesley," she said, hurriedly, "I should like to speak to you. I have something to say to you. May I say it now?" "Certainly," he answered, turning at the first sound of her voice. "Shall we go into the libra- ry?" "No, it is only a few words. If you will come here4-." 119 She walked away, and he followed her. Every one, excepting the servants, had now left the room. On one side was a bay.wiudow, and into this Katharine went. "It is only a few words," she repeated, as Annesley followed her; "but I should not like for any one to hear them." "There is no danger of any one's doing so here," he answered. Then he was silent, waiting for her to speak. After a minute she began, with a nervous haste of manner that had grown habitual with her of late. "It is not about myself, Mr. Annesley. It is about Mrs. Gordon. I know that you are much attached to her, and-and I thought I would tell you, so that perhaps you might be of service to her. She is threatened, if not with danger, at least with serious annoyance." Now, this was the last sort of communication which Morton could possibly have expected to hear, and the surprise which he naturally felt showed itself at once in his face and nianner. "Mrs. Gordon threatened with serious an- noyance 1" he repeated, with a start. "Pardon me, but you must be mistaken. There is no one who would dare-" "There is some one who has the right to dare," she interposed, hastily. "Believe me, I know what I am saying. She is certainly threat. ened with very serious annoyance and distress." A sudden dark flush rose over his face, and he frowned as Katharine had never seen him frown before. She recognized then what many other people had recognized before, that to touch Mrs. gordon was to assail him in one of his most sensitive points. "By whom, and iwwhat way?" he asked. "I cannot tell you that. I would if it were my secret; but it is not mine-it is Mrs. Gor- don's. It came to my knowledge accidentally, and I cannot repeat it. Go to her, and, if she wishes you to serve her, she will tell you herself. I--I am very sorry for her," said the girl, with tears coming into her eyes. "She has a hard lot. I wish I could help her. Perhaps you can, Mr. Annesley-you are a man." "I will try, at least," he said. "Shall I-- would you advise me to go at once?" "At once." He moved away a few steps, turned abruptly, uid came back. "Miss Tresham," he said, quickly, "Is there nothingg I can do for yourself?" She knew what be meant. She kne~v that he page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] 120 MORTON HOUSE. would not ask her confidence, or seem to request an explanation of the events of that morning. But she also knew that he gave her an opportu- nity-perhaps a' last one-to right herself in his eyes. Some instinct told her that much hung on her reply, and she gave a slight gasp over it. "Nothing, Mr. Annesley." "I am sorry for that," he said. Then, as if afraid to tru~t himself to speak another word, he walked away. In tlielhall he met 'his mother. "Where are you going, Morton?" she asked, as she saw him take his gloves and riding-whip from the stand. "Don't you know that dinner is nearly ready?" "I shall not be back to dinner," he answered. "Make my apologies, if you please, mother, and say that iw~ortaut business called me away." "Why, where are you going?" "I will tell you when I come back. I have not time to talk now." "But, Morton-" She spoke in vain. Morton was gone. When she followed him to the door he was walking rapidly in the direction of tbe stables, and, not long afterward, she saw him, from her chamber window, canter away in the direction of Talla- homa. It was not to Tallahoma that he was bound, however. The last sun of the Old Year had given a few golden gleams, and was sinking to rest in a beg' of soft, violet cloudy when he dis- mounted from Ilderim before the door of Morton House. Rapidly as he had ridden, he noticed along the avenue the fresh track of carriage- wheels, and the fact puzzled him a little. Mrs. Gordon never left home, and nobody. ever came to' the house. At an ordinary time he might merely have thought that one of these rules had been broken; but now, with the remembrance of Katharine's vague warning in his mind, he felt an uncomfortable foreboding of ill. This foreboding was increased as he approached the terrace and saw a group of negroes loitering with sorrowful faces around'the steps. "What is the' matter?" he asked, as one of them came forward 'and took his horse. "Has any thing happened that you all look as if you had beenlto a funeral ?"' "Mesa' Felix is gone, sir," answered the boy addressed, in a tone which indicated that he tliou~ht this a' sufficient reason for any length of visage. "Felix I--gone--~l" Annesley repeated. A sudden fear, common enough iii that country and at that time, startled him. "Do you mean that he is lost?" "Oh, no, sir," answered the boy, quickly. "Mr. Warwick came and took him away in a carriage. They hadn't left more'n a few minutes before you got here, sir." "Did his mother-did your mistress go too?" "I"lo, sir-she's in the house." "Very welL Keep my horse here. I shall be back directly." He walked hastily to the house and on the portico met Harrison, who was wearing a most lugubrious face. "What is the meaning of this, Harrison?" Morton asked, quickly. "Where has Felix gone? -and why has he been sent away?" CL The Lord only knows, Mass ~ said the old man, dolefully. "Miss Pauline and Mr. Warwick done it. I don't think they asked any. body's advice, sir-they just packed up Mass Felix's clothes, and took him right away. It was hard on the poor child, sir, for he didn't want to go; and if you could a-heard him a-cry- ing, sir, it would almost a-broke your heart." "I am glad I didn't hear him then," said Morton, who saw plainly that the whole feeling of the household was ranged on Felix's side. "But his mother must have had some gofod rca- 'son for sending him away. Where is she?" "In her own room, Mass Morton"' answered Harrison, following the young man ~into the house. "You better go into the drawing-room, sir, and I'll ask if Miss Pauline can see you. I don't mean to blame Miss Pauline," ho added, with an air of severe justice. "To be sure she must a had her reasons unbeknownst to the rest of us. But it was hard on Mass Felix-and him so young." "A great many things are hard," said. Mor- ton, "but they must be done. Send Babette to ask 'my cousin if she will see me." In a few minutes, Babette entered the room, and sajd that Mrs. Gordon would see him. The Frenchwoman's eyes were red with weeping, and her face was sadly swollen from the same cause. Morton felt sorry for her~' and said so~-at which she startled him by a fresh burst of tears. "Ah, madame-poor ~ cried she. "M'sieur, 'comfort her, if you can. She is heart-broken--she will die of grief, if she is not' comforted." "I will do my best," said he;" but if Felix is gone, I fear that will not be much. Cheer 'I' 3: 3: 1' I 'I 1 L SPITFIRE PLAYS AT HIDE-AND-SEEK. up, Babettel Surely he will be back before long." "Le bon Dieu only knows," answered Ba. bette. And, as he crossed the hail, he heard her 'sobbing behind him. Poor Morton I There is no exaggeration in saying that he would sooner have faced any dan- ger which could possibly be imagined, than the scene which fancy painted as awaiting him in Mrs. Gordon's room. The sobs, the tears-Ba- bette's noisy grief was, of course, only a faint shadow of what the bereaved mother must feeL He set his teeth, as he laid his hand on the door- knob-then turned it, and entered. All was quiet within. On the hearth the fire burned; outside the windows, a soft, sad requiem of the dying year was moaning through the tall trees; but no human sob or sigh was borne to Annesley's ear. A figure clad in black sat on one side of the fireplace, and held out her hand as he advanced. "Come in," said Mrs. Gordon, quietly. "You - are very welcome. Is it not cold? Draw nearer the fire. Well "-with a faint, mournful smile- "have you heard the news? I am desolate." "I have heard it," he answered. He could say no more; for, although he ought to have been relieved, he was, in truth, more deeply affected by her quietude than he could have been by any vehement outbreak whatever. The hopeless accent of the last words went straight to his heart, and touched it more than tears could have done. He said nothing; but he kept her hand tightly clasped in his for sev- eral minutes. "I see you feel for me," she said-" you do not think it is foolish to mind it so." "No words can say how much I feel for you," he answered. "It might be foolish, perhaps," she went on, "if he was not my all. But he is, you know-literally every thing that I have on earth." '"But surely you have not sent him far-surely he will not be gone long?~~ said Morton, unable to contain his surprise. "I do not know where he has gone," she answered, in the same quiet, hopeless tone; "and I do not~know when I shall see him again -perhaps never." Annesley said, "Good Heavens I "-and then he stopped. A sudden remembrance of Kath- arine's words and looks came ~to him. "It is 'Mrs. Gordon's secret," she had said. "If she wishes you to serve her, she will tell it to you." 121 Here was the secret staring him in the face; and evidently it had been told not to him, but to John Warwick. For a moment, he felt wounded-more deeply wounded than it is pos- sible to describe; but, almost immediately, cooler reason and better feeling triumphed. "'Whatever you have done, I am sure you have done well," he said, in his kind, loyal voice. "Whatever is to be borne, I am sure you will bear well. This is no time for reproaches, but I cannot help asking you why you forgot that I am your kinsman, and ready to do any service for you~" "1 did not forget it," said she, holding out again the hand he had relinquished. "Morton, don't reproach me-for that i~ reproach. 'After Felix, there is no one so near my heart as you are-both for your own and your father's sake. If I did not ask this service of you, it was only because you were not in a position to render it. Circumstances made it necessary that Felix should be taken away-far away, 'where even I might not know where he is-and you had not the requisite time for this." "I would have taken the time." "I don't doubt that-but I could not ask it. Besides, I went to John Warwick, as a lawyer, and he advised me as a lawyer, before he served inc as a friend." "I could not have advised you, perhaps; but I would have served you against any thing-or anybody." "There are some things one can only fight with cunning, not with force," said she-adding, after a moment, "I will tell you every thing if you will remember that I tell it oulyto you-mi~ to Lagrange, or to anybody in Lagrange. Yet that is a foolish remnant of the old pride, for everybody will know it soon." "Consult youz"own feelings, not mine," said he. "If it is painful to you to speak, don't do it. I will serve you ignorantly as readily as with knowledge. Don't-don't distress your- self." "You deserve confidence from me," said she, "and you shall have it." Then, as if it were a relief-and, indeed, after a fashion, it was a relief.-.she began and poured forth her pitiful story, going far more into detail than she had done in speaking to John Warwick, and eliciting far more of warm, outspoken sym- pathy. What the lawyer felt he had shown in deeds, not words; what Morton felt burst forth in eager 'language, though it would have been equally ready to prove itself by acts. The dif- page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] 122 MORTON HOUSE. ference was lesS in the different natures of the two men than in their different ages. As Mrs. Gordon went on, Morton's interest grew Watmer, until suddenly there came a cold chilL It would be hard to say what the young man felt when she first spoke of St. John, and an instinct.-...a sharp convulsion at his heart.-. told him that this St. John was one and the same with the"' Mr. Johns" whom Katharine Tresham had that morning asked him to show out of the grounds ofAnneadale. Then, the warning sjse had given him, the knowledge which she possessed of this carefully.guarded secrbt- he grew suddenly faint and sick, and turned so palethat Mrs. Gordkn noticed it. "What is the matter?" she asked. "You are thinking of something besides nie." "I am thinking of this St. John," he an. swerved. "Don't you think that he may have ~come here accidentally-not in search of you, after all?" "Babette thinks so; but I cannot believe it. However much he may pretend otherwise, I am sure he came here in search of me." "But how did he know that you were here?" "I cannot tell that." -iMorton said no more. lie would have cut out his tongue sooner than mention Katharine's name in the matter; and, although he did not know it, Mr. Warwick had been equally dis. erect. Mrs. Gordon had not a suspicion that St. John was connected with any one in Lagrange besides herself. Different as the two men were, they had something in common, which they proved by this reticence. Morton was right when he once told Felix that the grand test of a gentleman is the capability of being trusted; and he might have added that it is not only the capability of being loyal to ft truss which has beeniolemnly and explicitly given, but it is also to be found In that fine sense of honor which can appreciate tacit confidence, and respect the secret for which n~ Ocerecy has been asked. When Annesley rode away from Morton House, the last day of the Old Year had died the death common to all things mortal. The last gloam of light had faded in the west; the night liungo~er all things with its sombre mantle; the stars gleamed within uncertain fitfulness through a curtain of misty cloud; and even the lights from the wayside houses looked, to the young man's fancy, more dull and red than cheery and bright. As be rode forward,. his heart was strangely heavy, his mind strangely disturbed, and, in a sort of accompaniment to the thoughts that tormented him, a certain verse of a poem he had seen shortly before kept running through his brain. Almost unconsciously, as he looked at the great hosts of Night that were marching steadily forward to the death-bed of the Old Year, he caught himself repeating: "He ileth still; he doth not move; He will not see the dawn of day. He hathno other life above. He gave me a friend sad a true true-love, And the l.~ew Year will take them away." -4--- CHAPTER XXIII. A. MOaNING-CALL. GanAr was the rejoicing of the Marks cliii. dren when, on the day after New-Year, the same carriage that had conveyed Miss Tresham away drove up to the gate; and Miss Tresham de- scended, smiling in acknowledgment of their eager welcome, but looking decidedly pale and worn, as Mrs. Marks at once perceived. "Dissipation don't agree with you, Miss Kath- arine," she said, after the first bustle of greeting was over. "I never saw you look so badly. You must have danced all last night." "I did," said Katharine, smiling. "After the tabteawo we had a sort of fancy ball-that is, all those who had taken part in the tableaux were in costume-and day was breaking when I went to bed. I wish you had come to the tableaux, Mrs. Marks-they were so pretty!" "I thought about it," said Mrs. Marks, re- gretfully. "I should have liked to have gone; but it was a long drive, and Nelly had a cough that sounded a little like croup, so I was afraid to leave her." "But you might have sent Sara and Katy; they would have enjoyed itac much I" "They were crazy to go, and I might have sent them if there had been anybody to take thenji. But Richard was tired, and Jqjxn isn't here, you know." "Indeed, I don't know," said Katharine, with a start. "Where has Mr. Warwick gone?" "Gone to take Felix Gordon to school," an- swered Mrs. Marks, sending her scissors with a sharp snip through the cloth from which she was cutting a jacket for one of the boys. "You can't be more surprised than I was, Miss K~th4 'I A MOR anne; for John started off without giving an~ body a word of warning. It was a queer thin for Mrs. Gordon to send the child away-so fon of him as they say she is.-.and it was queer o John to take him; but, then, dear me! who isn't queer in this world? I told Richard las night that I shouldn't be surprised if ever thing came right at last. You know what mean; I don't like to mention names before th children." "Yes, I know what you mean. But is likely, do you think 1'" "If this don't look as if it is likely, Iwon der what would look so? Other people beside me think the same thing. I saw Mrs. Sloai yesterday, and she was telling me that Mrs Gordon-Katy, don't stand there drinking ix every word 1 say; go upstairs and see if Mm Tresham's room is all ready-that Mrs. Gordos has been going to see John at his office of late and, when a widow does that way, you know ii is apt to mean something. There are a greal many reports going about; but I know hoi~ people talk, and I didn't pay much attention tc them till this about Felix came on me like s thunder-clap. Then I couldn't help believing. I am sure I never expected that matters would K come to pass so that John could marry Pauline Morton-but this is a strange woridi" "When will Mr. Warwick be back?" asked Katharine. "Indeed, that's more than I can tell. He said nothing about it; and, since I don't know where he went, I can't even calculate whe~i h9's likely to be back. He left a note for you, which I was about to forget. Let me see-where did 1 put it?" After considerable reflection, Mrs. Marks re- membered that she had put the note in her workbox, and drew it forth from among the spools and tape which filled that receptacle. Katharine, who restrained her impatience as well as she could, took it and opened it. This was what Mr. Warwick said: "DEA~l Miss TazsarAM: I find that I am un- expectedly obliged to leave home with Felix Gor- don. I shall endeavor to return within a fort. night. Will you go to see Mrs. Gordon and try to cheer her? She is suffering very much. "Yours truly, "JOHN WA.nwrcn." "Does he say any thing about when he's * likely to be back?" asked Mrs. Marks, who was 1~TING-CALL. 123 ~. watching the governess's face attentively, and g secretly burning with curiosity to know what d her brother had written about. f "lie says he may return within a fortnight," t answered Katharine, with her eyes still fastened it on the note. Then she held it out. "There y it is," she added; "you can see for yourself I what he says. It is not much. I will go and e take off my things." While Mrs. Marks eagerly read the note, t Katharine left the room and went upstairs, She found her chamber carefully arranged for her. Every thing looked fresh and bright, the a fire was burning, and on the table her ebriatmas ~ presents were laid out in order. It seemed like a pleasant coming home, and gave her a sense of rest and relief after the gay dissipations of Anneadale. At another time she might have thought a little regretfully of all that was going on at the latter place; of how Mr. Langdon was just then throwing a great deal of sentimental expression into his voice and eyes as he talked to some young 'lady who sat in the bay.wind'oiv where she had herself sat yesterday; of how Miss Lester was playing billiards with Mr. Tal- cott; how Mrs. French was entertaining a lively group with disquisitions on private theatricals; and how the same people were loitering In ~e sanie places and saying the same things as on every day while she had been there. The habits of society are much the same on a small or on a large scale all the world over: Let a man drop out of his circle in Paris, and, even if he has been the brightest star in that circle, who misses him? So it is in every circle of every city, vfl. lage, or hamlet, throughout the world. Remain, and you are liked exactly according to yatir d@ serts; go, and, whatever those deserts may have been, you are forgotten as speedily and as natur- ally as the events of yesterday yield in interest to the events of to.day. Until a cloud came over her brightness, Katharine had achieved quite a social success at Anneadale; but she had sufficient world experience to know that already she had sunk beneath the horizon, that others had taken her place, and that to-morrow people would even cease tosay, "Miss Tresharn did this," or "Miss Tresham did not do that." At a different moment such a reflection might have cost her a pang; but now she was too full of other subjects. Instead of thinking of the farewells of Messrs. Langdon and Talcott, she thought of Mr. Warwick and the note he had left behind. "What did he mean~?" she asked herself, and, receiving no satisfactory reply, wae page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] 124: MORTON still askIng~ when the door opened and Katy rushed in. "Miss Tresham, there's a gentleman down- stairs, and mamma says will you please come down, he wants to see you." Poor Katharine! She had expected this, but not quite so soon-not quite so unexpect- edly. " Katy," she said, with a start,," who is it? ,What is his name?" "He's a strange gentleman," answered Katy, decide4iy. "I don't know what his name is, and mamma didn't tell me. He came here once before, though." "To see me? " "Yes'm, while you was away.~~ "Amen," said Katharine, under her breath. She mechanically took off her bonnet and shawl, smoothed her hair, and went down-stairs, In the passage she met Mrs. Marks, evidently much fluttered and excited. "A gentleman in the dining-room to see you, Miss Katharine," she said. "I asked him there because there was no fire in the parlor. You needn't be uneasy on my account," she, added, with a good-natured smile, "I am going into the kitchen anyhow. They ar~ trying out lard again tq~day, and I have to see about it. He's very good-loo~dng," she said, with a significant nod, as she went out of the backdoor. Katharine did not even smile. The conclu- sion to which Mrs. Marks had leaped was absurd enough; but she was not in the humor for the absurdity to Btrike her in a humorous light. On the contrary, she felt annoyed when ther~was no reasonable ground for annoyance. These sig- nificant looks and smiles jarred on her. "What fools people are!" she thought, with an impatience very unusual to he; as she went on aud opened the dining-room door. 8t. John was standing with his back to the fire, looking moodily down .at the hearth-rug wben she entered. She saw at once that some- tl4ng was. wrong with him, pnd, unfortunately, was in no doubt concerning the nature of that something. He looked up when she entered, but did not move forward. "Well," he said, "have you heard the news? Do you know that she has sent off the child, and given me the slip?" "Yes, 1 know it," she answered, sitting down in the first chair she came to. "Hut what can ;r do? Why do you come and annoy me?" "That is always the cry !-always, why do I come and annoy you! I come because I choose I A MORNING-CALL. 125 * HOUSES to do so," said he, angrily; "and because you may be able to help me in this business." "In what business?" "In finding out where Felix has been taken." "What is the use of such talk as this," said she, coldly. "Do you suppose I know any thing about it ?-or, if I did, do you suppose I would tell you?" "I suppose you can find out, if you choose, for the man who took him away lives, I am told, in this very house-and, I suppose that, if you don't choose, you may repent it," arfaw-ered he. "I don't want to hear any nonsense, Katharine. This is a matter of life and death to mc, and I will not be thwarted. You can find out where the child has been taken, and you shall do so." "I might show you whether or not I would, if there were any question of finding out," she answered. ~' But there is not. Even his own sister does not know where Mr. Watwick has gone." "She may say she does not-" "She says the truth. Don't think that every- body tells falsehoods, St. John." "Everybody tells them when it suits his con- venience," said St. John, coolly. "Do you sup- pose I don't know the world?" "Your own world-perhaps so." "The world is the same everywhere. If this woman does not know, her husband does." "No-he does not." "Then wait until the man comes back, and get the secret from him. What's the good of being a woman, and a pretty one," he addcd, with a sneer, "if you can't do such a thing?" "You don't know any thing about Mr. War- wick," she cried, indignantly. "If you did, you would know that no woman in the world could make him tell a thing that he wished to keep secret. And I would do any thing sooner than ask it of him. St. John, you are cruel 1" "You are a fool I" retorted St. John, short- ly. "I think there must be something between you and this lawyer," he went on, looking keenly at her. "If that is the case-" "I won't hear another word!" cried Kath- arine, losing temper, and somewhat dismaying him by the angry light that came into her eyes. "You are insulting me-~nd 1 will not listen to you. If I knew where Felix Gordon was this minute, I would die sooner than tell you!" she said, passionately. "You may be sure~f that." "I think I could make you sorry for it." "I have no doubt you could-but I would not do it!" I There was silence in the room after thi St. John had not expected such a defiance, an it quite astonished him. He drummed on hi hat for some time, and knitted his brows, a he scowled at the 'girl, who sat before him lool ing pale and resolute. "Upon my word, I had not expected this,' said he, at last. "A charmingly affectionate pci son you are, Katharine, I iriust say I You'd di before you would obtain for me a certain iten of information about a person who cannot con cern you in the least! Will 'you tell me what ii the meaning of this sudden interest in Felix Gor don?" "I have no interest. But~I will not play th( spy at your bidding. I owe a debt of gratitude( to this place, and these people; and I do nol choose to repay it in such a form." "A debt of gratitude for allowing you to come and slave among them? Humph! your ideas of a cause for gratitude are singular, to say the least. You do owe somebody among them a certain sort of gratitude, though," he went on, with a peculiar si~ile. "Fray, what do you consider the most unfortunate thing that has befallen you lately?" "Your coming," she answered, unhesitating- ly. "I thought so," said he, coolly. "Well, you asked me, when we first met, how I discovered your place of residence. I did 'not answer the question then, because it was irrelevant. It is relevant now, and I shall answer it with pleasure. First, however, do you know any one in a place galled Mobile?" "No one." "Have you ever been there ? " "Well, your 'address was forwarded to me- but stop! I will tell the story in order. There is nothing like method. Read that." He took out a pocket-book, opened it, and drew forth a slip of paper which he put into her hand. It was the Times advertisement that Mrs. Annesley had shown to Adela French. "Have you any idea who inserte~1 that?" he asked, watching her face, as she read it. Her eyes dilated with astonishment, her face paled until the very lips were white, and he was oreed to repeat his question, before she looked up and answered. "Idea !-no. Howshouldlhave? Idid not think there was any one in the world who would have done such a thing." * "Do you think it was some on&here?" 9 b s. "It must have been. I have never been .d anywhere else in America, and no one who was is not of Lagrange could have known any thing ,s about the West Indies or CumberlandY " Those allusions prove that it is some one who knows you?" " "Yes, it is some one who knows me." "See if these will enable you to tell who it o is." Forth from the pocket-book came two let. - ters, and were placed in Katharine's hand. She took them, as she had taken the advertisement, - and glanced over them with compressed lips. When she finished, she laid them down on the table beside her, and looked at St. John. "I do not know who has written these," she said. "God forgive whoever it was-God grant that they may never have to endure such suffer- ing as they have brought ort me!" "That is cant," said he. "Of course, you * don't forgive them; and, of course, you can tell who the writer was. What, in a small cir- cle like this, not be able to place your finger at once upon the person! Tell me whom you know, and I will tell you who did it" "I do not know anybody who would have done it." "That only proves your ignorance of the world. Do you suspect me of forging those let- ters?" "Then they were certainly written by some- body who knows you, and whom you know. Common-sense might show you this. Tell me whom you least suspect, and I will tell you who did it."' "I cannot tell you. I-St. John, let me alone I', she cried, suddenly, but with an accent of almost heart-rending pathos. "I don't nn- derstand anything! I am heart-sick and weary. Don't-don't torment me I" "You know who wrote those letters," said St. John, watching her with unchanging scrutiny. "If you don't choose to tell me, well and good- I can find out for myself. You will be sorry for this want of confidence though, Katharine. I am your best friend." "May God give me my worst, then!" cried the girl, who was driven beyond all power of selfMcon~ trol. "I have heard some rumors about you," pur- sued the immovable St. Johg. "It is quite use- less to try to deceive me-I should think you would have discovered that long before~this time. Who was the gentleman that waskind enough to page: 126[View Page 126] i2~ MORTON .HOUSE~ show me out of the grounds of the house where you were staying.the other day?" "I am going," said Katharine, rising and walking toward the door. "If you have only come to torment me as you used to do, I will not stay to afford you amusement. I am sick and weary-I am going." "I shall remain here until you come back, then." * "St. John," cried she, facing round upon * him, "what is the meaning of this ? You prom- ised me that,. after. I gave you some money, you would go; and you are here yet, to make life a burden to me." "I made no promises," said St. John, "and I will m~e none. But I tell you that I will come here every day until you find out-as you can, if you choose-where that boy has been taken to. I have written to Gordon, and he ~~ll come, expecting to find the child here. If he is not here-if I cannot put my hand upon him-it will be worse than useless to have sum- moned him." "Write and tell him so." "No letter would reach him now." Katharine sank back into her chair, and gazed out of the window at the desolate garden which had been so fair and smiling on that No. vember evening when she first saw Mrs. Gor- don's face. She could have cried out upon the cruelty ~f all this, but where was the use? All the tears of Niobe could not have moved the man before her one hair's-breadth from his pur- pose~ The nether millstone is not half so hard as the selfish resolution of a selfish nature. *WhuI~ ~he wa~ atil hitting in hopeless silence, and St. John was still standing on the hearth- ~eg wa~ting her reply, there came a stir in the passage outside, a movement of feet, a sound of voices, Miss Tresham's name audibly pronounced, and, before Katharine could ~nove forward, the door opo~ied, and Mrs. Gordon stood on the threshold! -"4--. OHAP~ER XXIV. OLD FOES. IT had been a relief to Mrs. Gordon to tell her story to Anne~ley, and the exhaustion con- sequent upon long and painful emotion had made her sleep heavily during that night-the first night after Felix had been parted from her. But who can paint the waking-the next day-the long watches of the next night? As hour after hour rolled by, she endured them in much the same passive fashion as that which had so much surprised Morton. But, on the third day, this endurance began to give way to restlessness. Babette, who went in and out on various pre- texts, and watched her anxiously, immediately perceived this. She had shortly before been to town on an errand, and she now bethought her. self of an expedient to interest her mistress. "Madame is not well," she said, planting her. self on the hearth~rng, with an air of determina- tion. "Madame is lonely - she should have company. As I was coming home, I met made. moiselle-the young lady who comes here with the children. Why should not madame send for her? She would cheer her up." "Nobody can cheer me up, Babette," said Mrs. Gordon, smiling faintly. "I am used to trouble, and I can bear it; but, as for cheer- that is a different matter. Don't talk of it." "Madame will be ill, if she is not ~cheered," said Babette, obstinately. "If madame would only send for the ~voung lady-" "Is it Miss Tresham you are talking about?" asked Mrs. Gordon, languidly. "Did you say that you met her going into town?" "A short time ago, madame." "Well, you may send or stay-no, I will go myself. Order the carriage." "Madame!" "The carriage," repeated Mrs. Gordon, impa- tiently. "Don't you see that I must get out of this house or go crazy? I will go into Tallaho- ma, and bring Miss Tresham back to stay with me. You are right. ~he will do me good-if anybodycan." "But Monsieur St. Jean!" cried Babette, who was aghast. "If madame gpes into town, she may meet him." "lie cannot harm me," said madame, haugh-. tily, for she could aiford to be brave now that Felix was safely out of reach. "Go and order the carriage. Babette went at once; but, owing to the fact that the horses were out on the plantation, and had to be sent for, it was some time before the carriage came round. Mrs. Gordon's fit of rest- lessness had by that time partly s~bsided~ and she was half inclined to give up her intention, and merely send Babette with a note to bring Katha- rine. But Babette was of the opinion that it would be beneficial for madame to go herself, that a breath of the outer air would revive her, and the sight of the outer world be good fo~ her. In page: Illustration-127[View Page Illustration-127] I OLD FOES. cases where the mind has too long preyed on it- self, there is, indeed, no better prescription than this-simple as it seems. He must be very far gone in morbid gloom whom God's air, and God's sunshine, and the bright, rejoicing beauty of God's fair earth, cannot comfort, cannot help, cannot draw a little out of himself. Beguiled by the persuasions of her faithful attendant, Mrs. Gordon at last consented to go. The French- wc~man put her into the carriage, and saw her drive off; with great self-congratulation. It is possible that this self.congratulation might have been slightly changed if she had only known who it was that her mistress had gone to meet. On her way to Tallahoma, Mrs. Gordon was a little diverted from the subject of her own trou- bles, by thinking of the pleasure Qf bringing Katharine back to Morton House with her. She felt certain that Mrs. Marks would not object, for Mr. Warwick's last words had advised something like this, and she thought it probable that he might have spoken to his sister on the subject. She liked the girl-liked her bright face, her frank bearing, her sunny smile-and she felt thi~t it would be a great relief to see her moving bout Morton House, and lighting up the' gloom with her graceful youth, instead of poor Babette's V ~ long face and ready tears. As she was drawing this half-unconscious picture,'Katharine was go. ing down to meet St. John, with a very pale face, and a very heavy heart, making quite a contrast to the girl whom Mrs. Gordon had seen last- the girl who even then was pictured in Mrs. Gor- don's mind. When the carriage drew up before~ the Marks house, two or three children were playing in the yard. They all stopped, and stared open-mouthed, as Mrs. Gordon descended. When it was evi- dent that she intended to enter the gate, they ~ immediately took flight, and ran Cull tilt to the kitchen-rushing headlong through the door1 and very nearly tumbling into a pot of boiling lard. "Mamma, here's a carriage, and a lady com- ing in!" cried Katy, who was first. "Mamma, it's a lady in black-.-.-I think it's Felix's mother," panted Sara, who was second.. "Mammi-lady tummin," said 'Nelly, who as last. "A lady in black I-Felix's mother! Good' acious!" e~ried' Mrs. Mark's. "Itumi, Letty, and sk her in-in the parlor, mind. I'll be there n a minute. Get away, children, and let me take this apron. Good ~acious l-who was to hunk-" While Mrs. Marks was ~isstily untying her 127 apron, and Letty was 'running full speed to the house, Mrs. Gordon walked up to the front door, and was about to knock, when Jack came rush. ing down-stairs. He, h~u~ beeu to the sehogl- room to get sonie~ string for his kite, and was on his way back to the place where he had left that valuable article of property, when he was thus unexpectedly brought ~f~e@ to face with a strange lady. Fortunately, he was not at all troubled with diffidence; so he went forward, and, when Mrs. Gordon asked if Miss Tresham was at home, at once responded in the prompt- est manner imaginable~. "Yes'rn, Miss ~resham's at home-she got home a little while ago. She's in the dining- roon~, I believe." "Can I see her?" "Oh, yes'ni-..walk in. This way, please." His hand was on the lock of the' dining. room door, when,, enter Letty on t~ie scene.- panting and almost breathless. "Not that way, Mass Jack;" cried she, eager- ly. "Ask the lady in the parlor. This way, ma'am" She hurried forward ,to the parlor.door, and Mrs. Gordon half turned 'to follow her, when Jack, who was always at feud with Letty,~asserted hit superior knowledge. "The lady wants to see Miss Tre4ias~'sai~l he, in a loud voice, "and Miss. Treshani aln't in the parlor, she's in here. There slip is~ ~iow~he added, triumphantly~ as he threw open the IoOr~ and revealed 'Katharine; whoAwas sitting gn~o$ immediately in front of, it. Mrs. Gordon saw her, and at once adv~ia~e4. into the room. ~he did not see St. ,Jnh~j who was out of her range of vision, so she hogan speaking, as she crossed the floor. "Miss Tresham, I hope you will excus~me-~." Here she stopped suddenly~ ~omething in Katharine's face startled her, end made herlook 4 round. Then she saw her con~panion. To describe the change that passed ever her would be impossible. If shebad expected to see him, if she had thought there was even the least reason to fear a meeting with him, she would have prepared for it-being ~ proud woman, and one who would suft~er any thing sooner than let an enemy ret~d her weakness. But, as it was, she had no time for preparaflon. When she turned and saw that so well-remembered, that so bitter- ly-hated face, it was as if a sudden, brutal blow had been dealt to her. She gave a sharp cry, and covered her own face with her hands. The door was still open, and Jack and Letty 0 z 0 page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] 128 MORTON HOUSE. OLD FOES. 129 were holding an altercation in the passage, which tilled up, strangely enough, the interval that fol- 'lowed. "Never mind, Mass Jack-.-I'll tell mistis. Putting' yourself forward when she told me to ask the lady in the parlor!" 4L You mind your own business-I'll tell mam- ma myself. The lady asked ~or Miss Tresharn, an~ I wasn't a-going to show her in the parlor. There ain't any fire in there, either." This was what came into the room, while Mrs. Gordon clasped her hands over her face, St. John stood undecided what to do or say, and Katharine felt a despair which bordered closely upon recklessness. She could have laughed, or she could have cried; but, instead of doing either of the two, she heard, with the. odd dou- ble consciousness that came to her in moments of excitement, the recrimination in the passage, and evei~ Qaught the angry whisk of Letty's dress as she departed. Nevertheless, Katharine waS the first who reedvered self-possession. Seeing that St. John was about to speak, she silenced him by a glance, and walked up to Mrs. Gordon. "Will you let me take you into the other room?" she said, gently. "I am very sorry for-for this." The sound' of her voice seemed at once to restore Mrs. Gordon to herself. She looked up with a start. Then her whole face changed- petrified, as it were-and she drew back, so that not even her dress might touch the girl-drew back as she might have drawn back from a scor- pion. "So it was you!" she said. And her voice was so cold and hard, so changed in timbre, that it made Katharine shrink. "What was me?" she asked,"as the other paused and said no more. "I do not under- stand. What was me?" "It was you who gave the clew to my place of refuge," answered Mrs. Gordon, with the same repellent coldness of voice and manner. "I see it all now. I was foolish enough to like you -to welcome you into my house-to encourage my cousin in his love for you-and you gave me this return I Thank you, Miss Tresham-.--thank you for proving to me once more that the wisest person in the world is the person who neither gives nor hopes to receive regard." '~St. John," said Katharine, turning round, "do you hear this? Do you stand by and say not one word to exonerate me from such an ac- eusation?" "What can I say?" asked St. John, care- lessly. "Mrs. Gordon ought to know that she is talking nonsense-that, if you had told me a dozen times ovcr where she was, she had no claim upon you to make such an act any thing but natural.-But Miss Tresham did not tell me," he added, turning to Mrs. Gordon. "I came here in total ignorance of your having chosen this as a place of residence. After I discovered the fact, it was my duty to inform your husband; and~ that duty I fulfilled." "I beg your pardon," said Mrs. Gordon, addressing Katharine with her utmost stateli- ness of tone and bearing. "I had no right to speak to you as I did a moment ago. I am not by nature a patient woman, and trouble has tried me severely. I hope you will let this plead my excuse. As Mr. St. John said, it is certainly true that I have no claim upon you -no right to hope that you would respect my unfortunate position sufficiently to refrain from betraying me to-to-" She stopped, gasped slightly, as if threatened with suffocation, and her hand went up to her throat. Before Katharine could speak, however, she went on: "I ought to apologize for this intrusion. When I entered the room, I thought you were alone. I came to see you, to ask you to return to Morton House with me, to beg you to cheer the solitude which Felix's absence has made so dreary. After this meeting, I shall not press that request. I shall only bid you good-morning.~~ She bowed slightly, drew her veil over her face, and turned to leave the room-a "grand lady,~~ unmistakably, and, so far, commanding much the best of the situation. But at this point Katharine spoke, her clear, quiet tones seizing Mrs. Gordon's attention, and, almost perforce, arresting Mrs. Gordon's steps.' "If you will allow me, madam, I have a few words to say in my defence. It seems that you disbelieve Mr. St. Johii's assertion. Will you disbelieve mine when I tell you that I did not bring him here, and that I knew nothing of his acquaintance with you until he himself informed meof it?" Mrs. Gordon turned, and raised her veil again. The two women faced each other for a minute before the elder spoke-spoke with a certain quiet contempt in her voice. "1 confess that your question seems to me unnecessary, Miss Tresham. Having granted your right to inform Mr. St. John of my place of abode, I can see no reason for uselessly pro- ) longing this discussion. Why should it matter to you whether or not I believe you to have done so?" Katharine flushed at the tone; but she con- trolled herself, and held to her point with steady dignity. "Unnecessary or not, will you be kind enough to answer my question?" "If you force me to speak, I must answer, then, that I do believe it." "In the face of my assertion to the con- trary?" "In the face of any assertion given by any friend of Mr. St. John's." Hot words leaped to Katharine's lips; but she held them back. Even at this moment she had sufficient strength of will to restrain herself -to remember that he who loses temper loses many things besides, and that angry rejoinder never yet helped a cause. She had a hard fight for self-control; but she fought' it bravely, and after a minute she was able to command her voice sufficiently to reply. - "I am your debtor, Mrs. Gordon, for the first direct insult that was ever offered to me in my life. I asked your attention before as a cour- tesy; I demand it now as a right. You have seen fit to charge me with falsehood with regard to a matter in which, according to your own ad- mission, I should have no reason to deny the truth. I will now prove to you that you have done so without a shadow of just cause." She walked across the floor, and took the Times advertisement from the table where she had laid it. "Will you read this?" she said, coming back and offering it to Mrs. Gordon. "I cannot imagine-" began the latter, haughtily. "Read it," said Katharine, interrupting her with grave resolution. So constrained, Mrs. Gordon took the slip of paper and read: "If the friends or relations of Katharine Tresham, formerly of the British West Indies, and lately of Cumberland, England, are desirous of knowing her present whereabouts and address, they can obtain this information by addressing R. G., Box 1,084, Mobile, Alabama." Having read it, she looked up. "I confess that I do not understand this," she said. "Perhaps these will enable you to do so," answered Katha:ine, offering the letters in turn. The first one which Mrs. Gordon opened-the one which chanced to be the last, and in which the writer gave Miss Tresham's address, and asked information concerning her for "person- al and family" reasons-startled her no little. 11cr eyes had scarcely fallen on the writing be- fore she changed color. As she read on, her face assumed an expression which puzzled Kath- arine. It did not puzzle St. John, however. Still master of himself, and quietly biding his time, he coolly watched Mrs. Gordon, and coolly arrived at a conclusion. "She either knows or strongly suspects who is the writer," he said to himself. "I shall re- member that." After Mrs. Gordon finished reading the letter, she stood for some tim~ with it in her hand, apparently deep in thought. Then she roused herself, and opened the other. She merely glanced over this, folded it up, and turned to Katharine. "Miss Treshain," she said, with formal courte- sy, "I apologize. I see that you were not the person who brought Mr. St. John to Lagrange, and I retract my assertion to that effect. Are you satisfied?" "I am satisfied, madam," answered Katha- rine, as coldly as herself. "Will you allow me, then, to inq~uire~if you have any idea who inserted this advertisement and wrote these letters?" "I have not the least idea." Here St. John made a step forward, and was aboht to speak, when Mrs. Marks appeared at the still open door, in her best company dress and with her best company smile. "I heard that Mrs. Gordon was here," said she, advancing into the room, "and I could not help coming to-" Here the good woman stopped, awed, amazed, by the face that looked at her, overpowered by a sudden rush of feeling which swept away all thought of conventional greeting or conventional compliments. "0 Miss Pauline I It can't be Miss Pauline I" she cried, with an almost pitiful astonishment in her voice. *" 1-1-0 Mrs. Gordon I excuse me, but such a change-" "You, at least, are not changed," said Mrs. Gordon, extending her hand. "The same Bessie Warwick that I knew once-the same BeSsie Warwick, with the same honest face. Will you take me somewhere-anywhere-so that I sian speak to you alone?" she went on, much to Mrs. page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] 130 MORTON HOUSE. OLD FOES. 131 Marks's surprise. "I am glad to see you; fo I have something that I should like to say b you." "I-certainly-if you don't object, I wil take you to my own rooin,~~ said Mrs. Marks looking in bewildered surprise from Katharine t~o St. Johnand from St. John to Mrs. Gordon "I told Letty to make a fire in the parlor; but] don't expect it is burning yet, and I couldn't asi you to go into the cold. My room is in greal confusion, for the children make such a litter but if y9u wouldn't mind-" "Anywhere," said Mrs. Gordon, faintly. Al. ready her excitement was ebbing, her strength was failing, and the room was growing black be- fore her eyes. "I am ready," she added. She took Mrs. Marks's arm as a support, and turned to leave the room, but before she had made thre9 steps, St. John stood before' her- barring the only mode of egress. "It is quite useless for you to think that you can carry off matters in this way with rue, Mrs. Gordon," he said, in a tone of contemptuous amusement. "I understand, from various ru- mets, that you have sent Felix away, and that you intend to conceal his place of residence, as y~u have already concealed your own, from his father. Individually, I have no right to inter- fere with your plans; but I think it well to in- form you that your husband"-she shrank at the word-.-" will be here in a short time, and that he will use every means to discover the child, and to punish, with the utmost rigor of the law, those who have aided you in concealing him." "Oh!" cried poor Mrs. Marks, and turned a glance on. Mrs. Gordon, as i? to say, '"(Jan this be true But Mrs. Gordon did not heed the glance. ~t. John's tones and words had waked all the fire of combat within her-all the haughty spirit of resistance which years of tyranny had failed to subdue. "Tell the man for whbm you are acting," she * said, with rtll languor gone from her face, and all weakness from her voice, "that if he is wise, he wiU spare himselfthe trouble of coming here; for no human power shall over make me see him agaIn. Tell him that Felinis safe from him; and. that those who have the child in charge, are neither' so poor nor so weak as to be frightened bytlireats of any penalty which it is in his power to lnffict~ Tell him, alse," she added, with a sudden flash in her eyes that absolutely made St. John recoil a step, "that he had better think twl~e before he comes'to seek the sister of Alfred K r Morton in her own home, and among her own kin- , dred. I have oirly to speak, and there are men here who would ask nothing better than to take 1 the matter of vengeance into their own hands." "You know your husband, madam," said St. John, quietly. "You know whether such threats as that are likely to influence him." "As for you," she went on, with passion so intense that it made her whole frame quiver, and her voice rise to that infinite height of tragic emotion which only the greatest actors have ever been able to imitate, "if I have spared you, it has been because I recognized the * fact that you are simply a tool, and, consequent- * ly, that you arc below any thing save contempt. But if you trouble me again, I say to you, as I * said of him~ that there are men who would ask nothing better than to rid me of you summarily. * You will do well to remember this!" "' If your friends will be kind enough to call on me, madam," said St. John, with superb cool- ~iess, "I shall be happy to receive them. I can make tkem accountable for the words you have just addressed to me, because I have endeavored, as your husband's friend, to serve his interests." "My dear Mrs. Gordon, let-let inc take you to my room," said~Mrs. Miirks, breaking in here with a half-bewildered tone of expostulation. "I -had no idea of any thing like this, or I should not have come in. If this gentleman will move aside-" The gentleman moved aside in acknowledg- ment of this request; but Mrs. Gordon stood still-the glow was yet on her face, and it was evident that she had yet something to say. This time she addressed herself to Mrs. Marks: "I wished to speak to you in priv~" she said; "but it is not worth while. The warning which I desired to give you-which it is my duty to give you-had better be spoken in the presence of the person against whom it is directed. I find Mr. St. John apparently at home in your house. I do not know how long this has been the case, nor how long it is likely to continue; but I warn you that, if you were aware of his real character, he wonld not remain within your doors five minutes. I speak of this charaeter,'beeause I know it to my cost. lie is the unprincipled inetruinent of another man whom it is my misfortune to call my husband. Miss Tresham has sufficiently shown that she has some close connection with him. What that connection is, it does not concern me to inquire. Whether or not it concerns you, is a matter which I leave for yourself to decide." II 40 "Miss Katharine!" cried Mrs. Marks, with one great culminating gasp of astonishment. She turned and looked at her governess with an air of appeal. Plainly she meant to say, "An- swer for yourself." But, as it chanced, Mrs. Gordon's last words had tried Katharine's patience to its utmost limit. She had, so far, curbed herself steadily-wonder- fully, in fact, considering how much she had borne before Mrs. Gordon's entrance, and how much she had been called upon to endure since then-but the last tones of scorn roused her as she had not been roused before. She answered Mrs. Marks's looks, therefore, by a few haughty words. "Mrs. Gordon is perfectly right," she said. "My connection with Mr. St. John does not con- cern her in the least. I decline to explain it in her presence.~~ Mrs. Gordon showed her appreciation of this reply with admirable temper and dignity. "Miss Tresham reminds me that I have not yet said good-morning," she remarked. "Will you allow me to say it at once, and to add that I shall be glad to see you at Morton House?" She shook hands cordially with Mrs. Marks, bowed distantly to Katharine, and left the room. Mrs. Marks foilowe~ her, and, during the few minutes which ensued, St. John was able to say: "Was there ever any thing as unlucky as that she should have found me here? If you had gone with her, you could have discovered every thing." "You have only yourself to thank that she found you here," Katharine answered. "But, so far as I am concerned, it does not matter-I should not have gone with her." "Why not?" "You know why not, St. John. I should only have laid myself open to the imputation of doing what you wish me to do, of being what you wish me to be-that Is, a At this point, Mrs. Marks came back through the passage-having parted with Mrs. Gordon on the front piazza. She saw the dining-room door still open, and hesitated a moment. Evidently curiosity said, "Enter;" evidently, also, discre- tion said, "Pass on;" and, between the two, she stood irresolute. Seeing her irresolution, St. John astonished Katharine by stepping for- ward. "Will you ~come in, madam?" he asked. "In my own defence, and that of Miss Tresham, I should like to say a few words to you." OLD FOES. Mrs. Marks came in-nowise loatii.-but Kath- arine hardly saw her. It was now her turn to feel faint and sick-for the room to go round in a sort of black mist. Through this mist, she heard St. John speak as if he had been a great way off. "Since you know Mrs. Gordon, madam, you must be aware that she is of a very excitable and impulsive disposition. This fact will ac- count tor her unprovoked attack on Miss Tresh- am and on myself. I came to this place in igno- rance of her being here; but, as a friend of her husband, I could not conceal from him that the wife for whom he has been searching all over Europe is in America. One does not expect reason from an angry woman; but you heard how unjustly she assailed mc, on account of this act of disinterested friendship. As for Miss Tresham, I will not insult her by offering to-" "But is it really true?" asked Mrs. Marks, mercilessly interrupting this flow of language. "Is there really no doubt that Mrs. Gordon has a husband living? I-that is, we thought her a widow." "There is no doubt, madam, that her hus- band is living, and that she left him in the most-" Here Katharine rose and came forward. "St. John, that is enough," she said. "Mrs. Gordon's domestic troubles cannot~ interest Mrs. Marks. Will you go now? I do not think I can stand this any longer." She spoke quietly, but with a certain deter- mination which, almost against his will, St. John obeyed. He started, looked at her face, and, see- ing the resolution of the eyes that met his own, went to the mantel-piece for the hat he had left there. "I will go, certainly," he said; "but I must see you again. When can that be?" "I don't know," sh~ answered, wearily. "I shall begin teaching on Monday, and-" "I should like to see you before Monday." "Come when you choose, then-that Is, if Mrs. Marks does not object." "Certainly not," said Mrs. Marks. "I am always glad for any of Miss Katharine's friends to come to see her, and if Mr."-she stepped and looked at Katharine. "Mr. St. John," said Katharine, in reply to the look. "If Mr. St. John will come to tea this evea~ ing, we shall be very glad to see him." "Thank you, madam," said Mr. St. John, speaking for himself. "I am very grateful for page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] 132 MORTON ROUSE. MORTON'S CHOICE. 133 your kind invitation, but I regret to say that I am unable to accept it. I have business-letters of importance to write to-day, and I do not think [shall be able to finish them in time to do my. self the pleasure of coming.~~ "To-morrow evening-" began hospitable Mrs. Marks; but St. John had already turned away, and was speaking to Katharine in a tone too low for her to hear his words. As Miss Tresham replied, the coldness of her manner struck Mrs. Marks so much that she stopped short ~n her second invitation. She had sup- posed that this handsome gentleman must be a favored suitor, but now she began to change her mind. He was a lover.-Oh, dear! evidently a lover, or he would never have spoken in that voice, and with that manner-but a rejected, perhaps a hopeless lover, poor fellow I His devotion touched her, but she was too close an observer not to see at once that his cause was doomed to failure. Men are sometimes deceived by the coldness of a woman, are sometimes un- able to tell whether this coldness is that which betrays dislike; or that which conceals love; but you never find another woman who is so blind. Mrs. Marks saw at once that there was no hope for Mr. St. John; and, although she felt sorry for. him, although she would have liked to do some- thing to console him, still she had sufficient dis- cretion to feel that the invitation to tea had bet- ter not be pressed. When he took leave, she threw a good deal of respectful sympathy into her manner; and, after he was gone, she would have opened fire at once on Katharine, if Katharine had not anticipated any address on her part, by coming and putting her arms around her. "You are very good to me," she said, sim- ply, "I am very glad you did not let Mrs. Gor- don prejudice you against me. But do not ask Mr. St. John here again, Mrs. Marks. I do not think Mr. Warwick iVould like it," "I hope I'm mistress in my own house, my dear," said Mrs. Marks, a little stiffly. Then she softened, hnd kissed the girl. "I won't, of course, if ~you say not-it was only because he was a friend of yours that I asked him. I can see that he cares a great deal for you, and that he hasn't much in the way of hope to thank you for. B~t I don't see what John has to do with it." "Mr. Warwick is Mrs. Gordon's friend, and, naturally, he will take her side, and look on her cause as-as she does. I don't mean to defend Mr. St. John," she went on, hnvriedly. "I don't mean that they may not be right; but still, I should like to see him sometimes, as long as he stays here, if you don't object."~ "My dear, I don't object in the least," said the elder woman, kindly. "Don't be afraid of my being prejudiced by Pauline Murton. I know how quick and fiery she always used to be. As for you, I would trust you with-with a mint of money, if I had it." "You have trusted me with the children, and they are worth tea mints of money," said Katha- rine, smiling faintly. Then she disengaged her- self, and went np-stairs. An hour or two afterward, Mrs. Marks was in the dining-room, where Tom was busy setting the table, when she was startled by the appear- ance of Miss Tresham, who entered all cloaked and bonneted as if for a journey, and with a small travelling-bag on her arm. * "Mrs. Marks," she said, "will you lend me a little money ?-ten dollars will do. I find I have none in my purse, and I want to catch the coach, and go over to Saxford. I cannot be back until Monday evening, and that will prevent my beginning school until Tuesday; but I hope you won't mind it." "No-I won't mind it," said Mrs. Marks, a little taken aback. She thought Miss Tresham was growing very eccentric, for she had been to Saxford only the week before Chrisunas, and now to go again so soon, was quite unprecedented and singular, to say the least. She did not think of refusing her consent, however; but, on the contrary, searched diligently for her purse in the depths of a capacious pocket. "It's late to be thinking of going, Miss Katharine," she said. "The stage is due for dinner, you know; and I'm afraid you'll hardly catch it now. Give Tom your bag, and~ he can put some ham and biscuit in it, for you won't be able to stay for dinner. Will two five-dollar notes do? I haven't a ten." "Two five-dollar notes will do very well," said Katharine "Thank you, and good-by. Kiss the children for me-I really have not time tb see them. That will do, Tom-give me my bag now." She took the bag, kissed Mrs. Marks, and was out of the door before that astonished woman had time to collect her senses. When she did, her first exclamation was: "What will Richard say?" 'I 2 Morton chanced to be standing near Irene Vernon when he read this, and his change of color at once struck that young lady, who was a very close observer. "Nothing is the matter, 1 hope, Mr. Annes- Icy?" she said, as he looked up and met her answered he, a little hesitatingly. Then he glanced down at the note again, and went on: "Nothing is the matter, I hope; but I must go at once to Morton House. My cousin has sent for me." "Oh, how provoking! What will become of our ride this afternoon?" "I am obliged to ask you to defer it. You won't care, will you? I am very sorry, but"- "But, if it must be done, that is an end of4he matter. The weather may be as delightful to- morrow as it is to-day. At all events, don't consider me, if your cousin has sent for you." "You are the embodiment of obliging good- ness," said Morton, gratefully. Then, to the ser- vant still standing by, "My horse." While the horse was being brought out, the young man curbed his impatience as well as he could- and, to enable him to do so, took Miss Vernon partially into his confidence. He did not tell her all of Mrs. Gordon's story, but he told her enough to account for his abrupt depart- ure, and to enlist her sympathy. After a while they wandered from this immediate subject to certain side issues. "There is one thing that might console your cousin a little," said Miss Vernon, as they walked up and down the piazza, with the soft air and the bright sunshine all around them. "She has gratified the wishes and fulfilled the desires of her heart. It is not given to every- CHAPTER XXV. MORTON'S CHOICE. Tim morning on which Miss Tresham left Annesdale was wearing into noon, when a note from Mrs. Gordon was brought to Mr. Annesley. It was written after her return from Tallahoma, and was brief, to the extreme of epistolary brev- ity. "MORToN Ilousz, Friday morning. "DEAn MORTON: Come to me as soon as pos- sible-at once, if that be possible. I have some- thing of importance to say to you. Yours, "PAULINE GoRDoN." body to do that, you know. She must have tasted some sweets before the bitter came-ought not that to help her to resignation?" "Would it help you, do you think?" "I don't know-but it seems to me it would. Any thing is better than dull, even stagnation. A still day of leaden cloud is the dreariest thing in the world-don't you think so? Ah, how bright and beautiful it is to-day! If I knew that to-morrow would bring a blinding storm, 1 should still take the sunshine, and enjoy it while it lasted." "You surprise me," said Morton, smiling. "I had no idea that you were such an epi- curean. But," he added, more gravely, "you are mistaken. If you had ever known Mrs. Gordon, you would see that the lesson of her life is directly opposed to the sentiment you are advocating-a sentiment which has found its best expression in the words, 'Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die.' The lesson of Mrs. Gordon's life teaches with unusual force a thing which has almost grown trite in our ears -this is, tlia~ the gratification of our own wish- es, and the fulfillment of our own desires, never brings happiness. Of course, we all think it would do so; and, since there are few of us who are free enough to test the matter, we go on to our lives' ends thinking so But, in truth, when we see those who possessed the freedom which we lacked, and who marched forward to the goal of their own hopes, what is the result? Mrs. Gordon was one of those people, Miss Ver- non; and, if you could see her, your own eyes would assure you that, for her, not only the end, but the very hour of fruition-if, indeed, there ever 8 an hour of fruition-was disappointment and bitterness." "But, at all events, she has not merely exist- ed-she has lived." "You must give me your definition of life before I can grant you even that," he said, with a slight, grave smile. "Does life consist in a certain amount of sight-seeing, a certain number of vicissitudes to be endured, a certain depth of emotion to be sounded? I know that the idea of the day runs somewhat thus, and that discon- tent is rife in many places, because some people declare that life is only worthy of the name when it has known these things. But it seems to me that minds which think thus, must reason very shallowly-else they could hardly fail toperceive that, by such a standard, they exalt the worst class of the world above the best. In their sense, wh~ has lived most thoroughly, the saint MORTON'S CHOICE- 133 page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] ~34 MORTOI in his cloister, the philosopher in his study, the great minds and hearts that solitude has nurtured in all ages, or the reckless adventurer, the wander- ing sybarite, the men who sound every scale of human life, and, dying, pass from human memory like the brutes that perish? Miss Vernon, will you tell me what you meant by saying that Mrs. Gordon had lived?" "I meant exactly what you have condemned, Mr .Annesley. I meant that her existence has not been tame and stagnant, and east in one groove; ,but that it has been like a varied drama, filled with many scenes and many emotions. In short-..-well, I express myself badly, hut I think you know what I mean." "Yes, I think I do. You mean that, to you, her life ~cems like a picture, where the shades onlyheighten the effect; or, like a story, which would lose half its interest if it had no' tragic incidents, or pathetic close. But the tragedy and the pathos are not poetical, but very bitter, when they come home to us in our own lives. If you will allow inc to make a personal applica- tion of my meaning, I should judge from what you have said just now, and from many things which have gone before, that you find your life dull and tame-.-it may be, even weary. But does it never occur to 'you that this very life seems to others like one long sunny idyl of brightness and peace? Believe me, thd chief secret of hap- piness-the only one, in fact-is content with that life, and mode of life, which has fallen to em- portion. I don't mean that we can obtain this content by merely wishing for it," said the young man, with a wistful look on his face; "but we can gain it by fighting for it, and it is worth a battle. Forgive me, if I seem to be preaching to you," added he, with a smile. "I have very imperfectly expressed the thoughts your words suggested to me, but perhaps you can seize the idea through the rude garb in which I have clothed it. It has only come to me dimly a~d feebly, but there is a thrill about it which tells me thAt I am on the threshold of a great truth. Yonder is my horse, at last. Now my posing is at an end. Good-by." "Good-by," echoed Miss Vernon, giving her hand, unconsciously, to the one he extended. "I did not know you thought this way," she we~nt on, abruptly. "Your creed seems to me simple, and yet-I fear I am very morbid," she said, quickly. "You have done something to make me ashamed of it" '4 You are a little morbid," said Morton, smil- lug. "must forgive me if I tell you so, and HOUSE. you must also forgive meif I suggest the remedy. May11" "Of course you may." "Forget yourself then. I don't mean that you think of yourself a great deal," he went on, as he saw her flush; "but we are all prone to self-consciousness, and, in some natures, it fos- ters vanity; in others, a morbid habit of intro- spectionwhich-pshaw! lam drifting into meta- physics, and I know you hate the stuff as much as I do. Once more, good-by. I am off for good, this time." Miss Vernon stood on the piazza and watched him as he rode away. lie looked very gallant and handsome; for, like most of his country. men, he rode to perfection, and never appeared so well as on horseback. When he was out of sight, she smiled, to herself, with a mixture of archness and sadness. Seen just now, her face wore its very softest and sweetest expression. "It is not hard to tell where he obtains his philosophy," she thought. "No doubt he is perfectly sincere in it, but it is amazingly easy t6 be resigned to success, and to be content when every desire of one's heart is gratified. The test will be when disappointment and failure come. If his philosophy helps him to bear that, it will be genuine, and worth practising. Will it help him to bear it, though? Who can tell?" Regarded as an abstract question, who, in- deed? Yet the time was fast approaching when the abstract question would assume practical shape, and when Miss Vernon's question \vould be answered in a way which Miss Vernon could not, at that moment, possibly have foreseen or imagined. She was still standing on the piazza, still looking absently out on the bright landscape, still thinking of Morton's philosophy, and of the chances for and against his practising it, when Mrs. Annesley appeared at the open hall-door, and walked up to her. "All alone, my dear?" she said, with a smile, in which the kindness for 'once was real. "I thought I saw Morton with you a few min- utes ago?" "You did see him with me ~ few minutes ago," Irene answered; "but he is gone now. Didn't you hear the tramp of his horse?" "I heard the tramp of somebody's horse, but I had no idea that it was his. Where has he gone~"' "To Morton House, I believe." "To Morton House!" The extreme of 5'W? MORTON' pris~ appeared in Mrs. Annesley'a face. "Why, what has taken him there? And so suddenly- without a word to me!" "A note from Mrs. Gordon was the cause of his going," said Miss Vernon, carelessly. "He showed it to me, because he had an engagement to ride with me, which, in consequence of this, he was obliged to break." "And what was in the note?" "Only a few lines, begging him to come to her at once, on a matter of importance." "Nothinc~ more?" "Nothing more at all." "How very strange 1" said Mrs. Annesley, with her color rising. "A matter of impor- tance, and not one word to me-either from Pauline or Morton. My dear, excuse me, and don't think it is curiosity I feel-I am surprised, and, I confess, a little wounded, that I should be openly excluded from the confidence of my son.~~ "I don't think Mr. Annesley knew what Mrs. Gordon wants with him," said Miss Vernon, see- ing the mischief she had unwittingly done, and being anxious to smooth the lady's ruffled plumes. "He seemed very much surprised, and, I am sure, he never thought-" "That is just it," said Mrs. Annesley, a little bitterly. "Of course, he n~verthought-or per- haps he receives Pauline's confidence with the stipulation that it is to be kept from me. But we mothers must make up our minds to bear this," said she, recovering her usual manner by an effort. "As our children grow older, others supplant us in their hearts and minds, and we must endeavor to abdicate with a good grace. If we could only choose our successors, it would uot be hard to do so," she added, drawing the girl's hand within her arm, with a smile. "Dear Mrs. Annesl~y, you do your son great I injustice," said Irene, speaking quickly. "No I one will ever supplant you in his heart. I don't think you know how much he loves and admires you. It often makes me admire kim to see it." "You reconcile me to abdication, my dear," said the lady, smiling the same gracious smile. "Ah! if I can only choose my successor "-she '~ broke 6ff, as irene colored and drew back a lit- tle. "Forgive me-I only meant to say that I s am very happy if I am one link to draw you e nearer to us. Shall we go in now? I am afraid d you find it cold out here." They went in; and no sooner was Mrs. An- b nealey able to make a retreat, than she retired t: te her own room, and rang for her maid. V "Get my wrappings, Julia," she said, "and a S CHOICE. 135 order the carriage. Tell Sarah to have dinner an hour or two later than usual, for I am going to Morton House, and shall not be back at the ordinary time." While his mother, at Annesdale, was prepar- ing for her drive, Morton felt as if the ground had absolutely yielded beneath his feet, when Mrs. Gordon, who was in a state of strangely- passionate excitement, told her story at Morton House. After it was ended, she gave the reason that had made her send for him. "I have been foolish enough to encourage you in your fancy for this girl," she said. "It was my duty, therefore, not to let you rest an hour in ignorance of her true character-not to fail to tell you at once that I consider her an adventuress of the most decided stamp. Mor- ton, for Heaven's sake-for the sake of your name, your honor, and your friends-do not give another thought to her!" "One moment," said Morton, who was pale, but reticent-evidently he meant to hear every thing, and say nothing that would commit him to any positive line of action-" you have not told me yet why you think this." "Could I think it on better ground than that of her association with St. Johnl' You don't know-you can hardly imagine-.-.what he is!" "But is it just to judge her by him?" "What could be more just, when there is evidently some link of familiar connection be.. tween them? Morton, put the case as if it re- garded somebody else. What would you think of a woman who was on terms of-~-.-well, we will my intimate friendship, with a man than whom bhe lowest sharper is not more destitute of honor -with a man whose record is one that exile~ idm forever from the companionship of honest eople?" "She may not know this." "Ask her if she does not! I am willing to 'isk every thing on her reply, for I think that circumstances have made it impossible for her o speak falsely.. Ask her if she does not huow rho and what St. John is." "You are right," he said, rising. "I will *sk her. That is the straightforward and hen. at thing to do, after all. Don't think that I oubt you," he went on, looking at bi~ eoiisin. Don't think that I am ungenerous euouRjat~ lame you for what you have said. 'Op~li~4os~. rary, I thank you. I should certainly hear all fiat is said-if only that I may be abl& to ~n- wer it. You must forgive me that' I i~annot page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] MORTON'S CHOJOB. 137 136 MORTON HOUSE. take any mere circumstantial evidence against her. It seems to me that 1 should be a very con- temptible fellow, if I did." "And you are going to her?" said Mrs. Gor- don, bitterly. "Well-perhaps it may be best; but oh, Morton, don't be rash! Don't say any thing that you may hereafter regret. Give me that much credence, at least." He bent down, and kissed her cheek-smiling with an attempt at cheerfulness which went to her, heart more surely than any pathos could 'have done. He was mad and foolish, she thought; he was about to risk the happiness of his whole life in the blind determination to trust to the last; yet, even while she felt impa- tient~ she could not but be touched by his sim- ple, steadfast fidelity. It had all the elements of the highest chivalry in it, though nobody could have known this as little as Morton him. self. It was Mrs. Gordon who recognized it, and who, in the midst of her anxiety and irritation, felt suddenly thrilled by admiration. Still she could not but make one last effort. "Morton," she said, catching his hand as he bent over her, "listen to me. I am much older than yourself, and, although I am a woman, my knowledge of the world is much greater. Be- sides, I am your cousin-~--the only Morton left, the only one of the name which hereafter you will have to represent. To see you what you are -to know you brave, and true, and loyal-has given more sunshine to my life than you would readily believe. IC he lives, Felix's duties will be elsewhere-sonic day, therefore, this house must be yours. This has been my only comfort. Morton~remember that it was through my fault my father left here; it was my fault my brother never took his place. It is a horrible thing to see, when it is too late, a direct sequence of events-to know that one's own haid has set in motion a tide which ends by sweeping away every thing that life holds dear. This has been my lot. Don't add one mor~ disappointment to it-one more bitter memory. Don't ruin your life, and tarnish your name, by marrying this woman." The earnestness, the passion of her appeal, touched Morton deeply. lie saw plainly enough that the question of his happiness was with her entirely subordinate to the question of family pride; but he sympathized with this sentiment sufficiently to feel its supremacy no 'hardship. lit these times, the thought that any thing is of more importauice than the gratification of a sen- timental fancy is quite obsolete; but, in that day, a few people (and Morton was one of these people) clung to the old-fashioned idea that there were certain claims to be considered in such a case, certain higher duties than the duty of mar- rying and giving in marriage, certain principles to be observed, and, if any or all of these things clashed with love,'then love must give way. We of the present period know better than that.' Having the grand advantage of modern enlight- enment, we know that the first duty of every reasonable human being is a duty to self. And as selfishness generally culminates its strength in love-not divine love, which takes us out of ourselves into something higher, but that passion bearing its name, which is of the earth earthy- so love must needs be taught to override all the grand 'old watchwords of Faith, and Honor, and Duty. But, as we have said, Morton was not of this day. The jargon of the new school of mor- alists would have been a foreign language to his ears. The conception of sacrifice-the concep- 'tion which is the key-note of every nature which deserves to be called noble-had always been familiar to him, had grown with his growth, and strengthened with his strength. As far as he was concerned, he was ready to put his own wishes clown under his feet for the sake of any thing that had a right to demand the offering; and, reared as he had been, the name that he bore was one of these things. No sacrifice could be counted too costly that would help to keep it pure and untarnished. Regarded from this point of view, his course seemed clear-but then there was another side to the question, or else all this explanation need not have been written. To Morton, life had al- ways seemed a very simple thing, and he had never had much sympathy with those who pro- fessed to find it otherwise. "The path of duty is always clear and straight," he said, "andifwe follow it, we can't possibly go wrong. The peo- plc who are involved in moral difficulties, gener- ally make them for themselves." Now the time had come for him to learn-as everybody who deals in such fluent generalities sooner or later must learn-that life is, after all, a very com- plex tissue, and that, without being addicted to the dangerous pastime of splitting hairs, we may find ourselves on the horns of a moral dilemma, and be honestly and seriously puzzled thereby. Two duties were clashing with him now, aad the young man felt sorely uncertain as to which had the strongest claim to his respect. On the one side was the name to which a gentlemanowo~ his first duty. On the other, that principle of steadfast fidelity which every tradition of his creed, and instinct of his nature, made a solemn obligation. Moved as he had been by Mrs. Gordon's passionate appeal, he was not yet ready to set this aside as naught-not yet ready to believe that the higher duty conflicted with it. He walked away to the window, and stood there looking out. Before him lay the broad Morton fields, and the distant shadowy Morton woods. Above him was the roof which he had just heard Mrs. Gordon declare might some day be his own-at a little distance from him sat the woman rendered so sadly desolate by her own folly, the woman who had appealed to him in the name of family honor, who had bared her heart to him, and prayed him to spare her another cruel blow. Here it would have seemed as if every influence weighed heavily in one scale-as if here the side which all these things represented surely must prevail. Yet here his heart spoke to him as it had never spoken before. Here Katha. rme Tresham's face rose before him with a pathos and a beauty which the face itself had never owned. Suddenly the passion which he had heretofore so steadily curbed, so sternly kept obedient to his will, rose up in revolt, and swept over him in a great wave that fairly startled him. A voice seemed to speak in his ear, and to say: "If you give her up in this way, you are a das. tard!" It was in obedience to this voice that he turned at last to answer Mrs. Gordon. "Until I have seen Miss Tresham, I cannot tell what I will do," he said. "I can only say that I will try to act as seems to me right. 'Many things have conspired to perplex me of late; and, at this moment, I am only certain of one thing-that I, will not give her up! I will trust her until she herself proves or disproves your opinion of her; and I should not deserve the name of gentleman if I did not do so." "This is your decision?" asked Mrs. Gor- don. "This is my decision," he answered. Something like a faint smile of pity came to the lips of the woman who had gone lan- way, and who now looked back on the results of it. "Weare all alike," she said. "Indeed, all of us must needs run our own course of folly, and wreck our lives according to our own fancy. I suppose It is useless to reason with you; and I, of all people, have no right-save the right of sad experience-to bid you stop and consider. Yet "-she paused a moment-" yet I fancied you would be different. I fancied you would rate the duty you owe to your name above your passion for a woman's face." "And I thought you would understand me better," he answered, quickly. "I thought you would believe that I do rate it above every thing excepting my duty to God, and that if my love for Katharine Tresham clashed with it, I would sacrifice that love without an instant's hesita- tion." "if it clashed with it?" "Yes, if it clashed with it. You must par. don me that I say 'if'-but your opinion is only your opinion, you know; and, in a matter which concerns the happiness of my whole life,' I can. not accept any thing but positive evidence." "One word more," said Mrs. Gordon, as he extended his hand to bid he~ good.by. She did not take the hand, but rose ~o her feet, holding her own tightly pressed against her heart. "You will not misunderstand what I am going to say, I am sure; you will not think that I mean to influence you by any thing so foolish, and (from me) so impertinent as a threat," she went on. "But I think it right to place before you the consequences of the step you seem deter. mined to take. Morton, that woman is allied in some way to the man who helped to ruin my life and to murder my brother. If you make her your wife, you can never be master in this house." She spoke quietly, but in a moment she saw that she had spoken unwisely. Her warning certainly had much of the nature of a threat in it, and the man must be cold-blooded, indeed, who, in a matter of this kind, subMts to be threatened. "You might have spared me this," said Morton, with more hauteu,- than he intended. "My resolution with regard to Miss ~'resham did not need a spur; and your own experience might tell you whether my sense of family obli- gation is likely to be increased or diminished by the knowledge of such a penalty. I see that I had better go," he added, after a short pause. "You have wounded me, and I may pain you, if I remain any longer. Forgive me if I have seemed abrupt or ungracious. I-this has been a harder struggle than you think." She let him go in silence. But after the hst echo of his step had died away, the reason of thin became evident. She sat down, and a rush of tears came through the thin, white fingers which covered her face. Half an hour later, Babette opened the door, and brought in a card. page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] 138 MORTON liOUSE. "The lady is in the drawing-room, and insists on seeing madame," she said. "I can see nobody," answered Mrs. Gordon, languidly. Still she extended her hand, and took t~~e bit of pasteboard. She started when she read Mrs. Anneelcy's name. CHAPTER XXYL ~5R. SLAUK5 AssERrs HIM5ELr. Mn~. MM~ns's doubt of what "Richard" would have to say on the subject of Miss Tresh. am's flitting, proved to be well founded. When the cashier came home to dinner, and heard his wife's eager recital of the events of the morning, he looked decidedly grave. The zhenti~n of Mr. St. John recalled Mr. Warwick's opinion of that gentleman, and for Mr. Warwick's opinion no. body' entertained a greater respect than his brother.ia.ltLw. Then Mrs. Gordon's warning seemed to Mr. Marks a much more important matter than it had seemed to his wife. - "Mrs. Gordon would never have spoken in that way without some cause," he said, when Mrs. Marks told her story. After this, came the news of Miss Treshata's sudden departure -.at which Mr. Marks startled his wife by the astonishment of his face. "Gene 1" he said. "Gone, just at the close of the holidays, and~before she had* been in the house more than a few hours! What is the ~neaning of it?.