ERNEST LINWOOD;

 OR, THE INNER LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

 BY MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. 

AUTHOR OF "LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT OF THE BELLE CREOLE, " "THEBANISHED SON, " "COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE; OR, THE JOYS AND SORROWS OFAMERICAN LIFE, " "THE PLANTER'S NORTHERN BRIDE; OR, SCENES IN MRS. HENTZCHILDHOOD, " "LOVE AFTER MARRIAGE, " "MARCUS WARLAND; OR, THE LONG MOSSSPRING, " "EOLINE; OR, MAGNOLIA VALE; OR, THE HEIRESS OF GLENMORE, ""HELEN AND ARTHUR; OR, MISS THUSA'S SPINNING-WHEEL, " "RENA; OR, THE SNOWBIRD, " "THE LOST DAUGHTER, " "ROBERT GRAHAM;" A SEQUEL TO "LINDA, " ETC. 

PHILADELPHIA:T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS;306 CHESTNUT STREET. 

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, in andfor the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 

 * * * * *

 "Thou hast called me thine angel in moments of bliss, Still thine angel I'll prove mid the horrors of this. Through the furnace unshrinking thy steps I'll pursue, And shield thee, and save thee, and perish there too. "

 * * * * *

ERNEST LINWOOD. 

CHAPTER I. 

With an incident of my childhood I will commence the record of my life. It stands out in bold prominence, rugged and bleak, through the haze ofmemory. 

I was only twelve years old. He might have spoken less harshly. He mighthave remembered and pitied my youth and sensitiveness, that tall, powerful, hitherto kind man, --my preceptor, and, as I believed, myfriend. Listen to what he did say, in the presence of the whole schoolof boys, as well as girls, assembled on that day to hear the weeklyexercises read, written on subjects which the master had given us theprevious week. 

One by one, we were called up to the platform, where he sat enthroned inall the majesty of the Olympian king-god. One by one, the manuscriptswere read by their youthful authors, --the criticisms uttered, whichmarked them with honor or shame, --gliding figures passed each other, going and returning, while a hasty exchange of glances, betrayed theflash of triumph, or the gloom of disappointment. 

"Gabriella Lynn!" The name sounded like thunder in my ears. I rose, trembling, blushing, feeling as if every pair of eyes in the hall wereburning like redhot balls on my face. I tried to move, but my feet wereglued to the floor. 

"Gabriella Lynn!"

The tone was louder, more commanding, and I dared not resist themandate. The greater fear conquered the less. With a desperate effort Iwalked, or rather rushed, up the steps, the paper fluttering in my hand, as if blown upon by a strong wind. 

"A little less haste would be more decorous, Miss. "

The shadow of a pair of beetling brows rolled darkly over me. Had Istood beneath an overhanging cliff, with the ocean waves dashing at myfeet, I could not have felt more awe or dread. A mist settled on myeyes. 

"Read, "--cried the master, waving his ferula with a commandinggesture, --"our time is precious. "

I opened my lips, but no sound issued from my paralyzed tongue. With afeeling of horror, which the intensely diffident can understand, andonly they, I turned and was about to fly back to my seat, when a large, strong hand pressed its weight upon my shoulder, and arrested my flight. 

"Stay where you are, " exclaimed Mr. Regulus. "Have I not lectured you ahundred times on this preposterous shame-facedness of yours? Am I aDraco, with laws written in blood, a tyrant, scourging with an iron rod, that you thus shrink and tremble before me? Read, or suffer the penaltydue to disobedience and waywardness. "

Thus threatened, I commenced in a husky, faltering voice the reading oflines which, till that moment, I had believed glowing with theinspiration of genius. Now, how flat and commonplace they seemed! It wasthe first time I had ever ventured to reveal to others the talent hiddenwith all a miser's vigilance in my bosom casket. I had lisped inrhyme, --I had improvised in rhyme, --I had dreamed in poetry, when themoon and stars were looking down on me with benignant lustre;--I had_thought_ poetry at the sunset hour, amid twilight shadows and midnightdarkness. I had scribbled it at early morn in my own little room, atnoonday recess at my solitary desk; but no human being, save my mother, knew of the young dream-girl's poetic raptures. 

One of those irresistible promptings of the spirit which all have felt, and to which many have yielded, induced me at this era to break loosefrom my shell and come forth, as I imagined, a beautiful and brilliantbutterfly, soaring up above the gaze of my astonished and admiringcompanions. Yes; with all my diffidence I anticipated a scene oftriumph, a dramatic scene, which would terminate perhaps in a crown oflaurel, or a public ovation. 

Lowly self-estimation is by no means a constant accompaniment ofdiffidence. The consciousness of possessing great powers and deepsensibility often creates bashfulness. It is their veil and guard whilematuring and strengthening. It is the flower-sheath, that folds thecorolla, till prepared to encounter the sun's burning rays. 

"Read!"

I did read, --one stanza. I could not go on though the scaffold were thedoom of my silence. 

"What foolery is this! Give it to me. "

The paper was pulled from my clinging fingers. Clearing his throat witha loud and prolonged hem, --then giving a flourish of his ruler on thedesk, he read, in a tone of withering derision, the warm breathings of achild's heart and soul, struggling after immortality, --the spirit andtrembling utterance of long cherished, long imprisoned yearnings. 

Now, when after years of reflection I look back on thatnever-to-be-forgotten moment, I can form a true estimate of the poemsubjected to that fiery ordeal, I wonder the paper did not scorch andshrivel up like a burning scroll. It did not deserve ridicule. Thethoughts were fresh and glowing, the measure correct, the versificationmelodious. It was the genuine offspring of a young imagination, urged bythe "strong necessity" of giving utterance to its bright idealities, thesighings of a heart looking beyond its lowly and lonely destiny. Ah! Mr. Regulus, you were cruel then. 

Methinks I see him, --hear him now, weighing in the iron scales ofcriticism every springing, winged idea, cutting and slashing the wordstill it seemed to me they dropped blood, --then glancing from me to theliving rows of benches with such a cold, sarcastic smile. 

"What a barbarous, unfeeling monster!" perhaps I hear some one exclaim. 

No, he was not. He could be very kind and indulgent. He had been kindand generous to me. He gave me my tuition, and had taken unwearied painswith my lessons. He could forgive great offences, but had no tolerationfor little follies. He really thought it a sinful waste of time to writepoetry in school. He had given me a subject for composition, a useful, practical one, but not at all to my taste, and I had ventured todisregard it. I had jumped over the rock, and climbed up to the flowersthat grew above it. He was a thorough mathematician, a celebratedgrammarian, a renowned geographer and linguist, but I then thought hehad no more ear for poetry or music, no more eye for painting, --thepainting of God, or man, --than the stalled ox, or the Greenland seal. Idid him injustice, and he was unjust to me. I had not intended to slightor scorn the selection he had made, but I could not write upon it, --Icould not help my thoughts flowing into rhyme. 

Can the stream help gliding and rippling through its flowery margins?Can the bird help singing and warbling upward into the deep blue sky, sending down a silver shower of melody as it flies?

Perhaps some may think I am swelling small things into great; butincidents and actions are to be judged by their results, by theirinfluence in the formation of character, and the hues they reflect onfuturity. Had I received encouragement instead of rebuke, praise insteadof ridicule, --had he taken me by the hand and spoken some such kindlywords as these:--

"This is very well for a little girl like you. Lift up that downcastface, nor blush and tremble, as if detected in a guilty act. You mustnot spend too much time in the reveries of imagination, for this is aworking-day world, my child. Even the birds have to build their nests, and the coral insect is a mighty laborer. The gift of song is sweet, andmay be made an instrument of the Creator's glory. The first notes of thelark are feeble, compared to his heaven-high strains. The fainter dawnprecedes the risen day. "

Oh! had he addressed me in indulgent words as these, who knows but that, like burning Sappho, I might have sang as well as loved? Who knows butthat the golden gates of the Eden of immortality might have opened toadmit the wandering Peri to her long-lost home? I might have been thepriestess of a shrine of Delphic celebrity, and the world have offeredburning incense at my altar. I might have won the laurel crown, andfound, perchance, thorns hidden under its triumphant leaves. Imight, --but it matters not. The divine spark is undying, and thoughcircumstances may smother the flame it enkindles, it glows in the bosomwith unquenchable fire. 

I remember very well what the master said, instead of the imagined wordsI have written. 

"Poetry, is it?--or something you meant to be called by that name?Nonsense, child--folly--moon-beam hallucination! Child! do you know thatthis is an unpardonable waste of time? Do you remember thatopportunities of improvement are given you to enable you hereafter tosecure an honorable independence? This accounts for your reveries overthe blackboard, your indifference to mathematics, that grand andglorious science! Poetry! ha, ha! I began to think you did notunderstand the use of capitals, --ha, ha!"

Did you ever imagine how a tender loaf of bread must feel when cut intoslices by the sharpened knife? How the young bark feels when the ironwedge is driven through it with cleaving force? I think _I_ can, by theexperience of that hour. I stood with quivering lip, burning cheek, andpanting breast, --my eyes riveted on the paper which he flourished in hisleft hand, pointing _at_ it with the forefinger of his right. 

"He shall not go on, "--said I to myself, exasperation giving meboldness, --"he shall not read what I have written of my mother. I willdie sooner. He may insult _my_ poverty but hers shall be sacred, and hersorrows too. "

I sprang forward, forgetting every thing in the fear of hearing _her_name associated with derision, and attempted to get possession of themanuscript. A fly might as well attempt to wring the trunk of theelephant. 

"Really, little poetess, you are getting bold. I should like to see youtry that again. You had better keep quiet. "

A resolute glance of the keen, black eye, resolute, yet twinkling withsecret merriment, and he was about to commence another stanza. 

I jumped up with the leap of the panther. I could not loosen his stronggrasp, but I tore the paper from round his fingers, ran down the stepsthrough the rows of desks and benches, without looking to the right orleft, and flew without bonnet or covering out into the broad sunlightand open air. 

"Come back, this moment!"

The thundering voice of the master rolled after me, like a heavy stone, threatening to crush me as it rolled. I bounded on before it withconstantly accelerating speed. 

"Go back, --never!"

I said this to myself. I repeated it aloud to the breeze that camecoolly and soothingly through the green boughs, to fan the burningcheeks of the fugitive. At length the dread of pursuit subsiding, Islackened my steps, and cast a furtive glance behind me. The cupola ofthe academy gleamed white through the oak trees that surrounded it, andabove them the glittering vane, fashioned in the form of a giant pen, seemed writing on the azure page of heaven. 

My home, --the little cottage in the woods, was one mile distant. Therewas a by-path, a foot-path, as it was called, which cut the woods in adiagonal line, and which had been trodden hard and smooth by the feet ofthe children. Even at mid-day there was twilight in that solitary path, and when the shadows deepened and lengthened on the plain, theyconcentrated into gloominess there. The moment I turned into that path, I was supreme. It was _mine_. The public road, the thoroughfare leadingthrough the heart of the town, belonged to the world. I was obliged towalk there like other people, with mincing steps, and bonnet tied primlyunder the chin, according to the rule and plummet line of school-girlpropriety. But in my own little by-path, I could do just as I pleased. Icould run with my bonnet swinging in my hand, and my hair floating likethe wild vine of the woods. I could throw myself down on the grass atthe foot of the great trees, and looking up into the deep, distant sky, indulge my own wondrous imaginings. 

I did so now. I cast myself panting on the turf, and turning my facedownward instead of upward, clasped my hands over it, and the hot tearsgushed in scalding streams through my fingers, till the pillow of earthwas all wet as with a shower. 

Oh, they did me good, those fast-gushing tears! There was comfort, therewas luxury in them. Bless God for tears! How they cool the dry andsultry heart! How they refresh the fainting virtues! How they revive thedying affections!

The image of my pale sweet, gentle mother rose softly through thefalling drops. A rainbow seemed to crown her with its seven-fold beams. 

Dear mother!--would she will me to go back where the giant pen dippedits glittering nib into the deep blue ether?

CHAPTER II. 

"Get up, Gabriella, --you must not lie here on the damp ground. Getup, --it is almost night. What _will_ your mother say? what _will_ shethink has become of you?"

I started up, bewildered and alarmed, passing my hands dreamily over myswollen eyelids. Heavy shadows hung over the woods. Night was indeedapproaching. I had fallen into a deep sleep, and knew it not. 

It was Richard Clyde who awakened me. His schoolmaster called him Dick, but I thought it sounded vulgar, and he was always Richard to me. A boyof fifteen, the hardest student in the academy, and, next to my motherand Peggy, the best friend I had in the world. I had no brother, andmany a time had he acted a brother's part, when I had needed a manlychampion. Yet my mother had enjoined on me such strict reserve in myintercourse with the boy pupils, and my disposition was so shy, ouracquaintance had never approached familiarity. 

"I did not mean to shake you so hard, " said he, stepping back a fewpaces as he spoke, "but I never knew any one sleep so like a log before. I feared for a moment that you were dead. "

"It would not be much matter if I were, " I answered, hardly knowing whatI said, for a dull weight pressed on my brain, and despondency hadsucceeded excitement. 

"Oh, Gabriella! is it not wicked to say that?"

"If you had been treated as badly as I have, you would feel like sayingit too. "

"Yes!" he exclaimed, energetically, "you have been treated badly, shamefully, and I told the master so to his face. "

"You! You did not, Richard. You only thought so. You would not have toldhim so for all the world. "

"But I did, though! As soon as you ran out of school, it seemed as if hemade but one step to the door, and his face looked as black as night. Ithought if he overtook you, he might, --I did not know what he would do, he was so angry. I sat near the door, and I jumped right up and facedhim on the threshold. 'Don't, sir, don't! I cried; she is a little girl, and you a great strong man. '

"'What is that to you, sirrah?' he exclaimed, and the forked lightningran out of his eye right down my backbone. It aches yet, Gabriella. 

"'It is a great deal, Sir, ' I answered, as bold as a lion. 'You havetreated her cruelly enough already. It would be cowardly to pursueher. '"

"Oh, Richard! how dared you say that? Did he not strike you?"

"He lifted his hand; but instead of flinching, I made myself as tall asI could, and looked at him right steadfastly. You do not know how palehe looked, when I stopped him on the threshold. His very lips turnedwhite--I declare there is something grand in a great passion. It makesone look somehow so different from common folks. Well, now, as soon ashe raised his hand to strike me, a red flush shot into his face, likethe blaze of an inward fire. It was shame, --anger made him white--butshame turned him as red as blood. His arm dropped down to hisside, --then he laid his hand on the top of his head, --'Stay afterschool, ' said he, 'I must talk with you. '"

"And did you?" I asked, hanging with breathless interest on his words. 

"Yes; I have just left him. "

"He has not expelled you, Richard?"

"No; but he says I must ask his pardon before the whole schoolto-morrow. It amounts to the same thing. I will never do it. "

"I am so sorry this has happened, " said I. "Oh! that I had never writtenthat foolish, foolish poetry. It has done so much mischief. "

"You are not to blame, Gabriella. He had no business to laugh at it; itwas beautiful--all the boys say so. I have no doubt you will be a greatpoetess one of these days. He ought to have been proud of it, instead ofmaking fun of you. It was so mean. "

"But you must go back to school, Richard. You are the best scholar. Themaster is proud of you, and will not give you up. I would not have itsaid that _I_ was the cause of your leaving, for twice your weight insolid gold. "

"Would you not despise me if I asked pardon, when I have done no wrong;to appear ashamed of what I glory in; to act the part of a coward, afterpublicly proclaiming _him_ to be one?"

"It is hard, " said I, "but--"

We were walking homeward all the while we were talking, and at everystep my spirits sank lower and lower. How different every thing seemednow, from what it did an hour ago. True, I had been treated withharshness, but I had no right to rebel as I had done. Had I kissed therod, it would have lost its sting, --had I borne the smart with patienceand gentleness, my companions would have sympathized with and pitied me;it would not have been known beyond the walls of the academy. But now, it would be blazoned through the whole town. The expulsion of sodistinguished a scholar as Richard Clyde would be the nine days' gossip, the village wonder. And I should be pointed out as the presumptuouschild, whose disappointed vanity, irascibility, and passion had createdrebellion and strife in a hitherto peaceful seminary. I, the recipientof the master's favors, an ingrate and a wretch! My mother would knowthis--my gentle, pale-faced mother. 

Our little cottage was now visible, with its low walls of grayish white, and vine-encircled windows. 

"Richard, " said I, walking as slowly as possible, though it was growingdarker every moment, "I feel very unhappy. I will go and see the masterin the morning and ask him to punish me for both. I will humble myselffor your sake, for you have been my champion, and I never will forget itas long as I live. I was wrong to rush out of school as I did, --wrong totear the paper from his hands, --and I am willing to tell him so now. Itshall all be right yet, Richard, --indeed it shall. "

"You shall not humble yourself for me, Gabriella; I like a girl ofspirit. "

We had now reached the little gate that opened into our own green yard. I could see my mother looking from the window for her truant child. Myheart began to palpitate, for no Catholic ever made more faithfulconfessions to his absolving priest, than I to my only parent. Were Icapable of concealing any thing from her, I should have thought myselffalse and deceitful. With feelings of love and reverence kindred tothose with which I regarded my Heavenly Father, I looked up to her, theincarnate angel of my life. This expression has been so often used itdoes not seem to mean much; but when I say it, I mean all the filialheart is capable of feeling. I was poor in fortune, but in her goodnessrich. I was a lonely child, but sad and pensive as she was, she was afountain of social joy to me. Then, she was so beautiful--so very, verylovely!

I caught the light of her pensive smile through the dimness of the hour. She was so accustomed to my roaming in the woods, she had suffered noalarm. 

"If my mother thinks it right, you will not object to my going to seeMr. Regulus, " said I, as Richard lifted the gate-latch for me to enter. 

"For yourself, no; but not for me. I can take care of myself, Gabriella. "

He spoke proudly. He did not quite come up to my childish idea of a boyhero, but I admired his self-reliance and bravery. I did not want him todespise me or my lack of spirit. I began to waver in my good resolution. 

My mother called me, in that soft, gentle tone, so full of music and oflove. 

In ten minutes I had told her all. 

CHAPTER III. 

If I thought any language of mine could do justice to her character, Iwould try to describe my mother. Were I to _speak_ of her, my voicewould choke at the mention of her name. As I write, a mist gathers overmy eyes. Grief for the loss of such a being is immortal, as the love ofwhich it is born. 

I have said that we were poor, --but ours was not abject poverty, hereditary poverty, --though _I_ had never known affluence, or even thatsufficiency which casts out the fear of want. I knew that my mother wasthe child of wealth, and that she had been nurtured in elegance andsplendor. I inherited from her the most fastidious tastes, without themeans of gratifying them. I felt that I had a right to be wealthy, andthat misfortune alone had made my mother poor, had made her an alienfrom her kindred and the scenes of her nativity. I felt a strange pridein this conviction. Indeed there was a singular union of pride anddiffidence in my character, that kept me aloof from my young companions, and closed up the avenues to the social joys of childhood. 

My mother thought a school life would counteract the influence of herown solitary habits and example. She did not wish me to be a hermitchild, and for this reason accepted the offer Mr. Regulus made throughthe minister to become a pupil in the academy. She might have sent me tothe free schools in the neighborhood, but she did not wish me to formassociations incompatible with the refinement she had so carefullycultivated in me. She might have continued to teach me at home, for shewas mistress of every accomplishment, but she thought the discipline ofan institution like this would give tone and firmness to my poetic anddreaming mind. She wanted me to become practical, --she wanted to see thebark growing and hardening over the exposed and delicate fibres. Sheanticipated for me the cold winds and beating rains of an adversedestiny. I knew she did, though she had never told me so in words. Iread it in the anxious, wistful, prophetic expression of her soft, deepblack eyes, whenever they rested on me. Those beautiful, mysteriouseyes!

There was a mystery about her that gave power to her excellence andbeauty. Through the twilight shades of her sorrowful loneliness, I couldtrace only the dim outline of her past life. I was fatherless, --andannihilation, as well as death, seemed the doom of him who had given mebeing. I was forbidden to mention his name. No similitude of hisfeatures, no token of his existence, cherished by love and hallowed byreverence, invested him with the immortality of memory. It was as if hehad never been. 

Thus mantled in mystery, his image assumed a sublimity and grandeur inmy imagination, dark and oppressive as night. I would sit and ponderover his mystic attributes, till he seemed like those gods of mythology, who, veiling their divinity in clouds, came down and wooed the daughtersof men. A being so lovely and good as my mother would never have loved acommon mortal. Perhaps he was some royal exile, who had found her in hiswanderings a beauteous flower, but dared not transplant her to thegarden of kings. 

My mother little thought, when I sat in my simple calico dress, myschool-book open on my knees, conning my daily lessons, or seeming so todo, what wild, absurd ideas were revelling in my brain. She littlethought how high the "aspiring blood" of mine mounted in that lowly, woodland cottage. 

I told her the history of my humiliation, passion, and flight, --ofRichard Clyde's brave defence and undaunted resolution, --of my sorrow onhis account, --of my shame and indignation on my own. 

"My poor Gabriella!"

"You are not angry with me, my mother?"

"Angry! No, my child, it was a hard trial, --very hard for one so young. I did not think Mr. Regulus capable of so much unkindness. He hascancelled this day a debt of gratitude. "

"My poor Gabriella, " she again repeated, laying her delicate hand gentlyon my head. "I fear you have a great deal to contend with in this roughworld. The flowers of poesy are sweet, but poverty is a barren soil, mychild. The dew that moistens it, is tears. "

I felt a tear on my hand as she spoke. Child as I was, I thought thattear more holy and precious than the dew of heaven. Flowers nurtured bysuch moisture must be sweet. 

"I will never write any more, " I exclaimed, with desperate resolution. "I will never more expose myself to ridicule and contempt. "

"Write as you have hitherto done, for my gratification and your own. Your simple strains have beguiled my lonely hours. But had I known yourpurpose, I would have warned you of the consequences. The child whoattempts to soar above its companions is sure to be dragged down by thehand of envy. Your teacher saw in your effusion an unpardonable effortto rise above himself, --to diverge from the beaten track. You may haveindulged too much in the dreams of imagination. You may have neglectedyour duties as a pupil. Lay your hand on your heart and ask it toreply. "

She spoke so calmly, so soothingly, so rationally, the fever ofimagination subsided. I saw the triumph of reason and principle in herown self-control, --for, when I was describing the scene, her mild eyeflashed, and her pale cheek colored with an unwonted depth of hue. Shehad to struggle with her own emotions, that she might subdue mine. 

"May I ask him to pardon Richard Clyde, mother?"

"The act would become your gratitude, but I fear it would avail nothing. If he has required submission of him, he will hardly accept yours as asubstitute. "

"Must I ask him to forgive me? Must I return?"

I hung breathlessly on her reply. 

"Wait till morning, my daughter. We shall both feel differently then. Iwould not have you yield to the dictates of passion, neither would Ihave you forfeit your self-respect. I must not rashly counsel. "

"I would not let her go back at all, " exclaimed a firm, decided voice. "They ain't fit to hold the water to wash her hands. "

"Peggy, " said my mother, rebukingly, "you forget yourself. "

"I always try to do that, " she replied, while she placed on the table mycustomary supper of bread and milk. 

"Yes, indeed you do, " answered my mother, gratefully, --"kind andfaithful friend. But humility becometh my child better than pride. "

Peggy looked hard at my mother, with a mixture of reverence, pity, andadmiration in her clear, honest eye, then taking a coarse towel, sherubbed a large silver spoon, till it shone brighter and brighter, andlaid it by the side of my bowl. She had first spread a white napkinunder it, to give my simple repast an appearance of neatness andgentility. The bowl itself was white, with a wreath of roses round therim, both inside and out. Those rosy garlands had been for years thedelight of my eyes. I always hailed the appearance of the glowingleaves, when the milky fluid sunk below them, with a fresh appreciationof their beauty. They gave an added relish to the Arcadian meal. Theyfed my love of the beautiful and the pure. That large, bright silverspoon, --I was never weary of admiring that also. It was massive--it wasgrand--and whispered a tale of former grandeur. Indeed, though thefurniture of our cottage was of the simplest, plainest kind, there weremany things indicative of an earlier state of luxury and elegance. Mymother always used a golden thimble, --she had a toilet case inlaid withpearl, and many little articles appropriate only to wealth, and whichwealth only purchases. These were never displayed, but I had seen them, and made them the corner-stones of many an airy castle. 

CHAPTER IV. 

And who was Peggy?

She was one of the best and noblest women God ever made. She was atreasury of heaven's own influences. 

And yet she wore the form of a servant, and like her divine Master, there was "no beauty" in her that one should desire to look upon her. 

She had followed my mother through good report and ill report. She hadclung to her in her fallen fortunes as something sacred, almost divine. As the Hebrew to the ark of the covenant, --as the Greek to his country'spalladium, --as the children of Freedom to the star-spangled banner, --soshe clung in adversity to her whom in prosperity she almost worshipped. I learned in after years, all that we owed this humble, self-sacrificing, devoted friend. I did not know it then--at least notall--not half. I knew that she labored most abundantly for us, --that sheministered to my mother with as much deference as if she were anempress, anticipating her slightest wants and wishes, deprecating hergratitude, and seeming ashamed of her own goodness and industry. I knewthat her plain sewing, assisted by my mother's elegant needle-work, furnished us the means of support; but I had always known it so, and itseemed all natural and right. Peggy was strong and robust. The burden oftoil rested lightly on her sturdy shoulders. It seemed to me that shewas born with us and for us, --that she belonged to us as rightfully asthe air we breathed, and the light that illumined us. It never enteredmy mind that we could live without Peggy, or that Peggy could livewithout us. 

My mother's health was very delicate. She could not sew long withoutpressing her hand on her aching side, and then Peggy would draw her workgently from her with her large, kind hand, make her lie down and rest, or walk out in the fresh air, till the waxen hue was enlivened on herpallid cheek. She would urge her to go into the garden and gatherflowers for Gabriella, "because the poor child loved so to see them inthe room. " We had a sweet little garden, where Peggy delved at earlysunrise and evening twilight. Without ever seeming hurried orovertasked, she accomplished every thing. We had the earliestvegetables, and the latest. We had fruit, we had flowers, all the resultof Peggy's untiring, providing hand. The surplus vegetables and fruitshe carried to the village market, and though they brought but a triflein a country town, where every thing was so abundant, yet Peggy said, "we must not despise the day of small gains. " She took the lead in allbusiness matters in-doors and out-doors. She never asked my mother ifshe had better do this and that; she went right ahead, doing what shethought right and best, in every thing pertaining to the drudgery oflife. 

When I was a little child, I used to ask her many a question about themystery of my life. I asked her about my father, of my kindred, and theplace of my birth. 

"Miss Gabriella, " she would answer, "you mustn't ask questions. Yourmother does not wish it. She has forbidden me to say one word of all youwant to know. When you are old enough you shall learn every thing. Bequiet--be patient. It is best that you should be. But of one thing restassured, if ever there was a saint in this world, your mother is one. "

I never doubted this. I should have doubted as soon the saintliness ofthose who wear the golden girdles of Paradise. I am glad of this. I havesometimes doubted the love and mercy of my Heavenly Father, but neverthe purity and excellence of my mother. Ah, yes! once when sorelytempted. 

We retired very early in our secluded, quiet home. We had no eveningvisitors to charm away the sober hours, and time marked by the sands ofthe hour-glass always seems to glide more slowly. That solemn-lookinghour-glass! How I used to gaze on each dropping particle, watching theupward segment gradually becoming more and more transparent, and thelower as gradually darkening. It was one of Peggy's inherited treasures, and she reverenced it next to her Bible. The glass had been broken andmended with putty, which formed a dark, diagonal line across thevenerable crystal. This antique chronometer occupied the central placeon the mantel-piece, its gliding sands, though voiceless, for everwhispering of ebbing time and everlasting peace. "Passing away, passingaway, " seemed continually issuing from each meeting cone. I have nodoubt the contemplation of this ancient, solemn instrument, which oldFather Time is always represented as grasping in one unclenching hand, while he brandishes in the other the merciless scythe, had a lastinginfluence on my character. 

That night, it was long before I fell asleep. I lay awake thinking ofthe morning's dawn. The starlight abroad, that came in through the upperpart of the windows, glimmered on the dark frame and glassy surface ofthe old timepiece, which stood out in bold relief from the whitewashedwall behind it. Before I knew it, I was composing a poem on that oldhour-glass. It was a hoary pilgrim, travelling on a lone and sea-beatshore, towards a dim and distant goal, and the print of his footsteps onthe wave-washed sands, guided others in the same lengthening journey. The scene was before me. I saw the ancient traveller, his white locksstreaming in the ocean blast; I heard the deep murmur of the restlesstide; I saw the footsteps; and they looked like sinking graves; when allat once, in the midst of my solemn inspiration, a stern mocking facecame between me and the starlight night, the jeering voice of my masterwas in my ears, a dishonored fragment was fluttering in my hand. Thevision fled; I turned my head on my pillow and wept. 

You may say such thoughts and visions were strangely precocious in achild of twelve years old. I suppose they were; but I never rememberbeing a child. My sad, gentle mother, the sober, earnest, practicalPeggy, were the companions of my infancy, instead of children of my ownage. The sunlight of my young life was not reflected from the goldenlocks of childhood, its radiant smile and unclouded eye. I was defraudedof the sweetest boon of that early season, a confidence that this worldis the happiest, fairest, best of worlds, the residence of joy, beauty, and goodness. 

A thoughtful child! I do not like to hear it. What has a little child todo with thought? That sad, though glorious reversion of our riper anddarker years?

Ah me! I never recollect the time that my spirit was not travelling tograsp some grown idea, to fathom the mystery of my being, to roll awaythe shadows that surrounded me, groping for light, toiling, thendreaming, not resting. It was no wonder I was weary before my journeywas well begun. 

"What a remarkable countenance Gabriella has!" I then often heard itremarked. "Her features are childish, but her eyes have such a peculiardepth of expression, --so wild, and yet so wise. "

I wish I had a picture of myself taken at this period of my life. I haveno doubt I looked older then than I do now. 

CHAPTER V. 

I knew the path which led from the boarding-place of Mr. Regulus crossedthe one which I daily traversed. I met him exactly at the point ofintersection, under the shadow of a great, old oak. The dew of themorning glittered on the shaded grass. The clear light blue of themorning sky smiled through upward quivering leaves. Every thing lookedbright and buoyant, and as I walked on, girded with a resolute purpose, my spirit caught something of the animation and inspiration of thescene. 

The master saw me as I approached, and I expected to see a frown darkenhis brow. I felt brave, however, for I was about to plead for another, not myself. He did not frown, neither did he smile. He seemed willing tomeet me, --he even slackened his pace till I came up. I felt a sultryglow on my cheek when I faced him, and my breath came quick and short. Iwas not so very brave after all. 

"Master Regulus, " said I, "do not expel Richard Clyde, --do not disgracehim, because he thought I was not kindly dealt with. I am sorry I ranfrom school as I did, --I am sorry I wrote the poem, --I hardly knew whatI was doing when I snatched the paper from your hands. I suppose Richardhardly knew what he was doing when he stopped you at the door. "

I did not look up while I was speaking, for had I met an angry glance Ishould have rebelled. 

"I am glad I have met you, Gabriella, " said he, in a tone so gentle, Ilifted my eyes in amazement. His beamed with unusual kindness beneathhis shading brows. Gone was the mocking gleam, --gone the deriding smile. He looked serious, earnest, almost sad, but not severe. Looking at hiswatch, and then at the golden vane, as if that too were a chronometer, he turned towards the old oak, and throwing himself carelessly on a seatformed of a broken branch, partially severed from the trunk, motioned meto sit down on the grass beside him. Quick as lightning I obeyed him, untying my bonnet and pushing it back from my head. I could scarcelybelieve the evidence of my senses. There reclined the formidable master, like a great, overgrown boy, his attitude alone banishing all restraintand fear, and I, perched on a mossy rock, that looked as if placed thereon purpose for me to sit down upon, all my wounded and exasperatedfeelings completely drowned in a sudden overflow of pleasant emotions. Ihad expected scolding, rebuke, denial, --I had armed myself for astruggle of power, --I had resolved to hazard a martyr's doom. 

Oh, the magic of kindness on a child's heart!--a lonely, sensitive, proud, yearning heart like mine!--'Tis the witch-hazel wand that showswhere the deep fountain is secretly welling. I was ashamed of the tearsthat _would_ gather into my eyes. I shook my hair forward to cover them, and played with the green leaves within my reach. 

The awful space between me and this tall, stern, learned man seemedannihilated. I had never seen him before, divested of the insignia ofauthority, beyond the walls of the academy. I had always been compelledto look up to him before; now we were on a level, on the green sward ofthe wild-wood. God above, nature around, no human faces near, no fear ofman to check the promptings of ingenuous feeling. Softly the foldedflower petals of the heart began to unfurl. The morning breeze caughttheir fragrance and bore it up to heaven. 

"You thought me harsh and unkind, Gabriella, " said the master in a low, subdued voice, "and I fear I was so yesterday. I intended to do yougood. I began sportively, but when I saw you getting excited and angry, I became angry and excited too. My temper, which is by no means gentle, had been previously much chafed, and, as is too often the case, theirritation, caused by the offences of many, burst forth on one, perhapsthe most innocent of all. Little girl, you have been studying thehistory of France; do you remember its Louises?--Louis the Fourteenthwas a profligate, unprincipled, selfish king. Louis the Fifteenth, another God-defying, self-adoring sensualist. Louis the Sixteenth one ofthe most amiable, just, Christian monarchs the world ever saw. Yet theaccumulated wrongs under which the nation had been groaning during thereign of his predecessors, were to be avenged in his person, --innocent, heroic sufferer that he was. This is a most interesting historic fact, and bears out wonderfully the truth of God's words. But I did not meanto give a lecture on history. It is out of place here. I meant to do yougood yesterday, and discourage you from becoming an idle rhymer--a vaindreamer. You are not getting angry I hope, little girl, for I am kindnow. "

"No, sir, --no, indeed, sir, " I answered, with my face all in a glow. 

"Your mother, I am told, wishes you to be educated for a teacher, aprofession which requires as much training as the Spartan youth endured, when fitted to be the warriors of the land. Why, you should be preparingyourself a coat of mail, instead of embroidering a silken suit. How doyou expect to get through the world, child, --and it is a hard world tothe poor, a cold world to the friendless, --how do you expect to getalong through the briars and thorns, over the rocks and the hills withnothing but a blush on your cheek, a tear in your eye, and a sentimentalsong on your lips? Independence is the reward of the working mind, thethinking brain, and the earnest heart. "

He grew really eloquent as he went on. He raised his head to an erectposition, and ran his fingers through his bushy locks. I cannot rememberall he said, but every word he uttered had meaning in it. I appreciatedfor the first time the difficulties and trials of a teacher's vocation. I had thought before, that it was the pupil only who bore the burden ofendurance. It had never entered my mind that the crown of authoritycovered the thorns of care, that the wide sweep of command wearied morethan the restraint of subjection. I was flattered by the manner in whichhe addressed me, the interest he expressed in my future prospects. Ifound myself talking freely to him of myself, of my hopes and my fears. I forgot the tyrant of yesterday in the friend of to-day. I remember onething he said, which is worth recording. 

"It is very unfortunate when a child, in consequence of a facility ofmaking rhyme, is led to believe herself a poetess, --or, in other words, a prodigy. She is praised and flattered by injudicious friends, till shebecomes inflated by vanity and exalted by pride. She wanders idly, without aim or goal, in the flowery paths of poesy, forgetful of thegreat highway of knowledge, not made alone for the chariot wheels ofkings, but the feet of the humblest wayfarer. "

When he began to address me, he remembered that I was a child, butbefore he finished the sentence he forgot my age, and his thoughts andlanguage swelled and rose to the comprehension of manhood. But Iunderstood him. Perhaps there was something in my fixed and fascinatedglance that made him conscious of my full appreciation. 

"I have no friends to praise and flatter me, " I simply answered. "I haveloved to sing in rhyme as the little birds sing, because God gave me thepower. "

He looked pleased. He even laid his hand on my head and smiled. Not thecold smile of yesterday, but quite a genial smile. I could hardlybelieve it the same face, it softened and transformed it so. Iinvoluntarily drew nearer to him, drawn by that powerful magnetism, which every human heart feels more or less. 

The great brazen tongue of the town clock rang discordantly on the sweetstillness of the morning hour. The master rose and motioned me to followhim. 

"Richard Clyde is forgiven. Tell him so. Let the past be forgotten, orremembered only to make us wiser and better. "

We entered the academy together, to the astonishment of the pupils, whowere gathered in little clusters, probably discussing the events ofyesterday. 

Richard Clyde was not there, but he came the next day, and the scene inwhich we were both such conspicuous actors was soon forgotten. It had, however, an abiding influence on me. A new motive for exertion was bornwithin me, --affection for my master, --and the consequence was, ambitionto excel, that I might be rewarded by his approbation. 

Bid he ever again treat me with harshness and severity? No, --never. Ihave often wondered why he manifested such unusual and wanton disregardof my feelings then, that one, only time. It is no matter now. It is asingle blot on a fair page. 

Man is a strangely inconsistent being. His soul is the battle ground ofthe warring angels of good and evil. As one or the other triumphs, heexhibits the passions of a demon or the attributes of a God. 

Could we see this hidden war field, would it not be grand? What were theplains of Marathon, the pass of Thermopylĉ, or Cannĉ paved with goldenrings, compared to it?

Let us for a moment imagine the scene. Not the moment of struggle, butthe pause that succeeds. The angels of good have triumphed, and thoughthe plumage of their wings may droop, they are white and dazzling so asno "fuller of earth could whiten them. " The moonlight of peace restsupon the battle field, where evil passions lie wounded and trampledunder feet. Strains of victorious music float in the air; but it comesfrom those who have triumphed in the conflict and entered into rest, those who behold the conflict from afar. It is so still, that one canalmost hear the trees of Paradise rustle in the ambrosial gales ofheaven. 

Is this poetry? Is it sacrilege? If so, forgive me, thou great Inspirerof thought, --"my spirit would fain not wander from thee. "

CHAPTER VI. 

The life of a school-girl presents but few salient points to arrest theinterest. It is true, every day had its history, and every rising andsetting sun found something added to the volume of my life. But thereseems so little to describe! I could go on for ever, giving utterance tothoughts that used to crowd in my young brain, thoughts that wouldstartle as well as amuse, --but I fear they might become monotonous tothe reader. 

I had become a hard student. My mother wished me to fit myself for ateacher. It was enough. 

It was not, however, without many struggles. I had acquired thissubmission to her wishes. Must I forever be a slave to hours? Must Iweave for others the chain whose daily restraint chafed and galled myfree, impatient spirit? Must I bear the awful burden of authority, thatunlovely appendage to youth? Must I voluntarily assume duties to whichthe task of the criminal that tramps, tramps day after day the revolvingtread-mill, seems light; for that is mere physical labor and monotony, not the wear and tear of mind, heart, and soul?

"What else can you do, my child?" asked my mother. 

"I could sew. "

My mother smiled and shook her head. 

"Your skill does not lie in handicraft, " she said, "that would neverdo. "

"I could toil as a servant. I would far rather do it. "

I had worked myself up to a belief in my own sincerity when I said this, but had any tongue but mine suggested the idea, how would my aspiringblood have burned with indignation. 

"It is the most honorable path to independence a friendless young girlcan choose, --almost the only one, " said my mother, suppressing a deepsigh. 

"Oh, mother! I am not friendless. How can I be, with you and Peggy?"

"But we are not immortal, my child. Every day loosens my frail hold ofearthly things, and even Peggy's strong arm will in time grow weak. Youryoung strength will then be _her_ stay and support. "

"Oh, mother! as if I could live when you are taken from me! What do Ilive for, but you? What have I on earth but thee? Other children havefather and mother, and brothers and sisters, and friends. If one istaken from them, they have others left to love and care for them, but Ihave nobody in the wide world but you. I could not, would not livewithout you. "

I spoke with passionate earnestness. Life without my mother! The verythought was death! I looked in her pale, beautiful face. It was morethan pale, --it was wan--it was sickly. There was a purplish shadow underher soft, dark eyes, which I had not observed before, and her figurelooked thin and drooping. I gazed into the sad, loving depths of hereyes, till mine were blinded with tears, when throwing my arms acrossher lap, I laid my face upon them, and wept and sobbed as if the doom ofthe motherless were already mine. 

"Grief does not kill, my Gabriella, " she said, tenderly caressing me. "It is astonishing how much the human heart can bear without breaking. Sorrow may dry up, drop by drop, the fountain of life, but it isgenerally the work of years. The heart lives, though every source of joybe dead, --lives without one well-spring of happiness to quench itsburning thirst, --lives in the midst of desolation, darkness, anddespair. Oh, my Gabriella, " she continued, with a burst of feeling thatswept over her with irresistible power, and bowed her as before a stormygust, "would to God that we might die together, --that the same almightymandate would free us both from this prison-house of sorrow and of sin. I have prayed for resignation, --I have prayed for faith; but, O my God!I am rebellious, I am weak, I have suffered and struggled so long. "

She spoke in a tone of physical as well as menial agony. I was lookingup in her face, and it seemed as if a dark shadow rolled over it. Isprang to my feet and screamed. Peggy, who was already on the threshold, caught her as she fell forward, and laid her on the bed as if she were alittle child. She was in a fainting fit. I had seen her before in thesedeathlike swoons, but never had I watched with such shuddering dread tosee the dawn of awakening life break upon her face. I stood at herpillow scarcely less pale and cold than herself. 

"This is all your doings, Miss Gabriella, " muttered Peggy, while busilyengaged in the task of restoration. "If you don't want to kill yourmother, you must keep out of your tantrums. What's the use of going onso, I wonder, --and what's the use of my watching her as carefully as ifshe was made of glass, when you come like a young hurricane and breakher into atoms. There, --go away and keep quiet. Let her be till she getsover this turn. I know exactly what's best for her. "

She spoke with authority, and I obeyed as if the voice of a superiorwere addressing me. I obeyed, --but not till I had seen the hue ofreturning life steal over the marble pallor of her cheek. I wanderedinto the garden, but the narrow paths, the precise formed beds, thehomely aspect of vegetable nature, filled me with a strange loathing. Ifelt suffocated, oppressed, --I jumped over the railing and plunged intothe woods, --the wild, ample woods, --my home, --my wealth, --my God-grantedinheritance. I sat down under the oaks, and fixed my eyes upwards on themighty dome that seemed resting on the strong forest trees. I heardnothing but the soft rustling of the leaves, --I saw nothing but thelonely magnificence of nature. 

Here I became calm. It seemed a matter of perfect indifference to methen what I did, or what became of me, --whether I was henceforth to be ateacher, a seamstress, or a servant. Every consideration was swallowedin one, --every fear lost in one absorbing dread. I had but oneprayer, --"Let my mother live, or let me die with her!"

Poverty offered no privation, toil no weariness, suffering no pang, compared to the one great evil which my imagination grasped with firmand desperate clench. 

Three years had passed since I had lain a weeping child under the shadowof the oaks, smarting from the lash of derision, burning with shame, shrinking with humiliation. I was now fifteen years old, --at that agewhen youth turns trembling from the dizzy verge of childhood to amother's guardian arms, a mother's sheltering heart. How weak, howpuerile now seemed the emotions, which three years ago had worn such amajestic semblance. 

I was but a foolish child then, --what was I now? A child still, butsomewhat wiser, not more worldly wise. I knew no more of the world, ofwhat is called the world, than I did of those golden cities seen throughthe cloud-vistas of sunset. It seemed as grand, as remote, and asinaccessible. 

At this moment I turned my gaze towards the distant cloud-turretsgleaming above, walls on which chariots and horsemen of fire seemedpassing and repassing, and I was conscious of but one deep, earnestthought, --"my mother!"

One prayer, sole and agonizing, trembled on my lips:--

"Take her not from me, O my God! I will drink the cup of poverty andhumiliation to the dregs if thou wilt, without a murmur, but spare, Ospare my mother!"

God did spare her for a little while. The dark hands on the dial-plateof destiny once moved back at the mighty breath of prayer. 

CHAPTER VII. 

"Gabriella, --is it you? How glad I am to see you!"

That clear, distinct, ringing voice!--I knew it well, though a year hadpassed since I had heard its sound. The three years which made me, as Isaid before, a _wiser child_, had matured my champion, the boy offifteen, into a youth of eighteen, a collegian of great promise andsignal endowments. I felt very sorry when he left the academy, for hehad been my steadfast friend and defender, and a great assistant in myscholastic tasks. But after he entered a college, I felt as if therewere a great gulf between us, never more to be passed over. I had verysuperb ideas of collegians. I had seen them during their holidays, whichthey frequently came into the country to spend, dashing through thestreets like the wild huntsmen, on horses that struck fire as they flewalong. I had seen them lounging in the streets, with long, wild hair, and corsair visages and Byronian collars, and imagined them a mostformidable race of beings. I did not know that these were the_scape-goats_ of their class, suspended for rebellion, or expelled forgreater offences, --that having lost their character as students, theywere resolved to distinguish themselves as dandies, the lowest ambitiona son of Adam's race can feel. It is true, I did not dream that RichardClyde could be transformed into their image, but I thought somemarvellous change must take place, which would henceforth render him asmuch a stranger to me as though we had never met. 

Now, when I heard the clear, glad accents of his voice, so natural, sounchanged, I looked up with a glance of delighted recognition into theyoung student's manly face. My first sensation was pleasure, thepleasure which congenial youth inspires, my next shame, for thehomeliness of my occupation. I was standing by a beautiful bubblingspring, at the foot of a little hill near my mother's cottage. Thewelling spring, the rock over which it gushed, the trees which benttheir branches over the fountain to guard it from the sunbeams, thesweet music the falling waters, --all these were romantic andpicturesque. I might imagine myself "a nymph, a naiad, or a grace. " Or, had I carried a pitcher in my hand, I might have thought myself anotherRebecca, and poised on my shoulder the not ungraceful burden. But I wasdipping water from the spring, in a tin pail, of a broad, clumsy, unclassic form, --too heavy for the shoulder, and extremely difficult tocarry in the hand, in consequence of the small, wiry handle. In myconfusion I dropped the pail, which went gaily floating to the oppositeside of the spring, entirely out of my reach. The strong, bubblingcurrent bore it upward, and it danced and sparkled and turned its sidesof mimic silver, first one way and then the other, as if rejoicing inits liberty. 

Richard laughed, his old merry laugh, and jumping on the rock over whichthe waters were leaping, caught the pail, and waved it as a trophy overhis head. Then stooping down he filled it to the brim, gave one springto the spot where I stood, whirled the bucket upside down and set itdown on the grass without spilling a drop. 

"That is too large and heavy for you to carry, Gabriella, " said he. "Look at the palm of your hand, there is quite a red groove there madeby that iron handle. "

"Never mind, " I answered, twisting my handkerchief carelessly round thetingling palm, "I must get used to it. Peggy is sick and there is no oneto carry water now but myself. When she is well, she will never let medo any thing of the kind. "

"You should not, " said he, decidedly. "You are not strong enough, --youmust get another servant. --I will inquire in the village myself thismorning, and send you one. "

"O no, my mother would never consent to a stranger coming into thefamily. Besides, no one could take Peggy's place. She is less a servantthan a friend. "

I turned away to hide the tears that I could not keep back. Peggy'sillness, though not of an alarming character, showed that even her ironconstitution was not exempt from the ills which flesh is heir to, --thatthe strong pillar on which we leaned so trustingly _could_ vibrate andshake, and what would become of us if it were prostrated to the earth;the lonely column of fidelity and truth, to which we clung soadhesively; the sheet anchor which had kept us from sinking beneath thewaves of adversity? I had scarcely realized Peggy's mortality before, she seemed so strong, so energetic, so untiring. I would as soon havethought of the sun's being weary in its mighty task as of Peggy's strongarm waxing weak. I felt very sad, and the meeting with Richard Clyde, which had excited a momentary joy, now deepened my sadness. He looked sobright, so prosperous, so full of hope and life. He was no longer theschool-boy whom I could meet on equal terms, but the student entered ona public career of honor and distinction, --the son of ambition, whosegaze was already fixed on the distant hill-tops of fame. There wasnothing in his countenance or manner that gave this impression, but myown morbid sensitiveness. The dawning feelings of womanhood made meblush for the plainness and childishness of my dress, and then I wasashamed of my shame, and blushed the more deeply. 

"I am glad to see you again, " I said, stooping to raise my brimmingpail, --"I suppose I must not call you Richard now. "

"Yes, indeed, I hope and trust none of my old friends will begin to Mr. Clyde me for a long time to come, and least, I mean most of all, you, Gabriella. We were always such exceedingly good friends, you know. Butdon't be in such a hurry, I have a thousand questions to ask, a thousandthings to tell. "

"I should love to hear them all, Richard, but I cannot keep my motherwaiting. "

Before I could get hold of the handle of the pail, he had seized it andwas swinging it along with as much ease as if he had a bunch of roses inhis hand. We ascended the little hill together, he talking all the time, in a spirited, joyous manner, laughing at his awkwardness as he stumbledagainst a rolling stone, wishing he was a school-boy again in the oldacademy, whose golden vane was once an object of such awe and admonitionin his eyes. 

"By the way, Gabriella, " he asked, changing from subject to subject withmarvellous rapidity, "do you ever write poetry now?"

"I have given that up, as one of the follies of my childhood, one of thedreams of my youth. "

"Really, you must be a very venerable person, --you talk of the youthfulfollies you have discarded, the dreams from which you have awakened, asif you were a real centenarian. I wonder if there are not some incipientwrinkles on your face. "

He looked at me earnestly, saucily; and I involuntarily put up my hands, as if to hide the traces of care his imagination was drawing. 

"I really do feel old sometimes, " said I, smiling at the mock scrutinyof his gaze, "and it is well I do. You know I am going to be a teacher, and youth will be my greatest objection. "

"No, no, I do not want you to be a teacher. You were not born for one. You will not be happy as one, --you are too impulsive, too sensitive, toopoetic in your temperament. You are the last person in the world whoought to think of such a vocation. "

"Would you advise me, then, to be a hewer of wood and a drawer of water, in preference?"

"I would advise you to continue your studies, to read, write poetry, ramble about the woods and commune with nature, as you so love to do, and not think of assuming the duties of a woman, while you are yetnothing but a child. Oh! it is the most melancholy thing in the world tome, to see a person trying to get beyond their years. You must not doit, Gabriella. I wish I could make you stop _thinking_ for one year. Ido not like to see a cheek as young as yours pale with overmuch thought. Do you know you are getting very like your mother?"

"My mother!" I exclaimed, with a glow of pleasure at the fanciedresemblance, "why, she is the most beautiful person I have yetseen, --there is, there can be no likeness. "

"But there is, though. You speak as if you thought yourself quite ugly. I wonder if you do. Ugly and old. Strange self-estimation for a prettygirl of fifteen!"

"I suppose you learn to flatter in college, " said I, "but I do not careabout being flattered, I assure you. "

"You are very much mistaken if you think I am trying to flatter you. Imay do so a year or two hence if I chance to meet you in company, buthere, in this rural solitude, with the very element of truth in my hand, I could not deceive, if I were the most accomplished courtier in theworld. "

We had reached the top of the green acclivity which we bad beenascending, I fear with somewhat tardy steps. We could see the roadthrough an opening in the trees, --a road little travelled, but leadingto the central street of the town. The unusual sound of carriage wheelsmade me turn my head in that direction, and a simultaneous exclamationof Richard's fixed my attention. 

A very elegant carriage, drawn by a pair of large shining bay horses wasrolling along with aristocratic slowness. The silver-plated harnessglittered so in the sun, it at first dazzled my eyes, so that I coulddiscern nothing distinctly. Then I saw the figures of two ladies seatedon the back seat in light, airy dresses, and of two gentlemen onhorseback, riding behind. I had but a glimpse of all this, for thecarriage rolled on. The riders disappeared; but, as a flash of lightningreveals to us glimpses of the cloud cities of heaven which we rememberlong after the electric gates are closed, so the vision remained on mymemory, and had I never again beheld the youthful form nearest to us, Ishould remember it still. It was that of a young girl, with very fairflaxen hair, curling in profuse ringlets on each side of her face, whichwas exquisitely fair, and lighted up with a soft rosiness like thedawning of morning. A blue scarf, of the color of her eyes, floated overher shoulders and fluttered from the window of the carriage. As I gazedon this bright apparition, Richard, to my astonishment, lifted his hatfrom his brow and bowed low to the smiling stranger, who returned thesalutation with graceful ease. The lady on the opposite side was hiddenby the fair-haired girl, and both were soon hidden by the thick branchesthat curtained the road. 

"The Linwoods!" said Richard, glancing merrily at the tin pail, whichshone so conspicuously bright in the sunshine. "You must have heard ofthem?"

"Never. "

"Not heard of the new-comers! Haven't you heard that Mrs. Linwood haspurchased the famous old Grandison Place, that has stood so long insolitary grandeur, had it fitted up in modern style, and takenpossession of it for a country residence? Is it possible that you aresuch a little nun, that you have heard nothing of this?"

"I go nowhere; no one comes to see us; I might as well be a nun. "

"But at school?"

"I have not been since last autumn. But that fair, beautiful young lady, is she a daughter of Mrs. Linwood?"

"She is, --Edith Linwood. Rather a romantic name, is it not? Do you thinkher beautiful?"

"The loveliest creature I ever looked upon. I should be quite miserableif I thought I never should look upon her again. And you know her, --shebowed to you. How sorry I am she should see you performing such anhumble office for a little rustic like me!"

"She will think none the worse of me for it. If she did, I shoulddespise her. But she is no heartless belle, --Edith Linwood is not. Sheis an angel of goodness and sweetness, if all they say of her be true. Ido not know her very well. She has a brother with whom I am slightlyacquainted, and through him I have been introduced into the family. Mrs. Linwood is a noble, excellent woman, --I wish you knew her. I wish youknew Edith, --I wish you knew them all. They would appreciate you. I amsure they would. "

"_I_ know them!" I exclaimed, glancing at our lowly cottage, my simpledress, and contrasting them mentally with the lordly dwelling and costlyapparel of these favorites of nature and of fortune. "They appreciate_me_!"

"I suppose you think Edith Linwood the most enviable of human beings. Rich, lovely, with the power of gratifying every wish, and of dispensingevery good, she would gladly exchange this moment with you, and dipwater from yon bubbling spring. "

"Impossible!" I cried. "How can she help being happy?"

"She does seem happy, but she is lame, and her health is very delicate. She cannot walk one step without crutches, on which she swings herselfalong very lightly and gracefully, it is true; but think you not shewould not give all her wealth to be able to walk with your boundingsteps, and have your elastic frame?"

"Crutches!" said I, sorrowfully, "why she looked as if she might havewings on her shoulders. It _is_ sad. "

"She is not an object of pity. You will not think she is when you knowher. I only wanted to convince you, that you might be an object of envyto one who seems so enviable to you. "

I would gladly have lingered where I was, within the sound of RichardClyde's frank and cheerful voice, but I thought of poor Peggy thirstingfor a cooling draught, and my conscience smote me for being a laggard inmy duty. It is true, the scene, which may seem long in description, passed in a very brief space of time, and though Richard said a goodmany things, he talked very fast, without seeming hurried either. 

"I shall see you again at the spring, " said he, as he turned from thegate. "You must consider me as the Aquarius of your domestic Zodiac. Ishould like to be my father's camel-driver, if that were Jacob's well. "

I could not help smiling at his gay nonsense, --his presence had been sobrightening, so comforting. I had gone down to the spring sad anddesponding. I returned with a countenance so lighted up, a color soheightened, that my mother looked at me with surprise. 

As soon as I had ministered to Peggy, who seemed mortified and ashamedbecause of her sickness, and distressed beyond measure at being waitedupon. I told my mother of my interview with Richard, of his kindness incarrying the water, the vision of the splendid carriage, of itsbeautiful occupants, the fitting up of the old Grandison Place, and allthat Richard had related to me. 

She listened with a troubled countenance. "Surely, young Clyde will notbe so inconsiderate, so officious, as to induce those ladies to visitus?"

"No, indeed, mother. He is not officious. He knows you would not like tosee them. He would not think of such a thing. "

"No, no, " I repeated to myself, as I exerted myself bravely in my newoffices, as nurse and housekeeper, "there is no danger of that faircreature seeking out this little obscure spot. She will probably askRichard Clyde who the little country girl was, whose water-pail he wasso gallantly carrying, and I know he will speak kindly of me, though hewill laugh at being caught in such an awkward predicament. Perhaps toamuse her, he will tell her of my flight from the academy and the sceneswhich resulted, and she will ask him to show her the poem, rendered soimmortal. Then merrily will her silver laughter ring through the loftyhall. I have wandered all over Grandison Place when it was a desertedmansion. No one saw me, for it is far back from the street, allembosomed in shade, and it reminded me of some old castle with itsturreted roof and winding galleries. I wonder how it looks now. " I wasfalling into one of my old-fashioned dreams, when a moan from Peggywakened me, and I sprang to her bedside with renewed alarm. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Yes, Peggy was very sick; but she would not acknowledge it. It wasnothing but a violent headache, --a sudden cold; she would be up anddoing in the morning. The doctor! No, indeed, she would have nothing todo with doctors. She had never taken a dose of medicine in her life, andnever would, of her own freewill. Sage tea was worth all the pills andnostrums in the world. On the faith of her repeated assertions, that shefelt a great deal better and would be quite well in the morning, weslept, my mother and myself, leaving the lamp dimly burning by thesolemn hour-glass. 

About midnight we were awakened by the wild ravings of deliriousagony, --those sounds so fearful in themselves, so awful in the silenceand darkness of night, so indescribably awful in the solitude of ourlonely dwelling. 

Peggy had struggled with disease like "the strong man prepared to run arace, " but it had now seized her with giant grasp, and she lay helplessand writhing, with the fiery fluid burning in her veins, sending dark, red flashes to her cheeks and brow. Her eyes had a fierce, lurid glare, and she tossed her head from side to side on the pillow with the wildrestlessness of an imprisoned animal. 

"Good God!" cried my mother, looking as white as the sheets, andtrembling all over as in an ague-fit. "What shall we do? She will dieunless a doctor can see her. Oh, my child, what can we do? It isdreadful to be alone in the woods, when sickness and death are in thehouse. "

"_I_ will go for the doctor, mother, if you are not afraid to stay alonewith Peggy, " cried I, in hurried accents, wrapping a shawl round me as Ispoke. 

My mother wrung her hands. 

"Oh! this is terrible, " she exclaimed. "How dim and dark it looksabroad. I cannot let you go alone, at midnight. It cannot be less than amile to Dr. Harlowe's. No, no; I cannot let you go. "

"And Peggy must die, then. _She_ must die who has served us sofaithfully, and lived alone for us! Oh, mother, let me go I will fly onthe wings of the wind. You will hardly miss me before I return. I am notafraid of the darkness. I am not afraid of the lonely woods. I only fearleaving you alone with her. "

"Go, " said my mother, in a faint voice. "God will protect you. I feelthat He will, my good, brave Gabriella. "

I kissed her white cheek with passionate tenderness, cast a glance ofanguish on Peggy's fearfully altered face, then ran out into the chill, dark midnight. At first I could scarcely discern the sandy path I had sooften trodden, for no moon lighted up the gloom of the hour, and eventhe stars glimmered faintly through a grey and cloudy atmosphere. As Ihurried along, the wind came sighing through the trees with suchinexpressible sadness, it seemed whispering mournfully of the darksecrets of nature. Then it deepened into a dull, roaring sound, like themurmurs of the ocean tide; but even as I went on the melancholy windpursued me like an invisible spirit, winding around me its chill, embracing arms. 

I seemed the only living thing in the cold, illimitable night. A thickhorror brooded over me. The sky was a mighty pall, sweeping down withheavy cloud-fringes, the earth a wide grave. I did not fear, that is, Ifeared not man, or beast or ghost, but an unspeakable awe and dread wasupon me. I dreaded the great God, whose presence filled withinsupportable grandeur the lonely night. My heart was hard as granite. _I_ could not have prayed, had I known that Peggy's life would be givenin answer to my prayer. I could not say, "Our Father, who art inheaven, " as I had so often done at my mother's knee, in the sweet, childlike spirit of filial love and submission. My Father's face washidden, and behind the thick clouds of darkness I saw a stern, vindictive Being, to whom the smoke of human suffering was moreacceptable than frankincense and myrrh. 

I compared myself wandering alone in darkness and sorrow, on such anawful errand, to the fair, smiling being cradled in wealth, thendoubtless sleeping in her bed of down, watched by attending menials. Oh!rebel that I was, did I not need the chastening discipline, neverexerted but in wisdom and in love?

Before I knew it, I was at Dr. Harlowe's door. All was dark and still. The house was of brick, and it loomed up gloriously as I approached. Itseemed to frown repulsively with its beetling eaves, as I lifted theknocker and let it fall with startling force. In a moment I heardfootsteps moving and saw a light glimmering through the blinds. He wasat home, then, --I had accomplished my mission. It was no matter if Idied, since Peggy might be saved. I really thought I was going to die, Ifelt so dull and faint and breathless. I sunk down on the stone steps, just as the door was opened by Dr. Harlowe himself, whom I had seen, butnever addressed before. Placing his left hand above his eyes, he lookedout, in search of the messenger who had roused him from his slumber. Itried to rise, but was too much exhausted. I could scarcely make myerrand understood. I had run a mile without stopping, and now I _had_stopped, my limbs seemed turned into lead and my head to ice. 

"My poor child!" said the doctor, in the kindest manner imaginable. "Youshould not have come yourself at this hour. It was hardly safe. Why, --you have run yourself completely out of breath. Come in, whilethey are putting my horse in the buggy. I must give _you_ some medicinebefore we start. "

He stooped down and almost lifted me from the step where I was seated, and led me into what appeared to me quite a sumptuous apartment, beinghandsomely carpeted and having long crimson curtains to the windows. Hemade me sit down on a sofa, while he went to a closet, and pouring out agenerous glass of wine, insisted upon my drinking it. I obeyed himmechanically, for life seemed glowing in the ruddy fluid. It was. Itcame back in warmth to my chilled and sinking heart. I felt it stealinglike a gentle fire through my whole system, --burning gently, steadily onmy cheek, and kindling into light my heavy and tear-dimmed eyes. It wasthe first glass I had ever tasted, and it ran like electricity throughmy veins. Had the doctor been aware of my previous abstinence, he mightnot have thought it safe to have offered me the brimming glass. Had Ireflected one moment I should have swallowed it less eagerly; but Iseemed sinking, sinking into annihilation, when its reviving warmthrestored me. I felt as if I had wings, and could fly over the drearyspace my weary feet had so lately overcome. 

"You feel better, my dear, " said the doctor, with a benevolent smile, ashe watched the effect of his prescription. "You must not make sodangerous an experiment again as running such a distance at this time ofnight. Peggy's life is very precious, I dare say, and so is yours. Areyou ready to ride? My buggy is not very large, but I think it willaccommodate us both. We will see. "

Though it was the first time I had ever spoken with Dr. Harlowe, I feltas much confidence in his kindness and benevolence as if I had known himfor years. There was something so frank and genial about him, he seemed, like the wine I had been quaffing, warming to the heart. There wasbarely room for me, slender as I was, for the carriage was constructedfor the accommodation of the doctor alone; but I did not feelembarrassed, or as if I were intruding. He drove very rapidly, conversing the whole time in a pleasant, cheering voice. 

"Peggy must be a very valuable person, " he said, "for you to venture outso bravely in her cause. We must cure her, by all means. "

I expatiated on her virtues with all the eloquence of gratitude. Something must have emboldened my shy tongue, --something more than thehope, born of the doctor's heart-reviving words. 

"He is come--he is come, " I exclaimed, springing from the buggy to thethreshold, with the quickness of lightning. 

Oh! how dim and sickly and sad every thing appeared in that littlechamber! I turned and looked at the doctor, wondering if he had everentered one so sad before. Peggy lay in an uneasy slumber, her armsthrown above her head, in a wild, uncomfortable attitude. My mother satleaning against the head of the bed, pale and statue-like, with herhand, white as marble, partly hidden in her dark and loosely braidedhair. The doctor glanced at the bed, then at my mother, and his glanceriveted on her. Surprise warmed into admiration, --admiration stoodchecked by reverence. He advanced a few steps into the room, and madeher as lowly a bow as if she were an empress. She rose without speakingand motioned me to hand him a chair; but waiving the offered civility, he went up to the side of the bed and laid his fingers quietly on thepulse of his patient. He stood gravely counting the ticking of life'sgreat chronometer, while my mother leaned forward with pale, partedlips, and I gazed upon him as if the issues of life and death were inhis hands. 

"I wish I had been called sooner, " said he, with a slight contraction ofthe brows, "but we will do all we can to relieve her. "

He called for a basin and linen bandage, and taking a lancet from hispocket, held up the sharp, gleaming point to the light. I shuddered, Ihad never seen any one bled, and it seemed to me an awful operation. 

"You will hold the basin, " said he, directing me with his calm, benignant eye. "You are a brave girl, --you will not shrink, as somefoolish persons do, at the sight of blood. This side, if you please, mydear. "

Ashamed to forfeit the confidence he had in my bravery, or rather moralcourage, I grasped the basin with both hands, and held it firm, thoughmy lips quivered and my cheek blanched. 

Peggy, awakened by the pressure of the bandage, began to rave andstruggle, and I feared it would be impossible to subdue her intosufficient quietness; but delirious as she was, there was something inthe calm, authoritative tones of Dr. Harlowe's voice, that seemedirresistible. She became still, and lay with her half-closed eyes fixedmagnetically on his face. As the dark-red blood spouted into the basin, I started, and would have recoiled had not a strong controllinginfluence been exerted over me. The gates of life were opened. How easyfor life itself to pass away in that deep crimson tide!

"This is the poetry of our profession, " said the doctor, binding up thewound with all a woman's gentleness. 

Poor Peggy, who could ever associate the idea of poetry with her! Icould not help smiling as I looked at her sturdy arm, through whoseopaque surface the blue wandering of the veins was vainly sought. 

"And now, " said he, after giving her a comforting draught, "she willsleep, and _you_ must sleep, madam, " turning respectfully to my mother;"you have not strength enough to resist fatigue, --your daughter willhave two to nurse instead of one, if you do not follow my advice. "

"I cannot sleep, " replied my mother. 

"But you can rest, madam; it is your duty. What did I come here for, butto relieve your cares? Go with your mother, my dear, and after a whileyou may come back and help me. "

"You are very kind, sir, " she answered. With a graceful bend of the headshe passed from the room, while his eyes followed her with an expressionof intense interest. 

It is no wonder. Even I, accustomed as I was to watch her every motion, was struck by the exceeding grace of her manner. She did not ask thedoctor what he thought of Peggy, though I saw the words trembling on herlips. She dared not do it. 

From that night the seclusion of our cottage home was broken up. Diseasehad entered and swept down the barriers of circumstance curiosity had solong respected. We felt the drawings of that golden chain of sympathywhich binds together the great family of mankind. 

Peggy's disease was a fever, of a peculiar and malignant character. Itwas the first case which occurred; but it spread through the town, sothat scarcely a family was exempt from its ravages. Several died after afew days' sickness, and it was said purplish spots appeared after death, making ghostly contrast with its livid pallor. The alarm and terror ofthe community rendered it difficult to obtain nurses for the sick; but, thanks to the benevolent exertions of Dr. Harlowe, we were never leftalone. 

Richard Clyde, too, came every day, and sometimes two or three times aday to the spring, to know what he could do for us. No brother could bekinder. Ah! how brightly, how vividly deeds of kindness stand out on thedark background of sickness and sorrow! I never, never can forget thatera of my existence, when the destroying angel seemed winnowing thevalley with his terrible wings, --when human life was blown away as chaffbefore a strong wind. Strange! the sky was as blue and benignant, theair as soft and serene, as if health and joy were revelling in thegreen-wood shade. The gentle rustling of the foliage, the sweet, gladwarbling of the birds, the silver sparkling of the streamlets, and thecalm, deep flowing of the distant river, all seemed in strangediscordance with the throes of agony, the wail of sorrow, and the knellof death. 

It was the first time I had ever been brought face to face with sicknessand pain. The constitutional fainting fits of my mother were indicativeof weakness, and caused momentary terror; but how different to thismysterious, terrible malady, this direct visitation from the Almighty!Here we could trace no second causes, no imprudence in diet, no exposureto the night air, no predisposing influences. It came sudden andpowerful as the bolt of heaven. It came in sunshine and beauty, withoutherald and warning, whispering in deep, thrilling accents: "Be still, and know that I am God. "

CHAPTER IX. 

I do not wish to dwell too long on this sad page of my young life, butsad as it is, it is followed by another so dark, I know not whether mytrembling hand should attempt to unfold it. Indeed, I fear I havecommenced a task I had better have left alone. I know, however, I havescenes to relate full of the wildest romance, and that though what Ihave written may be childish and commonplace, I have that to relatewhich will interest, if the development of life's deepest passions havepower to do so. 

The history of a human heart! a true history of that mystery ofmysteries! a description of that city of our God, more magnificent thanthe streets of the New Jerusalem! This is what I have commenced towrite. I will go on. 

For nine days Peggy wrestled with the destroying angel. During thattime, nineteen funerals had darkened the winding avenue which led to thegrave-yard, and she who was first attacked lingered last. It wasastonishing how my mother sustained herself during these days and nightsof intense anxiety. She seemed unconscious of fatigue, passive, enduringas the marble statue she resembled. She ate nothing, --she did not sleep. I know not what supported her. Dr. Harlowe brought her some of thatgenerous wine which had infused such life into my young veins, andforced her to swallow it, but it never brought any color to her huelesscheeks. 

On the morning of the ninth day, Peggy sunk into a deathlike stupor. Hermind had wandered during all her sickness, though most of the time shelay in a deep lethargy, from which nothing could rouse her. 

"Go down to the spring and breathe the fresh air, " said the doctor;"there should be perfect quiet here, --a few hours will decide her fate. "

I went down to the spring, where the twilight shades were gathering. Theair came with balmy freshness to my anxious, feverish brow. I scooped upthe cold water in the hollow of my hand and bathed my face. I shook myhair over my shoulders, and dashed the water over every disorderedtress. I began to breathe more freely. The burning weight, theoppression, the suffocation were passing away, but a dreary sense ofmisery, of coming desolation remained. I sat down on the long grass, andleaning my head on my clasped hands, watched the drops as they fell frommy dropping hair on the mossy rock below. 

"Is it not too damp for you here?"

I knew Richard Clyde was by me, --I heard his light footsteps on thesward, but I did not look up. 

"It is not as damp as the grave will be, " I answered. 

"Don't talk so, Gabriella, don't. I cannot bear to hear you. This willbe all over soon, and it will be to you like a dark and troubled dream. "

"Yes; I know it will be all over soon. We shall all lie in thechurchyard together, --Peggy, my mother, and I, --and you will plant awhite rose over my mother's grave, will you not? Not over mine. Noflowers have bloomed for me in life, --it would be nothing to place themover my sleeping dust. "

"Gabriella! You are excited, --you are ill. Give me your hand. I know youhave a feverish pulse. "

I laid my hand on his, with an involuntary motion. Though it was moistwith the drops that had been oozing over it, it had a burning heat. Hestartled at its touch. 

"You are ill, --you are feverish!" he cried. "The close air of thatlittle room has been killing you. I knew it would. You should have goneto Mrs. Linwood's, you and your mother, when she sent for you. Peggywould have been abundantly cared for. "

"What, leave her here to die!--her, so good, so faithful, andaffectionate, who would have died a thousand times over for us. OhRichard, how can you speak of such a thing! Peggy is dying now, --I knowthat she is. I never looked on death, but I saw its shadow on her lividface. Why did Dr. Harlowe send me away? I am not afraid to see her die. Hark! my mother calls me. "

I started up, but my head was dizzy, and I should have fallen had notRichard put his arm around me. 

"Poor girl, " said he, "I wish I had a sister to be with and comfort you. These are dark hours for us all, for we feel the pressure of GodAlmighty's hand. I do not wonder that you are crushed. You, so young andtender. But bear up, Gabriella. The day-spring will yet dawn, and theshadows fly away. "

So he kept talking, soothingly, kindly, keeping me out in the balminessand freshness of the evening, while the fever atmosphere burned within. I knew not how long I sat. I knew not when I returned to the house. Ihave forgotten that. But I remember standing that night over a still, immovable form, on whose pale, peaceful brow, those purplish spots, ofwhich I had heard in awful whispers, were distinctly visible. Thetossing arms were crossed reposingly over the pulseless bosom, --therestless limbs were rigid as stone. I remember seeing my mother, whomthey tried to lead into another chamber, --my mother, usually so calm andplacid, --throw herself wildly on that humble, fever-blasted form, andcling to it in an agony of despair. It was only by the exertion of mainforce that she was separated from it and carried to her own apartment. There she fell into one of those deadly fainting fits, from which thefaithful, affectionate Peggy had so often brought her back to life. 

Never shall I forget that awful night. The cold presence of mortality inits most appalling form, the shadow of my mother's doom that was rollingheavily down upon me with prophetic darkness, the dismal preparations, the hurrying steps echoing so drearily through the midnight gloom; thecold burden of life, the mystery of death, the omnipotence of God, theunfathomableness of Eternity, --all pressed upon me with such a crushingweight, my spirit gasped and fainted beneath the burden. 

One moment it seemed that worlds would not tempt me to look again onthat shrouded form, so majestic in its dread immobility, --its cold, icycalmness, --then drawn by an awful fascination, I would gaze and gaze asif my straining eyes could penetrate the depths of that abyss, which nosounding line has ever reached. 

I saw her laid in her lowly grave. My mother, too, was there. Dr. Harlowe did every thing but command her to remain at home, but she wouldnot stay behind. 

"I would follow her to her last home, " said she, "if I had to walkbarefoot over a path of thorns. "

Only one sun rose on her unburied form, --its setting rays fell on amound of freshly heaved sods, where a little while before was a mournfulcavity. 

Mrs. Linwood sent her beautiful carriage to take us to the churchyard. Slowly it rolled along behind the shadow of the dark, flapping pall. Very few beside ourselves were present, so great a panic pervaded thecommunity; and very humble was the position Peggy occupied in the world. People wondered at the greatness of our grief, for she was _only_ aservant. They did not know all that she was to us, --how could they? EvenI dreamed not then of the magnitude of our obligations. 

I never shall forget the countenance of my mother as she sat leaningfrom the carriage windows, for she was too feeble to stand during theburial, while I stood with Dr. Harlowe at the head of the grave. The sunwas just sinking behind the blue undulation of the distant hills, and amellow, golden lustre calmly settled on the level plain around us. Itlighted up her pallid features with a kind of unearthly glow, similar tothat which rested on the marble monuments gleaming through the weepingwillows. Every thing looked as serene and lovely, as green andrejoicing, as if there were no such things as sickness and death in theworld. 

My mother's eyes wandered slowly over the whole inclosure, shut in bythe plain white railing, edged with black, --gleamed on every gray stone, white slab, and green hillock, --rested a moment on me, then turnedtowards heaven, with such an expression!

"Not yet, my mother, oh, not yet!" I cried aloud in an agony that couldnot be repressed, clinging to Dr. Harlowe's arm as if every earthly stayand friend were sliding from my grasp. I knew the meaning of that mute, expressive glance. She was measuring her own grave by the side ofPeggy's clay cold bed, --she was commending her desolate orphan to theFather of the fatherless, the God of the widow. She knew she would soonbe there, and I knew it too. And after the first sharp pang, --after thearrow of conviction fastened in my heart, --I pressed it there with akind of stern, vindictive joy, triumphing in my capacity of suffering. Iwonder if any one ever felt as I did, --I wonder if any worm of the dustever writhed so impotently under the foot of Almighty God!

O kind and compassionate Father! Now I know thou art kind even in thychastisements, merciful even in thy judgments, by the bitter chalice Ihave drained, by all the waves and billows that have gone over me, byanguish, humiliation, repentance, and prayer. Forgive, forgive! for Iknew not what I was doing!

From that night my mother never left her bed. The fever spared her, butshe wilted like the grass beneath the scythe of the mower. Gone was theunnatural excitement which had sustained her the last nine days; severedthe silver cord so long dimmed by secret tears. 

Thank heaven! I was not doomed to see her tortured by pain, or raving indelirious agony, --to see those exquisite features distorted byfrenzy, --or to hear that low, sweet voice untuned, the key-note ofreason lost. 

Thank heaven! even death laid its hand gently on one so gentle and solovely. 

CHAPTER X. 

I said, death laid its hand gently on one so gentle and so lovely. Weekafter week she lingered, almost imperceptibly fading, passing away likea soft rolling cloud that melts into the sky. The pestilence had stayedits ravages. The terror, the thick gloom had passed by. 

If I looked abroad at sunset, I could see the windows of the villagemansions, crimsoned and glowing with the last flames of day; but nolight was reflected on our darkened home. It was all in shadow. And atnight, when the windows of Grandison Place were all illuminated, glittering off by itself like a great lantern, the traveller couldscarcely have caught the glimmering ray of the little lamp dimly burningin our curtained room. 

Do you think I was resigned? That because I was dumb, I lay like a lambbefore the stroke of the shearer? I will tell you how resigned, howsubmissive I was. I have read of the tortures of the Inquisition. I haveread of one who was chained on his back to the dungeon floor, withoutthe power to move one muscle, --hand and foot, body and limb bound. As helay thus prone, looking up, ever upwards, he saw a circular knife, slowly descending, swinging like a pendulum, swinging nearer and nearer;and he knew that every breath he drew it came nearer and nearer, andthat he _must_ feel anon the cold, sharp edge. Yet he lay still, immovable, frozen, waiting, with his glazed eyes fixed on the terribleweapon. Such was _my_ resignation--_my_ submission. 

Friends gathered around the desolate; but they could not avert thedescending stroke. Mrs. Linwood came, with her angelic looking daughter, and their presence lighted up, momentarily, our saddened dwelling, as ifthey had been messengers from heaven, --they were so kind, sosympathizing, so unobtrusive. When Edith first crossed our threshold, she did indeed look like one of those ministering spirits, sent to watchover those who shall be heirs of salvation. She seemed to float forward, light and airy as the down wafted by the summer gale. Her crutches, theends of which were wrapped with something soft and velvety, so as tomuffle their sound, rather added than detracted from the interest andgrace of her appearance, so gracefully they sustained her fair, white-robed form, just lifting it above the earth. 

A little while before, I should have shrunk with nervous diffidence fromthe approach of guests like these. I should have contrasted painfullythe splendor of their position with the lowliness of our own, --but now, what were wealth or rank or earthly distinctions to me?

I was sitting by my mother's bed, fanning her slumbers, as they entered. Mrs. Linwood walked noiselessly forward, took the fan gently from myhand, and motioned me to resign my seat to her. I did so mechanically, for it seemed she had a right to be there. Then Edith took me by thehand and looked in my face with an expression of such sweet, unaffectedsympathy, I turned aside to hide the quick-gushing tears. Not a word wasuttered, yet I knew they came to soothe and comfort. 

When my mother opened her eyes and saw the face of a stranger bendingover her, she started and trembled; but there was something in the mild, Christian countenance of Mrs. Linwood that disarmed her fears, andinspired confidence. The pride which had hitherto repelled the advancesof friendship, was all chastened and subdued. Death, the great leveller, had entered the house, and the mountains of human distinction floweddown at his presence. 

"I am come to nurse you, " said Mrs. Linwood, taking my mother's pale, emaciated hand and pressing it in both her own. "Do not look upon me asa stranger, but as a friend--a sister. You will let me stay, will younot?"

She seemed soliciting a favor, not conferring one. 

"Thank you, --bless you!" answered my mother, her large dark eyes fixedwith thrilling intensity on her face. Then she added, in a lower voice, glancing towards me, "_she_ will not be left friendless, then. You willremember _her_ when I am gone. "

"Kindly, tenderly, even with a mother's care, " replied Mrs. Linwood, tears suffusing her mild eyes, and testifying the sincerity of herwords. 

My mother laid Mrs. Linwood's hand on her heart, whose languid beatingscarcely stirred the linen that covered it; then looking up to heaven, her lips moved in silent prayer. A smile, faint but beautiful, passedover her features, and left its sweetness on her face. From that hour tothe death-hour Mrs. Linwood did minister to her, as a loving sisterwould have done. Edith often accompanied her mother and tried to comfortme, but I was then inaccessible to comfort, as I was deaf to hope. Whenshe stayed away, I missed the soft floating of her airy figure, thepitying glance of her heavenly blue eye; but when she came, I said tomyself, "_Her_ mother is not dying. How can she sympathize with me? She is thefavorite of Him who is crushing me beneath the iron hand of His wrath. "

Thus impious were my thoughts, but no one read them on my pale, droopingbrow. Mrs. Linwood praised my filial devotion, my fortitude and heroism. Dr. Harlowe had told her how I had braved the terrors of midnightsolitude through the lonely woods, to bring him to a servant's bedside. Richard Clyde had interested her in my behalf. She told me I had manyfriends for one so young and so retiring. Oh! she little knew how coldlyfell the words of praise on the dull ear of despair. I smiled at thethought of needing kindness and protection when _she_ was gone. As if itwere possible for me to survive my mother!

Had she not herself told me that grief did not kill? But I believed hernot. 

Do you ask if I felt no curiosity then, about the mystery of myparentage? I had been looking forward to the time when I should bedeemed old enough to know my mother's history of which my imaginationhad woven such a web of mystery and romance, --when I should hearsomething of that father whose memory was curtained by such animpenetrable veil. But now it mattered not. Had I known that the bloodof kings was in my veins, it would not have wakened one throb ofambition, kindled one ray of joy. I cared not for my lineage or kindred. I would not have disturbed the serenity that seemed settling on mymother's departing spirit, by one question relative to her past life, for the wealth of the Indies. 

She gave to Mrs. Linwood a manuscript which she had written while I wasat school, and which was to have been committed to Peggy's care;--forsurely Peggy, the strong, the robust, unwearied Peggy, would surviveher, the frail, delicate, and stricken one!

She told me this the night before she died, when at her own request Iwas left alone with her. I knew it was for the last time, but I had beenlooking forward steadily to this hour, --looking as I said before, as theiron-bound prisoner to the revolving knife, and like him I was outwardlycalm. I knelt beside her and looked on her shadowy form, her white, transparent skin, her dark, still lustrous, though sunken eyes, till itseemed that her spirit, almost disembodied, mingled mysteriously withmine, in earnest of a divine communion. 

"I thank God, my Gabriella, " she said, laying her hand blessingly on mybowed head, "that you submit to His holy will, in a spirit of childlikesubmission. I thank Him for raising up such a friend as Mrs. Linwood, when friend and comforter seemed taken from us. Love her, confide inher, be grateful to her, my child. Be grateful to God for sending her tosoothe my dying hours with promises of protection and love for you, mydarling, my child, my poor orphan Gabriella. "

"Oh mother, " I cried, "I do not submit, --I cannot, --I cannot! Dreadfulthoughts are in my heart--oh, my mother, God is very terrible. Leave menot alone to meet his awful judgments. Put your arms round me, mymother, and let me lie close to your bosom, I will not hurt you, I willlie so gently there. Death cannot separate us, when we cling so closetogether. Leave me not alone in the world, so cold, so dark, sodreary, --oh, leave me not alone!" Thus I clung to her, in theabandonment of despair, while words rushed unhidden from my lips. 

"Oh, my Gabriella, my child, my poor smitten lamb!" she cried, and Ifelt her heart fluttering against mine like a dying bird. "Sorrow hasbereft you of reason, --you know not what you say. Gabriella, it is anawful thing to resist the Almighty God. Submission is the heritage ofdust and ashes. _I_ have been proud and rebellious, smarting under asense of unmerited chastisement and wrong. Because man was false, Ithought God unjust, --but now, on this dying bed, the illusion of passionis dispelled, and I see Him as He is, longsuffering, compassionate, andindulgent, in all his loving-kindness and tender mercy, strong todeliver and mighty to save. I feel that I have needed all the disciplineof sorrow through which I have passed, to bring my proud and troubledsoul, a sin-sick, life weary wanderer, to my Father's footstool. Whatmatters now, my Gabriella, that I have trod a thorny path, if it lead toheaven at last? How short the journey, --how long the rest! Oh, belovedchild, bow to the hand that smites thee, for the stubborn will _must_ bebroken. Wait not, like me, till it be ground into dust. "

She paused breathless and exhausted, but I answered not. Low sobs camegaspingly from my bosom, on which a mountain of ice seemed freezing. 

"If we could die together, " she continued, with increasing solemnity, "if I could bear you in these feeble arms to the mercy-seat of God, andknow you were safe from temptation, and sorrow, and sin, the bitternessof death would be passed. It is a fearful thing to live, my child, farmore fearful than to die, --but life is the trial of faith, and death thevictory. "

"And now, " she added, "before my spirit wings its upward flight, receivemy dying injunction. If you live to years of womanhood, and your heartawakens to love, --as, alas, for woman's destiny it will, --then read mylife and sad experience, and be warned by my example. Mrs. Linwood isintrusted with the manuscript, blotted with your mother's tears. Oh, Gabriella, by all your love and reverence for the memory of thedead, --by the scarlet dye that can be made white as wool, --by your ownhope in a Saviour's mercy, forgive the living, --if living _he_ indeedbe!"

Her eyes closed as she uttered these words, and a purplish gloomgathered beneath her eyes. The doctor came in and administered ether, which partially revived her. I have never been able to inhale it since, without feeling sick and faint, and recalling the deadly odor of thatchamber of mourning. 

About daybreak, I heard Dr. Harlowe say in the lowest whisper to Mrs. Linwood that _she_ could not live more than one hour. He turned thehour-glass as he spoke. She had collected all the energies of life inthat parting interview, --nothing remained but a faint, fluttering, quick-drawn breath. 

I sat looking at the hour-glass, counting every gliding sand, till eachlittle, almost invisible particle, instead of dropping into the crystalreceptacle, seemed to fall on my naked heart like the mountain rock. Omy God! there are only two or three sands left, and my mother's lifehangs on the last sinking grain. Some one rises with noiseless steps toturn the glass. 

With a shriek that might have arrested the departing spirit, I sprangforward and fell senseless on the floor. 

I remember nothing that passed during the day. I was told afterwards, that when I recovered from the fainting fit, the doctor, apprehensive ofspasms, gave me a powerful anodyne to quiet my tortured nerves. When Ibecame conscious of what was passing around me, the moon was shining onthe bed where I lay, and the shadow of the softly rustling leavesquivering on the counterpane. I was alone, but I heard low, murmuringvoices in the next room, and there was a light there more dim andearthly than the pale splendor that enveloped me. I leaned forward on myelbow and looked beyond the open door. The plain white curtains of thebed were looped up on each side, and the festoons swayed heavily in thenight air, which made the flame of the lamp dim and wavering. A formreclined on the bed, but the face was _all covered_, though it was amidsummer's night. As I looked, I remembered all, and I rose and glidedthrough the moonlight to the spot where my mother slept. Sustained byunnatural excitement, I seemed borne on air, and as much separated fromthe body as the spirit so lately divorced from that unbreathing clay; itwas the effect of the opiate I had taken, but the pale watchers in thedeath-chamber shuddered at my unearthly appearance. 

"Let there be no light here but light from heaven, " said I, extinguishing the fitful lamp-flame; and the room was immediatelyilluminated with a white, ghostly lustre. Then kneeling by the bed, Ifolded back the linen sheet, gazed with folded hands, and dry, dilatedeyes on the mystery of death. The moon, "that sun of the sleepless, "that star of the mourner, shone full on her brow, and I smiled to seehow divinely fair, how placid, how angelic she looked. Her dark, shininghair, the long dark lashes that pencilled her white cheek, aloneprevented her from seeming a statue of the purest marble, fashionedafter some Grecian model. Beauty and youth had come back to her reposingfeatures, and peace and rapture too. A smile, such as no living lipsever wore, lingered round her mouth and softened its mute expression. She was happy. God had given his beloved rest. She was happy. It was notdeath on which I was gazing; it was life, --the dawn of immortal, ofeternal life. Angels were watching around her. I did not see them, but Ifelt the shadow of their snow-white wings. I felt them fanning my browand softly lifting the locks that fell darkly against the sheet, sochilly white. Others might have thought it the wind sighing through theleafy lattice-work; but the presence of angels was real to me, --and whocan say they were not hovering there?

That scene is past, but its remembrance is undying. The little cottageis inhabited by strangers. The grass grows rank near the brink of thefountain, and the mossy stone once moistened by my tears has rolled downand choked its gushing. My mother sleeps by the side of the faithfulPeggy, beneath a willow that weeps over a broken shaft, --fittingmonument for a broken heart. 

I will not dwell on the desolation of orphanage. It cannot be described. My Maker only knows the bitterness of my grief for days, weeks, evenmonths. But time gradually warms the cold clay over the grave of love;then the grass springs up, and the flowers bloom, and the waste placesof life become beautiful with hope, and the wilderness blossoms like therose. 

But oh, my mother! my gentle, longsuffering mother! thou hast never beenforgotten. By day and by night, in sunshine and shadow, in joy and insorrow, thou art with me, a holy spirit, a hallowed memory, a chasteninginfluence, that passeth not away. 

CHAPTER XI. 

What a change, from the little gray cottage in the woods to the pillaredwalls of Grandison Place. 

This ancestral looking mansion was situated on the brow of a long, winding hill, which commanded a view of the loveliest valley in theworld. A bold, sweeping outline of distant hills, here and thereswelling into mountains, and crowned with a deeper, mistier blue, divided the rich green of the earth from the azure of the heavens. Faras the eye could reach, it beheld the wildest luxuriance of naturerefined and subdued by the hand of cultivation and taste. Man hadreverenced the grandeur of the Creator, and made the ploughshare turnaside from the noble shade-tree, and left the streams rejoicing in theirmargins of verdure; and far off, far away beneath the shadow of themisty blue hills, --of a paler, more leaden hue, --the waters of the greatsea seemed ready to roll down on the vale, that lay smiling before it. 

Built of native granite, with high massive walls and low turreted roof, Grandison Place rose above the surrounding buildings in castellatedmajesty. It stood in the centre of a spacious lawn, zoned by a girdle ofoaks, beneath whose dense shade the dew sparkled even at noonday. Withinthis zone was a hedge of cedar, so smooth, with twigs so thicklyinterwoven, that the gossamer thought it a framework, on which tostretch its transparent web in the morning sun. Near the house the lawnwas margined with beds of the rarest and most beautiful flowers, queenroses, and all the fragrant populace of the floral world. But thegrandest and most beautiful feature of all was a magnificent elm-tree, standing right in the centre of the green inclosure, toweling upward, sweeping downward, spreading on either side its lordly branches, "fromstorms a shelter and from heat a shade. "

I never saw so noble a tree. I loved it, --I reverenced it. I associatedwith it the idea of strength and protection. Had I seen the woodman'saxe touch its bark, I should have felt as if blood would stream from itsvenerable trunk. A circular bench with a back formed of boughs woven inchecker-work surrounded it, and at twilight the soft sofas in thedrawing-room were left vacant for this rustic seat. 

Edith loved it, and when she sat there with her crutches leaning againstthe rough back, whose gray tint subdued the bright lustre of her goldenhair, I would throw myself on the grass at her feet and gaze upon her, as the embodiment of human loveliness. 

One would suppose that I felt awkward and strange in the midst of suchunaccustomed magnificence; but it was not so. It seemed natural andright for me to be there. I trod the soft, rich, velvety carpeting witha step as unembarrassed as when I traversed the grassy lawn. I was asmuch at home among the splendors of art as the beauties of nature, --bothseemed my birthright. 

