Transcriber's Note

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. A list of changes isfound at the end of this text. A small number of words were spelledor hyphenated inconsistently. These inconsistencies have been maintainedand a list is found at the end of the text. 

HELEN AND ARTHUR;

OR, Miss Thusa's Spinning Wheel. 

BY

MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. 

AUTHOR OF "LINDA, " "COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE, " "PLANTER'S NORTHERN BRIDE, ""LOVE AFTER MARRIAGE, " "EOLINE, " "RENA, " ETC. 

_Complete in one large volume, bound in cloth, price One Dollar andTwenty-five cents, or in two volumes, paper cover, for One Dollar. _

READ WHAT SOME OF THE LEADING EDITORS SAY OF IT:

"This book, by one of the most popular authors in the country, has beenissued in the publisher's very best style. There are but few readers ofthe current literature of the day, who are not acquainted with the name, and the stories of this authoress. Her style is a pleasing one, and herstories usually strongly marked in incident. The volume now publishedabounds with the most beautiful scenic descriptions, and displays anintimate acquaintance with all phases of human character; all thecharacters being exceedingly well drawn. The moral is of a mostwholesome character, and the plot, incidents, and management, giveevidence of great tact, skill and judgment, on the part of the writer. It is a work which the oldest and the youngest may alike read withprofit. "--_Dollar Newspaper. _

"It is a tale of Southern life, where Mrs. Hentz is peculiarly at home, and so far as we have had time to examine it, it gives proofs ofpossessing all the excellencies that have already made her writings sopopular throughout the country. The sound, healthy tone of all Mrs. Hentz's tales makes them safe as well as delightful reading, and we cansafely and warmly recommend it to all who delight in agreeable fictions. Mr. Peterson has published it in a beautifully printed volume. "--_EveningBulletin. _

"A story of domestic life, written in Mrs. Hentz's best vein. Thedetails of the plot are skilfully elaborated, and many passages aredeeply pathetic. "--_Commercial Advertiser. _

MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ'S OTHER WORKS. 

T. B. Peterson having purchased the stereotype plates of all thewritings of Mrs. Hentz, he has just published a new, uniform andbeautiful edition of all her works, printed on a much finer and betterpaper, and in far superior and better style to what they have everbefore been issued in, (all in uniform style with Helen and Arthur, )copies of any one or all of which will be sent to any place in theUnited States, free of postage, on receipt of remittances. Each bookcontains a beautiful illustration of one of the best scenes. Thefollowing are the names of these celebrated works:

LINDA. THE YOUNG PILOT OF THE BELLE CREOLE. Complete in two volumes, paper cover, price One Dol. , or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, $1. 25. 

"We hail with pleasure this contribution to the literature of the South. Works containing faithful delineations of Southern life, society, andscenery, whether in the garb of romance or in the soberer attire ofsimple narrative, cannot fail to have a salutary influence in correctingthe false impressions which prevail in regard to our people andinstitutions; and our thanks are due to Mrs. Hentz for the addition shehas made to this department of our native literature. We cannot closewithout expressing a hope that 'Linda' may be followed by many otherworks of the same class from the pen of its gifted author. "--_SouthernLiterary Gazette. _

"Mrs. Hentz has given us here a very delightful romance, illustrative oflife in the South-west, on a Mississippi plantation. There is awell-wrought love-plot; the characters are well drawn; the incidents arestriking and novel; the dénouement happy, and moral excellent. Mrs. Hentz may twine new laurels above her 'Mob Cap. '"--_Evening Bulletin. _

ROBERT GRAHAM. The Sequel to, and continuation of Linda. Complete in two large volumes, paper cover, price One Dol. , or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, $1. 25. 

"We cannot admire too much, nor thank Mrs. Hentz too sincerely for thehigh and ennobling morality and Christian grace, which not only pervadeher entire writings, but which shine forth with undimmed beauty in thenew novel, Robert Graham. It sustains the character which is verydifficult to well delineate in a work of fiction--_a religiousmissionary_. All who read the work will bear testimony to the entiresuccess of Mrs. Hentz. "--_Boston Transcript. _

"The thousands who read 'Linda, or, the Young Pilot of the BelleCreole, ' will make haste to procure a copy of this book, which is asequel to that history. Like all of this writer's works, it is naturaland graphic, and very entertaining. "--_City Item. _

"A charming novel; and in point of plot, style, and all the othercharacteristics of a readable romance, it will compare favorably withalmost any of the many publications of the season. "--_Literary Gazette. _

RENA; or, THE SNOW BIRD. A Tale of Real Life. Complete in two volumes, paper cover, price One Dol. , or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, $1. 25. 

"'Rena; or, the Snow Bird' elicits a thrill of deep and exquisitepleasure, even exceeding that which accompanied 'Linda, ' which wasgenerally admitted to be the best story ever written for a newspaper. That was certainly high praise, but 'Rena' takes precedence even of itspredecessor, and, in both, Mrs. Lee Hentz has achieved a triumph of noordinary kind. It is not that old associations bias our judgment, forthough from the appearance, years since, of the famous 'Mob Cap' in thispaper, we formed an exalted opinion of the womanly and literaryexcellence of the writer, our feelings have, in the interim, had quitesufficient leisure to cool; yet, after the lapse of years, we havecontinued to maintain the same literary devotion to this best of ourfemale writers. The two last productions of Mrs. Lee Hentz now fullyconfirm our previously formed opinion, and we unhesitatingly commend'Rena, ' now published in book form, in beautiful style, by T. B. Peterson, as a story which, in its varied, deep, and thrilling interest, has no superior. "--_American Courier. _

THE PLANTER'S NORTHERN BRIDE. With illustrations. Complete in two large volumes, paper cover, 600 pages, price One Dollar, or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, $1. 25. 

"We have seldom been more charmed by the perusal of a novel; and wedesire to commend it to our readers in the strongest words of praisethat our vocabulary affords. The incidents are well varied; the scenesbeautifully described; and the interest admirably kept up. But the_moral_ of the book is its highest merit. The 'Planter's Northern Bride'should be as welcome as the dove of peace to every fireside in theUnion. It cannot be read without a moistening of the eyes, a softeningof the heart, and a mitigation of sectional and most unchristianprejudices. "--_N. Y. Mirror. _

"It is unquestionably the most powerful and important, if not the mostcharming work that has yet flowed from her elegant pen; and thoughevidently founded upon the all-absorbing subjects of slavery andabolitionism, the genius and skill of the fair author have developed newviews of golden argument, and flung around the whole such a halo ofpathos, interest, and beauty, as to render it every way worthy theauthor of 'Linda, ' 'Marcus Warland, ' 'Rena, ' and the numerous otherliterary gems from the same author. "--_American Courier. _

COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE; or, THE JOYS AND SORROWS OF AMERICAN LIFE. With a Portrait of the Author. Complete in two large volumes, paper cover, price One Dollar, or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, $1. 25. 

"This work will be found, on perusal by all, to be one of the mostexciting, interesting, and popular works that has ever emanated from theAmerican Press. It is written in a charming style, and will elicitthrough all a thrill of deep and exquisite pleasure. It is a work whichthe oldest and the youngest may alike read with profit. It abounds withthe most beautiful scenic descriptions; and displays an intimateacquaintance with all phases of human character; all the charactersbeing exceedingly well drawn. It is a delightful book, full ofincidents, oftentimes bold and startling, and describes the warmfeelings of the Southerner in glowing colors. Indeed, all Mrs. Hentz'sstories aptly describe Southern life, and are highly moral in theirapplication. In this field Mrs. Hentz wields a keen sickle, and harvestsa rich and abundant crop. It will be found in plot, incident, andmanagement, to be a superior work. In the whole range of elegant moralfiction, there cannot be found any thing of more inestimable value, orsuperior to this work, and it is a gem that will well repay a carefulperusal. The Publisher feels assured that it will give entiresatisfaction to all readers, encourage good taste and good morals, andwhile away many leisure hours with great pleasure and profit, and berecommended to others by all that peruse it. "

MARCUS WARLAND; or, THE LONG MOSS SPRING. A Tale of the South. Complete in two volumes, paper cover, price One Dol. , or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, $1. 25. 

"Every succeeding chapter of this new and beautiful nouvellette of Mrs. Hentz increases in interest and pathos. We defy any one to read aloudthe chapters to a listening auditory, without deep emotion, or producingmany a pearly tribute to its truthfulness, pathos, and power. "--_Am. Courier. _

"It is pleasant to meet now and then with a tale like this, which seemsrather like a narrative of real events than a creature of theimagination. "--_N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. _

AUNT PATTY'S SCRAP BAG, together with large additions to it, written by Mrs. Hentz, prior to her death, and never before published in any former edition of this or any other work. Complete in two volumes, paper cover, price One Dol. , or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, $1. 25. 

"We venture to assert that there is not one reader who has not been madewiser and better by its perusal--who has not been enabled to treasure upgolden precepts of morality, virtue, and experience, as guidingprinciples of their own commerce with the world. "--_American Courier. _

LOVE AFTER MARRIAGE; and other Stories of the Heart. Complete in two volumes, paper cover, price One Dol. , or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, $1. 25. 

"This is a charming and instructive story--one of those beautifulefforts that enchant the mind, refreshing and strengthening it. "--_CityItem. _

"The work before us is a charming one. "--_Boston Evening Journal. _

THE BANISHED SON; and other Stories of the Heart. Complete in two volumes, paper cover, price One Dol. , or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, $1. 25. 

"The 'Banished Son' seems to us the _chef d'oeuvre_ of the collection. It appeals to all the nobler sentiments of humanity, is full of actionand healthy excitement, and sets forth the best of morals. "--_CharlestonNews. _

EOLINE; or, MAGNOLIA VALE. Complete in two volumes, paper cover, price One Dol. , or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, $1. 25. 

"We do not think that amongst American authors, there is one morepleasing or more instructive than Mrs. Hentz. This novel is equal to anywhich she has written. "--_Cincinnati Gazette. _

--> Copies of either edition of any of the foregoing works will be sentto any person, to any part of the United States, _free of postage_, ontheir remitting the price of the ones they may wish, to the publisher, in a letter. 

 Published and for Sale by T. B. PETERSON, =No. 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. =

[Illustration: I REMEMBER A TALE, SHE RESUMED]

 HELEN AND ARTHUR;

 OR, Miss Thusa's Spinning Wheel. 

 BY MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. AUTHOR OF "LINDA, " "RENA, " "LOVE AFTER MARRIAGE, " "ROBERT GRAHAM, " "EOLINE, " "COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE, " ETC. 

 "----A countenance in which did meet Sweet records--promises as sweet-- A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles. "--_Wordsworth. _

 "I know not, I ask not, If guilt's in thy heart-- I but know that I love thee, Whatever thou art. "--_Moore. _

 Philadelphia: T. B. PETERSON, NO. 102 CHESTNUT STREET. 

 Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by DEACON & PETERSON, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 

 Printed by T. K & P. G Collins. 

MISS THUSA'S SPINNING-WHEEL. 

CHAPTER I. 

 "First Fear his hand its skill to try, Amid the chords bewildered laid-- And back recoiled, he knew not why, E'en at the sound himself had made. "--_Collins. _

Little Helen sat in her long flannel night-dress, by the side of MissThusa, watching the rapid turning of her wheel, and the formation of theflaxen thread, as it glided out, a more and more attenuated filament, betwixt the dexterous fingers of the spinner. 

It was a blustering, windy night, and the window-panes rattled every nowand then, as if the glass were about to shiver in twain, while the starssparkled and winked coldly without, and the fire glowed warmly, andcrackled within. 

Helen was seated on a low stool, so near the wheel, that several timesher short, curly hair mingled with the flax of the distaff, and camewithin a hair's breadth of being twisted into thread. 

"Get a little farther off, child, or I'll spin you into a spider's web, as sure as you're alive, " said Miss Thusa, dipping her fingers into thegourd, which hung at the side of the distaff, while at the same time shestooped down and moistened the fibres, by slipping them through hermouth, as it glided over the dwindling flax. 

Helen, wrapped in yellow flannel from head to feet, with her littlewhite face peeping above, looked not unlike a pearl in golden setting. Amuslin night-cap perched on the top of her head, below which her hairfrisked about in defiance of comb or ribbon. The cheek next to the firewas of a burning red, the other perfectly colorless. Her eyes, whichalways looked larger and darker by night than by day, were fixed on MissThusa's face with a mixture of reverence and admiration, which itsexternal lineaments did not seem to justify. The outline of that facewas grim, and the hair, profusely sprinkled with the ashes of age, wascombed back from the brow, in the fashion of the Shakers, adding much tothe rigid expression of the features. A pair of dark-rimmed spectaclesbestrided her forehead midway, appearing more for ornament than use. Never did Nature provide a more convenient resting-place fortwin-glasses, than the ridge of Miss Thusa's nose, which rose with asudden, majestic elevation, suggesting the idea of unexpectedness in themind of the beholder. Every thing was harsh about her face, except theeyes, which had a soft, solemn, misty look, a look of prophecy, mingledwith kindness and compassion, as if she pitied the evils herfar-reaching vision beheld, but which she had not the power to avert. Those soft, solemn, prophetic eyes had the power of fascination on theimagination of the young Helen, and night after night she would creep toher side, after her mother had prepared her for bed, heard her littleProtestant _pater noster_, and left her, as she supposed, just ready tosink into the deep slumbers of childhood. She did not know the strangeinfluence which was acting so powerfully on the mind of her child, _or_rather she did not seem to be aware that her child was old enough toreceive impressions, deep and lasting as life itself. 

Miss Thusa was a relic of antiquity, bequeathed by destiny to theneighborhood in which she dwelt, --a lone woman, without a single knownrelative or connection. Though the title of Aunt is generally given tosingle ladies, who have passed the meridian of their days, irrespectiveof the claims of consanguinity, no one dared to call her Aunt Thusa, sogreat was her antipathy to the name. She had an equal abhorrence tobeing addressed as _Mrs. _, an honor frequently bestowed on venerablespinsters. She said it did not belong to her, and she disdained to shinein borrowed colors. So she retained her virgin distinction, which shedeclared no earthly consideration would induce her to resign. 

She had formerly lived with a bachelor brother, a sickly misanthropist, who had long shunned the world, and, as a natural consequence, wasneglected by it. But when it was known that the invalid was growingweaker and weaker, and entirely dependent on the cares of his lonelysister, the sympathies of strangers were awakened, and forcing their wayinto the chamber of the sick man, they administered to his sufferingsand wants, till Miss Thusa learned to estimate, at its true value, thekindness she at first repelled. After the death of the brother, thefamilies which composed the neighborhood where they dwelt, feelingcompassion for her loneliness and sorrow, invited her to divide her timeamong them, and make their homes her own. One of her eccentricities (andshe had more than one, ) was a passion for spinning on a little wheel. Its monotonous hum had long been the music of her lonely life; thedistaff, with its swaddling bands of flax, the petted child of heraffections, and the thread which she manufactured the means of her dailysupport. Wherever she went, her wheel preceded her, as an _avantcourier_, after the fashion of the shields of ancient warriors. 

"Ah! Miss Thusa's coming--I know it by her wheel!" was the customaryexclamation, sometimes uttered in a tone of vexation, but morefrequently of satisfaction. She was so original and eccentric, had suchan inexhaustible store of ghost stories and fairy tales, sang so manycrazy old ballads, that children gathered round her, as a Sibyllineoracle, and mothers, who were not troubled with a superfluity ofservants, were glad to welcome one to their household who had such awondrous talent for amusing them, and keeping them still. In spite ofall her oddities, she was respected for her industry and simplicity, anda certain quaint, old-fashioned, superstitious piety, that made a streakof light through her character. 

Grateful for the kindness and hospitality so liberally extended towardsher, she never left a household without a gift of the most beautiful, even, fine, flaxen thread for the family use. Indeed the fame of herspinning spread far and wide, and people from adjoining towns often sentorders for quantities of Miss Thusa's marvelous thread. 

She was now the guest of Mrs. Gleason, the mother of Helen, who alwaysappropriated to her use a nice little room in a snug corner of thehouse, where she could turn her wheel from morning till night, and bendover her beloved distaff. Helen, who was too young to be sent to schoolby day, or to remain in the family sitting-room at night, as her motherfollowed the good, healthy rule of _early to bed_ and _early to rise_, seemed thrown by fate upon Miss Thusa's miraculous resources forentertainment and instruction. Thus her imagination becamepreternaturally developed, while the germs of reason and judgment laylatent and unquickened. 

"Please stop spinning Miss Thusa, and tell me a story, " said the child, venturing to put her little foot on the treadle, and giving the crank asudden jerk. 

"Yes! Don't tease--I must smooth the flax on the distaff and wet thethread on the spindle first. There--that will do. Come, yellow bird, jump into my lap, and say what you want me to tell you. Shall it he thegray kitten, with the big bunch of keys on its neck, that turned into abeautiful princess, or the great ogre, who killed all the littlechildren he could find for breakfast and supper?"

"No, " replied Helen, shuddering with a strange mixture of horror anddelight. "I want to hear something you never told before. "

"Well--I will tell you the story of the _worm-eaten traveler_. It ishalf singing, half talking, and a powerful story it is. I would act itout, too, if you would sit down in the corner till I've done. Let go ofme, if you want to hear it. "

"Please Miss Thusa, " said the excited child, drawing her stool into thecorner, and crouching herself upon it, while Miss Thusa rose up, andputting back her wheel, prepared to commence her heterogeneousperformance. She often "_acted out_" her stories and songs, to the greatadmiration of children and the amusement of older people, but it wasvery seldom this favor was granted, without earnest and reiteratedentreaties. It was the first time she had ever spontaneously offered topersonate the Sibyl, whose oracles she uttered, and it was a proof thatan unusual fit of inspiration was upon her. 

She was very tall and spare. When in the attitude of spinning, shestooped over her distaff, she lost much of her original height, but themoment she pushed aside her wheel, her figure resumed its naturallyerect and commanding position. She usually wore a dress of dark graystuff, with immense pockets, a black silk neckerchief folded over hershoulders, a white tamboured muslin cap, with a black ribbon passed twoor three times round the crown. To preserve the purity of the muslin, and the lustre of the ribbon, she always wore a piece of white paper, folded up between her head and the muslin, making the top of the capappear much more opaque than the rest. 

The _worm-eaten traveler_! What an appalling, yet fascinatingcommunication! Helen waited in breathless impatience, watching themovements of the Sibyl, with darkened pupils and heaving bosom. 

At length when a sudden gust of wind blew a naked bough, with a soundlike the rattling of dry bones against the windows, and a falling brandscattered a shower of red sparks over the hearth-stone, Miss Thusa, waving the bony fingers of her right hand, thus began--

"Once there was a woman spinning by the kitchen fire, spinning away fordear life, all living alone, without even a green-eyed cat to keep herfrom being lonely. The coals were all burnt to cinders, and the shadowswere all rolled up in black bundles in the four corners of the room. Thewoman went on spinning, singing as she spun--

 'Oh! if I'd good company--if I'd good company, Oh! how happy should I be!'

There was a rustling noise in the chimney as if a great chimney-swallowwas tumbling down, and the woman stooped and looked up into the blackflue. "

Here Miss Thusa bowed her tall form, and turned her beaked nose uptowards the glowing chimney. Helen, palpitating with excitement followedher motions, expecting to see some horrible monster descend all grimwith soot. 

"Down came a pair of broad, dusty, skeleton feet, " continued Miss Thusa, recoiling a few paces from the hearth, and lowering her voice till itsounded husky and unnatural, "right down the chimney, right in front ofthe woman, who cried out, while she turned her wheel round and roundwith her bobbin, 'What makes your feet so big, my friend?' 'Travelinglong journeys. Traveling long journeys, ' replied the skeleton feet, andagain the woman sang--

 'Oh! if I'd good company--if I'd good company, Oh! how happy should I be!'

Rattle--rattle went something in the chimney, and down came a pair oflittle mouldering ankles. 'What makes your ankles so small?' asked thewoman. 'Worm-eaten, worm-eaten, ' answered the mouldering ankles, and thewheel went merrily round. "

It is unnecessary to repeat the couplet which Miss Thusa sang betweenevery descending _horror_, in a voice which sounded as if it camethrough a fine-toothed comb, in little trembling wires, though it gaveindescribable effect to her gloomy tale. 

"In a few moments, " continued Miss Thusa, "she heard a shoving, pushingsound in the chimney like something groaning and laboring against thesides of the bricks, and presently a great, big, bloated body came downand set itself on legs that were no larger than a pipe stem. Then alittle, scraggy neck, and, last of all, a monstrous skeleton head thatgrinned from ear to ear. 'You want good company, and you shall have it, 'said the figure, and its voice did sound awfully--but the woman put upher wheel and asked the grim thing to take a chair and make himself athome. 

"'I can't stay to-night, ' said he, 'I've got a journey to take by themoonlight. Come along and let us be company for each other. There is asnug little place where we can rest when we're tired. '"

"Oh! Miss Thusa, she didn't go, did she?" interrupted Helen, whose eyes, which had been gradually enlarging, looked like two full midnight moons. 

"Hush, child, if you ask another question, I'll stop short. She didn'tdo anything else but go, and they must have been a pretty sight walkingin the moonlight together. The lonely woman and the worm-eaten traveler. On they went through the woods and over the plains, and up hill and downhill, over bridges made of fallen trees, and streams that had no bridgesat all; when at last they came to a kind of uneven ground, and as themoon went behind a cloud, they went stumbling along as if treading overhillocks of corn. 

"'Here it is, ' cried the worm-eaten traveler, stopping on the brink of adeep, open grave. The moon looked forth from behind a cloud, and showedhow awful deep it was. She wanted to turn back then, but the skeletonarms of the figure seized hold of her, and down they both went withoutladder or rope, and no mortal ever set eyes on them more. 

 'Oh! if I'd good company--if I'd good company, Oh! how happy should I be!'"

It is impossible to describe the intensity with which Helen listened tothis wild, dark legend, crouching closer and closer to the chimneycorner, while the chillness of superstitious terror quenched the burningfire-rose on her cheek. 

"Was the spinning woman _you_, Miss Thusa?" whispered she, afraid of thesound of her own voice; "and did you see _it_ with your own eyes?"

"Hush, foolish child!" said Miss Thusa, resuming her natural tone; "askme no questions, or I'll tell you no tales. 'Tis time for the yellowbird to be in its nest. Hark! I hear your mother calling me, and 'tislong past your bed-time. Come. "

And Miss Thusa, sweeping her long right arm around the child, bore hershrinking and resisting towards the nursery room. 

"Please, Miss Thusa, " she pleaded, "don't leave me alone. Don't leave mein the dark. I'm not one bit sleepy--I never shall go to sleep--I'mafraid of the worm-eaten man. "

"I thought the child had more sense, " exclaimed the oracle. "I didn'tthink she was such a little goose as this, " continued she, depositingher between the nice warm blankets. "Nobody ever troubles good littlegirls--the holy angels take care of them. There, good night--shut youreyes and go to sleep. "

"Please don't take the light, " entreated Helen, "only just leave it tillI get to sleep; I'll blow it out as soon as I'm asleep. "

"I guess you will, " said Miss Thusa, "when you get a chance. " Thencatching up the lamp, she shot out of the room, repeating to herself, "Poor child! She does hate the dark so! That _was_ a powerful story, tobe sure. I shouldn't wonder if she dreamed about it. I never did see achild that listens to anything as she does. It's a pleasure to amuseher. Little monkey! She really acts as if 'twas all true. I know that'smy master piece; that is the reason I'm so choice of it. It isn't everyone that can tell a story as I can--that's certain. It's my _gift_--Imustn't be proud of it. God gives some persons one talent, and someanother. We must all give an account of them at last. I hope 'twillnever be said I've hid mine in a napkin. "

Such was the tenor of Miss Thusa's thoughts as she wended her way downstairs. Had she imagined half the misery she was entailing on thissingularly susceptible and imaginative child, instead of exulting in her_gift_, she would have mourned over its influence, in dust and ashes. The fears which Helen expressed, and which she believed would prove asevanescent as they were unreal, were a grateful incense to her genius, which she delighted with unconscious cruelty in awakening. She had aninsane passion for relating these dreadful legends, whose indulgenceseemed necessary to her existence, and the happiness of the narrator wascommensurate with the credulity of the auditor. Without knowing it, shewas a vampire, feeding on the life-blood of a young and innocent heart, and drying up the fountain of its joys. 

Helen listened till the last sound of Miss Thusa's footsteps died awayon the ear, then plunging deeper into the bed, drew the blankets overhead and ears, and lay immovable as a snow-drift, with the chill dew ofterror oozing from every pore. 

"I'm not a good girl, " said the child to herself, "and God wont send theangels down to take care of me to-night. I played going to meeting withmy dolls last Sunday, and Miss Thusa says that was breaking thecommandments. I'll say my prayers over again, and ask God to forgiveme. "

Little Helen clasped her trembling hands under the bed-cover, andrepeated the Lord's Prayer as devoutly and reverentially as mortal lipscould utter it, but this act of devotion did not soothe her intoslumber, or banish the phantom that flitted round her couch. Finding itimpossible to breathe under the bed-cover any longer, and fearing to dieof suffocation, she slowly emerged from her burying-clothes till hermouth came in contact with the cool, fresh air. She kept her eyestightly closed, that she might not see the _darkness_. She rememberedhearing her brother, who prided himself upon being a greatmathematician, say that if one counted ten, over and over again, tillthey were very tired, they would fall asleep without knowing it. Shetried this experiment, but her heart kept time with its loud, quickbeatings; so loud, so quick, she sometimes mistook them for the skeletonfoot-tramps of the traveler. She was sure she heard a rustling in thechimney, a clattering against the walls. She thought she felt a chillybreath sweep over her cheek. At length, unable to endure the awfuloppression of her fears, she resolved to make a desperate attempt, andrush down stairs to her mother, telling her she should die if sheremained where she was. It was horrible to go down alone in thedarkness, it was more horrible to remain in that haunted room. So, gathering up all her courage, she jumped from the bed, and sought thedoor with her nervous, grasping hands. Her little feet turned to ice, astheir naked soles scampered over the bare floor, but she did not mindthat; she found the door, opened it, and entered a long, dark passage, leading to the stairway. Then she recollected that on the left of thatpassage there was a lumber-room, running out slantingly to the eaves ofthe house, with a low entrance into it, which was left without a door. This lumber-room had long been her especial terror. Whenever she passedit, even in broad daylight, it had a strange, mysterious appearance toher. The twilight shadows always gathered there first and lingered last;she never walked by it--she always ran with all her speed, as if theavenger of blood were behind her. Now she would have flown if she could, but her long night dress impeded her motions, and clung adhesively roundher ankles. Once she trod upon it, and thinking some one arrested her, she uttered a loud scream and sprang forward through the door, whichchanced to be open. This door was directly at the head of the stairs, and it is not at all surprising that Helen, finding it impossible torecover her equilibrium, should pass over the steps in a quicker mannerthan she intended, swift as her footsteps were. Down she went, tumblingand bumping, till she came against the lower door with a force thatburst it open, and in rolled a yellow flannel ball into the centre ofthe illuminated apartment. 