-.what did she~say was The mean- Wgefit~?" "I-really, I believe she only said she was going to Sanford," answered Mrs. Marks, de- eldedIy~taken aback. "Sheasked me if I had ~tayObjectioiiand I told her no. I thought a day or two~Would n~t matter about the children, and it never occurred tome th~t you ~Would mind ~4.~~ "I mind it, because I don't understand it," said Mit. Marks, with the same unusual gravity. "It doii'~t~look well for Mlss~resham to be neg. letting her duties in this way ;~ but, a~s you eey, aday or two wouldn't matter~-.if a day or two's loss of titus was all. What does matter, is~46me explanation of this strange conduct. Think, ~essi~i I Did she tell you nothing about wAy sh6 was going to Sa~ford?" '~hn~did not tell inc a word," said Mrs. Marks, looking and feeling a little crestfallen. "She ~nine ~ln here in ~a great hurry, just as Tom was setting the table, and asked me to lend 'her some money, as ~he had none, and wanted-- Why, Richard, what on earth is the matter?" There was reason enough for asking the ques- tion. Mr. Marks's eyes opened wide on his star- tIed wife, and the expression of his face fully warranted her surprise. When she broke off in this way, his lips had already formed an excla- mation. "She asked you for money!" he repeated, hastily. "Bessic, there must be some mistake I Are you sure she asked you for money?" "Of course I am sure! How could I be mis- taken?" "And did you lend her any?" "Of course I did-I lent her ten dollars." "Ten dollars!" The cashier's astonishment seemed to have reached the utmost extreme possible to that emotion. He walked up and down the floor, then came back and stood before the lire, look- ing down into the glowing coals. "This is the strangest thing I ever heard of!" he said, at last. "I confess I don't under- stand it." "What is the matter?" demanded Mrs. Marks, who was, in her turn, excited by curios- ity. "What is strange ?---.what is it you don't understand? Why shouldn't Miss Treshani ask me to lend her some money?" Her husband turned and looked at her. "The simple reason why Miss Tresham should not have asked you to lend her some money is, that I paid Miss Tresham no less sum than a thousand dollars no longer ago than last Tues- day." "Richard I" "Her reeetpt is at the bank to show for it," said Mr. Marks; "and now-on Friday-she comes to you to borrow ten dollars! It is very strange conduct, to say the least of it." "A thousand dollars! Good gracious! What dO you think she could have done with it?" cried Mrs. Marks, all in a flutter. "She certainly said she didn't have any money, and she certainly took two five-dollar notes from me. Richard, what on earth could she have done with it?" "That is more than I can pretend' to say," answered her husband. "But one thing is cer- tam-.--1 don't like. the look of matters. When* Miss Tresham drew that mokey, she was very ~articu1ar about requiring gold. Then she wrote s'note in the bank, end had a meeting in the parlor across the passage, with this St.~Jehx~. After that she went away, and War~4e1c~-&~a~ee I I MR. MARKS ASSERT$ IIIMS.ELF. 139 in. The first thing he told me was that the man-'St. John, I mean~was an unprincipled scoundrel; and, though he did not give me his reasons for saying so, he spoke in a rntuiner which showed very plainly that he had reasons, and good ones, for the opinion. I confess that, at the time, I didn't pay much attention to the matter; but; looking back now, it seems to me more serious. After what has happened. to-day, I feel uneasy-I feel certain that something is wrong." "Not with Miss Tresham, Richard-I'm sure there's nothing wrong with Miss Tresham." "What do you know about Miss Tresham, Bessie? You may forget, but I don't, that we engaged her when she 4as an entire stranger to us, and that, after living with us two years, she is, as far as her own affairs are concerned, as much a stranger as ever." "But you know how nice she is!" said Mrs. Marks, indignantly. "You know nil that she has done for the ehihfren, and-and all that she has done for me. You liked her yourself, Richard- you know you did!" "I like her now," said Mr. Marks, with that stolid masculine coolness which some men pos- sess in superlative degree, and which is, to the feminine mind, the most exasperating thing in the world. "But what has that got to do with the matter? l'm not talking about liking her. I'm talking about her drawing that money, and borrowing ten dollars from you three days later -.-I am talking about her acquaintance with this S& John, and what Mrs. Gordon said of it-and I'm talking of her going away without a word of explanation, just as the holidays are at an end." Mrs. Marks sat dumb. She was a good par. tisan; but even the best of partisans must have something besides mere opinion withwhich to op- pose stated facts. On any one of these grounds, she was unable to ~ay any thing for Miss Tresh- am. After a minute's silence, Mr. Marks re- sumed: "One of two things must happen. Either Miss Tresham has gone away for good-than which, I confess I think nothing mere likely- or else she wrn come back at the stated time. If she does come back, there must be an expla- nation required from her. I must know who Mr. St. John is, and on what footing he comes here. Otherwise, I may be sorry to part with her, but my duty is plain-she must go. I can- not keep a governess wh~ acts as Miss ~Fresham has-been acting lately." So spoke the head of the household in his official capacity; and much as his wire's sym- pathy ranged on the side of the governess, she could not deny that he spoke with reason. Miss Tresham's conduct certainly justified all that he said of it. Yet the unreasoning faith of Miss Tresham's advocate was not shaken for an in- stant. 0 wonderful instinct of woman I There is nothing like it in the world; and where it has taken one woman wrong, it has led a hundred thousand right. Yet there are people who would like to educate and "develop" it into a "reason- ing faculty!" Why does not somebody~ come forward to paint the lilies of the field, and furnish us with patent improved sunlight, warranted to shine on every occasion? Oblivious, for once, of his business duties in town, Mr. Marks was still standing before the fire, considering the perplexing subject which was on the domestic tapir, when there came a knock at the front door. "There, now!" said Mrs. Marks, starting. "or course it's somebody to see me .Mrs~ Sloan, I expect-and what a sight I am! Go, Richard, please, and ask her into the par. Icr." Mr. Marks'~obcyed, and, as he carelessly left the door open behind him, his wife heard him exchange a cordial greeting with the visitor; and then, without any warning, he came back, and ushered Morton Annesley into the dining. room, where the uncleared dinner-tablestood in the centre of the fioor.-Mrs. Marks having been in such a fever of impatience to tell her story, that she had not allowed Tom to finish his duties. "Oh, my dear!" she cried, in a tone of capes- tulation. But it was too late. Morton..-.-wbo would have been none the wiser if there had been an elephant, instead of a dinner-table, in the middle of the fioor-walked forward and shook hands with her. "Fray don't speak of it," he said, when she began apologizing. "I hope you don't consider me a stranger. Mr. Marks, at least, was more complimentary, for he asked me in at oncc.~ :1 hope you are well. I hwve not seen you fern long time-not since before Christmas~ I b~. lleve~ May I wish you a happy New Year, since we did not have an opportunity ~e ~ox. change Christmas greetings ?-Y~cs, Mr. Murka- the roads are quite heavy. That rain ~~t~rday has made them muddy. My boots show it.-. don't they?" People less clear.sighted thanMt~ M~srks ~ti4 K page: 140-141[View Page 140-141] MR. MARKS ASSERTS HIMSELF. 141 140 MORTON HOUSE. his wife might have perceived that the young z~au made these disjointed remarks very absent- ly, that his eyes turned unconsciously toward the door, and that he started at every noise in the passage outahic. They glanced at each other significantly, but were kind enough to take no further notice, and talked of indifferent things, until Morton himself came directly to the point, in 'his frank, somewhat boyish fashion. Mrs. *M~rks spoke of Miss Tresham's enjoyment at Annesdale, and Morton instantly caught at her name, "I ~ope she did enjoy herself," he said. Then he added, quickly: "Is Miss Tresham dis- engaged just now ?-.-I should like to see her, if she' is. I am obliged to return to Annesdale very soon, and I am particularly anxious-" lie nt~~ ni~ert. The expression of Mrs. Marks's face warned him that something was wrong. He looked hastily from herself to her husband, and read the same expression still more strongly stamped on the masculine face. "What is the matter?" he asked, impetu- ously. "Miss Tresham Here Mrs. Marks interrupted: "I am sorry to say, Mr. Annesley, that Miss Tresham is not at home. She left to-day for Sax- fQrd." Morton was astounded. In a moment his mind ran over a terrible possibility-the possi- lillity that there had been some misunderstand- ing 'between Miss Tresham and her employers, which had resulted in her leaving Tallahoma per- manently. "Left-for Saxford!" he repeated. "Mrs. Marks, what is the meaning of that?" "' Don't ask me, Mr. Annesley," said Mrs. Marks. "If my life depended on it, I could not tell you a thing more than just that4-she has gone to Sasford. I am sure it didn't strike me as strange; but here's Richard has been talking alout it, and-" "It i~ very strange," said Richard, speak- ing for himself. "I don't pretend to under- stand it. I don't wonder you are astonished, Mi~. Annesley. I was astonished myself when I came Jsome and heard that Miss Tresham was gone." "When will she be back?" asked Morton, catching at the first idea which presented itself to him. "On Monday," answered Mrs. Marks, tp wheat the question was addressed. "she said she would be back on Monday, Mr. Annesloy, and I am suxe she will come. Miss Ratharine never breaks her word." "But why did she go away?" asked Morton, impatiently. "Did she not tell you why she went?" Mrs. Marks looked at her husband, and Mr. Marks looked at his wife. This time Annesley perceived the glance, and saw plainly that there was something in reserve which he was not to hear. Determined to know if any thing had happened after Mrs. Gordon left the house, he boldly broke the ice at once. "I have been to Morton House and seen my cousin," he said. "I am aware of the un- fortunate "-he stopped a moment, as if search- ing for a word -"the unfortunate discussion which took place (his uaoraixig. Will you allow me to iffquire if that discussion, or any thing resulting from it, was the cause of Miss Tresh- am's leaving Tallahoma?" On this point Mrs. Marks professed utter ignorance, and she was going on to state every thing which she had already told to her hus- band, when Mr. Marks broke in: "Since you have seen Mrs. Gordon, Mr. An- nesley, I need not hesitate to say to you that I am seriously perplexed and uneasy about this affair of Miss Tresham. As I was telling my wife, just before you came in, there are more reasons than the reason of Mrs. Gordon's warn- ing for distrusting Mr. St. John, and Miss Tresh- am's connection with him. You know her quite well, I believe: will you tell me if she has ever mentioned the man or any thing about him to you?" Morton flushed. He remembered the eve of New Year, and the manner in whieh Miss Tresh- am had repulsed his first and last attempt to win her confidence. Oh, if she had only been frank with him, the young man thought, if she had only trusted him, and given him a right to speak for her! But she had not done this, and there was nothing for it but to answer Mr. Marks's question by the truth. "She has never mentioned Mr. St. John's name to me," said he. "But I have never been in a position to receive her confidence." "Hum!" said the cashier, significantly- looking the while at his wife, and smoothing with one hand his well-shaven chin. "I cannot find," he said, after a moment, "that Miss Tresh- am has ever mentioned Mr. St. John's name to any one; and, even after Mrs. Gordon's visit~ she gave my wife no explanation of his purpose in f, coming here, or of her acquaintance with him. My own impression," added he, "is, that she has left Tallahoma simply to avoid giving this explanation." "But when she returns en Monday?' "When she returns on Monday-or, to speak more correctly, if she returns on Monday-I shall certainly endeavor to obtain this explanation. If I cannot obtain it, Mr. Annesley, my mind is made up-Miss Treshamn must leave my house." An indignant reply rose to Annesley's lips, but he had sense enough to restrain it-sense enough to see that he would do harm, instead of good, by uttering it. What business, after all, was it of his? what right had he to interfere in Mr. Marks's domestic affairs? Angry as he was, he asked himself this question, and accepted the 0c3(L5 reply. Dcidcig the wale which fol- lowed Mr. Marks's speech, nothing was said. Then Annesley rose, and begun drawing on his gloves. "If you will allow me, I will call again on Monday to see Miss Tresham," he said, with un- 'csual formality. "I am sorry-very sorry that she has left Tallahoma. But, if you will excuse me, Mr. Marks, I would advise you to suspend judgment upon the matter until she returns." Before Mr. Marks could reply to this advice, there came an interruption. The door opened, and Letty appeared. She addressed herself to her mistress. "There's a gentleman out here to see Miss Tresham, ma'am, and he wants to know if you can tell him when she will be back." "Miss Tresham will be back on Monday," answered Mrs. Marks. "Tell the gentleman- or, no, stop.-My dear" (to Mr. Marks), "per- haps you had better see who it is, and speak to him yourself." Mr. Marks went out, and Morton, after shak- ing hands with Mrs. Marks, followed him. At the front door they met St. John, whom Morton had seen once before, and the cashier never at alL A glance was sufficient to show them that Mr. St. John was very decidedly out of temper. The face, which on occasions could be so bland and smiling, was now set snd lowering in sin- gularly marked degree. It did not even lighten when he saw the two men who advanced toward him. "Mm~. Marks, I presume," he said, raising his hat as Mr. Marks came down the passage. Then, glanch~g at Annesley, he started, and bowed with- out any sign of recognition. For some reason, he :io evidently chose to ignore their previous meeting, and addressed himself solely to the master of the house. "I have called to see Miss Tresham," he~ said, "and I am surprised 'to hear from your servant that she has left Tallahoma. Will you allow me ~o inquire if this is true?" "It is true, sir," answerer Mr. Marke, with business-like brevity. "May I ask where she has gone, and when she will return?" "She has gone to Saxford, and will probably return on ~Monday-at least she told my wife to expect her on that day." A dead pause. An expression on Mr. Marks's face, and in Mr. Marks's attitude, which said: "Your questions are answered. Take leave." An expression 'en St. John\s face of perplexed astonishment, and half-absent thought, which Annesley, watching him closely, felt sure was not assumed. He looked silently at his' boots for a second, then glanced up again at the cashier. "Excuse me," he said, "but this news is very unexpected-and surprising. When I was here this morning, Miss Tresham gave no inti- mation of any such intention as this. Shall I trespass too much on your kindness if I ask you to inquire whether she left any message or note for me-that 'is, for Mr. St. John?" "I can inquire, sir, but I do not think it is likely," said Mr. Marks, with the same forbidding civility. lie walked down the passage, and, without~ entering the dining-room, held an audible con- versation with his wife. "Bessie, did Miss Tresham leave any nOte or message for Mr. St. John?" Reply of Mrs. Marks from behind the scenes: "Not a word, or a line; with me, Richard." "You are sure of this?" "I am perfectly sure. She never mentioned him." "Miss Tresham has left nothing for you, sir," said Mr. Marks, returning to Mr. St. John. "I regret that I am not able to give you any further information about the reason of her departure." "You can give me one item of further infer- mation," said St. John, manifestly proof against the plainest of hints. "Is Miss Tresham in the habit of going to Saxford?" "She is in the habit of going there once a month or so." "May I ask if she has any acquaintances there?" page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] 142 MORTON HOUSE. "She goes, I believe, to see a Catholic priest," answered Mr. Marks. Then he lost patience, and showed it in a way very unusual with him. "You must excuse me, sir, if I decline to answer any more questions. Miss Tresham's private affairs as-c her private affairs; and, since she has been living in my family, I have never interfered with or inquired into them." "Allow me to admire your discretion," said Mr. St. John, with the same bow which had once irritated Morton by its covert mockery. "I re- gret to have trespassed so long on your time and civility, and I have the honor to wish you good- day.'~ In another bow he included Annesley, and, then went his way, leaving Mr. Marks with an angry sense of having had the worst of it. "An insolent scoundrel I" said he, as soon as St. John was out of hearing. "What do you say, Mr. Annesley?" he went on, turning to Morton. "Don't you think that 'rascal' is written legibly on his face?" "I don't especially fancy his face," said Morton; "but I should not like to say that any thing particular. is written on it. One ,thing is certain," he went on, more slowly; "Miss Tresham's departure has taken 1dm by sur- prise. "That is to say, he looked as if it had," said Mr. Marks, who, what with Mr. Warwick's opinion, Mrs. Gordon's opinion, and his own discomfiture, was ready to believe the very worst of Mr. St. John. "Candidly, however, Mr. Annesley, I don't trust, any thing about him." "You think-" "I think that I will follow your advice of a little while ago, and wait and see. Miss Tresh- am may come back on Monday. If she does, we can clear up matters speedily, and it is not worth while to trouble ourselves with coujec- "Meanwhile, however, you distrust Mr. St. John?'~ "Mei~nwhile, I do most decidedly distrust Mr. St. John." With this interchange of sentiment, the con- versation ended. The two men walked to the gate together, and there separated-Mr. Marks going into town, and Annesley riding off in the opposite direction. MRS. GORDON' CHAPTER XXVII. nns oonno~'s suocxsrioN. WHEN Mrs. Gordon read her cousin's name on the card,-she hesitated a moment. Then she surprised Babette by lifting her face with an air of decision. "I will see Mrs. Annesley," she said. "Ask her in here." Babette left the room to ohey the direction, and a minute or two of silence followed. To Mrs. Gordon the interval seemed much longer than it really was, and she had extended her hand to ring the bell and ask the cause of the delay, when there came the sound of foot-steps, and the rustIc of silk, crossing the passage. Through the closed door she heard Mrs. Annes- icy's voice: "Just left, you say ?-not more than half an hour ago? It is strange I did not meet him. Do you know where he was going?" "No, madame," said Babette, in reply. Catching both the question and the reply, Mrc. Gordon dropped the bell-rope with a smile. "I might have known what detained her," she thought - and, as she thought it, the door opened. The two ladies met in the centre of the floor, and greeted each other with a moderate show of warmtb. They called each other "my dear Elmer," and "my dear Pauline," but, be- yond this, there was not much of effusion on either side. They shook hands, kissed lightly, spoke of the weather, and sat down opposite each other, like two ordinary acquaintances. Mrs. Annesley looked at ease, but in fact she was very far from that enviable state of mind. She remembered her former discomfiture in that house; and something in her cousin's face seemed to warn her that it might possibly be repeated. Nevertheless, she plunged boldly into con- versation, and began deploring the many social duties that had kept her so long from Morton House. "I am sure you believe that I would have come if I could," said she, looking at her cousin. "Oh, my dear Pauline, how wise you were in declining to reiinter society I I so often think of you, and envy you-so retired, so quiet, so surrounded by repose. As for poor me-I might as well be a galley-slave, for all the libedy I have! If it were n~t for the sake of my children, I really think I should give up society entirely. It tries my health so severely, and is so unsuited to my taste. A quiet day with you, now, would have been much more agreeable to me than all the gay times we have had at Annesdale." "I should have been glad to see you, if you had come," said Mrs. Gordon; "but pray, Eli- nor, don't trouble yourself to make excuses for not having done so. I understood your position quite well. It is hard for any one in the full tide of social life to be able to see much of an- other person who is entirely apart from that life." "My only consolation," said Mrs. Annesley, "has been that Morton sees so much of you. Riding continually about the country, he is able to come here more often' than I possibly could; and I have been so glad of it. I did not feel as if I were completely neglecting you, while he was my representative.~~ "There was no cause for you to feel so," said Mrs. Gordon, a little coldly. She was growing weary of these prolonged excuses, and did not see the point of them. Mrs. Annealey saw it, however, and timed her advance to it with careful exactitude. ~ "In fact, Morton often unconsciously shames me," she said. "He does not let any thing stand in the way of his visits to you. I don't know when I have felt as much ashamed of my. self and my own neglect, as I did this morning. I saw him on the piazza with Irene Vernon- have you ever heard him speak of Irene Ver- non? Ah, she is such a charming girl, and so lovely I-Well, he had been there for some time, when suddenly I missed him. I went to see what had become of him, and I found Miss Ver- non alone. Morton, she said, had received a note from you, and left instantly to obey your summons-he even broke an engagement to ride with her, which he had made for this afternoon. My dear Pauline, when I heard this, I felt abso- lutely rebuked. Although my house is full of company, I at once ordered my carriage. I was determined not to let the hateful thing which we call society keep me any longer from coming to see you. I thought I would follow Morton, and meet the dear boy here, and that, after we had both enjoyed a visit to you, we could go home together. But your maid tells me that he has been here, and is already gone." "Yes, he has gone," said Mrs. Gordon. She saw the object of Mrs. Annesley's visit clearly enough now-saw it so clearly that all this careful fencing amused her not a little. She could have closed with her, and brought S SUGGESTION. 143 matters to an issue, very speedily, if she had chosen to do so; but she contented herself with this non-committal reply, and left her visitor to show her hand by force of necessity. "It is strange I did not meet him," said Mrs. Annesley, in the same words she had al- ready used in speaking to Babette. "lie could not surely have returned to Annesdale?" An accent of interrogation made this a direct question, and, as such, Mrs. Gordon answered it. "He went to Tallahoma, I believe." "Indeed!" A pause after this. Within the bounds of civility, how could Mrs. Annesley ask the ques. tion which was next trembling on her tongue; and yet, how was it possible for her to forbear asking it? Who of us can account for certain instincts which at various times of our lives in. fluence our actions in greater or less deg~-ee? Such an instinct had caused her to follow Mor- ton from Annesdale, and such an instinct-now that she was on the threshold of the matter which had brought him to Mrs. Gordon-made her resolute to press forward, and in the face of civility (or of any thing else) learn what it was. After a short hesitation, she asked the question: "Pardon me, my dear Pauline, if I appear curious, but was it on your business that he went to Tallahoma?" "Certainly not," answered Mrs. Gordon. "I have no business in Tallahoma." "Then you do not know why he went?" "Yes, I chance to know why he went." "And I am not to know, I suppose?" said Mrs. Annesley, flushing. Her cousin looked at her gravely and silently for a minute, before she replied. "I light answer that it is Morton's affair -not mine, Elinor," she said. "But since it is in part mine, and since I have a question con~ corning it to ask you, I shall not violate Mor- ton's confidence in telling you. lie has gone to see Miss Tresham." Involuntarily, Mrs. Annesley started to her feet, and made a step towar~l the door. "I knew it!" she eried, passionately, "I knew it! Something warned me that he had gone to see that-" here she stopped sudden- ly, and sat down again. "I am a fool," she said, bitterly. "What equld I do, if ~ followed him? lie has gone his own way, without any regard to my wishes. ~11ow could I prevent him, if I tried, from doing so?" 11cr cousin came over to~ h.er,~nd, stran~l~ page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] 144 MORTON HOUSE. MRS. GORDON'S SUGGESTION. 145 enough, sat down by her, laying one hand on her arm. "I will tell you what you can do-if you care to hear," she said. Mrs. Annesley drew back. The instinct of distrust between these two women was so strong that circumstances could hardly be imagined in which it would not have betrayed itself. "I do not understand," she said. "I thought you liked this-this girl!" "You are right," said' Mrs. Gordon, quietly. "I did like her. But that was when I knew very' little thout her. Since I have learned more, she is, so far as herself is concerned, an object of indifference to inc. So far as MortOn is con- cerned, however, she is an object of distrust, and, as such, to be dealt with-as summarily as possible. Elinor, do you wish Morton to marry her?" "Can you ask me such a question?" "Well, I have tested his infatuation thor- oughly, this morning; and it has been proof against the strongest plea that I could urge. Yet I forced him to concede that he would give her up, if it could be proved that she was un- worthy of him. If you wish to prevent his marrying her, your only hope is to prove this." "I know it," said Mrs. Annesley, "but I have tried -" She paused suddenly here, caught her breath, and was silent. "Yen have tried to prove it," said Mrs. Gor- don, quietly'. "Well, I know that. What I don't know, and what I would like to hear is, how you succeeded." ~ did not succeed at all," answered Mrs. .Annes~ey, coldly. "What do you mean when you say that you know of my effort? You can- not possibly know-any thing." "I fancy I know every thing, or almost every thing," replied the other, with the same compo- sure as before. "Pray tell me, Eli{or, did you ever hear of a Mr. Henry St. John?" The shock of startled surprise caused by the question was unmistakable. But Mrs. Annesley never s~4rendered without a struggle. "1 do not understand you," she said. "Don't you?" said Mrs. Gordon, smiling slightly. "Perhaps I can assist your memory basking another question, then. Do you re- member an anonymous letter which, by way of jest, you once wrote to Edgar Annesley!"' "i-think I do.~' "I aai~ sure you must, for the events which followed it were too marked to be readily forgot. ten. Well, you may remember, also, that~I read that letter, and admired the ease with which you wrote a hand entirely unlike your own. It is twenty-four years since I saw that writing, but the consequences arising from the letter stampe~ the~recollcction of it on my memory; and when a letter-when two letters-were shown to me this morning, I recognized the hand at once. Now will you tell me whether you ever heard of Mr. St. John?" Mrs. Annesley saw that all attempt at further concealment, was useless. However much or however little Mrs. Gordon knew, it was at least certain that she knew too much to wake denial safe. In an instant she remembered the man who had met Miss Tresham in the grounds of Anneadale, and what had been before merely a suspicion resolved itself at once into a certainty. "I have heard of him," she said-end then she added, "He is here!" "Yes," answered Mrs. Gordon, "he is here. I have no right to blame you for the means you took to obtain information concerning Miss Tresham; but it may surprise you to hear that by those means you have brought upon me the curse of my life-the worst enemy I have ever had, or can ever expect to bave 1" "Good Heavens!" cried Mrs. Annesley, in amazement. "How could I imagine-whom do you mean?" The answer came in four bitter words: "I mean my husband." "Your husband!" "I see that Morton has not told you my story." "Not one word," cried Mrs. Annesley, eager. ly, forgetting for the moment every thing else, and with the extreme of curiosity painted 'on her face, and quivering in her voice. "My dear Pauline," she went on, "you can surely trust me -you can surely confide in me!" "It is a matter of necessity to tell you some- thing of my life, Elinor," said hercousin, coldly. "Otherwise, I have learned that it is wise to 'confide.' in nobody. You know that I was mar- ried. What I endured in my married life it is not worth while to tell you. I did endure it as long as endurance was possible. When' it be- came impossible, I fled from my tyrant and came here, hoping to find rest and shelter under my father's roof. How long I might have remained undiscovered I do not knew. Not long, I sus- pect. But, however that may be, it was your act which brought discovery upon me. The advertisement, which ,you inserted in the L6m. don 7?lme8 before I came here, has borne bitter fruit. I have been tracked to my place of refuge, and my child has been taken from me- perhaps forever!" "Taken from y~u! By whom?" "By my own. will. I have sent him away, that his father may not be able to find or claim him." "But Ido not understand," said Mrs. Annes- Icy, in a state of perplexity which, all things considered, was very natural. "Is it this Mr. St. John who is your husband?" "St. John! Are you mad? Have you ever seen him?" "Never." "He is a hanger-on of my husband's-his secretary, he was called-a sort of instrument for unprincipled purposes. Of character or position he has not even the shadow. Where he comes from, who ho is, or what he is, it is impossible to say. I only know him in the position of which I have spoken. I am sure he has never had a better one." Mrs. Annesley looked horror-stricken. "And it was tkis man who wrote to me as the friend or relation of Miss Tresham !-it is t/sis man who is here now to see her!" "It is this man:" "And you-you let Morton go without telling him?" "I told him much more than I have told you, and it had no effect upon him. Stop, Elinor "- as Mrs. Annesley, in uncontrollable agitation, rose to her feet-i' you can say nothing to Mor- ton that I have not already said. We have no proof of any thing beyond mere acquaintance between Miss Tresham and St. John. Think a moment. Did his reply to your letter contain nothing more?" "I don't need to think," answered Mrs. Annesley, impatiently. "It contained not one word. Do you suppose I should have permitted matters to go on as long as they have in this way, if I had been able to produce a word of proof against her? My God! to think how help- less I am!" said she, striking her hand heavily on the cud of the sofa near which she sat. "To think that this artful creature 'may make Mor- ton marry her any day, and then - discovery would come too late." - "Have more faith in Morton," said her com- panion, gravely. "Believe, as I believe, that he will not take any extreme step, without giving you fair warning. In the me~an time, you must endeavor to find out something about Miss Tresh. am." "But how?" "Do I need to tell you how? Is not St. John here, and have I not described his charac- ter? You need feel no delicacy about approach- ing him." "But this is more difficult than you think," said Mrs. Annesley, hesitatingly. "Morton would never forgive me if he knew of such a thing, and how am I to see the man without his knowing it?" "I have simply pointed out the way," said Mrs. Gordon. "The means I leave to yourself." "But you-you know this St. John, Could not you-" "No," answered Mrs. Gordon, with forbidding coldness. "Nothing would induce mc to see or hold any communication with him." "Not even for Morton's sake?" "Not even for Morton's sake." There was no appeal possible from that de- cided tone. Mrs. Annesley saw that, whether for success or failure, she must act for herself. After a minute's consideration, she said: "Can you tell me where I shall find Mr. St. John?" "It is probable that Babette can," said Mrs. Gordon, ringing the bell. Babette appeared, and proved at once the accuracy of her mistress's judgment. She was able to gratify Mrs. Annesley with every possi- ble particular concerning Mr. St. John; and, after that lady had heard all that could be of service to her, she dismissed her informant, and turned to Mrs. Gordon. "I don't see my way at all clearly, Pai~linc," she said. "But I hope you will remember that I am acting according to your advice." "Accoriling to my suggestion," amended Mrs. Gordon. "I never give advice, Elmer." "If Morton discovers it, he will never forgive mc." "If you are so' much afraid of Morton, you: had better let him go his own way without inter. ference." In reply to this, Mrs. Annesiby rose from her seat. "One word, ~'auline," she said, as her cousin rose also. "Have you told Morton about' those letters?" "No; why should I?" "You will not do so?" "I have not the least intention of doing so." "Thank you," said Mrs. Annesley, impulsive. ly. ~fhen she added, with more ~of'.her usual page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] 146 MOETON HOUSE. 147 MRS. GORDON'S SUGGESTION. manner: "My dear Pauline, no words can Ba; hew sorry I am that my act should have brought so ~nuch annoyance upon you. Can you possibi: forgive me for it?" "There is nothing to forgive," answered, Mrs. Gordon. "When you wrote that advertise meat-last summers was it not ?-you could no possibly have thought or known of me. Are yot going?" "I must. It is getting late, and I fear shall not be back at Annesdale in time for din ner. I will come to see you soon again. Wouk you adyise-that is, would you suggest, that I should offer money to this $t. John?" "I can only say there is no reason why you should hesitate to do so." Mrs. Annesley repeated her thanks, and took leave. Once in the carriage, she looked at her watch and made a calculation of time, with refer. ence to dinner. Having made it, she pulled the check. string and said: "Tallahoma - Mrs. Marks's." Poor Mrs. Marks had not recovered from the combine~l effects of Morton's visit, and her husband's unusual assertion of himself, when this new astonishment was prepared for her. Having seen the table finally cleared oft; and having rid herself of the children by dispatch- ing them in a body to the "old field," of which mention has before been made, she sat down with a very heavy heart, to darnvarious small stockings full of various large holes. As she darned, she *sighed; and, in fact, sighs were more frequent than stitches with her. The kind soul was lamenting her husband's reso- lution, and grieving much over the loss of her favorite, "Miss Katharine." She even shed a few tears, and wiped them away with the leg of Jack's soak. Impatient thoughts on the per. versity of human circumstances came to her, as * they had come to Katharine at Anneadale, as they come to all of us when people and events prove "contrary." Oh, why cannot things go right? ~*hy cannot people act as they ought to? Why cannot circumstances cease to fret, or goad, or restrain us? What is the reason that 'every thing has its dash of bitterness, and that life seems to vibrate, like the pendulum of acloek, continually, between the painful and the disagreeablee 1' This is the strain of thought that Is going up to heaven on the wings of every minute, like the broken cry of an imprisoned spirit, panting, ab! how vainly, to be free. What is the good of it all? Ahi granted.-. y what, indeed, is the good of it all? But then, t friends, dwellers upon the earth, co-heirs of the ~ curse laid on Adam, the question is, not what is the good of it, but how are we to help it? There I is but one way known to men-the way of child- like faith-and few of us are great enough, or strong enough, to follow that. Mrs. Marks was still darning, still heaving sighs, and still dropping a tear or two occasion- ally, when she was startled by the sound of a knock at the door. The dining-room was in the I hack part of the house, and so it chanced that she had neither seen nor heard the arrival of the Annesley carriage; so it chanced, also, that, with her work in her hand, she went out to answer the knock, and found herself face to face with no less * a person than Mrs. Annesley. Her consternation was almost as great as her * surprise. The fear of something additionally disagreeable-a fear vaguely inspired by Mrs. Annesley's face-instantly seized her. Somehow or other, ~the greeting was accomplished, and Mrs. Annesley was ushered into the dining- room. When she had been installed in the * most comfortable chair, and Mrs. Marks was sit- ting opposite, with her darning mechanically re- tained in her hand, a few remarks were exchanged, and then the visitor opened the serious busiacss of the occasion. "No doubt, you are surprised to see me, * Mrs. Marks," she said, graciously. "In fact, I ought to apologize for such a startling visit. But, being in Tallahoma, I thought I would stop for a few minutes; and I also thought that I might find Morton here. I am anxious to see him on a matter of business before he returns to Annesdale." "I am very sorry that you have come a little too late," said Mrs. Marks, with the utmost sin- cerity. '~ Mr. Annesley was here, but he left a short while ago; and I think he said he was go- ing back to Annesdale" "He was here, and left only a short while ago! Oh, how provoking!" said Mrs. Annesley. "What an instance of my bad luck! But pray, Mrs. Marks, what does a 'short while' mean? Do you think, for instance, that I could overtake him before he gets home?" "Oh, no. I am sure you couldn't," said Mrs. Marks, with decision. "It's been a good hour since he left, and he must have reached An- nesdale by this time-or, indeed, before this. He didn't stay long," she went on, telling of her own. accord the very thing Mrs. Annesley was anxious to hear. "He called to see Miss Tresham, and, Miss Tresham not being at home, he left very soon." "I thought Miss Tresham was at home," said Mrs. Annesley, a little stiffly. "She left Annesdale this morning." "She came here this morning," said Mrs. Marks, in an aggrieved tone, "but she is gone now." "Gone!" Mrs. Annesley simply opened her eyes. It could not be possible that exposure had come so soon, and come of itself? "Gone! Bx- cuse me, but you surprise me very much. I thought she came back to recommended teach- ing." "She went to Saxford to-day," answered Mrs. Marks, unconsciously lifting the stocking, which she still held, to her eyes, from which one or two tears were drawn forth by that oft-repeated state- ment. She stood extremely in awe of the ele- gant mistress of Annesdale, but the latter was a woman, after all, and she had dropped in to pay a sociable visit, and Mrs. Marks's heart was sorely in need of a confidante, and so she began to open the floodgates of her feelings, and to express in words what she had heretofore only expressed in sighs. "She went to Saxford," she repeated-very much as she might have said, "She went to be buried! "-" lt is hard on me, Mrs. Annesley-~--it is certainly hard on me! I never meddled with Miss Tresham's affairs in my life-I never said a word, either to her or to anybody else, about them-and yet you'd hardly believe all the trou- ble and worry that's been in this house this day- all on account of Miss Tresham's affairs, and Miss Tresham's visitors, and because Miss Tresham has taken it into her head to go to Saxford!" "But why has she gone?" asked Mrs. An- nesley, with a very uncivil disregard of Mrs. Marks's personal grievances. "Everybody asks me that," answered Mrs. Marks, "and Miss Tresham told me no more about why she was going than she told my little Nelly playing out in the yard. I am sure it seemed natural enough to me that she should go -she often does go to see her priest-but every- body seems surprised about it, and Mr. Marks is so provoked that he says if she don't come back on Monday, and if she won't explain every thing about Mr. St. John, she"- second application of the stocking as a pocket-handkerchief-" will have to leave us." This good news was so unexpected, and so startling, that for a minute Mrs. Annesley scarce- ly realized It. Then a glow of satisfied pleasure began to steal over her, and she saw how well Fate was fighting the battle of which she had been almost ready to despair. "Really, you astonish me!" she said. "I h~ad no idea of any thing like this. Miss Tresham only left my house this morning, and now to have gone away so unexpectedly-and, you say, without any explanation?~~ "Without even so much as a word of expla- nation," answered Mrs. Marks, who was now fully launched into her theme. "Perhaps I ought to have said something to ker, Mrs. Annes- Icy; but my head was quite upset-and then she was in such a hurry to get to the hotel before the stage left that she didn't give me time hardly to breathe. I'm sure I didn't pay any attention to what Mrs. Gordon said about her-I mean"- hastily correcting herself with a timely recollec- tion that Mrs. Gordon was Mrs. Annesley's cousin -" that I felt confident there was some mistake -but it seems to me all the same, that Miss Katharine might have told me something before she left, so that I could have explained it to Richard. But she never said a word." "Nothing about Mr. St. John?" "Not a syllable." "How extremely singular!" said Mrs. An- nesley, very slowly and very gravely-so gravely that Mrs. Marks began to feel as if she had much underrated the importance of Miss Tresham's reticence, and Miss Tresham's departure. It was astonishing how infinitely more Mrs. An- nesley's opinion on the subject weighed with her, than that of her husband had done I "It was strange," she said, "though I didn't think of it at the time. Miss Katharine is so nice, Mrs. Annesley, and we are all so fond of her, that somehow it never struck me that-that, as you say, it was singular for her to give no expla- nation about Mr. St. John." "Perhaps he may be related to her," said Mrs. Annesley, carelessly-she began to be aware that she had betrayed more'interest than it was proper to show in Miss Tresham's affairs-" your governess herself is a very lady-like person; but people in her position often have very disreputa- ble relations, you know." "Mr. St. John is very much of a gentleman, indeed," said Mrs. Marks, greatly astonished. "I am sure nobody could say that there is any thing disreputable about him. But I don't think he is any relation of Miss Katharine's; that is" -a short pau~e-" I really don't know. I never heardiaer say that she had any relations." Mrs. Annesley knew this before, but none the 146 MORToN HoUsE page: 148-149[View Page 148-149] 148 MORTON less did she think it necessary to look as much shocked as if' she heard the statement for the first time. "No relations!" she exclaimed. "A girl of her age! Why, that is dreadful! Really, Mrs. Marks, you must excuse me if I say that I won- der very much at your courage in engaging such a person to enter your house and teach your chil- dren." By way of reply, Mrs. ~Iarks only stared. It had yet to dawn upon her comprehension that the misfortune of having no relations could pos- sibly be made a social crime.' "It is hard on a young thing like Miss Kath. anne "-she l~xsgan, when Mrs. Annesley inter. erupted her in her grandest way. "I1~ is not of Miss Tresham I am talking, Mrs. Marks, but of her position. Of course, it is only reasonable that when a girl of her age, and I suppose I may say of her refined appearance, talks of having no relations, she simply means one of two things-either that her relations do not acknowledge her, or else that they are them- selves not fit to be acknowledged. In either case, as I remarked before, I think you must possess a great deal of courage to admit her to your family as you have done, and to be willing to trust her as you seem disposed to do. For my part, I confess that I should shudder to think ef assuming such a responsibility; but then my conscience is very sensitive." "She was so nice,".said Mrs. Marks, deprecat- ingly, much impressed by this forcible view of the matter, apd much aghast at being brought in guilty, by implication at least, of a callous con- science. "So nice!" repeated Mrs. Annesley, in a tone of overpowering scorn. She forgot herself and her part, for a moweiit, and let the real ear- nestness which she felt come to th9 surface, as the thought rushed over her that all the trouble now weighing upon her, all the fear that had made her life wretched for months past, resulted from tl~ act of this woman-this woman so far out of her life, so apart from all her associations. She, had scarcely done more than bow' to Mrs. Marks when they chanced to meet, once a year or so, on the village street, and yet the fateful sisters had thrown their shuttle, and 'across the warp and woof of her own life had woven the threads of this oth~r homely existence. Common as such things are, when they come home to us as they came home to her, it is hard not to feel startled by them-hard to realize that they form the daily history of that which we call circum- HOUSE. stance! Two strangers met by chance in the parlor of that Charleston hotel; the girl's face brightened into a winning smile, and the elder woman's heart was touched; a few words were said, and lo! the whole current of life was changed, not only for them, but for others then scattered in widely-different corners of the civil- ized world, then going each his different way, laughing, talking, smiling, weeping, perhaps, and knowing not what had been done-knowing not that, on a single breath, as it were, every aim and purpose of existence had been staked and changed-for better or worse, who could tell 1' Surely only He of whom it is well to think in the midst of such reflections as these-He who draws ~us each into our appointed path, and does not leave us to be the blind victims of a merciless Chance. "I beg your pardon," said Mrs. Annesley, recovering herself with a faint, forced laugh. "I suppose, of course, you think Miss Tresham nice, but I was really unable to discover her attrac- tions. What a beautiful view this room has! Do you cultivate your garden much?" She rose and walked to the window. Well disciplined as she was, and thoroughly accus- tomed to self-control, she could not have sat still a moment longer and face the woman 'who had brought all this anxiety and possible grief upon her. An outbreak of some sort must have come, and she wisely prevented it by walking away and gazing absently into the garden, while Mrs. Marks willingly forsook the subject of Miss Tresham for that of her celery and winter lettuce. As she talked, Mrs. Annesley's fertile brain ran over expedient after expedient for seeing St. John, and dismissed each as impracticable. How was she to do it ?-kow was she to do it? This was the accompaniment in her brain to Mrs. Marks's conversation. Yet she was as far as ever from the solution of her difficulty, and she almost began to despair of its accomplish- ment, when she accidentally caught sight of a man's head above a rose-bush in the garden. In a second, she felt sure that, by some strange co- incidence, her opportunity was here, ready to her hand-that St. John stood before her. She did not stop to consider why she knew that it was he, she did not think for a moment how he came there. She only felt, by a strange, intuitive thrill, that her desire was gratified more speedily and more completely than she could pos- sibly have hoped for it to be, and that, come what would, she must seize the fortunate oppor- tunity. ON GUARD. Yet how could she escape? how get rid of Mrs. Marks? That became as great a difficulty now as the means of meeting St. John had been before. As she asked herself the question, how- ever, she saw that there was no need of imme- diate haste. Plainly, St. John had entered the garden to bide his time, and plainly he meant to wait till that time came. His head had now dis- appeared from above the rose-bush, but Mrs. Annesley marked the place where she had seen it, and a thin, pale wreath of smoke, which now and then floated up, sufficiently indicated his present position, and sufficiently provd~ how he was whiling away the period of waiting. "What is he waiting for?" Mrs. Annesley began to consider. "Is it Miss Tresham, or is it to come in and see Mrs. Marks ?-Ah ! "-as a sudden recollection flashed over her-" it is for me to leave. He sees the carriage before the gate, of course, and he has decided to remain in the garden and smoke a cigar until the coast is clear. There could not possibly be a better op- portunity for seeing him, if only I could get rid of this horrid woman! But how on earth am I to do that?" How, indeed! For, while the blue smoke floated pensively over the rose-bushes, and while Mrs. Annesley could scarcely keep her impatient hand from the latch of the door near which she stood, Mrs. Marks steadily held her ground, and steadily poured forth her flow of language with a profound unconsciousness that seemed as if it could be shaken by nothing less than a moral earthquake. CHAPTER XXVIII. ON GUARD. SUDDENLY the ill-matched companions were startled by a terrible uproar in the hack yard -the deep, angry growl of a dog was followed by the scampering rush of two animals in a short, mad chase, and then the cries of inarticu- late distress, which dumb beasts can occasion- ally utter in their own behalf; fell painfully on the ear. Mingled with these came a Babel of sound-men shouting, women running, cries, commands, aiA indistinguishable confusion-in the midst of which a panting little negro rushed to the dining-room door. "Mistiss, Rollo's caught the calf, and Uncle Jake says as how he's goin' to tar it to pieces!" "Good Gracious!" cried Mrs. Marks, in con- 149 sternation. "What did he let the dog catch it for! What will your master say! Tell him to beat him-do any thing to make him let got I always told Mr. Marks he better not bring that bull-dog here," she added, as the child darted away. "I knew he was sure to do mischief- Goodness! what awful sounds !..-Mrs. Annesley, if you'll excuse me, I'll-" The sentence was not finished, and Mrs. An- nesley had no opportunity to reply~ The up- roar grew worse, and Mrs. Marks followed the example of the rest of the household-she flew to the scene of action. If the victim of Rollo's unreasoning fury had been a child instead of a calf, it is to be feared that Mrs. Annesley would equally have regarded the episode in the light of a fortunate and provi- dential relief. The instant that the last flutter of Mrs. Marks's dress had vanished down the passage, she opened the door that led out upon the side-piazza, crossed it, and the next momexit was walking rapidly down the garden-path. She was so lightly and delicately shod that her step made very little sound on the smooth gravel, and St. John, who was comfortably smok- 'inn- his cigar iii a sheltered nook-waiting, as Mrs. Annesley had shrewdly suspected, for the departure of the carriage-was completely taken by surprise when, without any warning, this ele- gant figure stood before him. Instinctively he took the cigar from his lips, and rose to his feet. This was not Mrs. Marks, but none the less was it somebody much more at home in the garden than he had any right to be. Therefore, the first words that formed on his lips were words of apology for his presence there. "Excuse me," he said. "I fear I am a tres- passer; but I am waiting to see Mrs. Marks." Mrs. Annesley bowed graciously, and, instead of retreating, swept a step nearer. "Mrs. Marks is occupied just now," she said, "and I came out to look at the garden.. Don't disturb yourself; I beg. I shall not Interrupt you. Mr. Marks told me something about a perennial," added she, glancing round. "Don~t' let me trouble you, but pray do you chance to know where it is?" St. John smiled, and replied in the nega- tive. "I am a stranger," he said, "and this is the first time I have ever ventured to invade Mrs. Marks's garden. I am sorry that I cannot tell -you any thing about the perennial." "You have no idea where it ~ page: 150-151[View Page 150-151] 150 MORTON HOUSE. ONGAD 5 "I have not the least idea where it is." Mrs. Annesle3* gave a little sigh of resigna- tion. "Such a pity!" she said, and, as she said it, she ran her eye with apparent carelessness, but with really keen attention, over St. John's per- son. The result of her observation was discour- aging. Despite all that Mrs. Gordon had told her, and despite her own distrust of the man, she could not believe that it would be expedient or oven possible to approach him with any over- tures of bribery. Adventurer though he was- sharper though he might bc-he at least bore all the outward semblance of a gentleman; and, as he stood before her-perfectly self-possessed, notwithstanding the equivocal position which he occupied, and lightly holding his cigar between two fingers as he returned her scrutiny-she felt as much at a loss how to address him as she had before felt at a loss how to reach him. It was hardly wonderful. This man was so different-in every particular so essentially different-from the man her fancy had created, that the discrepancy in itself startled her. * As she hesitated, St. John, on his side, had time for observation and consideration. The perennial excuse had not deceived him. He had seen at a glance that this fine lady-whoever or whatever she might be-had come into the gar- den to meet himself. At first he had supposed that her motive might have been one of mere eu~iosity; but, as she still kept her place in front of him) a~ he felt her keen black eyes reading his face, and, as he saw the doubt unconsciously stamped upon her own face, an instinct of her real purpose came over him. "There is something she wants to get out of me," he thought. "Well, let her try. It will be strange if in the end I don't succeed in get. lang eos~siderably more out of her than she Lhinks of ez~ bargains for!" "Perhaps there is something else I can do f4~ryQu~"~he said, as she remained silent for some ~ .Anacslcy started a little, and recovered 1~e~self. "There is nothing, thank you," she said. "I won't disturb you any longer. Good-day." She bowed slightly, and walked away-three steps. Then she paused, and, turning back, spoke again. "Perhaps there is something I can do for you," she said. "Am I r~ot right in supposing that it has been my presence which has kept you from seeing Mrs. Marks? Shall I be obli- ging, and take my departure?" "I could not presume to ask such a thing," answered he, bowing gravely. "It would not be very much of a presump- tion," answered Mrs. Annesley, smiling gracious- ly. "A friend of Mrs. Marks-you are a friend of Mrs. Marks, I suppose?" "I scarcely think it probable that Mrs. Marks would allow'me to claim that honor." Mrs. Annesley arched her eyebrows and looked around the garden. Plainly she meant to say, "Not a friend of Mrs. ~Yarks ,and yet here!" The coolness of the glance amused St. John, and he answered it more on account of this amusement than because there was any absolute necessity for doing so. "Under these circumstances, you are sur- prised to see mc here?" he said. "But I think that, when I explain the reason of my presence to Mrs. Marks, she will not regard my intrusion as unpardonable." "I am sure Mrs. Marks is always glad to re- ceive Miss Tresham's friends," said Mrs. Annes- Icy, using the very words which Mrs. Marks her- self had used that morning-thc words whioh had encouraged St. John to return and endeavor to learn from her something more than he had been able to glean from her husband. The coin- chienee struck him, and, together with the un- suspected sound of Katharine's name, made him look sharply at the speaker. "Excuse me," he said. "I do not under- stand." But, as it happened, Mrs. Annesley had grown tired of this aimless fencing; and, besides, she had not time for it. At any moment Mrs. Marks might come in search of her, and the opportunity she had been so anxious to secure would thus be hopelessly lost. Making a rapid calculation for and against success, she decided to close at once with her slippery opponent. "Excuse me," she said, with a smile. "I fancied that I was speaking to Mr. St. John." The smile told St. John infinitely more than the words. There was a shade of malicious meaning in it, which, under the circumstances, was far from wise, but which Mrs. Annesley would have found it hard to con~ol. It was so pleasant to turn the tables on him in this style- so pleasant to show him, in three words, how well she knew every thing about him! But still, it was a blunder. It put St. John on his guard, and it madehim set his teeth and think:" Con- found the woman~ What deviltry has she got in her head?" It galled' him, too; but he had a very good armory of his own at command, and from it he immediately selected his favorite weapon of covert mockery. "I am deeply flattered," he said, with a bow. "I had no idea that my name had been fortu- nate enough to attain any degree of notoriety. I do not think that I have the pleasure of an ac- quaintance with yourself, madam." "You have probably never heard of me," said Mrs. Annesley, quietly. "I am a person of no consequence whatever-out of my own fam- ily. It has merely chanced that I have heard of you," she went on. "Mrs. Marks is very much attached to Miss Tresliam, and, in speak- ing of her, she mentioned your name to mc. 1 also am a friend of Miss Tresham's," said the mistress of Annesdale, with a virtuous expres- sion of face, "and as such, I am glad. to meet you-glad to be able to say a few words to you, if you will allow me to do ~ "I am at your service." "Let us sit down, then. Since you are kind enough not to consider me impertinent, I should like to be very frank with you. I am generally frank with everybody. Experience has shown me that it is so much the best way." They sat down. Just behind the short bench from which St. John had risen, was a wall of running ivy; on each side rose tall shrubs, which, although bare, still made a seclusion of the little nook. Regarded from a short distance, the two figures, who had the nook to themselves, might easily have passed for a pair of lovers. Consid- ered as they actually were, they much more re- sembled two ad~pit chess-players, who sat down equally matched to a game in which skill and care could alone determinee the result. Mrs. An- nesley made the first move-St. John contenting himself with keen watchfulness and attention. Said the lady: "I must begin what I have to say, by explaining why I say it. I know Miss Tresham quite well, and"-a gulp.-A' like her very much. You can imagine my surprise, there- fore, when I heard from Mrs. Marks that she has left her late home in a very sudden and myste- i-ious manner, and that it is more than doubtful whether she will be received again, when she re- turns." St. John started. This was certainly news to him. Mrs. Annesley noted the start, and went on: "I think it right to tell ~,ou, Mr. St. John, that the ground on which Miss Tresham will be dismissed from Mrs. Marks's house when she re- turns, is that of her connection with yourself. Mr. Marks has finally decided that unless a satis- factory explanation of this connection is given, he cannot retain Misa Tresham as a governess. Now, as a friend of Miss Tresham's, will you allow me to ask if it does not occur to you that it is your duty to remove the elcaid from Miss Tresham's name byat once making thi3 explana- tion?" "You have set me an admirable example of candor, madam," said St. John. "Do not be offended if I follow it, and, imitating your frank- ness, ask if it does not occur to you that it is quite impossible for you to judge of the affairs of people who are strangers to you?" "I thought Ihad explained that Miss Tresham is not a stranger to we." "Evidently she is a stranger so far as re- gards her confidence, or else you would not need to make this appeal to mc." "You do not intend to heed the appeal, then? ~ "Imitating your frankness again, I must de- cline to answer that question." "Because I am not personally concerned in the matter?" asked Mrs Annesley, resolutely resolved to keep her temper under any provo- cation. "Yes-because I am unable to perceive that you have any personal interest in the matter." "Suppose that I assume-that, if necessary, I am willing to prove to you-that I have an in- terest in the matter, that I have a personal ~rea- son for wishing to clear up the mystery around Miss Tresham, will you still refuse to give me the explanation?" "I regret to say that I am compelled to d~ so.', "Do you not take Miss Tresham herself into consideration-her character? Do you not ap- preciate how badly this reticence looks - for her?" St. John only smiled. Evidently, if it had been courteous to do so, he wonld have shrugged his shoulders, and said, "What is that to me?" As it was, his face said it for' him, and Mrs, An- nesley read his face. That instant she shifted her ground. "I am anxious to obtain certain items of in- formation about Miss Tresham," she said; "items which can harm neither her nor any one else. Do you know any one who, for a liberal reward, would show me how to obtain these?" She looked steadily at St. John, and St. John ON GUARD. 151 150 page: 152-153[View Page 152-153] 152 THE SIC MORTON HOUSE. returned her gaze without the quiver of an eye- lash. "I do nOt know any one whom you could employ for such a purpose," he answered. "No one atall?". "No one at all." Mrs. Annesley rose from her seat, and drew her shawl gracefully around her. "It is growing~chilly," she said, "I must go * in. I regret to have disturbed you, Mr. St. John. rray, don't let me di~turb you further-pray, don't get up. I suppose it is quite useless to look for that perennial. Good-day." A bow on both sides, and they separated. The worsted player retired with all the dig- nity she could summon to her aid; but, as she swept slowly down the garden-walk, she struck one gloved hand angrily against the other. "I went to work wrong," she thought. "Some way or other, I went to work wrong! The consequence is, that this wretch has com- pletely baffled me, and that I am not an inch nearer to my end than I was before." ' As for St. John, the first thing he did, when he was alone, was to relight his cigar, and the second was to indulge in a laugh of properly-sub~. fined tone. "Oh, these women I these women I" he said to himself. "How is it that the devil teaches them so much cunning, and yet lets them over- reach themselves so completely? Well "-with a long puff-" this has certainly been something *that I did not bargain for-a little dash of in- trigue that I did not expect in coming to look up my respectable friend who asks mc to tea. I fancy Mrs. Gordon is not the only person now who has discovered the identity of H. G. After this, I can put my hand on the writer of the advertisement and the letters whenever I choose. I have two things yet to find out, however-first, her name; and, secondly, her motive." A thought struck him. He rose from his seat, walked to the garden-gate, let himself out, and sauntered down the road to where Mrs. An- nesle~r's carriage stood, with Mrs. Annesley's coachman and footman in attendance. Stopping to admire the horses, he easily fell into conver- sation with the servants, and in five minutes had learned every thing that he wished to know. No human being was ever so fond of boasting as the family-negro of the old r6gi'me, and Mrs. Annes- Icy's servants were no exception to the general rule. No sooner was it evident that St. John was a stranger, than their tongues were loosed on the glories of Annesdale and of the Annesley family. Mistiss and niistiss's various splendors, Mass Morton, and Mass Morton's horses and dogs, were the favorite topics-the last espe- cially; and St. John, who never forgot any thing, had no difficulty in identifying this much vaunted "Mass Morton" with the Mr. Annesley whom he had met in the grounds of Anneadnle. Every thing wa~ so clear to him that he could have laughed to himself as he stood on the sidewalk smoking his cigar, and listening lazily, as John and Peyton by turns descanted on the absorb- ing subject. It was quite a shock to Mrs. An- nesley when she came out and found him there. "Mr. St. John!" she said, haughtily, and drew back as he came forward with the mani- fest intention of assisting her into the car- riage. "I have been admiring your horses, Mrs. Annesley," said St. John, smiling. "They do credit to your taste. Will you allow me?" On second thoughts, she allowed him to put her into the carriage; and, when she was seated, looked up and spoke. "If you will take my advice, you will con- sider what I said to you a short time ago. It might be worth your while. I need not tell you where you will find me if you desire to communi- cate with me." He bowed-making no other answer to the covert sneer in her last words-and, as he stepped from the door, the carriage drove off. When it was out of sight, he turned, and, opening the gate, walked up to the house. Mrs. Marks had accompanied Mrs. Annesley to the front piazza, and was still standing there when he approached. In the first sound of her voice, in the first word which she spo3~c, he saw that a change had come over her-that she had been placed on guard against him. She answered his questions courteously; but there was none of the hearty cordiality of the morning in her man- ner, and she did not ask him to enter the house. After finding that her ignorance about Katharine was quite as complete as it had been represented, he had no alternative but to take his leave. Be- fore doing so, however, he received a piece of information which startled him a little. He thought that it might be as well to verify onin- disputable evidence the facts which the servants had given him, and so he said, carelessly: "Will you allow me to inquire if the Mrs. Annesley who has just left is related to the young gentleman of the same name whom I saw ~iere a few hours ago?" "She is his mother," answered Mrs. Marks- adding, involuntarily, "and the cousin of Mrs. Gordon." "Indeed l" said St. John, starting quickly. After this, he asked no more questions, but made his apologies, and took his leave almost immediately. As he walked down the street, the few people who met him and looked curious- ly at him, saw that he was deeply absorbed in thought. In fact, he was revolving what he had just heard, and considering what it meant. "Mrs. Gordon's cousin," he repeated to him- self. "What the deuce is the meaning of it all! Shall I never get to the end of all the strings and counter-strings which seem to be pulling these people to and fro?" -4-- ChAPTER XXIX. TIlE sicn LADL Two weeks after Miss Tresham had taken her departure from Tallahoma, a carriage, con- taining a solitary traveller, drove into the town of Hnrtsburg-a place of considerable import- ance, situated some thirty miles southwest of Sasford. "The Planters' Hotel, Cyrus," said the trav- eller, as the carriage turned into the Main Street; "or, no-I was cheated shamefully there as we went on-the Eagle Hotel, I believe." "Whar that beMass John? ~ "Twosquares below the other house, on the corner of the street." Two squares below the other house the car~ ringe proceeded, and stopped before a large, rambling frame building, two stories high, with a double piazza running the whole length of the front. An uninviting hostelry, people would think nowadays, with ideas of brick and stucco in their minds; but in that day the standard of comfort for the unfortunate travelling public was by no means a high one, and, as houses of entertainment went, the Eagle Hotel was by no means to be despised. A " tavern" look about it, unmistakably; a "tavern" odor, very cer- tainly; but still-well, there were worse places (probably the traveller had spent the night be- fore at one of them), and in that thought was comfort. When the carriage stopped, a man came for- ward from the group of smokers and loungers congregated, according to invariable custom, on the front piazza, and reached the door just as it was opened and the traveller stepped out. K LADY. 153 "Well, Mr. Crump, how are you?" said the latter, with a smile. "Why, Mr. Warwick I how do you do, sir? exclaimed Mr. Crump, extending his hand. "I had no idea it was you You don't usually travel in this sort of conveyance. Walk in, air-walk in. Come down to court, I sup- pose?" "No; I have been below, and am on my way back to Tallahoma. Is it court-week?" "To be sure, sir, and the house full of law. yers. I never saw a larger crowd." "Perhaps you can't accommodate me, then?" "Never fear about that, sir. The old woman will find you a room, if she has to turn the judge himself out.-Drive the carriage round' to the stables, boy, and see the hostler about a place for your horses.-Now, Mr. Warwick " He turned, but Mr. Warwick was already surrounded by half a dozen men-gentlemen of the legal fraternity-who were shaking hands, and cordially welcoming him. They were all glad to see him; all seemed astonished when 'they heard that he had not "come to court;" and all inquired if it was possible he had no cases on the docket. While he was answering their questions, az~d endeavoring to make them understand that it was merely by accident he chanced to be in Hartaburg, Mr. Grump seized his portmantcau, and, carrying it into the house, called vociferously for "the old woman." Thin personage not being forthcoming, half a dozen servants appeared from as many different quar~ ters, and to one of them Mr. Crump addressed himself. "Sam, take this valise up-stairs, and ask your mistress where it's to go. Tell bent's Mr. Warwick's, from Tallaloxna.-Where the dickens is she? Don't any of you know?" "She's in the sick lady's room, sir," said a tall negro-woman, who came down-stairs as he spoke. "She says as how she'll be here in a minute." "Deuce take the sick lady-pshaw I I don't mean that either; but it seems to me Selina's never anywhere else these days. flow is she, anyhow ?-the lady, I mean." The woman shook her head with that doleful solemnity which a negro finds real and sensible pleasure in indulging. "Miss S'lina thinks she's some better, sir," she said, and, with this significant mode of en. pressing her own opinion, vanished. Mr. Crump gave a low whistle, expressive, apparently, of his own view on the subject, rn~d,' page: 154-155[View Page 154-155] THE SICK LADY. 155 154 MORTON HOUSE. turning, was about to go out of the door, when he met Mr. Warwick coming in. "Well," said the lawyer, smiling, "how is it? Can Mrs. Cmmp find a corner for me? I shall only trouble her for one night." "I don't doubt that she'll find room for you, sir; l~ut I haven't seen her yet. She's busy with a sick boarder, who's been giving us no end of trouble." "Indeed! lint Mrs. Crump don't mind trou- ble, I know." Mr. Crump muttered something in reply abont "court.week," and "the house being full,'~ from which it was to be supposed that he thought it would be better for him if his wife did mind trouble a little more. He 'evidently felt injured; butbefore he had time for further expression of his sentiments, a stout, pleasant- faced woman of about fifty came downstairs and advanced toward them. She greeted the lawyer in~ rather a preoccupied manner, and then, in- * stead of saying any thing about his room, turned to her husband. ~ have to send for the doctor again, Tom. Thought, a little while ago, that she was better; but I don't like the way her fever's * rising now, and I'm afraid she's going to be light-headed again." "But, Selina, here's Mr. Warwick wants a room, and-' "I'll see about Mr. Warwick presently," said Selina, looking at him with a pair of kindly yet somewhat anxious eyes. "That poor child up. stairs stays on my mind; and, do what I will, V can't get her off of it. Go along, Tom, and send for the doctor, as I told you.-Mr. Warwick, you don't mind my being a little put outlam sure. ~ If you'll come with me, I'll try and' find you a room. Somehow .1 had an idea you'd be here this week, and' I saved you one right along~ side of the judge's. I'll go and look in to see that all's right." She led the way up-stairs, and Mr. Warwick, as in duty bound, had nothing but thanks for the room late which she showed him-it being very comfortable, according to the ideas of comfort existing at that time. While she still lingered, ~oiiehing a chair l~ere, and arranging a curtain there, he taade the 'ordinary inquiries concerning her health aud domestic afibirs; and, after these IVOre answered, she, of her own accord, led the conv~ers&tion back to her sick boarder. "A poor young thing that don't seem to have any friends, and-though I wouldn't tell Tom so ...4'll venture to say, not over-much money," she said. "She come here in the stage one night, and meant to go on next morning; but, Lord bless you! she was took down with a fever, and, though that was more'n a week ago, she hasn't lifted up her head since. I've tried to get her to tell me who her friends are, so ihat I can write to 'em; but she won't. She says she ain't got any, which, you know, sir, would look badly, if she wasn't such a real lady." "She is a lady-is she?" asked Mr. War- wick, carelessly. The sick woman was to him a matter of infinitely less importance than some fresh water and some hot coffee. "A real lady, sir, as ever 1 saw-no half-way trash, I can tell you. That's the pity of it, and that's what makes me so anxious to find out who she is, and where she belongs. I'm as sure she's run away from home as I can be; and, if a man is not somehow or other at the bottom of it, my name isn't Selina Crump. I only wish he'd dare to come here, and set his foot inside the Eagle Hotel!" "What would you do to him if he did?" asked Mr. Warwick, who, despite his weariness and impatience, was amused by the tone in which the landlady's last words were uttered. "What would I do? I'd scald him-that's what I'd do! I'd put on a kettle of water spe- cially for him, if' I only knowed when he was coming; and I'd show him how he come into a honest house, after tickingg off a pretty girl like that, and then leaving her to die, or to get well as best she could 1" "But why are you so sure that a man's at the bottom of it?" In reply to this, Mrs. Crump became some- what mysterious and reticent; but it finally ap- peared that the lady had been delirious, and, when in that state, had talked a great deal of nonsense, especially about a somebody named "John." "She always thinks he's after her," said the landlady, solemnly, "and she's always trying to get away from him." "Probably he is her husband," said the law- yer, basing his remark upon an extended knowl- edge of human nature in the marital relation. Mrs. Crump obstinately shook her head and obstinately held her ground-blind to the long- ing glance which Mr. Warwick, with the dust of a day's journey upon him, directed to the wash-stand. "There's something about a married woman a body can almost always tell," she said. "I'm as sure as can be that this girl ein't married. F'raps she's run away to do it; but that's a different matter, and all the more I'd like to send her back to her friends." A pause; then, in an insinuating tone, "I thought you might help me to find out something' about her, Mr. Warwick, knowing so many people as you do~ I haven't said a word to anybody else, because she's such a lady that somehow I didn't like to do it. But Tom is mighty snappish about her, and, if I could only find out who she is, it might make him hold his tongue." "I do know a good many people," said Mr. Warwick, patiently; "but it is quite impossible for me to tell whether I know the relations or friends of this sick lady among them. Pray, what is her name?" "She wrote it down when she came, and Tom put it on the register; but my head's dreadful for remembering such things, and I couldn't tell it to you now, if my life depended on it. I saw a book lying on the table with her name written in it, though, and I'll go and get that for you." Without waiting for an answer, she left the room, and, with another regretful glance at the wash-stand, Mr. Warwick walked to the window, to await her return. At that moment the prin- cipal thought in his mind was a wish that he had gone to the Planters' Hotel. lie began to wonder if there were any "sick ladies" ~A~ere, to be thrust remorselessly upon the attention of travellers, and defer indefinitely those ablutions of which tired nature (when just off a journey) first and foremost stands in need. "Mrs. Crump ought to know better," he said to himself, a little~ indignantly; and, as he said it, the door opened, and Mrs. Crutup reappeared with a small, black, much-worn book in her hand. "When she was herself she mostly had it on the bed by her," said the good woman; "but to-day she's been light-headed, and sb I put it on the table, and in that way I got it without dis- turbing her. Here it is, Mr. Warwick, and the name's in it." Mr. Warwick took the volume, and, as he did so, he could not repress a start, or account for a sudden chill instinct, that seemed to rush over him. The book was a pocket-edition of Thomas ~ Kempis's "Following of Christ," and at once struck him as strangely similar to one that he had often seen in Katharine Tresham's I hand, It was her familiar companion, and, as such, familiar to him also. Just now he could have sw~rn that this was the very book-he knew the very look of the worn edges, th~ embossed cross in the middle of the back, and the smaller crosses at each corner. "I am a fool 1" he thought, and opened it at once, at the fly-leaf. There, traced in faded ink, he read, "To Katha- rine Treshani, from her aunt, Mary Tresham," and a date fourteen years before I To say that Mrs. Crump was startled by the face that turned round upon her, would be to describe her sensations very inadequately-for she was in fact astounded. She fell back a little, and grasped the bedpost in a state of alarm. "Goodness alive, Mr. Warwick!" she cried; "what's the matter?" "Is that the name which the lady gave you?" asked Mr. Warwick, following her, and pointing to the writing on the fly-leaf-" is that the name?" "Why, to be sure that's the name. I-I told you it was in the book." Then gaining courage-" Is any thing wrong about her, Mr. Warwick? Oh, mc! what will Tom say?" "Wrong!"repeated Mr. Warwickin a tone that made her start back again. Then he stopped and recollected himself. "You have acted quite properly, Mrs. Crump," he said~ quietly, "and your decision in this matter shows you to be a woman of good judgment, as well as of kind heart. This is a lady-" he emphasized, the word-" whom I left at my sister's house, in Tallahoma, and whom I am naturally sur~ praised to find here. I know her wcll~ and can vouch for her in every particular. Will you sit down and tell me how she came here, and every thing that you know about her?" Mrs. Crump willingly obeyed; but out of her verbose narrative Mr. Warwick gathered very little more than he had heard already. On Wednesday, a week before (this was Thursday), Miss Tresham had arrived in Hartsburg, and stopped at the Eagle Hotel for the night, de- claring her intention of continuing her jour- ney (destination unknown), the next morning. As the landlady learned afterward, she had a burning fever all night, and, when morning came, was not able to leave her bed. Since then, she had steadily grown worse, and lay in titernate stupor and delirium most of the time. When questioned about medical attendance, ~!rs. Crump answered, hesitatingly. The doctor iad not come very often-perhaps because thought it extremely doubtful whether he ~ver be paid for coming at all-and hail 'net ~poken by any means encouragingly. "I 4pi't~ hink he's got much idea that she'll live,"'s~i4 page: 156-157[View Page 156-157] 156 MORTON HOUSE. THE SICK LADY. 157 Mrs. Crump. "He told me I'd better try my best to find out about her friends." "Who is the doctor-Randolph?" "No, sir- anew doctor-Joyner is his name -who, I thought, might pay more attention, because he hasn't got any practice to speak of." dS ~ should like to see him when he comes, and, meanwhile, I wish you would send a mes- senger for Dr. Randolph. I-" He stopped a moment, as there came a knock at the door. "Who is that?" "It's me, sir," responded an unmistakably African voice. "Mass Tom sent me to see if Miss S'lina's up here.'~ "What dbes he want?" asked Mrs. Crump, going forward and opening the door. "He say the doctor's come, ma'am, and Mom H&nnah's done took him in the sick lady's room.~~ "You had better go at once," said Mr. War- wick, as she turned and looked at him. "Bc sure and send the doctor to me before he leaves. I will wait for him here." After she left, he sat quite still-totally for- getful of the dust now-trying to realize, and, if possible, to account for this singular freak of cir- cumstance. But the more he thought, the more absolutely puzzled he became-the more difficult It was to believe that the woman of whom Mrs. Orump spoke, the woman who lay thus, sick and helpless at the mercy of strangers, . was the Katharine Tresham whom he fancied safe in his sister's home, the Katharine Tresham whom he had' seen last in her white ball-dress, with the blue flowers in her soft, brown hair! "There wust be some mistake!" he said, hale aloud. "It cannot be 1" But, as he uttered the words, he looked at the little book still in his hand, and it seemed to answer, "It is so!" But how did she come here so strangely! friendless and alone? It was vain to ask himself that ques- tion-vain to torment himself with fruitless con- jectures. Of course; he thought of St. John, of Mr~.6 Gordon, of his~ sister, of Annesley, of the money drawn at the bank, and Mr. Marks's com- ment upon it-but all these people and things were hopelessly confused in his mind. He could Dot even frame out of them a conjecture plausi- ble enough to satisfy himself. One random thought succeeded another, until at last, to escape from thi~m, he rose and started to leave the room. "I'll meet the doctor," he said. This intention was frustrated, however, for the doctor was at the door. / "p "Mr. Warwick?" said be, interrogatively. "Yes," said Mr. Warwick. "Dr. Joyner, I presume 1' Walk in, sir. I wish to speak to you. Dr Joyner bowed and walked in. He had on his professional face and his professional manner. Having said this, it is useless to say how he looked in the matter of expression, for all doctors look alike under these circumstances. The drill of a soldier is not more exactly marked than this professional mask, which is so widely prevalent that an inquiring observer is some- times driven to wonder if the novices of medi- cine are taught deportment as well as science. In the way of personal appearance, Dr. Joyner was a man who might have been twenty-five by his figure, and forty-five by his face. The anom- aly of youth and age is not often seen united in the same person; but, when it is, it strikes us unpleasantly-we can scarcely tell why. It struck Mr. Warwick unpleasantly as soon as the physician entered the room, and yet he could not possibly have given his reasons for th~ feeling. Dr. Joyner sat down, and opened the conversa- tion himself. "I was referred to you by Mrs. Crump, sir. I understand that you are a friend of the lady I have just seen." "Yes," answered Mr. Warwick, "I sm a friend of hers, and, in the absence of other friendslam anxious to hear an exact account of her case. Will you be good enough to give it me?" This direct question seemed to embarrass the doctor a little. Tie had uncertain sort of eyes, that were given to shifting their gaze. They shifted it immediately, and, instead of looking at the lawyer's face, gazed out of the win- dow "The lady's ease is a peculiar one," he said. "I am by no means sure that the illness under which she is laboring has developed itself suf- ficiently for me to give it a specific name." Mr. Warwick looked astonished. "What!" he said. "She baa been ill for a week, the land- lady tells me, and you are not yet able to give. her disease a specific name!', "The symptoms have developed themselves slowly," answered the doctor, stiffly. "I have treated her, in a general way, for fever produced by cold and excitement; but to-day I begin to think that the brain is becoming involved. If so-" Re stopped and hesitated. Mr. Warwick turned a little pale, but took up his sentence quietly: "If so, you think her life in danger?" "Well, I don't go so far as that; but I thinl her illness may be very serious. There was a pause. The doctor's eyes shifts' from the window to the mantel-piece, and thenci travelled back to his questioner's face. Thel rested there in keen and undisturbed serutinl for several minutes, Mr. Wtirwick being deep iz thought, with his brows slightly knitted, and hi~ own gaze fastened on the floor. Without looking~ up, he said, slowly: If I only knew what to do!" I would advise you to write to the lady': friends, if you know them, sir," said the doctor, quietly. The other started, and glanced up. "I beg your pardon. I was thinking aloud. Can I see your patient?" "You can see her, certainly." "Will it not be dangerous? will it not excite her?" "It cannot possibly excite 11cr, for she knows nobody." "She could not answer a single question, then?" - "Not when I left her, ten minutes ago." Mr. Warwick resumed his scrutiny of the car- pet, and Dr. Joyner resumed his scrutiny of Mr. Warwick. In this way another minute passed. Then the lawyer rose. "Will you come with me to her room?" he said. - "Since I am her only friend within reach, I must see her, and judge for myself of her con- dition." "I am at y'oar service," said the other, rising~ in turn. They left the room, and walked down the passage together, making one or two sharp turns around. sharp corners-for the, house was built with a daring disregard of any plan or order whatever-and finally pausing before a door, at which the doctor tapped lightly. A negro-woman -the same who had spoken to Mn Crump in the passage below-opened it, and, seeing the doctor, made way for them to enter. A queer little room, with a fireplace in the corner, and dark-green walls, that contrasted strongly with clean white curtains, was what the lawyer saw. The furniture was plain and scanty, but .there was not space for much; and the bed, which occupied the most prominent place, was neatly draped in spotless coverings. The best that the house aWorded was plainly here, a~d it was evident that Katharine had suft'crod from no neglect at the hands of her 11 entertainers. Without saying a word, the doctor ~ led the way to the bed, and Mr. Warwick fol- lowed him. Standing side by side, they looked I down on the sick girl. She had fallen into a light slumber, and lay with her head thrown back over the pillows, showing the white arch of her throat, aid its large arteries, beating with a rush that it was painful to watch. Her cheeks were deeply flushed; her hair fell in tangled masses all about her face; and her lips were bright scar- let. She made a lovely picture, seen in the half-darkened room, with the white draperies of the bed surrounding her; hut it was a pic- ture lovely with that awful glow of fever which hushes our breath even when we see it in a stranger. The most inexperienced person look- ing on could hardly have failed to perceive that, if life and death were not already wrestling here, the hour of their struggle iyas not far dis- tant, and the issue more than doubtful. One hand was thrown, as if in fevered restlessness, outside the counterpane. Mr. Warwick stooped down and laid his finger lightly on the wrist. Almost immediately he lifted his face, and looked at the doctor. "Feel her pulse," he 'said. "I may be inex- perienced; but it seems to me that it is going at a fearful rate. I cannot count it." Even in the dim light, it was evident to his keen eyes that the doctor changed color. He drew out his watch, and, taking the wrist, began counting the pulse, speaking after a while with- out lifting his eyes. "Her fever i.