I felt the deepest, most unbounded gratitude for my benefactress; butthere was nothing abject in it. I knew that giving did not impoverishher; that the food I ate was not as much to her as the crumbs that fellfrom my mother's table; that the room I occupied was but one in a suiteof elegant apartments; yet this did not diminish my sense of obligation. It lightened it, however, of its oppressive weight. 

My room was next to Edith's. The only difference in the furniture was inthe color of the hangings. The curtains and bed drapery of mine werepink, hers blue. Both opened into an upper piazza, whose lofty pillarswere wreathed with flowering vines, and crowned with Corinthiancapitals. Surely my love for the beautiful ought to have been satisfied;and so it was, --but it was long, long before my heart opened to receiveits influence. The clods that covered my mother's ashes laid too heavilyupon it. 

Mrs. Linwood had a great deal of company from the city, which was but ashort journey from Grandison Place. As they were mostly transientguests, I saw but little of them. My extreme youth, and deep mourningdress, were sufficient reasons for withdrawing from the family circlewhen strangers enlarged it. Edith was three years older than myself, andwas of course expected to assist her mother in the honors ofhospitality. She loved society, moreover, and entered into its innocentpleasures with the delight of a young, genial nature. It was difficultto think of her as a young lady, she was so extremely juvenile in herappearance; and her lameness, by giving her an air of childishdependence, added to the illusion caused by her fair, clusteringringlets and infantine rosiness of complexion. She wanted to bring meforward;--she coaxed, caressed, and playfully threatened, nor desistedtill her mother said, with grave tenderness--

"The heart cannot be forced, Edith; Gabriella is but a child, and shouldbe allowed the freedom of a child. The restraints of social life, onceassumed, are not easily thrown aside. Let her do just as she pleases. "

And so I did; and it pleased me to wander about the lawn; to sit andread under the great elm-tree; to make garlands of myrtle and sweetrunning vine flowers for Edith's beautiful hair; to walk the piazza, when moonlight silvered the columns and covered with white glory thegranite walls, while the fountain of poetry down in the depths of mysoul welled and trembled in the heavenly lustre. 

It pleased me to sit in the library, or rather to stand and move aboutthere, for at that time I did not like to sit anywhere but on the grassor the oaken bench. The old poets were there in rich binding, all theclassics, and the choicest specimens of modern literature. There werelight, airy, movable steps, so as to reach to the topmost shelves, andthere I loved to poise myself, like a bird on the spray, peeping intothis book and that, gathering here and there a golden grain or sweetscented flower for the garner of thought, or the bower of imagination. 

There were statues in niches made to receive them, --the gods andgoddesses of Greece and Rome, in their cold, severe beauty, allpassionless and pure, in spite of the glowing mythology that called theminto existence. There were paintings, too, that became a part of mybeing, I took them in with such intense, gazing eyes. Indeed, the housewas lined with them. I could not walk through a room without stopping toadmire some work of genius, some masterpiece of art. 

I over-heard Dr. Harlowe say to Mrs. Linwood, that it was a pity I werenot at school, I was so very young. As if I were not at school all thetime! As if those grand old books were not teachers; those breathingstatues, those gorgeous paintings were not teachers; as if the nobleedifice itself, with its magnificent surroundings, the billowy heave ofthe distant mountains, the glimpses of the sublime sea, the fair expanseof the beautiful valley, were not teachers!

Oh! they little knew what lessons I was learning. They little knew howthe soul of the silent orphan girl was growing within her, --how herimagination, like flowers, was nourished in stillness and secrecy by theair and the sunshine, the dew and the shower. 

I had other teachers, too, in the lonely churchyard; very solemn theywere, and gentle too, and I loved their voiceless instructions betterthan the sounding eloquence of words. 

Mr. Regulus thought with Dr. Harlowe, that it was a pity I was not atschool. He called to see Mrs. Linwood and asked her to use her influenceto induce me to return as a pupil to the academy. She left it to mydecision, but I shrunk from the thought of contact with the rude villagechildren. I felt as if I had learned all Mr. Regulus could teach me. Iwas under greater masters now. Yet I was grateful for the interest hemanifested in me. I had no vindictive remembrance of the poem he had soruthlessly murdered. Innumerable acts of after kindness had obliteratedthe impression, or rather covered it with a growth of pleasant memories. 

"Have you given up entirely the idea of being a teacher yourself?" heasked, in a low voice, "or has the kindness of friends rendered itsuperfluous? I do not ask from curiosity out a deep interest in yourfuture welfare. "

This was a startling question. I had not thought of the subject since Ihad entered my new home. Why should I think of the drudgery of life, pillowed on the downy couch of luxury and ease? I was forgetting that Iwas but the recipient of another's bounty, --a guest, but not a child ofthe household. 

Low as was his voice, I knew Mrs. Linwood heard and understood him, forher eyes rested on me with a peculiar expression of anxiety andinterest. She did not speak, and I knew not what to utter. A burningglow rose to my cheeks, and my heart fluttered with painfulapprehension. It was all a dream, then. That home of affluence was notmine, --it was only the asylum of my first days of orphanage. Thematernal tenderness of Mrs. Linwood was nothing more than compassion andChristian charity, and the sisterly affection of the lovely Edith butthe overflowing of the milk of human kindness. These were my first, flashing thoughts; then the inherent pride of my nature rose to sustainme. I would never be a willing burden to any one. I would toil day andnight, sooner than eat the bread of dependence. It would have been farbetter to have left me in the humble cottage where they found me, tocommence my life of drudgery at once, than to have given me a taste ofluxury and affluence, to heighten, by force of contrast, privation andlabor. 

"I will commence teaching immediately, " I answered, trying in vain tospeak with firmness, "if you think I am not too young, and a situationcan be obtained;" "that is, " I added, I fear a little proudly, "if Mrs. Linwood approve. "

"It must not be thought of _at present_, " she answered, speaking to Mr. Regulus. "Gabriella is too young yet to assume the burden of authority. Her physical powers are still undeveloped. Besides, we shall pass thewinter in the metropolis. Next summer we will talk about it. "

"They speak of adding a primary department to the academy, " said myformer master, "which will be under female superintendence. If this _is_done, and she would accept the situation, I think I have influenceenough to secure it for her. "

"We will see to that hereafter, " said Mrs. Linwood; "but of one thing Iam assured, if Gabriella ever wishes to assume duties so honorable andso feminine, she would think it a privilege to be under your especialguardianship, and within reach of your experience and counsel. "

I tried to speak, and utter an assent to this wise and decided remark, but I could not. I felt the tears gushing into my eyes, and hastilyrising, I left the room. I did not go out on the lawn, for I saw Edith'swhite robes under the trees, and I knew the guests of the city were withher. I ran up stairs to my own apartment, or that which was called mine, and, sitting down in an embrasure of the window, drew aside the rosydamask and gazed around me. 

Do not judge me too harshly. I was ungrateful; I knew I was. My heartrose against Mrs. Linwood for her cold decision. I forgot, for themoment, her holy ministrations to my dying mother, her care andprotection of me, when left desolate and alone. I forgot that I had noclaims on her beyond what her compassion granted. I realized all at oncethat I was poor and dependent, though basking in the sunshine of wealth. 

In justice to myself I must say, that the bitterest tears I then shedwere caused by disappointment in Mrs. Linwood's exalted character. I hadimagined her "bounty as boundless as the sea, her love as deep. " Now thenoble proportion of her virtues seemed dwarfed, their luxuriancestinted, and withering too. 

While I was thus cheating my benefactress of her fair perfections, shecame in with her usual quiet and stilly step, and sat down beside me. The consciousness of what was passing in my mind, made the guilty bloodrush warm to my face. 

"You have been weeping, Gabriella, " she said, in gentle accents; "yourfeelings are wounded, you think me cold, perhaps unkind. "

"Oh, madam, what have I said?"

"Nothing, my dear child, and yet I have read every thing. Your ingenuouscountenance expressed on my entrance as plain as words could utter, 'Hate me, for I am an ingrate. '"

"You do, indeed, read very closely. "

"Could you look as closely into my heart, Gabriella, were my face astransparent as yours, you would understand at once my apparent coldnessas anxiety for your highest good. Did I consult my own pleasure, withoutregard to that discipline by which the elements of character are wroughtinto beauty and fitness, I should cherish no wish but to see you evernear me as now, indulging the sweet dreams of youth, only the morefascinating for being shadowed with melancholy. I would save you, ifpossible, from becoming the victim of a diseased imagination, or toomorbid a sensibility. "

I looked up, impressed with her calm, earnest tones, and as I listened, conscience upbraided me with injustice and ingratitude. 

"There is a period in every young girl's life, my dear Gabriella, whenshe is in danger of becoming a vain and idle dreamer, when theamusements of childhood have ceased to interest, and the shadow ofwoman's destiny involves the pleasures of youth. The mind is occupiedwith vague imaginings, the heart with restless cravings for unknownblessings. With your vivid imagination and deep sensibility, your loveof reverie and abstraction, there is great danger of your yieldingunconsciously to habits the more fatal in their influence, becauseapparently as innocent as they are insidious and pernicious. A life ofactive industry and usefulness is the only safeguard from temptation andsin. "

Oh, how every true word she uttered ennobled her in my estimation, whileit humbled myself. Idler that I was in my Father's vineyard, I washolding out my hands for the clustering grapes, whose purple juice isfor him who treadeth the wine-press. 

"Were my own Edith physically strong, " she added, "I would ask no noblervocation for her than the one suggested to you this day. I shouldrejoice to see her passing through a discipline so chastening andexalting. I should rejoice to see her exercising the faculties which Godhas given her for the benefit of her kind. The possession of wealth doesnot exempt one from the active duties of life, from self-sacrifice, industry and patient continuance in well-doing. The little I have donefor you, all that I can do, is but a drop from the fountain, and were itten times more would never be missed. It is not that I would give less, but I would require more. While I live, this shall ever be your home, where you shall feel a mother's care, protection, and tenderness; but Iwant you to form habits of self-reliance, independence, and usefulness, which will remain your friends, though other friends should be takenfrom you. "

Dear, excellent Mrs. Linwood! how my proud, rebellious heart meltedbefore her! What resolutions I formed to be always governed by herinfluence, and guided by her counsels! How vividly her image risesbefore me, as she then looked, in her customary dress of pale, silvergray, her plain yet graceful lace cap, simply parted hair, and calm, benevolent countenance. 

She was the most unpretending of human beings. She moved about the housewith a step as stilly as the falling dews. Indeed, such was her walkthrough life. She seemed born to teach mankind unostentatious charity. Yet, under this mild, calm exterior, she had a strong, controlling will, which all around her felt and acknowledged. From the moment she drew thefan from my hand, at my mother's bedside, to the hour I left herdwelling, she acted upon me with a force powerful as the sun, and asbenignant too. 

CHAPTER XII. 

If I do not pass more rapidly over these early scenes, I shall neverfinish my book. 

Book!--am I writing a book? No, indeed! This is only a record of myheart's life, written at random and carelessly thrown aside, sheet aftersheet, sibylline leaves from the great book of fate. The wind may blowthem away, a spark consume them. I may myself commit them to the flames. I am tempted to do so at this moment. 

I once thought it a glorious thing to be an author, --to touch theelectric wire of sentiment, and know that thousands would thrill at theshock, --to speak, and believe that unborn millions would hear the musicof those echoing words, --to possess the wand of the enchanter, the ringof the genii, the magic key to the temple of temples, the pass-word tothe universe of mind. I once had such visions as these, but they arepassed. 

To touch the electric wire, and feel the bolt scathing one's ownbrain, --to speak, to hear the dreary echo of one's voice return throughthe desert waste, --to enter the temple and find nothing but ruins anddesolation, --to lay a sacrifice on the altar, and see no fire fromheaven descend in token of acceptance, --to stand the priestess of alonely shrine, uttering oracles to the unheeding wind, --is not such toooften the doom of those who have looked to fame as their heritage, believing genius their dower?

Heaven save me from such a destiny. Better the daily task, the measuredduty, the chained-down spirit, the girdled heart. 

A year after Mrs. Linwood pointed out to me the path of duty, I began towalk in it. I have passed the winter in the city, but it was one of deepseclusion to me. I welcomed with rapture our return to the country, andhad so far awakened from dream-life, as to prepare myself withsteadiness of purpose for the realities of my destiny. 

Edith rebelled against her mother's decision. There was no need of sucha thing. I was too young, too delicate, too sensitive for so rough atask. There was a plenty of robust country girls to assist Mr. Regulus, if he wanted them to, without depriving her of her companion and sister. She appealed to Dr. Harlowe, in her sweet, bewitching way, which alwaysseemed irresistible; but he only gave her a genial smile, called me "abrave little girl, " and bade me "God speed. " "I wish Richard Clyde werehere, " said she, in her own artless, half-childish manner, "I am sure hewould be on my side. I wish brother Ernest would come home, he woulddecide the question. Oh, Gabriella, if you only knew brother Ernest!"

If I have not mentioned this _brother Ernest_ before, it is not becauseI had not heard his name repeated a thousand times. He was the only sonand brother of the family, who, having graduated with the first honorsat the college of his native State, was completing his education inGermany, at the celebrated University of Gottingen. There was a pictureof him in the library, taken just before he left the country, on which Ihad gazed, till it was to me a living being. It was a dark, fascinatingface, --a face half of sunshine and half shadow, a face of mysteriousmeanings; as different from Edith's as night from morning. It remindedme of the head of Byron, but it expressed deeper sensibility, and thefeatures were even more symmetrically handsome. 

Edith, who was as frank and artless as a child, was always talking ofher brother, of his brilliant talents, his genius, and peculiarities. She showed me his letters, which were written with extraordinary beautyand power, though the sentiments were somewhat obscured by atranscendental mistiness belonging to the atmosphere he breathed. 

"Ernest never was like anybody else, " said Edith; "he is the mostsingular, but the most fascinating of human beings. Oh Gabriella, I longto have him come back, that you may know and admire him. "

Though I knew by ten thousand signs that this absent son was the firstobject of Mrs. Linwood's thoughts, she seldom talked of him to me. Sheoften, when Edith was indulging in her enthusiastic descriptions of him, endeavored to change the conversation and turn my thoughts in otherchannels. 

But why do I speak of Ernest Linwood here? It is premature. I was aboutto describe a little part of my experience as a village teacher. 

Edith had a beautiful little pony, gentle as a lamb, yet very spiritedwithal, (for lame though she was, she was a graceful and fearlessequestrian, ) which it was arranged that I should ride every morning, escorted by a servant, who carried the pony back for Edith's use. Dr. Harlowe, who resided near the academy, said I was always to dine at hishouse, and walk home in the evening. They must not make too much of afine lady of me. I must exercise, if I would gather the roses of health. Surely no young girl could begin the ordeal of duty under kinder, morefavoring auspices. 

After the first dreaded morning when Mr. Regulus, tall, stately, andimposing, ushered me into the apartment where I was to preside withdelegated authority, led me up a low flight of steps and waved his handtowards a high magisterial arm-chair which was to be my future throne, Ifelt a degree of self-confidence that surprised and encouraged me. Everything was so novel, so fresh, it imparted an elasticity to my spirits Ihad not felt in Mrs. Linwood's luxurious home. Then there was somethingself-sustaining, inspiring in the consciousness of intellectual exertionand moral courage, in the thought that I was doing some little good inthe world, that I was securing the approbation of Mrs. Linwood and ofthe excellent Dr. Harlowe. The children, who had most of them been myfellow pupils, looked upon Gabriella Lynn, the protégée of the rich Mrs. Linwood, as a different being from Gabriella Lynn of the little graycottage in the woods. I have no doubt they thought it very grand to rideon that beautiful pony, with its saddle-cloth of blue and silver, andglittering martingale, escorted by a servant too! Had they been disposedto rebel at my authority, they would not have dared to do so, for Mr. Regulus, jealous for my new dignity, watched over it with an eagle eye. 

Where were the chains, whose prophetic clanking had chilled my misgivingheart? They were transformed to flowery garlands, of daily renewingfragrance and bloom. My desk was literally covered with blossoms whiletheir season lasted, and little fairy fingers were always twining withwreaths the dark hair they loved to arrange according to their ownjuvenile fancies. 

My noon hours at Dr. Harlowe's, were pleasant episodes in my daily life. Mrs. Harlowe was an excellent woman. She was called by the villagers "amost superior woman, "--and so she was, if admirable housekeeping anddevotion to her husband's interests entitled her to the praise. She wasalways busy; but the doctor, though he had a wide sweep of practice inthe surrounding country, always seemed at leisure. There was somethingso cheerful, so encouraging about him, despondency fled from hispresence and gave place to hope. 

I love to recall this era of my life. If I have known deeper happiness, more exalted raptures, they were dearly purchased by the sacrifice ofthe peace, the salubrity of mind I then enjoyed. I had a little room ofmy own there, where I was as much at home as I was at Mrs. Linwood's. There was a place for my bonnet and parasol, a shelf for my books, a lowrocking-chair placed at the pleasantest window for me; and, knowing Mrs. Harlowe's methodical habits, I was always careful to leave every thing, as I found it, in Quaker-like order. This was the smallest return Icould make for her hospitality, and she appreciated it far beyond itsmerits. The good doctor, with all his virtues, tried the patience of hiswife sometimes beyond its limits, by his excessive carelessness. He_would_ forget to hang his hat in the hall, and toss it on the bright, polished mahogany table. He _would_ forget to use the scraper by thesteps, or the mat by the door, and leave tracks on the clean floor ornice carpet. These little things really worried her; I could see theydid. She never said any thing; but she would get up, take up the hat, brush the table with her handkerchief, and hang the hat in its rightplace, or send the house-girl with the broom after his disfiguringtracks. 

"Pardon me, my dear, " he would say with imperturbablegood-nature, --"really, I am too forgetful. I must have a self-regulatingmachine attached to my movements, --a portable duster and hat-catcher. But, the blessed freedom of home. It constitutes half its joy. Dear me!I would not exchange the privilege of doing as I please for theemperorship of the celestial realms. "

But, pleasant as were my noon rests, my homeward walks were pleasanterstill. The dream-girl, after being awake for long hours to the practicalduties of life, loved to ramble alone, till she felt herself involved inthe soft haziness of thought, which was to the soul what the bluemistiness was to the distant hills. I could wander then alone to thechurchyard, and yield myself unmolested to the sacred influences ofmemory. Do you remember my asking Richard Clyde to plant a white rose bymy mother's grave? He had done so, soon after her burial, and now, whenrather more than a year had passed, it was putting forth fair buds andblossoms, and breathing of renovation over the ruins of life. I neversaw this rose-tree without blessing the hand which planted it; and Iloved to sit on the waving grass and listen to the soft summer windstealing through it, rustling among the dry blades and whispering withthe green ones. 

There was one sentence that fell from my mother's dying lips which evercame to me in the sighs of the gale, fraught with mournful mystery. "Because man was _false_, I dared to think God was unjust. " And had shenot adjured me by every precious and every solemn consideration, "toforgive the _living_, if living _he_ indeed was?"

I knew these words referred to my father; and what a history of wrongand sorrow was left for my imagination to fill up! Living!--my fatherliving! Oh! there is no grave so deep as that dug by the hand of neglector desertion! He had been dead to my mother, --he had been dead to me. Ishuddered at the thought of breathing the same vital element. He who hadbroken a mother's heart must be a fiend, worthy of eternal abhorrence. 

"If you live to years of womanhood, " said my expiring mother, "and yourheart awakens to love, as alas for woman's destiny it will, then read mylife's sad experience, and be warned by my example. "

Sad prophetess! Death has consecrated thy prediction, but it is yetunfulfilled. When will womanhood commence, on whose horizon the morningstar of love is to rise in clouded lustre?

Surely I am invested with a woman's dignity, in that great arm-chair, behind the green-covered desk. I feel very much like a blown rose, surrounded by the rose-bud garland of childhood. Yet Dr. Harlowe callsme "little girl, " and Mr. Regulus "my child, " when the pupils are notby; then it is "Miss Gabriella. " They forget that I am sixteen, and thatI have grown taller and more womanly in the last year; but the awakeningheart has not yet throbbed at its dawning destiny, the day-star of lovehas not risen on its slumbers. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

"I wish you had a vacation too, " said Richard Clyde, as we ascendedtogether the winding hill. 

"Then we should not have these pleasant walks, " I answered. 

"Why not?"

"Why, I should not be returning from school at this hour every day, andyou would not happen to overtake me as you do now. "

"How do you know it is accident, Gabriella? How do you know but I wanderabout the woods, a restless ghost, till glad ringing voices chimingtogether, announce that you are free, and that I am at liberty to playguardian and knight, as I did three or four years ago?"

"Because you would not waste your time so foolishly, and because I donot need a guardian now. I am in authority, you know, and no one molestsor makes me afraid. "

"Nevertheless, you need a guardian more than ever, and I shall remaintrue to my boyish allegiance. "

Richard always had a gay, dashing way of talking, and his residence incollege had certainly not subdued the gay spirit of chivalry thatsparkled in his eye. He had grown much taller since I had seen him last, his face was more intellectual and altogether improved, and his dresswas elegantly, though not foppishly, fashionable. He was an exceedinglyagreeable companion. Even when I was most shy and sensitive, I felt atease with him. When I say that I looked upon him something as an elderbrother, I mean what I express, --not the sickly affectation with whichyoung girls sometimes strive to hide a deeper feeling, --I remembered hissteady school-boy friendship, his sympathy in the dark days of anguishand despair, and more than all, the rose, the sacred rose he had plantedat my mother's grave. 

I thanked him for this, with a choking voice and a moistened eye. 

"Do not thank me, " said he; "I had a mother once, --she, too, is gone. The world may contain for us many friends, but never but one mother, Gabriella. I was only ten years old when mine was taken from me, but herinfluence is around me still, a safeguard and a blessing. "

Words so full of feeling and reverence were more impressive falling fromlips usually sparkling with gaiety and wit. We walked in silence up thegradual ascent, till we came to a fine old elm, branching out by theway-side, and we paused to rest under its boughs. As we did so, weturned towards the valley we were leaving behind, and beheld itstretching, a magnificent panorama, to the east and the west, the northand the south, wearing every shade of green, from the deep, rich hue ofthe stately corn to the brighter emerald of the oat fields, and thedazzling verdure of the pasture-land; and over all this glowinglandscape the golden glory of approaching sunset hung like a royalcanopy, whose purple fringes rested on the distant mountains. 

"How beautiful!" I exclaimed with enthusiasm. 

"How beautiful!" he echoed with equal fervor. 

"You are but mocking my words, Richard, --you are not looking at theenchanting prospect. "

"Yes, I am, --a very enchanting one. "

"How foolish!" I cried, for I could not but understand the emphasis ofhis smiling glance. 

"Why am I more foolish in admiring one beautiful prospect than youanother, Gabriella? You solicited my admiration for one charming view, while my eyes were riveted on another. If we are both sincere, we areequally wise. "

"But it seems so unnecessary to take the pains to compliment me, whenyou know me so well, and when I know myself so well too. "

"I doubt your self-knowledge very much. I do not believe, in the firstplace, that you are aware how wonderfully you are improved. You do notlook the same girl you did a year ago. You have grown taller, fairer, brighter, Gabriella. I did not expect to see this, when I heard you hadshut yourself up in the academy again, under the shadow of old Regulus'sbeetling brows. "

"I am sure he is not old, Richard; he is in the very prime of manhood. "

"Well, Professor Regulus, then. We boys have a habit of speaking of ourteachers in this way. I know it is a bad one, but we all fall into it. All our college professors have a metaphorical name, with the venerableepithet attached to it, which you condemn. 

"I do not like it at all; it sounds so disrespectful, and, pardon me forsaying it, even coarse. "

"You have a great respect for Mr. Regulus. "

"I have; he is one of my best friends. "

"I dare say he is; I should like to be in his place. You have anothergreat friend, old Dr. Harlowe. "

"There, again. Why, Dr. Harlowe is almost young, at least very far frombeing old. He is one of the finest looking men I ever saw, and one ofthe best. You college students must be a very presuming set of youngmen. "

I spoke gravely, for I was really vexed that any one whom I esteemed asmuch as I did Richard, should adopt the vulgarisms he once despised. 

"We _are_ a barbarous, rude set, " he answered with redeeming frankness. "We show exactly what a savage man is and would ever be, without therefining influence of women. If it were not for our vacations, we wouldsoon get beyond the reach of civilization. Be not angry with myroughness, most gentle Gabriella. Pass over it your smoothing touch, andit shall have the polish of marble, without its coldness. "

We had resumed our walk, and the granite walls of Grandison Place beganto loom up above the surrounding shade. 

"That is a noble mansion, " said he. "How admirably such a residence mustharmonize with your high, romantic thoughts. But there is one thing thatimpresses me with wonder, --that Mrs. Linwood, so rich, so liberal too, with only one daughter, should allow you, her adopted child, to devoteyour young hours to the drudgery of teaching. It seems so unnecessary, so inconsistent with her usual munificence of action. "

The glow of wounded pride warmed my cheek. I had become happy in myvocation, but I could not bear to hear it depreciated, nor the motivesof my benefactress misunderstood and misrepresented. 

"Mrs. Linwood is as wise as she is kind, " I answered, hastily. "It is myhappiness and good she consults, not her own pleasure. Giving does notimpoverish either her ample purse or her generous heart. She knows mynature, knows that I could not bear the stagnation of a life ofluxurious ease. "

"Edith can, --why not you?"

"We are so different. She was born for the position she occupies. She isone of the lilies of the valley, that toil not, neither do they spin, yet they fulfil a lovely mission. Do not try to make me discontentedwith a lot, so full of blessings, Richard. Surely no orphan girl wasever more tenderly cherished, more abundantly cared for. "

"Discontented!" he exclaimed, "heaven forbid! I must be a wretchedblunderer. I am saying something wrong all the time, with a heart fullof most excellent intentions. Discontented! no, indeed; I have only theunfortunate habit of speaking before I think. I shall grow wiser as Igrow older, I trust. "

He reached up to a branch that bent over the way-side, and breaking itoff, began to strip it of its green leaves and scatter them in the path. 

"You do not think me angry, Richard?" I asked, catching some of theleaves, before they fell to the ground. "I once felt all that youexpress; and I was doubly wrong; I was guilty of ingratitude, you onlyof thoughtlessness. "

"When does Mrs. Linwood expect her son?" he asked abruptly. 

"Next summer, I believe; I do not exactly know. "

"He will take strong hold of your poetic imagination. There is something'grand, gloomy, and peculiar' about him; a mystery of reserve, which oftamounts to haughtiness. I am but very little acquainted with him, andprobably never shall be. Should we chance to meet in society, we wouldbe two parallel lines, never uniting, however near we might approach. Besides, he is a number of years older than myself. "

"I suppose you call him old Mr. Linwood, " said I, laughing. 

We had now entered the gate, and met Mrs. Linwood and Edith walking inthe avenue, if Edith could be said to walk, borne on as she was by hersoftly falling crutches. She looked so exceedingly lovely, I wonderedthat Richard did not burst forth in expressions of irrepressibleadmiration. I was never weary of gazing on her beauty. Even after anabsence of a few hours, it dawned upon me with new lustre, like that ofthe rising day. I wondered that any one ever looked at any one else inher presence. As for myself, I felt annihilated by her dazzlingfairness, as the little star is absorbed by the resplendent moon. 

Strange, all beautiful as she was she did not attract, as one wouldsuppose, the admiration of the other sex. Perhaps there was somethingcold and shadowy in the ethereality of her loveliness, a want ofsympathy with man's more earthly, passionate nature. It is very certain, the beauty which woman most admires often falls coldly on the gaze ofman. Edith had the face of an angel; but hers was not the darkening eyeand changing cheek that "pale passion loves. " Did the sons of God comedown to earth, as they did in olden time, to woo the daughters of men, they might have sought her as their bride. She was not cold, however;she was not passionless. She had a woman's heart, formed to enshrine anidol of clay, believing it imperishable as its own love. 

Mrs. Linwood gave Richard a cordial greeting. I had an unaccountablefear that she would not be pleased that he escorted me home sofrequently, though this was the first time he had accompanied me to thelawn. She urged him to remain and pass the evening, or rather asked him, for he required no urging. I am sure it must have been a happy one tohim. Edith played upon her harp, which had been newly strung. She seemedthe very personification of one of Ossian's blue-eyed maids, with herwhite, rising hands, and long, floating locks. 

I was passionately fond of music, and had my talent been earlycultivated I would doubtless have excelled. I cared not much about thepiano, but there was inspiration in the very sight of a harp. Inimagination I was Corinna, improvising the impassioned strains of Italy, or a Sappho, breathing out my soul, like the dying swan, in strains ofthrilling melody. Edith was a St. Cecilia. Had my hand swept the chords, the hearts of mortals would have vibrated at the touch; she touched thedivine string, and "called angels down. "

When I retired that night and saw the reflection of myself full length, in the large pier-glass, between the rosy folds of the sweeping damask, I could not help recalling what Richard Clyde had said of my personalimprovement. Was he sincere, when with apparent enthusiasm he hadapplied to me the epithet, _beautiful_? No, he could not be; and yet hiseyes had emphasized the language of his lips. 

I was not vain. Few young girls ever thought less of their personalappearance. I lived so much in the world within, that I gave but littleheed to the fashion of my outward form. It seemed so poor an expressionof the glowing heart, the heaven-born soul. 

For the first time I looked upon myself with reference to the eyes ofothers, and I tried to imagine the youthful figure on which I gazed asbelonging to another, and not myself. Were the outlines softened by thedark-flowing sable, classic and graceful? Was there beauty in the ovalcheek, now wearing the warm bloom of the brunette, or the dark, long-lashed eye, which drooped with the burden of unuttered thoughts?

As I asked myself these questions, I smiled at my folly; and as theimage smiled back upon the original, there was such a light, such aglow, such a living soul passed before me, that for one moment atriumphant consciousness swelled my bosom, a new revelation beamed on myunderstanding, --the consciousness of woman's hitherto unknownpower, --the revelation of woman's destiny. 

And connected with this, there came the remembrance of that hauntingface in the library, which I had only seen on canvas, but which was tome a breathing reality, --that face which, even on the cold, silent wall, had no repose; but dark, restless, and impassioned, was either a historyof past disappointment, or a prophecy of future suffering. 

The moment of triumph was brief. A pale shadow seemed to flit behind meand dim the bright image reflected in the mirror. It wore the sad, yetlovely lineaments of my departed mother. 

O how vain were youth and beauty, if thus they faded and vanished away!How mournful was love thus wedded to sorrow! how mysterious the naturein which they were united!

A shower of tears washed away the vain emotions I blushed to have felt. But I could not be as though I had never known them. I could not recallthe guileless simplicity of childhood, its sweet unconsciousness andcontentment, in the present joy. 

O foolish, foolish Gabriella! Art thou no longer a child?

CHAPTER XIV. 

Mr. Regulus still called me "child. " We had quite a scene in the academyone day after the school was dismissed, and I was preparing as usual toreturn home. 

"Will you give me a few moments' conversation, Miss Gabriella?" said he, clearing his throat with one of those hems which once sounded so awful. He looked awkward and disconcerted, while my face flushed withtrepidation. Had I been guilty of any omitted duty or committed offence?Had I suffered an error on the blackboard to pass unnoticed, or alloweda mistake in grammar to be unconnected? What _had_ I done?

I stood nervously pulling the fingers of my gloves, waiting for him tocommence the conversation he had sought. Another hem!--then he moved theinkstand about a foot further from him, for he was standing close to hisdesk, as if to gather round him every imposing circumstance, then hetook up the ruler and measured it with his eye, run his finger along theedge, as if it were of razor sharpness. 

"Is he going to punish me?" thought I. "It looks ominous. "

I would not assist him by one word; but maintaining a provoking silence, took up a pair of compasses and made a circle on the green cloth thatcovered the desk. 

"Miss Gabriella, " at length he said, "you must forgive me for taking theliberty of an old friend. Nothing but the most disinterested regard foryour--your reputation--could induce me to mention a subject--so--sovery--very peculiar. "

"Good Heavens!" I exclaimed, "my reputation, Mr. Regulus?"

I felt the blood bubbling like boiling water, up into my cheek. 

"I do not wish to alarm or distress you, " he continued, becoming moreself-possessed, as my agitation increased. "You know a young girl, leftwithout her natural guardians, especially if she is so unfortunate as tobe endowed with those charms which too often attract the shafts of envyand stir up the venom of malice, "--

"Mr. Regulus!" I interrupted, burning with impatience and indignation, "tell me what you mean. Has any one dared to slander me, --and for what?"

"No one would dare to breathe aught of evil against you in my presence, "said he, with great dignity; "but the covert whisper may pass from lipto lip, and the meaning glance flash from eye to eye, when your friendand protector is not near to shield you from aspersion, and vindicateyour fame. "

"Stop, " I exclaimed; "you terrify--you destroy me!"

The room spun round like a top. Every thing looked misty and black. Icaught hold of Mr. Regulus's arm to keep me from falling. Foes inambush, glittering tomahawks, deadly scalping-knives, were less terriblethan my dark imaginings. 

"Bless me, " cried my master, seating me in his great arm-chair andfanning me with an atlas which he caught from his desk, "I did not meanto frighten you, my child. I wanted to advise, to counsel you, to_prevent_ misconstruction and unkind remark. My motives are pure, indeedthey are; you believe they are, do you not?"

"Certainly I do, " I answered, passing my hand over my eyes, to clearaway the dark specks that still floated over them; "but if you have anyregard for my feelings, speak at once, plainly and openly. I will begrateful for any advice prompted by kindness, and expressed withoutmystery. "

"I only thought, " said he, becoming again visibly embarrassed, "that Iwould suggest the propriety of your not permitting young Clyde toaccompany you home so often. The extraordinary interest he took in youas a boy, renders his present attentions more liable to remark. A younggirl in your situation, my child, cannot be too particular, too much onher guard. College boys are wild fellows. They are not safe companionsfor innocence and simplicity like yours. "

"And is this all?" I asked, drawing a long breath, and feeling as ifMont Blanc had rolled from my breast. 

"It is. "

"And you have heard no invidious remarks?"

"Not yet, Gabriella, but--"

"My dear master, " said I, rising with a joyous spring from my chair. "Ithank you from the bottom of my heart for your anxious care of my goodname. But I am sure Mrs. Linwood would not have sanctioned animpropriety. I have always felt towards Richard as I imagine I wouldtowards a brother, were I so blest as to have one. He has made my lonelywalks very pleasant by his lively and intelligent conversation. Still, Ido not care to have him accompany me so often. I would rather that hewould not. I will tell him so. I dare say you are right, Mr. Regulus; Iknow you are. I know so little of the world, I may offend its ruleswithout being aware of it. "

I felt so unspeakably relieved, so happy that the mountain of slanderwhich my imagination had piled up was reduced to an _anticipated_molehill, that my spirits rebounded even to gaiety. I laughed at thesight of my torn glove, for I had actually pulled off the fingers by mynervous twitches. 

"I thought you were going to apply the spatula. I feared you thought meguilty of writing another poem, Mr. Regulus; what else could make youlook so formidable?"

"Ah! Gabriella, let bygones be bygones. I was very harsh, verydisagreeable then. I wonder you have ever forgiven me; I have neverforgiven myself. I know not how it is, but it seems to me that asoftening change has come over me. I feel more tenderly towards theyoung beings committed to my care, more indulgence for the weaknessesand errors of my kind. I did not mind, then, trampling on a flower, ifit sprung up in my path; now I would stoop down and inhale itsfragrance, and bless my Maker for shedding beauty and sweetness togladden my way. The perception of the beautiful grows and strengthens inme. The love of nature, a new-born flower, blooms in my heart, anddiffuses a sweet balminess unknown before. Even poetry, my child--do notlaugh at me--has begun to unfold its mystic beauties to my imagination. I was reading the other evening that charming paraphrase of thenineteenth Psalm: 'The spacious firmament on high, ' and I wasexceedingly struck with its melodious rhythm; and when I looked upafterwards to the starry heavens, to the moon walking in her brightness, to the blue and boundless ether, they seemed to bend over me in love, tocome nearer than they had ever done before. I could hear the whisper ofthat divine voice, which is heard in the rustling of the forest trees, the gurgling of the winding stream, and the rush of the mountaincataract; and every day, " he added, with solemnity, "I love man more, because God has made him my brother. "

He paused, and his countenance glowed with the fervor of his feelings. With an involuntary expression of reverence and tenderness, I held outmy hand and exclaimed, --

"My dear master--"

"You forgive me, then, " taking my hand in both his, and burying it inhis large palms; "you do not think me officious and overbearing?"

"O no, sir, I have nothing to forgive, but much to be grateful for;thank you, I must go, for I have a long walk to take--_alone_. "

With an emphasis on the last word I bade him adieu, ran down the steps, and went on musing so deeply on my singular interview with Mr. Regulus, that I attempted to walk through a tree by the way-side. A merry laughrang close to my ear, and Richard Clyde sprang over the fence rightbefore me. 

"It should have opened and imprisoned you, as a truant dryad, " said he. "Of what _are_ you thinking, Gabriella, that you forget theimpenetrability of matter, the opacity of bark and the incapability offlesh and blood to cleave asunder the ligneous fibres which oppose it, as the sonorous Johnson would have observed on a similar occasion. "

"I was thinking of you, Richard, " I answered with resolute frankness. 

"Of me!" he exclaimed, while his eyes sparkled with animated pleasure. "Oh, walk through all the trees of Grandison Place, if you will honor mewith one passing thought. "

"You know you have always been like a brother to me, Richard. "

"I don't know exactly how a brother feels. You have taken my fraternalregard for granted, but I am sure I have never professed any. "

"Pardon me, if I have believed actions more expressive than words. Ishall never commit a similar error. "

With deeply wounded and indignant feelings, I walked rapidly on, withoutdeigning to look at one so heartless and capricious. Mr. Regulus wasright. He was not a proper companion. I would never allow him to walkwith me again. 

"Are you not familiar enough with my light, mocking way, Gabriella?" hecried, keeping pace with my accelerated steps. "Do not you know me wellenough to understand when I am serious and when jesting? I have neverprofessed fraternal regard, because I know a brother cannot feel halfthe--the interest for you that I do. I thought you knew it, --I dare notsay more, --I cannot say less. "

"No, no, do not say any more, " said I, shrinking with indefinable dread;"I do not want any professions. I meant not to call them forth. If Ialluded to you as a brother, it was because I wished to speak to youwith the frankness of a sister. It is better that you should not walkwith me from school, --it is not proper, --people will make remarks. "

"Well, let them make them, --who cares?"

"I care, a great deal. I will not be the subject of village gossip. "

"Who put this idea in your head, Gabriella? I know it did not originatethere. You are too artless, too unsuspicious. Oh! I know, " he added, with a heightened color and a raised tone, "you have been kept afterschool; you have had a lecture on propriety; you cannot deny it. "

"I neither deny nor affirm any thing. It makes no difference whosuggested it. My own judgment tells me it is right. "

"The old fellow is jealous, " said he with a laugh of derision, "but hecannot control my movements. The road is wide enough for us both, andthe world is wider still. "

"How can you say any thing so absurd and ridiculous?" I exclaimed; andvexed as I was, I could not help laughing at his preposteroussuggestion. 

"Because I know it is the truth. But I really thought you above the fearof village gossip, Gabriella. Why, it is more idle than the passingwind, lighter than the down of the gossamer. I thought you had a nobleindependence of character, incapable of being moved by a whiff ofbreath, a puff of empty air. "

"I trust I have sufficient independence to do what is right andsufficient prudence to avoid, if possible, the imputation of wrong, " Ireplied, with grave earnestness. 

"Oh! upright judge!--oh! excellent young sage!" exclaimed Richard, withmock reverence. "Wisdom becometh thee so well, I shall be tempted toquarrel hereafter with thy smiles. But seriously, Gabriella, I cravepermission to walk courteously home with you this evening, for it is thelast of my vacation. To-morrow I leave you, and it will be months beforewe meet again. "

"I might have spared you and myself this foolish scene, then, " said I, deeply mortified at its result. "I have incurred your ridicule, perhapsyour contempt, in vain. We might have parted friends, at least. "

"No, by heavens! Gabriella, not friends; we must be something more, orless than friends. I did not think to say this now, but I can hold itback no longer. And why should I? 'All my faults perchance thouknowest. ' As was the boy, as is the youth, so most likely will be theman. No! if you love me, Gabriella, --if I may look forward to the daywhen I shall be to you friend, brother, guardian, lover, all in one, --Ishall have such a motive for excellence, such a spring to ambition, thatI will show the world the pattern of a man, such as they never sawbefore. "

"I wish you had not said this, " I answered, averting from his bright andearnest eye my confused and troubled glance. "We should be so muchhappier as friends. We are so young, too. It will be time enough yearshence to talk of such things. "

"Too young to love! We are in the very spring-time of our life, --theseason of blossoms and fragrance, music and love, --oh, daughter ofpoetry! is it you who utter such a thought? Would you wait for thesultry summer, the dry autumn, to cultivate the morning flower ofParadise?"

"I did not dream you had so much hidden romance, " said I, smiling at hismetaphorical language, and endeavoring to turn the conversation in a newchannel. "I thought you mocked at sentiment and poetic raptures. "

"Love works miracles, Gabriella. You do not answer. You evade thesubject on which all my life's future depends. Is there no chord in yourheart that vibrates in harmony with mine? Are there no memoriesassociated with the oak trees of the wood, the mossy stone at thefountain, the sacred rose of the grave, propitious to my early andever-growing love?"

He spoke with a depth of feeling of which I had never thought himpossessed. Sincerity and truth dignified every look and tone. Yes! therewere undying memories, now wakened in all their strength, of theyouthful champion of my injured rights, the sympathizing companion of mydarkest hours; the friend, who stood by me when other friends wereunknown. There was many a responsive chord that thrilled at his voice, and there was another note, a sweet triumphant note never struck before. The new-born consciousness of woman's power, the joy of being beloved, the regal sense of newly acquired dominion swelled in my bosom andflashed from my eye. But _the master-chord was silent_. I knew, I felteven then, that there was a golden string, down in the very depths of myheart, too deep for his hand to touch. 

I felt grieved and glad. Grieved that I could not give a full responseto his generous offering, --glad that I had capacities of loving, he, with all his excellences, could never fill. I tried to tell him what Ifelt, to express friendship, gratitude, and esteem; but he would nothear me, --he would not let me go on. 

"No, no; say nothing now, " said he impetuously. "I have been premature. You do not know your own heart. You do love me, --you will love me. Youmust not, you shall not deny me the privilege of hope. I will maintainthe vantage ground on which I stand, --first friend, first lover, andeven Ernest Linwood cannot drive me from it. "

"Ernest Linwood!" I exclaimed, startled and indignant. "You know he cannever be any thing to me. You know my immeasurable obligations to hismother. His name shall be sacred from levity. "

"It is. He is the last person whom I would lightly name. He hasbrilliant talents and a splendid position; but woe to the woman whoplaces her happiness in his keeping. He confides in no one, --so theworld describes him, --is jealous and suspicious even infriendship;--what would he be in love?"

"I know not. I care not, --only for his mother's and Edith's sake. AgainI say, he is nothing to me. Richard, you trouble me very much by yourstrange way of talking. You have no idea how you have made my head ache. Please speak of common subjects, for I would not meet Mrs. Linwood sotroubled, so agitated, for any consideration. See how beautiful thesunlight falls is the lawn! How graceful that white cloud floats downthe golden west! As Wilson says:--

 'Even in its very motion there is rest. '"

"Yes! the sunlight is very beautiful, and the cloud is very graceful, and you are beautiful and graceful in your dawning coquetry, the more sobecause you know it not. Well--obedience to-day, reward to-morrow, Gabriella. That was one of my old copies at the academy. "

"I remember another, which was a favorite of Mr. Regulus--

 'To-morrow never yet On any human being rose and set. '"

A few more light repartees, and we were at Mrs. Linwood's gate. 

"You will not come in?" said I, half asserting, half interrogating. 

"To be sure I will. Edith promised me some of her angelic harp music. Icome like Saul to have the evil spirit of discontent subdued by itsdivine influence. "

Richard was a favorite of Mrs. Linwood. Whether it was that by a woman'sintuition she discovered the state of feeling existing between us, orwhether it was his approaching departure, she was especially kind to himthis evening; she expressed a more than usual interest in his futureprospects. 

"This is your last year in college, " I heard her say to him. "In a fewmonths you will feel the dignity and responsibility of manhood. You willcome out from the seclusion of college life into the wide, wide world, and of its myriad paths, so intricate, yet so trodden, you must chooseone. You are looking forward now, eagerly, impatiently, but then youwill pause and tremble. I pity the young man when he first girds himselffor the real duties of life. The change from thought to action, fromdreams to realities, from hope to fruition or _disappointment_, is sosudden, so great, he requires the wisdom which is only bought byexperience, the strength gained only by exercise. But it is well, " sheadded, with great expression, "it is well as it is. If youth couldcommand the experience of age, it would lose the enthusiasm and zealnecessary for the conception of great designs; it would lose thebrightness, the energy of hope, and nothing would be attempted, becauseevery thing would be thought in vain. I did not mean to give you anessay, " she said, smiling at her own earnestness, "but a young friend onthe threshold of manhood is deeply interesting to me. I feel constrainedto give him my best counsels, my fervent prayers. "

"Thank you, dear Madam, a thousand times, " he answered his countenancelighted up with grateful pleasure; "you do not know what inspirationthere is in the conviction that we are cared for by the pure and thegood. Selfish as we are, there are few of us who strive to excel forourselves alone. We must feel that there are some hearts, who bear us inremembrance, who will exult in our successes, and be made happier by ourvirtues. "

He forgot himself, and though he addressed Mrs. Linwood, his eye soughtmine, while uttering the closing words. I was foolish enough to blush athis glance, and still more at the placid, intelligent smile of Mrs. Linwood. It seemed to say, "I understand it all; it is all right, just as it should be. There is nodanger of Richard's being forgotten. "

I was provoked by _her_ smile, _his_ glance, and my own foolish blush. As for him, he really did seem inspired. He talked of the profession hehad chosen as the noblest and the best, a profession which had commandedthe most exalted talents and most magnificent geniuses in the world. Hewas not holy enough for the ministry; he had too great reverence andregard for human life to be a physician; but he believed nature hadcreated him for a lawyer, for that much abused, yet glorious being, anhonest lawyer. 

I suppose I must have been nervous, in consequence of the excitingscenes through which I had passed, but there was something in his florideloquence, animated gestures, and evident desire to make a grandimpression, that strangely affected my risibles; I had always thoughthim so natural before. I tried to keep from laughing; I compressed mylips, and turning my head, looked steadily from the window, but a suddenstammering, then a pause, showed that my unconquerable rudeness wasobserved. I was sobered at once, but dared not look round, lest I shouldmeet Mrs. Linwood's reproving glance. He soon after asked Edith for aparting song, and while listening to her sweet voice, as it mingled withthe breezy strains of the harp, my excited spirit recovered itsequilibrium. I thought with regret and pain, of the levity, so unwontedin me, which had wounded a heart so frank and true, and found as muchdifficulty in keeping back my tears, as a moment before I had done mylaughter. 

As soon as Edith had finished her song, he rose to take leave. He cameto me last, to the little recess in the window where I stood, andextended his hand as he had done to Mrs. Linwood and Edith. He lookedhurt rather than angry, disappointed rather than sad. 

"Forgive me, " said I, in a low voice; "I value your friendship too muchto lose it without an effort. "

The tears were in my eyes; I could not help it. I was sorry, for theyexpressed far more than I meant to convey. I knew it at once by thealtered, beaming expression of his countenance. 

"Give me smiles or tears, dear Gabriella, " he answered, in the sameundertone; "only do not forget me, only think of me as I wish to beremembered. "

He pressed my hand warmly, energetically, while uttering these words;then, without giving me time to reply, bowed again to Mrs. Linwood andleft the room. 

"A very fine, promising young man, " said Mrs. Linwood, with emphasis. 

"A most intelligent, agreeable companion, " added the gentle Edith, looking smilingly at me, as if expecting me to say something. 

"Very, " responded I, in a constrained manner. 

"Is that all?" she asked, laying her soft, white hand on my shoulders, and looking archly in my face; "is that all, Gabriella?"

"Indeed, you are mistaken, " said I, hastily; "he is nothing more, --andyet I am wrong to say that, --he has been, --he is like a brother to me, Edith, and never will be any thing more. "

"Oh, these brother friends!" she exclaimed, with a burst of musicallaughter, "how very near they seem! But wait, Gabriella, till you see_my_ brother, --he is one to boast of. "

"Edith!" said her mother. Edith turned her blue eyes from me to hermother, with a look of innocent surprise. The tone seemed intended tocheck her, --yet what had she said?

"You should not raise expectations in Gabriella which will not berealized, " observed Mrs. Linwood, in that quiet tone of hers which hadso much power. "Ernest, however dear he may be to us as a son andbrother, has peculiar traits which sometimes repel the admiration ofstrangers. His impenetrable reserve chills the warmth of enthusiasm, while the fitfulness of his morals produces constant inquietude. He wasborn under a clouded star, and the horoscope of his destiny is darkenedby its influence. "

"I love him better for his lights and shadows, " said Edith, "he keepsone always thinking of him. "

"When would this shadowy, flashing being appear, who kept one alwaysthinking of him?"

CHAPTER XV. 

As I had made an engagement with Mr. Regulus for one year, I remainedwith Dr. Harlowe's family during the winter months, while Mrs. Linwoodand Edith returned to the city. 

The only novelty of that wintry season was the first correspondence ofmy life. Could any thing prove more strikingly my isolated position inthe world than this single fact? It was quite an era in my existencewhen I received Mrs. Linwood's and Edith's first letters; and when Ianswered them, it seemed to me my heart was flowing out in a gushingstream of expression, that had long sought vent. I knew they must havesmiled at my exuberance of language, for the young enthusiast alwaysluxuriates under epistolary influences. I had another correspondent, avery unexpected one, Richard Clyde, who, sanctioned by Mrs. Linwood, begged permission to write to me as a _friend_. How could I refuse, whenMrs. Linwood said it would be a source of intellectual improvement aswell as pleasure? These letters occupied much of my leisure time, andwere escape-pipes to an imagination of the high-pressure kind. My oldlove of rhyming, too, rose from the ashes of former humiliation, and Iwove many a garland of poesy, though no one but myself inhaled theirfragrance or admired their bloom. 

 "As down in the sunless retreats of the ocean, Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see, --"

So in the solitude of my chamber, in the loneliness of my heart, in thebreathing stillness of the night, blossomed the moon-born flowers ofpoesy, to beautify and gladden my youth. 

Thus glided away the last tranquil season of my life. As was one day, sowas the next. Mrs. Harlowe's clock-work virtues, which never run down, the doctor's agreeable carelessness and imperturbable good-humor, theexceeding kindness of Mr. Regulus, who grew so gentle, that he almostseemed melancholy, --all continued the same. In reading, writing, thinking, feeling, hoping, reaching forward to an uncertain future, theseason of fireside enjoyments and comforts passed, --spring, --summer. Mrs. Linwood and Edith returned, and I was once more installed in thatcharming apartment, amid whose rosy decorations "I seemed, " as Edithsaid, "a fairy queen. " I walked once more in the moon-lighted colonnade, in the shadow of the granite walls, and felt that I was born to bethere. 

One evening as I returned home, I saw Edith coming through the lawn tomeet me, so rapidly that she seemed borne on wings, --her white draperyfell in such full folds over her crutches it entirely concealed them, and they made no sound on the soft, thick grass. Her face was perfectlyradiant. 

"Oh, Gabriella, " she exclaimed, "he is coming, --brother is cominghome, --he will be here in less than a week, --oh! I am so happy!"

And the sweet, affectionate creature leaned her head on my shoulder, andactually sobbed in the fulness of her joy. My own heart palpitated withstrange emotions, with mingled curiosity, eagerness, and dread. 

"Dear Edith, " I cried, putting my arms around her, and kissing her fair, infantine cheek, "I rejoice with you, --I could envy you if I dared. Whata blessing it must be to have a brother capable of inspiring so muchlove!"

"He shall be your brother too, Gabriella! For, are you not my sister?and of course he must be your brother. Come, let us sit down under thedear old elm and talk about him, for my heart is so full that I canspeak and think of nothing else. "

"And now, " added she, as we sat under the kingly canopy of verdure, --ona carpet of living velvet, --"let me tell you why I love Ernest so very, very dearly. My father died when I was a little child, a little feeblechild, a cripple as well as an invalid. Ernest is four years older thanmyself, and though when I was a little child he was but a very youngboy, he always seemed a protector and guardian to me. He never caredabout play like other children, loving his book better than any thingelse, but willing to leave even that to amuse and gratify me. Oh! I usedto suffer so much, so dreadfully, --I could not lie down, I could not situp without pain, --no medicine would give me any relief. Hour after hourwould Ernest hold me in his arms, and carry me about in the open air, never owning he was weary while he could give me one moment's ease. Noone thought I would live beyond childhood, and I have no doubt manybelieved that death would be a blessing to the poor, crippled child. They did not know how dear life was to me in spite of all my sufferings;for had I always been well, I never should have known those tender, cherishing cares which have filled my heart with so much love. It is sosweet to be petted and caressed as I have been!"

"It did not need sickness and suffering to make _you_ beloved, Edith, " Icried, twisting my fingers in her soft, golden curls. "Who could helploving you and wishing to caress you?"

"Yes it did, Gabriella; my Heavenly Father knew that it did, or He wouldnever have laid upon me His chastening hand. Sickness and pain have beenmy only chastisements, and they are all past. I am not very strong, butI am well; and though a cripple, my wooden feet serve me wonderfullywell. I am so used to them now, they seem a part of myself. "

"I can never think of you as walking, " I said, taking one of thecrutches that leaned against the tree. The part which fitted under thearm was covered with a cushion of blue velvet, and the rosewood staffwas mounted with silver. "You manage these so gracefully, one scarcelymisses your feet. "

"But Ernest, dear Ernest, " interrupted she, "let us talk of him. Youmust not be influenced too much by my mother's words. She adores him, but her standard of perfection is so exalted few can attain it. The veryexcess of her love makes her alive to his defects. She knows your vividimagination, and fears my lavish praises will lead you to expect a beingof super-human excellence. Oh, another thing I wanted to tell you. Theuncle, for whom he was named, has died and left him a splendid fortune, which he did not need very much, you know. Had it not been for thiscircumstance, he would not have come back till autumn; and now he willbe here in a week, --in less than a week. Oh, Gabriella, Grandison Placemust shine for its master's welcome. "

Another splendid fortune added to his own! Further and further still, seemed he removed from me. But what difference did it make? Why did Ithink of him in reference to myself? How dared I do it, foolish andpresumptuous girl! Then, he was seven years older than myself. Howmature! He would probably look upon me as a little girl; and if hegranted me the honors of womanhood, the student of Gottingen, the heirof two great fortunes would scarcely notice the village teacher, save asthe orphan protégée of his mother. 

I did not indulge these thoughts. I repelled them, for they were selfishand uncomfortable. If every one recorded their thoughts as I do, wouldthey not, like me, pray for the blotting angel's tears?

In one week! How soon!

Mrs. Linwood, quiet and serene as she was, participated in Edith'sjoyful excitement. She departed from her usual reliance on the subject, and checked not Edith's glowing warmth. 

In a family so wealthy, a dwelling so abounding in all the eleganciesand luxuries of life, the coming of a prince would not have occasionedany necessary disturbance. The chamber of the son and brother had beenlong prepared, but now the fastidious eye of affection discovered manydeficiencies. The pictures must be changed in position; some wantedmore, some less light; the curtains were too heavy, the flower vases toogorgeous. 

"Does he mind these things much?" I ventured to ask. 

"He likes to see every thing round him elegant and classic, " repliedEdith; "he has the most fastidious taste in the world. I am so glad, Gabriella, that you are pretty, that you are really classicallybeautiful, for he will think so much more of you for being so. He oughtnot, perhaps; but one cannot help having a fine taste. He cannot abideany thing coarse or unrefined. "

"He will not think of me at all, I am sure he will not, " I answered, while a vivid blush of pleasure at her sweet flattery stole over mycheek. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

It was my office to gather and arrange the flowers, to adorn themansion, in consequence of Edith's lameness. This I did every morningwhile they were sparkling with dew and the fragrance of night stillimprisoned in their folded petals. I delighted in the task; but now Icould not help feeling unusual solicitude about my floral mission. Irose earlier than usual, and made fearful havoc in the garden and thegreen-house. My apron dripped with blossoms every step I took, and thecarpet was literally strewed with flowers. The fairest and sweetest wereselected for the room _not yet occupied_; and though one day afteranother passed away and he came not, the scent of the blossoms lingeredin the apartment, and diffusing in it an atmosphere of home love, prepared it for the wanderer's return. 

Every afternoon the carriage was sent to the depot, which was severalmiles from Grandison Place, to meet the traveller, and again and againit returned empty. 

"Let us go ourselves, " said Mrs. Linwood, beginning to be restless andanxious. And they went--she and Edith. Though it was Saturday and I wasfree, I did not accompany them, for I felt that a stranger to him shouldnot "intermeddle with their joy. "

Partaking of the restlessness of baffled expectation, I could not fix mymind on any occupation. I seated myself in the window recess and beganto read, but my eyes were constantly wandering to the road, watching forthe dust cloud that would roll before the advancing carriage. Dissatisfied with myself, I strolled out on the lawn, and seating myselfon the rustic bench with my back to the gate, resolutely fastened myeyes to the pages I had been vainly fluttering. 

Shall I tell how foolish I had been? Though I said to myself a hundredtimes, "he will not look at me, or notice me at all, " I had takenunusual pains with my dress, which though still characterized with thesimplicity of mourning, was relieved of its severity of outline. A fallof lace softened the bands of the neck and arms, which were embellishedby a necklace and bracelets, which I valued more than any earthlypossession. They were the gift of Mrs. Linwood, who, having won from thegrave a portion of my mother's beautiful dark hair, had it wrought withexquisite skill, and set in massy gold, as memorials of love strongerthan death. Thus doubly precious, I cherished them as holy amulets, madesacred by the living as well as the dead. Edith had woven in my hairsome scarlet geraniums, my favorite flower. Though not very elaboratelyadorned, I had an impression I was looking my best, and I could not helpthinking while I sat half veiled by foliage, half gilded by light, howromantic it would be, if a magnificent stranger should suddenly approachand as suddenly draw back, on seeing my dark, waving hair, instead ofthe golden locks of Edith. I became so absorbed in painting this littlescene, which enlarged and glowed under the pencil of imagination, that Idid not hear the opening of the gate or footsteps crossing the lawn. Ithought a shadow passed over the sunshine. The figure of a strangerstood between me and the glowing west. I started up with anirrepressible exclamation. I knew, at the first glance, that it wasErnest Linwood, the living embodiment of that haunting image, so longdrawn on my youthful fancy. I should have known him in the farthestisles of the ocean, from the painting in the library, the descriptionsof Edith, and the sketches of my own imagination. His complexion had thepale, transparent darkness of eastern climes, and his eye a kind ofshadowy splendor, impossible to describe, but which reminded me at onceof his mother's similitude of the "clouded star. " He was not above thecommon height of man, yet he gave me an impression of power and dignity, such as mere physical force could never inspire. 

"Is this Grandison Place? my home?" he asked, lifting his hat withgentlemanly grace from his brows. His voice, too, had that cultivated, well-modulated tone, which always marks the gentleman. 

"It is, sir, " I answered, trying to speak without embarrassment. "Mr. Linwood, I presume. "

I thought I had made a mistake in his name, it sounded so strange. I hadnever heard him called any thing but Ernest Linwood, and Mr. Linwood hadsuch a stiff, formal sound, I was quite disgusted with it. 

He again bowed, and looked impatiently towards the house. 

"I saw a young female and thought it might be my sister, or I should nothave intruded. Shall I find her, --shall I find my mother within?"

"They have gone to meet you, --they have been looking for you these manydays; I know not how you have missed them. "

"By coming another road. I jumped from the carriage and walked on, tooimpatient to wait its slow motions in ascending the hill. And they havegone to meet me. They really wish to see me back again!"

He spoke with deep feeling. The home thoughts and affections of yearsthrilled from his tone. This seemed one of those self-evident truths, that required no confirmation, and I made no answer. I wondered if Iought to ask him to walk in, --him, the master and the heir; whether Ishould ask him to take a seat on the oaken settee, where he could watchthe carriage, ascending the winding hill. 

"Do not let me disturb you, " he said, looking at me with a questioning, penetrating glance, then added, "am I guilty of the rudeness of notrecognizing a former acquaintance, who has passed from childhood toyouth, during my years of absence?"

"No, sir, " I answered, again wondering if politeness required me tointroduce myself. "I am a stranger to you, though for two years yourmother's home has been mine. My name is Lynn, --Gabriella Lynn. "

I was vexed with myself for this awkward introduction. I did not knowwhat I ought to say, and painful blushes dyed my cheeks. I would nothave mentioned my name at all, only, if his mother and sister delayedtheir coming, he might feel awkward himself, from not knowing what tocall me. 

"My mother's protégée!" said he, his countenance lightening as he spoke. "Edith has mentioned you in her letters; but I expected to see a littlegirl, not the young lady, whom I find presiding genius here. "

My self-respect was gratified that he did not look upon me as a child, and there was something so graceful and unostentatious in his air andmanner, my self-possession came back without an effort to recall it. 

"Will you walk in?" I asked, now convinced it was right. 

"Thank you; I am so weary of the confinement of the carriage, I like thefreedom of the open air. I like this rich, velvet grass. How beautiful, how magnificent!" he exclaimed, his eye taking in the wide sweep oflandscape, here and there darkened with shade, and at intervalsliterally blazing with the crimson sunlight, --then sweeping on over theswelling mountains, so grand in their purple drapery and golden crowns. "How exquisitely beautiful! My mother could not have selected a lovelierspot, --and these old granite walls! how antique, how classic they are!"

He turned and examined them, with a pleased yet criticizing eye. Hewalked up and down the velvet lawn with a firm, yet restless step, stopping occasionally to measure with his glance the towering oaks andthe gigantic elm. I began to be uneasy at the protracted absence of Mrs. Linwood, and kept my eyes fixed upon the road, whose dark, rich, slatish-colored surface, seen winding through green margins, resembled astream of deep water, it was so smooth and uniform. I knew how full mustbe the heart of the traveller. I did not wish to interrupt hismeditations even by a look. 

We saw it coming, --the family carriage. I saw his pale cheek flush at myjoyous exclamation. He moved rapidly towards the gate, while I ran intothe house, up stairs and into my own room, that I might not intrude onmoments too sacred for curiosity. 

In a little while, I could hear the sound of their mingling voicescoming up the long flight of marble steps, across the wide piazza, andthen they came soft and muffled from the drawing-room below. At first, forgetful of self, I sympathized in their joy. I rejoiced for mybenefactress, I rejoiced for the tender and affectionate Edith. Butafter sitting there a long time alone, and of course forgotten in therapture of this family reunion, thoughts of self began to steal over andchill the ardor of my sympathetic emotions. I could not help feelingmyself a mote in the dazzling sunshine of their happiness. I could nothelp experiencing, in all its bitterness, the isolation of my owndestiny. I remembered the lamentation of the aged and solitary Indian, "that not a drop of his blood flowed in the veins of a living being. " Soit was with me. To my knowledge, I had not a living relative. Friendswere kind, --some were more than kind; but oh! there are capacities forlove friends can never fill. There are niches in the temple of the heartmade for household gods, and if they are left vacant, no other images, though of the splendor of the Grecian statuary, can remove itsdesolation. _Deep calleth unto deep_, and when no answer cometh, thewaves beat against the lonely strand and murmur themselves away. 

I tried to check all selfish, repining feelings. I tried to keep fromenvying Edith, but I could not. 

"O that I, too, had a brother!"

Was the cry of my craving heart, and it would not be stilled. I wipedaway tear after tear, resolving each should be the last, but thefountain was full, and every heaving sigh made it overflow. 

At length I heard the sound of Edith's crutches on the stairs, faint andmuffled, but I knew it from all other sounds. She could mount anddescend the stairs as lightly as a bird, in spite of her infirmity. 

"Ah! truant!" she cried, as she opened the door, "you need not think tohide yourself here all night; we want you to come and help us to behappy, for I am so happy I know not what to do. "

Her eyes sparkled most brilliantly through those drops of joy, asdifferent to the tears I had been shedding as the morning dew is toDecember's wintry rain. 

"But what are you doing, Gabriella?" she added, sitting down beside meand drawing my hand from my eyes. "In tears! I have been almost cryingmy eyes out; but you do not look happy. I thought you loved me so well, you would feel happy because I am so. Do you not?"

"You will hate me for my selfishness, dear Edith. I did think of you fora long time, and rejoice in your happiness. Then I began to think howlonely and unconnected I am, and I have been wicked enough to envy yourtreasures of affection for ever denied to me. I felt as if there was noone to love me in the wide world. But you have remembered me, Edith, even in the depth of your joy, ingrate that I am. Forgive me, " said I, passing my arms round her beautiful white neck. "I will try to be goodafter this. "

She kissed me, and told me to bathe my eyes and come right down, hermother said I must. Ernest had inquired what had become of me, and hewould think it strange if I hid myself in this way. 

"And you have seen him, Gabriella, " she cried, and her tongue ran gliblywhile I plunged my face in a basin of cold water, ashamed of the tracesof selfish sorrow. "You have seen my own dear brother Ernest. And onlythink of your getting the first glimpse of him! What _did_ you think ofhim? What _do_ you think of him now? Is he not handsome? Is there notsomething very striking, very attractive about him? Is he not differentfrom any one you ever saw before?"

"There _is_ something very striking in his appearance, " I answered, smiling at the number and rapidity of her questions, "but I was sodisconcerted, so foolish, I hardly dared to look him in the face. Has hechanged since you saw him last?"

"Not much, --rather paler, I think; but perhaps it is only fatigue, orthe languor following intense excitement. I feel myself as if all mystrength were gone. I cannot describe my sensations when I saw himstanding in the open gateway. I let mamma get out first. I thought itwas her right to receive the first embrace of welcome; but when heturned to me, I threw myself on his neck, discarding my crutches, andclung to him, just as I used to do when a little, helpless, sufferingchild. And would you believe it, Gabriella? he actually shed tears. Idid not expect so much sensibility. I feared the world had hardenedhim, --but it has not. Make haste and come down with me. I long to lookat him again. Here, let me put back this scarlet geranium. You do notknow how pretty it looks. Brother said--no--I will not tell you what hesaid. Yes, I will. He said he had no idea the charming young girl, withsuch a classic face and aristocratic bearing, was mother's littleprotégée. "

"You asked him, Edith, I know you did. "

"Supposing I did, --there was no harm in it. Come, I want you to seemamma; she looks so young and handsome. Joy is such a beautifier. "

"I think it is, " said I, as I gazed at _her_ star-bright eyes andblush-rose cheeks. We entered the drawing-room together, where Ernestwas seated on the sofa by his mother, with her hand clasped in his. Edith was right, --she did look younger and handsomer than I had everseen her. She was usually pale and her face was calm. Now a breeze hadstirred the waters, and the sunshine quivered on the rippling surface. 

They rose as we entered, and came forward to meet us. My old trepidationreturned. Would Mrs. Linwood introduce me, --and if she did, in whatmanner? Would there be any thing in her air or countenance to imply thatI was a dependent on her bounty, rather than an adopted daughter of thehousehold? Hush, --these proud whispers. Listen, how kindly she speaks. 

"My dear Gabriella, this is my son, Ernest. You know it already, and heknows that you are the child of my adoption. Nevertheless, I mustintroduce you to each other. "

Surprised and touched by the maternal kindness of her manner, (I oughtnot to have been surprised, for she was always kind, ) I looked up, and Iknow that gratitude and sensibility passed from my heart to my eyes. 

"I must claim the privilege of an adopted brother, " said he, extendinghis hand, and I thought he smiled. Perhaps I was mistaken. Hiscountenance had a way of suddenly lighting up, which I learned tocompare to sunshine breaking through clouds. The hand in which he tookmine was so white, so delicately moulded, it looked as if it might havebelonged to a woman, --but he was a student, the heir of wealth, not theson of labor, the inheritor of the primeval curse. It is a trifle tomention, --the hand of an intellectual man, --but I had been so accustomedto the large, muscular fingers of Mr. Regulus, which seemed formed towield the weapon of authority, that I could not but notice the contrast. 

How pleasantly, how delightfully the evening passed away! I sat in myfavorite recess, half shaded by the light drapery of the window; whileErnest took a seat at his mother's side, and Edith occupied a lowottoman at his feet. One arm was thrown across his lap, and her eyeswere lifted to his face with an expression of the most idolizingaffection. And all the while he was talking, his hand passed caressinglyover her fair flaxen hair, or lingered amidst its glistering ringlets. It was a beautiful picture of sisterly and fraternal love, --the fairestI had ever seen. The fairest! it was the first, the only one. I hadnever realized before the exceeding beauty and holiness of this tendertie. As I looked upon Edith in her graceful, endearing attitude, soexpressive of dependence and love, many a sentence descriptive of abrother's tenderness floated up to the surface of memory. I rememberedpart of a beautiful hymn, --

 "Fair mansions in my Father's house For all his children wait; And I, your elder _brother_ go, To open wide the gate. "

The Saviour of mankind called himself our brother, --stamping with theseal of divinity the dear relationship. 

I had imagined I felt for Richard Clyde a sister's regard. No, no! Coldwere my sentiments to those that beamed in Edith's upturned eyes. 

Ernest described his travels, his life abroad, and dwelt on thepeculiarities of German character, its high, imaginative traits, itsmysticism and superstition, till his tongue warmed into enthusiasm, --and_one_ of his hearers at least felt the inspiration of his eloquence. Hismother had said he was reserved! I began to think I did not know theright meaning of the word. If he paused and seemed about to relapse intosilence, Edith would draw a long breath, as if she had just beeninhaling some exhilarating gas, and exclaim, --

"Oh! do go on, brother; it is so long since we have heard you talk; itis such a luxury to hear a person talk, who really _says_ something. "

"I never care about talking, unless I do have something to _say_, " heanswered, "but I think I have monopolized attention long enough. As aguest, I have a right to be entertained. Have you forgotten my love formusic, Edith?"

"O no! I remember all your favorite airs, and have played them athousand times at least. Do you wish to hear me now?"

"Certainly, I do; I have heard nothing so sweet as your voice, dearEdith, since I heard your last parting song. "

He rose and moved the harp forward, and seated her at the instrument. 

"Does not Miss Lynn play?" he asked, running his fingers carelessly overthe glittering strings. 

"Who is Miss Lynn?" repeated Edith, with a look of inquiry. 

I laughed at her surprise and my own. It was the first time I had everheard myself called so, and I looked round involuntarily to see who andwhere "Miss Lynn" was. 

"Oh, Gabriella!" cried Edith, "I did not know whom you meant. I assureyou, brother, there is no Miss Lynn here; it is Gabriella--_ourGabriella_--that is her name; you must not call her by any other. "

"I shall be happy to avail myself of the privilege of uttering socharming a name. Does Miss Gabriella play?"

"No, no, that is not right yet, Ernest; you must drop the Miss. Do notanswer him, Gabriella, till he knows his lesson better. "

"Does Gabriella play?"

The name came gravely and melodiously from his tongue. The distancebetween us seemed wonderfully diminished by the mere breathing myChristian name. 

"I do not, " I answered, "but my love of music amounts to a passion. I amnever so happy as when listening to Edith's voice and harp. "

"She has never taken lessons, " said Edith; "if she had, she would havemade a splendid musician, I am confident she would. Dear mother, when wego to the city next winter, Gabriella must go with us, and she must havemusic-masters, and we will play and sing together. She has taught inthat old academy long enough, I am sure she has. "

"I think Gabriella has been taking some very important lessons herself, while teaching in the old academy, which chances to be quite new, atleast her part of it, " answered Mrs. Linwood; "but I have no intentionof suffering her to remain there too long; she has borne the disciplineadmirably. "

As I turned a grateful glance to Mrs. Linwood, my heart throbbing withdelight at the prospect of emancipation, I met the eyes, the earnest, perusing eyes of her son. I drew back further into the shadow of thecurtain, but the risen moon was shining upon my face, and silvering thelace drapery that floated round me. Edith whispered something to herbrother, glancing towards me her smiling eyes, then sweeping her fingerslightly over the harp-strings, began one of the songs that Ernest loved. 

Sweetly as she always sang, I had never heard her sing so sweetlybefore. It seemed indeed "Joy's ecstatic trial, " so airily her fingerssparkled over the chords, so clearly and cheerily she warbled eachanimated note. 

"I know you love sad songs best, Ernest, but I cannot sing themto-night, " she said, pushing the instrument from her. 

"There is a little German air, which I think I may recollect, " said he, drawing the harp towards him. 

"You, Ernest!" cried Edith and his mother in the same breath, "you playon the harp!"

He smiled at their astonishment. 

"I took lessons while in Germany. A fellow-student taught me, --aglorious musician, and a native of the land of music, --Italy. There, thevery atmosphere breathes of harmony. "

The very first note he called forth, I felt a master's touch was on thechords, and leaning forward I held my breath to listen. The strains roserich and murmuring like an ocean breeze, then died away soft as wavefalls on wave in the moonlight night. He sang a simple, pathetic air, with such deep feeling, such tender, passionate emotion, that tearsinvoluntarily moistened my eyes. All the slumbering music of my beingresponded. It was thus _I_ could sing, --_I_ could play, --I knew I could. And when he rose and resumed his seat by his mother, I could scarcelyrestrain myself from touching the same chords, --the chords stillquivering from his magic hand. 

"O brother!" exclaimed Edith, "what a charming surprise! I never heardany thing so thrillingly sweet! You do not know how happy you have mademe. One more, --only one more, --Ernest. "

"You forget your brother is from a long and weary journey, Edith, and wehave many an evening before us, I trust, of domestic joy like this, "said Mrs. Linwood, ringing for the night-lamps. "To-morrow is thehallowed rest-day of the Lord, and our hearts, so long restless fromexpectation, will feel the grateful calm of assured happiness. One whoreturns after a long journey to the bosom of home, in health and safety, has peculiar calls for gratitude and praise. He should bless the God ofthe traveller for having given his angels charge concerning him, andshielding him from unknown dangers. You feel all this, my son. "

She looked at him with an anxious, questioning glance. She feared thatthe mysticism of Germany might have obscured the brightness of hisChristian faith. 

"I _am_ grateful, my mother, " he answered with deep seriousness, "grateful to God for the blessings of this hour. This has been one ofthe happiest evenings of my life. Surely it is worth years of absence tobe welcomed to such a home, and by such pure, loving hearts, --hearts inwhich I can trust without hypocrisy and without guile. "

"Believe all hearts true, my son, till you prove them false. "

"Faith is a gift of heaven, not an act of human will, " he replied. ThenI remembered what Richard Clyde had said of him, and I thought of itagain when alone in my chamber. 

Edith peeped in through the door that divided our rooms. 

"Have we not had a charming evening?" she asked. 

"Yes, _very_, " I answered. 

"How fond you are of that little adverb _very_, " she exclaimed with alaugh; "you make it sound so expressively. Well, is not Ernest veryinteresting?"

"Very. "

"The most interesting person you ever saw?"

"You question me too closely, Edith. It will not do for me to speak asextravagantly as you do. I am not his sister, and the praise that fallsso sweetly from your tongue, would sound bold and inappropriate frommine. I never knew before how strong a sister's love could be, Edith. Surely you can never feel a stronger passion. "

"Never, " she cried earnestly, and coming in, she sat down on the side ofthe bed and unbound the ribbon from her slender waist. "The misfortunethat has set me apart from my youthful companions will prevent me fromindulging in the dreams of love. I know my mother does not wish me tomarry, and I have never thought of the possibility of leaving her. Iwould not dare to give this frail frame and too tenderly indulged heartinto the keeping of one who could never, never bestow the love, theboundless love, which has surrounded me from infancy, like the firmamentof heaven. I have been sought in marriage more than once, it might befor reputed wealth or for imagined charms; but when I compared mywould-be lovers to Ernest, they faded into such utter insignificance, Icould scarcely pardon their presumption. I do not think he has everloved himself. I do not think he has ever seen one worthy of his love. Ibelieve it would kill me, Gabriella, to know that he loved anotherbetter than myself. "

For the first time I thought Edith selfish, and that she carried theromance of sisterly affection too far. 

"You wish him, then, to be an old bachelor!" said I, smiling. 

"Oh! don't apply to him such a horrid name. I did not think of that. Good night, darling. Mamma would scold me, if she knew I was up talkingnonsense, instead of being in bed and asleep, like a good, obedientchild. " She kissed me and retired but it was long before I fell asleep. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

The next morning, as I was coming up the steps with my white muslinapron fall of gathered flowers, I met Ernest Linwood. I was always anearly riser. Dear, faithful Peggy had taught me this rural habit, and Ihave reason to bless her for it. 

"I see where you get your roses, " said he; I knew he did not mean theroses in my apron, and those to which he alluded grew brighter as hespoke. 

"Am I indebted to you for the beautiful flowers in my own apartment?" heasked, as he turned back and entered the house with me, "or was itEdith's sisterly hand placed them there?"

"Are you pleased with them?" I said, with a childish delight. It seemedto me a great thing that he had noticed them at all. "As Edith is lame, she indulges me in carrying out her own sweet tastes. I assure you Iesteem it an inestimable privilege. "

"You love flowers, then?"

"O yes, passionately. I have almost an idolatrous love for them. "

"And does it not make you sad to see them wither away, in spite of yourpassionate love?"

"Yes, but others bloom in their stead. 'T is but a change from blossomto blossom. "

"You deceive yourself, " he said, and there was something chilling in histone, "it is not love you feel for them, for that is unchangeable, andadmits but one object. "

"I was not speaking of human love, " I answered, busily arranging theflowers in their vases, in which I had already placed some icy coldwater. He walked up and down the room, stopping occasionally to observethe process, and making some passing remark. I was astonished at findingmyself so much at ease. I suppose the awe he inspired, like the fear ofghosts, subsided at the dawning of morning. There was something soexhilarating in the pure fresh air, in the dewy brightness of the hour, in the exercise of roaming through a wilderness of sweets, that myspirits were too elastic to be held down. He seemed to take an interestin watching me, and even altered the position of some white roses, whichhe said wanted a shading of green. 

"And what are these beautiful clusters laid aside for?" he asked, takingup some which I had deposited on the table. 

"I thought, " I answered, after a slight hesitation, "that Edith wouldlike them for your room. "

"Then it is only to please Edith you place them there, not to pleaseyourself?"

"I should not dare to do it to please myself, " I hastily replied. 

I thought I must have said something wrong, for he turned away with apeculiar smile. I colored with vexation, and was glad that Edith came into divert his attention from me. 

Nothing could be more gentle and affectionate than his greeting. He wentup and kissed her, as if she were a little child, put his arm round her, and taking one of her crutches, made her lean on him for support. Iunderstood something of the secret of her idolatry. 

Where was the impenetrable reserve of which his mother had spoken?

I had not yet seen him in society. As he talked with Edith, his headslightly bent and his profile turned towards me, I could look at himunobserved, and I was struck even more than the evening before with thetransparent paleness of his complexion. Dark, delicate, and smooth asalabaster, it gave an air of extreme refinement and sensibility to hisface, without detracting from its manliness or intellectual power. Itwas a face to peruse, to study, to think of, --it was a baffling, haunting face. Hieroglyphics of thought were there, too mysterious forthe common eye to interpret. It was a dark lantern, flashing lightbefore it, itself all in shadow. 

"It is a shame that you must leave us, Gabriella, " said Edith, whenafter breakfast her pony was brought to the door. "Ernest, " added she, turning to him, "I am _so_ glad you are come. You must persuade mamma tolay her commands on Gabriella, and not permit her to make such a slaveof herself. I feel guilty to be at home doing nothing and she toilingsix long hours. "

"It is Gabriella's own choice, " cried Mrs. Linwood, a slight flushcrossing her cheek. "Is it not, my child?"

"Your wisdom guided my choice, dear madam, " I answered, "and I thank youfor it. "

"It would seem more natural to think of Miss--of Gabriella--as a pupil, than a teacher, " observed Ernest, "if youth is the criterion by which wejudge. "

"I am seventeen--in my eighteenth year, " said I eagerly, urged by anunaccountable desire that he should not think me too young. 

"A very grave and reverend age!" said he sarcastically. 

I thought Mrs. Linwood looked unusually serious, and fearing I had saidsomething wrong, I hastened to depart. Dearly as I loved mybenefactress, it was not "that perfect love which casteth out fear. " Asher benevolence was warm, her justice was inflexible. Hers was the kindhand, but the firm nerves that could sustain a friend, while the knifeof the surgeon entered the quivering flesh. She shrunk not frominflicting pain, if it was for another's good; but if she wounded withone hand, she strewed balm with the other. Her influence was strong, controlling, almost irresistible. Like the sunshine that forced thewind-blown traveller to throw aside his cloak, the warmth of herkindness penetrated, but it also _compelled_. 

I had a growing conviction that though she called me her adopted child, she did not wish me to presume upon her kindness so far as to look uponher son in the familiar light of a brother. There was no fear of mytransgressing her wishes in this respect. I had already lost mydread, --my awe was melting away, but I could no more approach him withfamiliarity than if fourfold bars of gold surrounded him. I had anotherconviction, that she encouraged and wished me to return the attachmentof Richard Clyde. Her urgent advice had induced me to accept theproffered correspondence with him, --a compliance which I afterwardsbitterly regretted. He professed to write only as a _friend_, accordingto the bond, but amid the evergreen wreath of friendship, he concealedthe glowing flowers of love. He was to return home in a few weeks. Thecommencement was approaching, which was to liberate him from scholasticfetters and crown him with the honors of manhood. 

"Why, " thought I, "should Richard make me dread his return, when I wouldgladly welcome him with joy? Why in wishing to be more than a friend, does he make me desire that he should be less? And now Ernest Linwood iscome back, of whom he so strangely warned me, methinks I dread him morethan ever. "

Mrs. Linwood would attend the commencement. I had heard her tell Richardso. I had heard her repeat her intention since her son's return. _He_, of course, would feel interested in meeting his old class mates andfriends. They would all feel interested in seeing and hearing howRichard Clyde sustained his proud distinction. 

"Gabriella, especially, " said Edith with a smile, which, sweet as itwas, I thought extremely silly. I blushed with vexation, when Ernest, lifting his grave eyes from his book, asked who was Richard Clyde. 

"You have seen him when he was quite a youth, " answered his mother, "buthave probably forgotten him. He is a young man of great promise, and hasbeen awarded the first honors of his class. I feel a deep interest inhim for his own sake, and moreover I am indebted to him for myintroduction to our own Gabriella. "

"Indeed!" repeated her son, and glancing towards me, his countenancelighted up with a sudden look of intelligence. 

Why need Mrs. Linwood have said that? Why need she have associated himso intimately and significantly with me? And why could I not keep downthe rising crimson, which might be attributed to another source thanembarrassment? I opened my lips to deny any interest in Richard beyondthat of friendly acquaintanceship; but Mrs. Linwood's mild, serene, yetresolute eyes, beat mine down and choked my eager utterance. 

Her eyes said as clearly as words could say, "what matters it to my son, how little or how great an interest you feel in Richard Clyde or anyother person?"

"You must accompany us, Gabriella, " she said, with great kindness. "Youhave never witnessed this gathering of the literati of our State, and Iknow of no one who would enjoy it more. It will be quite an intellectualbanquet. "

"I thank you, but I cannot accept the invitation, " I answered, suppressing a sigh, not of disappointment at the necessity of refusal, but of mortification at the inference that would probably be drawn fromthis conversation. "My vacation does not begin till afterwards. "

"I think I can intercede with Mr. Regulus to release you, " said Mrs. Linwood. 

"Thank you, --I do not wish to go, --indeed I would much rather not, unless, " I added, fearful I had spoken too energetically, "you have anurgent desire that I should. "

"I wish very much to make you happy, and I think you would enjoy farmore than you now anticipate. But there is time enough to decide. Therewill be a fortnight hence. "

"But the dresses, mamma, " cried Edith; "you know she will need newdresses if she goes, and they will require some time to prepare. "

"As Gabriella will not _come out_, as it is called, till next winter, "replied Mrs. Linwood, "it is not a matter of so much consequence as youimagine. Simplicity is much more charming than ornament in the dress ofa very young girl. "

"I agree with you, mother, " observed Ernest, without lifting his eyesfrom his book, "especially where artificial ornaments are superfluous. "

"I did not think you were listening to our remarks about dress, " saidEdith. "This is something quite new, brother. "

"I am _not_ listening, and yet I hear. So be very careful not to betrayyourself in my presence. But perhaps I had better retire to the library, then you can discuss with more freedom the mysteries of the toilet andthe fascinations of dress. "

"No, --no. We have nothing to say that you may not hear;" but he rose andwithdrew. Did he mean to imply that "artificial ornaments would besuperfluous" to me? No, --it was only a general remark, and it would bevanity of vanities to apply it to myself. 

"I want you to do one thing to gratify me, dear Gabriella, " continuedEdith. "Please lay aside your mourning and assume a more cheerful garb. You have worn it two long years. Only think how long! It will be sorefreshing to see you in white or delicate colors. "

I looked down at my mourning garments, and all the sorrow typified bytheir dark hue rolled back upon my heart. The awful scenes theycommemorated, --the throes of agony which rent away life from the strong, the slow wasting of the feeble, the solemnity of death, the gloom of thegrave, the anguish of bereavement, the abandonment of desolation thatfollowed, --all came back. I lived them all over in one passing moment. 

"I never, never wish to lay aside the badges of mourning, " I exclaimed;and, covering my face with my handkerchief, tears gushed unrestrainedly. "I shall never cease to mourn for my mother. "

"I did not mean to grieve you, Gabriella, " cried Edith, putting her armsround me with sympathizing tenderness. "I thought time had softened youranguish, and that you could bear to speak of it now. "

"And so she ought, " said Mrs. Linwood, in a tone of mild rebuke. "Timeis God's ministering angel, commissioned to bind up the wounds of sorrowand to heal the bleeding heart. The same natural law which bids flowersto spring up and adorn the grave-sod causes the blossoms of hope tobloom again in the bosom of bereavement. Memory should be immortal, butmourning should last but a season. "

"I meant that I never should forget her, " I cried, my tears flowinggently under her subduing accents. "Dear Mrs. Linwood, you have made itimpossible for me always to mourn. Yet there are times, when herremembrance comes over me with such a power that I am borne down by itto the level of my first deep anguish. These are not frequent now. Isome times fear there is danger of my being too happy after sustainingsuch a loss. "

"Beware, my dear child, of cherishing the morbid sensibility whichbelieves happiness inconsistent with the remembrance of departedfriends. Life to your mother, since your recollection of her, was a sadboon. As she possessed the faith, and died the death of the Christian, you are authorized to believe that she now possesses an exceeding andeternal weight of glory. Can you take in the grandeur of the idea, --_aweight of glory_? Contrast it with the burden of care under which yousaw her crushed, and you will then be willing to exchange mourning forthe oil of joy, and the spirit of heaviness for the garment of praise. "

"I _am_ willing, dear Mrs. Linwood, my kindest friend, my second mother. I will in all things be guided by your counsel and moulded by your will. No, oh no, I would not for worlds rob my mother of the gloriousinheritance purchased by a Saviour's blood. But tell me one thing, --mustwe all pass through tribulation before entering the kingdom of heaven?Must we all travel with bleeding feet the thorny path of suffering, before being admitted into the presence of God?"

"The Bible must answer you, my child. Do you remember, in theapocalyptic vision, when it was asked, 'What are these, which arearrayed in white robes? and whence come they?' It was answered, 'Theseare they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed theirrobes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. '"

"Therefore are they before the throne of God, and serve him day andnight in his temple; and he that sitteth on the throne shall dwell amongthem. "

I remembered them well. 

"Go on, " I said, "that is not all. "

"They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more, neither shall thesun light on them, nor any heat. "

She paused, and her voice became tremulous from deep emotion. 

"One verse more, " I cried, "only one. "

"For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, andshall lead them unto living fountains of waters; and God shall wipe alltears from their eyes. "

There was silence for a few moments. All words seemed vain andsacrilegious after this sublimest language of revelation. 

At length I said, --

"Let me wear white, the livery of my mother, in heaven. 'T is a sin tomourn for her whose tears the hand of God has wiped away. "

CHAPTER XVIII. 

One week, and another week passed by, and every evening was as charmingas the first of the return of Ernest Linwood. In that fortnight werecompressed the social and intellectual joys of a lifetime. Music, reading, and conversation filled the measure of the evening hours. Suchmusic, such reading, and such conversation as I never heard before. Ihad been accustomed to read aloud a great deal to my own dear mother, toMrs. Linwood, and to my young pupils also, and I had reason to think Icould read remarkably well; but I could not read like Ernest, --I neverheard any one that could. He infused his own soul into the soul of theauthor, and brought out his deepest meanings. When he read poetry I satlike one entranced, bound by the double spell of genius and music. Mrs. Linwood could sew; Edith could sew or net, but I could do nothing butlisten. I could feel the blood tingling to my finger ends, the veinsthrobbing in my temples, and the color coming and going in my cheek. 

"You love poetry, " said he once, pausing, and arresting my fascinatedglance. 

"Love it, " I exclaimed, sighing in the fulness of delight, "it is thepassion of my soul. "

"You have three passions, music, flowers, and poetry, " said he, with asmile that seemed to mock the extravagance of my language, "which is theregal one, the passion of passions?"

"I can hardly imagine the existence of one without the other, " Ianswered, "their harmony is so entire; flowers are silent poetry, andpoetry is written music. "

"And music?" he asked. 

"Is the breath of heaven, the language of angels. As the voice of Echolingered in the woods, where she loved to wander, when her beauteousframe had vanished, so music remains to show the angel nature we havelost. "

I blushed at having said so much, but the triune passion warmed my soul. 

"Gabriella is a poetess herself, " said Edith, "and may well speak of themagic of numbers. She has a portfolio, filled with papers written, likeEzekiel's scroll, within and without. I wish you would let me get it, Gabriella, --do. "

"Impossible!" I answered, "I never wrote but one poem for exhibition, and the experience of that hour was sufficient for a lifetime. "

"You were but a child then, Gabriella. Mr. Regulus would give it a verydifferent reception now, I know he would, " said Edith. 

"If it is a child's story, will you not relate it?" asked Ernest; "youhave excited my curiosity. "

"Curiosity, brother, I thought you possessed none. "

"Interest is a better word. If I understand aright, the buddings ofGabriella's genius met with an untimely blight. "

I know not how it was, but I felt in an exceedingly ingenuous mood, andI related this episode in my childish history without reserve. I touchedlightly on the championship of Richard Clyde, but I was obliged tointroduce it. I had forgotten that he was associated with the narration, or I should have been silent. 

"This youthful knight, and the hero of commencement day are one, then, "observed Ernest. "He is a fortunate youth, with the myrtle and thelaurel both entwining his brows; you must be proud of your champion. "

"I am _grateful_ to him, " I replied, resolved to make a bold effort toremove the impression I knew he had received. Mrs. Linwood was notpresent, or I could not have spoken as I did. "He defended me because hethought I was oppressed; he befriended me because my friends were few. He has the generous spirit of chivalry which cannot see wrong withoutseeking to redress it, or suffering without wishing to relieve it. I amunder unspeakable obligations to him, for he it was who spoke kindly ofthe obscure little girl to your mother and sister, and obtained for methe priceless blessing of their love. "

"I dare say _they_ feel very grateful to him, likewise, " said he, in atone of genuine feeling. "I acknowledge _my_ share of the obligation. But is he so disinterested as to claim no recompense, or does he findthat chivalry, like goodness, is its own exceeding great reward?"