"My stars!" exclaimed Mrs. Gleason, starting up from the centre table, and dropping a bundle of snowy linen on the floor. 

"What in the name of creation is this?" cried Mr. Gleason, throwing downhis book, as the yellow ball rolled violently against his legs. 

Louis Gleason, a boy of twelve, who was seated with the fingers of hisleft hand playing hide and seek among his bright elf locks, while hisright danced over a slate, making algebra signs with marvelous rapidity, jumped up three feet in the air, letting his slate fall with atremendous crash, and destroying many a beautiful equation. 

Mittie Gleason, a young girl of about nine, who was deep in theabstractions of grammar, and sat with her fore-fingers in her ears, andher head bent down to her book, so that all disturbing sounds might beexcluded, threw her chair backward in the fright, and ran head firstagainst Miss Thusa, who was the only one whose self-possession did notseem shocked by the unceremonious entrance of the little visitor. 

"It's nobody in the world but little Helen, " said she, gathering up thebundle in her arms and carrying it towards the blazing fire. The child, who had been only stunned, not injured by the fall, began to recover theuse of its faculties, and opened its large, wild-looking eyes on thefamily group we have described. 

"She has been walking in her sleep, poor little thing, " said her mother, pressing her cold hands in both hers. 

Helen knew that this was not the case, and she knew too, that it waswrong to sanction by her silence an erroneous impression, but she wasafraid of her father's anger if she confessed the truth, afraid that hewould send her back to the dark room and lonely trundle-bed. Sheexpected that Miss Thusa would call her a foolish child, and tell herparents all her terrors of the _worm-eaten traveler_, and she raised hertimid eyes to her face, wondering at her silence. There was something inthose prophetic orbs, which she could not read. There seemed to be afilm over them, baffling her penetration, and she looked down with along, laboring breath. 

Miss Thusa began to feel that her legends might make a deeper impressionthan she imagined or intended. She experienced an odd mixture of triumphand regret--triumph in her power, and regret for its consequences. Shehad, too, an instinctive sense that the parents of Helen would bedispleased with her, were they aware of the influence she had exerted, and deprive her hereafter of the most admiring auditor that ever hung onher oracular lips. She had _meant_ no harm, but she was really sorry shehad told that "powerful story" at such a late hour, and pressed thechild closer in her arms with a tenderness deepened by self-reproach. 

"I suspect Miss Thusa has been telling her some of her awful ghoststories, " said Louis, laughing over the wreck of his slate. "I know whatsent the yellow caterpillar crawling down stairs. "

"Crawling!" repeated his father, "I think it was leaping, bouncing, morelike a catamount than a caterpillar. "

"I would be ashamed to be a coward and afraid of ghosts, " exclaimedMittie, with a scornful flash of her bright, black eyes. 

"Miss Thusa didn't tell about ghosts, " said Helen, bursting into apassion of tears. This was true, in the _letter_, but not in the_spirit_--and, young as she was, she knew and felt it, and the wormwoodof remorse gave bitterness to her tears. Never had she felt so wretched, so humiliated. She had fallen in her own estimation. Her father, brotherand sister had ridiculed her and _called her names_--a terrible thingfor a child. One had called her a _caterpillar_, another a _catamount_, and a third a _coward_. And added to all this was a sudden andunutterable horror of the color of yellow, formerly her favorite hue. She mentally resolved never to wear that horrible yellow night dress, which had drawn upon her so many odious epithets, even though she frozeto death without it. She would rather wear her old ones, even if theyhad ten thousand patches, than that bright, new, golden tinted garment, so late the object of her intense admiration. 

"I declare, " cried Louis, unconscious of the Spartan resolution hislittle sister was forming, and good naturedly seeking to turn her tearsinto smiles, "I do declare, I thought Helen was a pumpkin, bursting intothe room with such a noise, wrapped up in this yellow concern. Mother, what in the name of all that's tasteful, makes you clothe her by nightin Chinese mourning?"

"It was her own choice, " replied Mrs. Gleason, taking the weeping childin her own lap. "She saw a little girl dressed in this style, andthought she would be perfectly happy to be the possessor of such agarment. "

"I never will put it on again as long as I live, " sobbed Helen. "Everybody laughs at it. "

"Perhaps somebody else will have a word to say about it, " said hermother, in a grave, gentle voice. "When I have taken so much pains tomake it, and bind it with soft, bright ribbon, to please my little girl, it seems to me that it is very ungrateful in her to make such a remarkas that. "

"Oh, mother, don't, " was all Helen could utter; and she made as strong acounter resolve that she would wear the most hideous garment, and bravethe ridicule of the whole world, rather than expose herself to thedispleasure of a mother so kind and so indulgent. 

"You had better put her back in bed, " said Mr. Gleason; "childrenacquire such bad habits by indulgence. "

Helen trembled and clung close to her mother's bosom. 

"I fear she may again rise in her sleep and fall down stairs, " said themore anxious mother. 

"Turn the key on the outside, till we retire ourselves, " observed thefather. 

To be locked up alone in the darkness! Helen felt as if she had heardher death-warrant, and pale even to _blueness_, she leaned against hermother, incapable of articulating the prayer that trembled on her ashylips. 

"Give her to me, " said Miss Thusa, "I will take her up stairs and staywith her till you come. "

"Oh, no, there is no fire in the room, and you will be cold. Mr. Gleason, the child is sick and faint. She has scarcely any pulse--andlook, what a blue shade round her mouth. Helen, my darling, do tell mewhat _is_ the matter with you. "

"Her eyes do look very wild, " said her father, catching the infection ofhis wife's fears; "and her temples are hot and throbbing. I hope she isnot threatened with an inflammation of the brain. "

"Oh! Mr. Gleason, pray don't suggest such a thought; I cannot bear it, "cried Mrs. Gleason, with quivering accents. They had lost one lovelychild, the very counterpart of Helen, by that fearful disease, and shefelt as if the gleaming sword of the destroying angel were again wavingover her household. 

"You had better send for the doctor, " she continued; "just so suddenlywas our lost darling attacked. "

Mr. Gleason started up and seized his hat, but Louis sprang to the doorfirst. 

"Let me go, father--I can run the fastest. "

And those who met the excited boy running through the street, supposedit was a life-errand on which he was dispatched. 

The doctor came--not the old family physician, whose age and experienceentitled him to the most implicit confidence--but a youthful partner, towhom childhood was a mysterious and somewhat unapproachable thing. 

Of what fine, almost imperceptible links is the chain of deceptionformed! Helen had no intention of acting the part of a dissembler whenshe formed the desperate resolution of leaving her lonely chamber. Sheexpected to meet reproaches, perhaps punishment, but anything waspreferable to the horrors of her own imagination. But when she foundherself greeted as a sleep-walker, she had not the moral courage toclose, by an avowal of the truth, the door of escape a mother's gentlehand had unconsciously opened. She did nut mean to dissemble sickness, but when her mother pleaded sickness as a reason for not sending herback to the lone, dark chamber, she yielded to the plea, and reallybegan to think herself very ill. Her head did throb and ache, and hereyes burned, as if hot sand were sprinkled over the balls. She was notafraid of the doctor's medicine, for the last time he had prescribed forher, he had given her peppermint, dropped on white sugar, which had avery pleasing and palatable taste. She loved the old doctor, with hisfrosty hair and sunny smile, and lay quietly in her mother's arms, quiteresigned to her fate, surprising as it was. But when she beheld astrange and youthful face bending over her, with a pair of penetrating, dark eyes, that looked as if they could read the deepest secrets of theheart, she shrank back in dismay, assured the mystery of her illnesswould all be revealed. The next glance reassured her. She was sure hewould be kind, and not give her anything nauseous or dreadful. Shewatched his cheek, as he leaned over her, to feel her pulse, wonderingwhat made such a beautiful color steal over it growing brighter andbrighter, till it looked as if the fire had been glowing upon it. Shedid not know how very young he was, and this was the first time he hadever been called to visit a patient alone, and that she, little child asshe was, was a very formidable object to him--considered as a being forwhose life he might be in a measure responsible. 

"I would give her a composing mixture, " said he, gently releasing theslender wrist of his patient--"her brain seems greatly excited, but I donot apprehend anything like an inflammation need be dreaded. She is verynervous, and must be kept quiet. "

Helen felt such inexpressible relief, that forgetting her character ofan invalid, she lifted her head, and gave him such a radiant look ofgratitude it quite startled him. 

"See!" exclaimed Louis, rubbing his hands, "how bright she looks. Thedoctor's coming has made her well. "

"Don't make such a fuss, brother, I can't study, " cried Mittie, tossingher hair impatiently from her brow. "I don't believe she's any more sickthan I am, she just does it to be petted. "

"Mittie!" said her mother, glancing towards the young doctor. 

Mittie, with a sudden motion of the head peculiar to herself, broughtthe hair again over her face, till it touched the leaves of the book, inwhose contents she seemed absorbed; but she peeped at the young doctorthrough her thick, falling locks, and thought if she were sick, shewould much rather send for him than old Doctor Sennar. 

The next morning Helen was really ill and feverish. The excitement ofthe previous evening had caused a tension of the brain, which justifiedthe mother's fears. At night she became delirious, and ravedincoherently about _the worm-eaten traveler_, the spinning-woman, andthe grave-house to which they were bound. 

Mrs. Gleason sat on one side of her, holding her restless hand in hers, while Miss Thusa applied wet napkins to her burning temples. The mothershuddered as she listened to the child's wild words, and something ofthe truth flashed upon her mind. 

"I fear, " said she, raising her eyes, and fixing them mildly butreproachfully on Miss Thusa's face--"you have been exciting my littlegirl's imagination in a dangerous manner, by relating tales of dreadfulimport. I know you have done it in kindness, " added she, fearful ofgiving pain, "but Helen is different from other children, and cannotbear the least excitement. "

"She's always asking me to tell her stories, " answered Miss Thusa, "andI love the dear child too well to deny her. There is something veryuncommon about her. I never saw a child that would set and listen to oldpeople as she will. I never did think she would live to grow up; shewasn't well last night, or she wouldn't have been scared; I noticed thatone cheek was red as a cherry, and the other as white as snow--a signthe fever was in her blood. "

Miss Thusa, like many other metaphysicians, mistook the effect for thecause, and thus stilled, with unconscious sophistry, the upbraidings ofher conscience. 

Helen here tossed upon her feverish couch, and opening her eyes, lookedwildly towards the chimney. 

"Hark! Miss Thusa, " she exclaimed, "it's coming. Don't you hear itclattering down the chimney? Don't leave me--don't leave me in thedark--I'm afraid--I'm afraid. "

It was well for Miss Thusa that Mr. Gleason was not present, to hear theravings of his child, or his doors would hereafter have been barredagainst her. Mrs. Gleason, while she mourned over the consequences ofher admission, would as soon have cut off her own right hand as shewould have spoken harshly or unkindly to the poor, lone woman. Shewarned her, however, from feeding, in this insane manner, the morbidimagination of her child, and gently forbid her ever repeating _thatawful story_, which had made, apparently, so dark and deep animpression. 

"Above all things, my dear Miss Thusa, " said she, repressing a littledry, hacking cough, that often interrupted her speech--"never give herany horrible idea of death. I know that such impressions can never beeffaced--I know it by my own experience. The grave has ever been to me agloomy subject of contemplation, though I gaze upon it with the lamp offaith in my hand, and the remembrance that the Son of God made His bedin its darkness, that light might be left there for me and mine. "

Miss Thusa looked at Mrs. Gleason as she uttered these sentiments, andthe glance of her solemn eye grew earnest as she gazed. Such was theusual quietness and reserve of the speaker, she was not prepared for somuch depth of thought and feeling. As she gazed, too, she remarked anappearance of emaciation and suffering about her face, which hadhitherto escaped her observation. She recollected her as she first sawher, a beautiful and blooming woman, and now there was bloom withoutbeauty, and brightness without beauty, for the color on the cheek andthe gleam of the eye, made one wish for pallor and dimness, as lesspainful and less prophetic. 

"Yes, Miss Thusa, " resumed Mrs. Gleason, after a long pause, "if mychild lives, I wish her guarded most carefully from all gloomyinfluences. I know that I must soon leave her, for I have an hereditarymalady, whose symptoms have lately been much aggravated. I have longsince resigned myself to my doom, knowing that my Heavenly Father knowswhen it is best to call me home. But I cannot bear that my childrenshould shrink from all I shall leave behind, my memory. Louis is a boldand noble boy. I fear not for him. His reason even now has the strengthof manhood. Mittie has very little sensibility or imagination; toolittle of the first I fear to be very lovable. But perhaps it will bebetter for her in the end. Helen is all sensibility and imagination. Itremble for her. I am haunted by a strange apprehension that my memorywill be a ghost that she will seek to shun. Oh! Miss Thusa, you cannotthink how painful this idea is to me. I want her to love me when I amgone, to think of me as a guardian angel watching over and blessing her. I want her to think of me as living in Heaven, not mouldering away inthe cold ground. Promise me that you will never more give her anyterrible idea associated with death and the grave. "

Mrs. Gleason paused, and pressing her handkerchief over her eyes, leanedback in her chair with a deep sigh. Was this the quiet, practicalhousekeeper, who always went with stilly steps so noiselessly about herdaily tasks that no one would think she was doing anything if it werenot for the results?

Was _she_ talking of dying, who had never yet omitted one householdduty or one neighborly office? Yes! in the stillness of the night, interrupted only by the delirious moanings of the sick child, she laidaside the mantle of reserve that usually enveloped her, and suffered hersoul to be visible--for a little while. 

"I will try to remember all you've said, and abide by it, " said MissThusa, who, in her dark gray dress, and black silk handkerchief tiedunder her chin, looked something like a cowled friar, of "orders gray, ""but when one has a _gift_ it's hard to keep it back. I don't alwaysknow myself what I'm going to tell, but speak as I'm moved, as the Biblemen used to do in old times. Every body has a way and a taste of theirown, I know, and some take to one thing, and some to another. Now, Ialways did take to what some folks thinks dreadful things. Perhaps it'sbecause I've been a lone woman, and led a sort of spiritual life. Inever took any pleasure in merry-making and frolicking. I'd rather go toa funeral than a wedding, any day, and I'd rather look at a shroudedcorpse, than a bride tricked out in her laces and flowers. I know it'sstrange, but it's true--and there's no use in going against the naturalgrain. You can't do it. If I take up a newspaper, I see the deaths andmurders before anything else. They stare one right in the face, and Idon't see anything else. "

"What a very peculiar temperament, " said Mrs. Gleason, thoughtfully. "Were you conscious of the same tastes when a child?"

"I can hardly remember being a child. It seems to me I never was one. Ialways had such old feelings. My father and mother died when I was ababy. There was nobody left but my brother--and--me. He was thestrangest being that ever lived. He locked up his heart and kept thekey, so nobody could get a peep inside. I had nobody to love, nobody wholoved me, so I got to loving my spinning-wheel and my own thoughts. Whenbrother fell sick and grew nervous and peevish, he didn't like the humof the wheel, and I had to spin at night in the chimney corner, by theflash of the embers, and the company I was to myself the Lord onlyknows. I'll tell you what, Mrs. Gleason, " added she, taking herspectacles from her forehead, wiping them carefully, and then puttingthem right on the top of her head, "God didn't mean every body to bealike. Some look up and some look down, but if they've got the rightspirit, they're all looking after God and truth. If I talk of the gravemore than common, it's because I know it's nothing but an undergroundpassage to eternity. "

"I thank God for teaching me to look upward at last, " cried Mrs. Gleason, and the quick, panting breath of little Helen was hearddistinctly in the silence that followed. Her soul reached forwardanxiously into futurity. If it were possible to change Miss Thusa'sopinions and peculiarities into something after the similitude of herkind! Change Miss Thusa! As soon might you expect to change the gnarledand rooted oak into the flexible and breeze-bowed willow. Heridiosyncrasy had been so nursed and strengthened by the two greatinfluences, time and solitude, it spread like the banyan tree, making adark pavilion, where legions of weird spirits gathered and revelled. 

Miss Thusa is one instance out of many, of a being with strong mind andwarm heart, cheated of objects on which to expend the vigor of the one, or the fervor of the other. The energies of her character, finding nolegitimate outlet, beat back upon herself, wearing away by continuedfriction the fine perception of beauty and susceptibility of trueenjoyment. The vine that finds no support for its _upward_ growth, grovels on the earth and covers it with rank, unshapely leaves. Themountain stream, turned back from its course, becomes a dark andstagnant pool. Even if the rank and long-neglected vine is made to twineround some sustaining fabric, it carries with it the dampness and thesoil of the earth to which it has been clinging. Its tendrils are heavy, and have a downward tendency. 

In a few days the fever-tide subsided in the veins of Helen. 

"I will not take it, " said she, when the young doctor gave her somebitter draught to swallow; "it tastes too bad. "

"You _will_ take it, " he replied, calmly, holding the glass in his hand, and fixing on her the serene darkness of his eyes. He did not press itto her lips, or use any coercion. He merely looked steadfastly, yetgently into her face, while the deep color she had noticed the firstnight she saw him came slowly into his cheeks. He did not say "you_must_, " but "you _will_, " and she felt the difference. She felt thesingular union of gentleness and power exhibited in his countenance, andwas constrained to yield. Without making farther resistance, she putforth her hand, took the glass, and swallowed the potion at one draught. 

"It will do you good, " said he, with a grave smile, but he did notpraise her. 

"Why didn't you tell me so before?" she asked. 

"You must learn to confide in your friends, " he replied, passing hishand gently over the child's wan brow. "You must trust them, withoutasking them for reasons for what they do. "

Helen thought she would try to remember this, and it seemed easy toremember what the young doctor said, for the voice of Arthur Hazletonwas very sweet and clear, and seemed to vibrate on the ear like amusical instrument. 

CHAPTER II. 

 ----"with burnished neck of verdant gold, erect Amid his circling spires, that on the grass Floated redundant, --she busied heard the sound Of rustling leaves, but minded not, _at first_. "--_Milton. _

Helen recovered, and the agitation caused by her sickness havingsubsided, everything went on apparently as it did before. While she wassick, Mrs. Gleason resolved that she would keep her as much as possiblefrom Miss Thusa's influence, and endeavor to counteract it by a closer, more confiding union with herself. But every one knows how quickly theresolutions, formed in the hour of danger, are forgotten in the momentof safety--and how difficult it is to break through daily habits oflife. Even when the pulse beats high with health, and the heart glowswith conscious energy, it is difficult. How much more so, when the wholehead is sick, and the whole spirit is faint--when the lightest dutybecomes a burden, and _rest_, nothing but _rest_, is the prayer of theweary soul!

The only perceptible change in the family arrangements was, that MissThusa carried her wheel at night into the nursery, and installed herselfthere as the guardian of Helen's slumbers. The little somnambulist, asshe was supposed to be, required a watch, and when Miss Thusa offered tosit by the fire-side till the family retired to rest, Mrs. Gleason couldnot be so ungrateful as to refuse, though she ventured to reiterate thewarning, breathed by the feverish couch of her child. This warning MissThusa endeavored to bear in mind, and illumined the gloomy grandeur ofher legends by some lambent rays of fancy--but they were lightningflashes playing about ruins, suggesting ideas of desolation and decay. 

Let it not be supposed that Helen's life was all shadow. Oh, no! Inproportion as she shuddered at darkness, and trembled before thespectres her own imagination created, she rejoiced in sunshine, andrevelled in the bright glories of creation. She was all darkness or alllight. There was no twilight about her. Never had a child a moreexquisite perception of the beautiful, and as at night she delineated toherself the most awful and appalling images that imagination canconceive, by day she beheld forms more lovely than ever visited thepoet's dream. She could see angels cradled on the glowing bosom of thesunset clouds, angels braiding the rainbow of the sky. Light to her waspeopled with angels, as darkness with phantoms. The brilliant-wingedbutterflies were the angels of the flowers--the gales that fanned hercheeks the invisible angels of the trees. If Helen had lived in a worldall of sunshine, she would have been the happiest being in the world. Moonlight, too, she loved--it seemed like a dream of the sun. But it wasonly in the presence of others she loved it. She feared to be alone init--it was so still and holy, and then it made such deep shadows whereit did not shine! Yes! Helen would have been happy in a world ofsunshine--but we are born for the shadow as well as the sunbeam, andthey who cannot walk unfearing through the gloom, as well as thebrightness, are ill-fitted for the pilgrimage of life. 

Childhood is naturally prone to superstition and fear. The intensity ofsuffering it endures from these sources is beyond description. 

We remember, when a child, with what chillness of awe we used to listento the wind sighing through the long branches of the elm trees, as theytrailed against the window panes, for nursery legends had associated thesound with the moaning of ghosts, and the flapping of invisible wings. We remember having strange, indescribable dreams, when the mystery ofour young existence seemed to press down upon us with the weight ofiron, and fill us with nameless horror. When a something seemed swellingand expanding and rolling in our souls, like an immense, fiery globe_within us_, and yet we were carried around with it, and we felt it mustforever be rolling and enlarging, and we must forever be rolling alongwith it. We remember having this dream night after night, and when weawakened, the first thought was _eternity_, and we thought if we went ondreaming, we should find out what eternity meant. We were afraid to tellthe dream, from a vague fear that it was wrong, that it might bethought we were trying to pierce into the mystery of God, and it waswicked in a child thus to do. 

Helen used to say, whenever she fell asleep in the day-time under agreen tree, or on the shady bank of a stream, as she often did, that shehad the brightest, most beautiful dreams--and she wished it was the_fashion_ for people to sleep by day instead of night. 

Slowly, almost imperceptibly Mrs. Gleason's strength wasted away. Shestill kept her place at the family board, and continued her labors oflove, but the short, dry, hacking cough assumed a more hollow, deepersound, and every day the red spot on her cheek grew brighter, as theshades of night came on. Mittie heeded not the change in her mother, butthe affectionate heart of Louis felt many a sad foreboding, as hissubdued steps and hushed laugh plainly told. He was naturally joyous andgay, even to rudeness, always playing some good-natured but teasingprank on his little sister, and making the house ring with hismerriment. Now, whenever that hollow cough rung in his ears, he wouldstart as if a knife pierced him, and it would be a long time before hislaugh would be heard again. He redoubled his filial attentions, andscarcely ever entered the house without bringing something which hethought would please her taste, or be grateful to her feelings. 

"Mother, see what a nice string of fishes. I am sure you will likethese. "

"Oh! mother, here are the sweetest flowers you ever saw. Do smell ofthem, they are so reviving. "

The tender smile, the fond caress which rewarded these love-offeringswere very precious to the warm-hearted boy, though he often ran out ofthe house to hide the tears they forced into his eyes. 

Helen knew that her mother was not well, for she now reclined a greatdeal on the sofa, and Doctor Sennar came to see her every day, andsometimes the young doctor accompanied him, and when he did, he alwaystook a great deal of notice of her, and said something she could nothelp remembering. Perhaps it was the peculiar glance of his eye thatfixed the impression, as the characters written in indelible ink arepale and illegible till exposed to a slow and gentle fire. 

"You ought to do all you can for your mother, " said he, while he heldher in his lap, and Doctor Sennar counted her mother's pulse by theticking of his large gold watch. 

"I am too little to do any good, " answered she, sighing at her owninsignificance. 

"You can be very still and gentle. "

"But that isn't doing anything, is it?"

"When you are older, " said the young doctor, "you will find it is harderto keep from doing wrong than to do what is right. "

Helen did not understand the full force of what he said, but the sayingremained in her memory. 

The next day, and the bloom of early summer was on the plains, and itsdeep, blue glory on the sky, Helen thought again and again what sheshould do for her mother. At length she remembered that some one hadsaid that the strawberries were ripe, and that her mother had longedexceedingly for a dish of strawberries and cream. This was somethingthat even Louis had not done for her, and her heart throbbed with joyand exultation in anticipation of the offering she could make. 

With a bright tin bucket, that shone like burnished silver in thesunbeams, swinging on her arm, she stole out of the back door, and randown a narrow lane, till she came to an open field, where the young cornwas waving its silken tassels, and potato vines frolicking at its feet. The long, shining leaves of the young corn threw off the sunlight likepolished steel, and Helen thought she had never seen anything sobeautiful in all her life. She stopped and pulled off the soft, tender, green silken tassels, hanging them over her ears, and twisting some inher hair, as if she were a mermaid, her "sea-green ringlets braiding. "Then springing from hillock to hillock, she reached the end of thefield, and jumped over a fence that skirted a meadow, along which aclear, blue stream glided like an azure serpent in glittering coils, under the shade of innumerable hickory trees. Helen became so enchantedwith the beauty of the landscape, that she forgot her mother and thestrawberries, forgot there were such things as night and darkness in theuniverse. Taking off her shoes and tying them to the handle of herbucket, she went down to the edge of the stream, and dipping her feet inthe cool water, waded along close to the bank, and the little waveletscurled round her ankles as if they loved to play with anything so smoothand white. Then she saw bright specks of mica shining on the sand, andshe sprang out of the water to gather them, wondering if pearls anddiamonds ever looked half so beautiful. 

"How I wish strawberries grew under water, " cried Helen, suddenlyrecollecting her filial mission. "How I wish they did not grow under thelong grass!"

The light faded from her face, and the dimness of fear came over it. Shehad an unutterable dread of snakes, for they were the _heroes_ of someof Miss Thusa's awful legends, and she knew they lurked in the longgrass, and were said to be especially fond of strawberries. Strange, inher eager desire to do something for her mother, she had forgotten theambushed foe she most dreaded by day--now she wondered she had dared tothink of coming. 

"I will go back, " thought she; "I dare not jump over that fence and wadeabout in grass as high as my head. "

"You must do all you can for your mother, " echoed in clear, silveraccents in her memory; "Louis will gather them if I do not, " continuedshe, "and she will never know how much I love her. All little childrenpick strawberries for themselves, and I never heard of one being bittenby a snake. If I pick them for my mother instead of myself, I don'tbelieve God will let them hurt me. "

While thus meditating, she had reached the fence, and stepping on thelower rails, she peeped over into the deep, green patch. As the windwaved the grass to and fro, she caught glimpses of the reddeningberries, and her cheeks glowed with excitement. They were so thick, andlooked so rich and delicious! She would keep very near the fence, and ifa snake should crawl near her, she could get upon the topmost rails, andit could not reach her there. One jump, and the struggle was over. Sheplunged in a sea of verdure, while the strawberries glowed like coralbeneath. They hung in large, thick clusters, touching each other, sothat it would be an easy thing to fill her bucket before the sun wentdown. She would not pick the whole clusters, because some were greenstill, and she had heard her mother say, that it was a waste of God'sbounty, and a robbery of those who came afterwards, to pluck and destroyunripe fruit. Several times she started, thinking she heard a rustlingin the leaves, but it was only the wind whispering to them as it passed. She stained her cheeks and the palms of her hands with the crimsonjuice, thinking it would make her mother smile, resolving to look atherself in the water as she returned. 