~ rising. I was afraid it would. She seemed so much lowered in strength yester- day that I ordered stimulants, and I think they have been pressed too far. She was delirious when I was here a while ago~~ "She seems to he sleeping now." "Speak to her, and see if you can rouse her." Mr. Warwick spoke. His words roused' her, for she opened her eyes at once; but there was no consciousness in their gaze. They looked at him blankly, and, when he spoke again, she an- swered in the aimless wanderings of delirium- few words-words without any gleam of reason -.--accompanicd by a wild and painful glare of the eye, so foreign to its usual soft expreseldn that it absolutely destroyed her resemblance to herself, and made Mr. Warwick almost question if this were indeed Katharine Tresham. After a minute spcnt~ in closh and attentive observatinn, he walked to the door, and beckoned the dbefor page: 158-159[View Page 158-159] 158 MORTON HOUSE. THI3I SICK LADY. 159 to follow him. Once outside, he stopped and turned, thus facing the other. "I find that the ease is much more serious than I could possibly have imagined," he said. "L fear that there has been some neglect." "It was quite impossible for me to nurse the 'patient as well as prescribe for her," an. swerved the doctor, coldly. "All that I could do 1 have done." "Then I suppose you will not object to niy calling in another physh4an? I have sent for Dr. Randolph." He said this in a matter-of.course tone; but he was not unprepared for what followed. His distrust of the doctor-increasing continually ever since the doctor entered his room-made him expect very much the reply that came. The * man flushed deeply, and drew back with a stiff little bow. "In that event, I beg leave to withdraw from the case. I decline to go into consultation with Dr. Randolph." "se good enough, then, to make out your bill and send it to me," said Mr. Warwick. "Good-evening." He left the man standing at the head of the stairs, and went down, smiling a little to himself. "it did not cost much trouble," he saidhalf aloud, as he looked round in search of Mr. Crump. That worthy was easily found, and matters were soon placed on a satisfactory foot- ing. Mr, Warwick had very vague ideas on the uubjeet of sick-nursing; but he knew that unre- mitting attention was an item of the first impor- tance, pud he provided for this by engaging the services of two women, who were to relieve each other on duty. "Hannah's up-stairs now," said Mr. Crump, "and Elsie'll be on hand when she's wanted. Is there any thing else, Mr. Warwick?" "I asked Mrs. Crump to send for Dr. Ran- dolph. Do you know whether sl~e did so?" * Before Mr. Crump could reply, a heavy step sounded in the passage outside the room in wbiql~ they were standing, and a round, Cull voice was heard asking, "Which room?" "There's the doctor now," said Mr. Crnmp- "This way, doctor I Herc'~ Mr. Warwick." "This way-is it?" responded the same jovial voice; and the next instant a tall, stout man, with a frank, pleasant face, a~id an eye of that peculiar color which can only be called "laughing hazel," entered the apartment, lightly swinging a stick, formidable enough to have been an Irishman's shillalab. "Well, doctor, how are you?" said Mr. War. wick, meeting him with extended hand. "Mr. Warwick, I am delighted to see you, and to see you looking so well," said the doctor, giving the hand a cordial shake. "I was afraid, from the urgency of the message, that I should find you seriously ill. You haven't much the look of a sick man," he added, laughing. "What is the matter ?-broken down from over-work? I've prophesied that, you know." "Your prophecy is not verified y~t, at any rate. But you are mistaken; I am not the pa- tient for whom you were summoned. There is a lady here under my care" (Mr. Crurap opened h~s eyes to their fullest extent), "who is, I fear, dangerously ill. I want you to see "What is the matter with her?" "That is what I want you to tell mc. I am afraid, however, that she has brain-fever." "When was she taken ~" "A week ago." "A week ago-ke7eV' "Yes-here." "And who has been attending her?" "A doctor of whom I know nothing but that his name is Joyner." At the sound of that name, Dr. Randolph dropped his eyes, which had been fastened on the speaker's face, looked in the fire, and said. "Humph 1" in a significant manner, that was not lost on Mr. Warwick. He at once hastened to explain. "Don't think thatlcalledhimindoctor. Miss Tresham came here a week ago, as I tell you, and was taken ill. Mrs. Crump called in Dr. Joyner. I arrived an hour ago, and I have already dismissed him. With little or no knowl- edge of medicine, I am still able to perceive that he has been grossly mistreating the case. What I ask of you now is to see if you can repair the mischief he has done." "That may be harder than you think," said the doctor, gravely. "A week-however, I will reserve my opinion till I see the patient; and that I will do immediately, if you please." Mr. Warwick led the way to Miss Tresham's room, and just i~ the door they met Mr#. Crump coming out, '.~u "Oh, d~q~r, I~n glad to see you I" she~ said to the do~%~t1', ~ She is clean gcneo~t of her head, and tks~ boyd knowp I haven't am idea what to do w~thls~g ~ The .d~ct~r did not utter ~ ~ passed her hastily'and entered the ehambev2 ~ne step took him to the bed, where, with flaming cheeks, and eyes bright with the awful glare of fever, Katharine lay tossing and raving wildly. He gave a single glance, then turned and drew back the curtain from a window near him. It chanced to be toward the west, and the rays of the set- ting sun streamed with a flood of golden glory into the little room, filling it with an almost daz- zling radiance. The sudden rush of llght almost blinded the others; but the doctor bent over the bed, felt the pulse that bounded beneath his touch, and gazed intently into the eyes that met his own. When he raised his face, Mr. Warwick was startled by the gravity of his brow and lip. "Bring a basin here," he said to the servant. To Mrs. Crump, "Bare her arm." He drew a small case froth his pocket. The next moment, there was the gleam of a lancet, a sharp stroke into the soft, white flesh, and a stream of dark- red blood pouring into the basin. "Bandages," he said to Mrs. Crump, who was standing by. While she was gone for them, he turned to Mr. Warwick, and added, "Brain. fever of the most violent type. This is the only hope of saving her life." "It is brain-fever, then?" "Beyond doubt. If I had only seen her a day earlier!" "Thank God it is not a day later!" said the lawyer, under his breath. There was no time for any thing more. Mrs. Crump returned, and the doctor imme- diately devoted his whole energy to his patient. In the face of all remonstrances and entreaties to the contrary (Mrs. Crump and Mom Hannah freely treated him to beth), he bled her until in- sensibility took the place of violent raving. Then, and then only, he stopped the flow of the blood, and bound up her arm. After this, he called for a pair of scissors and for ice. With the first, he remorselessly cut from her head the rich, brown locks that had crowned it like a glory, and, when they lay scattered over the bed, he saturated a towel with water, filled it with ice, end bound it around the burning temples. "There!" he said, speaking for the first time, pfter this was done. "Remember, Han- nah, this is your business- to keep a supply of towels and ice at hand, and change them whenever the chill has worn off. With the fever, that won't he long.-Mrs. Crump, I suppose 'you have no time to spare-" Indeed, doctor, I shall take the time," in- terrupted Mrs. Crump, hastily. "Just tell me what you want done, and P11 engage to do it, no matter what else goes undone." "Just at present there is nothing to do, ex- cept to send for some leeches, and try and keep things as quiet as possible. Could you give those gentlemen down-stairs a hint that there is a case of brain-fever in the house, and that a lit- tle less noise would be desirable?" "I'll give 'em something more'n a hint," answered Mrs. Crump, decidedly-and left the room, to send for the leeches, and command the peace. "A word with you, Mr. Warwick," said the doctor, walking away to the farthest window. "I think it right to tell you," he went on, as Mr. Warwick followed him, "that this attack Is a very dangerous one, and, from present appear- ance, the chances arc that it will prove fatal in its result. If the young lady has any friends, they ought to be communicated with at once." lIe paused as if for a reply; but Mr. War. wick did not speak. Situated as he was-in utter ignorance how or why Katharine had left his sister's house-it was impossible for him not to hesitate when thus summarily brought to the point of positive action. He did hesitate-he ran over in his mind the unsatisfactory condi- tion of affairs when he left home, and the unsat- isfactory conjectures that had beset him an hour ago, without arriving at any result. Finally, he looked at the doctor, and made a simple state- ment of facts. "In few words, doctor, I don't like to do this without Miss Tresham's sanction," he said. "She is a foreigner, with no relations in Amer- ica, and as for her friends-.--I can only account for her presence here by supposing that some estrangement has occurred to separate her from those who' might be called her friends. Under these circumstances, I do not think that n$~ in- terference could do any good-certainly not by means of letters." "But when her life is in danger?" "That statement would, of course, be suf- ficient to bring, relatives to her bedside; but you know the world well enough to be able to judge whether it would be likely to have any effect on those who were simply bound to hc~ by ties of convenience. The doctor was silenced. He looked from the bed to the lawyer, and from the lawyer to the bed, trying to understand the inatter,'and failing utterly to do so~ In the range of kin pro."' fessional experience, many sad pages of' human life had come under his eye-.--as they come under page: 160-161[View Page 160-161] 160 MORTON HOUSE. AN OLD FRIEND. 181 - the eye of all men of al professions, and of all physicians especially~-many desolatestories had been laid bare to him, many woful tragedies had been acted before him, until out of very familiar. ity, he bad grown callous to these varied phases of the one great drama of human suffering. But now he felt strangely touched. That this girl, so young, so fair-had she been ugly, the position would have lost half its pathos 1-so evidently of tender nurture, should be thrown utterly friendless, utterly alone, upon the care and kind- ness of strangers, seemed to him inexpressibly pitiful. lie felt for her deeply-felt as he had not'felt for any one since he was young and im- pressionable, and new at his profession; but with regard ~ John Warwick, his part in the matter the doctor failed entirely to compre- hend. If all that he had said were true, what is4erest had he in the girl, what right to make her safety his personal care? Such conduct * was~so unlike the quiet, reserved lawyer, always gravely courteous to women, yet always care- fully avoiding them, that it seemed incredible. Reading 'the doctor's surprise in the doctor's face, Mr. Warwick-for Katharine's sake-ad- dressed himself frankly to it. "I see you think it strange that I should occupy the position I do," he said; "but if you will consider a moment, I think you will under- stand why and how it is. Miss Tresham has been living in my sister's house for two years, and I have learned to know her well, and to re- spect her highlyb I do not know why she has left her position; but I am confident that it was by no f~ult of her own; and it would be strange if...eneeting her accidentally, as I have done-I did not do every thing in my power for her. Considering that I am old enough to be her fe~ther, ~ ': sure you will grant this." your age out of the question," said tI~e debtor, with ashade of his usual jovial smile, .1 "Z gz'ant~tfully, Mr~ Warwick. Your conduct is tbat of ~ ti~Ite.hearted gentleman, and you have iby'h~art'y iespeet and support. God willing, w*!l1 ~4i the poor girl through, with or without help fro~a anybody else. Now tell me if you have any idea. of the chpse of her illness." "No t the least. When I saw her last she w~s in perfect health." "That was when?" "Less than three weeke ago." "Have you any reason to suppose that she may have been suffering from trouble or distress of mind?" Mr. Warwick thought of S~. John, and paused a moment before he replied. "I do not know" he said. "I think it probable that she has; but if so, we cannot reach the cause, and it is useless to consider it. Do you suppose that mental trouble has brought this on?" "I cannot tell-I can only make a surmise from the condition in which I find her. Speak. ing in the dark, I should say that mental trou. ble, liberally sided and abetted by quack treat- ment, has brought it on." "My instinct was right, then-that man is a quack?" "A quack! That old woman yonder has quite as good a right to put M. D. after her name, and, I dare say, a much better amount of medical knowledge to support it. The scoun- drel has hardly the barest smattering of infor- mation on the subject-as he proves by leaving a case whenever another doctor is called in. This is not the first patient he has brought to death's door-and, unfortunately, some of them go beyond it. Last week a poor fellow died un- der his hands-a carpenter with a large family. As clear a ease of butchery as ever I saw!" "Is there no way of stopping this?" "There is no way as long as people, like our friend Mrs. Crump, choose to send for him. We live in a free country, you know, and when a man comes and settles among ,us, there is no competent authority to examine his diplo- ma and give him a license, before he sets to work killing people." "I think if I see him again, I shall feel very much tempted to put it out of his power to do any more mischief-for some time to come~ at least." "He is not likely to let you see him again. To give the rascal his due, he is the embodiment of discretion. As I came along the street, some. body told me that one of his othei~ patients-his only other one, I expect-was in a critical con- dition. If she dies, I am inclined to think that the town will become too hot to hold him. But we must make arrangements for to-night. Some- body must sit up here-b-somebody who can be relied on to follow my directions exactly." "I will do it." "You can, if you choose-and so shall I, for that matter. hut there must be somebody besides - a woman, of course.' Mrs. Crump would be the person, if she was not broken down; but, from her looks, I should: say that she was up last night. I'll send, my wife. She will be glad to be of service." ' "Doctor, how can I thank you!" "Don't think of such a thing till we see how It turns out." He walked to the bed, and looked down at the hotly-flushed face, the parched lips, and wandering eyes, with a glance of pity. "Poor ctirl 1" he said to himself. Then, sharp- ly, aloud to the old woman, "More ice here- change these cloths." Then, again, to War- wick, "It all hangs on a thread. There is no telling what the end will be" CHAPTER XXX. .&N OLD FRIEND WHILE Miss Tresham was lying ill at the Eagle Hotel in Hartsburg, and while Mr. War- wick was quietly journeying along the road that led to his meeting with her, matters and things in Lagrange were in a far from satisfactory con- dition. To begin with the Marks family, there was growing indignation on the part of Mr. Marks, discomfiture and concern on the part of his wife, and turmoil and complaining on the part of the children, at the unaccountable absence of the governess. Two weeks had gone by, without any sign of return, or any word of ex- planation from her. Under these circumstan- ces, what was left for her employers to think but that, she had deliberately forsaken them? It was true that every thing she possessed, with the exception of a small bag containing a few necessary articles of clothing, had been left be- hind; but that might have been done merely to avoid suspicion-and then, there was that unan- swerable riddle, the money! Why had she drawn it, if not to go away ?-why had she been so particular about demanding gold? "It is 'as plain as a pikestaff," said Mr. Marks, "that she meant to leave just in this manner! It was the first suspicion that came into my mind, and it' proves to be the correct one." Poor Katharine ~had very little idea, when she went to the bank that morning, how h~avhy it was to tell against her afterward, in the net that circumstances were weaving. At first, Mrs. Marks was stout in her defence, but after a while she succumbed-facts being too strong against her. "It's that hate- ful St. John!" she said, at last. "I'm as sure as can be that Miss Katharine has run away just to getrid of him!" It provoked her that her hus- band would' not, admit the validity of this cx. euse. "Miss' Tresham may have, run' away to get rid of Mr. St~. John," he said, "but it is very certain, Bessie, that s~e needn't have done any thing of the kind if all had been straight and clear with her. If he had no claim on her,' why should she run away from him?" In the face of this masculine logic, Mrs. Marks had no reply-no relief but that of boxing Nelly's~ars,~ when that poor little soul cried piteously for Miss Tresham to tell her a story at night. Then there was another annoyance. Mr. St. John, who, if appearances might be trusted, seemed as completely puzr.led as themselves, persisted in calling at the house, in questioning the servants, in accosting Mr. Marks, and in en- deavoring by every means in his power to find out something about the missing governess. As time went on, this became a positive nuisance- and a nuisance all the more disagreeable because Mr. Marks disliked the man, and Mrs. Marks had changed her respectful sympathy into a violent aversion for him. In her eyes, he stood as the representative of the change that had given such a shock to her household, and she detested him accordingly. "Will he never go away?" she said to herself, pettishly, as, day after day, sh~ saw the same slender figure, the same dark, regu- lar profile, pass and repass the house. "If he would only go away, I am sure Miss Katharine would come back, and surely Richard couldn't refuse to let her stay." Fortunately for himsOlf, Mr. Marks was not put to the test. St. Johiit did not go away, and Miss Tresham did not return. Morton Annesley called vainly for news, and was always met by the same dismal shake of the head. "Not even a letter, Mrs. Marks?" he would say, with such a wistful look in his eyes that it almost betrayed Mrs. Marks into telling him a consoling falsehood. "Not even a letter, Mr. Annesley,"' she would answer, and heave a deep sigh as the young man went away. At such~ times her regret took the form of in~igiiant ~e- preach against Katharine. It was shameful!- Richard was right: it was shameful; she would think, as she went back to her work, andheard the children squabbling in the yard, instead of being settled quietly at their lesions. As for Mrs. Annesley, she was simply in- credulous of this great good fortune which had befallen her. That Katharine should go aweyof her own accord-shouId~ without any ernbarxaks- ing disclosure or trouble whatever, be rewo#ed out of Morton's life-was more than she had ever hoped in her most sanguine moments-.-was far, far too good to be true. She could n~t believe it-she absolutely declined to believe It. Some plot was at the bottom of it, she felt sure-some.~ page: 162-163[View Page 162-163] 162 MORTON HOuSE. AN OLD FRIEND. 163 thing that would ~end by complicating matters more seriously tknn they had been complicated yet, by involving Morton as he had not been in- volved yet. To describe her state of mind dur- ing these two weeks would be impossible. The inaction was terrible to her, tl~e doubt and sus- pense still more terrible. She went to see Mrs. Gordon, but there was no comfort to be obtained there. Mrs. Gordon knew no more than herself, but Mrs. Gordon took a view of the matter which had not occurred to Mrs. Annesley. "The girl has been sent by St. John in search of Felix 1" she cried, as soon as she beard of Katharine's departure, and only her own ignorance of Felix's whereabouts prevented her from instantly setting out to guard iiim from this new danger. As it was, she lived in a state of restless terror which sometimes almost went beyond her control. Her only comforther only hope, was in John War. wick. As long as As was with Felix, she felt that the child was safe. 11cr reliance on him told her this, and did not tell her wrongly. Only some- times she would think with dismay of his liking for 1~atharine, and wring her hands over it. "If he once lets her draw the secret from him I" she thought., But then, again, she would grow ashamed of this, suspicion. Was it likely he would let her do it ?-was it likely that, to the woman he loved best, to the man whom he trusted most, John Warwick would betray the confidence given him as a sacred charge? The woman who had once known him well, the woman whom he had once loved passionately, did him the justice to answer the question in the negative.' No; John Warwick would never do this, and so John Warwick was to be trusted. But oh, Felix I-Felix! That was the burden of the mother's thought, the echo of the mother's cry. That great anxiety dwarfed every other con- sideration-even the consideration of Morton's folly. She still felt for him, and'fpr the bitter distress that was hanging like a sword over his ~oth~r's head; but still Felix was at her heart, a~id ther~was no disguising the fact that she would have been glad tohear of Miss Tresham's ,r~z~to Tallahoma, even although that return i~ie~rt Morton's marriage with her the next day. Under these circumstances, it may be sup. posed that there was not much sympathy be- tween herself and Mrs. Annesley-yet there was more than might be imagined. 'They were both suffering from keen anxiety-that Was one link. The anxiety of each was about the object dearest to them in the world-that was the second link. The same person, in each case, was the cause of this nuxiety-that was the third link. These things were much in common, and it is doubtful whether they had ever in their lives been so nearly drawn together before. Mrs. Gordon's mode of accounting for Katharine's absence seemed to Mrs. Annesley plausible enough; but Felix was to her a person of small importance-or, to put the matter more correctly, of no importance at all-and, accepting her cousin's theory as a fact, the great consideration still remained, What would be the end of it with regard to Morton? She had heard nothing from St. John, and she had been too completely worsted to think of seeking him again herself. Besides, she had a sort of instinctive distrust of him-an instinctive feeling that she had placed herself in his power. If he saw Morton, and told him of her applies. tion, Morton would never forgive her I This was what made a coward of her, for she was very far from being a subtle diplomatist ready to walk to her end over any obstacles; but rather a woman weak with the weakness of her sex, who, having set in motion certain machinery of the power of which she had only a vague idea, stood by, shrinking from the consequences - a woman whose hands were fettered, from the use of plain i~ieans to a plain end, by a purely ideal fear-the fear of dosing her son's love, and forfeiting her son's respect. As time went on, Morton was, perhaps, the person most to be compassionate. All the others had "themselves to thank," in great measure, for their uneasiness; everybody else (even Mrs. Gordon) was suffering from the direct result of certain acts of his or her own. But Morton had done nothing to bring upon him- self the keen anxiety which he was enduring. It may be perfectly true that we cry all the same whether we break our toys ourselves, or whether somebody else does the work of destruction for us, and that it is by no means a source of com- fort when "one has only one's self to blame" for any of the disasters of life; but, in the mat- ter of sympathy, this fact of personal responsibil- ity makes a great difference and justly so. The man who has brought his trouble upon himself can, at best, advance only half the claim on our sympathy, of one who suffers through misfortune, or circumstance, or the fault of others. On this ground, therefore, it may be conceded that Mor- ton deserved compassion mOre than any other of the circle whose interests were so capriciously twisted and intertwined together. Not on the ground of his love for Katharine Tresham, nor of the suffering which that love entailed upbxi him, but on the ground of his earnest desire to "do the thing which was right," no matter what the cost of that doing might be; of his loyal effort to reconcile the different claims that were conflicting with him, by the plain, straight rule of honor; and of his sincere renunciation of self, which deserved a better return than had yet be- fallen it. During these weeks he had gone about the ordinary affairs of life, and tried to meet them with his ordinary face; but, somehow, it would not do. Knocking more and more painfully at his heart, echoing more and more loudly in his ears, he heard the question, Where has she gone ?-what has become of her? Had she, in- deed, passed out of his life forever? Had he trifled so long with the happiness that might have been his, by a word, perhaps, that it had at last escaped him? Asking himself these questions, he took a sudden resolve. He would go in search of her, and, having once found her, he would not leave her again until all trifling and hesitation were at an end, until the fate of his life was settled as far as it was in Katharine Tresh- am's power to settle it. Her very absence, which told against her so strongly in the eyes of every one else, did not shake his dogged faith for an instant. He trusted her! That was his answer to all that the voice of the world could urge; and, whether it was a wise one or not, let us at least acknowledge that it was a noble one. Having niade up his mind to go, Annesley was not long in carrying the design into execution. A plausible excuse of business was soon found for leaving home, and, although Mrs. Annesley strongly suspected the real ,cause of his depart9 nrc, she had no excuse for saying, no means of doing, any thing to prevent it. To expostulate would have been worse than useless, and there was nothing else left. "It comes of being a woman," she thought, bitterly; but, in fact, if she had been a man a hundred times over, she could have thrown no obstacle in Morton's path which Morton's impetuous resolution would not have surmounted. As a general rule, women are very much given to magnifying the disabilities of their sex, when these very disabilities often make the secret of their greatest strength. In the present instance, it was certainly so. No tangible restraint which Mrs. Annesley could possibly have~ place over her son would have bound him half so firmly, would havO influenced him half so much,' as the intangible restraint of those wishes which appealed to him the more because she had no power to enforce them. Still, he bsgan to consider that he had, perhaps, sacrificed a little too much to them; and, in taking his present resolution, he put them ten- derly but decidedly on one side. ~Some instinct told him that his first duty now was to the wom- an he loved, and, with the simplicity of thought and intention which characterized him, he set forth to fulfil this duty. It was on the sixteenth of January-exactly two weeks after Katharine left-that Morton drove out of the gates of Anneadale, and turned his horses heads into the road that led to Sax- ford. He had not gone more than a mile when he met George Raynor. Of course, a pause and a conversation ensued. "You look as if you were rigged out for travelling," said Mr. Raynor, after the first greetings were over. "Going down to Apalat- ka?" "No-only to Saxford," Annesley answered. "I have to meet a man there on business." This was strictly true; but the speaker did not add that the man would willingly have come to Lagrange. "Why should you think of Apa. latka? Is any thing going on down there?" "Nothing that I know of; but I heard you promise Seymour to go down soon, and I thought you might be on your way to fulfil the promise. Maggie Lester went home yesterday," he added, with a laugh. "And you think I am likely to be following Miss Maggie? Thank you; I don't care to inter- fere with Lawton's amusement. She didn't stay long with Mrs. Raynor, then?" "Her mother wrote for her-company ex- pected, or something of the sort-and she was obliged to leave. Flora was very sorry to see her go-chiefly, I think, because she~ took Irene along.~' ":bid Miss Irene go?" said Annesley, a lit- tle absently. "I am sorry to hear that,' and so will a great many other people be. But sho will be back soon-won't she?" "Hardly soon, according to present arrange. ments. Flora is to join her in Apalatka, a~d they will go on to Mobile' together. I fancy La- grange won't see either of them again very shortly. I look forward with resignation to a long period of bachelor-soh, Charlcy!-You had better draw your horses out of the way, rink! Here comes the stage." rink-the servant who was driving Annes- ley-drew his horses to one side of the road ac. cordingly; while Charley, who was young and foolish, backed into a fence - corner, as the heavily-laden coach, with its six horses, itS nine. page: 164-165[View Page 164-165] 164: MORTON HOUSE. AN OLD FRIEND. 165 inside passengers, end one fortunate outsider, who had secured the seat beside the driver, rolled by with a sweeping air of grand impor- tance on its way to Saxford. As it passed, An- i~esley glanced round and ran his eye over the passengers, vaguely looking for an acquaintance, as people will do, whether in stage-coaches or railroad-trains. With the exception of the driver, to whom he nodded, he saw not one familiar face-duning the first instant, that is. The second after, a man, on the seat opposite from the side of the road on which Raynor and hin~seif were, leaned forward for a look at the way-side group, and he recognized St. John. Long after the coach had passed out of sight, after he had~said good-by to ilaynor, and was once rnor~ under way, with the horses trotting briskly over ~the smooth, well-beaten road, that face remained with Annesley to conjure up tor- menting thoughts. Why was St. John leaving Talla~zoma? Why was he going to Saxford? What connection did he have with Miss Tresh- am? These three questions formed the text of a mental discourse that occupied his attention until the roofs of Saxford came in sight, just as the sun was going down in a gorgeous bed of sunset clouds, and the whole wide panorama of Nature-its fields, and valleys, and shaded hill- sides-began to clothe themselves in the exqui- site purple of the winter gloaming. .Annesley drove to the principal hotel of the place, and sound that the coach had preceded him in its arrival by an hour or two. The first person he saw, on entering the house, was St. John. involuntarily the young man frowned the very sight of the sallow, handsome face had gro~ ~s repugnant to him as to Mr. Marks. or other this man was connected with Zatht~rine and~ Y~atharine's disappearance-ac- cording to Mrs. Gordon, he had sent her away; according to Mr. Marks, he, at lea0t, knew where she was, and why she had gone. In either view of the case, Annesley felt inclined to take him by the throat and demand "satisfaction" in the form ef information on the spot. But the codes of olvilized life discourage, if they do not abso- lutely condemn~ such arbitrary proceedings as these; and, this consideration apart, such pro. ceedings are sometimes attended with unpleas- ant consequences. Morton restrained the in- clination, and passed on. After the business of ol$aining a room was over, his first inquiry star- tled "mine hoat" a little. Was there a Catho- lb priest residing in Saxford? "~~u're the second gentleman that's asked that question, Mr. Annesley," answered the pro- prietor, opening his eyes, but smiling all the same. "There was a gentleman came in the stage, and wanted to know the same thing. I told him, sir, what I can tell you-that there's no priest living in town, but one comes here sometimes-I really can't say how often. I re- ferred the other gentleman to an Irish family, named Malone, for information; but, if you are anxious to know any thing about the priest, I'll take pleasure in sending round and finding out every thing for you.~~ "Thank you," said Morton, a little amused at the contrast thus strikingly marked by the landlord between Mr. Annesley of Annesdale and an ordinary traveller, who was (so far as the knowledge of thatworthy extended) Mr. Nobody of Nowhere. "I will trouble you to find out, then, whether the priest is now in Saxford, and, if he is not, when he was here last, and is likely to be here again. When the messenger returns, send him up to my room, if you please." Before long, there was a tap at Morton's door, and the expected messenger made his ap- pearance. He was a bright-looking boy, and delivered his message very clearly. He had seen Mrs. Malone. The priest was in town- had arrived that evening to he in time for Sun- day-and was staying with the Malone family. On hearing that a gentleman at the hotel wished to see him, Mrs. Malone had suggested that it would be well if the gentleman would defer his visit until the next morning- the father had come thirtymiles that day, and was not very well, and a gentleman had already called on him. If the gentleman was going away, ho might come that night, of course; but, if not, it would be more convenient if he would wait until the next morning. "I'll wait," he said, absently; and, after the messenger left, he asked himself what di~'erence it made. He had waited three weeks in La- grange-why not wait one night~ in Saxford? Yet he felt impatient ovcr the delay1 as people will feel over any delay, however slight, that in- tervenes between the fruition of a hope or the fulfilment of an expectation. He reasoned with himself about this folly, however, and, after a whiin, managed to recon- cUe himself to the charitable opinion that there was no real need for disturbing Father Martin's well-earned repose on that night. One thing, at~ least, he had gained by the application. He had learned that, instead of knowing all about Keth- anne, St. John, like himself, was merely ~at'the track of discovery, and that, also like himself; the first person to whom he applied for informa- tion was the person '~liom Katharine would have been most likely to take into her confidence- that is, the priest. While he was arriving at this conclusion, the person of whom he was thinking entered the hotel and passed directly into the bar-room. If Morton had seen him it is probable that he would not have felt encouraged concerning the degree of information which Father Martin was able or likely to give. Discomfiture was written as legi- bly on St. John's face as anger betrayed itself in his manner. On entering the door he pushed rudely against a man who chanced to be stand- ing near, and did not trouble himself to make even the ghost of an apology. Walking for- ward, with an air of profound unconsciousness, he called for a glass of brandy, received it, and was about to raise it to his lips, when the man who had been so unceremoniously treated fol- lowed and touched his arm. "I beg your pardon," he said, quietly, but with a certain tone of menace in his voice. "You are the gentleman who came within an ace of knocking me down, I believe. Did I hear you apologize for it?" - St. John turned quickly, with an insolent reply visible in his eyes before it passed his lips. He was evidently in that frame of mind when to insult somebody is nothing less than a positive relief. As it chanced, however, he had no. time to speak. No sooner did he turn his face than the other recoiled a step-in sheer amazement, as it seemed. "By -1" he said, "St. John?" * Something in his tone, something in his man- ner, struck even the by-standers with surprise. They had looked with interest the minute before -anxious to see the end of what promised to be a vei~y pretty quarrel-but the interest sensi- bly quickened at this unexpected recognition. Its effect on $t. John was unmistakable. He looked keenly for a second in the face before him-his own growing a shade paler, meanwhile -then he put down, untouched, the glass of brandy, and extended his hand. "You!" he said. "I had no idea it was you. I apologize, of course. Where the devil did you come from?" The other took his offered hand and shook it with a laugh. After the first manifestation of surprise, the meeting seemed to affect him very little, cit her one way or another. "Where I came from isn't' half as ~vondcrful as where you came from," he answered. "Sup pose we exchange reminiscences at our leisure? Will you come to my room? You can take your brandy there, and I will order some to keep you company." "All right," said St. John; but he said it reluctantly, and, as he allowed his companion to take his arm and lead him away, the people whom he left behind could not help thinking that this meeting was to him any thing hut a pleasurable event. They were quite right, too. He ground his teeth, and cursed his unlucky fate, as he fol- lowed the man who had claimed his acquaint- anceup the steep and ill-lighted staircase of the hotel. They entered a room just at the head of the flight of steps, and, while the propriety~ of the apartment fumbled about for the means of striking a light, St. John sat down on the first substantial object he came to, which chanced to be a table, and was silent. "Deuce take the thing! Where has it gone?" grumbled the one who was stumbling about the room, kicking the chairs, and finally knocking.down the pitcher and basin with a resounding clatter. "I've found the confound- ed candle, but where the devil has the match. box gone! Here-no. D- it, all the water's spilled, and I've stepped right into it? ?shawl I'll get a light across the passage and not keep you in the dark this way, St. John. Excuse me for a minute." St. John vouchsafed not a word as the speaker left the room and crossed the passage to a door just opposite, under which a stream of light was visible. - His knock was answered by a gentleman, who opened the door almost immediately, and cour- teously acceded to his request. He returned to a table in the room, and brought from it a can- dle with which to light the one presented. As he did so his face was fully exposed to view, and St. John, sitting in the darknesss of the oppo- site room, recognized Annesley.-. Instinctively he drew a little farther back into the friendly shade. At that particular time, and under those particular circumstances, he had no desire to be recognized in return. There was no dan. ger of this, however, for his position effectually shielded him; and, besides this, Morton's atten- tion was occupied just then with the man before him. As he brought forward the candle some- thing like recognition was plainly to be seen in his face-was evidently struggling to assert itself La his mind. As the stranger held Ma candle to page: 166-167[View Page 166-167] AN OLD FRIEND. 16 166 MORTON HOUSE. the flame, and thelight thus fell on his face, the recognition suddenly became clear. "I beg your pardon," said the young man. "I did not know y~u at first. Dr. Joyner, is it not?" Dr. Joyner-for it was indeed he-looked with a start into the face before him; then, ac- cording to his invariable custom, shifted his eyes back to the candle. "You are right. Joyner is my name," he said, "but I believe you have the advantage of me, sir." "That is natural," said Morton, smiling a little. "I never saw you but once-but my memory is good for faces. I was down in Apa- latka about six months ago, and, in passing through Hartsburg, I called at your office to get a prescription for a sprained wrist. You may not remember the occurrence, but, as soon as I saw your face, it came back to me," "Doctors see so many people that they may be pardoned for havingpoor memories," said the other, apologetically. "I think I remember you, though," he went on, looking again at the young man. "You were with Mr. Seymour, I believe, and he introduced you as Mr. Annesley, of La- grange." "The same," said Morton. "Your lotion did my wrist a great deal of good," he added, with the frankness that sat very winningly upon him. "Won't you come in? I should like to hear something of Apalatka and my friends down there." "I regret-I am sorry-it would give me great pleasure," said the doctor, stammering, as he bowed over his candlestick, "but I left a friend in my room-in the dark, too, poor fel- low I-and he is waiting for me to return. Other- wise-" Another bow completed the sentence." "In that case I can't expect to detain you, of course," said Morton. "Good-evening." When the doctor went back into his own room his face wore an expression of mingled sur- prise and amusement, which at once attracted St. John's attention and roused his curiosity. "You seem to be enjoying something amaz ingly," he said. "Considering that the brandy hasn't come yet, you might as well let me knon what It is. One thing is certain "-with a lool of disgust around-" I don't see much in th way of amusement hereY "I am only enjoying a new illustration of ar old proverb," said the other, putting the candle stick on a rickety table that was on one side ol V the room, with a cracked looking-glass hanging over it. "Did you ever chance to hear that 'a prophet is never without honor save in his own country?' Well, I've just had an example of that. For want of something better to do, I have been trying my hand lately at the healing art, and the result was by no means as brilliant as I could have wished. The other doctors in the place where I settled were jealous of sue, a few un. pleasant accidents attended my practice, a man or two died-don't men die sometimes under the hands of regular M. D.'s ?-and the consequence was that the people raised an uproar, and I had to leave-absolutely, my dear St* John, I had to leave, in preference to being mobbed. Think what a state of barbarism this horrible country is in! Well, I left the place-.Hartsburg is its name-under those circumstances, and I come here, and the first person I meet compliments - actually compliments - me on my medical skill!" "That young fellow across the passage?" "Yes-did you see him? Fine-looking, isn't he? One of the first men in the country round about here, I believe. I met him, as he remind- ed me, in Hartsburg, with a Mr. Seymour, a wealthy planter who lives in the county of which Hartsburg is the seat. He had sprained his wrist, and I gave him. a lotion for it. He says it worked excellently." "Then why couldn't you prescribe for your other patients as well?" Dr. Joyner indulged in a laugh-.--quiet, but of considerable depth and evident enjoyment. "I sprained my own wrist once," he said, "and I got this prescription for it from a doe. tor. You see it's useful ~never to forget any thing." "And you practiced medicine en the strength of knowing one prescription? Well "-with an impatient movementp..-" I suppose it was as good a trade as any other that you were likely to drift into. What did you leave the old country for?" "Humph!" said the doctor, looking at him I askance. "What did you leave it for?" "That's easily answered-because I felt dis. - posed to do so." "Oh, you did, did you? Well, then, there's a good deal of difference between us. I left because the police were so unusually pressing in their attentions, just then, that I had no alterna- tive but to do so. I made the narrowest slip of the galleys imaginable," said he, growing pale, notwithstanding his lightness of tone. "'Ma foil it would be delightful to be number nine of a chain-gang just now! rractising medicine at the expense of the good people of Hartsburg is quite an improvement on that. Do you object to my leaving you for a minute? I'll step to the door and call for that brandy. In a place like this you have to assert yourself, or the rascals will neglect you." St. John making no objection, Dr. Joyner pro. needed to step to the door and assert himself. Having shouted for some time, he at last suc- ceeded in bringing up the brandy, and half a dozen people besides, anxious~ to know if the house was on fire. After reassuring them on this point, he coolly relieved the servant of the brandy, shut the door in the faces of the others, and returned to St. John. "There, now!" said he, setting the bottle and two glasses which accompanied it down on the table. "I call this comfortable-two old friends and good comrades drinking each other's health in elegant seclusion. You'll find water in that pitcher there, St. John-confound it! I for- got it was spilt. Shall I call for more?" "Not on my account," said St. John, resign- edly. "I don't car~ to bring up half the house- hold again. Sit down," he went on, impatiently. "Something is on your mind-I've seen that from the first. Speak it out, and have done." "With all my heart," said the other, sitting down and composedly draining a glass of spirits. "You haven't told me yet how you enme here," he added, with a sudden furtive glance at his companion's face. "One good turn deserves another. I've been frank with you-now be frank with me. Has the pretty little game of ro~ege et nob- done for you also?" "I'm here on business," said St. John, ir- ritably. "I thought I told you that. What is the good of~ being so d-d inquisitive? I haven't been in America more than a month or two, and I shall not stay an hour longer than I can possibly help." "Are you very closely occupied just now?" "That depends on circumstances. Why do you ask?" The other looked over his shoulder nervously at the door. Then drew hisehair a little nearer. "Would you be willing to run a small risk for a great reward?" he asked, quickly. "That depends," said St. John, watching him coolly; "both on the degree of risk, and the amount of the reward." "The risk is hardly worth considering, and the amount is that of a moderate fortune. In one word, St. John, can I depend on you, or can I not? This thing has been on my mind for some time, and I have been considering day and night how I could manage it without any assist- ance; but when I saw you, the problem was solved for me. I said at once, 'There is the man in the very nick of time. If his head's as cool and his wits are as sharp 'as they used to be, I've nothing more to fear."' "I don't stand in any need ofa dose of fiat. tory," said St. John. "Affairs are desperate with me juSt now, and I am ready for any thing that won't put my neck in a noose. A person on whom I depended has just given me the Slip in the most complete manner. A scheme on which I have been building is likely to come to nothing, as far as I am concerned, and so-pass the brandy, and let me hear your plan." "It's not a thing to describe in a place like this," said the other, glancing round again. "If we talk about it at all, it must be in French. "You don't object, do you?" "Not in the least." "Listen then," said he, plunging at once into French, and speaking with an ease and fluency which proved his intimate acquaintance with the language. "Before I left Hartsburg, I chanced to hear that a bank of importance, which is es- tablished there, was about to send a large amount of specie for distribution among its various branch banks. I did not pay much attention one way or another to the report, until, in com- ing to Saxford, I travelled with a man who is well known to be the messenger intrusted with the money. This fact, and my own desperate condition, soon made me think that here was an excellent opportunity of fortune, only needing a man of courage and nerve to seize it. The cour- age and nerve I had, my dear St. John, but I needed a few other things-a little assistance, principally. The undertaking is too great for one person to attempt. I needed a comrade to share the risk and-the reward. As soon as I saw you, I thought 'Here is my man.' It's for you to say whether or not I was right." "1 have heard the object," said ~St. John, coolly. "How about the means?" "The means are as plain as could be desired. The messenger is at present on his way to Talla.' horns, wimre the specie will be lodged in the bank until opportunities are found for forwani- ing it to the other branches. Now, I have been in Tallahoma, and Ihave seen this bank. Write me down a fool, my dear St. John, if it would not be as easy to enter it as to walk out of this room. See here!" lie took from his pocket a morocco case of 167 MORTON ,HOUSE. 166 page: 168-169[View Page 168-169] MORTON HOUSE. FATHER MARTIN. 169 moderate size, touched a spring, and, as it flew open, he held it out for the inspection of the other. "Whatwould you call that, now?" he asked., St. John regarded it superciliously, as he answered, "I should call it a box of tooth-instru- ments. Have you been practising dentistry as well as 'physic?" "A little. I fleshed thls".-he held up to St. John's recoiling sight a formidable-looking pair of forceps-" in lhe-" "Spare me a description of the operation, I beg," interrupted the other, with unconcealed disgust. "What have these things to do with the subject you were talking of?" "Don't ~e impatient, and you shall hear. You would call it a box of tooth-instruments, would you? Well, you're not to blame there-. and that's the beauty of it. Anybody would call it the same thing. But now-I'll show you." So saying, he took the instruments from the box, then, with great care, removed the red- velvet cushion on which they had rested, and which turned out to be a false bottom, beneath which was .a eiivity containing a dozen or more of eccentric-shaped implements, the use of which it would have puzzled an ordinary observer to' conjecture. It did not puzzle St. John in the least. "You are well '-supplied," he remarked, with a grim smile. "You may say so l Look at that, now, will you?'' He lifted a small saw, made of the finest watch-spring steel, and exhibited it, handling it with the same caressing touch which a painter, who has not used his brushes for some time, be- stows on those beloved servitors of his more beloved art, or with which a musician passes his hand over the strings or keys of his favorite in- strument. "That walks through iron with the seine ease that a good carpenter's saw passes through wot~d!" cried he, with enthusiasm. "And here-" He went on to expatiate upon the excellence of various of the implements, and the virtues of the box itself. "You observe," he said, "there is room here for other mat- ters besides these useful little gentlemen. I keep any papers of importance, that it might not be advisable to have about me, here too." ~It is a good idea," said St. John, absently. "But about this bank." He thought for a me. ment, then looked up with something like a flash in his eye. "The man who is responsible -the cashier, 1 believe they call him-is named Marks, isn't he??? "I-yes, I believe so. I didn't pay much attention to his name. What has that got to do with it?" "It has to do with it that he is an unman- nered scoundrel, who has gone out of his way to insult me on one or two occasions," an- swered St. John, vindictively. "If it's his bank that you want to rob, I'll help you, with the greatest pleasure, on the understanding that we share the spoils fairly. But I can tell you that you will have to be very cautious in jour ar- rangements." "We will discuss them now," said the other, eagerly. "Help yourself to thc brandy, and then we can plan the campaign." -4-- CHAPTER XXXI. ~AT1lER MARTIN. EARLY the next morning-as early as was at all compatible with civilized habits-Annesley set forth to pay his visit to the Catholic priest. Having been carefully directed with regard to the whereabouts of the Malone house, he had no difficulty in finding it, and, when he came to a plain two-story building, with the usual four sides, and the usual long piazzas, set back from the street in a green yard, he knew at once that it was the place of which' he was in search. His knock at the front door was answered by a pleasant-looking woman, with an unmistakably Irish face, and still more unmistakably Irish accent. Hearing that he was "the gentleman to see the priest," she asked him to walk in. "Father Martin went into the garden for a walk," she said. "I will send one of the chil- dren to tell him you are here." "It would be a pity to bring him in," said Annesley, smiling, and winning her heart at once by hia face and manner. "Can't I go to him? I have only a few words to say, and I need not disturb his walk very long to say them." "I-yes, sir; there is no reason why you should not go," answered Mrs. Malone, after a moment's hesitation. "Straight across the yard -yonder is the garden-gate. It can't be long before you find the father; he's walking in there somewhere." Annesley thanked her, and went his way.{A path led across the yard to the gate of4whielt~1~4 had spoken~ Opening it, he found himself in a garden, which was not very much of a place in the way of size or arrangement, but which had a certain attraction, seen under that bright morn- ing sky, with the Bun shining gayly across the cabbages and rose-bushes, the birds twittering and trilling in every tree, and the fresh odor of newly-turned earth from some spaded beds. * But the chief beauty of the place was in the prospect beyond-a glorious panorama of open country spreading as far as the eye could see; a sweep of level fields near at hand; then hills and valleys farther off, mingling and blending, as only Nature's perspective can blend, gleams of brightness and patches of shade, clouds drift- ing, delicious "bits" of harmony and contrast everywhere, and a breadth of landscape, impos- sible to describe, stretching to the verge of the horizon, where it wns edged by a fringe of dis- tant forest. Annesley was charmed; but he did not have time to indulge the luxury of sight as he would have liked. He gave one minute to admiration, then looked round for the object of his seareji. It was not long before he discerned a black figure walking up and down under a trellis, which cov- ered one of the walks, and was overrun by a grape-vine. Advancing to the nearest, he saw a man of middle age and decidedly sacer- dotal aspect-a man who wore a black cassoclc, and was reading from a well-worn breviary- advancing toward him. As they came within a few feet of each other, the priest looked up. Morton took off his hat, and introduced himself at once. "My name is Atiriesley," he said. "I call by appointment. Mrs. Malone told me I should find Mr. Martin here." "I am Mr. Martin," answered the ecclesias- tie, courteously. He closed his book, and, com- ing a step nearer, offered his hand. "Your name is not unknown to me, Mr. Airncsley," he said. "I am glad to meet you. Is there any thing I can O~ tor you?" "You can be kind enough to answer a few questions for me," Annesley replied. "May I-~ but are you at leisure to attend to me now?" ~ I "Perfectly at leisure," answered the other. remained at home this morning because I ex- pected your call. I was only reading my office -you don't disturb me in the least. Shall we return to the house, or will you sit down here? The air is delightful." "If you do not object, let us remain here, by all means. Is it necessary, though, that I should interrupt your walk? 1 should he sorry to do so." "Join me, then," said Father Martin, emil. ing. Like everybody else, he was attracted by that gift of pleasing which the young man pos- sessed in such remarkable degree-that happy mingling of courtesy and frankness which came to him by nature, and for which he did not de- serve half as much credit as he obtained. "Exer- cise, fortunately, does not interfere with conver- sation." Annesley was ready enough to take him at his word. A great many people can testify from experience that, when one has an awkward ques- tion to ask, or a disagreeable answer to render, t~ ask the one, or give the other, in the course of pedestrian or any other sort of exercise, is infinitely preferable to a cold-blooded interview face to face, and eye to eye. By this time, Mor- ton began to feel that he was in rather an awk- ward position. After all, what excuse could he give, what right did he have, to be making these inquiries about Miss Tresham? If Father Mar- tin chose to "take him up" sharply, what could he say in self-defence? He had literally no ex- cuse to offer, literally no right to show. Yet he was in for it now; and he cleared his throat, and dashed at the heart of his subject without any preliminary. "I hope you will not be surprised by what I am about to say," he began. "I believe you know Miss Tresham quite well. Are you aware that she has left Tallahoma suddenly and very mysteriously?" "I was told so yesterday," answered the priest, gravely. "If it is of Miss Tresham that you have come to speak, Mr. Annesley, you may rest assured that my attention is at your com- "Your attention I" said Annesley. They had not taken more than half a dozen steps; but he stopped short, and turned round upon the other. "Your attention I" he repeated. Excuse me; but is nothing el~e at icy com- mand? le it-is it possible you do not know where she is?" "Until yesterday evening, I was not even aware that she had left Tallahoma. Of course,' therefore, it is impossible for me to know where she is." "You have not seen her?" "Not since before Christmas." "Yen have not heard from her?" "I have not." Annesley looked helplessly at hhn. lie ilid 9 168 page: 170-171[View Page 170-171] 140 MO1~TON HOtTSE. ~'ATHER MARTIN. 1'71 not know what to do or say next. Me had been so sure that Father Martin had seen Katharine, so sure that he knew where she was, that this unexpected obstacle, this barrier of complete Ignorance) seemed all at once to end every thing. "It is no temporary absence. She Is gone- gone for good "he thought, and, thus thinidug, grew so pale that the priest felt sorry for him, and, extending his hand, touched his arm. "Be frank with me, Mr. Annesley," he said, kindly. "Believe me, you can feel no interest in ~diss Tresham which I do not share. The news 'which I heard yesterday evening," he went on, "cost me a sleepless night. I do not understand the matter, as yet. Will you try to explain?" "There is nothing that can be explained," said Annesley, looking -very downcast. "Miss Tre~ham has left, nobody knows why, and gone, nobody knows where. That is why I came to yot%, sir. Her friends in Tallahoma are very anxious about her; and I thought you must cer- tainly have seen her, would certainly have known where she went. When she left, the impression with Mr. and Mrs. Marks was that she had come to Sanford to see you." "When did she come?" "This day-no, yesterday, two weeks ago- the second of January." "I told her, when I saw her in December, that I wight be here on the Sunday following that date. Unfortunately, I was prevented from coming. Well, Mr. Annesley, has she not re- turned to Talinhoma since?" "No; she has not returned." "Nor written?" "Not a line." "Indeed!" said Father Martin; and he walked along silently for some time, his hands, which still held the breviary, clasped behind his hack, and his eyes absentlyfastened on the scene outspread before ~ "There is one thing," he said, at last. "Elan Miss Tresham's employers throw no light on her absence? Did she give them no explanation of why she went?" "She did not tell them-that is, she did not tell Mrs. Marks-any thing excepting titat she was going, and that she would be back on the following Monday." Annesley spoke very quietly, for he felt in- tensely depressed and despondent; but he was startled by the expression that came over Father Martin's face at his last words. This time, it was he who stopped short in his walk, and looked with wonder-..it might almost have seemed with alarm-at the other. "Are you sure that she said she would be back on Monday?" he asked. "Yes," answered Morton, with some sur- prise. "She certainly told Mrs. Marks that she' would be back on Monday. I was in the house an hour or two after she left it; and this assur- ance was given to me at the time, and repeated since. "That settles the matter, then, Mr. Annes. ley," said the priest, with decision. ~' If Miss Treshain told Mrs. Marks that she would he back on Monday, you may be sure that she in. tended to return on that day-you may be cer- tain that something which she did not' foresee in leaving Tallahoma has alone prevented her doing so." "But-" "But is it possible you can know Miss Tresh- am, and doubt this?" interrupted the other, looking at him keenly. "I have trusted, I do trust Miss Tiiesham iw~ plicitly," said Morton, simply. "1 me that you are right-I see that this assertion of lmrs amply proves that in leaving Tallahoma she left it with the intention of returning. E~i4#~ntly,. however, she changed that intention,!' "Evidently ~he was made to change it." "You mean-" "Stop a moment, Mr. Annesley, before I tell you what I mean. I have answered several of your questions. I shall ask you now to answer one of mine., Suppose we sit down? After all, I believe it is more convenient to be seated when a conversation like this is going on." lie did not~wait forAnnesley to accede to his proposal, but, taking the liberty which social custom grants an older' man, sat down on a bench placed at the end of.the trellir, and mo- tioned the other to a place beslae him. Morton instantly obeyed. The awkwardness of the first meeting was entirely worn off by this time, and his eager- ness had reached such a point that he would probably have stood on his head if Father Mar- tin had made that a condition for gratifying this eagerness. Their position would have en- raptured an artist. The trellis behind them broke the direct beams of the sun without exact- ly shading them, while the beautiful scene, with its purple hills and distant forests, Its shifting shadows and winsome brightness, lay like a pie. ture at their feet. Yet how little either of them heeded it! For all the thoughts they gavel it might have been as desolate as Sahara or bleak as Siberia! And, in the face of this, ~ turn round churlishly and cry out upon Natu: that she does not sympathize with us - tha in our moments of brightness, she sometime, weeps; and, in our mourning, often smiles! "Yen know Miss Tresham quite well, 11 lieve," said the priest, after a momentary paus "Will you tell me (I do not ask the questic without a reason) if you know the history of h life?' "I she is know nothing of her life, excepting th~ a West-indian by birth, and that sh lived 'in England as a governess," Anncsley at swerved. "Have you ever heard her speak of Mr. Si John?" Morton hesitated a moment before replying. "I have never heard her speak of Mr. SI John," he said, at length, "but I met her one when-when she was with him. Circumstance made it necessary that she should introduce us know nothing more than that." "You never asked any thing more?" "If I had felt disposed to do so-which I dk not-whom could I have asked?" "Miss Treshamn herself perhaps." The young man colored suddenly and deeply. "You don't know me, sir," he said. "I can't be offended, therefore, that you should think might have been guilty of such an impertinence. But you do know Miss Tresham. You know whether she is the sort of woman with whom one would be likely to take a liberty." The priest smiled with a genial expression that lit up pleasantly his strong Irish face. "Your punctilio does you no discredit, Mr. Annesley," he said, "but I assure you I made the inquiry without supposing for a moment that you had been guilty of an impertinence, or that Miss Tresham would permit a liberty. I may in- terpret your answer, then, to mean that you are in complete ignorance of every thing about Mr. St. John save the mere fact of his existence." "I could scarcely be ignorant of that," said Annesley, smiling in turn, "since I have been reminded of it very recently. Do you know that he is in Sanford?" "I had~a visit from him yesterday." "And does he know nothing of Miss Tresh- am?" "What he knows,, Mr. Annesley, I am unable to say. What he told me I violate no confidence in telling you. He came to me, as you have done, for information about Miss Tresham." ~s "And you told him.-.?" re "That' I had none to give him. I did not re ask Mr. St. John to walk in the garden," he .t, added, significantly, "and our interview was ~s quite brief-confined merely to a business-like ,interchange of~question and answer." e- There was a silence after this. e. Morton hesitated what to say next, and per. a haps the priest hesitated also. Frankly as they ~r had spoken, willing as they were to meet each other's advances, there was a barrier of reserve it still between them-a barrier raised by the igno- e ranee of the one and the knowledge of the other. i- It was Annesley who, with characteristic impetuosity, dashed straight at this. t "Sir," he said, "there is a great difference between us. I know nothing about Miss Tresh- am's life, and you probably know every thing. Under these circumstances, I should like to ask e one question, and I should be glad If you would s answer it." "I mu sure you will ask nothing that I ought not to answer, Mr. Annesley." "No, I hope not. My question is simply I this Does your knowledge give you any real advantage over my ignorance? Does it enable you to form an idea why Miss Treshara did zwt return to Tallahoma, and where she has gone?" Father Martin thought a moment. The young man had certainly gone straight to the only im- portant point - the only thing that made the difference between them of any moment. After a while he answered: "No, Mr. Annesley, I cannot say that my knowledge enables me to form any clear idea why Miss Tresham did not return to Tallahoma, and it assuredly does not tell me where she has gone. Thus far we stand en equal ground. Of course, I have certain suspicions - but so, I fancy, have you. Can you tell me whether Mr. St. John has been in Tallahoma during the whole of these two weeks?" "He has not left the town for a day until yesterday." "The next thing," said Father Martin, rising to his feet, "is to inquire what Miss Tresham did while she was in Sanford. Fortunately, we have the means of information near at hand. When I arrived here, Mrs. Malone told me that she had been to inquire for me. I asked no ques- tions, and the good woman went into no details. If you will come with me, we will ask some ques- tions now." Annesley rose with alacrity to follow, him. They left their sheltered nook and turned Into 170 MORTON HOUSE page: 172-173[View Page 172-173] 172 MORTON HOUSE. LIFE AND DEATH. 173 a walk that led directly to the house; but, before they had gone a dozen yards, they saw a servant opening the gate and advancing with evident haste toward them. "A messenger for me, no doubt," said the priest, resignedly. "The faithful have heard of my arrival." "A messenger who seems to have travelled long and hard," said Annesley. "He is splashed with mud from his hat to his shoes. The roads are not so 'bad either." "Toward the southwest they are. There have been heavy rains between Hartsburg and this place lately, as I found yesterday.-Well, my man, whom are you in search of 1"' he said, turning to the servant. "The priest, if you please, sir," answered the boy, who had reached the two gentlemen by this time and taken off his cap. As he did so, Morton started. To his surprise he recognized a(well.known Tallahoma face-no less a person- age than Mr. Warwick's body-servant. "What, Cyrus!" he exclaimed. "Why, if it ain't Mr. Annesley!" said Cyrus, starting in turn, and staring open-mouthed at the young man. U What are you doing here?" Annesley asked, immediately. "Where is Mr. War- wick?" "Mass John's in Hartsburg, sir," answered Cyrus. "I've just come from there. I rode all night, sir, over awful roads. I never saw sich holes in all my life. You could almost a-put Rattler and me both in one of 'em, and-" ~' What on earth were you riding all night for? ~ "It was Mass John's orders, sir," said Cyrus, in an important tone. "He told me to git here as fast as I could and give this note "-he pro- duced one frota between the folds of the lining of his cap-" to the Catholic priest in Saxford. If he wasn't here-" "He is here," interrupted Father Martin. "I am the Catholic priest. If the note is for me,~ give it to me at once, my good boy." Cyrus delivered up the note immediately, and, after one hasty glance at the address, the priest broke the seal and unfolded it. Morton, watch- ing hi~ face as he read, saw that he paled sud- denly and strangely over the very first lines. He did not raise his eyes, however, not even after the young man felt sure that he had finished the letter. In fact, he was silent so long that at last hu~atienee got the better of civility, and Annes~ ley spoke himself. "Pardon me, sir, but is there any news about -about the person of whom we have been talk. ing?" Father Martin started and looked up-with reluctance, it was evident. "Yes, Mr. Annesley," he said, " there is news -very painful news, I am grieved to say. In a few words," he, went on hastily, as he saw the young man change color, "Miss Tresham is very ill, and I am summoned to her. Here is Mr. Warwick's note." He extended the sheet of paper, and Annes- Icy took it without a word. This was what Mr. Warwick said: "EAGLE HOTEL, HART5BUEG, "Six o'ckrck r. ar., Friday, January 16t/~. "Ray. Mr. MARTIN "DEAR Sin: Yesterday afternoon I chanced to reach this place, and, to my surprise, found Miss Tresham (lately teaching in my brother-in- law's family in Tallahoma) lying dangerously ill here. Why or how she came here I do not know, for she had lost consciousness before ~I saw her; but since she is in a violent brain- fever, which leaves scarcely a hope of her life, the doctor urges me to communicate with her friends, and I therefore venture to address your- self. You arc the only person who, in an emer- gency like the present, can possibly be able to say what she would or would not wish to be done-what steps taken, who informed of her condition. May I hope that you will come to Hartsburg at once? I shall send this by a mes- senger who will ride all night. "Very respectfully, "JOHN WARwIcK." "P. 5.-i have just seen the doctor, who thinks there is no hope. I ought to add, per- haps, that I should have written to you yester- day, if I had thought of it, J3ut, in running over the list of Miss Tresham's friends, your name only suggested itself to me a few minutes ago. Once more, I hope you will lose no time in coming." That was all. The letter-so cold, so reti- cent, so full of bare details, so utterly chilling to every thought of hope-fell from Morton's hand unheeded. Dying 1 That wss the only sound he heard; the only thought left in his brain. Dying! A black mist seemed creeping over every thing round him; the very air seemed a knell that repeated the word. Dying I Youth, health, strength, all had been hers when he sa~ her last; and now- It was Father Martin's hand that touched him and Father Martin's voice that roused him fron his trance of despair. "There is nothing in that letter which IICC( affect you like this, Mr. Annesley," he said "Mr. Warwick is a fallible man, and so is th4 doctor on whose authority he speaks. Manj doctors have said that there is no hope, anc lived to learn that while there is life there ii always hope. Will you do something to heli me on my way to Hartsburg?" "I will do any thing," said Annesley, speak ing like a man who had been stunned. "Whal do you want?" "I want a horse, if you will be kind enough to go up the street and engage one for mc. I would not trouble you, only my own is broken down from yesterday's journey, and is1quite unequal to such a ride as the one before me." "Engage a horse!" repeated Anuesley, as if the sound of the other's speech had only dimly reached him. Then he suddenly caught a gleam of his usual intelligence. "That is quite unnecessary," he said. "My own horses are at t e hote ,and are quite fresh. .Ifyou will let me drive you " "Do you think that I am not going?" asked the young man, passionately. "If you don't go with me, I shall go alone-so it is all the same. No power short of death could keep me from her. I have stayed too long already. This is the end of all my scruples and doubts," he added, bitterly. "She is dying!" "She is said to be dying," corrected Father Martin, obstinately. "I will believe that she is dying when I see her in the article of death-not before. If you intend to accompany me-or to allow me to accompany you-will you let me suggest that you order your horses at once?'~ "I will be here in ten minutes," Annesley answered. He turned to go, caught sight of Cyrus, who stood by, Inwardly astonished, but outwardly stolid- and paused. "Cyrus," he raid, wistfully, "did you hear anybody say what the chances were for Miss Tresham's recov- ery?" Cyrus looked down at his muddy shoes. In- stinct made even him pause before telling the truth. "I heard the folks in the hotel a-talking, sir," lie said~ "They thought she was mighty bad off." 12 v "Did you hear any of them say that they thought she might get well ?" Cyrus slowly shook his head. "No, sir. i They all said she' was bound to die. I heard Dr. Randolph a-telling Mass John so, just before i I left." "The horses, Mr. Annesley," said Father Martin, anxiously. "I am going," answered Annesley-and this I time he did go. He left the sunny garden and its bright, beautiful prospect, without even so much as a glance; yet it was long before the scene of that awful blow passed from his mem- - ory-long before he forgot one outline of the purple hills, one gleam of the golden sunshine, or one throb of the sickening pain. As he went his I way to the hotel, one cry seemed to ring through his heart-the same bitter cry that had been wrung from him unconsciously so short a time before. "This is the end of all my scruples and doubts. She is dying!" CHAPTER XXXII. LIFE AND DE4TU. "Is she alive?" This was the question which Father Martin and Annesley asked simultaneously, as the ex- hausted horses drew up before the door of the Eagle Hotel, and Mr. Crump came forward to receive them. "She's alive, gentlemen- that's all I can say," the landlord answered, for he knew at onee to whom they alluded. "You're the Catholic priest, I suppose, sir," he went on, addressing Father Martin. "Mr. Warwick told me to be sure and ask you to walk up-stairs as soon as you come. - The other gentlemau-" He stopped, and looked at Annesley. His man- ner said that there had been no directions about the other gentleman. "I'll walk up-stairs also," said Anneslcy springing to the ground, and throwing his reins to a boy standing near. As he was turning away, he suddenly recollected that he had driven his horses very hard, and he paused to say, "Attend to these animals very carefully, if you please. Rub them down well, and let them stand half an hour before feeding them. My servant will be on in the course of an hour or two." Then, to the landlord, "Now show us tba way up- stairs." t' page: 174-175[View Page 174-175] 1~i4 MORTON HOUSE. LIFE AND DEATH~ 175 yor hai gui lici ani 'str thi ale tar fac wh us rit~ off ger sta lefi lad My del lad sta * On~ up~ ale: Bel pea ad~ she su~ of ser she pre ho~ Le~ 5cr up citl too fier an~ gee wh the Is 1 Mr. Crump was quite impressed by the ter," said Morton, hurriedly.-" Where is War. ang man's manner. From various causes, he wick, Miss Maggie?" i lately conceived the idea that it was a dis- "In his own room, I think. He was in Miss ised princess who had been lying ill at his Tresham's room a little while ago; but he went ase for more than a week, and this was only out with the doctor. Mr. Crump will show you ther proof of the correctness of that opinion, the way. Mr. Warwick is very anxious to see e ills tniosa person after another bad memod the pr-that is, Mr. Martin." angel interested in her welfare; and now "Walk this way, if you please, sir," said Mr. a handsome young gentleman, whose horses Crump; and Father Martin followed him down ne showed that he was a person of impor- the passage. tee, sprung to the ground, and, with a pale Morton, however, stood his ground. Despite e and a manner which agitation robbed some. his inquiry, he had not come to see Warwick, at of its usual courtesy, said, quickly, "Show but to see Katharine, and he thought that his tht way upstairss" best means of compassing the latter point 'was "Certainly, sir," said Mr. Crump, with alac- through Miss Lester. r. Then, to a servant standing near, "Take "Why don't you go too?" asked she, in those valises, and bring them in.-This way, her straightforward fashion. "If you want to ttlemen." hear about Miss Tresham, Mr. Warwick can tell He led the way into the house and up the you a great deal more than I can. He knows ircase-talking, as he went. "The doctor every thing that the doctor says, while, for my only a little while ago, air. They think the part, I am at dagger's-drawing with him. I y won't live through the night, I believe, told him to his face that he wasn't worth calling wife hardly leaves her at all, and Mrs. Ran- a doctor if he could not save her life, and he ph set up night before last. Last night, two told me that I did not know what I was talking lea arrived at the house, and they've been about. So you see I am not the person to come ying here all day to help about nursing her, to for Dr. Randolph's opinion." of them is Miss " "It is not~Dr. Randolph's opinion I want," The opening and shutting of a door on the said Annesley. "I have heard quite enough of er floor, and the rustling of a woman's skirts that. I want to see Miss Tresham, Miss Maggie; ng the passage, stopped his flow of words, and I hope you will let me do it." bre anybody could speak, Miss Lester ap. "You want to see Miss Tresham?" repeated red at the head of the stairs, and faced the Miss Lester, in amazement. "Why, Mr. Annes. ranging party. Icy, are you crazy? Don't you know she is so "Has the priest come yet, Mr. Crump?" ill that she would not know her own mother, if asked, in her quick, clear tones. Then she her mother came? And yet you talk of seeing Idenly caught sight of Morton in the rear her! Of course, you can't see her; nobody can, Mr, Crump's portly figure, and smothered a except the people who are nursing her." cam. "Goodness! Is it Mr. Annesley?" "But, Miss Maggie-" cried. * "You really can't, Mr. Annesley; and that is "Yes, it is I, Miss Maggie," said Morton, the end of the matter." saing forward. "How is she? Pray tell me "Not quite the end, I hope," said Annesley. v she is!" "If you are determined against me, I must ask "She's as rn as she can be," answered Miss the doctor, He won't refuse, I am sure." ~ter, with a little catch in her voice that "He would refuse if you were her own broth- nd~I almost like a sob. "But I don't give er," returned Miss Lester. "I-I never heard hope, Mr Annesley; and I don't mean to, such a thing in all my life! If it wasn't yo~j ~er, I know how doctors talk; I have heard Mr. Annesley, I really think I should be veil many of them," said the young lady, almost angry. What possible right have you to see cely. "Dr. Randolph isn't a bit better than Miss Tresham?" she demanded, in a tone that of the rest. No hope, indeed! What's th~ provoked Annesley to a retort. ul of being 'a doctor, if he can't cure people "As much right as John Warwick, I sup- en they've got brain-fever as well as when pose," he said. "He has been admitted without y ye got chills. Oh, me, if I was a doctor! any difficulty, I believe." that the priest, Mr. Annesley?" "There is a great difference between you and "This is the priest.-Mr. Martin, Miss Les- Mr. Warwick," said Xiss Lester, severely. "It I seems to me you might see it. He is an old man" (the speaker was eighteen), "quite old enough to be Miss Tresham's father; and, be- sides, he found her, and sent away her doctor, and got another one, and all that sort of thing. She would be dead by this time, if it had not boon thr Mr. Wmwink. lInt yun.