"I thought I regarded him as a brother, till now Edith has convinced meI am mistaken. "

"How so?" he asked, with so peculiar an expression, I forgot what I wasgoing to say. 

"How so?" he repeated, while Edith leaned towards him and laid her handon his. 

"By showing me how strong and fervent a sister's love can be. "

His eyes flashed; they looked like fountains of light, full tooverflowing. His arm involuntarily encircled Edith, and a smile, beautiful as a woman's, curled his lips. 

"How he does love her!" thought I; "strong indeed must be the countercharm, that can rival hers. "

I had never seen his spirits so light as they were the remainder of theevening. They rose even to gaiety; and again I wondered what had becomeof the reserve and moodiness whose dark shadow had preceded hisapproach. 

"We are so happy now, " said Edith, when we were alone, "I dread theinterruption of company. Ernest does not care for it, and if it be of anuncongenial kind, he wraps himself in a mantle of reserve, that neithersun nor wind can unfold. After commencement, our house will beoverflowing with city friends. They will return with us, and we shallnot probably be alone again for the whole summer. "

She sighed at the anticipation, and I echoed the sound. I was somebodynow; but what a nobody I should dwindle into, in comparison with thedaughters of wealth and fashion who would gather at Grandison Place!

"Ernest must like you very much, Gabriella, or he would not show theinterest he does in all that concerns you. You do not know what acompliment he pays you, because you have not seen him in company withother young girls. I have sometimes felt quite distressed at hisindifference when they have been my guests. He has such a contempt foraffectation and display, that he cannot entirely conceal it. He is notapt to express his opinion of any one, but there are indirect ways ofdiscovering it. I found him this morning in the library, standing beforethat beautiful picture of the Italian flower girl, which you admire somuch. He was so absorbed, that he did not perceive my entrance, till Istole behind him and laid my hand on his shoulder. 'Do you not see alikeness?' he asked. 'To whom?' 'To Gabriella. ' 'To Gabriella!' Irepeated. 'Yes, it is like her, but I never observed it before. ' 'A verystriking resemblance, ' he said, 'only she has more mind in her face. '"

"That enchanting picture like me!" I exclaimed, "impossible! There is, there can be no likeness. It is nothing but association. He knows I amthe flower-girl of the house, and that is the reason he thought of me. "

I tried to speak with indifference, but my voice trembled with delight. 

The next morning, when I came in from the garden, all laden withflowers, an irresistible impulse drew me to the library. It was veryearly. The hush of repose still lingered over the household, and thatparticular apartment, in which the silent eloquence of books, paintings, and statues hung like a solemn spell, seemed in such deep quietude, Istarted at the light echo of my own footsteps. 

I stole with guilty consciousness towards the picture, in whoselineaments the fastidious eye of Ernest Linwood had traced a similitudeto mine. They were all engraven on my memory, but now they possessed anew fascination; and I stood before it, gazing into the soft, darkdepths of the eyes, in which innocent mildness and bashful tendernesswere mingled like the _clare-obscure_ of an Italian moonlight; gazing onthe dawning smile that seemed to play over the beautiful and glowinglips, and the bright, rich, dark hair, so carelessly, gracefullyarranged you could almost see the balmy breezes of her native climerustling amid the silken tresses; on the charming contour of the headand neck, slightly turned as if about to look back and give a partingglance at the garden she had reluctantly quitted. 

As I thus stood, with my hands loaded with blossoms, a flower basketsuspended from my arm, and a straw hat such as shepherdesses wear, on myhead, --my garden costume, --involuntarily imitating the attitude of thelovely flower girl, the door, which had been left ajar, silently opened, and Ernest Linwood entered. 

Had I been detected in the act of stealing or counterfeiting money, Icould not have felt more intense shame. He knew what brought me there. Isaw it in his penetrating eye, his half-suppressed smile; and, ready tosink with mortification, I covered my face with the roses I held in myhands. 

"Do you admire the picture?" he asked, advancing to where I stood; "doyou perceive the resemblance?"

I shook my head without answering; I was too much disconcerted to speak. What would he think of my despicable vanity, my more than childishfoolishness?

"I am glad to see we have congenial tastes, " he said, with a smile inhis voice. "I came on purpose to gaze on that charming representation ofyouth and innocence, without dreaming that its original was by it. "

"Original!" I repeated. "Surely you do mock me, --'t is but a fancysketch, --and in nought but youth and flowers resembles me. "

"We cannot see ourselves, and it is well we cannot. The image reflectedfrom the mirror is but a cold, faint shadow of the living, breathingsoul. But why this deep confusion, --that averted face and downcast eye?Have I offended by my intrusion? Do you wish me to withdraw, and yieldto you the privilege of solitary admiration?"

"It is I who am the intruder, " I answered, looking wistfully towards thedoor, through which I was tempted to rush at once. "I thought you hadnot risen, --I thought, --I came"--

"And why did you come at this hour, Gabriella? and what has caused suchexcessive embarrassment? Will you not be ingenuous enough to tell me?"

"I will, " answered I, calmed by the gentle composure of his manner, "ifyou will assert that you do not know already. "

"I do not _know_, but I can _imagine_. Edith has betrayed my admirationof that picture. You came to justify my taste, and to establish beyond adoubt the truth of the likeness. "

"No, indeed! I did not; I cannot explain the impulse which led mehither. I only wish I had resisted it as I ought. "

I suppose I must have looked quite miserable, from the efforts he madeto restore my self-complacency. He took the basket from my arm andplaced it on the table, moved a chair forward for me, and another forhimself, as if preparing for a morning _tête à tête_. 

"What would Mrs. Linwood say, if she saw me here at this early houralone with her son?" thought I, obeying his motion, and tossing my haton the light stairs that were winding up behind me. I did not fell thepossibility of declining the interview, for there was a power about himwhich overmastered without their knowing it the will of others. 

"If you knew how much more pleasing is the innocent shame and artlesssensibility you manifest, than the ease and assurance of the practisedworldling, you would not blush for the impulse which drew you hither. Tothe sated taste and weary eye, simplicity and truth are refreshing asthe spring-time of nature after its dreary winter. The cheek thatblushes, the eye that moistens, and the heart that palpitates, aresureties of indwelling purity and candor. What a pity that they are asevanescent as the bloom of these flowers and the fragrance they exhale!You have never been in what is called the great world?"

"Never. I passed one winter in Boston; but I was in deep mourning anddid not go into society. Besides, your mother thought me too young. Itwas more than a year ago. "

"You will be considered old enough this winter. Do you not look forwardwith eager anticipations and bright hopes to the realization of youth'sgolden dreams?"

"I as often look forward with dread as hope. I am told they who see muchof the world, lose their faith in human virtue, their belief insincerity, their implicit trust in what seems good and fair. All thepleasures of the world would not be an equivalent for the loss ofthese. "

"And do you possess all these now?"

"I think I do. I am sure I ought. I have never yet been deceived. Ishould doubt that the setting sun would rise again, as soon as the truthof those who have professed to love me. Your mother, Edith--and"--

"Richard Clyde, " he added, with a smile, and that truth-searching glancewhich often brought unbidden words to my lips. 

"Yes; I have perfect reliance in his friendship. "

"And in his love, " he added; "why not finish the sentence?"

"Because I have no right to betray his confidence, --even supposing yourassertion to be true. I have spoken of the only feeling, whose existenceI am willing to admit, and even that was drawn from me. What if _I_ turninquisitor?" said I, suddenly emboldened to look in his face. "Have_you_, who have seen so much more of life, experienced the chillinginfluences which you deprecate for me?"

"I am naturally suspicious and distrustful, " he answered. "Have younever been told so?"

"If I have, it required your own assertion to make me believe it. "

"Do you not see the shadow on my brow? It has been there since my cradlehours. It was born with me, and is a part of myself, --just as much asthe shadow I cast upon the sunshine. I can no more remove it than Icould the thunder-cloud from Jehovah's arch. "

I trembled at the strength of his language, and it seemed as if theshadow were stealing over my own soul. His employment was prophetic. Hewas pulling the rose-leaves from my basket, and scattering themunconsciously on the floor. 

"See what I have done, " said he, looking down on the wreck. 

"So the roses of confidence are scattered and destroyed by the cruelhand of mistrust, " cried I, stooping to gather the fallen petals. 

"Let them be, " said he, sadly, "you cannot restore them. "

"I know it; but I can remove the ruins. "

I was quite distressed at the turn the conversation had taken. I couldnot bear to think that one to whom the Creator had been so bountiful ofhis gifts, should appreciate so little the blessings given. He, to talkof shadows, in the blazing noonday of fortune; to pant with thirst, whenwave swelling after wave of pure crystal water wooed with refreshingcoolness his meeting lips. 

Oh, starver in the midst of God's plenty! think of the wretched sons offamine, and be wise. 

"You must have a strange power over me, " said he, rising and walking toone of the alcoves, in which the books were arranged. "Seldom indeed doI allude to my own individuality. Forget it. I have been very happylately. My soul, like a high mountain, lifts itself into the sunshine, leaving the vapors and clouds rolling below. I have been breathing anatmosphere pure and fresh as the world's first morning, redolent withthe fragrance of Eden's virgin blossoms. "

He paused a moment, then approaching his own portrait, glanced from itto the flower girl, and back again from the flower girl to his ownimage. 

"Clouds and sunshine, " he exclaimed, "flowers and thorns; such is theunion nature loves. And is it not well? Clouds temper the dazzle of thesunbeams, --thorns protect the tender flowers. Have you read many ofthese books?" he asked, with a sudden transition. 

"A great many, " I answered, unspeakably relieved to hear him resume hisnatural tone and manner; "too many for my mind's good. "

"How so? These are all select works, --golden sheaves of knowledge, gathered from the chaff and bound by the reaping hand. "

"I mean that I cannot read with moderation. My rapid eye takes in morethan my judgment can criticize or my memory retain. That is one reasonwhy I like to hear another read. Sound does not travel with the rapidityof light, and then the echo lingers in the ear. "

"Yes. It is charming when the eye of one and the ear of another dwell insympathy on the same inspiring sentiments; when the reader, glowing withenthusiasm, turns from the page before him to a living page, printed bythe hand of God, in fair, divine characters. It is like looking from theshining heavens to a clear, crystallized stream, and seeing its gloriesreflected there, and our own image likewise, tremulously bright. "

"Oh!" thought I, "how many times have I thus listened; but has he everthus read?"

I wish I could recollect all the conversation of the morning, --it was sorich and varied. I sat, unconscious of the fading flowers and thepassing moments; unconscious of the faint vibration of that _deep, underchord_, which breathes in low, passionate strains, life's tender andpathetic mirror. 

"I am glad you like this room, " he continued. "Here you can sit, queenof the past, surrounded by beings more glorious than those that walk theearth or dwell in air or sea. You travel not, yet the wonders of earth'svarious climes are around and about you. Buried cities are exhumed atyour bidding, and their dim palaces glitter once more with burning gold. And here, above all the Eleusinian mysteries of the human heart are laidbare, without the necessity of revealing your own. But I am detainingyou too long. Your languid blossoms reproach me. When you come hereagain, do not forget that we have here thought and felt in unison. "

Just as he was leaving the library, Mrs. Linwood entered. She started onseeing him, and her eye rested on me with an anxious, troubled look. 

"You are become an early riser, my son, " she said. 

"You encourage so excellent a habit, do you not, my mother?"

"Certainly; but it seems to me a walk in the fresh morning air would bemore health-giving than a seat within walls, damp with the mould ofantiquity. "

"We have brought the dewy morning within doors, " said he; while I, gathering flowers, basket, and hat, waited for Mrs. Linwood to move, that I might leave the room. She stood between me and the threshold, andfor the first time I noticed in her face a resemblance to her son. Itmight be because a slight cloud rested on her brow. 

"You will not have time to arrange your flowers this morning, " shegravely observed to me. "It is almost the breakfast hour, and you arestill in your garden costume. "

My eyes bowed beneath her mildly rebuking glance, and the fear of herdispleasure chilled the warm rapture which had left its glow upon mycheek. 

"Let me assist you, " he cried, in an animated tone. "It was I whoencroached on your time, and must bear the blame, if blame indeed therebe. There is a homely proverb, that 'many hands make light work. ' Come, let us prove its truth. "

I thought Mrs. Linwood sighed, as he followed me into the drawing-room, and with quick, graceful fingers, made ample amends for the negligencebe had caused. His light, careless manner restored me to ease, and atbreakfast Mrs. Linwood's countenance wore its usual expression of calmbenevolence. 

Had I done wrong? I had sought no clandestine interview. Why should I?It was foolish to wish to look at the beautiful flower girl; but it wasa natural, innocent wish, born of something purer and better than vanityand self-love. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

I lingered after school was dismissed, to ask permission of Mr. Regulusto attend the commencement. It was Mrs. Linwood's wish, and of course alaw to me. 

"Will you release me one week before the session closes?" I asked, "Mrs. Linwood does not wish to leave me behind, but I do not care much to go. "

"Of course I will release you, my child, but it will seem as if theflower season were past when you are gone. I wonder now, how I evertaught without your assistance. I wonder what I shall do when you leaveme?"

"Mrs. Linwood wished me to say to you, " said I, quite touched by hiskind, affectionate manner, "that she does not wish me to renew ourengagement. She will take me to town next winter, satisfied for thepresent with the discipline I have experienced under your guardiancare. "

"So soon!" he exclaimed, "I was not prepared for this. "

"So soon, Mr. Regulus? I have been with you one long year. "

"It may have seemed long to you, but it has been short as a dream to me. A very pleasant time has it been, too pleasant to last. "

He took up his dark, formidable ferula, and leaned his foreheadthoughtfully upon it. 

"And it has been pleasant to me, Mr. Regulus. I dreaded it very much atfirst, but every step I have taken in the path of instruction has beenmade smooth and green beneath my feet. No dull, lagging hour has draggedme backward in my daily duties. The dear children have been good andaffectionate, and you, my dear master, have crowned me with lovingkindness from day to day. How shall I convince you of my gratitude, andwhat return can I make for your even parental care?"

I spoke earnestly, for my heart was in my words. His unvaryinggentleness and tenderness to me, (since that one fiery shower thatconverted for a time the Castalian fountain into a Dead Sea, ) had won mysincere and deep regard. He had seemed lately rather more reserved thanusual, and I valued still more his undisguised expressions of interestand affection. 

"You owe me nothing, " said he, and I could not help noticing an unwontedtrepidation in his manner, and on one sallow cheek a deep flush wasspreading. "Long years of kindness, tenfold to mine, could not atone forthe harshness and injustice of which I was once guilty. You will go intothe world and blush like Waller's rose, to be so admired. You will besurrounded by new friends, new lovers, and look back to these walls asto a prison-house, and to me, as the grim jailer of your youth. "

"No indeed, Mr. Regulus; you wrong yourself and me. Memory will hangmany a sweet garland on these classic walls, and will turn gratefully toyou, as the benefactor of my childhood, the mentor of my growing years. "

My voice choked. A strange dread took possession of me, he looked soagitated, so little like himself. His hand trembled so that it droppedthe ruler, that powerful hand, in whose strong grasp I had seen the paledelinquent writhe in terror. I hardly know what I dreaded, but the airseemed thick and oppressive, and I longed to escape into the opensunshine. 

"Gabriella, my child, " said he, "wait one moment. I did not think itwould require so much courage to confess so much weakness. I have beenindulging in dreams so wild, yet so sweet, that I fear to breathe them, knowing that I must wake to the cold realities of life. I know not howit is, but you have twined yourself about my heart so gradually, sogently, but so strongly, that I cannot separate you from it. A young andfragrant vine, you have covered it with beauty and freshness. You havediffused within it an atmosphere of spring. You thought the coldmathematician, the stern philosopher could not feel, but I tell thee, child, we are the very ones that _can_ and _do_ feel. There is as muchdifference between our love and the boyish passion which passes forlove, as there is between the flash of the glowworm and the welding heatthat fuses bars of steel. Oh! Gabriella, do not laugh at thisconfession, or deem it lightly made. I hope nothing, --I ask nothing; andyet if you could, --if you would trust your orphan youth to my keeping, Iwould guard it as the most sacred trust God ever gave to man. "

He paused from intense emotion, and wiped the drops of perspiration fromhis forehead, while I stood ready to sink with shame and sorrow. No glowof triumph, no elation of grateful vanity warmed my heart, or exalted mypride. I felt humbled, depressed. Where I had been accustomed to look upwith respect, I could not bear to look down in pity, it was so strange, so unexpected. I was stunned, bewildered. The mountain had lost itscrown, --it had fallen in an avalanche at my feet. 

"Oh, Mr. Regulus!" said I, when I at last liberated my imprisoned voice, "you honor me too much. I never dreamed of such a, --such a distinction. I am not worthy of it, --indeed I am not. It makes me very unhappy tothink of your cherishing such feelings for me, who have looked up to youso long with so much veneration and respect. I will always esteem andrevere you, dear Mr. Regulus, --always think of you with gratitude andaffection; but do not, I entreat you, ever allude again to any othersentiment. You do not know how very miserable it makes me. "

I tried to express myself in the gentlest manner possible, but the poorman had lost all command of his feelings. He had confined them in hisbreast so long, that the moment he released them, they swelled and roselike the genius liberated from the chest of the fisherman, and refusedto return to the prison-house they had quitted. His brows contracted, his lips quivered, and turning aside with a spasmodic gesture, hecovered his face with his handkerchief. 

I could not bear this, --it quite broke my heart. I felt as remorseful asif every tear he was hiding was a drop of blood. Walking hastily to him, and laying my hand on his arm, I exclaimed, --

"Don't, my dear master!" and burst into tears myself. 

How foolish we must have appeared to a bystander, who knew the cause ofour tears, --one weeping that he loved too well, the other that she couldnot love in return. How ridiculous to an uninterested person would thattall, awkward, grave man seem, in love with a young girl so much hisjunior, so childlike and so unconscious of the influence she hadacquired. 

"How foolish this is!" cried he, as if participating in thesesentiments. Then removing the handkerchief from his face, he ran hisfingers vigorously through his hair, till it stood up frantically roundhis brow, drew the sleeves of his coat strenuously over his wrists, andstraightening himself to his tall height, seemed resolved to be a manonce more. I smiled afterwards, when I recollected his figure; but I didnot then, --thank heaven, I did not smile then, --I would not have done itfor "the crown the Bourbons lost. "

Anxious to close a scene so painful, I approached the door though with alingering, hesitating step. I wanted to say something, but knew not whatto utter. 

"You will let me be your friend still, " said he, taking my hand in bothhis. "You will not think worse of me, for a weakness which has so muchto excuse it. And, Gabriella, my dear child, should the time ever come, when you need a friend and counsellor, should the sky so bright now bedarkened with clouds, remember there is one who would willingly die tosave you from sorrow or evil. Will you remember this?"

"Oh, Mr. Regulus, how could I forget it?"

"There are those younger and more attractive, " he continued, "who mayprofess more, and yet feel less. I would not, however, be unjust. Godsave me from the meanness of envy, the baseness of jealousy. I fear Idid not do justice to young Clyde, when I warned you of his attentions. I believe he is a highly honorable young man. Ernest Linwood, "--hepaused, and his shaded eyes sought mine, with a glance of penetratingpower, --"is, I am told, a man of rare and fascinating qualities. He isrich beyond his need, and will occupy a splendid position in the socialworld. His mother will probably have very exalted views with regard tothe connections he may form. Forgive me if I am trespassing on forbiddenground. I did not mean, --I have no right, "--

He stopped, for my confusion was contagious. My face crimsoned, even myfingers were suffused with the rosy hue of shame. Nor was it shamealone. Indignation mingled with it its deeper dye. 

"If you suppose, Mr. Regulus, " said I, in a wounded and excited tone, "that _I_ have any aspirations, that would conflict with Mrs. Linwood'sambitious views, you wrong me very much. Oh! if I thought that he, thatshe, that you, or anybody in the world could believe such a thing"--

I could not utter another word. I remembered Mrs. Linwood's countenancewhen she entered the library. I remembered many things, which mightcorroborate my fears. 

"You are as guileless as the unweaned lamb, Gabriella, and long, longmay you remain so, " he answered, with a gentleness that disarmed myanger. "Mine was an unprompted suggestion, about as wise, I perceive, asmy remarks usually are. I am a sad blunderer. May heaven pardon the painI have caused, for the sake of my pure intentions. I do not believe itpossible for a designing thought to enter your mind, or a feeling tofind admittance into your heart, that angels might not cherish. But youare so young and inexperienced, so unsuspecting and confiding;--but nomatter, God bless you, and keep you forever under his most holyguardianship!"

Wringing my hand so hard that it ached long afterwards, he turned away, and descended the steps more rapidly than he had ever done before. Inhis excitement he forgot his hat, and was pursuing his way bareheaded, through the sunny atmosphere. 

"He must not go through town in that way, for the boys to laugh at him, "thought I, catching up his hat and running to the door. 

"Mr. Regulus!" I cried, waving it above my head, to attract hisattention. 

He started, turned, saw the hat, run his fingers through his long hair, smiled, and came back. I met him more than half way. 

"I did not know that I had left my head, as well as my heart behind, "said he, with a sickly effort to be facetious; "thank you, God bless youonce again. "

With another iron pressure of my aching hand, he dashed his hat on hislion-like head and left me. 

I walked home as one in a dream, wondering if this interview were realor ideal; wondering if the juice of the milk-white flower, "made purpleby love's wand, " had been squeezed by fairy fingers into the eyes of mypreceptor, in his slumbering hours, to cause this strange passion;wondering why the spirit of love, like the summer wind, stealing softlythrough the whispering boughs, breathes where it listeth, and we cannottell whence it cometh and whither it goeth; and wondering most of allif--but I cannot describe the thoughts that drifted through my mind, vague and changing as the clouds that went hurrying after each otherover the deep blue ether. 

CHAPTER XX. 

Commencement day!--a day of feverish anxiety and excitement to the youngstudent, who is to step forth before the public eye, a candidate for thelaurels of fame;--a day of weariness and stiffness to the dignifiedprofessors, obliged to sit hour after hour, listening to the florideloquence whose luxuriance they have in vain attempted to prune, ortrying to listen while the spirit yawns and stretches itself to itsdrowsy length;--a day of intense interest to the young maiden, who seesamong the youthful band of aspirants one who is the "bright particularstar" round which her pure and trembling hopes revolve. 

It was a day of excitement to me, for every thing was novel, andtherefore interesting. It was the first time I had ever been in a densecrowd, and I felt the electric fluid, always collected where the greatheart of humanity is throbbing, thrilling in my veins, and ready toflash at the master-stroke of eloquence. I was dazzled by the brilliantdisplay of beauty and fashion that lighted up the classic walls as withliving sunbeams. Such clusters of mimic blossoms and flowing ringletswreathed together round fair, blooming faces; such a cloud of soft, airydrapery floating over lithe figures, swaying forward like light boughsagitated by the wind; such a fluttering of snowy fans, making the cool, pleasant sound of rain drops pattering among April leaves; such brighteager eyes, turned at every sounding step towards the open door, --I hadnever looked upon the like before. I sat in a dream of delight, withoutthinking that it might be thought vulgar to _appear_ delighted, andstill more to express undisguised admiration. 

I dared not look to the platform, where the faculty and students werearranged in imposing ranks, for there was one pair of familiar, sparkling eyes, that were sure to beat mine back with their steadfastgaze. I did not like this persevering scrutiny, for I was sure it wouldattract the attention of others, and then draw it on myself. He hadgrown taller, Richard Clyde had, since I had seen him, his countenancewas more manly, his manner more polished. He had been with us theevening before, but the room was crowded with company, and I was carefulnot to give him a moment's opportunity of speaking to me alone. But Iread too well in his sincere and earnest eyes, that time had wrought nochange in the fervor of his feelings, or the constancy of hisattachment. 

Mrs. Linwood, though surrounded by friends of the most distinguishedcharacter, honored him by signal marks of attention. I was proud of himas a friend. Why did he wish to be more?

"What a fine young man Clyde is!" I heard some one remark who sat behindus. "It is said he is the most promising student in the university. "

"Yes, " was the reply. "I have heard that several wealthy gentlemen inBoston are going to send him to Europe to complete his education, as hisown income will not allow him to incur the expense. "

"That is a great compliment, " observed the first voice, "and Ihave no doubt he deserves it. They say, too, that he is betrothedto a young girl in the country, very pretty, but in most indigentcircumstances, --an early attachment, --children's romance. "

Was it possible that village gossip had reached these venerable walls?But hark to the other voice. 

"I have heard so, but they say she has been adopted by a rich lady, whose name I have forgotten. Her own mother was of very mysterious anddisreputable character, I am told, whom no one visited or respected. Quite an outcast. "

I started as if an arrow had passed through my ears, or rather enteredthem, for it seemed quivering there. Never before had I heard onesullying word breathed on the spotless snow of my mother's character. Isit strange that the cold, venomous tongue of slander, hissing at my veryback, should make me shudder and recoil as if a serpent were there?

A hand touched my shoulder, lightly, gently, but I knew its touch, though never felt but once before. I looked up involuntarily, and metthe eyes of Ernest Linwood, who was standing close to the seat Ioccupied. I did not know he was there. He had wedged the crowd silently, gradually, till he reached the spot he had quitted soon after ourentrance, to greet his former class mates. I knew by his countenancethat he had heard all, and a sick, deadly feeling came over me. He, tohear my mother's name made a byword and reproach, myself alluded to asthe indigent daughter of an outcast, --he, who seemed already lifted ashigh above me on the eagle wings of fortune, as the eyry of theking-bird is above the nest of the swallow, --it was more than I couldbear. 

I said I knew by his countenance that he had heard all. I never saw suchan expression as his face wore, --such burning indignation, suchwithering scorn. I trembled to think of the central fires from whichsuch flames darted. As he caught my glance, an instantaneous change cameover it. Compassion softened every lineament. Still his eye of powerheld me down. It said, "be quiet, be calm, --I am near, be not afraid. "

"I wish I could get you a glass of water, " said he, in a low voice, forI suppose I looked deadly pale; "but it would be impossible I fear inthis crowd, --the aisles are impenetrable. "

"Thank you, " I answered, "there is no need, --but if I could only leave. "

I looked despairingly at the masses of living beings on every side, crowding the pews, filling the aisles, standing on the window-sills, onthe tops of the pews, leaning from the gallery, --and felt that I was aprisoner. The sultry air of August, confined in the chapel walls, anddeprived of its vital principle by so many heaving lungs, weighedoppressively on mine. I could feel behind me the breathing of the lipsof slander, and it literally seemed to scorch me. Ernest took my fanfrom my hand and fanned me without intermission, or I think I must havefainted. 

As I sat with downcast eyes, whose drooping lashes were heavy withunshed tears, I saw a glass of water held before me by an unsteady hand. I looked up and saw Richard Clyde, his student's robe of flowing blacksilk gathered up by his left arm, who had literally forced his waythrough a triple row of men. We were very near the platform, there beingbut one row of pews between. 

I drank the water eagerly, gratefully. Even before those blisteringwords were uttered, I had felt as if a glass of cold water would beworth all the gems of the East; now it was life itself. 

"Are you ill, Gabriella?" whispered Mrs. Linwood, who with Edith satdirectly in front, and whose eyes had watched anxiously the motions ofRichard. "Ah! I see this heat is killing you. "

"_That is she_, I do believe, " hissed the serpent tongue behind me. 

"Hush, she may hear you. "

All was again still around me, the stillness of the multitudinous sea, for every wave of life heaved restlessly, producing a kind of murmur, like that of rustling leaves in an autumnal forest. Then a sound loud asthe thunders of the roaring ocean came rushing on the air. It was theburst of acclamation which greeted Richard Clyde, first in honor thoughlast in time. I bent my ear to listen, but the words blent confusedlytogether, forming one wave of utterance, that rolled on without leavingone idea behind. I knew he was eloquent, from the enthusiastic applausewhich occasionally interrupted him, but I had lost the power ofperception; and had Demosthenes risen from his grave, it would scarcelyhave excited in me any emotion. 

Was this my introduction to that world, --that great world, of which Ihad heard and thought and dreamed so much? How soon had my garlandsfaded, --my fine gold become dim! Could they not have spared me one day, _me_, who had never injured them? And yet they might aim their barbeddarts at me. I would not care for that, --oh, no, it was not that. It wasthe blow that attacked an angel mother's fame. O my mother! could theynot spare thee even in thy grave, where the wicked are said to ceasefrom troubling and the weary are at rest? Could they not let thee sleepin peace, thou tempest-tost and weary hearted, even in the dark andnarrow house, sacred from the footstep of the living?

Another thundering burst of applause called my spirit from thegrass-grown sod, made damp and green by the willow's shade, to thecrowded church and the bustle and confusion of life. Then followed thepresentation of the parchment rolls and the ceremonies usual at thewinding up of this time-honored day. It all seemed like unmeaningmummery to me. The majestic president, with his little flat black cap, set like a tile on the top of his head, was a man of pasteboard andsprings, and even the beautiful figures that lighted up the walls hadlost their coloring and life. There was, indeed, a wondrous change, independent of that within my own soul. The excessive heat had wiltedthese flowers of loveliness and faded their bright hues. Their uncurledringlets hung dangling down their cheeks, whose roses were heightened toan unbecoming crimson, or withered to a sickly pallor; their gossamerdrapery, deprived of its delicate stiffening, flapped like the loosesails of a vessel wet by the spray. Here and there was a bloomingmaiden, still as fair and cool as if sprinkled with dew, round whom theatmosphere seemed refreshed as by the sparkling of a _jet d'eau_. These, like myself, were novices, who had brought with them the dewy innocenceof life's morning hours; but they had not, like me, heard the hissing ofthe adder among their roses. 

"Be calm, --be courageous, " said Ernest, in a scarcely audible tone, asbending down he gave the fan into my hand; "the arrow rebounds from animpenetrable surface. "

As we turned to leave the church, I felt my hand drawn round the arm ofRichard Clyde. How he had cleft the living mass so quickly I could nottell; but he had made his way where an arrow could hardly penetrate. Ilooked round for Edith, --but Ernest watched over her, like an earthlyprovidence. My backward glance to her prevented my seeing the faces ofthose who were seated behind me. But what mattered it? They werestrangers, and heaven grant that they would ever remain so. 

"Are you entirely recovered?" asked Richard, in an anxious tone. "Inever saw any one's countenance change so instantaneously as yours. Youwere as white as your cambric handkerchief. You are not accustomed tosuch stifling crowds, where we seem plunged in an exhausted receiver. "

"I never wish to be in such another, " I answered, with emphasis. "Inever care to leave home again. "

"I am sorry your first impressions should have been sodisagreeable, --but I hope you have been interested in some small degree. You do not know what inspiration there was in your presence. At first, Ithought I would rather be shot from the cannon's mouth than speak inyour hearing; but after the first shock, you were like a fountain ofliving waters playing on my soul. "

Poor Richard! how could I tell him that I had not heard understandinglyone sentence that he uttered? or how could I explain the cause of mymental distraction? He had cast his pearls to the wind; his diamonds tothe sand. 

Mrs. Linwood was a guest of the president, who was an intimate andvalued friend. I would have given worlds for a little solitary nook, where I could hide myself from every eye; for a seat beneath the wildoaks that girdled the cottage of my childhood; but the house wasthronged with the literati of the State, and wherever I turned I met thegaze of strangers. If I could have seen Mrs. Linwood alone, or Edithalone, and told them how wantonly, how cruelly my feelings had beenwounded, it would have relieved the fulness, the oppression of my heart. But that was impossible. Mrs. Linwood's commanding social position, heruncommon and varied powers of conversation, the excellence and dignityof her character, made her the cynosure of the literary circle. Edith, too, from her exquisite loveliness, the sweetness of her disposition, and her personal misfortune, which endeared her to her friends by thetenderness and sympathy it excited, was a universal favorite; and allthese attractive qualities in both were gilded and enhanced by thewealth which enabled them to impart, even more than they received. Theywere at home here, --they were in the midst of friends, whose society wascongenial to their tastes, and I resolved, whatever I might suffer, notto mar their enjoyment by my selfish griefs. Ernest had heardall, --perhaps he believed all. He did not know my mother. He had neverseen that face of heavenly purity and holy sorrow. Why should he notbelieve?

One thing I could do. I could excuse myself from dinner and thus securean hour's quietude. I gave no false plea, when I urged a violentheadache as the reason for my seclusion. My temples ached and throbbedas if trying to burst from a metallic band, and the sun rays, thoughsifted through curtains of folding lace, fell like needle points on myshrinking eyes. 

"Poor Gabriella!" said Edith, laying her cool soft hand on my hot brow, "I did not think you were such a tender, green-house plant. I cannotbear to leave you here, when you could enjoy such an intellectualbanquet below. Let me stay with you. I fear you are really very ill. Howunfortunate!"

"No, no, dear Edith; you must not think of such a thing. Just closethose blinds, and give me that fan, and I shall be very comfortablehere. If possible let no one come in. If I could sleep, this paroxysmwill pass over. "

"There, sleep if you can, dear Gabriella, and be bright for the eveningparty. You knew the dresses mamma gave us for the occasion, both alike. I could not think of wearing mine, unless you were with me, --and youlook so charmingly in white!"

Edith had such a sweet, coaxing way with her, she magnetized pain andsubdued self-distrust. The mere touch of her gentle hand had allayed thefever of my brain, and one glance of her loving blue eye tempered theanguish of my spirit. She lingered, unwilling to leave me, --drew theblinds together, making a soft twilight amid the glare of day, saturatedmy handkerchief with cologne and laid it on my temples, and placing abeautiful bouquet of flowers, an offering to herself, on my pillow, kissed me, and left me. 

I watched the sound of her retreating footsteps, or rather of hercrutches, till they were no longer heard; then burying my face in mypillow, the sultry anguish of my heart was drenched in tears. Oh! what arelieving shower! It was the thunder-shower of the tropics, not theslow, drizzling rain of colder climes. I wept till the pillow was as wetas the turf on which the heavens have been weeping. I clasped it to mybosom as a shield against invisible foes, but there was no _sympathy_ inits downy softness. I sighed for a pillow beneath whose gentle heavingsthe heart of human kindness beats, I yearned to lay my head on amother's breast. Yea, cold and breathless as it was now, beneath theclods of the valley, it would still be a sacred resting-place to me. Thelong pressure of the grave-sods could not crush out the impression ofthat love, stronger than death, deeper than the grave. 

Had the time arrived when I might claim the manuscript, left as ahallowed legacy to the orphan, who had no other inheritance? Had Iawakened to the knowledge of woman's destiny to love and suffer? Dare Iask myself this question? Through the morning twilight of my heart, wasnot a star trembling, whose silver rays would never be quenched, save inthe nightshades of death? Was it not time to listen to the warningvoice, whose accents, echoing from the tomb, must have the power andgrandeur of prophecy? Yes! I would ask Mrs. Linwood for my mother'shistory, as soon as we returned to Grandison Place; and if I found theshadow of disgrace rested on the memory of her I so loved andworshipped, I would fly to the uttermost parts of the earth, to avoidthat searching eye, which, next to the glance of Omnipotence, I wouldshun in guilt and shame. 

"They say!" Who are _they_? who are the cowled monks, the hooded friarswho glide with shrouded faces in the procession of life, muttering in anunknown tongue words of mysterious import? Who are _they_? the midnightassassins of reputation, who lurk in the by-lanes of society, withdagger tongues sharpened by invention and envenomed by malice, to drawthe blood of innocence, and, hyena-like, banquet on the dead? Who are_they_? They are a multitude no man can number, black-stoled familiarsof the inquisition of slander, searching for victims in every city, town, and village, wherever the heart of humanity throbs, or the ashesof mortality find rest. 

Oh, coward, coward world--skulkers! Give me the bold brigand, whothunders along the highways with flashing weapon that cuts the sunbeamsas well as the shades. Give me the pirate, who _unfurls_ the black flag, emblem of his terrible trade, and _shows_ the plank which your doomedfeet must tread; but save me from the _they-sayers_ of society, whoseknives are hidden in a velvet sheath, whose bridge of death, is woven offlowers; and who spread, with invisible poison, even the spotlesswhiteness of the winding-sheet. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

"Gabriella, awake!"

"Mother, is the day dawning?"

"My child, the sun is near his setting; you have slumbered long. "

I dreamed it was my mother's voice that awakened me, --then it seemed thevoice of Richard Clyde, and I was lying under the great shadow of theoak, where he had found me years before half drowned in tears. 

"Gabriella, my dear, --it is time to dress for the evening. "

This time I recognized the accents of Mrs. Linwood, and I rose at onceto a sitting position, wondering if it were the rising or the decliningday that shone around me. Sleep had left its down on my harassedspirits, and its balm on my aching head. I felt languid, but tranquil;and when Mrs. Linwood affectionately but decidedly urged upon me thenecessity of rising and preparing to descend to the drawing-room, Isubmissively obeyed. She must have seen that I had been in tears, butshe made no allusion to them. Her manner was unusually kind and tender;but there was an expression in her serene but commanding eye, that bademe rise superior to the weakness that had subdued me. Had her son spokenof the cause of my emotion?

A few moments after, Edith entered, and her mother rejoined her friendsbelow. 

Edith held in her hand a fresh bouquet of the most exquisite green-houseplants, among which the scarlet geranium exhibited its glowing blossoms. She held it towards me, turned it like a prism in various directions tocatch the changing rays, while its odoriferous breath perfumed the wholeapartment. 

"I am glad you have another, Edith, " I said, looking at the wiltedflowers on my pillow. "These have fulfilled their mission most sweetly. I have no doubt they inspired soothing dreams, though I cannot rememberthem distinctly. "

"Oh! these are _yours_, " she answered, "sent by a friend who was quitedistressed at your absence from the dinner-table. Cannot you guess thedonor?"

"It will not require much acuteness, " replied I, taking the flowers, andthough I could not help admiring their beauty, and feeling grateful forthe attention, a shade of regret clouded their welcome; "I have so fewfriends it is easy to conjecture who thus administers to mygratification. "

"Well, who is it? You do not hazard the utterance of the name. "

"No one but Richard Clyde would think of giving me a token like this. They are very, _very_ sweet, and yet I wish he had not sent them. "

"Ungrateful Gabriella! No one but Richard! A host of common beingsmelted into one, could not make the equal of the friend who made me thebearer of this charming offering. Is the gift of Ernest greeted withsuch indifference?"

"Ernest!" I repeated, and the blood bounded in my veins like a streamleaping over a mountain rock. "Is he indeed so kind?"

I bent my head over the beautiful messengers, to hide the joy too deepfor words, the gratitude too intense for the gift. As I thus looked downinto the heart of the flowers, I caught a glimpse of something whitefolded among the green leaves. Edith's back was turned as she smoothedthe folds of an India muslin dress that lay upon the bed. I drew out thepaper with a tremulous hand, and read these few pencilled words:--

"Sweet flower girl of the north! be not cast down. The most noxious windchanges not the purity of marble; neither can an idle breath shake theconfidence born of unsullied innocence. "

These words pencilled by his own hand, were addressed to _me_. They wereembalmed in fragrance and imbedded in bloom, and henceforth they wereengraven on tablets on which the hand of man had never before traced acharacter, which the whole world might not peruse. 

Oh, what magic there was in those little words! Slander had lost itssting, and malice its venom, at least for the present hour. I put thetalisman in my bosom and the flowers in water, --for _they_ might fade. 

There was no one in the room but Edith and myself. She sat on the sideof the bed, a cloud of white fleecy drapery floating over her lap; agolden arrow, the very last in the day, God's quiver darted through thehalf-open blinds into the clusters of her fair ringlets. She was themost unaffected of human beings, and yet her every attitude was theperfection of grace, as if she sat as a model to the sculptor. I thoughtthere was a shade of sadness on her brow. Perhaps she had seen meconceal the note, and imagined something clandestine and mysteriousbetween me and her brother, that brother whose exclusive devotion hadconstituted the chief happiness of her life. Though it was a simplenote, and the words were few, intended only to comfort and sustain, theywere of such priceless value to me, I could not bear that even Edith'seye should become familiar with its contents. But her love andconfidence were too dear to be sacrificed to a refinement of romance. 

"Dear Edith, " said I, putting the note in her hand, and an arm round herneck, "it was a gift of consolation you brought me;" and then I told herall that I had over-heard, and of the exceeding bitterness of myanguish. 

"I know it, --mamma and I both know it, --brother told us. I did not speakof it, for you looked as if you had forgotten it after I came in, and Idid not wish you to recall it. You must forget it, indeed you must. Suchcruel insinuations can never alienate from you the friends who love you. They rather bind you closer to our hearts. Come, we have no time tolose. You know we must assist each other. "

I insisted on being her handmaid first, and lingered over her toilettill she literally escaped from my hands and drew behind the lacecurtains like a star behind a cloud. Our dresses were alike, as thegenerous Edith had willed. They were of the most exquisite India muslin, simply but elegantly decorated with the finest of lace. I had neverbefore been arrayed for an evening party, and as the gauzy fulness ofdrapery fell so softly and redundantly over the form I had beenaccustomed to see in the sad-colored robes of mourning, I hardlyrecognized my own lineaments. There was something so light, so etherealand graceful in the dress, my spirit caught its airiness and seemedborne upwards as on wings of down. I was about to clasp on my preciousnecklace and bracelets of hair, when observing Edith's beautiful pearlornaments, corresponding so well with the delicacy and whiteness of herapparel, I laid them aside, resolving to wear no added decoration butthe flowers, consecrated as the gift of Ernest. 

"Come here, Gabriella, let me arrange that fall of lace behind, " saidEdith, extending a beautiful arm, on which the pearl-drops lay like dewon a lily. Both arms passed round my neck, and I found it encircled likeher own with pearls. Then turning me round, she clasped first one arm, and then the other with fairy links of pearl, and then she flung aroseate of these ocean flowers round my head, smiling all the time anduttering exclamations of delighted admiration. 

"Now don't cry, Gabriella dear. You look so cool--so fair--so like asnowdrop glittering with dew. And don't put your arms round my neck, beautiful as they are, quite so close. You will spoil my lace, darling. You must just wear and keep the pearls for the love of me. Mammasanctions the gift, so you need have no scruples about accepting them. Remember, now, we must have no more _diamonds_, not one, though of thepurest water and sparkling in heaven's own setting. "

What could I say, in answer to such abounding kindness? In spite of herprohibition the diamonds would mingle with the pearls; but the sunbeamsshone on them both. 

What a day had this been to me! It seemed as if I had lived years in theshort space of a few hours. I had never felt so utterly miserable, noteven over my mother's new made grave. I had never felt so supremelyhappy, --so buoyant with hope and joy. The flowers of Ernest, the pearlsof Edith, came to me with a message as gladdening as that which wakedthe silver harp-strings of the morning stars. I did not, I dared notmisunderstand the meaning of the first. They were sent as balm to awounded spirit; as breathers of hope to the ear of despair; but it was_his_ hand that administered the balm; _his_ spirit that inspired thestrain. 

"How radiant you look, Gabriella!" exclaimed Edith, her sweet blue eyesresting on me with affectionate delight. "I am so glad to see you comeout of the cloud. Now you justify our _pride_ as well as our affection. "

"But I--but all of us look so earthly at your side, Edith"--

"Hush! flatterer--and yet, who would not prefer the beauty of earth, tothe cold idealism of spirit loveliness? I have never sought theadmiration of men. If I look lovely in the eyes of Ernest, it is all Idesire. Perhaps all would not believe me; but you will. I yield you theempire of every heart but his. There, I would not willingly occupy the_second_ place. A strange kind of jealousy, Gabriella; but I am just soweak. "

She smiled, nay even laughed, --called herself very weak, very foolish, but said she could not help it. She believed she was the most selfish ofhuman beings, and feared that this was the right hand to be cut off, theright eye to be plucked out. I was pained to hear her talk in this way;for I thought if any one ever gained the heart of Ernest, it would bedearly purchased by the sacrifice of Edith's friendship. But it was onlya jesting way of expressing her exceeding love, after all. She was notselfish; she was all that was disinterested and kind. 

I followed her down stairs into a blaze of light, that at first dazzledand bewildered me. The chandeliers with their myriad pendants ofglittering crystal emitted thousands of brilliant coruscations, likewintry boughs loaded with icicles and sparkling in a noonday sun. Whilethrough the open windows, the departing twilight mingled its softduskiness with the splendors of the mimic day. 

Ernest Linwood and Richard Clyde were standing near the entrance of thedoor to greet us. The former immediately advanced and gave me his arm, and Richard walked by the side of Edith. I heard him sigh as they fellbehind us, and my heart echoed the sound. Yet how could he sigh withEdith at his side? As I walked through the illuminated drawing-room, escorted by one on whom the eyes of the fashionable world were eagerlybent, I could not help being conscious of the glances that darted on mefrom every direction. Ernest Linwood was the loadstar of the scene, andwhoever he distinguished by his attention must be conspicuous byassociation. I felt this, but no embarrassment agitated my step or dyedmy cheek with blushes. The deep waters were stirred, stirred to theirinmost depths, but the surface was calm and unruffled. Mrs. Linwood wasat the head of the room, the centre of an intellectual circle. She wasdressed, as usual, in silver gray; but the texture of her dress was therichest satin, shaded by blonde. The effect was that of a cloud with asilver lining, and surely it was a fitting attire for one who knew howto give brightness to the darkest shadows of life. 

As we approached her, her countenance lighted up with pride andpleasure. I saw she was gratified by my appearance; that she was notashamed of her protégée. Yet as we came nearer, I observed an expressionof the most tender anxiety, approaching to sadness, come over her brow. How proud she was of her son! She looked upon him with a glance thatwould have been idolatry, had not God said, "Thou shalt not make untothyself idols, for I am a jealous God. "

She took my hand, and I saw her eye follow the soft tracery ofpearl-flowers that enwreathed neck, arms, and brow. She knew who hadthus adorned me, and her approving smile sanctioned the gifts. 

"I rejoice to see you look so well, my dear child, " she said, "I fearedyou might lose the enjoyment of the evening; but I see no one who has abrighter prospect before them now. "

She introduced me to the friends who surrounded her, and wished to giveme a seat near her; but Ernest resisted the movement, and with a smilingbow passed on. 

"I am not disposed to release you quite so soon, " said he, passing outinto the piazza. "I see very plainly that if I relinquish my position itwill not be easy to secure it again. I am delighted. I am charmed, Gabriella, to see that you have the firmness to resist, as well as thesensibility to feel. I am delighted, too, to see you in the only liveryyouth and innocence should wear in a festal scene like this. I abhor thegaudy tinselry which loads the devotees of fashion, indicative of falsetastes and false principles; but white and pearls remind me of everything pure and holy in nature. In the Bible we read of the white robesof angels and saints. Who ever dreamed of clothing them, in imagination, in dark or party-colored garments? In mythology, the graces, the nymphs, and the muses are represented in snowy garments. In spotless white thebride is led to the marriage shrine, and in white she is prepared forthe last sublime espousals. Do you know, " added he, suddenly changingthe theme, as if conscious he was touching upon something too solemn, "why I selected the scarlet geranium for one of the blossoms of yourbouquet? The first time I saw you, it glowed in the darkness of yourhair like coral in the ocean's heart. "

While he was speaking he broke a sprig from the bouquet and placed it ina wave of my hair, behind the band of pearls. 

"Earth and ocean bring you their tribute, " said he, and "heaven too, " headded; for as we passed by the pillars, a moon-beam glided in and laidits silver touch on my brow. 

"It is Edith's hand that thus adorned me, " I answered, unwilling heshould believe I had been consulting my own ambitious taste. "Had I beenleft to myself, I should have sought no ornament but these beautifulflowers, doubly precious for the feelings of kindness and compassionthat consecrated their mission. "

"Compassion, Gabriella! I should as soon think of compassionating thestar that shines brightest in the van of night. Compassion looks down;kindness implies an equal ground; admiration looks up with the gaze ofthe astronomer and the worship of the devotee. "

"You forget I am but a simple, village rustic. Such exaggeratedcompliments would suit better the brilliant dames of the city. I wouldrather a thousand times you would say, 'Gabriella, I do feel kindlytowards you, ' than utter any thing so formal, and apparently soinsincere. "

I was really hurt. I thought he was mocking my credulity, or measuringthe height and depth of my girlish vanity. I did not want to be comparedto a star, a lone and distant star, nor to think of him as an astronomergazing up at me with telescopic eye. My heart was overflowing withgentle, natural thoughts. I wanted human sympathy, not cold andglittering compliments. 

"And do you expect to hear the language of nature here, with the buzz ofempty tongues and the echo of unmeaning laughs in the ear; where, if aword of sentiment were over-heard, it would be bandied from lip to lipwith hollow mockery? Come with me into the garden, where the flowersblush in their folded leaves, beneath the love-light of yon gentle moon, where the stilly dews whisper sweet thoughts to the listening heart, andI will tell you what I have learned in Grandison Place, under the elmtree's shade, by the flower girl in the library, and from a thousandsources of which you have never dreamed. "

He took the hand which rested lightly on his arm, and drawing it closerto his side led the way to the steps of the piazza. I had dreamed of amoment like this in the golden reveries of romance, and imagined it aforetaste of heaven, but now I trembled and hesitated like the fearfulfluttering spirit before the opening gates of paradise. I dared notyield to the almost irresistible temptation. No figures were glidingalong the solitary paths, no steps were brushing away the dew-stars thathad fallen from the sky. We should be alone in the moonlight solitude;but the thoughts of Mrs. Linwood and of Edith would find us out. 

"No, no!" I cried, shrinking from the gentle force that urged meforward; "do not ask me now. It would be better to remain where we are. Do you not think so?"

"Certainly, if you wish it, " he said, and his voice had an altered tone, like that of a sweet instrument suddenly untuned; "but there is only one_now_, for those who fear to trust me, Gabriella. "

"To trust _you_, --oh you cannot, do not misunderstand me thus!"

"Why else do you shrink, as if I were leading you to a path of thornsinstead of one margined with flowers?"

"I fear the observations of the world, since the bitter lesson of themorning. "

"Your fear! You attach more value to the passing remarks of strangers, than the feelings of one who was beginning to believe he had found onepure votary of nature and of truth. It is well. I have monopolized yourattention too long. "

Calmly and coldly he spoke, and the warm light of his eye went out likelightning, leaving the cloud gloom behind it. I was about to ask him tolead me back to his mother, in a tone as cold and altered as his own, when I saw her approaching us with a lady whom I had observed at thechapel; for her large, black eyes seemed magnetizing me, whenever I mettheir gaze. She was tall, beyond the usual height of her sex, finelyformed, firm and compact as a marble pillar. A brow of bold expansion, features of the Roman contour, clearly cut and delicately marked; anexpression of recklessness, independence, and self-reliance were themost striking characteristics of the young lady, whom Mrs. Linwoodintroduced as Miss Melville, the daughter of an early friend of hers. 

"Miss Margaret Melville, " she repeated, looking at her son, who stood, leaning with an air of stately indifference against a pillar of thepiazza. I had withdrawn my hand from his arm, and felt as if the breadthof the frozen ocean was between us. 

"Does Mr. Ernest Linwood forget his old friend so easily?" she asked, ina clear, ringing voice, extending a fair ungloved hand. "Do you notremember Madge Wildfire, or Meg the Dauntless, as the students used tocall me? Or have I become so civilized and polished that you do notrecognize me?"

"I did not indeed, " said he, receiving the offered hand with more gracethan eagerness, "but it is not so much the fault of _my_ memory, as themarvellous change in yourself. I must not say improvement, as that wouldimply that there was a time when you were susceptible of it. "

"You may say just what you please, for I like frankness andstraightforwardness as well as I ever did; better, --a great deal better, for I know its value more. And you, Ernest, I cannot call you any thingelse, you are another and yet the same. The same stately, statue-likebeing I used to try in vain to teaze and torment. It seems so long sincewe have met, I expected to have seen you quite bent and hoary with age. Do tell me something of your transatlantic experience. "

While she was speaking in that peculiar tone of voice which reminded oneof a distant clarion, Richard Clyde came to me on the other side, andseeing that she wished to engage the conversation of Ernest, which sheprobably thought I had engrossed too long, I took the offered arm ofRichard and returned to the drawing-room. Seeing a table covered withengravings, I directed our steps there, that subjects of conversationmight be suggested independent of ourselves. 

"How exquisite these are!" I exclaimed, taking up the first within myreach and expatiating on its beauties, without really comprehending onewith my preoccupied and distant thoughts. "These Italian landscapes arealways charming. "

"I believe that is a picture of the Boston Common, " said he, smiling atmy mistake; "but surely no Italian landscape can boast of suchmagnificent trees and such breadth of verdure. It is a whole casket ofemeralds set in the granite heart of a great city. And see in the centrethat pure, sparkling diamond, sending out such rays of coolness anddelight, --I wonder you did not recognize it. "

"I have seen it only in winter, when the trees exhibited their wintrydreariness, and little boys were skating on the diamond surface of thatfrozen water. It looked very different then. "

"Mr. Linwood could explain these engravings, " said he, drawing forwardsome which indeed represented Italian ruins, grand and ivy mantled, where the owl might well assert her solitary domain. "He has two greatadvantages, an eye enlightened by travel, and a taste fastidious bynature. "

"I do not admire fastidiousness, " I answered; "I do not like to havedefects pointed out to me, which my own ignorance does not discover. There is more pleasure in imagining beauties than in finding outfaults. "

"Will you think it a presuming question, a too inquisitive one, " hesaid, holding up an engraving between himself and the light, "if I askyour candid opinion of Mr. Linwood? Is the world right in the characterit has given? Has he all the peculiarities and fascinations it ascribesto him?"

He spoke in a careless manner, or rather tried to do so, but his eyeburned with intense emotion. Had he asked me this question a short timeprevious, conscious blushes would have dyed my cheeks, for a "murderousguilt shows not itself more soon, " than the feelings I attempt toconceal; but my sensibility had been wounded, my pride roused, and myheart chilled. I had discovered within myself a spirit which, like theocean bark, rises with the rising wave. 

"If Mr. Linwood _had_ faults, " I answered, and I could not help smilingat the attempted composure and real perturbation of his manner, "I wouldnot speak of them. Peculiarities he may have, for they are inseparablefrom genius, --fascinations"--here their remembrance was too strong formy assumed indifference, and my sacred love of truth compelled me toutter, --"fascinations he certainly possesses. "

"In what do they consist?" he asked. "Beyond an extremely gentlemanlyexterior, I do not perceive any peculiar claims to admiration. "

Hurt as I had been by Ernest's altered manner, I was disposed to dojustice to his merits, and the more Richard seemed desirous todepreciate him, the more I was willing to exalt him. If he was capableof the meanness of envy, I was resolved to punish him. I did himinjustice. He was not envious, but jealous; and it is impossible forjealousy and justice ever to go hand in hand. 

"In what do they consist?" I repeated. At that moment I saw him throughthe window, standing just where I had left him, leaning with folded armsagainst the pillar, with the moonlight shining gloriously on his brow. Miss Melville stood near him, talking with great animation, emphasizingher words with quick, decided gesticulation, while he seemed a passivelistener. I had seen handsomer gentlemen, perhaps, --but never one soperfectly elegant and refined in appearance. The pale transparency ofhis complexion had the purity and delicacy of alabaster without itswhiteness, seen by that clear, silvery light. 

"In what do they consist? In powers of conversation as rich as they arevaried, in versatility of talents, in rare cultivation of mind andpolish of manner. Let me see. I must give you a complete inventory ofhis accomplishments. He reads most charmingly, plays superbly, and singsdivinely. Would you know his virtues? He is a most devoted son, aparagon of brothers, and a miracle of a host. "

I believe there is a dash of coquetry in every woman's nature. Theremust have been in mine, or I could not have gone on, watching the redthermometer in Richard's cheek, rising higher and higher, though what Isaid was truth, unembellished by imagination. It was what they _who runmight read_. I did not speak of those more subtle traits which, wereinvisible to the common eye, those characters which, like invisiblewriting, are brought out by a warm and glowing element. 

"I am glad to hear you speak so openly in his praise, " said Richard, with a brightening countenance; "even if I deserved such a tribute, Ishould not wish to know that you had paid it to me. I would prize moreone silent glance, one conscious blush, than the most labored eulogiumthe most eloquent lips could utter. "

"But I do praise you very much, " I answered; "ask Mrs. Linwood, andEdith, and Mr. Regulus. Ask Mr. Linwood himself. "

"Never speak of me to _him_, Gabriella. Let my feelings be _sacred_, ifthey are lonely. You know your power; use it gently, exert it kindly. "

The smile of assumed gaiety faded from my lips, as his grave, earnest, sincere accents went down into my soul. Could I trifle even for a momentwith an affection so true and constant?

Oh, wayward and unappreciating heart! Why could I not return this love, which might have made me so happy? Why was there no spirit-echo to _his_voice; no quickened pulsations at the sound of _his_ coming footsteps?

"This is no place, Richard, to talk of ourselves, or I would try toconvince you that I am incapable of speaking lightly of your feelings, or betraying them to a human being, even to Mrs. Linwood; but let usspeak of something else now. Do you not feel very happy that you arefree, --no more a slave to hours or rules; free to come and go, when andwhere you please, with the whole earth to roam in, "Heart within and God o'erhead?"

"No! I am sad. After being at anchor so long, to be suddenly setdrifting, to be the sport of the winds of destiny, the cable chain ofhabit and association broken, one feels dizzy and bewildered. I neverknew till now how strong the classmate bond of union is, how sacred thebrotherhood, how binding the tie. We, who have been treading the samepath for four long years, must now diverge, east, west, north, andsouth, the great cardinal points of life. In all human probability weshall never all meet again, till the mysterious problem of our destinyis solved. "

He paused, impressed by the solemnity of this idea, then added, in hisnatural, animated manner. 

"There is one hope, Gabriella, to which I have looked forward as thesheet-anchor of my soul; if that fails me, I do not care what becomes ofme. Sometimes it has burned so brightly, it has been my morning andevening star, my rising, but unsetting sun. To-night the star is dim. Clouds of doubt and apprehension gather over it. Gabriella, --I cannotlive in this suspense, and yet I could not bear the confirmation of myfears. Better to doubt than to despair. "

"Richard, why will you persist in talking of what cannot be explainedhere? Shall we not meet hereafter, and have abundant opportunities forconversation, free and uninterrupted? Look around, and see howdifferently other people are conversing. How lightly and carelesslytheir words come and go, mingled with merry laughter! Edith is at thepiano. Let us go where we can listen, we cannot do it here. "

"I _am_ very selfish!" said he, yielding to my suggestion. "I havepromised my classmates to introduce them to you. I see some of them, bending reproachful glances this way. I must redeem my character, so asnot to incur disgrace in the parting hour. "

Then followed introductions pressing on each other, till I was weary ofhearing my own name, Miss Lynn. I never did like to be called Miss. Still it was an unspeakable relief to me, to be released from thenecessity of repressing the feelings of others, and guarding my own. Itwas a relief to hear those unmeaning sayings which are the current coinof society, and to utter without effort the first light thought thatcame floating on the surface. The rest of the evening I was surroundedby strangers, and the most exacting vanity might have been satisfiedwith the incense I received. I knew that the protection of Mrs. Linwoodgave a _prestige_ to me that would not otherwise have been mine, but Icould not help perceiving that Edith, the heiress, all lovely as shewas, was not half as much courted and admired as the _daughter of theoutcast_. I was too young, too much of a novice, not to be pleased withthe attention I attracted; but when the heart is awakened, vanity hasbut little power. It is a cold, vapory conceit, that vanishes before theinner warmth and light, which, like the sun in the firmament, "shinethbrighter and brighter to the perfect day. "

After Edith retired from the instrument there was a buzz, and asensation, and Miss Melville, or Meg the Dauntless, as I could not helpmentally calling her, was escorted to the piano by Ernest. What acontrast she presented to the soft, retiring, ethereal Edith, whoseevery motion suggested the idea of music! Though her arm was linked inthat of Ernest, she walked independently of him, dashing through thecompany with a brave, military air, and taking a seat as if a flourishof trumpets had heralded her approach. At first I was startled by theloud crash of the keys, as she threw her hands upon them with all herforce, laughing at the wild dissonance of the sound; but as shecontinued, harmony, if not sweetness, rose out of the chaos. Sheevidently understood the science of music, and enjoyed it too. She didnot sing, and while she was playing the most brilliant polkas, waltzes, and variations with the most wonderful execution, she talked and laughedwith those around the instrument, or looked round the apartment, andnodded to this one and that, her great black eyes flashing like chainlightning. Her playing seemed to have a magical effect. No one couldkeep their feet still. Even the dignified president patted his, markingthe measure of her prancing fingers. I could have danced wildly myself, for I never heard any thing so inspiring to the animal spirits as thosewizard strains. Every countenance was lighted with animation, save one, and that was Ernest's. He stood immovable, pale, cold, andself-involved, like a being from another sphere. I remembered howdifferently he looked when he wooed me to the garden's moonlight walks, and how the warm and gentle thoughts that then beamed in his eyes seemedfrozen and dead, and I wondered if they were extinguished forever. 

"How stupid!" exclaimed Miss Melville, suddenly stopping, and turninground on the pivot of the music stool till she commanded a full view ofthe drawing-room. "I thought you would all be dancing by this time. There is no use in playing to such inanimate mortals. And you, " saidshe, suddenly turning to Ernest, "you remind me of the prince, theenchanted prince in the Arabian Nights, only he was half marble, you area whole statue. You do not like music. I pity you. "

"I have my own peculiar tastes, " he answered quietly; "some nerves aremore delicately strung than others. "

"Do you imply that _my_ playing is too loud for delicate nerves? Why, that is nothing to what I can do. That is my company music. When I am athome I give full scope to my powers. "

"We are perfectly satisfied with the specimen we have heard, " said he, smiling; how could he help it? and every one laughed, none more heartilythan the gay musician herself. I never heard such a laugh before, somerry, so contagious; such a rich, round, ringing laugh; dying away onemoment, then bursting out again in such a chorus!

All at once she fixed her eyes on me, and starting up, came directly tome, planting her tall, finely formed, firm-set figure in the midst ofthe group around me. 

"Come, _you_ must play and sing too. I have no doubt your style willsuit Mr. Linwood's delicate nerves. "

"I never play, " I answered. 

"Nor sing?"

"Only at home. "

"You have a face of music, I am sure. "

"Thank you. I have a heart to appreciate it; that is a great gift. "

"But why don't you sing and play? How do you expect to pass current insociety, without being able to hang on the instrument as I do, or creepover it with mouselike fingers as most young ladies do? I suppose youare very learned--very accomplished? How many languages do you speak?"

"Only two at present, " I answered, excessively amused by hereccentricity, and falling into her vein with a facility that quitesurprised myself. "I generally find the English tongue sufficient toexpress my ideas. "

"I suppose one of the two is German. You will be considered a merenobody here, if you do not understand German. It is the fashion; theparoxysm; German literature, German taste, and German transcendentalism;I have tried them all, but they will not do for me. I must have sunshineand open air. I must see where I am going, and understand what I amdoing. I abhor mysticism, as I do deceit. Are you frank, Miss Gabriella?You have such a pretty name, I shall take the liberty of using it. Lynnis too short; it sounds like an abbreviation of Linwood. "

"If you mean by frankness, a disposition to tell all I think and feel, Iam not frank, " I answered, without noticing her last remark, whichcreated a smile in others. 

"You do not like to hear people express _all_ their thoughts, good, bad, or indifferent?"

"Indeed I do not. I like to have them winnowed before they are uttered. "

"Then you will not like _me_, and I am sorry for it. I have taken anamazing fancy to you. Never mind; I shall take you by storm when we getto Grandison Place. Do you know I am going home with you? Are you notdelighted?"

She burst into one of her great, rich laughs, at the sight of mydismayed countenance. I really felt annihilated at the thought. Therewas something so overpowering, so redundant about her, I expected to beweighed down, --overshadowed. She going to Grandison Place! Alas, what atransformation there would be! Adieu to the quiet walks, the eveningreadings, the morning flower gatherings; adieu to sentiment andtranquillity, to poetry and romance. Why had Mrs. Linwood invited sostrange a guest? Perhaps she was self-invited. 

"I tell you what I am going for, " she said, bending her face to mine andspeaking in a whisper that sounded like a whistle in my ear; "I am goingto animate that man of stone. Why have not you done it, juxtaposited asyou are? You do not make use of the fire-arms with which nature hassupplied you. If I had such a pair of eyes, I would slay like David mytens of thousands every day. "

"The difficulty would be in finding victims, " I answered. "Theinhabitants of the town where I reside do not number more than two orthree thousand. "

"Oh! I would make it populous. I would draw worshippers from the fourpoints of the earth, --and yet it would be a greater triumph to subdueone proud, hitherto impregnable heart. "

Her eyes flashed like gunpowder as she uttered this, _sotto voce_ it istrue, but still loud enough to be heard half across the room. 

"Goodby, " she suddenly exclaimed, "they are beckoning me; I must go; tryto like me, precious creature; I shall be quite miserable if you donot. "

Then passing her arm round me, an arm firm, polished, and white asivory, she gave me a loud, emphatic kiss, laughed, and left me almost asmuch confused as if one of the other sex had taken the same liberty. 

"Is she, " thought I, "a young man in disguise?"

CHAPTER XXII. 

What am I writing?

Sometimes I throw down the pen, saying to myself, "it is all folly, allverbiage. There is a history within worth perusing, but I cannot bringit forth to light. I turn over page after page with the fingers ofthought. I see characters glowing or darkened with passion, --linesalternately bright and shadowy, distinct and obscure, and it seems aneasy thing to make a transcript of these for the outward world. "

Easy! it requires the recording angel's pen to register the history ofthe human heart. "The thoughts that breathe, the thoughts that burn, "how can they be expressed? The mere act of clothing them in words makesthem grow cold and dull. The molten gold, the fused iron hardens andchills in the forming mould. 

Easy! "Oh yes, " the critic says, "it is an easy thing to write; onlyfollow nature, and you cannot err. " But nature is as broad as theuniverse, as high as the heavens, and as deep as the seas. It is but asmall portion we can condense even on hundreds of pages of foolscappaper. If that portion be of love, the cold philosopher turns away indisdain and talks of romantic maids and moonstruck boys, as if thesubject were fit alone for them. And yet love is the great motiveprinciple of nature, the burning sun of the social system. Blot it out, and every other feeling and passion would sink in the darkness ofeternal night. Byron's awful dream would be realized, --darkness wouldindeed be the universe. They who praise a writer for omitting love fromthe page which purports to be a record of life, would praise God forcreating a world, over whose sunless realms no warmth or light wasdiffused, (if such a creation were possible, )--a world without flowersor music, without hope or joy. 

But as the sun is only an emanation from the first great fountain oflight and glory, so love is but an effluence from the eternal source oflove divine. 

"Bright effluence of bright essence increate. " And woe to her, who, forgetting this heavenly union, bathes her heart in the earthly stream, without seeking the living spring whence it flows; who worships thefire-ray that falls upon the altar, without giving glory to him fromwhom it descended. The stream will become a stagnant pool, exhalingpestilence and death; the fire-ray will kindle a devouring flame, destroying the altar, with the gift and the heart a _burning bush_, thatwill blaze forever without consuming. 

Whither am I wandering?

Imagine me now, in a very different scene to the president's illuminateddrawing-room. Instead of the wild buzzing of mingling voices, I hear themournful sighing of the breeze through the weeping grave trees; and everand anon there comes a soft, stealing sound through the long, swayinggrass, like the tread of invisible feet. I am alone with my mother'sspirit. The manuscript, that is to reveal the mystery of my parentage, is in my hand. The hour is come, when without violating the commands ofthe dead, I may claim it as my own, and remove the hermetic seal whichdeath has stamped. Where else could I read it? My own room, once soserenely quiet, was no longer a sanctuary, --for Margaret Melville dashedthrough the house, swinging open the doors as abruptly as a March wind, and her laugh filled every nook and corner of the capacious mansion. Howcould I unseal the sacred history of my mother's sorrows within thesound of that loud, echoing ha, ha?

I could not; so I stole away to a spot, where sacred silence has set upits everlasting throne. The sun had not yet gone down, but the shadowsof the willows lengthened on the grass. I sat at the foot of the graveleaning against a marble slab, and unsealed, with cold and tremblinghands, my mother's _heart_, for so that manuscript seemed to me. 

At first I could not see the lines, for my tears rained down so fastthey threatened to obliterate the delicate characters; but afterrepeated efforts I acquired composure enough to read the following briefand thrilling history. It was the opening of the sixth seal of my life. The stars of hope fell, as a fig-tree casteth her untimely figs when sheis shaken by a mighty wind, and the heaven of my happiness departed as ascroll when it is rolled together, and the mountains and islands ofhuman trust were moved out of their places. 

MY MOTHER'S HISTORY. 

"Gabriella, before your eyes shall rest on these pages, mine will beclosed in the slumbers of death. Let not your heart be troubled, my onlybeloved, at the record of wrongs which no longer corrode; of sorrowswhich are all past away. 'In my Father's house are many mansions, ' andone of them is prepared for me. It is my Saviour's promise, and Ibelieve it as firmly as if I saw the golden streets of the NewJerusalem, where that heavenly mansion is built. 

"Weep not, then, my child, my orphan darling, over a past which cannotbe recalled; let not its shadow rest too darkly upon you, --if there isjoy in the present, be grateful; if there is hope in the future, rejoice. 

"You have often asked me to tell you where I lived when I was a littlechild; whether my home was a gray cottage like ours, in the woods; andwhether I had a mother whom I loved as dearly as you loved me. I havetold you that my first feeble life-wail mingled with her dying groan, and you wondered how one could live without a mother's love. 

"I was born in that rugged fortress, whose embattled walls are washed bythe majestic Bay of Chesapeake. My father held a captain's commission inthe army, and was stationed for many years at this magnificent, insulated bulwark. My father, at the time of my mother's death, was ayoung and gallant officer, and I was his only child. It is not strangethat he should marry again; for the grief of man seldom survives theallotted period of mourning, and it was natural that he should select agay and brilliant woman, for the second choice is generally a strikingcontrast to the first. My mother, I am told, was one of those gentle, dove-like, pensive beings, who nestled in her husband's heart, and knewno world beyond. My step-mother loved the world and its pleasures betterthan husband, children, and home. She had children of her own, who weremore the objects of her pride than her love. Every day, they weredressed for exhibition, petted and caressed, and then sent back to thenursery, where they could not interfere with the pleasures of theirfashionable mamma. Could I expect those tender cares which the yearningheart of childhood craves, as its daily sustenance? She was not harsh ordespotic, but careless and indifferent. She did not care for me; andprovided I kept out of her way, she was willing I should amuse myself inthe best manner I pleased. My father was kind and caressing, when he hadleisure to indulge his parental sensibilities; but he could notsympathize in my childish joys and sorrows, for I dared not confide themto him. He was a man, and, moreover, there was something in the gildedpomp of his martial dress, that inspired too much awe for childishfamiliarity. I used to gaze at him, when he appeared on military parade, as if he were one of the demi-gods of the ancient world. He had an erectand warlike bearing, a proud, firm step, and his gold epaulette with itsglittering tassels flashing in the sunbeams, his crimson sashcontrasting so splendidly with the military blue, his shining sword andwaving plume, --all impressed me with a grandeur that was overpowering. It dazzled my eye, but did not warm my young heart. 

"As I grew older, I exhibited a remarkable love of reading, and as noone took the trouble to direct my tastes, I seized every book which camewithin my reach and devoured it, with the avidity of a hungry andunoccupied mind. My father was a gentleman of pure and elegant taste, and had he dreamed that I was exposed, without guardianship, todangerous influences, he would have shielded and warned me. But hebelieved the care of children under twelve years of age devolved ontheir mother, and he was always engrossed with the duties of aprofession which he passionately loved, or the society of his brotherofficers, usually so fascinating and convivial. 

"I used to take my book, which was generally some wild, impassionedromance, and wandering to the ramparts, seat myself by the shiningpyramids of cannon-balls; and while the blue waves of the Chesapeakerolled in murmuring music by, or, lashed by the ocean wind, heaved infoaming billows, roaring against the walls, I yielded myself to thewizard spell of genius and passion. The officers as they passed wouldtry to break the enchantment by gay and sportive words, but all in vain. I have sat there, drenched by the salt sea-spray, and knew it not. I wascalled the little bookworm, the prodigy, the _dream-girl_, a name youhave inherited, my darling Gabriella; and my father seemed proud of thereputation I had established. But while my imagination waspreternaturally developed, my heart was slumbering, and my soulunconscious of life's great aim. 

"Thus unguarded by precept, unguided by example, I was sent from home toa boarding-school, where I acquired the usual education andaccomplishments obtained at fashionable female seminaries. During myabsence from home, my two step-sisters, who were thought too young toaccompany me, and my infant step-brother, died in the space of one week, smitten by that destroying angel of childhood, the scarlet fever. 

"I had been at school two years when I made my first visit home. Mystep-mother was then in the weeds of mourning, and of course excludedherself in a measure from gay society; but I marvelled that sorrow hadnot impaired the bloom of her cheek, or quenched the sparkle of hercold, bright eye. Her heart was not buried in the grave of herchildren, --it belonged to the world, to which she panted to return. 

"But my father mourned. There was a shadow on his manly brow, which Ihad never seen before. I was, now, his only child, the representative ofhis once beloved Rosalie, and the pure, fond love of his early yearsrevived again in me. I look back upon those two months, when I basked inthe sunshine of parental tenderness for the first, the _only_ time, as aportion of my life most dear and holy. I sighed when I thought of theyears when we had been comparatively so far apart, and my heart grew tohis with tender adhesiveness and growing love. The affections, which myworldly step-mother had chilled and repressed, and which the death ofhis other children had blighted, were now all mine, renovated andwarmed. 

"Oh, Gabriella! very precious is a father's love. It is an emblem of thelove of God for the dependent beings he has created; so kind, soprotecting, so strong, and yet so tender! Would to God, my poor, defrauded child, you could have known what this God-resembling loveis, --but your orphanage has been the most sad, the most dreary, --themost unhallowed. Almighty Father of the universe, have mercy on mychild! Protect and bless her when this wasting, broken heart no longerbeats; when the frail shield of a mother's love is taken from her, andshe is left _alone_--_alone_--_alone_. Oh! my God, have pity--have pity!Forsake her not!"

The paper was blistered with the tears of the writer. I dropped it onthe grave, unable to go on. I cast myself on the grass-covered mould, and pressed it to my bosom, as if there was vitality in the cold clods. 

"Oh, my mother!" I exclaimed, and strange and dreary sounded my voice inthat breathing stillness. "Has God heard thy prayers? Will he hear thecries of the fatherless? Will he have pity on my forsaken youth?"

I would have given worlds to have realized that this mighty God wasnear; that he indeed cared with a father's love for the orphan mourner, committed in faith to his all-embracing arms. But I still worshipped himas far-off, enthroned on high, in the heaven of heavens, which cannotcontain the full glory of his presence. I saw him on the burningmountain, in the midst of thunder and lightning and smoke, --a God ofconsuming fire, before whose breath earthly joys and hopes withered anddried, like blossoms cast into the furnace. 

But did not God once hide his face of love from his own begotten Son?And shall not the _eloi, eloi, lama sabachthani_ of the forsaken heartsometimes ascend amid the woes and trials and wrongs of life, from thegreat mountain of human misery, the smoking Sinai, whose clouded summitquakes with the footsteps of Deity?

CHAPTER XXIII. 

I again resumed the manuscript, trembling for the revelations which itmight make. 

"Never again, " wrote my mother, "did I behold my noble, gallant father. His death was sudden, as if shot down in the battle field, without onewarning weakness or pain. In the green summer of his days he fell, andlong did my heart vibrate from the shock. How desolate to me was thehome to which I returned! The household fire was indeed extinguished. The household god laid low. I saw at one glance that in my breast alonehis memory was enshrined; that there alone was sacred incense burning. Mrs. Lynn, (I will speak of her by her name hereafter, ) though only oneyear had passed since his death, was assuming those light, coquettishairs which accord as little with the robes of widowhood as the hues ofthe rainbow or the garlands of spring. 

"I saw with exquisite pain and shame, that she looked upon me as a rivalof her maturer charms, and gladly yielded to my wish for retirement. Shealways spoke of me as 'the child, ' the 'little bookworm, ' impressingupon the minds of all the idea of my extreme juvenility. I _was_ young;but I had arrived to years of womanhood, and my stature equalled hers. 

"I will pass on to the scene which decided my destiny. I do not wish toswell the volume of my life. Let it be brief as it is sad. 

"Very near the fortress is another rocky bulwark, rising out of thewaves in stern and rugged majesty, known by the peculiar name of theRip-Raps. It is the work of man, who paved the ocean bed with rocks, andconceived the design of a lofty castle, from whose battlements thestar-spangled banner should wave, and whose massy turrets shouldperpetuate the honors of Carolina's most gifted son. The design wasgrand, but has never been completed. It has, however, finishedapartments, which form a kind of summer hotel, where many statesmenoften resort, that they may lay down, for a while, the burden of care, and breathe an atmosphere pure from political corruption, and cool fromparty zeal and strife. 

"At the time of which I speak the chief magistrate of the nation soughtrefuge there for a short while, from the oppressive responsibilities ofhis exalted station, and regardless of his wish for retirement, orrather irresistibly impelled to pay honors to one whose brows werewreathed with the soldier's laurel as well as the statesman's crown, every one sought his rocky and wave-washed retreat. 

"Mrs. Lynn joined a party of ladies, who, escorted by officers, wentover in barges to be introduced to the gallant veteran. The martialspirit of my father throbbed high in my bosom, and I longed to beholdone, whom he would have delighted to honor. Mrs. Lynn did not urge me, but there were others who supplied her deficiency, and convinced me Iwas not considered an intruder. Among the gentlemen who composed ourparty was a stranger, by the name of St. James, to whom Mrs. Lynn paidthe most exclusive attention. She was still in the bloom of womanhood, and though far from being beautiful, was showy and attractive. All theembellishments of dress were called into requisition to enhance thecharms of nature, and to produce the illusion of youth. She alwayssought the admiration of strangers, and Mr. St. James was sufficientlydistinguished in appearance to render him worthy of her fascinations. Imerely noticed that he had a fine person, a graceful air, and a musicalvoice; then casting my eyes on the sea-green waters, over which ourlight barge was bounding, I did not lift them again till we were nearthe dark gray rocks of the Rip-Raps, and I beheld on the brink of thestone steps we were to ascend, a tall and stately form, whose foam-whitelocks were rustling in the breeze of ocean. There he stood, like thestatue of liberty, throned on a granite cliff, with waves rolling belowand sunbeams resting on his brow. 

"As we stepped from the barge and ascended the rugged steps, thechieftain bent his warlike figure and drew us to the platform with allthe grace and gallantry of youth. As I was the youngest of the party, hereceived me with the most endearing familiarity. I almost thought he wasgoing to kiss me, so close he brought his bronzed cheek to mine. 

"'God bless you, my child!' said he, taking both hands in his andlooking earnestly in my face. 'I knew your father well. He was a gallantofficer, --a noble, honest man. Peace to his ashes! The soldier fills anhonored grave. '

"This tribute to my father's memory filled my eyes with tears, while mycheek glowed with gratified pride. I was proud that I was a soldier'sdaughter, proud to hear his praise from the lips of valor and of rank. 

"I had brought a beautiful bouquet of flowers as a girlish offering tothe veteran. I had been thinking of something pretty and poetical to saywhen I presented it, but the words died on my lips, and I extended it insilence with the trembling hand of diffidence. 

"'Now, ' said he, with a benignant smile, turning the flowers round andround, as if admiring them all, 'I am the envy of every young manpresent. They would all exchange the laurels of the soldier for theblossoms gathered by the hand of beauty. '

"'Let me have the privilege of holding them for you, sir, while weremain, ' said Mr. St. James, with a courtly grace consistent with thename he bore, and they were submitted with equal courtesy to hiskeeping. 

"These are trifles to relate, my Gabriella, but they had an influence onmy life and yours. They laid the foundation of a dislike and jealousy inthe mind of my step-mother, that embittered all our future intercourse. 'The child' was distinguished, not only by the hero who was the lion ofthe scene, but by the stranger she was resolved to charm, and herusually bright countenance was clouded with malice and discontent. Forgetful of politeness, she hurried away those who came in the samebarge with herself, anxious to see me immured once more in the walls ofthe Fort. 

"After our distinguished host had bidden farewell to his elder guests, whom he accompanied to the steps, he turned to me with a look so benignand affectionate I never shall forget it, and stooping, kissed myforehead. 

"'As your father's friend, and your country's father, dear child, permitme'--he said, then giving my hand to St. James, who was waiting toassist me into the barge, bowed a dignified adieu. 

"'You do indeed make us envy you, sir, ' cried St. James, as he stoodwith uncovered head in the centre of the boat, while it glided from thewalls, and holding up the bouquet which he had had the boldness toretain. 

"The statesman smiled and shook his snow-crowned head, and there hestood, long after we receded from the rocks, his tall, erect figuredefined on the dark blue sky. 

"I never saw that noble form again. The brave old soldier died a soldierof the Cross, and fills a Christian's grave. He sleeps in death, embosomed in the quiet shades he loved best in life. 

 'And Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, To deck the turf that wraps his clay. '

"I did not think of paying this tribute to his memory; but that scenewas so indelibly stamped on my mind, I could not help delineating it. Itwas then and there I first beheld your father. 

"The barge was rowed by eight soldiers, dressed in uniform, and theiroars all dipped and flashed with simultaneous motion. Nothing could bemore harmoniously beautiful; but the restless spirit of Mrs. Lynnsuggested a change. 

"'Raise the sail, ' she exclaimed, 'this is too monotonous. I prefer it athousand times to rowing. '

"'I beg, I entreat, madam, ' cried I, unable to repress my apprehensions, 'do not have it done now. I am very foolish, but I cannot help it, indeed I cannot. '

"I was not accustomed to the water as she was, having been absent solong; and even when a child, I had an unconquerable dread of sailing. She knew this, and it prompted her suggestion. 

"'Affectation of fear may be pardoned in a _child_, Rosalie, ' said she, with a sarcastic smile, 'but it is nevertheless very unbecoming. '

"'Do not indulge one apprehension, ' exclaimed St. James, stepping overone of the seats and sitting down at my side. 'I am one of the bestsailors in the world. _Non timui--Cĉsarem vehis. _ Give the sails to thewinds, boys. I will make them my vassals. '

"His eyes beamed with conscious power, as the white sheet unrolled andswelled gracefully in the breeze. It was strange, all my fears weregone, and I felt as serene a confidence as if his vaunting words weretrue. The strong will, the magic smile were acting on me like a spell, and I yielded unresistingly to their influence. 

"Mrs. Lynn would gladly have revoked her commands, since they had calledforth such an expression of interest for me; but the boat swept on withtriumphant speed, and even I participated in the exhilaration of itsmotion. Just before we reached the shore, Mrs. Lynn bent forward andtook the flowers from the hand of St. James before he was aware of herdesign. 

"'Is that mignonette which is so oppressively fragrant?' she asked, lifting the bouquet to her nose. She was seated near the side of thebarge, and her head was gracefully inclined. Whether from accident ordesign, I think it was the latter, the flowers dropped into the river. 

"In the flashing of an eye-glance, St. James leaped over the boat side, seized the flowers, held them up in triumph over his head, and swam tothe shore. He stood there with dripping garments and smiling lips as welanded, while the paleness of terror still blanched my face, and itsagitation palpitated in my heart. 

"'I must deny myself the pleasure of escorting you to the threshold, 'said he, glancing at me, while he shook the brine-drops from his arms. His head had not been submerged. He had held that royally above thewaves. 'But, ' added he, with graceful gallantry, 'I have rescued atrophy which I had silently vowed to guard with my life;--a treasuredoubly consecrated by the touch of valor and the hand of beauty. '

"'Well, ' exclaimed Mrs. Lynn, as soon as we were at home, tossing herbonnet disdainfully on the sofa, 'if I ever was disgusted with boldnessand affectation I have been to-day. But one thing let me tell you, MissRosalie, if you cannot learn more propriety of manners, if you make suchsickening efforts to attract the attention of strangers, I will neverallow you to go in public, at least in company with me. '

"I was perfectly thunderstruck. She had never given such an exhibitionof temper before. I had always thought her cold and selfish, but sheseemed to have a careless good-nature, which did not prepare me for thisebullition of passion. I did not reflect that this was the first time Ihad clashed with her interests, --that inordinate vanity is the parent ofenvy, hatred, and all uncharitableness. 

"I did not attempt to reply, but hastily turned to leave the room. Shehad been my father's wife, and the sacredness of _his_ name shielded herfrom disrespect. 

"'Stop, Miss, ' she cried, 'and hear what I have to say. If Mr. St. Jamescalls this evening, you are not to make your appearance. He was onlymaking sport of your childishness to-day, and cares no more for you thanthe sands of the sea-shore. He is no company for you, I assure you. Heis a gentleman of the world, and has no taste for the bread and buttermisses just let loose from a boarding-school. Do you hear me?'

"'I do, madam. '

"'Do you mean to obey?'

"'I do, madam. '

"I will not attempt to describe my feelings that night as I sat alone inmy room, and heard the voice of St. James mingling with mystep-mother's, which was modulated to its sweetest, most seductive tone. The desolateness of my future life spread out before me. A home withoutlove! Oh, what dreariness! Oh, what iciness! Had my father lived, howdifferent it would have been. I thought of the happy vacation, when heopened his warm heart and took me in, and then I wept to think how coldthe world seemed since he had left it. 

"It was a midsummer's night, and all the windows were open to admit thesea-born breeze. They were open, but bars of gauze wire were put up atthe windows and doors to exclude the mosquitos. A very small balconyopened out of my room, where I usually sat listening to the inspiringstrains of the band, that, marching on the ramparts, sent their rich, thrilling notes in rolling echoes over the moonlight waves. 

"It was playing now, that martial band, and the bay was one sheet ofburning silver. I had never seen it look so resplendently beautiful, andI could not help thinking that beneath that gently rippling glory, therewas peace for the sad and persecuted heart. As I sat there leaning onthe railing, gazing into the shining depths of ocean, St. James passed. It was very early in the evening. Why had he left so soon? He started, paused, turned, and approached the balcony. 

"'Why are you so cruel as to refuse to see me, after showing suchknightly devotion to your cause?' he asked, leaning on the side of thebalcony and looking earnestly in my face, on which the tear-drops werestill glittering. 

"'I have not refused, ' I answered hastily, 'but do not wait to talk withme now. Mrs. Lynn would be much displeased; she would consider it veryimproper. I pray you not to think me rude, but indeed I must retire. '

"I rose in an agony of terror, lest my step-mother should hear hisvoice, and wreak her wrath on me. 

"'Fear not, ' he cried, catching my hand and detaining me. 'She isengaged with company, who will not hasten away as I have done. I willnot stay long, nor utter one syllable that is not in harmony with theholy tranquillity of the hour. I am a stranger in name, but is there notsomething that tells you I was born to be your friend? I know thereis, --I see it in your ingenuous, confiding eye. Only answer me onequestion, --Was it your _own will_, or the will of another that governedyour actions to-night?'

"'The will of another, ' I answered. 'Let that be a sufficient reason forurging your departure. If I am forbidden to see you in the parlor, Ishall certainly be upbraided for speaking with you here. '

"It was very imprudent in me to speak so freely of my step-mother'sconduct. No questions of his should have drawn from me such anassertion. But I was so young and inexperienced, and I had been goadedalmost to madness by her stinging rebukes. It was natural that I shouldwish to vindicate myself from the charge of rudeness hermisrepresentations would bring against me. 

"'I find you in sadness and tears, ' said he, in a low, gentle tone; solow it scarcely rose above the murmuring waves. 'They should not be thecompanions of beauty and youth. Let me be your friend, --let me teach youhow to banish them. '

"'No, no, ' I cried, frightened at my own boldness in continuing theconversation so long. 'You are not my friend, or you would not expose meto censure. Indeed you are not. '

"'I am gone; but tell me one thing, --you are not a prisoner?'

"'O no; heaven forbid. '

"'You walk on the ramparts. '

"'Sometimes. '

"'Adieu, --we shall meet again. '

"He was gone, and sweetly lingered in my ear the echo of his gentlypersuasive voice. He had vanished like the bark that had just glidedalong the waters, and like that had left a wake of brightness behind. 

"I could not sleep. Excitement kept me wakeful and restless. I heard themeasured tread of the sentinel walking his 'lonely round, ' and it didnot sound louder than the beating of my own heart. Hark! a soft, breezysound steals up just beneath my window. It is the vibration of theguitar, --a deeptoned, melodious voice accompanies it. It is the voice ofSt. James. He sings, and the strains fall upon the stilly night, soft asthe silver dew. 

"Gabriella, I told you with my dying lips never to unseal thismanuscript till you were awakened to woman's destiny, --_love_. If you donot sympathize with my emotions, lay it down, my child, the hour is notyet come. If you have never heard a voice, whose faintest tones sinkinto the lowest depths of your soul, --if you have never met a glance, whose lightning rays penetrate to the innermost recesses of the heart, reseal these pages. The feelings with which you cannot sympathize willseem weakness and folly, and a daughter must not scorn a mother's bosomrecord. 

"Remember how lonely, how unfriended I was. The only eye that had beamedon me with love was closed in death, the only living person on whom Ihad any claims was cruel and unkind. Blame me not that I listened to astranger's accents, that I received his image into my heart, that Ienthroned it there, and paid homage to the kingly guest. 

"It is in vain to linger thus. I met him again and again. I learned tomeasure time and space by one line--where he _was_, and where he was_not_. I learned to bear harshness, jeering, and wrong, because a doorof escape was opened, and the roses of paradise seemed blushing beyond. I suffered him to be my friend--lover--husband. "

I dropped the manuscript that I might clasp my hands in an ecstasy ofgratitude--

"My God, --I thank thee!" I exclaimed, sinking on my knees, and repeatingthe emphatic words: "_friend--lover-husband_. " "God of my mother, forgive my dark misgivings. "

Now I could look up. Now I could hold the paper with a firm hand. Therewas nothing in store that I could not bear to hear, no misfortune I hadnot courage to meet. Alas! alas!

CHAPTER XXIV. 

"Yes, " continued my mother; "we were married within heaven dedicatedwalls by a man of God, and the blessing of the holy, blessed, andglorious Trinity was pronounced upon our union. Remember this, my dearlybeloved child, remember that in the bosom of the church, surrounded byall the solemnities of religion, with the golden ring, the uttered vow, and on bended knee, I was wedded to Henry Gabriel St. James. 

"My step-mother refused to be present. She had sufficient regard to theworld's opinion to plead indisposition as an excuse; but it was a falseone. She never forgave me for winning the love of the man whom she hadherself resolved to charm, and from the hour of our introduction to theday of my marriage, my life was clouded by the gloom of her ill temper. 

"We immediately departed for New York, where St. James resided, and ourbridal home was adorned with all the elegancies which classic tastecould select, and prodigal love lavish upon its idol. I was happy then, beyond the dream of imagination. St. James was the fondest, the kindest, the tenderest--O my God! must I add--the falsest of human beings? I didnot love him then--I worshipped, I adored him. I have told you that mychildish imagination was fed by wild, impassioned romances, and I hadmade to myself an ideal image, round which, like the maid of France, Ihung the garlands of fancy, and knelt before its shrine. 

"Whatever has been my after fate, I have known the felicity of loving inall its length and breadth and strength. And he, too, loved mepassionately, devotedly. Strong indeed must have been the love thattriumphed over principle, honor, and truth, that broke the most sacredof human ties, and dared the vengeance of retributive Heaven. 