Her bucket, which was standing quietly on the ground, was almost full;she was stooping down, with her sun-bonnet pushed back from her glowingface, to secure the largest and best berries which she had yet seen, when she _did_ hear a rustling in the grass very near, and lookinground, there was a large, long snake, winding slowly, carefully towardsthe bucket, with little gleaming eyes, that looked like burning glassset in emerald. It seemed to glow with all the colors of the rainbow, soradiant it was in yellow, green and gold, striped with the blackest jet. For one moment, Helen stood stupefied with terror, fascinated by theterrible beauty of the object on which she was gazing. Then giving aloud, shrill shriek, she bounded to the fence, climbed over it, andjumped to the ground with a momentum so violent that she fell and rolledseveral paces on the earth. Something cold twined round her feet andankles. With a gasp of despair, Helen gave herself up for lost, assuredshe was in the coils of the snake, and that its venom was penetratingthrough her whole frame. 

"I shall die, " thought she, "and mother will never know how I came herealone to gather strawberries, that she might eat and be well. "

As she felt no sting, no pain, and the snake lay perfectly still, sheventured to steal a glance at her feet, and saw that it was a piece of avine that she had caught in her flight, and which her fears hadconverted into the embrace of an adder. Springing up with the velocityof lightning, she darted along, regardless of the beauty of the stream, in whose limpid waters she had thought to behold her crimson-stainedcheeks. She ran on, panting, glowing--the perspiration, hot as drops ofmolten lead, streaming down her face, looking furtively back, every nowand then, to see if that gorgeous creature, with glittering coils andburning eyes were not gliding at her heels. At length, blinded and dizzyfrom the speed with which she had run, she fell against an opposing bodyjust at the entrance of the lane. 

"Why, Helen, what is the matter?" exclaimed a well-known voice, and sheknew she was safe. It was the young doctor, who loved to walk on thebanks of that beautiful stream, when the shadows of the tall hickorieslengthened on the grass. 

Helen was too breathless to speak, but he knew, by her clinging hold, that she sought protection from some real or imaginary danger. While hepitied her evident fright, he could not help smiling at her grotesqueappearance. The perspiration, dripping from her forehead, had madechannels through the crimson dye on her cheeks, and her chin, which hadbeen buried in the ground when she fell, was all covered with mud. Herfrock was soiled and torn, her bonnet twisted so that the strings hungdangling over her shoulder. A more forlorn, wild-looking little figure, can scarcely be imagined, and it is not strange that the young doctorfound it difficult to suppress a laugh. 

"And so you left your strawberries behind, " said he, after hearing thehistory of her fright and flight. "It seems to me I would not havetreated the snake so daintily. Suppose we go back and cheat him of hisnice supper, after all. "

"Oh! no--no--no, " exclaimed Helen, emphatically. "I wouldn't go for allthe strawberries in the whole world. "

"Not when they would do your sick mother good?" said he, gravely. 

"But the snake!" cried she, with a shudder. 

"It is perfectly harmless. If you took it in your hand and played withit, it would not hurt you. Those beautiful, bright-striped creatureshave no venom in them. Come, let us step down to the edge of the streamand wash the stains from your face and hands, and then you shall show mewhere your strawberries are waiting for us in the long grass. "

He took her hand and attempted to draw her along, but she resisted withastonishing strength, planting her back against the railing that dividedthe lane from the corn-field. 

"Helen, you _will_ come with me, " said he, in the same tone, and withthe same magnetic glance, with which he had once before subdued her. She remained still a few moments, then the rigid muscles began to relax, and hanging down her head, she sobbed aloud. 

"You will come, " repeated he, leading her gently along towards the bankof the stream, "because you know I would not lead you into danger, andbecause if you do not try to conquer such fears, they will make you veryunhappy through life. Don't you wish to be useful and do good to others, when you grow older?"

"Oh, yes, " replied Helen, with animation--"but, " added she, despondingly, "I never shall. "

"It depends upon yourself, " replied her friend; "some of the greatestmen that ever lived, were once timid little children. They madethemselves great by overcoming their fears, by having a strong will. "

They were now close to the water, which, just where they stood, was asstill and smooth as glass. Helen saw herself in the clear, blue mirror, and laughed aloud--then she blushed to think how strange and ugly shelooked. Eagerly scooping up the water in the hollow of her hand, shebathed her face, and removed the disfiguring stains. 

"You have no napkin, " said the young doctor, taking a snowy linenhandkerchief from his pocket, which emitted a sweet, faint, rose-likeperfume. "Will this do?"

He wiped her face, which looked fairer than ever after the ablution, andthen first one and then the other of her trembling hands, for they stilltrembled from nervous agitation. 

"How kind, how good he is!" thought Helen, as his hand passed gentlyover her brow, smoothing back the moist and tangled hair, then glidedagainst her cheek, while he arranged the twisted bonnet and untied thedangling strings, which had tightened into a hard and obstinate knot. "Iwonder what makes him so kind and good to me?"

When they came to the fence, surrounding the strawberry-field, Helen'ssteps involuntarily grew slower, and she hung back heavily on the handof her companion. Her old fears came rushing over her, drowning hernew-born courage. 

Arthur laid his hand on the top rail, and vaulted over as lightly as abird, then held out his arms towards her. 

"Climb, and I will catch you, " said he, with an encouraging smile. Poorlittle Helen felt constrained to obey him, though she turned white assnow--and when he took her in his arms, he felt her heart beating andfluttering like the wings of a caged humming-bird. 

"Ah, I see the silver bucket, " he cried, "all filled with strawberries. The enemy is fled; the coast is clear. "

He still held her in his arms, while he stooped and lifted the bucket, then again vaulted over the fence, as if no burden impeded hismovements. 

"You are safe, " said he, "and you can now gladden your mother's heart bythis sweet offering. Are you sorry you came?"

"Oh! no, " she replied, "I feel happy now. " She insisted upon his eatingpart of the strawberries, but he refused, and as they walked home, hegathered green leaves and flowers, and made a garland round them. 

"What makes you so good to me?" she exclaimed, with an irresistibleimpulse, looking gratefully in his face. 

"Because I like you, " he replied; "you remind me, too, of a dear littlesister of mine, whom I love very tenderly. Poor unfortunate Alice! Yourlot is happier than hers. "

"What makes _me_ happier?" asked Helen, thinking that one who had sokind a brother ought to be happy. 

"She is blind, " he replied, "she never saw one ray of light. "

"Oh! how dreadful!" cried Helen, "to live all the time in the dark! Oh!I should be afraid to live at all!"

"I said you were happier, Helen; but I recall my words. She is notafraid, though all the time midnight shadows surround her. A sweet smileusually rests upon her face, and her step is light and springy as thegrasshopper's leap. "

"But it must be so dreadful to be blind!" repeated Helen. "How I do pityher!"

"It is a great misfortune, one of the greatest that can be inflictedupon a human being--but she does not murmur. She confides in the love ofthose around her, and feels as if their eyes were her own. Were I to askher to walk over burning coals, she would put her hand in mine, to leadher, so entire is her trust, so undoubting is her faith. "

"How I wish I could be like her!" said Helen, in a tone of deephumility. 

"You are like her at this moment, for you have gone where you believedgreat danger was lurking, trusting in my promise of protection andsafety, --trusting in me, who am almost a stranger to you. "

Helen's heart glowed within her at his approving words, and she rejoicedmore than ever that she had obeyed his will. Her sympathies werepainfully awakened for the blind child, and she asked him a thousandquestions, which he answered with unwearied patience. She repeated overand over again the sweet name of Alice, and wished it were hers, insteadof Helen. 

At the great double gate, that opened into the wood-yard, Arthur lefther, and she hastened on, proud of the victory she had obtained overherself. Mittie was standing in the back door; as Helen came up thesteps, she pointed in derision at her soiled and disordered dress. 

"I couldn't help it, " said Helen, trying to pass her, "I fell down. "

"Oh! what nice strawberries!" exclaimed Mittie, "and so many of them. Give me some. "

"Don't touch them, Mittie--they are for mother, " cried Helen, spreadingher hand over the top of the bucket, as Mittie seized the handle andjerked it towards her. 

"You little, stingy thing, I _will_ have some, " cried Mittie, plungingher hand in the midst of them, while the sweet wild flowers whichArthur's hand had scattered over them, and the shining leaves with whichhe had bordered them, all fell on the steps. Helen felt as if scaldingwater were pouring into her veins, and in her passion she lifted herhand to strike her, when a hollow cough, issuing from her mother's room, arrested her. She remembered, too, what the young doctor had said, "thatit was harder to keep from doing wrong, than to do what was right. "

"If he saw me strike Mittie, he would think it wrong, " thought she, "though if he knew how bad she treats me, he'd say 'twas hard to keepfrom it. "

Kneeling on one knee, she picked up the scattered flowers, and on everyflower a dew drop fell, and sparkled on its petals. 

They had a witness of whom they were not aware. The tall, gray figure ofMiss Thusa, appeared in the opposite door, at the moment of Mittie'srude and greedy act. The meekness of Helen exasperated her still moreagainst the offender, and striding across the passage, she seized Mittieby the arm, and swung her completely on one side. 

"Let me alone, old Madam Thusa, " exclaimed Mittie, "I'm not going tomind _you_. That I'm not. You always take her part against me. Everybody does--that makes me hate her. "

"For shame! for shame!" cried the tall monitor, "to talk so of yourlittle sister. You're like the girl in the fairy tale, who was sospiteful that every time she spoke, toads and vipers crawled out of hermouth. Helen, I'll tell you that story to-night, before you go tosleep. "

Helen could have told her that she would rather not hear any thing ofvipers that night, but she feared Miss Thusa would be displeased andthink her ungrateful. Notwithstanding Mittie's unkindness and violenceof temper, she did not like to have such dreadful ideas associated withher. When, however, she heard the whole story, at the usual witchinghour, she felt the same fascination which had so often enthralled her. As it was summer, the blazing fire no longer illuminated the hearth, buta little lamp, whose rays flickered in the wind that faintly murmured inthe chimney. Miss Thusa sat spinning by the open window, in the light ofthe solemn stars, and as she waxed more and more eloquent, she seemed toderive inspiration from their beams. She could see one twinkling all thetime in the little gourd of water, swinging from her distaff, and inspite of her preference for the dark and the dreadful, she could nothelp stopping her wheel, to admire the trembling beauty of that solitarystar. 

CHAPTER III. 

 "Pale as the corse o'er which she leaned, As cold, with stifling breath, Her spirit sunk before the might, The majesty of death. "

 "A man severe he was, and stern to view, I knew him well, and every truant knew-- Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught, The love he bore for learning was in fault. "

 _Goldsmith. _

The darkened room, the stilly tread, the muffled knocker and slowlyclosing door, announced the presence of that kingly guest, who presidesover the empire of _terror_ and the grave. The long-expected hour wasarrived, and Mrs. Gleason lay supported by pillows, whose soft downwould never more sink under the pressure of her weary head. The wastingfires of consumption had burned and burned, till nothing but the ashesof life were left, save a few smouldering embers, from which flashedoccasionally a transient spark. Mr. Gleason sat at the bed's head, withthat grave, stern, yet bitter grief on his countenance which bidsdefiance to tears. She had been a gentle and devoted wife, and herquiet, home-born virtues, not always fully appreciated, rose before hisremembrance, like the angels in Jacob's dream, climbing up to Heaven. Louis stood behind him, his head bowed upon his shoulder, sobbing as ifhis heart would break. Helen was nestled in her father's arms, with themost profound and unutterable expression of grief and awe and dread, onher young face. She was told that her mother was dying, going away fromher, never to return, and the anguish this conviction imparted wouldhave found vent in shrieks, had not the awe with which she beheld thecold, gray shadows of death, slowly, solemnly rolling over the face sheloved best on earth, the face which had always seemed to her theperfection of mortal beauty, paralyzed her tongue, and frozen thefountain of her tears. Mittie stood at the foot of the bed, looking ather mother through the opening of the curtain, partly veiled by thelong, white fringe that hung heavily from the folds, and which the windblew to and fro, with something like the sweep of the willow. Thewindows were all open to admit the air to the faintly heaving lungs ofthe sufferer, and gradually one curtain after another was lifted, as thestruggle for breath and air increased, and the light of departing daystreamed in on the sunken and altered features it was never more toilluminate. Mittie was awe struck, but she manifested no tenderness orsensibility. It was astonishing how so young a child could see _anyone_die, and above all a _mother_--a mother, so kind and affectionate, withso little emotion. She was far more oppressed by the realization of herown mortality, for the first time pressed home upon her, than by herimpending bereavement. What were the feelings of that speechless, expiring, but fully conscious mother, as she gazed earnestly, wistfully, thrillingly on the group that surrounded her? There was the husband, whom she had so much loved, he, who often, when weary with business, andperplexed with anxiety, had seemed careless and indifferent, but who, aslife waned away, had shown the tenderness of love's early day, and whoshe knew would mourn her deeply and _long_. There was her noble, handsome, warm-hearted, high-souled boy--the object of her pride, aswell as her affection--he, who had never willfully given her a moment'spain--and though his irrepressive sighs and suffocating sobs she wouldhave hushed, at the expense of all that remained of life to her--therewas still a music in them to her dying ear, that told of love that wouldnot forget, that would twine in perennial garlands round her grave. Poorlittle Helen, as she looked at her pale, agonized face, and saw the_terror_ imprinted there, she remembered what she had once said to MissThusa, of being after death an object of _terror_ to her child, and shefelt a sting that no language could express. She longed to stretch outher feeble arms, to fold them round this child of her prayers and fears, to carry her with her down the dark valley her feet were treading, tosave her from trials a nature like hers was so ill-fitted to sustain. She looked from her to Mittie, the cold, insensible Mittie, whose large, black eyes, serious, but not sad, were riveted upon her through thewhite fringe of the curtain, and another sting sharper still wentthrough her heart. 

"Oh! my child, " she would have said, could her thoughts have foundutterance, "forget me if you will--mourn not for me, the mother who boreyou--but be kind, be loving to your little sister, more young andhelpless than yourself. You are strong and fearless--she is a timid, trembling, clinging dove. Oh! be gentle to her, for my sake, gentle as Ihave ever been to you. And you, too, my child, the time will come whenyou will _feel_, when your heart will awake from its sleep--and if youonly feel for yourself, you will be wretched. "

"Why art thou cast down, oh! my soul? and why art thou disquieted withinme?" were the meditations of the dying woman, when turning from earth, she raised her soul on high. "I leave my children in the hands of aheavenly Father, as well as a mighty God--in the care of Him who diedthat man might live forevermore. "

But there was one present at this scene, who seemed a priestesspresiding over some mystic rite. It was Miss Thusa. Notwithstanding thereal kindness of her heart, she felt a strange and intense delight inwitnessing the last struggle between vitality and death, in gazing onthe marble, soulless features, from which life had departed, andcomposing the icy limbs for the garniture of the grave. She would haveaverted suffering and death, if she could, from all, but since every sonand daughter of Adam were doomed to bear them, she wanted the privilegeof beholding the conflict, and gazing on the ruins. She would sit upnight after night, regardless of fatigue, to watch by the pillow ofsickness and pain, and yet she felt an unaccountable sensation ofdisappointment when her cares were crowned with success, and the hour ofdanger was over. She would have climbed mountains, if it were required, to carry water to dash on a burning dwelling, yet wished at the sametime to see the flames grow redder and broader, and more destructive. She would have liked to live near the smoke and fire of battle, so thatshe might wander in contemplation among the unburied slain. 

The sun went down, but the sun of life still lingered on the verge ofthe horizon. The dimness of twilight mingled with the shadows of death. 

"Take me out, " cried Helen, struggling to be released from her father'sarms. "Oh! take me from here. It don't seem mother that I see. "

"Hush--hush, " said Mr. Gleason, sternly, "you disturb her last moments. "But Helen, whose feelings were wrought up to a pitch which madestillness impossible, and restraint agonizing, darted from between herfather's knees and rushed into the passage. But how dim and lonely itwas! How melancholy the cat looked, waiting near the door, with itscalm, green eyes turned towards the chamber where its gentle mistresslay! It rubbed its white, silky sides against Helen, purring solemnlyand musically, but Helen recollected many a frightful tale of cats, related by Miss Thusa, and recoiled from the contact. She longed toescape from herself, to escape from a world so dark and gloomy. Hermother was going, and why should she stay behind? _Going!_ yet lying sostill and almost breathless there! She had been told that the angelscame down and carried away the souls of the good, but she looked in vainfor the track of their silvery wings. One streak of golden ruddinesssevered the gray of twilight, but it resembled more a fiery bar, closingthe gates of heaven, than a radiant opening to the spirit-land. Whileshe stood pale and trembling, with her hand on the latch of the door, afraid to stay where she was, afraid to return and confront the mysteryof death, the gate opened, and Arthur Hazleton came up the steps. He hadbeen there a short time before, and went away for something which it wasthought might possibly administer relief. He held out his hand, andHelen clung to it as if it had the power of salvation. He read what waspassing in the mind of the child, and pitied her. He did not try toreason with her at that moment, for he saw it would be in vain, butdrawing her kindly towards him, he told her he was sorry for her. Hiswords, like "flaky snow in the day of the sun, " melted as they fell andsunk into her heart, and she began to weep. He knew that her mothercould not live long, and wishing to withdraw her from a scene whichmight give a shock from which her nerves would long vibrate, hecommitted her to the care of a neighbor, who took her to her own home. Mrs. Gleason died at midnight, while Helen lay in a deep sleep, unconscious of the deeper slumbers that wrapped the dead. 

And now a terrible trial awaited her. She had never looked on the faceof death, and she shrunk from the thought with a dread which no languagecan express. When her father, sad and silent, with knit brow andquivering lip, led her to the chamber where her mother lay, she resistedhis guidance, and declared she would never, never go in _there_. Itwould have been well to have yielded to her wild pleadings, her tearsand cries. It would have been well to have waited till reason wasstronger and more capable of grappling with terror, before forcing herto read the first awful lesson of mortality. But Mr. Gleason thought ithis duty to require of her this act of filial reverence, an act he wouldhave deemed it sacrilegious to omit. He was astonished, grieved, angryat her resistance, and in his excitement he used some harsh and bitterwords. 

Finding persuasions and threats in vain, he summoned Miss Thusa, tellingher he gave into her charge an unnatural, rebellious child, with whosestrange temper he was then too weak to contend. It was a pity hesummoned such an assistant, for Miss Thusa thought it impious as well asunnatural, and she had bound herself too by a sacred promise, that shewould not suffer Helen to _fear_ in death the mother whom in life shehad so dearly loved. Helen, when she looked into those still, commandingeyes, felt that her doom was sealed, and that she need struggle no more. In despair, rather than submission, she yielded, if it can be calledyielding, to suffer herself to be dragged into a room, which she neverentered afterwards without dread. 

The first glance at the interior of the chamber, struck a chill throughher heart. It was so still, so chill, so dim, yet so white. The curtainsof white muslin fell in long, slumberous folds down to the floor, theirfringes resting lifelessly on the carpet. The tables and chairs were allcovered with white linen, and something shrouded in white was stretchedout on a table in the centre of the room. The sheet which covered itflapped a moment as the door opened, and then hung motionless. Theoutline of a human form beneath was visible, and when Miss Thusa liftedher in her arms and carried her to the spot, Helen was conscious of anawful curiosity growing up within her that was stronger than herterrors. Her breath came quick and short, a film came over her eyes, andcold drops of sweat stood upon her forehead, yet she would not now haveleft the room without penetrating into the mystery of death. Miss Thusalaid her hand upon the sheet and turned it back from the pale andghastly face, on whose brow the mysterious signet of everlasting restwas set. Still, immovable, solemn, placid--it lay beneath the gaze, withshrouded eye, and cheek like concave marble, and hueless, waxen lips. What depth, what grandeur, what duration in that repose! Whatinexpressible sadness, yet what sublime tranquillity! Helen held herbreath, bending slowly, lower and lower, as if drawn down by a mighty, irresistible power, till her cheek almost touched the clay-cold cheekover which she leaned. Then Miss Thusa folded back the sheet stillfarther, and exposed the shrouded form, which she had so carefullyprepared for its last dread espousals. The fragrance of white roses andgeranium leaves profusely scattered over the body, mingled with the coldodor of mortality, and filled the room with a deadly, sickening perfume. White roses were placed in the still, white, emaciated hands, and layall wilted on the unbreathing bosom. 

All at once a revulsion took place in the breast of Helen. It mockedher--that silent, rigid, moveless form. She felt so cold, so deadly coldin its presence, it seemed as if all the warmth of life went out withinher. She began to realize the desolation, the loneliness of the future. The cry of orphanage came wailing up from the depths of her heart, andbursting from her lips in a loud piercing shriek, she sprang forward andfell perfectly insensible on the bosom of the dead. 

"I wish I had not _forced_ her to go in, " exclaimed the father, as hehung with remorseful anguish over the child. "Great Heaven! must I loseall I hold dear at once?"

"No, no, " cried Miss Thusa, making use of the most powerful restorativesas she spoke, "it will not hurt her. She is coming to already. It's alesson she must learn, and the sooner the better. She's got to behardened--and if we don't begin to do it the Lord Almighty will. Iremember the saying of an old lady, and she was a powerful wise woman, that they who refused to look at a corpse, would see their own everynight in the glass. "

"Repeat not such shocking sayings before the child, " cried Mr. Gleason. "I fear she has heard too many already. "

Ah, yes! _she had heard too many_. The warning came too late. 

She was restored to animation and--to memory. Her father, now tremblingfor her health, and feeling his affection and tenderness increase inconsequence of a sensibility so remarkable, forbid every one to alludeto her mother before her, and kept out of her sight as far as possiblethe mournful paraphernalia of the grave. But a _cold presence_ hauntedher, and long after the mother was laid in the bosom of earth, it wouldcome like a sudden cloud over the sun, chilling the warmth of childhood. 

She had never yet been sent to school. Her extreme timidity had inducedher mother to teach her at home the rudiments of education. She had thusbeen a kind of _amateur_ scholar, studying pictures more than any thingelse, and never confined to any particular hours or lessons. About sixmonths after her mother's death, her father thought it best she shouldbe placed under regular instruction, and she was sent with Mittie to thevillage school. If she could only have gone with Louis--Louis, so brave, yet tender, so manly, yet so gentle, how much happier she would havebeen! But Louis went to the large academy, where he studied Greek andLatin and Conic Sections, &c. , where none but boys were admitted. Theteacher of the village school was a gentleman who had an equal number oflittle boys and girls under his charge. In summer the institution wasunder the jurisdiction of a lady--in autumn and winter the Salic law hadfull sway, and man reigned supreme on the pedagogical throne. It was inwinter that Helen entered what was to her a new world. 

The little, delicate, pensive looking child, clad in deep mourning, attracted universal interest. The children gathered round her andexamined her as they would a wax doll. There was something about her sodifferent from themselves, so different from every body else they hadseen, that they looked upon her as a natural curiosity. 

"What big eyes she's got!" cried a little creature, whose eyes werescarcely larger than pin-holes, putting her round, fat face close toHelen's pale one, and peering under her long lashes. 

"Hush!" said another, whose nickname was Cherry-cheeks, so bright andruddy was her bloom. "She's a thousand times prettier than you, youlittle no eyed thing! But what makes her so pale and thin? I wonder--andwhat makes her look so scared?"

"It is because her mother is dead, " said an orphan child, taking Helen'shand in one of hers, passing the other softly over her smooth hair. 

"Mittie has lost her mother too, " replied Cherry-cheeks, "and she isn'tpale nor thin. "

"Mittie don't care, " exclaimed several voices at once, "only let herhave the head of the class, and she won't mind what becomes of the restof the world. "

A scornful glance over her shoulder was all the notice Mittie deigned totake of this acknowledgment of her eagle ambition. Conscious that shewas the favorite of the teacher, she disdained to cultivate the love andgood-will of her companions. With a keen, bright intelligence, andremarkable retentiveness of memory, she mastered her studies withsurprising quickness, and distanced all her competitors. Had she beenamiable, her young classmates would have been proud of the honors sheacquired, for it is easy to yield the palm to one always in theascendant, but she looked down with contempt on those of inferiorattainments, and claimed as a right the homage they would havespontaneously offered. 

Mr. Hightower, or as he was called Master High-tower, was worthy of hiscommanding name, for he was at least six feet and three inches inheight, and of proportional magnitude. It would have looked more inkeeping to see him at the head of an embattled host rather thanexercising dominion over the little rudiments of humanity arrangedaround him. His hair was thick and bushy, and he had a habit of combingit with his fingers very suddenly, and making it stand up like militaryplumes all over his head. His features, though heavily moulded, had noharsh lines. Their predominant expression was good nature, a kind ofelephantine docility, which neutralized the awe inspired by his immensesize. On his inauguration morning, when the children beheld him marchingslowly through the rows of benches on which they were seated, with along, black ruler under his arm, and enthrone himself behind a tall, green-covered desk, they crouched together and trembled as the frogs didwhen King Log plunged in their midst. Though his good-humoredcountenance dispersed their terror, they found he was far frompossessing the inaction of the wooden monarch, and that no one couldresist his authority with impunity. He _could_ scold, and then his voicethundered and reverberated in the ears of the pale delinquent in such astorm-peal as was never heard before--and he _could_ chastise theobstinate offender, when reason could not control, most tremendously. That long, black ruler--what a wand it was! Whenever he was about to useit as an instrument of punishment, he had a peculiar way of handling it, which soon taught them to tremble. He would feel the whole length of itvery slowly and carefully as if it were the edge of a razor--then raiseit parallel with the eyes, and closing one, looked at it steadily withthe other. Then lifting it suddenly above his head, he would extend hisbroad, left palm, and give himself a blow that would make them all startfrom their seats. Of all crimes or vices, none excited his indignationso much as laziness. It was with him the unpardonable sin. There wastoleration, forgiveness for every one but the _sluggard_. He saidSolomon's description of the slothful should be written in letters ofgold on the walls of the understanding. He explained it to them as ametaphor, and made them to understand that the field of the sluggard, overgrown with thorns and nettles, was only an image of the neglectedand uncultivated mind. He gave them Doctor Watts' versification of it tocommit to memory, and repeated it with them in concert. It is notstrange that Mittie, who never came to him with a neglected or imperfectlesson, should be a great favorite with him, and that he should make herthe _star pupil_ of the school. 