-.ik. Aiinee. ley, I am astonished at you! If Miss Tresham had been ill at home in a private house? you would never have dreamed of making such a re- quest as this." "You are wrong; you do me great injus- tice;" said Morton, quickly. "I would have made it all the same, under any circumstances. Miss Lester, you won't refuse me-I am sure you won't-if you only stop and consider a minute." "I might consider a hundred minutes, Mr. Annesrey, and nothing would come of it. Be- sides, I am not the sick-room authority. Oh, dear, no! There is Mrs. Randolph. You would have to get her permission after you had mine." "Please go and ask her to come here, then. Any thing is better than wasting time like this." Even at that hour, feminine vanity was not quite extinguished in the youthful feminine breast. Miss Lester shot a keen little shaft out of her brown eyes, and made a smart little courtesy. "Thank you for such a nice compli- meat, Mr Annesley," she said, and, having said it, hurried away. In a few minutes Mrs. Randolph came out of the sick-room, and walked up to the young man. Strange to say, he found her much more dis- posed than Miss Lester had been to listen kindly to his petition. She read his whole story so plainly, and she had so entirely given up all hope of Katharine's life, that the grim shadow of propriety almost ceased to terrify her, almost seemed to recede into nothingness, by the side of those two phantom-shapes-Life and Death- which had met in their last awful duel. She listened, softened, and, even while she expostu- lated, seemed half inclined to yield. "What good would it do?" she asked. "Miss Tresham is quite unconscious. You could not rouse her; you could not speak to her; you could only look at her." "That would be enough," said Morton, im- ploringly. "Only let me look at her-that is all I ask. Dear madam, don't refuse me! Think -only think-that, if you do, I may never see her again in ~ His tone of unconscious pathos brought tears to Mrs. Randolph's eyes. She stopped, thought a moment, hesitated, and seemed about to yield, when a step sounded on the stairs. "There is my husband now," said she, with an expression of relief~ "I am so glad I It is quite impossible for me to decide such a matter as this; and he will be able to say exactly what is right to do. I am so glad he is cotning I" she repeated, as the staircase creaked loudly under the weight of her lord, and the top, of his tall hat came in sight round the curve. For his part, the doctor was quite astonished when he looked up and saw his wife in close con. sultation with a handsome young stranger at the head of the stairs. He had left her in chief charge of his patient; and, knowing that she was the most vigilant of nurses, he found it hard to account for this seeming forgetfulness of duty. "What the deuce-" he began asking himself, when he caught a better view of the stranger, and recognized Mr. Annesley, of Lagrange. He knew him slightly, and they were soon shaking hands. Then the petition was referred to the doctor by the doctor's wife. "Mr. Annesley is just from Tallahoma, from Miss Tresham's friends," said this diplomatic woman. "He is very anxious to see Miss Tresh- am, and-and I hardly knew what to say to him. You have come just in time to take the responsi- bility off my hands. You can tell him all about her." "There is only one thing I want to be told," said Annesley, a little brusquely, "that is, whether or not I can see Miss Tresham. Surely there is no harm in it," said he, addressing Mrs. Randolph. "Surely it can't injure her," he said, addressing the doctor. Then throwing all his eloquence into an appeal to both, "Only a few minutes! I am not unreasonable, and I won't ask any thing more." "It is neither of my wife nor of myself that you should ask that much, Mr. Annesley," said the doctor, gravely. "Miss Tresham was placed under my care by Mr. Warwick. It is to Mr. Warwick, therefore, that you must apply for permission to see her. I can only say as a med- ical man whether or not such a visit would injure her." "And may I ask what you do say?" "~fhat the visits of a hundred people could have no possible ill effect upon her now. Her disease has today passed from violent delirium to its second and more dangerous stage-that of stupor, which is deepening gradually into the insensibility that precedes death." Annesley shrank. Alas! who does not shrink ? page: 176-177[View Page 176-177] 176 MORTOI~ wheu that terrible word is spoken with the cold, calm deliberation of scientific certainty in regard to some life to save which we would freely tell out our blood, drop by drop-for which we would give the very throbs of our heart, the very hours that come to us filled to the brim with the keen, fresh elixir of vitality, the very powers of health, and strength, and possible enjoyment, that mock us so bitterly at such a time! "Doctor," said he, huskily, "is there no hope?" Other people had asked the doctor this ques- tion, and to each of them he had given that decided answer which had so roused' Miss Les- ter's scorn. In the name of every symptom of the ease, of every teaching of experience, of every data of medical knowledge, he had re- plied, "No hope." Now, for the first time, he hesitated. Now, for the first time, he felt inclined to rack his brain for something of a temporizing, it might even be of a consoling nature, felt inclined to evade the direct answer, as he often evaded it when people came to him with the extreme of love and anguish quivering in their voices to ask this same question, "Doctor, is there no hope?" "I might answer that, while there is life, there is always hope, Mr. Annesley," he said, "but thpt is a mere generality which means nothing. If you want my honest opinion of this particular case, I can give it to you. Every symptom up to this point has been unfavorable. The disease has not yielded an inch to the reme- dies employed, but seems to be advancing stead- ily to a fatal termination. $o far I have not seen a single sign which encourages me to hope that the patient may rally. Yet, as a medical man, I cannot say that such rallying would be impossi- ble. In the first place, recoveries take place more frequently from meningitis occurring as an attendant upon other diseases than when the com- plaint is original. Miss Tresham's disorder i4 secondary meningitis. That, therefore, is our first ground for hope-slender though it be. In the second place, the disease has three stages: vio- lent exdlteinent, first, when it can almost always be easily arrested; stupor next, when the chances of safety are very much diminished; and, lastly, coma, or profound unconsciousness, which pre- cedes 'and gradually sinks into death. Recovery from thislast state is so unusual that it' is hardly possible to count upon it. Nevertheless, in rare instances, it does occur-or rather the tottil prostration which sometimes follows the cure of violent inflammation, simulates the symptoms HOUSEE. that mark the closing stage of the worst cases. This is our second ground for hope. Slight as it is, I shall act upon it. I shall resort to stimu- lants. If the symptoms are organic, they can do no harm, for death must necessarily take place; if merely functional, they may be the means of saving her life." "And if your worst fears are realized-if the last stage is really here?" "In that ease to-night decides every thing- death must ensue before morning." "And if she lives through the night?" "Let us wait until the night is past, before we ask that question," said the doctor, almost solemnly. "Now I must go. If you wish to see my patient, Mr. Annesley, 17 can only refer you to Mr. Warwick." He made a short little bow and went away, followed by his wife. As for Annesley, he stood still and watched' them with a feeling of blank hopelessness impossible to describe. To-night! He had said that to-night would decide every thing! Involuntarily the young man looked out of a window near which he stood, and shivered. The shades of. evening were falling. The sun was gone, the gray mantle of twilight was en- wrapping every thing, a lovely crescent moon was cradled softly over the fringing western clouds, while faint and more faint the burning glow of sunset was fading from the sky. To- night! And night was coming-night was here! It could not be, he cried out, fiercely yet vainly -ah, how vainly! The darkness seemed like some horrible monster advancing with slow, stealthy steps to do its horrible work; to seize its passive victim from those strong arms of helpless, outstretched agony; to bear away the grace, the beauty, the glory of life, under its sombre pall, and leave only a cold white shadow of mortality to meet the gaze of the suu when he came once more in pomp and splendor from his royal couch. 0 fall of night 1 0 long hours of darkness! How terrible ye are to watchers like these, to those who cry, "If she can but live through to-night!" The awful death of light.- awful sometimes to the shrinking soi4 when there is no cause like this to dread it-seems at such times invested with a horror nil its own. When morning comes-nh, morning! Will she ever see it?" "Can you show me Mr. Warwick's room?" said Annesley to a servant passing by. "Number thirteen-right down the passage, sir," answered the man, hastily. "You' can't miss the door." "'I To number thirteen, right down the passage, Annesley accordingly took his way, and soon round that, indeed, it would have been impos- sible for him to miss the door, especially as it was standing open and Father Martin was in the act of coming out. "It is really impossible for me to advise you, Mr. Warwick," he was saying. "You must act according to your own judgment in the mat- ter." "That is harder than you think," Mr. War- wick replied. And just then Annesley appeared. Father Martin, who was looking very pale and grave, nodded to the young man, and walked slowly away, while Mr. Warwick extended his hand cordially. "I am glad to see you, Morton," he saW. "I heard that you were in the house, and I was just coming in search of you. I suppose you have seen Randolph, and there iS nothing for me to tell you." "I saw him a moment ago," Morton answered. "He has spoken very plainly. He says that every thing depends on to-night, and that the chances are all against life." "I suppose you have heard how I found her?" "No, not yet." The lawyer told him in a few brief words, adding: "It is quite useless to make wishes with regard to what is past; but, if I had reached here a day earlier, all this might have been spared. The treatment of an infamous quack brought on the disease of which she is dying; and, if Randolph had seen her twelve-nay, six' -hours earlier-but this is folly. You heard the news in Saxford, the priest tells me." "I was with him when he received your note. I had gone there to try and find out something about her. I "-he paused involuntarily. Men do not readily speak to each other with regard to matters of sentiment or feeling, do not easily con- quer the strong reluctance to show the soft ker- nel of their natures, instead of putting forward the harder rind which characterizes them in every degree and condition of life. Even when cir- cumstances force them t~ this expression, they give it with a hesitation which shows how much it goes against the grain. It certainly went against the grain with Morton now. According to his own desire, he would not have made a con- fidant of anybody; but to make a conzjdant of John Warwick-the irony of events could not go any farther, he thought. Still, he must speak LIFE AN *D DEATH. 177 plainly, if he wished to see Katharine: and plainly, therefore, he proeceiled to speak-. "Perhaps I don't need to tell you, Mr. War- wick, that I have loved Miss Tresham for a long time," he said. "That love is my excuse for coming here, and for asking your permission to see her-since chance and your own kindness have placed her under your care. I can scarcely hope to interest you by speaking of my own feel- ings," he went on hastily-" but her death would be to me a terrible grief." "I am sure of it," ~aid the lawyer, with kind gravity. "You are right in conjecturing that 1 was aware of your love for Miss Treshana," he went on; "I have observed it, and I can under- stand that it brought you here, and that it makes you anxious to see her, now that you are here. But, of course, you have been told that she is insensible. It seems to me it would be more painful than gratifying to you to see her in that state." "All I ask is to see her," said Morton. "The doctor says it could do no harm-but he referred mc to you for permission." "To me! I-stop a minute-let me think,~~ said Mr. Warwick, in reply. He rose and walked to the window, where he stood gazing, as Annes- icy had done, on the gathering twilight and fall- ing night. Objects were indistinct by this time, and his tall, dark figure was little more than an outline to Morton, who sat quite still beside the fire. After a while he came back, and, standing on the hearth, addressed the young man. "I have been thinking of your request," he said, "and I have decided that it is you, not I, who can tell best whether or not I ought to aq.. cede to it. Your own love for Miss Tresham is no reason why you should be allowed to see her. The only thing that would give you that right would be her love for you; and, consequently, her assumed consent. Understand this, and say yourself whether or not you shall see her." Morton was startled. "Mr. Warwick, you place me in a hard position," he said. "The decision rests with yourself," repeated Mr. Warwick; and, having said this, he turned and went back to the window. Annesley sat and thought. For a short time he was quite puzzled, but at length he began to understand Mr. Warwick's meaning, and to ap- preciate the bearing of the question which had been thus unexpectedly thrust upon hire, It was a strange position, certainly. To decide, at the bidding of another man, whether th~ woman he loved, loved him in return; to count 'ovei~ her page: 178-179[View Page 178-179] LIFE AND DEATH. 179 178 MORTON HOUSE. words, and looks, and intangible shades of tone, and to reckon if all these proofs went for or against his cause. At any other time, or for any other reason, nobody would have been quicker than Morton to call himself a miserable puppy for doing such a thing as this; but now it was imperative to arrive at some conclusion-it was the only hope, the only condition, of seeing her. Honestly, then, and with a strange, wistful lean- ing toward his own side, as far removed from vanity as one thing could possibly be removed from another, he went over the ground, faith- fully summed up all the evidence, and, at last made his decision. Then he rose and crossed the floor to Mr. Warwick, who had waited pa- tiently at the window. "Mr. Warwick, I think you will agree with me that this is not a time for false delicacy," he said, with quiet simplicity. "You have put me on my honor to speak the truth: forgive me if what I believe to be the truth sounds like van. ity or unpardonable presumption. I have asked myself honestly if I think Miss Tresham would marry me, and, honestly also, I have answered, 'I think she would."~ "That is enough," said Mr. Warwick, turn- ing, and, a good deal to Morton's surprise, offer- ing his hand. "Yes, I agree with you that this is no time for false delicacy. Your candor does you more credit than any mock modesty would. 1 left the question to yourself; but, since you have expressed your opinion, I will tell you that it is mine also. Miss Tresham is not a woman to wear her heart on her sleeve; but, I think if you had asked her to marry you, she would have said 'yes.' You have my best wishes that she may say it yet," ho added, smiling gravely. "Now we will go to her room." "You will find Miss Vernon here," Mr. War- wick went on, as they walked down the passage together. "She and Miss Lester arrived at the hotel yesterday, and, finding Miss Tresham ill, they remained. They are both very kind; and Miss Vernon, in particular, has proved herself a most excellent and capable nurse. This is the room." He stopped Annesley, who was passing on, and tapped lightly at the door before which he paused. It was opened by Mrs. Randolph, who at once admitted 14m, She smiled when she saw Morton, but said nothing; and, leaving them to close the door, went back softly to the bed. Mr. Warwick passed in first, and Annesley followed. There was nothing repulsive, nothing suggestive of pain, or struggle, or death, in the' scene before him. On the contrary, every thing was very quiet and peaceful. A sick-room, un- doubtedly, but hardly a death-chamber, one would have thought, looking at the exquisite neatness of all the arrangements, at the white bed with its recumbent figure, at the shaded light, the soft, pretty glow of the fire, the figures sitting or standing here and there. Every thing was very subdued. If they had spoken in tones of thun- der, they could not have roused that motionless sleeper, or raised those heavy lids; but, none the less, an unconscious impulse made them tread softly and speak low. Around tl~ bed two or three were grouped. Father Martin, with his hands clasped behind his back, stood just before Annesley, as the latter approached. When a touch made him draw aside, the young man looked down on the face he had come to see. A motionless face, out of which the burning fever flush had faded long since, a face that was almost as white as the pillows on which it rested, that was sunken in the lines a little, and bore on its serene features something of a shade of the awful change that was to come. To-night! Did they say she would die to-night? Morton could realize it, now that he had seen her. Fair, and gentle, and robbed of all terror, as that quiet sleep looked, it was not so fair and gentle but that it shoWed the deadly meaning under- neath. It was too still, it was too full of unchan- ging repose. The longer he looked, the more he felt inclined to doubt whether, indeed, it was life or death on which he gazed. At last he could look no longer. With a gasp he raised his eyes, and met the gaze of another pair of eyes on the opposite side of the bed-eyes whose beauty he had known long~ but whose tenderness he never appreciated until he saw them now shining like stars upon him from Irene Vernon's face. "How is her pulse?" he heard Mr. Warwick ask the doctor, who came forward and bent over the patient. "Feeble and thread-like - apparently fail. ing," was the reply. "There is nothing for it but to push the stimulants. I have very little hope in them; but, at least, they can do no harm; while, as it is, she is sinking rapidly." They went oii speaking, but Annesley moved away. This was so different from any thing he had anticipated, that he was obliged to go to the other side of the room to steady himself. They had all warned him that it would be so, but, nevertheless, he had fancied something very dif. ferent-something like a scene in a book, some- thing that would sweeten all the rest of life with a taste of love's divine elixir. But this! To see her pass from him like this, lapsing from earth's sleep to the deeper sleep of death, without one gleam of consciousness, one parting glance, one farewell word-surely, this was hard! He had set aside all the obstacles, and traversed all the space that divided them; he had won his point, and was here in the same room with her; yet what were those other barriers to that which sep- arated them now? Ah, love can do wonders! it can break through prison-bolts, it can climb mountains, it can cross oceans; but it has never yet been able to send one single tone into the ear that death has dulled, to win one single glance from the eyes that death has closed. After a while Miss Vernon came up to him, and held out her hand. "Don't despair, Mr. An- nesley 1 She is very, very ill; but I think the doctor has not quite given up hope," she said, gently. "She is dying!" answered Morton. He ap- preciated it now, and the realization of the in- evitable brought a sort of stunned quietude with it. "I am not sure of that," said Miss Vernon, quickly. "I have seen a great deal of sickness in my life, and seen people who were desperately -so desperately-ill, sometimes recover, that I cannot despair of anybody. Besides-you may be surprised to hear this, Mr. Annesley-but Miss Tresham does not look to me like a dying person. And, what is more, Mrs. Randolph- whose experience is, of course, greater than mine -says the same thing." "~on't try to give me hope, Miss Vernon," he said, with a faint smile. "Think how terri- ble it will be to-morrow." "But you need some hope. I see that you have given up to despair." "I was madly full of hope until I saw her. After that, I should be blind not to perceive that the doctor is right - that there is no hope." He turned away, and, leaving her abruptly, went to a window near at hand. The solemn curtain of night met his gaze-a deep, dark shadow lay over all things, shadow hardly lighted by the faint, tender radiance of the young moon, or the steady glory of a myriad stars. It had come, it was here, that fateful time of darkness in which Life and Death would fight their last battle! rresently Miss Lester accosted him. "Mr. Annesley, you have had nothing to eat. Come -with me, and I will take you down-stairs and ask Mrs. Crump to give you so~ne hot coffee and supper all to yourself~" "Thank you, Miss Maggie, I am not hungry," he answered. But, when she pressed the matter, he went down-careless what he did, or what be. came of him. He drank the coffee, and listened to Mrs. Crump's account of all that had hap. pened, as in a dream. After some time, he found himself back up-stairs-in hi~ own room, this time-pacing to and fro, or sitting motion- less before the fire, waiting, listening, strung to the highcstpitch of nervous anxiety-for they had promised to call him whenever "any change" should come. So the long hours passed, midnight came, and it was at midnight that the doctor had said the flickering taper would be most likely to go out. In the sick-room all was quiet. The nurse nodded on one side of the fire, and Miss Lester dozed on the other: the doctor had gone into Mr. War- wick's room to lie down, leaving strict directions for the administering of the stimulants, and strict orders that he was to be called at the least sign of change. Mrs. Randolph was sleeping lightly in a deep arm-chair, while Irene Vernon, at the bed, kept vigilant guard over the sick girl. Exactly at midnight, she gave another dose of the stimu- lant, then remembering what the doctor had said, she laid her finger on the pulse. It crept beneath her touch like a thin, feeble thread, but stiil she started, and motioned Mr. Warwick, who was standing near, to bend down. "Feel it," she said. "I may be deceived, but it seems to me it is stronger and fuller than when I felt it last." She took away her linger, and he laid his own in its place. Her eyes were on him, and she saw that he too started~ "'It is stronger and fuller," he said. "There is a change of some sort. I must go and call Randolph." He left the room, and was passing down the passage, when a door on the ri~ht opened, and Annesley appeared. "Well," he said, quickly, "has it come?" "There is no change for the worse," answered Mr. Warwick. "I ani only going to wake Ran- dolph. See for yourself, if you like," he added, as Morton looked at him a little doubtfully. In two minutes, the doctor stood in the room, and felt the pulse-his facewatched by the others with breathless anxiety. "There is a little change," he said, guard. page: 180-181[View Page 180-181] MORTON HOUSE. T MRS. GORDON'S SUSPICION. edly; "but it may be only a fluctuation of the disease-a flicker of the taper. We shall soon see. Press the stimulants, Miss Vernon-shorten the time between the doses. A few more hours will end all suspense." The hours crept on-slowly, heavily, every minute a battle-ground with Death, who sullenly retreated step by step; not vanquished, only kept at bay. It was, a night that nobody who was present ever forgot, for it is seldom, indeed, that the issue of this terrible conflict hangs on such a trembling balance, that one single error of judg- ment, one single fault of skill, would throw the advantage so irretrievably into the hands of an adversary who never relents. For hours it was impossible to tell whether Life or Death was win- ning the victory.-the variations being so slight, the fluctuations so many. Nobody dared press the doetorwith questions, yet everybody felt what a neck-and-neck race he was running, as he sat by the bed, and scarcely once took his finger from that slender, feeble pulse, steadily pursuing the same treatment which he had so hopelessly be- gun, and stimulating by every possible means the sinking system. Not once during all those hours did the set, anxious expression of his face relax, or his lips utter a word of hope. lie worked with unflagging energy; but whether or not he found any signs of encouragement, no one could tell. When the first light of the cold, gray dawn began to steal into the room, the issue of the battle was still doubtful-the victory was still to be won. Annesley, who had been in and out of the room a dozen times since he had met Mr. War- wick at midnight, was walking up and down the passage (on which a soft cloth, to deaden all sound of foot-steps, had been laid), as this chill dawn began to break. Full as he~was of other thoughts, he stood still to watch it. A less en- livening oecup~tion could hardly be imagined, especially on a winter morning, wh~n mind and body are alike depressed by long watching at a sick-bed. In summer' there is something bright and rejoicing hi the birth of color, the songs of birds, ~xe dewy freshness of awaking Nature; but a winterday dawn is one of the most dreary things in existence. ~How stealthily the gray light comes I How ghost-like the white mist looks creeping aleng the ground, or wreathing into phantom.shapes among the bare, black boughs of trees! How barren and bereft of all beauty the earth seems I .Annesley looked around him drearily, then turned and began his prome- tiade again. Night itself was 'better than this, he thought. Up and down he walked with the day. light growing clearer and clearer around him, all unheeded, or, if noticed, only a discordance. The cast began to glow into royal beauty, fling- ing out her crimson and golden banners, with a gorgeous affluence that made the glories of sunset pale into insignificance. At last, with one magnificent bound, the sun uprose, and sent his long lines of level gold flashing across the earth. One of them darted into the passage where An- nesley paced, and ~treamcd on Katharine's door, like the touch of a burning finger. At that very moment, the door opened, and Irene Vernon came out-the sunshine encircled her like a halo of luminous glory, as Annesley hurried forward to meet her. "You want me?" he asked, breathlessly. ~ she answered eagerly, with a smile -was it the smile or the sunshine that dazzled him so ?-" 1 want you. The doctor has spoken at last, and he says- Oh, Mr. Annesley, thank God-that we may hope." CEIAPTER XXXIII. MRS. GORDON'S SUSPICION. A raw days later, Katharine was sufficiently out of danger, and sufficiently in the way of re- covery, for Mr. Warwick to think of returning to Tallahoma. He could not see her, or enter into any explanation with her before he went, for the doctor absolutely forbade any exciting presence or exciting topics; but he made every possible arrangement for her comfort, and finally took his departure, with the assurance that she could not be in better hands. She was still at the hotel, for the doctor peremptorily negative removal; but it was understood that Miss Lester ~would claim her as soon as she was well' enough to move. There had been ~uitc ~ contest between this young lady and Mrs~,ll~ulolph on the sub- ject, but the former had oa~ried the point in her spirited, self-willed way. Mrs. Randolph was forced to resign her claim, and it was settled (as much as any thing could be settled without the consent of the person most ewicerned) that Miss Tresham was to be handed over4o~Miss Lester as soon as ~r, Randolph would give his sanction to such a step. Meanwhil~,&Iiss Lester and Miss Vernon at last took their departure from the hotel, and, much to the relief of the downy trodden Lesters, pare and rn~re, accompli~hed their return to Bellefont-the name of tb~ Z~es~' 180 ter plantation. From this place, however, they made daily incursions on the Eagle Hotel, and sent messengers with game and fruit, and a hun- dred delightful things, at all hours of the day. As for Annesley, he did not trouble himself to go back to Lagrange, but quietly took up his quarters with Godfrey Seymour-who, like the Letters, lived near Hartsburg-aad he, too, left his. compliments and inquiries regularly with Mrs. Crump, for Mrs. Crump's patient. To this patient the sight and sounds of life came back very slowly, giving to life itself a dream-like unreality. It was only by gradual degrees that consciousness returned onee more -that time and the things of time again asserted a claim over the spirit that had stood on the very threshold of eternity. All the weeks of pain, and the days of terrible danger, were blotted into nothingness; so that when Katharine at last opened her eyes to the things around her, she found herself in a new, unintelligible world. Her very arrival in Hartsburg was one of the memories that had gone from her forever, so her complete surprise at the strange faces and strange surroundings about her may be imagined. "Where am I ?-how did I come here ?-who are you all ?" she asked. But, receiving no sat- isfactory reply, she felt too languid and indiffer- ent to press the matter. Day after day she lay in that profound rest which makes the luxury of convalescence, too weak to think, too weak to remember, too weak to conjecture, too weak to do any thing save smile faintly in the doctor's cheerful face, answer Mrs. Randolph's or Mrs. Crump's kind inquiries, and for the remainder of the time lie quite still, watching the sunshine on the window-sill, and Mom Elsie's black fingers as they sent the bright knitting-needles swiftly to and fro. As yet, she had seen no familiar face, heard no familiar name-not even the names of Miss' Lester and Miss Vernon, not even the name of Mr. Warwick. "I'll run no rishs~'~ said the doctor to the latter. "Take yourself oft' to Tallahoma-the sooner the better. Leave her in my hands, and when you come back-we will think about let. ting you see her then. That handsome scamp, young Annesley, had the impudence to come to me with a request of the same sort to-day," he added, smiling. "I assure you, I cut him short. He wanted a message delivered. I. told him I should like to catch myself playing Mercury, or Apollo, or Cupid, or whoever is supposed to be the messenger of love-stricken youths, to a pa- tient just out of a brain-fever." 181 "I need not trouble you with any thing of the kind, then, I suppose? "~ "You may trouble mc with it, as much as you please; but, whether or not I'll trouble Miss Tresham-well, candidly, that is quite another matter." Denied all access to Katharine in this decided manner, Mr. Warwick had no alternative but to take his departure, and leave her, as requested, in the doctor's hands. He did so unwillingly; but time, business engagements, and, above all, the remembrance of Mrs. Gordon's anxiety, pressed him hard. Excepting on a matter of life and death, he absolutely could not remain away from Tallahoma any longer. Feeling this, he made up his mind to go, and, having made up his mind, he was not long in carrying resolve into execution. On Wednesday morning, the twenty-first of January, he drove away from the Eagle Hotel, and, leaving Miss Tresham to be slowly won back to health by comfort and care, turned his face homeward. Wednesday nighthe spentin Saxford. Thurs- day afternoon he was driving along the familiar roads of Lagrange, and fast nearing Tallahoma, when he met a squarely-built, middle-aged man, dressed in a suit of brown homespun, riding a horse (also squarely bulit) of deep-bay color, with whom he stopped to speak. "Well, Shields, how are you?" said he. "Pretty tol'able, I thank you, Mr. Worruck. How do you do yourself, sir?" answered Mr. Shields, with a sort of stolid surprise at the sudden encounter. "I'm glad to see you back. How did you leave the little boy?" "Quite well, and in a fair way to be content- ed, I think. Has not Mrs. Gordon received my letter?" "I don't know, sir. I haven't seen her for nigh about a week. I was at the house Tues. day; but she was onwell, they said, and, as I'd no partic'Iar business, I didn't disturb her." "Any news in Tallahoma?" asked Mr. War. wick, as he saw that the man held his ground and did not pass on as he had expected him to do. "Well," said Mr. Shields, speaking slowly, but with evident unction-" well, yes. There's news in Tallahoma that l'm sorry to tell you, Mr. Worruck. The bank was broke into last night, and robbed of a hundred thousand dollars, they say." "What!" "It's a fact, sir. The excitement about it In town is tremendous. You might a' knocked me page: 182-183[View Page 182-183] down with a feather when I heard the news my- self; and, as for Mr. Marks, he was as white as a sheet when I saw him this morning. They say the first thing he knowed of it was when he went down to the bank as usual, and found the locks all broke, and Hugh Ellis-" "When did it happen 1"' demanded Mr. War- wick. "Last night." ." Is there any suspicion as to who the thief, or thieves, were?" "There's a suspicion of its bein' a man that went to the bank yesterday; but nobody knows who he is, nor where he is neither, for he's not about town to-day." "Well," said Mr. Warwick, "this is bad news, and I must hurry on to town. I will stop and see Mrs. Gordon, however. Good-evening, Shields." He nodded, and Cyrus drove on, leaving Mr. Shields somewhat crestfallen in the middle of the road. He looked regretfully after the vanishing carriage, and then pursued his way in rather a subdued frame of mind. He did not exactly think to himself that it was hard to be cut short in this summary fashion, when he would have liked to talk over all the particulars of the mat- ter, as he had talked them over twenty times before that day; but, none the less, it was hard. Mr. Warwick, as he drove on, did not think of what a real and sensible pleasure he had deprived the poor man. His road led him directly past the gates of Morton House. When he reached those gates, he turned in. Ten minutes later, he was shown by Harrison into Mrs. Gordon's room. She was sitting before the fire, leaning back in a deep armchair with a listless languor that struck Mr. Warwick at once. She did not even turn her head when the door opened, and her abstraction was so deep that he reached her side without at- tracting her attention. "You see I have got back, Mrs. Gordon," he said, quietly. But, quietly a~ he spoke, he could not avoid startling her. She bounded' in her chair at the first tone of his voice; then turned quickly, and tried to rise-did rise half-way, but, through weakness or agitation, sank back again. "You 1" she said, faintly. "I-how you startled me I" "I see I did," he said, with some contrition. "I ought to have known better. I thought you would have heard me come mb "No; I did not." "I am back, you see." "Yes, I see." She rose now, and held out her hand. "I am very glad to see you. And Felix?" "I left Felix very well, and almost contented; no doubt, he is quite contented by this time." Instantly her eyes filled with tears. "Contented!" she repeated. "Away from me! Ab, that is(hard-harder than you think! Yet I am glad to hear it. Sit down, pray, and tell me all-every thing-about him. I am hun- gry, heart-hungry, to hear." Pressed for time, and burning with impa- tience, as he was, he sat down and told the story of his journey, with all those details that every woman loves to hear, and few-very few-men know how to give. She listened to him eagerly -drank in every word, indeed-while he de- scribed the kind people (old friends of his own) with whom he had placed Felix, the child's first despair, and subsequent partial content. After every thing, even to the last parting, had been told, he rose. "I would not leave you so soon," he said, in answer to her glance of pained surprise; "but I heard some news, a few minutes ago, which star- tled me very much, and I feel that I ought to J~asten into town. Besides, even for your sake, I had better go. I may find a letter from Mr. Lloyd. You know it was arranged that he should write to me instead of to yourself." "Yes, I know." As she stood up to give him her hand at parting, the light shone full on her face from a window just opposite, and he saw that it was even more pale and hollow than when he went away. "You look badly," he said. "Have you been ill, or only fretting?" "I have had nothing to do since you left but nurse my fancies," she answered, with a sad smile, "until I am half sick with nervous terror about Felix. I have wished a thousand times that I had not sent hinvfrem me, or that I had gone with him." "It is not too late yet," said he, kindly. "Shall I take you to him? Only say the word, and I will do so. "No," answered she; "don't tempt me. I might go if it were not 'that it would look so cowardly, so much as if I had reason to be afraid-and I have none. Let him come! He can do me no harm-now that Felix is gone." "He could annoy you more than you think." "Let him try!" Something like the fire and glow of combat swept into the face that, an 182 I MORTON HOUSE. 182 MORTON HOUSE. MRS. GORDON'S SUSPICION. 183 instant before, had been so pale and listless. "You say this deliberately? Stop, Mrs. Gor- "At all events, he shall find me here, if he don-think. It is a terrible ~hing to make such chooses to come. Don't talk of this, however, a charge. Do yqu say it deliberately, weighing Talk of yourself, instead. Let me thank you for it well?" having been so kind to me-and so considerate, "I say it deliberately, weighing it well. which even the kindest people often fail to be. Whether or not he is guilty of this crime, I But I must not detain you. I see how impa- believe him capable of it." tient you are to be gone, and I do not wonder- "But alone-unaided!" I have heard of that dreadful robbery. I am so "How do you know that he is alone, smaid. very sorry for Mr. Marks! You will come to see ed? God forgive me if I am judging him un. me again soon-will you not?" justly, but a man like him soon makes friends, "Can you doubt it? I would not go now but and-accomplices." for the news of that robbery of which you speak. Mr. Warwick did not answer. To her sur- I must see poor Marks at once, and try to stir prise, he turned away and looked in the fire. him up to some energetic measures for discover. The peculiarity of his manner, the expression of ing the perpetrators of such an outrage. I can his face, struck her. Involuntarily, she wondered imagine how stunned and hopeless he is. Good. what was the meaning of it-what there was in evening. If there is a letter from Lloyd, I will thit supposition to affect him so evidently and so send it to you at once." strongly? Before she could ask any questions, He shook hands with her, and was starting to however, he turned round again-a question on leave the room, when she called him back. Like his own lip, and by no means one that she had most women, she had still a "last word," and he anticipated. was doomed to hear it. He could not help feel- "Have you spoken of this before, Mrs. Gor- ing a little impatient, as the best-natured people don?" he asked. "Have you mentioned this will feel at such detentions when they are burn- suspicion to any one else?" ing to get away-yet if he had only known "No," she answered, wonderingly. "Even the importance of that word, he would hardly if I had felt disposed to do so, I have seen no have grudged the time necessary to hearing one to whom I could have mentioned it. I heard it. of the robbery from the servants. I see nobody "Mr. Warwick," she said, when he turned else." back, "I am half ashamed to speak-and yet I "Will you do me a favor-a great personal think I ought to. It is better to give a useless favor?" hint, than to withhold one that may he of even "Certainly," she said, wondering still more. the least service. Don't think mefull of nervous "Can you ask me such a thing-you who have fancies, when I ask if you have thought of St. just sacrificed time, business, every thing to John in connection with this robbery?" ~erve me? Tell me what the favor isandbe Mr. Warwick started, and his face changed assured that it is granted beforehand." so much that she noticed and was surprised at "Then do not mention this suspicion to any it. one else. I have a particular reason for asking "No. How could I?" he replied, this," he added, as he saw the astonishment' "Well-I have. I don't mean to accuse legible on her face. "For one thing, if it should him, I simply mean to say that I f.Aougld of Aim be correct, it might reach Mr. St. John's ears, as soon as I heard of it. Was this an instinct, and put him on his guard. Promise me "-he or merely a fancy? I don't pretend to know; spoke earnestly-" that you will not mention the but I think it right to direct your attention to matter again." him as a measure of precaution." "Since you ask it as a personal favor, of "What! is he so worthless a scoundrel that course I will not. Otherwise-but I shall try you should think he would commit an open rob. not to be curious. You must )~ave some very bery like this?" good reason for this, Mr. Warwick." "He has lived by cheating and robbing-one "I have." way or another-all his life. Why not this way "Reason that I am not to hear?" as well as any other? If the chance of success "Not just now, at all events. I have net was good, and the chance of detection not great, time, even if I had inclination (and; frankly9 I I don't believe he would have hesitated a mo- have not inclination at present), to tell you. meut." ' May I rely on your promise?" page: 184-185[View Page 184-185] A 184 MORTON " I hope you may-we Mortons are proud of always keeping our word." " I do rely on it, then. Now, good-by. If I do not leave at once, it will be sunset before I reach Tallahoma." " One word!i I see you think I will never let you go ; but it is only one word more. Have you seen any thing of Morton .Annesley ? His mother is very anxious about him." " Why should shp be anxious ? Surely he is old enough to take care of himself."-' '" He has gone she does not know where, but she strongly suspects that it is in search of--your sister's governess, who left here very abruptly, several weeks ago." " Tell me something about that," said hbe, forgetting even the bank for a moment. " Do you know why she went ?" "I do not know,' but I have -suspected that she was sent by St. John in search of Felix. -I found-after you left-that he came here to see her, and only discovered me accidentally. There is some tie of close connection between them, evidently. I--I absolutely went to ask her to stay here as you advised, and I found him with her. God only knows how grateful I was for having done so. If I had brought her back with me, I might have been weak enough to tell her all that he wishes to know." Mr. Warwick said not a, word. Once again, that incomprehensible expression came over his face which Mrs. Gordon had noticed before. He looked at his boots maeditatively, and, after a while, she went on: "If Felix had not been under your care, I scarcely know how I could have borne the cruel suspense, the cruel doubts and fears Miss Tresha am's absence has: caused me. I am sure she went for this purpose-this alone-and now that I see you before me, my heart begins to fail once more. .Ah, tell me, is he quite safe ?-is there no possibility of her reaching him ~" "You may set your mind at rest on that point," he answered, quietly. " There is not the least danger of his being found by any agent or snesseuger of' Mr. St. John. But I am forgettingmnyself. I must go. Once more, good- by." ., -He shook hands again hastily, and left the room before she had time for another word. A minute or two later, he was driving at a rapid pace down the avenue. HOUSE. CHAPTER ,XXXIV. MR. WARWicK'S INVESTIGATIoN-. Dusu was setting in when Mr. Warwick en- tered Tallahoma, and, as the Marks house was the first on that side of the village, Cyrus had already drawn up to the gate, and his master was about to descend from the carriage, when the latch was lifted and a servant came Out. . " Mass John I " he exclaimed, as, notwith- standing the dim light, he recognized Mr. War- wick. " How are jou, Tom ? Has your master come home yet ?" " No, sir ; master ain't been home since mor- nin', and mistiss is just now sent me to tell him to come home to supper. Thie bank was robbed last night, Mass John, and-" "yTes, I know.-Drive on, Cyrus-to the bank.--Tell your mistress, Tom, that I have conie, and that I have gone on to meet your master." Mr. Warwick was so occupied with his own thoughts that he did not notice any thing, did not even look out of the window, as he drove through the village, or he would have seen his brother-in-law, who was plodding homewai'd, with step'most unlike his usual brisk business-walk, his head declined, and' his eyes fixed vacantly on the pavement. Thus abstracted, the carriage passed him unperceived, and in a few minutes stopped at the bank,. " You need not wait," said Mr. Warwick, alighting hastily. He opened the-gate, and had proceeded half-way up the walk, when, recollect- ing his promise to Mrs. Gordon about the letter, he went back and called to Cyrus, who was driv.- ing off. " Make haste home with the horses," he said, "and, as soon as you have given them to Jacob, go to the post-office, get my letters, and bring-them here as quickly as possible." The front-door of the bank was standing wide open, and, as he was entering the passage, he heard the sound of a key turning in its lock. The next instant, the clerk of the bank, who had just been locking the door of the cashier's room, preparatory to going out, came toward him. It was too dark to see the young man's face ; but, recognizing gis figure an'd movements, the lawyer spoke. " Well, Hugh, I understand you have had a terrible piece of work here," he said, holding out his hand. Poor Hugh Ellis had borne up manfully until I MR. WARWICK'S INVESTIGATION. 185 this moment ; but his courage and power of self control broke down now. Seizing the hand whiichb Mr. Warwick offered, he wrung it hard, made a desperate effort to swallow a huge lump that had been stationary in his throat all day, giving him the constant sensation of choking, failed in his effort, and suddenly burst into tears. " Come, come," said Mr. Warwick, kindly ; " this won't do!i There's no good in crying over a thing, you know. What we must. think of is to ferret out the thieves and get the money hack." " Oh !-if y-ou could-do that, Mr. War- wick !" cried Hugh, sobbingly. "It must be done. So come back into the bank with'me, and let me hear all about the busi- ness. Where's Marks ?" " Just gone home to supper ; but he said he would be back in half an hour," answered Hugh, with animation; for his heart was already light- ened, and his spirits raised, by the confident man- ner of the lawyer. Leading the way back to the cashier's room, he unlocked the door, groped his way to the fireplace-the windows being all shut close, the room was in pitch darkness-felt about on the mantel-piece until he found a box of matches, gnd struck a light. As he turned, with it in his hand, toward Mr. Warwick, who was advan- cing, the latter started in astonishment, exclaim- ing: " Good Heavens ! what, is the matter with you ?'" He might well ask the question, since the face before him was so bruised and disfigured that he could scarcely believe it to be that of Hugh Ellis. The lower part of one cheek was swollen out 4~f all shape, and very much discolored, while the eye on the other side of the face was half closed, . and surrounded with pieces of sticking-plaster, crossed diagonally by narrow strips of black court-plaster to hold them in place-the counte- nance altogether presenting an appearance at once ludicrous and pitiable. " Did you have a fight with the burglars ?" he demanded, his mind leaping to this conclusion be- fo're the young man had time to speak. " Not much of a fight," answered Hugh, in a tone of mortification. "They were two to one, and too much4for me, though-" " But you saw them ? " interrupted the other, eagerly. " Yes, I saw them." " This is better than I bad hoped. Sit down, Hugh, and tell me all about 'it. Don't waste 5' - time, for minutes may be valuable here ; but don't slur over particulars, as it is generally by some trifle that a discovery ist made in cases of this sort. Go on." He took a chair as he spoke, and Hugh, put- ting the candle down upon the counter, followed his example, and proceeded to comply with his request. " I went to bed about eleven o'clock, as usual, Mr. Warwick, and soon went to sleep. How long I was asleep, I don't know - but I'm sure it couldn't have been long-when I was waked, as I thought, by a sudden, sharp noise. I jumped up and listened ; but every thing was perfectly still-so still that I began to think I must have been mistaken about there having been any noise, though I couldn't imagine what else would have waked me so suddenly. Since the money was brought up from Hartsburg, I have been very wakeful-easily disturbed, and constantly starting in my sleep. Nearly every night I have got up two or three times- and struck a light to see that all was right. It was only yesterday that I mentioned to Mr. Marks that I hadn't had a good night's sleep since it came ; and lie laughed, and said he was glad I took such care of it, but that it wouldn't be here to trouble me much longer, for he should send off part of it to-day, and expected to get rid of the rest-all that don't belong here-the first of next week. Well, I sat up in bed, listening with. all my ears, for some time-but not a sound could I hear ; and then I get up and struck a light, and went round to all .the doors and windows, examining them closely. Every thing was right, and I put out the candle and went back to bed. But I could not go to sleep again. Not that I felt uneasy. So far from that, I was disposed to laugh at myself for being startled at nothing. But I was so wide awake, that I felt as if I should not be able to close my eyes for the rest of the night. I lay thinking of all sorts of things for a long time, when suddenly-just as quick as thought, Mr. ~Warwick, and without knowing why-I jumped up in bed, all over in a cold perspiration!i I had not been asleep-I'd swear to that I-for I was thinking at that very minute about Miss Katharine-who, I suppose, you don't know--" "Yes, I know, she has left Tallahoma. Go on. You were thinking of her, and so you are sure you were awake-?" " Yes, sir. As wide aiwake as I am this min, ute. And there hadn't been the slightest noise- and I couldn't tell, to save my life, what was th~e matter with me. I just jumped up as if I had page: 186-187[View Page 186-187] 186 MORTON HOUSE. been set on springs-and found myself in a cold sweat, and trembling like an aspen-leaf. It took me so by surprise that it must have been several seconds before I came to myself sufficiently to know what I was about. Then I felt sure-just as sure as I am now-that something was wrong. I put my hand under the pillow and drew out my revolver, and, without waiting this time to light the candle, I sprang out ef bed, groped my way to the door, which I always leave open at night, and came into this room. I stood still to listen for an instant, but all was silent; I was just turning to go back into my own room to strike a light again, when I heard a noise in the pas- sage outside there.'~ lIe pointed to the door which gave egress from the cashier's room to the passage. "It was a slight, but suspicious kind of noise. Guided by the sound, 1 went close to it-to the door, I mcan~-and then I beard voices whispering. The doors so thick, and they spoke in such a low tone, that I could not make out a single word they said; but I could hear that it was two men talking-and that they were pick- ing the lock. Oh, Mr. Warwick, if I had only had the presence of mind to keep perfectly quiet, so as to let them think I was asleep, and come in, I might have slipped out while they were busy picking the lock of the vault door, and obtained assistance to come and take them be- fore they got the money. Mr. Marks always takes the vault key, and the keys of the safes, home with him at night-and the opening of them must h~ive been a tough job. If only 1 had had the presence of mind! But all I thought of at the minute was to scare them off or kill them -I didn't care which. Like a fool as I was, I didn't even, wait to light the candle, but called out just where I stood, 'I hear you, you thieves! I've got a revolver, and if you want me to send you to the devil, just come on!' They took me at my word quicker than I expected. I hal started once more to goafter the light-but be- fore I was half-way across the room, the door was burst open, and when I turned I just caught one ~limpse of two men as they rushed in, by the light of a lantern one of them carried. It was a dark lantern, and he shut it as soon as he saw that I had no light-I heard the door pushed shut, and one of, them said, 'You stand against it, while I do for this bragging rascal.' I don't remember ever being afraid of anybody before in my life, Mr. Warwick; but it was an awful feel- ing that I' had then-expecting every minute to be seized in the dark, and not knowing how I could defend myself; and, above all, how I could save the money! I knew if they killed me they'd have every thing their own way. Well, the thought flashed through my mind that if I could get into my own room and fasten the door -it locks on the inside-I might manage to escape out of the window, before they could break open the door, and, once out in the moon- light, I could give the alarm, or at least fight them if they followed me. I was barefooted, and had the advantage of them in that-as I made no no:se in moving. But it was pitch dark, and I somehow got turned round in my head as to the direction of my room-door. Instead of going toward it as I intended, I went the opposite way, and suddenly came thump against the counter. The villain that was after me heard it, and I hea~d him coming toward me. I ought to have kept out of his way; but, instead of that, 1 fired at random in the direction of the noise be made in approaching, which was the very worst thing I could have done-for of course he was not hit, and the flash of the pistol as it went off showed him exactly where I stood. All was so confused after this, I can scarcely recall any thing about it. I fired twice, and the last thing that I can remember is that just as I was pulling the trigger for the third time, both the scoundrels jumped on me. I fought like mad, but 1 think it couldn't have been long before they over- powered me. I felt a sudden blow here "-he put his hand to the side of his forehead, which was ornamented with the yellow-and-black patch- es. "It seemed to me that a blaze of sparks flashed out of my eyes, and made a solid sheet of white flame before them that shut out every thing. The blow must have knocked me down and stunned me-for my mind don't go beyond seeing this white blaze for an instant, like a flash of lightning exactly. The next recollection I have is of coming to my senses gradually, and finding myself in pitch darkness and dead silence, tied neck and heels, aching all over from head to foot, and with a gagin my mouth. I tried at first to get up, but I couldn't budge an inch, I was tied so hard; and every movement I made seemed as if it would kill me with pain. As to my head, 1 really thought it would burst, it ached so! I think 1 was hardly in my right senses for some time-for, in spite of myself; I kept strug- gling to get loose, until I was almost strangled, besides suffering perfect agonies from the strain- ing of my wrists and ankles, which had all thc skin rubbed off of them." He held up his bands, exhibiting a pair of bandaged wrists, as he went on: "At last I lay quiet from exhaustion-and I I U MR. WARWICK'S INVESTIGATION. 187 couldn't begin to give you an idea of how mud 1 suffered, and how long the time seemed, unti Mr. Marks came in the morning. I thought morn ing never would come! 1 hope I may never, a: long as I live, have such a time of it again knew the bank was robbed-and that it was mj fault-because if I had only-" "You are wrong," said Mr. Warwick, as tin young man's voice faltered, and the tears agair came into his eyes. "It was not your fault-you did your best-and that is all that can be re. quired of any man, and you were willing to risk your life-and that is what every man would not do under similar circumstances. So, don't blame yourself unjustly. I am sure Marks doesn't blame you." "No. He-" "You say you saw the men?" interrupted Mr. Warwick, who was exceedingly impatient to come back to this point of Hugh's narrative, and had only constrained himself to listen to the rather verbose relation of the young man, in the hope of hearing something more about those per- sonages. "Have you any suspicion of who they were?" "I have a suspicion that I have seen one of them before, sir-though I couldn't be certain, as it was only just a single glimpse that I caught of them, before the lantern was shut." "Who was it?" said Mr. Warwick, abruptly. "I don't know his name, sir--he is a stranger hereabouts; that is, if I'm not mistaken about the person I'm thinking of. When I turned round, as the door was burst open, I saw the two men distinctly for an instant-that is, distinctly enough to take in a general idea of their appear- ance, and to see that they were black. But I felt sure then, and I'm still more sure, in think- ing it over, that they were not negroes, but white men with their faces blacked." "It is more likely," commenced Mr. Warwick, "that they wore-" crape masks, he was going to say-but stopped himself in time. "You are right, Hugh; they were certainly white men. This is not the sort of thing that negroes would undertake. And you think you recognized one of them?" "I think so, sir. The one that was in front when I saw them was quite a tall man-as tall as you are yourself; or taller, and stout in proportion; the other, who had the lantern, was shorter and thick-set. Just about such a looking man as Mr. Shields." ("Not St. John- either of them ~" thought Mr. Warwick, paren- thetically.) "It was the first one that I thought i I recognized. I never saw him but once, and' I that was the day before the robbery-" "Yesterday, then." "Yes, it was yesterday, though it seems, to me a good deal longer ago. Well, this man came into the bank, while Mr. Marks was gone to dinner, with a very ragged live-dollar bill that he wanted a new note for." "And did he get it ?-did you take the bill?" "No, sir, I couldn't. It was no bill of ours, but one of the 'Commercial Bank of A.'s' notes. I thought it was strange that the man should be so stupid as not to know that a bank has ifoth- ing to do, in this way, ~'ith any but its own is- sues; but I explained the matter to him; and he seemed very bard to understand. I felt a lit- tle out of patience at having to go over and over my explanation; and nIl the while I was talking, he stood staring round the room, and at me, in a very curious way. 1 noticed that he stayed a great deal longer than there was any necessity for; and seemed inclined to stay still longer, if I had not told him that, if that was all he wanted, I was sorry I could not accommodate him, and that he must excuse my going back to my writ- ing, as I was busy. He went away then." "And you think this was one of the bur- glars?" "I think so, sir; but I wouldn't take oath to it. There was something about the tallest of the two scoundrels that at once brought this stranger to my mind; but it might have been merely his height." "The voice-did you notice that?" "No, sir. I was in to ~ much of a flurry to think of noticing that. And I only heard him speak once." "Was his dress the same as that of the stran- ger?" Hugh shook his bead. "Both of the bur- glars had on blanket overcoats. The stranger who came about the money was dressed in black." "HewnsnotagentlemanIsuppose?" "Well, I can hardly say," answered Hugh, hesitatingly. "His dress was rather shabby; but still, so far as that was concerned, he might have passed for a gentleman. But there was something in his face, a bang-dog sort of look, that-but, on the whole, I suppose, yes "-rather doubtfully-" I suppose be was a gentleman. And I can't believe that he did not know better than he pretended about the bill. I think he made that an excuse to get in and take a look at page: 188-189[View Page 188-189] the bank, and find out all he could. I saw him looking very hard at the door of the vault there. And he shut the room-door when he went out, though he found it standing open. And then, he didn't walk out at once, but stopped so long in the passage that I went and opened the door to see what on earth he was about. He walked away when he heard me coming, I suppose, for he was just going out of the front door when I stepped into the passage." "All this does look very suspicious," said Mr. Warwick. "Did it occur to you, at the time, that he might have evil intentions?" "No, sir. Such an idea never entered my head. All I thought was t1i~t he must be some idler who had nothing to do himself~, and was loafing about, disturbing other people at their work. He had a dissipated appearance; indeed, be looked to me more like a gambler than any thing else." "And have you made any inquiries about him, as to who and what he is, and whether he is in town yet?" "Oh, yes, sir-we've tried to find out some- thing about him, but nobody seems to know any thing at all. As soon as I told Mr. Marks this morning what I've just been telling you, he tried his best to trace up the fellow; and so did a good many other people. The whole town's been in a great excitement, as you may suppose, Mr. War- wick." "Did you, or anybody, go to the hotel and in- quire if the man had been there?" "Mr. Hilliard was here himself, and Mr. Marks asked him, the first thing, whether a man like the one I described had been at his hotel. He said not; and nobody seems to have seen him except little Jimmy Powell, who thinks it must have~ been a man that came into his father's store yesterday, about dinner-time, and bought a pen- knife from him," "And what has Marks.-" Mr. Warwick paused, as he heard the sound of approaching foot-steps. The next moment, Cyrus entered with some letters which he gave to hie nlaster, who, after glancing at the address of each, put all but one of them into his pocket. That one he opened at once, and read it with evident satisfaction, "Give me a sheet of paper, and pen and ink, Hugh, if you please," he said, as he refolded it. Carefully sealing it up and addressing it, he handed it to Cyrus, saying, "Take a horse and go with this at once to Mor- ton House. Ask to see Mrs. Gordon yourself, and give it into her own hand. Now, don't lose it-for your life, Cyrus! It is of the greatest importance." "Yes, sir." "Have you had your supper?" said Mr. War' wick, calling him back as he was leaving the room. "No, sir." "Then go home and get it before you carry that letter; but don't be all night over it, for I want the letter delivered as soon as possible. And remember what I told you this afternoon- about gossipingg" "Yes, sir-I ain't forgot." "Talking of supper, I expect I have been keeping yen from yours, Hugh?" said Mr. War. wick, as Cyrus finally disappeared. "Oh, I'm not in a hurry-I'm not at all hun- gry," answered the young man. "You ought to be, then," said Mr. Marks, entering the door in time to hear the last sen- tence, "for you had no dinner any more than myself.-Well, Warwick," he continued, as he shook hands with hiabrother-in-law, who rose to meet him, "you come back to find me a ruined man." "Not so bad as that, I hope," said Mr. War- wick, gazing hard at the face before him, which, by the dim light of the single candle, looked pale and haggard, as he had never seen it be- fore. "It is an ugly business, I must admit," he went on; "but giving up is not the way to mend it. We must go to work and find the thieves and the money.,~ "That's easier said than done," replied Mr. Marks, sitting down with an air of hopeless de- jection. "We've been all day trying to do some- thing toward it, and have not succeeded in gain- ing the least trace to begin with, And the in- fernal scoundrels have got a clear start on us of sixteen or eighteen hours, at least." "Why, surely you have sent out advertise- ments of the robbery to all the papers in the State, and notified the bank to stop payment of the notes stolen?" said Mr. Warwick. "Oh, yes; I sent off special messengers not an hour after I found out the robbery. But the thieves arc not likely to let the grass grow under their feet. Of course, they'll get out of the State as fast as they can.-Hugh, why don~t you go to supper?" "I'd rather stay and hear what Mr. Warwick thinks ought to be done," answered Hugh, "I'm afraid nothing can be done to-night," said Mr. Warwick. "But, when you come back, you shall hear if we have decided on any thing." Upon this hint, Hugh, who took his meals at a boarding-house not far off, finally went to his long-deferred supper; and Mr. Warwick inquired what was the amount of money stolen. "A hun- dred thousand dollars, Shields told me, but I suppose that is an exaggeration?" he said. "Yes; the amount did not reach that figure. There was twenty-four thousand and eighty dol- lars in specie, a package of fifty thousand in notes still in the sheet, and thirteen hundred and twenty-seven dollars in bills that have been in circulation," answered Mr. Marks, with his usual preciseness,'but by no means his usual brisk, hearty tone. "And you sent off at once to the bank, and all its branches, giving the numbers of the notes?" "I did every thing that could be done in that way. I sent messengers right off express to our bank and branches; and I wrote by mail to all the other banks in the State, and in the neighboring States, giving a list of the numbers of the notes, even down to the one-dollar bills. Powell, and Gibbs, and Williamson, and Horton, were here all the morning, assisting Hugh and myself with the writing-copying the lists and the advertisements-and Burgess kept the mail open to the minute the stage was starting, to put the letters in. I have offered, on my own responsibility, a reward of five thousand dollars for the recovery of the whole of the money; or a thousand for the detection of the thieves, and recovery of any considerable part of it" "So far, very well," said Mr. Warwick "And how about trying to detect the thieves yourself? Did you examine closely the scene of their operations? - and could nothing be found to afford a clew?" "The whole town, pretty near, were examin- ing-" - "You ought not to have permitted that. The thief or thieves themselves might have been among the number, for aught you know, to see if they had left any thing behind them, and to secure it if they had." "No danger of that," answered Mr. Marks. "Hugh saw the thieves, and he says one of them was very tall-over six feet, he is sure-and the othe' was short and heavy built. There was nobody here that would answer to either descrip- tion, and nobody that we didn't know. Just our own townsfolk. I wouldn't have let strangers come about, of course." "And how do you know but that th~ robbery 13 188 MORTON HOUSE. MR. WARWICK'S INVESTIGATION. 189 may have been committed by some of our own townsfolk?" Mr. Marks shook his head. "There are some trifling men in Tallahoma, it's true; but .1 don't believe there's one that would be bad enough for a thing of this sort." Mr. Warwick rose and took up the candle- stick. "Get another light, and come with me, will you? I should like to look at the vault myself" he said. Mr. Marks did as requested. He took from the mantel-piece another candle, lighted it, pro- duced a bunch of key~ from his pocket, and pro- ceeded across the room to a heavy-looking door set in a deep recess in the wall. "The lock was picked, but I had another put on, though it looks very much like locking the stable after' the horses are stolen," he said, as he opened the door. Descending a narrow flight of steps that ran down against the wall, with a balustrade to pro- tect it on the outside, they held the lights for- ward, and Mr. Warwick took a survey of the place. It was a small, vaulted cell rather than room, not more than eight feet by twelve, with two huge safes standing against the wall oppo- site the stairs. Substantial safes they were for the period, but not cast-iron, and not burglar.. proof, as their present melancholy condition proved. The doors of both were wide open; but while one of them retained its contents, consist- ing of piles of ledgers, labelled boxes, and bun-. dles of papers of all sizes (which had evidently been roughly handled and thrust back in utter confusion), the shelves of the other were bare. Mr. Warwick examined the whole place with the most minute care. First, he held hiscandle within the empty money-safe, running his eye, and even passing his hand, over every square inch of surface on the two shelves above, and taking the drawer which was fitted between the lower shelf and the floor of the safe, for the reception of specie, clean out of its place, in order to make an effectual search. "You'll find nothino-" said Mr. Marks, who had stood by watching these proceedings with an. expression of face in which apathy and impa- tience were rather singularly blended. "Don't let me detain you," said Mr. War- wick, reading this expression. "I dare say you are right, but still I want to satisfy myself by a thorough examination. You were all excited this morning, of course, and may have overlooked some little matter-there is somebody coming in, page: 190-191[View Page 190-191] 190 MORT( I think~ Had you not better go and see, Rid ard? I will be up presently." "I suppose it's Hugh," replied Mr. Marks "but I'll go." Left alone, Mr. Warwick next subjected th floor of the vault to as close an inspection a that which he had bestowed on the safe, unt he was convinced that no object, though it ha been only the size of a pin, could have escape his observation. He then took in hand the saf containing the documents. Every separate vol ume, every box, and each package of paper~ passed under the scrutiny of his keen eye an4 industrious fingers. But, as Mr. Marks had pre diced, he found nothing. It was with a sense of decided, though eve to himself unacknowledged, discouragement, tha he remounted the stairs to the room above. Mr Marks was sitting in a drooping attitude, witl his eyes, but not his thoughts, fixed on the clerk who knelt' upon the hearth, trying to ignite hopeless-looking pile of wood which he had ins put on the andirons. In their excitement an preoccupation of mind, both himself and his prin cipal had forgotten the fire that afternoon-th more readily, as the day had been a very mik one., But the evening closed in cold; and poci Hugh, who was feeling almost as wretchedly Ia body as in mind, shivered at the cheerless aspect of the apartment, as much as at its chilly tem- perature, when he returned from his boarding- house. The hearth, that always gave forth such a cheerful glow and warmth, was cold and dark now-like the ill-fortune that had so unexpect- edly come upon them, he could not help think- lug-4hough he was not addicted to a poetical turn of thought usually. Mr. Warwick walked up to his brother-in-law and laid his hand on his shoulder kindly. "Take my advice, Richard," he said. "tie home and go to bed, There~s nothing more for you to do here; and you look thoroughly used up. I want to ask Hugh a few questions about his visitors of last night; but I shall not be long. Tell Bes- sic, if you please, to have some hot coffee ready for ma-I have had no diniker." "I can wait for you," said Mr. Marks.-" By. the-way, Hugh,'hadn't you better have got some- body to stay with you to-night.?" "What for?" demanded Hifgh, coloring with boyish mortification. "There's no such good luck as that those villains should take it into their heads to come back. I only wish they would. I'd know how to deal with them this time?" )N HOUSE. Ei- "And1" pursued Mr. Marks, who was a kind- hearted man, considerate of the comfort of those ; about him, and feeling now some self-reproach as he remembered how little attention he had paid e to the pains and bruises which the clerk had. s incurred, though unavailingly, in the discharge il of his duty-" and I don't believe Tom has been d here to attend to your room to-day, has he?" d "Yes, sir, he came this morning, but it was e while the house was full, and every thing in eon- [- fusion; so I told him to never mind about it." , "I'll go and send him now, thcn.-You might ~ as well come with rae, John. It must be getting late, and I should think that, as you had no din- ner, you'd be hungry." r "I am. But waiting a little longer makes t no difference; and I must take a look at Hugh's room. It is only eight o'clock," he added, con. r suiting his watch. "I will follow you in half an hour, or less time, perhaps." Mr. Marks made no further remonstrance, but L rose, said good-night, a~Iid departed. I "Now, Hugh, let mc see your room," said Mr - Warwick. "lam glad that it has not been med- died with. Did 'you look about to find if- I Humph!" he exclaimed, as at this moment he stepped into the apartment in question, which adjoined the cashier's room. "Humph!" It was a comfortless-looking dormitory at - present, certainly. The bedelothing, including - the inttttresses, had been tumbled off one side of the French bedstead, and lay in a disordered heap upon the floor, which was strewed with * strips and fragments resembling hospital-linen, for much of it was crumpled and bloody, like soiled bandages. Hugh explained that he had been tied down to the bedstead itself; which, no doubt, was bared for that purpose. The sheets. had been torn up, and twisted into a rough imi- tation of rope, with which he was bound. "The scoundrels seemed to understand their business," said the young man. "You see they made notches in the side of the bedstead here near the head, to keep the bandy I was tied with from slipping." Mr. Warwick bent over, and looked closely at the spot pointed out. "'The bedstead was of walnut-wood, and the no~ehes appeared to have been cut into it without difficulty, as they were at least an inch deep. "The wood is soft," he 'remarked. "This looks as if it 'had been cut with a pocket-knife." He stepped toward the foot of the bed as he spoke, and again leaned down to examine whether there were notches there too. There I I ~PWO AND TWO MA~B FOUR. 191 CHAPTER XXXV Two AaD TWO xauz revs. was one great gash-obviously the commence ment of a notch-but that was all. In holding~ the candle so that the light would fall full upor this, Mr. Warwick's eye was attracted to small, glittering object upon the carpet just al the side of the bed, and, stooping, he picked ii up. "What is it?" cried Hugh, as the lawyci uttered a slight exclamation. "A fragment of the blade of a knife," an- swered Mr. Warwick, quietly, but his eyes spar- kled. "Something may be made of this, I hope," he added, examining it eagerly. "Oh, do you really think so, Mr. Warwick?" said Hugh, joyfully.. "I hope so. It was broken in the attempt to make that notch." "And you think, sir, you can trace them out by it?" "I shall try. It is a point to begin with; and in an affair of this kind, as in every thing else, the first step is almost always the most difficult. I shall sleep the better to-night for having found this little bit of metal. Here-hold the candle a minute!" Hugh extended a hand trembPng with excite- ment for the candle, and Mr. Warwick took out his pocket-book and carefully placed the broken blade in an inner compartment of it. "Don't be too sanguine," he said to Hugh, as he fastened the clasp, and returned the book to his pocket. "And don't mention my having *found this to any body-least of all, to Marks- for it may turn out nothing. But," he added, as he saw Hugh's face fall at these words, "I think it is a clew. Good-night. There's Tom coming, and I'll go. Oh I-don't have any sweeping done to-night. I will be here early in the morning, and we can then make a more careful search of the room, and may possibly find something else. I don't like to keep my sister waiting for me so long; and this does very well for a beginning. Mind, Hugh, that you hold your tongue!" "I will, Mr. Warwick." "You are not afraid of another call from your friends, the burglars?" "Afraid? I should think not!" cried the young man, flushing, and half offended by the question. "Well, good-night," said Mr. Warwick. "Here's Tom." 7' "Joux, John, I am so glad you have got back at last I" was Mrs. Marks's greeting to her brother, when he entered the dining-room, where a bright fire and the supper-table were * waiting for him. She had been crying all day, * poor woman, but the fountain of her tears was not exhausted. It gave forth a plentiful supply of briny drops, as Mr. Warwick smiled kindly, kissed her, and told her to dry her eyes, and give him some supper, for ~that he was tired and hungry. "Richard has gone to bed, I hope?" said he, as Mrs. Marks began to take up from the hearth, where they were ranged in a semicircle to keep warm, various dishes, which she placed upon the table, himself hastening to assist her in doing so. "Yes, he's gone to bed "-a profound sigh -"but there's no sleep for him t/d., night, F know. Seventy - five thousand, four hundred and seventy dollars, John," pursued poor Mrs. Marks, with a ludicrous, unconscious imitation of her husband's manner, that made Mr. War- wick smile, despite his sincere sympathy with the distress which seemed so out of place on the rouuid, good - nature face before him. "More than twice as much as Richard is worth, counting every sixpence he has got in the world I-and he blames himself for it all- and I'm sure he must blame me, though he don't say so "-the tears burst forth afresh-.-- "gnd five little children-" "Stop a minute," said Mr. Warwick, stem- ming the torrent of words that promised to flew on uninterruptedly for an indefinite time to come. "Blames himself? What does he blame him- self for?" "He says he ought never to have left the bank~ That a cashier's business and duty is to protect, by hia constant presence, the property committed to his charge; and that, instead of leaving poor Hugh to bear the brunt of the danger, and get beaten and bruised nearly to death, he ought to have been there himself. And you know it was m~y fault, John, that we left the bank, because it was such a nasty, cooped-up place for the children, compared to this house." "All this sort of talk is nonsense, Bessie,"' said Mr. Warwick. "Marks is very much out ot~ page: 192-193[View Page 192-193] 192 MORTON ROUSE. spirits, of course; but he will find that matters are not so bad, after all. He has been prompt in taking the steps necessary in the business, and the only uneasiness I feel now is about the spe- cie. I have no doubt the greater part of that can be recovcred-but not the whole, prob- ably. As to the notes - you need not trou- ble yourself about them, I assure you. The scoundrels will find that the fifty thousand dollars might as well be blank paper so far as they are concerned. In faet, it is certain t~ bring detection upon them if they try to pass it." "I don't see how that can be," said Mrs. Marks, drying her eyes once more, but, looking very doubtful. "It's money. All they've got to do is to cut 'it apart.. It's signed, every bit of it." "And numbered too, fortunately. Never mind puzzling yourself with the matter. You can take my word for it, can't you?" "I suppose so. But John, are you quite sure " "Well ?" he said, as she paused, and the in- exhaustible fountain began welling forth from her eyes again. "Are you sure we shall not be ruined- and" sob "that Richard's character won't-" "Bessie," said Mr. Warwick, in such a very quiet tone, that Bessie's eyes opened wide in startled surprise, and the drops with which they were brimming stood arrested in their fall- "Bessie, have you quite forgotten that you once bore the name of ~ The~ poor wo~nan was bewildered. Never very quick of apprehension, she was totally un- able now to perceive the connection between this "awful" bank robbery and her own maiden~ name; and, after a troubled pause of considera- tion, she looked inquiringly into her brother's face. ~ I asked the question," continued he, "be- cause I confess that I am mortified to find that my sister "-he laid a strong emphasis on the last two words-" instead of being courageous and cheerful in this misfortune which has be- fallen her husband, as a brave woman and good wife ought to be, is giving way to unreasonable and extravagant lamentations that must make it twice as hard-~" "Oh, n~l you don't mean that I have made it harder for Richard to hear! Surely you don't think that! '~ "I know it." She wrung her hands spasmodically. "What can I do-what can I do?" "You can act like a sensible woman, and re- member that the loss of money-even if Marks loses any, which I ani not at all sure that he will-" "He says he intends to refund every cent that the bank loses, whether it is required of him or not, aid if it takes nIl that he owns in the world." "He may be a few thousands out of pock. et, then-but what of that? if?, instead of los- ing a little money-or, we will say a good deal of money-he or some of the children were to die-" "John!" gasped his sister, turning very pale. "I think you would feel what a trifle, com- paratively speaking, this whole business is," went on Mr. Wavwick, without noticing her horrified ejaculation-" and be glad that trouble, which you know everybody has to endure in this world, Bessie, has come in this form, instead of a worse' "Indeed, I am glad-and thankful to God," said she, in a subdued, rather awe-struck tone. "And thankful to you, John, for reminding mc of it," she added. lie smiled encouragingly, and told her he had no doubt this wretched business might be set to rights in the end; but th&t, meanwhile, he ex- pected to see her hopeful and brave. Then he went to a side-table, where a chamber candlestick was ready foi~ him, and, as he lighted it, asked whether she thought Marks was asleep yet. "I * won't disturb him, if he is; but I should like to speak to him a moment, if he is not. Will you see, Bessie, if you please?" She went, merely opened the ehamb&-door, glanced in, and returned. "He's wide awake," she said, with a sigh. "I will go and speak to him, then, Good- night." "Come in," responded Mr. Marks's voice, when his brother-in-law knocked at his door a minute later. Mr. Warwick walked up to the bed, and found the afflicted cashier lying straight and motionless on his back, 'with his arms tlirownup over the pillow, his hands folded one upon ,the, other above his head, and the same expression of stolid endurance on his face that it had worn when he was at the bank. "I have just been scolding Bessie, Dick," said Bessie's brother, with a smile thn~t had I 'I TWO AND TWO MAR11 FOUR. humor as well as cheerful kindness in it-" and I have come to give you your share now. Why, pounds! what's the use of being a man, if you can't bear the ills of life like a man! It is natural that you should feel this severely; it is a bad business, as it stands just at present. But you must not look only on the dark side of it. The money may be recovered-will be recovered, I believe. You know whether I am in the habit of talking at random, or of boasting; and I tell you that I have not the least doubt of being able to track down the villains-in time. We must have patieneer and not be discouraged be- cause it is impossible to find them at once. I have made a little discovery since I saw you-" "You don't say so!" cried Mr. Marks, start- ing up and leaning on his elbow, as he gazed eagerly up into the other's face. "What is it? -what-?" "Never mind as to that. It is something that Hugh and myself found out after you left. Don't question Hugh in the morning. I told him not to say any thing to you about it. I should not have mentioned it myself if it had not been that I see you need stirring up a little. Between Bessie and yourself, you are making this alliiir twice as bad as there's any necessity for." "It's harder to bear than you think for," said Mr. Marks, apologetically. But his face had cleared very much, and he was looking alto- gether ten per cent. better than he did when bis brother-in-law entered the room. "A good many things in this world are hard' to bear," said Mr. Warwick; and-not at all pertinently to the subject of which they were tal~in~-he sighed under his breath. "Well, good-night. I hope you will go to sleep now, and be yourself again in the morning. Rest assured that I am sanguine of recovering the money." He went to his own room, and the first thing he did was to take out his pocket-book, and examine again the fragment of knife-blade which he had found. Then he sat down before the fire, stirred it, absently, put the tongs back into their place, and gazing at the leaping and curl- ing flames, and the glowing cavern that he had made beneath them, he remained for a long time absorbed in deep thought. He rose early the next morning, and at an hour when he was usually asleep, took his way into the village, which was just beginning to show signs of awakening life. Shopkeepers were opening their doors and windows, and 193. drowsy-looking servants were sweeping oft' door- steps, and gossiping with each other, as they leaned on their brooms; exchanging items of information concerning the great bank robbery, which was the topic of conversation with white and black in Tallahoma just then. Mr. Warwick paused at the entrance of a store, near the open door of which a negro boy was lazilyshaking a foot-mat, wondering to him- sell the while, "what had brought Mr. Worruek out that time in the morning." "Your master here yet, Bill ?" said the law- yer, pointing into the store. "No, sir-nobody's here yit but me and Mass Jimmy." To his surprise, Mr. Warwick, instead of pass- ing on, entered the door. Probably that gentle- man had never before been conscious of the existence of "little Jimmy Powell ," certainly he had never noticed the boy particularly. But he looked closely now, as he walked into the store, and encountered the gaze of a pair of remarkably quick and intelligent eyes, the owner of which was seated on the front edge of a counter, with one leg doubled under him, while the other dan- gled over, and kept up a swinging, kicking ac- companiment to an air he was whistling. A bright face-altogether not an ordinary boy, Mr. Warwick thought-small for his age; for, though he was thirteen or fourteen at least, his size and delicate physique made him appear a year or two younger. "How are you, Mr. Warwick? Can I do any thing for you this morning, sir?" he said, at once dexterously slipping backward across th~ counter, and landing on his feet on the opposite side, where he stood with the attentive and busi- ness air of a well-trained clerk. "Yes, I wish to see some penkuives," said Mr. Warwick, with a half smile a~ the~ serious c1erkli~ess of the little man's manne~. At the word penknives, there w~a flash of intelligence in the boy's face, but h4'said noth- ing. Turning quickly to one of the shelves be- hind him, he took from it a box, which he brought and placed on the counter, and, open- ing it, proceeded silently to display several kinds of knives. Mr. Warwick examined them, one after the other, and finally looked up, or, rather, looked over, at the countenance that was just on a level with his own hands. The expression of that countenance surprised him a little, there was so much shrewd interest and curiosity in it; and yet not vulgar curiosity, either, for the boy restrained it the moment he perceived that it page: 194-195[View Page 194-195] 104 MORTO was observed, replying with modest brevity V the questions as to the price of the knives, whici his customer asked. The latter had been wait ing to see whether the little clerk would volun teer some information which he wished to obtain but, finding that there was no probability of this he now opened the conversation himself as h paid for one of the knives. "You have heard all about the bank-vobbery of course?" he said. "Yes, sir," was the answer; and the bright, brown eyes shot another ray of intelligence, and then looked gravely attentive. "lou know then, probably, that Hugh Ellis thinks he recognized one of the burglars in a man who was in the bank the day before the robbery was committed; and he tells me that the only information he can get about this man is, that a person answering to his description was here in your father's store that same day, and nearly about the same hour, and that you sold a penknife to him, Do you remember what sort of a knife it was?" "It was like the one you have just bought, sir." "Aid Youaresure?" "Certain sure, Mr. Warwick." "You recollect selling the knife, then?" "Yes, sir." "Can you describe the man's appearance to me?" "He was as tall as you are, sir-maybe a lit- tle taller, for he stood just i~here you are stand. ing now, and I had to look 'way up to see his face. He had sandy, bushy hair, and a very red face, and he was dressed in a shabby suit of black." "Would you have taken him for a gentle. man?'