"St. James was an artist. He was not dependent entirely on his geniusfor his subsistence, though his fortune was not large enough to enablehim to live in splendid indolence. He had been in Europe for the lastfew years, wandering amid the ruins of Italy, studying the grand oldmasters, summering in the valleys of Switzerland, beneath the shadow ofits mountain heights, and polishing his bold, masterly sketches amongthe elegant artists of Paris. 

"With what rapture I listened to his glowing descriptions of foreignlands, and what beautiful castles we built where we were to dwelltogether in the golden clime of Italy or the sunny bowers of France!

"At length, my Gabriella, you were given to my arms, and the deep, purefountain of a mother's love welled in my youthful bosom. But my life waswellnigh a sacrifice to yours. For weeks it hung trembling on a threadslender and weak as the gossamer's web. St. James watched over me, asnone but guardian angels could watch, and I had another faithful anddevoted nurse, our good and matchless Peggy. To her unsleepingvigilance, her strong heart and untiring arm, I owe in a great measurethe restoration of my health, or rather the preservation of my life; myhealth was never entirely renovated. 

"When you were about five or six months old, St. James came to me with atroubled countenance. He was summoned away, very unexpectedly. He wouldprobably be obliged to go as far as Texas before his return; he might beabsent a month. Business of a perplexing nature, which it was impossibleto explain then, called him from me, but he would shorten as much aspossible the days of absence which would be dreary and joyless to him. Iwas overwhelmed with grief at the thought of his leaving me; my nerveswere still weak, and I wept in all the abandonment of sorrow. I fearedfor him the dangers that beset the path of the traveller--sickness, death; but I feared not for his honor or truth. I relied upon hisintegrity, as I did upon the promises of the Holy Scriptures. I did hoturge him to explain the motives of his departure, satisfied that theywere just and honorable. 

"Oh! little did I think, --when he clasped me in a parting embrace whenhe committed us both so tenderly and solemnly to the guardianship of ourHeavenly Father, --little did I think I should so soon seek to rend himfrom my heart as a vile, accursed monster; that I should shrink from thememory of his embraces as from the coils of the serpent, the fangs ofthe wolf. God in his mercy veils the future, or who could bear theburden of coming woe!

"A few days after his departure, as I was seated in the nursery, watching your innocent witcheries as you lay cradled in the lap ofPeggy, I was told a lady wished to see me. It was too early an hour forfashionable calls, and I went into the parlor expecting to meet one ofthose ministering spirits, who go about on errands of mercy, seeking theaid of the rich for the wants of the poor. 

"A lady was standing with her back to the door, seemingly occupied ingazing at a picture over the mantel-piece, an exquisite painting of St. James. Her figure was slight and graceful, and she struck me at once ashaving a foreign air. She turned round at my entrance, exhibiting a paleand agitated countenance; a countenance which though not beautiful, waspainfully interesting. She had a soft olive complexion, and a fullmelancholy black eye, surcharged with tears. 

"I motioned her to a seat, for I could not speak. Her agitation wascontagious, and I waited in silent trepidation to learn the mystery ofher emotion. 

"'Forgave me this intrusion, ' said she, in hesitating accents; 'you lookso young, so innocent, so lovely, my heart misgives me. I cannot, I darenot. '

"She spoke in French, a language of which I was mistress, and Irecognized at once the land of her birth. She paused, as if unable toproceed, while I sat, pale and cold as marble, wondering what awfulrevelation she would, but dared not make. Had she come to tell me of myhusband's death, --was my first agonized thought, and I faintlyarticulated, --

"'My husband!'

"'_Your_ husband! Poor, deluded young creature. Alas! alas! I canforgive him for deserting me, but not for deceiving and destroying you. '

"I started to my feet with a galvanic spring. My veins tingled as iffire were running through them, and my hair rose, startling withelectric horror. I grasped her arm with a force she might have feltthrough covering steel, and looking her steadfastly in the face, exclaimed, --

"'He _is_ my husband; mine in the face of God and man. He is _my_husband, and the father of my child. I will proclaim it in the face ofearth and heaven. I will proclaim it till my dying day. How dare youcome to me with slanders so vile, false, unprincipled woman?'

"She recoiled a few steps from me, and held up her deprecating hands. 

"'Have pity upon me, for I am very wretched, ' she cried; 'were it notfor my child I would die in silence and despair, rather than rouse youfrom your fatal dream, but I cannot see him robbed of his rights. Icannot see another usurping the name and place he was born to fill. Madam, ' continued she, discarding her supplicating tone, and speakingwith dignity and force, 'I am no false, unprincipled woman, inventingtales which I cannot corroborate. I am a wife, as pure in heart, asupright in purpose as you can be, --a mother as tender. Forsaken by himwhom in spite of my wrongs I still too fondly love, I have left mynative land, crossed the ocean's breadth, come a stranger to a strangecountry, that I might appeal to you for redress, and tell you that ifyou still persist in calling him your own, it will be in defiance of thelaws of man and the canons of the living God. '

"As she thus went on, her passions became roused, and flashed anddarkened in her face with alternations so quick they mocked the sight. She spoke with the rapid tongue and impressive gesticulation of hercountry, and God's truth was stamped on every word. I felt it, --I knewit. She was no base, lying impostor. She was a wronged and sufferingwoman;--and he, --the idol of my soul, --the friend, lover, _husband_ ofmy youth, --no, no! he could not be a villain! She was mad, --ha, ha, --shewas mad! Bursting into a wild, hysteric laugh, I sunk back on the sofa, repeating, --

"'Poor thing, she is mad! I wonder I did not know it sooner. '

"'No, madam, I am not mad, ' she cried, in calmer tones; 'I sometimeswish I were. I am in the full possession of my reason, as I canabundantly prove. But little more than three years since, I was marriedto Gabriel Henry St. James, in Paris, my native city, and here is thecertificate which proves the truth of my assertion. '

"Taking a paper from her pocket-book, she held it towards me, so that Icould read the writing, still retaining it in her own hand. I did notblame her, --oh, no! I should have done the same. I saw, what seemedblazing in fire, the names of Henry Gabriel St. James and TherésaJosephine La Fontaine united in marriage by the usual formula of thechurch. 

"I did not attempt to snatch it from her, or to destroy the fatal paper. I gazed upon it till the characters swelled out like black chords, andwrithed in snaky convolutions. 

"'Do you recognize this?' she asked, taking from her bosom a gold case, and touching a spring. It flew open and revealed the handsome featuresof St. James, beaming with the same expression as when I first beheldhim, an expression I remembered but too well. She turned it in the case, and I saw written on the back in gold letters, 'For my beloved wife, Therésa Josephine. '

"It was enough. The certificate might be a forgery, her tale a lie; butthis all but breathing picture, these indubitable words, were proofs ofblasting power. Cold, icy shiverings ran through my frame, --a cold, benumbing weight pressed down my heart, --a black abyss opened beforeme, --the earth heaved and gave way beneath me. With a shriek that seemedto breathe out my life, I fell forward at the feet of her whom I had soguiltlessly wronged. "

 * * * * *

Thus far had I read, with clenching teeth and rigid limbs, and brow onwhich chill, deadly drops were slowly gathering, when my mother's shriekseemed suddenly to ring in my ears, --the knell of a broken heart, aruined frame, --and I sprang up and looked wildly round me. Where was I?Who was I?

Were the heavens turned to brass and the sun to blood, or was yonsaffron belt the gold of declining day, --yon crimson globe, the sunrolling through a hazy, sultry atmosphere? What meant that long greenmound stretching at my side, that broken shaft, twined with the cypressvine? I clasped both hands over my temples, as these questions driftedthrough my mind, then bending my knees, I sunk lower and lower, till myhead rested on the grave. I was conscious of but one wish--to stay thereand die. The bolt of indelible disgrace quivered in my heart; why shouldI wish to live?

CHAPTER XXV. 

I did not become insensible, but I was dead to surrounding objects, deadto the present, dead to the future. The past, the terrible, theinexorable past, was upon me, trampling me, grinding me with iron heel, into the dust of the grave. I could not move, for its nightmare weightcrushed me. I could not see, for its blackness shrouded me; nor hear, for its shrieks deafened me. Had I remained long in that awfulcondition, I should have become a maniac. 

"Gabriella!" said a voice, which at any other moment would have wakeneda thrill of rapture, "Gabriella, speak, --look up. Why do you do this?Why will you not speak? Do you not hear me?"

I did try to speak, but my tongue seemed frozen. I did try to lift myhead, but in vain. 

Ernest Linwood, for it was he, knelt down by me, and putting his armsround me, raised me from the ground, without any volition of my own. Iknow not what state I was in. I was perfectly conscious; but had no morepower over the movement of a muscle than if I were dead. My eyes wereclosed, and my head drooped on his breast, as he raised me, bowed by itsown weight. I was in a kind of conscious catalepsy. He was alarmed, terrified. As he afterwards told me, he really believed me dead, andclasping me to him with an energy of which he was not aware, adjured mein the most tender and passionate manner to speak and tell him that Ilived. 

"Gabriella, my flower-girl, my darling!" he cried, pressing my cheekwith those pure, despairing kisses with which love hallows death. Had Iindeed passed the boundaries of life, for my spirit alone was consciousof caresses, whose remembrance thrilled through my being. 

The reaction was instantaneous. The chilled blood grew warm and rushedthrough every vein with wild rapidity. Then I became physicallyconscious, and glowing with confusion I raised myself from my recliningposition, and attempted to look up into the face of Ernest. But I couldnot do it. Contending emotions deprived me of the power of self-command. 

"This is madness, Gabriella! This is suicide!" he exclaimed, lifting mefrom the grave, and still supporting me with his arm. "Why do you comehere to nurse a grief so far beyond the limits of reason and religion?Why do you give your friends such exquisite pain, yourself suchunnecessary misery?"

"Do not reproach me, " I cried. "You know not what cause I have foranguish and despair. "

"Despair, Gabriella! You cannot know the meaning of that word. Despairbelongs to guilt, and even that is not hopeless. And why do you come tothis lone place of graves to weep, as if human sympathy were denied toyour sorrows? Is not my mother kind, --is not Edith tender andaffectionate? Am not I worthy to be trusted, as a friend, --aprotector, --a redresser; and if need be, an avenger of wrongs?"

"My own wrongs I might reveal; but those of the dead are sacred, " Ianswered, stooping down and gathering up the manuscript, which was halfconcealed in the long, damp grass. "But do not think me ungrateful. WhatI owe to your mother and Edith words can never tell. In every prayer Ibreathe to heaven I shall call down blessings on their head. And youtoo, --you have been more than kind. I never can forget it. "

"If it be not too presumptuous, I will unite your name with theirs, andpray that God may bless you, now and ever more. "

"This will never do, " said he, drawing me forcibly from the mournfulplace. "You _must_ confide in my mother, Gabriella. A dark secret is aplague spot in the heart. Confide in my mother. It is due to hermaternal love and guardianship. And beware of believing that any thingindependent _of yourself_ can alienate her affections. Can you walk? Ifit were not for leaving you alone, I would go and return with thecarriage. "

"Oh, yes; I am quite well and strong again. "

"Then lean on me, Gabriella. Shrink not from an arm which would gladlyprotect you from every danger and every wrong. Let us hasten, lest Iutter words which I would not for worlds associate with a scene so coldand sad. Not where the shadow of death falls--no--not here. "

He hurried me through the gate, and then paused. 

"Rest here a moment, " said he, "and recover your composure. We may meetwith those who would wonder to see you thus, with your hair wildlyflowing, your scarf loose and disordered. "

"Thank you, " I exclaimed, my thoughts coming to the surface, and restingthere with shame. I had forgotten that my bonnet was in my hand, that mycomb had fallen, leaving my hair loose and dishevelled. Gathering up itslength, and twisting it in thick folds around my head, I confined itwith my bonnet, and smoothing my thin scarf, I took his arm in silence, and walked on through the purple gloom of twilight that deepened beforeus. Slight shivers ran through my frame. The dampness of the grave-yardclung to me, and the night dews were beginning to fall. 

"Are you cold, Gabriella?" he asked, folding my light mantle moreclosely round me. "You are not sufficiently protected from the dewy air. You are weary and chill. You do not lean on me. You do not confide inme. "

"In whom should I confide, then? Without father, brother, or protector, in whom should I confide, if ungrateful and untrusting I turn from you?"

As I said this, I suffered my arm to rest more firmly on his, for mysteps were indeed weary, and we were now ascending the hill. My heartwas deeply touched by his kindness, and the involuntary ejaculations heuttered, the involuntary caresses he bestowed, when he believed meperfectly unconscious, were treasured sacredly there. We were now by thelarge elm-tree that shaded the way-side, beneath whose boughs I had sooften paused to gaze on the valley below. Without speaking, he led me tothis resting-place, and we both looked back, as wayfarers are wont to dowhen they stop in an ascending path. 

Calmly the shadows rested on the landscape, softly yet darkly theyrolled down the slope of the neighboring hills and the distantmountains. In thin curlings, the gray smoke floated upwards and layslumberously among the fleecy clouds. Here and there a mansion, liftedabove the rest, shed from its glowing windows the reflection ofdeparting day. Bright on the dusky gold of the west the evening-starshone and throbbed, like a pure love-thought in the heart of night; and, dimly glimmering above the horizon, the giant pen seemed writing theMene Tekel of my clouded destiny on the palace walls of heaven. 

As we thus stood, lifted above the valley, involved in shadows, silentand alone, I could hear the beating of my heart, louder and louder inthe breathing stillness. 

"Gabriella!" said Ernest, in a low voice, and that _master-chord_ whichno hand but his had touched, thrilled at the sound. "If the spot onwhich we stand were a desert island, and the valley stretching around usthe wide waste of ocean, and we the only beings in the solitude ofnature, with your hand thus clasped in mine, and my heart thus throbbingnear, with a love so strong, so deep, it would be to you in place of thewhole world beside, --tell me, could you be happy?"

"I could, " was the low, irresistible answer; and my soul, like anilluminated temple, flashed with inward light. I covered my eyes to keepin the dazzling rays. I forgot the sad history of wrongs and disgracewhich I had just been perusing;--I forgot that such words had breathedinto my mother's ear, and that she believed them. I only remembered thatErnest Linwood loved me, and _that_ love surrounded me with a luminousatmosphere, in which joy and hope fluttered their heavenly wings. 

How slight a thing will change the current of thought! I caught aglimpse of the granite walls of Grandison Place, and darkened by theshades, they seemed to frown upon me with their high turret and loftycolonnade, so ancestral and imposing. Then I remembered Mrs. Linwood andEdith, --then I remembered my mother, my _father_, and all the light wentout in my heart. 

"I had forgotten, --oh, how much I had forgotten, " I cried, endeavoringto release myself from the arm that only tightened its hold. "Yourmother never would forgive my presumption if she thought, --if she knew. "

"My mother loves you; but even if she did not, I am free to act, free tochoose, as every man should be. I love and _revere_ my mother, but thereis a passion stronger than filial love and reverence, which goes onconquering and to conquer. She will not, she cannot oppose me. "

"But Edith, dear Edith, who loves you so devotedly! She will hate me ifI dare to supplant her. "

"A sister never can be supplanted, --and least of all such a sister asEdith, Gabriella. If you do not feel that love so expands, so enlargesthe heart, that it makes room for all the angels in heaven, you couldnot share my island home. "

"If you knew all, --if I could tell you all, " I cried, --and again I feltthe barbed anguish that prostrated me at the grave, --"and you _shall_know, --your generous love demands this confidence. When your mother hasread the history of my parentage, I will place it in your hands; thoughmy mother's character is as exalted and spotless as your own, there is acloud over my name that will for ever rest upon it. Knowing _that_, youcannot, you will not wish to unite your noble, brilliant destiny withmine. This hour will be remembered as a dream, a bright, but fleetingdream. "

"What do I care for the past?" he exclaimed, detaining me as Iendeavored to move on. "Talk not of a clouded name. Will not mine absorbit? What shaft of malice can pierce you, with my arm as a defence, andmy bosom as a shield? Gabriella, it is you that I love, not the dead andburied past. You are the representative of all present joy and hope. Iask for nothing but your love, --your exclusive, boundless love, --a lovethat will be ready to sacrifice every thing but innocence and integrityfor me, --that will cling to me in woe as in weal, in shame as in honor, in death as in life. Such is the love I give; and such I ask in return. Is it mine? Tell me not of opposing barriers; only tell me what yourheart this moment dictates; forgetful of the past, regardless of thefuture? Is this love mine?"

"It is, " I answered, looking up through fast-falling tears. "Why willyou wring this confession from me, when you only know it too well?"

"One question more, Gabriella, for your truth-telling lips to answer. Isthis love only given in _return_? Did it not spring spontaneously forthfrom the warmth and purity of your own heart, without waiting the avowalof mine? Gratitude is not love. It is _stone_, not bread, to a spirit asexacting as mine. "

Again the truth was forced from me by his unconquerable will, --a willthat opened the secret valves of thought, and rolled away the rock fromthe fountain of feeling. Even then I felt the despotism as well as thestrength of his love. 

I cannot, I dare not, repeat all that he uttered. It would be deemed tooextravagant, too high-wrought. And so it was. Let woman tremble ratherthan exult, when she is the object of a passion so intense. The devotionof her whole being cannot satisfy its inordinate demands. Though theflame of the sacrifice ascend to heaven, it still cries, "Bring gifts tothe altar, --bring the wine of the banquet, --the incense of thetemple, --the fuel of the hearth-stone. Bring all, and still I crave. Give all, I ask for more. "

Not then was this warning suggested. To be wildly, passionately loved, was my heart's secret prayer. Life itself would be a willing sacrificeto this devotion. Suspicion that stood sentinel at the door of Faith, Distrust that threw its shadow over the sunshine of truth, and Jealousy, doubting, yet adoring still, would be welcomed as household guests, ifthe attendants of this impassioned love. Such was the dream of mygirlhood. 

When we entered the lawn, lights began to glimmer in the house. Itrembled at the idea of meeting Mrs. Linwood, or the Amazonian Meg. There was a side door through which I might pass unobserved, and by thisingress I sought my chamber and locked the door. A lamp was burning onthe table. Had I lingered abroad so late? Had the absence of Ernest beenobserved?

I sat down on the side of the bed, threw off my bonnet and scarf, shookmy hair over my shoulders, and pushed it back with both hands from mythrobbing temples. I wanted room. Such crowding thoughts, suchoverflowing emotions, could not be compressed in those four walls. Irose and walked the room back and forth, without fear of beingover-heard, on the soft carpet of velvet roses. What revelations hadbeen made known to me since I had quitted that room! How low I had beendegraded, --how royally exalted! A child unentitled to her father'sname!--a maiden, endowed with a princely heart! I walked as one in adream, doubting my own identity. But one master thought governed everyother. 

"He loves me!" I repeated to myself. "Ernest Linwood loves me! Whateverbe the future, that present bliss is mine. I have tasted woman'shighest, holiest joy, --the joy of loving and being beloved. Sorrow andtrial may be mine; but this remembrance will remain, a blessed lightthrough the darkness of time, --'a star on eternity's ocean. '"

As I passed and repassed the double mirror, my reflected figure seemedan apparition gliding by my side, I paused and stood before one of them, and I thought of the time when, first awakened to the consciousness ofpersonal influence, I gazed on my own image. Some writer has said, "thatevery woman is beautiful when she loves. " There certainly is a light, coming up from the enkindled heart, bright as the solar ray, yet pureand soft as moonlight, which throws an illusion over the plainestfeatures and makes them for the moment charming. I saw the flower-girlof the library in the mirror, and then I knew that the artist hadintended her as the idealization of Love's image. 

And then I remembered the morning when we sat together in the library, and he took the roses from my basket and scattered the leaves at myfeet. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

A thundering rap at the door startled my meditations. I knew there wasbut one pair of knuckles in the house capable of beating such a tattoo, and I recoiled from admitting such a boisterous guest. 

"Gabriella, Gabriella!" rung a voice through the passage. "Are youasleep? Are you dead? Open the door, pray, or I shall kill myselfsqueezing in through the key-hole. "

With a deep sigh of vexation, I opened the door, and she sprang in withthe momentum of a ball hurled by a bat. 

"My dear creature!" she exclaimed, catching me round the waist andturning me to the light, "what _have_ you been doing? where _have_ youbeen staying? Ill!--tired!--it is all a sham. He need not try to imposeon me such a story as that. I never saw you look so brilliantly well. Your cheeks and lips are red like the damask rose, and your eyes, --Inever saw such eyes before. Come here and look in the glass. Ill!--ha, ha!"

"I have been ill, " I answered, shrinking from her reckless hand, "and Iwas very tired; I feel better now. "

"Yes, I should think you did. You rested long enough by the way, Heavenknows; we saw you climbing the hill at sunset, and the lamps werelighted before you came in. I was going after you, but Mrs. Linwoodwould not let me. Ah! you have animated the statue, thou modernPygmaliona. You have turned back into flesh this enchanted man of stone. Tell it in Gath, publish it in Askelon; but the daughters of fashionwill mourn, the tribes of the neglected will envy. "

"I cannot match you in brilliant speeches, Miss Melville. "

"Call me Miss Melville again, if you dare. Call me Madge, or Meg; but assure as you mount the stilts of ceremony, I will whisk you off at therisk of breaking your neck. Hark! there is the supper bell. Come, justas you are. You never looked so charming. That wild flow of the hair isperfectly bewitching. I don't wonder Mr. Invincible has grounded hisweapons, not I. If I were a young man, --ha, ha!"

"I sometimes fear you are, " I cried. At this remark she burst into sucha wild fit of laughter, I thought she never would cease. It drowned theringing of the bell, and still kept gushing over afresh. 

"Ask Mrs. Linwood to excuse me from supper, " said I; "I do not wish any, indeed I do not. "

Well, I am not one of the air plants; I must have something moresubstantial than sentiment, or I should pine with green and yellowhunger, not melancholy. I never cried but once, that I recollect, andthat was when a favorite black cat of mine was killed, --maliciously, villanously killed, by an old maid, just because she devoured herfavorite Canary. No, with the daughter of Jephthah, I exclaimed, --

 'Let my memory still be thy pride, And forget not I smiled as I died. '

Shutting, or rather slamming the door, she bounded down the stairs withthe steps of the chamois. 

I had not finished my mother's history, but I had passed the _breakers_. There could be nothing beyond so fearful and wrecking. The remainder wasbrief, and written at times with a weak and failing hand. 

 * * * * *

"How long I remained in that deadly swoon, " continued the manuscript, "Iknow not. When I recovered, I was lying on my bed, with Peggy standingon one side and a physician on the other. As soon as I looked up, Peggyburst into tears. 

"'Thank God!' she sobbed, 'I thought she was dead. '

"'Hush!' said the doctor; 'let her be kept perfectly quiet. Give herthis composing draught, and let no one be admitted to her chamber, --noteven her child. '

"Child! it all came back to me. Where was she, that dreadful woman?Starting up in bed, I looked wildly round the room for the hauntingphantom, --she was not a reality, --I must have had a terrible dream. 

"'Yes!' said the doctor, answering the expression of my countenance, 'you have had a shocking nightmare. Drink this, and you will awakerefreshed. '

"Yielding passively, I drank the colorless fluid he offered me, andsinking back on my pillow passed into a deep and tranquil sleep. When Iawoke, the silence and darkness of night brooded around me. My mind nowwas clear as crystal, and every image appeared with startlingdistinctness. I lay still and calm, revolving what course to pursue; andas I lay and revolved, doubts of the truth of her story grew strongerand stronger. All my husband's love and tenderness rose in remembrance, vindicating his aspersed honor. She had forged the tale, --she had stolenthe picture, --she was an impostor and a wretch. 

"At morning light, I awakened Peggy, and demanded of her what hadoccurred during my insensible state, and what had become of the strangewoman. Peggy said that the piercing shrieks of the stranger brought herto the parlor, where I lay like a corpse on the carpet, and she kneelingover me, ringing her hands, and uttering unintelligible words. 

"'You have killed her, ' cried Peggy, pushing back the stranger, andtaking me in her strong arms. 

"'_Je le sais, mon Dieu, je le sais_, ' exclaimed she, lifting herclasped hands to heaven. Peggy did not understand French, but sherepeated the words awkwardly enough, yet I could interpret them. 

"As they found it impossible to recall me to life, a physician wassummoned, and as soon as he came the stranger disappeared. 

"'Don't think of her anymore, ' said Peggy; 'don't, Mrs. St. James, --Idon't believe a word of her story, --she's crazy, --she's a lunatic, youmay be sure she is, --she looked stark mad. '

"I tried to believe this assertion, but something told me she was nomaniac. I tried to believe her an impostor, --I asserted she was, --but ifso, she transcended all the actresses in the world. I could not eat, Icould not bear you, my darling Gabriella, to be brought into mypresence. Your innocent smiles were daggers to my heart. 

"But she came again, Therésa, the avenger, --she came followed by awoman, leading by the hand a beautiful boy. 

"Here was proof that needed no confirmation. Every infantine featurebore the similitude of St. James. The eyes, the smile, his miniatureself was there. I no longer doubted, --no longer hesitated. 

"'Leave me, ' I cried, and despair lent me calmness. 'I resign all claimsto the name, the fortune, and the affections of him who has so cruellywronged us. Not for worlds would I remain even one day longer in thehome he has desecrated by his crimes. Respect my sorrows, and leave me. You may return to-morrow. '

"'_Oh, juste ciel!_' she exclaimed. '_Je suis trés malheureuse. _'

"Snatching her child in her arms, and raising it as high as her strengthcould lift it, she called upon God to witness that it was only for hissake she had asserted her legal rights; that, having lost the heart ofher husband, all she wished was to die. Then, sinking on her kneesbefore me, she entreated me to forgive her the wretchedness she hadcaused. 

"'_I_ forgive _you_?' I cried. 'Alas! it is I should supplicate yourforgiveness. I do ask it in the humility of a broken heart. Butgo--go--if you would not see me die. '

"Terrified at my ghastly countenance, Peggy commanded the nurse to takethe child from the room. Therésa followed with lingering steps, castingback upon me a glance of pity and remorse. I never saw her again. 

"'And now, Peggy, ' said I, 'you are the only friend I have in the wideworld. Yet I must leave you. With my child in my arms, I am going forth, like Hagar, into the wilderness of life. I have money enough to save mefrom immediate want. Heaven will guard the future. '

"'And where will you go?' asked Peggy, passing the back of her hand overher eyes. 

"'Alas, I know not. I have no one to counsel me, no one to whom I canturn for assistance or go for shelter. Even my Heavenly Father hidethhis face from me. '

"'Oh, Mrs. St. James!'

"'Call me not by that accursed name. Call me Rosalie. It was a dyingmother's gift, and they cannot rob me of that. '

"'Miss Rosalie, I will never quit you. There is nobody in the world Ilove half as well, and if you will let me stay with you, I will wait onyou, and take care of the baby all the days of my life. '

"Then she told me how she came from New England to live with a brother, who had since died of consumption, and how she was going back, becauseshe did not like to live in a great city, when the doctor got her tocome to nurse me in sickness, and how she had learned to love me so wellshe could not bear the thoughts of going away from me. She told me, too, how quiet and happy people could live in that part of the country; howthey could get along upon almost nothing at all, and be just as privateas they pleased, and nobody would pester them or make them afraid. 

"She knew exactly how she came to the city, and we could go the sameway, only we would wind about a little and not go to the place where sheused to live, so that folks need ask no questions or know any thingabout us. 

"With a childlike dependence, as implicit as your own, and asinstinctive, I threw myself on Peggy's strong heart and great commonsense. With equal judgment and energy, she arranged every thing for ourdeparture. She had the resolution and fortitude of a man, with thetenderness and fidelity of a woman. I submitted myself entirely to herguidance, saying, 'It was well. ' But when I was alone, I clasped you inagony to my bosom, and prostrating myself before the footstool ofJehovah, I prayed for a bolt to strike us, mother and child together, that we might be spared the bitter cup of humiliation and woe. Onemoment I dared to think of mingling our life blood together in the graveof the suicide; the next, with streaming eyes, I implored forgivenessfor the impious thought. 

"It is needless to dwell minutely on the circumstances of our departure. We left that beautiful mansion, once the abode of love and happiness, now a dungeon house of despair;--we came to this lone, obscure spot, where I resumed my father's name, and gave it to you. At first, curiosity sought out the melancholy stranger, but Peggy'sincommunicativeness and sound judgment baffled its scrutiny. In a littlewhile, we were suffered to remain in the seclusion we desired. Here youhave passed from infancy to childhood, from childhood to adolescence, unconscious that a cloud deeper than poverty and obscurity rests uponyour youth. I could not bear that my innocent child should blush for afather's villany. I could not bear that her holy confidence in humangoodness and truth should be shattered and destroyed. But the day ofrevelation must come. From the grave, whither I am hastening, my voiceshall speak; for the time may come, when a knowledge of your parentagewill be indispensable, and concealment be considered a crime. 

"Should you hereafter win the love of an honorable and noble heart, (forsuch are sometimes found, ) every honorable and noble feeling will promptyou to candor and truth, with regard to your personal relations. I neednot tell you this. 

"And now, my darling child, I leave you one solemn dying charge. Shouldit ever be your lot to meet that guilty, erring father, whose care youhave never known, whose name you have never borne, let no vindictivememories rise against him. 

"Tell him, I forgave him, as I hope to be forgiven by my HeavenlyFather, for all my sins and transgressions, and my idolatrous love ofhim. Tell him, that now, as life is ebbing slowly away like the sands ofthe hour-glass, and I can calmly look back upon the past, I bless himfor being the means of leading my wandering footsteps to the greenfields and still pastures of the great Shepherd of Israel. Had he neverprepared for me the bitter cup of sorrow, I had not perchance tasted thepurple juice which my Saviour trod the wine-press of God's wrath toobtain. Had not 'lover and friend been taken from me, ' I might not haveturned to the Friend of sinners; the Divine Love of mankind. Tell himthen, oh Gabriella! that I not only forgave, but blessed him with theheart of a woman and the spirit of a Christian. 

"I had a dream, a strange, wild dream last night, which I am constrainedto relate. I am not superstitious, but its echo lingers in my soul. 

"I dreamed that your father was exposed to some mysterious danger, thatyou alone could avert. That I saw him plunging down into an awful abyss, lower and lower; and that he called on you, Gabriella, to save him, in avoice that might have rent the heavens; and then they seemed to open, and you appeared distant as a star, yet distinct and fair as an angel, slowly descending right over the yawning chasm. You stretched out yourarms towards him, and drew him upward as if by an invisible chain. As herose, the dark abyss was transformed to beds of roses, whose fragrancewas so intensely sweet it waked me. It was but a dream, my Gabriella, but it may be that God destined you to fulfil a glorious mission: tolead your erring father back to the God he has forsaken. It may be, thatthrough you, an innocent and injured child, the heart sundered on earthmay be reunited in heaven. 

"One more charge, my best beloved. In whatever situation of life you maybe placed, remember our boundless obligations to the faithful Peggy, andnever, never, be separated from her. Repay to her as far as possible thelong, long debt of love and devotion due from us both. She has literallyforsaken all to follow me and mine; and if there is a crown laid up inheaven for the true, self-sacrificing heart, that crown will one day behers. 

"The pen falls from my hand. Farewell trembles on my lips. Oh! at thismoment I feel the triumph of faith, the glory of religion. 

 "'Other refuge have I none; Hangs my helpless soul on _thee_; Leave, oh, leave me not alone, Still support and comfort me. '

"Not me alone, O compassionate and blessed Saviour! but the dear, theprecious, the only one I leave behind. To thine exceeding love, to thecare of a mighty God, the blessed influences of the Holy Spirit, I nowcommit her. 'Whom have I in heaven but thee, and there is naught onearth which I desire beside thee. '"

CHAPTER XXVII. 

Edith came in, as usual, before she retired for the night, and expressedaffectionate concern for my indisposition; but there was an air ofconstraint, which I could not help perceiving. My eyes fell before hers, with conscious guilt. For had I not robbed her of that first place inher brother's heart, which she had so long claimed as her inalienableright?

I had one duty to perform, and I resolved to do it before I laid my headon the pillow. With the manuscript in my hand, I sought the chamber ofMrs. Linwood. She sat before a small table, her head restingthoughtfully on her hand, with an open Bible before her. She looked upat my entrance, with a countenance of gentle seriousness, and extendedher hand affectionately. 

Walking hastily towards her, I knelt at her feet, and laying themanuscript in her lap, burst into tears. 

"Oh! Mrs. Linwood, " I cried, "will your love and kindness survive theknowledge of all these pages will reveal? Will a mother's virtues cancelthe record of a father's guilt? Can you cherish and protect me still?"

She bent over me and took me in her arms, while tears trembled in hereyes. 

"I know all, my dear child, " she said; "there is nothing new to berevealed. Your mother gave me, on her death-bed, a brief history of herlife, and it only increased your claims on my maternal care. Do youthink it possible, Gabriella, that I could be so unjust and unkind, asto visit the sins of a father on the head of an innocent and unoffendingchild? No; believe me, nothing but your own conduct could ever alienatemy affections or confidence. "

"Teach me to deserve it, dear Mrs. Linwood, --teach me how to prove mylove, my gratitude, and veneration. "

"By confiding in me as a mother, trusting me as a friend, and seeking meas a guide and counsellor in this most dangerous season of youth andtemptation, you are very dear to me, Gabriella. Next to my own son anddaughter, I love you, nor do I consider their happiness a more sacreddeposit than yours. "

"Oh! Mrs. Linwood, " I exclaimed, covering my burning face with my hands, and again bowing it on her lap--"Ask me anything, --and nothing shall beheld back--I cannot--I dare not--perhaps I ought not--"

"Tell me that my son loves you?"

I started and trembled; but as soon as the words passed her lips Igathered courage to meet whatever she might say. 

"If it be indeed so, " I answered, "should not the revelation come fromhim, rather than me?"

"There needs no formal declaration. I have seen it, known it, evenbefore yourselves were conscious of its existence--this all engrossingpassion. Before my son's return I foresaw it, with the prescience ofmaternal love. I knew your young, imaginative heart would find its idealin him, and that his fastidious taste and sensitive, reserved naturewould be charmed by your simplicity, freshness, and genius. I knew it, and yet I could not warn you. For when did youth ever believe thecautions of age, or passion listen to the voice of truth?"

"Warn _me_, madam? Oh, you mean him, not _me_. I never had thepresumption to think myself his equal; never sought, never aspired tohis love. You believe me, Mrs. Linwood--tell me, you believe me inthis?"

"I do, Gabriella. Your heart opened as involuntarily and as inevitablyto receive him, as the flower unfolds itself to the noonday sun. It isyour destiny; but would to God I could oppose it, that I couldsubstitute for you a happier, if less brilliant lot. "

"A happier lot than to be the wife of Ernest? Oh! Mrs. Linwood, Heavenoffers nothing to the eye of faith more blissful, more divine. "

"Alas! my child, such is always the dream of love like yours, and fromsuch dreams there must be a day of awakening. God never intended theirrealization in this world. You look up to me with wondering andreproachful glance. You have feared me, Gabriella, feared that I wouldoppose my son's choice, if it rested on one so lowly as you believeyourself. You are mistaken--I have no right to dictate to him. He ismore than of age, has an independent fortune and an independent will. The husband lifts his wife to his own position in society, and his nameannihilates hers. The knowledge of your father's character gives mepain, and the possibility of his ever claiming you as his child is asource of deep inquietude, --but it is chiefly for you I tremble, for youI suffer, my beloved Gabriella. "

I looked up in consternation and alarm. What invisible sword hungtrembling over the future?

"Ernest, " she began, then stopping, she raised me from my kneelingattitude, led me to a sofa, and made me seat myself at her side. "Ernest, " she continued, holding my hand tenderly in hers, "has manynoble and attractive qualities. He is just, generous, and honorable; heis upright, honest, and true; the shadow of deceit never passed over hissoul, the stain of a mean action never rested on his conduct. But, "--andher hand involuntarily tightened around mine, --"he has qualities fatalto the peace of those who love him, --fatal to his own happiness;suspicion haunts him like a dark shadow, --jealousy, like a serpent, liescoiled in his heart. "

"He has told me all this, " I cried, with a sigh of relief, --"but I fearnot, --my confidence shall be so entire, there shall be no room forsuspicion, --my love so perfect it shall cast out jealousy. "

"So I once thought and reasoned in all the glow of youthful enthusiasm, but experience came with its icy touch, and enthusiasm, hope, joy, andlove itself faded and died. The dark passions of Ernest arehereditary, --they belong to the blood that flows in his veins, --they arepart and lot of his existence, --they are the phantoms that haunted hisfather's path, and cast their chill shadows over the brief years of mymarried life. The remembrance of what I have suffered myself, makes metremble for her who places her happiness in my son's keeping. A womancannot be happy unless she is trusted. "

"Not if she is beloved!" I exclaimed. "It seems to me that love shouldcover every fault, and jealousy be pardoned without an effort, since itis a proof of the strength and fervor of one's affection. Let me beloved, --I ask no more. "

"You love my son, Gabriella?"

"Love him!" I repeated, --"oh that you could look into my heart!"

Blushing at the fervor of my manner, I turned my crimson face from hergaze. Then I remembered that he knew not yet what might place aninsurmountable barrier between us, and I entreated Mrs. Linwood to tellhim what I wanted courage to relate. 

"I will, my child, but it will make no difference with him. His high, chivalrous sense of honor will make the circumstances of your birth buta new claim on his protection, --and his purposes are as immovable as hispassions are strong. But let us talk no more to-night. It is late, andyou need rest. We will renew the subject when you are more composed--Imight say both. I could not give you a greater proof of my interest inyour happiness, than the allusion I have made to my past life. Neverbefore have I lifted the curtain from errors which death has sanctified. Let the confidence be sacred. Ernest and Edith must never know that ashadow rested on their father's virtues. Nothing but the hope of savingyou from the sufferings which once were mine, could have induced me torend the veil from the temple of my heart. "

"How solemn, how chilling are your words, " said I, feeling very faintand sad. "I wish I had not heard them. Do joy and sorrow always thus gohand in hand? In the last few hours I have known the two great extremesof life. I have been plunged into the depths of despair and raised tothe summit of hope. I am dizzy and weak by the sudden transition. I willretire, dear madam, for my head feels strangely bewildered. "

Mrs. Linwood embraced me with unusual tenderness, kissed me on bothcheeks, and accompanied me to the door with a fervent "God bless you!"

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

As soon as I reached my chamber, I threw myself on my bed, which seemedto roll beneath me with a billowy motion. Never had I felt so strangely, so wildly. Confused images crowded through my brain. I moved on anundulating surface. Now, it was the swelling and sinking of the bluegray waves of ocean, --then, the heaving green of the churchyard, billowsof death, over which the wind blew damp and chill. I had left the lampunextinguished, where its light reflected the rosy red of the curtains, and that became a fiery meteor shooting through crimson clouds, andleaving a lurid track behind it. 

I sat up in bed; frightened at the wild confusion of my brain, I passedmy hands over my eyes to remove the illusion, but in vain. The massywardrobe changed to the rocky walls of the Rip Raps, and above it I sawthe tall form of the white-locked chief. The carpet, with its clustersof mimic flowers, on a pale gray ground, was a waste of waters, coveredwith roses, among which St. James was swimming and trying to grasp them. 

"What is the matter?" I cried, clasping my burning hands. "Am I asleep, and are these images but the visions of a feverish imagination?"

"You dream, my love, " answered the low, deep voice of Ernest; "but mymother is coming to awaken you with a cold and icy hand. I havescattered roses over you while you slept, but her blighting touch haswithered them. "

Thus vision after vision succeeded each other, hurrying along likeclouds in a tempestuous sky. I suppose I must have slept at last, butthe morning found me in a state of utter exhaustion. Nervous excitement, sitting so long on the damp grass, and lingering out in the dewy eveningair, brought on an illness which confined me to my bed many days. Dr. Harlowe threatened to put me in a strait-jacket and send me to a lunaticasylum, if I did not behave better in future. 

"I must take you home with me, " he said; "our quiet, humdrum mode oflife is better for you, after all. Your little rocking chair standsexactly where you used to sit in it. I do not like to see any one elseoccupy it. I get in disgrace with my wife every day, now you are not byme to hang up my hat and remind me by a glance to shake the dust from myfeet. Such a quick pulse as this will never do, my child. "

For a week I was kept in a darkened room, and perfect quietude wascommanded. The doctor came every day, and sometimes several times a day, with his smiling, sunny countenance, and anxious, affectionate heart. Mrs. Linwood and Edith stole gently in and out, with steps soft asfalling snowflakes, and Margaret Melville was not permitted to enter atall. Every morning fresh flowers were laid upon my pillow, which I knewwere gathered by the hand of Ernest, and they whispered to me of suchsweet things my languid senses _ached_ to hear them. 

One day, while in this passive, languishing, dreamy condition, havingfallen into tranquil slumbers, I was left a few moments alone. I wasawakened by a stronger touch than that of Edith's fairy hand. 

"Why, how do you do, darling? How do you do?" cried a hearty, gay voice, that echoed like a bugle in the stillness of the room. "The doctor saidyou were getting well, and I determined I would not be kept out anylonger. What in the world do they banish _me_ for? I am the best nursein the universe, strong as a lion, and wakeful as an owl. What do theyshut you up in this dark room for?--just to give you the blues!--It isall nonsense. I am going to put back these curtains, and let in somelight, --you will become etiolated. I want to see how you look. "

Dashing at the curtains, she tossed two of them back as high as shecould throw them, letting in a flood of sunshine to my weak and dazzledeyes. 

"Don't! don't!" I entreated, getting dreadfully nervous and agitated; "Icannot bear it, --indeed I cannot. "

"Yes you can; you will be better in a moment, --it is only coming out ofdarkness into marvellous light, --a sudden change, that is all. You dolook white, --white, delicate, and sweet as a water-lily. I have a greatmind to invite Ernest up to see you, you look so interesting. He hasbeen like a distracted man, a wandering Jew, an unlaid ghost, ever sinceyou have been ill. And poor Richard Clyde comes every night to inquireafter you, with such a woebegone countenance. And that great, ugly, magnificent creature of a teacher, he has been too, --you certainly are aconsequential little lady. "

Thus she rattled on, without dreaming of the martyrdom she wasinflicting on my weakened nerves. 

"I have no doubt you mean to be kind, " said I, ready to cry fromweakness and irritation; "but if you will only drop the curtains andleave me, I will be so very grateful. "

"There--the curtains are down. I am not going to speak another word--Iam a perfect lamb--I will bathe your head with cologne, and put you tosleep nicely. "

Stepping across the room, as she thought, very softly, but making morenoise than Edith would in a week, she seized a bottle of cologne, andcoming close to the bedside, bent over me, so that her great, black eyesalmost touched mine. Had they been a pair of pistols, I could not haverecoiled with greater terror. 

"Don't!" again I murmured, --"I am very weak. "

"Hush! I am going to put you to sleep. "

Pouring the cologne in her hand, till it dripped all over thecounterpane and pillow, she deluged my hair, and patted my forehead asshe would a colt's that she wanted to stand still. In mute despair Isubmitted to her _tender mercies_, certain I should die, if some one didnot come to my relief, when the door softly opened, and Mrs. Linwoodentered. 

"Heaven be praised, " thought I, --I had not strength to say it. Tears ofweariness and vexation were mingling with the drops with which she hadsaturated my hair. 

"Margaret, " said Mrs. Linwood, in a tone of serious displeasure, "whathave you been doing? I left her in a sweet sleep, and now I find herwan, tearful, and agitated. You will worry her into a relapse. "

"All she needs now is cheerful company, I am sure, " she answereddemurely; "you all make her so tender and baby-like, she never will haveany strength again. I've been as soft as a cooing dove. Dr. Harlowewould have been delighted with me. "

"You _must_ go, Margaret, indeed you must. _You_ may think yourself adove, but others have a different opinion. "

"Going, going, gone!" she cried, giving me a vehement kiss andvanishing. 

The consequence of this energetic visit was a relapse; and Dr. Harlowewas as angry as his nature admitted when he learned the cause. 

"That wild-cat must not remain here, " said he, shaking his head. "Shewill kill my gentle patient. Where did you find her, Mrs. Linwood? Fromwhat menagerie has she broken loose?"

"She is the daughter of an early and very dear friend of mine, " repliedMrs. Linwood, smiling; "a very original and independent young lady, Igrant she is. "

"What in the world did you bring her here for?" asked the doctorbluntly; "I intend to chain her, while my child is sick. "

"She wished to make a visit in the country, and I thought her wildgood-humor would be a counterpoise to the poetry and romance ofGrandison Place. "

"You have other more attractive and tractable guests. You will notobject to my depriving you for a short time of her. May I invite herhome with me?"

"Certainly, --but she will not accept the invitation. She is notacquainted with Mrs. Harlowe. "

"That makes no difference, --she will go with me, I am positive. "

They conversed in a low tone in one of the window recesses, but I heardwhat they said; and when Mrs. Linwood afterwards told me that Meg theDauntless had gone off with the doctor in high glee, I was inexpressiblyrelieved, for I had conceived an unconquerable terror of her. There wasother company in the house, as Edith had prophesied, but in a mansion solarge and so admirably arranged, an invalid might be kept perfectlyquiet without interfering with the social enjoyment of others. 

I was slowly but surely recovering. At night Edith had her harp placedin the upper piazza, and sang and played some of her sweetest and mostsoothing strains. Another voice, too, mingled at times with thebreeze-like swelling of the thrilling chords, and a hand whosemaster-touch my spirit recognized, swept the trembling strings. 

How long it seemed since I had stood with _him_ under the shade of thebroad elm-tree! With what fluctuating emotions I looked forward tomeeting him again!

At length the doctor pronounced me able to go down stairs. 

"I am going to keep the wild-cat till you are a little stronger, " hesaid. "She has made herself acquainted with the whole neighborhood, andkeeps us in a state of perpetual mirth and excitement. What do you thinkshe has done? She has actually made Mr. Regulus escort her on horsebackinto the country, and says she is resolved to captivate him. "

I could not help laughing at the idea of my tall, awkward master, aknight-errant to this queen of the amazons. 

"How would you like to be supplanted by her?" he mischievously asked. 

"As an assistant teacher?"

"As an assistant for life. Poor Regulus! he was quite sick during yourabsence; and when I accused him of being in love, the simple-heartedcreature confessed the fact and owned the soft impeachment. I reallyfeel very sorry for him. He has a stupendous heart, and a magnificentbrain. You ought to have treated him better. He would be to you a towerof strength in the day of trouble. Little girl, you ought to be proud ofsuch a conquest. "

"It filled me with sorrow and shame, " I answered, "and had he nothimself betrayed the secret, it never would have been known. It seemedtoo deep a humiliation for one whom I so much respected and revered, tobow a supplicant to me. You do not know how unhappy it made me. "

"You must get hardened to these things, Gabriella. As you seem to bequite a dangerous young lady, destined to do great havoc in the world, it will not do to be too sensitive on the subject. But remember, youmust not dispose of your heart without consulting me. And at any rate, wait three years longer for your judgment to mature. "

The conscious color rose to my cheek. He took my hand, and placed hisfingers on my throbbing pulse. 

"Too quick, too quick, " said he, looking gravely in my face. "This willnever do. When I bring the wild-cat back, I mean to carry you off. Itwill do you good to stay a while with my good, methodical, unromanticwife. I can take you round to visit my patients with me. I have a newbuggy, larger than the one in which we had such a famous ride together. "

The associations connected with that ride were so sad, I wished he hadnot mentioned it; yet the conversation had done me good. It kept me fromdwelling too exclusively on one engrossing subject. 

"Now give me your arm, " said the doctor, "and let me have the privilegeof escorting you down stairs. "

As we descended, he put his arm round me, for I was weaker than hethought I was, and my knees bent under me. 

"We doctors ought not to have jealous wives, my dear, ought we? My dear, good woman has not one particle of jealousy in her composition. Shenever looks after my heart; but keeps a wonderfully sharp eye on my headand feet. A very sensible person, Mrs. Harlowe is. "

There was intentional kindness in this apparent levity. He saw I wasagitated, and wished to divert my thoughts. Perhaps he read more deeplythan I imagined, for those who seem to glance lightly on the surface offeeling only, often penetrate to its depths. 

The drawing-room was divided by folding doors, which were seldom closed, and in the four corners of each division were crimson lounges, ofluxurious and graceful form. Company generally gathered in the frontpart, but the backroom was equally pleasant, as it opened into theflower-garden through a balcony shaded by vines. 

"Come in here, and rest awhile, " said the doctor, leading me into theback parlor; "it will be a pleasant surprise to Mrs. Linwood. I did nottell her I was going to bring you down. "

As we entered, I saw Ernest Linwood half reclining on a lounge with abook in his hand, which hung listlessly at his side. As he looked up, his pale face lighted suddenly and brilliantly as burning gas. He rose, threw down his book, came hastily forward, took my hand, and drawing itfrom the doctor's arm, twined it round his own. 

"How well you look!" he exclaimed. "Dr. Harlowe, we owe you ten thousandthanks. "

"This is a strange way of showing it, " said the doctor, looking roundhim with a comical expression, "to deprive me of my companion, and leaveme as lonely as Simon Stylites on the top of his pillar. "

Mrs. Linwood and Edith, who had seen our entrance, came forward andcongratulated me on my convalescence. It was the first time I had everbeen ill, and the pleasure of being released from durance was like thatof a weary child let loose from school. I was grateful and happy. Theassurance I received from the first glance of Ernest, that what hismother had promised to reveal had made no change in his feelings; thatthe love, which I had almost begun to think an illusion of my own brain, was a real existing passion, filled me with unspeakable joy. Thewarnings of Mrs. Linwood had no power to weaken my faith and hope. Hadshe not told me that _her_ love had died? I felt that mine was immortal. 

The impression made by my mother's sad history was still too fresh anddeep, and too much of the languor of indisposition still clung to me toadmit of my being gay; but it was pleasant to hear the cheerful laughand lively conversation, showing that the tide of social life ran clearand high. Several new guests had arrived, whom I had not seen before, towhom I was introduced; but as Dr. Harlowe commanded me to be a good girland remain quietly in a corner, a passing introduction limited theintercourse of the evening. 

Just as the doctor was taking leave, a loud, merry ha, ha! came leapingup the steps, followed by the amazonian form of Madge Wildfire, leaningon the arm of Mr. Regulus. 

"Angels and ministers of grace defend us!" exclaimed Ernest. 

"Shade of Esculapius!" cried the doctor, recoiling from the threshold. 

"Glad to see me? I know you are. Taken you all by storm. Found thisgentleman wandering like a troubled spirit by the way-side, and pressedhim into service. I shall make a gallant knight of him yet, My dearsoul!" she cried, spying me out and rushing towards me, "I am so glad tosee you here, escaped from the ruthless hands of the doctor. I never sawsuch a despot in my life, except _one_;" here she looked laughingly anddefiantly at Ernest, --"he would out-Nero Nero himself, if he had theopportunity. "

"If I were the autocrat of Russia I would certainly exercise the rightof banishment, " he answered quietly. 

During this sportive encounter, Mr. Regulus came up to greet me. I hadnot seen him since our memorable interview in the academy, and hissallow face glowed with embarrassment. I rose to meet him, anxious toshow him every mark of respect and esteem. I asked him to take a seat onthe sofa by me, and ventured to congratulate him on the exceedinglyentertaining acquaintance he had made. 

"A very extraordinary young lady, " he cried, "amazingly merry, andsomewhat bold. I had not the most remote idea of coming here, when Ileft home; but suddenly I found her arm linked in mine, and was toldthat I must escort her _nolens volens_. "

"Indeed! I thought you came to inquire after my health, and was feeling_so_ grateful!"

"I did not know I should have the pleasure of seeing _you_, and I didnot hope you would welcome me with so much cordiality. I have made manyinquiries after you; indeed, I have scarcely thought of any thing elsesince you were ill. You look pale, Gabriella. Are you sure you are quitewell, my child?"

The old endearing epithet! It touched me. 

"I do not feel strong enough to move Mount Atlas, but well enough toenjoy the society of my friends. I never appreciated it so highlybefore. "

"You have no idea how I miss you, " he said, taking my fan and drawinghis thumb over it, as if he were feeling the edge of his ferula. "Theseason of summer lingers, but the flowers no longer bloom for me. Thebirds sing, but their notes have lost their melody. My perception of thebeautiful has grown dim, but the remembrance of it can never fade. Inever knew before what the pleasures of memory truly were. "

"I recollect a copy you once set me, Mr. Regulus, --'Sweet is the memoryof absent friends, '--I thought it such a charming one!"

"Do you remember that?" he asked, with a delighted countenance. 

"Yes! I remember all the copies you ever set me. Teachers should be verycareful what sentiments they write, for they are never forgotten. Don'tyou recollect how all the pupils once laughed at a mistake inpunctuation of mine? The copy was, 'Hate not, but pity the wicked, aswell as the poor. ' As the line was not quite filled, you added_Gabriella_, after making a full period. I forgot the stop and wrote, 'Hate not, but pity the wicked, as well as the poor Gabriella. ' Theridicule of the scholars taught me the importance of punctuation. Ourmistakes are our best lessons, after all. "

"And do you remember these trifles?" he repeated. "How strange! It showsyou have the heart of a child still. I love to hear you recall them. "

"I could fill a volume with these reminiscences. I believe I will writeone, one of these days, and you shall be the hero. "

A merry altercation at the door attracted our attention. Dr. Harlowe wasendeavoring to persuade Madge to go back with him, but she strenuouslyrefused. 

"I never could stay more than ten days at a time in one place in mylife. Besides, I have worn out my welcome, I know I have. Your house isnot new. It jars too much when I walk. I saw Mrs. Harlowe lookingruefully at some cracked glass and china, and then at me, as much as tosay, 'It is all your doings, you young romp. '"

"Very likely, " cried the doctor, laughing heartily, "but it only makesme more anxious to secure you. You are a safety-valve in the house. Allmy misdemeanors escape unreproved in the presence of your superiorrecklessness. "

I never saw any one enjoy a jest more than Dr. Harlowe. He really likedthe dashing and untamable Madge. He was fond of young companions; andthough his wife was such a _superior woman_, and such an incomparablehousekeeper, there was nothing very exhilarating about her. 

"I can't go, " said Madge; "I must stay and take care of Gabriella. "

"If you play any of your wild pranks on her again, " said the doctor, "itwere better for you that you had never been born. "

With this threat he departed; and it seemed as if a dozen people hadbeen added to the household in the person of the dauntless Meg. I neversaw any one with such a flow of animal spirits, with so much oxygen intheir composition. I should think the vital principle in such aconstitution would burn out sooner than in others, like a flame fed byalcohol. She was older than myself, and yet had no more apparentreflection than a child of five years old. It was impossible to make herangry. The gravest rebuke, the most cutting sarcasm, were received witha merry twinkle of the eye or a rich swell of laughter. She was bold, masculine, wild, and free, and I feared her as much as I would thewild-cat, after whom the doctor had christened her, --yet there wassomething about her that I liked. It was probably the interest sheprofessed in me, which must have been genuine. It was impossible for herto affect any thing. 

Who would dream of any one sporting with such a man as Mr. Regulus? Yetshe treated him exactly as if he were a great boy. He had paid us hisparting salutations, and was half-way down the steps before she wasaware of his intended departure. 

"You are not going so soon, indeed you are not, " she exclaimed, runningafter him, seizing his hat, and setting it jauntily on her own head. Herabundant hair prevented it from falling over her face. "I brought youhere to stay all the evening; and stay you must and shall. What do youwant to go back to your musty old bachelor's room for, when there issuch delightful company here?"

Taking hold of his arm and whirling him briskly round, she led him backinto the parlor, laughing and triumphant. 

She looked so saucy, so jaunty, so full of nerve and adventure, with thelarge hat pitched on one side of her head, I could not help saying, --

"What a pity she were not a man!"

Mr. Regulus did not appear as awkward as might be supposed. There was alatent spark of fun and frolic in his large brain, to which her wildhand applied the match; and though I know he felt the disappointment ofhis affections sorely, deeply, he yielded himself to her assault withtolerable grace and readiness. 

Supper was always an unceremonious meal, sent round on waiters, from around table in the back parlor, at which Mrs. Linwood presided. Gentlemen took their cups standing or walking, just as it happened; andladies, too, though they were generally seated. Ernest drew a lighttable to the lounge where I sat; and sitting by me, said, as I was aninvalid, I should be peculiarly favored. 

"Methinks she is not the only favored one, " said the sweet voice ofEdith, as she floated near. 

"There is room for you, dear Edith, " said I, moving closer to the arm ofthe sofa, and leaving a space for her between us. 

"Room on the sofa, Edith, " added he, moving towards me, and making aspace for her on his right, "and tenfold room in my heart. "

He took her hand and drew her down to his side. 

"This is as it should be, " he said, looking from one to the other with aradiant countenance. "Thus would I ever bind to my heart the twoloveliest, dearest, best. "

Edith bent her head, and kissed the hand which held hers. As she lookedup I saw that her eyes were glistening. 

"What would mamma say?" she asked, trying to conceal her emotion. "Surely there can be none dearer and better than she is. "

"Nay, Edith, " said he, passing his arm tenderly round her waist; "youmight as well say, if I singled out two bright, especial stars from thefirmament, that I did not think the moon fair or excellent. The love Ibear my mother is so exalted by reverence, it stands apart by itselflike the queen of night, serene and holy, moving in a distinct and loftysphere. There is one glory of the sun, Edith, and another glory of themoon, and one star differeth from another in glory. Yet they are allglorious in themselves, and all proclaim the goodness and glory of theCreator. "

"I have heard it said, " observed Edith, in a low, tremulous tone, "thatwhen love takes possession of the heart, the natural affections havecomparatively little strength; that it is to them as is the ocean to itstributaries. I know nothing of it by experience, nor do I wish to, if ithas power to diminish the filial and sisterly tenderness whichconstitutes my chief joy. "

"My dear Edith, it is not so. Every pure and generous affection expandsthe heart, and gives it new capacities for loving. Have you not heard ofheaven, --'the more angels the more room?' So it is with the human heart. It is elastic, and enlarges with every lawful claimant to be admittedinto its sanctuary. It is true there is a love which admits of norivalry;" here his eye turned involuntarily to me, "which enshrines butone object, which dwells in the inner temple, the angel of angels. Butother affections do not become weaker in consequence of its strength. Wemay not see the fire-flame burn as brightly when the sun shines upon it, but the flame is burning still. "

"Gabriella does not speak, " said Edith, with an incredulous wave of hergolden locks. "Tell me, Gabriella, are his words true?"

"I am not a very good metaphysician, " I answered, "but I should thinkthe heart very narrow, that could accommodate only those whom Natureplaced in it. It seems to me but a refined species of selfishness. "

The color crimsoned on Edith's fair cheek. I had forgotten what she hadsaid to me of her own exclusive affection. I sympathized so entirely inhis sentiments, expressed with such beautiful enthusiasm, I forgot everything else. The moment I had spoken, memory rebuked my transientoblivion. She must believe it an intentional sarcasm. How could I be socareless of the feelings of one so gentle and so kind?

"I know _I_ am selfish, " she said. "I have told you my weakness, --sin itmay be, --and I deserve the reproach. "

"You cannot think I meant it as such. You know I could not. I hadforgotten what I have heard you previously utter. I was thinking only ofthe present. Forgive me, Edith, for being so thoughtless and impulsive;for being so selfish myself. "

"I am wrong, " said Edith, ingenuously. "I suppose conscience applied thewords. Brother, you, who are the cause of the offence, must make mypeace. "

"It is already made, " answered I, holding out my hand to meet hers; "ifyou acquit me of intentional wrong, I ask no more. "

As our hands united before him, he clasped them both in one of his own. 

"A triune band, " said he, earnestly, "that never must be broken. Edith, Gabriella, remember this. Love each other now, love each other forever, even as I love ye both. "

I was sensitive and childish from recent indisposition, or I should havehad more self-control. I could not prevent the tears from rushing to myeyes and stealing down my cheeks. As we were sitting by ourselves, in apart of the room less brilliantly lighted than the rest, and as we allconversed in a low voice, this little scene was not conspicuous, thoughit might have possibly been observed. 

Those in the front room seemed exceedingly merry. Madge had placed atable before herself and Mr. Regulus, in imitation of Ernest, and hadpiled his plate with quantities of cake, as high as a pyramid. A gaygroup surrounded the table, that seemed floating on a tide of laughter;or rather making an eddy, in 'which their spirits were whirling. '

As soon as supper was over, she told Mr. Regulus to lead her to thepiano, as she was literally dying to play. There was no instrument atDr. Harlowe's but a jew's-harp, and the tongue of that was broken. Asshe seated herself at the piano, Mr. Regulus reached forward and took upa violin which was lying upon it. 

"Do you play?" she asked eagerly. 

"I used to play a good deal when a boy, but that was a long time ago, "he answered, drawing the bow across the strings with no unskilful hand. 

"Delightful, charming!" she exclaimed. "Can you play '_Come, haste tothe wedding_?'"

He replied by giving the inspiring air, which she accompanied in herwild, exciting manner, laughing and shaking her head with irrepressibleglee. I was astonished to see my dignified tutor thus lending himselffor the amusement of the evening. I should have thought as soon ofJupiter playing a dancing tune, as Mr. Regulus. But he not only playedwell, he seemed to enjoy it. I was prepared now, to see him on the floordancing with Madge, though I sincerely hoped he would not permit himselfto be exhibited in that manner. Madge was resolved upon this triumph, and called loudly to Edith to come and take her place at the instrument, and play the liveliest waltz in the universe for her and Mr. Regulus. 

"Thank you, Miss Melville, " said he, laying down his violin and resuminghis usual grave and dignified manner, "I am no dancing bear. "

"Come, Mr. Regulus, I have no doubt you dance as charmingly as you play. Besides, you would not be so ungallant as to refuse a lady's request. "

"Not a _lady-like_ request, " he answered, with a shrewd cast of the eyeunder his beetling brows. 

This sarcasm was received with acclamation; but Meg lifted her brow asdauntless as ever and laughed as loudly. 

I began to feel weary of mirth in which I could not sympathize. Mrs. Linwood came to me, and saying I looked pale and wan, insisted upon myretiring. To this I gladly assented. The little misunderstanding betweenEdith and myself weighed heavily on my spirits, and I longed to bealone. 

Just as we were crossing the hall of entrance, Richard Clyde came in. Hegreeted me with so much feeling, such earnest, unaffected pleasure, yeta pleasure so chastened by sensibility, I realized, perhaps for thefirst time, the value of the heart I had rejected. 

"You have been ill, Gabriella, " said he, retaining for a moment the handhe had taken. "You look pale and languid. You do not know how much yourfriends have suffered on your account, or how grateful they feel foryour convalesence. "

"I did not think I was of so much consequence, " I replied. "It is wellto be sick now and then, so as to be able to appreciate the kindness offriends. "

"You must suffer us to go now, Richard, " said Mrs. Linwood movingtowards the staircase; "you will find merry company in the parlor readyto entertain you. As Gabriella is no longer a prisoner, you will havefuture opportunities of seeing her. "

"I must embrace them soon, " said he, sadly. "I expect to leave thisplace before long, --my friends, and my country. "

"You, Richard?" I exclaimed. Then I remembered the remarks I had heardon commencement day, of his being sent to Europe to complete hiseducation. I regretted to lose the champion of my childhood, the friendof my youth, and my countenance expressed my emotion. 

"I have a great deal to say to you, Gabriella, " said he, in a low tone. "May I see you to-morrow?"

"Certainly, --that is, I think, I hope so. " A glance that flashed on mefrom the doorway arrested my stammering tongue. Ernest was standingthere, observing the interview, and the dark passion of which his motherhad warned me clouded his brow. Snatching my hand from Richard, I badehim a hasty good-night, and ascended the stairs, with a prophetic heart. 

Yet, while I felt the shadow on his brow stealing darkly over me, Irepeated to myself, --

 "The keenest pangs the wretched find, Are rapture to the dreary void, The leafless desert of the mind, The waste of feelings unemployed. "

CHAPTER XXIX. 

The interview with Richard Clyde the next day, was a painfully agitatingone. I had no conception till then, how closely and strongly love andhope had twined their fibres round him; or how hard would be the task ofrending them from him. Why could I not appreciate the value of hisfrank, noble, and confiding nature? It may be because we had beenchildren together, and that familiarity was unfavorable to the growth oflove in one of my poetic nature. I _must_ look up. The cloud crownedcliff did not appall my high-reaching eye. 

"I shall not see you again, Gabriella, " said he, as he wrung my hand inparting. "I shall not see you again before my departure, --I would notfor worlds renew the anguish of this moment. I do not reproach you, --youhave never deceived me. My own hopes have been building a bridge offlowers over a dark abyss. But, by the Heaven that hears me, Gabriella, the keenest pang I now experience is not for my own loss, it is thedread I feel for you. "

"Not one word more, Richard, if you love me. I have been tender of yourfeelings, --respect mine. There is but one thing on earth I prize morethan your friendship. Let me cherish that for the sacred memory of _auldlang syne_. "

"Farewell, then, Gabriella, best and only beloved! May the hand witherthat ever falls too heavily on that trusting heart, should we never meetagain!"

He drew me suddenly closely to him, kissed me passionately, and wasgone. 

"Had you confided in me fully, " said Mrs. Linwood, in speaking to meafterwards of Richard, "I should never have advised a correspondencewhich must have strengthened his attachment. Having the highest opinionof his principles and disposition, and believing you regarded him withmodest affection, I urged this intercourse as a binding link betweenyou. You must have perceived my wishes on this subject. "

"If I have erred, it was from mistaken delicacy. I thought I had noright to betray an unreturned affection. It was not from a want ofconfidence in you. "

"If you could have loved Richard, it would have been well for you, mydear Gabriella; but I know the heart admits of no coercion, and least ofall a heart like yours. I no longer warn, for it is in vain; but I wouldcounsel and instruct. If you _do_ become the wife of my son, you willassume a responsibility as sacred as it is deep. Not alone for yourhappiness do I tremble, O Gabriella, --I fear, --I dread, for him. "

"Oh! Mrs. Linwood, when I love him so exclusively, so devotedly; when Ifeel that I must love him forever--"

"It is the very exclusiveness and strength of your devotion that I fear. You will love him too well for your _own_ peace, --too well for _his_good. Far better is a rational, steadfast attachment, that neither risesabove the worth of the object, nor sinks below it, than the two greatextremes, idolatry and indifference. The first is a violation of thecommands of God, --the last, of the rights of man. Remember, my child, that it is not by the exhibition of idolatrous affection, that a wifesecures a husband's happiness. It is by patient _continuance_ inwell-doing, that she works out the salvation of her wedded peace. Sitdown by me, Gabriella; draw up your work-table; for one can listen bestwhen their hands are busy. I have a great deal that I wish to say, and Icannot talk as well with your eyes bent so earnestly on me. "

I obeyed her without trepidation. I felt the need of her guidingcounsels, and resolved to lay them up in my heart, and make them therule and guide of my life. 

"When a young girl marries a man whom she has been taught to believeperfection, " continued Mrs. Linwood, "and after marriage discovers hergolden idol to be an image of wood and clay, she may be permitted to sitdown and weep a while over her vanished dreams. But when she _knows_ theimperfections of him she loves; when she _knows_ they are of a nature totry, as with seven-fold heat, the strength and purity of her affection;when with this conviction she breathes her wedded vows, she has no rightto upbraid him. She has walked with open eyes into the furnace, and shemust not shrink from the flames. She must fold over her woman's heartthe wings of an angel. She must look up to God, and be silent. "

"When innocent of blame, surely she should defend herself fromaccusation, " cried I. 

"Certainly, --in the spirit of gentleness and Christian love. But shemust not murmur; she must not complain. But it is not the accusationthat admits of defence, the arrow that flies at noonday, that is most tobe feared. It is the cold, inscrutable glance, the chilled and alteredmanner, the suspicion that walketh in darkness, --it is these that trythe strength of woman's love, and gnaw with slow but certain tooth thecable-chain that holds the anchor of her fidelity. These are the evilspirits which prayer and fasting alone can cast out. They may fly beforethe uplifted eye and bended knee, but never before the flash of anger orthe word of recrimination. "

"What a solemn view you give me of married life!" I exclaimed, while thework dropped from my hands. "What fearful responsibilities you placebefore me, --I tremble, I dare not meet them. "

"It is not too late, --the irrevocable vow is not yet breathed, --the pathis not yet entered. If the mere description of duties makes you turnpale with dread, what will the reality be? I do not seek to terrify, butto convince. I received you as a precious charge from a dying mother, and I vowed over her grave to love, protect, and cherish you, as my owndaughter. I saw the peculiar dangers to which you were liable from yourardent genius and exquisite sensibility, and I suffered you to passthrough a discipline which my wealth made unnecessary, and which youhave nobly borne. I did not wish my son to love you, not because youwere the child of obscurity, but because I had constituted myself theguardian of your happiness, and I feared it would be endangered by aunion with him. How dear is your happiness to me, --how holy I deem thecharge I have assumed, --you may know by my telling you this. Nevermother idolized a son as I do Ernest. He is precious as my heart's bestblood, --he is the one idol that comes between me and my God. My love ismore intense for the anxiety I feel on his account. If I could haveprevented his loving;--but how could I, in the constant presence of anobject so formed to inspire all the romance of love? I knew the serpentslept in the bottom of the fountain, and when the waters were stirred itwould wake and uncoil. Gabriella!" she added, turning towards me, takingboth hands in hers, and looking me in the face with her clear, eloquent, dark gray eyes, "you may be the angel commissioned by Providence to workout the earthly salvation of my son, to walk with him through the fieryfurnace, to guard him in the lion's den, which his own passions maycreate. If to the love that hopeth all, the faith that believeth all, you add the charity that _endureth_ all, miracles may follow aninfluence so exalted, and, I say it with reverence, so divine. "

It is impossible to give but a faint idea of the power of Mrs. Linwood'slanguage and manner. There was no vehemence, no gesticulation. Her eyedid not flash or sparkle; it burned with a steady, penetrating light. Her voice did not rise in tone, but it gave utterance to her words in afull, deep stream of thought, inexhaustible and clear. I have heard itsaid that she talked "like a book, " and so she did, --like the book ofheavenly wisdom. Her sentiments were "apples of gold in pictures ofsilver, " and worthy to be enshrined in a diamond casket. 

As I listened, I caught a portion of her sublime spirit, and felt equalto the duties which I had a short time before recoiled fromcontemplating. 

"I am very young and inexperienced, " I answered, "and too apt to begoverned by the impulses of the present moment. I dare not promise whatI may be too weak to perform; but dearest madam, all that a feeble girl, strengthened and inspired by love, and leaning humbly on an Almightyarm, can do, I pledge myself to do. In looking forward to the future, Ihave thought almost exclusively of being ever near the one belovedobject, living in the sunshine of his smile, and drinking in the musicof his voice. Life seemed an elysian dream, from which care and sorrowmust be for ever banished. You have roused me to nobler views, and givenexistence a nobler aim. I blush for my selfishness. I will henceforththink less of being happy myself, than of making others happy; less of_happiness_ than _duty_; and every sacrifice that principle requiresshall be made light, as well as holy, by love. "

"Only cherish such feelings, my child, " said Mrs. Linwood, warmlyembracing me, "and you will be the daughter of my choice, as well as myadoption. My blessing, and the blessing of approving God, will be yours. The woman, who limits her ambition to the triumphs of beauty and theinfluence of personal fascination, receives the retribution of her follyand her sin in the coldness and alienation of her husband, and theindifference, if not the contempt of the world. She, whose highest aimis intellectual power, will make her home like the eyrie of the eagle, lofty, but bleak. While she, whose affections alone are the foundationof her happiness, will find that the nest of the dove, though pleasantand downy in the sunshine, will furnish no shelter from the fiercestorms and tempestuous winds of life. "

"Oh, Mrs. Linwood! Is domestic happiness a houseless wanderer? Has it nohome on earth?"

"Yes, my love, in the heart of the woman whose highest aim is the gloryof God, --whose next, the excellence and happiness of her husband; whoconsiders her talents, her affections, and her beauty as gifts from theAlmighty hand, for whose use she must one day render an account; whoseheart is a censer where holy incense is constantly ascending, perfumingand sanctifying the atmosphere of home. Such is the woman who pleaseththe Lord. Such, I trust, will be my beloved Gabriella. "

By conversations like these, almost daily renewed, did this admirable, high-minded, and God-fearing woman endeavor to prepare me for theexalted position to which love had raised me. This was a happy period ofmy life. The absence of Richard Clyde, though a source of regret, was agreat blessing, as it removed the most prominent object of jealousy fromErnest's path. An occasional cloud, a sudden coldness, and anunaccountable reserve, sometimes reminded me of the dangerous passionwhose shadow too often follows the footsteps of love. But in theretirement of rural life, surrounded by the sweet, pure influences ofnature, the best elements of character were called into exercise. 

The friends whom Mrs. Linwood gathered around her were not the idledevotees of fashion, --the parasites of wealth; but intelligent, literarypeople, whose society was a source of improvement as well as pleasure. Sometimes, circumstances of commanding character forced her to receiveas guests those whom her judgment would never have selected, as in thecase of Madge Wildfire; but in general it was a distinction to beinvited to Grandison Place, whose elegant hospitalities were the boastof the town to which it belonged. 

The only drawback to my happiness was the pensiveness that hung like asoft cloud over the spirits of Edith. She was still kind andaffectionate to me; but the sweet unreserve of former intercourse wasgone. I had come between her and her brother's heart. I was the shadowon her dial of flowers, that made their bloom wither. I never walkedwith Ernest alone without fearing to give her pain. I never sat with himon the seat beneath the elm, in the starry eventide, or at moonlight'shour, without feeling that she followed us in secret with a saddenedglance. 

At first, whenever he came to me to walk with him, I would say, --

"Wait till I go for Edith. "

"Very well, " he would answer, "if there is nothing in your heart thatpleads for a nearer communion than that which we enjoy in the presenceof others, a dearer interchange of thought and feeling, let Edith, letthe whole world come. "

"It is for her sake, not mine, I speak, --I cannot bear the soft reproachof her loving eye!"

"A sister's affection must not be too exacting, " was the reply. "Allthat the fondest brother can bestow, I give to Edith; but there aregifts she may not share, --an inner temple she cannot enter, --reservedalone for you. Come, the flowers are wasting their fragrance, the starstheir lustre!"

How could I plead for Edith, after being silenced by such arguments? Andhow could I tell her that I had interceded for her in vain? I neverimagined before that a sister's love could be _jealous_; but the samehereditary passion which was transmitted to his bosom through a father'sblood, reigned in hers, though in a gentler form. 

Every one who has studied human nature must have observed predominantfamily traits, as marked as the attributes of different trees andblossoms, --traits which, descending from parent to children, individualize them from the great family of mankind. In some, pridetowers and spreads like the great grove tree of India, the branchestaking root and forming trunks which put forth a wealth of foliage, rankand unhealthy. In others, obstinacy plants itself like a rock, which thewinds and waves of opinion cannot move. In a few, jealousy coils itselfwith lengthening fold, which, like the serpent that wrapped itself roundLaocoon and his sons, makes parents and children its unhappy victims. 

And so it is with the virtues, which, thanks be to God, who setteth thesolitary in families, are also hereditary. How often do we hear itsaid, --"She is lovely, charitable, and pious, --so was her mother beforeher;" "He is an upright and honorable man, --he came from a noble stock. ""That youth has a sacred love of truth, --it is his bestinheritance, --his father's word was equivalent to his bond. "

If this be true, it shows the duty of parents in an awfully commandingmanner. Let them rend out the eye that gives dark and distorted views ofGod and man. Let them cut off the hand that offends and the foot thaterrs, rather than entail on others evils, which all eternity cannotremedy. Better transmit to posterity the blinded eye, the maimed andhalting foot, that knows the narrow path to eternal life, than the darkpassions that desolate earth, and unfit the soul for the joys of heaven. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

I have now arrived at a period in my life, at which the novelist wouldpause, --believing the history of woman ceases to interest as soon as anaccepted lover and consenting friends appear ready to usher the heroineinto the temple of Hymen. But there is a _life within life_, which isnever revealed till it is intertwined with another's. In the depth ofthe heart there is a lower deep, which is never sounded save by the handthat wears the _wedding-ring_. There is a talisman in its golden circle, more powerful than those worn by the genii of the East. 

I love to linger among the beautiful shades of Grandison Place, towander over its velvet lawn, its gravel walks, its winding avenues, togaze on the lovely valley its height commanded whether in the intenselights and strong shadows of downward day, or the paler splendor anddeeper shadows of moonlit night. I love those girdling mountains, --grandwinding stairs of heaven--on which my spirit has so often climbed, thenstepping to the clouds, looked through their "golden vistas" into themysteries of the upper world. 

O thou charming home of my youth what associations cluster round thee!Thy noble trees rustle their green leaves in the breezes of memory. Thymoonlight walks are trodden by invisible footsteps. Would I had neverleft thee, Paradise of my heart! Would I had never tasted the fruit ofthe tree of knowledge, which, though golden to the eye, turns to asheson the lips!

 * * * * *

When Ernest urged me to appoint a period for our marriage, I wasstartled--alarmed. I thought not of hastening to my destiny quite sosoon. I was too young. I must wait at least two years before assumingthe responsibilities of a wife. 

"Two years!--two centuries!" he exclaimed. "Why should we wait? I havewealth, which woos you to enjoy it. I have arrived at the fulness ofmanhood, and you are in the rosetime of your life. Why should we wait?For circumstances to divide, --for time to chill, --or death to destroy?No, no; when you gave me your heart, you gave me yourself; and I claimyou as my own, without formal scruples or unnecessary delay. "

Mrs. Linwood exerted all her eloquence with her son to induce him todefer the union at least one year, till I had seen something of theworld, --till I was better acquainted with my own heart. 

"Yes! wait till she loses the freshness and simplicity that won me, --thesweetness and ingenuousness that enchained me!" he cried impetuously. "Wait till she has been flattered and spoiled by a vain and deceivingworld; till she learns to prize the admiration of many better than thetrue love of one; till she becomes that tinsel thing my soul abhors, afalse and worldly woman. No! give her to me now, " he added, clasping meto his heart with irresistible tenderness and passion. "Give her to menow, in the bloom of her innocence, the flower of her youth, and I willenshrine her in my heart as in a crystal vase, which they must break toharm her. "

The strong love and the strong will united were not to be opposed. Mrs. Linwood was forced to yield; and when once her consent was given, minewas supposed to be granted. She wished the wedding to be consummated inthe city, in a style consistent with his splendid fortune, and then ourrank in society; and therefore proposed the first month in winter, whenthey usually took possession of their habitation in town. 

He objected to this with all the earnestness of which he was master. Itwas sacrilege, he said, to call in a gazing world, to make a mockery ofthe holiest feelings of the heart, and to crush under an icy mountain ofceremony the spontaneous flowers of nature and of love. He detestedfashionable crowds on any occasion, and most of all on this. Let it beat Grandison Place, the cradle of his love, in the glorious time of theharvest-moon, that mellow, golden season, when the earth wraps herselfas the

 "Sacred bride of heaven, Worthy the passion of a God. "

So entirely did I harmonize with him in his preference for GrandisonPlace, that I was willing the time should be anticipated, for the sakeof the retirement and tranquillity secured. 

Madge Wildfire had returned to the city, declaring that lovers were themost selfish and insipid people in the world, --that she was tired offlirting with Ursa Major, as she called Mr. Regulus, --tired of teazingDr. Harlowe, --tired of the country and of herself. 

The night before she left, she came to me in quite a subdued mood. 

"I am really sorry you are going to be married, " she cried. "If I wereyou, I would not put on chains before I had tasted the sweets ofliberty. Only think, you have not come out yet, as the protégée of therich, the aristocratic Mrs. Linwood. What a sensation you would make inBoston next winter if you had sense enough to preserve your freedom. Ernest Linwood knows well enough what he is about, when he hastens thewedding so vehemently. He knows, if you once go into the world, you willbe surrounded by admirers who may eclipse and supplant him. But I tellthee one thing, my dear creature, you will have no chance to shine as abelle, as the wife of Ernest. If he does not prove a second Bluebeard, my name is not Meg the Dauntless. "

"I detest a married belle, " I answered with warmth. "The woman who aimsat such a distinction is false, heartless, and unprincipled. I wouldbless the watching love that shielded me from a name so odious. "

"It is a mighty fine thing to be loved, I suppose, " said Meg with aresounding laugh, "but I know nothing about it and never shall. Mammaand Mrs. Linwood are great friends, you know, or have been; and mammathought it would be wondrous fine for young Miss Hopeful to captivateMr. Splendidus. But he did not _take_. I did not suit his delicatenerves. Well, I wish you joy, my precious soul. He loves you, there isno doubt of that. He never sees, never looks at any one else. If youspeak, he is all ear; if you move, all eye. I wonder how it will be ayear hence, --ha, ha!"

Her laugh grated on my nerves, but I concealed the irritation it caused, for it was useless to be angry with Meg. She must have had a heart, forshe was a woman, but the avenue to it was impervious. It was still anuntravelled wilderness, and bold must be the explorer who dared topenetrate its luxuriant depths. 

Circumstances connected with the property bequeathed by his uncle, madeit indispensable that Ernest should be in New York the coming winter;and he made arrangements to pass our first bridal season in the greatempire city. He wrote to a friend resident there, to engage a house andhave it furnished for our reception. 

"For never, " said he, "will I carry bride of mine, to make her home in afashionable hotel. I would as soon plunge her in the roaring vortex onNorway's coast. "

"And must we be separated from your mother and Edith?" I asked, trembling at the thought of being removed from Mrs. Linwood's maternalcounsels and cares; "will they not share our bridal home?"

"I would have the early days of our married life sacred even from theirparticipation, " he answered, with that eloquence of the eye which nowoman's heart could resist. "I would have my wife learn to rely on mealone for happiness;--to find in my boundless devotion, my unutterablelove, an equivalent for all she is called upon to resign. If she cannotconsent to this, no spark from heaven has kindled the flame of thealtar; the sacrifice is cold, and unworthy of acceptance. "

"For myself, I ask nothing, wish for nothing but your companionship, " Ianswered, with the fervor of truth and youth, "but I was thinking ofthem, whom I shall rob of a son and brother so inexpressibly dear. "

"We shall meet next summer in these lovely shades. We shall all be happytogether once more. In the mean time, all the elegancies and luxuriesthat love can imagine and wealth supply shall be yours, --

 "Nay, dearest, nay, if thou wouldst have me paint The home to which, if love fulfils its prayers, This hand would lead thee, listen, "--

And taking me by the hand, he led me out into the beautiful avenue inwhich we had so often wandered, and continued, in the words of thatcharming play which he had read aloud in the early days of ouracquaintance, with a thrilling expression which none but himself couldgive--

 "We'll have no friends That are not lovers; no ambition, save To excel them all in love; we'll read no books That are not tales of love; that we may smile To think how poorly eloquence of words Translates the poetry of hearts like ours! And when night comes, amidst the breathless heavens, We'll guess what star shall be our home when love Becomes immortal; while the perfumed light Steals through the mists of alabaster lamps, And every air be heavy with the sighs Of orange groves, and music from sweet lutes, And murmurs of low fountains, that gush forth I' the midst of roses!"

"Dost thou like the picture?"

How could I help answering, in the words of the impassioned Pauline, --

"Was ever young imaginative girl wooed in strains of sweeter romance?"

Was there ever a fairer prospect of felicity, if love, pure, intenselove, constitutes the happiness of wedded life?

I will not swell these pages by describing the village wonder andgossip, when it was known that the orphan girl of the old gray cottagewas exalted to so splendid a destiny; nor the congratulations offriends; the delight and exultation of Dr. Harlowe, who said he haddiscovered it all by my pulse long before; nor the deeply interestingand characteristic scene with Mr. Regulus; nor the parting interviewwith Mrs. Linwood and Edith. 

Yes, I will give a brief sketch of the last hour spent with Edith, thenight before the wedding. We were to be married in the morning, andimmediately commence our bridal journey. 

Edith had never alluded to her own feelings respecting her brother'smarriage, since the evening of the only misunderstanding we ever had inour sisterly intercourse; and it was a subject I could not introduce. The delicate, gauzy reserve in which she enfolded herself was asimpenetrable to me as an ancient warrior's armor. 

Now, when the whole household was wrapped in silence, and the lampsextinguished, and I sat in my night robe in the recess of the window, she came and sat down beside me. We could see each other's faces by thesilver starlight It glittered on the tear drops in the eyes of both. Iput my arms around her, and, laying my head on her bosom, poured out allthe love, gratitude, and affection with which my full heart wasburdened. 

"Forgive me, my beloved Gabriella, " she cried, "my apparent coldness andestrangement. On my knees I have asked forgiveness of my heavenlyFather. With my arms round your neck, and your heart next mine, I askforgiveness of you. Try not to think less of me for the indulgence of atoo selfish and exacting spirit, but remember me as the poor littlecripple, who for years found her brother's arm her strength and herstay, and learned to look up to him as the representative of Providence, as the protecting angel of her life. Only make him happy, my own dearsister, and I will yield him, not to your stronger, but your equal love. His only fault is loving you too well, in depreciating too much his owntranscendent powers. You cannot help being happy with _him_, with abeing so noble and refined. If he ever wounds you by suspicion andjealousy, bear all, and forgive all, for the sake of his exceedinglove, --for my sake, Gabriella, and for the sake of the dear Redeemer whodied for love of you. "

Dear, lovely, angelic Edith! noble, inestimable Mrs. Linwood!--dearlybeloved home of my orphan years, --grave of my mother, farewell!

Farewell!--the bride of Ernest must not, cannot weep. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

The early portion of my married life was more like a dream of heaventhan a reality of earth. All, and _more_ than I had ever imagined ofwedded happiness, I realized. The intimate and constant companionship ofsuch a being as Ernest, so intellectual, so refined, so highly gifted, so loving and impassioned, was a privilege beyond the common destiny ofwomen. A hundred times I said to myself in the exultant consciousness ofjoy, --

"How little his mother knows him! The jealousy of the lover has yieldedto the perfect confidence of the husband. Our hearts are now too closelyentwined for the shadow of a cloud to pass between them. He sayshimself, that it would be impossible ever to doubt a love so pure and soentire as mine. "

Our home was as retired as it was possible to be in the heart of a greatmetropolis. It was near one of those beautiful parks which in summergive such an aspect of life and purity to surrounding objects, withtheir grassy lawns, graceful shade trees, and fountains of silverybrightness playing in the sunshine, and diffusing such a cool, deliciousatmosphere, in the midst of heat, dust, and confusion. In winter, even, these parks give inexpressible relief to the eye, and freedom to themind, that shrinks from the compression of high brick walls, and longsfor a more expanded view of the heavens than can be obtained throughturreted roofs, that seem to meet as they tower. 

It made but little difference to me now, for my heaven was within. Theexternal world, of which I believed myself wholly independent, seemedbut a shell enclosing the richness and fragrance of our love. Theluxuries and elegancies of my own home were prized chiefly as proofs ofErnest's watchful and generous love. 

The friend to whom he had written to prepare a residence, was fortunatein securing one which he believed exactly suited to his fastidious andclassic taste. A gentleman of fortune had just completed and furnishedan elegant establishment, when unexpected circumstances compelled him toleave his country to be absent several years. 

I do not think Ernest would have fitted up our bridal home in so showyand magnificent a style; but his love for the beautiful and graceful wasgratified, and he was pleased with my enthusiastic admiration anddelight. 

I sometimes imagined myself in an enchanted palace, when wanderingthrough the splendid suite of apartments adorned with such orientalluxury. The gentleman whose taste had presided over the building of themansion, had travelled all over Europe, and passed several years in theEast. He had brought home with him the richest and rarest models ofEastern architecture, and fashioned his own mansion after them. Ernesthad not purchased it, for the owner was not willing to sell; he wasanxious, however, to secure occupants who would appreciate its elegance, and guard it from injury. 

Ah! little did I think when eating my bread and milk from the china bowlbordered by flowers, when a silver spoon seemed something grand andmassy in the midst of general poverty, that I should ever be themistress of such a magnificent mansion. I had thought Grandison Placeluxuriously elegant; but what was it compared to this? How shall I beginto describe it? or shall I describe it at all? I always like myself toknow how to localize a friend, to know their surroundings and realities, and all that fills up the picture of their life. A friend! Have I madefriends of my readers? I trust there are some who have followed thehistory of Gabriella Lynn with sufficient interest, to wish to learnsomething of her experience of the married life. 

Come, then, with me, and I will devote this chapter to a palace, whichmight indeed fulfil the prayers of the most princely love. 

This beautiful apartment, adorned with paintings and statues of the mostexquisite workmanship, is a reception room, from which you enter theparlor and find yourself winding through fluted pillars of ingrainedmarble, from the centre of which curtains of blue and silver, sweepingback and wreathing the columns, form an arch beneath which queens mightbe proud to walk. The walls are glittering with silver and blue, and allthe decorations of the apartment exhibit the same beautiful union. Theceiling above is painted in fresco, where cherubs, lovely as the dreamof love, spread their wings of silvery tinted azure and draw their fairybows. 

Passing through this glittering colonnade into a kind of airy room, youpause on the threshold, imagining yourself in a fairy grotto. We willsuppose it moonlight; for it was by moonlight I first beheld thisenchanting scene. We arrived at night, and Ernest conducted me himselfthrough a home which appeared to me more like a dream of the imaginationthan a creation of man. I saw that _he_ was surprised; that he wasunprepared for such elaborate splendor. He had told his friend to spareno expense; but he was not aware that any one had introduced suchAsiatic magnificence into our cities. I believe I will describe my ownfirst impressions, instead of anticipating yours. 

The mellowness of autumn still lingered in the atmosphere, --for theseason of the harvest-moon is the most beautiful in the world. Theglorious orb illumined the fairy grotto with a radiance as intense asthe noonday sun's. It clothed the polished whiteness of the marblestatues with a drapery of silver, sparkled on the fountain's tossingwreaths, converted the spray that rose from the bosom of the marblebasin below into a delicate web of silver lace-work, and its beams, reflected from walls of looking-glass, multiplied, to apparent infinity, fountains, statues, trees, and flowers, till my dazzled eyes couldscarcely distinguish the shadow from the substance. The air was perfumedwith the delicious odor of tropic blossoms, and filled with the sweetmurmurs of the gushing fountain. 

"Oh! how beautiful! how enchanting!" I exclaimed, in an ecstasy ofadmiration. "This must be ideal. Reality never presented any thing sobrilliant, so exquisite as this. Oh, Ernest, surely this is a place todream of, not a home to live in?"

"It does, indeed, " he answered, "transcend my expectations; but if itpleases your eye, Gabriella, it cannot go beyond my wishes. "

"Oh yes, it delights my eye, but my heart asked nothing but you. I fearyou will never know how well I love you, in the midst of such regalsplendor. If you ever doubt me, Ernest, take me to that island home youonce described, and you will there learn that on you, and you alone, Irely for happiness. "

He believed me. I knew he did; for he drew me to his bosom, and amid athousand endearing protestations, told me he did not believe it possibleever to doubt a love, which irradiated me at that moment, as the moondid the Fairy Grotto. 

He led me around the marble basin that received the waters of thefountain, and which was margined by sea-shells, from which luxuriantflowers were gushing, and explained the beautiful figures standing sowhite, so "coldly sweet, so deadly fair, " in the still and solemnmoonlight. I knew the history of each statue as he named them, but Iquestioned him, that I might have the delight of hearing his charmingand poetic descriptions. 

"Is this a daughter of Danaus?" I asked, stopping before a young andexquisitely lovely female, holding up to the fountain an urn, throughwhose perforated bottom the waters seemed eternally dripping. 