Mittie was not afraid of being eclipsed by Helen, in the new sphere onwhich she had entered. At home the latter was more petted and caressed, the object of deeper tenderness, but there she reigned supreme, and thepet of the household would find herself nothing more than a cipher. Shewas mistaken. It was impossible to look upon Helen without interest, andMaster Hightower seemed especially drawn towards her. He bent down tillhe overshadowed her with his loftiness, then smiling at the quickwithdrawal of her soft, wild, shy glances, he took her up in his lap asif she were a plaything, sent for his amusement. 

Mittie was not pleased at this, for though she thought herself entirelytoo much of a woman to be treated with such endearing familiarity, shecould not bear to see such caresses bestowed on another. 

"I wonder, " she said to herself, with a darkening countenance, "I wonderwhat any one can see in such a little goose as Helen, _to take on_about? Little simpleton! she's afraid of her own shadow! Never mind!wait awhile! When he finds out how lazy she is, he'll put her on alower, harder seat than his lap. "

It was true that Helen soon lost cast with the uncompromising enemy ofidleness. She had fallen into a habit of reverie, which made itimpossible for her to fix her mind on a given lesson. Her imaginationhad acquired so much more strength than her other faculties, that shecould not convert the monarch into the vassal. She would try to memorizethe page before her, and resolutely set herself to the task, but thewing of a snow-bird fluttering by the window, or the buzzing of a flyround the warm stove, would distract her attention and call up trains ofthought as wild as irrelevant. Sometimes she would bend down her head, and press both hands upon it, to keep it in an obedient position; butall in vain!--her vagrant imagination would wander far away to theconfines of the spirit-land. 

Master Hightower coaxed, reasoned with her, scolded, threatened, didevery thing but punish. He could not have the heart to apply the blackruler to that little delicate hand. He could not give a blow to one wholooked up in his face with such soft, deprecating, fearful eyes--but hegrew vexed with the child, and feeling of the edge of his rulerhalf-a-dozen times, declared he did not know what to do with her. 

One night Mittie lingered behind the rest, and told him that if he wouldshut up Helen somewhere alone, _in the dark_, he would have no moretrouble with her; that her father had said that it was the only way tomake her study. It was true that Mr. Gleason had remarked, in a jestingway, when told of Helen's neglect of her lessons, that he must get Mr. Hightower to have a dark closet made, and he would have no more trouble;but he never intended such a cruelty to be inflicted on his child. ThisMittie well knew, but as she had no sympathy with her sister's fears, she had no compassion for the sufferings they caused. She thought shedeserved punishment, and felt a malicious pleasure in anticipating itsinfliction. 

Master Hightower had no dark closet, but there was room enough in hishigh, dark, capacious desk, for a larger body than the slender, delicateHelen. He resolved to act upon Mittie's admirable hint, knowing it wouldnot hurt the child to enclose her awhile in a nice, warm, snug place, with books and manuscripts for her companions. 

Helen heard the threat without alarm, for she believed it uttered insport. The pleasant glance of the eye contradicted the severity of thelips. But Master Hightower was anxious to try the experiment, since allapproved methods had failed, and when the little delinquent blushed andhung her head, stammering a faint excuse for her slighted task, he saidnothing, but slowly lifting up the lid of his desk, he placed his blackruler in a perpendicular position, letting the lid rest upon it, formingan obtuse angle with the desk. Then he piled the books in the back part, leaving a cavity in front, which looked something like a bower in agreenwood, for it was lined with baize within and without. 

"Come my little lady, " said he, taking her up in his arms, "I am goingto try the effect of a little solitary confinement. They say you are notvery fond of the _dark_. Well, I am going to keep you here all night, ifyou don't promise to study hereafter. "

Helen writhed in his strong grasp, but the worm might as well attempt toescape from under the giant's heel, as the child from the powerful holdof the master. He laid her down in the green nest, as if she were adowny feather, then putting a book between the lid and the desk, toadmit the fresh air, closed the lid and leaned his heavy elbow upon it. The children laughed at the novelty of the punishment, all but theorphan child; but when they heard suppressed sobs issuing from thedesk, they checked their mirth, and tears of sympathy stole down thecheeks of the gentle orphan girl. Mittie's black eyes sparkled withexcitement; she was proud because the master had acted upon hersuggestion, and inflicted a punishment which, though it involvedhumiliation, gave no real suffering. 

Burning with shame, and shivering with apprehension, Helen lay in herdarkened nook, while the hum of recitation murmured in a dull roaringsound around her. It was a cold winter's day and she was very warmlyclad, so that she soon experienced a glowing warmth in the confined airshe was breathing. This warmth, so oppressive, and the monotonous soundstealing in through the aperture of the desk, caused an irresistibledrowsiness, and her eye-lids heavy with the weight of tears, involuntarily closed. When the master, astonished at the perfectstillness with which, after awhile, she endured the restraint, softlypeeped within, she was lying in a deep sleep, her head pillowed on herarm, the tear-drops glittering on her cheeks. Cramped as she was, theunconscious grace of childhood lent a charm to her position, and hersable dress, contrasting with the pallor of her complexion, appealed forcompassion and sympathy. The teacher's heart smote him for the coercionhe had used. 

"I will not disturb her now, " thought he; "she is sleeping so sweetly. Iwill take her out when school is dismissed. I think she will rememberthis lesson. "

Suffering the lid to fall noiselessly on the book, he resumed his tasks, which were not closed till the last beams of the wintry sun glimmered onthe landscape. The days were now very short, and in his enthusiasticdevotion to his duties, the shades of twilight often gathered around himunawares. 

It was his custom to dismiss his scholars one by one, beginning with thelargest, and winding up with the smallest. It was one of his rules thatthey should go directly home, without lingering to play round the doorof the school-house, and they knew the Mede and Persian character of hislaws too well to disobey them. When Mittie went out, making a demurecurtsey at the door, she lingered a little longer than usual, supposinghe would release Helen from her prison house; but Master Hightower wasone of the most absent men in the world, and he had forgotten thelittle prisoner in her quiet nest. 

"Well, " thought Mittie, "I suppose he is going to keep her a whilelonger, and she can go home very well without me. I am going to stay allnight with Cherry-cheeks, and if Miss Thusa makes a fuss about herdarling, I shall not be there to hear it. "

Master Hightower generally lingered behind his pupils to see that allwas safe, the fire extinguished in the stove, the windows fastened down, and the shutters next to the street closed. After attending deliberatelyto these things, he took down his hat and cloak, drew on his warm woolengloves, went out, and locked the door. It was so late that lights werebeginning to gleam through the blinds of many a dwelling-house as hewalked along. 

In the meantime, Helen slumbered, unconscious of the solitude in whichshe was plunged. When she awoke, she found herself in utter darkness, and in stillness so deep, it was more appalling than the darkness. Sheknew not at first where she was. When she attempted to move, her limbsached from their long constraint, and the arm that supported her headwas fast asleep. At length, tossing up her right hand, she felt theresisting lid, and remembered the punishment she had been enduring. Shetried to spring out, but fell back several times on her sleeping arm, and it was long before she was able to accomplish her release in thedarkness. She knew not where she was jumping, and fell head firstagainst the master's high-backed chair. If she was hurt she did not knowit, she was so paralyzed by terror. She could not be alone! They wouldnot be so cruel as to leave her there the live-long winter's night. Theywere only frightening her! Mittie must he hiding there, waiting for her. _She_ was not afraid of the dark. 

"Sister, " she whispered. "Sister, " she murmured, in a louder tone. "Where are you? Come and take my hand. "

The echo of her own voice sounded fearful, in those silent walls. Shedared not call again. Her eyes, accustomed to the gloom, began todistinguish the outline of objects. She could see where the long rows ofbenches stood, and the windows, all except those next the street, grewwhiter and whiter, for the ground was covered with snow, and some of ithad been drifted against the glass. All at once Helen remembered the_room_, all dressed in white, and she felt the _cold presence_, whichhad so often congealed her heart. Her dead mother seemed before her, inthe horror, yet grandeur, of her last repose. Unable to remain passivein body, with such travail in her soul, she rushed towards thedoor--finding the way with her groping hands. It was locked. She triedthe windows--they were fastened. She shrieked--but there was none tohear. No! there was no escape--no hope. She must stay there the wholelong, dark night, if she lived, to see the morning's dawn. With theconviction of the hopelessness of her situation, there arose a feeling, partly despair and partly resignation. She was very cold, for the firehad long been extinguished, and she could not find her cloak to coverher. 

She was sure she would freeze to death before morning, and MasterHightower, when he came to open the school, would see her lying stiffand frozen on the floor, and be sorry he had been so cruel. Yes! shewould freeze, and it was no matter, for no one cared for her; no onethought of coming to look for her. Father, brother, Miss Thusa, Mittie--all had deserted her. Had her mother lived, _she_ would haveremembered her little Helen. The young doctor, he who had been so kindand good, who had come to her before in the hour of danger, perhaps hewould pity her, if he knew of her being locked up there in lonelinessand darkness. 

Several times she heard sleighs driving along, the bells ringing merrilyand loud, and she thought they were going to stop--but they flew swiftlyby. She felt as the mariner feels on a desert island, when he spies adistant sail, and tries in vain to arrest the vessel, that glides on, unheeding his signal of distress. 

"I will say my prayers, " she said, "if I have no bed to lie down on. IfGod ever heard me, He will listen now, for I've nobody but Him to goto. "

Kneeling down in the darkness, and folding her hands reverently, whileshe lifted them upwards, she softly repeated the prayer her mother hadtaught her, and, for the first time, the spirit of it entered herunderstanding. When she came to the words--"Give us this day our dailybread, " she paused. "Thou hast given it, " she added, "and oh! God, Ithank Thee. " When she repeated--"Forgive my sins, " she thought of thesin, for which she was suffering so dreadful a punishment. She hadsinned in disobeying so kind a teacher. She ought to study, instead ofthinking of far-off things. She did not wonder the master was angry withher. It was her own fault, for he had told her what he was going to dowith her; and if she had not been idle, she might have been at home by awarm fire, safe in a father's sheltering arms. For the first time sheadded something original and spontaneous to the ritual she had learned. When she had finished the beautiful and sublime doxology, she bowed herhead still lower, and repeated, in accents trembling with penitence andhumility--

"Only take care of me to-night, our Father who art in heaven, and I willtry and sin no more. "

Was she indeed left forgotten there, till morning's dawn?

When Master Hightower bent his steps homeward, he was solving aperipatetic problem of Euclid. When he arrived at his lodgings, seatedhimself by the blazing fire, and stretched out his massy limbs to meetthe genial heat, in the luxurious comfort he enjoyed, the cares, thebustle, the events of the day were forgotten. A smoking supper made himstill more luxuriously comfortable, and a deeper oblivion stole overhim. It was not likely that the fragrant cigar he then lighted as thecrowning blessing of the evening, would recall to his mind the fireless, supperless, comfortless culprit he had left in such "durance vile. "Combing his hair suddenly with the fingers of his left hand, and leaningback in a floating position, he watched the smoke-rings, curling abovehis head, and fell into a reverie on Natural Philosophy. He wasinterrupted by the entrance of Arthur Hazleton, the young doctor. 

"I called for the new work on Chemistry, which I lent you some timesince, " said Arthur. "Is it perfectly convenient for you to let me haveit now?"

"I am very sorry, " replied the master, "I left it in the school-room, inmy desk. "

His desk! yes! and he had left something else there too. 

"I will go and get it, " he cried, starting up, suddenly, his facereddening to his temples. "I will get it, and carry it over to you. "

"No, give me the key of the school-house, and I will spare you thetrouble. It is on my homeward way. "

"I _must_ go myself, " he replied, cloaking himself with wonderfulcelerity, and taking a lantern from the shelf. "You can wait here, tillI return. "

"No such thing, " said Arthur. "Why should I wait here, when I might beso far on my way home?"

The master saw that it was in vain to conceal from him the incarcerationof little Helen, an act for which he felt sorry and ashamed; butthinking she might still be asleep, and that he might abstract the bookwithout the young doctor being aware of her presence, he strode on insilence, with a speed almost superhuman. 

"You forget what tremendous long limbs you have, " exclaimed the youngdoctor, breathless, and laughing, "or you would have more mercy on yourless gifted brethren. "

"Yes--yes--I do forget, " cried his excited companion, unconsciouslybetraying his secret, "as that poor little creature knows, to her cost. "

"I may as well tell you all about it, " he added, answering Arthur's lookof surprise and curiosity, seen by the lantern's gleam--"since Icouldn't keep it to myself. "

He then related the punishment he had inflicted on Helen, and how he hadleft her, forgotten and alone. 

The benevolent heart of the young doctor was not only pained, butalarmed by the recital. He feared for the effects of this longimprisonment on a child so exquisitely sensitive and timid. 

"You don't know the child, " said he, hastening his pace, till even themaster's long strides did not sweep more rapidly over the snowy ground. "You have made a fatal experiment. I should not be surprised if you madeher a maniac or an idiot. "

"Heaven forbid!" cried the conscience-stricken teacher, and his hugehand trembled on the lock of the door. 

"Go in first, " said he to Arthur, giving him the lantern. "She will beless afraid of you than of me. "

Arthur opened the door, and shading the lantern, so as to soften itsglare, he went in with cautious steps. A little black figure, withwhite hands and white face, was kneeling between the desk and the stove. The hands were clasped so tightly, they looked as if they had growntogether, and the face had a still, marble look--but life, intenselyburning life was in the large, wild eyes uplifted to his own. 

"Helen, my child!" said he, setting the lantern on the stove, andstooping till his hair, silvered with the night-frost, touched hercheek. 

With a faint but thrilling cry, she sprang forward, and threw her armsround his neck; and there she clung, sobbing one moment, and laughingthe next, in an ecstasy of joy and gratitude. 

"I thought you'd come, if you knew it, " she cried. 

This implicit confidence in his protection, touched the young man, andhe wrapped his arms more closely round her shivering frame. 

"How cold you are!" he exclaimed. "Let me fold my cloak about you, andput both your hands in mine, they are like pieces of ice. "

"Helen, you poor little forlorn lamb, " cried a rough, husky voice--andthe sudden eclipse of a great shadow passed over her. "Helen, I did notmean to leave you here--on my soul I did not. I forgot all about you. AsI hope to be forgiven for my cruelty, it is true. I only meant to keepyou here till school was dismissed--and I have let you stay till you arestarved, and frozen, and almost dead. "

"It was my fault, " replied Helen, in a meek, subdued tone, "but I'll tryand study better, if you won't shut me up here any more. "

"Bless the child!" exclaimed the master, "what a little angel ofgoodness she is. You shall have all the sunshine of the broad earth, after this, for all my shutting out one ray from your sweet face. That'sright--bring her along, doctor, under your cloak, and don't let thefrost bite her nose--I'll carry the lantern. "

Wondering that the father had not sought for his lost child, Arthurcarried her home, while the master carefully lighted their slipperypath. 

Great was the astonishment of Mr. Gleason, on seeing his little daughterbrought home in such a state, for he imagined her at the fireside of oneof her companions, in company with her sister. Her absence hadconsequently created no alarm. 

Not all the regret and compunction expressed by Master Hightower couldquell the rising surge of anger in the father's breast. His brow grewdark, and Miss Thusa's darker still. 

"To lock up a poor, little motherless thing, such a night as this!"muttered she, putting her spectacles, the thermometer of her anger, onthe top of her head. "To leave her there to perish. Why, the wild beaststhemselves would be ashamed of such behaviour, let alone a man. "

"Don't, Miss Thusa, " whispered Helen, "he is sorry as he can be. I wasbad, too, for I didn't mind him. "

"I do not wonder at your displeasure, sir, " said the master, turning toMr. Gleason, with dignity; "I deserve to feel it, for my unpardonableforgetfulness. But I must say in my defence, I never should have thoughtof such a punishment, had it not been suggested by yourself. "

"Suggested by me!" repeated Mr. Gleason, angrily; "I don't know what youmean, sir!"

"Your eldest daughter brought me a message, to this effect--that youdesired me to try solitary confinement in the dark, as the mosteffectual means to bring her to obedience; having no other dark place, Ishut her in my desk, and never having deposited a living bundle therebefore, I really think I ought to be pardoned for forgetting her. "

"Is it possible my daughter carried such a message to you from _me_, "cried Mr. Gleason, "I never sent it. "

"Just like Mittie, " cried Miss Thusa, "she's always doing something tospite Helen. I heard her say myself once, that she despised her, becauseeverybody took her part. Take her part--sure enough. The Lord Almightyknows that a person has to be abused before we _can_ take their part. "

"Hush!" exclaimed Mr. Gleason, mortified as this disclosure of Mittie'sunamiable disposition, and shocked at the instance first made known tohim. "This is not a proper time for such remarks; I don't wish to hearthem. "

"You ought to hear them, whether you want to or not, " continued theindomitable spinster, "and I don't see any use in palavering the truth. Master Hightower and Mr. Arthur knows it by this time, and there's noharm in talking before them. Helen's an uncommon child. She's no morelike other children, than my fine linen thread is like twisted tow. Shewon't bear hard pulling or rough handling. Mittie isn't good to hersister. You ought to have heard Helen's mother talk about it before shedied. She was afraid of worrying you, she was so tender of yourfeelings. 'But Miss Thusa, ' says she, 'the only thing that keeps me frombeing willing to die, is this child;' meaning Helen, to be sure. 'But, oh, Miss Thusa, ' says she, and her eyes filled up with tears, 'watchover her, for my sake, and see that she is gently dealt by. '"

A long, deep sigh burst from the heart of the widower, sacred to thememory of his buried wife. Another heaved the ample breast of the masterfor the disclosure of his favorite pupil's unamiable traits. 

The young doctor sighed, for the evils he saw by anticipation impendingover his little favorite's head. He thought of his gentle mother, hislovely blind sister, of his sweet, quiet home, and wished that Helencould be embosomed in its hallowed shades. Young as he was, he felt akind of fatherly interest in the child--she had been so often thrownupon him for sympathy and protection. (His youth may be judged by theepithet attached to his name. There were several young physicians in thetown, but he was universally known as _the_ young doctor. ) From thefirst, he was singularly drawn towards the child. He pitied her, for hesaw she had such deep capacities of suffering--he loved her for herdependence and helplessness, her grateful and confiding disposition. Hewished she were placed in the midst of more genial elements. He fearedless the unnatural unkindness of Mittie, than the devotion andtenderness of Miss Thusa--for the latter fed, as with burning gas, hertoo inflammable imagination. 

"The next time I visit home, " said the young doctor to himself, "I willspeak to my mother of this interesting child. "

When Mittie was brought face to face with her father; he upbraided hersternly for her falsehood, and for making use of his name as a sanctionfor her cruelty. 

"You did say so, father!" said she, looking him boldly in the face, though the color mounted to her brow. "You did say so--and I can proveit. "

"You know what I said was uttered in jest, " replied the justly incensedparent; "that it was never given as a message; that it was said to her, not you. "

"I didn't give it as a message, " cried Mittie, undauntedly; "I said thatI had heard you say so--and so I did. Ask Master Hightower, if you don'tbelieve me. "

There was something so insolent in her manner, so defying in hercountenance, that Mr. Gleason, who was naturally passionate, became soexasperated that he lifted his hand with a threatening gesture, but thepleading image of his gentle wife rose before him and arrested thechastisement. 

"I cannot punish the child whose mother lies in the grave, " said he, inan agitated tone, suffering his arm to fall relaxed by his side. "ButMittie, you are making me very unhappy by your misconduct. Tell me whyyou dislike your innocent little sister, and delight in giving her pain, when she is meek and gentle as a lamb?"

"Because you all love her better than you do me, " she answered, herscornful under lip slightly quivering. "Brother Louis don't care for me;he always gives every thing he has to Helen. Miss Thusa pets her all theday long, just because she listens to her ugly old stories; and you--andyou, always take her part against me. "

"Mittie, don't let me hear you make use of that ridiculous phrase again;it means nothing, and has a low, vulgar sound. Come here, my daughter--Ithought you did not care about our love. " He took her by the hand anddrew her in spite of her resistance, between his knees. Then strokingback the black and shining hair from her high, bold brow, he added, "You are mistaken, Mittie, if you do not think that we love you. I loveyou with a father's tender affection; I have never given you reason todoubt it. If I show more love for Helen, it is only because she isyounger, smaller, and winds herself more closely around me by herloving, affectionate ways; she seems to love me better, to love us allbetter. That is the secret, Mittie; it is love; cling to our hearts asHelen does, and we will never cast you off. "

"I can't do as Helen does, for I'm not like her, " said Mittie, tossingback her hair with her own peculiar motion, "and I don't want to be likeher; she's nothing but a coward, though she makes believe half the time, to be petted, I know she does. "

"Incorrigible child;" cried the father, pushing back his chair, risingand walking the room back and forth, with a sad and clouded brow. He hadmany misgivings for the future. The frank, convivial, generous spirit ofLouis would lead him into temptation, when exposed to the influence ofseducing companions. Mittie's jealous and unyielding temper wouldembitter the peace of the household; while Helen's morbid sensibility, like a keen-edged sword in a thin, frail scabbard, threatened to wearaway her young life. What firmness--yea, what gentleness--yea, whatwisdom, what holy Christian principles were requisite for theresponsibilities resting upon him. 

"May God guide and sustain me, " he cried, pausing and looking upward. 

"May I go, sir?" asked Mittie, who had been watching her father'svarying countenance, and felt somewhat awed by the deep solemnity andsadness that settled upon it. Her manner, if not affectionate wasrespectful, and he dismissed her with a gleaming hope that the clue toher heart's labyrinth--that labyrinth which seemed now closed with animmovable rock, might yet be discovered. 

CHAPTER IV. 

 "Oh, wanton malice! deathful sport! Could ye not spare my all? But mark my words, on thy cold heart A fiery doom will fall. "

The incident recorded in the last chapter, resulted in benefit to two ofthe actors. It gave a spring to the dormant energies of Helen, and acheck to the vengeance of Mittie. 

The winter glided imperceptibly away, and as imperceptibly vernal bloomand beauty stole over the face of nature. 

In the spring of the year, Miss Thusa always engaged in a veryinteresting process--that is, bleaching the flaxen thread which she hadbeen spinning during the winter. She now made a permanent home at Mr. Gleason's, and superintended the household concerns, pursuing at thesame time the occupation to which she had devoted the strength andintensity of her womanhood. 

There was a beautiful grassy lawn extending from the southern side ofthe building, with a gradual slope towards the sun, whose margin waswatered by the clearest, bluest, gayest little singing brook in theworld. This was called Miss Thusa's bleaching ground, and nature seemedto have laid it out for her especial use. There was the smooth, fresh, green sward, all ready for her to lay her silky brown thread upon, andthere was the pure water running by, where she could fill her wateringpot, morning, noon and night, and saturate the fibres exposed to thesun's bleaching rays. And there was a thick row of blossoming lilacbushes shading the lower windows the whole breadth of the building, inwhich innumerable golden and azure-colored birds made their nests, andbeguiled the spinster's labors with their melodious carrolings. 

Helen delighted in assisting Miss Thusa in watering her thread, andwatching the gradual change from brown to a pale brown, and then to asilver gray, melting away into snowy whiteness, like the bright brownlocks of youth, fading away into the dim hoariness of age. When weary ofdipping water from the wimpling brook, she would sit under the lilacbushes, and look at Miss Thusa's sybilline figure, moving slowly overthe grass, swaying the watering-pot up and down in her right hand, scattering ten thousand liquid diamonds as she moved. Sometimes therainbows followed her steps, and Helen thought it was a glorious sight. 

One day as Helen tripped up and down the velvet sward by her side, admiring the silky white skeins spread multitudinously there, MissThusa, gave an oracular nod, and said she believed that was the lastwatering, that all they needed was one more night's dew, one moremorning sun, and then they could be twisted in little hanks ready to bedispatched in various directions. 

"I am proud of that thread, " said Miss Thusa, casting back a lingeringlook of affection and pride as she closed the gate. "It is the best Iever spun--I don't believe there is a rough place in it from beginningto end. It was the best flax I ever had, in the first place. When Ipulled it out and wound it round the distaff, it looked like ravelledsilk, it was so smooth and fine. Then there's such a powerful quantityof it. Well, it's my winter's work. "

Poor Miss Thusa! You had better take one more look on those beautiful, silvery rings--for never more will your eyes be gladdened by theirbeauty! There is a worm in your gourd, a canker in your flower, a cloudfloating darkly over those shining filaments. 

It is astonishing how wantonly the spirit of mischief sometimes revelsin the bosom of childhood! What wild freaks and excursions itssuperabundant energies indulge in! And when mischief is led on bymalice, it can work wonders in the way of destruction. 

It happened that Mittie had a gathering of her school companions in thelatter part of the day on which we have just entered. Helen, tired oftheir rude sports, walked away to some quiet nook, with the orphanchild. Mittie played Queen over the rest, in a truly royal style. Atlast, weary of singing and jumping the rope, and singing "MerryO'Jenny, " they launched into bolder amusements. They ran over theflower-beds, leaping from bed to bed, trampling down many a fair, vernalbud, and then trying their gymnastics by climbing the fences and the lowtrees. A white railing divided Miss Thusa's bleaching ground, with itswinding rill, from the garden, and as they peeped at the white threadshining on the grass, thinking the flaming sword of Miss Thusa's angerguarded that enclosure, Mittie suddenly exclaimed:

"Let us jump over and dance among Miss Thusa's thread. It will be betterthan all the rest. "

"No, no, " cried several, drawing back, "it would be wrong. And I'mafraid of her. I wouldn't make her mad for all the world. "

"I'll leave the gate open, and she'll think the calves have broken in, "cried Mittie, emboldened by the absence of her father, and feelingsafety in numbers. "Cowards, " repeated she, seeing they still drew back. "Cowards!--just like Helen. I despise to see any one afraid of anything. I hate old Madam Thusa, and every thing that belongs to her. "

Vaulting over the fence, for there would have been no amusement in goingthrough the gate, Mittie led the way to the forbidden ground, and it wasnot long before her companions, yielding to the influence of her bold, adventurous spirit, followed. Disdaining to cross the rustic bridge thatspanned the brook, they took off their shoes and waded over its pebblybed. They knew Miss Thusa's room was on the opposite side of the house, and while running round it, they had heard the hum of her busy wheel, sothey did not fear her watching eye. 

"Now, " said Mittie, catching one of the skeins with her nimble feet, andtossing it in the air; "who will play cat's cradle with me?"

The idea of playing cat's cradle with the toes, for they had not resumedtheir shoes and stockings, was so original and laughable, it wasreceived with acclamation, and wild with excitement they rushed in themidst of Miss Thusa's treasures--and such a twist and snarl as they madewas never seen before. They tied more Gordian knots than a hundredAlexanders could sever, made more tangles than Princess Graciosa in thefairy tale could untie. 