~ The boy hesitated. "I hardly know, sir, whether he was or not. He looked something like a gentleman, but-Ms linen was soiled." "What sort of money did he pay for the knife with?" "He offered me a very dirty five-dollar bill that was all torn. But I wouldn't take it, and then he paid in silver." "A flue-dollar bill?" said Mr. Warwick, whose interest had been quickening, and his hopes rising, with each successive reply to his question~. "Did you notice what bill it was- of what bank, I mean?" "Yes, sir. He threw it down on the coun. tar, and I took it up and looked at it a min~ HOUSE. o ute. It was a 'Commercial Bank of A-' ~ note." "Humph I" cried Mr. Warwick. "It must - have been the same fellow who was at the bank. A 'Commercial Bank of A-' note, and very ragged, you say?" 3 "Very ragged indeed. I don't think it was a counterfeit," added the boy, thoughtfully; "but it was too ragged to pass anywhere; and so I told him I couldn't take it." "Why did you think of its being counter- I feit?" asked the lawyer, a little surprised at this remark. "Because I didn't like the man's looks, sir, and I thought he mightn't be too good to pass counterfeit money. There's a good deal of it about now, you know. He never once looked me straight in the face, though I tried my best to catch his eyes. But they kept moving about, first to one place, and then to another." "Ah 1" exclaimed Mr. Warwick, with an em- phasis that was almost startling. "Yes, sir. He looked so "-and the boy glanced about him in a quick, uncertain sort of way, rolling his eyes from side to side with a restless movement that brought vividly to Mr. Warwick's recollection the eyes of the quack doctor in Hartsburg. "Do you remember the color of his eyes?" "They were of a light greenish blue, sir." Mr. Warwick stood silent for a full minute, evidently in deep thought. He was trying to recall to mind the appearance of the quack doc- tor; but, with the exception of the restless eyes, his memory was for once totally at fault. He had a general but very vague impression that the man was tall, and that his hair was not "sandy and bushy." Nevertheless, the repre- sentation given of the stranger's eyes-the very pose of the boy's head while rendering the imi- tation-brought back so forcibly the look of Dr. Joyner, as he called himself, that Mr. War. wick felt morally sure that, in common parlance, he had4' struck the trail "-and, it is needless to say, he resolved to pursue it. "Well, Jimmy," he said, looking down with a smile," I think you have given me some valu- able information, and that you can help me st4ll further in this matter, if you are willing to do so. A quick flash came to the upraised face, and the boy's eyes sparkled with eagerness, as he replied: "I wish I could, sir." - "Do you think you would know th~ man if you saw Mm again?" TWO AND TW I "Yes, sir, I'd know him anywhere." "You are at the store here all the time, are you not?" Yes, sir." The little fellow sighed as he spoke. "I ask, because I should like to see you again after breakfast.. Good-morning for the present.1~ "Good.morning, Mr. Warwick," "By-the-by," said the lawyer, turning back as he was about to cross the threshold1 on his way out of the store; "by-the-by, my little friend, I had rather you did not mention to anybody- excepting your father, if it comes in the way- what I have been asking you, and what you have told me. I want to trace out this man that we have been speaking of, and, in a matter of the kind, talking ruihs every thing." "I know that, Mr. Warwick. I'll not say a word." From Mr. Powell's store the lawyer went the stage.office, as it was called, to find out, if possible, whether the man he was in search of had left Tallahoma by any of the several lines of public conveyances that ran to and from the place-Tallahoma, though in itself an inconsid- erable village, being on one of the principal thor- oughfares of travel in the State. He did not succeed in obtaining any information; and was feeling very much "at sea," as he walked xaed. itatively toward the bank, when, just as he was turning a corner, he met the Chesselton hack coming in. Instantly it flashed upon him, as by an inspiration, that it was more likely a man trying to escape observation would take this, which wan a less public line of travel - more merely local-than those he had been thinking of. The Chesselton hack, he remembered, ran only three times a week, and consequently, though Chesselton was but twenty-eight miles from Tal. lahoma, communication was much less easy and frequent than with &xford, for instance, to which there was a double daily line-both a coach and hack line. To a man ende~voring to evade detection, it was a dcsirable-con*ideration to be as much out of the way of quick communi. cation as possible. The hack left Tallahoma on Tuesday, Thursdays, and Saturdays, returning on the night of the same day it left; that is, making the round trip in twenty-four hours. And the rusty-looking ~rebiele, the appearance of. which had suggested these reflections, had now just arrived from its Thursday trip for the current week. This was Friday morning, and there would be no further mail communication o ~IAKE FOUR. 105 with Chesselton until Saturday-an excellent op. opportunity for a thief who had taken refuge there to make good his escape farther, undoubtedly. These thoughts passed rapidly through Mr. Warwick's mind as he turned and followed the hack to the hotel where it stopped, in order to speak to the driver. He paused at the entrance of the stahle.yard into which the carriage was driven after discharging its passengers at the hotel-door, to wait until the driver descended from his seat. "Gillespie I" he called, as the official seemed likely to prolong interminably his dl~eotiona to and gossip with the hostlers who surr~iunded him and his horses. "Gillespie I "-the man turned to see who had spoken to him-" just step here a minute." "How.d'ye-do, Mr. Worruck? Was it me you was calling' to?" inquired the man, approach. ing him. "Yes, I want to speak to you." He looked round, and, seeing that nobody was within ear- shot, went on: "I am trying to find out some. thing about that bad business which happened night before last at the bank, and I want to know what passengers you took over to Ohes- selton yesterday; whether a fellow who was hanging about town here the day before the rob- bery, and who, Hugh Ellis thinks, was one of the burglars, may not have been among them?" The driver shook his head. "I was keeping' a sharp lookout myself, Mr. Worruck, for I'd like monstously to have the handling' of that five thousand dollars reward that Mr. Marks offered for the apperhension of the thieves "-he chuckled at the bare thought 9f handling it-" but I hai.n't seed nobody sence I left Tallyhomy that answered to the descrip- tion of either of 'em, I'm sorry to say. There wasn't as many passengers as usual yesterday Only one old gentleman, and a man and his wife, and-" "But," interrupted Mr. Warwick, "did you take up no passengers by the way?" "I tuk up two; but one was a woman, and the other didn't noways curryspond to the de- scriptions I heard from Mr. Ellis. He didn't. have on black does, nor yit a great.eoat, I noticed particular. And he wore a curous kind a speektlekles sich as I never seed before, that. stood out like a couple of leather cups before his eyes." "Goggles, I suppose? "said Mr. Warwick. "Mebbe so. Anyhow, he didn't answer to the descriptions. page: 196-197[View Page 196-197] "How far did he go with you?" "He' stopped a little this side of Chessel- ton." 'SAnd did you see any thing of him after- ward?" "Never sot eyes on him after he got out of the hack when I stopped at Spring Creek to water my horses. He said he'd' git out and stretch his legs by walking' the rest of the way, as hewas goin' to a private house in the country nigh by." "Did he have no baggage?" "A black leathertravellin'.bag, not very big, as you may know-for he tuk it into the stage with him, and sot it down betwixt his feet." "And you don't think it likely he was the man Hugh Ellis saw?" "I don't think it noways likely it was the same man, sir." "Did'you notice the color of his hair?" "Well, 'I didn't, Mr. Worruek. But I'll tell you what I'll do. My next trip over I'll see if I cap find out who the fellow was, sei~ce it seems a uliatter of intrust to you." "'~ha~ik you, Gillespie. I shall be obliged if you wrIl~do so. You go over again to-morrow, I bell~ve sir. Aft~, ezohanging a few sentences more, Mr. Warwiok bade Gillespie good-morning, and hur- ried en to the bank. Hugh Ellis was expecting him impatiently. "Pee found something, too, Mr. Warwick," he said, quite trembling with eagerness, as he held up to view a dark crimson-and-yellow silk ask him," he continued, starting toward the door, carrying the handkerchief; which he held by one corner, fluttering along. "Stop, stop!" said Mr. Warwick. "Look if it has a name on it." Hugh, fingering it rather superciliously, could find no name. "Are silk handkerchiefs ever marked?" "Sometimes. Pu~ it down. I am going to breakfast presently, and I will ask Tom about it. Are you certain that there is nothing else to be found in the room?" "I am certain, sir. I searched the floor first -the whole room, indeed-and then 1 took every thing off the' bed, arid shook the counterpane, and the sheets, and the blankets, each one sep- arately. I even took the pillow-cases and the bolster-case off! I assure you, Mr. Wa~wick, I have looked thoroughly." "Very well. I need not lose any time here, then; and I am very glad of that, for I am going to start to Chesselton directly after breakfast. See here!" He sat down to the table-they were in the cashier's room-and put down' before him the knife which he had just bought frdm Jimmy Powell. Then he took out his pocket-book, pro- duced the fragment of blade, and, opening the knife, he playedd the fragment upon the whole' blade. Hugh uttered an exclamation as lie saw that the two were identical in every respect, even to the brilliant newness of the metal. 'Mi'. War- wick explained in as few words as possible all that he' had learned from Jimmy Powell, and what he had since heard from the stage-driver. TWO AND TWO MAKE FOUR. 197 * MORTON HQUSE. "He may have changed his dress, and put on f handkerchief that was considerably worn, and the goggles to avoid detection," said the lawyer. j not a little soiled from use. "I got up as soon "What sort of looking man was he, and how was j as it was light enough to see, and hunted the he dressed?" room over, and I found this lying behind the "He was a good.lookin' man, or would a bin, bed. How it was that Tom didn't find it last if he hadn't had on them.-guggles, did you call night when he was making up the bed I don't 'em ?-they give him a out.of-the.way sort of know." look. He was dressed well enough-drab breech. "How do you know that it was dropped by es and a brown surtout. But, with them things the burglarss" stiekin' out two inches from his face, with green "It must have been. How else could it have glasses at the top of 'cm, he had a curious look." got into my room? It is not mine. I never "What sized man was he?" saw it, or one like it, before. They must have "A stout fellow. Six fcet-more'n that, I dropped it." reckon." "It may have been dropped by some of the "Where did you take him np?" people who were here yesterday." "At Moonie's-.--the second stnge.house from "No, sir; impossible. Nobody was in my here, you know," room. I shut the door and looked it." "Twe~y miles from here, is it not?" "It may be Tom's." "Yes, sir, twenty miles - and good ones, "I don't think so," said Hugh, decidedly; too." but he looked a little crestfallen. "I'll go and "Now," he said, when he had concluded his relation, "I am going somewhat upon a venture, which I am not in the habit of doing; but I have an instinct, amounting to a positive conviction, that the man you saw, the man who bought this knife from young Powell" - he touched the broken blade-" the man whom Gillespie de. scribes as wearing green goggles, and a quack doctor that I met last week in Hartsburg, and who, a day or two after I saw him, had to take French leave of the place to escape being lynched, are all one and the same individual; and 1 shall take young Powell, who says be can identify the rascal, and see if I can't find him. I hope," he added, as he rose to go, "that-Well, Tom, what's the matter?" Tom, who had at that moment appeared in the open door, responded to this question by another. "Mistiss say ain't you comm' home to break. fast this mornin', Mass John?" "Yes, I am just going now. is this your handkerchief 1"' He took up the article in question, and, hold- ing it as Hugh Ellis had done, by one corner, exhibited it to the servant as he advanced. "' Mine? No, sir," answered Tom, with sur- prise. "I never saw it before, Mass John." "Well, Hugh, I'll take it and see if I can discover the owner." He looked round, picked up a newspaper, and, wrapping up the handker4tie!~, consigned it to his coat-pocket. "I shall not see you again before I start, Hugh, so good-by. How are you feeling this morning, on the whole?" "Dreadfully stiff; sir. I ache all over. Wit I don't mind that, so those infernal scoundrels are brought to taw, and we setback the money." He said this as he walked to the door with Mr. Warwick, who paused there to shake hands and give him one parting caution. "Not a word to anybody about the knife or about my movements. In one word, hold your tongue." "Trust me to do that, sir." Mr. Marks was just leaving the breakfast. table, when his brother-in-law entered the room. The little Markacs, sitting demure and silent- they had been involuntary penitents during the four.and.twenty hours preceding-all started up with irrepressible and rapturous cries of "Unky I unky! Here's unky!" Even the unnaturally-solemn visage of the cashier relax~ into a smile as the little folk bounded tumultuously forward, each eager to get "unky's" first greetings; and Mrs. Marks's face beamed for a moments But, before the said greetings were over, Mr. Marks looked as saturnine as ever, and his devoted helpmeet was applying her handkerchief to her eyes. "Don't go yet, Richard; I have a word to say to you presently," said Mr. Warwick, as ho saw the former about to leave~ the room.- "Well, bairns, have you missed unky much?" "Oh, that we have! that we have I" was the unanimous and rather stunningly vociferous re- ply. "We-" "Hush, this minute, children!" cried their mother, whose temper had not improved since her brother's departure, a month before. "Do you want to deafen your uncle? Go along out now; he has other things to think about than your nonsense. Go along, all of you !-and, John, do come to breakfast!" "In a minute," answered her brother, with- out moi~ing from where he stood, just inside the door, surrounded by the children, who were, every one, clinging to him-Jack and Dick hav- ing seized each an arm, Sara and Katy having. possession of his hands respectively, while poor little Nelly had nothing for it but to clasp her two little fat arms round his knee in an ecstasy of noisy delight. He looked down on them with a smile which was like sunshine to their little hearts, as he listened to their rejoicings at his return. But again Mrs. Marks began~ a sharp remonstrance and command to them. "Do let them alone Besale!" said Mr. War- wick, a little sharp in turn.-" Here, Sara-hold your hand." Sara's hand was extended with astonishing quickness, while all the others were breathless with expectation. "Now, is it honor bright?" asked their uncle, appealing to them generally. "Yes, unky, honor bright! honor bright!" "Then, take this key, Sara, and see what you can find in my valise. Go, all of you, and stay in my room till I come. But mind-Sara is to take the things out and put them on the table, and you must all keep quiet and wait patiently." "Honor bright!" responded they, in a breath, and were gone. "Bessie, do you think it worth while to punish those poor children for the 'fault of the thieves who broke into the bank?" said Mr. Warwick, as he sat down to the breakfast-table. "Punish them, John? I don't know what you mean! I haven't been punishing them." 197 page: 198-199[View Page 198-199] 198 MORTO~ "Yes, you have, and in the worst possible way-by cloudy looks and unmerited reproof. I wish you would remember what I said to you la~it night." Mrs. Marks looked conscience-stricken, and Mr. Warwick turned to her husband, who stood by the fire, waiting for the word that his brother- in-law had for him. "I have got what I believe to be a clew, Mi~ks, and I shall start immediately after break. fast to follow it up. I don't know when I shall be back-!..in a day or two, perhaps; but it is not certain. All I can tell you is, that I intend* to track dei~n those scoundrels. So, keep up your spirits. You will find that this matter will all come out right at last." "You really think so?" asked Mr. Marks, a little doubtfully "I am sure of it. Did you ever know me to be mistaken in an opinion which I expressed deliberately?" "Why, no; I never did." "Rely on my opinion in this, then. If I am absent more than a day or two, I will write. Are you going to the bank now? If so, I will say good-by, as I have ordered my buggy to be ready by the time I have finished breakfast." "I'll see you off," said Mr. Marks, drawing a chair toward the fire, and sitting down. "There's no hurry aboutmy getting to the bank," he added, disconsolately. "Where are y~u going, John?" asked Mrs. Marks. / "I am going first to Morton House to see Mrs, Gordon for a few minutes," answered Mr. Warwick, evasively. "By-the-way, J3essie-" But Bessie, to whom the mention of Mrs. Gordon's name recalled the remembrance of the domestic trouble which had so much afflicted hex~ -before the more important misfortune of the bank robbery occurred, and dwarfed its import- ance, indeed drove it entirely from her mind for the time being-interrupted him eagerly. "0 John," she cried, "every thing has been going wrong Since you left home I Would you believe that Miss Tresham went away the Friday after you left, and, though she was to have come back on Monday, she's never made her appear. anee from that day to this? and, what's more, we haven't heard one syllable about her! What's become of her, I can't understand, for-" "Do you recollect what I told you, Warwick, the day she drew her salary at the bank, and wanted it in gold? I remarked to you then HOUSE. that I suspected ahe was going to leave us; and, you see, I was right," said Mr. Marks, to whom it was quite a satisfaction-a little ray of light in the very dark sky that loomed over him-.to be able thus to vindicate so triumphantly, particu- larly to his brother-in-law, the correctness of his judgment. "I remember your saying you were afraid she would leave you," replied Mr. Warwick. "And you ha~re no idea why she left- have heard nothing from her?" "Not a word-not the scrape of a pen!" cried Mrs. Marks, volubly. "All her things are here yet-two trunks, and ever so many "You know she drew a thousand dollars in gold from me on Tuesday," Mr. Marks here broke in, with an animation which he had not exhib- ited before, since the first suspicion of the bank robbery had dawned on his horrified apprehen- sion. "Well, on Friday, when she was going off, she borrowed ten dollar.r from Bessie! Think of that-..-ten dollars! Now, I saythat there's some- thing wrong about all this-one way or another- and I made up my mind that, if she didn't come back at the time she said, and couldn't give a satis- factory account of why she went-" "She went to see the priest, Richard-she said so!" cried Mrs. Marks, who was still some- what of a partisan of Katharine's. "Yes, she said so," answereAl Mr. Marks, dry- ly. "But she didn't say what was the reason this St. John - you remember the man you warned me about, Warwick, when you met him as he was going out of the bank that day?" Mr. Warwick nodded. "Well, there is some connection-" Here Mrs. Marks's eagerness grew quite un- controllable, and she dashed into the conversa- tion-taking the floor by storm from her more quiet husband-and proceeded to pour out the whole story of St. John's visit to Katharine im- mediately on her return from Annesdale: Mrs~ Gordon's having come in while St. John was there; what Mrs. Gordon had said; Katharine's hasty departure; Morton Annesley's call; St. John's call; Mrs. Annesley's call; St. John's second call, and the manner in which the latter had persisted ever since in persecuting the whole family, in the effort to obtain information of Katharine's whereabouts; her own solemn conviction that Katharine had gone away t~ get rid of St. John, and that she would never come back while he remained in Tallahoma; and Mr. Marks's obstinate resolution not to. receive her again into his family, if she did come back. I TWO AND TWO MAKE FOUR. 199 Mr. Warwick listened in attentive silence, and had finished his breakfast before the narration was concluded. When Mrs. Marks finally stopped an instant to take breath, he turned to her hus- band. "Has it never occurred to you that Miss Tresham might have been detained away acci- dentally?" "Never!" answered Mr. Marks, emphatical- ly. "It only occurs to me that there's some- thing wrong. I'm sure of it; and, though I don't know what it is, I'll have nothing more to do with Miss Tresham. I told Bessie at the time that it was a risky business to be engaging a governess without knowing any thing about her. I have no idea that Miss Tresham will ever re- turn here; but, if she walked into the room this minute, she should not stay very long. I'm done with her." Mr. Warwick said nothing. He did nothave time to argue the question just then, and, in fact, what could he have said? Perfectly ignorant of Katharine's motives, or the reasons which she might be able to give for her apparently singular conduct, he thought it best to be silent as to his knowledge of her present place of sojourn. He could only conjecture that Mrs. Marks's suspicion of her having left Tallahoma to avoid St. John was correct, and, as he had but a moderate opinion of Mrs. Marks's powers of reticence- or, indeed, of the capacity of people in general in that particular-he judged it most prudent to leave matters as they were-at least, until his return from the journey which he was about tak- ing. Unwilling as he had been to entertain the suspicion suggested by Mrs. Gordon concerning St. John, he had found it impossible to put the~ idea from him, notwithstanding that the evidence of Hugh Ellis as to the appearance of the bur- glars went far to discredit its probability. The correctness of Hugh's observation in the case of one of the two-which Mr. Warwick consid- ered fully corroborated by the testimony of the little Powell-entitled his statement to respect, and a little staggered the intuitive conviction, which had steadily been gaining ground in Mr. Warwick's mind, that Mrs. Gordon was right. Yet still, that conviction was only staggered, not done away with; and, though he thought it neces- sary to follow the clew which he had obtained, and which, so far as he was aware, did not p~int to St. John as a participant is the outrage, he was exceedingly anxious that the man should not leave Tallahoma during his own absence, and anxious, tlso, that he should continue ignorant of Katharine's movements. Therefore, he would not risk any thing, he thought, by premature can- dor. When the affair of the robbery was off his hands, he would take up this mystery about the governess, and see if he could not unravel it. So, without a word upon the subject, he rose, and, after a few more encouraging assurances that he would "bring the business" (of the robbery) "all straight," he took leave of the Markses, senior and junior, and, entering the buggy, which was at the gate, told Cyrus to drive to Mr. Powell's store. As he was passing the hotel, his quick eye caught sight of St. John on the bench that ran along the wall from end to end of the long piazza (for the convenience of the loungers who there did congregate at all times and seasons) engaged in what, to appearance, was the busi- ness of his life-smoking. He sat apart fz~m a group of noisy talkers, but near enough to enjoy the benefit of hearing their conversation. No sooner did Mr. Warwick appear in sight, than one of these gentlemen of leisure, a brother lawyer, started up, and stepped to the edge of the piazza to exchange a word with him as he passed. "Warwick! A moment, will you, War- wick!" cried he. "I did not know that you were back. When did you arrive?" "Yesterday evening," answered Mr. War- wick, as he stopped and shook hands cordially. "But I am off again, you see." "Ah?" said the other, with some surprise. "I thought you would have gone to work about the robbery. Don't you intend to hunt down those scoundrels?" Mr. Warwick smiled. "You know my faith in the old saw, 'Give a thief rope enough, and he is sure to hang himself.'" Mr. Ashe~-the legal brother-smiled also, and very significantly; though, as he stood with his back to the group in the piazza, nobody but Mr Warwick himself perceived the smileor the glance that accompanied it. He knew Mr. War- wick's faith in the said proverb; but he knew also that Mr. Warwick invariably took the pre. caution, In eases of the kind, to hold the end of the rope in his own hand-and shrewdly suspect- ed that he was not departing from his usual cus- tom on the present occasion. A few general remarks followed after this-Mr. Ashe judicious- ly refraining from indiscreet questions and then Mr. Warwick, pleading haste, went on his way. But he had taken theopportunity during the moment in which he was stationary almost page: 200-201[View Page 200-201] 200 MORTON directly in front of St. John-for he had not stopped the buggy until it passed a few feet be- yond the group of loungers-to cast one or two rapid, apparently careless, but in reality very keen glances at that personage. Glances which were returned with interest-since, on more than one account, the lawyer was an object of no common regard to the scheming adventurer. This was the man who had spirited away Felix Gordon-this the man who, according to the unanimous belief of his townsmen, "would soon ferret out the bank thieves." St. John had no particular, or, rather, no personal knowledge of Mr. Warwick's character; but he had heard enough about it in the discussions concerning the bank robbery, which were in everybody's mouth, to excite his apprehension. "Yet," thought he, moQdily watching the smoke, as it curled away from his lips, "what can the man do 1"' And then he went over in his mind all the precautions against detection which his comrade had so elaborately adopted; he remembered that this comrade was accom. pushed in the art of deceiving London and Pari- sian detectives; and he smiled cynically at the ider~ of a village-lawyer in "this d-d backwoods country," being able to outwit such an adept in his profession. For himself, he had not the slightest uneasiness. His figure had been so effectually disguised by much clothing and a heavy blanket-overcoat, that nobody, he was cer- tain, would ever imagine that the tall, slender, and elegant form, so familiar now to Tallahoma eyes, could have been transformed into that of Burglar No. 2, whose portrait passed from lip to lip as "short and square-built; just about such a looking man as Mr. Shields." Meanwhile, Mr. Warwick drove on a square or two, and stopped'bcfore Mr. Powell's store. "Is your father in, Jimmy?" he said, as the boy hurried forward to meet him. "Yes, sir. Will you walk into the counting- room I"' He led the way to a glass door at the farther extremity of the store, opened it, ushered in the lawyer, and closed it again-looking regretfully, as he did so, at the curtain which concealed the interior of the apartment from his view. He had scarcely returned to his place near the entrance of the store, however, before the folds of this curtain were pulled aside, and he saw his father's hand beckoning to him. All elate, he bounded down the long room, and disappeared from the gaze of the wondering clerks. A few minutes afterward, the door was again opened, and Mr. HOUSE. Warwick, Mr. Powell, and Jimmy, all issued forth -the face of the latter beaming with pleasure. "I am very much obliged to you, Powell," said Mr. Warwick, as they walked toward the door. "I'll take good care of Jimmy, and bring him safe back, I promise you." "I don't doubt that, Mr. Warwick. Always glad to accommodate you in any way, sir; and particularly glad in this case-for Marks's sake as well as your own. I only hope Jimmy may be of use to you." They shook hands, and Mr. Warwick, relinter- ing his buggy, pursued his way in one direction, while Jimmy, after also shaking hands with his father, and receiving a few parting injunctions from him, walked off in another. The latter went home, and, as Mr. Warwick had advised, put his tooth-brush and a change of linen into a pocket of his overcoat, and then proceeded, by a short cut through the woods, to Morton House. So correctly had Mr. Warwick reckoned the time which his own and the boy's movements would require, that, just as he drove out of the Morton domain, Jimmy emerged from the wood on the opposite side of the road, and joined him. "I give you credit for your punctuality," he said, with a smile. "Let me have the reins, Cyrus. I shall be back in a day or two. t4ood- by.-Up with you, Jimmy-this side." H~ drove oft; down the Saxford road, and kept it for several miles; then he took a fork to the left, and, after pursuing this for some miles far ther, emerged into the Chesselton road. -4- CHAPTER XXXVI. CHECKMATED. Ox Saturday afternoon, St John took hia usual sunset stroll, which invariably led him past the Marks residence, into the country tow- ard Morton House. He was in good spirits-in high spirits, in fact-for, by the Chesselton mail of the morning beTore, he had received a letter posted at the stage-house from which Gillespie had taken up his goggle-wearing passenger (a country post-office, as well as stage-house), ad- vising him of the safety thus far of his associate. Added to this, he was under the impression that Mr. Warwick had "gone off on a wrong scent." Not an hour had elapsed from the time at which that. gentleman halted for a moment at the hotel piazza to speak to his friend Mr. Ashe, before I I CHIEOKMATED- the group of loungers were discussing the fact of his having taken Jimmy Powell an~l started to Saxford. Everybody had heard Hugh Ellis's ac- count of the man who was at the bank with the ragged note, and was aware that Jimmy Powell believed he had seen the same man, on the same day, in his father's store; it was known that Mr. Warwick had been at the stage-office, making the most minutely particular inquiries; and some- body had met Mr. Warwick with Jimmy Powell in his buggy, travelling toward Saxford. With such circumstantial evidence, the inference was clear, thought the gossiping loungers and their interested auditor-Mr. Warwick had gone to Saxford in pursuit of the burglars, and had taken the boy along to identify the one he had seen. And while Mr. Warwick's admiring townsfolk exulted in anticipation at the suc- cess which they were sure awaited him, St. John smiled to himself sarcastically, and with intense satisfaction, at the failure which 1w was as confident the lawyer would meet with. He was thinking of this failure, congratulat- ing his confr~lre in crime and himself on the ad- mirable conception and execution of their daring exploit, and altogether in a better hi~mor with Fortune than he had been for many a d~ty before, when a curve in the road he was pursuing, broug1it~ him into an open and rather elevated space of ground, over which a crimson light from the blazing western sky was at the moment stream- lag. St. John was no lover of Nature. He did not turn to admire the magnificent sunset; but having just emerged from between two walls of lofty and dense forest, which had made an almost twilight gloom around him, he was surprised 'to find that the sun was not yet set, and he paused an instant to look at his watch. As he stood motionless, his figure was so clearly defined in the broad light, and against the background of sun-gilded forest, that Mr. Warwick, who was advancing from the opposite direction, though at least a quarter of a mile distant from the place where he stood, recognized the slender and ele- gant form at once. As it chanced that he was just approaching the gates of Morton House, he checked his horses. "I~have business here that I must stop to attend to," he said. "I suppose you can drive on to town alone, Jimmy?" "Certainly, sir." "You will find Cyrus at my office. Just hand the horses over to him." He alighted, and held out his hand with a cordial smile. "I shall 201 not forget the service you have rendered me, my boy. Good-evening." St. John, discovering that it was so much ear- lier than he had thought, walked on, with his eyes on the ground, as was his habit, and his thoughts still dwelling upon the success of his late "venture." He Was considering whether it would not be safest to destroy the paper, rather than run the risk of detection at any future time in attempting to pass it. This question had already been discussed by his associate and him. self; for, even before he had heard of the pre- cautions taken by the cashier to stop the notes, he was aware of the danger attending the illicit possession of bank-paper. But it had been de- cided to keep it, on the chance of being able to realize at least a part of it, af~qr the excitement about the robbery had blowIl over. He had in- tended to insist on one ~%oin~-that not a dollar of it should be used, until he himself was safe out of the country. His own safety once assured, he was not uncomfortably solicitous about that of the man whom he regarded merely as a tool forced upon him by Fate. Engrossed in meditations so interesting, Mr. St. John gave but the most careless glance at the buggy be met and passed. He had left behind him the sunny knoll which had betrayed his pres- ence to Mr. Warwick, as the road again entered between aisles of thick forest growth, when sud- denly he lifted his eyes with a sense of instinc- tive apprehension, and perceived at a distance of fifteen or twenty yards before him on his path, and advancing at a quick pace toward him, a man he instantly recognized as the lawyer whom he had supposed to be atthat very time in Sax- ford. He was startled-so much startled, that, for once, presence of mind deserted him. He turned and began to retrace his way to the vil- lage, hoping thus to 'avoid the Jnost transient meeting with a man for whom he had felt, from the first moment he ever saw him, a sense' of unequivocal distrust - a distrust amounting to positive fear under present circumstances. After a moment or t*o, he felt somewhat reassured from his first panic. What pretext could the man find for addressing him? So thinking, he walked more slowly, and endeavored to collect himself to meet with a properly supercilious wonder any salutation which the lawyer might make. But notwithstanding his resolution his heart beat quickly, as near and nearer be- hind sounded the sharp, firm tread that was overtaking him rapidly. Just as he had left the forest shade once more, and stood in the . - / page: 202-203[View Page 202-203] 202 MORTON ROUSE. CHECKMATED. 203 full light of the setting sun, a voice at his side said: "Good-evening, Mr. St. John." Ho turned with an air of affected surprise, cast a single glance at the speaker, responded coldly, "Good-evening," and fell back a pace, with the obvious intention of letting the other pass on. But Mr. Warwick, instead of taking the hint, stepped a little forward, and faced so as to impede the, way. "This chance meeting has saved me the trou- ble of hunting you up in Tallahoma, Mr. St. ,John," he said, quietly. "We will sit down on this log, ~f you please. I have something to say to you~" The tone, the manner, above all, the expres- sion of those p1 lug blue eyes, struck terror to theguilt~man's I. He quailed for an instant; but, rallying then~y great effort, answered sneeringly: "Really, sir, you are very obliging. But, to the~best of my recollection, I have not the honor of ygur acquaintance. You probably mistake me for some other person." Re would have moved on, but the tall form of the lawyer effect~xally barred the way. The only possibility of e~cape'~was by positive flight; and reckless~ and, morally degraded as St. John was, there still remained with him one at least of the instincts of gentlcmanhood.-courage. Re couhi not fly from an adversary: on the contrary, the very sense of open antagonism gave to him an unaffected boldness of bearing and of feeling, which the consciousness of crime had almost par- alyzed the moment before. He met Mr. War- wick's eye unflinchingly, as he said with super. cilious auteur: "What is the meaning of this insolence, sir?" Mr. Warwick smiled. '~ I am a little prema- ture, I admit, in claiming your acquaintance," he said, in so 'ordinary a tone that only a very nice ear could have detected an inflection of mockery in it; "but I have a little document to present to you, which will correct the infermalit~-a letter of intred~sction from your friend Mr. Gilbert Di- * dier, alias Dr. Joyner, edias Mr. Johnson, alias etc., etc., etc., ad itujnittsm, I have no doubt." He took out his pocket-book deliberately- though he kept his eye on St. John-opened it and produced a small, scaled note, which he ex- tended. St. John did not move to take it. His sallow face had grown actually livid, and he reeled as he stood, almost like one drunken. Mr. Warwick had the character ol' being a hare man; but, as he gazed at thh cowering form that only a moment before had worn so brave a front, an expression very much like that of compassion passed over his face. It vanished, however, as he saw the instinct of the bravo flash into the eyes of the detected criminal. Re was prepared for this; and, as St. John plunged his hand into his bos- om, he himself threw forward his right hand, and St. John, before he saw the weapon, heard the click of a pistol as it wa~ cocked. "If you.withdraw your hand, I fire," said the lawyer, in a tone not to be misunderstood. "You see that, in every sense, you are in my power- in my power absolutely. If y~u wish to save your life and your reputation, you will not at- tempt useless resistance, but will follow the example of your associate whom I yesterday even- ing caused to be arrested and lodged in Chessel- ton Jail for the late robbery of the bank at Tal- lahoma, and who has confessed his guilt." Re paused, and, with his pistol still covering St. John's person, waited for an answer-waited ~patiently enough, for he saw that a terrible strug- gle was going on in the mind of the miserable man, and he believed it would end in the man- nerhe wished. So he stood, watchful but patient, as the thin and now fearfully pallid face worked with a convulsive passion frightful to behold. Suddenly the face grew calm, settling into an ex- pression of half-sullen despair, of half-fierce de- fiance. "What are your proofs against me 7" he asked, with a directness which elicited Mr. War- wick's respect for his discretion in thus coming at once-to an understanding of his position. "Your promissory note in your own name to Didier, 'for one-half the specie secured in your late enterprise on the bank at Tallahoma '-I quote, you perceive, the wording of the note it- self-with an acknowledgment that the whole amount of money stolen is in your possession, and that the paper shall be disposed of as here- after agreed between Didier and yourself," was the reply, in a perfectly dispassionate and busi- ness-like tone. St. John gnashed his teeth. "Also," continued Mr. Warwick, in the same tone, "a letter of date of Thursday morning last, purporting to be from James Smith to Thomas Johnson, advising the latter that 'busi- ness goes on prosperously,' and so forth. The writing of this letter (though some attempt at disguising the hand was made), and the paper upon which it was written, would be recognized by a court of law as identical with those of the promissory note." "The vile hound, so he betrayed me!" ex- claimed St. John, more to himself than to Mr. Warwick. But the latter answered: "Joyner, or Didier, you mean, I suppose? No; Ialways give the devil his due. He did not betray you. I don't think he could have been induced to do so. I obtained the evidence I hold very much against his will by- Read his note. That, I presume, will explain." Once more he held the note toward St. John, and the latter, withdrawing his hand from his bosom, this time condescended to take it, though with an air of disdain. Tearing it hastily open, he read as follows: "Don't think that I betrayed you, St. John. I did not even make the slightest admission about' n~self until after this infernal lawyer-curse hi~ I Curse his whole tribe, for they are the same all the world over, from Lincoln's Inn to this damned out-of-the-way hole that 1 am caged in! I was going to say that I did not make thc t4ightest admission about myself, much less about you, until after all was up by his discovery of the false bottom' in my instrument-box that I showed you. I had stowed your note and letter in there for safety. I had hoped that you would escape with the money, for there was nothing to crimi- nate you, ~r even to suggest a suspicion against you, until this infernal law-ferret scented out the box,' and got possession of your note, and the tools that are my letters of credit and open. sesame into banks and out of prisons. After that it was no good in holding out, and I made the best terms I could with him for you as well as myself. Take my advice, and follow my example. You; will get off easy if you make no difficulty about giving up the money, which is lost to us anyhow, and it' will make considerable difference for me. Don't get into one of your devil's hu- more and refuse to listen to reason. You see h~ has evidence to convict you. And you owe it to me to do all you can for me, as I would have done for you; for I'll be d-d if anything would have induced me to betray you. "Truly yours, "G:rausnT Dxrnzn." "Have you seen this?" said St. John to the lawyer, when he had finished reading it. "Is what he says true?" Mr. Warwick took the note, which the other offered, with his left hand, and in turn ran his eye over its contents, without, however, suspend- ing his vigilance as to St. John's movements. "Yes, it is true," he answered, briefly. "What are your termsl" "I will spare you arrest and prosecution for the crime you have committed, and will keep your secret-not even telling it to my brother- in-law-on two conditions: first, that you at once give up the whole of the money; secondly, that you agree to leave this State and never re- turn to it. If you refuse these conditions, I will arrest you on the spot. You look as if you thought that'would not be easy to do "-he in- terrupted himself to say, as St. John's lip curled into a sneering smile-" but you are mistaken. As I told you a minute ago, you are in my power absolutely. The first movement that you make to possess yourself of the pistol that you have in your bosom, I will disable you. I don't intend to kill you, but I'll wing you; both sides, if neces- sary. I am the more powerful man of the two, and could then deal with you easily myself. Bnt I need not be at that trouble. I have only to raise my voice and shout for assistance, to be heard by some of the Morton negroes. The quarters are just round the point of that wood, and the hands are in from work by this time. They know me, and will obey any orders I give them." St. John's eyes sank to the ground, and he gnawed his lip sullenly, without speaking. Mr. Warwick, after a minute's silence, re- sumed: "Decide at once whether you accept my con- Aitions. I am in a hurry." "What terms do you offer as regards Di. dier?" "I have not made public the evidence that I hold against him. He was arrested at my in. stance, OIL suspicion of having been connected with the burglary. I need not say that my evi~~ dence is sufficient to convict you both. He was aware of this, or he would not have made the 'admissions which he did to me privately-for he is a bold scoundrel. I must do him that justice. On the restoration of the money, I will withdraw my accusation against him, and he shall be re- leased, on condition that he, too, leaves the coun- try. I shall retain the proofs against both of you that I possess, and, if either breaks the eon- dition I impose by coming back into the State, he will be coming to immediate arrest and prose- cution." page: 204-205[View Page 204-205] 204 MORTON HOUSE. " Your conditions won't do. I must have some of the money." "Not a stiver!i" " You may whistle for it yourself; then. My arrest -and conviction will not help you to a knowledge of where it is. Allow me five thou- sand dollars - the reward which that fellow Marks has offered for its recovery-two thou- sand five hundred apiece to Didier and myself, and I will produce it. Otherwise-do your worst I I shall at least have the gratification of baffling you, and ruining your insolent brother- in-law." "You are not as clever as you think your- self, Mr. St. John," said Warwick, dryly. "You forget that your accomplice knows where the money is concealed. To give you a chance, he refused to treat with 'me himself on the subject. But I leave you to judge whether he- is likely to' persist in his silence when he learns that you threw away the chance thus afforded' you, and as his own safety depends upon the restitution of the money. I give you terms much more favorable than you have any righj to expect, because it will be less troublesome to me to receive the money im-. mediately, and let you go, than to arrest and imprison you, and then make another jour- ney to Chesselton to bring Didier up here,. Once for all, do you take mly conditions or not7" e There was a pause, a struggle-a bitter strug- gle in St. John's mind, before he answered, sul- lenly--- "Yes." "Produce the money. I am aware that it is secreted in the woods somewhere hereabout. De- liver it to me at once." Without a word the defeated man turned and walked toward the great iron gates that gave en.- trance to Morton House, his companion keeping beside him. The sun had set very shortly after the foregoing conversation commenced, and it was now deep dusk on the lonely road which they tratversed; but when they entered the gates of, Morton-they did enter, St. John leading the way still silently-there was something of twi- light yet lingering in the mor-e open path that they pursued; and the full moon was just rising grandly brilliant in the clear eastern heaven. St. John, after keeping the path for a short distance, plunged into the thickest of the wood, and finally stopped at a spot well chosen for the purpose to which it had been applied-a sort of miniature ravine that was shut in on all sides by a thick undergrowth, and surrounded by tall forest-trees. Halting beside the huge trunk of a fallen tree, he stirred among the dry leaves with his foot for an instant, then, stooping, took up by the handle-a mattock which had been concealed there. Walk- ing a few steps farther, to the foot of the tree, he again pushed away a quantity of dry leaves that filled a hollow caused by the violent up-. tearing from the earth of the roots of this for- est monarch, which had been blown down by a hurricane, and proceeded to exhume with the mattock the treasure that he was forced to re- sign. Mr. Warwick watched the work i silence; but when St. John, after removing the shallow layer of earth that had covered a pair of small leather saddle-bags, hauled it out with the mat- tock and pushed it with a heavy thump toward him, he said: " Is the money all here ?" . "Yes." "Very well.. Keep your part of the agree- Iment and I shall keep mine." He picked up the saddle-bags, and they left the spot as silently as they had sought it; and it was not until they had regained th? open path again that another word was spoken. Then Mr. Warwick paused and said: " Our paths separate here. I have been trav.- elling and am tired-and this is rather a heavy weight to carry from here to Tallahoma.- I will cross the wood to Morton House, and borrow Mrs. Gordon's carriage to take rap to town. Good-evening." St. John deigned no reply. He waited to hear the conclusion of Mr. Warwick's speech-- then, without a syllable, without even a glance, he turned and walked rapidly toward the gates. Some short time afterward, to Mrs. Gordon's surprise, Harrison ushered Mr. Warwick into her sitting-room. He carried on his arm the leather saddle-bags, and, declining the servant's proposal to relieve him of it, deposited it himself on a side-table before accepting Mrs. Gordon's invita- tion to join her ait her tea, which she was just , taking. - " You do not drink tea," she said.-" Coffee, Harrison, and something a little more substan- tial than this." She pointed to the table. While Harrison went to execute this order, the lawyer 'told his story, and preferred his request for the carriage. "I tell this to you only," he said, after she had congratulated him cordially on the recovery of the money. "Having received the first hint of the man's guilt from you, I do not consider it I I CHECKMATED. 205 " a breach of my promise to tell you that your sus picion was just." Harrisoni returned, here, with a reiinforcemen of edibles that quite transformed the appearance of Mrs. Gordon's tea-table; and, after taking his supper with the appetite of a man who has been travelling, and is in excellent spirits, Mr. War- wick said good-evening to his friend and hostess, and once more preferring to carry his saddle- bags himself (a little to the scandal of Harrison, who was old-fashioned in his ideas of the pro- prieties), he entered the carriage which was in readiness, and was soon set down at the garden- gate of the Marks residence. - Passing up the walk and through the piazza, -he entered the dining-room, and1 found Mr. and Mrs. Marks its sole occupants-the children hav- ing been seat off to bed when the tea-table was removed, an hour before. He paused on thbe threshold of the door, and, himself unperceived, regarded for an instant, with a smile of dry humor, the disconsolate-looking pair. Mr. Marks, solemn-visaged and pale, sat gazing with a dull stare into the fire; while his wife, her usually busy hands folded in pathetic idleness, was look- ing sorrowfully at him. " Well, Marks, I have brought you back part of your money," said Mr. Warwick, advancing into the room. " Just draw that little table for-. ward, and we will count it, and see how much is missing." Mr. Marks sat motionless, so startled and astonished was he by this unexpected appear- ance and address of his brother-in-law. He looked from Mr. Warwick's face to the saddle- bags on his arm, and back again, in dumb in- credulity of the possibility of such good fortune; until the latter, growing tired of the weight,-de- posited it upon the knees of the stupefied cashier, while he himself fetched the table he had asked for, transferred to it a candle from the mantel- piece, lifted the saddle-bags'again and set them down with a sounding thud beside the candle, drew a chair to the table, and sat down. Then, as he proceeded methodically to unbuckle one of the bags, life flashed back through Mr. Marks's stagnant veins, and he drew his chair forward with feverish eagerness-impatient of the slowness, as it seemed to him, with which Mr. Warwick's long white fingers did their work. One, two, three straps ; and the buckles were new and stiff, hard to open. But the flap was lifted at last, and Mr. Warwick's hand brought forth bag after bag, and ranged them before the hungry eyes that looked on. When he had emp-. 14 - Tied both bags, he began telling over their con- tents. Twenty-four canvas bags--the mint mark, t" $1,000," bright and black on each-seals un- broken (with the exception of one, a little larger than the rest, which had been opened and was now tied at its mouth with a piece of red tape), *and two packages of bank-notes. These Mr. Warwick examined first. He patiently counted the smallest package--the notes that had been in circulation. " Thirteen hundred and twenty- seven dollars," he said, as he put down the last bill " That was the amount, was it not ?" " That was the amount," answered Mr. Marks, recovering speech. "Now let us see whether this is right too," said the lawyer, unwrapping a newspaper that, was folded loosely around the larger pack- age. " All right !" cried the cashier, eagerly, as he saw that here too the seals were intact. "Good God! I never thought to see any of it'again, and here it is just us I saw it last! This bag " -he took up the one that was tied--"has eighty dollars over the amount in the others. It was part of what I was to keep, and I put the eighty dollars in-" " John, how did you get it back !" exclaimed Mrs. Marks, who had been literally inarticulate with joy up to this moment. " Oh, my dear, dear John, how did you get it back ?" "Nve mind about that, Bessie," he an-. swered, smiling. " All I can tell you is that I tracked down one of the burglars and made hima disgorge." " You've got him safe, I hope, for punish- ment ?" said Mr. Marks. . "No. I could not secure the thief and the money both-so I preferred of the two to~take the money," answered he, rising and standing on the hearth-rug with his back to the fire. " But John-" If you ask me any more questions, Bessie, Plmake Marks pay mae the fire thousand dol- lars reward that he offered for the recovery of the money," interrupted her brother, with his slight and rare laugh. ." Why, you don't mean, John, that you're not going to tell us any thing more than this ?" " Yes, Bessic, I mean just that. I have con- jured back the money-there it is!I-and that' must satisfy you." "It satisfies mc !" cried Mr. Marks, speak- ing like himself once more. '.' John, I .donet know how to thank you!" He started up and began shaking Mr. Warwick's hand so hard that page: 206-207[View Page 206-207] 206 MORTON HOUSE. the latter could not restrain a slight grimace of pain. * "Don't try," he said, as he managed to with. draw the sufferin~ member from that merciless grasp. ."Where are the children? Not gone te bed already, surely?" "Yes, they are gone to bed. It's not very early," answered Mrs. . Marks, apologetically. "Why, what am I thinking of! - don't you want some supper, John?" "Thank you, no-I have had supper. Have you heard any thing from or of Miss Tresham yet?" "Not a word. And never shall, I expect." She sighed. "There you are mistaken. I can give you some news of her." "You can!" "Yes," And he proceeded to describe his having found her in Hartsburg the week before~ and all 'that had followed. The Markses were amazed, and . even a little sympathetic so far as the brain-fever was concerned; but Mr. Marks remained firm in his resolution of having noth- ing, more to do with her. "I liked her very much," he said, "and all may be right so far as she herself is concerned; but I'm convinced there's something wrong about this Mr. St. John, and there certainly is some connection between the two; so I think it safest to have nothing more to do with Miss Tresham. I've made up my mind to it, and I hope you won't, try to change my resolution, John "Cer~ain1y not," interrupted Mr. Warwick, a little coldly. "If you have made up your mind, that settles the matter. All I have to say Is, that you are acting very hastily and very~ foolishly, in my opinion. I wonder if Tom has gone to bed, as well as the children?" "Do you want him?" "Yes; I should like to aend word to Hugh Ellis that the money is safe?' "You're right 1" cried Mr. Marks, with ani- mation; "Poor Hugh! I'll go and send at once, and relieve his mind." The~message certainly relieved Hugh's mind, but it put his curiosity on the rack; and great was his disappointment the next morning when he learned that this curiosity was not to be grati- fied by any more satisfactory information than that very meagre account which the Markses had already heard~ , Nor was he alone in his disap- pointment at Mr. Warwick's reilcenee. All La- grange felt defrauded and indignant; and St. John, as he sat next morning for the last time in the hotel piazza (he left in the Saxford coach at noon that day), listening to the gossip of the loungers, had the satisfaction-if in his existing frame of mind any thing could be a satisfaction to him-of hearing Mr. Warwick's obstinate re. fusal to give any explanation of how he recor'. ered the money, commented upon and censured in the strongest terms. -4-- CHAPTER XXXVII. TO WIN on LOSE IT ALL. rznnuAny came with a burst of tender, spring. like beauty that seemed to take the world by storm. Far away on the hills and over the woods, the soft, purple mist of the spring-time-that mist to the careless eye so like, and to the ob- servant eye so essentially unlike, the blue, melan- choly haze of the Indian summer-rested like a promise of coming beauty and budding vegeta- tion, hung like a veil of enchantment over each distant scene, rounding every outline, softening every rugged shape, clothing all things with a loveliness that charmed the senses like a draught of fairy elixir; if, indeed, we do not dishonor Nature by such comparisons, for what fairy elixir could be half as full of the delicious power to charm as her least gleam of sunshine, her palest sunset, the least flicker of her shadow~' upon a velvet turf? Sometimes February comes with dun skies and dropping tears, and sad robes trail- ing over the cold-brown earth; but then again- and this more frequently-she comes in the win- some guise of which we have spoken, crowned with flowers-who does not love them better even tjian the royal roses of May ?-and followed by a train of joyous birds that seem to fill the air with their happy twitter and 'full-throated song. "Singing, perhaps, does not so much make them happy, as it saves their little hearts from burst- ing because they are so full of happiness," says one of the sweetest and most tender of writers; and sometimes we think this must be so. Some- times we feel as if they utter out- happiness, as well as their own, out- thanks to God for the bounteous gift of all this His fair and glorious creation. it seemed so at least to Katharine, as she felt the world waking to new life all around her- felt it as she felt the health that was coiiiing like new wine into her veins, and flushing her cheek. She was by this time domesticated at Ilellefont, and every thing was very pleasant around her. I TO WIN OR Luxurious appointments, plentiful attendance, kind faces, cordial tones, smiles that seem only the faint reflections of warm hearts- -who has not been cheered by such a haven once or twice in life, at least? Who has not gone forth warmed, invigorated, grateful for what has been, and courageous to meet what may be? Just now it was the time of rest with Katharine. The first period of convalescence was past, and she was well enough to make one of the family, cir- cle into which she had entered; yet the habits of illness still clung to her, and the task of getting well was as yet far fromcomplctc Re- pose was still a necessity; and this repose the Lesters took especial care to secure for her. Though the house was thronged with company half the time, Katharine found that every thing had been arranged so that she could see as much or as little of it as she chose; and when she chose to see exceedingly little, nobody found fault or was offended. Mrs. Lester, a quiet, motherly old lady who wore black-silk aprons, and carried a huge basket of keys1 sympathized with the young stranger, and spent much time in concocting delicate, dainty dishes with which to tempt her appetite; Colonel Lester made her welcome in very pleasant and hearty fashion, gnd promised her exercise on a "splendid~~ riding-horse that would bring back her roses as soon as she waS able to sit in the saddle; Miss Lester was charmingly kind, and kept her dozen or so of bOisterous cousins to herself as much as possible; Miss Vernon Katharine liked better every day; Spitfire condescended to remember that he had formerly made her acquaintance, and to greet her with tolerable amiability; and the redoubtable Bulger (whose teeth in themselves were enough to terrify a nervous person into hysterics), suavely permitted her to pat hi~ head, when he was triumphantly marched in for inspec- tion by his doting mistress. Even the maid who was detailed for her special service had a bright, pleasant face; and any one who has ever suffered from a sour, sullen, Or unwilling servant, will need no assurance that this was a very far from inconsiderable item in the general sunshine. On the whole, Katharine felt as if she was in a sort of dream. Tallahoma 1-Mrs. Marks! -the school-room 1-St John 1-Mrs. Gordon! What had become of them all? Which was real, that life or this one? What had befallen all thohe people since she parted from them so long ago? What chance had led these kind Samaritans to the way-side where they had found her? It all seemed strange---nearly as strange LOSE IT ALL. 207 as when she first waked from unconsciousness and asked those bewildered questions which no- body would answer-which nobody had answered to her satisfaction yet. One evening, a few days after her arrival at Bellefont, she was down-stairs, in the cosy sit- ting-room where the family assembled when there was no company, where Mrs. Lester pla- cidly knitted in one corner, where Colonel Les- ter read the papers, and occasionally nodded over them, where he played whist, and never nodded over that, where Miss Lester had her particular seat by the fire (the same seat on which she had nursed her doll a few years before), from which she chattered nonsense unceasingly, where Spit- fire basked luxuriously on the hearth-rug, and where a little darkey with an unnaturally solemn face and an unnaturally-clean cheek apron, sat in a corner by the fireplace on a low stool, ready to hold Mrs. Lester's yarn, to bring chips, and run errands generally, for anybody who wanted any thing. It was a pleasant, home-like scei~e, Kath- arine thought, as she sat back in a corner (it is astonishing how many corners a room of this description can manage to have), and watched and listened, herself quiet and silent. There was a piano in still another corner-somewhat in the shade-and at this Miss Vernon was singing that softest and sweetest of Scotch ballads, "The Land o' the Leal." The clear voice-'-which had no power in it for bravura execution--sounded very sweetly in the touching cadences of the tender melody. They were all silent, and all listening - even Colonel Lester, who cared no more for music in general than for the beating of a tin pan-when there came a step in the hail. "Some of the ubiquitous cousins," thought katharine, with a sigh of regret; but a familiar voice was heard saying, "Yes, I know the way," and Godfrey Seymour entered the room. The music did not cease. Miss Vernon only nodded to him with a smile, and went on singing, while he made the tour of the fire, shaking hands with every member of the circle, and only recognizing Katharine when he came to her last of all. "Miss Tresham 1" he exclaimed. "What a pleasant surprise!" Then he greeted her warm- ly, and sat down by. her side. Katharine did not feel much like conversation, but it never required any efl'ort to talk to Seymour.. He was so frank, so simple, so free from all effort him- self that, unconsciously, he forced others to ,be natural also. Miss Tresham was startled: when at last she glanced at the clock and saw how long she had been talking to him. page: 208-209[View Page 208-209] 208 MORTON HOUSE. " I must go," she said, smiling. "I am an invalid still, and keep invalid hours. You will excuse me, won't you ?" " Of course, I excuse you," he answered, "especially since I hope to see you very soon again." lIe went with her to the door, shook hands when he said good-night, and then, in turning back, cast a quick glance round the room,that took in the occupation of every one of its in- mates. One of the ubiquitous cousins kad ar- rived, and was entertaining Miss Lester, Colonel Lester was nodding over a newspaper, Mrs. Les- ter wps winding some yarn which Flibbertigibbet, (a name of his young mistress's bestowal), held solemnly on his two little black paws. Miss Ver- non was still at the piano, singing softly to her- self. To the piano, therefore, Mr. Seymour took his way. "I don't know what you will say to me," he began; as he settled himself in a seat byithe key- board. ."I have broken faith with everybody, and told Miss Tresham that Morton is staying with me." "Indeed !" said Miss Vernon, stopping in the midst of her song. " And what did she say ?" " Nothing in particular," he answered, "though I assure you I was frightened enough when I found I had let out the secret. I had been warned so solemnly against any indiscre- tion of the kind, that I fully expected her to faint; but, instead of that, she had not even the grace to turn pale." " How foolish you arc! !" said the young lady, smiling. " Of course, nobody ever expected her to faint, or even to turn pale. In fact, there is no reason why she should not be told aliout him. You know it was by the doctor's orders that. every thing has been kept from her up tor this time; but I think she is niell enough now -to bear something a little more exciting than dear Mrs. Lester's nice soups and omelets." "I bring a message from Annesley, anyway. The podr fellow wants to know when he can come tver. I was charged to make intercession for him, and I can do so most sincerely. It is amazingly dull for him over at our place." "Thiat is a slander on your place which I won't sanction. Because 'Mr. Annesley happens to be lovesick, and unable to find any pleasure in any thing that is not brightened by Miss Tresh- am's eyes "-(then with some contrition)-" there . goes my sharp tongue again I I wonder if I never shall cure myself of saying ill-tiatured things ? * Honestly, I am very sorry for him, and it was only to-day that I told Maggie that she ought to write a note and tell him he might come. I am very glad you paved the way by speaking of him to Miss Tresham. Dy-the-by, this reminds me that Mrs. Lester has received a letter from Mr. Warwick, begging her to keep all accounts of th'e Tallahoma bank robbery from Miss Tresham, and adding that he will be down here soon to take her back to Lagrange." "lie seems to take a great deal of interest in Miss Tresham. I hope it does not hode ill for Annesley." "Nonsense ! I should as soon think of a volume of Blackstone falling in love as Mr. War- wick. Miss Tresham was his sister's governess, and he has been very hind to her-that's all. Men are twice as fanciful as women are about such things as this." " Perhaps because we know each other bet- ter. Miss g4esham is amazingly pretty," he added, candidly, " and very attractive, very sym- pathetic. I sltould hot mind falling in love, with her myself." " Do it, then, by all means. Your chance would be quite as good as Mr. Annesley's, I should think." ~- "I might, perhaps, if-no man can serve two masters, you know, much less twvo mistresses. Now, I found mine long ago. Fortunately, or probably unfortunately, for me, I could not change my allegiance, if I would." " It is a misfortune to be too constant," said Miss Vernon; but she said it very gently, and then changed the subject abruptly. " And Mr. Annesley wants to make an appearance on the scene, does he ? " ["He sent me over specially to intercede for him. Not that I needed much persuasion to induce me to come," he added, with a slight grimace. "I am always ready enough to singe my wings. Tell me what message I shall take back to the poor fellow." " We must go and ask Mrs. Lester that. I can't venture to bid him come merely on my own responsibility." . Mrs. Lester being propitious, it was finally decided that Mr. Annesley might venture to make his appearance at Bellefont the next morning ; and, with this comforting news for his friend, Mr. Seymour took leave. The next morning was unspeakably lovely. The sky had not a cloud, the air was soft and warm, yet full of buoyancy-so full of buoyancy that it almost seemed as if it were possible to feel the buds expanding, the flowers opening, and I I TO WIN OR LOSE IT ALL. 209 the grass springing all around. As Miss Vernon sauntered back and forth on the front terrace, her bright beauty looked akin to the bright day. She almost dazzled Seymour and Annesley when they came riding up, and, dismounting from their horses, looked up and saw her ,standing at the top of the steps, with the sunshine pouring over her slender figure, her fresh morning-dress sweep- ing the gravel-walk, and a knot of violets fast- ened at her throat. " I am very glad to see you," she said, greet- ing them both with a smile. "Is not the day charming ? I could not stay in the house, though there are half a dozen people there who have come with the deliberate intention of spending the day-the Roystons, and ever so many more. Mr. Seymour, you need not look so much alarmed. You can stay out here with me, if you choose, and that will give me a good excuse for not going back. I can say you kept me." "And put all -the blame on my shoulders," said Godfrey, laughing. ."Well, they are broad enough to bear it, and I accept the responsibil- ity with pleasure. We will certainly stay. It is a sin to go in-doors such a day as this." "But how about me ?" asked Annesley,. " Am I to be left to the tender mercies of Roys- ton & Co., or ap I to be allowed to remain an'd enjoy the beauties of Nature also ?" "You are to come with me and he shown what you are to do," answered Miss Vernon.- " Stay here, Mr. Seymour, if you please, I will be back in a minute-This way, Mr. Annesley." Somewhat amused, and a little puzzled, Mor- ton obeyed, an followed the young autocrat around the terrace. She led him to an angle of the house, and quite out of sight of the draw- ing-room, before she paused. Then she stopped, and pointed to three French windows that opened on the terrace, just where the terrace overlooked the garden, which lay to the south, , "Do you know where those windows lead, Mr. Annesley," she asked, gravely. - " I think I do, Miss Irene," answered Mor- ton, with equal gravity. " They* lead into the sitting-room." " Well, if you choose to go through one of them, you will find Miss Tresham in the sitting- room. I left her there half an hour ago." . ." But is there no fear of startling her ?" - ' "None at all, I assure you. She knows you are expected, and I don't think she troubles her- self to be the least bit excited about it. She said she should be glad to see you-she wanted to hear from Lagrange. Go in, by all means, and give her the news from Lagrange ; only remem- ber " (and her voice changed prom bantering to earnest) " that you must not mention the bank robbery. For some cause, Mr. Warwick has pro- hibited it." " You may depend on my discretion," he said, and was turning away, when she extended her hand and touched him. " One moment, Mr. Annesley," she said, smiling and blushing. Many a long day after- ward the scene came back to Morton;- he re- membered the sweet spring sunshine, the slender white hand on his coat-sleeve, the beautiful face bending toward him, the frank, 'tender eyes, and the delicious fragrance of the violets fastened at her throat. " One word, Mr. Anuesley," she said, hastily- "Don't think me impertinent, but we are old friends, and-may I wish you success? " For one moment Annesley was surprised; the next, he felt deeply touched. The few words had been so sweetly and so gracefully said that the veriest churl must have acknowledged their charm. It was fortunate that they were out of sight of the drawing-room windows, for, follow- ing his first impulse, he bent and kissed the hand. " Thank you, Miss Irene," he said, simply. Then, before she could answer, he was walk- ing away toward the French windows. As it chanced, Katharine was sitting imme- diately in front of one of these windows, leaning. back with supreme comfort in a deep arm-chair, enjoying idly all the fresh beauty of the scene before her, and so wrapped in the dreamy reve- rie which such weather inspires, and which does not deserve to be called thought, that a book she had been attempting to read had dropped from her hand to her lap, and lay there unheeded. She hardly started when a crisp, ringing step- step that she knew well-sounded on the gravel walk, when Morton drew aside the curtaius and looked in at the window, thus finding himself face to face with the woman he had come to seek. " Miss Tresham!I How happy I am to see you!" he exclaimed, making one long step through the window to her side. " How happy' I am to see you ! and to see you looking so entirely yourself!" " How happy I am to be well enough to -be seen again! " she answered, letting him take both her hands in his warm, eager clasp. "You are very good to-to look so glad," she added, with a little laugh. "Everybody is so good to page: 210-211[View Page 210-211] 210 MORTON HOUSE. me! You have heard how these kind peoph insisted on bringing me here to get well?" "I have heard considerably more that you have, I believe," said he, laughing in turn. Then he released her hands, and, stepping back a lit- tle, looked at her. Her illness had not left any very terrible traces. That was his'first thought. The worst was certainly the loss of her hair; yet, even that did not disfigure her as much as might be ima- gined. The head had only been shaven on the top of the scalp, and that was covered by a light and infinitely becoming cap of muslin and lace; elsewhere the brown hair, which was not more than an inch or two long, had an inclination to curl, that saved it from the horribly-ungraceful aspect of short straight hair~ Round the fore- head it lay in soft, pretty rings, that seemed to suit the delicate complexion, which had an exqui- site transparence, that is often seen after severe illness, but rarely ever at any other time. l~ven the eyes he knew so well had caught, Morton thought, new beauty; they were so full of dewy lustre, as they looked up, dazzled and drooping a little fr~rn the sunshine! Perhaps this dewy lustre sprung from tears. At least, there was something like a suggestion of tears in her voice when she spoke. "Everybody is so good to me!" she repeat- ed, with much feeling. "How could anybody help being good to you?" he asked, in a tone that carried with it an unmistakable accent of sincerity. After he said it, something rose in his throat and choked him ~a little. With that face before him, and the golden day all around4 a sudden remembrance came of the nEght when this bright life had seemed passing away from earth, and the things of earth, into that realm of darkness and shadow which to him, as to ninny people, the night served to typify. Was it real? Was it she, sitting be- fore him there with the sweet, flickering smile- smile half akin to tears-on her lip? Or was that other only a dream-that memory of past danger, darkness, and distress? He found it Impossible to realize them both. Yet, he looked at her, and said: "You don't know how grateful I am that you are gaining health and strength once more." "Can you imagine how grateful I am?" she asked. "It is so pleasant-no words can say how pleasant-to feel life coming back with everybreath one draws 1 The most common and trivial things of existence seem to have new sweetness and value, when one has so nearly lost them. This day-no doubt, it is charr~i. ing enough to you, but to me it seems like para- dise! So it is with every thing. I cannot de- scribe the sensations that beset me; or-, per- haps, I can, sum them up in one-I am so glad to get well!" "And glad to be here, are you not?" "Vory. glad, indeed, though everybody was most kind in Hartsburg. I don't understand matters quite yet," said she, looking puzzled; "but I suppose I shall after a while.' I was sur- prised to hear that you were expected to-day How do you chance to be down here?" "Oh, I-I am staying with Godfrey Sey- mour," *said he, smiling a little. "What are you reading?" She held out the book. It was a volume ci' the "Facrie Qucene." "I wanted something that would not excite me," she said; "and this is an old and dear favorite, that has gone with me many a rnmble. Perhaps it is from this association that it seems to me as if it should always be read with bright sunshine and beautiful scenes all around. I am so glad to see you!" she went on, with an abrupt change of subject, as Annesley took the volume and began turning ovcr~the leaves. "I want to ask you about Lagrange. I feel as if the world might have come to an end while I was lying sick in Hartsburg; so I really have not dared to write to anybody. Tell me some- thing, please, Mr. 'Annesley." "What shall I tell you?" asked Mr. An. nesley, becoming much interested in the "Facrie Qucene." - "Any thing," answered she, impatiently. "Don't look that way, or I shall think t'hihre is something you 'don't want me to know. Mr. Annesley "-growing pale-" tell me, please, is there any thing?" "On my honor, not a thing," answered Mor- ton, hastily, quite startled by her sudden change of color. "What should there be? and, if there were any thingwhy should I not tell you 2 I- I'll go and bring Mrs. Lester to you, if you don't get your color back," he added, becoming more alarmed. "No, don't!,~ said she, holding out her hand as he half turned to go. "Stop; the color will come back in a minute. I fancy your fright is only an excuse to escape from my questions," she went on, smiling faintly. "I have not asked them yet, you know. Did you see Mrs. Marks before you left Lagrange?" "Yes, I saw her, and she was quite well. I TO WIN OR LOSE IT ALL. 211 Please let me go and get you something-some water or ~ "I need nothing at all; thank you. Did Mrs. Marks say any thing to you with regard to me or my absence?" Poor Morton cast about in his mind for an evasive answer, found none, and plunged head- long at a reckless truth. "She mentioned you, of course, and ex- pressed great concern at your absence. You- she-it seems you did Aet tell her how long you meant to be away?" "How coukt~when I had no idea of any thing like this? It is like a dream," she said. "You don't know how strangely vague every thing seems. Almost immediately after I ar- rived in Saxford, things waver and grow dim in my recollection. I stayed there two or three days-longer, perhaps-waiting for Father Mar- tin. :1 think, in fact I am sure, that the fever was '~h me then. My remembrance of those days is of continued, dull, heavy pain, and burn- ingvt~irst. If I 'Ifad been myself, of course, I should have gone back to Tallahoma; but I was full of cowardice and terror-terror of a person whom I did not like-and I had no control over my nerves. Day by day this grew worse, until it became a wild desire for flight. My last tangible recollection is of making up my mind to leave Saxford and going to sell my watch, fQr I had brought very little money with me. After that, ~ver~ thing is a blank till I waked up in Harts. b~urg, and they told me I had been at death's ddor. I don't know what they think of me in Taliahoma. It has been six weeks, you know, since I left there-but I have felt a quietness about it that amazes myself. I am glad to come back to life; but it seems as if many things that troubled me before have dwindled in im- portance, have less, far less power to disturb me than they formerly had." "Then that is one good result, at least, arising from your illness." She looked a little startled. "Why, is there any thing that I must hear?" "How quick you are to suspect what has no existence! There is nothing at all that I know of. I am simply glad that you have reached an enviable state of indifference to things subluna- ry, which are more often disagreeable than pleas- ant." "I did not say I was indifferent. I hope I never shall be. I think indifferent people have hardly a right to live in a world that is full of things to take interest in. Never mind about that, however. Tell me how many days it has been since you left Lagrange." "Days!~~ He first stared, then hesitated. "It has been a month since I left home." "Indeed!" The extreme of astonishment was in her face and in her voice. "A month!" she repeated. "Then you must have been else- where? You cannot have been here all that time?" "If by here you mean Apalatka, I am obliged to confess that I have been here all the time.~~ "But Mr. Annesley-" "Well, Miss Tresham?" "I beg your pardon," said she, coloring. "I was so much surprised that I was o~ the point of being very uncivil. I was about to ask what you had been doing here." She spoke with perfect unconsciousness; but her words seemed charged with meaning to Mor- ton. He had gone in search of her with one fixed purpose in his mind: he had waited to see ,her, ,steadily resolved to accomplish that purpose as soon as practicable; and now, here was the op- portunity to do it. Morton did not fear his fate very much, as his frank assertion to Mr. Warwick on the night that Katharine lay, as they thought, dying, plainly showed. Poor fellow! He had been so spoiled and humored, so praised and taught to consider himself irresistible all his life, that the wonder w~s, not that he had little~ van-i ity, but that he had half so much honest humil- ity. There was nothing of offensive puppyism- in fact, there was nothing of puppyism at all- in his belief that Miss Tresham would accept him. He wondered at it himself, and, despite Jiis apparent grounds for confidence, could not help doubting it a little. He even flushed sud- denly at her last words, more like a boy than like a man of the world; then looked straight at her with his clear eyes. "I will tell you what I have been doing here," lie said. "I have been ivaiting to see "To see me!" repeated Katharine. Sh~*as stupid just then, and it did not occur to her what he meant. On the contrary, her head was so full of Tallahoma, and St. John, and Mrs. Gordon, that she turned pale again, and gave a low, trem- bling cry. "I knew it," she said. "Yen have something to tell mc. 0 Mr. Annesley, pray be kind and tell it at once." "I think I am the most bungling fellow that ever lived!" cried Annesley, out of patience 3vith himself. "This is the third time I have stai~tled page: 212-213[View Page 212-213] MORTON HOU$E. MEA CUI4PA. 213 you withQut any earthly reason for it. Please belie~re, once for all, that there is nothing I could tell you if I wanted to-of a disagreeable nature, I mean. There is something I wish to tell you, and mean to tell you," he went on, hurriedly; ~ but it certainly cannot have the merit of nov- elty, and I hope it will not be disagreeable to you. Miss Tresham~ do I need to tell it? Don't you know-you, without any help from me--why I came here~and why I have remained?" In ,a~ second she knew what he meant. A flush caine over the pale face, then died away, leaving it paler than ever. Looking at her, An- nesley was startled; he did not know whether to hope or ~to fear. Only one thing was certain-a good sign, it is usually considered-she did not speak. Still there was something about her, now as ever, which kept him at a distance, which made blia speak with humility when there was every reasonable ground for speaking with hope. ~' Miss Tresham," he said, "don't be angry with me. I only mean this: that I love you so ~'ell 1 cannot keep silent longer. I-what is the use of talking 1" said the young man, with a sud- dez~, passionate burst of excitement. "You are every thing in the world to me; words are too poor to tell you what you are. I never knew what love was till your face kindled it in my heart. I should have spoken long ago if-if you had given me one sign of encouragement. But you are so cold, so self-contained. Even now-" J~Ie stopped suddenly-stopped without any apparent ~ause-.-and, turning, walked away. He was right. Words were too poor to tell her what he felt, to utter the great love, the faith- ful, honest devotion which lay at her feet ready for her to take up and make her own. But then, again, no words were needed to tell him tha4 he had spoken in vain, that there was no ~hswer to his passionate pleading in that averted face, that the hand lying so lightly on the arm ofjwr chair would never be extended to him, ~ever~--*~h, never! The knowledge came on him with a rush-.