"It is. "

"Is it Hypermestra, the only one of all the fifty who had a woman'sheart, punished by her father for rescuing her husband from the awfuldoom which her obedient sisters so cruelly inflicted on theirs. "

"I believe it is one of the savage forty-nine, who were condemned by thejudges of the infernal regions to fill bottomless vessels with water, through the unending days of eternity. She does not look much like abride of blood, does she, with that face of softly flowing contour, andeye of patient anguish? I suppose filial obedience was considered a moredivine virtue than love, or the artist would not thus have beautifiedand idealized one of the most revolting characters in mythology. I donot like to dwell on this image. It represents woman in too detestable alight. May we not be pardoned for want of implicit faith in her angelicnature, when such examples are recorded of her perfidy andheartlessness?"

"But she is a fabulous being, Ernest. "

"Fables have their origin in truth, my Gabriella. Cannot you judge, bythe shadow, of the form that casts it? The mythology of Greece and Romeshows what estimate was placed on human character at the time it waswritten. The attributes of men and women were ascribed to gods andgoddesses, and by their virtues and crimes we may judge of the moraltone of ancient society. Had there been no perfidious wives, thedaughters of Danaus had never been born of the poet's brain, andembodied by the sculptor's hand. Had woman always been as true as she isfair, Venus had never risen from the foam of imagination, or floateddown the tide of time in her dove-drawn car, giving to mankind an imageof beauty and frailty that is difficult for him to separate, so closelyare they intertwined. "

"Yes, " said I, reproachfully, "and had woman never been forsaken andbetrayed, we should never have heard of the fair, deserted Ariadne, orthe beautiful and avenging Medea. Had man never been false to his vows, we should never have been told of the jealous anger of Juno, or thepoisoned garment prepared by the hapless Dejarnira. Ah! this is lovely!"

"Do you not recognize a similitude to the flower-girl of the library?This is Flora herself, whose marble hands are dripping with flowers, andwhose lips, white and voiceless as they are, are wearing the sweetnessand freshness of eternal youth. Do you not trace a resemblance toyourself in those pure and graceful features, which, even in marble, breathe the eloquence of love? How charmingly the moonbeams play uponher brow! how lovingly they linger on her neck of snow!"

He paused, while the murmurs of the fountain seemed to swell to supplythe music of his voice. Then he passed on to a lovely Bachanter with ivyand vine wreaths on her clustering locks, to a Hebe catching crystaldrops instead of nectar in her lifted cup; and then we turned and lookedat all these classic figures reflected in the mural mirrors and at themyriad fountains tossing their glittering wreaths, and at the myriadbasins receiving the cooling showers. 

"I only regret, " said Ernest, "that I had not designed all thisexpressly for your enjoyment; that the taste of another furnished thebanquet at which your senses are now revelling. "

"But I owe it all to you. You might as well sigh to be the sculptor ofthe statues, the Creator of the flowers. Believe me, I am sufficientlygrateful. My heart could not bear a greater burden of gratitude. "

"Gratitude!" he repeated, "Gabriella, as you value my love, never speakto me of gratitude. It is the last feeling I wish to inspire. It may befelt for a benefactor, a superior, but not a lover and a husband. "

"But when all these characters are combined in one, what language can weuse to express the full, abounding heart? Methinks mine cannot contain, even now, the emotions that swell it almost to suffocation, I am notworthy of so much happiness. It is greater than I can bear. "

I leaned my head on his shoulder, and tears and smiles mingling togetherrelieved the oppression of my grateful, blissful heart. I really felttoo happy. The intensity of my joy was painful, from its excess. 

"This is yours, " said he, as we afterwards stood in an apartment whosevaulted ceiling, formed of ground crystal and lighted above by gas, resembled the softest lustre of moonlight. The hangings of the beds andwindows were of the richest azure-colored satin, fringed with silver, which seemed the livery of the mansion. 

"And this is yours, " he added, lifting a damask curtain, which fell overa charming little recess that opened into a beautiful flower bed. "Thisis a kiosk, where you can sit in the moonlight and make garlands ofpoetry, which Regulus cannot wither. "

"How came you so familiar with the mysteries of this enchanted palace?Is it not novel to you, as well as to me?"

"Do you not recollect that I left you at the hotel for a short time, after our arrival? I accompanied my friend hither, and received from himthe clue to these magic apartments. This is a bathing-room, " said he, opening one, where a marble bath and ewer, and every luxurious appliancereminded one of Eastern luxury. Even the air had a soft languor in it, as if perfumed breaths had mingled there. 

"I should like to see the former mistress of this palace, " said I, gazing round with a bewildered smile; "she was probably some magnificentEastern sultana who reclined under that royal canopy, and receivedsherbet from the hands of kneeling slaves. She little dreamed of therustic successor who would tread her marble halls, and revel in theluxuries prepared for her. "

"She was a very elegant and intellectual woman, I am told, " repliedErnest, "who accompanied her husband in his travels, and assisted him inevery enterprise, by the energy of her mind and the constancy of herheart, and whose exquisite taste directed the formation of this gracefulstructure. She painted the frescos on the ceiling of the boudoir, andthat richly tinted picture of an Italian sunset is the work of her hand. This house and its decorations are not as costly as many others in thiscity, but it has such an air of Asiatic magnificence it produces anillusion on the eye. I wish, myself, it was not quite so showy, but itmakes such a charming contrast to the simplicity and freshness of yourcharacter I cannot wish it otherwise. "

"I fear I shall be spoiled. I shall imagine myself one of thosedark-eyed houris, who dwell in the bowers of paradise and welcome thesouls of the brave. "

"That is no inappropriate comparison, " said he; "but you must notbelieve me an Eastern satrap, Gabriella, who dares not enter his wife'sapartment without seeing the signal of admittance at the door. Here isanother room opening into this; and pressing a spring, a part of thedividing walls slid back, revealing an apartment of similar dimensions, and furnished with equal elegance. 

"This, " added he, "was arranged by the master of the mansion for his ownaccommodation. Here is his library, which seems a mass of burnishedgold, from the splendid binding of the books. By certain secret springsthe light can be so graduated in this room, that you can vary it fromthe softest twilight to the full blaze of day. "

"The Arabian Nights dramatized!" I exclaimed. "I fear we are walkingover trap-doors, whose secret mouths are ready to yawn on theunsuspecting victim. "

"Beware then, Gabriella, --I may be one of the genii, whose terriblepower no mortal can evade, who can read the thoughts of the heart aseasily as the printed page. How would you like to be perused soclosely?"

"Would that you could read every thought of my heart, Ernest, everyemotion of my soul, then you would know, what words can neverexpress, --the height and depth of my love and devotion--I will not _say_gratitude--since you reject and disown it, --but that I must ever feel. Can I ever forget the generosity, the magnanimity, which, overlookingthe cloud upon my birth, has made me the sharer of your princelydestiny, the mistress of a home like this?"

"You do not care for it, only as the expression of my affection; I amsure you do not, " he repeated, and his dark gray eye seemed to read theinmost depths of thought. 

"Oh, no! a cottage or a palace would be alike to me, provided you arenear me. It seems to me now as if I should awake in the morning, andfind I had been in a dream. I am not sure that you have not a magic ringon your finger that produces this illusion. "

But the morning sunbeams flashed on the softly murmuring fountain, onthe white polished forms of the Grecian myths, on the trailingluxuriance of the tropic blossoms. They glanced in on the glitteringdrapery that wreathed the marble columns, and lighted the crystal domeover my head with a mild, subdued radiance. 

A boudoir which I had not seen the evening before elicited my morningadmiration, --it was furnished with such exquisite elegance, andcontained so many specimens of the fine arts. Two rosewood cabinets, inlaid with pearl, were filled with _chefs-d'[oe]uvres_ from the handsof masters, collected in the old world. They were locked; but throughthe glass doors I could gaze and admire, and make them all my own. Anelegant escritoire was open on the table, the only thing with which Icould associate the idea of utility. Yes, there was a harp, that seemedsupported by a marble cherub, --a most magnificent instrument. I sighedto think it was useless to me; but Ernest's hand would steal music fromits silent strings. 

And now behold me installed as mistress of this luxurious mansion, anutter stranger in the heart of a great metropolis!

It was now that I understood the reserve of Ernest's character. It wasimpossible that we should remain altogether strangers, living in a stylewhich wealth only could sanction. Mr. Harland, the gentleman with whomErnest had corresponded, moved in the circles of fashion anddistinction, and he introduced his friends and acquaintances, beinghimself a frequent and agreeable visitor. Ernest received our guest withelegance and politeness, --these attributes were inseparable fromhimself, --but there was a coldness and reserve that seemed to forbid allapproach to intimacy. Fearful of displeasing him, I repressed thenatural frankness and social warmth of my nature, and I am sure ourvisitors often departed, chilled and disappointed. The parlor was linedwith mirrors, and I could not turn without seeing myself reflected onevery side; and not only myself, but an eye that watched my everymovement, and an ear that drank in my every word. How could I feel atease, or do justice to those powers of pleasing with which nature mayhave gifted me?

Sometimes, though very seldom, Ernest was not present; and then myspirits rebounded from this unnatural constraint, and I laughed andtalked like other people. The youthful brightness of my feelings flashedforth, and I forgot that a _clouded star_ presided over my young life. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

I would not give the impression that, at this time, I felt hurt at thecoldness and reserve of Ernest, as exhibited in society. I was fearfulof displeasing him by showing too much pleasure in what did not appearto interest him; but when the door was closed on the departing guest andhe exclaimed, --

"Thank heaven! we are once more alone!"

I could not help echoing the sentiment which brought us so close to eachother, and rejoiced with him that formality and restraint no longerinterfered with the freedom of love and the joys of home. He neverappeared so illumined with intellect, so glowing with feeling, as inmoments like these; and I was flattered that a mind so brilliant, and aheart so warm, reserved their brightness and their warmth for me. If hewas happy with me, and me only, how supremely blest should I be, with acompanion so intellectual and fascinating! If Edith were but near, sothat I could say to her occasionally, "How happy I am!" if Mrs. Linwoodwere with me to know that nothing had yet arisen to disturb the heavenof our wedded happiness; if excellent Dr. Harlowe could only call inonce in a while, with his pleasant words and genial smiles; or kindlyfeeling, awkward Mr. Regulus, I should not have a wish ungratified. 

It is true I sometimes wished I had something to do, but we hadsupernumerary servants, and if I found any employment it must have beensimilar to that of Jack the bean-boy, who poured his beans on the floorand then picked them up again. I was fond of sewing. But the wardrobe ofa young bride is generally too well supplied; at least mine was, toadmit of much exercise with the needle. I was passionately fond ofreading, and of hearing Ernest read; and many an hour every day wasdevoted to books. But the mind, like the body, can digest only a certainquantity of food, and is oppressed by an excessive portion. 

Had Ernest welcomed society, our superb parlor would have been throngedwith nightly guests; but he put up bars of ceremony against suchintrusion; polished silver they were, it is true, but they were felt tobe heavy and strong. He never visited himself, that is, socially. Hepaid formal calls, as he would an inevitable tax, rejoicing when thewearisome task was over; out beyond the limits of ceremony he could notbe persuaded to pass. 

Gradually our evening visitors became few, --the cold season advanced, the fountain ceased to play in the grotto, and the beautiful flowerswere inclosed in the green-house. 

Our rooms were warmed by furnaces below, which diffused a summertemperature through the house. In mine, the heat came up through anexquisite Etruscan vase, covered with flowers, which seemed to emit odoras well as warmth, and threw the illusion of spring over the dullnessand gloom of winter. But I missed the glowing hearth of Mrs. Linwood, the brightness and heartiness of her winter fireside. 

I never shall forget how I started with horror, when I was conscious ofa feeling of _ennui_, even in the presence of Ernest. It was notpossible I should be weary of the joys of heaven, if I were capable ofsighing in my own Eden bower. I tried to banish the impression; itWOULD return, and with it self-reproach and shame. 

If Ernest had not been lifted by wealth above the necessity of exertion;had he been obliged to exercise the talents with which he was soliberally endowed for his own support and the benefit of mankind; had hesome profession which compelled him to mingle in the world, till the tooexquisite edge of his sensibilities were blunted by contact with firmer, rougher natures, what a blessing it would have been! With what pridewould I have seen him go forth to his daily duties, sure that he wasimparting and receiving good. With what rapture would I have welcomedhis returning footstep!

Oh! had he been a _poor_ man, he would have been a _great_ man. He wasnot obliged to toil, either physically or mentally; and indolence isborn of luxury, and morbid sensibility luxuriates in the lap ofindolence. Forms of beauty and grandeur wait in the marble quarry forthe hand of genius and skill. Ingots of gold sleep in the mine, till theexplorer fathoms its depths and brings to light the hidden treasures. Labor is the slave of the lamp of life, who alone keeps its flame fromwaxing dim. When a child, I looked upon poverty as man's greatest curse;but I now thought differently. To feel that every wish is gratified, every want supplied, is almost as dreary as to indulge the wish, andexperience the want, without the means of satisfying the cravings of oneor the urgency of the other. 

Had Ernest been a poor man, he would not have had time to thinkunceasingly of me. His mind would have been occupied with sternerthoughts and more exalted cares. But rich as he was, I longed to see himlive for something nobler than personal enjoyment, to know that hepossessed a higher aim than love for me. I did not feel worthy to fillthe capacities of that noble heart. I wanted him to love me less, that Imight have something more to desire. 

"Of what are you thinking so deeply, sweet wife?" he asked, when I hadbeen unconsciously indulging in a long, deep reverie. "What greatsubject knits so severely that fair young brow?" he repeated, sitting byme, and taking my hand in his. 

I blushed, for my thoughts were making bold excursions. 

"I was thinking, " I answered, looking bravely in his face, "what ablessed thing it must be to do good, to have the will as well as thepower to bless mankind. "

"Tell me what scheme of benevolence my little philanthropist is forming. What mighty engine would she set in motion to benefit her species?"

"I was thinking how happy a person must feel, who was able to establishan asylum for the blind or the insane, a hospital for the sick, or ahome for the orphan. I was thinking how delightful it would be to go outinto the byways of poverty, the abodes of sickness and want, and bidtheir inmates follow me, where comfort and ease and plenty awaited them. I was thinking, if I were a man, how I would love to be called thefriend and benefactor of mankind; but, being a woman, how proud andhappy I should be to follow in the footsteps of such a good and gloriousbeing, and hear the blessings bestowed upon his name. "

I spoke with earnestness, and my cheeks glowed with enthusiasm. I feltthe clasp of his hand tighten as he drew me closer to his side. 

"You have been thinking, " he said, in his peculiarly grave, melodiousaccents, "that I am leading a self-indulging, too luxurious life?"

"Not you--not you alone, dearest Ernest; but both of us, " I cried, feeling a righteous boldness, I did not dream that I possessed. "Do notthe purple and the fine linen of luxury enervate the limbs which theyclothe? Is there no starving Lazarus, who may rebuke us hereafter forthe sumptuous fare over which we have revelled? I know how generous, howcompassionate you are; how ready you are to relieve the sufferingsbrought before your eye; but how little we witness here! how fewopportunities we have of doing good! Ought they not to be sought? Maythey not be found everywhere in this great thoroughfare of humanity?"

"You shall find my purse as deep as your charities, my lovelymonitress, " he answered, while his countenance beamed with approbation. "My bounty as boundless as your desires. But, in a great city like this, it is difficult to distinguish between willing degradation andmeritorious poverty. You could not go into the squalid dens of want andsin, without soiling the whiteness of your spirit, by familiarity withscenes which I would not have you conscious of passing in the world. There are those who go about as missionaries of good among the lowestdregs of the populace, whom you can employ as agents for your bounty. There are benevolent associations, through which your charities can flowin full and refreshing streams. Remember, I place no limits to yourgenerosities. As to your magnificent plans of establishing asylums andpublic institutions for the lame, the halt, and the blind, perhaps mysingle means might not be able to accomplish them, --delightful as itwould be to have an angel following in my footsteps, and binding up thewounds of suffering humanity. "

He smiled with radiant good-humor at my Quixotic schemes. Then he toldme, that since he had been in the city he had given thousands to thecharitable associations which spread in great lifegiving veins throughevery part of the metropolis. 

"You think I am living in vain, my Gabriella, " he said, rising andwalking the length of the splendid apartment and again returning, "because I do not have my allotted daily task to perform; because I donot go forth, like the lawyer, with a green bag under my arm; like theminister, with a sermon in my pocket; or the doctor, with powders andpills. If necessity imposed such tasks on me, I suppose I should performthem with as good a grace as the rest; but surely it would ill become meto enter the lists with my needier brethren, and take the bread fromtheir desiring lips. Every profession is crowded. Even woman is pressinginto the throng, and claiming precedence of man, in the great struggleof life. It seems to me, that it is the duty of those on whom fortunehas lavished her gifts, to step aside and give room to others, who areless liberally endowed. We _may_ live in luxury; but by so doing, ourwealth is scattered among the multitude, the useful arts are encouraged, and much is done for the establishment of that golden mean, which reasonand philosophy have so long labored to secure. "

As he thus spoke calmly, yet energetically, moving back and forth underthe arches of glittering azure, his pale, transparent complexion lightedup glowingly. My eyes followed him with exulting affection. I wonderedat the presumption of which I had been guilty. He had been doing good insecret, while I imagined him forgetful of the sacred legacy, left byChrist to the rich. I had wronged him in thought, and I told him so. 

"You asked me of what I was thinking, " I said, "and you draw my thoughtsfrom me as by magic. I have not told you all. _I_ do not sigh for othersociety; but I fear you will become weary of mine. "

"Do we ever weary of moonlight, or the sweet, fresh air of heaven? No, Gabriella; remain just as you are, ingenuous, confiding, and true, and Idesire no other companionship. You so entirely fill my heart, there isno room for more. You never have had, never will have a rival. You havea power over me, such as woman seldom, exercises over man. Love, withmost men, is the pastime and gladdener of life; with me it is lifeitself. A fearful responsibility is resting on you, my own, dear bride;but do not tremble. I do not think it is possible for you to deceive me, for you are truth itself. I begin to think you have changed my nature, and inspired me with trust and confidence in all mankind. "

I did not make any professions, any promises, in answer to his avowal;but if ever a fervent prayer rose from the human heart, it ascended frommine, that I might prove worthy of this trust, that I might preserve itunblemished, with a constant reference to the eye that cannot bedeceived, and the judgment that cannot err. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

The first misfortune of my married life, came in the person of MargaretMelville. She burst into the boudoir one morning like a young tornado, seizing me in her strong arms, and giving me a shower of kisses, beforeI had time to recover from my astonishment. 

Ernest and myself were seated side by side by the escritoire. He wasreading, --I was writing to Edith, little dreaming of the interruption athand. 

"My dear creature, " she exclaimed, with one of her inimitable ringinglaughs, "how _do_ you _do_? You didn't think of seeing me, I know youdidn't. Where did I come from? I dropped down from the upperregions, --you do not believe that. Well, I came with a party of friends, who wanted me to keep them alive. They are stopping at the Astor House. By the way, my trunks are there, --you may send for them as soon as youplease. (Her trunks! she had come for a long visit, then!) There is mybonnet, mantilla, and gloves, --here _I_ am, body and soul, --what aglorious lounge, --good old Cr[oe]sus, what a palace you are in, --I neversaw any thing so magnificent! Why, this is worth getting married for! IfI ever marry, it shall be to a rich man, and one who will let me do justas I please, too. "

Ernest in vain endeavored to conceal his vexation at this unexpectedinnovation on the elegant quietude and romantic seclusion of our home. His countenance expressed it but too plainly, and Margaret, careless asshe was, must have observed it. It did not appear to disconcert her, however. She had not waited for an invitation, --she did not troubleherself about a welcome. She had come for her own amusement, andprovided that was secured, she cared not for our gratification. 

I can hardly explain my own feelings. I always dreaded coming in contactwith her rudeness; there was no sympathy in our natures, and yet Iexperienced a sensation of relief while listening to her bubbling andeffervescent nonsense. My mind had been kept on so high a tone, therewas a strain, a tension, of which I was hardly conscious till thebowstring was slackened. Besides, she was associated with therecollections of Grandison Place, --she was a young person of my own sex, and she could talk to me of Mrs. Linwood, and Edith, and the friends ofmy rural life. So I tried to become reconciled to the visitation, and todo the honors of a hostess with as good a grace as possible. 

Ernest took refuge in the library from her wild rattling, and then shepoured into my ear the idle gossip she had heard the evening before. 

"It never will do, " she cried, catching a pair of scissors from mywork-box, and twirling them on the ends of her fingers at the imminentrisk of their flying into my eyes, --"you must put a stop to this Darbyand Joan way of living, --you will be the byword of the fashionableworld, --I heard several gentlemen talking about you last night. Theysaid your husband was so exclusive and jealous he would not let the sunlook upon you if he could help it, --that he had the house lightedthrough the roof, so that no one could peep at you through the windows. Oh! I cannot repeat half the ridiculous things they said, but I am sureyour ears must have burned from the compliments they paid you, at leastthose who have had the good-luck to catch a glimpse of your face. Theyall agreed that Ernest was a frightful ogre, who ought to be put in aboiling cauldron, for immuring you so closely, --I am going to tell himso. "

"Don't, Margaret, don't! If you have any regard for my feelings, don't, I entreat you, ever repeat one word of this unmeaning gossip to him. Heis so peculiarly sensitive, he would shrink still more from socialintercourse. What a shame it is to talk of him in this manner. I am sureI have as much liberty as I wish. He is ready to gratify every desire ofmy heart He has made me the happiest of human beings. "

"Oh! I know all that, of course. Who would not be happy in such a palaceas this?"

"It is not the splendor with which he has surrounded me, " I answered, gravely, "but the love which is my earthly Providence, which constitutesmy felicity. You may tell these _busy idlers_, who are so interested inmy domestic happiness, that I thank my husband for excluding me fromcompanions so inferior to himself, --so incapable of appreciating thepurity and elevation of his character. "

"Well, my precious soul, don't be angry with them. You are a jewel of awife, and I dare say he is a diamond of a husband; but you cannot stoppeoples' tongues. They _will_ talk when folks set themselves up asexclusives. But let me tell you one thing, my pretty creature!--I am notgoing to be shut up in a cage while I am here, I assure you. I amdetermined to see all the lions; go to all fashionable places ofamusement, all attractive exhibitions, theatres, concerts, panoramas, every thing that promises the least particle of enjoyment. I shallparade Broadway, frequent Stewart's marble palace, and make myself thebelle of the city. And you are to go with me, my dear, --for am I notyour guest, and are you not bound to minister to my gratification? Asfor your ogre, he may go or stay, just as he pleases. There will beplenty who will be glad enough to take his place. "

I did not expect that she would have the audacity to say this to Ernest;but she did. I had never asked him to take me to places of publicamusement, because I knew he did not wish it. Sometimes, when I saw inthe morning papers that a celebrated actor was to appear in a finedrama, my heart throbbed with momentary desire, and my lips opened toexpress it. But delicacy and pride always restrained its expression. Iwaited for him to say, --

"Gabriella, would you like to go?"

The morning after her arrival she ransacked the papers, and fastening onthe column devoted to amusements, read its contents aloud, to theevident annoyance of Ernest. 

"Niblo's Garden, the inimitable Ravels--_La Fête champétre_, --dancing onthe tight-rope, etc. Yes, that's it. We will go there to-night, Gabriella. I have been dying to see the Ravels. Cousin Ernest, --you didnot know that you were my cousin, did you?--but you are. Our mothershave been climbing the genealogical tree, and discovered our collateralbranches. Cousin Ernest, go and get us tickets before the best seats aresecured. What an unpromising countenance! Never mind. Mr. Harland saidhe would be only too happy to attend Gabriella and myself to any placeof amusement or party of pleasure. You are not obliged to go, unless youchoose. Is he, Gabriella?"

"I certainly should not think of going without him, " I answered, vexedto discover how much I really wished to go. 

"But you wish to go, --you know you do. Poor, dear little soul! You havenever been anywhere, --you have seen nothing, --you live as close anddemure as a church mouse, --while this man-monster, who has nothing inthe universe to do, from morning till night, but wait upon you andcontribute to your gratification, keeps you at home, like a bird in acage, just to look at and admire. It is too selfish. If _you_ will nottell him so, _I_ will. He shall hear the truth from somebody. "

"Margaret!" I said, frightened at the pale anger of Ernest'scountenance. 

"You dare not look me in the face and say that you do not wish to go, Gabriella? You know you dare not. "

"I desire nothing contrary to my husband's wishes. "

"You are a little simpleton, then, --and I don't care what people say. Itis a sin to encourage him in such selfishness and despotism. "

She laughed, but her lips curled with scorn. 

Ernest took up a pearl paper-cutter from the table, and bent it, till itbroke like glass in his fingers. He did not know what he was doing. Madge only laughed the louder. She enjoyed his anger and my trepidation. 

"A pretty thing to make a scene of!" she exclaimed. "Here I come all theway from Boston to make you a visit, --expecting you would do every thingto make me happy, as other folks do, when friends visit them. I proposea quiet, respectable amusement, in my own frank, go-ahead way, --andlo!--my lord frowns, and my lady trembles, and both, occupied inwatching each other's emotions, forget they have a guest to entertain, as well as a friend to gratify. "

"You might wait till I have refused to accompany you, Miss Melville, "said Ernest, in a cold, calm voice. "You know me incapable of suchrudeness. But I cannot allow even a lady to make such unpardonableallusions to my domestic feelings and conduct. If a man cannot find asanctuary from insult in his own home, he may well bar his doors againstintrusion, and if he has the spirit of a man, he will. "

"She is only jesting, " said I, with a beseeching glance. "You know Madgeof old, --she never says any thing she really thinks. How can you beexcited by any remarks of hers?"

"Cousin Ernest, " cried Madge, while the _laughing devil_ in her greatblack eyes tried to shrink into a hiding-place, "have you not manlinessto forgive me, when the rash humor which my mother gave me makes meforgetful?"

She held out her hand with an ardent desire for reconciliation. Shefound she had a spirit to contend with, stronger than she imagined; andfor the moment she was subdued. 

"Not your mother, Margaret, " replied Ernest, taking the offered handwith a better grace than I anticipated. "She is gentle and womanly, likemy own. I know not whence you derived your wickedness. "

"It is all original. I claim the sole credit of it. Father and motherboth saints. I am a moral tangent, flying off between them. Well, we arefriends again; are we not?"

"We are at peace, " he answered. "You know the conditions, now; and Itrust will respect them. "

"We are all going to Niblo's, " she cried eagerly; "that is onecondition. "

"Certainly, " he answered; and he could not help smiling at theadroitness with which she changed positions with him. 

"Will you really like to go, Gabriella?" he asked, turning to me; andhis countenance beamed with all its wonted tenderness. 

"Oh, yes, indeed I will. I am sure it will be delightful. "

"And have you ever desired to partake of pleasures, without telling meof your wishes?"

"I do not know that I can call the transient emotion I have felt, adesire, " I answered; blushing that I had ever cherished thoughts which Iwas unwilling to disclose. "I believe curiosity is natural to youth andinexperience. "

"Perfect love casteth out fear, Gabriella. You must promise to tell meevery wish of your heart; and be assured, if consistent with reason, itshall be gratified. "

Delighted at so pleasant a termination to so inauspicious a beginning, Ilooked forward to the evening's entertainment with bright and elasticspirits. Once, as my eye rested on the fragments of pearl, I sighed tothink how easily the pearls of sensibility, as well as all the frail anddelicate treasures of life, might be crushed by the hand of passion. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

I was surprised, when I found myself in a lofty dome, brilliantlyilluminated by gas, instead of the ample flower-garden my imaginationhad described. I hardly know what idea I had formed; but I expected tobe seated in the open air, in the midst of blossoming plants, andsinging birds, and trees, on whose branches variegated lamps wereburning. Ernest smiled when I told him of my disappointment. 

"So it is with the illusions of life, " said he. "They all pass away. Thegarden which you passed before the entrance, has given its name to theplace; and even that, the encroaching steps of business will trampleon. "

Mr. Harland escorted Meg, who was in exuberant spirits, and as usualattracted the public gaze by her dashing and reckless demeanor. Conspicuous, from her superior height, her large, roving black eyes, andher opera cloak of brilliant cherry color, I felt sheltered fromobservation in her vicinity, and hoped that Ernest would find I couldmingle in public scenes without drawing any peculiar attention. Indeed, I was so absorbed by the graceful and expressive pantomime, the noveltyand variety of the scenic decorations, that I thought not where I was, or who I was. To city dwellers, a description of these would be asunnecessary as uninteresting; but perhaps some young country girl, asinexperienced as myself in fashionable amusements, may like to follow myglowing impressions. 

One scene I remember, which had on me the effect of enchantment. 

The stage represented one of those rural fêtes, where the peasantry ofFrance gather on the village green, to mingle in the exhilarating dance. An aged couple came forward, hand in hand, in coarse grey overcoats, wooden sabots, and flapped hats, fastened by gray handkerchiefs undertheir chins. Two tight ropes were stretched parallel to each other, about eight or ten feet above the stage, and extended over theparquette. A light ladder rested against them, on each side. The agedcouple tottered to the ladder, and attempted to ascend; but, at thefirst step, they fell and rolled on the ground. 

"Poor creatures!" said I, trembling for their safety. "Why will theymake such a ridiculous attempt? Why will not some of the bystandersprevent them, instead of urging them with such exulting shouts?"

"They deserve to suffer for their folly, " answered Ernest, laughing. "Age should not ape the agility of youth. Perhaps they will do betterthan you anticipate. "

After repeated attempts and failures, they stood, balancing themselvespainfully on the ropes, clinging to each other's hands, and apparentlytrembling with terror. 

"They _will_ fall!" I exclaimed, catching hold of Ernest's arm, andcovering my eyes. "I cannot bear to look at them. There! how dreadfullythey stagger. "

Again I covered my eyes, resolved to shut out the catastrophe of theirbroken necks and mangled limbs, --when thunders of acclamation shook thehouse; and, looking up, I beheld a transformation that seemedsupernatural. The old great-coats, clumsy sabots, and hats, werescattered to the ground; and two youthful figures, glittering in whiteand silver, light and graceful as "feathered Mercuries, " stood, hand inhand, poised on one foot, on the tight-drawn ropes. They danced. I neverrealized before the music of motion. Now, they floated downwards likesoftly rolling clouds; then vaulted upwards like two white-winged birds, with sunbeams shining on their plumage. A bright, fearless smileillumined their countenances; their dark, waving locks shone in thedazzling light. 

Ernest seemed to enjoy my rapture. "I take more pleasure, " he said, "watching your vivid emotions, than in witnessing this wonderfullygraceful exhibition. What a perfect child of nature you are, Gabriella. You should thank me for keeping you somewhat aloof from the fascinationsof the world. It is only in the shade, that the dew remains on theflower. "

I do not think one glance of mine had wandered from the stage, save tomeet the eye of Ernest. We sat in the second row of boxes, abouthalf-way distant from the stage and the centre. I knew that every seatwas crowded, but I did not observe the occupants. Meg, who cared as muchabout the audience as the performers, kept her opera-glass busy ingazing on those who were remote, and her own bold, magnificent eyes inexamining those in her vicinity. 

"Gabriella!" she whispered, "do look at that gentleman in the next box, one seat in advance of us. He has been gazing at you for an hoursteadily. Do you know him?"

I shook my head, and made a motion, enjoining silence. I did not thinkErnest had heard her, and I did not wish his attention directed towardsan impertinence of this kind. It would make him angry, and he seemed tohave enjoyed the evening. 

"Why don't you look?" again whispered Meg. "He may leave the box. He iscertainly trying to magnetize you. "

Impelled by growing curiosity, I glanced in the direction she indicated, and met the unreceding gaze of a pair of dark, intense eyes, that seemedto burn in their sockets. Their owner was a gentleman, who appearedabout forty years of age, of a very striking figure, and featuresoriginally handsome, but wearing the unmistakable stamp of dissipation. I blushed at his bold and steadfast scrutiny, and drew involuntarilynearer to Ernest. Ernest observed his undaunted stare, and his browscontracted over his flashing eyes. The gentleman, perceiving this, turned towards the stage, and seemed absorbed in admiration of thegraceful and inimitable Ravels. 

"Scoundrel!" muttered Ernest, leaning forward so as to interpose abarrier to his insolence. 

"Did you speak to me, cousin Ernest?" asked Meg, with affectedsimplicity. 

He made no reply; and as the stranger did not turn again, I became sointerested in the performance as to forget his bold ness. During theinterlude between the plays, I begged Ernest to get me a glass of water. Meg made the same request of Mr. Harland, and for a short time we wereleft alone. 

The moment the gentlemen had left the box, the stranger rose and steppedinto the box behind him, which brought him on a line with us, and closeto me, as I was seated next to the partition. I did not look him in theface; but I could not help being conscious of his movements, and of theprobing gaze he again fixed on me. I wished I had not asked for thewater. I could have borne the faintness and oppression caused by theodor of the gas better than that dark, unshrinking glance. I dreaded theanger of Ernest on his return. I feared he would openly resent aninsolence so publicly and perseveringly displayed. We were side by side, with only the low partition of the boxes between us, so near that I felthis burning breath on my cheek, --a breath in which the strong perfume oforris-root could not overcome the fumes of the narcotic weed. I tried tomove nearer Meg, but her back was partially turned to me, in the act ofconversing with some gentleman who had just entered the box, and she wasplanted on her seat firm as a marble statue. 

The stranger's hand rested on the partition, and a note fell into mylap. 

"Conceal this from your husband, " said a low, quick voice, scarcelyabove a whisper, "or his life shall be the forfeit as well as mine. "

As he spoke, he lifted his right hand, exhibiting a miniature in itspalm, in golden setting. One moment it flashed on my gaze, thenvanished, but that glance was enough. I recognized the lovely featuresof my mother, though blooming with youth, and beaming with hope and joy. 

To snatch up the note and hide it in my bosom, was an act as instinctiveas the beating of my heart. It was my father, then, from whose scorchinggaze I had been shrinking with such unutterable dread and loathing, --thebeing whom she had once so idolatrously loved, whom in spite of herwrongs she continued to love, --the being who had destroyed her peace, broken her heart, and laid her in a premature grave--the being whom herdying lips commanded me to forgive, whom her prophetic dream warned meto protect from unknown danger. My father! I had imagined him dead, somany years had elapsed since my mother's flight. I had thought of him asa fabulous being. I dreamed not of encountering him, and if I had, Ishould have felt secure, for how could he recognize _me_? My father!cold and sick I turned away, shivering with indescribable apprehension. He had destroyed my mother, --he had come to destroy me. That secretnote, --that note which I was to conceal, or meet so awful a penalty, seemed to scorch the bosom that throbbed wildly against its folds. 

All that I have described occurred in the space of a few moments. BeforeErnest returned, the stranger had resumed his seat, --(I cannot, oh, Icannot call him _father_, )--and there was no apparent cause for myunconquerable emotion. Meg, who was laughing and talking with hercompanions, had observed nothing. The secret was safe, on which I wastold two lives depended. Two, --I might say _three_, since one was thelife of Ernest. 

I attempted to take the glass of water, but my hand shook so I could nothold it. I dared not look in the face of Ernest, lest he should read inmine all that had occurred. 

"What is the matter?" he asked, anxiously. "Gabriella, has any thingalarmed you during my absence?"

"The odor of the gas sickens me, " I answered, evading the question; "ifyou are willing, I should like to return home. "

"You seem strangely affected in crowds, " said he, in an undertone, andbending on me a keen, searching glance. "I remember on commencement dayyou were similarly agitated. "

"I do indeed seem destined to suffer on such occasions, " I answered, asharp pang darting through my heart. I read suspicion in his alteredcountenance. The flower leaves were beginning to wither. "If MissMelville is willing, I should like to return. "

"What is that you say about going home?" cried Meg, turning quicklyround. "What in the world is this, Gabriella? You look as if you hadseen a ghost!"

"Whatever she has seen, it is probable you have been equally favored, Miss Melville, since you were together, " said Ernest, in the same coldundertone. The orchestra was playing a magnificent overture, there waslaughter and merriment around us, so the conversation in our box was notover-heard. 

"I!" exclaimed Meg. "I have not seen any thing but one sociable lookingneighbor. I should not wonder if his eyes had blistered her face, theyhave been glowing on her so intensely. "

As she raised her voice, the stranger turned his head, and again I metthem, --those strange, basilisk eyes. They seemed to drink my heart'sblood. It is scarcely metaphorical to say so, for every glance left acold, deadly feeling behind. 

"Come, Gabriella, " said Ernest; "if Miss Melville wishes it, she canremain with Mr. Harland. I will send back the carriage for them. "

"To be sure I wish it, " cried Meg. "They say the best part of theamusement is to come. Gabriella has a poor opinion of my nursing, so Iwill not cast my pearls away. I am glad _I_ have not any nerves, my dearlittle sensitive plant. It _is_ a terrible thing to be too attractive toventure abroad!"

The latter part of the sentence was uttered in a whisper, whilesuppressed laughter convulsed her frame. 

Ernest did not open his lips as he conducted me from the theatre to thecarriage, and not a word was spoken during our homeward ride. Therattling of the pavements was a relief to the cold silence. Instead ofoccupying the same seat with me, Ernest took the one opposite; and as wepassed the street lamps they flashed on his face, and it seemed that ofa statue, so cold and impressive it looked. What did he suspect? Whathad I done to cause this deep displeasure? He knew not of the note whichI had concealed, of the words which still hissed in my ears. The boldgaze of the stranger would naturally excite his anger against him, butwhy should it estrange him from me? I had yet to learn the wiles and themadness of his bosom enemy. 

When I took his hand, as he assisted me from the carriage I started, forit was as chill as ice, and the fingers, usually so pliant and gentle intheir fold, were inflexible as marble. I thought I should have fallen tothe pavement; but exerting all the resolution of which I was mistress, Ientered the house, and passed under the dim glitter of the silverydrapery into my own apartment. 

I had barely strength to reach the sofa, on which I sunk in a state ofutter exhaustion. I feared I was going to faint, and then they wouldloosen my dress and discover the fatal note. 

"Wine!" said I to the chambermaid, who was folding my opera cloak, whichI had dropped on the floor; "give me wine. I am faint. "

I remembered the red wine which Dr. Harlowe gave me, after my midnightrun through the dark woods, and how it infused new life into my sinkingframe. Since then I had been afraid to drink it, for the doctor hadlaughingly assured me, that it had intoxicated, while it sustained. Now, I wanted strength and courage, and it came to me, after swallowing theglowing draught. I lifted my head, and met the cold glance of Ernestwithout shivering. I dared to speak and ask him the cause of his anger. 

"The cause!" repeated he, his eyes kindling with passion. "Who was thebold libertine, before whose unlicensed gaze you blushed and trembled, not with indignation, such as a pure and innocent woman ought to feel;but with the bashful confusion the veteran _roué_ delights to behold?Who was this man, whose presence caused you such overpowering emotion, and who exchanged with you glances of such mysterious meaning? Tell me, for I _will_ know. "

Oh that I had dared to answer, "He is my father. Covered with shame andhumiliation, I acknowledge my parentage, which makes me so unworthy tobear your unsullied name. My darkened spirit would hide itself behind acloud, to escape the villain whom nature disowns and reason abhors. "But, unknowing the contents of the mysterious note, unknowing theconsequences to himself which might result from its disclosure, remembering the injunction of my dying mother, to be to him a guardianangel in the hour of danger, --I could not save myself from blame byrevealing the truth. I could not stain my lips with a falsehood. 

"I never saw that man before, " I replied. "Most husbands would thinkmodest confusion more becoming in a wife, than the indignation which heusually deems it his own prerogative to exhibit. If I have beeninsulted, methinks you should wreak your vengeance on the offender, instead of me, --the innocent sufferer. It would be more manly. "

"Would you have had me make the theatre a scene of strife andbloodshed?" he exclaimed. 

"No! neither would I have you bring warring passions into the peacefulbosom of your own home. "

"Is this you?" he cried, looking me sternly and sorrowfully in the face. "Is this the gentle and tender Gabriella, who speaks in such a tone ofbitterness and scorn?"

"I did not know that I spoke bitterly!" I exclaimed. "Oh, Ernest, youhave roused in me a spirit of resistance I tremble to feel! You maddenme by your reproaches! You wrong me by your suspicions! I meant to begentle and forbearing; but the worm will writhe under the foot thatgrinds it into dust. Alas! how little we know ourselves!"

With anguish that cannot be described, I clasped my hands tightly overmy heart, that ached with intolerable pangs. I had lost him, --lost hislove, --lost his confidence. Had I seen him in his grave, I couldscarcely have felt more utter desolation. 

"I told you what I was, " he cried, the pale severity of his countenancechanging to the most stormy agitation. "I told you that the cloud whichhung over my cradle would follow me to the grave; that suspicion andjealousy were the twin-born phantoms of my soul. Why, then, rash andblind, have you committed your happiness into my keeping? You werewarned, and yet you hastened to your doom. "

"Because I believed that you loved me; because I loved and trusted, witha love and faith more deep and strong than woman ever knew. "

"And I have destroyed them. I knew it would be so. I knew that I wouldprove a faithless guardian to a charge too dear. Gabriella, I am awretch, --deserving your hatred and indignation. I have insulted yourinnocence, by suspicions I should blush to admit. Love, too strong forreason, converts me at times into a madman. I do not ask you to forgiveme; but if you could conceive of the agonies I endure, you would pityme, were I your direst foe. "

Remorse, sorrow, tenderness, and love, all swept over his countenance, and gave pathos to his voice. I rose and sprang to his arms, that openedto receive me, and I clung to his neck, and wept upon his bosom, till itseemed that my life would dissolve itself in tears. Oh! it seemed that Ihad leaped over a yawning abyss to reach him, that I had found him justas I was losing him for ever. I was once more in the banqueting-house ofjoy, and "his banner over me was love. "

"Never again, my husband, never close your heart against me. I have noother home, no other refuge, no other world, than your arms. "

"You have forgiven me too soon, my Gabriella. You should impose upon mesome penalty equal to the offence, if such indeed there be. Oh! mostwillingly would I cut off the hand so tenderly clasped in yours and castit into the flames, if by so doing I could destroy the fiend who temptsme to suspect fidelity, worthy of eternal trust. You think I give myselfup without a struggle to the demon passion, in whose grasp you have seenme writhing; but you know not, dream not, how I wrestle with it insecret, and what prayers I send up to God for deliverance. It seemsimpossible now that I should ever doubt, ever wrong you again, and yet Idare not promise. Oh! I dare not promise; for when the whirlwind ofpassion rises, I know not what I do. "

Had I not been conscious that I was concealing something from him, thatwhile he was restoring to me his confidence, I was deceiving him, Ishould have been perfectly happy in this hour of reconciliation. But ashe again and again clasped me to his bosom, and lavished upon me thetenderest caresses, I involuntarily shrunk from the pressure, lest heshould feel the note, which seemed to flutter, so quick and loud myheart beat against it. 

"We are neither of us fit for the fashionable world, my Gabriella, " saidhe; "we have hearts and souls fitted for a purer, holier atmosphere thanthe one we now breathe. If we had some 'bright little isle of our own, 'where we were safe from jarring contact with ruder natures, remote fromthe social disturbances which interrupt the harmony of life, where wecould live for love and God, then, my Gabriella, I would not envy theangels around the throne. No scene like this to-night would ever mar theheaven of our wedded bliss. "

Ernest did not know himself. Even in Crusoe's desert isle, if the printof human footsteps were discovered on the sand, and had he flown to theuttermost parts of the earth, the phantom created by his own diseasedimagination would have pursued him like the giant form that haunted frompole to pole the unhappy Frankenstein. Man cannot escape from his ownpassions; and in solitude their waves beat against his bosom, like theeternal dashing of the tide, scarcely perceived amidst the active soundsof day, but roaring and thundering in the deep stillness of the midnighthour. 

"We were happy here before Margaret came, " I answered; "happy as it waspossible for mortals to be. How strange that she should have comeunasked, remain unurged, without dreaming of the possibility of herbeing otherwise than a welcome guest!"

"There should be laws to prevent households from such intrusions, " saidErnest, with warmth. "I consider such persons as great offenders againstthe peace of society as the midnight robber or the lurking assassin. Margaret Melville cares for nothing but her own gratification. Acontemptible love of fun and frolic is the ruling passion of her life. How false, how artificial is that system where there is no redress forencroachments of this kind! Were I to act honestly and as I ought, Ishould say to her at once, 'leave us, --your presence isintolerable, --there is no more affinity between us than between glassand brass. ' But what would my mother say? What would the world say? Whatwould you say, my own dear wife, who desire her departure even as I domyself?"

"I should be very much shocked, of course. If she had the leastsensitiveness or delicacy of feeling, she would read all this in yourcountenance and manners. I often fear she will perceive in mine, therepulsion I cannot help experiencing. For your mother's sake I wish tobe kind to Margaret. "

"Do you know, Gabriella, she once wished me to think of her as a wife?That was before her character was formed, however, --when its wild, untamable elements revelled in the morning freedom of girlhood, andreason and judgment were not expected to exert their restraininginfluence. Think of such an union, my flower-girl, my Mimosa. Do Ideserve quite so severe a punishment?"

"You would have lived in a perpetual fever of jealousy, or a state ofopen anarchy. There would have been some memorable scenes in your diary, I am certain. "

"Jealousy! The idea of being jealous of such a being as Margaret! The'rhinoceran bear' might inspire the passion as soon. No, Gabriella, I donot believe I could be jealous of another woman in the world, for Icannot conceive of the possibility of my ever loving another; and theintensity of my love creates a trembling fear, that a treasure soinestimable, so unspeakably dear, may be snatched from my arms. It isnot so much distrust of you, as myself. I fear the casket is not worthyof the jewel it enshrines. "

"Be just to yourself, Ernest, and then you will be just to all mankind. "

"The truth is, Gabriella, I have no self-esteem. A celebrated Germanphrenologist examined my head, and pronounced it decidedly deficient inthe swelling organ of self-appreciation. "

He took my hand and placed it on his head, amid his soft, luxuriant darkhair, and it certainly met no elevation. I was not skilled in thescience of phrenology, and there might be a defect in the formation ofhis head; but on his noble brow, it seemed to me that "every God had setits seal, " and left the impress of his own divinity. 

We started, for the steps of Madge were heard rushing up the marblestairs, and the sound of her laugh swept before her, and pressed againstthe door like a strong gale. 

Oh Madge! that any one should ever have thought of you as the wife ofErnest. 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

It was not till the next morning that I dared to read the contents ofthe note. It was in the magnificent bathing-room, on whose retirement noone ever intruded, that I perused these pencilled lines, evidentlywritten with a hasty and agitated hand. 

"Can it be that I have found a daughter? Yes! in those lovely features Itrace the living semblance of my beloved Rosalie. Where is she, mychild? Where is your angel mother, whom I have sought sorrowing so manyyears? They tell me that you are married, --that it is your husband whowatches you with such jealous scrutiny. He must not know who I am. I ama reckless, desperate man. It would be dangerous to us both to meet. Guard my secret as you expect to find your grave peaceful, your eternityfree from remorse. When can I see you alone? Where can I meet you? I amin danger, distress, --ruin and death are hanging over me, --I must fleefrom the city; but I must see you, my child, my sweet, my darlingGabriella. I must learn the fate of my lost Rosalie. 

"The curtain falls, --I dare not write more. Walk in the ---- Parkto-morrow morning at ten o'clock, where I will wait your coming. Comealone, --I ask only a few moments. A father pleads with his child! As youhope for an answer to your dying prayers, come, child of myRosalie, --child of my own sad heart. "

Once, --twice, --thrice I read these lines, --the death-warrant of mywedded peace. How could I resist so solemn an appeal, without violatingthe commands of a dying mother? How could I meet him, without incurringthe displeasure of my husband? What possibility was there of my leavinghome alone, when Ernest scarcely ever left me; when, after his return, if he chanced to go out, he always asked me how I had passed the time ofhis absence? How could I preserve outward composure, with such a secretburning in my heart? A sigh, involuntarily breathed, --a tear, forcingits way beneath the quivering lash, would expose me to suspicion anddistress. What could I, should I do? I was alone, now; and I yieldedmomentarily to an agony of apprehension, that almost drove me mad. Onone side, a guilty, ruined parent; on the other, a jealous husband, whose anger was to me a consuming fire. No, no; I could never exposemyself again to that. I trembled at the recollection of those pale, inflexible features, and that eye of stormy splendor. The lightning boltwas less terrible and scathing. Yet, to turn a deaf ear to a father'sprayer; to disregard a mother's injunction; to incur, perhaps, the guiltof parricide; to hazard the judgments of the Almighty;--how awful thealternative!

I sank down on my knees, and laid my head on the marble slab on which Ihad been seated. I tried to pray; but hysterical sobs choked my words. 

"Have pity upon me, O my heavenly Father!" at length I exclaimed, raising my clasped hands to heaven. "Have pity upon me, and direct me inthe right path. Give me courage to do right, and leave the result untoThee. I float on a stormy current, without pilot or helm. I sink beneaththe whelming billows. Help, Lord! or I perish!"

Before I rose from my knees, it seemed as if invisible arms surroundedme, --bearing me up, above the dark and troubled waters. I felt as if Godwould open a way for me to walk in; and I resolved to leave the event inhis hands. Had I applied to an earthly counsellor, with wisdom todirect, they might have told me, that one who had been guilty of thecrime my father had committed, had forfeited every claim on a daughter'sheart. That I had no right to endanger a husband's happiness, or tosacrifice my own peace, in consequence of his rash demand. Noinstinctive attraction drew me to this mysterious man. Instead of theyearnings of filial affection, I felt for him an unconquerablerepugnance. His letter touched me, but his countenance repelled. Hisbold, unreceding eye;--not thus should a father gaze upon his child. 

Upon what apparent trifles the events of our life sometimes depend! Atthe breakfast table, Madge suddenly asked what day of the month it was. 

Then I remembered that it was the day appointed for a meeting of theladies composing a benevolent association, of which I had been latelymade a member. After the conversation with Ernest, in which I hadexpressed such an anxiety to do good, he had supplied me bountifullywith means, so that my purse was literally overflowing. I had met thesociety once, and had gone _alone_. The hour of the meeting was _ten_. What a coincidence! Was Providence opening a way in which my doubtingfeet should walk? When I mentioned the day of the month, I added, "Our Society for the Relief of Invalid Seamstresses meets this morning. I had forgotten it, till your question reminded me that this was theday. "

"Do not your coffers need replenishing, fair Lady Bountiful?" askedErnest. "This is an association founded on principles which I revere. Ifany class of females merit the sympathy and kind offices of the generoussisterhood, it is that, whose services are so ill repaid, and whoselives must be one long drawn sigh of weariness and anxiety. Give, myGabriella, to your heart's content; and if one pale cheek is coloredwith the glow of hope, one dim eye lighted with joy, something will beadded to the sum of human happiness. "

Ernest was unusually kind and tender. He watched me as the fond motherdoes the child, whom she has perhaps too severely chided. He seemed towish to atone for the pain he had given, and to assure me by his mannerthat his confidence was perfectly restored. 

"I shall avail myself of your absence, " said he, "to pay some of myepistolary debts. They have weighed heavy on my conscience for sometime. "

"And I, " said Madge, "have engaged to spend the day with Miss Haven. Youcan drop me on the way. "

Madge had behaved unusually well during the morning, and did not harassme at the breakfast table, as I feared she would, about the boldstranger at the theatre. Perhaps my pale cheeks spoke too plainly of thesufferings of the evening, and she had a heart after all. 

As I went into my room to prepare for going out, my hands trembled sothat I could scarcely fasten the ribbons of my bonnet. Every thingseemed to facilitate my filial duty; but the more easy seemed itsaccomplishment, the more I shrunk from the thought of deceiving Ernest, in this hour of restored tranquillity and abounding love. I loathed theidea of deceiving any one, --but Ernest, my lover, my husband, --how couldI beguile his new-born confidence?

He came in, and wrapped me up in my ermine-trimmed cloak, warning me ofexposing myself to the morning air, which was of wintry bleakness. 

"You must bring back the roses which I have banished from your cheeks, "said he, kissing them with a tenderness and gentleness that made myheart ache with anguish. I did not deserve these caresses; and if mypurpose were discovered, would they not be the last?

Shuddering, as I asked myself this question, I turned towards him, as ifto daguerreotype on my heart every lineament of his striking andexpressive face. How beautiful was his countenance this moment, softenedby tenderness, so delicately pale, yet so lustrous, like the moonlightnight!

"Oh, Ernest!" said I, throwing my arms around him, with a burst ofirrepressible emotion, "I am not worthy of the love you bear me, but yetI prize it far more than life. If the hour comes when it is withdrawnfrom me, I pray Heaven it may be my last. "

"It can never be withdrawn, my Gabriella. You may cast it from yourbosom, and it may wither, like the flower trampled by the foot of man;but by my own act it never can be destroyed. Nor by yours either, mybeloved wife. At this moment I have a trust in you as entire as inheaven itself. I look back with wonder and remorse on the dark delusionsto which I have submitted myself. But the spell is broken; the demonlaid. Sorrow has had its season; but joy hath come in the morning. Smile, my darling Gabriella, in token of forgiveness and peace. "

I tried to smile, but the tears would gather into my eyes. 

"Foolish girl!" he cried. A loud laugh rung under the silken arches. Madge stood in the open door, her great black eyes brimming with mirth. 

"When you have finished your parting ceremonies, " she exclaimed, "Ithink we had better start. One would think you were going to Kamschatkaor Terra del Fuego, instead of Broadway. Oh dear! what a ridiculousthing it is to see people in love with each other, after they aremarried! Come, Gabriella; you can carry his miniature with you. "

As the carriage rolled from the gate, I was so agitated at the thoughtof the approaching interview I could not speak. Madge rattled away, inher usual light manner; but I did not attempt to answer her. I leanedback in the carriage, revolving the best way of accomplishing my design. After leaving Madge, instead of going to the lady's, at whose house thesociety met, I ordered the coachman to drive to one of the fashionablestores and leave me. 

"Return in an hour, " said I, as I left the carriage. "You will find meat Mrs. Brahan's. Drive the horses out to the Battery for exercise, asyou usually do. "

As I gave these orders, my heart beat so fast I could hardly articulatewith distinctness. Yet there was nothing in them to excite suspicion. The horses were high-fed and little used, gay and spirited, and when weshopped or made morning calls, the coachman was in the habit of drivingthem about, to subdue their fiery speed. 

I should make too conspicuous an appearance in the park, in my elegantcloak, trimmed with costly ermine and bonnet shaded with snowy plumes. Iwould be recognized at once, for the bride of the jealous Ernest was anobject of interest and curiosity. To obviate this difficulty, Ipurchased a large gray shawl, of soft, yielding material, thatcompletely covered my cloak; a thick, green veil, through which myfeatures could not be discerned, and walked with rapid steps through thehurrying crowd that thronged the side-walks towards the ---- Park. 

It was too early an hour for the usual gathering of children and nurses. Indeed, at this cold, wintry season, the warm nursery was a morecomfortable and enticing place. 

The park presented a dreary, desolate aspect. No fountain tossed up itssilvery waters, falling in rainbows back to earth. The leafless branchesof the trees shone coldly in the thin glazing of frostwork and creakedagainst each other, as the bleak wind whistled through them. Here andthere, a ruddy-faced Irish woman, wrapped in a large blanket-shawl, witha coarse straw bonnet blown back from her head, breasted the breeze witha little trotting child, who took half a dozen steps to one of hers, tugging hard at her hand. It was not likely I should meet a fashionableacquaintance at this early hour; and if I did, I was shrouded fromrecognition. 

I had scarcely passed the revolving gate, before I saw a gentlemanapproaching from the opposite entrance with rapid and decided steps. Hewas tall and stately, and had that unmistakable air of high-breedingwhich, being once acquired, can never be entirely lost. As he camenearer, I could distinguish the features of the stranger; featureswhich, seen by daylight, exhibited still more plainly the stamp ofrecklessness, dissipation, and vice. They had once been handsome, butalas! alas! was this the man who had captivated the hearts of two lovelywomen, and then broken them? Where was the fascination which hadenthralled alike the youthful Rosalie and the impassioned Therésa? Wasthis, indeed, the once gallant and long beloved St. James?

"You have come, " he exclaimed, eagerly grasping my hand and pressing itin his. "I bless you, my daughter, --and may God forever bless you forlistening to a father's prayer!"

"I have come, " I answered, in low, trembling accents, for indescribableagitation almost choked my utterance, --"but I can not, --dare not linger. It was cruel in you to bind me to secrecy. Had it not been for themother, --whose dying words"--

"And is she dead, --the wronged, --the angel Rosalie? How vainly I havesought her, --and thee, my cherub little one! My sufferings have avengedher wrongs. "

He turned away, and covered his face with his handkerchief. I saw hisbreast heave with suppressed sobs. It is an awful thing to see a strongman weep, --especially when the tears are wrung by the agonies ofremorse. I felt for him the most intense pity, --the most entireforgiveness, --yet I recoiled from his approach, --I shrunk from the touchof his dry and nervous hand. I felt polluted, degraded, by the contact. 

"My mother told me, if I ever met you, to give you not only herforgiveness, but her blessing. She blessed you, for the sufferings thatweaned her from earth and chastened her spirit for a holier and happierworld. She bade me tell you, that in spite of her wrongs she had neverceased to love you. In obedience to her dying will, I have shown you adaughter's duty so far as to meet you here, and learn what I can do forone placed in the awful circumstances in which you declare yourself tobe. Speak quickly and briefly, for on every passing moment the wholehappiness of my life hangs trembling. "

"Only let me see your face for the few moments we are together, that Imay carry its remembrance to my grave, --that face so like yourmother's. "

"What can I do?" I exclaimed, removing the veil as I spoke, --for therewas no one near; and I could not refuse a petition so earnest. "Oh, tellme quickly what I can do. What dreadful doom is impending over you?"

"You are beautiful, my child, --very, very beautiful, " said he; while hisdark, sunken eyes seemed to burn me with the intensity of their gaze. 

"Talk not to me of beauty, at a moment like this!" I exclaimed, stampingmy foot in the agony of my impatience. "I cannot, will not stay, unlessto aid you. Your presence is awful! for it reminds me of my mother'swrongs, --my own clouded birth. "

"I deserve this, and far more, " he cried, in tones of the most objecthumility. "Oh, my child, I am brought very low;--I am a lost and ruinedman. Maddened by your mother's desertion, I became reckless, --desperate. I fled from the home another had usurped. I became the prey of villains, who robbed me of my fortune at the gaming table. Another, and anotherstep;--lower and lower still I sunk. I cannot tell you the story of myruin. Enough, I am lost! The sword of the violated law gleams over myhead. Every moment it may fall. I dare not remain another day in thiscity. I dare not stay in my native land. If I do, yonder dismal Tombswill be my life-long abode. "

"Fly, then, --fly this moment, " I cried. "What madness! to linger in themidst of danger and disgrace!"

"Alas! my daughter, I am penniless. I had laid aside a large sum, sufficient for the emergency; but a wretch robbed me of all, only twonights since. Humiliating as it is, I must turn beggar to my child. Yourhusband is a Dives; I, the Lazarus, who am perishing at his gate. "

"Ask him. He is noble and generous. He will fill your purse with gold, and aid you to escape. Go to him at once. You know not his princelyheart. "

"Never! On you alone I depend. I will not ask a favor of man, to save mysoul from perdition. Girl! have you no power over the wealth that mustbe rusting in your coffers? Are you not trusted with the key to yourhousehold treasures?"

"Do you think I would take his gold clandestinely?" I asked, glowingwith indignation, and recoiling from the expression of his eager, burning eye. We were walking slowly during this exciting conversation;and, cold as it was, the moisture gathered on my brow. "Here is a purse, given me for a holier purpose. Take it, and let me go. "

"Thank you, --bless you, my child! but this will only relieve presentnecessity. It will not carry me in safety to distant climes. Bless you!but take it back, take it back. I can only meet my doom!"

"I _will_ go to my husband!" I exclaimed with sudden resolution; "I_will_ tell him all, and he, and he alone shall aid you. I will notwrong him by acting without his knowledge. You have no right to endangermy life-long peace. You have destroyed my mother; must her child too besacrificed?"

"I see there is but one path of escape, " he cried, snatching a pistolfrom his breast, and turning the muzzle to his heart. "Fool, dolt, idiotthat I am! I dreamed of salvation from a daughter's hand, but I haveforfeited a father's name, a father's affection. Gabriella, you mightsave me, but I blame you not. Do not curse me, though I fill a felon'sgrave;--better that than the dungeon--the scaffold. "

"What would you do?" I whispered hoarsely, seizing his arm withspasmodic grasp. 

"Die, before I am betrayed. "

"I will not betray you; what sum will suffice for your emergency? Nameit. "

"As many thousands as there are hundreds there, " pointing to the purse. 

"Good heavens!"

"Gabriella, you must have jewels worth a prince's ransom; you haddiamonds last night on your neck and arms that would redeem yourfather's life. Each gem is but a drop of water in the deep sea of _his_riches. His uncle was a modern Cr[oe]sus, and he, his sole heir. "

"How know you this?" I asked. 

"Every one knows it. The rich are the cities on the hill-tops, seen afaroff. You hesitate, --you tremble. Keep your diamonds, --but remember theywill eat like burning coals into your flesh. "

Fierce and deadly passions gleamed from his eye. He clenched the pistolso tight that his nails turned of a purplish blue. 

No one was near us, to witness a scene so strange and appalling. Thethundering sounds of city life were rolling along the great thoroughfareof the metropolis, now rattling, shrill, and startling, then roaring, swelling, and subsiding again, like the distant surf; but around us, there was silence and space. In the brief moment that we stood face toface, my mind was at work with preternatural activity. I remembered thatI had a set of diamonds, --the bridal gift of Mrs. Linwood, --a superb andcostly set, which I had left a week previous in the hands of thejeweller, that he might remedy a slight defect in the clasps. Thosewhich I wore at the theatre, and which had attracted his insatiate eye, were the gift of Ernest. He had clasped them around my neck and arms, ashe was about to lead me to the altar, and hallowed the offering with abridegroom's kiss. I could have given my heart's blood sooner than theradiant pledge of wedded faith and love. 

I could go to the jewellers, --get possession of the diamonds, and thusredeem my guilty parent from impending ruin. Then, the waves of theAtlantic would roll between us, and I would be spared the humiliationand agony of another scene like this. I told him to follow me at a shortdistance; that I would get the jewels; that he could receive them fromme in the street in the midst of the jostling crowd without observation. 

"It is the last time, " I cried, "the last time I ever act without myhusband's knowledge. I have obeyed my mother, I have fulfilled my duty, at the risk of all my soul holds dear. And now, as you hope to meethereafter her, who, if angels can sorrow, still mourns over yourtransgressions, quit the dark path you are now treading, and devote yourfuture life to penitence and prayer. Oh! by my mother's wrongs and woes, and by my own, by the mighty power of God and a Saviour's dying love, Ientreat you to repent, forsake your sins, and live, live, forever more. "

Tears gushed from my eyes and checked my utterance. Oh! how sad, howdreadful, to address a father thus. 

"Gabriella!" he exclaimed, "you are an angel. Pray for me, pray for me, thou pure and holy being, and forgive the sins that you say are notbeyond the reach of God's mercy, I dare not, not here, --yet for one dearembrace, my child, I would willingly meet the tortures of theprison-house and the scaffold. "

I recoiled with horror at the suggestion. I would not have had his armsaround me for worlds. I could not call him _father_. I pitied, --wept forhim; but I shrunk with loathing from his presence. Dropping my veil overmy face, I turned hastily, gained the street, pressed on through themoving mass without looking to the right or left, till I reached theshop where my jewels were deposited, --took them without waiting forexplanation or inquiry, hurried back till I met St. James, slipped thecasket into his eager hand, and pressed on without uttering a syllable. Never shall I forget the expression of his countenance as he receivedthe casket. The fierce, wild, exulting flash of his dark sunken eye, whose reddish blackness seemed suddenly to ignite and burn like heatediron. There was something demoniac in its glare, and it haunted me in mydreams long, long afterwards. 

I did not look back, but hurried on, rejoicing that rapidity of motionwas too customary in Broadway to attract attention. Before I arrived atthe place of meeting, I wished to divest myself of the shawl which I hadused as a disguise; and it was no difficult matter, where poverty is metin all its forms of wretchedness and woe. 

"Take this, my good woman, " said I, throwing the soft gray covering overthe shoulders of a thin, shivering, haggard looking female, on whoseface chill penury was written in withering lines. "You are cold andsuffering. "

"Bless your sweet face. God Almighty bless you!" was wafted to my ears, in tremulous accents, --for I did not stop to meet her look of wonder, gratitude, and ecstasy. I did not deserve her blessing; but the garmentsheltered her meagre frame, and she went on her way rejoicing. 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

When I entered Mrs. Brahan's drawing-room, I was in a kind ofsomnambulism, --moving, walking, seeing, yet hardly conscious of what Iwas doing, or what was passing around me. She was the president of theassociation, and a very charming woman. 

"We feared we were not going to see you this morning, " she said, glancing at a French clock, which showed the lateness of the hour; "butwe esteem it a privilege to have you with us, even for a short time. Weknow, " she added, with a smile, "what a sacrifice we impose on Mr. Linwood, when we deprive him of your society. "

"Yes!" cried a sprightly young lady, with whom I was slightlyacquainted, "we all consider it an event, when we can catch a glimpse ofMrs. Linwood. Her appearance at the theatre last night created as greata sensation as would a new constellation in the zodiac. "

These allusions to my husband's exclusive devotion brought the color tomy cheeks, and the soft, warm air of the room stole soothingly round me. I tried to rouse myself to a consciousness of the present, andapologized for my delay with more ease and composure than I expected. 

When the treasurer received the usual funds, I was obliged to throwmyself on her leniency. 

"I have disposed of my purse since I left home, " said I, with a guiltyblush, "but I will double my contribution at the next meeting. "

"It is no matter, " was the reply. "You have already met yourresponsibilities, --far more than met them, --your reputation forbenevolence is already too well established for us to doubt that yourwill is equal to your power. "

Whenever I went into society, I realized the distinction of being thewife of the rich and exclusive Ernest Linwood, the mistress of theoriental palace, as Mrs. Brahan called our dwelling-place. I alwaysfound myself flattered and caressed, and perhaps something was owing topersonal attraction. I never presumed on the distinction awarded me;never made myself or mine the subjects of conversation, or sought toengross the attention of others. I had always remembered the obscurityof my early life, the cloud upon my birth, not abjectly, but _proudly_. I was too proud to arrogate to myself any credit for the adventitiouscircumstances which had raised me above the level of others, --too proudof the love that had given the elevation, to exalt myself as worthy ofit. 

"I think you must be the happiest being in the world, Mrs. Linwood, "said the sprightly young lady, who had taken a seat by my side, and whohad the brightest, most sparkling countenance I ever saw. "You live insuch a beautiful, _beautiful_ place, with such an elegant husband, too!What a life of enchantment yours must be! Do you know you are the envyof all the young ladies of the city?"

"I hope not, " I answered, trying to respond in the same sportive strain;and every one knows, that when the heart is oppressed by secret anxiety, it is easier to be gay than cheerful. "I hope not; as I might be indanger of being exhaled by some subtle perfume. I have heard of the artof poisoning being brought to such perfection, that it can becommunicated by a flower or a ring. "

"It must be a very fascinating study, " she said, laughingly. "I intendto take lessons, though I think throwing vitriol in the face and marringits beauty, is the most effectual way of removing a rival. "

"I thought you were discussing the wants and miseries of the sewingsisterhood, " said Mrs. Brahan, coming near us. "What started so horriblea theme?"

"Mr. Linwood's perfections, " said the young lady, with a gay smile. 

"He has one great fault, " observed Mrs. Brahan; "he keeps you too closea prisoner, my dear. I fear he is very selfish. Tell him so from me; forhe must not expect to monopolize a jewel formed to adorn and beautifythe world. "

She spoke sportively, benignantly, without knowing the deep truth of herwords. She knew that my husband sought retirement; that I seldom wentabroad without him. But she knew not, dreamed not, of the strength ofthe master-passion that governed his actions. 

Gradually the company dispersed. As I came so late, I remained a littlebehind the rest, attracted by a painting in the back parlor. I suppose Iinherited from my father a love of the fine arts; for I never could passa statue or a picture without pausing to gaze upon it. 

This represented a rocky battlement, rising in the midst of the deepblue sea. The silvery glimmer of moonlight shone on the rippling waves;moonlight breaking through dark clouds, --producing the most dazzlingcontrast of light and shade. A large vessel, in full sail, glided alongin the gloom of the shadows; a little skiff floated on thewhite-crested, sparkling, shining tide. The flag of our country wavedfrom the rocky tower. I seemed gazing on a familiar scene. Those wavewashed battlements; that floating banner; the figures of soldiersmarching on the ramparts, with folded arms and measured tread, --allappeared like the embodiment of a dream. 

"What does this represent?" I asked. 

"Fortress Monroe, on Chesapeake Bay. "

"I thought so. Who was the artist?"

"I think his name was St. James. It is on the picture, near the frame. Yes, --Henry Gabriel St. James. What a beautiful name! Poor fellow!--Ibelieve he had a sad fate! Mr. Brahan could tell you something of hishistory. He purchased this house of him seventeen years ago. What is thematter, Mrs. Linwood?"

I sank on the nearest seat, incapable of supporting myself. I was in thehouse where I was born, --where my mother passed the brief period of herwedded happiness; whence she was driven, a wronged, despairing woman, with me, an unconscious infant, in her arms. It was my father's glowingsketch on which I was gazing, --that father whom I had so recentlymet, --a criminal, evading the demands of justice; a man who had lost allhis original brightness, --a being of sin and misery. 

Mrs. Brahan rang for water; but I did not faint. 

"I have taken a long walk this morning, " I said, "and your rooms arewarm. I feel better, now. And this house belonged to the artist? I feelinterested in his story. "

"I wish Mr. Brahan were here; but I will tell you all I recollect. Itwas a long time ago; and what we hear from others of individuals in whomwe have no personal interest, is soon forgotten. Do you really feelbetter? Well, I believe St. James, the artist, was a highlyaccomplished, gifted man. He was married to a beautiful young wife, andI think had one child. Of course he was supremely happy. It seems he wascalled away from home very suddenly, was gone a few months, and when hereturned, he found his wife and child fled, and a stranger claiming hername and place. I never heard this mystery explained; but it is said, she disappeared as suddenly as she came, while he sought by every meansto recover his lost treasure, but in vain. His reason at one timeforsook him, and his health declined. At length, unable to remain whereevery thing reminded him of his departed happiness, he resolved to leavethe country and go to foreign climes. Mr. Brahan, who wished to purchaseat that time, was pleased with the house, --bought it, and brought mehere, a bride. He has altered and improved it a great deal, but manythings remain just as they were. You seem interested. There is somethingmysterious and romantic connected with it. Oh! here is Mr. Brahanhimself; he can relate it far better than I can. "

After the usual courtesies of meeting, she resumed the subject, and toldher husband how much interested I was in the history of the unfortunateartist. 

"Ah yes!" cried he; "poor fellow!--he was sore beset. Two women claimedhim as wives, --and he lost both. I never heard a clear account of thispart of his life; for when I knew him, he was just emerging frominsanity, and it was supposed his mind was still clouded. He was veryreserved on the subject of his personal misfortunes. I only know it wasthe loss of the wife whom he acknowledged that unsettled his reason. Hewas a magnificent looking fellow, --full of genius and feeling. He toldme he was going to Italy, --and very likely he died of a broken heart, beneath its sunny and genial skies. He was a fine artist. That picturehas inspiration in it. Look at the reflection of the moon in the water. How tremulous it is! You can almost see the silver rippling beneath thatgliding boat. He was a man of genius. There is no doubt he was. "

"I should like to show Mrs. Linwood the picture which you found in thecloset of his studio, " said Mrs. Brahan. "Do you know, I think there isa resemblance to herself?"

"So there is, " exclaimed Mr. Brahan, as if making a sudden discovery. "Her face has haunted me since I first beheld her, and I have justdiscovered where I have seen its semblance. If you will walk up stairs, I will show it to you. "

Almost mechanically I followed up the winding stairs, so often pressedby the feet now mouldering side by side beneath the dark coffin lid, into the room where my now degraded parent gave form and coloring to thedreams of imagination, or the shadows of memory. The walls were arching, and lighted from above. Mr. Brahan had converted it into a library, andit was literally lined with books on every side but one. Suspended onthat, in a massy gilt frame, was a sketch which arrested my gaze, and ithad no power to wander. The head alone was finished, --but such a head! Irecognized at once my mother's features; not as I had seen them faded bysorrow, but in the soft radiance of love and happiness. They did notwear the rosy brightness of the miniature I had seen in my father'shand, which was probably taken immediately after her marriage. Thispicture represented her as my imagination pictured her after my birth, when the tender anxieties of the mother softened and subdued thesplendor of her girlish beauty; those eyes, --those unforgotten eyes, with their long, curling lashes, and expression of heavenlysweetness, --how they seemed to bend on me, --the child she had so muchloved! I longed to kneel before it, to appeal to it, by every holy andendearing epithet, --to reach the cold, unconscious canvas, and cover itwith my kisses and my tears. But I could only gaze and gaze, and thestrong spell that bound me was mistaken for the ecstasy of admiration, such as genius only can awaken. 

"There is a wonderful resemblance, " said Mr. Brahan, breaking thesilence. "I shall feel great pride henceforth in saying, I have anadmirable likeness of Mrs. Linwood. "

"I ought to feel greatly flattered, " I answered with a quick drawnbreath; "it certainly is very lovely. "

"It has the loveliest expression I ever saw in woman's countenance, "observed Mr. Brahan. "Perhaps, after making such a remark, I ought notto say, that in that chiefly lies its resemblance to yourself, but it isemphatically so. "

"She must be too much accustomed to compliments to mind yours, my dear, "said Mrs. Brahan. "I think Mrs. Linwood has the advantage of thepicture, for she has the bloom and light of life. No painting can supplythese. "

"There is something in the perfect repose of a picture, " said I, withdrawing my eyes from my mother's seraphic countenance; "something inits serene, unchanging beauty, that is a type of immortality, of thedivine rest of the soul. Life is restless, and grows tremulous as wegaze. "

"O that that picture were mine!" I unconsciously uttered, as I turned totake a last look on leaving the apartment. 

"I do not know that it is mine to give, " said Mr. Brahan, "as I found ithere after purchasing the house. The one below was presented me by St. James himself. If, however, you will allow me to send it to Mr. Linwood, I really think he has the best right to it, on account of its remarkableresemblance to yourself. "

"Oh no, indeed, " I exclaimed; "I did not mean, did not think of such athing. It was a childish way of expressing my admiration of thepainting. If you will give me the privilege of sometimes calling to lookat it, I shall be greatly indebted. "

I hurried down stairs, fearful of committing myself in some way, so asto betray the secret of my birth. 

"I wish you would come and see us often, Mrs. Linwood, " said Mrs. Brahan, as I bade her adieu. "We are not very fashionable; but if I readyour character aright, you will not dislike us on that account. A youngperson, who is almost a stranger in a great city like this, sometimesfeels the want of an older friend. Let me be that friend. "

"Thank you, dear madam, " I answered, returning the cordial pressure ofher hand; "you do not know how deeply I appreciate your profferedfriendship, or how happy I shall be to cultivate it. "

With many kind and polite expressions, they both accompanied me to thedoor, and I left them with the conviction that wedded happiness might beperfect after the experience of seventeen years. 

When alone in the carriage, I tried to compose my agitated and excitedmind. So much had been crowded into the space of a few hours, that itseemed as if days must have passed since I left home. I tried toreconcile what I had _heard_ with what I had _seen_ of my father; but Icould not identify the magnificent artist, the man of genius and offeeling, with the degenerate being from whom I had recoiled one hourago. Could a long career of guilt and shame thus deface and obliteratethat divine and godlike image, in which man was formed? He must haveloved my mother. Desperation for her loss had plunged him into thewildest excesses of dissipation. From my soul I pitied him. I wouldnever cease to pray for him, never regret what I had done to save himfrom ruin, even if my own happiness were wrecked by the act. I had triedto do what was right, and God, who seeth the heart, would forgive me, ifwrong was the result. 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

Letters from Mrs. Linwood and Edith waited me at home. Their perusalgave me an opportunity to collect my thoughts, and an excuse to talk ofthem, of Grandison Place, rather than of topics connected with thepresent. Yet all the time I was reading Mrs. Linwood's expression oftrusting affection, I said to myself, --

"What would she say, if she knew I had parted with her splendid gift, unknown to my husband, whose happiness she committed so solemnly to mykeeping?"

I told Ernest of the interesting circumstances connected with Mr. Brahan's house, and of the picture of my mother I so longed that Ishould see. The wish was gratified sooner than I anticipated; for thatvery evening, it was sent to me by Mr. Brahan, with a very elegant note, in which he asked me to take charge of it till the rightful ownerappeared to claim it as his own. 

"It _is_ like you, Gabriella, " said Ernest, gazing with evidentadmiration on the beauteous semblance; "and it is an exquisite paintingtoo. You must cherish this picture as a proof of your mother's beautyand your father's genius. "

I did cherish it, as a household divinity. I almost worshipped it, forthough I did not burn before it frankincense and myrrh, I offered to itthe daily incense of memory and love. 

As Margaret consented to remain a week with her friend Miss Haven, wewere left in quiet possession of our elegant leisure, and Ernest openlyrejoiced in her absence. He read aloud to me, played and sung withthrilling melody, and drew out all his powers of fascination for myentertainment. The fear of his discovering my clandestine meeting grewfainter and fainter as day after day passed, without a circumstancearising which would lead to detection. 

One evening, Mr. Harland, with several other gentlemen, was with us. Ernest was unusually affable, and of course my spirits rose inproportion. In the course of conversation, Mr. Harland remarked that hehad a _bet_ for me to decide. 

"I cannot consent to be an umpire, " said I. "I dislike betting inladies, and if gentlemen indulge in it, they must refer to their ownsex, not ours. "

"But it has reference to yourself, " he cried, "and you alone _can_decide. "

"To me!" I exclaimed, involuntarily glancing at Ernest. 

"Yes! A friend of mine insists that he saw you walking in the ---- Park, the other morning, with a gentleman, who was too tall for Mr. Linwood. That you wore a gray shawl and green veil, but that your air and figurecould not possibly be mistaken. I told him, in the first place, that younever dressed in that style; in the second, that he was too far from youto distinguish you from another; and in the third, that it wasimpossible you should be seen walking with any gentleman but yourhusband, as he never gave them an opportunity. As he offered a highwager, and I accepted it, I feel no small interest in the decision. "

"Tell your friend, Mr. Harland, " exclaimed Ernest, rising from his seat, and turning pale as marble, "that I will not permit my wife's name to bebandied from lip to lip in the public street, nor her movements made asubject for low and vulgar betting. "

"Mr. Linwood!" cried Mr. Harland, rising too, with anger flashing fromhis eyes, "do you apply those remarks to me?"

"I make no application, " answered Ernest, with inexpressiblehaughtiness; "but I again assert, that the freedom taken with my wife'sname is unwarrantable, and _shall_ not be repeated. "

"If Mrs. Linwood considers herself insulted, " cried Mr. Harland, "I amready to offer _her_ any apology she may desire. Of one thing she may beassured: no disrespect was intended by the gentleman to whom I allude, and she certainly cannot think that I would forget her claims as a lady, and as the wife of the man whom I had reason to believe my friend. "

He spoke the last sentence with strong emphasis, and the blood mountedhigh in the pale face of Ernest. I could only bow, as Mr. Harlandconcluded, in acceptance of the apology, for I saw a thunder-clouddarkening over me, and knew it would break in terror over my head. 

"I have spoken hastily, Mr. Harland, " said Ernest. "If I have said anything wounding to your feelings, as a gentleman, I recall it. But youmay tell your friend, that the next time he asserts that he has seenMrs. Linwood walking with a stranger, in a public place, when I _know_she was in company with some of the first ladies of the city forbenevolent designs, I shall call him to account for such grossmisrepresentations. "

And I heard this in silence, --without contradiction. 

Oh! how must the woman feel who has deceived her husband for a guiltypurpose, when I, whose motives were pure and upright, suffered suchunutterable anguish in the prospect of detection? If I were hardenedenough to deny the assertion, --if I could only have laughed and wonderedat the preposterous mistake, --if I could have assumed an air ofindifference and composure, my secret might have been safe. But I was anovice in deception; and burning blushes, and pale, cold shadowsalternately flitted across my face. 

It was impossible to resume the conversation interrupted by a scene sodistressing to some, so disagreeable to all. One by one our guestsretired, and I was left alone with Ernest. 

The chandeliers were glittering overhead, the azure curtains receivedtheir light in every sweeping fold, cherubs smiled bewitchingly from thearching ceiling, and roses that looked as if they might have blossomedby "Bendemere's stream, " blushed beneath my feet, --yet I would gladlyhave exchanged all this splendor for a spot in the furthest isle of theocean, a lone and barren spot, where the dark glance which I _felt_, butdid not see, could not penetrate. 

I sat with downcast eyes and wildly throbbing heart, trying to summonresolution to meet the trial I saw there was no means of escaping. If hequestioned, I must answer. I could not, dared not, utter a falsehood, and evasion would be considered equivalent to it. 

He walked back and forth the whole length of the parlor, two or threetimes, without speaking, then stopped directly in front of me, stillsilent. Unable to bear the intolerable oppression of my feelings, Istarted up and attempted to leave the room; but he arrested me by thearm, and his waxen fingers seemed hardened to steel. 

"Gabriella!"

His voice sounded so distant, so cold!

"Ernest!"

I raised my eyes, and for a moment we looked each other in the face. There was fascination in his glance, and yet it had the dagger'skeenness. 

"What is the meaning of what I have just heard? What is the meaning of areport, which I should have regarded as the idle wind, did not youroverwhelming confusion establish its truth? Tell me, for I am not a manto be tampered with, as you will find to your cost. "

"I cannot answer when addressed in such a tone. Oh, I cannot. "

"Gabriella! this is not a moment to trifle. Tell me, withoutprevarication, --were you, or were you not in the Park, walking with agentleman, on the morning you left for Mrs. Brahan's? Answer me, --yes, or no. "

Had he spoken with gentleness, --had he seemed moved to sorrow as well asindignation, I would have thrown myself at his feet, and deprecated hisanger; but my spirit rose in rebellion at the stern despotism of hismanner, and nerved itself to resist his coercive will. 

Truly is it said, "We know not what manner of spirit we are of. "

I little thought how high mine could rebound from the strong pressurewhich, in anticipation, crushed it to the dust. 

I felt firm to endure, strong to resist. 

"Ernest! I have done you no wrong, " I answered, raising my eyes to hispale, dark countenance. "I have done nothing to merit the displeasurewhich makes you forget the courtesy of a gentleman, as well as thetenderness of a husband. "

"Then it was a false report, " he exclaimed, --a ray of light flashingfrom his clouded eyes, --"you could not look me in the face and speak inthat tone unless you were innocent! Why did you not deny it at once?"

"Only listen to me, Ernest, " I cried; "only give me a patient, gentlehearing, and I will give you a history, which I am certain will convertyour indignation into sympathy, and free me from suspicion or blame. "

I armed myself with resolution to tell him all. My father was in allprobability far away on the billows of the Atlantic. My disclosurescould not affect him now. My promise of secrecy did not extend into thefuture. I would gladly have withheld from my husband the knowledge ofhis degradation, for it was humiliating to the child to reveal theparent's shame. Criminal he knew him to be, with regard to my mother, but Ernest had said, when gazing on her picture, he almost forgave thecrime which had so much to extenuate it. The gambler, the profligate, the lost, abandoned being, who had thrown himself so abjectly on mycompassion: in these characters, the high-minded Ernest would spurn himwith withering indignation. Yet as the interview had been observed, andhis suspicions excited, it was my duty to make an unreservedconfession, --and I did. Conscious of the purity of my motives, andassured that he must eventually acquit me of blame, I told him all, fromthe note he dropped into my lap at the theatre, to the diamond casketgiven in parting to his desperate hand. I told him all my struggles, myfears, my agonies, --dwelling most of all on the agony I suffered inbeing compelled to deceive _him_. 

Silently, immovably he heard me, never interrupting me by question orexplanation. He had seated himself on a sofa when I began, motioning meto sit down by him, but I drew forward a low footstool and sat at hisfeet, looking up with the earnestness of truth and the confidence ofinnocence. Oh! he could not help but acquit me, --he could not help butpity me. I had done him injustice in believing it possible for him tocondemn me for an act of filial obedience, involving so muchself-sacrifice and anguish. He would clasp me to his bosom, --he wouldfold me in his arms, --he would call me his "own, darling Gabriella. "

A pause, --a chilling pause succeeded the deep-drawn breath with which Iclosed the confession. Cold, bitter cold, fell that silence on myhoping, trembling, yet glowing heart. He was leaning on his elbow, --hishand covered his brow. 

"Ernest, " at length I said, "you have heard my explanation. Am I, or amI not, acquitted?"

He started as if from a trance, clasped his hands tightly together, andlifted them above his head, --then springing up, he drew back from me, asif I were a viper coiling at his feet. 

"Your father!" he exclaimed with withering scorn. "Your father! The taleis marvellously conceived and admirably related. Do you expect me tobelieve that that bold libertine, who made you the object of hisunrepressed admiration, was your father? Why, that man was not oldenough to be your father, --and if ever profligacy was written on a humancountenance, its damning lines were traced on his. Your father! Awaywith a subterfuge so vile and flimsy, a falsehood so wanton andsacrilegious. "

Should I live a thousand years, I never could forget the awful shock ofthat moment, the whirlwind of passion that raged in my bosom. To beaccused of _falsehood_, and such a falsehood, by Ernest, after mytruthful, impassioned revelation;--it was what I could not, would notbear. My heart seemed a boiling cauldron, whence the hot blood rushed inburning streams to face, neck, and hands. My eyes flashed, my lipsquivered with indignation. 

"Is it I, your wife, whom you accuse of falsehood?" I exclaimed; "dareyou repeat an accusation so vile?"

"Did you not _act_ a falsehood, when you so grossly deceived me, bypretending to go on an errand of benevolence, when in reality you werebound to a disgraceful assignation? What veteran _intriguante_ everarranged any thing more coolly, more deliberately? Even if the story ofthat man's being your father were not false, what trust could I everrepose in one so skilled in deception, so artful, and so perfidious?"

"Ernest, you will rue what you say now, to your dying day; you will rueit at the judgment bar of heaven; you are doing me the cruellest wrongman ever inflicted on woman. "

The burning current in my veins was cooling, --a chill, benumbing senseof injustice and injury was settling on every feeling. I looked in hisface, and its classic beauty vanished, even its lineaments seemedchanged, the illusion of love was passing away; with indescribablehorror I felt this; it was like the opening of a deep, dark abyss. Takeaway my love for Ernest, and what would be left of life?Darkness--despair--annihilation. I thought not, recked not then of hislost love for me; I only dreaded ceasing to love _him_, dreaded thatcongelation of the heart more terrible than death. 

"Where is the note?" he asked suddenly. "Show me the warrant for thissecret meeting. "

"I destroyed it. "

Again a thunder-gust swept over his countenance. I ought to have keptit, I ought to have anticipated a moment like this, but my judgment wasobscure by fear. 

"You destroyed it!"

"Yes; and well might I dread a disclosure which has brought on a sceneso humbling to us both. Let it not continue; you have heard from menothing but plain and holy truth; I have nothing to say in my defence. Had I acted differently, you yourself would despise and condemn me. "

"Had you come to me as you ought to have done, asking my counsel andassistance, I would have met the wretch who sought to beguile you; Iwould have detected the imposter, if you indeed believed the tale; Iwould have saved you from the shame of a public exposure, and myself themisery, the tortures of this hour. "

"Did he not threaten your life and his own? Did he not appeal to me inthe most solemn and awful manner not to betray him?"

"You might have known the man who urged you to deceive your husband tobe a villain. "

"Alas! alas! I know him to be a villain; and yet he is my father. "

"He is not your father! I know he is not. I would swear it before acourt of justice. I would swear it before the chancery of the skies!"

"Would to heaven that your words were true. Would to heaven my beingwere not derived from such a polluted source. But I know too well thathe _is_ my father; and that he has entailed on me everlasting sorrow. You admit, that if he is an impostor, I was myself deceived. You recallyour fearful accusation. "

"My God!" he exclaimed, clasping his hands, and looking wildly upwards, "I know not what to believe. I would give worlds, were they mine, forthe sweet confidence forever lost! The cloud was passing away from mysoul. Sunshine, hope, love, joy, were there. I was wrapped in the dreamsof Elysium! Why have you so cruelly awakened me? If you had deceived meonce, why not go on; deny the accusation; fool, dupe me, --do any thingbut convince me that where I have so blindly worshipped, I have been sotreacherously betrayed. "

I pitied him, --from the bottom of my soul I pitied him, his countenanceexpressed such exceeding bitter anguish. I saw that passion obscured hisreason; that while under its dominion he was incapable of perceiving thetruth. I remembered the warning accents of his mother: "You have noright to complain. " I remembered her Christian injunction, "to endureall;" and my own promise, with God's help, to do it. All at once, itseemed as if my guardian angel stood before me, with a countenance ofcelestial sweetness shaded by sorrow; and I trembled as I gazed. I hadbowed my shoulder to the cross; but as soon as the burden galled andoppressed me, I had hurled it from me, exclaiming, "it was greater thanI could bear. " I _had_ deceived, though not betrayed him. I _had_ putmyself in the power of a villain, and exposed myself to the tongue ofslander. I had expected, dreaded his anger; and was it not partly just?

As these thoughts darted through my mind with the swiftness and power oflightning, love returned in all its living warmth, and anguish inproportion to the wound it had received. I was borne down irresistiblyby the weight of my emotions. My knees bent under me. I bowed my face onthe sofa; and tears, hot and fast as tropic rain, gushed from my eyes. Iwept for him even more than myself, --wept for the "dark-spotted flower"twined with the roses of love. 

I heard him walking the room with troubled steps; and every step soundedas mournful to me as the earth-fall on the coffin-lid. Their echo wasscarcely audible on the soft, yielding carpet; yet they seemed loud andheavy to my excited ear. Then I heard him approach the sofa, and stop, close to the spot where I knelt. My heart almost ceased beating; when hesuddenly knelt at my side, and put his arms around me. 

"Gabriella!" said he, "if I have done you wrong, may God forgive me; butI never can forgive myself. "

Accents of love issuing from the grave could hardly have been morethrilling or unexpected. I turned, and leaning my head on his shoulder, I felt myself drawn closer and closer to the heart from which I believedmyself for ever estranged. I entreated his forgiveness for havingdeceived him. I told him, for I believed it then, that the purity of themotive did not justify the act; and I promised in the most solemn mannernever again, under any circumstances, to bind myself to do any thingunknown to him, or even to act spontaneously without his knowledge. Inthe rapture of reconciliation, I was willing to give any pledge as asecurity for love, without realizing that jealousy was a Shylock, exacting the fulfilment of the bond, --the pound of flesh "nearest theheart. " Yes, more exacting still, for _he_ paused, when forbidden tospill the red life-drops, and dropped the murderous knife. 

And Ernest, --with what deep self-abasement he acknowledged the errorsinto which blind passion had led him. With what anguish he reflected onthe disgraceful charge he had brought against me. Yes; even with tears, he owned his injustice and madness, and begged me to forget and forgive. 