"What shall we do with it now?" they cried, when the novelty of theoccupation wore off, and conscience began to give them a few remorsefultwinges. 

"Roll it up in a ball and throw it in the brook, " said Mittie, "she'llthink some of her witches have carried it off. I'll pay her for it, " sheadded, with a scornful laugh, "if she finds us out and makes a fuss. Itcan't be worth more than a dollar--and I would give twice as much asthat any time to spite the old thing. "

So they wound up the dirty, tangled, ruined thread into a great ball, and plunged it into the stream that had so often laved the whiteningfilaments. Had Miss Thusa seen it sinking into the blue, sunny water, she would have felt as the mariner does when the corpse of a lovedcompanion is let down into the burying wave. 

In a few moments the gate was shut, the green slope smiled in answer tothe mellow smile of the setting sun, the yellow birds frightened away bythe noisy groups, flew back to their nests, among the fragrant lilacs, and the stream gurgled as calmly as if no costly wreck lay within itsbosom. 

When the last beam of the sinking sun glanced upon her distaff, turningthe fibres to golden filaments, Miss Thusa paused, and the crank gave asudden, upward jerk, as if rejoiced at the coming rest. Putting herwheel carefully in its accustomed corner, she descended the stairs, andbent her steps to the bleaching ground. She met Helen at the gate, whoremembered the trysting hour. 

"Bless the child, " cried Miss Thusa, with a benevolent relaxation of herharsh features, "she never forgets any thing that's to do for another. Never mind getting the watering-pot now. There'll be a plenty of dewfalling. "

Taking Helen by the hand she crossed the rustic bridge; but as sheapproached the green, she slackened her pace and drew her spectaclesover her eyes. Then taking them off and rubbing them with her silkhandkerchief, she put them on again and stood still, stooping forward, and gazing like one bewildered. 

"Where is the thread, Miss Thusa?" exclaimed Helen, running before her, and springing on the slope. "When did you take it away?"

"Take it away!" cried she. "Take it away! I never _did_ take it away. But _somebody_ has taken it--stolen it, carried it off, every skein ofit--not a piece left the length of my finger, my finger nail. The vilethieves!--all my winter's labor--six long months' work--dead and buried!for all me--"

"Poor Miss Thusa!" said Helen, in a pitying accent. She was afraid tosay more--there was something so awe-inspiring in the mingled wrath andgrief of Miss Thusa's countenance. 

"What's the matter?" cried a spirited voice. Louis appeared on thebridge, swinging his hat in the air, his short, thick curls waving inthe breeze. 

"Somebody's stolen all Miss Thusa's thread, " exclaimed Helen, running tomeet him, "her nice thread, that was just white enough to put away. Onlythink, Louis, how wicked!"

"Oh! Miss Thusa, it can't be stolen, " said Louis, coming to the spotwhere she stood, the image of indignant despair; "somebody has hidden itto tease you. I'll help you to find it. "

This seemed so natural a supposition, that Miss Thusa's iron featuresrelaxed a little, and she glanced round the enclosure, more incondescension than hope, surveying the boughs of the lilacs, droopingwith their weight of purple blossoms, and peering at the gossamer's web. 

Louis, in the meantime, turned towards the stream, now partiallyenveloped in the dusky shade of twilight, but there was one spotsparkling with the rosy light of sunset, and resting snugly 'mid thepebbles at the bottom, he spied a large, dingy ball. 

"Ah! what's this big toad-stool, rising up in the water?" said he, seizing a pole that lay under the bridge, and sticking the end in theball. "Why this looks as if it had been thread, Miss Thusa, but I don'tknow what you will call it now?"

Miss Thusa snatched the dripping ball from the pole that bent beneathits weight, turned it round several times, bringing it nearer and nearerto her eyes at each revolution, then raised it above her head, as ifabout to dash it on the ground; but suddenly changing her resolution, she tightened her grasp, and strode into the path leading to the house. 

"I know all about it now, " she cried, "I heard the children romping andtrampling round the house like a drove of wild colts, with Mittie attheir head; it is she that has done it, and if I don't punish her, itwill be because the Lord Almighty does it for me. "

Even Louis could scarcely keep up with her rapid strides. He trembledfor the consequences of her anger, just as it was, and followed close tosee if Mittie, undaunted as she was, did not shrivel in her gaze. 

Mittie was seated in a window, busily studying, or pretending to study, not even turning her head, though Miss Thusa's steps resounded as if shewere shod with iron. 

"Look round, Miss, if you please, and tell me if you know any thing ofthis, " cried Miss Thusa, laying her left hand on her shoulder, andbringing the ball so close to her face that her nose came in contactwith it. 

Mittie jerked away from the hand laid upon her with no velvet pressure, without opening her lips, but the guilty blood rising to her face spokeeloquently; though she had a kind of Procrustes bed of her own, according to which she stretched or curtailed the truth, she had not thehardihood to tell an unmitigated falsehood, in the presence of herbrother, too, and in the light of his truth-beaming eye. 

"You are always accusing _me_ of every thing, " said she, at length. "Ididn't do it----all;" the last syllable was uttered in a low, indistincttone. 

"You are a mean coward, " cried the spinster, hurling the ball across theroom with such force that it rebounded against the wall. "You're acoward with all your audacity, and do tricks you are ashamed toacknowledge. You've spoiled the honest earnings of the whole winter, anddestroyed the beautifullest suit of thread that ever was spun by mortalwoman. "

"I can pay you for all I spoiled and more too, " said Mittie, sullenly. 

"Pay me, " repeated Miss Thusa, while the scorching fire of her eyeslowly went out, leaving an expression of profound sorrow. "Can you payme for a value you can't even dream of? Can you pay me for the lonelythoughts that twisted themselves up with that thread, day after day, andnight after night, because they had nothing else to take hold of? Canyou pay me for these grooves in my fingers' ends, made by the flax as Ikept drawing it through, till it often turned red with my blood? No, no, that thread was as dear to me as my own heart strings--for they weretwined all about it; it was like something living to me--and I loved itin the same way as I do little Helen. I shall never, never spin anymore. "

"You will spin more merrily than ever, " cried Louis, soothingly, "yousee if you don't, Miss Thusa. "

Miss Thusa shook her head, and though she almost suffocated herself inthe effort to repress them, tears actually forced themselves into hereyes, and splashed on her cheeks. Seating herself in a low chair, shetook up the corner of her apron to hide what she considered a shame anddisgrace, when Helen glided near and wiped away the drops with her ownhandkerchief. 

"Bless you darling, " cried the subdued spinster--"and you will beblessed. There's no malice, nor hard-heartedness in _you_. _You_ neverturned your foot upon a worm. But as for her, " continued she, pointingprophetically at Mittie, and fixing upon her her grave and gloomyeyes--"there's no blessing in store. She don't feel now, but if shelives to womanhood she _will_. The heart of stone will turn to fleshthen, and every fibre it has got will learn how to quiver, as I've seentwisted wire do, when strong fingers pull it--_I know it will_. She willshed tears one of these days, and no one will wipe them off, as thislittle angel has done for me. I've done, now. I didn't mean to say whatI did, but the Lord put it in my head, and I've spoken according to mygift. "

Mittie ran out of the room before the conclusion of the speech, unableto stand the moveless glance, that seemed to burn like heated metal intoher conscience. 

"Come, Miss Thusa, " said Louis, amiably, desirous of turning herthoughts into a new channel, and pitying while he blamed his offendingsister, for the humiliation he knew she must endure--"come and tell us astory, while you are inspired. It is so long since I have heard one! Letit be something new and exciting. "

"I don't believe I could tell you one to save my life, now, " repliedMiss Thusa, her countenance lighting up with a gleam ofsatisfaction--"at least I couldn't act it out. "

"Never mind the acting, Miss Thusa, provided we hear the tale. Let it bea _powerful_ one. "

"Don't tell the _worm-eaten traveler_, " whispered Helen. "I never wantto hear that again. "

Miss Thusa see-sawed a moment in her low chair, to give a kind ofbalance to her imagination, and then began:

"Once there was a maiden, who lived in a forest, a deep wild forest, inwhich there wasn't so much as the sign of a path, and nobody but shecould find their way in or out. How this was, I don't know, but it wasastonishing how many people got lost in those woods, where she rambledabout as easy as if somebody was carrying a torch before her. Perhapsthe fairies helped her--perhaps the evil spirits--I rather think thelast, for though she was fair to look upon, her heart was as hard as thenether mill-stone. "

Miss Thusa caught a glimpse of Mittie, on the porch, through the opendoors, and she raised her voice, as she proceeded:

"One night, when the moon was shining large and clear, she was wanderingthrough the forest, all alone, when she heard a little, tender voicebehind her, and turning round, she saw a young child, with its hair allloose and wet, as 'twere, calling after her. 

"'I've lost my way, ' it cried--'pray help me to find a path in thegreenwood. '

"'Find it by the moonlight, ' answered the maiden, 'it shines for you, aswell as for me. '

"'But I'm little, ' cried the child, beginning to weep, 'and my feet areall blistered with running. Take me up in your arms a little while, foryou are strong, and the Saviour will give you a golden bed in Heaven tolie down on. '

"'I want no golden bed. I had rather sleep on down than gold, ' answeredthe maid, and she mocked the child, and went on, putting her hands toher ears, to keep out the cries of the little one, that came through thethick trees, with a mighty piteous sound--the hard-hearted creature!"

"How cruel!" said Helen, "I hope she got lost herself. "

"Don't interrupt, Helen, " said Louis, whose eyes were kindling withexcitement. "You may be sure she had some punishment. "

"Yes, that she did, " continued the narrator, "and I tell you it wasworse than being lost, bad as that is. By-and-by she came out of theforest, into a smooth road, and a horseman galloped to meet her, thatwould have scared anybody else in the world but her. Not that he was sougly, but he was dressed all in black, and he had such a powerful headof black hair, that hung all about him like a cloak, and mixed up withthe horse's flowing mane, and that was black too, and so was his horse, and so were his eyes, but his forehead was as white as snow, and hischeeks were fair and ruddy. He rode right up to the young maiden, andreaching down, swung his arm round her, and put her up before him on thesaddle, and away they rode, as swift as a weaver's shuttle. I don'tbelieve a horse ever went so fast before. Every little stone his hoofsstruck, would blaze up, just for a second, making stars all along theroad. As they flew on, his long black hair got twisted all around her, and every time the wind blew, it grew tighter and tighter, till shecould scarcely breathe, and she prayed him to stop, and unwind his longblack hair, before it reached her throat, for as sure as she was alivethen, it would strangle her. 

"'You have hands as well as I, ' said he, with a mocking laugh, 'unwindit yourself, fair maiden. '

"Then she remembered what she had said to the poor little lost child, and she cried out as the child did, when she left it alone in theforest. All the time the long locks of hair seemed taking root in herheart, and drawing it every step they went. 

"'Now, ' said her companion, reining up his black horse, 'I'll releaseyou. '

"And unsheathing a sharp dagger, he cut the hair through and through, sothat part of it fell on the ground in a black shower. Then giving her aswing, he let her fall by the way-side, and rode on hurraing by thelight of the moon. "

Miss Thusa paused to take breath, and wiped her spectacles, as if shehad been reading with them all the time she had been talking. 

"Is that all?" asked Helen. 

"No, indeed, that cannot be the end, " said Louis. "Go on Miss Thusa. Theblack knight ought to be scourged for leaving her there on the ground. "

"There she lay, " resumed Miss Thusa, "moaning and bewailing, for herheart's blood was oozing out through every wound his dagger had made, for I told you his locks had taken root in her heart, and he cut thecords when he slashed about among his own long, black hair. 

"'I'm dying, ' said the maiden. 'Oh, what would I give now for thatgolden bed of the Saviour, the little child promised me. '

"Just then she heard the patter of little feet among the fallen leaves, and looking up, there was the child, sure enough, right by her side, andthere was something bright and shining all around its head. How it foundits way out of the woods, the Lord only knows. Well, the child didn'tbear one bit of malice, for it was a holy child, and kneeling down, ittook a crystal vial from its bosom, and poured balm on the bleedingheart of the maiden, and healed every wound. 

"'You are a holy child, ' said the maiden, rising up, and taking thechild in her arms, and pressing her close to her bosom. 'I know it bythe light around your head. I'll love all little children for your sake, and nevermore mock the cry of sorrow or of want. '

"So they went away together into the deep woods, and one could see themoon shining on them, every now and then, through the trees, and it wasa lovely sight. "

There was silence for a few moments after Miss Thusa finished herlegend, for never had she related any thing so impressively. 

"Oh, Miss Thusa, " cried Helen, "that is the prettiest story I ever heardyou relate. I am glad the child was not lost, and I am glad that themaiden did not die, but was sorry for what she had done. "

"Do you make up your tales yourself, Miss Thusa, " asked Louis, "or doyou remember them? I cannot imagine where they all come from. "

"Some are the memories of my childhood;" replied she, "and some theinventions of my own brain; and some are a little of one and a little ofthe other; and some are the living truth itself. I don't always knowwhat I am going to say myself, when I begin, but speak as the spiritmoves. This shows that it is a gift--praise the Lord. "

"Well, Miss Thusa, the spirit moves you to say that the little childforgave the cruel maiden, and poured balm upon her bleeding heart, "said Louis, with one of his own winning smiles. 

"And you think an old woman should forgive likewise!" cried Miss Thusa, looking as benignantly as she _could_ look upon the boy. "You are right, you are right, but her heart don't bleed yet--_not yet_. "

Mittie, believing herself unseen, had listened to the tale with aninterest that chained her to the spot where she stood. She unconsciouslyidentified herself with the cruel maiden, and in after years sheremembered the long, sweeping locks of the knight, and the maiden'sbleeding heart. 

PART SECOND. 

CHAPTER V. 

 "Thus with the year Seasons return, but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, Or signs of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine. But clouds instead, and ever-during dark Surround me. "

 _Milton. _

 "Thou, to whom the world unknown, With all its shadowy shapes is shown, Who see'st appalled, th' unreal scene, While Fancy lifts the veil between, Ah, Fear! ah, frantic Fear! I see, I see thee near!"

 _Collins. _

Six years gliding away, have converted the boy of twelve into thecollegian of eighteen years, the girl of nine into the boarding-schoolMiss of fifteen, and the child of seven into the little maiden ofthirteen. 

Let us give a hasty glance at the most prominent events of these sixgliding years, and then let the development of character that has goneon during the period, be shown by the events which follow. 

The young doctor did not forget to speak to his mother of theinteresting child, whom destiny seemed to have made a protegé of hisown. In consequence, a pressing invitation was sent by Mrs. Hazleton, the widowed mother of Arthur, to the young Helen, who, from that timebecame an annual guest at the Parsonage--such was the name of the homeof the young doctor. It was about a day's ride from Mr. Gleason's, andsituated in one of the loveliest portions of the lovely valley of theConnecticut. Helen soon ceased to consider herself a visitor, and tolook upon the Parsonage as another and dearer home; for though shedearly loved her father and brother, she found a far lovelier and morelovable sister in the sweet, blind Alice, than the heart-repellingMittie. 

Miss Thusa, whose feelings towards Mittie had been in a kind of volcanicstate, since the destruction of her thread, always on the verge of aneruption, determined, during the first absence of her favorite Helen toresume her itinerant mode of existence; so, sending her wheel inadvance, the herald cry of "Miss Thusa's coming, " once more resoundedthrough the neighborhood. 

Louis entered college at a very early age, leaving a dreary blank in thehousehold, which his joyous spirit had filled with sunshine. 

It is not strange that under such circumstances the lonely widowershould think of a successor to his lost wife, for Mittie needed amother's restraining influence and guardian care. Nor is it strange, with her indomitable self-will, she should resist the authority of astranger. When her father announced his intention of bringing home alady to preside over his establishment, claiming for her all filialrespect and obedience, she flew into a violent passion, and declared shewould never own her as a mother, never address her as such--that shewould leave home and never return, before she would submit to thegovernment of a stranger. Unwilling to expose the woman who hadconsented to be his wife to scenes of strife and unhappiness, Mr. Gleason, as the only alternative, resolved to send his daughter to aboarding-school, before his mansion received its new mistress. Mittieexulted in this arrangement, for a boarding-school was the Ultima Thuleof her ambition, and she boasted to her classmates that her father wasafraid of her, and that he dared not marry while she was at home. Amiable boast of a child!--especially a daughter. 

Mr. Gleason was anxious to recall Helen, and place her at once under hernew mother's guardianship, but Mrs. Hazleton pleaded, and the blindAlice pleaded with the mute eloquence of her sightless eyes, and theyoung doctor pleaded; and Helen, after being summoned to welcome her newparent, and share in the wedding festivities, was permitted to return toher beloved Parsonage. 

It was a beautiful spot--so rural, so retired, so far from the publicroad, so removed from noise and dust. It had such a serene, religiousaspect, the traveler looking up the long avenue of trees, with agradually ascending glance, to the unambitious, gray-walled mansion, situated at its termination, thought it must be one of the sweetesthavens of rest that God ever provided for life's weary pilgrim. 

And so it was--and so Helen thought, when wandering with the blind Alicethrough the sequestered fields and wild groves surrounding the dwelling, or seated within the low, neat, white-washed walls, and listening to themild, maternal accents of Arthur Hazleton's mother. 

It was a mild summer evening. The windows were all open, and the smellof the roses that peeped in through the casements, made sweeter as wellas brighter by the dews of night, perfumed the whole apartment. Sometimes the rising breeze would scatter a shower of rose-leaves on thecarpet, casting many a one on the heads of the young girls seated at atable, on either side of Mrs. Hazleton. Helen heeded not the petals thatnestled in the hazel waves of her short, brown hair, but Alice, whosetouch and hearing were made marvelously acute by her blindness, couldhave counted every rose-leaf that covered her fair, blonde ringlets. 

They were both engaged in the same occupation--knitting purses--and noone could have told by the quick, graceful motions of the fingers ofAlice, that they moved without one guiding ray from those beautiful blueeyes, that seemed to follow all their intricacies. Neither could any onehave known, by gazing on those beautiful eyes, that the _soul_ did notlook forth from their azure depths. There was a soft dreaminess floatingover the opaque orbs, like the dissolving mist of a summer's morning, that appeared but the cloudiness of thought. Alice was uncommonlylovely. Her complexion had a kind of rosy fairness, indicative of thepure under-current which, on every sudden emotion, flowed in brightwaves to her cheeks. This was a family peculiarity, and one which Helenremarked in the young doctor the first time she beheld him. Her profuseflaxen hair fell shadingly over her brow, and an acute observer mighthave detected her blindness by her suffering the fair locks to remaintill a breeze swept them aside. They did not _veil her vision_. Mrs. Hazleton, with pardonable maternal vanity, loved to dress her beautifulblind child in a manner decorating to her loveliness. A simple whitefrock in summer, ornamented with a plain blue ribbon, constituted herusual holiday attire. She could select herself the color she best liked, by passing her hand over the ribbon, and though her garments and Helen'swere of the same size, she could tell them apart, from the slightesttouch. 

Helen was less exquisitely fair, less beautiful than Alice, but hers wasan eye of sunbeams and shadows, that gave wonderful expression to herwhole face. Some one has observed that "every face is either a historyor a prophecy. " Child as Helen was, hers was _both_. You could read inthose large, pensive, hazel eyes, a history of past sufferings andtrials. You could read, too, in their deep, appealing, lovingexpression, a prophecy of all a woman's heart is capable of feeling orenduring. 

"I never saw such eyes in the head of a child, " was a common remark uponHelen. "There is something wildly, hauntingly interesting in them; oneloves and pities her at the first glance. "

Helen was too pale and thin to be a beautiful child, but with such apair of haunting eyes, soft, silky hair of the same hazel hue, hangingin short curls just below her ears, and a mouth of rare and winningsweetness, she was sure to be remembered when no longer present. Shelooked several years older than Alice, though of the same age, for thecalm features of the blind child had never known the agitations ofterror or the vague apprehensions of unknown evil. Every one said "Helenwould be pretty, " and felt that she was interesting. 

Now, while knitting her purse, and sliding the silver beads along theblue silken thread, she would look up with an eager, listeningcountenance, as if her thoughts were gone forth to meet some one, whodelayed their coming. 

Alice, too, was listening with an expecting, waiting heart--one couldtell it by the fluttering of the blue ribbon that encircled her neck. 

"He will not come to-night, mother, " said she, with a sigh. "It is neverso late as this, when he rides in through the gate. "

"I fear some accident has happened, " cried Helen, "he has a very badbridge to cross, and the stream is deep below. "

"How much that sounds like Helen, " exclaimed Mrs Hazleton, "so fearfuland full of misgivings! I shall not give him up before ten o'clock. Ifyou like, you can both sit up and bear me company--if not, you may leaveme to watch alone. "

They both eagerly exclaimed that they would far rather sit up with her, and then they were sure they could finish their purses, and have themready as gifts for the brother and friend so anxiously looked for. Though the distance that separated them from him was short, and hisvisits frequent, they were ever counted as holidays of the heart, aseras from which all past events were dated--and on which all future oneswere dependent. 

"When Arthur was here, we did so and so. " "When Arthur comes, we will dothis and that. " A stranger would have thought Arthur the angel of theParsonage, and that his coming was the advent of peace, and joy, andlove. It was ever thus that listening ears and longing eyes and waitinghearts watched his approach. He was an only son and brother, and seldomindeed is it that Heaven vouchsafes such a blessing to a household, as ason and brother like Arthur Hazleton. 

"He's coming, " cried Alice, jumping up and clapping her hands, "I hearhis horse galloping towards the gate. I know the sound of its hoofs fromall others. "

This was true. The unerring ear of the blind girl never deceived her. Arthur was indeed coming. The gate opened. His rapid footstep was heardpassing through the avenue, bounding up the steps, and there they werearrested by the welcoming trio, all ready to greet him. It was a happymoment for Arthur when wrapped in that triune embrace, for Helen, timidas she was, had learned to look upon him as a dear, elder brother, whosecares and affection were divided between her and the sightless Alice;and for whom she felt a love equal to that which she cherished forLouis, mingled with a reverence and admiration that bordered uponworship. 

"My dear mother, " said he, when they had escorted him into thesitting-room, and in spite of his resistance made him take the best andpleasantest seat in the room, "my dear mother, I hope I have not keptyou up too late; I would have been here sooner, but you know I am aservant of the public, and my time is not my own. "

"Oh! brother, I am so glad to see you!" cried Alice, pressing herglowing cheek against his hand. It was thus she always said; and she didsee him with her spirit's eyes, beautiful as a son of the morning, andradiant as the god of day. She passed her hands softly over his dark, brown locks, over the contour of his cheeks and chin with a kind oflingering, mesmerizing touch, which seemed to delight in tracing thelineaments of symmetry and grace. 

"Brother, " she said, "your cheeks are reddening--I know it by theirwarmth. What makes the blood come up to the cheeks when the heart isglad? Helen's are red, too, for I know it by the throbbings of herheart. "

"Helen has one pale cheek and one red one, " answered Arthur, passing hisarm around her and drawing her towards him. "If she were a littleolder, " added he, bending down and kissing the pale cheek, "we mightbring a rose to this, and then they would be blooming twins. "

The rose did bloom most beautifully at his touch, and a smile ofaffectionate delight gilded the child's pensive lips. 

"Alice, my dear, what have you and Helen been doing since I was here?You are always planning something to surprise me--something to make meglad and grateful. "

"We have been knitting a purse for you, brother, each of us; and motherhad just finished sewing on the tassel when you came. Tell me which ismine, and which is Helen's, " cried she, taking them both from the tableand mingling the hues of cerulean and emerald, the glitter of the goldenglobules which ornamented the one, and the silver beads which starredthe other, in her hand. 

"The green and gold must be Helen's--the silver and blue yours, Alice. Am I right?"

"No. But will you care if it is exactly the reverse. Helen chose theblue because it was my favorite color, and she thought you would prizeit most. Green was left for me, and then, you know, I was obliged to mixit with gold. "

"But why was green left for you? and why were you _obliged_ to mix itwith gold, instead of silver?" asked he, interested in tracing theorigin of her associations. 

"I like but two colors, " she replied, thoughtfully; "blue and green, theblue of the heavens, the green of the earth. It seems that gold is likesunshine, and the golden beads must resemble sunbeams on the greengrass. Silver is like moonlight, and Helen's purse must make you thinkof moonbeams, shining from the bright blue sky. "

"Why, my sweet Alice, where did the poetry of your thoughts come from? Iknow not how such charming associations are born, unless of sight. Oh!there must be an inner light, purer and clearer than outward visionknows, in which the great source of light bathes the spirit of theblind. "

He paused a moment, with his eyes intently fixed on the soft, hazy orbs, which gave back no answering rays--then added, in a gayer tone--

"And so I am the owner of these beautiful purses. How proud and happy Iought to be! It will be long, I fear, before I shall fill them withgold--and even if I could, it would be a shame to soil them with theyellow dust of temptation. I will cherish them both. Yours, Alice, willalways remind me of all that is beautiful on earth, woven of thisbrilliant green and gold. And yours, Helen, blue as the sky, of all thatis holy in Heaven. 

"But while I am thus receiving precious gifts, " he added, "I must notforget that I am the bearer of some also. My saddle-bags are notentirely filled with vials and pills. Here, mother, is a bunch ofthread, sent by Miss Thusa, white as the fleece of the unshorn lamb. Shesays she spun it expressly for you, because of your kindness to Helen. "

"I know by experience the beauty and value of Miss Thusa's thread, " saidMrs Hazleton, admiring the beautiful white hanks, which her sonunrolled; "ever since I knew Helen I have had a yearly supply, such asno other spinster ever made. How shall I make an adequate return?"

"There is a nicely bound book in our library, mother, which would pleaseher beyond expression--a history of all the celebrated murders in thecountry, within the last ten years. Here, Helen, are some keepsakes foryou and Alice, from your mother. "

"How kind, how good, " exclaimed Helen, "and how beautiful! A work-boxfor me, and a toilet-case for Alice. How nice--and convenient. Surelywe ought to love her. Mittie cannot help loving her when she comes. I'msure she cannot. "

"Your father is going for Mittie soon, " said Arthur. "He bids me tellyou that you must be ready to accompany him, and remain in her stead forat least three years. "

A cloud obscured the sunshine of Helen's countenance. The prospect whichMittie had hailed with exultation, Helen looked forward to with dismay. To be sent to a distant school, among a community of strangers, was toher timid, shrinking spirit, an ordeal of fire. To be separated fromAlice, Arthur, and Mrs. Hazleton, seemed like the sentence of death toher loving, clinging heart. 