--a force that was equivalent to a physical blow. lie stopped, turned pale, and walked to the other end of the room. Then tl~ere wp~ it silence. A bird just outside of the window was twittering and trilling as if in the verye~uberance of happy content, a ripple of gay voices and laughter sounded across the hall front the drawing-room, and a gardener just be- low the terrace sung to himself a negro melody as lw spaded. ~KatIiarine was the first to speak, her voice ~liJ3g notl~ing of ibe struggle it had been to command it, as she uttered his name. He came back instantly, a light of wistful hope in his eyes that touched her heart, and gave her tones a sort of quiver whe~i she went on: "Mr. Annesley, forgive me that I did not speak. You surprised me so much, and I-I am not very strong yet. What can I say?" she added, after a moment's pause. "It seems use- less to tell you that I am grateful for~ the honor you have done me. I admire you so much, I esteem you so highly, that I shall be prouder, all my life, and yet sadder, too, to think that you should have loved me. But you know-ah, why have you been so foolish ?-you know it cannot be!" "I only know that it depends on you," said Annesley. "On nothing-on nobody else. Un- derstand this, you hold my life in your hands. Keep it, or throw it away, just as you please; all the same, it is yours." "Hush 1" said Katharine, gently. "Pray, don't talk like that. YourJife.-.ah, Mr. Mines- Icy, how much you have forgotten when you sp~k so to me.' Your life can be nothing to me, my life less than nothing to you. Not a single interest or possibility of one crosses, or can cross, the other. Why have you forgotten this?" "Rather ask why I sliould remember-why I should believe it." "You know it is impossible," said she, speak- ingwith an earnestness that startled him. "You have acted on a sudden impulse-a generous im- pulse, I am sure-but you must see and feel that it is impossible; that I am nothing, that I never can be any thing to you." "You are every thing to me," he answered, standing before her, pale and resolute, deter- mined evidently to obtain a definite answer before he left her presenue. "I-oh, how foolish I am!" said Katharine, as a sudden rush of tears ended her sentence almost before it was begun. She was foolish- very foolish-but this was a great temptation; and that fact may, perhaps, excuse her. How forlorn she felt, just now, especially, among strangers, a~ad without a single friend on whom it was possible to rely; and, in the very midst of this loneliness, a hand was extended, a voice spoke, and she knew that care, kindness, home, wealth, position, best of all, earnest love, was offered to her. Was it strange that, realizing this, her resolve s4most failed, her heart gave~ a great pang when she tried to speak the words that would put them forever from liar? "Don't distress yourself," said Annesley, to whom the last, worst evil of earth was the evil of seeing a woman's tears; "pray, don't distress yourself; I. shall never forgive myself if you do! I think I had better go," lie said, desperate- ly; "I shall make you ill if I stay any lGnger. All this agitation must do you harm. I will come again to-morrow. Please think of what I have said, and-and try to make up your mind to 'come to me. I think I could make you happy, if you would," he added, wistfully, "and I am sure you could make me more than happy." With these words he left the room, Kath- anne making not an effort to detain him. In truth, she was literally incapable of doing so. Weakness and agitation together had proved too much for her. She was so completely exhausted that, after he was gone, she could hardly remem- ber where she was, or what had happened. When Morton went back round the terrace (for his exit, like his entrance, was by way of the window), he found that Miss Vernon ~iad disap- peared, and that Seymour was standing by the horses, smoking a cigar, and looking rather gloomy. "Have you spoken to the good people in the house?" asked Annesley, coming up. "I won- den if it is necessary to do so before we go?" "No, I have not," answered Godfrey, with a start. "And I don't think it is necessary. They are not ceremonious people, or people likely to be offended. - If you have finished your visit, we might as well be off'. As certainly as we go in, we shall have to stay to dinner." "Let us be off, by all means, then," said An- nesley, springing into his saddle with ungrateful haste. The other followed his example, and,' riding briskly, they were soon out of the Lester domain. The Seymour place was several miles distant. They had ridden a mile or two before Annesley roused sufficiently from his own abstraction to notice his companion. "What is the matter, Godfrey?" he asked. "You don't seem like yourself-you don't even look like yourself." Godfrey rolled a cloud of blue smoke from between his lips before he answered. Then he laughed shortly. "A man is apt to look gloomy after he has made a fool of himself" he said. "I lixve tuade an egregious fool of myself; so, as a logical con- clusion, I have a right to look gloomy. It is only the old story," he went on, meeting Annes- ley's eye. "Every six months, regularly, for the last three years, I have asked Irene Vernon to marry me. She has told me, regularly, in the gentlest and kindest manner, that she cannot think of such a things Each time I say to my~ self that it shall be the last time; yet I go back and commit the- same absurdity over again. With the best possible intentions to the contrary, I committed it again this morning." "And the result?" "The result was that I made her cry, and that I should like to give myself a sound drub- bing, if that would do any good." "Cry!" repeated Annesley, somewhat aghast. "Good Heaven~! I wonder if women always cry on occasions of the kind?)' "Not if we may believe the testimony of some lucky fellows," said Seymour, dryly. "However, I don't think a man is worth much until he has been rejected once or twice," he added, resigned- ly. "It is like getting well thrashed at school- part of that sound, but unpleasant process called 'finding one's level.' One or two straightfor- ward noes would not do you any harm, my good fellow." "Thanks. I suppose you mean that ,I am a puppy?" "No; I only mean that you are a little con- ceited, as, perhaps, you have some right to be. If you won't consider me impertinent, have you ever been rejected?" "Never!" Said Morton, who had -reasons of his own for being reticent on this point. "Then you have some of the needful dispi- pline of life yet to undergo. Let that be your consolation when the time of your discomfiture comes." "I hope it may never come l" said Annesley, with perfect sincerity. But, in his heart, he could not help thinking that there was a very good chance of its coming on the morrow. CHAPTER XXXVIII. MEA cULrA. AFrER Annesley left, Katharine went to her own room, partly because she was obliged to lie down, and partly because she wanted to be al~ne and think over all that had occurred. From this process resulted great self-con- tempt, and greater self-reproach. Why had she been so foolish ?-why had she been so unde- cided ?-why had she let herself be swayed from page: 214-215[View Page 214-215] 214 MORTON HOUSE. MBA CTJLPA. 215 what she knew was right ?-why had she let him go away under a false impression that she might perhaps say yes ?-and, oh! above all, why had she been so silly as to cry? She asked herself all these questions, and did not find a single satis- factory answer for one of them. The more she thought of the matter-of that unsatisfactory, pointless proposal-the more vexed with' herself she became. She could no~ walk distractedly up and down the floor, because she was much too weak for such an exercise; and she could not tear her hair, because there was hardly any left to tear; but she did every thing else that people under stress of strong emotion are usually ex- pected to do-she set her teeth, she wrung her hands tightly together, and every now and then impatient exclamations (far from complimentary to herself) burst.from her lips. Nothing is more true than that "some people seem by intuition to 'see only truth and right; others must needs work out their faith by failing and sorrow. They real- ize truth' by the pain of what is faThe, honor through dishonor, right by wrong repented of with bitter pangs." ~Katharine was one of the latter class. Looking back over the events of the last few months, regarding them as having ~culminated in the events of the last few hours, -, no words can express the self-contempt and self- reproach that rushed over her. "St. John was right, I have thought of myself-of nobody but myself!" she said. "And this is the end. Ah, me! Are people always punished so much for considering themselves? If so, I wonder that anybody ever does it." Theinore she thought of Morton, the more the temptation of his offer gained strength, and yet the more firmly she determined to put it from her. "I should nanke & base return for his geir. erous kindness if I accepted him," she thought; yet what an attraction there was in himself and ~in all that he offered her! There is neither sense nor truth in saying that a woman only feels this attraction when she is in love. Plenty of women feel it about plenty of men; yet instinct tells them that it is not the right feeling-not the feeling that will endure, and, enduring, sweeten all that even thehappiest married lives must know -so they resiSt it; and so, likewise, it often takes as hard a struggle to say No, as it is sometimes reported to take for saying Yes. The probabil- ities are that, if Katharine had loved Annesley as much as Juliet could possibly have loved Romeo, she would still have held firm to her refusal; for with all her weaknesses-and her story shows that she had a sufficient number of them - she possessed no inconsiderable amount of that rare strength which enables a human soul to come victorious from the most' fierce and terrible combat known to earth - the combat where self takes part against self, and the flesh rises against the spirit. But Fate had been kind enough to spare her this last, worst trial. She was not "in love" with him, as far as that common phrase can be taken to mean the eager,'impetuous passion that no obstacle of rank, time, distance, or age, can over- awe. Very probably she would have fallen in love after the most approved mode, if she had been of, an equal social position with himself, if she had not known that insuperable obstacles lay between them, or if she had not been occu- pied with other and graver considerations. As it was, however-at the risk of making her a little less interesting, the truth must be told-her struggle had not the romantic savor which a desperate passion hopelessly combated can alone give; the attraction that drew her toward Aunes- Icy was, in great degree, an attraction apart from himself. Yet not the attraction of those merely world- ly advantages which went with him. They had their weight, of course; it is only in Arcadia that people are entirely independent of such consid- erations; but their weight was infinitely less 'than that of the faithful love, the warm devo- tion, the shielding protection, that would be hers, if she held out her hand to him. Think of her for a moment-think how lonely and friendless and desolate she stood! Then, if possible, won- der that the temptation was almost beyond her strength. Let it not be supposed, however, that any grandiloquent ideas of not loving him ~uf- floicratly made her hold back. She lovcd nobody else; and she did not doubt that a grande passion for this young paladin would come soon enough with time and opportunity to help it. That was not the consideration. Yet she-him-oh, what was the consideration? Tier head felt singularly dull and heavy. Before she was aware of it, tired Nature asserted itself, and she fell asleep. How long she slept, she had no means or telling; but the sun, which was streaming over the crystal essence-bottles of the toilet-table when slumber overtook her, had entirely veered round, and was dancing like a will-o'-the-wisp about the white ewer and basin on the wash- stand, when she woke-woke with a start, and found a bright face surrounded by crisp,' red curls bending over her. "Well," cried Miss Lester, "it is not possi. ble that you have really concluded to open your eyes at last! 1 began to think that you were going to sleep straight on into to-morrow. Dinner has been over ever so long, and mamma has been up two or three times to see about you. She came to me at last, and wanted' to know if I thought you could have taken morphine or any thing of the sort. What is the matter? Does your head ache9" No, not now," answered Katharine, putting her hand to the member in question, and trying to remember what made her feel so vaguely un- comfortable. Suddenly, it all came back to her with a rush, Mr. Annesley! Oh-yes-that was it! How painfully bright the sunshine was! Why could she not have been left to sleep in peace? "It does ache, I am sure," said Miss Lester, who was watching her. "Is it the sun that dazzles you? P11 close the blinds, if you say so." "No, thank you," said Katharine, rising lan- guidly. "I believe I will get up. I am sorry to have troubled Mrs. Lester so much. I really did not mean to sleep so long." "People can't be expected to wake them- selves," said Miss Lester, composedly. "If you are going to get up, I will ring for your 'dinner. You must feel the need of something to eat." The dinner was rung for, and the dinner came up-a sight to tempt the worst valetudi- narian appetite. ' Even in the midst of difficul- ties; people can sometimes be tempted by dainty dishes served on fineold china,'with damask of dazzling whiteness, as Katharine satisfactorily proved. She ate her dinner with considerable appetite; and, after it was finished, Miss Lester cleared her throat, and made a plunge into con- versation. "I would not tell you before you had taken your dinner," she said, "for a little thing often takes' away one's appetite; but there is some- body down-stairs to see you - somebody who came after you went to sleep." Poor Katharine! This was dismaying intel- ligence indeed, for she thought of nobody but St. John; and, thinking of him, she gave such a gasp, and grew so pale, that Miss Lester was quite frightened. "Good gracious!" cried she, making a wild dart at a cologne-bottle on the toilet-table. "Surely you are not going to faint. I had not an idea-dear, dear! why, it is only Mr. Warwick, Miss Tresham! What on earth is the use of looking like this about him?" "Mr. Warwick!" repeated Katharine, and she gave another gasp, and tried to laugh. "Oh, how much you startled mel I was thinking of another and-and quite a different person. I am glad Mr. Warwick is here. But surely he has not come to see me?" "To see you, and nobody else," answered Miss Lester, keeping the cologne-bottle still in her hand, and looking suspiciously ready for all possible emergencies. "He drove over from Hartsburg, and arrived just before dinner. You were asleep then, and mamma would not let you be waked; besides, Mr. Warwick said he was in no hurry. Take your time, therefore, about see- inghim. If you don't feel like it just now-" "Of course, I feel like it," said Katharine, rising and walking to the mirror. "I like Mr. Warwick extremely, and~it is very kind of him to come and see about me," she went on. "I wonder how he found out? Oh, my poor hair! How much he will be astonished to see me such a fright!" "Who-Mr. Warwick? Why, he saw you when you looked a hundred times worse!" cried Miss Lester, heedlessly. Then she stopped, and stammered, as Katharine turned round in amazement: "I mean, of course-I forgot you did not know-oh, pshaw! Miss' Tresham, it is all nonsense, and I am sure you ought to know that, if it had not been for Mr. Warwick, you would not be alive now. He found'you there in Hartsburg, when you were lying ill, 'at the mercy of that abominable quack who, I hope, is hanged by this time." "He found me? Mr. Warwick found me?" said Katharie, in the depths of astonished be- wilderinent. After this, there was no help for it. Whether Miss Lester would or not, she was forced to tell the whole history, as far as she was acquainted with it; and Mr. Warwick had to listen r~signed~ ly to Mrs. Lester's gentle commonplaces below, while Katharineabove, listened breathlessly to the account of his good deeds. When, at last, she went down-stairs, the remembrance of what she had just heard was flushing h~r cheeks and lighting her eyes, until John Warwick, who had naturally expected to see a pale, !anguid invalid, was quite startled by the eager, impetuous girl who opened the sitting-room door and walked up to him. "Mr. ~ she said, "I have just beard -I did not know before~-how very, very kind you have been to me. Forgive me-oh, pray, forgive me-for having given you so mi~eb trou- ble! I am very grateful to you! They tefl me . 1 page: 216-217[View Page 216-217] 216 MORTON I should have died, if you had not found me. I should not like 1o die, and-and I am so grate- ful to you 1" She spoke hurriedly, clasping her hands ea- gerly together; then stopped suddenly at the last wotds, and extended them toward him, with an impulsive warmth that he had never seen her display before. "My deai~ Miss Tresham, they have been im- posing upon your credulity, I fear," he said, laughing, as he took the hands and shook them cordially. "I am delighted to see you looking so well I-You have done wonders with her, Mrs. Lester." Mrs. Lester, who was sitting by, smiled a bland acknowledgment.-" I had not expected to find you so entirely recovered in such a short time; but Mrs. Grump told me that your con- valescence was very rapid. I saw Mrs. Grump as I came through Hartsburg; I spent last night at the Eagle Hotel. She sent her best wishes to "And Mrs. Grump-deceitful woman I-kept me in iguaoranee about you. And Dr. Randolph -Mr. Warwick, why did you forbid them to tell me? You might have known that I would find it out sooner or later." "On my honor, I did not forbid them. 'I never thought of such a thing. You must pour out the vials of yous.,~tadignation on Randolph's head, not mine. By-the-by, this is the first op. portunity that I have had to return an article of your property which, strangely enough, chances to be in my possession.~~ He put his hand in his pocket, and drew forth the little, worn volume of Thomas it Kempis, on which Katharine darted at once, with a cry of recognition and delight. "'My 'Imitation of Christ! '" she exclaimed. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Warwick! I am so glad to see it again! I thought I had surely lost it during all that dreadful time of which I remem- her nothing. it is such a pleasure to recover it!"' "If I was fortunate enough to be instru- mental in saving your life," he said, "you may thank that book for my having done so. If the landlady had not brought it to me, I should have gone away totally unconscious that I had passed the night under the same roof with you. Katharine opened the book, and pointed to the faded writing. "It seems like a blessing accorded to ker prayers," she said, softly. "I can hardly think. that I deserved it. But you have not told me- - HOUSE. I don't understand-how did you chance to be in Hartsburg?" "Your memory is bad," he said, smiling. "Have you forgotten a note that I wrote you when I left Tallahoma, nearly two months ago?" "A note?" "Yes, a note. Stop and try to think what it was about. That will tell you how I chanced to be in Hartsburg." She stopped and thought for a minute, be- fore she succeeded in grasping the missing idea. Then, like a flash, her face cleared, and she looked up at him. "I remember! You said you were going to take Felix Gordon to schooL Were you on your way back to Tallahoma when you stopped in Hartsburg?" "Yes, on my way back." "And you found me accidentally?" lie pointed to the book. "If we may call that accident." Her glance followed his. "No," she said, reverently; "it was not acci- dent. I hope I am sufficiently grateful-to God first, and to you afterward. You have done so much-so very much-for m'e, and I, alas! Can do nothing for you.~~ "Yes," answered Mr. Warwick, smiling slightly, "you can do something for me, and you must not be surprised when I tell you what it is." "I shall not be surprised, no matter what it is. I am only too glad to hear that there is something," she said, earnestly. Mrs. Lester, with commendable discretion, had left the room by this time, and they were alone. Miss Tresham was sitting on a low chair at one side of the fireplace, while Mr. Warwick still stood before her, in his favorite attitude, with one hand on the mantel. After her last words, he sat down, and looked at her kindly with his clear blue eyes. "I did not expect you to make such a rash promise," he said. "But, since you have done so, I will take advantage of it. What I ask of you, then, is-confidence." She started, colored, and looked at him a lit- tle apprehensively. "Pray be quiet," he said. "I won't distress you, if it is possible to avoid it. Can't you trust me-a little?" "I trust you a great deal," she answered, simply. "Very well, then. Trust me thus far.-.~-tell I MEA CULPA- me candidly, as you would tell your own brother, the reasons why you left Tallahoma." There was a minute's silence. Katharine checked a question which rose to her lips, sting. gled with herself a minute-the varying color made that evident-then lifted her eyes, and spoke as quietly as he had advised. "I will not ask why you think it necessary to make this inquiry, Mr. Warwick. I am sure you must have some good reason, or you would not do it. You don't know how strangely your question strikes me after-after some thoughts I had this morning. It seemed to me then that, looking back on the last few months, I could trace all that I have suffered to one thing-my own cowardice. I ought to have spoken plainly from the first-spoken as I will endeavor to speak now, if you have patience enough to listen to me. Don't be astonished if I go very far back, though; I must do it to make you under- stand." "I can spare you a little, perhaps," he inter- posed here. "Do you know that the Catholic priest-what is his name 2-Mr. Martin, from Saxford, was summoned when you were so ill? I sent for him principally that I might inquire if you had any friends or relations. I thought he was more likely to know than any one else. Well "-as she colored deeply-" I see that you anticipate what I am about to say. You must not blame him. I pressed him. hard, and he thought you were certainly dying. Under these circumstances, he finally told me that you had a brother-the Mr. St. John I had seen in Talla- homa." "And you thought-" "I thought nothing, believe me, that I ned hesitate to tell you. If I ask your confidence now, it is because, knowing thus much, I find it necessary to know more; why, I will tell you presently." "You dqn't despise me for having been so -so cowardly about acknowledging him 2" A dark cloud came over the lawyer's face, a cloud which absolutely frightened Katharine, and yet which had no possible relation to her. "I do not even blame you," he answered. 1 "More than that I can not say, until I know more. I am sorry to impose such a hard task I upon you, but-" "It is not a hard task," she interrupted, ea- gerly. "It is almost a relief to tell it to you. 1" (she looked at him wistfully), "I begin to wish that I had told you every thing when you asked I me some time ago, if you remember." 2'17 "It would have been much better if you had." "Yes, I see that now. But then it seemed so useless, it seemed like a confidence without a purpose. You could not help me, I thought, and so why should I trouble you? Afterward, after he came, of course, it was harder to do. You can't tell what he has been to me all my life," she said, covering her face with her hands. "I can imagine." "My first remembrance is one of terror and dislike of him. We lived in' Jamaica with an aunt-our parents were both dead-and even yet it makes me burn with indignation to think how her life was robbed of all peace and sunshine by St. John. Mr. Warwick, I can't go into particu- lars. They would not interest you, and they would make me uncover some bitter ashes which I tried-tried hard to bury in her grave. Only believe that he rep~tid her kindness by ingrati- tude and bad conduct of every possible descrip- tion. I ought to explain, perhaps, that she had adopted us from our earliest childhood, from my earliest recollection. We never bore ~ny other name than hers." "Yet your brother-" he began. "Is named St. John,~~ she interrupted. "Yes, I know. But 1St. John is merely one ofhis hap. tismals, the one by which we always called him, and it was only when he 'Lally separated from us that he dropped Tresham and adopted his second Christian name as a surname. Well, at last it became impossible that my aunt could endure him any longer. She wrote to his guar- dian in England, a mian whom he had never seen, and represented matters so forcibly that St. John was removed from her nominal control. The guardian desired that he should be sent to Eng- land, which was done. After that, as a means of escaping from him in case he came back, she left Jamaica and went to live in Porte Rico. It was in vain, however, as far as her object was soneerned. After a while he followed us; he was in need, and wanted money. Slender as my aunt's neans were, she was forced to comply with ~iis demands, as a condition of getting rid of him. This lift her too poor to move away again .f she had felt disposed to attempt it. That was ut the beginning. St. John did not come very )ften, but he continually wrote for money; and ~ou can imagine what it was to have this, eon- inual cloud hanging over one's life and home, rnd the face one loved best in the world. What us life was in Europe, meanwhile, I cannot even ~retend to say; I cannot bear to think. There page: 218-219[View Page 218-219] 218 MOR~O~ was a man named Fraser, who seemed his special comrade; or, rather, I -should say, his leader in the life on whiek he entered. That man-well, you have heard t~f him. St. John told me that he is Mrs. Gordon's husband." "Yes; I have heard of him." "Perhaps, then, you know better than 1 do how St. John lived during the intervals of months, sometimes years, in which we never heard of him. As I have said, he only came or wrote when he was in need. He had not been hears from for a long time, when my aunt died and left me desolate. Almost her last words im. plored me to leave the West Indies and go to some place where he would not be able to trace me. 'He will ruin your life if you do not escape from him,' she said. 'lie will destroy every pros- pect of happiness that you could possibly have if he knows where you are, and if you acknowledge him and give him a claim upon you.' She was dying, Mr. Warwick; you may believe that I was ready enough to promise to avoid him if I possi- bly co~xld. Well, I left the West Indies, and went to Englaud to an old friend of hers, who obtained a very good situation for me at florn- thorne Place. I had lived there a year-con- tented, at least, if not happy-when one day St. John appeared. By some means he had tracked me down; from the mere desire to torment me, I honestly believe, for he knew I was in no posi- tion to' aid him. This man of whom I have spo- ken, Fraser, I mean, had inherited a large Scot- tish property, and St. John was living with him as his secretary. The knowledge that he was living near mc, the knowledge that he knew where I was, filled me with the old terror. I remembered my dear aunt's dying admonition, and, coupled with my own inclination, it made me resolve to leave England and come to Amer- ica. I felt that I should be more safe from him here. You know how I came, how kindly your sister took me, how quietly and happily I lived. Butit all ended on that November evening when you brought me his letter; the same evening that Mrs. Gordon' arrived.' Do you remember it?" Mr. Warwick's memory was very good. He said, with perfect truthfulness, that he remem- bered it. " After I received that letter, the terror of his coming pew upon me to an almost morbid de- gree. At one time I had nearly made up my mind to leave Tallahoma, but then that was very hard to do; I had grown so much attached to the children, and Father Martin (to whom alone I 'told my story) counselled me against it. 'Wait,'' HOUSE. MEA OULPA. 21 he said; and I waited, alas! too long. I was very miserable during that time, though you were the only person who perceived it. I remember one day I was reading St. John's letter over again, in the parlor, when somebody came in, and I hastily put it out of sight in a sheet of music and forgot it. Not long afterward Mr. Annesley was turning over my music and found it. This seems a trifling thing, no doubt, but you don't know what a shock it was to mc. I seemed to real~he who and what he was so clearly when it came to the point of speaking of him to some- body else. Of course, the feeling grew because it was indulged. I did not combat it as I should have done; and, at last, it reached such a point, that I felt as if I would sooner die than ~eknowl- 'edge him. 1 see now how wrong it all was, how nothing but selfish regard for the opinion of the world, and wretched human pride, was at the bot- tom of it; but then I gave way, and tried to make myself believe that it was right to give way to it." "I can't say that I think it was wrong," ob- served the lawyer, gravely. "Yes," she said, "it was wrong. I see things more clearly now; somehow it seems as if I al- most see them as clearly as I might have seen them on that death-bed which I so narrowly escaped. We are not put into this world to think of ourselves. Now, I thought of nobody but myself. I shirked the plain duty, I tried to throw off the plain burden which God put be- fore me, and all out of mere worldly opinion and fear lest my name should be linked with-with- 0 Mr. Warwick, nothing can ever do away with this! It was cowardice, it was wretched cowar- dice, and all that has followed is my fault." "Pardon me if I remind you that you are wandering 'from the point," said Mr. Warwick. "It is a bad thing to be discursive. Suppose you go back to causes, and let effects alone." She saw what he meant. "I won't excite myself," she said. "There is no use in that, you know. But, all the same, it is my fault. Well, St. John came; and, of course, after he came, matters with me grew worse. After I took the first false step-I see now that it was a false step-in the way of concealing his relationship, and attempting to conceal his visits, I went deeper and deeper' into difficulties. At first it seemed very simple. He assured me that he would leave as soon as he received the money I ~nis able to give him, and I counted certainly on lis keeping his word. But then came his recog- nition of Mrs. Gbrdon, and his writing to herhus- band, and all the rest. Have you seen Mrs. Gor- "Well?" (as she paused). don, Mr. Warwick? have you heard how she "You cannot mean Mrs.-Mrs. .Annesley?" came in and found St. John with me, and how "I do mean Mrs. Annesley." she charged me with having brought him "But this is only a conjecture on your part~ there?" you are not sure?" "Yes," he said, kindly. "I have heard "Pardon me-I am perfectly sure." both from herself' and from Bessie. Don't trou "Mr. Warwick 1" ble yourself to go over that." "Well?" (smiling again). "Well, after she left, a sudden impulse "Oh, don't smile!" cried she, passionately, seemed to take possession of me; I felt desper- covering her face with her hands. "It-it is ate, felt as if I must get away, let what would be so horrible! That she could-that she would- the consequences. I chanced to remember that Oh, what had I ever done to injure her! How Father Martin would be in Sanford on the Sun- had she the heart!" day following New Year. I thought I would go "Be reasonable," said he, gently. "I was and ask him what to do. If you had been in indignant too-as indignant as you could possi- Tallahoma, I am inclined to think that I should bly be-when I first heard of it; but, afterthink- have asked your advice; but you know you had lag it ever coolly, I saw that a woman-a mere-' gone. That was Friday. I had barely time to ly worldly woman like Mrs. Annesley-was not catch the coach and go to Saxford. Acting so much to blame for taking this step. Miss on impulse, I went." She then told him sub. Tresham, she did not even know you personally~ stantially the same that she had told Annesley when she wrote that advertisement." with regard to the days she spent in Sanford, " But she knew-anybody must have known the nervous, feverish desire of flight which had -that it was a cruelly dishonorable thing to beset her~ and the manner in which she went to do! How could she tell what she might bring llartsburg. After this, she added: "There is upon me?" only one thing I have neglected to mention. On "She probably thought much more of her- that last morning, just before Mrs. Gordon came self than of you; and more, perhaps, of her sen, in; St. John told me for the first time how he than of either. Have you yet to learn how easily had discovered where I was. Mr. Warwick, people reason themselves into a belief that a ~don't r*~fnse to credit me when I tell you that it thing which they wish to do, is a thing that it is somebody in Lagrange, somebody whoni I is right to do? I have no doubt that this adver- could never possibly have imagined, who was tisement, and every thing connected with it," he cruel enough to advertise in the Londoa Times went on, "seemed to Mrs. Annesley a solemn for information concerning me." duty." "I have heard that, too," said Mr. Warwick. "Does that excuse her?" "I see you think that I have heard every "Well-no. Morally speaking, I suppose it thing," he added, smiling; "but you forget how does not. Philosophically speal~ing, however, it natural it was that Mrs. Gordon should men- may. Try to be a philosopher, Miss Tresham," tion this advertisement to me." he continued, with an effort to divert her that "I remember that she saw it, that I showed might have amused Katharine if she had been in it to her." a humor to be' amused. "I should not have "Since you have mentioned the matter, per. told 'you had I supposed that you would take it haps you will not be surprised if I ask you a so seriously; in fact, I should not have told you question concerning it: have you any idea who at all, if I had not been sure that, in thinking the was the author of that advertisement?" matter over, your own suspicions would point to "Idea! How could I have? I knew so few the right mark." people out of Mr. Marks's family; I flattered "They might have done so," she said, a lit- myself that I had not an enemy, or any thing tie wearily. "I cannot tell." approaching td an enemy, in Lagrange." Her head sank on her hand with a dejection "Stop and think a moment. Is there nobody that touched the lawyer. "She loves Morton, in Lagrange whom it was in your power to disap- and this is hard on her," he thought. "Poor point, and-after a certain fashion-injure? Miss girl!" He rose, walked to the window, stood Tresham, brain-fever certainly has not improved there a moment looking out, then turned and the keenness of your perceptions." came back. "Mi-. Warwick, you do not mean " "Miss Tresham," he said, seriously,"'shall r HOUSE. 219 page: 220-221[View Page 220-221] 220 MORTON HOUSE. MISS TRESHAM'S REPLY. 221 I tell you something else that made me speak of this? I thought you might perhaps respect my opinion-a man of my age is apt to be vain on that point, you know-and I thought that, if you were inclined to take an extreme view of Mrs. Annesley's conduct, I might throw all the weight of this opinion into the other scale. You have no friend in the world," he went on, with energy, "who feels your interest more than I do, or who would be quicker to resent your injuries. But, on my honor, I do not think that Mrs. An- nesley can be very much blamed. Remember that we must not judge people by our own stand- ard of honor and dishonor, of right and wrong. We must, as much as possible, judge them by their own. Mrs. Annesley's code Is of the world, worldly judge her by that, Miss Tresham, and see if you cannot excuse her." "No," said the girl, with a hard, set look about the mouth. "Judged by the merest code of worldly honor, this was a dishonorable act. Don't try to make me think otherwise, Mr. War- wink; I cannot. Besides, what does it matter? -Mrs. Annesley is nothing to inc." "I am not sure of that," he said. "She may be a good deal to you some day; that is, if you are wise. You must exense me if I speak of something that does not seem exactly my con- cern. Miss Tresham, you would not let such a thing as this weigh against Morton's honest, unselfish love ?-Morton," he proceeded, ear- nestly "whom I have known ever since he was a child, and who is certainly one of the very best fellows in the world?" "No,'1 said Katharine, quietly, "I am glad to say that it has not weighed with me. In utter ignorance of his mother's act, I told Mr. Annesley this morning that I could not marry him." "Miss Tresham!" "Well," said shea a little surprised at the astonishment on his face, "what is there so amazing in that? Surely, Mr. Warwick, you did nOt think that I would marry him?" "I thought so - yes," said Mr. WaTwiek, heginning to recover himself n little. "WIxy should 1 not think so? If you were my own sis- ter, I could not wish a better fate for you than to b~ his wife. A. woman could scarcely ask more than Morton Annesley is able to give." "And yo~,s advise me to accept him?" "I do, most emphatically." "I had not expected this of you," she said, impulsively., "Think what a position you would place me in! Mr. Annesley himself is every thing that is kind, and generous, and disinter- - ested; but his mother-his friends-what just ground they would have for complaint if I were selfish enough to accept him! It lt)0k5, perhaps, as if it would be doing a good thing for myself," she went on; "but in truth (unless I was willing to find happiness in fine dresses and jewels, and the like), I should be doing the worst possible thing. Such a marriage would be too ill-assorted for any hope of happiness. As Mr. Annesley grew older-he is little more than a bright, warm-hearted boy now-he would feel it himself. Can you not think what it would be to him-he so proud, so sensitive to the least shadow of dis- honor-to know that his wife's brother was- was- 0 Mr. Warwick, don't you see how blind and foolish I should be, even to my own best in- terests, if I did such a thing?" "I see this~" said Mr. Warwick, whose ear was quick enough to catch the pathetic ring in her voice, "that you are on the eve of doing what many high-strung natures have done before you; that is, of throwing away substantial happiness for an unsubstantial scruple. I am a practical man, Miss Tresham, and, you may take my word for it, that all these things of which you have spoken arc not worth considering when placed in comparison with a heart like Morton's. If you love him-'-" "If I loved him," interrdpted she, "I might ~not be able to reason as I have done. But I don't love hm!" "You don't?" "No-I don't. I am sure I don'ti~now why," she said, with half puzzled frankness. " Nobody knows better than I do how charming he isno- body could admire or respect him more; but I do not love him. Perhaps because I have had other things to think of~ or because I knew how many insurmountable barriers were between us, or, again, because I have learned to put little faith in the admiration and attention that any moderately-attractive woman is sure to re- ceive." "But are you certain of this; arc you certain that you are not deceiving yuurself?" U 1 am certain. He was here this morning, and I have had all day to think about it; that is, until I went to sleep. I assure you that saying No to him did not cost me a pang, unless (I will be quite frank with you) it was the pang of feel~ ing my own loneliness." "You feel your loneliness, then?" Her eyes softly filled with tears-tears that had no bitterness in them. She looked at the little, worn volume closely clasped in her hand; then round the pleasant, home-like room. "They are all very kind to me," she said. "But how could I feel other than lonely here?" Something in the simple words, something in the pathetic glance, .went to the lawyer's heart like a shaft. He knew more-.much more-than she did the loneliness of her position; much more than she did of the difficulties that surrounded her. Looking at her as she sat in the deep, old- fashioned arm-chair, she seemed so fair, so deli- cate, so little fitted to cope single-handed with that world over which only the sternest triumph, that an impulse which he could not resist-an impulse which he afterward bitterly regretted- made him speak words that Katharine little ex- pected to hear. "Yes, I can see that you are lonely," he said, with something-a gentleness that she did not quite understand-in his voice. "Miss Tresh- am, do you think it would be a hard fate to ex- change this loneliness far care, and protection, and love, even though there were little besides these things to win your heart? I am old enough to be your father, but if you can resolve to trust yourself with mc, 1 do not believe you will ever repent it; at least" (with an uncon- scious inflection of pathos), "I promise you that no effort shall be wanting on my part to prevent your ever repenting it." For one bewildered moment the room seemed going round with Katharine. Was she awake? -was she asleep ?-was it Mr. Warwick who had spoken these words? Was it he sitting there, or-or- How foolish she was! He had not meant that-she was sure she had misunder- stood. He, of all men, had not meant to ask her- "Mr. Warwick," she said, turning pale, "it cannot be - it is not possible .-..-you do not mean-" Mr. Warwick cut the confused sentence very abruptly short. "I mean," he said, quietly, "that I have asked you to marry me. Will you do it?" CHAPTER XXXIX. MISS TRESHAM'S REPLY. THIS time, at least, Katharine could not mis- 1 take the meaning of what she heard. Deliber- ately-with his eyes open, and every outward ap- pearance of a sane man-Mr. Warwick asked 15 herif she would marry him! It is not too much to say that amazement literally superseded every other feeling with her. It is seldom, indeed, that an offer comes with quite such a force of un- expected surprise. Usually, if there is no posi- tive preparation, there is a suspicion at least, a word, a glance, or, it may be, only a tone, to show what is coming. But here there was absolute want of preparation, absolute astonishment, and, for a time at least, absolute incapacity to reply. Then the realities of the occasion began to as- sert themselves; and Katharine tried to meet the emergency. "It seems impossible that you can be in ear. iest, Mr. Warwick," she said; "but if-if you arc, I scarcely know what to say to you." "Would you like time to consider?" he asked. "If so, take it." "No, I do not require time to consider," she replied. "No amount of consideration could teach me any fitting words in which to thank you-In which to say to you how deeply I feel the kindness which has made yo'z speak to me thus. I see, I feel; why you have done so; but "-clasping her hands, and speaking pas- sionately-" you certainly cannot think so poor- ly of me as to believe that I would repay all that you have done, all that you would do for me, by marrying you because I am poor and lonely; because I need a home and a friend?" "My dear Miss Tresham," said he, smiling gravely, ~'I am not a romantic or passionate lover like the man whom you have already re. ejected. I was not very much addicted to pas- sion or sentiment in my youth; but now-well, now I am equally beyond the age and the Incli- nation for either. Still I think I may say that I ~love you well enough to be willing to be ac- cepted even on those terms. Don't look so much astonished "-as her eyes opened on him large and startled. "I have spoken on the strength of an unaccountable impulse. When I entered this room, I had not the least intention of such a thing. I was sure you would marry Annesley. [t was only when I discovered my mistake that [thought I might give you the option of accept- or rejecting-a man old enough to have left Love-making behind him! Only "-here he took a short turn up and down the room-" the heart will not grow old with years. We may think ~hat it does, we may flatter ourselves that it has, intil suddenly there comes an hour when pas- lion, strong as any passion of youlhseizes it, and sre know that age has left one citadel uncon- iuered. I tell you this," he went on, pausing *- p I page: 222-223[View Page 222-223] 222 MOnTON HOUSE-. again in front of her, "because I do not wish you to think that I have asked. you to marry mc simply on account of your lonely position. I have loved you longer than you can imagine- longer than I knew myself-but it never occurred to me to think of telling you so. My age alone put such a declaration out of the question. Now, however-" "Now you think of me!" cried Katharine, with a rush of tears-a softer shower than that which had driven poor Morton from the field- "0 Mr. Warwick, I am so sorry, if I had known this earlier, I might perhaps have learned to love you, I might have been able to marry you; but, as ~t is, I-oh, pray forgive me-I cannot." "You cannot promise to marry me, and trust that the love will come with time?" She shook her head mournfully. Through their brimming tears, her eyes said . again "For- give me," as she answered, "I dare not." ~L Think a moment,~~ he said, in evident agi- tation. "Believe me, I do not press you from mere selfishness. Do you not think you like me even well enough to marry me for the sake of that home and that friend of which you spoke a moment ago?" "I like you too well, much too well for that," she cried, passionately. "Don't you see-sb, don't you see how it is! If I liked you a little lese,:I might marry you for such a motive; while if I liked you a little more, I should marry you for your own sake. But, standing between the two, I only feel your generous effort to make me happy~. I am only sure that I should repay you very ill, if I accepted you for any reason but the right one." There was silence for some time after this. Through her tears, Katharine glanced up into Mr. Warwick's face, and was surprised to see how grave and thoughtful it looked, as he stood with his eyes absently fastened on the fire. He *did not know that she was looking at him; so he 'p allowed an expression of troubled perplexity to betray itself; which he would otherwise have kept concealed. Something in this expression struck the girl with a vague foreboding of ill. The fear that had found such frequent expression when Annesley was with her, suddenly sprang to her mind and to her lips again. Before she was consulous of what she was doing, she leaned for- ward and touched his arm. "Mr. Warwick," she said, as he turned qui~k- ly toward her, "I am sure something is the mat- ter-something in which I am concerned. Tell me what it is." The quickness with which she leaped to a conclusion would have taken anybody but a law- yer by surprise-would have thrown anybody but a lawyer off his guard. It required all Mr. War. wick's professional command of countenance not to show how closely her shaft had struck home. As it was, he had only just presence of mind enough to smile "Why should you think that?" he asked. "Can't you imagine that I was thinking of my. self; and my own great disappointment?" "No, you were not thinking of yourself;" she answered. "You were thinking of me-I am* sure of it. Mr. Warwick, if it is any thing about St. John-it is something about St. John!" cried she, suddenly springing to her feet, as she caught an expression on his face that it was beyond his power to control. "I knew it! I felt sure of it! Oh! "-with a ring of imploring agony in her voice-" tell we what it is." "Sit down, Miss Tresham," said Mr. War. wick, almost peremptorily. "There is no know. ing what harm you may do yourself by this ex- citement. There has been a little trouble in Tallahoma, and Mr. St. John was mixed up in it," he added, quietly; "but I assure you every thing is right and straight now. Still, if you in. sist upon hearing about it__" "Oh, indeed I do I', "I can give you an outline~ of the matter. I am sorry, however, that you force me to it, for I think you have had agitation enough for one day. Why, you arc quivering like an aspen. leaf!" "Never mind. 1 cannot help it, it is purely nervous. Go on, please; tell me what he has done." As gently as possibLe Mr. Warwick told her, softening the blow by every menus in his power. But no gentleness, no softness, could break its awful force, could shut out from her sight the hideous truth. "0 my God!" she exclaimed, when she first clearly understood whet it was that he had done. But aft~r that, no sound came from her lips. She sat with her face buried in her hands, and only now and then a long, shud- dering sigh seemed to shake her whole frame from head to foot. Even after Mr. Warwick ceased speaking-after he had made his last attempt at pitying comfort-she still sat bent down, crushed, as it were, by the double blow of anguish and disgrace. "Miss Tresham, this will never do," said he, at last. "This is not like you-is it worthy of you? Can you find no comfort in the fact that I MISS TRESHAM'S REPLY. no one is aware of Mr. St. John's complicity in the 'matter? Ifave you not sufficient reliance in mc to feel that the secret is as safe with me as with yourself?" "I should be the most ungrateful human being in the world if I did not feel it," said she, liftiugher face-so pale and drawn, that it abso- lutely startled him-" but not even your kind- ness can alter the fact itself-the terrible, awful, overwhelming fact! Mr. Warwick, I never, zEever thought I could sink so low as this!" "Which do you consider worst," said Mr. Warwick, coolly, "this conduct, or that of which you have spoken with regard to yourself?" "Oh, this, this!" "There I don't agree with you. The man who robs a defenceless woman, as this man has robbed you, does not, it is true, make himself amenable to the law, as when he breaks into a bank; but he does transgress the higher law- the moral law-as much, or, perhaps, more; and the man who violates the one, will not hesitate to violate the other, whenever he thinks that he can do so with impunity. Miss Tresham, believe me, you need not regret Mr. St. John's moral de- gradation-I mean that you need not think he has taken any deeper step. When he entered the bank to rob it, he was committing an act which made him liable to the penalties of the law, if the law could detect him; but he was not, even in degree, taking a deeper step in abstract dishonesty, than when he entered it to rob you!" "But the disgrace-the terrible disgrace!" "So far as that goes, so far as the opinion of the world goes, a thing cannot be disgraceful which is not known. If you trust me at all, trust me this far, nobody ever shall know of* this." "0 Mr. Warwick-"' Once more the tears came, and ended all further speech. lie made no effort to stop them, but walked away to the window, and left her to herself; sure that those tears would do more to relieve her heart and clear her brain than any words of his could. As he stood there, feeling sad and sore enough at heart, he watched the last red glow of sunset fade from the top of some distant trees, and the lovely veil of spring twilight begin to steal over the earth. Something in the scene and in the hour carried his thoughts back to that evening when the doctor said that the life so near him now, the life at that moment throbbing with the emotions and sorrows of earth, would pass before morning into eternity, when he had gazed at the 228 steady advance of night, and waited for Morton Annesley to decide whether or not the heart o~ that dying girl was his. "Poor fellow!" said the lawyer, half aloud, forgetting his own cause for wounded feeling in pitying the young man who had been so full of honest, impulsive grief. Strangely enough, he was standing at that mo- ment exactly in the place where Mortoiihad stood a few hours before waiting to~ hear his sentence. Katharine noticed it when she turned to ~peak, and saw that he had left her side. "And, ~owing this, you couA~selied me to marry Mr. Annesley!" she cried, her voiqe, with a sudden flash of indignation in it, mal4ng him start, as it rang through the silent room, "9h, how could you do it? how could yon think so meanly of me? bow could you think that I would carry such a stain as this to a man who loved me?" "You do not serioAisly think that your broth. er's conduct leaves any stain on you?" said he, coming back, with something of his usual slight, grave smile on his lip. "Miss Tresham, I am astonished at you! Such talk sounds like melo- dramatic nonsense in a novel or a play! If An. nesley were here, he would tell you what I tell you for him, that Mr. St. John is not of t~w least importance when considered in connection ~ yourself. As for this affair in Tallahoma I s but one result springing from It, and that is a good one. It has taken the scoun-the man out of your path. Trust me that, as longas you remain in Tallahoma, you have nothing to fear from him. He will never return there, for he' knows that 1 hold evidence against him which would convict him in any court of law." "And yet you let him go?" "Yes, I let him go." "On my account?" "Do I need to tell you that? do you sup- pose any other, motive could have induced me to spare him?" "And you have done all this for me, while I-" she stopped, and covered her face with her hands, held them so ~ moment, and then looked up. "Mr. Warwick," she said, with exquisite gentleness, "I begin to appreciate your offer of a moment ago; I begin to see more clearly why you made it. I begin to understand that, when you office~ me a home, you did so because no other home is open to me. You have not spoken of N~2i~, Marks. I feel sure that he does not wish m~o return to them." For the second time during the coujue of~ this interview Mr. Warwick's face betrayed him. The page: 224-225[View Page 224-225] .224 MORTON HOUSE. MISS TRESITAM'S REPLY. 225 climax to her speech came so suddenly, that he was not prepared for it; and, feeling her eyes steadily fastened on him, he knew that evasion or concealment was useless. The truth had already' shown itself and the truth must be told. "You are right, Miss Tresham," he said; "my sister's husband has fallen many degrees in my estimation, by his refusal to receive you again. But you mistake very much when you think that I asked you to marry me merely to offer you a home. It is true that your loneli- ssencocwagcd me to tell you of my lore, but that love existed long before this loneliness came upon you." "But still it is true-Mr. Marks does not wish me to return 1"' "It is true," he answered. He could say no more, for he was too indignant with his brother- h-law to attempt to make excuses for his con- duct (which really, if he had looked at it dispas. sionately, did not merit indignation), and he could not but be wounded by Katharine's indif. ference to those last words of his-words which had been so full of earnest feeling. "Oh," said the girl, wearily, "how desolate I am, how very desolate 1 I cannot stay much longer with these kind people, and yet where to go, what to do? Mr. Warwick, am I asking too much of your kindness and forbearance when I beg you to advise me what to do?" Mr. Warwick might have replied that he had already advised, and that his advice, in two differ- ent cases, had been unhesitatingly rejected. But he was one of the rare men-rarer, by far, tl~an heroes, or geniuses, or exceptional wonders of any other description-who, on emergencies, can put themselves aside, and speak or act for others without any bias of egotism. He considered for a moment, and then he said: "I think that Tallahoma would be the best place for you just now, because Tallahoma is safe from Mr.' St. John. You are not well enough to be molested by him, and you are only saib from that molestation when you are where he"will not dare to venture. 'Will you allow me to ask if you gave him all the money which Marks paid to you?" "All. I borrowed ten dollars from Mrs. Marks to go to Saxford-by-the.way, I must return It to you for her-and in Saxford I sold my watch, when I hardly knew what I was do- ing, to enable me to go. farther. They were cry honest at the hotel in Hartsburg. I found all that money safe in my bag when I got well. I have it still, for Mrs. Crump would not receive any before I left. She laughed, and told me I could settle the bill when I came back. Dr. Randolph said the same thing. After those bills are paid, however, I scarcely think there will be any left." "Never mind those bills. I have already set. tled them. Surely"-as he saw a deep fiu~h come over her face-" you do not mind being indebted to me for such a trifling amount, and, I hope,' for such a short time. Remember, Miss Tresham "-smiling a little sadly-"I am old enough to be your father. 1 assure you that 1 have the bills, and you may pay me the full amount as soon as you are able to do so. Wait, however, and don't attempt to pay me until you are able. Give me the pleasure of helping you a little. Now "-hurrying on-" the question is, have you money enough to come and board in Tallahoma while I endeavor to obtain another situation for you? I am sure I can do this in a short time." "I believe I have a hundred and fifty dol- lars. The watch had been my aunt's, and was richly jewelled. It should have sold for much more; but I-I was not in a condition to do any thing but take the first sum that was offered me. Nevertheless, this amount is enough to support meforatime, is it not?" "For a short-" Mr. Warwick began, when the door behind him opened and shut quickly, a silk dress rustled across the floor, and through the dusky gloom Irene Vernon came forward, her eyes shining, her cheeks glowing, and her. self looking like some radiant picture that. had stepped from its canvas to walk the earth 'in guise of flesh and blood. "Mr. Warwick," she began, abruptly~ "and you, Miss Tresham, pray pardon me when I tell you that I have overheard a little of your conver- sation. I was passing along the terrace a mo- ment ago, and, as I stopped by the window, I caught the sound of your voices, and heard a few words-enough to send inc in upon you, and make me venture to ask you" (addressing Katharine) "a question. Am I right in gather- ing from those few words, that you do not intend to return to Mrs. Marks?" "Yes, Miss Vernon, you are tjuite right," said Katharine, quietly. "I do not intend to return to Mrs. Marks, for the simple reason that Mrs. Marks does not wish my services any long- ~ "And you 4e talking of going to Tallahoma to-to board?" "I "Mr. Warwick has advised something of the sort." "Well, I will give you better advice than Mr. Warwick's, then," said the young beauty, with her most royal tone and look. "You can go back to Tallahoma-in fact, I think it is a good thing to do-but you must go back with me. No-not a word! I positively won't hear a word until I have finished what I have to say. It is very uncivil to interrupt people, is it not, Mr. Warwick ?-Well, Miss Tresham, I was about to tell you that I heard to-day from my sister, for whom 1 have been waiting here, and she cannot join me. My troublesome brother-in-law has managed to break his leg-Flora says she thinks he did it on purpose to keep her at home-~and she begs me, instead of going on to Mobile, to come back to Lagrange and wait for her. Now, I will go hack on onecoudition-that you go with me. Flora took a great fancy to you, and so did George, and they will both make you heartily welcome, not to speak of the pleasure of my society. You can get well there at your leisure, and-and-indeed it is just the thing for you.- Mr. Warwick, tell her that shc ought to go!" "Miss Vernon, you are too kind, much too kind," began Katharine, in that tone which inev- itably presages a refusal; when Miss Vernon broke in upon her with an utter disregard of her own theory about interruptions: "You are mistaken, Miss TreshamIam not at all too kind-nobody ever was too kind ja this world. If there were such a thing as being too kind, it might not, perhaps, be quite as hard a world to live in as it is. That is social cant; and you know how I hate social cant. I see plainly," she went on, "that you are going to, say something about 'deeply grieved,' and 'im- possible to accept,' and all that sort of thing. I will take it for granted that you have already said it; and I will ask you to give me o~e rea- son-a single reason-why it is impossible for you to accept the kindness (saying that it is a kindness) which I have offered you?" "I have no claim upon such kindness," Kath- arine said. "You have the claim of my liking you; what better could there be?" "I have not even that claim upon your sis- ter." "Upon my sister! Why she likes you ex- ceedingly; and, even if she did not, she would be glad to see . you all the same.-Mr. Warwick, did you ever hear any thing quite as absurd as the idea of her making a bughear out of Flora, of all the people in the world?" (Persuasive), "Tell her, please, that she ought to come!" (Imperative), "Tell her that she must come!" Said Mr. Warwick, looking ~a little amused: "Miss Tresham, don't you think it would be well to consider Miss Vernon's proposal? it seems to me that it is 'a very clear way, and a very pleasant way out of all your difficulties-present ones, at least." "But I really cannot," said Katharine. "Miss Vernon is mistaken if she thinks it is social cant w that her hen I say that she is too kind- kindness blinds her to the objections against her plan." "Name them," said Miss Vernon, with busi- ness-like brevity. "I am under very many obligations already," said Katharine. "I cannot consent to increase their number." "That is nothing more nor less than pride," said Miss Vernon, concisely; "and pride, no doubt you are aware, is the besetting sin of human nature, and the one we are most called upon to struggle against. I was reading in your -what do you call it ?-your manual, the other day, and I saw that you were specially told to mortify your will. Now, here is a good oppor. tunit~ for you to mortify your will by going with me to Lagrange." Katharine laughed. It was impossible to do otherwise-the girl's manner, half.serious~ half- whimsical, made such a strange and complete' contrast to the highly-wrought frame of mind which she had dispelled by her entrance. She had brought a fragrance of vkilets into the room with her, and as she stood in the soft gloaming, with the firelight gleaming on her silk ~lress and a 'gold locket that hux~g round her throat, she seemed to have brought an atmosphere of other things besides violets-of sweet thoughts and noble impulses, and generous, kindly deeds. Katharine was won by her now, as, indeed, she had been from the first; and, when two soft, white hands took hers, and a gentle voice said, "See! I ask it of you as a favor to me. 'Won't you come?" she remembered how tenderly those hands had nursed her through her desperate Ill- ness, and she felt that refusal was no longer possible. "Yes," she said, "I will come." And so it was settled. Thus, swayed as it seemed by the merest chance, yet led, who can doubt, by the kindest care, she took the road back to Lagrange-that road that was leading slowly but surely to the end. page: 226-227[View Page 226-227] 226 MOIITOI It was determined that they would leave the *iext morning. Miss Vernon, on her own (that is, her sister's) account, was anxious to do so; but she ~ood-naturedly proposed to wait several days if Miss Treshain desired. To her surprise, Katharine begged that the journey might not be deferred on her account. "I am quite well enough to travel," she said; "and, if I could only go away from here to-mor- row morning early, I should be so glad-so very glad 1" "But Mr. Anues-," began Miss Vernon, in amazement. Then she paused, her bright-blue eyes turned keenly on her companion's face, and in a nzoi~ient the truth flashed over her.-" Miss Tresham," she cried, sharply, almost angrily (they were alone in Katharine's room a little while be- fore supper), "you don't mean to say that you have rejected Morton Annesley 2" "Miss Vernon," answered Katharine, with a touch of the, besetting sin of human nature, "did you think it likely that I would accept him 2" "Did I think? Of course, I thought you would accept him," returned Miss~Vernon. "Why should I not think so? You seemed to like him, and he is certainly every thing that a woman could wish to like. Miss Tresham, you can't have done such a thing!,' "Yes, I have," said Katharine, who was tired of the .subject, and could not bear the idea of running another gantlet t~f remonstran- ces. "Yes, I have; and, if you only knew my reasons for having done so, I atn surb you would not blame me." "I toould blame you I" cried Miss Vernon, indignantly. "I lon't believe that, if I knew ~'y or evely reason that could possibly have in- fluenced you, I should blame you a single de- gree less than I do now." "Don't make rash assertions," said Kath- arine, smiling faintly, "I cannot go into a detail of all the motives that influenced me; but, put. ting most of them aside, one is, or nught to he, ~nough~to exonerate me from blame. Miss Ver- non, I grant all Mr. Annesley's good qualities so cordially that I think the woman whomarries him ought to love him devotedly.. Now, I don't love him at all. Would you advise me to return all the generous devotion that is willing to give so much by a cold sort of liking that is not able to giv6 any thing? "But Is it possible that you really do not love him?"' "It is certainly possible; and-ah, me! I must write to-night and tell him so. The letter HOUSE. can be delivered after we leave, in time to pre- vent his coming here to-morrow morning." "You are determined to go, then?" "The decision rests with you; but I should like to go." "Of course, then, the matter is settled; We will go.-Heigho!" sighed the young lady to her- self, as she left the room. "Poor Morton !-. poor, dear fello#!' How strangely contrary to what we expect, things turn out sometimes!" That night Katharine sat down to write her letter to Annesley. Taken at any time, or un- der any circumstances, it was a hard letter to write; but, with an aching head, and, worse yet, an aching heart, the difficulties of composition were many times increased. Everybody does the same thing in a case like this. Everybody spoils one sheet of paper after another; makes beginnings with the desperate intention, "This 8kall do!" becomes disgusted at the third line, throws it aside disdainfully, or wrathfully crumples it up, and dashes at another fair page, with the same result. One stilted ad. dress follows another; the gamut of endearing, or respectful, or uncivil terms is run from end to end, until at last-if common-sense can man- age to get a hearing-the grand conclusion of so many experiments is simple, and generally brief. Thus it was with Katharine. After getting well on in half a dozen lengthy epistles, she at last thought how foolish and vain all words be- sides the few strictly necessary ones were, and the result of this thought was the following note: "DEAR Mx. ANKESLEY: Miss Vernon has kindly asked me to accompany her back to La- grange and spend a few weeks at her sister's house until I am strong enough to find another situation. I shall leave with her to-morrow morning. This arrangement, made since I saw you, renders it necessary that I should write and tell you how deeply I feel your kindness, and how impossible it is for me to accept all you have offered me. I will not pain you-as I know I should do-by speaking of the great disparity in our social positions, and of other greater ob- stacles, which under any circumstances would stand between us. It is enough for me to say that the woman whom you honor with your heart should love you as you deserve to be loved-as ~ome women far mere ~worthy of you than 1 am will yet love you-and that this love it is not In my power to give you. Forgive me, Mr. .Mues- 'il I GOOD SAMARITANS. Icy, if' this sounds ungraeious-souuds as if I had forgotten all the many kindnesses which are, in truth, written on my heart. I must speak frankly, and make myself clearly under- stood, for your sake, as well as for my own. Every feelingexcept the one feeling which alone you would be willing to accept, I have for you. Each one of them makes me your warm and life- long friend; but all of them put together are not strong enough to make me your wife. God bless you, Mr. Annesley! God make you happy! God reward you for all your generous kindness! It is hard to close this letter here, and yet there is nothing more to say, unless I ask you again to forgive me. "Faithfully, your friend, "KATHAnINE TRESHAM. "BELLEFONT, Tkur8day nlgkt." It was done. For the second time that day Katharine deliberately put aside the love and the protection which two different men, each well worthy of trust, had offered her, and with the blind, heedless, yet sometimes divine impulse of youth, turned from the golden gifts of life, those gifts for which some wretched women are willing to sell themselves into legal bondage, and went her way alone. It had been a struggle, a hard struggle, in both cases; it was a struggle, even after this letter was written, to seal it and lay it aside, saying: "Lie there, happy days, full to the brim of love and content, and soft belong- ings, and tender care, and glittering pleasure! Lie there, sweet dreams of what might be, of affection ripening into love, and trust growing in sweetness and strength with every passing year I Lie there, words, and looks, and tones, that will never see the light; days possible, yet forever unborn; emotions never to be felt, and the whole current of a life never to be lived!" It was hard to hold out the arms, saying: "Come, weary days filled with toil, uncheered by any smile from kin. dred lips, or glance from loving eyes! Come, days that lead among the rough by-ways of the world, and toss the living, yearning human heart from one strange household to another, that teach in every hour of your flight how some ps~t~ia are strewed with roses only that others may be filled with' thorns! Come, days within whose very bit- ter lurks a sweat that only these who meet you willingly can ever taste-a sweet like that grand victory which nohle deeds wring from defeat, which come when the spirit has dropped its arms after long conflict, and the divine secret %~f content begins to steal upon the soul, the 27 first knowledge of good and evil, the first star. tled, humbled thanks to God that He guided the blind eyes and the faltering hand, and gave at last the leaden casket with the precious jewel shrined within!" CHAPTER XL. gOOD SANARITANS. GREAT was the astonishment, and greater the consternation, of the Bellefont household when they heard of the intended departure of Miss Vernon and Miss Tresham. With Miss Lester in especial, these feelings verged strongly on indig- nation. "Your sister is absurd. If Mr. Raynor chose to break his leg, surely she is able to nurse him without any assistance from you!" cried this young lady to Miss Vernon. "I thought you might be content to stay with me for a little while; you are not nearly strong enough to travel yet," she said, reproachfully, to Miss Tresham. Miss Vernon laughed, and Katharine apolo- gized, but they both rcmainedfirm in their inten- tion. Bellefont ch~rmcd wisely, but charmed in vain. "We must go," said Miss Vernon, decidedly, and Katharine echoed, "We must really go!" They did go, notwithstanding all the persua- sive eloquence employed by their kind hosts. And, when these last saw that the resolution was firm, they made a virtue of necessity and yielded gracefully, remembering that the law of hospital- ity is double, and that it is as incumbent to speed the parting as to welcome the coming guest. "You won't forget us, I am sure," said Mrs. Lester, wistfully, when she, kissed the young stranger who had taken such a hold en her heart. And she was right. In all the yesrs of her life Katharine never forgot the pleasant home which had opened its doors to her in the hour of her need, nor the cordial faces and. warm hearts that had surrounded her with kindness and care. When the last thanks had b~een uttered, the last farewdlls-many times repeated-.were over, and the last glimpse of pretty Bellefont, crown. ing its stately terraces, had vanished from sight, Katharine could scarcely restrain her tears. She felt as if she were bidding adieu to peace, as if page: 228-229[View Page 228-229] GOOD SAMARITANS. 229 228 MORTON HOUSE. she were leaving quiet behind her, and turning her face toward turmoiL She had seemed to escape out of that uneasy current of life in La- grange, to be able to spread her wings for wider flight and freer air, yet, of her own accord, she was now going back-she was now drifting again among the scenes and the people that haunted her like uneasy dreams of delirium, and inspired her with a strange shrinking impossible to analyze and hard to resist. "1 have an instinct approaching to a cer- tainty that I ought to have turned my face in the other direction," she said, to Miss Vernon, as the horses trotted gayly along the smooth road, and she felt that every moment was taking her neirer to Lagrange. "And I have an instinct approaching to a certainty that you are doing the right thing in taking this direction," answered Irene, smiling. "Now, the question is, which instinct is entitled to the most respect?" "Mine, I think, since I have a reason for it." "A good one?" "A very good ofle." "Suppose you let me judge of that." "It would involve a long story," said Katha- rine, "and that, I fear, wouldtire you.', "What, with a day's jou~hey before us, and not even a novel to read! My dear Miss Tresh- am, what are you thinking of? If you have a story, and if you would not object to telling it, there is nothing I should like better than listen- ing to it, especially if there were any good end to be gained by doing so." "There is no good end to be gained," said Katharine, "but, since I accept your hospitality, I certainly owe it to you to be quite frank about niyself. I don't know what may or may not be said about me in Lagrange, Miss Vernon; but, having so generously extended your hand to me, it is only right that you should be able to judge intelligently of the truth or falsehood of any re- ports which may be afloat." "Miss Tresham, if those are your reasons for telling your story, let me assure you that you need not do so. I rarely hear gossip, and I never believe it," "Nevertheless, it exists; it is heard by every- body, and believed by the vast majority. Mrs. Raynor may like some explanation' of-" "I can answer for Flora, that she will not dream of such a thing." "At all events, you must allow me to speak," ssldi~atharine, smiling faintly. "For once in my life I have been betrayed by cowardly folly into that tangled web which deception iii any form is sure to weave. The sooner I can clear myself of it, the sooner I may be able to forgive myself for having fallen into it. Shall I begin at the beginning, and tell you a tolerably long story?" "If you insist, I can only be frank, and say that I should like nothing better." So, as the carriage rolled along the pleasant country-road, with a changing panorama of sunny landscape all around, drifting clouds throwing sudden shadows over distant hill-sides, green valleys on either side, orchards in the full glory of tinted bloom, and dogs rushing out to bark from every way-side house, Katharine told the story of her life, in all its details, to a very sym- pathizing listen These two advanced nearer toward friendship during this day than in all the days of their for- mer acquaintance, For it is with friendship as with love-to be perfect, it has two requisites, congeniality and confidence. Without the for- mer, it is a merely fictitious sentiment; and, without the latter, it is a sentiment dwarfed at best, and restrained. Confidence is a golden key to almost every heart, and certainly a golden link to every affection, let its form or degree be what it will. Says Miss Thackeray, very sweetly and truly: "If love is the faith, then friendship is the char- ity of life." And so these -.two women were to find it. Neither of them was an ordinary woman; both of them had much of the rare sweetness that is born of strength, and in which a frivolous or petty nature is invariably lacking; and both of them had felt at different times, and in a different manner, the need of a friend. There had been a certain attraction between them from the first; but they were not quick to come together. Both of them had seen too much of the world for this. When at last the league of friendship-a league whfeh was to last all the rest of their lives-was struck, they made no protestations to that effect. It was under- stood somehow, and none the less felt and re- spected because it was tacit. "Now," said Katharine, when she had fin- ished, "you will do me a great favor if you will tell as much or as little of this to your sister as she requires to know or as you think fit. Re- member that I leave the matter entirely to your discretion.". "My discretion, then, will be likely to leave Flora very much in the dark," answered Irene, smiling. "It is better to err on the side of tell. ing too little than of telling too much, you kno~i -at least there is a remedy for the first, but uc remedy has ever been devised for the second. I shall tell her just as little as she will be satisfied to hear, Miss Treshani." Judging from her experience of human na- ture in general, and the feminine nature in par. ticular, Katharine was inclined to think that this would not be very little; but she thanked Miss Vernon for her discreet intentions, and it was decided that Mrs. Raynor's curiosity was, if possible, to be left ungratified. On the afternoon of the second day, many familiar signs began to show that they were ap. preaching the bourn of their journey-familiar Lagrange scenery around, familiar Lagrange faces on the road. Miss Vernon~ sa# that Katharine was grow. ing nervous, and tried to reassure her. "It is very absurd that you should persist in making bugbears of two of the most inoffensive people in the world," she said. "Miss Tresham, do you think I would have asked you to come with me, if I had not been able to promise you a cordial welcome?" Katharine acknowledged the truth of this, and much more like it; but still she was uncomfort.. able-as, in fact, it was not remarkable that she should have been. It was almost a relief when at last the dreaded moment of final arrival came, when the carriage turned from the main-road, entered a wide gate, and, after half a mile of trotting along an avenue so full of sylvan beauty that it looked as if it might have led into the heart of a forest, came to a bridge crossing a pretty creek, a smooth lawn sloping on all sides like green velvet, and the usual country-house, with many piazzas, and wide, cool hall, where Mrs. Raynor was standing in the door waiting to receive them. "0 Irene, I am delighted you have come!" she cried "I hardly expected you so soon-in fact, I did not know whether or not to expect you at all.-Miss Tresham, I am charmed to see you "-she looked a little surprised, nevertheless -" I am glad that you are well enough to travel. Irene wrote me an account of your illness; it must have been dreadful I" "I have brought Miss Tresham to stay with us for some time," said Irene, before Katharine could answer. "She looks badly, does she not? We must try to bring back her roses before we let her go.-How is George?" "Dreadfully cross,".answered George's wife, with the most literal promptness. "The doctor says he is getting on very well, however; and, indeed, I suppose crossness is one sign of it.- Miss Tresham, I am very glad to hear that you I are going to stay with us. I am only afraid you will be dreadfully bored. I confess I am bored myself nearly to death. Bella and Louisa have been over continually, Irene. They are dear girls, you know; but by no means the liveliest of companions." "Where is George?" asked Irene. "In his own room. Will you go in and see him? He will like to hear all the Apalatka news. I will take Miss Tresham up-stairs.----This way, Miss Tresham. Dear me, how pale you are! You must lie down immediately, and take some refreshment. Do you prefer wine or cordial ?" Katharine's mind was soon set at rest on the score of her welcome. Mrs. Raynor was unaffect- edly glad to see her-glad of any thing or any- bocly to break the monotony of sick-room nurs- ing, for which Nature had rendered her singularly unfit. "George is so disagreeably cross that I am glad to get away from him for a little while," she said, as she sat down' in the room into which she showed Katharine, and plainly manifested her intention of remaining some time. "I have a horror of sick men," she went on; "tb.ey are so impatient, and ten times harder to manage than sick women, or sick children either. I am so glad Irene has come to relieve me a little. I am very glad, too, that she has brought you, Miss Tresham. I hope you will not let Mrs. Marks deprive us of you soon." "I shall not return to Mrs. Marks at all," said Katharine, meaning to give an explanation of her position at once~ But Mrs. Raynor mere- ly opened her pretty blue eyes a minute, and then rambled on with her own grievances; she had a habit of paying very little attention to what was said to her, especially if she chanced to be interested by something else at the time. Miss Vernon soon discovered that her sister's Curiosity was nQt at all troublesome on the sub- ject of Katharine. Not to give her too much credit, however, it must be premised that this would scarcely have been the hase if she had entertained even a suspicion of any thing un- usual in the matter. True, Lagrange was full of gossip about Miss Tresham and Mr. Annesle.v; but Mrs. Raynor had been full of her own con- cerns, and had heard very little of this gossip. Besides, Katharine was certainly very "niceh" She herself had thought so, and Irene had taken quite a fancy to her. As Mr. Raynor had once b page: 230-231[View Page 230-231] 230 MORTON HOUSE. remarked, Irene did not often take fancies, espe- cially to women, and when, by some chance, she did take them, it was an understood thing that they were 'to he humored. Then, in her present desperate and doleful condition, Mrs. Raynor was so glad to see her sister that there was no doubt but that she would have welcomed the most dis- agreeable person in the world whom Irene might 'have chosen to bring back with her. "I believe there is a good deal of talk about Miss Trc~ham," she said, indolently; "but, of course, we have no reason for minding that. These stagnant Lagrange people would talk' about a straw. By-the-by" (with some anima- tion), "Irene, have you any idea where Morton .&nnesley is ? ~' "Certainly I have," answered Irene. "He is down in Apalatka, staying with Mr. Seymour. Why do you ask? Have his good-natured friends been talking about him, too?'~ "Indeed, they have; and, what is more, I fancy that Mrs. Annesley and Adela have been very uneasy." "Uneasy 1" repeated Irene, with a curl of her scarlet lip. "Pray what mischief did they think he was likely to get into? Surely he is old enough to manage his own affairs without being kept in leading-strings by his mother and sis- ter." "They have every disposition to keep him in leading-strings; but I don't think they succeed very well," answered Mrs. Raynor. "He has a wifl of his own, notwithstanding that he looks so gentle. Adela French was here not long ago- 'just before George broke his leg, that is-and, although-she said nothing on the subject, I could see that she was very uneasy." "About what?" "About the danger of his marrying Miss Tresham, I presume. For my part, 1 never be- fleyed that there was any probability of it. I al- ways felt sure that he has entirely too much sense for such a thing." '"It would be the best thing in the world for ~ said Miss Vernon; "and, I am sure, it will not be his fault if he~Ioes not succeed in doing It. ' Is Adela french in Lagrange yet?" "I don't know, but I think not. George has kept me so closely at ~o~e"(in an aggrieved tone), "that I hardly know anything. I will ask fella when she comes to-day. She may know, and she can tell you all that people are saying alout Miss Tresham." "Thank you; but I have not the least curios- i~y on that score. I give them credit for any amount of ill-nature, just as much as if I had heard all they say." When Miss Ilaynor came, she proved fully capable of retailing all the gossip of which her sister-in-law had spoken. Miss Vernon listened with a disdainful curl of the lip; but still, she did listen; she felt that it was necessary to know exactly what was said of Katharine, in order to use to the best advantage those discretionary powers which the latter had given her. After all, however, the talk proved to be harmless and indefinite enough with all its ill-nature. La- grange had known nothing; and, therefore, La- grange had found it difficult to say very much. The chief hubbub seemed to have been raised about poor Morton Annesley. The kind friends, who always know all the particulars on these occasions, had declared, unhesitatingly, that he had "given his mother the slip,"'and eloped with Mrs. Marks's missing governess. Why he should have thought it necessary to give his mother the slip, or Why-if he wished to marry Mrs. Marks's governess-an elopement on either side was re- quisite, nobody was able to say~; but circumstan- tial evidence being strong against the two, they were formally condemned after the most approved form of popular justice. It was useless to hint (as one or two skeptical people did) that Mr. An- nesley had not left Lagrange until two weeks after Miss Tresham's departure. 