"What have I done?" he cried, when, after our passionate emotions havingsubsided, we sat hand in hand, still pale and trembling, but subdued andgrateful, like two mariners escaped from wreck, watching the billowsroaring back from the shore. "What have I done, that this curse shouldbe entailed upon me? In these paroxysms of madness, I am no more masterof myself than the maniac who hurls his desperate hand in the face ofOmnipotence. Reason has no power, --love no influence. Dark clouds rushacross my mind, shutting out the light of truth. My heart freezes, as ina wintry storm. O, Gabriella! you can have no conception of what Isuffer, while I writhe in the tempter's grasp. It is said God neverallows man to be tempted beyond his powers of resistance. I dare notquestion the word of the Most High, but in the hour of temptation I feellike an infant contending with the Philistine giant. But, oh! the joy, the rapture when the paroxysm is past, --when light dawns on thedarkness, when warmth comes meltingly over the ice and snow, when reasonresumes its sway, and love its empire, --oh! my beloved! it is liferenewed--it is a resurrection from the dead, --it is Paradise regained inthe heart. "

Those who have floated along on a smooth, tranquil tide, clear of thebreakers and whirlpools and rocks, or whose bark has lain on stagnantwaters, on which a green and murky shade is beginning to gather, with nobreeze to fan them or to curl the dull and lifeless pool, will accuse meof exaggeration, and say such scenes never occurred in the actualexperience of wedded life; that I am writing a romance, instead of areality. 

I answer them, that I am drawing the sketch as faithfully as the artist, who transfers the living form to the canvas; that as it is scarcelypossible to exaggerate the dying agonies of the malefactor transfixed bythe dagger, and writhing in protracted tortures, that the painter mayimmortalize himself by the death-throes on which he is gazing; so theagonies of him, "Who doubts, yet does, suspects, yet fondly loves, "

cannot be described in colors too deep and strong. Prometheus bound tothe rock, with the beak of the vulture in his bleeding breast, sufferingdaily renewing pangs, his wounds healed only to be torn open afresh, isan emblem of the victim of that vulture passion, which the word of Goddeclares to be cruel and insatiable as the grave. 

No; my pen is too weak to describe either the terrors of the storm orthe halcyon peace, the heavenly joy that succeeded. I yielded to theexquisite bliss of reconciliation, without daring to give one glance tothe future. I had chosen my destiny. I had said, "Let me be loved, --Iask no more!"

I was loved, even to the madness of idolatry. My prayer was granted. Then let me "lay my hand upon my mouth, and my mouth in the dust. " I hadrather be the stormy petrel, whose wings dip into ocean's foaming brine, than the swallow nestling under the barn-eaves of the farmer, or in thechimney of the country homestead, --

 "Better to stand the lightning's shock, Than moulder piecemeal on the rock. "

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

It was fortunate for me that Margaret was absent during this excitingscene. When she returned, she was too much occupied with relating thepleasures she had enjoyed to think of what might have occurred in herabsence. 

"I am dying with impatience, " she cried, "perfectly consuming withcuriosity. Here is a letter from my mother, in which she says agentleman, a particular friend of mine, is coming to the city, and thatshe has requested him to take charge of me back to Boston. She does notmention his name, and I have not the most remote idea who he is. Shesays she is very happy that her wild girl should be escorted by a personof so much dignity and worth. Dignity! I expect he is one of theex-presidents or wise statesmen, whom Mrs. Linwood has recommended to mypatronage. I have a great admiration for great men, large, tall men, menwhose heads you can distinguish in a crowd and see in a distantprocession. They look as if they could protect one in the day oftrouble. "

"Do _you_ ever think of such a day, Margaret?"

"Sometimes I do. I think more than you give me credit for. I can thinkmore in one minute than you slow folks can in a week. Who can this be? Iremember a description I admire very much. It is in some old poem ofScott's, I believe, --

 'Bold, firm, and high, his stature tall, '

did something, looked like something, I have forgotten what. I know itwas something grand, however. "

"You must be thinking of Mr. Regulus, " said I, laughing, as memorybrought before me some of his inimitable _quackeries_. "He is thetallest gentleman I have ever seen, and though not very graceful, has avery imposing figure, especially in a crowd. "

"I think Mr. Regulus one of the finest looking men I ever saw, " criedMadge. "He has a head very much like Webster's, and his eyebrows areexactly like his. If he were in a conspicuous station, every one wouldbe raving about his mountainous head and cavernous eyes and majesticfigure. He is worth a dozen of _some_ people, who shall be nameless. Ihave no doubt he will be president of the United States, one of thesedays. "

"I never heard you make so sensible a remark, Margaret. I thought youwere amusing yourself with my respected teacher. I am glad youappreciate his uncommon merits. "

Madge laughed very loud, but she actually blushed. The first symptom ofwomanhood I had ever seen her exhibit! It was a strange phenomenon, andI marvelled what it could mean. 

To my unutterable astonishment and delight, a few evenings after, myquondam preceptor was ushered into the parlor; and strangely looked histall, large figure in the midst of the oriental lightness and splendorthrough which it moved. After greeting me with the most heart-feltfeeling, and Madge with a half shy, half dignified manner, he gazedaround him with the simplicity and wondering admiration of a child. Hewas probably comparing the beautiful drapery, that seemed like the azurerobe of night with its stars of glory gleaming through, with the plaingreen curtains that shaded the windows of the academy, the graceful andluxurious divan with the high-backed chair which was my village throne. 

"Beautiful, charming!" he exclaimed, rubbing his hands slowly andgently. "You remind me of the queen of a fairy palace. I shall not dareto call you my child or little girl again. Scherezade or Fatima willseem more appropriate. "

"Oh no, Mr. Regulus! I had rather hear you call me child, than any thingelse in the world. It carries me back to the dear old academy, thevillage green, the elm trees' shade, and all the sweet memories ofyouth. "

"One would think you had a long backward journey to take, from thesaddened heights of experience, " said Ernest; and there was thatindescribable something in his voice and countenance, which I hadlearned too well to interpret, that told me he was not pleased with myremark. He did not want me to have a memory further back than my firstmeeting with him, --a hope with which he was not intertwined. 

"You may call _me_ child, Mr. Regulus, as much as you please, " criedMadge, her eyes sparkling with unusual brilliancy. "I wish I were alittle school-girl again, privileged to romp as much as I pleased. WhenI did any thing wrong then, it was always passed over. 'Oh! she's but achild, she will get sobered when she is grown. ' Now if I laugh a littlelouder and longer than other people, they stare and lift up their eyes, and I have no doubt pray for me as a castaway from grace and favor. "

"Margaret!" said I, reproachfully. 

"There! exactly as I described. Every sportive word I utter, it isMargaret, or Madge, or Meg, in such a grave, rebuking tone!"

"Perhaps it is only when you jest on serious subjects, that you meet akindly check, " observed Mr. Regulus, with grave simplicity; "there areso many legitimate themes of mirth, so many light frameworks, roundwhich the flowers of wit and fancy can twine, it is better to leave themajestic temple of religion, untouched by the hand of levity. "

"I did not intend to speak profanely, " said Margaret, hastily, --and thecolor visibly deepened on her cheek; "neither did I know that you were areligious character, Mr. Regulus. I thought you were a very good sort ofman, and all that; but I did not think you had so much of the ministerabout you. "

"It is a great pity, Miss Margaret, that interest in religion should beconsidered a minister's exclusive privilege. But I hope I have not saidany thing wounding. It was far from my intention. I am a sad blunderer, however, as Gabriella knows full well. "

I was charmed with my straightforward, simple, and excellent teacher. Ihad never seen him appear to such advantage. He had on an entirely newsuit of the finest black broadcloth, that fitted him quite _à la mode_;a vest of the most dazzling whiteness; and his thick black hair hadevidently been under the smoothing hands of a fashionable barber. Hishead seemed much reduced in size; while his massy, intellectual foreheaddisplayed a bolder sweep of outline, relieved of the shadows thatobscured its phrenological beauty. 

He had seen Mrs. Linwood and Edith in Boston. They were both well, andlooking anxiously forward to the summer reunion at Grandison Place. Dr. Harlowe sent me many characteristic messages, --telling me my littlerocking-chair was waiting for me at my favorite window, and that he hadnot learned to rub his shoes on the mat, or to hang up his hat yet. 

"Does he call me the wild-cat, still?" asked Madge. 

"I believe so. He told me to say that he had his house repaired, so thatyou could visit him without endangering Mrs. Harlowe's china. "

"The monster! Well, he shall give me a new name, when I see him again. But tell me, Mr. Regulus, who is the very dignified and excellentgentleman whom mamma says is coming to escort me home? I have beenexpiring with curiosity to know. "

"I do not know of any one answering to that description, Miss Margaret, "replied Mr. Regulus, blushing, and passing his hands over his knees. "Isaw your mother at Mrs. Linwood's; and when she learned I was coming tothis city, she said she would be very much obliged to me, if I wouldtake charge of you, on my return. "

"Then you did not come on purpose for me, Mr. Regulus, " said Madge, witha saucy smile. 

"Oh no, --I had business, and a very earnest desire to see my youngfriend, Gabriella. If I can, however, combine the useful with theagreeable, I shall be very well pleased. "

"By the useful, you mean, seeing me safe in my mamma's arms, " saidMadge, demurely. 

"Certainly, Miss Margaret. "

Even Ernest laughed at this peculiar compliment; and Madge bit her lips, half in vexation, half in merriment. I hardly knew what to think ofMargaret. She was certainly the most eccentric being I ever saw. She, who seemed to care for the opinion of no one, --reckless, defying, andapparently heartless, showed more deference for Mr. Regulus, moresolicitude for his attention, than I had ever seen her manifest foranother's. Was it possible that this strange, wild girl, was attractedby the pure, unvarnished qualities of this "great grown boy, " as Dr. Harlowe called him? It is impossible to account for the fascinationwhich one being exercises over another; and from the days of Desdemonato the present hour, we seldom hear of an approaching marriage, withouthearing at the same time some one exclaim, "that it is strange, --mostpassing strange. "

The moment I admitted the possibility of his exercising a secretinfluence over Madge, I looked upon him with new interest. He had theintense, deep-set eye, which is said to tame the wild beasts of theforest, and perhaps its glance had subdued the animal nature thattriumphed over her more ethereal attributes. I hoped most devoutly thatmy supposition might be true; for genuine affection exalts both thegiver and receiver, and opens ten thousand avenues to joy and good. 

"You do not look quite so rosy as you did in the country, " said he, looking earnestly at me. "The dissipation of a city life does not agreewith our wild-wood flowers. They need a purer atmosphere. "

"Gabriella is taken very good care of, " cried Madge, lookingsignificantly at Ernest. "She is not allowed to hurt herself bydissipation, I assure you. "

"Do you imply that she needs a restraining influence to keep her fromexcess?" asked Ernest. He spoke lightly, but he never spoke withoutmeaning something. 

"No, indeed. She is the model wife of the nineteenth century. She is'wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best. ' Solomon must have seen herwith prophetic eye, when he wrote the last chapter of Proverbs. "

"Mock praise is the severest censure, Margaret, " said I. 

"No such thing. I mean every word I say. Show me a young and beautifulwife, almost bride, immuring herself as you do, and never seen in publicbut clinging to her husband's arm, shrinking from admiration andblushing at a glance, and I will show you another Solomon. "

"Though you may speak in ridicule, " said Ernest, with a contracted brow, "you have awarded her the most glorious meed woman can receive. Thefashion that sanctions a wife in receiving the attentions of anygentleman but her husband, is the most corrupt and demoralizing in theworld. It makes wedded vows a mockery, and marriage an unholy andheartless rite. "

"Do you expect to revolutionize society?" she asked. 

"No; but I expect to keep my wife unspotted from the world. "

"I am glad she has so watchful a guardian, " said Mr. Regulus, regardingme with his old-fashioned, earnest tenderness. "We hear very flatteringaccounts, " he added, addressing me, "of our young friend, Richard Clyde. He will return next summer, after a year's absence, having acquired asmuch benefit as most young men do in two or three. "

I could not help blushing, for I knew the eyes of Ernest were on me. Hecould never hear the name of Richard with indifference, and the prospectof his return was far from being a source of pleasure to him. Richardwas very dear to me as a friend, and I was proud of his growing honors. Yet I dared not manifest the interest I felt. 

Never had I been so supremely happy, as since my reconciliation withErnest. I felt that he had something to forgive, much to forgive, andthat he was magnanimous to do it, considering the weakness with which hestruggled. Never had I loved him so entirely, or felt such confidence inmy future happiness. Yet the moment the name of Richard Clyde wasmentioned, it sounded like a prophecy of evil. 

Oh that he would transfer to Edith the affections given to me, and thenhe could bind Ernest to his heart by the sacred bonds of fraternity!

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

The few days which Mr. Regulus passed in the city, were happy ones tome. He had never visited it before; and Ernest showed him more respectand attention than I had seen him bestow on other men. I had neverbetrayed the _romance_ of the academy; and not dreaming that mypreceptor had ever been my lover, he tolerated the regard he manifested, believing it partook of the paternal character. Perhaps, had he remainedlong, he would have considered even this an infringement on his rights;but, to my unspeakable joy, nothing occurred to cloud our domestichorizon during his stay. Once or twice when the name of Richard Clydewas mentioned, I saw the shadow of _coming events_ on the brow ofErnest; but it passed away, and the evil day of his return seemed veryfar off. 

I could not regret Margaret's departure. There was so entire adissimilarity in our characters, and though I have no doubt shecherished for me all the friendship she was capable of feeling, it wasof that masculine cast, that I could not help shrinking from itsmanifestations. Her embraces were so stringent, her kisses so loud andresounding, I could not receive them without embarrassment, though noone but Ernest might be near. 

The evening before she left, she was in an unusually gentle mood. Wewere alone in my chamber, and she actually sat still several momentswithout speaking. This was something as ominous as the pause thatprecedes the earth's spasmodic throes. I have not spoken of Margaret'sdestructive propensities, but they were developed in a mostextraordinary manner. She had a habit of seizing hold of every thing shelooked at, and if it chanced to be of delicate materials, it oftenshivered in her grasp. I do not wonder poor Mrs. Harlowe trembled forher glass and china, for scarcely a day passed that her path was notstrewed with ruins, whose exquisite fragments betrayed the costly fabricshe had destroyed. Now it was a beautiful porcelain vase, which shewould have in her hands to examine and admire, then an alabasterstatuette or frail crystal ornament. If I dropped a kid glove, sheinvariably attempted to put it on, and her hand being much larger thanmine, she as invariably tore it in shreds. She would laugh, roll up hereyes, and exclaim, "shocking! why this could not be worth anything! Iwill let it alone next time. "

I cannot say but that these daily proofs of carelessness anddestructiveness were trials of the temper and constant gratings on thenerves. It was difficult to smile with a frowning heart, for such wantondisregard for the property and feelings of others must pain that nicemoral sense which is connected with the great law of self-preservation. 

This evening, she seized a beautiful perfume bottle that stood on mytoilet, and opening it, spilled it half on her handkerchief, though onedrop would fill the whole apartment with richest odor. 

"Do not break that bottle, Margaret; it is very beautiful, and Ernestgave it me this very morning. "

"Oh! nonsense, I am the most careful creature in the world. Once in awhile, to be sure, --but then accidents will happen, you know. OGabriella I have something to tell you. Mr. Harland wants me to marryhim, --ha, ha, ha!"

"Well, you seemed pleased, Margaret. He is an accomplished gentleman, and an agreeable one. Do you like him?"

"No! I liked him very well, till he wanted me to like him better, andnow I detest him. He is all froth, --does not know much more than I domyself. No, no, --that will never do. "

"Perhaps you like some one else better?" said I, thinking if Margaretwas ever caught in the matrimonial noose, it must be a _lasso_, such asare thrown round the neck of the wild horses of the prairies. 

"What makes you say that?" she asked, quickly, and my beautiful essencebottle was demolished by some sudden jerk which brought it in contactwith the marble table. "The brittle thing!" she exclaimed, tossing thefragments on the carpet, at the risk of cutting our slippers andwounding our feet. "I would not thank Ernest for such baby trifles, --Iwas scarcely touching it. What makes you think I like anybody better?"

"I merely asked the question, " I answered, closing my work box, anddrawing it nearer, so that her depredating fingers could not reach it. She had already destroyed half its contents. 

"I do like somebody a great deal better, " she said, tossing her hairover her forehead and veiling her eyes; "but if you guessed tilldoomsday, you could not imagine who it is. "

"I pity him, whoever it may be, " said I, laughing. 

"Why?"

"You are no more fit to be a wife, Madge, than a child of five yearsold. You have no more thought or consideration, foresight or care. "

"I am two years older than you are, notwithstanding. "

"I fear if you live to be a hundred, you will never have the qualitiesnecessary to secure your own happiness and that of another in the close, knitting bonds of wedded life. "

I spoke more seriously than I intended. I was thinking of Mr. Regulus, and most devoutly hoped for his sake, this wild, nondescript girl wouldnever reach his heart through the medium of his vanity. She certainlypaid him the most dangerous kind of flattery, because it was indirect. 

"You do not know what a sensible man might make of me, " she said, shaking her head. "I really wish, --I do not know--but I sometimesthink"--

She stopped and leaned her head on her hand, and her hair fell shadinglyover her face. 

"What, Margaret? I should like exceedingly to know your inmost thoughtsand feelings. You seem to think and feel so little;--and yet, in everywoman's heart there must be a fountain, --or else what a desertwaste, --what a dreary wilderness it must be. "

She did not speak, but put both hands over her face and bent itdownwards, while her shoulders moved up and down with a spasmodicmotion. I thought she was shaking with suppressed laughter; and though Icould not imagine what had excited her mirth, I had known her convulsedby a ridiculous thought of her own, in the midst of general seriousness. 

But all at once unmistakable sobs broke forth, and I found she wascrying heartily, genuinely, --crying without any self control, with allthe abandonment of a child. 

"Margaret!" I exclaimed, laying my hand gently on her quiveringshoulder, "what is the matter? What can have excited you in this manner?Don't, Madge, --you terrify me. "

"I can't help it, " she sobbed. "Now I have began, I can't stop. O dear, what a fool I am! There is nothing the matter with me. I don't know whatmakes me cry; but I can't help it, --I hate myself, --I can't bear myself, and yet I can't change myself. Nobody that I care for will ever love me. I am such a hoyden--such a romp--I disgust every one that comes near me;and yet I can't be gentle and sweet like you, if I die. I used to thinkbecause I made everybody laugh, they liked me. People said, 'Oh! there'sMadge, she will keep us alive. ' And I thought it was a fine thing to becalled Wild Madge, and Meg the Dauntless; I begin to hate the names; Ibegin to blush when I think of myself. "

And Margaret lifted her head, and the feelings of lately awakenedwomanhood crimsoned her cheeks, and streamed from her eyes. I waselectrified. What prophet hand had smitten the rock? What power haddrawn up the rosy fluid from the Artesian well of her heart?

"My dear Margaret, " I cried, "I hail this moment as the dawn of a newlife in your soul. Your childhood has lingered long, but the moment youfeel that you have the heart of a woman, you will discard the follies ofa child. Now you begin to live, when you are conscious of the goldenmoments you have wasted, the noble capacities you have never yetexerted. Oh Margaret, I feel more and more every day I live, that I wasborn for something more than the enjoyment of the passing moment, --thatlife was given for a more exalted purpose than self-gratification, andthat as we use or abuse this gift of God we become heirs of glory or ofshame. "

Margaret listened with a subdued countenance and a long drawn sigh. Shestrenuously wiped away the traces of her tears, and shook back the hairfrom her brow, with a resolute motion. 

"You despise me--I know you do, " she said, gloomily. 

"No, indeed, " I answered, "I never liked you half as well before; Idoubted your sensibility. Now, I see you can feel, and feel acutely. Ishall henceforth think of you with interest, and speak of you withtenderness. "

"You are the dearest, sweetest creature in the world, " she exclaimed, putting both arms around me with unwonted gentleness; "I shall alwayslove you, and will try to remember all you have said to me to-night. Weshall meet in the summer, and you shall see, oh yes, you shall see. Dearme--what a fright I have made of myself. "

She had risen, and was glancing at herself in the Psyche, which, supported by two charming Cupids, reflected the figure full length. 

"I never will cry again if I can help it, " she exclaimed. "These horridred circles round the eyes, --and my eyes, too, are as red as a rabbit's. The heroines of novels are always said to look lovelier in tears; butyou are the only person I ever saw who looked pretty after weeping. "

"Did you ever see me weep, Madge?"

"I have noticed more than you think I have, --and believe me, Gabriella, Ernest will have to answer for every tear he draws from those angel eyesof yours. "

"Margaret, you know not what you say. Ernest loves me ten thousand timesbetter than I deserve. He lavishes on me a wealth of love that humblesme with a consciousness of my own demerits. His only fault is loving metoo well. Never never breathe before Mrs. Linwood or Edith, --before ahuman being, the sentiment you uttered now. Never repeat the idle gossipyou may have heard. If you do speak of us, say that I have known woman'shappiest, most blissful lot. And that I would rather be the wife ofErnest one year, than live a life of endless duration with any other. "

"It must be a pleasant thing to be loved, " said Margaret, and her blackeyes flashed through the red shade of tears. 

"And to love, " I repeated. "It is more blessed to give, than toreceive. "

A sympathetic chord was touched, --there was music in it. Who ever saw aperson weep genuine tears, without feeling the throbbings ofhumanity, --the drawings of the chain that binds together all the sonsand daughters of Adam? If there are such beings, I pity them. 

Let them keep as far from me as the two ends of the rainbow are fromeach other. The breath of the Deity has frozen within them. 

CHAPTER XL. 

The morning of Margaret's departure, when Mr. Regulus was standing withgloves and hat in hand waiting her readiness, it happened that I wasalone in the parlor with him a few moments. 

"You will have a pleasant journey, " said I. "You will find Margaret anentertaining companion. "

"O yes!" he answered, with a slight shrug of the shoulders, "but I fearshe will excite too much remark by her wild antics. I do not like to benoticed by strangers. "

"She will accommodate herself to your wishes, I know she will. You havegreat influence over her. "

"Me! oh no!" he cried, with equal surprise and simplicity. 

"Yes, indeed you have. Talk to her rationally, as if you had confidencein her good-sense, Mr. Regulus, and you will really find some goldenwheat buried in the chaff. Talk to her feelingly, as if you appealed toher sensibility, and you may discover springs where you believe nowaters flow. "

"It is like telling me to search for spring flowers, when the ground isall covered with snow, --to look at the moon shining, when the night isas dark as ebony. But I am thinking of you, Gabriella, more than of her. I rejoice to find you the same artless child of nature that sat at myfeet years ago in the green-wood shade. But beautiful as is your palacehome, I long to see you again in our lovely valley among the birds andthe flowers. I long to see you on the green lawn of Grandison Place. "

"I do feel more at home at Grandison Place, " I answered. "I would givemore for the velvet lawn, the dear old elm, the oaken avenue, than forall the magnificence of this princely mansion. "

"But you are happy here, my child?"

"I have realized the brightest dreams of youth. "

"God be praised!--and you have forgiven my past folly, --you think of meas preceptor, elder brother, friend. "

"My dear master!" I exclaimed, and tears, such as glisten in the eyes ofchildhood, gathered in mine. I _was_ a child again, in my mother'spresence, and the shade-trees of the gray cottage seemed rustling aroundme. 

The entrance of Margaret interrupted the conversation. She neverappeared to better advantage than in her closely fitting riding dress, which displayed the symmetry of her round and elastic figure. I lookedat her with interest, for I had seen those saucy, brilliant eyessuffused with tears, and those red, merry lips quivering with womanlysensibility. I hoped good things of Margaret, and though I could notregret her departure, I thought leniently of her faults, and resolved toforget them. 

"Just like Margaret, " said I, gathering up the beautiful drapery, onwhich she had trodden as she left the room, and rent from the shaft thatconfined its folds. She stopped not to see the mischief she had done, for she was so accustomed to hear a crash and dash behind her, it is notprobable she even noticed it. 

"Thank God!" exclaimed Ernest, before the echo of their departingfootsteps had died on the ear. "Thank God! we are once more alone. "

 * * * * *

Mr. Harland had visited us but seldom since the words of passion whichmight have been followed by a scene of strife, but for woman'srestraining presence, had fallen from the lips of Ernest. One evening, he called and asked a private interview with Ernest, and theyimmediately passed into the library. I saw that his countenance wasdisturbed, and vague apprehensions filled my mind. I could hear theirvoices in earnest, excited tones; and though I knew there was norevelation to be made which Ernest had not already heard from me, I felta conviction amounting to certainty, that this mysterious interview hadsome connection with my unhappy father, and boded evil to me. Mr. Harland did not probably remain more than an hour, but every momentseemed an hour, drawn out by suspense and apprehension. He reëntered theparlor with Ernest, but left immediately; while Ernest walked silentlyback and forth, as he always did when agitated, --his brows contractedwith stern, intense thought. He was excessively pale, and though hiseyes did not emit the lightning glance of passion, they flashed andburned like heated metal. 

I dared not ask him the cause of his emotion, I could only watch himwith quick-drawn breath, and lips sealed with dread. Suddenly he put hishand in his bosom, and snatching thence the fatal casket I had left inmy father's crime-stained hands, he hurled it to the floor, and trampledit under his feet. 

"Behold, " he cried, with inexpressible bitterness and grief, "mymother's gift, her sacred bridal gift, --desecrated, polluted, lost, --worse than lost! I will not upbraid you. I would spare you thepang I myself endure, --but think of the agonies in which a spirit likemine must writhe, to know that _your_ name, that the name of my _wife_is blazoned to the world, associated with that of a vile forger, anabandoned villain, whose crimes are even now blackening the newspapers, and glutting the greedy appetite of slander! O rash, misguided girl!what demon tempted you to such fatal imprudence?"

I sat immovable, frozen, my eyes fixed upon the carpet, my hands as coldas ice, and my lips, as they touched each other, chill as icicles. Inmoments of sudden anguish I never lost consciousness, as many do, butwhile my physical powers were crushed, my mind seemed to acquirepreternatural sensibility. I suffered as we do in dreams, intensely, exquisitely, when every nerve is unsheathed, and the spirit naked to thedagger's stroke. He stopped as he uttered this impassioned adjuration, and his countenance changed instantaneously as he gazed on mine. 

"Cruel, cruel that I am!" he cried, sitting down by me, and wrapping hisarms around me; "I did not know what I was saying. I meant to be gentleand forbearing, but strong passion rushed over me like a whirlwind. Forgive me, Gabriella, my darling, forgive me. Let the world say what itwill, I know that you are pure and true. I care not for the money, --Icare not for the jewels, --but an unspotted name. Oh! where now are the'liveried angels' that will guard it from pollution?"

As he folded me in his arms, and pressed his cheek to mine, as ifstriving to infuse into it vital warmth, I felt the electric fluidflowing into my benumbed system. Whatever had occurred, he had not castme off; and with him to sustain me, I was strong to meet the exigenciesof the moment. I looked up in his face, and he read the expression of mysoul, --I know he did, for he clasped me closer to him, and the fire ofhis eyes grew dim, --dim, through glistening tears. And then he told meall my beseeching glances sought. More than a week before, even beforethat, he had learned that a forgery had been committed in his name, involving a very large sum of money. Liberal rewards had been offeredfor the discovery of the villain, and that day he had been brought tothe city. My diamonds, on whose setting Mrs. Linwood had had my nameengraven, were found in his possession. He had not spoken to me of theforgery, not wishing to trouble me, he said, on a subject of such minorimportance. It was the publicity given to my name, in association withhis, that caused the bitterness of his anguish. And I, --I knew that myfather had robbed my husband in the vilest, most insidious manner; thathe had drawn upon himself the awful doom of a forger, a dungeon home, aliving death. 

My father! the man whom my mother had loved. The remembrance of thislove, so long-enduring, so much forgiving, hung like a glory round him. It was the halo of a saint encircling the brow of the malefactor. 

"Will they not suppose the jewels were stolen?" I asked, with thecalmness of desperation. "Surely the world cannot know they were givenby me; and though it is painful to be associated with so dark atransaction, I see not, dear Ernest, why my reputation should be cloudedby this?"

"Alas! Gabriella, --you were seen by more than one walking with him inthe park. You were seen entering the jeweller's shop, and afterwardsmeeting him in Broadway. Even in the act of giving your shawl to thepoor shivering woman, you were watched. You believed yourselfunremarked; but the blind man might as well think himself unseen walkingin the blaze of noonday, because his own eyes are bound by the fillet ofdarkness, as _you_ expect to pass unnoticed through a gaping throng. Mr. Harland told me of these things, that I might be prepared to repel thearrows of slander which would inevitably be aimed at the bosom of mywife. "

"But you told him that it was my father. That it was to save him fromdestruction I gave them. Oh Ernest, you told him all!"

"I have no right to reveal your secret, Gabriella. If he be indeed yourfather, let eternal secrecy veil his name. Would you indeed consent thatthe world should know that it was your father who had committed so darka crime? Would you, Gabriella?"

"I would far rather be covered with ignominy as a daughter, thandisgrace as a wife, " I answered, while burning blushes dyed my cheeks atthe possibility of the last. "The first will not reflect shame orhumiliation on you. You have raised me generously, magnanimously, toyour own position; and though the world may say that you yielded toweakness in loving me, --a poor and simple girl. --Nay, nay; I recall mywords, Ernest; I will not wrong myself, because clouds and darknessgather round me. You did not _stoop_, or lower yourself, by wedding me. Love made us equal. My proud, aspiring love, looked up; yours bent tomeet its worship, --and both united, as the waves of ocean unite, infulness, depth, and strength, --and, like them, have found their level. Let the world know that I am the daughter of St. James; that, moved byhis prayers and intimidated by his threats, I met him and attempted tosave him from ruin. They may say that I was rash and imprudent; but theydare not call me guilty. There is a voice in every heart which is notpalsied, or deadened, or dumb, that will plead in my defence. The childwho endeavors to shield a father from destruction, however low andsteeped in sin he may be, cannot be condemned. If I am, I care not; butoh, Ernest, as your wife, let me not suffer reproach, --for your sake, myhusband, far more than mine. "

As thus I pleaded with all the eloquence and earnestness of my nature, with my hands clasped in his, their firm, close, yet gentle fold grewfirmer, closer still; and the cloud passing away from his countenance, it became luminous as I gazed. 

"You are right, --you are true, " said he, "my dear, my noble Gabriella. Every shadow of a doubt vanishes before the testimony of your unselfishheart. Why did I not see this subject in the same clear, just light?Because my eyes are too often blinded by the mists of passion. Yes! youhave pointed out the only way of extrication. The story of your mother'swrongs will not necessarily be exposed; and if it is, the sacred ĉgis ofyour filial love will guard it from desecration. We shall not remainhere long. Spring will soon return; and in the sweet quietude of rurallife, we will forget the tumultuous scenes of this modern Babel. Youwill not wish to return?"

"No! never, never. That unhappy man! what will be his doom?"

"Probably life-long imprisonment. Had I known who the offender was, Iwould have prayed the winds and waves to bear him to Icelandic seas, rather than have had his crime published to the world. It is, however, the retribution of heaven; and we must submit. "

"It seems so strange, " said I, "to think of him alive, whose existenceso long seemed to me a blank. When I was a child, I used to indulge inwild dreams about my unknown parent. I pictured him as one of the godsof mythology, veiling his divinity in flesh for the love of the fairestof the daughters of men. The mystery that wrapped his name was, to myimagination, like the cloud mantling the noonday sun. With such views ofmy lineage, which, though they became subdued as I grew older, werestill exaggerated and romantic, --think of the awful plunge into thedisgraceful truth. It seems to me that I should have died on my mother'sgrave, had not your arms of love raised me, --had you not breathed intomy ear words that called me back from the cold grasp of death itself. Inthe brightness of the future I forgot the gloom of the past. Oh! had Isupposed that he lived, --that he would come to bring on me public shameand sorrow, and through me, on you, my husband, I never would haveexposed you to the sufferings of this night. "

And I clung to him with an entireness of confidence, a fulness ofgratitude that swelled my heart almost to bursting. His face, beamingwith unclouded love and trust, seemed to me as the face of an angel. Icared not for obloquy or shame, since he believed me true. I rememberedthe words of the tender, the devoted Gertrude:--

 "I have been with thee in thine hour Of glory and of bliss, Doubt not its memory's living power To strengthen me in this. "

But though my mind was buoyed up by the exaltation of my feelings, myphysical powers began to droop. I inherited something of my mother'sconstitutional weakness; and, suddenly as the leaden weight falls when aclock has run down and the machinery ceases to play, a heavy burden oflethargy settled down upon me, and I was weak and helpless as a child. Dull pain throbbed in my brain, as if it were girdled by a hard, tightening band. 

It was several days before I left my bed, and more than a week before Iquitted my chamber. The recollection of Ernest's tender watchfulnessduring these days of illness, even now suffuses my eyes with tears. HadI been a dying infant he could not have hung over me with more anxious, unslumbering care. Oh! whatever were his faults, his virtues redeemedthem all. Oh! the unfathomable depths of his love! I was then willing todie, so fearful was I of passing out of this heavenly light of home joyinto the coldness of doubt, the gloom of suspicion. 

Ernest, with all his proneness to exaggerate the importance of myactions, did not do so in reference to this unhappy transaction. Paragraphs were inserted in the papers, in which the initials of my namewere inserted in large capitals to attract the gazing eye. The meetingin the Park, the jewels found in the possession of the forger, theabrupt manner in which they were taken from the jeweller's shop, eventhe gray shawl and green veil, were minutely described. Ernest had madeenemies by the haughty reserve of his manners and the exclusiveness ofhis habits, and they stabbed him in secret where he was most vulnerable. 

A brief sketch of the real circumstances and the causes which led tothem, was published in reply. It was written with manly boldness, butguarded delicacy, and rescued my name from the fierce clutch of slander. Then followed glowing eulogiums on the self-sacrificing daughter, theyoung and beautiful wife, till Ernest's sensitive spirit must have bledover the notoriety given to her, whom he considered as sacred as thepriestess of some holy temple, and whose name was scarcely to bementioned but in prayer. 

The only comment he made on them was, --

"My mother and Edith will see these. "

"I will write and tell them all, " I answered; "it will be too painful toyou. "

"We will both write, " he said; and we did. 

"You blame yourself too much, " cried he, when he perused my letter. 

"You speak too kindly, too leniently of me, " said I, after reading his;"yet I am glad and grateful. Your mother will judge me from the facts, and nothing that you or I can say will warp or influence her judgment. She understands so clearly the motives of action, --she reads so closelyyour character and mine, I feel that her decision will be as righteousas the decree of eternal justice. Oh that I were with her now, for mysoul looks to her as an ark of safety. Like the poor weary dove, itlongs to repose its drooping wings and fold them in trembling joy on hersheltering breast. "

I will not speak of the trial, the condemnation, or the agony I felt, when I learned that my father was doomed to expiate his crime bysolitary confinement for ten long years. Could Ernest have averted thisfate from him, for my sake he would have done it; but the majesty of thelaw was supreme, and no individual effort could change its just decree. My affections were not wounded, for I never could recall his imagewithout personal repugnance, but my mother's remembrance was associatedwith him;--I remembered her dying injunctions, --her prophetic dream. Ithought of the heaven which he had forfeited, the God whose commandmentshe had broken, the Saviour whose mercy he had scorned. I wanted to go tohim, --to minister to him in his lonely cell, --to try to rouse him to asense of his transgressions, --to lead him to the God he had forsaken, the Redeemer he had rejected, the heaven from which my mother seemedstretching her spirit arms to woo him to her embrace. 

"My mother dreamed that I drew him from a black abyss, " said I toErnest; "she dreamed that I was the guardian angel of his soul. Let mego to him, --let me fulfil my mission. I shudder when I look around me inthese palace walls, and think that a parent groans in yonder dismaltombs. "

"_I_ will go, " replied Ernest; "I will tell him your filial wish, and ifI find you can do him good, I will accompany you there. "

"I _can_ do him good, --I can pity and forgive him, --I can talk to him ofmy mother, and that will lead him to think of heaven. 'I was sick and inprison and ye came unto me. ' Oh, thus our Saviour said, identifyinghimself with the sons of ignominy and sorrow. Go, and if you find hisheart softened by repentance, pour balm and oil into the wounds that sinhas made. Go, and let me follow. "

CHAPTER XLI. 

"And did you see him, Ernest?" I asked, with trembling eagerness. 

"I did, Gabriella. I went to him as your representative, without onevindictive, bitter feeling. I proffered kindness, forgiveness, and everycomfort the law would permit a condemned criminal to enjoy. They wererejected fiercely, disdainfully, --he rejected them all. "

"Alas! and me, Ernest; does he refuse consolation from me?"

"He will not see you. 'I ask no sympathy, ' he cried, in hoarse andsullen accents. 'I desire no fellowship; alone I have sinned, --alone Iwill suffer, --alone I will die. ' Weep not, my Gabriella, over thishardened wretch; I do not believe he is your father; I am more and moreconvinced that he is an impostor. "

"But he has my mother's miniature; he recognized me from my resemblanceto it; he called me by name; he knew all the circumstances of myinfantine life. I would give worlds to believe your assertion, but thecurse clings to me. He _is_, --he must be my father. "

"Mr. Brahan, who knew your father personally, and who is deeplyinterested in the disclosures recently made, has visited him also. Hesays there is a most extraordinary resemblance; and though seventeenyears of sinful indulgence leave terrible traces on the outward man, hedoes not doubt his identity. But I cannot, will not admit it. Think ofhim no more, Gabriella; banish him, and every thing connected with thishorrible event, from your mind. In other scenes you will recover fromthe shock occasioned by it; and even now the tongue of rumor is busywith more recent themes. Mr. Brahan will visit him from time to timeand, if possible, learn something of the mystery of his life. Whateveris learned will be communicated to me. What! weeping still, myGabriella?"

"It is dreadful to think of sin and crime in the abstract; but when itcomes before us in the person of a father!"

"No more! no more! Dismiss the subject. Let it be henceforth a darkdream, forgotten if possible; or if remembered, be it as a dispensationof Providence, to be borne in silence and submission. Strange as it mayseem, all that I have suffered of humiliation and anguish in this _real_trial, cannot be compared to the agony caused by one of my own darkimaginings. "

I tried to obey the injunctions of Ernest; but though my lips weresilent, it was impossible to check the current of thought, or toobliterate the dark remembrance of the past. My spirits lost theirelasticity, the roses on my cheek grew pale. 

Spring came, not as in the country, with the rich garniture of livinggreen, clothing hill, valley, and lawn, --the blossoming of flowers, --thewarbling of birds, --the music of waters, --and all the beauty, life, andglory of awakening nature. But the fountain played once more in thegrotto, the vine-wreaths frolicked again round their graceful shells, the statues looked at their pure faces in the shining mural wall. 

I cared not for these. This was not my home. I saw the faces of Mrs. Linwood and Edith in the mirror of memory. I saw the purple hills, thesmiling vale, the quiet churchyard, the white, broken shaft, gleamingthrough the willow boughs, and the moonbeams resting in solemn glorythere. 

Never shall I forget my emotions when, on quitting the city, I caught aglimpse of that gloomy and stupendous granite pile which looms up in themidst of grandeur and magnificence, an awful monitor to human depravity. Well does it become its chill, funereal name. Shadows deeper than thedarkness of the grave hang within its huge Egyptian columns. Corruptionmore loathsome than the mouldering remains of mortality dwells in thoselone and accursed cells. I gazed on the massy walls, as they frowned onthe soft blue sky, till their shadow seemed to darken the heavens. Ithought of the inmate of one lonely cell; of the sighs and tears, thecurses and wailings that had gone up from that abode of shame, despair, and misery; and I wondered why the Almighty did not rend the heavens andcome down and bare the red right arm of vengeance over a world soblackened by sin, so stained by crime, and so given up to the dominionof the spirit of evil. 

Ernest drew me back from the window of the carriage, that I might notbehold this grim fortification against the powers of darkness; but itwas not till we had quitted the walls of the metropolis, and inhaled apurer atmosphere, that I began to breathe more freely. The tender greenof the fields, the freshness of the atmosphere, the indescribable odorof spring that embalmed the gale, awakened softer, happier thoughts. Thefootsteps of divine love were visible on the landscape. The voice of Godwas heard, breathing of mercy, through the cool green boughs. 

CHAPTER XLII. 

Once more at Grandison Place! Once more on the breezy height whichcommanded the loveliest valley creation ever formed! Light, bloom, joycame back to eye, cheek, and heart, as I hailed again the scene wherethe day-spring of love dawned on my life. 

"God made the country. "

Yes! I felt this truth in every bounding vein. "God made thecountry, "--with its rich sweep of verdant plains, its blue windingstreams, shedding freshness and murmuring music through the smilingfields; its silver dews, its golden sunsets, and all its luxuriance andgreenness and bloom. The black shadow of the _Tombs_ did not darken thisEden of my youth. 

Mrs. Linwood and Edith--I was with them once more. Mrs. Linwood, in hersoft twilight robe of silver grey; and Edith, with her wealth of goldenlocks, and eye of heaven's own azure. 

"You must not leave us again, " said Mrs. Linwood, as she clasped us bothin her maternal arms. "There are but few of us, and we should not beseparated. Absence is the shadow of death, and falls coldly on theheart. "

She glanced towards Edith, whose beautiful face was paler and thinnerthan it was wont to be. She had pined for the brother of whom I hadrobbed her; for the world offered her nothing to fill the void left inthe depths of her loving heart. We were all happier together. We cannotgive ourselves up to the dominion of an exclusive passion, whatever itmay be, without an outrage to nature, which sooner or later revenges thewrong inflicted. With all my romantic love for Ernest, I had oftensighed for the companionship of one of my own sex; and now, restored toEdith, whom I had always regarded a little lower than the angels, I feltthat if love was more rapturous than friendship, it was not more divine. 

They knew that I had suffered. They had sympathized with me, pitiedme, --(if Mrs. Linwood blamed me for imprudence, she never expressed it);and I felt that they loved me better for having passed under the cloud. There was no allusion made to the awful events which were present in theminds of all, on our first reunion. If Mrs. Linwood noticed, that afterthe glow of excitement faded from my cheek it was paler than it was wontto be, she did not tell me so, but her kiss was more tender, her glancemore kind. There was something in her mild, expressive eyes, that Itranslated thus:--

"Thank God that another hand than Ernest's has stolen the rose from thycheek of youth. Better, far better to be humbled by a father's crimes, than blighted by a husband's jealousy. "

This evening reminded me so much of the first I ever passed with Ernest. He asked Edith for the music of her harp; and I sat in the recess of thewindow, in the shadow of the curtains, through whose transparent draperythe moonbeams stole in and kissed my brow. Ernest came and sat downbeside me, and my hand was clasped in his. As the sweet strains floatedround us, they seemed to mingle with the moonlight, and my spirit wasborne up on waves of brightness and melody. Always before, whenlistening to Edith's angelic voice, I had wished for the same enchantingpower. I had felt that thus I could sing, I could play, had artdeveloped the gifts of nature, only with deeper passion and sensibility;but now I listened without conscious desire, --passive, happy, willing toreceive, without desiring to impart. I felt like the pilgrim who, aftera sultry day of weariness, pauses by a cool spring, and, laying himselfdown beneath its gushing, suffers the stream to flow over him, --till, penetrated by their freshness, his soul seems a fountain of livingwaters. Oh! the divine rapture of repose, after restlessness andconflict! I had passed the breakers. Henceforth my life would be calmand placid as the beams that illumined the night. 

And now I am tempted to lay down the pen. I would not weary thee, friendof my lonely hours, whoever thou art, by a repetition of scenes whichshow how poor and weak are the strongest human resolutions, whentemptations assail and passions rise with the swell and the might of thestormy billows. But if I record weaknesses and errors, such as seldomsadden the annals of domestic life, it is that God may be glorified inthe humiliation of man. It is that the light of the sun of righteousnessmay be seen to arise with healing in his beams, while the mists of errorand the clouds of passion are left rolling below. 

Yes! We were all happy for a while, and in the midst of such pure, reviving influences, I became blooming and elastic as a mountain maid. Dr. Harlowe was the same kind, genial, warm-hearted friend. Mr. Regulus, the same--no, he was changed, --improved, softened still more than whenhe surprised me by his graces, in my metropolitan home. He lookedseveral years younger, and a great deal handsomer. 

Had Margaret wrought this improvement? Had she indeed supplanted me inmy tutor's guileless heart? I inquired of Edith after the wild creature, whom I suspected some secret influence was beginning to tame. 

"Oh! you have no idea how Madge is improved, since her visit to you, "she answered. "She sometimes talks sensibly for five minutes at a time, and I have actually caught her singing and playing a sentimental air. Mamma says if she were in love with a man of sense and worth, he mightmake of her a most invaluable character. "

"Mr. Regulus, for instance!" said I. 

Edith laughed most musically. 

"Mr. Regulus in love! that would be a farce. "

"I have seen that farce performed, " said Dr. Harlowe, who happened tocome in at that moment, and caught her last words. "I have seen Mr. Regulus as much in love as--let me see, " glancing at me, "as RichardClyde. "

Much as I liked Dr. Harlowe I felt angry with him for an allusion, whichalways called the cloud to Ernest's brow, and the blush to my cheek. 

"Do tell me the object of his romantic passion?" cried Edith, who seemedexcessively amused at the idea. 

"Am I telling tales out of school?" asked the doctor, looking merrily atme. "Do you not know the young enchantress, who has turned all the headsin our town, not excepting the shoemaker's apprentice and the tailor'sjourneyman? Poor Mr. Regulus could not escape the fascination. The oldstory of Beauty and the Beast, --only Beauty was inexorable this time. "

"Gabriella!" exclaimed Edith, with unutterable astonishment; "he alwayscalled her his child. Who would have believed it? Why, Gabriella, howmany victims have your chariot wheels of conquest rolled over?"

"I am afraid if _I_ had not been a married man, she would have added meto the number, " said the doctor, with much gravity. "I am not certainthat Mrs. Harlowe is not jealous, in secret, of my public devotion. "

Who would believe that light words like these, carelessly uttered, andforgotten with the breath that formed them, should rankle like arrows ina breast where reason was enthroned? But it was even so. The allusion toRichard Clyde, the revelation of Mr. Regulus' romantic attachment, eventhe playful remarks of Dr. Harlowe relative to his wife's jealousy, weregall and wormwood, embittering the feelings of Ernest. He frowned, bithis lip, rose, and walked into the piazza. His mother's eyes followedhim with that look which I had so often seen before our marriage, andwhich I now understood too well. I made an involuntary movement tofollow him, but her glance commanded me to remain. The doctor, who wasin a merry mood, continued his sportive remarks, without appearing tonotice the darkened countenance and absence of Ernest. I talked andsmiled too at his good-humored sallies, that he might not perceive myanxious, wounded feelings. 

A little while after Mr. Regulus called, and Ernest accompanied him tothe parlor door with an air of such freezing coldness, I wonder it didnot congeal his warm and unsuspecting heart. And there Ernest stood withfolded arms, leaning back against the wall just within the door, sternand silent, casting a dark shadow on my soul. Poor Mr. Regulus, --now heknew he had been my lover, he would scarcely permit him to be my friend. 

"Oh!" thought I, blushing to think how moody and strange he must seem toothers, --"surely my happiness is based on sand, since the transientbreath of others can shake it from its foundation. If it depended onmyself, I would guard every look, word, and action, with never sleepingvigilance;--but how can I be secured against the casual sayings ofothers, words unmeaning as a child's, and as devoid of harm? I might aswell make cables of water and walls of foam, as build up a fabric ofdomestic felicity without confidence as the foundation stone. "

As these thoughts arose in my mind, my heart grew hard and rebellious. The golden chain of love clanked and chafed against the bosom itattempted to imprison. 

"I will not, " I repeated to myself, "alienate from me, by coolness andgloom, the friends who have loved me from my orphan childhood. Let himbe morose and dark, if he will; I will not follow his example. I willnot be the slave of his mad caprices. "

"No, " whispered _the angel over my right shoulder_, "but you will be theforbearing, gentle wife, who promised to _endure all_, knowing hisinfirmity, before you breathed your wedded vows. You are loved beyondthe sober reality of common life. Your prayer is granted. You dare notmurmur. You have held out your cup for the red wine. There is fire inits glow. You cannot turn it into water now. There is no divine wandereron earth to reverse the miracle of Cana. 'Peace' is woman's watchword, and heaven's holiest, latest legacy. "

As I listened to the angel's whisper, the voices of those around meentered not my ear. I was as far away from them as if pillowed on theclouds, whose silver edges crinkled round the moon. 

As soon as our guests had departed, Ernest went up to Edith, and puttinghis arm round her, drew her to the harp. 

"Sing for me, Edith, for my spirit is dark and troubled. You alone havepower to soothe it. You are the David of the haunted Saul. "

She looked up in his face suddenly, and leaned her head on his shoulder. Perhaps at that moment she felt the joy of being to him all that she hadbeen, before he had known and loved me. He had appealed to her, in thehour of darkness. He had passed me by, as though I were not there. Hesat down close to her as she played, so close that her fair ringletsswept against his cheek; and as she sang, she turned towards him withsuch a loving smile, --such a sweet, happy expression, --just as she usedto wear! I always loved to hear Edith sing; but now my spirit did notharmonize with the strains. Again a stinging sense of injusticequickened the pulsations of my heart. Again I asked myself, "What had Idone, that he should look coldly on me, pass me with averted eye, andseek consolation from another?"

I could not sit still and listen, for I was left _alone_. I rose andstole from the room, --stole out into the dewy night, under the heavy, drooping shade-boughs, and sat down wearily, leaning my head against thehard, rough bark. Never had I seen a more enchanting night. A thin mistrose from the bosom of the valley and hovered like a veil of silverygauze over its rich depth of verdure. It floated round the edge of thehorizon, subduing its outline of dazzling blue, and rolled off among thehills in soft, yet darkening convolutions. And high above me, serene andholy, the moon leaned over a ledge of slate-colored clouds, whose marginwas plated with her beams, and looked pensively and solemnly on the paleand sad young face uplifted to her own. The stilly dews slept at myfeet. They hung tremulously on the branches over my head, and sparkledon the spring blossoms that gave forth their inmost perfume to theatmosphere of night. Every thing was so calm, so peaceful, so intenselylovely, --and yet there was something deadly and chilling mingled withthe celestial beauty of the scene. The lace clung in damp folds to mybosom. The hair fell heavy with moisture against my temples. 

I heard a step softly crushing the grass near me. I did not look up, forI thought it was the step of Ernest; but my pulse throbbed with aquickened motion. 

"Gabriella, my child, you must not sit here in this chill damp eveningair. "

It was Mrs. Linwood, who took me by the hand and drew me from the seat. It was not Ernest. He had not missed me. He had not feared for me thechill dews of night. 

"I do not feel cold, " I answered, with a slight shudder. 

"Come in, " she repeated, leading me to the house with gentle force. 

"Not there, " I said, shrinking from the open door of the parlor, throughwhich I could see Ernest, with his head leaning on both hands, while hiselbows rested on the back of Edith's chair. She was still singing, andthe notes of her voice, sweet as they were, like the odor of thenight-flowers, had something languishing and oppressive. I hurried by, and ascended the stairs. Mrs. Linwood followed me to the door of myapartment, then taking me by both hands, she looked me full in the face, with a mildly reproachful glance. 

"O, Gabriella! if your spirit sink thus early, if you cannot bear theburden you have assumed, in the bright morning hour of love, how willyou be able to support it in the sultry noon of life, or in theweariness of its declining day? You are very young, --you have a longpilgrimage before you. If you droop now, where will be the strength tosustain in a later, darker hour?"

"I shall not meet it, " I answered, trying in vain to repress the risingsob. "I do not wish a long life, unless it be happier than it nowpromises to be. "

"What! so young, and so hopeless! Where is the strength and vitality ofyour love? The fervor and steadfastness of your faith? My child, youhave borne nothing yet, and you promised to hope all and endure all. Bestrong, be patient, be hopeful, and you shall yet reap your reward. "

"Alas! my mother, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. "

"There is no task appointed to man or woman, " she answered, "which maynot be performed, through the power of God and the influences of theHoly Spirit. Remember this, my beloved daughter; and remember, too, thatthe heart which _bends_ will not _break_. Good-night! We had better notrenew this theme. 'Patient continuance in well-doing;' let this be yourmotto, and if happiness in this world be not your reward, immortalityand glory in the next will be yours. "

I looked after her as she gently retreated, and as the light glanced onthe folds of her silver gray dress, she seemed to me as one of theshining ones revealed in the pilgrim's vision. At that moment _her_esteem and approbation seemed as precious to me as Ernest's love. Ientered my chamber, and sitting down quietly in my beloved recess, repeated over and over again the Christian motto, which the lips of Mrs. Linwood uttered in parting, --"Patient continuance in well-doing. "

I condemned myself for the feelings I had been indulging. I had feltbitter towards Edith for smiling so sweetly in her brother's face, whenit had turned so coldly from me. I was envious of her power to soothethe restless spirit I had so unconsciously troubled. As I thus communedwith my own heart, I unbound my hair, that the air might exhale the mistwhich had gathered in its folds. I brushed out the damp tresses, till, self-mesmerized, a soft haziness stole over my senses, and though I didnot sleep, I was on the borders of the land of dreams. 

CHAPTER XLIII. 

I suppose I must have slept, though I was not conscious of it, for I didnot hear Ernest enter the room, and yet when I looked again, he wassitting in the opposite window, still as a statue, looking out into thedepths of night. I started as if I had seen a spirit, for I believedmyself alone, and I did not feel less lonely now. There was somethingdejected in his attitude, and he sighed heavily as he turned and leanedhis forehead against the window sash. 

I rose, and softly approaching him laid my hand on his shoulder. 

"Are you angry with me, Ernest?" I asked. 

He did not answer, or turn towards me; but I felt a tremulous motion ofhis shoulder, and knew that he heard me. 

"What have I done to displease you, dear Ernest?" again I asked. "Willyou not speak to me and tell me, at least, in what I have offended?"

"I am not offended, " he answered, without looking up; "I am not angry, but grieved, wounded, and unhappy. "

"And will you not tell me the cause of your grief? Is not sympathy insorrow the wife's holiest privilege?"

"Gabriella, you mock me!" he exclaimed, suddenly rising and speaking ina low, stern voice. "You know that you are yourself the cause of mygrief, and your words are as hollow as your actions are vain. Did younot promise, solemnly promise never to deceive me again, after havingcaused me such agony by the deception I yet freely forgave?"

"Tell me, Ernest, in what have I deceived? If I know myself, every wordand action has been as clear and open as noonday. "

"Did you ever tell me your teacher was your lover, --he with whom youwere so intimately associated when I first knew you? You suffered me tobelieve that he was to you in the relation almost of a father. Ireceived him as such in my own home. I lavished upon him everyhospitable attention, as the friend and guide of your youth, and now yousuffer me to hear from others that his romantic love was the theme ofvillage gossip, that your names are still associated by idle tongues. "

"I always believed before that unrequited love was not a theme for vainboasting, that it was a secret too sacred to be divulged even to thedearest and the nearest. "

"But every one who has been so unfortunate as to be associated with you, seems to have been the victims of unrequited love. The name of RichardClyde is familiar to all as the model of despairing lovers, and even Dr. Harlowe addresses you in a strain of unpardonable levity. "

"O Ernest, cannot you spare even him?"

"You asked me the cause of my displeasure, and I have told you thesource of my grief, otherwise I had been silent. There must be somethingwrong, Gabriella, or you would not be the subject of such remarks. Edith, all lovely as she is, passes on without exciting them. The mostdistant allusion to a lover should be considered an insult by a weddedwoman and most especially in her husband's presence. "

"I have never sought admiration or love, " said I, every feeling ofdelicacy and pride rising to repel an insinuation so unjust. "When theyhave been mine, they were spontaneous gifts, offered nobly, and if notaccepted, at least declined with gratitude and sensibility. If I havebeen so unfortunate as to win what your lovely sister might more justlyclaim, it has been by the exercise of no base allurement or meritriciousattractions. I appeal to your own experience, and if it does not acquitme, I am for ever silent. "

Coldly and proudly my eye met his, as we stood face to face in the lightof the midnight moon. I, who had looked up to him with the reverence dueto a superior being, felt that I was above him now. He was the slave ofan unjust passion, the dupe of a distempered fancy, and as such unworthyof my respect and love. As I admitted this truth, I shuddered with thatvague horror we feel in dreams, when we recoil from the brink ofsomething, we know not what. I trembled when his lips opened, fearful hewould say something more irrational and unmanly still. 

"O Ernest!" I cried, all at once yielding to the emotions that werebearing me down with such irresistible power, "you frighten me, you fillme with unspeakable dread. There seems a deep abyss yawning between us, and I stand upon one icy brink and you on the other, and the chasmwidens, and I stretch out my arms in vain to reach you, and I call, andnothing but a dreary echo answers, and I look into my heart and do notfind you there. Save me, Ernest, save me, --my husband, save yourselffrom a doom so dreadful!"

Excited by the awful picture of desolation I had drawn, I slid down uponmy knees and raised my clasped hands, as if pleading for life beneaththe axe of the executioner. I must have been the very personification ofdespair, with my hair wildly sweeping round me, and hands locked inagony. 

"To live on, live on together, year after year, cold and estranged, without love, without hope, "--I continued, unable to check the wordsthat came now as in a rushing tide, --"Oh! is it not dreadful, Ernest, even to think of? There is no evil I could not bear while we loved oneanother. If poverty came, --welcome, welcome. I could toil and smile, ifI only toiled for you, if I were only _trusted_, only _believed_. Thereis no sacrifice I would not make to prove my faith. Do you demand myright hand?--cut it off; my right eye?--pluck it out;--I withholdnothing. I would even lay my heart bleeding at your feet in attestationof my truth. But what can I do, when the idle breath of others, overwhich I have no power, shakes the tottering fabric of your confidence, and I am buried beneath the ruins?"

"You have never loved like me, Gabriella, or you would never dream ofthe possibility of its being extinguished, " said he, in a tone ofindescribable wretchedness. "I may alienate you from me, by theindulgence of insane passions, by accusations repented as soon asuttered, --I may revile and persecute, --but I can never cease to loveyou. "

"O Ernest!" It was all gone, --pride, anger, despair, were gone. Thefirst glance of returning love, --the first acknowledgment of utteredwrong, were enough for me. I was in his arms, next to his heart, and thelast hours seemed a dream of darkness. I was happy again; but I trembledeven in the joy of reconciliation. I realized on what a slender threadmy wedded happiness was hanging, and knew that it must one day break. Moments like these were like those green and glowing spots found on thevolcano's burning edge. The lava of passion might sweep over them quickas the lightning's flash, and beauty and bloom be covered with ashes anddesolation. 

And so the cloud passed by, --and Ernest was, if possible, more tenderand devoted, and I tried to cast off the prophetic sadness that would attimes steal over the brightness of the future. I was literally giving upall for him. I no longer derived pleasure from the society of Mr. Regulus. I dreaded the sportive sallies of Dr. Harlowe. I looked forwardwith terror to the return of Richard Clyde. I grew nervous and restless. The color would come and go in my face, like the flashes of the auroraborealis, and my heart would palpitate suddenly and painfully, as ifsome unknown evil were impending. Did I now say, as I did a few monthsafter my marriage, that I preferred the stormy elements in which Imoved, to the usual calm of domestic life? Did I exult, as the billowsswelled beneath me and bore me up on their foaming crests, in the powerof raising the whirlwind and the tempest? No; I sighed for rest, --forstill waters and tranquil skies. 

It is strange, that a subject which has entirely escaped the mind, whenassociations naturally recall it, will sometimes return and haunt it, when nothing seems favorable for its reception. 

During my agitated interview with my unhappy father, I had forgottenTherésa La Fontaine, and the boy whose birthright I had unconsciouslyusurped. Mr. Brahan, in speaking of St. James and his _two_ wives, saidthey had both disappeared in a mysterious manner. That boy, if living, was my brother, my half-brother, the legitimate inheritor of my name, --aname, alas! he might well blush to bear. _If living_, where was he, andwho was he? Was he the heir of his father's vices, and was he consciousof his ignominious career? These questions constantly recurred, nowthere was no oracle near to answer. Once, and only once, I mentionedthem to Mrs. Linwood. 

"You had better not attempt to lift the veil which covers the past, " sheanswered, in her most decided manner. "Think of the suffering, not tosay disgrace, attached to the discovery of your father, --and let thisbrother be to you as though he had never been. Tempt not Providence, byindulging one wish on the subject, which might lead to shame and sorrow. Ernest has acted magnanimously with regard to the circumstances, whichmust have been galling beyond expression to one of his proud andsensitive nature. And I, Gabriella, --though out of delicacy to you, --Ihave forborne any allusion to the events of the last winter, havesuffered most deeply and acutely on their account. I have suffered formyself, as well as my son. If there is any thing in this world to beprized next to a blameless conscience, it is an unspotted name. Well isit for you, that your own is covered with one, which from generation togeneration has been pure and honorable. Well is it for you, that yourhusband's love is stronger than his pride, or he might reproach you fora father's ignominy. Remember this, when you feel that you have wrongsto forgive. And as you value your own happiness and ours, never, mychild, seek to discover a brother, whom you would probably blush toacknowledge, and my son be compelled to disown. "

She spoke with dignity and emphasis, while the pride of a virtuous andhonored ancestry, though subdued by Christian grace, darkened her eyesand glowed on her usually colorless cheek. I realized then all herforbearance and delicacy. I understood what a deep wound her familypride must have received, and how bitterly she must have regretted aunion, which exposed her son to contact with degradation and crime. 

"I would not have spoken as I have, my daughter, " she added, in asoftened tone, "but with your limited knowledge of the world, you cannotunderstand the importance attached to unblemished associations. Andnever mention the subject to Ernest, if you would not revive memoriesthat had better slumber for ever. "

She immediately resumed her kind and gracious manner, but I never forgotthe lesson she had given. My proud spirit needed no second warning. Never had I felt so crushed, so humiliated by the remembrance of myfather's crimes. That he _was_ my father I had never dared to doubt. Even Ernest relinquished the hope he had cherished, as time passed on, and no letter from Mr. Brahan threw any new light on the darkrelationship; though removed from the vicinity of the dismal Tombs, thedark, gigantic walls cast their lengthening shadow over the fresh greenfields and blossoming meadows, and dimmed the glory of the landscape. 

The shadow of the Tombs met the shadow in my heart, and together theyproduced a chill atmosphere. I sighed for that perfect love whichcasteth out fear; that free, joyous intercourse of thought and feeling, born of undoubting confidence. 

Could I live over again the first year of my wedded life, with theexperience that now enlightens me, I would pursue a very differentcourse of action. A passion so wild and strong as that which darkened mydomestic happiness, should be resisted with the energy of reason, instead of being indulged with the weakness of fear. Every sacrificemade to appease its violence only paved the way for a greater. Every actof my life had reference to this one master-passion. I scarcely everspoke without watching the countenance of Ernest to see the effect of mywords. If it was overcast or saddened, I feared I had given utterance toan improper sentiment, and then I blushed in silence. Very unfortunatewas it for him, that I thus fed and strengthened the serpent that shouldhave been strangled in the cradle of our love; and his motherunconsciously did the same. She believed him afflicted by a hereditarymalady which should inspire pity, and be treated with gentleness ratherthan resistance. Edith, too, --if a cloud passed over his brow, sheexerted every winning and endearing sisterly art to chase the gloom. 

The history of man for six thousand years shows, that in the exercise ofunlimited power he becomes a despot. Kingly annals confirm the truth ofthis, and domestic records proclaim it with a thundering tongue. Theremust be a restraining influence on human passion, or its turbulent wavesswell higher and higher, till they sweep over the landmarks of reason, honor and love. The mighty hand of God is alone powerful enough to curbthe raging billows. He alone can say, "peace, be still. " But he hasministers on earth appointed to do his pleasure, and if they fulfiltheir task He may not be compelled to reveal himself in flaming fire asthe God of retributive justice. 

I know that Ernest loved me, with all his heart, soul, and strength; butmingled with this deep, strong love, there was the alloy ofselfishness, --the iron of a despotic will. There was the jealousy ofpower, as well as the jealousy of love, unconsciously exercised andacquiring by indulgence a growing strength. 

My happiness was the first desire of his heart, the first aim of hislife; but I must be made happy in _his_ way, and by his means. His hand, fair, soft, and delicate as a woman's, --that hand, with its gentle, warm, heart-thrilling pressure, was nevertheless the hand of Procrustes;and though he covered the iron bed with the flowers of love, the spiritsometimes writhed under the coercion it endured. 

"You are not well, " said Dr. Harlowe, as we met him during an eveningwalk. "I do not like that fluctuating color, or that quick, irregularbreathing. "

Ernest started as if he had heard my death-warrant; and, taking my hand, he began to count my quickly throbbing pulse. 

"That will never do, " said the doctor, smiling. "Her pulse will beatthree times as fast under your fingers as mine, if you have been marriednearly a year. It is not a good pulse. You had better take care of her. "

"He takes a great deal too much care of me, doctor, " I cried. "Do notmake him think I am an invalid, or he will make a complete hothouseplant of me. "

"Who ever saw an invalid with such a color as that?" asked Ernest. 

"Too bright--too mutable, " answered the doctor, shaking his head. "Sheis right. You keep her too close. Let her run wild, like any othercountry girl. Let her rise early and go out into the barnyard, see thecows milked, inhale their odorous breathings, wander in the fields amongthe new-mown hay, let her rake it into mounds and throw herself on thefragrant heaps, as I have seen her do when a little school-girl. Let herdo just as she pleases, go where she pleases, stay as long as shepleases, in the open air and free sunshine; and mark my words, she willwear on her cheeks the steady bloom of the milkmaid, instead of theflitting rosiness of the sunset cloud. "

"I am not conscious of imposing so much restraint on her actions as yourwords imply, " said Ernest, a flush of displeasure passing over his paleand anxious countenance. 

"Make her take a ride on horseback every morning and evening, " continuedDr. Harlowe, with perfect coolness, without taking any notice of theinterruption. "Best exercise in the world. Fine rides for equestriansthrough the green woods around here. If that does not set her right, carry her to the roaring Falls of Niagara, or the snowy hills of NewHampshire, or the Catskill Mountains, or the Blue Ridge. I cannot letthe flower of the village droop and fade. "

As he finished the sentence, the merry tones of his voice became graveand subdued. He spoke as one having the authority of science andexperience, as well as the privilege of affection. I looked down to hidethe moisture that glistened in my eyes. 

"How would you like to travel as the doctor has suggested, Gabriella?"asked Ernest, who seemed much moved by the doctor's remarks. "You know Iwould go to"--

"Nova Zembla, if she wished it, " interrupted the doctor, "but that istoo far and too cold. Begin with a shorter journey. I wish I couldaccompany you, but I cannot plead as an excuse my wife's delicacy ofconstitution. Her health is as uniform as her temper; and even if lifeand death were at stake, she would not leave her housekeeping in otherhands. Neither would she close her doors and turn her locks, lest mothand rust should corrupt, and thieves break in and steal. But pardon me. I have given you no opportunity to answer your husband's question. "

"I shall only feel too happy to avail myself of his unnecessary fearswith regard to my health, " I answered. "It will be a charming way ofpassing the summer, if Mrs. Linwood and Edith will consent. "

Dr. Harlowe accompanied us home, and nothing was talked of but theintended journey. The solicitude of Ernest was painfully roused, and heseemed ready to move heaven and earth to facilitate our departure. 

"I am sorry to close Grandison Place in the summer season, " said Mrs. Linwood; "it looks so inhospitable. Besides, I have many friends whoanticipate passing the sultry season here. "

"Let them travel with you, if they wish, " said the doctor bluntly. "Thatis no reason why you should stay at home. "

"Poor Madge!" cried Edith, who was delighted with the arrangement thedoctor had suggested. "She will be so disappointed. "

"Let her come, " said Dr. Harlowe. "I will take charge of the wild-cat, and if I find her too mighty for me, I will get Mr. Regulus to assist mein keeping her in order. Let her come, by all means. "

"Supposing we write and ask her to accompany us, " said Mrs. Linwood. "Her exuberant spirits will be subdued by the exercise of travelling, and she may prove a most exhilarating companion. "

"What, four ladies to one gentleman!" exclaimed Edith. "Poor Ernest!when he will have thoughts and eyes but for one!"

"I would sooner travel with the Falls of Niagara, or the boiling springsof Geyser, " cried Ernest, with an instinctive shudder. "We should haveto take a carpenter, a glazier, an upholsterer, and a seamstress, torepair the ruins she would strew in our path. "

"If Richard Clyde were about to return a little earlier in the season, "said the doctor, looking at Edith, "he would be a delightful acquisitionto your party. He would divide with your brother the heavyresponsibility of being the guardian of so many household treasures. "

"Let us start as early as possible, " exclaimed Ernest. The name ofRichard Clyde was to his impatient, jealous spirit, as is the rowel tothe fiery steed. 

"And what will become of all our beautiful flowers, and our rich, ripening fruit?" I asked. "Must they waste their sweetness and value onthe unappreciating air?"

"I think we must make Dr. Harlowe and Mr. Regulus the guardians andparticipators of both, " said Mrs. Linwood. 

"Give him the flowers, and leave the fruit to me, " cried Dr. Harlowe, emphatically. 

"That the sick, the poor, and the afflicted may be benefited by theact, " replied Mrs. Linwood. "Let it be so, Doctor, --and may many ablessing which has once been mine, reward your just and generousdistribution of the abounding riches of Grandison Place. "

I left one sacred charge with the preceptor of my childhood. 

"Let not the flowers and shrubbery around my mother's grave, and thegrave of Peggy, wilt and die for want of care. "

"They shall not. They shall be tenderly and carefully nurtured. "

"And if Margaret comes during our absence, be kind and attentive to her, for my sake, Mr. Regulus. "

"I will! I will! and for her own too. The wild girl has a heart, Ibelieve she has; a good and honest heart. "

"You discovered it during your homeward journey from New York. I thoughtyou would, " said I, pleased to see a flush light up the student's olivecheek. I thought of the sensible Benedict and the wild Beatrice, and thedrama of other lives passed before the eye of imagination. 

Gloomy must the walls of Grandison Place appear during the absence ofits inmates, --that city set upon a hill that could not be hid, whoseilluminated windows glittered on the vale below with beacon splendor, and discoursed of genial hospitality and kindly charity to thesurrounding shadows. Sadly must the evening gale sigh through the nobleoaks, whose branches met over the winding avenue, and lonely theelm-tree wave its hundred arms above the unoccupied seat, --that seat, beneath whose breezy shade I had first beheld the pale, impassioned, andhaunting face of Ernest Linwood. 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

It is not my intention to describe our journey; and I fear it willindeed be an act of supererogation to attempt to give an idea of thosemajestic Falls, whose grandeur and whose glory have so long been thetheme of the painter's pencil and the poet's lyre. Never shall I forgetthe moment when my spirit plunged into the roar and the foam, thethunders and the rainbows of Niagara. I paused involuntarily a hundredpaces from the brink of the cataract. I was about to realize one of themagnificent dreams of my youthful imagination. I hesitated and trembled. I felt something of the trepidation, the blissful tremor that agitatedmy whole being when Ernest asked me into the moonlight garden atCambridge, and I thought he was going to tell me that he loved me. Theemotions I was about to experience would never come again, and I knewwhen once past could never be anticipated as now, with indescribableawe. I felt something as Moses did when he stood in the hollow of therock, as the glory of the Lord was about to pass by. And surely nogrander exhibition of God's glory ever burst on mortal eye, than thismighty volume of water, rushing, roaring, plunging, boiling, foaming, tossing its foam like snow into the face of heaven, throwing up rainbowafter rainbow from unfathomable abysses, then sinking gradually into asluggish calm, as if exhausted by the stupendous efforts it had made. 

Clinging to the arm of Ernest, I drew nearer and nearer, till allpersonal fear was absorbed in a sense of overpowering magnificence. Iwas a part of that glorious cataract; I participated in the mightystruggle; I panted with the throes of the pure, dark, tremendouselement, vassal at once and conqueror of man; triumphed in the gorgeous_arcs-en-ciel_ that rested like angels of the Lord above the mist andthe foam and the thunders of watery strife, and reposed languidly withthe subsiding waves that slept like weary warriors after the din andstrife of battle, the frown of contention lingering on their brows, andthe smile of disdain still curling their lips. 

Oh, how poor, how weak seemed the conflict of human passion in thepresence of this sublime, this wondrous spectacle! I could not speak, --Icould scarcely breathe, --I was borne down, overpowered, almostannihilated. My knees bent, my hands involuntarily clasped themselvesover the arm of Ernest, and in this attitude of intense adoration Ilooked up and whispered, "God, --eternity. "

"Enthusiast!" exclaimed he; but his countenance was luminous with thelight that glowed on mine. He put his arm around me, but did not attemptto raise me. Edith and her mother were near, in company with a friendwho had been our fellow-traveller from New England, and who had extendedhis journey beyond its prescribed limits for the sake of being ourcompanion. I looked towards Edith with tremulous interest. As she stoodleaning on her crutches, her garments fluttering in the breeze, I almostexpected to see her borne from us like down upon the wind, and floatingon the bosom of that mighty current. 

I said I did not mean to attempt a description of scenes which havebaffled the genius and eloquence of man. 

"Now I am content to die!" said an ancient traveller, when the colossalshadow of the Egyptian pyramids first fell on his weary frame. But whatare those huge, unmoving monuments of man's ambition, compared to thisgrandest of creation's mysteries, whose deep and thundering voice isrepeating, day after day and night after night, --"forever and ever, " andwhose majestic motion, rushing onward, plunging downward, never pausing, never resting, is emblematic of the sublime march of Deity, fromeverlasting to everlasting, --from eternity to eternity?

Shall I ever forget the moment when I stood on Termination Rock, beyondwhich no mortal foot has ever penetrated? I stood in a shroud of graymist, wrapping me on every side, --above, below, around. I shuddered, asif the hollow, reverberating murmurs that filled my ears were the knellof the departed sun. That cold, gray mist; it penetrated the depths ofmy spirit; it drenched, drowned it, filled it with vague, ghost-likeimages of dread and horror. I cast one glance behind, and saw a gleam ofheaven's sunny blue, one bright dazzling gleam flashing between therugged rock and the rushing waters. It was as if the veil of the templeof nature were rent, and the glory of God shone through the fissure. 

"Let us return, " said I to Ernest. "I feel as if I had passed throughthe valley of the shadow of death. Is it not sacrilegious to penetrateso deeply into the mysteries of nature?"

"O Gabriella!" he exclaimed, his eyes flashing through the shroudingmist like burning stars, "how I wish you felt with me! Were it possibleto build a home on this shelving rock, I would willingly dwell hereforever, surrounded by this veiling mist. With you thus clasped in myarms, I could be happy, in darkness and clouds, in solitude anddreariness, anywhere, everywhere, --with the conviction that you lovedme, and that you looked for happiness alone to me. "

"As this moment, " I answered, drawing more closely to him, "I fear as ifI would rather stay here and die, than return to the world and mingle inits jarring elements. I would far rather, Ernest, make my winding-sheetof those cold, unfathomable waters, than live to feel again the anguishof being doubted by you. "

"That is all past, my Gabriella, --all past. My nature is renewed andpurified. I feel within me new-born strength and power of resistance. Bythe God of yon roaring cataract--"

"No, --no, Ernest, do not promise, --I dare not hear you, we are so weak, and temptations are so strong. "

"Do you distrust yourself, or me?"

"Both, Ernest. I never, never felt how poor and vain and frail we are, till I stood, as now, in the presence of the power of the Almighty. "

His countenance changed instantaneously. "To what temptations do youallude?" he asked. "I can imagine none that could shake my fidelity toyou. My constancy is as firm as this rock. Those rushing waves could notmove it. Why do you check a vow which I dare to make in the very face ofOmnipotence?"

"I doubt not your faith or constancy, most beloved Ernest; I doubt notmy own. You know what I do fear, --misconstruction and suspicion. But letus not speak, let us not think of the past. Let us look forward to thefuture, with true and earnest spirits, praying God to help us inweakness and error. Only think, Ernest, we have that within us moremighty than that descending flood. These souls of ours will still livein immortal youth, when that whelming tide ceases to roll, when thefirmament shrivels like a burning scroll. I never realized it so fully, so grandly, as now. I shall carry from this rock something I did notbring. I have received a baptism standing here, purer than fire, gentleas dew, yet deep and pervading as ocean. I cannot describe what I mean, but I feel it. Before I came, it seemed as if a great wall of adamantrose between me and heaven; now there is nothing but this veil of mist. "

As we turned to leave this region of blinding spray and mysteriousshadows, Ernest repeated, in his most melodious accents, a passage fromSchiller's magnificent poem of the diver. 

 "And it bubbles and seethes, and it hisses and roars, As when fire is with water commixed and contending; And the spray of its wrath to the welkin upsoars, And flood upon flood hurries on, never ending. And it never _will_ rest, nor from travail be free, Like a sea, that is laboring the birth of a sea. "

Never did I experience a more exultant emotion than when we emerged intothe clear air and glorious sunshine, --when I felt the soft, rich, greengrass beneath, and the blue illimitable heavens smiling above. I hadcome out of darkness into marvellous light. I was drenched with light asI had previously been by the cold, gray mist. I remembered another verseof the immortal poem I had learned from the lips of Ernest:--

 "Happy they, whom the rose-hues of daylight rejoice, The air and the sky that to mortals are given; May the horror below never more find a voice, Nor man stretch too far the wide mercy of heaven. Never more, never more may he lift from the sight The veil which is woven with terror and night. "

CHAPTER XLV. 

Amid the rainbows of the cataract, Edith's heart caught the firstglowing tinge of romance. 

We were wandering along the path that zones the beautiful island, whosename, unpoetic as it is, recalls one of the brilliant constellations ofthe zodiac; and Edith had seated herself on a rustic bench, under themassy dome of a spreading beech, and, taking off her bonnet, sufferedher hair to float according to its own wild will on the rising breeze. 

She did not observe a young man at a little distance, leaning backagainst an aged birch, on whose silvery bark the dark outlines of hisfigure were finely daguerreotyped. He was the beau ideal of an artist, with his long brown hair carelessly pushed back from his white temples, his portfolio in his left hand, his pencil in his right, and his dark, restless eyes glancing round him with the fervor of enthusiasm, whilethey beamed with the inspiration of genius. He was evidently sketchingthe scene, which with bold, rapid lines he was transferring to thepaper. All at once his gaze was fixed on Edith, and he seemedspellbound. I did not wonder, --for a lovelier, more ethereal objectnever arrested the glance of admiration. Again his pencil moved, and Iknew he was attempting to delineate her features. I was fearful lest sheshould move and dissolve the charm; but she sat as still as the tree, whose gray trunk formed an artistic background to her slight figure. 

As soon as Ernest perceived the occupation of the young artist, he madea motion towards Edith, but I laid my hand on his arm. 

"Do not, " I said; "she will make such a beautiful picture. "

"I do not like that a stranger should take so great a liberty, " hereplied, in an accent of displeasure. 

"Forgive the artist, " I pleaded, "for the sake of the temptation. "

The young man, perceiving that he was observed, blushed with the mostingenuous modesty, took up his hat that was lying on the grass, put hispaper and pencil in his portfolio, and walked away into the wildernessof stately and majestic trees, that rose dome within dome, pillar withinpillar, like a grand cathedral. We followed slowly in the beaten path, through the dark green maples, the bright-leaved luxuriant beech trees, and the quivering aspens, whose trembling leaves seem instinct withhuman sensibility. And all the time we wandered through the magnificentaisles of the island, the deep roar of the cataract, like the symphonyof a great organ, rolled solemnly through the leafy solitude, andmingled with the rustling of the forest boughs. 

In the evening the young artist sought an introduction to our party. Hisname was Julian, and had the advantage of romantic association. I wasglad that Ernest gave him a cordial reception, for I was extremelyprepossessed in his favor. Even the wild idea that he might be myunknown brother, had entered my mind. I remembered Mrs. Linwood's advicetoo well to express it. I even tried to banish it, as absurd andirrational; but it would cling to me, --and gave an interest to the youngstranger which, though I dared not manifest, I could not help feeling. Fortunately his undisguised admiration of Edith was a safeguard to me. He was too artless to conceal it, yet too modest to express it. It wasevinced by the mute eloquence of eyes that gazed upon her, as on acelestial being; and the listening ear, that seemed to drink in thelowest sound of her sweet, low voice. He was asked to exhibit hissketches, which were pronounced bold, splendid, and masterly. 

Edith was leaning on her brother's shoulder, when she recognized her ownlikeness, most faithfully and gracefully executed. She started, blushed, and looked towards young Julian, whose expressive eyes were riveted onher face, as if deprecating her displeasure. There were no traces of iton her lovely countenance; even a smile played on her lips, at the faintreflection of her own loveliness. 

And thus commenced an acquaintance, or I might say an attachment, assudden and romantic as is ever described in the pages of the novelist. As soon as the diffidence that veiled his first introduction wore away, he called forth his peculiar powers of pleasing, and Edith was notinsensible to their fascination. Since her brother's marriage, she hadfelt a vacuum in her heart, which often involved her in a soft cloud ofpensiveness. She was unthroned, and like an uncrowned queen she sighedover the remembrance of her former royalty. It was not strange that thedevotion of Julian, the enthusiasm of his character, the fervor of hislanguage, the ardor, the grace of his manner, should have captivated herimagination and touched her heart. I never saw any one so changed in soshort a time. The contrast was almost as great, to her former self, asbetween a placid silver lake, and the foam of the torrent sparkling andflashing with rainbows. Her countenance had lost its air of divinerepose, and varied with every emotion of her soul. She was a thousandtimes more beautiful, and I loved her far more than I had ever donebefore. There was something unnatural in her exclusive, jealous love ofher brother, but now she acknowledged the supremacy of the great law ofwoman's destiny. Like a flower, suddenly shaken by a southern gale, andgiving out the most delicious perfumes unknown before, her heartfluttered and expanded and yielded both its hidden sweetnesses. 

"We must not encourage him, " said Mrs. Linwood to her son. "We do notknow who he is; we do not know his family or his lineage; we mustwithdraw Edith from the influence of his fascinations. "

I did not blame her, but I felt the sting to my heart's core. She sawthe wound she had unconsciously made, and hastened to apply a balm. 

"The husband either exalts, or lowers, a wife to the position heoccupies, " said she, looking kindly at me. "She loses her own identityin his. Poverty would present no obstacle, for she has wealth sufficientto be disinterested, --but my daughter must take a stainless name, if sherelinquish her own. But why do I speak thus? My poor, crippled child!She has disowned the thought of marriage. She has chosen voluntarily anunwedded lot. She does not, cannot, will not think with any peculiarinterest of this young stranger. No, no, --my Edith is set apart by hermisfortunes, as some enshrined and holy being, whom man must vainlylove. "

I had never seen Mrs. Linwood so much agitated. Her eyes glistened, hervoice faltered with emotion. Ernest, too, seemed greatly troubled. Theyhad both been accustomed to look upon Edith as consecrated to a vestallife; and as she had hitherto turned coldly and decidedly from theaddresses of men, they believed her inaccessible to the vows of love andthe bonds of wedlock. The young Julian was a poet as well as an artist;his pictures were considered masterpieces of genius in the paintinggalleries of the cities; he was, as report said, and as he himselfmodestly but decidedly affirmed, by birth and education a gentleman; hehad the prestige of a rising fame, --but he was a stranger. I rememberedmy mother's history, and the youth of St. James seemed renewed in thisinteresting young man. I trembled for the future happiness of Edith, who, whatever might be her decision with regard to marriage, nowunmistakably and romantically loved. Again I asked myself, "might notthis young man be the son of the unfortunate Therésa, who under anassumed name was concealing the unhappy circumstances of his birth?"

"Let us leave this place, " said Ernest, "and put a stop at once to thedanger we dread. Are you willing, Gabriella, to quit these sublime Fallsto-morrow?"

"I shall carry them with me, " I answered, laughingly. "They arehenceforth a part of my own being. "

"They will prove rather an inconvenient accompaniment, " replied he; "andif we turn our face on our return to the White Mountains, will you bringthem back also?"

"Certainly. Take me the whole world over, and every thing of beauty andsublimity will cling to my soul inseparably and forever. "

"Will you ask Edith, if she will be ready?"

She was in the room which she occupied with her mother, and there Isought her. She was reading what seemed to be a letter; but as Iapproached her I saw that it was poetry, and from her bright blushes, Iimagined it an effusion of young Julian's. She did not conceal it, butlooked up with such a radiant expression of joy beaming through a shadeof bashfulness, I shrunk from the task imposed upon me. 

"Dear Edith, " said I, laying my hand on her beautiful hair, "yourbrother wishes to leave here to-morrow. Will you be ready?"

She started, trembled, then turned aside her face, but I could see thestarting tear and the deepened blush. 

"Of course I will, " she answered, after a moment's pause. "It is farbetter that we should go, --I know it is, --but it would have been betterstill, had we never come. "

"And why, my darling sister? You have seemed very happy. "

"Too happy, Gabriella. All future life must pay the penalty due to abrief infatuation. I have discovered and betrayed the weakness, themadness of my heart. I know too well why Ernest has hastened ourdeparture. "

"Dearest Edith, " said I, sitting down by her and taking her hand in bothmine, "do not reproach yourself for a sensibility so natural, soinnocent, nay more, so noble. Do not, from mistaken delicacy, sacrificeyour own happiness, and that of another which is, I firmly believe, forever intertwined with it. Confide in your mother, --confide in yourbrother, who think you have made a solemn resolution to live a singlelife. They do not know this young man; but give them an opportunity ofknowing him. Cast him not off, if you love him; for I would almost stakemy life upon his integrity and honor. "

"Blessings, Gabriella, for this generous confidence!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms round me, with all the impulsiveness of childhood;"but it is all in vain. Do you think I would take advantage of Julian'suncalculating love, and entail upon him for life the support andguardianship of this frail, helpless form? Do you think I would hang adead, dull weight on the wings of his young ambition? Oh, no! You do notknow me, Gabriella. "

"I know you have very wrong views of yourself, " I answered; "and I fearyou will do great wrong to others, if you do not change them. You arenot helpless. No bird of the wild-wood wings their way more fearlesslyand lightly than yourself. You are not frail now. Health glows on yourcheek and beams in your eye. You cling to a resolution conceived inearly youth, before you recovered from the effects of a painful malady. A dull weight! Why, Edith, you would rest like down on his mountingwings. You would give them a more heavenly flight. Do not, belovedEdith, indulge these morbid feelings. There is a love, stronger, deeperthan a sister's affection. You feel it now. You forgive me for lovingErnest. You forgive him for loving me. I believe Julian worthy of yourheart. Give him hope, give him time, and he will come erelong, crownedwith laurels, and lay them smiling at your feet. "

"Dear, inspiring Gabriella!" she exclaimed, "you infuse new life and joyinto my inmost soul. I feel as if I could discard these crutches andwalk on air. No; I am not helpless. If there was need, I could toil forhim I loved with all a woman's zeal. These hands could minister to hisnecessities, this heart be a shield and buckler in the hour of danger. Thank Heaven, I am lifted above want, and how blest to share the giftsof fortune with one they would so nobly grace! But do you really thinkthat I ought to indulge such dreams? Am not I a cripple? Has not God seta mark upon me?"

"No, --you shall not call yourself one. You are only lifted above thegross earth, because you are more angelic than the rest of us. I hearyour mother's coming footsteps; I will leave you together, that you mayreveal to her all that is passing in your heart. "

I left her; and as I passed Mrs. Linwood on the stairs, and met heranxious eyes, I said: "Edith has the heart of a woman. I know by my ownexperience how gently you will deal with it. "

She kissed me without speaking; but I read in her expressive countenancethat mingled look of grief and resignation with which we follow a friendto that bourne where we cannot follow them. Edith was lost to her. Shewas willing to forsake her mother for the stranger's home, --she whoseemed bound to her by the dependence of childhood, as well as the closecompanionship of riper years. I read this in her saddened glance; but Idid not deem her selfish. Other feelings, too, doubtless blended withher own personal regrets. She had no reason to look upon marriage as astate of perfect felicity. Her own had been unhappy. She knew the darkphantom that haunted our wedded hours; and what if the same hereditarycurse should cling to Edith, --who might become morbidly sensitive onaccount of her personal misfortune?

Knowing it was the last evening of our stay, I felt as if every momentwere lost, passed within doors. It seemed to me, now, as if I hadliterally seen nothing, so stupendously did images of beauty andgrandeur grow upon my mind, and so consciously and surprisingly did mymind expand to receive them. 

The hour of sunset approached, --the last sunset that I should behold, shining in golden glory on the sheeted foam of the Falls. And then Isaw, what I never expect to witness again, till I see the eternalrainbows round about the throne of God, --three entire respondentcircles, one glowing with seven-fold beams within the other, full, clear, distinct as the starry stripes of our country's banner, --nofracture in the smooth, majestic curves, --no dimness in the gorgeousdyes. 

And moonlight, --moonlight on the Falls! I have read of moonlight on theruins of the Coliseum; in the mouldering remains of Grecian elegance andRoman magnificence; but what is it compared to this? The eternal youth, the undecaying grandeur of nature, illumined by that celestial lightwhich lends glory to ruins, and throws the illusion of beauty over thefeatures of decay!

Edith wandered with Julian in the stilly moonlight, and their low voiceswere heard by each other amid the din of the roaring cataract. 

Ernest was troubled. He was jealous even of a sister's love, and lookedcoldly on the aspiring Julian. 

"He must prove himself worthy of Edith, " he said. "He must not followher to Grandison Place, till he can bring credentials, establishing hisclaims to confidence and regard. "

Before we parted at night Edith drew me aside, and told me that hermother had consented to leave the decision of her destiny to _time_, which would either prove Julian's claims to her love, or convince herthat he was unworthy of her regard. He was not permitted to accompanyher home; but she was sure he would follow, with testimonials, such as aprince need not blush to own. 

"How strange, how very strange it seems, " she said, her eyes beamingwith that soft and sunny light which comes from the day-spring of theheart, "for me to look forward to a future such as now I see, through aflowery vista of hope and love. How strange, that in so short a time somighty a change should be wrought! Had Ernest remained single, my heartwould have known no vacuum, so entirely did he fill, so exclusively didhe occupy it. But since his marriage it has seemed a lonely temple witha deserted shrine. Julian has strewed flowers upon the altar, and theirfragrance has perfumed my life. Even if they wither, their odor willremain and shed sweetness over my dying hour. "

Sweet, angelic Edith! may no untimely blight fall on thy garland oflove, no thorns be found with its glowing blossoms, no canker-worm ofjealousy feed on their early bloom. 

The morning of our departure, as I looked back where Julian stood, paleand agitated, following the receding form of Edith, with a glance of themost intense emotion, I saw a gentleman approach the pillar againstwhich he was leaning, whose appearance riveted my attention. He was astranger, who had probably arrived the evening before, and, preoccupiedas Julian was, he extended his hand eagerly to meet the grasp of his. Hewas tall, much taller than Julian, and of a very stately mien. He lookedas if he might be in the meridian of life, and yet his hair, originallyblack, was mingled with snowy locks around the temples, and on the crownof his head. I saw this as he lifted his hat on approaching Julian, withthe firm, proud step which indicates intellectual power. What was thereabout this stranger that haunted me long after the thunders of thecataract had ceased to reverberate on the ear? Where had I seen acountenance and figure resembling his? Why did I feel an irresistibledesire to check the rolling wheels that bore me every moment furtherfrom that stately form with its crown of living snow?