"We must all learn self-reliance, Helen, " said Arthur, "we must all passthrough the discipline of life. The time will soon come when you willassume woman's duties, and it is well that you go forth awhile to gatherstrength and wisdom, to meet and fulfil them. You need something morebracing and invigorating than the atmosphere of love that surrounds youhere. "

Helen always trembled when Arthur looked very grave from the fear thathe was displeased with her. When speaking earnestly, he had a remarkableseriousness of expression, implying that he meant all that he uttered. When Arthur Hazleton was first introduced to the reader, he was onlyeighteen; and consequently was now about twenty-four years of age. Therewas a blending of firmness and gentleness, of serene gravity and beamingcheerfulness in his character and countenance, which even in earlyboyhood had given him an ascendency over his young companions. There wasa searching power in the glance of his grave, dark eye, from which onemight shrink, were it not often softened by an expression of evenwomanly sweetness harmonizing with the gentle smile of his lips. He veryseldom spoke of his feelings, but the rich, mantling color that ever andanon came glowingly to his cheek, indicated a depth of sensibility hewas unwilling words should reveal. Left his own master at a very earlyage, his _will_ had become strong and invincible. As he almost alwayswilled what was right, his mother seldom sought to bend it, and she wasthe only being in the world whose authority he acknowledged, and towhom he was willing to sacrifice his pride by submission. 

An incident which occurred the evening after his arrival, may illustratehis firmness and his power. 

It was a lovely summer afternoon, and Arthur rambled with Helen andAlice amid the charming groves and wild glens of his native place. Hislocal attachments were exceedingly strong, for they were cherished bydear and sacred associations. There was a history attached to every rockand tree and waterfall, making it more beautiful and interesting thanall others. 

"Here, Alice, " he would say, "look at this magnificent tree. Our fatherused to sit under its shade and sketch the outline of his sermons. Here, in God's own temple, he worshiped, and his pure thoughts mingled withthe incense that arose from the bosom of nature. "

Then Alice would clasp her fair arms round the tree, and laying her softcheck against the rough bark, consecrate it to the memory of the father, who had died ere she beheld the light. Alas! she never had beheld it;but ere the light had beamed on the sightless azure of her eyes. 

"Helen, do you see that beetling rock, half covered with lichens andmoss, hanging over the brawling stream? It was there I used to recline, when a little boy, shaded by that gnarled and fantastic looking tree, with book in hand, but studying most of all from the great book ofnature. Oh! I love that spot. If I ever live to be an old man, though Imay have wandered to the wide world's end, I want to come back and throwmyself once more on the shelving rock where I made my boyhood's bed. "

While he was speaking, he led Alice and Helen on to the very verge ofthe rock, and looked down on the waterfall, tumbling below. Alice stoodcalm and still, holding, with perfect confidence, her brother's hand, but Helen recoiled and shuddered, and her cheek turned visibly paler. 

"We are close to the edge, brother--I know it by the sound of yourvoice, " said Alice. "It seems to sink down and mingle with the roar ofthe water-fall. "

"Do you not fear, Alice?" asked her brother, drawing her still a littlenearer. 

"Oh, no, " she answered, with a radiant smile. "How can I fear, when Ifeel your hand sustaining me? I know, you would not lead me into danger. You would never let me fall. "

"Do you hear her?" asked he, looking reproachfully at Helen. "Oh, thouof little faith. When will you learn to confide, with the undoubtingtrust of this helpless blind girl? Do you believe that _I_ wouldwillingly expose you to danger or suffering?"

He withdrew his hand as he spoke, and Helen believing him seriouslydispleased, turned away to hide the tears that swelled into her eyes. Inthe meantime, Arthur led Alice along the edge of the rock to a little, natural bower beyond, which Alice called her bower, and where she andHelen had made a bed of moss, and adorned it with shells. Helen stood amoment alone on the rock, feeling as desolate as if she were theinhabitant of a desert island. She thought Arthur unkind, and thebeautiful, embowering trees, gurgling waters, and sweet, singing birds, lost their charms to her. Slowly turning her steps homeward, yet notwilling to enter the presence of Mrs. Hazleton without her companions, she lingered in the garden, making a bouquet, which she intended to giveas a peace-offering to Arthur, when he returned. She did not enter thehouse till nearly dark, when she was surprised by seeing Arthur alone. 

"Where is Alice?" said he. 

"Alice!" repeated she, "I left her in the woods with you. "

"Yes! but I left her there also, in the arbor of moss, supposing youwould soon return to her. "

"Left her alone!" cried Helen, wondering why Arthur, who seemed toidolize his lovely, blind sister, could have been so careless of hersafety. 

"Alice is not afraid to be alone, Helen, she knows that God is with her. But it will soon be night, and she must not remain in the dark, dampwoods much longer. You will go back and accompany her home, Helen, before the night-dew falls?"

Helen's heart died within her at the mere thought of threading alone apath so densely shaded, and of passing over that beetling rock, beneaththe gnarled, fantastic looking tree. It would be so dark before shereturned! She went to the window, and looked out, then turned towardshim with such a timid, wistful look, it was astonishing how he couldhave resisted the mute appeal. 

"Make haste, Helen, " said he, gently, "it will be dark if you do not. "

"Will you not go with me?" she at length summoned boldness to ask. 

"Are you afraid to go, Helen?"

She felt the dark power of his eye to her inmost soul. Death itselfseemed preferable to his displeasure. 

"I _am_ afraid, " she answered, "but I will go since you _will_ it. "

"I do wish it, " he replied, "but I leave it to your own will toaccomplish it. "

Helen could not believe that he really intended she should go alone, when _he_ had left his sister behind. She was sure he would follow andovertake her before she reached the narrow path she so much dreaded totraverse. She went on very rapidly, looking back to see if he were notbehind, listening to hear if her name were not called by his well-knownvoice. But she heard not his footsteps, nor the sound of his voice. Sheheard nothing but the wind sighing through the trees, or the notes ofsome solitary bird, seeking its nest among the branches. 

"Arthur is not kind, to-day, " thought she. "I wonder what has changedhim so. It was not my place to go after Alice, when he left her himselfin the woods. What right has he to command me so? And how foolish I amto obey him, as if he were my master and lord!"

She was at first very angry with Arthur, and anger always gives onestrength and power. Any excited passion does. She ran on, almostforgetting her fears, and the shadows lightened up as she met them faceto face. Then she thought of Alice alone in the woods--so blind andhelpless. Perhaps she would be frightened at the darkening solitude, andtry to find her path homeward, on the edge of that slippery, beetlingrock. With no hand to sustain, no eye to guide, how could she helpfalling into the watery chasm below? In her fears for Alice, she forgother own imaginary danger, and flew on, sending her voice before her, bearing on its trembling tones the sweet name of Alice. 

She reached the rock, and paused under the tree that hung so darkly overit. The waterfall sounded so much louder than when she stood there last, she was sure the waters had accumulated, and were threatening to dashthemselves above. They had an angry, turbulent roar, and keeping closein a line with the tree, she hurried on to the silver bower Alice somuch loved, and which she had seen her enter, clinging to the hand ofArthur. Helen, had to lift up the hanging boughs and sweeping vines atthe entrance of the arbor, and cold shivers of terror ran through herframe, for no voice responded to hers, though she had made the silenceall the way vocal with the name of Alice. 

"If she is not here, she is dead, " she cried, "and I will lie down anddie, too; for I cannot return without her. "

Creeping slowly in, with suppressed breath and trembling limbs, shediscovered something white lying on the bed of moss, so still and white, that it might have been mistaken in the dimness for a snow-drift, wereit not a midsummer eve. All the old superstitions implanted in herinfant mind by Miss Thusa's terrific legends, seized upon herimagination. Any thing white and still, reminded her of thenever-to-be-forgotten moment when she gazed upon her dead mother, andsunk overpowered by the terror and majesty of death. If it was Alicelying there, she must be dead, and how could she approach nearer andencounter that _cold presence_ which had once communicated a death-chillto her young life? Then the thought of Alice's death was fraught withsuch anguish, it carried her out of herself. The grief of Arthur, theagony of his mother; it was too terrible to think of. Springing into thearbor, she ran up to the white object, and kneeling down, beheld thefair, clustering ringlets and rosy cheek of Alice dimly defined throughthe growing shadows. She inhaled her warm breath as she stooped overher, and knew it was sleep, not death, that bound her to the spot. Asshe came in contact with life, warm, breathing vitality, aninstantaneous conviction of the folly, the preposterousness of her ownfears, came over her. Alice calmly and quietly had fallen asleep asnight came on, not knowing it by its darkness, but its stillness. Helenfelt the presence of invisible angels round the slumbering Alice, andher fears melted away. Putting her arms softly round her, and layingher cheek to hers, she called upon her to wake and return, for thewoods were getting dark with night. 

"Oh! how I love to sleep on this soft, mossy bed, " cried Alice, sittingup and passing her fingers over her eyes. "I fell asleep on brother'sarm, with the waterfall singing in my ears. Where is he, Helen? I do nothear his voice. "

"He is at home, and sent me after you, Alice, " replied Helen. "How couldhe leave you alone?" she could not help adding. 

"I am never afraid to be left alone, " said Alice, "and he knows it. ButI am not alone. I hear some one breathing in the grotto besides you, Helen. I heard it when I first waked. "

Helen started and grasped the hand of Alice closer and closer in herown. Looking wildly round the grotto, she beheld a dark figure crouchingin the corner, half-hidden by the shrubbery, and uttering a low scream, was about to fly, when a hoarse laugh arrested her. 

"It's only me, " cried a rough, good-natured voice. "It's nobody but oldBecky. Young master told me to stay and watch Miss Alice, while sheslept, till somebody came after her. He knew old Becky wouldn't letanybody harm the child--not she. "

Old Becky, as she called herself, was a poor, harmless, half-wittedwoman, who roamed about the neighborhood, subsisting on charity, whomeverybody knew and cared for. She was remarkably fond of children, andhad always shown great attachment for the blind girl. She had thefidelity and sagacity of a dog, and would never leave any thing confidedto her care. She would do any thing in the world for young Master Arthuras she styled him, or Mrs. Hazleton, for at the Parsonage she alwaysfound a welcome, and it seemed to her the gate of Heaven. During thelife of Mr. Hazleton, she invariably attended public worship, andlistened to his sermons with the most reverential attention, though sheunderstood but a small portion of them--and when he died, her chieflamentation was that he could not preach at her funeral. If young masterwere a minister, that would be next best, but as he was only a doctor, she consoled herself by asking him for medicine whenever he visitedhome, whether she needed it or not, and Arthur never failed to make upa quantity of bread pills and starch powders to gratify poor, harmlessBecky. 

"Walk before us, please, Becky, " cried Helen with a lightened heart, andBecky marched on, proud to be of service, looking back every moment tosee if they were safe. 

When they reached home, the candles were burning brightly in thesitting-room, and the rose trees at the windows shone with a kind ofgolden lustre in their beams. Helen suffered Becky to accompany Aliceinto the house, knowing it would be to her a source of pride andpleasure, and seating herself on the steps, tried to school herself soas to appear with composure, and not allow Arthur to perceive how deeplyhis apparent unkindness had wounded her feelings. While she thus sat, breathing on the palm of her hand, and pressing it against her moisteyelids to absorb the welling tears, Arthur himself crossed the yard andcame rapidly up the steps. 

"What are you doing here, my sister?" said he, sitting down by her anddrawing away the hand from her showery eyes. Never had he spoken sogently, so kindly. Helen could not answer. She only bowed her head uponher lap. 

"My dear Helen, " said he, in that grave, earnest tone which always hadthe effect of command, "raise your head and listen to me. I have woundedmy own feelings that I might give you a needed lesson, and prove toyourself that you have moral courage sufficient to triumph over physicaland mental weakness. You have thought me cruel. Perhaps I have beenso--but I have given present pain for your future joy and good. Ifollowed you, though you knew it not, ready to ward off every realdanger from your path. Oh, Helen, I grieve for the sufferingsconstitutional sensitiveness and inculcated fear occasion you, but Irejoice when I see you struggling with yourself, and triumphing throughthe strength of an exerted will. "

"I deserve no credit for going, " sobbed Helen. "I could not help it. "

"But no one _forced_ you, Helen. "

"When you say I _will_ do any thing, I feel a force acting upon me asstrong as iron. "

"It is the force of your own inborn sense of right called into action byme. You knew it was not right to leave our blind Alice in the darkwoods alone. If I were cruel enough to desert her, and refuse to seekher, her claim on your kindness and care was not the less commanding. You could not have laid your head upon your pillow, or commendedyourself to the guardianship of Providence, thinking of Alice in thelonely woods, damp with the dews of night. Besides, you knew in yoursecret heart I could not send you on a dangerous mission. Oh! Helen, would that I could inspire you, not so much with implicit confidence inme, as in that Mighty guardian power that is ever around and about you, from whose presence you cannot flee, and in whose protection you areforever safe. "

"Forgive me, " cried Helen, in a subdued, humble tone. "I have done yougreat wrong in thinking you cruel. I wonder you have not given me uplong ago, when I am so weak and foolish and distrustful. I thought I wasgrowing brave and strong--but the very first trial proved that I amstill the same, and so it will ever be. Neither the example of Alice, nor the counsels of your mother, nor your own efforts, do me any good. Ishall always be unworthy of your cares. "

"Nay, Helen, you do yourself great injustice. You have shown a heroismthis very night in which you may glory. Though you have encountered noreal danger, you battled with an imaginary host, which no man couldnumber, and the victory was as honorable to yourself as any that crownsthe hero's brow with laurels. Mark me, Helen, the time will come whenyou will smile at all that now fills you with apprehension, in thedevelopment of your future, nobler self. "

Helen looked up and smiled through her tears. 

"Oh! if I dared to promise, " said she, "I would pledge my word never todistrust you, never to be so foolish and weak again. But I think, Ibelieve that I never will. "

"Do not promise, my dear Helen, for you know not your own strength. But, remember, that without _faith_ you will grope in darkness through theworld--faith in your friends--faith in your God--and I will add--faithin yourself. From the time I first saw you a little, terror-strickenchild, to the present moment, I have sought only your happiness andgood--and yet forgetting all the past, you distrusted my motives evennow, and your heart rose up against me. From the first dawn of yourbeing to this sweet, star-lighted moment, God has been to you a tender, watchful parent, tenderer than any earthly parent, kinder than anyearthly friend--and yet you fear to trust yourself to His providence, toremain with Him who fills immensity with His presence. You have no faithin yourself, though there is a legion of angels, nestling, with foldedwings in that young heart, ready to fly forth at your bidding, andfulfil their celestial mission. Come, Helen, " added he, rising, andlifting her at the same time from her lowly seat, "let us go in--buttell me first that I am forgiven. "

"Forgiven!" cried she, fervently. "How can I ever thank you, ever besufficiently grateful for your goodness?"

"By treasuring up my words, and remembering them when you are far away. I have influence over you now, because you are so very young, and knowso little of the world, but a few years hence it will be very different. You may think of me then as a severe mentor, a cold, unfeeling sage, andwonder at the gentleness with which you bore my reproofs, and thedocility with which you yielded to my will. "

"I shall always think of you as the best and truest friend I ever had inthe world, " cried Helen, enthusiastically, as they entered thesitting-room, where Mrs. Hazleton and Alice awaited them. 

"Because he sent you out into the woods alone?" said Mrs. Hazleton, smiling, "young despot that he is. "

"Yes, " replied Helen, "for I feel so much better, stronger and happierfor having gone. Then, if possible, I love Alice more than ever. "

"How do you account for that, Helen?" asked Arthur. 

"I don't know, " she answered, "unless it is I went through a trial forher sake. "

"Helen is a metaphysician, " said the young doctor. "She could not havegiven a better solution. "

CHAPTER VI. 

 "And can it be those heavenly eyes Blue as the blue of starry skies, Those eyes so clear, so soft so bright, Have never seen God's blessed light?"

Helen returned to her father's, to prepare for her departure to theschool, which Mittie was about to leave. Arthur had long resolved toplace Alice in an Institution for the blind, and as there was acelebrated one in the same city to which Helen was bound, he requestedMr. Gleason to be her guardian on the journey, and suffer her to be thecompanion of Helen. This arrangement filled the two young girls withrapture, and reconciled them to the prospect of leaving home, and ofbeing cast among strangers in a strange city. 

Ever since Alice was old enough to feel the misfortune that rested sodarkly upon her, and had heard of those glorious institutions, where thechildren of night feel the beams of science and benevolence penetratethe closed bars of vision, and receive their illumination in the innertemple of the spirit, she had expressed an earnest wish to be sent whereshe could enjoy such advantages. 

"Oh!" she would repeat a thousand times, unconscious of the pain sheinflicted on her mother; "oh! if I could only go where the blind aretaught every thing, how happy should I be!"

It is seldom that the widow of a country minister is left with more thanthe means of subsistence. Mrs. Hazleton was no exception to the generalrule. But Arthur treasured up every word his blind sister uttered, andresolved to appropriate to this sacred purpose the first fruits of hisprofession. It was for this he had anticipated the years of manhood, andcommenced the practice of medicine, under the auspices of his father'svenerable friend, Doctor Sennar, at an age when most young men arepreparing themselves for their public career. Success far transcendinghis most sanguine hopes having crowned his youthful exertions, he wasnow enabled to purchase the Parsonage, and present it as a filialoffering to his mother, and also to defray the expenses of his sister'seducation. 

Alice had never before visited the home of Helen, and it was aninteresting sight to see with what watchful care and protectingtenderness Helen guided and guarded her steps. Louis, who was at homealso passing his summer holidays, beheld for the first time the lovelyblind girl of whom Helen had so often spoken and written. 

He was now a man in appearance, of noble stature, and most prepossessingcountenance. Helen was enthusiastically fond of her brother, and hadsaid to Alice, with unconscious repetition--

"Oh! how I wish you could see Louis. He is so handsome and is so good. He has such a brave rejoicing look. Somehow or other, I always feel safein his presence. "

"Is he handsomer than Arthur?" Alice would ask. 

"No, not handsomer--but then he's so different, one cannot compare them. Arthur is so much older, you know. "

"Arthur doesn't look old, does he?"

"No, not old--but he has such an air of authority sometimes, which givesyou such an impression of power, that I would fear him, did he not allat once appear so gentle and so kind. Louis makes you love him all thetime, and you never think of his being displeased. "

Still, while Helen dwelt on her brother's praise with fond and fluenttongue, she felt without being able to describe her feelings, that hehad lost something of his original beauty. The breath of the world hadpassed over the mind and dimmed its purity. His was the joyous, recklessspirit that gave life to the convivial board; and temptations, which acolder temperament might have resisted, often held him in ignoblevassalage. Now inhaling the hallowed atmosphere of home, all the pureinfluences of his boyhood resumed their empire over his heart--and hewondered that he could ever have mingled with the grosser elements ofsociety. 

"Blind!" repeated he to himself, while gazing on the calm, angeliccountenance of Alice, so beautiful in its repose. "Is it possible that acreature so fair and bright, dwells in the darkness of perpetualmidnight? Can no electric ray pierce the cloud that is folded over hervision? Is there no power in science to remove the dark fillet thatbinds those celestial eyes, and pour in upon them the light of anew-born day?"

While he thus gazed on the unseeing face, so near him that perhaps shemight have had a vague consciousness of the intensity, the warmth of thegaze, Helen approached, and taking the hand of Alice, passed it softlyover the features of her brother, as well as his profuse and clusteringhair. 

"Alice has eyes in her fingers, Louis--I want her to _see_ you and tellme if I have been a true painter. "

Louis felt the blood mounting to his temples, as the soft hand of Aliceanalyzed the outline of his face, and lingered in his hair. It seemed tohim a cherub was fluttering its wings against his cheek, diffusing apeace and balminess that no language could describe. 

Alice, who had yielded involuntarily to the movement of Helen, drew herhand blushingly away. 

"I cannot imagine how any one can see without touching, " said Alice, "how they can take in an image into the soul, by looking at it far off. You tell me the eyes feel no pleasure when gazing at any thing--that itis the mind only which perceives. But my fingers thrill with delightwhen I touch any thing that pleases, long afterwards. "

Louis longed to ask her if she felt the vibration then, but he dared notdo it. He, in general so reckless in words, experienced a restraininginfluence he had never felt before. She seemed so set apart, so holy, itwould be sacrilegious to address her with levity. He felt a suddendesire to be an oculist, that he might devote himself to the task ofrestoring to her the blessing of sight. Then he thought how delightfulit would be to lead such a sweet creature through the world, to be eyesto her darkness, strength to her helplessness--the sun of her cloudeduniverse. Louis had a natural chivalry about him that invested weakness, not only with a peculiar charm, but with a sacred right to hisprotection. With the quick, bounding impulses of eighteen, his spiritsprang forward to meet every new attraction. Here was one so novel, sopure, that his soul seemed purified from the soil of temptation, whilehe involuntarily surrendered himself to it, as Miss Thusa's thread grewwhite under the bleaching rays of a vernal sun. 

Miss Thusa! yes, Miss Thusa came to welcome home her young protegé, unchanged even in dress. It is probable she had had several new garmentssince she related to Helen the history of the worm-eaten traveler, butthey were all of the same gray color, relieved by the black silkneckerchief and white tamboured muslin cap--and under the cap there wasthe same opaque fold of white paper, carefully placed on the top of thehead. 

Alice had a great curiosity to _see_ Miss Thusa, as she expressed it, and hear some of her wild legends. When she traced the lineaments, ofher majestic profile, and her finger suddenly rose on the lofty beak ofher nose, she laughed outright. Alice did not often laugh aloud, butwhen she did, her laugh was the most joyous, ringing, childish burst ofsilvery music that ever gushed from the fountain of youth. It wasimpossible not to echo it. Helen feared that Miss Thusa would beoffended, especially as Louis joined merrily in the chorus--and shelooked at Alice as if her glance had power to check her. But she did notknow all the windings of Miss Thusa's heart. Any one like Alice, markedby the Almighty, by some peculiar misfortune, was an object not only oftenderness, but of reverence in her eyes. The blasted tree, the blightedflower, the smitten lamb--all touched by the finger of God, were sacredthings--and so were blindness and deafness--and any personal calamity. It was strange, but it was only in the shadows of existence she felt thepresence of the Deity. 

"Never mind her laughing, " said she, in answer to the apprehensiveglance of Helen, "it don't hurt me. It does me good to hear her. Itsounds like a singing bird in a cage; and, poor thing, she's shut in adark cage for life. "

"No, not for life, Miss Thusa, " exclaimed Louis; "I intend to studyoptics till I have mastered the whole length and breadth of the science, on purpose to unseal those eyes of blue. "

Alice turned round so suddenly, and following the sound of his voice, fixed upon him so eagerly those blue eyes, the effect was startling. 

"Will you do so?" she cried, "can you do so? oh! do not say it, unlessyou mean it. But I know it is impossible, " she added in a subdued tone, "for I was _born blind_. God made me so, and He has made me very happytoo. I sometimes think it would be beautiful to see, but it is beautifulto feel. As brother says, there is an inner-light which keeps us frombeing _all_ dark. "

Louis regretted the impulse which urged him to utter his secret wishes. He resolved to be more guarded in future, but he was already inimagination a student in Germany, under some celebrated optician, makingdiscoveries so amazing that he would undoubtedly give a new name to theage in which he lived. 

When night came on they gathered round Miss Thusa, entreating her for afarewell legend, not a gloomy one, not one which would give Alice a sad, dark impression, but something that would come to her memory like a rayof light. 

"You must let me have my own way, " said she, putting her spectacles onthe top of her head, and looking around her with remarkable benignity. "If the spirit moves me one way, I cannot go another. But I will try mybest, for may-be it's the last time some of you will ever listen to oldThusa's tales. She's never felt just right since they tangled up herheart-strings with that whitened thread. Oh! that was a vile, meantrick!"

"Forget and forgive, Miss Thusa, " cried Louis; "I dare say Mittie hasrepented of it in dust and ashes. "

"I have forgiven, long ago, " resumed Miss Thusa, "but as for_forgetting_, that is out of the question. Ever since then, when thebleaching time comes, it keeps me perfectly miserable till it is over. I've never had any thread equal to it, for I'm afraid to let it staylong enough to be as powerful white as it used to be. Well, well, let itrest. You want me to tell you a story, do you?"

Miss Thusa had an auditory assembled round her that might have animateda spirit less open to inspiration than hers. There was Mr. And Mrs. Gleason, the latter a fine, dignified-looking lady, and the youngdoctor, with his countenance of grave sweetness, and Louis, with anexpression of resolute credulity, and Helen and Alice, with their armsinterlaced, and the locks of their hair mingling like the tendrils oftwo forest vines. And what perhaps gave a glow to her spirit, deeperthan the presence of all these, Mittie, her arch enemy, was _not there_, to mock her with her deriding black eyes. 

"You've talked to me so much about not telling you any terrible things, "said she, with a troubled look, "that you've made me like a candle undera bushel, instead of a light upon a hill-top. I've never told suchstories since, as I used to tell when the first Mrs. Gleason was alive, and I spun in the nursery all the evening, and little Helen was the onlyone to listen to what I had to say. There was something in the child'seyes that kept me going, for they grew brighter and larger every word Isaid. "

Helen looked up, and met the glance of the young doctor, riveted uponher with so much pity and earnestness, she looked down again with ablending of gratitude and shame. She well knew that, notwithstanding herreason now taught her the folly and madness of her superstitiousterrors, the impressions of her early childhood were burnt into hermemory and never could be entirely obliterated. 

"I remember a story about a blind child, which I heard myself, when alittle girl, " said Miss Thusa, "and if I should live to the age ofMethuselah, I never should forget it. I don't know why it stayed with meso long, for it has nothing terrific in it, but it comes to me many atime when I'm not thinking of it, like an old tune, heard long, longago. 

"Once there was a woman who had an only child, a daughter, whose namewas Lily. The woman prayed at the birth of the child that it might bethe most beautiful creature that ever the sun shone upon, and sheprayed, too, that it might be good, but because she prayed for beautybefore goodness, it was accounted to her as a sin. The child grew, andas long as it was a babe in the arms, they never knew that the eyes, which gave so much light to others, took none back again. The motherprayed again, that her child might see, no matter how ugly she mightbecome, no matter how dull and dim her eyes, let them but have the giftof sight. But Lily walked in a cloud, from the cradle to the time whenthe love-locks began to curl round her forehead, and her cheeks wouldflush up when the young men told her she was beautiful. When it wassunlight, her mother watched her every step she took, for fear she wouldget into danger, but she never thought of watching her by night, forshe said the _angels took care of her then_. Lily had a little bed ofher own, right by the window, for she told her mother she loved to feelthe moon shining on her eye-lids, making a sort of faintish glimmer, asit were. 