7VeSt the wise ladies and gentlemen concerned were ready to reply, was by special arrangement. It was meant to lull suspicion, and throw people oft' their guard. No doubt Miss Tresham had gone on before to some appointed rendezvous, where Mr. Annesley had followed in due time, and a marriage had taken place. This point being settled to the satisfaction of everybodybut the most stoutly in~ credulous, people became undecided whether Mr. Annesley would take his bride away somewhere (to Europe, probably), oc whether he would re- turn, and, with a high hand, "have it out" with his outraged family. Being, as usual, very stag- nant for subjects of interest , Lagrange hoped much for the latter event. Parties ran high on the question. Would or would not Mrs. .Annes- ley continue to live at Annesdale? "Mrs. An. nesley is a Christian woman; she will bear this severe trial as a Christian woman should, and re- main with her son," said one party. "Mrs. An- nesley is a woman of spirit and self-respect; she will certainly leave Anneadale, and go to Mobile with Adela French," said another party., Chorus of both parties, "What a sad pity for )frs.'An. nesley! Such a charming person! Mrs. Marks's I governess for a daughter-in.lawl Only what s might have expected, however; the idea of mv ing such a person to Annesdale! Might ha' known what would follow," etc., etc., etc. It was not to be doubted that Miss Vern felt a considerable degree of malicious enjo meat when, after a month of uninterrupted -go sip (to which the only drawback had been a d cided and uncomfortable dearth of material), tI news fell like a thunder-bolt on the county, tin she had returned to her sisters, bringing Mb Tresham-who was still Miss Tresham-with he: At first Lagrange was incredulous, then Lagran~ was indignant, and finally Lagrange stood on it dignity, and said things more scornful and sligh big than agreeable and complimentary, about tb governess who was no longer a governess. Wh had she left Mrs. Marks? Lagrange was no curious, by any 'means; but still, it wanted t know that. Where had she been all this time and what was the reason that Mr. Annesley hai not yet made his appearance? Lagrange db not absolutely request people to tell their stor' to the marines, who were foolish enough to main statements about brain-fever, and Colonel Les ter's, and no connection with Mr. Annesley; but in its secret heart, it did not believe a word of the whole story, and waited grimly for what ii was pleased to call the "upshot of the matter." This did not come for some time, however. Miss Tresham remained quietly enough at the Raynors', and Mr. Annesley still' lingered in Apalatha. Poor Morton! That letter of Kath- arine's, written the night before her departure, had dealt him such a cruel and such a terribly unexpected blow, that he felt cowardly about go- ing back to Lagrange, about taking up again the familiar life from which so much sunshine had gone, he thought, forever, lie felt more inclined to remain with Seymour, to,~pend his days stroll- ing about the woods, with a gun on his shoulder, and a dog at his heels; his nights in talking or not talking to Godfrey, as he felt inclined, while they both smoked countless cigars. It was a dull, quiescent sort of life, but it suited his mood. It was doubtful when or how he would end it; and, all this time, Lagrange talked unceasingly, and Mrs. Annesley's anxiety nearly drove her into a fever. All this time, too, Katharine was winning back health, and strength, and bloom, and making 'her- self very attractive and very necessary in the Ray. nor household. The power to charm, the gift of diffusing brightness, was hers now as much as ever, and these new friends began to look a little GOOD SAMARITANS. 231 he injured when she talked of intended departure. it- "Why can't you stay?" Miss Vernon would ye ask; "why need you be in such a hurry to pro- cure a situation? Flora and George are both n absolutely in love with youj and both thank me y- on an average once a day for having brought you s- here. I am almost sorry to see Mr. Warwick e- come; I fear, every time, that he may have found ic a place for you." ~t "He is trying to do so," said Katharine. :s Then she added, gratefully: "Mr. Warwick is r. very kind to me. He is the best friend, by far, e I ever had." a "One of the best," corrected Irene. "I am t- sure he has no better disposition to serve you o than-than Mr. .Annesley, for instance, lie has y better opportunity, that is all." it "Don't you think one is apt to be more grate- o ful for realities than for possibilities?" asked , Katharine, smiling. "Not but that I am very I much obliged to Mr. Annesley," she added. I "He, too, has been a very kind friend to me." ~ "Nevertheless, I see plainly that you prefer Mr. Warwick." - "Do you mean that I am more grateful to him?" "Well, yes; and that you prefer him. That includes liking as well ns gratitude, doesn't it? you are twice as cordial to him as I ever saw you to Mr. Annesley." "He is different," said Katharine, blushing in a manner which Miss Vernon thought quite unac- countable. "I have known him so much longer and so much better. And-and there is no dan- ger of misconstruction with him. Now, with Mr. Annesley, I felt as if it was necessary to be on my guard all the time." "Against his vanity, do you mean?" "Oh, no; how could you think I meant such a thing? Against gossiping tongues, and ill- natured comments, and all that sort of thing. It must be a very foolish woman who does not learn a little discretion from being tossed about the world as I have been." "I hope you will never be tossed about again," said Miss Vernon. "I wish you would be reasonable, and let it be over at once." The two ladies were sitting in a pretty morn. ing-room, which opened on the lawn, while they talked in this manner. A soft, spring shower was falling outside, but every thing looked very bright and pretty within, when thedoor opened, and Mr. Warwick was shown into the room. They greeted him cordially; and, aftet' the first salutations were over, he turned to Katharine. page: 232-233[View Page 232-233] 232 MORTON "I see you are getting quite well," he said. "Are you almost ready for work?" "I am quite ready," she answered, eagerly. "Have you found any thing for me?" "I cannot say positively," he answered, "but I have a strong hope of doing so before very long. Have you any objection to going to It- Coun- ty?" "I have not the least idea where R- County is; but I have no objection to going any- where." "flow very obliging you are!" said Mr. War- wick, smiling. But Miss Vernon gave a cry. "R- County!" she said. "Why, Mr. Warwick, that is so far away, that we need never hope to see her again if she once goes down there. Is it possible you could not find a situation for her nearer Lagrange?" "It does not at all matter t~iat it is so far away," said Katharine, hastily, for she under- stood Mr. Warwick's reasons for choosing It- County better than Miss Vernon did. "I-I am not at all diffident about going among strangers," she went on.. "Mr. Warwick, do you really think that there is any certain hope of a situation?" "Read that," said Mr. Warwick, taking a let- ter from his pocket, and giving it to her. She opened it eagerly; and, while she read, Miss Vernon was summoned from the room. A little negro boy, whom Mrs. Raynor called her page, came in with a message from "Mass George" of a very imperative nature, necessi- tating her immediate attendance on that gentle- man. She went at once, though it was with\ some reluctance. "George is spoiled to death I" she said, to Mr. Warwick. "I have no doubt he will send a message for you when he knows you are here. He seems to 'think that people exist merely for the purpose of ministering to his amusement." "It ig not worth his while to send for me," said Mr. Warwick "I shall not be here ten min- utes longer. Tell him that, if he has any such intentions, if you please, Miss Vernon." "I will," she said, with some malice, and the door had hardly closed on her when Kath- arine looked up. "I like the tone of this letter," she said. "You bare answered the questions, I pre- same?" ~ he replied. "I answered them yes- terda~r. I know Major Wright well," he went on,"and I am sure you will find a situation in his family pleasant. I should not have enter- tained hig proposal otherwise." HOUSE. "I am sure of that," she said, gratefully. "You think of me a great deal-much more than I deserve." "Let me be the judge of that," said he. "When Wright's next letter comes-no doubt empowering me to offer certain terms for yours acceptance-you will be ready to close with them, then?" "Oh, yes; most gladly." "You won't feel inclined .to regret that B- County is so far from Lagrange?" "How could I? The last few months have given me very painful associations with La. - grange." Then, remembering how ungracious this sounded, she hesitated and blushed. " Yeas will come down to R- sometimes, will you not?" she said. "There is no one else I shall care to see." "I don't know," he answered. "It has been two or three years since I was down there last, hunting up evidence in a troublesome case. It may be two or three more before I have such another matter on hand. Do you think you will remain with the Wrights thatlong?" "I cannot tell)" she answered, a little wound. ed by his ton~e. "'A rolling-stone gathers no moss,' you know; so I shall endeavor to be a stationary one. Very likely, therefore, you will find me in the Wright household two or three years hence. If so, I hope you will come to see me." "There is not much doubt of my doing that," said he. "But I shall hope to see you in a home of 'your own, no longer a waif and stray of For- as you are now." She looked at him reproachfully. It was astonishing how they were playing at cross- purposes, these two. He meant to show her that she had no troublesome pejuistence to fear from him; while ~he felt aggrieved by the man- ner in which he seemed to ignore much that she thought he might have remembered. "You have forgotten," she said, in a low voice. "You must have forgotten a great deal before you could say such things to me. I shall never marry, Mr. Warwick." Mr. Warwick shrugged his shoulders a little over this positive declaration. "Why not?" he asked. "You know why not," she answered. "My burden is heavy enough on myself; I will not take it to any one else." "Not even if he were willing to bear it?" "No, a hundred times, no!" "That is foolish, Miss Treshain. You must I GOOD SAMARITANS. 233 forgive me for saying so, but it is very foolish Your brother has nothing whatever to do wit yourself. A man who loved you-a man whoi you loved-would never hesitate for such a coi sideration as that." "You should not judge all men by you~ self," she said, smiling faintly, yet very sweetly "There arc very few who are able to sacrifice themselves as you have proved willing to d. I-I never knew anybody before who was." "Don't think that I mean to reopen a sul~ ject which was closed finally," he said, "when beg to correct you in the use of that word. 'Sac rifice' means something which we do unwillingl; for the sake of another. Now, when I asked yoi to marry me-don't start! I have not the leas intention of repeating that act of folly !-I was making no sacrifice at all; I was simply follow ing the instinct of human nature, and endeavor ing to win for myself the happiness I most de sired. Take my word for it, that this will be th( ease with somebody else before long - some body," he added, kindly, "to whom you may b able to give a different .answer." She shook her head, but something-a mosi unaccountable something-rose in her throat, and she could not speak. He saw her agitation, and walked away, te give her time to recover herself. "Poor girl! no doubt she is afraid of an- other sentimental scene with a man old enough to be her father," he thought, with a strange mixture of bitterness, and amusement, and sad- ness, as he stood looking across the lawn, watch- ing the rain as it fell, and the sun as it tried to struggle through the clouds. After a while he turned round and took up the thread of conver- sation again, with a tolerably successful attempt at cheerfulness. "You have no idea how anxious poor Bessie is to see you," he said. "It would really be a deed of charity to give her that pleasure when you chance to be in Tallahoma some day. I am sure you don't bear malice, or I would not ask such a thing." "Bear malice!" repeated Katharine. "What an expression! Why, I am quite as much at- tached to Mrs. Marks and the children as ever; aud I really have not been to Tallahoma because I could not bear to think of not calling to see them. Miss Vernon asked~ me to go with her yesterday, but I declined." "Yoi~ must understand that Bessie has all the time been very anxious for you to return," he said. "It was Marks who made a fool of him- ~. self. I can see very plainly that he is sorry for is it now. 2Perhaps thefact of Mrs. Raynor's august n protection may have something to do with his s- change of sentiment," he ad~ed, with a smile. "It has been for the best," said Katharine, ~- a little sadly. "I cannot blame Mr. Marks at ~. all; and I am sure it is better that I should e leave Lagrange. I have done little besides mis- . chief since I have been here." "Will you be good enough to tell me what kind of mischief?" asked Mr. Warwick, with I the humorous accent she knew very well. "Don't laugh at me," she said. "I assure y you I am serious. Looking back, I can trace ~ every thing to myself. If I had not come here, t there would have been none of this trouble about St. John and Mrs. Gordon, or about Mr. Annes- - Icy, or-or about yourself." - "And if you had not been born, you would - not be living," said he. "If I laugh at you, it is because you deserve to be laughed at for such - absurdity! A quickness at perceiving the con- nection between cause and effect is a very good thing in its way, Miss Tresham, but it is possible to carry it too -far-it is possible to torment one's self uselessly with past and irretrievable issues. No man is wise enough to foresee the to-morrow, or how the events of to-day may in- fluence it. If we act with an honest intention for the best in the present, it is all that God will require of us. Nobody in the world stands alone; life is a very complex tissue, and every human soul influences others directly or indirect- ly. The conduct of some one else affected the course of your life; your conduct, in turn, affects the lives of others, and so on, ad iaflui. turn. If you want to be logical, you must go far beyond yourself." "You give me comfort as well as teach me logic," she said. "Must you go?"(as he rose). "Well, give my love to Mrs. Marks, and tell her I will certainly conie to see her soon. Are the children all well?" "Quite well, and eager for a s~ght of you. I may hear from Wright next week. If so, I will come and let you know." "Thank you." She held out her hand. "You are very good to me," she added, softly. The tone of her voice, the look in her eyes, haunted him after he left the room, after he rode away, and even after the ordinary distractions of life began to assert themselves once more. It was with difficulty that he finally banished the intrusive recollections. "I have been a fool once," he thought, page: 234-235[View Page 234-235] 234 MORTON ROUSE. THE LAST DEFIANCE. .235 "Nothing shall induce me to make a fool of myself a second time. I am old enough to have left such absurdities behind me." CHAPTER XLI. THu LAST DEFIANCE "Tun slow, sad hours that bring us all things III" went by, slowly and sadly enough; brought little enough besides ill to Mrs. Gordon, as the days lengthened, the heavens smiled, and earth budded, and Nature, weakening from her brief winter sleep, prepared for her long summer carni- val. Springcame, with its soft airs, its sportive breezes, its glittering sunshine, and bright flow- era; but no change of season or of weather lightened her gloom; no lapse of time softened her sorrow, or taught her resignation. Round the old house that had been silent so long, and at last had come to shrine this one lonely life, all was rejoicing beauty; but within its doors there was a hush that seemed to speak of deso- lation-.--a subtle and penetrating sadness that human grief sometimes seems to impress even upon inanimate surroundings. People-the few people who ever came-felt it as soon as they entered thedoor, and left it behind them, like a weight, when they emerged again into the fresh air and bright sunshine. Day after day of stag- mint, weary calm, rolled by; and the pale wom- an, lying on her sofa, grew daily more pale and more hollow-eyed. Who can wonder? Troubles suspense, and bereavement, are grim phantoms which prove hard enough to fight when the daily cares of life-cares merciful at such a time-are pressing on the heart, and giving at least the relief of partial distraction to the mind. But trouble, when there is nothing to do but brood over it; suspense, when it is only possible to sit and wait for the dreaded day, or the dreaded ob- ject; bereavement, when not one human source of consolation has been lOft; oh, where is the tongue or the pen that can speak of these? As people who sit by warm hearth, and for whom luxurious tables are spread, shrug their shoul- ders, and say, "Poor thing I" when their sym- pathy and their attention are claimed by some taunt, thinly-clad form out beyond in the night and storm, so we utter a few set words of pity and eondol~nce when a face, white with the awful ibotprhits of despair, looks in on our life. But have we-we, warmly clothed, and fed, and lodged, and hedged about with love-even the least con. caption of how bitterly the cold cuts, how heavily the rain falls, how dark and full of terror is the night to that poor, houseless wanderer? If we had, ah, vain words! even if we had, what could we do? The needs of the body can be supplied, the wants of the body can be filled, but who has yet been able to comfort the soul sick with lone- ly grief, or feed- the heart starving for absent love? So the days went by-one after another, with dreary sameness-and so the woman, whose life of fevered emotion had sunk at last into apathetic lethargy, watched them, from sunrise to sunset1 all alone. Sometimes she shivered, as a keen realization of her position oarn~ over her; as, lit a mirror, she saw herself sitting in the desolate solitude of her father's house, waiting for the man whom she had once loved, and now hated; the man who had wrecked her life, and made her what she was; the man whom she dreaded, ab- horred, yet longed to see again..-longed to sour out upon him the bitter tide of reproach, de- fiance, scorn, and hate. Sometimes she would shrink and shiver at a footstep, thinking, dread- ing that it might be his; then, again, she would pace the floor, and clasp her hands together, longing that he would come, that the worst might be over, that the utmost which could be said might have been said But the weeks wore on, and he did not appear. John Warwick came often-as often as possible, and as he had news from Felix-and did his honest best to cheer and lighten the gloom which he found; but even he, when he went away, felt depressed; even he felt how hopeless were any efforts to bring sun. shine where sunshine was net. "If you only had a companion!" he said; to Mrs. Gordon, one day. "Such a life as this is enough to kill you! your own thoughts are the worst possible company; anybody or any thing would be better." "And where would you find me a com- panion?" she asked, languidly. "Not that I would desire such a thing, but, If I did, where would you find one? A companion! think of all that a companion means. Not somebody to sit there and distract me with set looks, and com- posed manners, and talk about the weather and Lagrange gossip; but somebody who would have quickness enough to read my moods, and change with them; who would cheer at one time, and soothe at another; who would not be too gay, nor yet too dull; toward whom I need feel no reserve, yet who would not pry into my heart - somebody who-. Ah, what Is the good of talk: ing? All this means a friend, and where have I a friend?" "I know where I could find such a person for you," he said. "If-if you would only consent to it." She looked at him a little suspiciously. "Whom do you mean?" she asked. "I mean Miss Tresham," he-answered. "If you would only believe-" She interrupted him, passionately. "I will believe nothing that would bring her into this house! I don't trust her, Mr. Warwick; say what you will, ~ don't trust her! St. John's sis- ter cannot be other than false, and you will live to find it out!" "I am rather of the opinion," said he, "that you and some other people will live to find out that it is neither just nor reasonable to condemn one person for the faults and crimes of another, no matter how nearly related that other may be." "And you trust her? Trust anybody with that blood?" "Stop a moment, Mrs. Gordon; consider how little you know of the blood, or are able to judge of it from one representative. It is impossible for you to tell how many brave and noble an- cestors this very St. John may have had, ances- tors whose blood has made his sister what she is. "She is his ~ "That settles the matter, I see," said he, slightly shrugging his shoulders. "Well, per- haps you may be glad to hear that this dangerous person will soon be removed from the neighbor- hood of Morton House. I received a letter to- day from an old friend of mine in one of the lower counties, offering Miss Tresham the posi. tion of governess in his family. She has re- f quested me to accept it for her, and to say that I she will leave Lagrange in a few days. I am go- r ing home to write that letter now." s "Does your friend live near Felix?" £ "N~o; very far from Felix. Surely, after all c that I have told you, you do not cling to that o ideayet?" c "It has been an instinct with me from the first. One cannot disregard instincts." "Yes, one can, especially when they are con. 11 trary to reason and common-sense. You see I g talk plainly to you. On my honor, I think you iv need it. Have you seen Annesley since he re. n turned V' "He was here yesterday. lie tells me that - this girl has finally rejected him." "And will not even that fact alter your judg- ment of her a little?" She made an impatient gesture. "Why should it? No doubt she Would have married him if she had dared to do so; that is, if she had not known that his family would never recog- nize her." "Morton is tolerably independent of his fam- ily," said Mr. Warwick, dryly. "If Miss Tresh- am had married him, no doubt they would have found it tiresome to stay away from Anneadale because his wife was mistress there; and that is all that their not recognizing her would have come to, you know. Well, the afternoon is wearing on, and I must leave you, Don't you ever go out to get a little fresh air?" "Scarcely ever," she answered, languidly, giv~ ing him her hand as he rose to take leave. After he ivent out, he carried a dreary pic- ture back to town with him-the room, which looked dark and confined, as any room will look on a day when Nature is taking one of her royal holidays; the sofa, with its cushions, and the pale, thin face pillowed thereon; the relaxed form; the sad eyes; the books, tossed aside in utter weariness! He seemed to see it all as he rode along, with the lovely day around him; and he could not help saying over and over again, "Poor woman!" The poor woman, who well deserved his com- passion, lay, meanwhile, where he haI left her, watching dreamily the shadows lengthening on the stretch of emerald sward beyond her window~ the fruit-trees looking like pink-and-white elou4s a an orchard faraway, and the golden afternoon, aith allits spring-time wealth of sight and sound1 Irawiag toward sunset. Sunset, however, had not ~et come when she fell into a light sleep, her hec still turned to the window, and the soft ~recze playing gently over it. Something of eace, something even of beauty, came to her as he slept, as we see it often come to world-worn aces when the stillness of this mimic death steals ver them, winning back a little of the lost grace f youth to the heavy, deep-set lines of age or are. She had not slept more than half an hour rhen the stillness around her was broken, slight- broken by a step on the sward that sloped so ently from the window before which her sofa 'as placed. The sound was so slight that it did ot rouse her, and she still remained unconscious -still slept with a faint, sweet smile on her lip -when a shadow fell across the floor, a figure mw near the window, and a man, pushing back 'I page: 236-237[View Page 236-237] 236 'MORTON the gently-swaying curtains, stepped into the room. Not Mr. Warwick, not Annesley, not even St. John, but a stranger, who steps into this history, as he stepped into that room, for the first time- a tall, handsome man, with an air at once un- mistakable and indescribable, which only much intercourse with the world confers, with a bear- ing of marked distinction, and with a look of youth-despite certain significant lines that told of the wear and tear of reckless years and more reckless passions-in singular contrast to That pale, faded woman on the sofa. Evidently, he had walked round' the hou~e, and entered the ~rst window which he found open. Evidently, also, he had not caught a glimpse of the sleep- ing figure before he made his unceremonious appearance. He at~rted when he saw it, drew back a step, then smiled a little, and came for~ ward. At the same moment, Mrs. Gordon woke- woke suddenly, with a wild start. In recalling the scene afterward, she remembered that, in the midst of a happy dream nbout Felix, her heart seemed, without any warning, to give a great bound, and with a terror which she did not understand she sprung to a sitting posture, and, half sleeping, half waking-was it dream or real- ity ?-saw before her the face that had haunted hei~'last waking thoughts. She gave a low, inarticulate cry, then clasped koth bands to her heart, and kept theni there, striving vainly to still the passionate throbs that ~nade speech impossible. She had expected him, looked for him; sometimes, in a strange, wild way, longed for him; yet, now that he was be- fore her, the realization of it turned her faint. She could say nothing; her 1ips seemed parched; her tongue refused to speak it almost seemed as if she was still asleep; and yet she knew that she was awake, and that her husband was before her. "I have come, Pauline," he said, coolly. "I suppose, of course, you expected me. You have acted like-well, like a foolish woman; but I presume you knew that I would come." All the past rushed back over her in the first tone of that cold, careless voice-all the memo- ries, how bitter, how stinging, none but she could tell! Rage, scorn, defiance, hate-where were they all? Only an overwhelming horror came to her, as in these words he asserted his 'claim over her-this man who was her husband, and the murderer of her brother, yet who stood 'there under her f?~ther's roof! * HOUSE. "How did you come here?" ~she demanded, fh'4h a house haughtily. "This is my aterouse, only fit for honorable men. My servants long age received orders not to admit you." "I gave you credit for that measure of pre- caution~' he answered, in the same coldly-care. less manner, a manner on which it 'was evident that St. John had modelled his own~ and which, therefore, possessed all the advantage that an original possesses over a copy. "I did not trouble your servants to admit me," he went on. "The front of the house was entirely deserted. [ walked around until l came to this window. Seeing it open, I entered." "It is still open," she said. "If you do not leave the room instantly, I shall do so myself. I am determined never to see or speak to you again. if there is any thing that you wish to say to me, any arrangement that you wish to make with me, I refer you to my lawyer." He only answered by walking across the room, and closing the door. Then, coming back, he placed a chair so as to intercept any possible retreat on her part, and quietly sat down. "All this is folly," he said, with unmoved composure. "I thought you knew me well enough to be aware how worse than useless such a tone as this is. You seem to forget-or I suppose you really do not know-that I am the injured person in this freak of yours. Your conduct, from first t~ last~ has not a single ex- cuse, not a rSngle palliation. I directed you. to go to Scotland, and you deliberately came to America, thereby robbing me of Felix, and en- deavoring to conceal yourself from me. It was a woman's idea," he said, with contemptuous amusement, "and ha~ had the success that might naturally have been expected." "You mean that you have found me?" "Yes, l mean that l have found you, and that I am lenient enough to give you your choice whether you will return to Scotland with me, or whether I shall leave you in the seclusion you have chosen, and simply take Felix." The tone of subdued but unmistakahle malice with which he spoke the last words roused Mrs. Gordon like the blast of a trumpet. Suddenly, the remembrance came to her that she was not, as heretofore, helplessly in Us power. It was evident that he thought to bend her to his will through her fears for Felix; yet Felix was safe, was far away, was where this man could not pos- sibly seek or find him. The sweetness' of that one moment repaid her for all the months of '1 THE LAST DEFIANCE. 337 desolate sorrow she had endured. Watching old haughty strength and pride, and faced him her face, her husband was startled by the change -once, at least-on equal ground. that came over it-the sudden glow that seemed "I defy you!" she said, after he had sworn to light up the sunken eyes and the pallid fen- a bitter oath to make her repent.. "You have tures into something of their old beauty. done your worst and your last. You have "I decline to make any choice," she said. wrecked my life, you have murdered my broth- "I have, already told you that 1 refer you to er, you have insulted and injured me in every my lawyer for any thing you wish to say to possible way. There is only one more channel mc. However long you may choose to detain through which you can strike me - that is, me, you will obtain nothing further from Felix; and Felix you will never see again, even - me." if' the price I must pay for it is the price of With something like a mocking smile, he never seeing him myself! Once more I repeat leaned forward, and laid his hand on a bell- that I am safe-that I defy you." rope that hung against the wall, just at the It seemed as if she could not repeat the head of her sofa, last words too often. Their very sound in her "I will ring for Felix, then," he said. "It ears was as the 'echo of music, and, when she will save time and trouble if I take him away uttered them, she looked like another woman with me at once." -lik~ a vision of the regal beauty who, long "You can ring if you choose," answered years before, had gone forth from this very Mrs. Gordon; "but you will not find Felix. Do house, and who now faced the direct result of you suppose I should have sat here quietly if her own wilful folly. Gordon could scarcely there had been any dander of your finding believe that it was his wife who spoke to him. him?" she asked, scornfully. "I should have Not on account of her fiery spirit-he kner that defied you to keep me! But, thank God, Felix well enough of old-but at sight of the trans. is safe! Three months ago, I knew that you forming power which 'excitement had over her, would be here, for your miserable instrument and which seemed to kindle the dead light in appeared before you, and I sent the child away. her eyes, and bring back the dead roses to her It was like tearing the very heart out of my cheeks. 'He had hardly ever been wrought to breast; but I did it, and now I am repaid." such a pitch of fury against her, yet, again, he "You-you dared to do it?" had hardly ever been forced to such a degree "Yes,. 1 dared to do it." of reluctant admiration. He made a quick step was well that she came of that 'brave forward, and caught her arm. Morton blood which had never been known to "The devil is surely tempting you to your quail at danger in any shape, for there was own ruin," he said, bitterly. "Have all the that in the baffled face looking at her which years we lived together taught you no better might have startled the firmest nerves. All than this ~ Have you not learned yet that his cold smoothness of manner gave way, as there are no possible circumstances which could she had before seen it give way on a few mem- snake it safe for you to defy me? You had bet- orable occasions, and the savage of the man's ter stop a moment and think-you don't know nature stood out clear, and dark, and unutter- what you are doing!" ably repulsive. He was silent for a moment. "I know perfectly well what I am doing," In that moment the veins rose like cords on she answered. "1 am trying to save Felix-and, his forehead, and his eyes glittered as eyes only with God's help, I will save him-from you, and glitter in passion that, for violence, is next to what you wo',ld make of him." insanity. When he spoke-Well, it is scarcely "And do you really thiik that you have con- worth while to transcribe such scenes as these. ceased Felix so effectually that I, with unlimited Who cares to write, who cares to read, who cares means at command, cannot find him?" to dwell upon them? Forttmnately for Mrs. Gor- "1 am sure of it." don, she had served her apprenticeship of en- He read her face keenly, and, being well durance; and the knowledge of years is not skilled in physiognomy, saw that she spoke readily forgotten in a few months. Besides, from no mere bravado~-.no mere attempt to she was fired with new spirit. One of those simulate confidence in order to deceive him. moods in whioh she had longed for him to From some cause, of which he knew nothing, come, that she might pour out her hate and she was sure, she was perfectly secure, that scorn, rushed over her. She gathered all her' the child was placed beyond his reach. 16 page: 238-239[View Page 238-239] ft MORTON HOUSE. 238 "No doubt you were confident of being safe when you came here," he said, with the mocking smile which she knew so well. "Can't the fail- ure of one attempt teach you wisdom with re- gard to another? But that is a foolish question, women never learn wisdom, especially women like you. I see one thing, however, that you have not arranged and carried out this precious scheme alone. You have had assistance. .Ah 1" -as she changed color a little-" I knew it! Well, that makes matters a trifle easier than they would have been otherwise. I can find your instrument, and, having found him, you know me well enough to be aware-" "I know him well enough to be aware that your threats are useless," she interrupted, "You will gain nothing from him. He is not a man whom you can either bribe or intimidate. I sent you a warning once," she went on, excited- ly. "I don't know whether you ever received it; but if so, you would do well to heed it-you would do well to remember that him here in the midst of my friends, and that to attempt to hartil me further is only a certain means of harmhug yourself~ I am no longer in a foreign country, and helplessly at your mercy. I am at home, and you-if you only knew it-are at my mercy!" "I suppose you mean that some of your highly-civilized kinsmen and friends would be ready to shoot or stab me at your bidding," he saidsarelessly. "For that I have only one an- swer-by all means let them try. flow much you must have forgotten, before you thought it worth your while to take a tone like this." "I have said all that I shall think of say- ing," she answered, coldly. "It is for you to heed or not,~as you think fit. Once more, will you go? I h'!ive defied-I do defy you-to do your worst. There is nothing to add to that." "Yes, there is something," he said. "Not on your side, perhaps, but on mine. I will inflict my presence upon you long enough tQ add it." He had loosed his grasp of her arm by this time, and he now sat down again in the chair 'from which he had risen. His change of man- ner warned her that something worse than what had gon~ before, was yet to come. She tried to conjecture what it could be; but a dizziness seized her, and she could think of nothing. Felix! Felix! That was the only thought which rang through her brain. He could not touch him. ~he was sure of that. What did any thing elae matter? With a great parting flash of glory, the sun went down; the whole sky was glowing with the lovely reflection of the incarnadine west, melting into softest rose-colors, and violets, and blues, when he began to speak. "I gave you your choice when I first caine in, to return to Scotland with me, or to resign the child to whom the law gives you no claim. Considering the defiance of my authQrity, which has been your only reply, I might reasonably re- tract that offer. But, as it is, I give it to you once more, and for the last time. Stop I "-lift- ing his hand when he saw that she was about to speak-" you must understand fully, as you do not understand now, the alternative that is placed before you. In the first place, I am sure that it is in my power to find Felix-if you con. sidered a moment, you would be sure of this too. But to do so will cost both time and trou- ble, neither of which I desire to expend. I shell expend them, if necessary," he said, with ener- gy; "but I am willing to make a cq~promise to effect his recovery without them. I shall not speak to you of your duty, nor of the false.and groundless charges that you make against me in the matter of your brother's unfortunate death-" "If you arc wise, you will leave 'that name unspokenn," she said, in a tone that came with something like a hiss through her teeth-teeth set to keep back the fierce tide of emotion that struggled for expression. "If you utter it again -here, under this roof-I think I could almost find strength to murder you, as you murdered him! Bay what you have to say while I am able to control myself sufficiently to listen to you. It is the last time that I shall ever see you, or hear your voice." "You forget that you are my wife, and entire- ly in my power." "I am your wife-God help me 1-but I am not in your power, nor ever will be again." "We shall see about that," he said, smiling again. "I was on the point of saying, when you interrupted me, that I shall not speak to you of your duty, but of your interest. If you consent to produce Felix, I will allow you to accompany him hack to Seotland. If you refuse, I wiWfind him myself, and in that ease I shall take him alone. Do you understand?" "I understand." "And refuse?" "And refuse." "Very well. That point is settled-irreve- cably. We will not return to it again. Now! give you another alternative-either you will produce Felix, or you will alienate from him, by I I THE LAST DEFIANCE. 239 your own act, the inheritance which would natur- ally be his. I swear to you solemnly-and you know whether or not I am likely to keep my oath-that unless he is resigned to my guardian- ship, he' shall never inherit a fragment or a pit- tance of the Gordon estate." "You are counting too much on my igno- rance, when you make such threats," she said, haughtily. "I chance to know that you are un- able to fulfil them-I chance to know that your uncle'S estate is entailed upon your son, and that you are powerless to alienate it from him." "You are right," he said, with a flash of tri- umph in his eye. "It is entailed upon my son, but upon my ddest son." - "XVcll?" Something like a dim foreboding of the truth began to dawn upon her. The excitement died out of her face, she turned white to her very lips, and leaned back against the cushions of the sofa. "Well," he'replicd, coolly, "Yelix is not my eldest son. For reasons that will be apparent to you hereafter, I have preferred and do prefer him as an heir. But he is not the legal inheritor of the estate. It depends upon you whether or not he will ever own an acre or touch a penny of it." "Upon mel" A gathering mist seemed clos- ing round her; but she fought it bravely-she struggled desperately against the rising faint- ness that threatened to sweep away all powers of combat. One thought only save her strength -Felix's rights! They were assailed-falsely, unscrupulously, assailed, she was sure-and she was their only defender. "I do not believe you!" she cried out, pas- sionately. "Why should I? You have never failed to deceive me when you could do so with any advantage to yourself. Why should I be- lieve anything so stamped with falsehood as this?" "Believe it or not, as you please," he an- swered. "It is a matter, fortunately, which ad- mits of proof." "You can prove that Felix is not your eldest son?" "I can prove a former marriage when I was quite a boy, and the existence of a legal heir to the Gordon estate in the person of my son by that marriage." "He is living?" "Yes, he is living. 1 can put my hand en him whenever I choose. You need not look so incredulous," he said, as he saw her eyes grow larger and larger, her face whiter and whiter. "As I have said, it is a case in which assertion can have no weight; it is capable of proof that can, if necessary, be taken into a court of law. Perhaps you ~nay be convhlced if I give you a short statement of the matter?" She made a gesture, signifying assent; and yet it was hardly necessary. Something in his manner-something in his tone-above all, something in his face (and she knew that face well)-told her that he was speaking truth, and not merely a cunning falsehood devised to an- noy and intimidate her. Every thing had seemed so plain to her a minute before, and now all was confusion. Felix! Felix's rights! What were they? where were they9 what ought she to do? This was the accompaniment to her husband's words when he began to speak. "I need not trouble you with particulars," he said. "It is enough to give you a bare outline of facts. When! was a very young man-in fact, little moro~than a boy-my reg~nwnt was sta- tioned in the West Indies. I had not beeu there very long when 1 accompanied ouc of my fri~uds on a visit to Martinique. This maa-I have fot- gotten his name, and it does not matter-had a letter of introduction to an Irishman named O'Grady living on the island. He took me with him; and, since our welcome was very warm,! soon became intimate in the family. The man himself-O'Grady~ I mean-was a widower, and his family consisted of two daughters. One of them was a widow1 a Mrs. -. Confound my memory! I have forgotten thatname, too. The other was a young girl, pretty enough, I dare say; but I have little recollection c~f her now, excepting that she turned my head completQly at the time. A. love-affair followed, o~ course, not- withstanding that! was in a mu~h better posi- tion to cut my throat than to think of marrying. My father had paid my debts twice, and I was in deep disgrace with him. The beggarly allowance which he still continued, and my pay together, barely sufficed, or rather did not suffice, for my own wants, since I was a third time deeply in debt. To marry under these circumstances was simple insanity. This I knew perfectly well. Still, I was young, and ready for any act of folly. The consequence was that I compromised with an elopement and private marriage. The girl was easily worked upon; and, for the rest, matters were quite easy. There is hardly the lea~1~ com- munication between the different islands of the West Indies, and there was nobody to followor inalte disagreeable iurjuirics. Her Lathe; who page: 240-241[View Page 240-241] 240 MORTON HOUSE. was infirm, died ,almost immediately after Ii departure, and there were 110 troublesome brol ers or cousins in the matter. I took her to f island where I was stationed; but nobody in ti regiment had any suspicion of the marriage. was particularly cautious on this point, becau any rumor reaching my father's ears would ha' ruined me. Well, before long, I appreciated a folly as it deserved, and grew heartily tired the whole afl'air I fancy it did not answer w on either side. Kate-that was the name of U girl-was sufficiently full of complaints, if con plaints are any signs of unhappiness. At las to my great relief, the regiment was ordered home. I left her as well provided for as peas ble, but hardly had I sailed from the island whe (as I afterward learned) she wrote for her sist -a thing I had expressly forbidden. I~er excus was that she felt sure of dying at the approach ing birth of a second child. If that was tb ~ase, her foreboding was verified, for, as chanced, she did die. The sister wrote to m then with regard to the children-one, the be; of whom I have already spoken, the other an in fant, and I believe a girl. To be burdened witi such dead-weights as these would have beci tt snieSi1n~ In far ar my' in life were concerned. A lawyer answered her by my directions, offering a yearly sum for thel support, provided I was never troubled with nn~ thing concerning them, and provided also tha they did not bear my name. Since the entir proof of the marriage rested with me~ to pro duce or to suppress as I thought fit, she bad ~c alternative but to consent. She gave, them hc own name, and kept them with her until the bo~ grew toward manhood and became unmanage. able. Then she addressed the agent through whom the yearly stipend was paid, and request. ed that some arrangement might be made, remov. ing him from her control, also requesting that, if necessary for this, the whole of the allowance might he taken, as she was able to support the sister herself This was accordinglyy done; and the boy was played at school in England. lIe- fore long he was expelled for some disgraceful scrape. Then I took him, to see of what mate- rial h~ really was, and soon found " He stopped, for Mrs. Gordon had ripen again to a sitting posture, and faced him in the gather. ing, twilight with a look of horror that words can naly fail to describe. It awed even him, seen through the falling gloom; yet he recovered him- self with a slight movement, as if to shake oil some unconmious influence. er "Well," he said, lightly, "what is the mat. h- ter?" he "What is his name?" she asked, in a tone lie that fell sharply on the still air. Then, in a I lower voice, "My God! It cannot be! It is too so horrible even for you! What is his name?" she ye cried, again, more sharply than before. y " You might know his name by this time,~~ )f he answered, in a tone of mingled disgust and 11 triumph that did not escape her highly-strung ic ear. "The msn to whom you will give the Gor- a- doja estate, if you still refuse to surrender ,Felix, t, is the man you have so long scorned and hated, d the man whom you have held as less than the i- dust beneath your feet-is, in short, St. John!" a For a full minute after that name was spoken, w not a word further broke th~ silence of the room. c Face to face they sat in the dusky gloaming, i. the tempter and the tempted, and the only audi- e ble sound was that, of Mrs. Gordon's breathing, t which came in short, painful gasps, as she sat e with her hand once more pressed to her side, y trying to still the wild throbs of her heart, try. ing to command her voice sufficiently to speak. a She was silent so long that at last Gordon him- a self broke the stillness. S ~'The ~h~3ke i~ Iw.~k~re ycn,'~ Ian said. f'Sur- render Felix, and I make him my heir; refuse, and 1 shall prove my first marriage, which will give the estate to St. John. I need not tell you what is my choice in the matter. It will be no pleasant task to acknowledge a son in one - of the most profligate adventurers and swindlers in Europe." "And who made him either an adventurer or a swindler?" she cried, with a sudden vehe- * mence that startled her listener. "Who made him a tool for all the base uses that your own * hand disdained? Who taught him to scorn every * law of God and man? If ho is your son-if you have spoken truly-you have prepared for your- self an heir who is worthy of you 1 If I surren- dered Felix, it would be for the same result. You wpuld make him what you have made this poor instrument of your vices I Do you hear me-do you believe me-when I tell you that I would rather see him dead before me?" "Do you think that Feli*x will appreciate these heroics?" he asked, with a bitter sneer. "Do you think that, if he lives, he will thank you for having stood between him and his in- heritance-for having made him virtually a beg- gar ~ "If he has a drop of Morton blood in his veins, he will thank me for having spared him .1 the example of such a father, and the shame of having purchased worldly prosperity-the enjoy- ment of property that rightly belongs to another -at the price of moral degradation." "Then your decision is finally made?" "Yes, it is made. Nothing that you can say, nothing that you can do, will change it!" He rose to his feat and half turned away, then stopped a moment, and came back to her. "I suppose you know that you have no right whatever to this property which you are enjoy- ing," he said, "that the law gives all control of it to your husband, if I choose, I can sell this house, and every acre of land you call your own, to-morrow." "I am not sure that the law gives you such power," she answered. "But, granting that it does, I have only one reply to make-try, if you dare, to enforce it." "Do you think that the law will stand your friend, because you chance to be a Morton, and to be at home ? "I think-I know that the law is sometimes powerless to act in the face of public opinion. And, if it comes to an issue of high-handed ia.trags like thi4 & ~kc~ect wilt never Inek friends or defenders in Lagrange." "You may find yourself mistaken." "We shall see. But, if you had the right, and if you were able to enforce it, there would be no difference. If I were obliged to live on charity, or to beg my bread by the way-side, I should still defy you. Let that be the last word between us-the last I shall ever speak to you- I defy you!" "Very well," he said, grinding his teeth to- gether in irrepressible rage. Itecalling the scene afterward, Mrs. Gordon wondered at her own fearlessness. She was en- tirely alone, she was utterly helpless, and she had good reason to know of old how brutal and how reckless he could be. Yet she rose to her feet in the excitement of passion, and uttered those last quivering word3, like a haughty chal- lenge. He made a step forward, almost as it' he would have struck her; but she did not quail. She stood before him, like a pale wraith of a woman, in the ghostly twilight, daring him to do his worst. After a short interval of silence, that worst came in the form of words. "You have taken your choice," he said, "and, indeed, you shall abide by it. I swear to you that I will find Felix, and that I will make you repent this defiance in sackcloth and ashes. When I find him, and when your hour of repent- ance comes, then I will see you again, and pot before!" His tone, often as she had heard it in mo- ments like these~ involuntary made her shud- der; it was so full of concentrated bitterness, hatred, aiid revenge~ that the wonder was, not that he had for a moment threatened her with personal violence, but that, he was able to re- strain himself from executing that threat. If she had felt inclined to reply, he gave her no time to do so, but left the room immediately through the window by which he had entered. As his shadow passed away, the woman-his wife-sat down, sick and shuddering. It was over. Was it over, or had~ she only waked from a hideous dream? Had he really been there, and had the last bitter defiance been exchanged between them? Had she really told him that Felix was safe from him, and, that, for herself, she was ready to face the worst that malice, aided by the strong arm of legal power, could devise against her? Her head seemed giddy; she could not tell. A darkness, that was not the darkness of approaching night, closed round her. She & ~&(& tO ery' aloud; hut it ~u4e4 in a low, gurgling moan. Then she sank down on the pillows. Gordon, meanwhile, was walking quickly and fiercely-as men always walk under the influence of strong passion-round the house. It was not by any means so late as it appeared in the room he had quitted; but, still, dusk bad fallen, and objects near at hand were becoming indistinct, while those farther off were entirely wrapped in obscurity'. This fact, together with great pre- occupation of mind4 prevented his observing a man who was nearing the terrace, as he e~nerged from the shadow of the house, and descended the stone steps that led down to the avenue. He had scarcely taken half a dozen steps on 'the latter, when his path was barred; a voice, quiet but somewhat menacing, said, "A word with you, if you please," and, looking up, he found himself face to face with St. John! --4-- CHAPTER XLII. THE THILESUOLD or MORTON uotis~. IT was time that Morton Annesley had~atlsst returned to Annendale, and thai Lagrange had a1~ last been rewarded for long and impatient wait- ON THE THRESHOLD OF MORTON HOUSE. 241 page: 242-243[View Page 242-243] 242 MORTON HOUSE. ing, by the appearance of the hero of the melo- quisite care into the other. Yet people corn. drama it had arranged with so much artistic plain of this, and call it "unsatisfactory." if skill, and such dramatic situations-arranged, they called themselves ungrateful, they would be alas I for nothing. It was a very tame conclu. considerably nearer the truth. siOn indeed, the crestfallen gossips thought, The day after Morton's return home, he went when Annesley quietly came home, two or three to see Mrs. Gordon. The one following this-his weeks after Miss Tresham's return, and looked third in Lagrange-he spent in Tallahoma, at. and seemed, in every respect, very much as tending to various arrears of business. It was usual. sunset when he left the town, and turned Ilde- It was a very blessed conclusion, his mother rim's head in the direction of Annesdalc. His thought, however; and her joy was so great that road led him past the Marks house, and some. she even refrained from any reproaches or any thing in the hour and in the sight of the chil. complaints of the long and bitter anxiety she had dren, who were playing in the garden, brought endured-anxiety concealed as much as possible to his mind with singularly vivid remembrance under a suave manner and a smiling face, but that November evening when he had stood at suffered like the gnawing of a vulture, while La. the gate talking to Katharine, and Mrs. Gordon grange talked itself hoarse, and her own heart went by-when her face entered for the first was sick to the extreme of heart-sickness. It time the current of their existence. It is only might have been that his pale face and listless as we pass on in life - only when we have manner pleaded for him more powerfully than reached some height of time, and can thus over. any words. He had suffered-he was suffering! look the road winding through the valley-that After all, there is no excuse like that, especially the mist clears a little, and we begin to under. to a woman. Of her own accord, and quite Si. stand the true significance of events that seemed lently, Mrs. Annesky buried out of sight the purposeless or puzzling at the time of their oc. tomahawk which had been kept in bright, sharp currency. To Annesley, looking back, it seemed readiness for combat, during all this, period of as if every change of the last few months dated absence. He was back again, he was safe-what froili that evening-as if all the perplexities and did all the rest matter? It is true it mattered annoyances which had encompassed him took sufficiently to fill her with an inexpressible mix- their rise then-as if the quieter life, and the ture of relief and indignation when she heard hopes that had brightened it, went down into that the girl against whom she had expended so darkness with that long- vanished day. He much effoi't, the girl whom she had unhesitating- sighed a little to himself-a short, quick, half- ly denounced as a scheming intri~qante, had ab' impatient sigh-then pulled his hat over his solutely refused the grAnd chance of becoming eyes, and touched Ilderim with the spur. Ilde- mistress of Annesdale, when the owner of Annes- rim, who always resented any liberty of this dale had been insane enough to offer it to her. kind, immediately indulged in a few rearing There is no exaggeration in saying that contend- and plunging exercises, which had the effect of ing emotions nearly choked her when she heard diverting his master's attention from useless and this; and that the relief and the indignation, by no means enlivening retrospection. When he already mentioned, were at least equal in her was brought to terms, and had at last settled breast. "Oh, what a blessing to be free at last into a sharp, steady canter, a proverb familiar from that haunting dread, and yet-oh, how dare enough to a certain class of' thinkers was on she, the miserable creature!" That was the Annesley's lips. "Ohs 8iV~c~~ sard!" he mut- way thanksgiving and reproach were mingled to tered to himself. "After all, who can tell? her. Is it not always so? Few things are more Every thing is for the best, no doubt. The only singular than to consider how seldom in our lives difficulty-Soh, Ilderim! What the deuce is the we have ever known a pure, unmixed emotion of matter with you, sir?" any sort. Whether it be joy or sorrow, it is al- . He broke oft' with this impatient question, as ways dashed by and blended with something Ilderim suddenly gave a bolt from one side of else it is almost always complex in its nature. the road to the other. It was just where a foot- God is good to us in this, as in all things else. pathled across some fields, and a stile crossed Strong revulsions of feeling would be too power- the hedge that bordered the main road. As An- Cal, if they came with unmixed force-if joy were nesley turned quickly to see what had caused joy, and sorrow were sorrow, pure and simple, the fright, lie caught a glimpse of the top of a not as now, the hues of each blended with cx- hat sinking below the hedge, and thinking that U I ON THE THRESHOLD OF MORTON HOUSE. 243 some little imp had startled the horse for amuse- mnent, and was now hiding from the probable consequences, he gave Ilderim's bridle a per- emptory jerk, and, in a good deal of a fume, rode up to the stile. "Come out, you miserable little' rascal," he said, "and let me tell you that if you ever try such a trick as that again-" He stopped short, full of amazement. In- stead of a child, a man rose up from behind the hedge, at his bidding, and, with the full glow of sunset fallii~g on him, he recognized St. John. They faced each other silently for an instant- Annesley overcome by astonishment, St. John full of mortified rage, and neither knowing what to do or to say, until the adventurer, who, hav- ing been most prepared for the encounter, broke the awkward silence first. "I beg your pardon~ he said, with a sort of insolent defiance. "Did you speak to me?" "I beg your pardon," answered Annesley, recovering a' little. "No, I did not speak to you. That is, when I spoke, I thought some mischie~'ous boy had frightened my horse, and was hiding behind the hedge. I had no idea it was you-that is-I mean-" "You had no idea that I was hiding behind the hedge," said St. John, grimly. "Thank you, Mr. Annesley, for that much courtesy. You are right, too-I was not hiding. I have been in the country to see a friend, and, returning to Tallahoma by this short cut, I stopped here a moment to rest. I regret to have startled your horse. I know by experience that nothing is more provoking. Good-evening." Annesley returned the salutation, and rode on; but as lie ro~le, he thought of the encounter, and the longer he thought, the more singular it appeared to him~ "That fellow is a slippery scoundrel," he thought, "and I am ns certain as I can possibly be of a thing I don't know, that he was hiding when I startled him. 'A friend in the country,' 'resting on the stile '-as if he imagined I would credit such a story! What the deuce is he up to, I wonder? He can't be meaning to turn highwayman; and yet this looks amazingly like it. Ah 1" He pulled up Ilderim with a jerk that almost threw that astonished horse on his haunches, and stopped a minute in the road to think. Like a flash, the recollection of Mrs. Gordon came to him, and he remembered that this stile was almost exactly opposite thegates of Mor~o~i House. Was St. John on his way there ?-did his appearance mean any thinglike annoyance to her? Such a thought was enough to fire Annesley at once. He did not stop to consider whether or not it was probable-that it was possible, was quite sufficient to put his blood in a glow. He wheeled Ilderim about, and in a second was gal- loping back along the road he hail come. At the gates of Morton House, however, he paused. He did not want to startle his cousin unnecessarily, or make himself ridiculous, yet he could not banish an uncomfortable impres- sion that St. John's appearance in that particu- lar place meant mischief: While he was still debating what he should do, the thought of John Warwick came to him as a sort of inspiration. "He will know," he thought. "He has been on the scene, and knows much more of matters than I do. He may be able to tell what the fel- low is after ;and, at all evekits, I need not star- tle my cousin without first learning whether. or not she is likely to be annoyed." Under such circumstances, and with such a person, resolve and execution are very nearly synonymous terms. in the course of another minute, he was gal- loping rapidly toward Tallahoma. Dusk had fallen, as he rode down the village street-his evident haste making more than one person gaze curiously after him-and drew up before Mr. Warwick's office just as that gen- tleman, with his letter to Katharine's would- be employer in his pocket, stepped into, the street. "Why, Annesley 1" he exclaimed, as the eager horseman reined up at the curb-stone. "I am glad to see you back," he continued, coming forward with extended hand. "How are you?~~ "Tolerably well, thank you," said Annesley, shaking hands absently, and in a great hurry. "You won't be surprised, or think me very fool- ish, if I ask you a rather abrupt question, will you?" he added, quickly. "I have a special reason for it." "A lawyer has no business ever to be sur- prised," replied Mr. Warwick, noticing the eager concern on~he face before him. "Ask away-a hundred if you like." "Anybody in your office?" "Not a souL" The young man leaned out of his saddle, and spoke low and -quickly. "You know more about Mrs. Gordon's affairs thtin I do," he said. "Is it possible that that fellow St. John could annoy her in any way?" The lawyer started a little. "It is possible, certainly," he answered, coolly; "but it is not at all probable~ Why do you ask?" page: 244-245[View Page 244-245] 244 MORTON HOUSE. "Wecause I met him half an hour ago, at thi gates of Morton House." "What ". exclaimed Mr. Warwick, abap. lutely recoiling a step in his amazement. "Yoc must be mistaken, Morton," he went on hastily~ "It can't be-it is not possible-that you mel St. John!" I saw him as plainly as I see you, and spoketo him, besides," answered Morton, some~ what surprised. "Why should it not be St. John? He-" "Never mind about that ~ interrupted the other hastily. "If you are sure it was the man himself__" "I am-perfectly sure.~~ "Well, then, are you also sure that lie was going to Morton House?" "Not at all-as you may judge for yourself." He then proceeded to detail the incident as it oc- curred. "You see," he went on, when he had finished, "it is all pure supposition on my part -and for that reason, I would not run the risk of disturbing my cousin until I had spoken to you about it. If he can annoy her in any way~~ "He can annoy her," interrupted Mr. War- wick, "and his venturing to reappear here looks very much as if he had that intention. You are mounted, Annesley. You had better ride on to Morton House at once-I will follow you as soon as I possibly can." "Then you really think-" "Halo, George! Stop a minute!" cried Mr. Warwick, suddenly interrupting him. And when Morton turned, he saw that the person ad- dresa~d was a young man who came riding down the street in their rear. "Good-evening, Clay. -ton," he said, recognizing one of the young "men about town" of Tallahoma; and, ni Clay- ton drew up and returned the salutation, Mr. Warwick went on: "George, you~are going home, are you not? I thought so Lend me your horse, then, for an hour or so. I want to go to the country in haste, and haven't time to wait for my own." "Certainly, Mr. Warwick," said the young man, dismounting instantly. "He's quite at your service,!' he continued, with evidently cor- dial sincerity. "You ifeed not be in a hurry about returning him; and, if you want to go any distance, he's quite fresh-I've only been out to the plantation and back." - "Thank you," said Mr. Warwick, hastily, and mounting the horse without loss of time. "I am in a great hurry-it is most fortunate that you happened to be passing, George. Good. evening.-Now, Annesley!" Annesley needed no second bidding, and side by side the two men whom Fate. had of late seemed capriciously determined to throw togeth- er, rode out of town on their way to Morton House. Considering thdt both horses were put on their mettle, it was not surprising that in a few minutes they reached the large iron gates of the Morton domain, and, in still another min- ute, were cantering up the avenue-looking al. most like spectral horsemen as they rode rap- idly under the bare trees in tIle dusky gloam- ing. Their anxiety and uncertainty had in some intangible manner been communicated without toy agency of speech; for certainly each knew what the other was feeling, and yet certainly also, not a word had been spoken on either side after they left Clayton, standing full of surprise and curiosity on the curb-stone in Tallahoma. They were half-way between the gate and the house when the first sound broke the stillness. Suddenly, on the soft evening air, the report of a pistol rang sharply out. Both horses sprang- reared-plunged-and before a ward could be exchanged-in the midst of the struggle for tJie mastery, which ensued on the part of both riders-two other reports followed in quick suc- cession. "What on earth can it be!" said Annealey, as soon as Ilderim, quivering in every limb, was again und~r his controL Mr. Warwick did not answer. He gal loped hastily forWarJ, and the other followed. In an- other minute, they reached the terrace-steps, and came upon a scene that neither of them ever forgot. The reports which they heard had evidently startled the entire household. Notwithstanding the obscurity of the twilight, they were aide to see that figures were running eagerly round the terrace and descending the steps, at the bottom of which a confused movement was taking place. A group of servants were bending over some ob- ject, or objects on the ground; but they all drew back instinctively as the two gentlemen galloped up. "What is it, Harrison?" asked Mr. War- wick, almost before he drew rein. ~ The Lord only knows, sir," answered Har- rison-evidently in a state of the wildest excite: ment. - "Two men shot themselves sir --- right here-and the first we knowed of it was when we heard the reports. I was in the kitchen, I ON THE THRESHOLD OF MORTON HOUSE. sir, and I jumped up and come a - running, and " "Stand back, all of you!" said Mr. Warwick, impatiently. lie and Annesley pressed forward. it was true. Two figures were lying on the ground where there was every trace of a fierce struggle-one slightly breathing with a pistol still in his hand; the other fallen across the lower step of the terrace-on the very threshold of Morton House-stone dead! For a moment, the unexpected horror or the situation held both men powerless. They looked at each other through the gathering shades of evening, with white faces; but neither of them said a word, until the thought of Mrs. Gordon came to both. What had preceded this trage- dy, they could not even guess; but it would have been strange if their first care had not been for her. "You will see what can be done here," said Annesley, after a moment. "I must go to my cousin. "Yes-go at once," answered Mr. Warwick, quickly. "She must ~hav-e heard the reports, and she may come- Stop that, by any means." Morton did not think this likely; but he gave one or two agile bounds up the terrace-steps, and strode hastily toward the house. He had not gone a dozen paces before he met Babette, running in the direction of the scene of itetion, wringing her hands, and crying aloud. She did not recognize him, and he was forced to claim her attention peremptorily before she would even notice him. When she found who it was, how- ever, she seized his arm with both hands, and poured forth a pitiless lamentation. "M'sieur, what is the matter?" cried she. "I went in madame's room, a minute ago, an~ I found her-poor lady-lying in a dead faint on the sofa. I knew-nh, mon Dieu! I felt sure that M'sieur Gordon had been there. Then I heard the guns, and I saw all the servants run- ning: but I could not leave madame, and she-" "Has she come to herself?" asked Morton, who could not help thinking that a dead faint was the best possible condition for Mrs. Gordon just t~hen. "I can do nothing with her!" cried l3abette, hysterically. "I have tried to bring her to, but I could do nothing with her; andl came to see about the guns-O m'sieur, what is it ?-has M'sieur Gordon-" "You are just the person I" said Annesley, interrupting her; and, much to her surprise, tak- 245 ing her, in turn, by the arm. He led her for- ward, without giving her time for a word, and stopped at the head of the steps. "Here's Babette, Mr. Warwick," lie said. "She will be able to tell more than anybody else. My cousin, she says, is in a swoon. Why don't you send for lights?" "I have done so," answered Mr. Warwick's voice out of the dusk. "There they come now." They came as he spoke-three or four ex- cited negroes running as hard as possible, some with candles, which they shaded with their hands, and some with pine-torches caught from the kitchen fire-the red flames streaming out wildly on the night air, and lighting up the whole scene with the peculiar glare that only pine produces. It was a singularly picturesque group, if anybody concerned had been able to think even for a moment of its possible effect. Afterward Annesley remembered h6w hp stood at the top of the steps holding the trembling, sobbing Frenchwoman by the arm; how Mr. Warwick directed every thing below how he glanced back at the grim old house behind them, thinking of thd insensible woman within it; how, at that moment, a shrill, piercing scream from Babette made him look round again; how the red glow of the torches fell just then full ~n the face of the dead man, and how he shivered from head to foot as his companion cried wildly: "Ah, mon Dieu l-M'sieur Gordon!" An hour later, Mr. Warwick came out to An- n~shmy, who had left the house and was walking up nnd down the terrace before the front en- trance. Mrs. Gordon insisted upon being left alone with the dead body of her husband, and the doctors were in consultation over St. John, so there had been nothing for Morton to do; and he had come out to see if he could not shake off the numbing horror that seemed to oppress him, in the fresh air, and under the great, silent can- opy of heaven lie had not made maci-a thnn half a dozen turns, however, and the cigar he had mechanically taken out was 5till unlighted in his hand, when the lawyer walked up to him. "The doctors have decided that there is no possible hope ~'or that poor fellow," he said. "The ball has entered his lung in a place which renders extraction impossible; and, death must take place in a few hours-probably sooner. He has recovered consciousness, and I think his sis- ter ought to be summoned Morton you must go for her." page: 246-247[View Page 246-247] / 246 MORTON HOUSE. "For his sister!" repeated Morton, in bc wildermeat, As much as he had time to think he was certainly inclined to believe that Mi Warwick had taken leave of his senses. "I forgot that you did not know," said th etiher. "Miss Tresham is his sister; and she i at Ra~'nor's-George Raynor's. Will you go fo: her?" "I-of course, instantly," said Annesley swallowing this new cause for astonishmeni with a great gulp. "But-if you will excus me-are you sure-is there no mistake-" "I am quite sure," answered Mr. Warwick cutting him short. "There is no mistake what. ever about her being his sister; but it is a long story, and I cannot begin to tell it now. Takc every thing for granted, my good fellow, and go at once-remember, it is a case of life and death." "I am not likely to forget that," the other replied. Nothing more was said by either. Mien, when they know they can rely on each other, are not much given to speech. With his Un- lighted cigar still between his fingers, Annesley walked away to the stables where some officious servant had taken Ilderim, while Mr. Warwick ~vent back into the house. His fpot fell softly as in crossing the hall he passed a closed door, under which shone a stream of light. As he sprang into the saddle, he chanced to turn one look at the honac, and caught the same ligl~t-shining steadily over the terrace from a flower-wreathed window. lie drew his breath quickly at sight of it, for he knew what it meant -he knew that in the room ~vhere little more than an hour before the last bitter defiance had passed between them, the widow now watched by her husband's corpse. He had no time for reflection, however. "Re- member, it is a case of life and death," Mr. Warwick ~a4 said; and the young man, as he had answ, Was not likely to forget it. lie gave fld~r~*n ~ sharp taste of the 'obnoxious spurs, aa~ nfter. one wild plunge, was away-cut- ting straight across the park, and taking a plan. station by-way that led through the fields to the Raynor estate. He did not trouble himself much about gates or bars; but when he came to ~ fence-and fences, it seemed to him, had never before been so numerous-gave Ilderim his head, and went straight at it. At this rate, it was Dot long 'before he came in sight of the Raynor house-or rather,~of the Ilaynor out-buildings; for his approach was madefrom the rear. Fortunately, he knew the :, place well, and was at no loss where or how to proceed. Opening one of the usual large plan- tation gates, he let himself into the stable-ydrd, a and riding forward soon came upon a group of servants lazily talking and smoking together. "Here, one of you boys," he said, startling them very much by his unexpected appearance, "take my horse, while I go to the house. Is your master at home?" "Yes, sir- Mass George's at home," an- swered several of the astonished boys. Then two or three of them advanced. "It's Mass * ilenry Dargan, ain't it?" asked the first; for the starlight made personal appearance very much a matter of conjecture. "No-it's Mass Morton Annesley," said an- * other, before Morton himself could reply. "I knows his horse.-Shall I put him up for you, Mr. Annesley?" "No" - answered Anuesley. He stopped and thought a moment. "Is Chancy in the stable?" he asked. "Yes, sir-been up all day." "Change my saddle to him, then, and put a side-saddle on Ilderiin. Make haste about it, and when they are ready, bring them both to the house. Do you understand?" "A side-saddle, sir?" "Yes-i~ side-saddle. Don't waste time over it. Change my saddle as quickly as you can, and bring the horses on." He walked away, leaving the astonished grooms to bewilder themselves with conjectures about this strange order, and took a familiar path to the house. Following it directly, he soon found himself on a side piazza, and, looking through a glass door, saw that the family were at supper. Involuntarily, he stopped a minute- he began to realize now that it was hard to take the next step. Standing thus, he saw Katharine for the first time since that well-remembered day at Bellefont. She was looking pale, hut very pret- ty, he thought, as he watched her sitting exactly opposite the door through which he made his observation. The family party was not large, and supper-if the light meal merited such a heavy name-was set very informally ona small round table. George Raynor, with his crutches beside him, was comfortably established on one side of this, while his wife poured out coffee on the other. Irene Vernon, with a book in her hand, stood by the hearth, where a servant was toasting bread. Being the person most disen- 4 gaged, she first caught a glimpse of Annesley's farce through the glass door, and made a slight exclamation. After that, he had no alternative but to push it open, and enter. CHAPTER XLIII. THS VALLEY or THE SHADOW OF DEATH. SOHETHING in Annesley's face and manner told his story for him as soon as he came in up. on the astonished group. Raynor was the first person who looked up as the door opened, and he made the first echo of Miss Vernon's excla- mation. "Why, Annesley!" he cried, making an effort to rise, and sinking back again, when he remembered his leg. "Good Heavens, Morton! What is the matter?" Morton came forward, and tried to smile, as he held out his hand. "You must excuse my being so unceremoni- ens," he said. "I came through the stable-yard, and followed the side-path to the house. I hope you are all well. It was a shame to startle you sol- indeed, Mrs. Raynor, you need not be alarmed. Nothing is the matter, 1 assure you- at least nothing that concerns you." "Something that concerns~ somebody else, theii," said Raynor, impatiently. "The deuce, man i-don't try to tell us that nothing is the matter when you look like this! What is it?" "1 have come for Miss Tresham," said An- miesley, looking at Katharine, and thinking- poor fellow !-that he had better make a desper- ate plunge into the matter at once. Impulsively, he went over and took her hands-there was something very pitying in his face and eyes; "I am very sorry for you," he said, "I mustbeg you to come with me at once. You are wanted -at Morton House." "Wanted !-by whom?" she asked, for Mor- ton House was the last place she could possibly have expected him to name. "Wanted by "-he hesitated a moment-" by Mr. St. John. He has been in a difficulty, and, I. am sorry to say, is badly wounded." "Ah I" she gave a low cry, and grew sud- denly pale. "But-but he cannot be there!" "Yes, he is there. I cannot tell you any more now," he went on, hastily, as he saw the amazement in her dilated eyes. "You had bet- ter change your dress at once. I have ordered a horse for you-it will b~ the quickest way of THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 247 reaching Morton House. The sooner we start the better." "Is-" She stopped, and drawing her hand out of his clasp, clutched nervously at the back of the chair from which she had risen, while her words came with a slight gasp-..-" is he dying?" Annesley did not answer, but, being inexperi- enced in dissimulation, his face answered for him. Everybodywho was looking on read the reply written there as plainly as Katharine did. She gave a shuddering sigh, put her hands to her face for an instant, then let them fall, and turned to leave the room. "I will be ready in a minute," she said, in a repressed sort of voice. "I will help you," said Miss Vernon, break- ing the trance of surprise that held them all. She came forward quickly, and drew the girl's hand into her arm. There was something very gentle in the action, and in her face, as she looked back at Annesley.-" She shall be ready hi a minute," she said. "Don't fear any de- lay." They passed out of the room, and then Mor- ton was beset by questions-to which he gave very~unsatisfactory answers indeed. "I don't know much more about the matter than you do," he said, at last. "And of what I do knew, I am bound to say nothing, because it is no affair of mine. You may hear all about it soon-God knows: I don't. Who is shot? That poor fel- low St John, for one, I can tell you.-George, I had a side-saddle put on Ilderim for Miss Tresh- am, and ordered out Charley for myself. You don't object, do you?" "Object! Of course not," said George. "Chancy has been standing up in the stable eat- ing his head ofl ever since I broke my leg. But, Morton, you can at least tell us what this-St. John is his name ?-has to do with Miss Tresh- am?" "No, I can't," answered Morton. "Miss Tresham will very likely tell you herself," he continued; "until then, my dear fellow, you must restrain your curiosity as best you can.- Mrs. Raynor, will you give me a cup of coffee? I have had no supper this evening." He made the right eiversiou. With all a woman's ready sympathy, Mrs. Raynor was at once intent upon administering to his bodily wants, even in preference to the gratification of her own curiosity. Notwithstanding hi~ pro- test, she insisted upon making him eit as well as drink, and she was so full of this important matter, that she did not find time to ask anotli- page: 248-249[View Page 248-249] er question, before Miss Vernon and Katharine came back, the latter equipped and ready to start. "Mr. Annesley, are you not afraid to put her on that wild horse?" Miss Vernon asked, as they stood on the piazza and Morton led Ilderim up. "Minnie is in the stable. Surely she would do." "She would do excellently well for a pleas- nrc - ride," answered Annesley; "but not for such a purpose as this. Charley is by no means safe," he added, "so Ilderim is our Only resource.-Miss Tresham are you afraid of him?." "Not in the least," Katharine answered. "I should not be afraid of any thing, Mr. .Anneslcy, that would take me there at once." "Ilderim will take you there like light- ning," he said, lifting her to the saddle. And, as he said it, a sharp recollection came to both of them of the evening when ~'he had given the name which had come to bear~such a sigiiifi- canoe1 "Ilderim-it signifies 'the Lightning,"' she had said; and now it rested with Ilderim whether or not she should reach her brother's death-bed in time to hear or to speak one last word of love, or pardon, or hope. "Oh!" site said, under her breath, "do you remember?" just as Annesley for his part said, "Do you re- member?" then added quickly, "You are riding him at last." "Take care of her, Mr. Annesley,~~ came from the piazza, in Miss Vernon's voice. It was the Inst sound that followed them as they rode away. "Where are we going?" Katharine asked, as they passed out of the stable-gate to~ether. "This is not the road to Morton House." "Yes, it is-the shortest road," he answered. "A cut across the plantations which will take off ~two or three miles of the distance. Are you I afraid?" "Afraid-with yOu? Oh, no." She said the words very simply, but, out of 1 their very simplicity, they touched him deeply, 1 making that strange, lonely ride-that gallop at I full speed across the great silent fields, and now 1 and then through a dark stretch of woods full 12 of the weird, inarticulate voices of the Night- 12 an era in his lifeto be ever remembered. What ~ man is wise enough to be able to tell when pas. I: sion is born, when it reaches its full height, or when it dies?' Does the turn~of the tide always Ii come when the waves have reached their highest ii point? As they rode along, with the hoof. h MORTON 248 * ~ 248 THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 249 strokes of their horses the only audible sour~d, themselves uttering scarcely a word, Nature in silent grandeur all around them, man so far distant, and the great hosts of heaven march. lag steadily overhead, it seemed to Annesley as if much that had before been unintelligible was now made plain to him, lie could not possibly have given expression to the different emotions that swayed him, to the different thoughts that came to him, or to the strange flux and reflux of feeling that possessed him. But all the same, these things left their mark upon his life-all the same, he looked back af- terward to this night as to one of those peri- ods of transition which every human soul must undergo. The forces may be long in marshal- ling, the causes may be long in preparing their effects, but we may know the thrill of final issue when it comes, even though we may not know till long afterward the final result. Annesley had no means of judging what length of time they had been on the road, when at last they reined up before the door of the great stables of Morton House, and, springing to the ground himself, he received the slight, swaying form of his companion in his arms. "Courage, Miss ~fresham I Here we are at last!" he said, kindly. "Don't give way now, after holding out so well. Shall I send for some wine for you, or shall we go to the house at once?" "Let us go," she answered, panting slight- ly. "We must not wait a minute. He-O Mr. Annesley, do you think he is alive?" "Let us trust so. But you ought to have something to strengthen you before-" "No," she interrupted, with feverish eager. aess. "Take me in. I-I am quite well." "Just as you please," he said, with that considerationn which comes from the heart, and ~nows, therefore, when it is vain to press even hat which is best on an unwilling recipient. lie drew her hand into his arm, and she remain- )cred afterward how gently and carefully he ed her to the house, speaking now and then dnd words of cheer and comfort. During the ast half-hour of their ride, he had told her all to knew of what had occurred, and who had can St. John's adversary in the quarrel that had ndcd so fatally. Shocked she was, undoubted. y; but almost less so than he had expected. Jt is horrible-horrible for Mrs. Gordon-that ~e should have been killed there," she said, rith a shudder; "but, oh~ you cannot tell how is influence has led St. .