"How long will you remain in that uncomfortable position?" asked Ernest. The spell was broken. I turned, and met the glance that needed noexplanation. This earnest scrutiny of a stranger excited hisdispleasure; and I did not wonder, when I thought of the strangefascination I had experienced. I blushed, and drew my veil over myface, --resolving henceforth to set a guard over my eyes as well as mylips. It was the first dark-flashing glance I had met since I had leftGrandison Place. It was the last expiring gleam of a baleful flame. Iknew it must be; and, leaning back in the carriage, I sunk into one ofthose reveries which I used to indulge in childhood, --when the gates ofsunset opened to admit my wandering spirit, and the mysteries ofcloud-land were revealed to the dream-girl's eye. 

CHAPTER XLVI. 

The very evening after our return, while Dr. Harlowe was giving anaccount of his stewardship, and congratulating Edith and myself on thebloom and animation we had acquired, a gentleman was announced, andRichard Clyde entered. The heart-felt, joyous welcome due to the friendwho is just returned from a foreign land, greeted his entrance. Had Iknown of his coming, I might have repressed the pleasure that nowspontaneously rose; but I forgot every thing at this moment, but thecompanion of my childhood, the sympathizing mourner by my mother'sgrave, the unrequited lover, but the true and constant friend. He was somuch improved in person and manners; he was so self-possessed, so manly, so frank, so cordial! He came among us like a burst of sunshine; and weall--all but _one_--felt his genial influence. He came into the familylike a long absent son and brother. Why could not Ernest have welcomedhim as such? Why did he repel with coldness and suspicion the honest, ingenuous heart that longed to meet his with fraternal warmth andconfidence? I could not help drawing comparisons unfavorable to Ernest. He, who had travelled through the same regions, who had drank of thesame inspiring streams of knowledge as the young student, who came freshand buoyant from the classic halls where he had himself gained honor anddistinction, --he, sat cold and reserved, while Richard dispensed lifeand brightness on all around. 

"Oh, how much this is like home!" he exclaimed, when the lateness of thehour compelled him to depart; "how happy, how grateful I am, to meet sokind, so dear a welcome. It warmed my heart, in anticipation, beyond theAtlantic waves. I remembered the maternal kindness that cheered andsustained me in my collegiate probation, and blessed my dawning manhood. I remembered Edith's heavenly music, and Gabriella's. "

He had become so excited by the recollections he was clothing in words, that he lost the command of his voice as soon as he mentioned my name. Perhaps the associations connected with it were more powerful than heimagined; but whatever was the cause he stopped abruptly, bowed, andleft the room. 

Mrs. Linwood followed him into the passage, and I heard her telling himthat he must consider Grandison Place his home indeed, for she felt thatshe had welcomed back another beloved son. She was evidently hurt by thechilling reserve of Ernest's manners, and wished to make up for it bythe cordial warmth of her own. 

"There goes as fine a youth as ever quickened the pulses of a maiden'sheart, " said Dr. Harlowe, as Richard's quick steps were heard on thegravel walk; "I am proud of him, we all ought to be proud of him. He isa whole-souled, whole-hearted, right-minded young man, worth a dozen ofyour fashionable milk-sops. He is a right down splendid fellow. I cannotimagine why this sly little puss was so blind to his merits; but Isuppose the greater glory dimmed the less. "

Good, excellent Dr. Harlowe! Why was he always saying something to rousethe slumbering serpent in the bosom of Ernest? Slumbering, did I say?Alas! it was already awakened, and watching for its prey. The doctor hadthe simplicity of a child, but the shrewdness of a man. Had he dreamedof the suffering Ernest's unfortunate temperament caused, he would haveblistered his tongue sooner than have given me a moment's pain. Hesuspected him of jealousy, of the folly, not the madness of jealousy, and mischievously liked to sport with a weakness which he supposedevaporated with the cloud of the brow, or vanished in the lightning ofthe eye. He little imagined the stormy gust that swept over us after hisdeparture. 

"Mother!" exclaimed Ernest, as soon as the doctor had closed the door, in a tone which I had never heard him use to her before, "I will nolonger tolerate that man's impertinence and presumption. He never comeshere that he does not utter insulting words, which no gentleman shouldallow in his own house. It is not the first, nor the second, nor thethird time that he has insulted me through my wife. His superior age, and your profound respect for him, shall no longer prevent theexpression of my indignation. I shall let him know on what terms he everagain darkens this threshold. "

"Ernest!" cried his mother, with a look in which indignation and griefstruggled for mastery, "do you forget that it is your mother whom youare addressing?--that it is her threshold not yours on which you havelaid this withering ban?"

"Had not Dr. Harlowe been your friend, and this house yours, I shouldhave told him my sentiments long since; but while I would not forget myrespect as a son, I must remember my dignity as a husband, and I willallow no man to treat my wife with the familiarity he uses, pollutingher wedded ears with allusions to her despairing lovers, and endeavoringindirectly to alienate her affections from me. "

"Stop, Ernest, you are beside yourself, " said Mrs. Linwood, and themounting color in her face deepened to crimson, --"you shall not thusasperse a good and guileless man. Your insane passion drives you fromreason, from honor, and from right. It dwarfs the fair proportions ofyour mind, and deforms its moral beauty. I have been wrong, sinful, weak, in yielding to your infirmity, and trying by every gentle andpersuasive means to lead you into the green pastures and by the stillwaters of domestic peace. I have counselled Gabriella, when I have seenher young heart breaking under the weight of your suspicions, to bowmeekly and let the storm pass over her. But I do so no more. I will tellher to stand firm and undaunted, and breast the tempest. I will stand byher side, and support her in my arms, and shield her with my breast. Come, Gabriella, come, my child; if my son _will_ be unjust, _will_ beinsane, I will at least protect you from the consequences of his guiltyrashness. "

I sprang into her arms that opened to enfold me, and hid my face on herbreast. I could not bear to look upon the humiliation of Ernest, whostood like one transfixed by his mother's rebuking glance. I trembledlike an aspen, there was something so fearful in the roused indignationof one usually so calm and self-possessed. Edith sunk upon a seat in apassion of tears, and "oh, brother!--oh, mother!" burst throughthick-coming sobs from her quivering lips. 

"Mother!" exclaimed Ernest, --and his voice sounded hollow andunnatural, --"I have reason to be angry, --I do not deserve this sternrebuke, --you know not how much I have borne and forborne for your sake. But if my mother teaches that rebellion to my will is a wife's duty, itis time indeed that we should part. "

"Oh, Ernest!" cried Edith; "oh, my brother! you will break my heart. "

And rising, she seemed to fly to his side, and throwing her arms roundhis neck, she lifted up her voice and wept aloud. 

"Hush, my daughter, hush, Edith, " said her mother. "I wish my son tohear me, and if they were the last words I ever expected to utter, theycould not be more solemn. I have loved you, Ernest, with a lovebordering on idolatry, --with a pride most sinful in a Christianparent, --but even the strength of a mother's love will yield at lastbefore the stormy passions that desolate her home. The spirit of theSpartan mother, who told her son when he left her for the battle field, 'to return _with_ his shield, or _on_ it, ' animates my bosom. I had far, far rather weep over the grave of my son, than live to blush for hisdegeneracy. "

"And I would far rather be in my grave, this moment, " he answered, inthe same hoarse, deep undertone, "than suffer the agonies of the lastfew hours. Let me die, --let me die at once; then take this young man toyour bosom, where he has already supplanted me. Make him your son in atwofold sense, for, by the heaven that hears me, I believe you wouldbless the hour that gave him the right to Gabriella's love. "

"Father, forgive him, he knows not what he utters, " murmured his mother, lifting her joined hands to heaven. I still clung to her in tremblingawe, forgetting my own sorrow in the depth and sacredness of hers. "Ernest, " she said, in a louder tone, "I cannot continue this painfulscene. I will go to my own chamber and pray for you; pray for yourrelease from the dominion of the powers of darkness. Oh, my son! Itremble for you. You are standing on the brink of a terrible abyss. Thefiend that lurked in the bowers of Eden, and made its flowers dim withthe smoke of fraternal blood, is whispering in your ear. Beware, my son, beware. Every sigh and tear caused by the indulgence of unhallowedpassion, cries as loud to Almighty God for vengeance as Abel's reekingblood. Come, Gabriella, I leave him to reflection and prayer. I leavehim to God and his own soul. Come, Edith, leave him and follow me. "

There was something so commanding in her accent and manner I dared notresist her, though I longed to remain and whisper words of peace andlove to my unhappy husband. I knew that his soul must be crushed intothe dust, and my heart bled for his sufferings. Edith, too, withdrew herclinging arms, for she dared not disobey her mother, and slowly andsadly followed us up the winding stairs. 

"Go to bed, my child, " said she to Edith, when we reached the upperplatform. "May God in his mercy spare you from witnessing another scenelike this. "

"Oh, mother! I never shall feel happy again. My poor brother! you didnot see him, mother, when you left him. You did not look upon him, oryou could not have left him. There was death on his face. Forgive him, dear mother! take him back to your heart. "

"And do you think he is not here?" she exclaimed, pressing her hands onher heart, as if trying to sustain herself under an intense pain. "Doyou think he suffers alone? Do you think I have left him, but for hisgood? Do you think I would not now gladly fold him in my arms and bathehis soul in the overflowing tenderness of maternal love? O child, child!Earth has no sounding line to fathom the depths of a mother's heart. Good-night. God bless you, my darling Edith. "

"And Gabriella?"

"Will remain with me. "

Mrs. Linwood, whose left arm still encircled me, brought me into herchamber, and closed the door. She was excessively pale, and Imechanically gave her a glass of water. She thanked me; and seatingherself at a little table, on which an astral lamp was burning, shebegan to turn the leaves of a Bible, which always lay there. I observedthat her hands trembled and that her lips quivered. 

"There is but one fountain which can refresh the fainting spirit, " shesaid, laying her hand on the sacred volume. "It is the fountain ofliving waters, which, whosoever will, may drink, and receive immortalstrength. "

She turned the leaves, but there was mist over her vision, --she couldnot distinguish the well-known characters. 

"Read for me, my beloved Gabriella, " said she, rising and motioning meto the seat she had quitted. "I was looking for the sixty-second Psalm. "

She seated herself in the shadow of the curtain, while I nerved myselffor the appointed task. My voice was at first low and tremulous, but asthe sound of the words reached my ear, they penetrated my soul, like astrain of solemn music. I felt the divine influence of those breathingsof humanity, sanctified by the inspiration of the Deity. I felt the sameconsciousness of man's insignificance as when I listened to Niagara'seternal roar. And yet, if God cared for us, there was exaltation andglory in the thought. 

"Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted withinme? hope thou in God, for I shall yet praise him, who is the health ofmy countenance and my God. "

"Go on, " said Mrs. Linwood, as I paused on this beautiful and consolingverse; "your voice is sweet, my child, and there is balm in everyhallowed word. "

I turned to the ninety-first Psalm, which I had so often read to my owndear mother, and which I had long known by heart; then the hundred andsixteenth, which was a favorite of Ernest's. My voice faltered. Ithought of him in loneliness and anguish, and my tears blotted thesacred lines. We both remained silent, for the awe of God's spirit wasupon us, and the atmosphere made holy by the incense of His breath. 

A low, faint knock at the door. "Come in, " said Mrs. Linwood, supposingit a servant. She started, when the door opened, and Ernest, pale as aghost, stood on the threshold. I made a movement towards him, but he didnot look at me. His eyes were riveted on his mother, who had half risenat his entrance, but sunk back on her seat. He passed by me, andapproaching the window where she sat, knelt at her feet, and bowed hishead in her lap. 

"Mother, " said he, in broken accents, "I come, like the returningprodigal. I have sinned against Heaven and thee, and am no more worthyto be called thy son, --give me but the hireling's place, provided it benear thy heart. "

"And have I found thee again, my son, my Ernest, my beloved, my onlyone?" she cried, bending down and clasping her arms around him. "Heavenly Father! I thank thee for this hour. "

Never had I loved them both as I did at that moment, when the holy tearsof penitence and pardon mingled on their cheeks, and baptized theirspirits as in a regenerating shower. My own tears flowed in unison; butI drew back, feeling as if it were sacrilege to intrude on such a scene. My first impulse was to steal from the room, leaving them to theunwitnessed indulgence of their sacred emotions; but I must pass them, and I would not that even the hem of my garments should rustle againstthem. 

Mrs. Linwood was the first to recognize my presence; she raised her headand beckoned me to approach. As I obeyed her motion, Ernest rose fromhis knees, and taking my hand, held it for a moment closely, firmly inhis own; he did not embrace me, as he had always done in the transportsof reconciliation; he seemed to hold me from him in that controllinggrasp, and there was something thrilling, yet repelling, in the darkdepths of his eyes that held me bound to the spot where I stood. 

"Remain with my mother, Gabriella, " said he; "I give you back to herguardianship, till I have done penance for the sins of this night. Thelips that have dared to speak to a mother, and such a mother, the wordsof bitterness and passion, are unworthy to receive the pledge of love. My eyes are opened to the enormity of my offence, and I abhor myself indust and ashes; my spirit shall clothe itself in garments of sackclothand mourning, and drink of the bitter cup of humiliation. Hear, then, mysolemn vow;--nay, my mother, nay, Gabriella, --I must, I will speak. MySaviour fasted forty days and forty nights in the wilderness, he, whoknew not sin, and shall not I, vile as a malefactor, accursed as aleper, do something to prove my penitence and self-abasement? For fortydays I abjure love, joy, domestic endearments, and social pleasures, --Iwill live on bread and water, --I will sleep on the uncarpeted floor, --orpass my nights under the canopy of heaven. "

Pale and shuddering I listened to this wild, stem vow, fearing that hisreason was forsaking him. No martyr at the stake ever wore an expressionof more sublime self-sacrifice. 

"Alas, my son!" exclaimed his mother, "one tear such as you have shedthis hour is worth a hundred rash vows. Vain and useless are they as theiron bed, the girdle of steel, the scourge of the fanatic, who expectsto force by self-inflicted tortures the gates of heaven to open. Do yourealize to what sufferings you are dooming the hearts that love you, andwhose happiness is bound up in yours? Do you realize that you are makingour home dark and gloomy as the dungeons of the Inquisition?"

"Not so, my mother; Gabriella shall be free as air, free as before shebreathed her marriage vows. To your care I commit her. Let not onethought of me cloud the sunshine of the domestic board, or wither onegarland of household joy. I have imposed this penance on myself inexpiation of my offences as a son and as a husband. If I am wrong, may amerciful God forgive me. The words are uttered, and cannot be recalled. I cannot add perjury to the dark list of my transgressions. Farewell, mother; farewell, Gabriella; pray for me. Your prayers will call downministering angels, who shall come to me in the hour of nature's agony, to relieve and sustain me. "

He left us, closed the door, and passed down the stairs, which gave afaint echo to his retreating footsteps. We looked at each other in griefand amazement, and neither of us spoke for several minutes. 

"My poor, misguided boy!" at length burst from his mother's pale lips, "I fear I was too harsh, --I probed him too deeply, --I have driven him tothe verge of madness. Oh! how difficult it is to deal with a spirit sostrangely, so unhappily constituted! I have tried indulgence, and theevil seemed to grow with alarming rapidity. I have exercised a parent'sauthority, and behold the result. I can do nothing now, but obey hisparting injunction, --pray for him. "

She folded her hands across her knees, and looked down in deep, revolving thought. 

Forty days of gloom and estrangement! Forty days! Oh! what a wildernesswould life be during those long, long days! And what was there beyond? Idared not think. A dreary shadow of coming desolation, --like the cold, gray mist which wrapped me as I stood on the rocks of Niagara, hung overthe future. Would I lift it if I could? Oh, no! Perish the hand thatwould anticipate the day of God's revealing. 

CHAPTER XLVII. 

Ernest, faithful to his vow, slept on the floor in the library, andthough he sat down at the table with us, he tasted nothing but bread andwater. A stranger might not have observed any striking difference in hismanners, but he had forbidden himself even the glance of affection, andhis eye studiously and severely avoided mine. From the table he returnedto the library, and shut himself up till the next bell summoned us toour now joyless and uncomfortable meals. 

I cannot describe the tortures I endured during this season of unnaturaland horrible constraint. It sometimes seemed as if I should grow crazy;and poor Edith was scarcely less unhappy. It was now that Mrs. Linwoodshowed her extraordinary powers of self-control, her wisdom, andintellectual strength. Calmly and serenely she fulfilled her usualduties, as mistress of her household and benefactress of the village. Tovisitors and friends she was the same hospitable and charming hostessthat had thrown such enchantment over the granite walls of GrandisonPlace. She had marked out the line of duty for Edith and myself, whichwe tried to follow, but it was often with sinking hearts and falteringfootsteps. 

"If Ernest from a mistaken sense of duty has bound himself by a painfuland unnatural vow, " said she, in that tone of grave sweetness which wasso irresistible, "_we_ must not forget the social and domestic duties oflife. A threefold responsibility rests upon us, for we must endeavor tobear the burden he has laid down. He must not see the unlimited power hehas over our happiness, a power he is now unconsciously abusing. Smile, my children, indulge in all innocent recreations; let me hear once moreyour voices echoing on the lawn; let me hear the soothing notes of myEdith's harp; let me see my Gabriella's fingers weaving as wont, sweetgarlands of flowers. "

And now, the house began to be filled up with visitors from the city, who had been anxiously waiting the return of Mrs. Linwood. The characterof Ernest for eccentricity and moodiness was so well known, that thepeculiar situation in which he had placed himself did not attractimmediate attention. But I knew I must appear, what I in reality was forthe time, a neglected and avoided wife; and most bitterly, keenly did Isuffer in consequence of this impression. In spite of the pain it hadcaused, I was proud of Ernest's exclusive devotion, and the notice itattracted. I knew I was, by the mortification I experienced, when thatdevotion was withdrawn. It is true, I knew he was inflicting on himselftorments to which the fabled agonies of Tantalus, Sisyphus, and Ixioncombined could not be compared; but others did not; they saw the avertedeye, the coldness, the distance, the estrangement, but they did not, could not see, the bleeding heart, the agonized spirit hidden beneaththe veil. 

I ought to mention here the reason that Mr. Regulus did not come asusual to welcome us on our return. He had been appointed professor ofmathematics in ---- College, and had given up the charge of the academywhere he had taught so many years with such indefatigable industry anddistinguished success. He was now visiting in Boston, but immediately onhis return was to depart to the scene of his new labors. 

Mr. Regulus, or, as we should now call him, Professor Regulus, had solong been considered a fixture in town, this change in his destinycreated quite a sensation in the circle in which he moved. It seemedimpossible to do without him. He was as much a part of the academy asthe colossal pen, whose gilded feathers still swept the blue of ether. Were it not for the blight that had fallen on my social joys, I shouldhave mourned the loss of this steadfast friend of my orphan years; butnow I could not regret it. The mildew of suspicion rested on ourintercourse, and all its pleasant bloom was blasted. He was in Boston. Had he gone to ask the dauntless Meg to be the companion of his life, inthe more exalted sphere in which he was about to move? And would sheindeed suffer her "wild heart to be tamed by a loving hand?"

What delightful evenings we might now have enjoyed had not the darkpassion of Ernest thrown such a chilling shadow over the household!Richard came almost every night, for it was his _home_. He loved andreverenced Mrs. Linwood, as if she were his own mother. Edith was to himas a sweet and gentle sister; and though never by word or action hemanifested a feeling for me which I might not sanction and return as thewife of another, I knew, that no one had supplanted me in hisaffections, that I was still the Gabriella whom he had enshrined in hisboyish heart, --in "all save hope the same. " He saw that I was unhappy, and he pitied me. The bright sparkle of his eye always seemed quenchedwhen it turned to me, and his voice when it addressed me had a gentler, more subdued tone. But his spirit was so sparkling, so elastic, hismanners so kind and winning, his conversation so easy and graceful, itwas impossible for sadness or constraint to dwell long in his presence. Did I never contrast his sunny temper, his unselfish disposition, hishappy, genial temperament, with the darkness and moodiness and despotismof Ernest? Did I never sigh that I had not given my young heart to onewho would have trusted me even as he loved, and surrounded me with agolden atmosphere of confidence, calm and beautiful as an uncloudedautumn sky? Did I not tremble at the thought of passing my whole life inthe midst of the tropic storms, the thunders and lightnings of passions?

And yet I loved Ernest with all the intensity of my first affection. Iwould have sacrificed my life to have given peace to his troubled andwarring spirit. His self-imposed sufferings almost maddened me. Myheart, as it secretly clung to him and followed his lonely steps as, faithful to his frantic vow, he withdrew from domestic and socialintercourse, --longed to express its emotions in words as wildlyimpassioned as these:--

 "Thou hast called me thine angel in moments of bliss, Still thine angel I'll prove 'mid the horrors of this. Through the furnace unshrinking thy steps I'll pursue, And shield thee, and save thee, and perish there too. "

Oh, most beloved, yet most wretched and deluded husband, why was thisdark thread, --this cable cord, I might say, --twisted with the pure andsilvery virtues of thy character?

In the midst of this unhappy state of things, Margaret Melville arrived. She returned with Mr. Regulus, who brought her one beautiful evening, atthe soft, twilight hour, to Grandison Place. Whether it was the subduedlight in which we first beheld her, or the presence of her dignifiedcompanion, she certainly was much softened. Her boisterous laugh wasquite melodized, and her step did not make the crystal drops of thegirandoles tinkle as ominously as they formerly did. Still, it seemed asif a dozen guests had arrived in her single person. There was suchsuperabundant vitality about her. As for Mr. Regulus, he was certainlygoing on even unto perfection, for his improvement in the graces was asprogressive and as steady as the advance of the rolling year. I couldnot but notice the extreme elegance of his dress. He was evidently "atsome cost to entertain himself. "

"Come up stairs with me, darling, " said she to me, catching my hand andgiving it an emphatic squeeze; "help me to lay aside this uncomfortableriding dress, --besides, " she whispered, "I have so much to tell you. "

As we left the room and passed Mr. Regulus, who was standing near thedoor, the glance she cast upon him, bright, smiling, triumphant, andhappy, convinced me that my conjectures were right. 

"My dear creature!" she exclaimed, as soon as we were in my own chamber, throwing herself down on the first seat she saw, and shaking her hairloose over her shoulders, "I am so glad to see you. You do not know howhappy I am, --I mean how glad I am, --you did not expect me, did you?"

"I thought Mr. Regulus had gone to see you, but I did not know that hewould be fortunate enough to bring you back with him. He discovered lastwinter, I have no doubt, what a pleasant travelling companion you were. "

"Oh, Gabriella, I could tell you something so strange, so funny, "--andhere she burst into one of her old ringing laughs, that seemed perfectlyuncontrollable. 

"I think I can guess what it is, " I said, assisting her at her toilet, which was never an elaborate business with her. "You and Mr. Regulus arevery good friends, perhaps betrothed lovers. Is that so very strange?"

"Who told you?" she exclaimed, turning quickly round, her cheekscrimsoned and her eyes sparkling most luminously, --"who told you suchnonsense?"

"It does not require any supernatural knowledge to know this, " Ianswered. "I anticipated it when you were in New York, and mostsincerely do I congratulate you on the possession of so excellent andnoble a heart. Prize it, dear Margaret, and make yourself worthy of allit can, of all it will impart, to ennoble and exalt your own. "

"Ah! I fear I never shall be worthy of it, " she cried, giving me anenthusiastic embrace, and turning aside her head to hide a startingtear; "but I do prize it, Gabriella, beyond all words. "

"Ah, you little gypsy!" she exclaimed, suddenly resuming her old wildmanner, "why did you not prize it yourself? He has told me all about theromantic scenes of the academy, --he says you transformed him from arough boor into a feeling, tender-hearted man, --that you stole into hisvery inmost being, like the breath of heaven, and made the barrenwilderness blossom like the rose. Ah! you ought to hear how beautifullyhe talks of you. But I am not jealous of you. "

"Heaven forbid!" I involuntarily cried. 

"You may well say that, " said she, looking earnestly in my face; "youmay well say that, darling. But where is Ernest? I have not seen himyet. "

"He is in the library, I believe. He is not very well; and you know henever enjoys company much. "

"The same jealous, unreasonable being he ever was, I dare say, " shevehemently exclaimed. "It is a shame, and a sin, and a burning sin, forhim to go on as he does. Mr. Regulus says he could weep tears of bloodto think how you have sacrificed yourself to him. "

"Margaret, --Margaret! If you have one spark of love for me, --one feelingof respect and regard for Mrs. Linwood, your mother's friend and yourown, never, never speak of Ernest's peculiarities. I cannot deny them; Icannot deny that they make me unhappy, and fill me with sad forebodings;but he is my husband, --and I cannot hear him spoken of with bitterness. He is my husband; and I love him in spite of his wayward humors, withall the romance of girlish passion, and all the tenderness of weddedlove. "

"Is love so strong as to endure every thing?" she asked. 

"It is so divine as to forgive every thing, " I answered. 

"Well! you are an angel, and I will try to set a guard on these wildlips, so that they shall not say aught to wound that dear, precious, blessed little heart of yours. I will be just as good as I can be; andif I forget myself once in a while, you must forgive me, --for the oldAdam is in me yet. There, how does that look?"

She had dressed herself in a plain white muslin, with a white sashcarelessly tied; and a light fall of lace was the only covering to hermagnificent arms and neck. 

"Why, you look like a bride, Margaret, " said I. "Surely, you must thinkMrs. Linwood is going to have a party to-night. Never mind, --we will alladmire you as much as if you were a bride. Let me twist some of thesewhite rosebuds in your hair, to complete the illusion. "

I took some from the vase that stood upon my toilet, and wreathed themin her black, shining locks. She clapped her hands joyously as shesurveyed her image in the mirror; then laughed long and merrily, andasked if she did not look like a fool. 

"Do you think there is any thing peculiar in my dress?" she suddenlyasked, pulling the lace rather strenuously, considering its gossamertexture. "I do not wish to look ridiculous. "

"No, indeed. It is like Edith's and mine. We always wear white muslin insummer, you know; but you never seemed to care much about dressing herein the country. I never saw you look so well, so handsome, Madge. "

"Thank you. Let us go down. But, stop one moment. Do you think Mrs. Linwood will think it strange that I should come here with Mr. Regulus?"

"No, indeed. "

"What do you think she will say about our--our engagement?"

"She will be very much pleased. I heard her say that if you shouldbecome attached to a man of worth and talents such as he possesses, youwould become a good and noble woman. "

"Did she say that? Heaven bless her, body and soul. I wonder how shecould have any trust or faith in such a Greenland bear as I have been. Iwill not say _am_, for I think I have improved some, don't you?"

"Yes! and I believe it is only the dawn of a beautiful day ofwomanhood. "

Margaret linked her arm in mine with a radiant smile and a vivid blush, and tripped down stairs with a lightness almost miraculous. Mr. Reguluswas standing at the foot of the stairs leaning on the bannisters, in amusing attitude. As soon as he saw us, his countenance lighted up with ajoyful animation, and he offered his arm to Margaret with eagergallantry. I wondered I had not discovered before how very good lookinghe was. Never, till he visited us in New York, had I thought of him butas an awkward, rather homely gentleman. Now his smile was quitebeautiful, and as I accompanied them into the drawing-room, I thoughtthey were quite a splendid-looking pair. Mrs. Linwood was in the frontroom, which was quite filled with guests and now illuminated for thenight. 

"Not now, " I heard Margaret whisper, drawing back a little; "wait a fewmoments. "

"Oh! it will be all over in a second, " said he, taking her hand andleading her up to Mrs. Linwood, who raised her eyes with surprise at theunwonted ceremony of their approach, and the blushing trepidation ofMargaret's manner. 

"Permit me to introduce Mrs. Regulus, " said he, with a low bow; andthough he reddened to the roots of his hair, he looked round with asmiling and triumphant glance. Margaret curtsied with mock humility downto the ground, then breaking loose from his hand, she burst into one ofher Madge Wildfire laughs, and attempted to escape from the room. Butshe was intercepted by Dr. Harlowe, who caught her by the arm and kissedher with audible good-will, declaring it was a physician's fee. Theannouncement of the marriage was received with acclamation and clappingof hands. You should have heard Edith laugh; it was like the chime ofsilvery bells. It was so astonishing she could not, would not believeit. It was exactly like one of Meg's wild pranks to play such a farce. But it was a solemn truth. Margaret, the bride of the morning, becamethe presiding queen of the evening; and had it not been for the lonelyoccupant of the library, how gaily and happily the hours would haveflown by. How must the accents of mirth that echoed through the halltorture, if they reached his morbid and sensitive ear! If I could onlygo to him and tell him the cause of the unwonted merriment; but I darednot do it. It would be an infringement of the sacredness of hisexpiatory vow. He would know it, however, at the supper table; but no!he did not appear at the supper table. He sent a message to his mother, that he did not wish any, and the hospitable board was filled withouthim. 

"I can hardly forgive you, Margaret, " said Mrs. Linwood, "for not givingus an opportunity of providing a wedding feast. How much better it wouldhave been to have had the golden ring and fatted calf of welcome, thanthis plain, every-day meal. "

"Your every-day meals are better than usual wedding feasts, " repliedMargaret, "and I do not see why one should eat more on such an occasionthan any other. You know _I_ care nothing for the good things of thislife, though Mr. Regulus may be disappointed. "

"Indeed, you are mistaken, " said Mr. Regulus, blushing. "I think solittle of what I eat and drink, I can hardly tell the difference betweentea and coffee. "

This was literally true, and many a trick had been played upon him athis boarding place while seated at his meals, with an open book at theleft side of his plate, and his whole mind engaged in its contents. 

"Mrs. Regulus, " said Dr. Harlowe, giving due accent to her new name, "is, as everyone must perceive, one of those ethereal beings who carefor nothing more substantial than beefsteak, plum-pudding, andmince-pie. Perhaps an airy slice of roast turkey might also tempt herabstemiousness!"

"Take care, Doctor, --I have some one to protect me now against yourlawless tongue, " cried Madge, with inimitable good-humor. 

"Come and dine with us to-morrow, and you shall prove my words a libel, if you please. I cannot say that my wife will be able to give you anything better than Mrs. Linwood's poor fare, but it shall be sweetened bya heart-warm welcome, and we will drink the health of the bonny bride ina glass of ruby wine!"

And was it possible that no note was taken of the strange absence of themaster of the table? Was it no check to social joy and convivialpleasure? It undoubtedly was, in the first place; but Margaret'sexhilarating presence neutralized the effect produced by his absence onthe spirits of the guests. The occasion, too, was so unexpected, soinspiring, that even I, sad and troubled as I was, could not helpyielding in some degree to its gladdening influence. 

After supper I had a long and delightful conversation with mymetamorphosed preceptor. He spoke of his marriage with all theingenuousness and simplicity of a child. He thanked me for having toldhim, when I parted from him in New York that he had an influence overMargaret that he had not dreamed of possessing. It made him, he said, more observant of her, and more careful of himself, till he ready foundher a pleasant study. And somehow, when he had returned to his countryhome, it seemed dull without her; and he found himself thinking of her, and then writing to her, and then going to see her, --till, to hisastonishment, he found himself a lover and a husband. His professorship, too, happened to come at the exact moment, for it emboldened him withhopes of success he could not have cherished as a village teacher. 

"How the wild creature happened to love me, a grave, ungainly pedagogue, I cannot divine, " he added; "but if gratitude, tenderness, and the mostimplicit confidence in her truth and affection can make her happy, sheshall never regret her heart's choice. "

_Confidence_ did he say? Happy, thrice happy Margaret!

CHAPTER XLVIII. 

It was an evening of excitement. Edith sang, and Margaret played some ofher elfin strains, and Mr. Regulus made music leap joyously from thesounding violin. There was one in the lonely library who might have madesweeter music than all, whose spirit's chords were all jangled andtuneless, and whose ear seemed closed to the concord of melodioussounds. _My_ soul was not tuned to harmony now, but still there wassomething soothing in its influence, and it relieved me from thenecessity of talking, the exertion of _seeming_ what I could not _be_. It was a luxury to glide unnoticed on the stream of thought, though darkthe current, and leading into troubled waters. It was a luxury to thinkthat the sighs of the heart might breathe unheard in the midst of thesoft rolling waves of Edith's melody, or the dashing billows ofMargaret's. Sometimes when I imagined myself entirely unobserved, andsuffered the cloud of sadness that brooded over my spirits to floatoutwards, if I accidentally raised my eyes, I met those of Richard Clydefixed on me with an expression of such intense and thrilling sympathy, Iwould start with a vague consciousness of guilt for having elicited suchexpressive glances. 

Madge was playing as only Madge could play, and Edith standing near thedoor that opened into the saloon in the front parlor. She lookedunusually pale, and her countenance was languid. Was she thinking ofJulian, the young artist at the Falls, and wondering if the briefromance of their love were indeed a dream? All at once a change, quickas the electric flash, passed over her face. A bright, rosy cloud rolledover its pallor, like morning breaking in Alpine snows. Even the palygold of her hair seemed to catch the glory that so suddenly andabsolutely illumined her. She was looking into the saloon, and Ifollowed the direction of her kindling eyes. Julian was at that momentcrossing the threshold. She had seen him ascending the steps, and herheart sprang forth to meet him. I saw her hesitate, look round for hermother, who was not near her, then, while the rosy cloud deepened tocrimson, she floated into the saloon. 

I went to Mrs. Linwood, who was in the back parlor, to tell her of thearrival of the new guest. She started and changed color. His coming wasthe seal of Edith's destiny. "I will not come, " he had said to her inparting, "till I can bring abundant testimonials of my spotless lineageand irreproachable reputation. "

I had drawn her apart from the company, expecting she would be agitatedby the annunciation. 

"Should not Ernest know of this?" I asked. "He did not abjure all therites of hospitality. Oh, for Edith's sake, tell him of Julian'sarrival, and entreat him to come forth and welcome him. "

"I have been to him once and urged him to greet Mr. Regulus, and merelyoffer him the usual congratulations on his marriage, but he persistinglyrefused. I fear he is killing himself by this spirit-scourging vow. Inever saw him look so pale and wretched as he does to-night. I dreadmore and more the consequences of this self-inflicted martyrdom. "

As I looked up in Mrs. Linwood's face, on which the light of thechandelier resplendently shone, I observed lines of care on her smoothbrow, which were not there two weeks before. The engraver was doing hiswork delicately, secretly, but he was at work, and it was Ernest's handthat guided the steel as it left its deepening grooves. 

"O! that I dared to go to him!" said I; "may I, dear mother? I can butbe denied. I will speak to him as a friend, coldly if it must be, butlet me speak to him. He can but bid me leave him. "

"You too, my darling, " said she, in a low, sad-toned voice, "you arewilting like a flower deprived of sunshine and dew. But go. Take thiskey. He locks himself within, and all you can do he will not grantadmittance. The only way is to use this pass-key, which you must returnto me. I must go and welcome Julian. "

She put the key in my hand, and turned away with a sigh. I trembled atmy own audacity. I had never forced myself into his presence, for thedullness of his vow was upon me, and the hand that would have removedthe icy barrier he had raised between us was numbed by its coldness. 

The way that led to the library was winding, sweeping by the loftystaircase, and terminating in a kind of picture gallery. Some of thesewere relics of the old Italian masters, and their dark, rich coloringcame out in the lamp light with gloomy splendor. I had seen them ahundred times, but never had they impressed me with such lurid grandeuras now. One by one, the dark lines started on the canvas glowing withstrange life, and standing out in bold, sublime relief. I hurried bythem and stood in front of the library door with the key trembling in myhand. I heard no sound within. All was still as death. Perhaps, exhausted by his lonely vigils, he slept, and it would be cruel toawaken him. Perhaps he would frown on me in anger, for not respectingthe sanctity of his vow. I had seen him at noon, but he did not speak orlook at me; and as his mother said, he had never appeared so pale, soheart-worn, and so wretched. He was evidently ill and suffering, thoughto his mother's anxious inquiries he declared himself well, perfectlywell. There was one thing which made me glad. The gay, mingling laughs, the sounds of social joy, of music and mirth, came so softened throughthe long winding avenue, that they broke against the library in a soft, murmuring wave that could not be heard within. 

Why did I stand trembling and irresolute, as if I had no right topenetrate that lonely apartment? He was my husband, and a wife'sagonized solicitude had drawn me to him. If he repulsed me, I could butturn away and weep;--and was not my pillow wet with nightly tears?

Softly I turned the key, and the door opened, as if touched by invisiblehands. He did not hear me, --I know he did not, --for he sat at the upperend of the room, on a window seat, leaning back against the drapery ofthe curtain that fell darkly behind him. His face was turned towards thewindow, through whose parted damask the starry night looked in. Butthough his face was partially turned from me, I could see its contourand its hue as distinctly as those of the marble busts that surroundedhim. He looked scarcely less hueless and cold, and his hand, that layembedded in his dark wavy hair, gleamed white and transparent asalabaster. I stood just within the door, with suspended breath andwildly palpitating heart, praying for courage to break the spell thatbound me to the spot. All my strength was gone. I felt myself a guiltyintruder in that scene of self-humiliation, penance, and prayer. Thoughreason condemned his conduct, and mourned over his infatuation, theholiness of his purpose shone around him and sanctified him fromridicule and contempt. There was something pure, spiritual, almostunearthly in his countenance; but suffering and languor cast a shadowover it, that appealed to human sympathy. 

If he would only move, only turn towards me! The Israelites, at the footof the cloud-girdled mount, whose fiery zone they were forbidden topass, could scarcely have felt more awe and dread than I did, strangeand weak as it may seem. I moved nearer, still more near, till my shadowfell upon him. Then he started and rose to his feet, and looked upon me, like one suddenly awakened from a deep sleep. 

"Gabriella!" he exclaimed. 

Oh! I cannot describe the inexpressible softness, tenderness, and musicof his accent. It was as if the whole heart were melting into thatsingle word. All my preconceived resolutions vanished, all coldness, alienation, and constraint. "I had found him whom my soul loved. " Myarms were twined around him, --I was clasped to his bosom with the mostpassionate emotion, and the hearts so violently wrenched asunder oncemore throbbed against each other. 

"Ernest, beloved Ernest!"

"Temptress, sorceress!" he suddenly exclaimed, pushing me from him withfrenzied gesture, --"you have come to destroy my soul, --I have broken mysolemn vow, --I have incurred the vengeance of Almighty God. Peace wasflowing over me like a river, but now all the waves and billows ofpassion are gone over me. I sink, --I perish, and you, you, --Gabriella, it is you who plunge me in the black abyss of perjury and guilt. "

I was terrified at the dark despair that settled on his brow. I fearedhis reason was forsaking him, and that I, in my rashness, hadaccelerated his doom. 

"Do not, do not talk so dreadfully, Ernest. Forgive me, if I have donewrong in coming. Forgive me, if for one moment I recalled you to thetenderness you have so long abjured. But mine is the offence, and minebe the sorrow. Do not, I pray you, blame yourself so cruelly for mytransgression, if it indeed be one. Oh, Ernest, how pale, how wretchedyou look! You are killing yourself and me, --your mother too. We cannotlive in this state of alienation. The time of your vow is only halfexpired, --only twenty days are past, and they seem twenty years of woe. Dear Ernest, you are tempting God by this. One tear of penitence, onelook of faith, one prayer to Christ for mercy, are worth more than yearsof penance and lonely torture. Revoke this rash vow. Come back to us, myErnest, --come down from the wilderness, leave the desolate places ofdespair, and come where blessings wait you. Your mother waits to blessyou, --Edith waits you to greet and welcome her Julian, --Margaret, ahappy bride, waits your friendly congratulations. Come, and disperse byyour presence the shadow that rests on the household. "

"Would you indeed counsel me to break a solemn vow, Gabriella? It mayhave been rash; but it was a vow; and were I to break it, I should feelforever dishonored in the sight of God and man. "

"Which, think you, had more weight when placed in the scales of eternaljustice, Herod's rash vow, or the life of the holy prophet sacrificed tofulfil it? O Ernest!--wild, impulsive words forced from the lips ofpassion should never be made guides of action. It is wrong, I know, tospeak unwisely and madly, but doubly, trebly wrong to act so. "

As thus I pleaded and reasoned and entreated, I kept my earnest gaze onhis face, and eagerly watched, --watched with trembling hope and fear theeffect of my words. I had drawn back from him as far as the width of thelibrary, and my hands were clasped together and pressed upon my bosom. Idid not know that I stood directly beneath the picture of the Italianflower-girl, till I saw his glance uplifted from my face to hers, withan expression that recalled the morning when he found me gazing on herfeatures, in all the glow of youth, love, joy, and hope. Then Iremembered how he had scattered my rose leaves beneath his feet, andwhat a prophetic sadness had then shaded my spirits. 

"Alas! my poor Gabriella, " he cried, looking down from the picture tome, with an expression of the tenderest compassion; "Alas, myflower-girl! how have I wilted your blooming youth! You are pale, mygirl, and sad, --that bewitching smile no longer parts your glowing lips. Would to God I had never crossed your path of roses with my witheringfootsteps! Would to God I had never linked your young, confiding heartto mine, so blasted by suspicion, so consumed by jealousy's balefulfires! Yet, Heaven knows I meant to make you happy. I meant to watchover you as tenderly as the mother over her new-born infant, --as holilyas the devotee over the shrine of the saint he adores. How faithless Ihave been to this guardianship of love, you know too well. I have been amadman, a monster, --you know I have, --worthy of eternal detestation. Butyou have not suffered alone. Remorse--unquenchable fire;remorse--undying worm, avenges every pang I have inflicted on you. Remorse goaded me to desperation, --desperation prompted the expiatoryvow. It must be fulfilled, or I shall forfeit my self-respect, my honor, and truth. But I shall be better, stronger, --I feel I shall, afterpassing this stern ordeal. It will soon be over, and I have a confidenceso firm that it has the strength of conviction, that in this lonelyconflict with the powers of darkness I shall come off conqueror, throughGod's assisting angels. "

He spoke with fervor, and his countenance lighted up with enthusiasm. Bodily weakness and languor had disappeared, and his transparent cheekglowed with the excitement of his feelings. 

"If you are really thus supported by divine enthusiasm, " I said, with aninvoluntary kindling of admiration, "perhaps I ought to submit insilence, where I cannot understand. Forgive me before I leave you, Ernest, this rash intrusion. We may forgive even our enemies. "

"Forgive, Gabriella! Oh! if you knew the flood of joy and rapture thatfor one moment deluged my soul! I dare not recall it. Forgive, O myGod!"

He turned away, covered his face with his left hand, and made arepelling gesture with the other. I understood the motion, and obeyedit. 

"Farewell, Ernest, " said I, slowly retreating; "may angels minister toyou and bear up your spirit on their wings of love!"

I looked back, on the threshold, and met his glance then turned towardsme. Had I been one of the angels I invoked, it could not have been moreadoring. 

And thus we parted; and when I attempted to describe the interview tohis mother, I wept and sobbed as if I had been paying a visit to hisgrave. And yet I was glad that I had been, glad that I had bridged thegulf that separated us, though but momentarily. 

Perhaps some may smile at this record. I have no doubt they will, andpronounce the character of Ernest unnatural and _impossible_. But in allhis idiosyncrasy, he is the Ernest Linwood of Grandison Place, just suchas I have delineated him, just such as I knew and loved. I know thatthere are scenes that have seemed, that will seem, overwrought, and Ihave often been tempted to throw down the pen, regretting the task Ihave undertaken. But, were we permitted to steal behind the scenes ofmany a life drama, what startling discoveries would we make! Realitygoes beyond the wildest imaginings of romance, --beyond the majesticsweep of human genius. Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor imaginationconceived, the wild extent to which the passions of man may go. Theempire of passion is veiled, and its battle ground is secret Who beheldthe interview in the library, which I have just described? Who saw himkneeling at his mother's feet at the midnight hour? Or who witnessed ourscenes of agony and reconciliation in the palace walls of our winterhome? Ah! the world sees only the surface of the great deep of theheart. It has never plunged into the innermost main, --never beheld theseething and the rolling of the unfathomable mystery:--

 "And where is the diver so stout to go, -- I ask ye again--to the deep below?"

Well do I remember the thrilling legend of the roaring whirlpools, thegolden goblet, and the dauntless diver, and well do I read its meaning. 

O Ernest! I have cast the golden goblet of happiness into a maelstrom, and he alone, who walked unsinking the waves of Galilee, can bring backthe lost treasure from the dark and boiling vortex. 

CHAPTER XLIX. 

Julian was worthy of Edith. His parentage was honorable and pure, hisconnections irreproachable, and his own character noble and unblemished. Reason could oppose no obstacle, and the young artist was received intothe family as the betrothed of the lovely lame girl. 

The romantic idea which had suggested itself to my mind, that he mightbe the son of Therésa and my own half-brother, had vanished before thetestimonies of his birth. Another daydream too. I had always lookedforward to the hour when Richard would transfer his affections to Edith, and be rewarded by her love for his youthful disappointment. But she wasdestined to reign in undivided sovereignty over a heart that had neverbeen devoted to another; to be loved with all the fervor of passion andall the enthusiasm of genius. 

It was the day of social gathering at Dr. Harlowe's; but I remained athome. I felt as if I could not be missed from the circle in which Madge, in bridal charms, sparkled a ruby gem, and the fairer Edith shone, aliving pearl. Though scarcely one year a wife, the discipline of mywedded experience had so chastened and subdued me, I seemed to myselfquite a matron, beside those on whom the morning glow of love and hopewere beaming. Madge and Edith were both older than myself, and yet I hadbegun to live far earlier. 

In the later part of the day, Mrs. Linwood, who had also remained athome, asked me to accompany her in a ride. She wished to visit severalwho were sick and afflicted, and I always felt it a privilege to be hercompanion. 

"Will you object to calling here?" she asked, when we approached the oldgray cottage, once my mother's home and my own. "There is a sick womanhere, whom I wish to see. You can walk about the green skirting thewoods, if you prefer. This enchanting breeze will give new life to yourbody and new brightness to your spirits. "

I thanked her for the permission, knowing well the kind regard to myfeelings which induced her to give it. She knew sad memories must hangaround the apartments where my mother and the faithful Peggy hadsuffered and died; and that it would be a trial to me to see strangersoccupying the places so hallowed by association. 

Time had been at work on that old cottage, with its noiseless buteffacing fingers. And its embroidering fingers too, for the roof fromwhich many a shingle had fallen, was green with garlands of moss, wrought into the damp and mouldering wood with exquisite grace andskill. I turned away with a sigh, and beheld infancy by the side of thehumble ruin, the oriental palace which was my bridal home, and wonderedat the marvellous changes of life. 

I wandered to the welling spring by whose gushing waters I had so oftensat, indulging the wild poetry of my childish imagination. I gazedaround, scarcely recognizing the once enchanting spot. A stone hadliterally rolled against the mouth of the fountain, and the crystaldiamonds no longer sparkled in the basin below. An awkward pump, put upnear the cabin, explained this appearance of neglect and wildness. Thesoft grassy slope where I used to recline and watch the fountain'ssilvery play, was overgrown with tall, rank, rustling weeds, among whichI could distinguish the deadly bloom and sickening odor of thenightshade. There was a rock covered with the brightest, richestcovering of dark green moss, on which I seated myself, and gave myselfup to the memories of the past. Perhaps this was the same rock on whichRichard Clyde and I had often sat side by side, and watched the shadowsof twilight purple the valley. 

I untied my bonnet and laid it on the long grass, for I was shaded fromthe western sun, and the breeze blew fresh and pure from the hills hewas about to crown with a right royal diadem. While I thus sat, I heardfootsteps quick and eager echoing behind, and Richard Clyde bounded downthe slope and threw himself on the ground at my side. 

"Thank heaven, " he exclaimed, "I have found you, Gabriella, and foundyou alone!"

His manner was hurried and agitated, his eyes had a wild expression, andtossing aside his hat, he wiped thick-coming drops of perspiration fromhis forehead. 

His words, and the unusual excitement of his manner, alarmed me. 

"What has happened, Richard? Where have you sought me? What tidings haveyou to communicate? Speak, and tell me, for I tremble with fear. "

"I am so agitated, " he cried, sitting down on the rock at my side, andtaking one of my hands in his. I started, for his was so icy cold andtremulous, and his face was as pale as Ernest's. He looked like one whohad escaped some terrible danger, and in whose bosom horror andgratitude were struggling for mastery. 

"Is it of Ernest you have come to tell me?" I asked, with blanched lips. 

"No, no, no! I know nothing of him. It is of myself, --of you, I wouldspeak. I have just made the most astonishing discovery! Never till nowhave I heard your real name and early history. O! Gabriella you whom Ihave loved so long with such fervor, such passion, such idolatry, --you(O righteous God forgive me!) are the daughter of my father, --forTherésa La Fontaine was my own mother. Gabriella, --sister, --beloved!"

He clasped me to his bosom; he kissed me again and again, weeping andsobbing like a child. In broken words he deplored his sinful passion, entreating me to forgive him, to love him as a brother, to cling to himas a friend, and feel that there was one who would live to protect, ordie to defend me. Bewildered and enraptured by this most unthought ofand astounding discovery, my heart acknowledged its truth and glowedwith gratitude and joy. Richard, the noble-hearted, gallant Richard, wasmy brother! My soul's desire was satisfied. How I had yearned for abrother! and to find him, --and such a brother! Oh I joy unspeakable. Oh!how strange, --how passing strange, --how almost passing credulity!

At any moment this discovery would have been welcomed with rapture. Butnow, when the voluntary estrangement of Ernest had thrown my warmaffections back for the time into my own bosom, to pine for want ofcherishing, it came like a burst of sunshine after a long and drearydarkness, --like the music of gushing waters to the feverish and thirstypilgrim. 

My heart was too full for questions, and his for explanations. Theywould come in due time. He was _my brother_, --that was enough. Ernestcould not be jealous of a brother's love. He would own with pride thefraternal bond, and forget the father's crimes in the son's virtues. 

It seemed but a moment since Richard had called me sister. Neither of ushad spoken, for tears choked our words; but our arms were stillentwined, and my head rested on his bosom, in all the abandonment ofnature's holiest feelings. All at once I heard a rustling in the grass, soft and stealthy like a gliding snake. I raised my head, looked back, looked up. 

Merciful Father of heaven and earth! did I not then pass the agonies ofdeath?

I saw a face, --my God! how dark, how deadly, how terrible it was! I knewthat face, and my heart was rifted as if by a thunderbolt. 

The loud report of a pistol, and a shriek such as never beforeissued from mortal lips, bursting from mine, were simultaneoussounds. Richard fell back with a deep groan. Then there seemed arushing sound as the breaking up of the great deep, a heaving andtossing like the throes of an earthquake; then a sinking, sinking, lower and lower, and then a cloud black as night and heavy as ironcame lowering and crushing me, --me, and the bleeding Richard. All wasdarkness, --silence, --oblivion. 

CHAPTER L. 

A light, soft and glimmering as morning twilight, floated round me. Wasit the dawn of an eternal morning, or the lingering radiance of life'sdeparting day? Did my spirit animate the motionless body extended onthat snowy bed, or was it hovering, faint and invisible, above theconfines of mortality?

I was just awakened to the consciousness of existence, --a dim, vagueconsciousness, such as one feels in a dissolving dream. I seemedinvolved in a white, transparent cloud, and reclining on one of thosedowny-looking cloud-beds that I have seen waiting to receive the sinkingsun. 

While thus I lay, living the dawning life of infancy, the white cloudsoftly rolled on one side, and a figure appeared in the opening, thatbelonged to a previous state of existence. I had seen its mildlineaments in another world; but when, --how long ago?

My eyes rested on the features of the lady till they grew more and morefamiliar, but there was a white cloud round her face, that threw amournful shadow over it, --_that_ I had never seen before. Again myeyelids closed, and I seemed passing away, where, I knew not; yetconsciousness remained. I felt soft, trembling kisses breathed upon myface, and tears too, mingling with their balm. With a deliciousperception of tenderness, watchfulness, and love, I sunk into a deep, deep sleep. 

When I awoke, the silver lustre of an astral lamp, shaded by a screen, glimmered in the apartment and quivered like moonbeams in the whitedrapery that curtained the bed. I knew where I was, --I was in my ownchamber, and the lady who sat by my bedside, and whose profile I beheldthrough the parted folds of the curtains, was Mrs. Linwood. And yet, howstrange! It must have been years since we had met, for the lovely brownof her hair was now a pale silver gray, and age had laid its witheringhand on her brow. With a faint cry, I ejaculated her name, and attemptedto raise my head from the pillow, but in vain. I had no power of motion. Even the exertion of uttering her name was beyond my strength. She rose, bent over me, looked earnestly and long into the eyes uplifted to herface, then dropping on her knees and clasping her hands, her spirit wentupwards in silent prayer. 

As thus she knelt, and I gazed on her upturned countenance, shaded bythat strange, mournful, silver cloud, my thoughts began to shapethemselves slowly and gradually, as the features of a landscape throughdissolving mists. They trembled as the foliage trembles in the breezethat disperses the vapors. Images of the past gained distinctness ofoutline and coloring, and all at once, like the black hull, broken mast, and rent sails of a wrecked vessel, one awful scene rose before me. Theface, like that of the angel of death, the sound terrible as thethunders of doom, the bleeding body that my arms encircled, thedestroying husband, --the victim brother, --all came back to me;life, --memory, --grief, --horror, --all came back. 

"Ernest! Richard!" burst in anguish from my feeble lips. 

"They live! my child, they live!" said Mrs. Linwood, rising from herknees and taking my passive hand in both hers; "but ask nothing now; youhave been very ill, you are weak as an infant; you must be tranquil, patient, and submissive; and grateful, too, to a God of infinite mercy. When you are stronger I will talk to you, but not now. You must yieldyourself to my guidance, in the spirit of an unweaned child. "

"They live!" repeated I to myself, "my God, I bless thee! I lie at thyfootstool. I am willing to die; I long to die. Let the waves of eternityroll over my soul. "

Husband and brother! they lived, and yet neither came to me on my couchof sickness. But Richard! had not I seen him bleeding, insensible, theimage of death? he lived, yet he might be on the borders of the grave. But she had commanded me to be silent, submissive, and grateful; and Itried to obey her. My physical weakness was such, it subdued theparoxysms of mental agony, and the composing draught which she gave mewas a blessed Nepenthe, producing oblivion and repose. 

The next day I recognized Dr. Harlowe, the excellent and belovedphysician. When I called him by name, as he stood by the bed, countingmy languid pulse, the good man turned aside his head to hide thewomanish tears that moistened his cheeks. Then looking down on me with abenignant smile, he said, smoothing my hair on my forehead, as if I werea little child--

"Be a good girl; keep quiet; be patient as a lamb, and you will soon bewell. "

"How long have I been ill, Doctor?" I asked. "I am very foolish, I know;but it seems as if even you look older than you did. "

"Never mind, my dear, how long you have been sick. I mean to have youwell in a short time. Perhaps I do look a little older, for I haveforgotten to shave this morning. "

While he was speaking, I caught a glimpse of the lawn through a slightopening in the window curtain, and I uttered an exclamation of amazementand alarm. The trees which I had last beheld clothed in a foliage ofliving green, were covered with the golden tints of autumn; and here andthere a naked bough, with prophetic desolation, waved its arm across thesky. 

Where had my spirit been while the waning year had rolled on? Where wasErnest? Where was Richard? Why was I forsaken and alone?

These questions quivered on my tongue, and would have utterance. 

"Tell me, Doctor, --I cannot live in this dreadful suspense. "

He sat down by me, still holding my hand in his, and promised to tellme, if I would be calm and passive. He told me that for two months I hadbeen in a state of alternate insensibility and delirium, that they haddespaired of my life, and that they welcomed me as one risen from thegrave. He told me that Ernest had left home, in consequence of theprayers of his mother, till Richard should recover from the effects ofhis wound, which they at first feared would prove fatal; that Richardwas convalescent, was under the same roof with me, and would see me assoon as I could bear the meeting. 

"Ernest knows that he is my brother, --he knows that I am innocent, " Iexclaimed, my whole soul trembling on his answer. 

"I trust he knows it now, " he replied, with a troubled countenance. "Hismother has written and told him all. We were ignorant ourselves of this, you must recollect, till Richard was able to explain it. "

"And he went away believing me a wretch!" I cried, in a tone ofunutterable agony. "He will never, never return!"

"My dear child, " replied Dr. Harlowe, in an accent of kind authority, "you have no right to murmur; you have been spared the most awfulinfliction a sovereign God could lay upon you, --a brother's life takenby a husband's hand. Praise the Almighty day and night, bless Himwithout ceasing, that He has lifted from your bosom this weight of woe. Be reconciled to your husband's absence. Mourn not for a separationwhich may prove the greatest blessing ever bestowed upon both. All mayyet be well. _It will be_, if God wills it; and if He wills it not, mydear child, you must then lay your hand on your mouth, and your mouth inthe dust, and say, 'It is the Lord, let Him do what seemeth good in Hissight. '"

"I know it, --I feel it, " I answered, tears raining on my pillow; "butlet me see my brother. It will do me good. "

"By and by, " said he; "he is not very strong himself yet. The youngrascal! if he had only confided to me the secret with which his heartwas bursting! But there is no use in crying over burnt bread. We mustkeep it out of the fire next time. "

The entrance of Edith checked this conversation, and it was well. Shecame with her usual gentle motion, and fair, pitying countenance, anddiffused around her an atmosphere of divine repose. My brain, relievedof the dreadful tension of suspense, throbbed soft and cool beneath thesnow of her loving fingers. She, too, was pale and wan, but she smiledupon me with glistening eyes, and whispered words of sweetestconsolation. 

It was not till after the lapse of several days that I was permitted tosee Richard, and then the doctor said he deserved a good whipping forinsisting on coming. He came into the room leaning on the arm of Dr. Harlowe, and supported on the other side by Mrs. Linwood. He looked likethe shadow of his former self, --so white, so thin and languid, and hiscountenance showed as plainly as words could speak, that he was struckwith the same sad change in me. 

"Now no heroics, no scene, " said the doctor; "say how do you do, andshake hands, but not one bit of sentiment, --I forbid that entirely. "

"My sister, my dear sister!" said Richard, bending down and kissing myforehead. He reeled as he lifted his head, and would have fallen had notDr. Harlowe's strong arm supported him. 

I longed to embrace him with all a sister's fondness, and pour out onhis bosom all my sorrow and my love; but the doctor was imperative, andmade him recline in an easy-chair by the bedside, threatening him withinstant dismission if he were not perfectly quiet and obedient. I sawRichard start and shudder, as his eyes rested on my left arm, which hungover the counterpane. The sleeve of my loose robe had slipped up, baringthe arm below the elbow. The start, the shudder, the look of anguish, made me involuntarily raise it, and then I saw a scar, as of a recentlyhealed wound just below the elbow. I understood it all. The ball thathad penetrated his back, had passed through my arm, and thus preventedit from reaching the citadel of life. That feeble arm had been hissafeguard and his shield; it had intercepted the bolt of death; it hadbarricaded, as it were, the gates of hell. 

Mrs. Linwood, who was standing by me, stooped down, kissed the scar, anddrew the sleeve gently over it. As she bowed her head, and I saw thesilver shadow on her late dark, brown hair, I felt how intense must havebeen the suffering that wrought this wondrous change, --and I resolved tobear unmurmuring my own sorrows, rather than add a feather's weight toher burden of woe. 

I remembered how the queenly locks of Marie Antoinette were whitened inone night of agony. Perhaps my own dark tresses were crowned bypremature snow. I had not seen myself since the green of summer hadpassed into the "sere and yellow leaf, " and perhaps the blight of myheart was visible on my brow. When I was alone with Edith, I surprisedher by asking if my hair were not white. She smiled, and bringing atoilet glass, held it before me. What was my astonishment to see my haircurling in short waves round my face, like the locks of childhood! Andsuch a face, --so white, so colorless. I hardly recognized myself, andpushing back the glass, I burst into tears. 

"Dear Gabriella!" said Edith, quite distressed, "I am sorry they cut offyour beautiful hair. But the doctor said it must be done. It does notspoil you, though. You do not know how sweetly childish it makes youlook. "

"I care not for the looks, Edith; it is not that. But it is so dreadfulto think of so many changes, and I unconscious of all. Such a long, dreary blank! Where was my soul wandering? What fearful scenes mayhereafter dawn on my memory? Beauty! No, Edith; think not I weep for thecloud that has passed over it. The only eyes in which I desired toappear lovely, will never behold me more. "

"You will not be the only sufferer, Gabriella, " said Edith, mournfully. "A dreadful blow has fallen upon us all; but for our mother's sake, ifnot for a greater, we must endeavor to submit. "

"Tell me, Edith, what I dare not ask of her, tell me where _he_ is gone, and tell me the particulars of those first dark hours when my soul wasin such awful eclipse. I _must_ know; and when once told, I shall beresigned, whatever be my fate. "

Edith seated herself on the side of the bed, and leaned back so that Icould not look in her face. Then putting her arms round me, she drew metowards her, and made me rest against her shoulder. 

"If you grieve to listen, think how painful it is for me to relate, "said she. 

"I will, " I answered; "I shall have strength to hear whatever you havefortitude to tell. "

"You must not ask a minute description of what will always be involvedin my remembrance in a horror of thick darkness. I know not how I gothome from Dr. Harlowe's, where the tidings reached me. My mother broughtyou in the carriage, supported in her arms; and when I first saw you, you were lying just where you are now, perfectly insensible. Richard wascarried to Dr. Harlowe's on a litter, and it was _then_ feared he mightnot live. "

Edith's voice faltered. 

"It was after sunset. The saloon was dark, and all was gloom andconfusion in the household. Mamma and I were standing by your bed, withour backs to the door, when we heard a hoarse, low voice behind us, saying, --

"'Is she dead?'

"We turned, and beheld Ernest right in the door way, looking more like aspectre than a human being. 

"'No, no, ' answered my mother; and almost running to meet him, sheseized him by the arm, drew him into the chamber, and closed the door. He struggled to be released; but she seemed to have the strength ofnumbers in her single grasp. 

"'She is not dead, ' said she, pointing to the bed, 'though she hears, sees, knows nothing; but Richard will die, and you will be arrested as amurderer. You must not linger here one moment. Go, and save yourselffrom the consequences of this fatal act. Go, if you would not see me, your mother, die in agony at your feet. "

"Oh! Gabriella, had you seen her then, her who has such sublimeself-control, prostrate at his feet, wringing her hands and entreatinghim to fly before it was too late, you would not wonder that the morningsun shone on her silver hair. 

"'I will not fly the death for which I groan, ' cried Ernest. 'Had I tenthousand lives, I would loathe and curse them all. '

"'Parricide, parricide, ' exclaimed my mother, 'wo, wo be to him whospurns a kneeling mother's prayer. '

"'Oh! my mother, ' cried he, endeavoring to raise her from the ground, while he shook as if with ague shiverings. 'I do not spurn you; but whyshould I live, with a brand blacker than Cain's on my heart andsoul, --crushed, smitten, dishonored, and undone?'

"'Forbear, my son. This blighted form is sacred as it is spotless. Hasnot blood quenched your maniac passion?'

"The eyes of Ernest flashed with lurid fire. 

"'Locked in each other's arms they fell, ' he muttered through his shutteeth, 'heart to heart, mother. I saw them, and God, who will judge me, saw them. No, she is _false, false, false_, --_false_ as the lost angelswho fell from paradise into the burning pit of doom. '

"But what am I doing, Gabriella? I did not mean to repeat this. I hadbecome so excited by the remembrance of that terrible scene, I knew notwhat I was saying. You cannot bear it. I must not go on. What would mymother, what would Dr. Harlowe say, if they knew of this?"

I entreated her to continue. I told her that nothing she had said washalf so dreadful as my imagination had depicted, that I grew strong withmy need of strength. 

"And you and your mother believed him, " I said, with astonishingcalmness; "you knew not that Richard was my brother. "

"Had it not been for your wounded arm, " replied Edith, laying her handgently on the scar, "we should have supposed he was under a strongdelusion to believe a lie. Appearances were against you, and yourcondemnation was my brother's palliation, if not acquittal. My mothercontinued her supplications, mingled with tears and sighs that seemed torend the life from her bosom; and I, Gabriella, do you think _I_ wassilent and passive? I, who would willingly have laid down my life forhis? We prevailed, --he yielded, --he left us in the darkness ofnight, --the darkness of despair. It is more than two months since, andwe have received no tidings of the wanderer. My mother urged him to goto New York and remain till he heard the fate of Richard. She haswritten to him there, again and again, but as yet has received noanswer. "

"And he went without one farewell look of her whom he deemed sovile, --so lost?" said I, pressing Edith's hand against my cold andsinking heart. 

"No, Gabriella. His last act was to kneel by your side, and pray God toforgive you both. Twice he went to the door, then coming back he bentover you as if he would clasp you in his arms; then with a wildejaculation he turned away. Never saw I such anguish in the humancountenance. "

"I have but one question more to ask, " said I, after a long pause, whosedreariness was that which follows the falling of the clods in the gravehollow. "How did Ernest know that Richard was with me, when we left himalone in the library?"

"Dr. Harlowe accidentally alluded to your father's history beforeRichard, who, you recollect, was in foreign lands during the excitementit caused, and had never heard the circumstances. As soon as he heardthe name of St. James, I saw him start, and turn to the doctor with aflushed and eager countenance. Then he drew him one side, and theyconversed together some time in a low undertone; and Richard's face, redone moment and white the next, flashed with strange and shiftingemotions. At the time when your father's name obtained such unhappynotoriety, and yours through him, in the public papers, my motherconfided to Dr. Harlowe, who was greatly troubled on your account, theparticulars of your mother's life. She thought it due to your mother'smemory, and his steady friendship. I know not how much he told Richard, whose manner evidently surprised him, but we all noticed that he wasgreatly agitated; and then he abruptly took leave. He came immediatelyhere, and inquired for you, asked where you were gone, and hurried awayas if on an errand of life and death. Ernest, who was passing along thewinding gallery, heard him, and followed. "

Another dreary pause. Then I remembered Julian, and the love-light thathad illumined them both that memorable evening. Edith had not oncealluded to her own clouded hopes. She seemed to have forgotten herselfin her mother's griefs and mine. 

"And Julian, my beloved Edith? There is a future for you, a happy one, is there not?"

"I do not expect happiness, " she answered, with a sigh; "but Julian'slove will gild the gloom of sorrow, and be the rainbow of my cloudeddays. He will return in the winter, and then perhaps he will not leaveme again. I cannot quit my mother; but he can take a son's place in herdesolated home. No garlands of roses will twine round my bridal hours, for they are all withered, all but the rose of Sharon, Gabriella, whosesacred bloom can never fade away. It is the only flower worthcherishing, --the only one without thorns, and without blight. "

Softly withdrawing her supporting arms, she suffered me to sink back onthe pillow, gave me a reviving cordial, drew the curtains, and taking upa book, seemed absorbed in its contents. I closed my eyes and appearedto sleep, that she might not suppose her narration had banished repose. I had anticipated all she uttered; but the certainty of desolation isdifferent to the agonies of suspense. I could have borne the separationfrom Ernest; but that he should believe me the false, guilty wretch Ihad seemed to be, inflicted pangs sharper than the vulture's beak or thearrow's barb. If he had left the country, as there was every reason tosuppose he had, with this conviction, he never would return; and theloneliness and dreariness of a widowhood more sad than that which deathcreates, would settle down darkly and heavily on my young life. 

I did not blame him for the rash deed he had wrought, for it was amadman's act. When I recalled the circumstances, I did not wonder at thefrantic passion that dyed his hand in blood; and yet I could not blamemyself. Had I shrunk from a brother's embrace, I should have been eithermore or less than woman. I had yielded to a divine impulse, and couldappeal to nature and Heaven for justification. 

But I had sinned. I had broken the canons of the living God, anddeserved a fearful chastisement. I had made unto myself an idol, and nopagan idolater ever worshipped at his unhallowed shrine with more blinddevotion. I had been true to Ernest, but false to my Maker, the onegreat and _jealous_ God. I had lived but for one object, and that objectwas withdrawn, leaving all creation a blank. 

I stood upon the lonely strand, the cold waves beating against my feet, and the bleak winds piercing through my unsheltered heart. I stretchedout my arms to the wild waste of waters, in whose billows my life-boatwas whelmed, and I called, but there was none to answer. I cried forhelp, but none came. Then I looked up to heaven, and high above thedarkness of the tempest and the gloom of the deep, one star shining insolitary glory arrested my despairing gaze. I had seen it before withthe eye of faith, but never beaming with such holy lustre as now, whenall other lights were withdrawn. 

 "Brightest and best of the sons of the morning, Dawn on my darkness, and lend me thine aid. Star of the East, the horizon adorning, Guide where the infant Redeemer is laid. "

Why, tender and pitying Saviour, do we wait for the night time of sorrowto fathom the depths of thy love and compassion? Why must every fountainof earthly joy be dried up, before we bow to taste the waters of Kedron;and every blossom of love be withered, before we follow thee to thegarden of Gethsemane?

CHAPTER LI. 

Though the circumstance of discovering a brother in the lover of myyouth seems more like romance than reality, nothing could be more simpleand natural than the explanation of the mystery. His recollection didnot go back to the period recorded in my mother's manuscript, when hewas brought as a lawful heir to the home in which my early infancy wassheltered. His first remembrances were associated with a mother's sorrowand loneliness, --with an humble dwelling in one of the by-lanes of thecity of New York, where she toiled with her needle for their dailybread. 

"I remember, " said Richard, "how I used to sit on a low stool at mymother's feet, and watch her, as she wrought in muslin the mostbeautiful flowers and devices, with a skill and rapidity which seemedmiraculous to me. Young as I was, I used to wonder that any one couldlook so sad, while producing such charming figures. Once, I recollect, the needle resisted her efforts to draw it through the muslin. She threwit from her, and taking another from the needle-case met with no bettersuccess. 

"'_Oh! mon Dieu!_' she cried, dropping her work in her lap and claspingher hands, 'my tears rust them. '

"'And why do you let so many fall, mother?' I asked. 'Where do they allcome from?'

"'From a breaking heart, ' she answered, and I never forgot her looks orher words. The breaking heart became an image in my mind, almost asdistinct as the rusted steel. For a long time I was afraid to jump orbound about the room, lest the fracture in my mother's heart should bemade wider, and more tears come gushing through. 

"But she did not always weep. She taught me to read, while she toiledwith her needle, and she told me tales of the genii and of fairy-land, at twilight hour, or as she used to say, '_entre le loup et le chien_, 'in her own expressive, idiomatic language. She told me, too, storiesfrom the Bible, before I was able to read them, of Isaac bound on thesacrificial pyre, with his father kneeling by him, ready to plunge theknife in his young heart, when the angels called to him out of heaven tostay his uplifted hand; of Joseph's wondrous history, from his coat ofmany colors, fatal cause of fraternal jealousy, to the royal robes andgolden chain with which Pharaoh invested him; of David, theshepherd-boy, the minstrel monarch, the conqueror of Philistia's giantchief. It was thus she employed the dim hours between the setting sunand the rising stars; but the moment she lighted her lonely lamp sheagain plied her busy needle, though alas! too often rusted with hertears. 

"Thus my early childhood passed, --and every day my heart twined moreclosely round my mother's heart, and I began to form great plans offuture achievements to be wrought for her. I would be a second Josephand go to some distant land and win fame, and honors, and wealth, andsend for her that I might lay them all at her feet. She would not, atfirst, recognize her boy in the purple and fine linen of his sumptuousattire; but I would fall on her neck, and lift up my voice and weepaloud, and then she would know her child. A mother's tears, Gabriella, nurture great aspirations in a child. 

"I used to accompany her to the shop when she carried home her work. Itwas there she first met the gentleman whose name I bear. Theiracquaintance commenced through me, to whom he seemed peculiarlyattracted, and he won my admiring gratitude by the gifts he lavishedupon me. He came often to see my mother, and though at first she shrunkfrom his visits, she gradually came to welcome him as a friend and abenefactor. 

"One evening, I think I was about eight or nine years old, she took mein her arms, and told me, with many tears, that Mr. Clyde, the good andkind gentleman whom I loved so much, had offered to be a father to me, and was going to take us both to a pleasant home in the country, where Icould run about in the green fields, and be free as the birds of theair. She told me that perhaps my own father was living, but that he hadleft her so long their union was annulled by law, and that she had aright to marry another, and that she did so that I might have a fatherand protector. She explained this simply, so that I understood it all, and I understood too why she wished me to drop my own name and take thatof her future husband. It was associated with so much sorrow and wrong, it was painful to her ear, and Mr. Clyde wished me to adopt his own. Hewas a good and honorable man, and I cherish his memory with reverenceand gratitude. If the fissure in my mother's heart was not healed, itclosed, and tears no longer dripped through. 

"Our country home was pleasant and comfortable, and I revelled in thedelights of nature, with all the wild passion of a bird let loose fromthe imprisoning cage. I went to school, --I was in the world ofaction, --the energies of incipient manhood awoke and struggled in mybosom. We remained about two years in this rural residence, situated inthe western part of New York, when Mr. Clyde was called to attend adying father, who lived in this town, Gabriella, not very far from thelittle cottage in the woods where I first knew you. He took my motherand myself with him, for she was in feeble health, and he thought thejourney would invigorate her. It did not. A child of sunny France, shelanguished under the bleaker New England skies. She was never able toreturn; and he who came to bury a father, soon laid a beloved wife bythe side of the aged. My heart went down to the grave with her, and itwas long before its resurrection. My step-father was completely crushedby the blow, for he loved her as such a woman deserved to be loved, andmourned as few mourn. He remained with his aged mother in the oldhomestead, which she refused to leave, and I was placed in the academyunder the charge of Mr. Regulus, where I first knew and loved you, myown sister, my darling, beloved Gabriella. "

If I had loved Richard before, how much more did I love him now, afterhearing his simple and affecting history, so similar to my own. As I hadnever loved him otherwise than as a brother, the revelation which hadcaused such a terrible revulsion in his feelings was a sacred sanctionto mine. His nerves still vibrated from the shock, and he could notpronounce the word sister without a tremulousness of voice whichbetrayed internal agitation. 

He had but little more to relate. His step-father was dead, and as therewas found to be a heavy mortgage on his estate, he was left with amoderate income, sufficient to give him an education and a start inlife. His expenses in Europe had been defrayed by some liberalgentlemen, who still considered themselves the guardians of hisreputation and his fortunes. 

It was painful to me to tell the story of our father's crimes, of whichhe had heard but a slight outline. When I described our interview in thePark, he knit his brows over his flashing eyes, and his whole framequivered with emotion. 

"My poor sister! what a dreadful scene for you. What have you notsuffered! but you shall never know another sorrow from which I canshield you, another wrong from which I can defend. "

"O Richard! when I think of him in his lonely dungeon, alone withremorse and horror; when I think of my mother's dying injunctions, Ifeel as if I must go to him, and fulfil the holy mission she bade meperform. Read her manuscript; you have a right to its contents, thoughthey will rend your heart to peruse them; take it with you to your ownroom, when you go, for I cannot look on and see you read words that havebeen driven like burning arrows through my soul. "

When I again met Richard, I could see in his bloodshot eyes whatthoughts were bleeding within. 

"My mother left me the same awful legacy, " said he. "She left herforgiveness, if he lived; oblivion of all her wrongs, if dead. Oh! whatbolt of vengeance is red enough for the wretch who could destroy thehappiness of two such women as your mother and mine! All-righteousProvidence, may thy retributive fires--"

"Stop! stop!" I cried, throwing my arms round him, and arresting hisfearful words, "he is our father, you must not curse him. By ourmothers' ashes, by their angels, now perhaps hovering over us, forbear, my brother, forbear. "

"God help me, " he exclaimed, his lips turning to an ashy paleness, "Idid not know what I was about to say; but is it not enough to drive onemad, to think of the fountain of one's life being polluted, poisoned, and accursed?"

"One drop of the Saviour's blood can cleanse and make it pure, mybrother, if he were only led to the foot of the cross. "

Richard's countenance changed; a crimson flush swept over his face, andthen left it colorless. 

"My hand is not worthy to lead him there, " he cried, "and if it were, Ifear there is no mercy for so hardened, so inveterate a transgressor. "

"There _is_, Richard, there _is_. Let the expiring thief bear witness toa Saviour's illimitable love. Oh! it is sinful to set bounds to God'simmeasurable mercy. Let us go together, my brother. My mother's dreammay yet be realized. Who knows but our weak, filial hands, may lift ourunhappy father from the black abyss of sin and impenitence, Almighty Godassisting us? If heavenly blessings are promised to him who turns a soulfrom the error of his ways, think, Richard, how divine the joy, if it bean erring parent's soul, thus reclaimed and brought home to God? Let usgo, as soon as we have strength to commence the journey. I cannot remainhere, where every thing reminds me of my blighted hopes and ruinedhappiness. It seems so like a grave, Richard. "

"I wonder you do not hate. I wonder you do not curse me, " exclaimed he, with sudden vehemence, "for it is my rashness that has wrought thisdesolation. Dearly have you purchased a most unworthy brother. Would Ihad never claimed you, Gabriella; never rolled down such a dark cloud onyour heart and home. "

"Say not so, my beloved brother. The cloud was on my heart already, andyou have scarcely made it darker or more chilling. I feel as if I hadbeen living amid the thunderstorms of tropic regions, where even insunshine electric fires are flashing. Before this shock came, my soulwas sick and weary of the conflicts of wild and warring passions. Oh!you know not how often I have sighed for a brother's heart to lean upon, even when wedded joys were brightest, --how much more must I prize theblessing now! Surely never brother and sister had more to bind them toeach other, than you and I, Richard. Suffering and sorrow, life'sholiest sacraments, have hallowed and strengthened the ties of nature. "

It was not long before we were able to ride abroad with Mrs. Linwood andEdith, and it was astonishing how rapidly we advanced in restoration tohealth. I could perceive that we were objects of intense interest andcuriosity, from the keen and eager glances that greeted us on everyside; for the fearful tragedy of which I had been the heroine, had casta shadow over the town and its surroundings. Its rumor had swept beyondthe blue hills, and Grandison Place was looked upon as the theatre of adark and bloody drama. This was all natural. Seldom is the history ofevery-day life marked by events as romantic and thrilling as thosecompressed in my brief experience of eighteen years. And of all thedeep, vehement passions, whose exhibition excites the popular mind, there is none that takes such strong hold as jealousy, the terriblehydra of the human heart. 

I believe I was generally beloved, and that a deep feeling of sympathyfor my misfortunes pervaded the community, for I had never been elatedby prosperity; but Ernest, whose exclusiveness and reserve was deemedhaughtiness, was far from being popular. Mrs. Linwood was revered byall, and blessed as the benefactress of the poor and the comforter ofthe afflicted; but she was lifted by fortune above the social level ofthe community, and few, very few were on terms of intimacy with theinmates of the Granite Castle, as Grandison Place was often called. Itsmassy stone walls, its turreted roof, sweeping lawn, and elevatedposition, seemed emblematic of the aristocracy of its owners; and thoughthe blessings of the lower classes, and the respect and reverence of thehigher, rested upon it, there was a mediocral one, such as is found inevery community, that looked with envy on those, whose characters theycould not appreciate, because they were lifted so high above their ownlevel. 

I have spoken of Dr. Harlowe and Mr. Regulus as the most valued friendsof the family; but there was one whom it would be ungrateful in me toomit, and whose pure and sacred traits came forth in the dark hoursthrough which I had just passed, like those worlds of light which _arenever seen by day_. I allude to Mr. Somerville, the pastor of theparish, and who might truly be called a man of God. The aged minister, who had presided over the church during my mother's life, had beengathered to his fathers, and his name was treasured, a golden sheaf, inthe garner of memory. The successor, who had to walk in the holyfootprints he had left in the valley, was obliged to take heed to hissteps and to shake the dust of earth from his sandals as he went along. In our day of sunshine he had stood somewhat aloof, for he felt hismission was to the poor and lowly, to the sons and daughters of want andaffliction; but as soon as sickness and sorrow darkened the household, he came with lips distilling balm, and hands ready to pour oil on thebruised and wounded heart. 

Methinks I see him now, as when he knelt by my bedside, after I arousedfrom my long and deadly trance. No outward graces adorned his person, but the beauty of holiness was on his brow, and its low, sweet music inhis somewhat feeble accents. It seemed to me as if an angel werepleading for me, and my soul, emerging as it were from the cold waves ofoblivion, thrilled with new-born life. Had my spirit been nearer to Godduring its unconscious wanderings, and brought back with it impressionsof celestial glory never conceived before? I know not; but I know that achange had passed over it, and that I felt the reality of that eternity, which had seemed before a grand and ever-receding shadow. 

Every day, during Richard's illness and mine, came our good and belovedpastor, and he always left a track of light behind him. I always feltnearer heaven when he departed than when he came, for its kingdom waswithin him. 

To him I confided my wish to accompany my brother on his filial mission, and he warmly approved it. 

"As surely as I believe the Lord has put it into your heart to go, " saidhe, "do I believe that a blessing will follow you. "

Mrs. Linwood was more tardy in her sanction. 

"My dear child, " she said, looking at me with the tenderest compassion, "you do not know what is before you. What will you do in that great citywithout female friendship and sympathy? You and Richard, both so youngand inexperienced in the ways of the world. I will not, however, put anyobstacle in his path, for man may go unshrinking where woman may nottread. But you, my Gabriella, must remain with me. "

"Here, where the phantom of Ernest haunts my every step, where the echoof his voice is heard in every gale, and the shadow of departed joycomes between me and the sunshine of heaven? What can I do here butremind you by my presence of him, whom I have banished for ever fromyour arms? Let me go, my own dear mother, for I cannot remain passivehere. I shall not want female sympathy and guardianship, for Mrs. Brahanis all that is kind and tender, and knows enough of my sad history to beentitled to unbounded confidence. I will write to her, and be guided byher, as if she were another Mrs. Linwood. "

She yielded at last, and so did Dr. Harlowe, who cheered me by hiscordial approval. He said it was the best thing I could do for myself;for change of scene, and a strong motive of action, might save me frombecoming a confirmed invalid. Edith wept, but made no opposition. Shebelieved I was in the path of duty, and that it would be made smoothbeneath my feet. 

No tidings from Ernest came to interrupt the dreary blank of hisabsence, --the same continuity of anxiety and uncertainty stretching oninto a hopeless futurity. Again and again I said to myself--

"Better so a thousand times, than to live as I have done, scathed by thelightning of jealousy. Even if he returned, I could not, with the fearof God now before me, renew our unblest wedlock. The hand of violencehas sundered us, and my heart fibres must ever bleed from the wrench, but they will not again intwine. He has torn himself ruthlessly from me;and the shattered vine, rent from its stay, is beginning to cling to thepillars of God's temple. It is for _him_ I pray, for _him_ I mourn, rather than myself. It is for his happiness, rather than my ownjustification, that I desire him to know the history of my innocence. Iam willing to drink the cup of humiliation even to the dregs, if it maynot pass from me; but spare him, O Heavenly Father, the bitter, bitterchalice. "

It was a bleak morning in early winter, that we commenced our journey tothat city, where little more than a year ago I had gone a young andhappy bride. As we rode along the winding avenue, I looked out on thedry russet lawn, the majestic skeleton of the great elm, stripped of thefoliage and hues of life, and saw the naked branches of the oaksclinging to each other in sad fraternity, and heard the wind whistlingthrough them as through the shrouds of a vessel. With an involuntaryshiver I drew nearer to Richard, and hid my face from the propheticdesolation of nature. 

CHAPTER LII. 

On our arrival in New York, we stopped at the ---- hotel till privatelodgings could be obtained. We both wished to be as retired as possiblefrom public observation, and for this purpose I remained in my room, where Richard, as my brother, had the privilege of visiting me. I wasanxious he should go immediately to Mr. Brahan's; for, added to mydesire to be under the influence of her feminine regard, I cherished afaint hope that through him I might learn something of Ernest'smysterious exile. 

They both returned with Richard; and while Mr. Brahan remained with himbelow, she came to my chamber, and welcomed me with a warmth andtenderness that melted, while it cheered. 

"You must not stay here one hour longer, " said she, pressing one hand inhers, while she laid the other caressingly on my short, curling hair. "You must go with me, and feel as much at home as with your own Mrs. Linwood. I pass a great many lonely hours, while my husband is absentengaged in business; and it will be a personal favor to me. Indeed, youmust not refuse. "

I said something about leaving my brother, while I expressed mygratitude for her kindness. 

"Mr. Brahan will arrange that, " she said; "you may be assured he shallbe cared for. You have not unpacked your trunk; and here is your bonnetand mantilla ready to be resumed. You did not think I would suffer youto remain among strangers, when my heart has been yearning to meet youfor weary months?"

With gentle earnestness she overcame all my scruples; and it was but alittle time before I found myself established as a guest in the housewhere I first beheld the light of existence. How strange it seemed, thatthe children of the two betrayed and injured beings who had been madeexiles from that roof, should be received beneath its shelter after thelapse of so many years!

Mrs. Brahan accompanied me to the chamber prepared for my reception; andhad I been her own daughter she could not have lavished upon me moreaffectionate cares. The picture of my mother, which I had returned whenwe left the city, was hanging on the wall; and the eyes and lips ofheavenly sweetness seemed to welcome her sad descendant to the home ofher infancy. As I stood gazing upon it with mingled grief and adoration, Mrs. Brahan encircled me with her arm, and told me she understood nowthe history of that picture, and the mystery of its wonderfulresemblance to me. I had not seen her since the notoriety my name hadacquired, in consequence of the diamonds and my father's arrest; and sheknew me now as the daughter of that unhappy man. Did she know thecircumstances of the discovery of my brother, and my husband's flight? Idared not ask; but I read so much sympathy and compassion in hercountenance, and so much tenderness in her manners, I thought she hadfathomed the depth of my sorrows. 

"You look like a girl of fifteen, " she said, passing her fingers throughmy carelessly waving locks. "Your hair was very beautiful, but I canscarcely regret its loss. "

"I may look more juvenile, --I believe I do, for every one tells me so;but the youth and bloom of my heart are gone for ever. "

"For ever from the lips of the young, and from those more advanced inlife, mean very different things, " answered Mrs. Brahan. "I have nodoubt you have happier hours in store, and you will look back to theseas morning shadows melting off in the brightening sunshine. "

"Do you know all that has happened, dear Mrs. Brahan, since I left yourcity?"

"The rumor of the distressing circumstances which attended the discoveryof your brother reached us even here, and our hearts bled for you. Butall will yet be well. The terrible shock you have sustained will be adeath blow to the passion that has caused you so much misery. Forgiveme, if I make painful allusions; but I cannot suffer you to sink intothe gloom of despondency. "

"I try to look upward. I do think the hopes which have no home on earth, have found rest in heaven. "

"But why, my dear young friend, do you close your heart to earthly hope?Surely, when your husband returns, you may anticipate a joyful reunion. "

"When he returns! Alas! his will be a life-long exile. Believing what hedoes, he will never, never return. "

"But you have written and explained every thing?"

"How can I write, --when I know not where to direct, when I know not towhat region he has wandered, or what resting-place he has found?"

"But Mr. Harland!" said she, with a look of troubled surprise. "Youmight learn through him?"

"Mrs. Linwood has written repeatedly to Mr. Harland, and received noanswer. She concluded that he had left the city, but knew not how toascertain his address. "

"Then you did not know that he had gone to India? I thought, --Ibelieved, --is it possible that you are not aware"--

"Of what?" I exclaimed, catching hold of her arm, for my brain reeledand my sight darkened. 

"That Mr. Linwood accompanied him, " she answered, turning pale at theagitation her words excited. To India! that distant, deadly clime! ToIndia, without one farewell, one parting token to her whom he leftapparently on the brink of the grave!

By the unutterable anguish of that moment, I knew the delusion that hadveiled my motives. I had thought it was only to reclaim a lost parentthat I had come, but I found it was the hope of meeting the deludedwanderer, more than filial piety, that had urged my departure. 

"To India!" I cried, and my spirit felt the tossings of the wild billowsthat lay rolling between. "Then we are indeed parted, --parted for ever!"

"Why, t'is but a step from ocean to ocean, from clime to clime, " shesaid in kind, assuring accents. "Men think nothing of such a voyage, forscience has furnished wings which bear them over space with the speed ofan eagle. If you knew not his destination, I should think you wouldrejoice rather than mourn, to be relieved of the torture of suspense. Had I known that you were ignorant of the fact, I should have writtenmonths ago. "

"Is it certain that he is gone?" I asked. "Did you see him? Did Mr. Brahan? How did you learn, what we have vainly sought to know?"

"Mr. Brahan had business with Mr. Harland, and having neglected someimportant items, followed him on board the ship in which he embarked. Itwas at night, and he remained but a short time; but he caught a glimpseof your husband, whom he immediately recognized, but who gave him noopportunity of speaking to him. Knowing he was a friend of Mr. Harland's, he supposed he had come on board to bid him farewell, thoughhe was not aware of his being in the city. When we heard the rumor ofthe tragic scenes in which he acted so dread a part, and connected itwith the time of Mr. Harland's departure, Mr. Brahan recalled Mr. Linwood's unexpected appearance in the ship, and the mystery wasexplained. But we dreamed not that his departure was unknown to you. Ifyou had only written to us!"

It was strange that I had never thought of the possibility of theirknowing any thing connected with Ernest. Mr. Harland was the onlygentleman with whom he was on terms of intimacy, the only one to whom wethought of applying in the extremity of anxiety. 

"Has the ship been heard from? What was its name?" I asked, unconsciousof the folly of my first question. 

"Not yet. It was called the 'Star of the East. ' A beautiful andhope-inspiring name. Mr. Brahan can give you Mr. Harland's address. Youcan write to your husband through him. Every thing is as clear asnoonday. Do you not already inhale the fragrance of the opening flowersof joy?"

I tried to smile, but I fear it was a woful attempt. Even the scent ofthe roses had been crushed out of my heart. 

"Your brother is an exceedingly interesting young man, " she observed, perceiving that I could not speak without painful agitation of Ernest. "I have never seen a stranger who won my regard so instantaneously. "

"Dear Richard!" I cried, "he is all that he seems, and far more. Thenoblest, kindest, and best. How sad that such a cloud darkens his youngmanhood!"

"It will serve as a background to his filial virtues and bring them outin bright and beautiful relief. I admire, I honor him a thousand timesmore than if he were the heir of an unspotted name, a glorious ancestry. A father's crimes cannot reflect shame on a son so pure and upright. Besides, he bears another name, and the world knows not his cloudedlineage. "

My heart warmed at her generous praises of Richard, who was every daymore and more endeared to my affections. Where was he now? Had hecommenced his mission, and gone to the gloomy cell where his father wasimprisoned? He did not wish me to accompany him the first time. What ameeting it must be! He had never consciously beheld his father. Thefather had no knowledge of his deserted son. In the dungeon's gloom, theliving grave of hope, joy, and fame, the recognition would take place. With what feelings would the poor, blasted criminal behold the nobleboy, on whom he had never bestowed one parental care, coming like anangel, if not to unbar his prison doors, to unlock for him the goldengates of heaven!

I was too weary for my journey, too much exhausted from agitation towait for Richard's return, but I could not lay my head on the pillowbefore writing to Mrs. Linwood and Edith, and telling them the tidings Ihad learned of the beloved exile. And now the first stormy emotions hadsubsided, gratitude, deep and holy gratitude, triumphed over every otherfeeling. Far, far away as he was, he was with a friend; he was in allhuman probability safe, and he could learn in time how deeply he hadwronged me. 

Often, on bended knees, with weeping eyes and rending sighs had Ibreathed this prayer, --"Only let him know that I am still worthy of hislove, and I am willing to resign it, --let me be justified in his sight, and I am willing to devote my future life to _Thee_. "

The path was opening, the way clearing, and my faith and resignationabout to be proved. I recognized the divine arrangement of Providence inthe apparently accidental circumstances of my life, and my soulvindicated the justice as well as adored the mercy of the Most High. 