"One night she lay down in the moonshine, and fell asleep, and hermother looked upon her for a long time, thinking how beautiful she was, and what a pity the young men could not take her to be a wife, she hadsuch a loving heart, and seemed made so much for love. At last she fellasleep herself, dreaming of Lily, and did not wake till past midnight. Her first thought was of Lily, and she leaned on her elbow, and lookedat the little bed, with its white counterpane, that glittered like snowin the moonshine. But Lily was not there, and the window was wide open. The woman jumped up in fright, and ran to the window and looked out, butshe could see nothing but the trees and the woods. I wouldn't have beenin her place for the gold of Solomon, for she was all alone, and therewas no one living within a mile of her house. It was a wild, lonesomeplace, on a hill-side, and you could hear the roaring of water, all downat the bottom of the hill. Even in the day-time it was mighty dangerouswalking among the torrents, let alone the night. 

"Well, the woman lifted up her voice, and wept for her blind child, butthere was none but God to hear--and she went out into the night, callingafter Lily every step she took, but her own voice came back to her, notLily's. She went on and on, and when she got to a narrow path, leadingalong to a great waterfall, she stopped to lay her hand on her heart, tokeep it from jumping out of her body. There was a tall, blasted pine, that had fallen over that waterfall, making a sort of slippery bridge topass over. What should she see, right in the middle of the blasted pinetree, as it lay over the roaring stream, but Lily, all in white, walkingas if she had a thousand pair of eyes, instead of none, or at least nonethat did her any good. The mother dared not say a word, any more than ifshe were dumb, so she stood like a dead woman, that is, as still, looking at her blind daughter, fluttering like a bird with white wingsover the black abyss. 

"But what was her astonishment to behold a figure approaching Lily, from the opposite side of the stream, all clothed in white, too, withlong, fair hair, parted from its brow, and large shining wings on itsshoulders. The face was that of a beautiful youth, and he had eyes assoft and glorious as the moon itself, though they looked dark for allthat. 

"'I come, my beloved, ' cried Lily, stretching out her arms over thewater. 'I see thee--I know thee. There is no darkness now. Oh, howbeautiful thou art! The beams of thy shining wings touch my eyelids, andlittle silver arrows come darting in, on every side. Take me over thisnarrow bridge, lest my feet slide, and I fall into the roaring water. '

"'I cannot take thee over the bridge, ' replied the youth, 'but when thouhast crossed it, I will bear thee on my wings to a land where there isno blindness or darkness, not even a shadow, beautiful as these shadowsare, all round us now. Walk in faith, and look not below. Press on, andfear no evil. '

"'Oh! come back, my daughter!' shrieked the poor mother, rousing up fromthe trance of fear--'come back, my Lily, and leave me not alone. Comeback, my poor blind child. '

"Lily turned back a moment, and looked at her mother, who could see her, just as plain as day. Such a look! It was just as if a film had fallenfrom off her eyes, and a soul had come into them. They were live eyes, and they had been cold and dead before. They smiled with her smilinglips. They had never smiled before, and the mother trembled at theirstrange intelligence. She dared not call her back any more, but kneltright down on the ground where she was, and held her breath, as one doeswhen they think a spirit is passing by. 

"'I can't come back, mother, ' said Lily, just as she reached the bank, where the angel was waiting for her, for it was nobody else but anangel, as one might know by its wings. 'You will come to me by-and-by--Ican see you now, mother. There's no more night for me. '

"Then the angel covered her, as it were, with his wings--or rather, theyseemed to have one pair of wings between them, and they began to riseabove the earth, slow at first, and easy, just as you've seen the cloudsroll up, after a shower. Then they went up faster and higher, till theydidn't look bigger than two stars, shining up overhead. 

"The next day a traveler was passing along the banks of the stream, below the great waterfall, and he found the body of the beautiful blindgirl, lying among the water-lilies there. Her name was Lily, you know. She looked as white and sweet as they did, and there never was such asmile seen, as there was upon her pale lips. He took her up, and curriedher to the nearest house, which happened to be her own mother's. Thenthe mother knew that Lily had been drowned the night before, and thatshe had seen her going up to Heaven, with the twin angel, created forher and with her, at the beginning of creation. She felt happy, for sheknew Lily was no longer blind. "

If we could give an adequate idea of Miss Thusa's manner, so solemn andimpressive, of the tones of her voice, monotonous and slightly nasal, yet full of intensity, and, above all, of the expression of herforeboding eye, while in the act of narration, it would be easy toaccount for the effect which she produced. Helen and Alice were bathedin tears before the conclusion, and a deepening seriousness rested onthe countenances of all her auditors. 

"You _will_ be sad and gloomy, Miss Thusa, " cried Louis; "see what youhave done; you should not have chosen such a subject. "

"I don't think it is sad, " exclaimed Alice, raising her head and shakingher ringlets over her eyes to veil her tears. "I did not weep forsorrow, but it is so touching. Oh! I could envy Lily, when the beautifulangel came and bore her away on his shining wings. "

"I think with Alice, " said the young doctor, "that it is far from beinga gloomy tale, and the impression it leaves is salutary. The young girl, walking by faith, over the narrow bridge that spans the abyss of death, the waiting angel, and upward flight, are glorious emblems of thespirit's transit and sublime ascent. We are all blind, and wander indarkness here, but when we look back, like Lily, on the confines of thespirit-land, we shall see with an unclouded vision. "

Helen turned to him with a smile that was radiant, beaming through hertears. It seemed to her, at that moment, that all her vague terrors, allher misgivings for the future, her self-distrust and her disquietudemelted away and vanished into air. 

Miss Thusa, pleased with the comment of the young doctor, was trying tokeep down a rising swell of pride, and look easy and unconcerned, whenLouis, taking a newspaper from his pocket, began to unfold it. 

"Here is a paper, Miss Thusa, " said he, handing it to her as he spoke, "which I put aside on purpose for you. It contains an account of acelebrated murder, which occupies several columns. It is enough to makeone's hair stand on end, 'like quills upon the fretted porcupine. ' I amsure it will lift the paper crown from your head. "

Miss Thusa took the paper graciously, though she called him a "saucyboy, " and adjusting her spectacles on the lofty bridge of her nose, sheheld the paper at an immense distance, and began to read. 

At first, they amused themselves observing the excited glance of MissThusa, moving rapidly from left to right, her head following it with aquick, jerking motion; but as the article was long, they lost sight ofher, in the interest of conversation. All at once, she started up with asudden exclamation, that galvanized Helen, and brought Louis to hisfeet. 

"What does this mean?" she cried, pointing with her finger to aparagraph in the paper, written in conspicuous characters. "Read it, forI do believe that my glasses are deceiving me. "

Louis read aloud, in a clear, emphatic voice, the followingadvertisement:

"If Lemuel Murrey, or his sister Arathusa, are still living, if he, orin case of his death, she will come immediately to the town of ----, andcall at office No. 24, information will be given of great interest andimportance. Country editors will please insert this paragraph, severaltimes, and send us their account. "

"Why, Miss Thusa, " cried Louis, flourishing the paper over his head, "somebody must have left you a fortune. Only hear--_of greatimportance_! Let me be the first to congratulate you, " bowing almost toher feet. 

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Miss Thusa, "I have not a relation, that I knowof, this side of the Atlantic, and if I had, they would not be worth acent in the world. It must be an imposition, " and she looked sharply atLouis through her lowered glasses. 

"Upon my honor, Miss Thusa, I know nothing about it, " asserted Louis. "Inever saw it till you pointed it out to me. Whatever it means, it mustbe genuine. Do you not think so, father?"

"I see no room to imagine any thing like deception here, " said Mr. Gleason, after examining the paper. "I think you must obey the summons, Miss Thusa, and ascertain what blessings Providence may have in storefor you. "

"Well, " said Miss Thusa, with decision, "I will go to-morrow. What timedoes the stage start?"

"Soon after sunrise, " replied Mr. Gleason. "But you cannot undertakesuch a long journey alone. You have no experience in traveling in carsand steamboats, and, at your age, you will find it very fatiguing. Wecan accompany you as far as New York, but there we must part, for I amcompelled to return without any delay. Louis, too, is obliged to resumehis college studies. The young doctor cannot leave his patients. Supposeyou invest some one with legal authority, Miss Thusa, to investigate thematter?"

"I shall go myself, " was the unhesitating answer. "As for going alone, Iwould not thank the King of England, if there was one, for hiscompany--though I am obliged to you for thinking of my comfort. I knowI'm getting old, but I should like to see the man, woman or child inthis town, or any other, that can bear more than I can. I always wasindependent, thank the Lord. After living without the help of man thislong, I hope I can get along without it at the eleventh hour. As to itsbeing a money concern, I don't believe a word of it, and I wouldn't walkacross the room, if it just concerned myself alone; but when I see thename of my poor, dead brother, I feel a command on me, just as if I sawit printed on tablets of stone, by the finger of the Lord Himself. "

The next morning the travelers were to commence their journey, with theunexpected addition of Miss Thusa's company part of the way. When herbaggage was brought down, to the consternation of all she had her wheel, arrayed in a traveling costume of green baize, mounted on the top ofher trunk, and no reasoning or persuasion could induce her to leave itbehind. 

"I'm not going to let the Goths and Vandals get possession of it, " shesaid, "when I'm gone. I've locked it up every night since the ruin of mythread, and--"

"You can have it locked up while you are absent, " interrupted Mrs. Gleason. "I will promise you that no injury shall happen to it. "

"Thank you, " said Miss Thusa, nodding her head; "but where I go my wheelmust go, too. What in the world shall I do, when I stop at night, without it? and in that idle place, the steamboat, I can spin a powerfulquantity while the rest are doing nothing. It is neither big nor heavy, and it can go on the top of the stage very well, and be in nobody'sway. "

"You can sit there, Miss Thusa, and spin, while you are riding, " criedLouis, laughing; "that will have a _powerful_ effect. "

Helen and Alice felt very sad in parting from the friend and brother somuch beloved, but they could not help smiling at Louis's suggestion. Theyoung doctor, glad of an incident which cast a gleam of merriment ontheir tears, added another, which obviated every difficulty:

"Only imagine it a new fashioned harp or musical instrument, in itsgreen cover, and it will give éclat to the whole party. I am sure it isa harp of industry, on which Miss Thusa has played many a pleasanttune. "

The wheel certainly had a very distinguished appearance on the top ofthe stage, exciting universal curiosity and admiration. Children rushedto the door to look at it, as the wheels went flashing and rolling by, while older heads were seen gazing from the windows, till the verdantwonder disappeared from their view. 

CHAPTER VII. 

 "What a fair lady!--and beside her What a handsome, graceful, noble rider. "--_Longfellow. _

 "Love was to her impassioned soul Not as with others a mere part Of its existence--but the whole, The very life-breath of his heart. "--_Moore. _

We would like to follow Miss Thusa and her wheel, and relate the mannerin which she defended it from many a rude and insolent attack. TheIsraelites never guarded the Ark of the Covenant with more jealous careand undaunted courage. 

But as we have commenced the history of our younger favorites in earlychildhood, and are following them up the steep of life, we find theyhave a long journey before them, and we are obliged here and there tomake a long step, a bold leap, or the pilgrimage would be too long andweary. 

We acknowledge a preference for Miss Thusa. She is a strong, originalcharacter, and the sunlight of imagination loves to rest upon itssalient angles and projecting lines. When we commenced her sketch, oursole design was to describe her influence on the minds of others, and tomake her a warning beacon to the mariners of life, that they might avoidthe shoals on which the peace of so many morbidly sensitive minds havebeen wrecked. But we found a fascination in the subject which we couldnot resist. A heart naturally warm, defrauded of all natural objects onwhich to expend its living fervor, a mind naturally strong confinedwithin close and narrow limits, an energy concentrated and unwasting, capable of carrying its possessor through every emergency and everytrial--these characteristics of a lonely woman, however poor andunconnected she might be, have sometimes drawn us away from attractivethemes. 

We do not know that Mittie can be called attractive, but she is young, handsome and intellectual, and there is a charm in youth, beauty andintellect that too often disarms the judgment, and renders it blind tomoral defects. 

When Mittie returned from school, crowned with the laurels of theinstitution in which she had graduated, wearing the stature, andexhibiting the manners of a woman, though still in years a child, sheappeared to her young companions surrounded with a _prestige_, in whosedazzling rays her childish faults were forgotten. 

Mrs. Gleason, who had been looking forward with dread to the hour of herstep-daughter's return, met her with every demonstration of affectionateregard. She had never seen Mittie, and as her father always spoke of heras "the child, " palliating her errors on the plea of her motherlesschildhood, she was not prepared for the splendidly developed, womanlygirl, who received her kind advances with a haughty and repellingcoldness, which brought an angry flush to the father's brow. 

"Mittie, " said he, emphatically, "this is your _mother_. Remember thatshe is to receive from all my children the respect and affection towhich she is eminently entitled. "

"I know she is your wife, sir, and that her name is Mrs. Gleason, butthat does not make her a mother of mine, " replied the young girl, withsurprising coolness. 

"Mittie, " exclaimed the father--what he would have said was averted by ahand laid gently on his arm, and a beseeching look from the eyes of theamiable step-mother. 

"Do not constrain her to call me mother, " she said. "I do not despair ofgaining her affections in time. I care not for the mere name, unaccompanied by the feelings which make it so dear and holy. "

One would have supposed that a remark like this, uttered in a calm, mildtone, a tone of mingled dignity and affability, would have touched aheart of only fifteen summer's growth, but Mittie knew not yet that shehad a heart. She had never yet really loved a human being. Insensible tothe sweet tendernesses of nature, it was reserved for the lightning boltof passion to shiver the hard, bark-like covering, and penetrate to theliving core. 

She triumphed in the thought that in the struggle for power between herstep-mother and herself she had gained the ascendency, that she hadnever yielded one iota of her will, never called her _mother_, oracknowledged her legitimate and sacred claims. She began to despise thewoman, who was weak enough, as she believed, to be overruled by a younggirl like herself. But she did not know Mrs. Gleason--as a scene whichoccurred just one year after her return will show. 

Mittie was seated in her own room, where she always remained, save whencompany called expressly to see her. She never assisted her mothereither in discharging the duties of hospitality or in performing thoselittle household offices which fall so gracefully on the young. Engrossed with her books and studies, pursuits noble and ennobling inthemselves, but degraded from their high and holy purpose whencultivated to the exclusion of the lovely, feminine virtues, Mittie wasalmost a stranger beneath her father's roof. 

The chamber in which she was seated bore elegant testimony to thekindness and liberality of her step-mother--who, before Mittie's returnfrom school, had prepared and furnished this apartment expressly for hertwo young daughters. As Mittie was the eldest, and to be the firstoccupant, her supposed tastes were consulted, and her imagined wants allanticipated. Mrs. Gleason had a small fortune of her own, so that shewas not obliged to draw upon her husband's purse when she wished to begenerous. She had therefore spared no expense in making this room alittle sanctum-sanctorum, where youth would delight to dwell. 

"Mittie loves books, " she said, and she selected some choice and elegantworks to fill the shelves of a swinging library--of course she must befond of paintings, and the walls were adorned with pictures whose gildedframes relieved their soft, neutral tint. 

"Young girls love white. It is the appropriate livery of innocence. "

Therefore bed-curtains, window-curtains, and counterpane were of thedazzling whiteness of snow. Even the table and washstand were white, ornamented with gilded wreaths. 

"Mittie was fond of writing--all school girls are, " therefore an elegantwriting desk must be ready for her use--and though her love of sewingwas more doubtful, a beautiful workbox was ready for her accommodation. She well knew the character of Mittie, and her personal opposition toherself, but she was determined to overcome her prejudices, and bind herto her by every endearing obligation. 

"His children _must_ love me, " she said, "and all that woman can andought to do shall be done by me before I relinquish my labors of love. "

Mittie enjoyed the gift without being grateful to the giver; she baskedin the sunshine of comfort, without acknowledging the source from whichit emanated. For one year she had been treated with unvaryingtenderness, consideration, and regard, in spite of coldness, haughtiness, and occasional insolence, till she began to despise one whocould lavish so much on a thankless, unreturning receiver. 

She was surprised when her step-mother entered her room at the unusualhour of bed time--and looking up from the book she was reading, hercountenance expressed impatience and curiosity. She did not rise oroffer her a chair, but after one rude, fixed stare, resumed her reading. Mrs. Gleason seated herself with perfect composure, and taking up a bookherself, seemed to be absorbed in its contents. There was something sounusual in her manner that Mittie, in spite of her determination toappear imperturbable and careless, could not help gazing upon her withincreasing astonishment. She was dressed in a loose night wrapper, herhair was unbraided, and hanging loose over her shoulders, and there wasan air of ease and freedom diffused over her person, that added much toits attractions. Mittie had always thought her stiff and formal--nowthere was a graceful abandonment about her, as if she had thrown offchains which had galled her, or a burden which oppressed. 

"To what am I indebted for the honor of this visit, madam?" askedMittie, throwing her book on the table with unlady-like force. 

"To a desire for a little private conversation, " replied Mrs. Gleason, looking steadfastly in Mittie's face. 

"I am going to bed, " said she, with an unsuppressed yawn, "you hadbetter take a more fitting hour. "

"I shall not detain you long, " replied her step-mother, "a few words cancomprehend all I have to utter. This night is the anniversary of theone which brought us under the same roof. I then made a vow to myselfthat for one year I would labor with a bigot's zeal and a martyr'senthusiasm, to earn the love and entitle myself to the good opinion ofmy husband's daughter. I made a vow of self-abnegation, which no Hindoodevotee ever more religiously kept. I had been told that you were coldhearted and selfish; but I said love is invincible and must prevail;youth is susceptible and cannot resist the impressions of gratitude. Isaid this, Mittie, one year ago, in faith and hope and self-reliance. Ihave now come to tell you that my vow is fulfilled. I have done all thatis due to you, nay, more, far more. It remains for me to fulfill myduties to myself. If I cannot make you _love_ me, I will not allow youto _despise_ me. "

The bold, bright eye of Mittie actually sunk before the calm, rebukingglance, which gave emphasis to every cool, deliberate word. Here was thewoman she had dared to treat with disdain, as undeserving her respect, as the usurper of a place to which she had no right, whom she hadpredetermined to _hate_ because she was her _step-mother_, and whom shecontinued to dislike because she had predetermined to do so, all at onceassuming an attitude of commanding self-respect, and asserting her ownclaims with irresistible dignity and truth. Taken completely bysurprise, her usual fluency of language forsook her, and she sat onemoment confounded and abashed. _Her claims?_ it was the first time theidea of her step-mother having any legitimate claims on her, had assumedthe appearance of reality. Something glanced into her mind, foreshadowing the truth that after all she was more dependent on herfather's wife, than her father's wife on her. It was like the flashingof lamplight on the picture-frames and golden flower leaves on thetable, at which they both were seated. 

"I have been alone the whole evening, " continued Mrs. Gleason, in astill calmer, more decided tone, "preparing myself for this interview;for the time for a full understanding is come. All the sacrifices I havemade during the past year were for your father's peace and your owngood. To him I have never complained, nor ever shall I; but I shouldesteem myself unworthy to be his wife, if I willingly submitted longerto the yoke of humiliation. I tell thee truly, Mittie, when I say, Icare not for your love, for which I have so long striven in vain. You donot love your own family, and why should I expect to inspire what they, father, brother and sister have never kindled in your breast? I care notfor your love, but I _will_ have your respect. I defy you from thismoment ever to treat me with insolence. I defy you henceforth, ever byword, look or thought, to associate me with the idea of _contempt_. "

Her eye flashed with long suppressed indignation, and her face reddenedwith the liberated stream of her emotions. Rising, and gathering up herhair, which was sweeping back from her forehead, she took her lamp andturned to depart. Just as she reached the door she turned back andadded, in a softer tone, "Though you will never more see me in the aspect of a seeker aftercourtesy and good will, I shall never reject any overtures forreconciliation. If the time should ever come, when you feel the need ofcounsel and sympathy, the necessity of a friend; if your heart everawakens, Mittie, and utters the new-born cry of helplessness and pain, you will find me ready to listen and relieve. Good night. "

She passed from her presence, and Mittie felt as if she had been in adream, so strange and unnatural was the impression left upon her mind. She was at first perfectly stunned with amazement, then consciousness, accompanied with some very disagreeable stinging sensations, returned. When a very calm, self-possessed person allows feeling or passion togain the ascendency over them, they are invested for the moment withovermastering power. 

"I have never done justice to her intellect, " thought she, recalling thewords of her step-mother, with an involuntary feeling of admiration;"but I want not her love. When it is necessary to my happiness I willseek it. Love! she never cared any thing about me; she does not pretendthat she did. She tried to win my good will from policy, notsensibility; and this is the origin of all the comforts and luxurieswith which she has surrounded me. Why should I be grateful then? ThankHeaven! I am no hypocrite; I never dissembled, never professed what I donot feel. If every one were as honest and independent as I am, therewould be very little of this vapid sentimentality, this love-breath, which comes and goes like a night mist, and leaves nothing behind it. "

The next morning Mittie could not help feeling some embarrassment whenshe met her step-mother at the breakfast-table, but the lady herself wasnot in the least disconcerted; she was polite and courteous, but calmand cold. There was a barrier around her which Mittie felt that shecould not pass, and she was uncomfortable in the position in which shehad placed herself. 

And thus time went on--thus the golden opportunities of youth fled. Helen was still at school; Louis at college. But when Louis graduated, he came home, accompanied by a classmate whose name was BryantClinton--and his coming was an event in that quiet neighborhood. WhenLouis announced to his father that he was going to bring with him ayoung friend and fellow collegian, Mr. Gleason was unprepared for thereception of the dashing and high bred young gentleman who appeared ashis guest. 

Mittie happened to be standing on the rustic bridge, near the celebratedbleaching ground of Miss Thusa, when her brother and his friend arrived. She was no lover of nature, and there was nothing in the bland, dewystillness of declining day to woo her abroad amid the glories of asummer's sunset. But from that springing arch, she could look up thehigh road and see the dust glimmering like particles of gold, tellingthat life had been busy there--and sometimes, as at the present moment, when something unusually magnificent presented itself to the eye, shesurrendered herself to the pleasure of admiration. There had been heavy, dun, rolling clouds all the latter part of the day, and when the sunburst forth behind them, he came with the touch of Midas, instantaneously transmuting every thing into gold. The trunks of thetrees were changed to the golden pillars of an antique temple, thefoliage was all powdered with gold, here and there deepening into abronze, and sweeping round those pillars in folds of gorgeous tapestry. The windows of the distant houses were all gleaming like molten gold;and every blade of grass was tipped with the same glittering fluid. Mittie had never beheld any thing so gloriously beautiful. She stoodleaning against the light railing, unconscious that she herself wasbathed in the same golden light--that it quivered in the dark waves ofher hair, and gilt the roses of her glowing cheek. She did not know howbright and resplendent she looked, when two horsemen appeared in thehigh road, gathering around them in quivers the glittering arrowsdarting from the sky. As they rapidly approached, she recognized herbrother, and knew that the young gentleman who accompanied him must behis friend, Bryant Clinton. The steed on which he was mounted was blackas a raven, and the hair of the young man was long, black, and flowingas his horse's sable mane. As he came near, reining in the high mettledanimal, while his locks blew back in the breeze, enriched with the samegolden lustre with which every thing was shining, Mittie suddenlyremembered Miss Thusa's legend of the black horseman, with the jettyhair entwined in the maiden's bleeding heart. Strange, that it shouldcome back to her so vividly and painfully. 

Louis recognized his sister, standing on the airy arch of the bridge, androde directly to the garden gate. Clinton did the same, but instead ofdarting through the gate, as Louis did, he only dismounted, lifted hishat gracefully from his head, and bowed with lowly deference--thenthrowing his arm over the saddle bow, he waited till the greeting wasover. Mittie was not the favorite sister of Louis, for she had repelledhim as she had all others by her cold and haughty self-concentration--butthough he did not _love_ her as he did Helen, she was his sister, sheappeared to him the personification of home, of womanhood, and his pridewas gratified by the full blown flower and splendor of her beauty. Shehad gained much in height since he had last seen her; her hair, which wasthen left waving in the wild freedom of childhood, was now gathered intobands, and twisted behind, showing the classic contour of her head andneck. Louis had never thought before whether Mittie was handsome or not. She had not seemed so to him. He had never spoken of her as such to hisfriend. Helen, sweet Helen, was the burden of his speech, the one lovelysister of his heart. The idea of being proud of Mittie never occurred tohim, but now she flashed upon him like a new revelation, in the glow andfreshness and power of her just developed womanly charms. He was glad hehad found her in that picturesque spot, graceful attitude, and partakinglargely and richly of the glorification of nature. He was glad thatBryant Clinton, the greatest connoisseur in female beauty he had everseen, should meet her for the first time under circumstances of peculiarpersonal advantage. He thought, too, there was more than her wontedcordiality in her greeting, and that her cheek grew warm under hishearty, brotherly kiss. 

"Why, Mittie, " cried he, "I hardly knew you, you have grown so handsomeand stately. I never saw any one so altered in my life--a perfect Juno. I want to introduce my friend to you--a noble hearted, generous, princely spirited fellow. A true Virginian, rather reckless with regardto expenditure, perhaps, but extravagance is a kingly fault--I like it. He is a passionate admirer of beauty, too, Mittie, and his manners areperfectly irresistible. I shall be proud if he admires you, for I assureyou his admiration is a compliment of which any maiden may be proud. "

While he was speaking, Clinton followed the beckoning motion of hishand, and approached the bridge. It is impossible to describe the easeand grace of his motions, or the wild charm imparted to his countenanceby the long, dark, shining, back-flowing locks, that softened theirhaughty outline. His hair, eye-lashes and eye-brows were of deep, ravenblack, but his eyes were a dark blue, a union singularly striking, andproductive of wonderful expression. As he came nearer and nearer, andMittie felt those dark blue, black shaded eyes riveted on her face, witha look of unmistakable admiration, she remembered the words of herbrother, and the consciousness of beauty, for the first time, gave her asensation of pride and pleasure. She was too proud to be vain--and whatcared she for gifts, destined, like pearls, to be cast before anunvaluing herd? The young doctor was the only young man whose admirationshe had ever thought worthy to secure, and having met from him only coldpoliteness, she had lately felt for him only bitterness and dislike. Living as she had done in a kind of cold abstraction, enjoying only thepleasures of intellect, in all the sufficiency of self, it was a matterof indifference to her what people thought of her. She felt soinfinitely above them, looking down like the ćronaut, from a colder, more rarefied atmosphere, upon objects lessened to meanness by her ownelevation. 

She could never look down on such a being as Bryant Clinton. Her firstthought was--"Will he dare to look down on me?" There was so much pride, tempered by courtesy, such an air of lofty breeding, softened by grace, so much intellectual power and sleeping passion in his face, that shefelt the contact of a strong, controlling spirit, a will to which herown might be constrained to bow. 