~ohn astray, and how much this seems to me like retribution!', That ~vas all she said of the man who had so suddenly and so fearfully gone to his account. All her thoughts seemed filled by her brother. An- nesley was astonished to hear with how much tenderness she spoke of him; he could not tell how the news of his danger and extremity cart ned her heart back to the days when they had been children together, and loved each other as only children can love. All the intermediate time of terror and repulsion, of shame and dis- grace, was swept out of her memory. He was her brother, that was enough. As they neared the house, Annesley pointed to the light which streamed from the windows of Mrs. Gordon's room-the room where Katha- rine had spent the first evening of their acquaint- ance. "My cousin's husband was here this after. noon," he said. "He must have seen her in that room, and, as well as we can judge, had just left her, whan-when this took place. His body is there now." "And she?" "Is with it." The girl looked at the light and shivered, Vaguely and dimly she wondered at the possible depths of emotion existing so near her. Out of her own anxiety, she had time for a throb of pity toward the woman who, under the roof that had sheltered her girlhood, received the dead body of the man she had once loved, and, through love, learned to hate. "Does she know how-how it occurred?" she asked. "She knows all that we do," Annesley an- swered; "but that is not much. This is the, door, Miss Tresham." He led her into the house, and the first per~ son whom they met was Mr. Warwick. "Thank Heaven, you have come at last I" he said. "I thought you would be too late. He is sinking rapidly.-Miss Tresham are you able to see him at once?" "Oh, yes, yes-at once," she said. "Then bring her on, Annesley-this way." Haled the way, and Annesley with Katharine followed. St. John had been insensible when he was brought into the house, so they had carried him up-stairs, to one of the chambers. It chanced to be the one that had been occupied by Felix, and the first thing that met Katharine's eye, as she entered the door, was a number of boyish playthings arranged carefully at the end of the room. The hobby-horse, drum, and gayly. painted bow and arrows, made a strange contrast to a table near by, which was covered with sur- gical instruments and an open medicine-case, such as doctors practising in the country always carry; and to the bed, wit1~ its muslin curtains thrown completely over the old-fashioned can- opy, while the bandaged form of the wounded man rested on top of the coverings. Two doe. tors were in the room-the only two of any skill that Lagrange could boast. One of them was sitting by the bed, the other stood by the table, measuring out some medicine, when Katharine entered. Mr. Warwick walked up to the latter. "Here is Miss Tresharn, doctor," he said. "I suppose there is no danger of her exciting the patient too much?" "I suppose not," answered the doctor, a little ungraciously. He looked keenly and somewhat suspiciously at Miss Tresham. He did not un- derstand matters at all, and he did not care to conceal his resentment of this fact. Who was Mr. St. John ?-how had he been shot ?-what was this about a dead man in the house ?-what the deuce did this girl, whom he knew as the* subject of a great deal of Lagrange gossip, have to do with it all? Doctors are subject to the infirmities of human curiosity as well as other men, and do not like to be kept in the dark a whit better. Perhaps this doctor liked ita shade less, as ha tone showed, when he said, stiffly: "I suppose not-the patient is considerably past being harmed by any thing." "Oh, doctor, is there no hope?" asked a voice, against the pathetic sweetness of which even the doctor was not proof. He glanced quickly at the gray eyes lifted to his face-then looked away again. "I thought you would have told her that the man must die," he said, addressing Mr. War- wick. "He did tell me-that is, I have heard it," said Katharine, before the lawyer could speak. "Only I thought I would like to hear your opin- ion myself. He is my brother," she added, after' a momentary pause. "You will forgive me for asking how long he can live?" "That is a question which it is hard for me to answer," said the deetor, more gently than might have been expected; then he shot a glance half questioning, half indignant, at Mv. Warwick "Mr. St. John's wound is mortal," he went on; "but in these eases it is hard to' determine ex- actly when death will ensue, so much depends on the vital power of the system. He may live two or three hours-possibly even through the 249 I' page: 250-251[View Page 250-251] 250 MORTON HOUSE. night-or he may die within ten minutes. I cas not tell." "Which do you think most probable?" "As far as I can judge, he is sinking rapidly He has already lived longer than I anticipated.' Annesley, on whose arm she still leaned, fel her shudder from head to foot; but ehe sak nothing. Her face grew a shade whiter, perhaps and her lips set themselves with painful rigidity but that was all. The doctor thought to himaci: that she had no feeling. "She ealls the pooi man her brother, and takes the news of his cer tam death like this! ". he thought, as she drei~ her hand from Morton's arm, and crossed the floor alone, to the side of the bed. St. Jo~in lay in what was apparently a deep stupor, Or what was, perhaps, the prostration which precedes dissolution, and verges on insen- sibility. The henidrrhage from his wound had been so excessive that his face was bleached to a deathly pallor; but otherwise it showed 'no signs of the approaching death which the doctor prophesied. Looking' at him, Katharine could scarcely believe that it was indeed so near, un- til suddenly a sharp convulsion of agony passed over the face, and roused it from its repose. The lips sprang apart, then closed tightly over a groan, while the eyes opened full on her face. In an instant she saw that he was perfectly con~- scions. As soon as the paroxysm abated-it did not last more than a minute-he strove to speak, but, failing in this, lifted his hand, and motioned her to come nearer. The doctor silently resigned his seat, and, sinking into it, she bent her face down almost on a level with his own, while her hands clasped eagerly over the one he had ex- tended. "Don't try to talk, dear," she said, gently. "Here 1 am-l shall not leave you." "You won't be needed long," he answered. His voice was very weak, and had a slight eat~h between the words; but otherwise there was no change, and the old mocking cadence still rang in its notes. "Oh, St.. John-" Her own voice broke down hi the quiver of sobs that were hastily choked back. 'This was x&either thue nor place for them -espcciall~ since 'the doctor's hand was laid heavily on her shoulder, and the doctor's voice said in her ear, "The least excitement will kill him in a minute." She fought hard for self-con. trol, and after time gained it. At last she was able to say, quietly, "I will not leave you-but pray keep quiet. The doctor says the least ex- citement is very dangerous." "Confound the doctor!" answered St John, peevishly, apparently quite unconscious that this personage stood just by his side. "What is the use of keeping quiet?" he went on. "Why," with a singular inflection of contempt, "I know, t as well as he does, that I'm done 'for! Only I there's one or two things I must say to you, if- if I can." "Don't try-oh, pray don't try!" r "I must, I tell you!" This quite impatiently * -then, more faintly, "Water-my throat is dry- * I-can hardly talk." Katharine turned, but the doctor was al- ready at hand, with a glass of water in which a stimulant was infused. "He is sinking fast," he said, as he leaned over her. "If he has any * thing on his mind, let him say it. H~ may go off any moment." lint, after dAnking the water, St. John seemed to sink hack into stupor. Holding his hand, Katharine chanced to rest her fingers on the pulse, and she was startled to feel how weak and slow it was. Life was ebbing fast-even her inexperience began to appreciate this, especially when she noted that awful grayness which is the first shadow of approaching dissolution, and which no one, who has seen it once, can ever forget or mistake,' 'stealing over the face. lie looked very handsome as he lay with closed eyes, and slightly-heaving chest. All that was repulsive about the face seemed to have been fined away as by a sharp chisel. The features stood out with the pure clearness of sculptured marble, and the dark lashes and brows made the only contrast to the deadly.white pallor of the complexion. Mr. Warwick and Annesley ex- changed a glance-was it only imagination, or did they notice a strange, subtle likeness coming out on this face, to that other lhce lying evcn more still and white, below? .iust now, they thought it was imagination, but afterward-when the full horror of the truth was known to them- they knew that fancy had not played them false, but that the hand of death had brought out with a force not to be mistaken the trace and the proof of common blood~ Se~'eral mimtes passed, then Mr. Warwick came up ~o Katharine, and, standing in the shade behind her chair, bent down and spoke. "If he rouses again, you must ask him how this occurred," he said. "The other man is dead, and it is important'that we should know." "Very well," she answered, under her breath -and just at that moment, with a slight start, St. John opened his eyes. 'I I I I THE VALLEY OF THF "Katharine-are you there?" he asked, his voice having become much weaker since he spoke last. "Yes, I am here," she answered, bending for- ward so that he could see her. "Is there any thing lean do for you?" He muttered something, but so low that she did not catch his words. Then, while she was still straining her ears, he turned his head, and said abruptly," Is Gordon dead?" Katharine had been so entirely unprepared for such a question, that she did not know what to reply; she did not know what the effect might be of the unsoftened truth. She looked at the doctor; but the doctor's face was non-expressive -at Annesley, but there was nothing to direct her there. It was not until Mr. Warwick said, in a low voice, "Tell him," that she found cour- ag6 to answer. "Yes, St. John; he is dead." You are sure ? "lam quite sure.~~ There was silence after this. St. John drew a deep breath-to every one of the bystand- ers it sounded almost like a sigh of relief-and * lay quiet for some time. Katharine was on the point of speaking again, when he anticipated her, uttering his words faintly, and with evident * effort. "So that is settled," he said. "Well, I didn't mean to kill him; but I should be a cant- ing hypocrite if I said it was not a good riddance * to everybody! He tried me too far," he went on, gathering a little more strength. " It was all his fault-not mine. He was in one of the devil's own rages, and I was desperate. They have told you all about it, I suppose, Katharine." "How could they?" she answered sadly. * "Nobody knows any thing about it." "Don't they?" said he, with the old mock. ing sneer on his white lip. "It would be a pity if their curiosity should never be gratified. Of course, you know how it was, though.. When a man is hungry, and footsore, and penniless, he is next to a wild beast, and I was all those things, a f~w hours ago. I knew Gordon would be here about this time; and I bad been wandering about the country for days; keeping a sharp lookout for him. At last I met a boy-to-day, was it?- who had driven him to Tallahoma. Then I came on as quickly as possible, and I thought Morton House would be the best place to find him-the safest place for me, that is. Just as Igot to the terrace, he came down the steps. It seemed be 'had found out that the child was gone, and that SHADOW OF DEATh. 251 his wife was out of his power. If you knew any thing about him, you'd know what sortof a scene we had then. He was out of his head with fury,' especially against me, who had brought him here for nothing, while I was jus1~ as ready as not t& have out all the old scores I There was plenty of them, for I had been his eat's-paw for many a day, with mo~t of the labor, and all the risk, and hardly a taste of th~ profit. I told him he should not stir till he had promised to give me something-any thing-to live on, and, in that case, I engaged never to come near him again. He had not sense enough to close with the offer -considering all that had gone before, an amaz- ingly liberal one, I can tell you-but he dared to say that he would give half his fortune to take me to the gallows, but not a penny to keep me from it. At that, [lost my temper. I-oh, this cursed throat! Give me some water." It was given to him, and, after drinking, he went on of his own accord: "You need not think I fired without provo- cation at an unarmed man. I did not mean to use the pistol-in fact, it was in my pocket, and I had forgotten all about it. I would not have touched it, if I had not. been at a terrible dis- advantage. But he fought like a tiger, and he soon got the better of me. In th~ scuffle the d-d thing went off, and gave me this wound. Then I knew I was done for, and the devil en- tered m~, and I was determined to kill him. I managed to draw it, and fired twice. I-I don't believe he stirred afterward." "He is exciting himself too much," said doc- tor No. 2, in the midst of the pause wh~eh fol- lowed tho last words-words over which' the dying man's voice had sunk into inarticulate weakness. "He will kill himself in ten minutes, at this rate! Miss Tresharn, you must not let him talk." "But I will talk," interrupted St. John. "If I choose to kill myself in ten minutes, whose business is itt? Not yours, at any rate I-Katha- rine, I-I have something to say to you." "Had you not better be quiet, dear?" "I can't think what it was"-a strange gasp. lug and catching was now audible in the weak voice, the gray shade stole more plainly over the face, and an awe settled on those around him. "I-yes, I wanted to tell you that I am sorry I have been such a drag and terror on your life~' I don't know, but-but it seems now' as' it' I might-perhaps-do a little better, if it were to live over again. It is too late now for any thing of that sort; but-I am sorry." page: 252-253[View Page 252-253] 252 MORTON HOUSE. "Oh, St. John!" The tears cagie now in a "Katy.-.little Katy," he murmured. And hot, burning shower, as she sank on her knees just at the words: "Oh, let it not be said that I by the bed. "Oh, my brother-my dear7 dear have perished where no one ever found but grace brother! don't you know-can't you tell-~iow and salvation," there came one strong shiver and little it all seems? It was my fault too-don't all was over. think it was all yours. If it were-oh, if' it were to live over, I should be more patient, more lov- -4-- ing, more kind-then all might bedifferent. But, dear love, try to think of your soul, and of God. CHAI'TEIt XLJV. Oh, remember how near death is! St. John, IN THE DAWN. have you quit~ forgotten and disowned the dear Lord who died for you? Oh, try, try to make. THE first gray chill of' daylight was stealing one good act of contrition-it is all you can do, over the terrace and gardens of the house, when but lie is strong enough to do the rest." Mrs. Gordon's door at last opened, and coming out she asked a servant, who was loitering and How strangely his faltering tones contrasted shivering in the ball, where Mr. Warwick was. with her passionate accents! All was silent "He's in the dining-room, ma'am," answered around. The figures about the bed might have the boy. "Mus' I tell him you want him?" been. of graven stone, for all the sign of life they "No-I will go myself." gave by word or movement. It seemed as if the She walked a few steps, then stopped and forces of Good and Evil had met to fight their turned round. last awful combat over this erring soul. "Is he quite alone?" she asked. "Is there "Oh, try!" she cried, "for God's sake, try~ nobody with him?" Think-think that you may have to face Him in "Nobody at all, ma'am; the doctor is gone, another minute! You are sorry for all this life and Mass Morton, he went up-stairs a minute of sin and violence, areKyon not?" ago." He murmured something in reply. The oth- Thus reassured, she walked forward, and ers could not heni' it, but she did. Whatever it ojiened the dining-room door. A fire was burn- was, rt must have been affirmative, for she lifted ing on the hearth, and throwing its flickering & crucifix, which was attached to a rosary at her light over the walls panelled in old-fashioned ~girdle, and held it before his eyes. "Try to fol- style, and the portraits hung round them. It also low me," she said, and then she poured forth a threw a fantastic glow over the face of Mr. War- fervent Act of Contrition. It was only the ordi. wick, who had leaned back in a deep arm-chair, nary form, but her voice uttered it with a pas. and quietly fallen asleep. This sleep was only a *ion and pathos that touched the heait more light doze, however, for the opening of the dooi~ than any pomp of language could have done. lit roused him at once, and he started when he saw was the very cry of' an anguished, shipwrecked the figure that came across the floor toward soul, moimting in its last dire extremity to Him him. who once ended His bitter passion on Calvary. "Mrs. Gordon!" he exclaimed, not quite St. John tried to follow; but strength was fail- sure in the dim light whether or not Ing fast. When she held the crucifix to his lips, played him false, his sight be l~issed the sacred figure fastened thereon; "Don't let me disturb you," said Mrs. Gor- but he could not articulate any longer. The don, as he rose. "If I had finown that you were awful moment of final agony had come. God sleeping, I should not have come in. You must and the pitying angels only knew what strong he very tired." and powerful wrestling in passionate supplication "No-not tired at all," he said, moving a the girl beside him did, during that short time, chair toward her. "Fray sit down-you look One familiar prayer after another rose from her very weak. Can I get any thing for you-any lips; and at last, by a sudden impulse, she began thing in the way of stimulant or refreshment?" the "Memorare" In a second, something like Her pale lips answered, but no sound was the light of conscious life flashed into the fail- audible. She shook her head, and, sinking into ing eyes. The lids lifted, the lips faintly smiled the chair he had placed for her, motioned him to -the souud of the long-forgotten but still la- resume his own seat. As he turned to do so, he sniliar words had apparently taken the thoughts perceived the pale, gray daylight wl4ch began to of the dying man far back into his childhood, struggle through the blinds of a window at the N 25~ IN T HE DAWN. end of the room, and, walking to it, threw them open. He felt as if it might be possible to th,~ow off something of the ghastly horror of the night with these first tokens of God's day. When he came back to the fire, he was star- tled to see the change which the last few hours had made in Mrs. Gordon's appearance. She looked inconceivable old and haggard, as she sat there in the pale morning light-inconceivably worse than he could have imagined that even the * long watches of this fearful night would have made her look. Before he could speak, she an. ticipated him. "Sit down," she said. "I have something to say to you, and I can say it better now than hereafter." She paused a moment, then added, gently, "Is that poor man np-stairs dead?" "Yes," he atiswered, a little surprised, not at the question itself', but at the tone of it. "Yes, he is dead-he has been dead for several hours." She gave a deep sigh, and, leaning back, closed her eyes. There are few stranger things in this strange world than the similarity and asso- ciation of sound. This sigh immediately recalled to Mr. Warwick's mind the sigh which St. John had uttered on hearing of Gbrdon's death. In both there was a cadence of' unmistakable re- lief which his car was able to detect, though it had been mingled with a singular chord of other emotions. Some instinct warned him that he was not yet at the end of this night's eventful history-that there was something yet to hear, something yet to do, before the sun should rise. Thinking of this, he did not observe that Mrs. Gordon uneloted her eyes) and when she spoke, her voice startled him. "Where is Miss Tresham?" she asked. "Was she sent for? Ta she here?" "Miss Tresham is here," he anawered-theit added, after a second, "she is lying down, I believe. The agitation which she underwent at her brother's death was too much for her. He had scarcely ceased to breathe) when she fainted." "But she has recovered-has she not?" "So the servants tell me. I have not seen her since I carried her out of the room." "Bjibette is an excellent nurse," said Mrs. Gordon, with more interest than he had expect- ed. "Has she seen her?" "She is with her now, I think." "Ah I" with a faint sigh, "then she is in good hands. There iS no fear of her dying," she went on, a little bitterly. "Neither grief nor trouble is merciful enough to kill. Twill speak 17 of her again, after a while. Now, I should like to ask you something else. Did he-did St. John-give any account before he died of how all this occurred i'" "Yes; just before he died, he told his sister." He then related all that the dying man bad said, adding, when it i~as over: "Every thing goes to corroborate this statement. The time at which Morton met him-the time we occupied in com- ing from Tallahoma-the shots we beard, and the condition in which we found the two men. The doctors also say that the position of the wound proves it was given accideiftally aild in the man- ncr described." "Then there is no doubt that he killed my- my husband?" "There is no doubt of that. I can only ask you to think for a moment of his provocation, and you will scarcely be able to condemn him, as we condemn a cold-blooded murderer." "Condemn him!" Her tone and manner surprised the lawyer somuch that he could only gaze at her in astonishment. Excitement sprang into the eyes, passion quivered in the -voice- some overpowering emotion, seemed to seize and shake her form from head to foot. "Condemn him! My God! I can only pity him, till pity grows into pain. I can only look with horror- as I have looked all this night-on the t~rriblc retribution which even in this world erisse some- times works for itself!" Was she mad? Had the shock proved too much for her mind? Mr. Warwick almost feared that it had, as he met those burning eyes. The daylight began to broaden by this time, and he saw more plainly the ravages of fierce emo- tion, already suffered, on that white, haggard, face. "Try to be quiet, Mrs. Gordon," he said. "I am afraid I ought not to have told you all this. You have undergone too much excite- ment. You arc not yourself. Let me beg you to rest-to talk no more." "I must," she answered. "it is a work of' justice, and it must be done. Don't fear about me. I shall hav~i strength enough to do it, and, after that, nothing matters~ It does not even matter if I never see Felix again, for he is sa~fe now. Does that sound horrible? Should not I think of it now, while 1w lies dead?" "It is natural that you could not avoidthink. ing of it," he said. "But let me entreat you-" lie spoke in vain. She did not even hear' him, but went on with what she was goin~ to say: & page: 254-255[View Page 254-255] 254 ~~~MORTON HOUSE. NTH DA .25 "Was it yesterday afternoon that you were whom were lying dead under the roof of Morton here? Every thing appears so long ago that House. happened before he came. Wnil, I fell asleep "There is One thing to be grateful for," he after you left, and, when I woke, he was entering said, at last. "That wretched man, St. John, th~ room. I told him that Felix was gone, and died in ignorance of this." that I.-I defied him! It seems to me that was "And therefore I asked you if he was dead," all I said; at least"-passing her hand wearily sle answered. "I felt that it was impossible to across her brow-" I cannot remember any thing utter the truth-even to you-while he lived. else. By various arguments he tried to induce If all ended with him, I should let the horrible me to surrender the child; but, when he found secret die and be buried in the grave of the man that every thing else was useless, he threatened who from the beginning to the end of his life me with the entire loss of his inheritance. I worked little beside ill. But-there is some one knew that he could not possibly alienate this; else to be considered." and I told him so. Then "-she shuddered vis- "Miss Tresham?" ibly-" then he said I was mistaken-that he "Yes, Miss Tresham. She must be told." could alienate it, that Felix was not his eldest "Why?" he asked, eagerly. "Why should son, that there was another-another who-" you distress her by such a terrible story? Why She stopped.-.-so ghastly pale, that he" was not be merciful, and never suffer her to suspect about to rise and go to her assistance, when she it?" lifted her hand with a gesture which signified "I have thought of that. But, granting that "Keep still," and went on: it would be a merciful concealment, it is one "He said he had another-a son whom he had which I have no right to make. It is her right never acknowledged-the child of an early, pri. to know this story; and I am sure you would vate~marriage. He told me the history of that not be willing to accept the responsibility of marriage, and it was so much in character with keeping it from her. Besides, I have wronged the record of his whole life that I could not her very much, and I ~an only make reparation doubt it. But conceive what Ifelt when he said by means of this explanation." thatthis son was the man whom I have known "But what good end will be gained? I do as his partner and instrument in dishonor and not see." crime!" "Do you not see that I cannot suffer her to Mr. Warwick started to his feet. The horror remain in her present position-she who is my of the revelation was too much even for his self-' husband's daughter, and Felix's half- sister? control. And do you think that she would be likely to ac- "Good God, Mrs. Gordon I" he cried. "You cept any thing from me unless she was made don't mean that it was-" aware of her own claim upon me ?-unless she She looked 'up and finished the sentence as knows that she is a' Gordon?" he paused. "I mean that it was St. John I" "But you are not certain of this," he per- she said. sister. "You have only your husband's asser- "It is impossible 1" he exclaimed. tion, and-and the story may have been devised '" It is true," she answered, merely to terrify you." "But 'have you thought-have you consid- "I have told you already that I am absolute- ered?" ' ly certain of its truth. If you wish to be con- "The horror of it? Yes, I have thought of vinced, however, go and bring Miss Tresham it all. I scarcely think this tragedy has shown here. Her answers to two or three questions It to me more plainly than I saw it when he will be sufficient." spoke-when he told me who St. John was." "Bring Miss Treshem here!" he repeated, Mr. Warwick sat down again. A chill seemed looking absolutely aghast. "I must really re- ereepingover him which he tried vainly to shake monstrate against this, Mrs. Gordon," he went off. It wa* horrible! He beganto appreciate it on. "Neither Miss Tresham nor yourself are in a little-but only bydegrees. It was not a thing a condition to bear further excitement. Such a. to take in all at once. He could not feel, all at storywould be a fearful shock to her. I must once, h~w that woman had felt as she faced the beg you to defer it.~i terrible 'secret through the long watches of the To his surprise, she answered by rising to night-he 'could not all at once realize the her feet. "Come with me," she said, walking real tie which united those two men, both of toward the door. Half mechanically he followed. She crossed the hall, and led the way into the apartment where she had spent the night. It was the sit. ting-room which he knew well. On the couch where he had left her the afternoon previous -the couch where she had been' sleeping when her husband entered - the body of the dead man lay, with a shawl thrown over 'the figure, while the face remained uncovered. Before leav- ing the room, Mrs. Gordon had extinguished sev- eral candles on a table near by, and opened the blinds of the' window through which he had en- tered. It looked toward the east, an.d as much of daylight as there was, streamed freely into the apartment-streamed over the couch and the white face pillowed on its cushions. She moved so as to command a view of this face, and motioned 'him to approach. He did so, and thus, for the first time, saw clearly in death the man whom he had never seen in life. Handsome as that face had always been, it was something ~'ar more than handsome now-it was almost beautiful, under the refining touch of death, and with the peculiar serenity of expres- sion which sometimes comes to the clay when the spirit has left it. But that which struck Mr. Warwick at once, and startled him most strange- ly, was the likeness to St. John-as St. John's face had reminded him of this, though he had only seen the latter hastily and indistinctly. There had been no likeness between them in life-even now, the whole cast of feature was so entirely dissimilar that it was difficult to deter- mine where the resemblance was, and in what it consisted. But no one could possibly have failed to perceive that there was a resemblance -that, in some subtle manner, the blood which they owned in common asserted itself, and stamped each face with a token which even the most superficial gazer must have observed. Mr. Warwick certainly observed it, and it ban- isl~ied from his mind the last doubt of the story Mrs. Gordon had told him. She was standing by him, when he said, half unconsciously: "It is true. It is there." "So you see it, too?" she said. "I brought you for this purpose," she added, after a mo- ment "We will go now. I-I cannot talk here." She led the way again to the door, and again he followed her. They were in the dining-room, when she spoke next. "That was why I took you ia-to show you the likeness which death has brought out so strongly," she said. "The perception of this resemblance first made me think of telling Miss Tresham the terrible truth at once. Remember, I have not the least proof of the story, save my own word, and-and that. But I am sure it would be impossible for her to look at that face and refuse to believe mc." "I agree with you that far, but why be in such haste ?-why not rest, yourself, and let her rest? A few hours hence-" "Can you answer for the change which an hour may make in that face? ' And will the force of the blow be less great to-morrow than 'to-day?" He saw that she was resolved; so he did what it would have been wisest to have done at first-he submitted. "What do you want?" he asked. "I want you to go for her, and, if possible, ~bring her here. But first, one momcnt-give me a pencil and a piece of paper." Somewhat puzzled, he produced a pencil and that inevitable last resource for writing emergen- cies with a man-the backof a letter. "Will that do?" he asked. "That will do," she answered. $he wrote a few words, then tore off the strip of paper, folded it, and, greatly to his surprise, handed it to him. "Keep it," she said, "and when I ask Miss Tresham one or two questions which I must ask her, see if her answers correspond with what is written there. Now, go and bring her. Remember-bring her, if she can possi- bly come." With those words-words the earnestness of which it was impossible to disregard-sounding in his ears, he went up-stairs. As he was look- ing round for a servant to send with a message to Katharine, he saw Annesley standing with his baek to him at a large window which ended the upper passage, 'atid overlooked the froni~ en- trance. He went to him immediately, and touched his shoulder. "Do you know how Miss Tresham is?" he asked, as the young man turned quickly round. "Miss Tresham!" repeated Morton. "Did~' you ask how she is; or where she is?" "How she is, of course. I thought you might have heard." "She is much better-so much better, that she is in that room "-he nodded In the direction of the chamber where St. John had died-" I was staying there, but she' came in, and begged me to leave her alone with-.-with the body."' "And is she there now 1'" "Yes, she is there now. A 254 255 IN THE DAWN. page: 256-257[View Page 256-257] 256 MORTO~ To Annesley's surprise, Mr. Warwick turned and walked into the room thus indicated.. Every thing had been put in order, and the chamber, seen in the light of early dawn, looked singularly calm and peaceful when he entered. The white bed, with the motionless figure upon it, occupied the centre of the floor, and candles still burned at the head and foot. By the side, Katharine knelt with the little crucifix in her hands, on which the dead man's last glance had been fixed. It was a touching picture, the law- yer thought, as he paused a moment, with un- conscious reverence, on the threshold. Twelve hours before, and how great had been his scorn, how profound his contempt for that man !-now the great sanctification of death had come, and he lowered his voice, and softened his tread, even in presence of that poor forsaken dust. Truly we live in the midst of mystery -who shall cx. plain even this? Katharine had heard his step, light as it was, and, rising to her feet, she looked round. When she saw who it was, she smiled a faint, pitiful sort of smile, and motioned him to draw nearer. "Come and see," she said, pointing to the still face. "Does that look as if it had ever known violence or sin?" Certainly it dkf not. Even more marked than on the face below.-because here the end had been less sudden-was the peculiarly serene expression which ~lways follows death from gun. shot-wounds. The placid lips seemed almost about to smile, and on the brow, and around the closed eyes, there was a seal of ineffable calm- calm almost like that "pathetic peace of God" 4 which, on the faces of thoso'~ho in the beautiful language of Holy Writ have "fallen on sleep," sometimes hushes into awe the very sobs and tears of mourning. B.ut here-even as below- was the likeness.-intensified, if possible, since he had noticed it first. It startled him at once into a remembrance of the errand on which he had come. "Mi~s Trerham," he said, " Mrs. Gordon is very anxious to see you. Will you come to her?" Much to his surprise, for he had expected to I meet with some dilliculty, Katharine assented at I ~once. a "Ican do nothing here," she said, mournfully a nothing, save pray I am only too glad if I o can be of the least cpwfort to Mrs. Gordon. Is g she very much prostrated~ Mr. War wick?" d "She i~ supported by excitement now," he h answered. "I am afraid she will be terribly ti prostrated when it is over." v HOUSE. That was all that was exchanged. Annesley looked surprised, when they passed him on their way down-stairs; but he said nothing, and the silence lasted until they reached the dining- room. Then-before opening the door-Mr. Warwick thought it well to give a slight warning to his companion. "Don't beastonished," he said, "if Mrs. Gor- don asks you some questions that do not seem to you exactly relevant. She has ~ good reason for doing so, and I am sure you will confer a fa- vor on her by answering them frankly." "I-of course 1 will, if I can," said Katha- rine, already much astonished. After this, he opened the 'door, and they walked in. Mrs. Gordon was sitting by the fire, where he had left her; but she looked up when they entered. Then rising, she advanced a few steps, and held out her hands to Katharine, with a grace which, even at that moment, was some- what stately. "Miss Tresham," she said, in the rich, sweet volee which had charmed Katharine when she heard it first, "I cannot claim your sympathy, nor offer my own itt the grief that has fallen upon us, until I have asked you to forgive me." Notwithstanding the grace and the stateliness, there was much of hesitation both in her voice and manner-for she remembered the day at Mrs. Marks's when she had last seen Katharine, and she did not know how her advances were likely to be received. She need have felt no doubt on this score. Almost before she finished speaking, these outstretched hands were taken eagerly and warmly. "Dear Mrs. Gordon," said the girl, gently, "theic is no need to utter such a word. I have nothing to forgive. I can only love and pity you--if you will let me." It was so sweetly, so simply, so earnestly mid, that, by a sudden impulse, the elder woman pened her arms. In a second, the first tears irhieh either of them bad shed, flowed together. Mr. Warwick walked away to the other end f the room. It was a very long apartment, and ic might almost have been out of it, for all that ic heard of the words spoken, or the tears and obs mingled by the fire. There was not very ~uch of the latter: neither of these won~en was a demonstrative nature; and, with both, the rief which oppressed them ~as not of that ten- e~ l~ind which can be "cried away~" A few ot, bitter drops; a few dry, choking sobs, and fiat was all. Before very long, Mrs. Gordon's olee recalled him. IN THE DAWN. "Mr. Warwick," she said-and Mr. Warwick turned instantly and came bae~ to the fireplace. A small round table, on which some ~upper had been arranged for Morton and himself, was still near the hearth-rug where it had been placed. Mrs. Gordon and Katharine were standing on one side of it as he advanced from the other. In this manner they faced each other. There was something almost judicial about the scene, he conidnot help thinking. "Mr. Warwick," said Mrs. Gordon, a little formally, "will you look at the paper Which I gave you a few minutes ago, and see if Miss Tresham's answers correspond to the answers written there? '~ Then she turned to Katharine. "Don't think that I intrude upon your re- serve," she said, gently, "when I ask you to tell me how you are related to-to Mr. St. John?" "I have no reason for reserve upon that point," Kathaiine answered. "I have not had for some time. I am his sister." "His own sister?" "Yes-his own sister. There were " -her voice faltered - "there were only two of us." "And will you let me ask what was your mother's maiden name?" Katharine looked a little surprised. She did not understand-she did not see the point or meaning-of these questions. But she felt somewhat apathetic and indifferent about them. It was strange that Mrs. Gordon should ask such things at such a time; but there was no reason * why she should not answer them; and so-after a second-she replied: "IMly mother's maiden name was Katharine O'Grady." Mrs. Gordon looked at Mr. Warwick. He glanced up from the paper, with a slightly-signifi- cant expression. Nothing was said-only that glance was exchanged-and then the lady turned again to address Katharine. "Forgive me for pressing you, but I should like to ask one or two further questions. Was your grandfather an Irishman by birth, and did he live in Martinique?" "So I have heard my aunt say," Katharine answered. "I never saw him-he died before I was born. My mother and my aunt were both native West-Indians," she went on. "They were born in Martinique." ~ And do you remember your ~ "I? Oh, no. She died when I was a few weeks old. My aunt was my mother," sh~ said, softly. 257 * "And did she never tell you any thing about your father ?-who, or what he was? " "Never. My impression always was that he was dead-though I cannot remember that my aunt ever absolutely said so." She paused a moment, then added: "Since her own death, I- I have sometimes thought this might not be." Mrs. Gordon extended her hand across the table, and took from Mr. Warwick the slip of paper, which he at once surrendered. She gave it to Katharine, saying,: "1 wrote those answers to the questions I have asked you before you came down-read them." Wondering more and more the girl obeyed. This was what she read-written hastily in pen- cii on the torn fragment of a letter. "Maiden name of mother-Katharine 0'- Grady. "Time of her death-soon after the birth of her second child. "Grandfather an Irishman by birth, who lived in Martinique." Katharine looked up with profound astonish- ment visible in her face. "I gave the paper to Mr. Warwick~ when he went for you," Mrs. Gordon answered. "But how-how was it possible? How did you-know?" "Child," answered the other, so gently and sadly that her voice seemed, as it were, to still instead of excite emotion, "I know, because I heard the whole story from your father's lips." Mr. Warwick, who was looking on apprehen- sively, notwithstanding this apprehension, was alarmed by the change that at those words came over Katharine's face. She turned deadly pale, and quivered from head to foot. Did something like an instinct of the truth dawn upon her? It almost seemed so. It almost seemed as if fear, doubt, terror, and amazement, were all struggling in her eyes and in her voice when she spoke. "Mrs. Gordon "-it was fairly a ~vall-" what do you ~ But having gone thus f~r-having made re- treat absolutely hopeless-Mrs. Gordon's courage failed. Woman-like, she looked at the man standing by with a glance that asked, "What must I say?" Mr. Warwick answered the glance quietly, almOSt sternly. "It is too late to hesitate now," he said~ "Tell her." "Yes, tell me!" cried Katharine, clutching page: 258-259[View Page 258-259] 258 MORTON HOUSE. the table with one hand, and looking up with -of all that he had the will to do-i have not eyes full of passionate appeal. " I-I must yet been able to say this. But, standing here hear it now. Tell me-tell me at once !" with you now, I feel that your debt against him " Have you never thought-have you- never is even heavies' than mine. Your mother and suspected-who your father might be ?" asked your brother-he ruined and killed them both. Mrs. Gojdon. -He made your life the hard and bitter thing which " I-how could I? " it must have been. He-your father-left you " Have you never thought that the man who without a thought or a care to struggle alone, in ruined your brother's life-that the, man who your woman's helplessness, against the world. ruined my life-and the man who ruined your Count up all these things, as I have done-add mother's life, might be one and the same ?" up every sigh, and tear, and drop of blood. 'Then " My God I-no !" see if you are Christian enough to stand here-. Mrs. Gordon pointed to the paper in her here by his side - and say that you forgive hand. My husband," she said, " came to me him!t" yesterday evening. He demanded Felix, and, Her words rang through her listener's heart when I refused, he threatened me with the loss with a strange power, her voice was full of the of the child's inheritance. When I was incredu- modulations of a passion for which language has lous of his power to fulfil the threat, he told me no name. As she spoke, her very soul-her that he had an elder son living-the child of an quivering, stricken, human soul-seemed laid early marriage-and that the name of this son bare before the girl who listened. The horror was__" of it was too much for Katharine. The still, But here Katharine interrupted-her voice white face swam before her- eyes - a deadly ringing, with a tone of horror in it through the faintness came over her. She fought hard quiet room: .against the rising tide of unconsciousness ; but "It cannot be !" she cried, almost wildly, fought vainly. Things tangible faded away from "0 Mrs. Gordon, stop-stop and think ! Don't her for a time-how long, or how short, she utter any thing which is so horrible, which must could not tell-but when she came to herself, be so untrue! It-" she made a motion with she was sitting before the window with the fresh her hands, as if thrusting it from her-" it can- air playing over her face, and Mrs. Gordon's not be true !" hand resting on her brow. "I see that you know what I mean," said "I shall never forgive myself," she was say- Mrs. Gordon, calmly-and again her quietude lng. " I ought to have thought-I ought to seemed to' still Katharine's passionate excite- have known__" mont. " Come with me," she added, in a lower " Never mind," said Katharine, rallying a voice. " What I have to say to you can best be little. "I have not fainted yet. -I-I don't said in 14e presence." think I shall." Then she roused herself, and She drew the girl's hand within her arm, and caught the hand which was on her brow. "Is it -before Mr. Warwick could interfere-led her true ?" she asked, passionately. "I cannot from the room: They crossed the hail, and en. think--I cannot reason and consider all the tered the apartment where the dead man lay. links of evidence. I shall believe you, if you Outside the windows was all the dewy freshness tell me it is true." of Nature's happy morning wakening--birds Mrs. Gordon bent down and kissed her ten. twittering, leaves softly rustling, life everywhere derly. "It is true," she said. --inside was the terrible quietude, the settled Nothing more was uttered for some time. stillness which pervades the air of a death-chain. Katharine sank back againgfand closed her eyes. ber, and makes our very pulses seem to our- Mrs. Gordon stood, like a statue, by her side. selves out of unison with its deep repose. Into fuller and yet fuller radiance glowed the When they both stood by the couch, looking east-royal tints of every imaginable color, melt. down on that marble face, Mrs. Gordon spoke. ing and changing, and softening into each other, "'This man," she said, " wronged me mere and waxing more glorious with every succeeding deeply than he could ever have wronged any one moment, on the wide panorama of sky. .Who else-save, perhaps, that poor victim of his vice can look on such a scene with 'the mere eye of and crime who lies dead above us. I have strug- sense, or the mere thought of earth?. " Heaven gled all this long night for the power to say that and earth are full of the majesty of Thy glory !"' I forgive him. Thinking of all that he has done rises instinctively to the mind and to the lips. I I A TURN OF FORTUNE'S WHEEL.,. 259 sunset comes to us like a sweet, solemn vesper, after the weary, busy cares of day, surely sunrise is like a grand, triumphal symphony, bursting and thrilling from a million notes into one noble harmony of exultant praise I it seemed so to Kathterine when she opened her eyes and saw the dazzling glory spread before her.. With an impulse that startled her companion, she rose to her feet, and half turned toward. the dead man, on whose changeless face the glowing splendors fell. , " Oh, who are we, to talk of forgiveness !', she said-and her voice, with a deep, pathetic thrill in it, fell strangely on the hushed calm- "is there any wrong so great that it is not easy to forgive it if we- only think of the dear Lord who will one day need to forgive us so much ? Can we harden our hearts over any thing, if we only remember that our free, generous, will-. ing pardon of all wrongs may touch His heart, and make Him more merciful to the soul that has gone forth to meet His justice ? 0 Mrs. Gordon, we do not know-we cannot tell how, in what degree, our forgiveness may benefit this life which has passed forever from our life, which, in all the ages of eternity, can never, never harm us again! Let us -oh, let us - here-now-say that we forgive him-that we forgive him for ourselves, and for those he has injured far more than us !" Her earnest pathos startled and awed Mrs'. Gordon; bent her, as it were, without any resist- ance, to the higher passion, the stronger will. They advanced to the couch, and side by side said the words together. As they uttered them, the sun rose, and, with the first flood of golden light, a myriad of birds burst forth into rejoicing. The night was past, the day was come. As the glory of the sunlight streamed over their bending figures, it seemed' like the promise of a brighter, happier future- like the earnest of a day of tranquil pence, after the night of troubled terror-. CHAPTER XLV. ,A TURN or FonTUNE's WHEEL. AW'EE after the double tragedy at Morton House, and while all Lagrange was still ringing with the noise of it, Miss Vernon walked across the lawn of her brother-in-law's residence with oton Annesley. ' The young man was on his way to bring Fe- lx Gordon home, and had only stopped a few minutes to deliver a note and a message from Miss Tresham to her late kind entertainers. But, when he rose to make his adieux, he sud- denly recollected something else that he wished to say, and, much to Mrs. Raynor's regret, asked Miss Vernon to walk " down'to the bridge " with him. .Irene consented, and they weie soon on their way to that spot-a very favorite spot with every Aabitus of the place. The lawn was ex- ceedingly pretty now thatevery thing began to wear the light, silvery-green livery of early spring ; but the special charm of it, the special thing which made it different from other lawns, was the creek which flashed along under a fringe of willows and laurel, and the graceful bridge which was thrown across it. When they reached this spot, they paused-the bright water flowed beneath their feet, the soft shadows flickered overhead, and a lovely perspective of lawn and shrubbery opened behind them. On the other side of the stream-set, as it were, in an arch- way of green-a travelling-carriage with servants in attendance, and a trunk strapped on, was standing in the shade-the horses switching their tails leisurely, and the servants amicably gossiping. The whole sweet, spring wealth o~f tender beauty and indescribable charm was all around and all about them, until indeed one might have wondered ".-how It was That any one, ir. such a world might grieve, At least for long, at what might come to pass; The soft south-wind, the flowers amid the grass, The fragrant earth, the sweetisounds everywhere Seemed gifts too great almost for mani to bear." The day was rapidly advancing toward its meridian, but .Annesley seemed in no haste to 'begin his journey. Irene wondered a little at his -delay,. as, instead of saying (go4by, he stood before her, and looked and liedsed while she talked of Katharine. " I suppose there is no hope that Miss Tresh- am will return to us," she said, twisting the note which he had brought around her fingers..- "I am very sorry-we are all very sorry. We have missed her so much since she went away. She. is one of the most attractive and sympathetic persons I ever knew. George said only last night that he would be willing to go to school himself for the pleasure of securing her as a permanent, inmate." " Mrs. Gordon needs her more tlfan you do," said Annesley, smiling a little. "Will not that console you ? Ah I you don't know all that she has passed through I" page: 260-261[View Page 260-261] 260 MORTON HOUSE. A TURN OF FORTUNE'S WHEEL 261 "She I Do you mean Mrs. Gordon, or Mi Tresham?" "Both...-'but I mean Mrs. Gordon." I stopped a moment, then added: "'Of course y have heard the whole terrible story!" "No, I have not," she answered~ "I belici there is a great~ deal of gossip afloat, but I rare] heed gossip." "Still, you have heard-" "Something' undoubtedly." "How those wretched 'men were killed, fc "Yes," she said, in a low voice. "How ho] rible it Ivas!" "How much like retribution it was!" m turned the young man, with a dark cloud comm, over his face. "I confess that my pity all ~ven with that poor fellow St. John," he said. "H was hardly used in every way. Miss Irene, did yo ever trace out a sequence of cause and effect?" "Never," she answered-then added, smiling "I am' like the lilies of the field, not worth mud either for toiling or reflecting." "You are like them in another respect &lso,' said he, pointing the compliment by the admi ration in his eyes as they lingered on her face, which was indeed like a lily in its stainless beauty. "But I am sure you have sometimes noticed the strange connection between events the strange manner in which circumstances seem to act and react on each other." "I assure you I never have. I eat my daily bread, and am thankful for it, without troubling myself to think that somebody must have sowed and reaped and garnered it yesterday. I remem- ber, however, that you on~ic suggested something of this kind-~about Mrs. Gordon." "It is a very fascinating occupation, when you once get fairly into the spirit of it," said he, ~leaning against the railing of'the bridge. He could have stayed there all day, he thought, with 'the pretty music of the stream in his ears, and those wonderfulblue eyes gazing at him.. In the midst of his reflections, he forgot to thinkwhat a strange comment on this strange self-absorbed life of ours his very mood and the very tone of conversation made. The awful tragedy which had carried two souls into eter- nity, and wru~ig two living hearts with the bit- terness of death, had become a topic to be dis- cussed with, philosophical curiosity in the midst of a scen~ike this. "Tell me the facts as they really occurred," said Miss Vernon, "that is, if I am not asking you to violate confidence." ss "No1"b e answered, gravely, "facts can harm nobody now. Indeed, there is so much exagger- le ation of them, that it is well the truth should be ,u known." Then he began, and told her all that had oc- re curred-soon drifting by insensible degrees into more than the bare outline of events. Some- thing in the sympathetic face and honest eyes made him sure she could be trusted; and so, while the servants and horses waited as patiently ir or as impatiently as they could, while the water rippled, and the shadows flickered, he gave a ~- sketch of the different causes that had led to this result. Her interest and astonishment were almost beyond power of expression. St. John g the son of Gordon! Katharine the step daugh- .t ter of Pauline Morton! Little as he felt inclined e for such a thing, Annosloy could almost have a laughed at the overwhelming surprise on her face. "It is true," he said. "My cousin tells me that the last assurance her husband gave her was of his first marriage, that St. John was his eldest son, and the heir of the Gordon estate." "And-and does Mrs. Gordon mean to make this public 1'" "No-making it public would involve too many painful disclosures. The horror of the tragedy would be doubly augmented, if people knew that a son (however ignorantly) had killed his own father. Besides, it is unnecessary. My * cousin is going to Scotland soon, and the affairs of her life matter nothing to the people she leaves behind-this time forever." "But Miss Tresham?" "Miss Tresham will accompany her." "Indeed!" Miss Vernon started a little. "I am surprised to hear that,'? she said, simply, almost involuntarily. "Why should you be surprised?" he asked. "Don't you think it is the natural thing and the right thing-on both sides?" "Yes-oh, yes, I "-she stopped, hesitated, blushed somewhat-" I was not thinking of that. I was thinking, if you will pardon my candor, Mr. Annesley, of you." "Of me!" said he, blushing himself; in the boyish fashion which he had never quite out- grown, yet smiling at her embarrassment. "And may I ask what you were thinking about me?" "I am sure you don't need to ask," answered she, with a direct frankness which some carping people called ?irusquerie. "Perhaps I have, no right to speak on such a subject, bu~ "-a win- ning smile, half-bright, half-soft-" my eveuse is,'that I should be very glad to see you both happy." "I hope we may both be happy," said he, earnestly. "But, dear ~tiss Irene, I think it will be apart-not together. Miss Tresham has re- jected me." "I never thought you lacked perseverance." "I don't think I do-when there is any thing to be gained by it. But you would not advise me to waste time and effort in a hopeless suit? Did you read the letter which Miss Tresham wrote to me the night before she left Belle- font?" "I! flow could I?" she asked, flushing. "What a strange opinion you must have of Miss Tresham if you think she would show such a letter; or of me, if you think I would read it l" "Don't be indignant!" said he, smiling. "You forget that Miss Tresham and yourself were in the same house, and good friends be- sides. There would have been nothing repre- hensible in her showing you the letter-nothing, certainly, that I should have been inclined to resent. It was a very charming letter," said he, with a slight grimace. "The only misfortune was, that I was not exactly in a frame of mind to appreciate this, when I received it. I read it over last night, and appreciated it better, I think. It is exceedingly kind, but very decided. I~ I had it here, I would show it to you, and ask you if you thought it worth while to persevere in the face of such a ~ as that." "You certainly take your disappointment very philosophically," said Miss Vernon, with a slight tinge of sarcasm in her voice. He changed color a little. "I hope you don't think that I take it lightly," he said. "I assure you it has been a very serious matter with me. I was as wretched down there in Apalatka, as-well, as anybody could possibly wish to be. But no man with any sense or self-respect will spend life pining and moaning because a woman has rejected him. I fought hard for resignation, and I think I may say that I have gained it." "You are resigned?" "I am quite resigned." Miss Vernon looked at him with an expres- sion' on her face which he did not understand- a mixture of half-puzzled surprise and struggling remembrance, which puzzled him in turn. She could not tell of what his tone and manner re- minded her, until, like a flash, she recalled the day when they had walked up and down the piazza at Anneadale, and he had spoken of Mrs. Gordon, and of the content with life and the things of life which could be gained-so he said -by fighting for it. She remembered how she had questioned whether this philosophy of his- a buoyant, healthful philosophy, which, even in theory, had commanded her 'respect-would bear the test of disappointment or failure. Was her question being answered now? Was this, indeed, the content which is the victorious fruit of struggle, or was it only that mask of indiffer- ence which often betrays, instead of hiding, the deepest wound? "You astonish me," she said. "I had an idea-I really don't know why-that ~you were very constant, very tenacious, in your affections. This makes me think that I was mistaken in that opinion." He colored again, and looked at her with an expression which she, in turn, did not quite understand. "Won't you distinguish between constancy and obstinacy?" he asked. "I think there is a distinction. One may be constant to an affec- tion as long as there is hope of return; but, surely, it is the height of folly to hold obsti- nately to a sentiment which causes, and can cause, only pain. Don't you think it is desirable to control one passion as well as another-the passion of love, as well as the passion of anger or revenge? I won't pretend to tell you how much it has cost me to be able to say that I am resigned; but if you did know-if you could know-you would not, I am sure, accuse me of being inconstant or light." "I-I did not," said Miss Vernon, a little contritely. "The fact is, I am unreasonable," she went on, half-laughing. "It would be diffi- cult to please me, I am afraid. Nobody would have been more sorry than I, if you had taken Miss Tresham's rejection to 'heart after the ap- proved romantic mode; and yet, you see, I find fault with you for showing yourself a seiisible young man of the nineteenth century. Desper- ate love has quite gone out of fashion,'? she said, with a shrug of her shoulders. "' Nowadays you are all so reasonable, that it is quite edify- ing. I have been wasting a good deal of sym- pathy on you; I see, now, that I must change it to respect." "And I see that you are determined to give me a liberal taste 'of mockery," he said. "I thought you would be more kind-more just." "Indeed, you are mistaken," she answered. "Indeed, I am glad, heartily glad; that I am able to change sympathy to respect. You must page: 262-263[View Page 262-263] 262 MORTON HOUSE. A TURN OF FORTUNE'S WHEEL. 263 not think otherwise. I should be very sorry you were-were suffering." "Since I am not suffering, however, ye think I am able to bear a little sarcasm on m, unfortunate exemption," "You ,are provoking!" she said. "Yoi know better, and I shall not reason with~ yoi any longer. Let me inquire if you have any in tension of reaching Sanford todayy" "There will not be the least difficulty in do ing so; the roads are excellent, and my horse~ perfectly fresh. It is growing late, though," h said, with a regretful look at the shadows rounc him. "I suppose I ought to go-I suppose muSt go. Before doing so, however, I should like to convince you-" "Never mind," she interrupted, hastily; "1 am quite convinced. Besides, it is not a matter of any importance. My opinion-" "Is of great importance to me," he said, eagerly. "I want to show you-I want to prove to you-that I am neither inconstant nor light." "That expression - which, by.the-way, I don't M all remember having used-seems to rankle with you!" she said, trying to laugh, yet feeling vaguely conscious that the scene was growing too earnest for her taste. "I don't mean to be inhospitable," she went on, "but I really think you ought to go; those poor ser- vants look so tired, and I fancy they are gazing reproachfully at me, thinking that I keep you." "They make a great mistake, then," he said, smiling; "for it is I who am keeping you-un- willingly enough on your part, as I perceive. It is amazingly hard to go. This is certainly the pleasantest and prettiest spot in Lagrange. I wish I was an artist; ,I would paint you as you stand there now. 'he whole scene is lovely, and you-~-.pardon me, if I say so-never looked more beautlful.~r "You are not an artist, though, and I am not standing for my portrait," answered Miss Ver- non, turning away. "I see I must make the first move," she went on. "I hope you will have a pleasant journey. Good-by." He followed her, and held out his hand. "If [am obliged to go, at least you must tell me good-by alter a more cordial fashion," he said. "I shall be back soon. Shall I find you still here?" She gave him her hand and smiled. "Very probably you will," she said-.~-" unless George becomes more amiable than he is at present, about letting Flora go. Give wy love to the f Lesters if you see them in Apalatha," she added. ",Once more, good-by." u This time he echoed her farewell, and took y his departure. But long after he had left the pretty lawn, and silvery creek behind, her fair i face, her tender eyes, her bright smile bore him Li company. Try as he would, he could think of- he could see nothing else. "How beautiful she is!" he caught himself saying again and egain. - Yet something told him that her beauty was the least part of her, that the regular features, the my-white complexion, the golden hair, and violet I eyes, would have been worth little indeed with- out the brave, noble soul, the strong, sweet na- I ture, which shone through these outer coverings, and glorified them, "like the lamp of naphtha in the alabaster vase." He had only lately learned to know this. Until within the last few months, Irene Vernon had been to him a woman merely like ether women-a girl like the maJority of girls, only a little less attractive, perhaps, on ac- count of her haughty beauty. Now an in- stinct begun to dawn upon him that hence- forth in his life she was to be set apart from all other women. The memory of his fevered passion for Katharine seemed to fade away. That graceful figure, that exquisite face, still stood there on the bridge, with the l~right water flowing beneath, the tender green of earth's re- newed life all around, and heart, and hope, and fancy, seemed to bow down before her and say, "Lo!we are thine!" Two weeks after this, Mrs. Gordon's prepa- rations for leaving America were so nearly com- pleted that the day of her departure was fixed, and not far distant. Feli~ was once more at home, and all that now detained her in La- grange was the final disposition of the Morton property, and its transfer to Annesley. The house which his mother had so long coveted for him was at last to be his, through the kind- ness of the very woman whose arrival had caused Mrs. Annesley so much of bitter heart- ache, so many fruitless schemes and plans. Where were they all now ?-.what end had they gained? Morton, with his loyal honesty, had seen the straight path and followed it; while she had wandered off into dark and devious by- ways. And, after all, it was Morton, not she, who won at last the prize on which her heart had been set. Did the perception of this teach her wisdom? Doubtful, indeed. Few things are more rare, thin that the eye once accustomed to darkness should learn to love the light; than that the nature which finds pleasure in bidden paths, should learn that plain roads lead best to plain ends, and that open weapons are more effective, as well as more honorable, than con- cealed and stealthy ones. Still, Mrs. Annesley was heartily glad of this auspicious end, and, in her own way, felt a little ashamed of herself. "I should have tried to do more ror Pauline, if I had only known," she said-and that was the whole secret of it If she had only known-if she had only been aware that something was to be gained by cousinly kindness and championship, she would have buckled onher armor and entered the lists as fearlessly as Morton himself; but, as it was, why should she have been expected to do such a thing? "I had my children to think of," she would say, "and we werenever fond of each other at the best of times." Every thing had turned out very well, and she was glad of it; but she could really see no cause for blaming herself in any thing she had done, or failed to do, al- though-well-yes-she might, perhaps, have been a little more cordial to Pauline. As to Lagrange, it was thunderstruck by the news of Mrs. Gordon's impending departure, and by the rumor- tenfold exaggerated- of her wealth and rank, And this was the woman who had lived in their midst for six months, whom they had persistently ignored, and about whom they had circulated any number of ill-natured reports. A Morton, too! The last direct repre- sentative of the oldest blood in the country! What could they have been thinking of!-La- grange waked up, as it were, from a sort of trance, and felt, in a measure, half-dazed, and totally unable to account for its own conduct. One thing was certain, however: Mrs. Gordon must see her old friends-and, what was consid- erably more important, her old friends must see Mrs. Gordon !-once more, at least, before she bade a final farewell to the home of her youth. The door of Morton House was suddenly be- sieged with visitors, and Harrrison grew weary of receiving cards, and saying, over and over again, that Mrs. Gordon begged to be excused from seeing company-she was preparing for her departure, and was, besides, not very well. Only the few friends who had come forward to wel- come her, were admitted to say farewell be- fore the wanderer once more turned her face -this time forever-from her father's house. These few were struck by a singular change in her appearance. They had expected to see her looking much older, much more broken by the late terrible scenes through which she had passed; yet fragile, and pale, and worn as she was, underneath all this there was some- thing which had not been there before-a glimpse of the Pauline Morton of old coming out under the ghastly change wrought by years and trouble, a possibility of reviving power which no eye could have been keen enough to see before. The worst part of the change which had so shocked her friends was gone from her. She was even yet a woman on whom the signet of fiery trials had been branded too deeply ever to fade; but she was no longer a woman resting helplessly under the torturing, haunting dread of a terror that might come to her any day or hour. Peace at least was hers at last, and the seal of peace-the promise of the calmer life upon which she was entering-was plainly to be read upon her face. "In time, perhaps, you may even teach me to be happy," she would say, wistfully, to Kath- arine. And, indeed, the thing which seemed to giv'e her most pleasure was the thought of this bright and gentle companion whom she had won, this girl who all her life long had managed to find some pearls of happiness under the stormiest water. Katharine, for her part, made her prepara- tions to leave Lagrange with a reluctance that surprised herself. She did not understand the intangible sadness and regret which oppressed her-she often asked herself what it meant-she often wondered why a dimness should come over her sight, and a choking rise in her throat when she looked out over the fair hills and woods clothed in their lovely April green, and thought how soon she would leave them, never to return. "Why should I care so much?" she would ask herself, half indignantly. "It is no native home of mine-it is not as if I'had been born and reared here! Then, indeed, it might be hard to go; but now, I do not understand it., Why should I care so much?" A little while Inter it was all so clear to her that she could have laughed at the remembrance of her own per- plexity; but that was a little while later. At the time of which we speak, no o~ ld have suspected her hidden sadness, her notable reluctance; but, all the same, it cxli lithe same, she would move about the roe 4 gal- leries, and gardens, of Morton House, i~rlghteii- ing and cheering every spot to which she came, but deplorably conscious, meanwhile, of a very heavy heart, and asking herself~ in puzzled hon- esty, what it possibly meant. page: 264-265[View Page 264-265] MORTON HOUSE. A TURN OF FORTUNE'S WHEEL. 265 At last the day of departure drew near hand. They were to leave on Tuesday mcmii On Monday afternoon a heavy shower of ma was falling; but Katharine wrapped herself in a large cloak, and, armed with an umbrel] set forth to pay a farewell visit to Mrs. Marl~ Mrs. Gordon was somewhat shocked, memo stated, and insisted upon ordering the earring but the girl obstinately declined. "I much prefer to walk," she said. "I don mind a rain like this, and it looks as if it migl clear. I can stay as long as I please if I wall you know; and then "-a slight quiver of ti voice here-" it is for the last time." So Mrs. Marks, who felt sufficiently dolefu and had entirely given up all hope of the pron ised visit, was equally astonished and delight when there came a shout from the children o the front piazza, and ahe next minute a drenched apparition of Katharine, with glowing cheek and rain-gemmed hair, walked in upon her. "So you have come!" she cried, joyfully "Oh, I am so glad! I didn't look for you at al after it began to rain." "And you thought an April shower like thi~ would keep me away from you, when it is for th last time?" said Katharine, dropping her we~ wrappings in the middle of the floor. "Yot must have given me credit for wanting to se you very badly-mustn't she, children ?-Katy~ my shoes are quite damp. Can you take theix into the kitchen to dry, and get me a pair of your mother's slippers to wear?" While Katy eagerly darted away on this er- rand, the other children crowded around the young ex-govemness, and drew her into a chair. What an afternoon it was that followed! There ~ was so much to say, so much to tell of the past, so much to promise of the future, that the won- der was how it all was said, even in the three or four hours which were consumed.' Katharine made several fruitless attempts to leave before she rose at last and said that she must go. am afraid it will be dusk 'before I can reach the house," she said, "and Mrs. Gordon will be, uneasy.-No, no, children, don't do that" -as several ~.udible sobs were heard-" this is not good-by. Thu must not think so. Mrs. Gordon, and Felix, and I, are all going to stop to see 'you to-morrow morning." It may not have been "good-by," but still it was a very lugubrious~ leave-taking. Mrs. Marks broke down as well as the children, and Kath- arine herself was on the brink of tears when at she left the sobbing group behind, and hurried 1g. along the front walk. These tears were blinding in her to such an extent that she did not recognize ip -she did not even see-a man who had reached a, the gate as she came out of the house, and stood a. there waiting for her. n- "Good-evening, Miss Tresham," he said; as ~; she fumbled for the latch, and his voice, which was very unexpected, made her start violently. .'t "Are you going to Morton House?" ~t "Good - evening, Mr. Warwick," she an- k, swered, as the gate at last yielded, not to her ~e touch, but to Mr. Warwick's, and she came out into the road. "Yes, I am going to Morton 1, House. I have been spending the afternoon with 1- Mrs. Marks," she added, looking up at him with d her brimming eyes. n "I think you came very near spending the d evening also," he said, smiling. She caught the s smile, and it made her feel aggrieved. She did not, of course, expect him to be in tears like Mrs. Marks, and the children, and herself, but I still he might have felt the solemnity of the oc- casion a little, and he need not have, smiled in 3 that way, just as if nothing more than usual had happened or was about to happen. "You are late for such a lonely walk," he said. "Give me your umbrella. I will see you safely to the house." "Indeed, you need not take that trouble," she said, with a shade of coolness in her tone. "It is not very late," she went on. "The road may be lonely, but it is entirely safe, and I had much rather you did not." Her speech was cut short very summarily. Mr. Warwick took the umbrella out of her hand, and held it over her head, as he walked along the foot-path by her side. "I am sorry if you would 'much rather' I did not accompany you," be said; "but I cannot reconcile it to my conscience to let you go alone into the country at such an hour as this. Besides, if you must know the truth, I was on my way to Morton House when I saw you; so the only difference is, whether I shall go alone or with a companion." "In that case, I am very glad that you chanced to see me," said Katharine, conquering her momentary grievance. "I need a compan- ion," she went on, a little sadly. "My frame 'of mind is any thingbut cheerful. Oh, how hard it is to say good-by to people that one loves!" "Yes," said he, with something of uncon- scious dreariness in his voice, "it is hard." Nothing more was spoken for some time. MORTON HOUSE. They walked along, side by side, and both so much abstracted that they scarcely noticed how the rain had ceased, and the sun, which was not yet down, seemed about to break through the west. era clouds. They were by this time fairly beyond the last outskirts of the town, and the sweet, wild odors of forest and field-the peculiar spicy woodland fragrance which loads the very air after a spring rain-wereborne to them byovery breeze that, in passing, shook myriads of glit. tearing rain-drops from the boughs under which they walked. Katharine laughed a little as one of these quick showers sprinkled her face. "The very trees are 'weeping," she said. "I wonder if I may flatter myself that they, too, are sorry to see me go? How fresh and fragrant every thing is! Surely there is no month like April; and yet it seems to me that, after this, April will always be sad to me." "You are like a child who thinks today's clouds will not be gone to-morrow," said Mr. Warwick, smiling again; but this time in a man. ncr with which she was not inclined to find fault. "Is it possible that you do not know that before another April comes round Lagrange will seem to you like a dull and painful memory? By that time you will wonder how you ever endured such a life as this, from which you are now sorry to part." "You think so because you don't know me," she said, a little resentfully. "Whatever else I may be, I am not fickle nor ungrateful. I love La- grange now, and I shall love it always. If I live to see a hundred Aprils come, I shall always think of this one, and-and be sorry." "Sorry to have left poverty and toil behind you, and gone to ease, and luxury, and happi- ness?" "No, sorry to have left so much kindness and so many dear friends behind me-kindness shown to me in the days of my need; friends who proved their friendship when I was desolate. 0 Mr. Warwick! you do not really believe that I can ever forget these things?" "No," said Mr. Warwick, touched by her earnestness. "I do not believe any thing un- worthy of you. I am sure that, go where you will, you will retain a kindly remembrance of us, and that, perhaps, is as much as we could ask." "I shall always think of you as the best friend I have ever known," she said. "I-I cannot say good-by without thanking you once more for all your kindnesses to me-they have been so many, so great." "Don't call them kindnesses," he said, hastily. "They were not that - they were pleasures to me, and I was only glad that they were also services to you. I-" He stopped. What he was on the point of saying, he scarcely knew; but an instinct warned him that iLwas something which had better be left unsaid. He was a self-contained man, well accustomed to controlling himself on all possi- ble occasions; so he bad very little difficulty in restraining words which he told himself could serve no good end. Why distress and pain her uselessly ?-why give her a last disagreeable memory of him to take away? What folly it was, after all! She had unhesitatingly rejected him when she was poor and desolate, without a home on earth; and was it likely-was it even possible-that she would reconsider that deci- sion now, that she would turn from the brilliant future which opened before her, to share his homely, commonplace life? He gave a sort of mental laugh-a laugh singularly devoid of merriment-at The very thought. "Is not this the view of which you are so fond?" he asked, pausing abruptly on a knoll which they had reached, a gentle emineiioe that commanded a prospect of the surrounding coun- try-of all the fields and meadows clad in bright. cat green; of the hedges in full blossom; of groups of trees near by, with feathery, tended~ foliage; of shadowy woodlands far away; of hill~ melting and stretching in graceful undulations to the cast. Toward the west there was an cx- panse of open ~country, and the sun (which had now come forth) was gilding all things with the red glory of sunset, turning all the rain-drops into diamonds, and all the little rain-pools into miniature fiery lakes. "Yes, this is the view," said Katharine. "Is it not lovely ?" She stood quite still,, and looked with linger. ing, pathetic' gaze on the fair scene. The light of the glowing western sky was on her face and in her eyes-soft; sweet eyes, that were none the less lovely for the tears that filed them. "It is 'hard~ to leave," she said at last, sim- ply, and almost as if ahe were thinking aloud. Those words, and the tone in which they were uttered, were too much for the man beside her. After all, what did it matter? He could only hear again what he had heard before-he could only receive the answer which was, of course, the sole possible answer for a question such as his. Still he would ask it. He could do no harm, at least; arid a strange, wild hope-- which he sternly tried to 'repress-rushed over page: 266-267 (Advertisement) [View Page 266-267 (Advertisement) ] 266 M4 him unaccountably, and without a mo warning~i The struggle with himself oc a minute. During that minute, the sun sank out of sight, and Katharine, with a' sigh, turned her face around. "Perhaps we had better go," she "Mrs. Gordon will be uneasy." "We will go in a second," he axis quietly-so quietly that she had not the f~ suspicion of what was coming. "You en hard to leave," he went on. "Has it e, curred to you that there is a very easy v remaining? I suppose it is worse than fo me to ask such a question, but do you Ii grange well enough to give up all this future whish' is opening before you, and in your home for life-with me? ". The strong passion which, under the~ cumatances, he did x~ot feel indllnedto bei which, under any circumstances, he was man likely to betray-rang in his voice d himself, and startled her. Something d her-something seemed to rush over her thrill beyon& expression. Was it joy, o prise, or relief; or only a great unutterable of rest, ~vbich came suddenly, like a ble and, in its coming, showed how sore and had been the conflict to which she was onl to give a name now, that it was forever: She stood for a moment quite silent-....striv E~RTON HOUSE. meat's realize, striving to understand all that was re. copied vealed to her so simply and so strangely. Mr. ~uietIy Warwick grew pale, despite his self-control, and wistful set his lips in a way peculiar to him. 'He was bracing himself for the reply, telling himself said, that, of course, he had known all the time what it would be, and that, at least, he was prepared wered, for it. Lintest If this was the case, he certainly was not y it is prepared fur what came. After a short pause- ~er oc. it was short, though it seemed to both of them ~ay of very long-a white hand was extended, and a ily for voice with a quiver-half of archness, half of ke La. tears-said: bright ")1 am afraid that I do not like La. Lake it grax~e sufficiently to give up for its sake all thi~ of which you speak, but-but I do like ~e cir- s'of." tray- It was not very clearly expressed, perhaps; not a but John Warwick had no difficulty in 'compre- espite heading what she meant. He knew then, as azzled well as be knew long years afterward, that the vith a happiness of his life had come to him at last; r sur- and as he saw the sweet face-with the sunset sense glow still on it-turned toward him, wearing the ssing, look that no man was ever blind enough to mis- deep take, his first words were those which, 'for the y able smallest as for the greatest blessing, should he aded? ever on our lips: ing to "Thank God!" TE~ END. I 4 ENEN H H 0 0 0 I' 6~ r12 0 r12 0 0 Q H H 0 z z 0 0. fl-I page: 268 (Advertisement) -269[View Page 268 (Advertisement) -269] LOTHAIR.. A Novel. By the Right Hono~rab1e BENJAMIN DISRAELI, Late Prlxne Jl~1ulster of Great Britain. - "N6sae lime omnnia salus est adolescdntulis"-TERENTIus. After a silence of twenty-three years (his last work, "Tancred," waspublished in 1841) this eminent English novelist reappears with a work in his best style. "Lothair" has all the erlillaut wit, the keen and sparkling satire, and the refined grace, of the most popular of Its predecessors. It deals with current topiCs of the deepest interest-with Feu~nis~, Ritualism, the Catholic Question, the Intrigues of the Jesuits, etc., etc. ~IOTIOES OF' THE PliliSS. "There Is not a fast character, a fast trait, or a fast phrase, in the whole of' Lothair,' yet the story is a story of yesterday-almost ef to-day-and comes fresh and warm from the au- thor's study. . . 'Lothair' will be read by the whole world, will provoke immense dis. eusslon, and will greatly deepen the Interest with which the author's own character, genius, and career, have long been contemplated by the nation"-Londtm Dall~y News. "'Lotheir' gives proof of rare originality, versatility, flexibility, force and freshness. One over lbs merits of-a novel so pre~ant with thought and character, nor would we wish fodo1norewere It possible. We should be very sorry to weaken the interest that must accompany the perusa of the book. We had thought Mr. Disraeli dared a great deal in risking his reputation on another novel, but now that we have read it we do not feel called upon to pay him many compliments on his courage. As he wrote he must have felt that the risk was Illusory, and assured himself that his powers had brightened instead of rusting In haIfa lifetime of repose."-Loszdon Times. "As a series of brilliant sketches of character, with occasional digressions Into abstract and speculative topics, 'Lothair' need not fear comparison with the most sparkling of Its author's previous works."-.Losufon OOserves-. "Nothin of the original t~erue of Mr. Disraeli's style has been lost by the lapse of years. Fresh as 'Coningaby,' vigorous as 'Vivian Grey,' tender as 'Renrietta Ternplo, enthralling as 'Tanered,' humorous as any of his former works, 'Lothair,' apart from the Interest attach- ing to It ~n account of the position of Its author, would be the literary success of the season." -London Standarct. "As a literary production the new story is all that the admirers of 'Vivian Grey' could have wished. The deft hand has lostnone of Its cunning. The wealth of glowing description, whose richness becomes at times almost a painful enjoyment, the keen satire, the sparkling epigram, the wonderful sketches of society, the airy skimmin" over the surface of life, touching upon Its fashionable graces, laughing a little at its fash'?onable follies-all are here as we kuew them of old. The brightness. Is undimmed and the spirit Is unsnbdued."-N~w Y~* Tribune. 1 vol., l2mo, cloth, price $2.09; also In paper, octave, price $1.90. Copies of either mailed, post-free, to any address within the United States, en receipt prIce. Uniform Edition of Disraeli's Novels. The undersigned will publish immediately a cheap uniform edition of Disraeli's novels, octavo, paper covers, as follows: Henrietta Temple. 50 cents. Airoy. 50 cents. Venetian. 50 ccnts Contarini Fleming. 50 cents. The You.ug Duke. 50 cents. Vivian Grey. 60 cents. Coningsby, Tancred, etc. D. APPLETON & CQ~, PubIisher~, 549 & 551 Broadway, New York.