A voice seemed whispering in my ear, "O thou afflicted and tossed withtempests! there is a haven where thy weary bark shall find rest. I, whoonce bore the burden of life, know its sorrows and temptations, itswormwood and its gall. I bore the infirmities of man, that I might pityand forgive; I bore the crown of thorns, that thou mightest wear theroses of Paradise; I drained the dregs of human agony, that thoumightest drink the wine of immortality. Is not my love passing the loveof man, and worth the sacrifice of earth's fleeting joys?"

As the heavenly accents seemed to die away, like a strain of sweet, lowharmony, came murmuring the holy refrain--

 "Star of the East, the horizon adorning, Guide where the infant Redeemer is laid. "

CHAPTER LIII. 

Richard had visited the Tombs, but had not seen his father. The sight, the air, the ponderous gloom of the awful prison-house, was as much ashe had fortitude to bear; and though he had at first thought preferredmeeting him in the shadows of night, he recoiled from its additionalhorrors. 

Poor fellow! I felt heart-sick for him. On one side the memory of hismother's wrongs, --on the other, his father's sufferings and disgrace. Iknew by my own bitter experience the conflict he was enduring. 

"After we have once met, " he said, "the bitterest pang will be over. "

When he returned, I was shocked at the suffering his countenanceexpressed. I sat down by him in silence, and took his hand in mine, forI saw that his heart was full. 

"I cannot take you _there_, Gabriella, " were the first words he uttered. "If my nerves are all unstrung, how will yours sustain the shock? Hetold me not to bring you, that your presence would only aggravate hissufferings. "

"Did I not come to share your duties, Richard? and will it not be easierto go hand in hand, though we do tread a thorny path? I have heard ofwomen who devote their whole lives to visiting the dungeons of thedoomed, and pouring oil and balm into the wounds of penitence andremorse; women who know nothing of the prisoner, but that he is a sinfuland suffering son of Adam, --angels of compassion, following with lowlyhearts the footsteps of their divine Master. O my brother, think me notso weak and selfish. I will convince you that I have fortitude, thoughyou believe it not. Dr. Harlowe thinks I have a great deal. But, Richard, is it too painful to speak of the interview you so muchdreaded? Does _he_ look more wretched than you feared?"

"Look, Gabriella! Oh, he is a wreck, a melancholy wreck of a once nobleman. Worn, haggard, gloomy, and despairing, he is the verypersonification of a sin-blasted being, a lost, ruined spirit. I hadprepared myself for something mournful and degraded, but not for such asight as this. O what an awful thing it is to give oneself up to thedominion of evil, till one seems to live, and move, and have their beingin it! How awful to be consumed by slow, baleful fires, till nothing butsmouldering ashes and smoking cinders are left! My God! Gabriella, Inever realized before what _accursed_ meant. "

He started up, and walked up and down the room, just as Ernest used todo, unable to control the vehemence of his emotions. 

"Father!" he exclaimed, "how I could have loved, revered, adored myfather, had he been what my youthful heart has so panted to embrace. Iloved my mother, --Heaven knows I did; but there always seemed majesty aswell as beauty in the name of father, and I longed to reverence, as wellas to love. Mr. Clyde was a good man, and I honored him; he was mybenefactor, and I was grateful to him, --but he wanted the intellectualgrandeur, to which my soul longed to pay homage. I was always forming animage in my own mind of what a father should be, --pure, upright, andcommanding, --a being to whom I could look up as to an earthly divinity, who could satisfy the wants of my venerating nature. "

"It is thus I have done, " I cried, struck by the peculiar sympathy ofour feelings. "In the dreams of my childhood, a vague but glorious formreigned with the sovereignty of a king and the sanctity of ahigh-priest, and imagination offered daily incense at its throne. Never, till I read my mother's history, was the illusion dispelled. But how didhe welcome you, Richard? Surely he was glad and proud to find a son inyou. "

"He is no longer capable of pride or joy. He is burnt out, as it were. But he did at last show some emotion, when made to believe that I wasthe son of Therésa. " His hand trembled, and his hard, sunken eyemomentarily softened. "Did you come here to mock and upbraid me?" hecried, concealing his sensibility under a kind of fierce sullenness. "What wrong have I done you? I deserted you, it is true, but I saved youfrom the influence of my accursed example, which might have dragged youto the burning jaws of hell. Go, and leave me to my doom. Leave me inthe living grave my own unhallowed hands have dug. I want no sympathy, no companionship, --and least of all, yours. Every time I look on you, Ifeel as if coals of fire were eating in my heart. "

"Remorse, Richard, " I exclaimed, "remorse! Oh! he feels. Ourministrations will not be in vain. Did you tell him that I was with you, that I came to comfort and to do him good?"

"I did; but he bade me tell you, that if he wanted comfort, it could notcome through you, --that he would far rather his tortures were increasedthan diminished, that he might, he said, become inured to sufferings, which would continue as long as Almighty vengeance could inflict andimmortality endure. My dear sister, I ought not to repeat such things, but the words ring in my ears like a funeral knell. "

"Let us not speak of him any more at present, " he added, reseatinghimself at my side, and he took my hand and pressed it on his throbbingtemples. "There is sweetness in a sister's sympathy, balm in her gentletouch. "

Mrs. Brahan, who had considerately left us alone, soon entered, sayingit was luncheon time, and that a glass of wine would do us all good. Mr. Brahan followed her, whose intelligent and animated conversation drewour minds from the subjects that engrossed our thoughts. It was well forme that I had an opportunity of becoming so intimately acquainted with amarried pair like Mr. And Mrs. Brahan. It convinced me that the mostperfect confidence was compatible with the fondest love, and that thepurest happiness earth is capable of imparting, is found in the union oftwo constant, trusting hearts. 

"We have been married seventeen years, " said Mrs. Brahan, in a glow ofgrateful affection, "and I have never seen a cloud of distrust on myhusband's brow. We have had cares, --as who has not, --but they have onlymade us more dear to each, other, by calling forth mutual tenderness andsympathy. Ours was not one of those romantic attachments which partakeof the wildness of insanity, but a serene, steady flame, that burnsbrighter and brighter as life rolls on. "

She spoke out of the abundance of her heart, without meaning to contrasther own bright lot with mine, but I could not help envying her thisunclouded sunshine of love. I tried to rejoice with her, without sighingfor my own darker destiny; but there is an alloy of selfishness in thepurest gold of our natures. At least, there is in mine. 

There was another happy pair, --Mr. Regulus and his wild Madge. A letterfrom her, forwarded by Mrs. Linwood soon after our arrival in New York, breathed, in her own characteristic language, the most perfect felicity, mingled with heart-felt sympathy and affection. Their bridal hours weresaddened by my misfortunes; and they were compelled to leave me when Iwas unconscious of their departure. Margaret was delighted with everything around and about her, --the place, the people, and most of all herhusband; though, in imitation of the Swedish wife, she called him herbear, her buffalo, and mastadon. The exuberant energies of hercharacter, that had been rioting in all their native wildness, had now anoble framework to grasp round, and would in time form a beautifuldomestic bower, beneath whose shade all household joys and graces wouldbloom and multiply. 

I have anticipated the reception of this letter, but I feared I mightforget to mention it. It is delightful to see a fine character graduallywrought out of seemingly rough and unpromising elements. It is beautifulto witness the triumph of pure, disinterested affection in the heart ofwoman. It is sweet to know that the angel of wedded love scattersthornless flowers in some happy homes, --that there are some thresholdsnot sprinkled by blood, but guarded by confidence, which the _destroyingdemon_ of the household is not permitted to pass over. 

I do not like to turn back to myself, lest they who follow me shouldfind the path too shadowy and thorny. But is it not said that they whogo forth weeping, bearing precious seed, shall come again rejoicing, bending under the weight of golden sheaves?

I wrote to Ernest for the first time, for we had never been partedbefore. Again and again I commenced, and threw down the pen in despair. My heart seemed locked, closed as with Bastile bars. What words of minecould pierce through the cloud of infamy in which his remembrancewrapped me? He would not believe my strange, improbable tale. He wouldcast it from him as a device of the evil spirit, and brand me with adeeper curse. No! if he was so willing to cast me off, to leave me socoldly and cruelly, without one farewell line, one wish to know whetherI were living or dead, let him be. Why should I intrude my vindicationon him, when he cared not to hear it? He had no right to believe meguilty. Had a winged spirit from another sphere come and told me that_he_ was false, I would have spurned the accusation, and clung to himmore closely and more confidingly. 

"But you knew his infirmity, " whispered accusing conscience, "evenbefore you loved him; and have you not seen him writhing at your feet inagonies of remorse, for the indulgence of passions more torturing tohimself than to you! It is you who have driven him from country andhome, innocently, it is true, but he is not less a wanderer and anexile. Write and tell him the simple, holy truth, then folding yourhands meekly over your heart, leave the result to the disposal of theGod of futurity. "

Then words came like water rushing through breaking ice. They camewithout effort or volition, and I knew not what they were till I sawthem looking at me from the paper, like my own image reflected in aglass. Had I been writing a page for the book of God's remembrance, itcould not have been more nakedly true. I do believe there is inspirationnow given to the spirit in the extremity of its need, and that we oftenspeak and write as if moved by the Holy Ghost, and language comes to usin a Pentecostal shower, burning with heaven's fire, and tongues offlame are put in our mouth, and our spirits move as with the wings of amighty wind. 

I recollect the closing sentence of the letter. I knew it contained myfate; and yet I felt that I had not the power to change it. 

"Come back to your country, your mother, and Edith. I do not bid youcome back to me, for it seems that the distance that separates us is tooimmeasurable to be overcome. I remember telling you, when the midnightmoon was shining upon us in the solitude of our chamber, that I saw asin a vision a frightful abyss opening between us, and I stood on one icybrink and you on the other, and I saw you receding further and furtherfrom me, and my arms vainly sought to reach over the cold chasm, and myown voice came back to me in mournful echoes. That vision is realized. Our hearts can never again meet till that gulf is closed, and confidencefirm as a rock makes a bridge for our souls. 

"I have loved you as man never should be loved, and that love can neverpass away. But from the deathlike trance in which you left me, my spirithas risen with holier views of life and its duties. An union, sodesolated by storms of passion as ours has been, must be sinful andunhallowed in the sight of God. It has been severed by the hand ofviolence, and never, with my consent, will be renewed, unless we canmake a new covenant, to which the bow of heaven's peace shall be aneverlasting sign; till passion shall be exalted by esteem, lovesustained by confidence, and religion pure and undefiled be thesovereign principle of our lives. "

CHAPTER LIV. 

The Tombs!--shall I ever forget my first visit to that dismal abode ofcrime, woe, and despair?--never!

I had nerved myself for the trial, and went with the spirit of a martyr, though with blanched cheek and faltering step, into the heart of thatfrowning pile, on which I could never gaze without shuddering. 

Clinging to the arm of Richard, I felt myself borne along through coldand dreary walls, that seemed to my startled ear echoing with sighs andgroans and curses, upward through dark galleries, and passed ponderousiron doors that reminded me of Milton's description of the gates ofhell, till the prison officer who preceded us paused before one of thosegrim portals, and inserting a massy key, a heavy grating sound scrapedand lacerated my ear. 

"Wait one moment, " I gasped, leaning almost powerless on the shoulder ofRichard. 

"I feared so, " said he, passing his arm around me, his eyes expressingthe most intense sensibility. "I knew you could not bear it. Let usreturn, --I was wrong to permit your coming in the first place. "

"No, no, --I am able to go in now, --the shock is over, --I am quite strongnow. "

And raising my head, I drew a quick, painful breath, passed through theiron door into the narrow cell, where the gloom of eternal twilightdarkly hung. 

At first I could not distinguish the objects within, for a mist was overmy sight, which deepened the shadows of the dungeon walls. But as my eyebecame accustomed to the dimness, I saw a tall, emaciated figure risingfrom the bed, which nearly filled the limited space which inclosed us. Anarrow aperture in the deep, massy stone, admitted all the light whichillumined us after the iron door slowly closed. 

The dark, sunken eyes of the prisoner gleamed like the flash of anexpiring taper, wild and fitful, on our entering forms. He wasdreadfully altered, --I should scarcely have recognized him through thegloomy shade of his long-neglected hair, and thick, unshorn beard. 

"Father, " said Richard, trying to speak in a cheerful tone, "I havebrought you a comforter. A daughter's presence must be more soothingthan a son's. "

I held out my hand as Richard spoke, and he took it as if it weremarble. No tenderness softened his countenance, --he rather seemed torecoil from me than to welcome. I noticed a great difference in hisreception of Richard. He grasped his hand, and perused his features asif he could not withdraw his gaze. 

"Are you indeed my son?" he asked, in an unsteady tone. "Do you not mockme? Tell me once more, are you Therésa's child?"

"As surely as I believe her an angel in heaven, I am. "

"Yes, --yes, you have her brow and smile; but why have you come to meagain, when I commanded you to stay away? And why have you brought thispale girl here, when she loathes me as an incarnate fiend?"

"No, --no, " I exclaimed, sinking down on the foot of the bed, inhopelessness of spirit, "I pity, forgive, pray for you, weep for you. "

"I want neither pity, forgiveness, nor prayers, " he sullenly answered. "I want nothing but freedom, and that you cannot give. Go back to yourhusband, and tell him I curse him for the riches that tempted me, andyou for the jewels that betrayed. You might have given me gold insteadof diamonds, and then I would have been safe from the hell-hounds oflaw. Curse on the sordid fear"--

"Stop, " cried Richard, seizing the arm he had raised in imprecation, andfixing on him an eye of stem command. "You shall not wound her ears withsuch foul blasphemy. Utter another word of reproach to her, and I willleave you for ever to the doom you merit. Is this the return you makefor her filial devotion? Betrayer of her mother, robber of her husband, coward as well as villain, how dare you blast her with your impiouscurse?"

Richard forgot at that moment he was speaking to a father, in theintensity of his indignation and scorn. His eye burned, his lipquivered, he looked as if he could have hurled him against the granitewalls. 

St. James quailed and writhed out of his grasp. His face turned the hueof ashes, and he staggered back like a drunken man. 

"I did not mean to curse her, " he cried. "I am mad half the time, andknow not what I say. Who would not be mad, cut off from communion withtheir kind, in such a den as this, with fiends whispering, and devilstempting, and know that it is not for a day, a week, a month, nor even ayear; but for ten long years! And what will life be then, supposing Idrag out its hated length through imprisonment, and horror, and despair?What is it now? A worn shred, a shivelled scroll, a blasted remnant ofhumanity!"

He sat down again on the side of the bed, and leaning forward, bent hisface downward and buried it in his hands. Groans, that seemed to tearhis breast as they forced their passage, burst spasmodically from hislips. Oh! if that travailing soul, travailing in sin and sorrow, wouldcast itself on the bosom of Divine Mercy, would prostrate itself at thefoot of the cross, till the scarlet dye of crime was washed white in aSaviour's blood! What were ten years of imprisonment and anguish, toeternal ages burning with the unquenchable fires of remorse!

"O father!" I cried, moved by an irresistible impulse, and approachinghim with trembling steps, "these prison walls may become the house ofGod, the gate of heaven, dark and dismal as they are. The Saviour willcome and dwell with you, if you only look up to him in penitence andfaith; and he will make them blissful with his presence. He went intothe den of lions. He walked through the fiery furnace. He can rend theseiron doors and give you the glorious liberty of the children of God. IfI could only speak as I feel, if I only knew how to convince andpersuade;--but alas! my tongue is weak, my words are cold. Richard willyou not help me?"

"If he will not listen to you, Gabriella, he would not be persuadedthough an angel spoke. "

"Why do you care about my soul?" asked the prisoner, lifting his headfrom his knees, and rolling his bloodshot eyes upon me. 

"Because you are my father, " I answered, --overcoming my trepidation, andspeaking with fervor and energy, --"because my mother prayed for you, andmy Saviour died for you. "

"Your mother!" he exclaimed; "who was she, that she should pray for me?"

"My mother!" I repeated, fearing his mind was becoming unsettled; "ifyou have forgotten her, I do not wish to recall her. "

"I remember now, --her name was Rosalie, " he said, and a strangeexpression passed over his countenance. "I was thinking of my poorTherésa. "

He looked at Richard as he spoke, and something like parental tendernesssoftened his features. Degraded as he was, unworthy as it seemed he mustever have been of woman's love, I could not help a pang of exquisitepain at the thought of my mother's being forgotten, while Therésa wasremembered with apparent tenderness. When I met him in the Park, heexpressed exceeding love for me for her sake, --he spoke of her as thebeloved of his youth, as the being whose loss had driven him todesperation and made him the wretch and outcast he was. And now, nochord of remembrance vibrated at her name, no ray of fondness for herchild played upon the sacrifice I was offering. It was a sordiddeception then, --his pretended tenderness, --to gain access to myhusband's gold; and I turned, heart-sick and loathing away. As I did so, I caught a glimpse of a book that looked like the Bible on a littletable, between the bed and the wall. With an involuntary motion Ireached forward and opened it. 

"I am so glad, " I cried, looking at Richard. "I wanted to bring one; butI thought I would ask permission. "

"Yes, " exclaimed St. James, with a ghastly smile, "we all have Bibles, Ibelieve. Like the priest's blessing, they cost nothing. "

"But you read it, father!" said Richard, anxiously. "You cannot fail tofind light and comfort in it. You cannot be altogether lonely with sucha companion. "

"What is the use of reading what one cannot understand?" cried he, in agloomy tone. "Your mother was a Catholic. She did not read the Bible, and if there is a heaven above, it was made for such as she. "

"My mother _did_ read her Bible, " answered Richard, with solemnity. "Shetaught me to read it, making a table of her knees, while her handstoiled for our subsistence. It was a lamp to her path, a balm to hersorrows. She lived according to its precepts. She died, believing in itspromises. "

The glistening eyes of Richard seemed to magnetize his father, soearnest, so steadfast was his gaze. 

"Have you _her_ Bible?" he asked, in a husky voice. 

"I have; it was her dying gift. "

"Bring it, and read to me the chapters she loved best. Perhaps--whoknows? Great God! I was once a praying child at my mother's knee. "

Richard grasped his father's hand with a strong emotion, "I will bring it, father. We will read it together, and her spirit willbreathe into our hearts. The pages are marked by her pencil, blisteredby her tears. "

"Yes, bring it!" he repeated. "Who knows? Just heaven!--who knows?"

Who, indeed, did know what influence that book, embalmed in such sacredmemories, might have on the sinner's blasted heart? The fierceness andsullenness that had repelled and terrified me on our first entrance hadpassed away, and sensibility roused from an awful paralysis, started atthe ruins it beheld. There was hope, since he could feel. Richard'sfilial mission might not be in vain. But _mine_ was. I realized thisbefore I left the cell, and resolved to yield to him the task which Ihad hoped to share. I could not help feeling grieved and disappointed, not so much on my own account, as for the indifference manifested to mymother's memory, --that mother who had loved him, even to her dying hour. 

My heart hardened against him; but when I rose to go, and looked roundon the narrow and dismal tomb in which he was inclosed, and then on hishollow cheek and wasted frame, and thought in all human probabilitythose walls would prove his grave, it melted with the tenderestcompassion. 

"Is there any thing I can do for your comfort?" I asked, trying in vainto keep back the rushing tears. "Can I send you any thing to do yougood? If you wish to see me again, tell Richard, and I will come; but Ido not wish to be in the way. He, I see, can do every thing I could do, and far more. I thought a daughter could draw so near a father's heart!"

I stopped, choked with emotion which seemed contagious, for Richardturned aside and took up his handkerchief, which had dropped upon thebed. St. James was agitated. He gave the hand which I extended aspasmodic pressure, and looked from me to Richard, and then back again, with a peculiar, hesitating expression. 

"Forgive me, " said he, in a gentler accent than I had yet heard him use, "my harsh, fierce words; as I told you, it was a demon's utterance, notmine. You would have saved me, I know you would. I made you unhappy, andplunged into perdition myself. No, you had better not come again. Youare too lovely, too tender for this grim place. My boy will come; andyou, you, my child, may pray for me, if you do not think it mockery toask God to pardon a wretch like me. "

I looked in his face, inexpressibly affected by the unexpectedgentleness of his words and manner. Surely the spirit of God wasbeginning to move over the stagnant waters of sin and despair. I wasabout to leave him, --the lonely, --the doomed. I, too, was lonely anddoomed. 

"Father!" I cried, and with an impulse of pity and anguish I threw myarms round him and wept as if my heart was breaking; "I would willinglywear out my life in prayer for you, but O, pray for yourself. One prayerfrom your heart would be worth ten thousand of mine. "

I thought not of the haggard form I was embracing; I thought of theimmortal soul that inhabited it; and it seemed a sacred ruin. He claspedme convulsively to him one moment, then suddenly withdrawing his arms, he pushed me towards Richard, --not harshly, but as if bidding him takecare of me; and throwing himself on the bed, he turned his facedownward, so that his long black hair covered it from sight. 

"Let us go, " said Richard, in a low voice; "we had better leave himnow. "

As we were passing very softly out of the cell, he raised his headpartially, and calling to Richard, said, --

"Come back, my son, to-morrow. I have something to tell you. I ought todo it now, while you are both here, but to-morrow will do; and don'tforget your mother's Bible. "

Again we traversed the stone galleries, the dismal stairs, and ourfootsteps left behind us a cold, sepulchral sound. Neither of us spoke, for a kind of funeral silence solemnized our hearts. I looked at one ofthe figures that were gliding along the upper galleries, though therewere many of them, --prisoners, who being condemned for lighter offencesthan murder or forgery, were allowed to walk under the eye of a keeper. I was conscious of passing them, but they only seemed to deepen thegloom, like ravens and bats flapping their wings in a deserted tower. 

As we came into the light of day, which, struggling through massy ridgesof darkness, burst between the grand and gloomy columns that supportedthe fabric, I felt as if a great stone were rolling from my breast Iraised the veil, which I had drawn closely over my face, to inhale theair that flowed from the world without I was coming out of darkness intolight, out of imprisonment into freedom, sunshine, and the breath ofheaven. 

There were men traversing the vestibule in many directions; and Richardhurried me on, that I might escape the gaze of curiosity or the stare ofimpertinence. Against one of the pillars which we passed, a gentlemanwas standing, whose figure was so striking as to attract my abstractedeye. I had seen him before. I knew him instantaneously, though I hadonly had a passing glimpse of him the morning we left the Falls. It wasthe gentleman who had accosted Julian, and who had stamped himself soindelibly on my memory. And now, as I came nearer, I was struck by aresemblance in his air and features to our unhappy father. It is truethere was the kind of difference there is between a fallen spirit and anangel of light; for the expression of the stranger's face was noble anddignified, as if conscious that he still wore undefaced the image of hisMaker. He lifted his hat as we passed, with that graceful courtesy whichmarks the gentleman, and I again noticed that the dark waves of his hairwere mingled with snow. It reminded me of those wreaths of frost I hadseen hanging from the evergreens of Grandison Place. 

The singularity of the place, the earnestness of his gaze, and theextraordinary attraction I felt towards him, brought the warm, brightcolor to my cheeks, and I instinctively dropped the veil which I hadraised a moment before. As we entered the carriage, which had been keptin waiting, the horses, high-spirited and impatient, threatened to breakloose from the driver's control, --when the stranger, coming rapidlyforward, stood at their heads till their transient rebellion was over. It was but an instant; for as Richard leaned from the carriage window tothank him, the horses dashed forward, and I only caught one more glimpseof his fine, though pensive features. 

"Richard, did you not perceive a resemblance to our father in thisgentleman, noble and distinguished as he appears? I was struck with itat the first glance. "

"Yes, there is a likeness; but not greater than we very often seestrangers bearing to each other. My father must once have been a finelooking man, though now so sad a wreck. A life of sinful indulgence, followed by remorse and retribution, leaves terrible scars on the faceas well as the soul. "

"But how strange it is, that we are sometimes so drawn towardsstrangers, as by a loadstone's power! I saw this gentleman once before, at the Falls of Niagara, and I felt the same sudden attraction that I donow. I may never see him again. It is not probable that I ever shall;but it will be impossible for me to forget him. I feel as if he musthave some influence on my destiny; and such a confidence in his noblequalities, that if I were in danger I would appeal to him forprotection, and in sorrow, for sympathy and consolation. You smile, Richard. I dare say it all sounds foolish to you, but it is even so. "

"Not foolish, but romantic, my own darling sister. I like suchsentiments. I like any thing better than the stereotyped thoughts of theworld. You have a right to be romantic, Gabriella, for your life hasbeen one of strange and thrilling interest. "

"Yes; strange indeed!" I answered, while my soul rolled back on thebillows of the past, wondering at the storms that heaved them so high, when life to many seemed smooth as a sea of glass. Then I thought howsweet the haven of eternal repose must be to the wave-worn mariner; howmuch sweeter to one who had had a tempestuous voyage, than one who hadbeen floating on a tranquil current; and the closing verse of an oldhymn came melodiously to my recollection:--

 "There will I bathe my weary soul In seas of endless rest, And not a wave of trouble roll Across my peaceful breast. "

CHAPTER LV. 

What a contrast did the large, airy, pleasant nursery room of Mrs. Brahan present, to the narrow cell I had so lately quitted! Iaccompanied her there after dinner, while Richard, anxious to follow upthe impression he had made, returned to the prison, taking with him hismother's Bible. I had hardly thought of the communication which he saidhe wished to make, till I saw Richard depart. Then it recurred to me;but it did not seem possible that it could interest or affect me much, though it might my brother. 

I have not spoken of Mrs. Brahan's children, because I have had so muchto say of others; but she had children, and very lovely ones, who werethe crowning blessings of her home. Her eldest were at school, but therewere three inmates of the nursery, from five to ten years of age, adorned with the sweetest charms of childhood, brightness, purity, andbloom. She called them playfully her three little graces; and I neveradmired her so much, as when she made herself a child in their midst, and participated in their innocent amusements. After supper they werebrought into the parlor to be companions of their father one hour, whichhe devoted exclusively to their instruction and recreation; but afterdinner Mrs. Brahan took the place of the nurse, or rather governess, andI felt it a privilege to be with her, it made me feel so entirely athome, and the presence of childhood freshened and enlivened the spirits. It seemed as if fairy fingers were scattering rose-leaves on my heart. Was it possible that these young, innocent creatures would ever becomehardened by worldliness, polluted by sin, or saddened by sorrow? And yetthe doomed dweller of the Tombs had said that morning, "that he was oncea praying child at his mother's knee!" How would that mother have felt, if, when his innocent hands were folded on her lap and his cherub lipsrepeated words which perhaps angels interpreted, she could have lookedinto future years, and beheld the condemned and blasted being in whosewithering veins her own lifeblood was flowing?

While I was reclining on the children's bed and the youngest little girlwas playing with my ringlets, as short and childish as her own, I wastold a gentleman was in the parlor, who inquired for me. 

"Cannot I excuse myself?" I asked of Mrs. Brahan. "I did not wish anyone to know that I was in the city. I did not wish to meet any of myformer acquaintances. "

Then it suddenly flashed into my mind, that it might be some one whobrought tidings of Ernest, some one who had met the "Star of the East, "on his homeward voyage. There was nothing wild in the idea, and when Imentioned it to Mrs. Brahan, she said it was possible, and that I hadbetter go down. Supposing it was a messenger of evil! I felt as if I hadborne all I could bear, and live. Then all at once I thought of thestranger whom I had seen in the vestibule of the prison, and I was sureit was he. But who was he, and why had he come? I was obliged to stop atthe door, to command my agitation, so nervous had I been made by theshock from which I had not yet recovered. My cheeks burned, but my handswere cold as ice. 

Yes, it was he. The moment I opened the door, I recognized him, thestately stranger of the Tombs. He was standing in front of the beautifulpainting of the fortress, and his face was from me. But he turned at myentrance, and advanced eagerly to meet me. He was excessively pale, andvarying emotions swept over his countenance, like clouds drifted by astormy wind. Taking both my hands in his, he drew me towards him, with amovement I had no power to resist, and looked in my face with eyes inwhich every passion of the soul seemed concentrated, but in which joylike a sun-ray shone triumphant. 

Even before he opened his arms and clasped me to his bosom, I felt aninvisible power drawing me to his heart, and telling me I had a right tobe there. 

"Gabriella! child of my Rosalie! my own lost darling!" he exclaimed, inbroken accents, folding me closer and closer in his arms, as if fearingI would vanish from his embrace. "Gracious God! I thank thee, --HeavenlyFather! I bless thee for this hour. After long years of mourning, andbereavement, and loneliness, to find a treasure so dear, to feel a joyso holy! Oh, my God, what shall I render unto Thee for all thybenefits!"

Then he bowed his head on my neck, and I felt hot tears gushing from hiseyes, and sobs, like the deep, passionate sobs of childhood, convulsinghis breast. 

Yes, he _was_ my father. I knew it, --I felt it, as if the voice of Godhad spoken from the clouds of heaven to proclaim it. He was my father, the beloved of my angelic mother, and he had never wronged her, never. He had not been the deceiver, but the deceived. Without a word ofexplanation I believed this, for it was written as if in sunbeams on hisnoble brow. The dreams of my childhood were all embodied in him; andoverpowered by reverence, love, gratitude, and joy, I slid from hisarms, and on bended knees and with clasped hands, looked up in his faceand repeated again and again the sacred name of "Father. "

It is impossible to describe such bewildering, such intense emotions. Seldom, except in dreams, are they felt, when the spirit seems free fromthe fetters of earth. Even when I found myself sitting by his side, still encircled in his arms and leaning on his heart, I could scarcelyconvince myself that the scene was real. 

"And Richard, my brother!" I cried, beginning to feel bewildered at themysteries that were to be unravelled; "joy is not perfect till he sharesit with me. "

"Will it make you unhappy, my darling Gabriella, to know that Richard isyour cousin, instead of your brother?"

I pressed my hands on my forehead, for it ached with the quick, lightning-like thoughts that flashed through my brain. 

"And he, the inmate of yon dismal cell?" I exclaimed, anticipating, asif by intuition, the reply, --

"Is my brother, my twin brother, whom in youth our mother could notdistinguish from myself. This fatal resemblance has caused all my woe. Therésa la Fontaine was _his_ wife and Richard is _his_ son, not mine. "

How simple, how natural, all this seemed! Why had not my mother dreamedof the possibility of such a thing! Knowing the existence of thisbrother, why had she not at once found in him the solution of the darkproblem, which was the enigma as well as anguish of her life?

"My unhappy brother!" said he, while a dark shade rested on his brow;"little did I think, when I visited his dungeon this morning, of therevelation he would make! I have been an exile and a wanderer manyyears, or I might perhaps have learned sooner what a blessing Heaven hasbeen guarding for my sad and lonely heart. I saw you as you passed outof the prison, and your resemblance to my beloved Rosalie struck me, asan electric shock. "

"And yours to him whom I believed my father, had the same effect on me. How strange it was, that then I felt as if I would give worlds to call_you_ father, instead of the wretched being I had just quitted. "

"Then you are willing to acknowledge me, my beloved, my lovelydaughter, " said he, pressing a father's kiss on my forehead, from whichhis hand fondly put back the clustering locks. "My daughter! let merepeat the name. My daughter! how sweet, how holy it sounds! Had _she_lived, or had she only known before she died, the constancy and purityof my love; but forgive me, thou Almighty chastener of man's erringheart! I dare not murmur. She knows all this now. She has given me herdivine forgiveness. "

"She left it with me, father, to give you; not only her forgiveness, buther undying love, and her dying blessing. "

Withdrawing the arm with which he still embraced me, he bowed his faceon his hands, and I hardly dared to breathe lest I should disturb thesacredness of his emotions. "She knows all this now. " My heart repeatedthe words. Methought the wings of her spirit were hovering roundus, --her husband and her child, --whom the hand of God had broughttogether after years of alienation and sorrow. And other thoughtspressed down upon me. By and by, when we were all united in that world, where we should know even as we are known, Ernest would read my heart, by the light of eternity, and then he would know how I loved him. Therewould be no more suspicion, or jealousy, or estrangement, but perfectlove and perfect joy would absorb the memory of sorrow. 

"And you are married, my Gabriella?" were the first words my fathersaid, when he again turned towards me. "How difficult to realize; andyou looking so very young. Young as you really are, you cheat the eye ofseveral years of youth!"

"I was very ill, and when I woke to consciousness, I found myself shornof the glory of womanhood, --my long hair. "

"You are so like my Rosalie. Your face, your eyes, your smile; and Ifeel that you have her pure and loving heart. Heaven preserve it fromthe blight that fell on hers!"

The smile faded from my lip, and a quick sigh that I could not represssaddened its expression. The eyes of my father were bent anxiously onme. 

"I long to see the husband of my child, " said he. "Is he not with you?"

"No, my father, he is far away. Do not speak of him now, I can onlythink of you. "

"If he is faithless to a charge so dear, " exclaimed St. James, with akindling glance. 

"Nay, father; but I have so much to tell, so much to hear, my brain isdizzy with the thought. You shall have all my confidence, believe me youshall; and oh, how sweet it is to think that I have a father's breast tolean upon, a father's arms to shelter me, though the storms of life mayblow cold and dreary round me, --and such a father!--after feeling suchanguish and shame from my supposed parentage. Poor Richard! how I pityhim!"

"You love him, then? Believing him your brother, you have loved him assuch?"

"I could not love him better were he indeed my brother. He was thefriend of my childhood, " and a crimson hue stole over my face at theremembrance of a love more passionate than a brother's. "He is giftedwith every good and noble quality, every pure and generousfeeling, --friend, brother, cousin--it matters not which--he will ever bethe same to me. "

Then I spoke of Mrs. Linwood, my adopted mother, --of my incalculableobligations, my unutterable gratitude, love, and admiration, --of thelovely Edith and her sisterly affection, and I told him how I longedthat he should see them, and that _they_ should know that I had afather, whom I was proud to acknowledge, instead of one who reflecteddisgrace even on them. 

"Oh! I have so much to tell, so much to hear, " I again repeated. "I knownot when or where we shall begin. It is so bewildering, so strange, solike a dream. I fear to let go your hand lest you vanish from my sightand I lose you forever. "

"Ah, my child, you cannot feel as I do. You have enshrined other imagesin your heart, but mine is a lonely temple, into which you come as adivinity to be worshipped, as well as a daughter to be loved. I did notexpect such implicit faith, such undoubting confidence. I feared youwould shrink from a stranger, and require proofs of the truth of hisassertions. I dared not hope for a greeting so tender, a trust sospontaneous. "

"Oh! I should as soon doubt that God was my Father in heaven, as you myfather on earth. I _know_ it, I do not _believe_ it. "

I think my feelings must have been something like a blind person's onfirst emerging from the darkness that has wrapped him from his birth. Hedoes not ask, when the sunbeams fall on his unclouded vision, _if it belight_. He knows it is, because it fills his new-born capacities forsight, --he knows it is, by the shadows that roll from before it. I knewit was my father, because he met all the wants of my yearning filialnature, because I felt him worthy of honor, admiration, reverence, andlove. 

I know not how long I had been with him, when Mr. Brahan entered; andthough it had been seventeen years since he had seen him, he immediatelyrecognized the artist he had so much admired. 

"I have found a daughter, sir, " said St. James, grasping his hand withfervor. He could not add another word, and no other was necessary. 

"I told her so, " cried Mr. Brahan, after expressing the warmestcongratulations; "I told her husband so. I knew the wretch who assumesyour name was an impostor, though he wonderfully resembles yourself. "

"He has a right to the name he bears, " answered my father, and hiscountenance clouded as it always did when he alluded to his brother. "Weare twin brothers, and our extraordinary resemblance in youth and earlymanhood caused mistakes as numerous as those recorded in the Comedy ofErrors, and laid the foundation of a tragedy seldom found in theexperience of life. "

While they were conversing, I stole from the room and ran up stairs totell Mrs. Brahan the wondrous tidings. Her sympathy was as heart-felt asI expected, --her surprise less. She never could believe that man myfather. Mr. Brahan always said he was an impostor, only he had no meansto prove it. 

"How beautiful!" she said, her eyes glistening with sympathetic emotion, "that he should find you here, in his own wedded home, --the place ofyour birth, --the spot sanctified by the holiest memories of love. Hasnot your filial mission been blest? Has not Providence led you by a wayyou little dreamed of? My dear Gabriella, you must not indulge anothersad misgiving or gloomy fear. Indeed you must not. "

"I know I ought not; but come and see my father. "

"What is he like?" she asked, with a smile. 

"Like the dream of my childhood, when I imagined him one of the sons ofGod, such as once came down to earth. "

"Romantic child!" she exclaimed; but when she saw my father, I readadmiration as well as respect in her speaking eye, and I was satisfiedwith the impression he had made. 

Richard came soon after informed by his father of all I could tell himand a great deal more, which he subsequently related to me. I think hewas happier to know that he was cousin, than when he believed himself mybrother. The transition from a lover to a brother was too painful. Hecould not divest himself of the idea of guilt, which, howeverinvoluntary, made him shudder in remembrance. But a cousin! Thetenderness of natural affection and the memories of love, might unite ina bond so near and dear, and hallow each other. 

In the joy of my emancipation from imagined disgrace, I did not forgetthat the cloud still rested darkly on him, --that he still groaned underthe burden which had been lifted from my soul. He told me that he hadhope of his father's ultimate regeneration, --that he had found him muchsoftened, --that he wept at the sight of Therésa's Bible, and still morewhen he read aloud to him the chapters which gave most consolation toher dying hours. 

The unexpected visit of his brother, from whom he had been so longseparated, and whom he supposed was dead, had stirred still deeper theabysses of memoir and feeling. 

I will now turn a little while from myself, and give a brief history ofthe twin brothers, as I learned it from my father's lips, and Richard's, who narrated to me the story of _his_ father's life as he heard it inthe dungeon of the Tombs. 

CHAPTER LVI. 

Henry Gabriel and Gabriel Henry St. James, were born in the Highlands ofNew York. Their father was of English extraction, though of Americanbirth; their mother the daughter of a French refugee, who had soughtshelter in the land of freedom from the storms of the Revolution. So theelements of three nations mingled in their veins. 

There was nothing remarkable in their childhood, but their resemblanceto each other, which was so perfect that their own mother was not ableto distinguish the one from the other. Perhaps either of them, seenseparately, would not have excited extraordinary interest, but togetherthey formed an image of dual beauty as rare as it was attractive. Theywere remarkable for their fine physical development, their bloominghealth, and its usual accompaniments, sunniness of temper, and gaiety ofspirits; but even in early childhood these twin-born bodies showed thatthey were vitalized by far different souls. Their father was asea-captain; and while Gabriel would climb his knees and listen witheager delight to tales of ocean life and stirring adventures, Henry, seated at his mother's feet, with his hands clasped on her lap and hiseyes riveted on her face, would gather up her gently sparkling words inhis young heart, and they became a pavement of diamonds, indestructibleas it was bright and pure. 

As they grew older, the master-passion of each became more apparent. Gabriel made mimic boats and ships, and launched them on the bosom of astream which flowed back of their dwelling, an infant argosy freightedwith golden hopes. Henry drew figures on the sandy shore, of birds andbeasts and creeping things, and converted every possible material intotablets for the impressions of his dawning genius. Gabriel was hisfather's darling, Henry was mother's beloved. I said she could notdistinguish her twin-born boys; but when she looked into their eyes, there was something in the earnest depths of Henry's, an answeringexpression of love and sensibility, which she sought in vain in hisbrother's. The soul of the sea-dreaming boy was not with her; it wasfollowing the father on the foaming paths of ocean. 

"My boys shall go with me on my next voyage, " said the captain. "It istime to think of making men of them. They have been poring over bookslong enough to have a holiday; and, by the living Jove, they shall haveit. It is the ruin of boys to be tied to their mother's apron stringsafter they are twelve years old. They are fit for nothing but peddlersor colporteurs. "

Gabriel clapped his hands exultingly; but Henry drew closer to hismother's side. 

"My hero, my young brave, " cried the captain, slapping his favorite boyon the shoulder, "you are worth a dozen such girl-boys as your brother. Let him be a kitten and cry mew, if he will, while you climb thetopgallant-mast and make ladders of the clouds. "

"I am as brave as he is, " said Henry, straightening his youthful figure, and looking at his father with a kindling eye. "I am not afraid of thewater; but who will protect my mother, if I go away with you?"

"Bravo! There is some spirit in the boy after all, " exclaimed thecaptain, who loved his wife with the devotion and constancy of a sailor. "He has chosen an honorable post, and by heaven I will not force him toleave it. I see that nature, when she gave us twins, intended we shouldgo shares in our boys. It is just. Gabriel shall go with me, but thesilver cup of fortune may after all find its way in Henry's sack. "

Thus at twelve years of age the twin brothers separated, and from thatera their life-paths diverged into a constantly widening angle. 

The captain discovered too late the error he had committed incultivating the roving propensities of his son, to the exclusion ofsteady, nobler pursuits. He had intended merely to give him a holiday, and a taste of a seafaring life; but after revelling in the joys offreedom, he found it impossible to bind him down to the restraints ofscholastic life. He wanted him to go to college, but the young roverbravely refused obedience to parental authority, saying, that one geniusin a family was enough; and the father, gazing with pride on the wild, handsome, and dauntless boy, said there was no use in twisting the vinethe wrong way, and yielded to his will. Henry, imbosomed in classicshades, gathered the fruits of science and the flowers of literature, while his genius as an artist, though apparently dormant, waited theIthuriel touch of opportunity to wake into life and action. 

Captain St. James had prospered in his enterprises and acquired ahandsome fortune, so that his sons would not be dependent on their ownexertions for support. Gabriel unfortunately knew this circumstance toowell, and on the faith of his father's fortune indulged in habits ofextravagance and dissipation as ruinous as they were disgraceful. Thecaptain did not live to witness the complete degradation of his favoriteson. His vessel was wrecked on a homeward voyage, and the waves becamethe sailor's winding-sheet. His wife did not long survive him. She died, pining for the genial air of her own sunny clime, leaving the impress ofher virtues and her graces on the character of one of her sons. Alas forthe other!

Free now from parental restraint, as he had long been from moralobligations, Gabriel plunged into the wildest excesses of dissipation. In vain Henry lifted his warning voice, in vain he extended his guardianhand, to save him who had now become the slave as well as the votary ofvice. His soul clave to his brother with a tenderness of affection, which neither his selfishness nor vices, not even his crimes, coulddestroy. A gambler, a roueé, every thing but a drunkard, he at lengthbecame involved in so disgraceful a transaction, he was compelled forsafety to flee the country; and Henry, ignorant what course he hadtaken, gave him up in despair, and tried to forget the existence of onewhose remembrance could only awaken sorrow and shame. He went to Europe, as has been previously related, and with the eye of a painter and theheart of a poet, travelled from clime to clime, and garnered up in hisimagination the sublimities of nature and the wonders of art. His geniusgrew and blossomed amid the warm and fostering influences of an elderworld, till it formed, as it were, a bower around him, in whoseperennial shades he could retire from haunting memories and uncongenialassociations. 

In the mean time, Gabriel had found refuge in his mother's native land. During his wild, roving life, he had mingled much with foreigners, andacquired a perfect knowledge of the French language, --I should rathersay his knowledge was perfected by practice, for the twin brothers hadbeen taught from infancy the melodious and expressive language of theirmother's native clime. The facility with which he conversed, and hisextremely handsome person, were advantages whose value he well knew howto appreciate, and to make subservient to his use. 

It was at this time that he became acquainted with Therésa Josephine LaFontaine, and his worn and sated passions were quickened into new life. She was not beautiful, "but fair and excellent, " and of a character thatexercises a commanding influence over the heart of man. Had he known herbefore habits of selfish indulgence had become, like the Ethiopian'sskin and the leopard's spots, too deep and indelible for chemic art tochange, she might perhaps have saved him from the transgressor's doom. She loved him with all the ardor of her pure, yet impassioned nature, and fully believed that her heart was given to one of the sons of light, instead of the children of darkness. For awhile his sin-dyed spiritseemed to bleach in the whitening atmosphere that surrounded him, for afather's as well as a husband's joy was his. But at length the demon ofennui possessed him. Satan was discontented in the bowers of Paradise. Gabriel sighed for his profligate companions, in the bosom of weddedlove and joy. He left home on a false pretence, and never returned. Itwas long before Therésa admitted a doubt of his faith, and it was nottill a rumor of his marriage in America reached her ear, that shebelieved it possible that he could deceive and betray her. An Americantraveller from New York, who knew Henry St. James and was unconscious ofthe existence of his brother, spoke of his marriage and his beautifulbride in terms that roused every dormant passion in the breast of thedeserted Therésa. Yet she waited long in the hope and the faith ofwoman's trusting heart, clinging to the belief of her husband'sintegrity and truth, with woman's fond adhesiveness. At length, when shehad but convincing reason to believe herself a betrayed and abandonedwife, she took her boy in her arms, crossed the ocean waste, landed inNew York, and by the aid of a directory sought the home of Henry St. James, deeming herself the legitimate mistress of the mansion she madedesolate by her presence. The result of her visit has been already told. She unconsciously destroyed the happiness of others, without securingher own. It is not strange, that in the moment of agony and distractioncaused by the revelation made by Therésa, Rosalie should not havenoticed in the marriage certificate the difference between the names ofHenry Gabriel and Gabriel Henry St. James. 

Henry St. James had been summoned to Texas, then the Botany Bay ofAmerica, by his unhappy brother, who had there commenced a new career ofsin and misery. He had gambled away his fortune, killed a man in a sceneof strife and blasphemy, been convicted of homicide, escaped from thesentence, and, lurking in by-lanes and accursed places, fell sick, andwrote to his brother to come and save him from infamy and death. 

How could he wound the spotless ears of Rosalie by the tale of hisbrother's guilt and shame? He had never spoken to her of his existence, the subject was so exquisitely painful, for he believed himself for everseparated from him, and why should his blasted name cast a shadow overthe heaven of his domestic happiness?

Alter having raised his miserable brother from the gulf of degradationin which he had plunged, and given him the means of establishing himselfin some honorable situation, which he promised to seek, he returned tofind his home occupied by strangers, his wife and child fled, hishappiness wrecked, and his peace destroyed. The deluded and half franticTherésa, believing him to be her husband, appealed to him, by the memoryof their former love and wedded felicity, to forgive the steps she hadtaken that she might assert the claims of her deserted boy. Maddened bythe loss of the wife whom he adored, he became for the time a maniac;and so terrible was his indignation and despair, the unhappy victim ofhis brother's perfidy fled trembling and dismayed from his presence. 

In the calmer moments that succeeded the first paroxysms of his agony, Henry thought of his brother and of the extraordinary resemblance theybore to each other, and the mystery which frenzied passion had at firstveiled from his eyes was partially revealed to his understanding. Couldhe then have seen her, and could she prove that she was the wife ofGabriel, he would have protected her with a brother's care andtenderness. But his first thought was for Rosalie, --the young, thebeloved, the deceived, the fugitive Rosalie, of whose flight no cluecould be discovered, no trace be found. The servants could throw nolight on the mystery, for she had left in the darkness and silence ofnight. They only knew that Peggy disappeared at the same time, and wasprobably her companion. This circumstance afforded a faint relief toHenry's distracted mind, for he knew Peggy's physical strength and moralcourage, as well as her remarkable attachment to his lovely and gentlewife. But whither had they gone? The natural supposition was, that shewould throw herself on the protection of her step-mother, as the onlyperson on whom she had any legitimate claims, --unkind as she hadformerly been. He immediately started for the embattled walls ofFortress Monroe, --but before his departure, he put advertisements inevery paper, which, if they met her eye, she could not fail tounderstand. Alas! they never reached the gray cottage imbosomed in NewEngland woods!

In vain he sought her in the wave-washed home of her childhood. He metwith no sympathy from the slighted and jealous step-mother, who haddestroyed the only link that bound them together, the name of herfather. She had married again, and disowned all interest in the daughterof her former husband. She went still further, and wreaked her vengeanceon St. James for the wounds he had inflicted on her vanity, by aspersingand slandering the innocent Rosalie. He left her in indignation anddisgust, and wandered without guide or compass, like another Orpheus insearch of the lost Eurydice. Had he known Peggy's native place, he mighthave turned in the right direction, but he was ignorant of every thingbut her name and virtues. At length, weary and desponding, he resolvedto seek in foreign lands, and in devotion to his art, oblivion of hissorrows. Just before his departure he met his brother, and told him ofthe circumstances which banished him from home and country. Gabriel, whose love for Therésa had been the one golden vein in the dark ore ofhis nature, was awakened to bitter, though short-lived remorse, not onlyfor the ruin he brought on her, but the brother, whose fraternalkindness had met with so sad a requital. Touched by the exhibition ofhis grief and self-reproach, Henry committed to his keeping a miniatureof Rosalie, of which he had a duplicate, that he might be able toidentify her, and Gabriel promised, if he discovered one trace of hiswife and child, that he would write to his brother and recall him. 

They parted. Henry went to Italy, where images of ideal lovelinessmingled with, though they could not supplant, the taunting memories ofhis native clime. As an artist, and as a man, he was admired, respected, and beloved; and he found consolation, though not happiness. The onegreat sorrow of his life fell like a mountain shadow over his heart; butit darkened its brightness without chilling its warmth. He was still thesympathizing friend of humanity, the comforter of the afflicted, thebenefactor of the poor. 

In the mean time Gabriel continued his reckless and dissolute course, sometimes on land, sometimes on sea, an adventurer, a speculator, agambler, and a wretch. Destiny chanced to throw him into the vortex ofcorruption boiling in the heart of New York, when I went there, thebride of Ernest. He had seen me in the street, before he met me at thetheatre; and, struck by my resemblance to the miniature which hisbrother had given him, he inquired and learned my name and history, aswell as the wealth and rank of my husband. Confirmed in his suspicionthat I was the child of Rosalie, he resolved to fill his empty pocketswith my husband's gold, by making me believe that _he_ was my father, and appealing to my filial compassion. Not satisfied with his success, he forged the note, whose discovery was followed by detection, conviction, imprisonment, and despair. 

The only avenue to his seared and hardened heart had been found by theson of Therésa, coming to him like a messenger from heaven, in all hispurity, excellence, and filial piety, not to avenge a mother's wrongs, but to cheer and illumine a guilty father's doom. His brother, too, seemed sent by Providence at this moment, that he might receive thedaughter whom, from motives of the basest selfishness, he had claimed ashis own. 

When I first saw my father at the Falls, he had just returned to hisnative land, in company with Julian, the young artist. Urged by one ofthose irresistible impulses which may be the pressure of an angel'shand, his spirit turned to the soil where he now firmly believed theashes of his Rosalie reposed. He and Julian parted on their firstarrival, met again on the morning of our departure, and travelledtogether through some of the glowing and luxuriant regions of the West. After Julian left him to visit Grandison Place, he lingered amid sceneswhere nature revelled in all its primeval grandeur and originalsimplicity, sketching its boldest and most attractive features, till, God-directed, he came to the city over which the memory of his briefwedded life trembled like a misty star throbbing on the lonely heart ofnight. Hearing that a St. James was in the dungeons of the Tombs, aconvicted forger, he at once knew that it must be his brother. There hesought him, and learned from him that the child of Rosalie lived, thoughRosalie was a more. 

As simple as sad, was the solution of my life's mystery. 

Concealment was the fatal source of our sorrows. Even the noble HenrySt. James erred in concealing his twin brotherhood, though woe anddisgrace tarnished the once golden link. Rosalie and Therésa both erred, in not giving their children their father's name, though they believedit accursed by perjury and guilt. 

Truth, and truth alone, is safe and omnipotent: "The eternal days of Godare hers. " Man may weave, but she will undeceive; man may arrange, butGod will dispose. 

CHAPTER LVII. 

I told my father the history of my youth and womanhood, of my marriageand widowhood, with feelings similar to those with which I poured out mysoul into the compassionate bosom of my Heavenly Father. He listened, pitied, wept over, and then consoled me. 

"He must prove himself worthy of so sacred a trust, " said he, claspingme to his bosom with all a father's tenderness, and all a mother's love, "before I ever commit it to his keeping. Never again, with my consent, shall you be given back to his arms, till 'the seed of the woman hasbruised the serpent's head. '"

"I will never leave you again, dear father, under any circumstances, whatever they may be. Rest assured, that come weal, come woe, we willnever be separated. Not even for a husband's unclouded confidence, wouldI forsake a father's sacred, new-found love. "

"We must wait, and hope, and trust, my beloved daughter. Every thingwill work together for the good of those that love God. I believe thatnow, fully, reverentially. Sooner or later all the ways of Providencewill be justified to man, and made clear as the noonday sun. "

He looked up to heaven, and his fine countenance beamed with holyresignation and Christian faith. Oh! how I loved this dear, excellent, noble father! Every hour, nay, every moment I might say, my filial loveand reverence increased. My feelings were so new, so overpowering, Icould not analyze them. They were sweet as the strains of Edith's harp, yet grand as the roaring of ocean's swelling waves. The bliss ofconfidence, the rapture of repose, the sublimity of veneration, thetenderness of love, all blended like the dyes of the rainbow, andspanned with an arch of peace the retreating clouds of my soul. 

"When shall we go to Grandison Place?" he asked. "I long to pour afather's gratitude into the ear of your benefactress. I long to visitthe grave of my Rosalie. "

"To-morrow, to-day, --now, dear father, whenever you speak the word;provided we are not separated, I do not mind how soon. "

He smiled at my eagerness. 

"Not quite so much haste, my daughter. I cannot leave to Richard thesole task of ministering to the soul of my unhappy brother. Hisconscience is quickened, his feeling softened, and it may be that theday of grace is begun. His frame is weak and worn, his blood feverish, and drop by drop is slowly drying in his veins. I never saw any one sofearfully altered. Truly is it said, that 'the wages of sin is death. 'Oh! if after herding with the swine and feeding on the husks of earth, he comes a repentant prodigal to his father's home, it matters not howsoon he passes from that living tomb. "

My father's words were prophetic. The prisoner's wasted frame wasconsuming slowly, almost imperceptibly, like steel when rust corrodesit. Richard and my father were with him every day, and gathered roundhim every comfort which the law permitted, to soften the horrors ofimprisonment. Not in vain were their labors of love. God blessed them. The rock was blasted. The waters gushed forth. Like the thief on thecross, he turned his dying glance on his Saviour, and acknowledged himto be the Son of God. But it was long before the fiery serpents ofremorse were deadened by the sight of the brazen reptile, glitteringwith supernatural radiance on the uplifted eye of faith. The strugglewas fearful and agonizing, but the victory triumphant. 

Had he needed me, I would have gone to him, and I often pleadedearnestly with my father to take me with him; but he said he did notwish me to be exposed to such harrowing scenes, and that Richardcombined the tenderness of a daughter with the devotion of a son. PoorRichard! his pale cheeks and heavy eyes bore witness to the protractedsufferings of his father, but he bore up bravely, sustained by the hopeof his soul's emancipation from the bondage of sin. 

The prisoner must have had an iron constitution. The wings of his spiritflapped with such violence against its skeleton bars, the vulture-beakof remorse dipping all the time into the quivering, bleeding heart, itis astonishing how long it resisted even after flesh and blood seemedwasted away. Day after day he lingered; but as his soul graduallyunsheathed itself, clearer views of God and eternity played upon itssurface, till it flashed and burned, like a sword in the sunbeams ofheaven. 

At length he died, with the hand of his son clasped in his, the bible ofTherésa laid against his heart, and his brother kneeling in prayer byhis bedside. Death came softly, gently, like an angel of release, andleft the seal of peace on that brow, indented in life by thethunder-scars of sin and crime. 

After the first shock, Richard could not help feeling his father's deathan unspeakable blessing, accompanied by such circumstances. In the gravehis transgressions would be forgotten, or remembered only to forgive. Hemust now rise, shake off the sackcloth and ashes from his spirit, andput on the beautiful garments of true manhood. The friends, who hadtaken such an interest in his education, must not be disappointed in thecareer they had marked out. Arrangements had been made for him to studyhis profession with one of the most eminent lawyers of Boston, and hewas anxious to commence immediately, that he might find in mentalexcitement an antidote to morbid sensibility and harrowing memory. 

My father's wishes and my own turned to Grandison Place, and we preparedat once for our departure. I had informed Mrs. Linwood by letters of theevents which I have related, and received her heart-feltcongratulations. She expressed an earnest desire to see my father, buthonored too much the motives that induced him to remain, to wish him tohasten. Now those motives no longer existed, I wrote to announce ourcoming, and soon after we bade adieu to one of the most charming abodesof goodness, hospitality, and pure domestic happiness I have ever known. 

"You must write and tell me of all the changes of your changingdestiny, " said Mrs. Brahan, when she gave me the parting embrace; "noone can feel more deeply interested in them than myself. I feel in ameasure associated with the scenes of your life-drama, for this is theplace of your nativity, and it was under this roof you were united toyour noble and inestimable father. Be of good cheer. Good news willcome, wafted from beyond the Indian seas, and your second bridal mornwill be fairer than the first. "

I thanked her with an overflowing heart. I did not, like _her_, see theday-star of hope arising over that second bridal morn, but the sweetpathetic minor tone breathed in my ear the same holy strain:--

 "Brightest and best of the sons of the morning, Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine aid; Star of the East, the horizon adorning, Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid. "

CHAPTER LVIII. 

I wish my father could have seen the home of my youth, when he firstbeheld it, in the greenness of spring or the bloom of summer; but white, cold, and dazzling was the lawn, and bleak, bare, and leafless the grandold elms and the stately brotherhood of oaks that guarded the avenue. 

With pride, gratitude, joy, and a thousand mingling emotions, Iintroduced my father into a dwelling consecrated by so manyrecollections of happiness and woe. The cloud was removed from my birth, the stain from my lineage. I could now exult in my parentage and gloryin my father. 

Julian was there, and welcomed St. James with enthusiastic pleasure, who, on his part, seemed to cherish for him even parental affection. With joy and triumph beaming in his eyes and glowing on his cheek, Julian took the lovely Edith by the hand, and introduced her as hisbride. Still occupying her usual place in her mother's home, in all hersweetness, simplicity, and spirituality, it was difficult to believe anychange had come over her destiny. She had not waited for my presence, because she knew the bridal wreath woven for her would recall theblighted bloom of mine. She had no festal wedding. She could not, whileher brother's fate was wrapped in uncertainty and gloom. 

One Sunday evening, after Mr. Somerville had dismissed the congregationwith the usual benediction, Julian led Edith to the altar, and hermother stood by her side till the solemn words were uttered that madethem one. So simple and holy were the nuptial rites of the wealthy andbeautiful heiress of Grandison Place. 

My father spoke in exalted terms of the young artist, of his virtues andhis genius, the singleness of his heart, the uprightness of hisprinciples, and the warmth and purity of his affections. Had he, myfather, needed any passport to the favor of Mrs. Linwood, he could nothave had a surer one; but her noble nature instantaneously recognizedhis congenial and exalted worth. He had that in his air, hiscountenance, and manner, that distinguished him from the sons of men, asthe planets are distinguished by their clear, intense, and steadfastlustre among the starry ranks of heaven. 

I gave him the manuscript my mother had left me, and at his requestpointed out the road and the diverging path that led to the spot whereher grave was made. I did not ask to accompany him, for I felt hisemotions were too sacred for even his daughter to witness. I mournedthat the desolation of winter was added to the dreariness of death; thata pall of snow, white as her winding-sheet and cold as her clay, coveredthe churchyard. In summer, when the grass was of an emerald green andthe willows waved their weeping branches with a gentle rustle againstthe clustering roses, whose breath perfumed and whose blossomsbeautified the place of graves, it was sweet, though sad, to wander amidthe ruins of life, and meditate on its departed joys. 

The broken shaft, twined with a drooping wreath carved in bas-relief, which rose above my mother's ashes, and the marble stone which markedthe grave of Peggy, were erected the year after their deaths. The moneywhich rewarded my services in the academy had been thus appropriated, orrather a portion of it. The remainder had been given to the poor, asMrs. Linwood always supplied my wardrobe, as she did Edith's, and leftno want of my own to satisfy, not even a wish to indulge. I mention thishere, because it occurred to my mind that I had not done Mrs. Linwoodperfect justice with regard to the motives which induced her todiscipline my character. 

I did not see my father for hours after his return. He retired to hischamber, and did not join the family circle till the evening lamps werelighted. He looked excessively pale, even wan, and his countenanceshowed how much he had suffered. Edith was singing when he came in, andhe made a motion for her to continue; for it was evident he did not wishto converse. I sat down by him without speaking; and putting his armround me, he drew me closely to his side. The plaintive melody ofEdith's voice harmonized with the melancholy tone of his feelings, andseemed to shed on his soul a balmy and delicious softness. His spiritwas with my mother in the dreams of the past, rather than the hopes ofthe future; and the memory of its joys lived again in music's heavenlybreath. 

It is a blessed thing to be remembered in death as my mother was. Herimage was enshrined in her husband's heart, in the bloom and freshnessof unfaded youth, as he had last beheld her, --and such it would everremain. He had not seen the mournful process of fading and decay. Tohim, she was the bride of immortality; and his love partook of her ownfreshness and youth and bloom. Genius is _La fontaine de jouvence_, inwhose bright, deep waters the spirit bathes and renews its morningprime. It is the well-spring of the heart, --the Castaly of the soul. St. James had lived amid forms of ideal beauty, till his spirit was imbuedwith their loveliness as with the fragrance of flowers, and he breathedan atmosphere pure as the world's first spring. He was _young_, thoughpast the meridian of life. There was but one mark of age upon hisinteresting and noble person, and that was the snowy shade that softenedhis raven hair, --foam of the waves of time, showing they had been lashedby the storms, or driven against breakers and reefs of destiny. 

The first time I took him into the library, he stopped before thepicture of Ernest. I did not tell him whose it was. He gazed upon itlong and earnestly. 

"What a countenance!" he exclaimed. "I can see the lights and shades offeeling flashing and darkening over it. It has the troubled splendor ofa tropic night, when clouds and moonbeams are struggling. Is it aportrait, or an ideal picture?"

"It is Ernest, --it is my husband, " I answered; and it seemed to me as ifall the ocean surges that rolled between us were pressing their coldweight on my heart. 

"My poor girl! my beloved Gabriella! All your history is written there. "

I threw myself in his arms, and wept. Had I seen Ernest dead at my feet, I could not have felt more bitter grief. I had never indulged it sounrestrainedly before in his presence, for I had always thought more ofhim than myself; and in trying to cheer him, I had found cheerfulness. Now I remembered only Ernest's idolatrous love, and his sorrows andsufferings, forgetting my own wrongs; and I felt there would always bean aching void which even a father's and brother's tenderness (forbrother I still called Richard) could never fill. 

"Oh, my father, " I cried, "bear with my weakness, --bear with me a littlewhile. There is comfort in weeping on a father's bosom, even for a losslike mine. I shall never see him again. He is dead, or if living, isdead to me. You cannot blame me, father. You see there a faint semblanceof what he is, --splendid, fascinating, and haunting, though at times sodark and fearful. No words of mine can give an idea of the depth, thestrength, the madness of his love. It has been the blessing and thebane, the joy and the terror, the angel and the demon of my life. I knowit was sinful in its wild excess, and mine was sinful, too, in its blindidolatry, and I know the blessing of God could not hallow such a union. But how can I help feeling the dearth, the coldness, the wearinessfollowing such passionate emotions? How can I help feeling at times, that the sun of my existence is set, and a long, dark night before me?"

He did not answer, --he only pressed me convulsively to his heart, and Ifelt one hot tear, and then another and another falling on my brow. 

Oh! it is cruel to wring tears from the strong heart of man; cruel, above all, to wring them from a father's heart, --that heart whose ownsorrows had lately bled afresh. Every drop fell heavy and burning asmolten lead on my conscience. I had been yielding to a selfish burst ofgrief, thoughtless of the agony I was inflicting. 

"Forgive me, father!" I cried, "forgive me! On my knees, too, I willpray my Heavenly Father to forgive the rebel who dares to murmur at hischastisements, when new and priceless blessings gladden her life. Ithought I had learned submission, --and I have, father, I have kissed inlove and faith the Almighty hand that laid me low. This has been a darkmoment, but it is passed. "

I kissed his hand, and pressed it softly over my glistening eyes. 

"Forgive you, my child!" he repeated, "for a sorrow so natural, solegitimate, and which has so much to justify it! I have wondered at yourfortitude and disinterested interest in others, --I have wondered at yourChristian submission, your unmurmuring resignation, and I wonder still. But you must not consider your destiny as inevitably sad and lonely. Youhave not had time yet to receive tidings from India. If, after theletter you have written, your husband does not return with a heartbroken by penitence and remorse, and his dark and jealous passions slainby the sword of conviction, piercing two-edged and sharp to the verymarrow of his spirit, he is not worthy of thee, my spotless, preciouschild; and the illusion of love will pass away, showing him to beselfish, tyrannical, and cruel, a being to be shunned and pitied, but nolonger loved. Do not shudder at the picture I have drawn. The soul thatspeaks from those eyes of thousand meanings, " added he, looking at theportrait that gazed upon us with powerful and thrilling glance, "musthave some grand and redeeming qualities. I trust in God that it willrise above the ashes of passion, purified and regenerated. Then yourhappiness will have a new foundation, whose builder and maker is God. "

"Oh! dear father!" was all I could utter. He spoke like one who had thegift of prophecy, and my spirit caught the inspiration of his words. 

I have not spoken of Richard, for I had so much to say of my father, butI did not forget him. He accompanied us to Grandison Place, though heremained but a few days. I could not help feeling sad to see how thesparkling vivacity of his youth had passed away, the diamond brightnesswhich reminded one of rippling waters in their sunbeams. But if lessbrilliant, he was far more interesting. Stronger, deeper, higherqualities were developed. The wind-shaken branches of thought stretchedwith a broader sweep. The roots of his growing energies, wrenched by thestorm, struck firmer and deeper, and the wounded bark gave forth a pureand invigorating odor. 

I walked with him, the evening before his departure, in the avenue fromwhich the snow had been swept, leaving a smooth, wintry surface below. Iwas wrapped in furs, and the cold, frosty air braced me like a pair ofstrong arms. 

I had so much to say to Richard, and now I was alone with him. I walkedon in silence, feeling as if words had never been invented to expressour ideas. 

"You will never feel the want of a father's care and affection, " atlength I said. "My father could not love you better if you were his ownson; and surely no own brother could be dearer, Richard, than you areand ever will be to me. You must not look mournfully on the past, butforward into a brightening future. "

"I have but one object in life now, " he answered, "and that is, toimprove the talents God has given me for the benefit of mankind. I amnot conscious of any personal hope or ambition, but a strong sense ofduty acts upon me, and will save me from the corrosion of disappointmentand the listlessness of despair. "

"But you will not always feel so, Richard. You will experience a strongreaction soon, and new-born hopes and aspirations will shine gloriouslyto guide you upward and onward in your bright career. Think how youngyou are yet, Richard. "

"The consciousness of youth does not always bring joy. It cannot, whenyouthful hopes are blighted, Gabriella. One cannot tear up at once thedeep-rooted affections of years. Never was a love planted deeper, firmerthan mine for you, before the soil of the heart had known the hardeningwinds of destiny. Start not, Gabriella, I am not going to utter onesentiment which, as a wife, you need blush to hear; but the partinghour, like that of death, is an honest one, and I must speak as I feel. May you never know or imagine my wretchedness when I believed you to bemy sister, knowing that though innocent, I had been guilty, and that Icould not love you merely with a brother's love. Thank heaven! you aremy cousin. Ten thousand winning sweetnesses cluster round this dearrelationship. The dearest, the strongest, the purest I have ever known. "

"You will know a stronger, a dearer one, dear Richard, --you do not knowyet how strong. "

"I shall never think of my own happiness, Gabriella, till I am assuredof yours. "

"Then I will try to be happy for your sake. "

"And if it should be that the ties severed by misfortune and distanceare never renewed, you will remain with your father, and I will make myhome with you, and it will be the business of both our lives to make youhappy. No flower of the green-house was ever more tenderly cherished andguarded than you shall be, best beloved of so many hearts!"

"Thank you, oh, thank you, for all your tenderness, so far beyond myworth. Friend, brother, cousin, with you and such a father to love me, Iought to be the happiest and most grateful of human beings. But tell meone thing, dear Richard, before we part; do you forgive Ernest the wronghe has done you, freely and fully?"

"From the bottom of my heart I do. "

"And should we ever meet again, may I tell him so?"

"Tell him I have nothing to forgive, for, believing as he did, vengeancecould not wing a bolt of wrath too red, too deadly. But I would notrecall the past. Your father beckons us, --he fears the frosty eveningair for you, but it has given a glowing rose to your cheeks!"

My father stood on the threshold to greet us, with that benign smile, that beautiful, winning smile that had so long been slumbering on hisface, but which grew brighter and brighter every time it beamed on mysoul. 

The last evening of Richard's stay was not sad. Dr. Harlowe and Mr. Somerville were with us; and though the events with which he had beenassociated had somewhat sobered the doctor's mirthful propensities, thegeniality of his character was triumphant over every circumstance. 

My father expressed to him the most fervent gratitude for his parentalkindness to me, as well as for a deeper, holier debt. 

"You owe me nothing, " said Dr. Harlowe; "and even if you did, and werethe debt ten times beyond your grateful appreciation of it, I shouldconsider myself repaid by the privilege of calling you my friend. "

No one could speak with more feeling or dignity than the doctor, whenthe right chord was touched. He told me he had never seen the man headmired so much as my father; and how proud and happy it made me to havehim say so, and know that his words were true! No one who has not feltas I did, the mortification, the shame and anguish of believing myselfthe daughter of a convicted criminal, can understand the intense, thealmost worshipping reverence with which I regarded my late-found parent. To feel pride instead of humiliation, exultation instead of shame, andlove instead of abhorrence, how great the contrast, how unspeakable therelief, how sublime and holy the gratitude!

CHAPTER LIX. 

The snows of winter melted, the diamond icicles dropped from the trees, the glittering fetters slipped from the streams, and nature came forth acaptive released from bondage, glowing with the joy of emancipation. 

Nothing could be more beautiful, more glorious, than the valley in itsvernal garniture. Such affluence of verdure; such rich, sweepingfoliage; such graceful undulation of hill and dale; such exquisiteblending of light and shade; such pure, rejoicing breezes; such blue, resplendent skies never before met, making _a tableau vivant_ on whichthe eye of the great Creator must look down with delight. 

It was the first time Mrs. Linwood had witnessed the opening of springat Grandison Place, and her faded spirits revived in the midst of itsblooming splendor. She bad preferred its comparative retirement duringthe past winter, and, in spite of the solicitations of her friends, refused to go to the metropolis. My father and Julian both felt anartist's rapture at the prospect unrolled in a grand panorama aroundthem, and transferred to the canvas many a glowing picture. It wasdelightful to watch the progress of these new creations, --but far moreinteresting when the human face was the subject of the pencil. Edith andmyself were multiplied into so many charming forms, it is strange wewere not made vain by gazing on them. 

I was very grasping in my wishes, and wanted quite a picture gallery ofmy friends, --Mrs. Linwood, Edith, and Dr. Harlowe; and my indulgentfather made masterly sketches of all for his exacting daughter. And thusday succeeded day, and no wave from Indian seas wafted tidings of theabsent husband and son. No "Star of the East" dawned on the nightshadesof my heart. And the raven voice kept echoing in my ear, "Never more, never more. " There had been a terrible gale sweeping along the wholeeastern coast of the Atlantic, and many a ship had gone down, freightedwith an argosy richer than gold, --the treasures of human hearts. I didnot speak my fears, but the sickness of dread settled on my spirits, inspite of the almost super-human efforts I made to shake it from them. When my eyes were fixed on my father's paintings, I could see nothingbut storm-lashed billows, wrecking ships, and pale, drowning mariners. Icould see that Mrs. Linwood and Edith participated in my apprehensions, though they did not give them utterance. We hardly dared to look in eachother's faces, lest we should betray to each other thoughts which wewould, but could not conceal. 

The library had been converted into my father's studio. He usuallypainted in the mornings as well as Julian; and in the afternoon we rode, or walked as inclination prompted, and the evenings were devoted tosewing, conversation, and music. 

One afternoon, after returning from a ride about sunset, I went into thelibrary for a book which I had left there. I never went there alonewithout stopping to gaze at the picture of Ernest, which every dayacquired a stronger fascination. "Those eyes of a thousand meanings, " asmy father had said, followed me with thrilling intensity whenever Imoved, and if I paused they fixed themselves on me as if never more tobe withdrawn. Just now, as I entered, a crimson ray of the setting sun, struggling in through the curtained windows, fell warmly on the face, and gave it such a lifelike glow, that I actually started, as if lifeindeed were there. 

As I have said before, the library was remote from the front part of thehouse, and even Margaret's loud, voluble laugh did not penetrate itsdeep retirement. I know not how long, but it must have been very longthat I stood gazing at the picture, for the crimson ray had faded into asoft twilight haze, and the face seemed gradually receding further andfurther from me. 

The door opened. Never, never, shall I feel as I did then till I meet mymother's spirit in another world. A pale hand rested, as if for support, on the latch of the door, --a face pale as the statues, but lighted up byeyes of burning radiance, flashed like an apparition upon me. I stood asin a nightmare, incapable of motion or utterance, and a cloud rolledover my sight. But I knew that Ernest was at my feet, that his face wasburied in the folds of my dress, and his voice in deep, tremulous music, murmuring in my ear. 

"Gabriella! beloved Gabriella! I am not worthy to be called thy husband;but banish me not, my own and only love!"

At the sound of that voice, my paralyzed senses burst the fetters thatenthralled them, and awoke to life so keen, there was agony in theawakening. Every plan that reason had suggested and judgment approvedwas forgotten or destroyed, and love, all-conquering, unconquerablelove, reigned over every thought, feeling, and emotion. I sunk upon myknees before him, --I encircled his neck with my arms, --I called him byevery dear and tender name the vocabulary of love can furnish, --I weptupon his bosom showers of blissful and relieving tears. Thus we kneltand wept, locked in each other's arms, and again and again Ernestrepeated--

"I am not worthy to be thy husband, " and I answered again and again--

"I love thee, Ernest. God, who knoweth all things, knows, and he only, how I love thee. "

It is impossible to describe such scenes. Those who have never knownthem, must deem them high-wrought and extravagant those who _have_, coldand imperfect. It is like trying to paint chain-lightning, or thecoruscations of the aurora borealis. I thought not how he came. Whatcared I, when he was with me, when his arms were round me, his heartanswering to the throbs of mine? Forgotten were suspicion, jealousy, violence, and wrong, --nothing remained but the memory of love. 

As the shades of twilight deepened, his features seemed more distinct, for the mist which tears had left dissolved, and I could see how wan andshadowy he looked, and how delicate, even to sickliness, the hue of histransparent complexion. Traces of suffering were visible in everylineament, but they seemed left by the ground-swell of passion, ratherthan its deeper ocean waves. 

"You have seen your mother?" at length I said, feeling that I must nolonger keep him from her, "and Edith? And oh, Ernest! have you seen myfather? Do you know I have a father, whom I glory in acknowledging? Doyou know that the cloud is removed from my birth, the stigma from myname? Oh, my husband, mine is a strange, eventful history!"

"Mr. Brahan told me of the discovery of your father, and of the death ofhis unhappy brother. I have not seen him yet. But my mother! When I lefther, Gabriella, she had not one silver hair. _My_ hand sprinkled thatpremature snow. "

"It matters not now, dear Ernest, " I cried, pained by the torturingsighs that spoke the depth of his remorse. "Flowers will bloom sweetlyunder that light snow. Edith is happy. We will all be happy, --my fathertoo, --come and see him, Ernest, --come, and tell me, if I have need toblush for my lineage. "

"Not for your lineage, but your husband. What must this noble fatherthink of me?"

"Every thing that is kind and Christian. He has sustained my faith, fedmy hopes, and prophesied this hour of reunion. Come, the moment you haveseen him, you will trust, revere, and love him. "

With slow and lingering steps we walked the winding gallery that ledfrom the library, and entered the parlor, whose lights seemed dazzlingin contrast to the soft gloom we had left behind. 

Hand in hand we approached my father, who stood with his back to one ofthe windows, his tall and stately figure nobly defined. I tried to utterthe words, "My husband! my father!" but my parted lips were mute. Ithrew myself into his arms, with a burst of emotion that wasirrepressible, and he grasped the hand of Ernest and welcomed and blesthim in warm, though faltering accents. Then Edith came with her sweetApril face, and hung once more upon her brother's neck, and his motheragain embraced him, and Julian walked to the window and looked abroad, to hide the tears which he thought a stain upon his manhood. 

It was not till after the excitement of the hour had subsided, that werealized how weak and languid Ernest really was. He was obliged toconfess how much he had suffered from illness and fatigue, and that hisstrength was completely exhausted. As he reclined on one of the sofas, the crimson hue of the velvet formed such a startling contrast to thepallor of his complexion, it gave him an appearance almost unearthly. 

"You have been ill, my son, " said Mrs. Linwood, watching him withintense anxiety. 

"I have been on the confines of the spirit world, my mother; so near asto see myself by the light it reflected. Death is the solar microscopeof life. It shows a hideous mass, where all seemed fair and pure. "

He laid his hand over his eyes with a nervous shudder. 

"But I am well now, " he added; "I am only suffering from fatigue andexcitement. Gabriella's letter found me leaning over the grave. Itraised me, restored me, brought me back to life, to hope, to love, andhome. "

He told us, in the course of the evening, how he had found Mr. Harlandon the eve of embarking for India, and that he offered to be hiscompanion; and how he had written to his mother before his voyage, telling her of his destination, and entreating her to write if she werestill willing to call him her son. The letter came not to relieve theagonies of suspense, and mine contained the first tidings he receivedfrom his native land. It found him, as he had said, on a sick-bed, andits contents imparted new life to his worn and tortured being. Heimmediately took passage in a home bound ship, though so weak he wasobliged to be carried on board in a litter. Mr. Harland accompanied himto New York, where on debarking they had met Mr. Brahan, who had givenhim a brief sketch of my visit, and the events that marked it. 

As I sat by him on a low seat, with his hand clasped in mine, while hetold me in a low voice of the depth of his penitence, the agonies of hisremorse, and the hope of God's pardon that had dawned on what hesupposed the night clouds of death, I saw him start as if in suddenpain. The lace sleeve had fallen back from my left arm. His eyes werefixed on the wound he had inflicted. He bent his head forward, andpressed his lips on the scar. 

"They shall look upon him whom they have pierced, " he murmured. "O mySaviour I could thy murderers feel pangs of deeper remorse at the sightof thy scarred hands and wounded side?"

"Never think of it again, dear Ernest. I did not know it, did not feelit. It never gave me a moment's pang. "

"Yes, I remember well why you did not suffer. "

"But you must not remember. If you love me, Ernest, make no allusion tothe past. The future is ours; youth and hope are ours; and the promisesof God, sure and steadfast, are ours. I feel as Noah and his childrenfelt when they stepped from the ark on dry land, and saw the waters ofthe deluge retreating, and the rainbow smiling on its clouds. What tothem were the storms they had weathered, the dangers they had overcome?They were all past. Oh, my husband, let us believe that ours are past, and let us trust forever in the God of our fathers. "

"I do--I do, my Gabriella. My faith has hitherto been a coldabstraction; now it is a living, vital flame, burning with steady andincreasing light. "

At this moment Edith, who had seated herself at the harp, rememberingwell the soothing influence of music on her brother's soul, touched itsresounding strings; and the magnificent strains of the _Gloria inExcelsis_, --"rose like a stream Of rich distilled perfume. "

I never heard any thing sound so sweet and heavenly. It came in, asublime chorus to the thoughts we had been uttering. It reminded me ofthe song of the morning stars, the anthem of the angels over the mangerof Bethlehem, --so highly wrought were my feelings, --so softly, with suchswelling harmony, had the notes stolen on the ear. 

Ernest raised himself from his reclining position, and his countenanceglowed with rapture. I had never seen it wear such an expression before. "Old things had passed away, --all things had become new. "

"There is peace, --there is pardon, " said he, in a voice too low for anyear but mine, when the last strain melted away, --"there is joy in heavenover the repenting sinner, there is joy on earth over the returningprodigal. "

CONCLUSION

Two years and more have passed since my heart responded to the strainsof the _Gloria in Excelsis_, as sung by Edith on the night of herbrother's return. 

Come to this beautiful cottage on the sea-shore, where we have retiredfrom the heat of summer, and you can tell by a glance whether time hasscattered blossoms or thorns in my path, during its rapid flight. 

Come into the piazza that faces the beach, and you can look out on anocean of molten gold, crimsoned here and there by the rays of thesetting sun, and here and there melting off into a kind of burningsilver. A glorious breeze is beginning to curl the face of the waters, and to swell the white sails of the skiffs and light vessels that skimthe tide like birds of the air, apparently instinct with life andgladness. It rustles through the foliage, the bright, green foliage, that contrasts so dazzlingly with the smooth, white, sandy beach, --itlifts the soft, silky locks of that beautiful infant, that is cradled solovingly in my father's arms. Oh! whose do you think that smiling cherubis, with such dark, velvet eyes, and pearly skin, and mouth of heavenlysweetness? It is mine, it is my own darling Rosalie, my pearl, mysunbeam, my flower, my every sweet and precious name in one. 

But let me not speak of her first, the youngest pilgrim to this sea-beatshore. There are others who claim the precedence. There is one on myright hand, whom if you do not remember with admiration and respect, itis because my pen has had no power to bring her character before you, inall its moral excellence and Christian glory. You have not forgottenMrs. Linwood. Her serene gray eye is turned to the apparentlyillimitable ocean, now slowly rolling and deeply murmuring, as if itsmighty heart were stirred to its inmost core, by a consciousness of itsown grandeur. There is peace on her thoughtful, placid brow, and long, long may it rest there. 

The young man on my left is recognized at once, for there is no one likehim, my high-souled, gallant Richard. His eye sparkles with much of itsearly quick-flashing light. The shadow of the dismal Tombs no longerclouds, though it tempers, the brightness of his manhood. _He_ knows, though the world does not, that his father fills a convict's grave, andthis remembrance chastens his pride, without humiliating him with theconsciousness of disgrace. He is rapidly making himself a name and famein the high places of society. Men of talent take him by the hand andwelcome him as a younger brother to their ranks, and fair and charmingwomen smile upon and flatter him by the most winning attentions. Hepasses on from flower to flower, without seeking to gather one to placein his bosom, though he loves to inhale their fragrance and admire theirbloom. 

"One of these days you will think of marrying, " said a friend, whilecongratulating him on his brilliant prospects. 

"When I can find another Gabriella, " he answered. 

Ah! Richard, there are thousands better and lovelier than Gabriella; andyou will yet find an angel spirit in woman's form, who will reward yourfilial virtues, and scatter the roses of love in the green path of fame. 

Do you see that graceful figure floating along on the white beach, witha motion like the flowing wave, with hair like the sunbeams, and eye aswhen

 "The blue sky trembles on a cloud of purest white?"

and he who walks by her side, with the romantic, beaming countenance, now flashing with the enthusiasm, now shaded by the sensibility ofgenius? They are the fair-haired Edith, and the artist Julian. He haslaid aside for awhile the pencil and the pallette, to drink in with usthe invigorating breezes of ocean. Let them pass on. They are happy. 

Another couple is slowly following, taller, larger, more of the "earth, earthy. " Do you not recognize my quondam tutor and the once dauntlessMeg? It is his midsummer vacation, and they, too, have come to breathean atmosphere cooled by sea-born gales, and to renew the socialities offriendship amid grand and inspiring influences. They walk onthoughtfully, pensively, sometimes looking down on the smooth, continuous beach, then upward to the mellow and glowing heavens. Asoftening shade has _womanized_ the bold brow of Madge, and her red liphas a more subdued tint. She, the care-defying, laughter-breathing, untamable Madge, has known not only the refining power of love, but thechastening touch of sorrow. She has given a lovely infant back to theGod who gave it, and is thus linked to the world of angels. But she hastreasures on earth still dearer. She leans on a strong arm and a trueheart. Let them pass on. They, too, are happy. 

My dear father! He is younger and handsomer than he was two years since, for happiness is a wonderful rejuvenator. His youth is renewed in ours, his Rosalie lives again in the cherub who bears her name, and in whomhis eye traces the similitude of her beauty. Father! never since thehour when I first addressed thee by that holy name, have I bowed my kneein prayer without a thanksgiving to God for the priceless blessingbestowed in thee. 

There is one more figure in this sea-side group, dearer, moreinteresting than all the rest to me. No longer the wan and languidwanderer returned from Indian shores, worn by remorse, and tortured bymemory. The light, if not the glow of health, illumines his face, and afirmer, manlier tone exalts its natural delicacy of coloring. 

Do you not perceive a change in that once dark, though splendidcountenance? Is there not more peace and softness, yet more dignity anddepth of thought? I will not say that clouds never obscure its serenity, nor lightnings never dart across its surface, for life is still aconflict, and the passions, though chained as vassals by the victor handof religion, will sometimes clank their fetters and threaten to resumetheir lost dominion; but they have not trampled underfoot the new-bornblossoms of wedded joy. I am happy, as happy as a pilgrim and sojournerought to be; and even now, there is danger of my forgetting, in thefulness of my heart's content, that eternal country, whither we are allhastening. 

We love each other as fondly, but less idolatrously. That little childhas opened a channel in which our purified affections flow togethertowards the fountain of all love and joy. Its fairy fingers are leadingus gently on in the paths of domestic harmony and peace. 

My beloved Ernest! my darling Rosalie! how beautiful they both seem, inthe beams of the setting sun, that are playing in glory round them! andhow melodiously and pensively, yet grandly does the music of themurmuring waves harmonize with the minor tone of tenderness breathing inour hearts!

We, too, are passing on in the procession of life, and the waves of timethat are rolling behind us will wash away the print of our footsteps, and others will follow, and others still, but few will be tossed onstormier seas, or be anchored at last in a more blissful haven. 

THE END. 

 * * * * *

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Orders solicited from Booksellers, Librarians, Canvassers, News Agents, and all others in want of good and fast selling books, which will besupplied at very Low Prices. 

MRS. EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH'S WORKS. 

 Victor's Triumph A Beautiful Fiend The Artist's Love A Noble Lord Lost Heir of Linlithgow Tried for her Life Cruel as the Grave The Maiden Widow The Family Doom Prince of Darkness The Bride's Fate The Changed Brides How He Won Her Fair Play Fallen Pride The Christmas Guest The Widow's Son The Bride of Llewellyn The Fortune Seeker The Fatal Marriage The Deserted Wife The Bridal Eve The Lost Heiress The Two Sisters Lady of the Isle The Three Beauties Vivia; or the Secret of Power The Missing Bride Love's Labor Won The Gipsy's Prophecy Haunted Homestead Wife's Victory Allworth Abbey The Mother-in-Law Retribution India; Pearl of Pearl River Curse of Clifton Discarded Daughter

MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS' WORKS. 

 Bellehood and Bondage The Old Countess Lord Hope's Choice The Reigning Belle A Noble Woman Palaces and Prisons Married in Haste Wives and Widows Ruby Gray's Strategy The Soldiers' Orphans Silent Struggles The Rejected Wife The Wife's Secret Mary Derwent Fashion and Famine The Curse of Gold Mabel's Mistake The Old Homestead Doubly False The Heiress The Gold Brick

MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ'S WORKS. 

 Ernest Linwood The Planter's Northern Bride Courtship and Marriage Rena; or, the Snow Bird Marcus Warland Love after Marriage Eoline; or Magnolia Vale The Lost Daughter The Banished Son Helen and Arthur Linda; or, the Young Pilot of the Belle Creole Robert Graham; the Sequel to "Linda; or Pilot of Belle Creole"

JAMES A. MAITLAND'S WORKS. 

 The Watchman The Wanderer The Lawyer's Story Diary of an Old Doctor Sartaroe The Three Cousins The Old Patroon; or the Great Van Broek Property

T. A. TROLLOPE'S WORKS. 

 The Sealed Packet Garstang Grange Gemma Leonora Casaloni Dream Numbers Marietta Beppo, the Conscript

FREDRIKA BREMER'S WORKS. 

 Father and Daughter The Four Sisters The Neighbors The Home Life in the Old World. In two volumes. 

MISS ELIZA A. DUPUY'S WORKS. 

 The Hidden Sin The Dethroned Heiress The Gipsy's Warning All For Love The Mysterious Guest Why Did He Marry Her? Who Shall be Victor Was He Guilty The Cancelled Will The Planter's Daughter Michael Rudolph; or, the Bravest of the Brave

EMERSON BENNETT'S WORKS. 

 The Border Rover Clara Moreland The Forged Will Bride of the Wilderness Ellen Norbury Kate Clarendon Viola; or Adventures in the Far South-West The Heiress of Bellefonte The Pioneer's Daughter

DOESTICKS' WORKS. 

 Doesticks' Letters Plu-Ri-Bus-Tah The Elephant Club Witches of New York

WILKIE COLLINS' BEST WORKS. 

 Basil; or, The Crossed Path The Dead Secret Hide and Seek After Dark Miss or Mrs? Mad Monkton Sights a-Foot The Stolen Mask The Queen's Revenge The Yellow Mask Sister Rose

CHARLES LEVER'S BEST WORKS. 

 Charles O'Malley Harry Lorrequer Jack Hinton Tom Burke of Ours Knight of Gwynne Arthur O'Leary Con Cregan Davenport Dunn Horace Templeton Kate O'Donoghue A Rent in a Cloud St. Patrick's Eve Ten Thousand a Year, in one volume The Diary of a Medical Student, by author "Ten Thousand a Year"

CHARLES DICKENS' WORKS. 

 Great Expectations Bleak House Mystery of Edwin Drood; and Master Humphrey's Clock American Notes; and the Uncommercial Traveller Hunted Down; and other Reprinted Pieces The Holly-Tree Inn; and other Stories The Life and Writings of Charles Dickens Our Mutual Friend Pickwick Papers Tale of Two Cities Nicholas Nickleby David Copperfield Oliver Twist Christmas Stories Sketches by "Boz" Barnaby Rudge Martin Chuzzlewit Old Curiosity Shop Little Dorrit Dombey and Son Dickens' New Stories Mystery of Edwin Drood; and Master Humphrey's Clock American Notes; and the Uncommercial Traveller Hunted Down: and other Reprinted Pieces The Holly-Tree Inn; and other Stories The Life and Writings of Charles Dickens

GEORGE W. M. REYNOLDS' WORKS. 

 Mysteries Court of London Rose Foster Caroline of Brunswick Venetia Trelawney Lord Saxondale Count Christoval Rosa Lambert Mary Price Eustace Quentin Joseph Wilmot Banker's Daughter Kenneth The Rye-House Plot The Necromancer The Opera Dancer Child of Waterloo Robert Bruce The Gipsy Chief Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots Wallace, Hero of Scotland Isabella Vincent Vivian Bertram Countess of Lascelles Duke of Marchmont Massacre of Glencoe Loves of the Harem The Soldier's Wife May Middleton Ellen Percy Agnes Evelyn Pickwick Abroad Parricide Discarded Queen Life in Paris Countess and the Page Edgar Montrose The Ruined Gamester Clifford and the Actress Queen Joanna; or the Mysteries of the Court of Naples Ciprina; or, the Secrets of a Picture Gallery

MISS PARDOE'S POPULAR WORKS. 

 Confessions of a Pretty Woman The Wife's Trials The Jealous Wife The Rival Beauties Romance of the Harem The Adopted Heir The Earl's Secret