They walked to the house together, while Louis gave directions about thehorses, and he entered into conversation at once so easily andgracefully, that Mittie threw off the slight embarrassment thatoppressed her, and answered him in the same light spirited tone. She wasastonished at herself, for she was usually reserved with strangers, andher thoughts seldom effervesced in brilliant sallies or sparklingrepartees. But Clinton carried about with him the wand of an enchanter, and every thing he touched, sparkled and shone with newly awakened orreflected brightness. Every one has felt the influence of thatindescribable fascination of manner which some individuals possess, andwhich has the effect of electricity or magnetism. Something thatcaptivates, even against the will, and keeps one enthralled, in spite ofthe struggling of pride, and the shame attendant on submission. One ofthese fascinating, electric, magnetic beings was Clinton. Louis had longbeen one of his captives, but _he_ was such a gay, frank, confiding, porous hearted being, it was not strange, but that he should breakthrough the triple bars of coldness, haughtiness and reserve, whichMittie had built around her, so high no mortal had scaled them--this wasmore than strange--it was miraculous. 

When Mittie retired that night, instead of preparing for sleep, she satdown in the window, and tried to analyze the charm which drew hertowards this stranger, without any volition of her own. She could not doit--it was intangible, evasive and subtle. The effect of his presencewas like the sun-burst on the landscape, the moment of his arrival. Thedark places of her soul seemed suddenly illumined; the massy columns ofher intellect turned like the tree trunks, into pillars of gold andlight; gilded foliage, in new born leaflets, played about the branches. She looked up into the heavens, and thought they had never bent in suchgrandeur and splendor over her, nor the solemn poetry of night everaddressed her in such deep, earnest language. All her senses appearedto have acquired an acuteness, an exquisiteness that made themsusceptible almost to pain. The stars dazzled her like sunbeams, andthose low, murmuring, monotonous sounds, the muffled beatings of theheart of night, rung loudly and distinctly on her ear. Alarmed at thestrange excitement of her nerves, she rose and looked round theapartment which her step-mother's hand had adorned, and _ingratitude_seemed written in large, dark characters on the soft, grayish coloredwalls. Why had she never seen this writing before? Why had the debt sheowed this long suffering and now alienated benefactress, never beforebeen acknowledged before the tribunal of conscience? Because her heartwas awakening out of a life-long sleep, and the light of a new creationwas beaming around her. 

She took the lamp, and placing it in front of the mirror, gazeddeliberately on her person. 

"Am I handsome?" she mentally asked, taking out her comb, whose pressureseemed intolerable, and suffering the dark redundance of her hair toflow, unrestrained, around her. "Louis says that I am, and methinks thismirror reflects a glorious image. Surely I am changed, or I have neverreally looked on myself before. "

Yes! she was changed. The light within the cold, alabaster vase waskindled, giving a life and a glow to what was before merely symmetricaland classic. There was a color coming and going in her cheek, a warmlustre coming and going in her eye, and she could not tell whence itcame, nor whither it went. 

From this evening a new era in her life commenced. 

Days and weeks glided by, and Clinton still remained the guest of Louis. He sometimes spoke of going home, but Louis said--"not yet"--and thesudden paleness of Mittie's cheek spoke volumes. During all this time, they had walked, and rode, and talked together, and the enchantment hadbecome stronger and more pervading Mr. Gleason sometimes thought heought not to allow so close an intimacy between his daughter and a youngman of whose private character he knew so little, but when he reflectedhow soon he was to depart to his distant home, probably never to return, there seemed little danger to be apprehended from his short sojourn withthem. Then Mittie, though she might be susceptible of admiration forhis splendid qualities, and though her vanity might be gratified by hisapparent devotion--_Mittie had no heart_. If it were Helen, it would bea very different thing, but Mittie was incapable of love, uninflammableas asbestos, and cold as marble. 

Mrs. Gleason, with the quicker perception of woman, penetrated deeperthan her husband, and saw that passions were aroused in that hithertoinsensible heart which, if opposed, might be terrible in their power. Since her conversation with Mittie, where she yielded up all attempt atmaternal influence, and like "Ephraim joined to idols, _let her alone_, "she had never uttered a word of counsel or rebuke. She had been coldly, distantly courteous, and as she had prophesied, met with at least thesemblance of respect. It was more than the semblance, it was thereality. Mittie disdained dissimulation, and from the moment herstep-mother asserted her own dignity, she felt it. Mrs Gleason wouldhave lifted up her warning voice, but she knew it would be disregarded, and moreover, she had pledged herself to neutrality, unless admonitionor counsel were asked. 

"Let us go in and see Miss Thusa, " said Louis, as they were returningone evening from a long walk in the woods. "I must show Clinton all thelions in the neighborhood, and Miss Thusa is the queen of themenagerie. "

"It is too late, brother, " cried Mittie, well knowing that she was nofavorite of Miss Thusa, who might recall some of the incidents of herchildhood, which she now wished buried in oblivion. 

"Just the hour to make a fashionable call, " said Clinton. "I should liketo see this belle of the wild woods. "

"Oh! she is very old and very ugly, " exclaimed Mittie, "and I assureyou, will give you a very uncourteous reception. "

"Youth and beauty and courtesy will only appear more lovely by force ofcontrast, " said Clinton, offering her his hand to assist her over thestile, with a glance of irresistible persuasion. 

Mittie was constrained to yield, but an anxious flush rose to her cheekfor the result of this dreaded interview. She had not visited Miss Thusasince her return from school, for she had no pleasing associationsconnected with her to draw her to her presence. Since her memorablejourney with her wheel, Miss Thusa had taken possession of her formerabode, and no entreaties could induce her to resume her wandering life. She never revealed the mystery of the advertisement, or the result ofher journey, but a female Ixion, bound to the wheel, spun away hersolitary hours, and nursed her own peculiar, solemn traits of character. 

The house looked very much like a hermitage, with its low, slanting, wigwam roof, and dark stone walls, planted in the midst of underbrush, through which no visible path was seen. There was no gate, but a stile, made of massy logs, piled in the form of steps, which were beautifullycarpeted with moss. A well, whose long sweep was also wreathed withmoss, was just visible above the long, rank grass, with its old oakenbucket swinging in the air. 

"What a superb old hermitage!" exclaimed Clinton, as they approached thedoor. "I feel perfectly sublime already. If the lion queen is worthy ofher lair, I would make a pilgrimage to visit her. "

"Now, pray, brother, " said Mittie, determined to make as short a stay aspossible, "don't ask her to tell any of her horrible stories. I amsure, " she added, turning to Clinton, "you would find them exceedinglywearisome. "

"They are the most interesting things in the world, " said Louis, withprovoking enthusiasm, as opening the door, he bowed his sister in--thentaking Clinton's arm, ushered him into the presence of the statelyspinster. 

Miss Thusa did not rise, but suffering her foot to pause on the treadle, she pushed her spectacles to the top of her head, and looked round uponher unexpected visitors. Mittie, who felt that the dark shaded eye ofClinton was upon her, accosted her with unwonted politeness, but it wasevident the stern hostess returned her greeting with coldness andrepulsion. Her features relaxed, when Louis, cordially grasping herhand, expressed his delight at seeing her looking so like the Miss Thusaof his early boyhood. Perceiving the aristocratic stranger, sheacknowledged his graceful, respectful bow, by rising, and her tallfigure towered like a column of gray marble in the centre of the lowapartment. 

"And who is Mr. Bryant Clinton?" said she, scanning him with her eye ofprophecy, "that he should visit the cabin of a poor, old, lonely womanlike me? I didn't expect such an honor. But I suppose he came for thesake of the company he brought--not what he could find here. "

"We brought him, Miss Thusa, " said Louis; "we want him to becomeacquainted with all our friends, and you know we would not forget you. "

"We!" repeated Miss Thusa, looking sternly at Mittie, "don't say _we_. It is the first time Mittie ever set foot in my poor cabin, and I knowshe didn't come now of her own good will. But never mind--sit down, "added she, drawing forward a wooden settee, equivalent to three or fourchairs, and giving it a sweep with her handkerchief. "It is not often Ihave such fine company as this to accommodate. "

"Or you would have a velvet sofa for us to sit down upon, " cried Louis, laughing, while he occupied with the others the wooden seat; "but I likethis better, with its lofty back and broad, substantial frame. Everything around you is in keeping, Miss Thusa, and looks antique andmajestic; the walls of gray stone, the old, moss-covered well-sweep, thedear old wheel, your gray colored dress, always the same, yet alwayslooking nice and new. I declare, Miss Thusa, I am tempted to turn hermitmyself, and come and live with you, if you would let me. I am beginningto be tired of the world. "

He laughed gayly, but a shade passed over his countenance, darkening itssunshine. 

"And I am just beginning to be awake to its charms, " said Clinton, "justbeginning to _live_. I would not now forsake the world; but ifdisappointment and sorrow be my lot, I must plead with Miss Thusa toreceive me into her hermitage, and teach me her admirable philosophy. "

Though he addressed Miss Thusa, his glances played lambently on Mittie'sface, and told her the meaning of his words. 

"Pshaw!" exclaimed Miss Thusa, "don't try to make a fool of me, younggentleman. Louis, Master Louis, Mr. Gleason--what shall I call you now, since you're grown so tall, and seem so much farther off than you usedto be. "

"Call me Louis--nothing but Louis. I cannot bear the thought of being_Mistered_, and put off at a distance. Oh, there is nothing so sweet asthe name a mother's angel lips first breathed into our ears. "

"I'm glad you have not forgotten your mother, Louis, " said Miss Thusa, her countenance softening into an expression of profound sensibility;"she was a woman to be remembered for a life-time; though weak in body, she was a powerful woman for all that. When she died, I lost the bestfriend I ever had in the world, and I shall love you and Helen as longas I live, for her sake, as well as your own. I won't be unjust toanybody. _You've_ always been a good, respectful boy; and as for Helen, Heaven bless the child! she wasn't made for this world nor anybody init. I never see a young flower, or a tender green leaf, but I think ofher, and when they fade away, or are bitten and shrivelled by the frost, I think of her, too, and it makes me melancholy. When is the dear childcoming home?"

Before the conclusion of this speech, Mittie had risen and turned herburning cheek towards the window. She felt as if a curse were restingupon her, to be thus excluded from all participation in Miss Thusa'sblessing, in the presence of Bryant Clinton. Yes, at that moment shefelt the value of Miss Thusa's good opinion--the despised and contemnedMiss Thusa. The praises of Helen sounded as so many horrible discords inher ears, and when she heard Louis reply that "Helen would return soon, very soon, with that divine little blind Alice, " she wished that yearson years might intervene before that period arrived, for might she notsupplant her in the heart of Clinton, as she had in every other?

While she thus stood, playing with a hop-vine that climbed a tall poleby the window, and shaded it with its healthy, luxuriant leaves, Clintonmanifested the greatest interest in Miss Thusa's wheel, and themanufacture of her thread. He praised the beauty of its texture, thefineness and evenness of its fibres. 

"I admire this wheel, " said he, "it has such a venerable, antiqueappearance. Its massy frame and brazen hoops, its grooves and swellinglines are a real study for the architect. "

"Why, I never saw those brazen rings before, " exclaimed Louis, startingup and joining Clinton, in his study of the instrument. "When did youhave them put on, Miss Thusa, and what is their use?"

"I had them made when I took that long journey, " replied Miss Thusa, pushing back the wheel with an air of vexation. "It got battered andbruised, and needed something to strengthen it. Those saucy stagedrivers made nothing of tossing it from the top of the stage right onthe pavement, but the same man never dared to do it but once. "

"This must be made of lignum-vitć, " said Clinton, "it is so very heavy. Such must have been the instrument that Hercules used, when he bowed hisgiant strength to the distaff, to gratify a beautiful woman's whim. "

"Well, I can't see what there is in an old wheel to attract a younggentleman like you, so!" exclaimed Miss Thusa, interposing her tallfigure between it and the collegian. "I don't want Hercules, or any sortof man, to spin at my distaff, I can tell you. It's woman's work, andit's a shame for a man to interfere with it. No, no! it is better foryou to ride about the country with your black horse and gold-coloredfringes, turning the heads of silly girls and gaping children, than tomeddle with an old woman and her wheel. "

"Why, Miss Thusa, what makes you so angry?" cried Louis, astonished atthe excitement of her manner. "I never knew you impolite before. "

"I apologise for my own rudeness, " said Clinton, with inexpressiblegrace and ease. "I was really interested in the subject, and forgot thatI might be intrusive. I respect every lady's rights too much to infringeupon them. "

"I don't mean to be rude, " replied Miss Thusa, giving her glasses adownward jerk, "but I've lived so much by myself, that I don't know anything about the soft, palavering ways of the world. I say again, I don'twant to be rude, and I'm not ashamed to ask pardon if I am so; but Iknow this fine young gentleman cares no more for me, nor my wheel, thanthe man in the moon, and I don't like to have any one try to pass offthe show for the reality. "

She fixed her large, gray eye so steadfastly on Clinton, that his cheekflushed with the hue of resentful sensibility, and Louis thinking MissThusa in a singularly repulsive mood, thought it better to depart. 

"If it were not so late, " said he, approaching the door, "I would askyou for one of your interesting legends, Miss Thusa, but by the longshadow of the well-sweep on the grass, the sun must be almost down. Whydo you never come to see us now? My mother would give you a cordialwelcome. "

"That's right. I love to hear you call her mother, Louis. She is worthyof the name. She is a lady, a noble hearted lady, that honored thefamily by coming into it; and they who wouldn't own her, disgracethemselves, not her. Go among the poor, _if_ you want to know her worth. Hear _them_ talk--but as for my stories, I never can tell them, if thereis a scoffing tongue, and an unbelieving ear close by. I cannot feel my_gift_. I cannot glorify the Lord who gave it. When Helen comes, bringher to me, for I've something to tell her that I mustn't carry to mygrave. The blind child, too, I should like to see her again. I wouldgive one of my eyes now, to put sight into hers--both of them, I mightsay, for I shan't use them much longer. "

"Why, Miss Thusa, you are a _powerful_ woman yet, " said Louis, measuringher erect and commanding figure, with an upward glance. "I shouldn'twonder if you lived to preside at all our funerals. I don't think youever can grow weak and infirm. "

Miss Thusa shook her head, and slipped up the sleeve of her left arm, showing the shrunken flesh and shrivelled skin. 

"There's weakness and infirmity coming on, " said she, "but I don't mindit. This world isn't such a paradise, at the best, that one would wantto stay in it forever. And there's one comfort, I shall leave nobodybehind to bewail me when I'm gone. "

"Ah! Miss Thusa, how unjust you are. _I_ shall bewail you; and, as forHelen, I do believe the sweet, tender-hearted soul would cry her eyesout. Even the lovely, blind Alice would weep for your loss. AndMittie--but it seems to me you are not quite kind to Mittie. I shouldthink you had too much magnanimity to remember the idle pranks ofchildhood against any one. Why, see what a handsome, glorious lookinggirl she is now. "

Mittie turned haughtily away, and stepped out on the mossy door-stone. All her early scorn and hatred of Miss Thusa revived with even addedforce. Clinton followed her, but lingered on the threshold for Louis, whose hand the ancient sibyl grasped with a cordial farewell pressure. 

"Mittie and I never were friends, and never can be, " said she, "but Iwish her no harm. I wish her better luck than I think is in her pathnow. As for yourself, if you should get into trouble, and not want tovex those that are kin, you can come to me, and if you don't despise mycounsel and assistance, perhaps it may do you good. I have a legend thatI've been storing up for your ears, too, and one of these days I shouldlike to tell it to you. But, " lowering her voice to a whisper, "leavethat long-haired, smooth-tongued gentleman behind. "

"Was I not right, " said Mittie, when they had passed the stile, andcould no longer discern the ancestral figure of Miss Thusa in the doorof her lonely dwelling, "in saying that she is a very rude, disagreeableperson? She is so vindictive, too. She never could forgive me, becausewhen a little child I cared not to listen to her terrible tales ofghosts and monsters. Helen believed every word she uttered, till shebecame the most superstitious, fearful creature in the world. "

"You should add, the sweetest, dearest, best, " interrupted Louis, "unless we except the angelic blind maiden. "

"I should think if you had any affection for me, Louis, " said Mittie, turning pale, as his praises of Helen fell on Clinton's ear, "you wouldresent the rudeness and impertinence to which you have just exposed me. What must your friend think of me? Was it to lower me in his opinionthat you carried him to her hovel, and drew forth her spiteful andbitter remarks?"

"Do you think it possible that _she_ could alter my opinion of _you_?"said Clinton, in a low, earnest tone. "If any thing could have exaltedit, it would be the dignity and forbearance with which you bore herinsinuations, and defeated her malice. "

"I am sorry, Mittie, " cried Louis, touched by her paleness and emotion, and attributing it entirely to wounded feeling, "I am very sorry that Ihave been the indirect cause of giving you pain. It was certainlyunintentional. Miss Thusa was in rather a savage mood this evening, Imust acknowledge; but she is not malicious, Clinton. With all hereccentricities, she has some sterling virtues. If you could only seeher inspired, and hear one of her _powerful_ tales!"

"If you ever induce him to go there a second time!" exclaimed Mittie, withdrawing herself from the arm with which he had encircled her waist, and giving him a glance from her dark, bright eyes, that might havescorched him, it was so intensely, dazzlingly angry. 

"Believe me, " said Clinton, "no inducement could tempt me again to aplace associated with painful remembrances in your mind. "

He had not seen the glance, for he was walking on the other side, andwhen she turned towards him, in answer to his soothing remark, thestarry moon of night is not more darkly beautiful or resplendent thanher face. 

So he told her when Louis left them at the gate leading to theirdwelling, and so he told her again when they were walking alone togetherin the star-bright night. 

"Why do they talk to me of Helen?" said he, and his voice stole throughthe stilly air as gently as the falling dew. "What can she be, incomparison with you? Little did I think Louis had another sister sotranscendent, when I saw you standing on the rustic bridge, the mostradiant vision that ever beamed on the eye of mortal. You remember thatevening. All the sunbeams of Heaven gathered around _you_, the focus ofthe golden firmament. "

"Louis loves me not as he does Helen, " replied Mittie, her heartbounding with rapture at his glowing praises, "no one does. Even you, who now profess to love me beyond all created beings, if Helen came, might be lured by _her_ attractions to forget all you have beenbreathing into my ears. "

"I confess I should like to see one whose attractions _you_ can fear. She must be superlatively lovely. "

"She is not beautiful nor lovely, Clinton. No one ever called her so. Fear! I never knew the sensation of fear. It is not fear that she couldinspire, but a stronger, deeper passion. "

He felt the arm tremble that was closely locked in his, and he could seeher lip curl like a rose-leaf fluttering in the breeze. 

"Speak, Mittie, and tell me what you mean. I can think of but onepassion now, and that the strongest and deepest that ever ruled theheart of man. "

"I cannot describe my meaning, " replied Mittie, pausing under a treethat shaded their path, and leaning against its trunk; "but I can feelit. Till you came, I knew not what feeling was; I read of it in books. It was the theme of many a fluent tongue, but all was cold and passive_here_, " said she, pressing her hand on the throbbing heart that nowached with the intensity of its emotion. "Everybody said I had no heart, and I believed them. You first taught me that there was a vital sparkburning within it, and blew upon it with a breath of flame. I tell you, Clinton, you had better tamper with the lightning's chain than thepassions of this suddenly awakened heart. I tell you I am a dangerousbeing. There is a power within me that makes me tremble with itsconsciousness. I am a young girl, with no experience. I know nothing ofthe blandishments of art, and if I did I would scorn to exercise them. You have told me a thousand times that you loved me and I have believedyou. I would willingly die a thousand times for the rapture of hearingit once; but if I thought the being lived who could supplant me--if Ithought you could ever prove false to me--"

Her eye flashed and her cheek glowed in the night-beams that, as Clintonsaid, made her their focus, so brightly were they reflected from herface. What Clinton said, it is unnecessary to repeat, for the languageof passion is commonplace, unless it flows from lips as fresh andunworldly and impulsive as Mittie's. 

"Let me put a mark on this tree, " she said, stooping down and picking upa sharp fragment of rock at its base. "If you ever forget what you havesaid to me this night, I will lead you to this spot, and show you thewounded bark--"

She began to carve her own initials, but he insisted upon substitutinghis penknife and assisting her in the task, to which she consented. Asthey stood side by side, he guiding her hand, and his long, soft locksplaying against her cheek, or mingling with her own, she surrenderedherself to a feeling of unalloyed happiness, when all at once MissThusa's legend of the Black Knight, with the dark, far-flowing hair, and the maiden with the bleeding heart, came to her remembrance, and sheinvoluntarily shuddered. 

"Why am I ever recalling that wild legend?" thought she. "I am gettingto be as weak and superstitious as Helen. Why, when it seems to me thatthe wing of an angel is fluttering against my cheek, should I rememberthat demon-sprite?"

Underneath her initials he carved his own, in larger, bolder characters. 

"Would you believe it, " said she, in a light mocking tone, "that I feltevery stroke of your knife on that bark? Oh, you do not know how deepyou cut! It seems that my life is infused into that tree, and that it ishenceforth a part of myself. "

"Strange, romantic girl that you are! Supposing the lightning shouldstrike it, think you that you would feel the shaft?"

"Yes, if it shattered the tablet that bears those united names. But thelightning does not often make a channel in the surface of the silverbarked beech. There are loftier trees around. The stately oak andbranching elm will be more likely to win the fiery crown of electricitythan this. "

Mittie clasped her arms around the tree, and laid her cheek against theciphers. The next moment she flitted away, ashamed of her enthusiasm, tohide her blushes and agitation in the solitude of her own chamber. 

The next morning she found a wreath of roses round the tablet, and thenext, and the next. So day after day the passion of her heart was fed bylove-gifts offered at that shrine, where, by the silver starlight, theyhad met, and ONE at least had worshiped. 

PART THIRD. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

 ----A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, --promises as sweet-- A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles. 

 _Wordsworth. _

And now we have arrived at the era, to which we have looked forward witheager anticipation, the return of Helen and Alice, the period when thesevered links of the household chain were again united, when the foldedbud of childhood began to unclose its spotless leaves, and expand in thesolar rays of love and passion. 

We have said but little lately of the young doctor, not that we haveforgotten him, but he had so little fellowship with the characters ofour last chapter, that we forbore to introduce him in the same group. Hedid feel a strong interest in Louis, but the young collegian was sofascinated by his new friend, that he unconsciously slighted him whom hehad once looked upon as a mentor and an elder brother. Mittie, thehandsome, brilliant, haughty, but now impassioned girl, was as little tohis taste as Mittie, the cold, selfish and repulsive child. Clinton, theaccomplished courtier, the dashing equestrian, the gracefulspendthrift--the apparently resistless Clinton had no attraction forhim. He sometimes wondered if his little, simple-hearted pupil Helenwould be carried away by the same magnetic influence, and longed to seeher character exposed to a test so powerful and dangerous. 

Mr. Gleason went for the children, as he continued to call them, andwhen the time for his arrival drew near, there was more than the usualexcitement on such occasions. Mittie could never think of her sister'scoming without a fluctuating cheek and a throbbing heart. Mrs. Gleasonwondered at this sensibility, unknowing its latent source, and rejoicedthat all her affections seemed blooming in the fervid atmosphere thatnow surrounded her. Perhaps even she might yet be loved. But it was toHelen the heart of the step-mother went forth, whom she remembered as sogentle, so timid, so grateful and endearing. Would she return the samesweet child of nature, unspoiled by contact with other grosser elements?

Clinton felt an eager curiosity to see the sister of Mittie, for whomshe cherished such precocious jealousy, yet who, according to her owndescription, was neither beautiful nor lovely. Louis was all impatience, not only to see his favorite Helen, but the lovely blind girl, who hadmade such an impression on his young imagination. It is true her imagehad faded in the sultry, worldly atmosphere to which he had beenexposed; but as he thought of the blue, sightless orbs, so beautiful yetsoulless, the desire to loosen the fillet of darkness which the hand ofGod had bound around her brow, and to pour upon her awakening vision thenoontide glories of creation, rekindled in his bosom. 

For many days Mrs. Gleason had filled the vases with fresh flowers, forshe remembered how Helen delighted in their beauty, and Alice in theirfragrance. There was a room prepared for Helen and Alice, while thelatter remained her guest, and Mittie resolved that if possible, shewould exclude her permanently from the chamber which Mrs. Gleason had socarefully furnished for both. She could not bear the idea of such closecompanionship with any one. She wanted to indulge in solitude her wild, passionate dreams, her secret, deep, incommunicable thoughts. 

At length the travelers arrived; weary, dusty and exhausted fromsleepless nights, and hurried, rapid days. No magnificent sun-burstglorified their coming. It was a dull, grayish, dingy day, such as oftencomes, the herald of approaching autumn. Mittie could not helprejoicing, for she knew the power of first impressions. She knew it bythe raptures which Clinton always expressed when he alluded to herfirst appearance on the rustic bridge, as the youthful goddess of theblooming season. She knew it by her own experience, when she firstbeheld Clinton in all the witchery of his noble horsemanship. 

Helen was unfortunately made very sick by traveling, _sea-sick_, andwhen she reached home she was exactly in that state of passive endurancewhich would have caused her to lie under the carriage wheelsunresistingly had she been placed perchance in that position. Theweather was close and sultry, and the dust gathered on the folds of herriding-dross added to the warmth and discomfort of her appearance. Herfather carried her in his arms into the house, her head reclininglanguidly on his shoulder, her cheeks white as her muslin collar. Mittiecaught a glimpse of Clinton's countenance as he stood in theback-ground, and read with exultation an expression of blankdisappointment. After gazing fixedly at Helen, he turned towards Mittie, and his glance said as plainly as words could speak--

"You beautiful and radiant creature, can you fear the influence of sucha little, spiritless, sickly dowdy as this?"

Relieved of the most intolerable apprehensions, her greeting of Helenwas affectionate beyond the most sanguine hopes of the latter. She tookoff her bonnet with assiduous kindness, (though Helen would havepreferred wearing it to her room, to displaying her disordered hair anddusty raiment, ) leaving to Mrs. Gleason the task of ministering to thelovely blind girl. 

"Where's brother? I do not hear his step, " said Alice, looking round asearnestly as if she expected to see his advancing figure. 

"He has just been called away, " said Louis, "or he would be here togreet you. My poor little Helen, you do indeed look dreadfully used up. You were never made for a traveler. Why Alice's roses are scarcelywilted. "

"Nothing but fatigue and a little sea-sickness, " cried her father, "agood night's sleep is all she needs. You will see a very differentlooking girl to-morrow, I assure you. "

"Better, far better as she is, " thought Mittie, as she assisted theyoung travelers up stairs. 

Ill and weary as she was, Helen could not help noticing the astonishingimprovement in Mittie's appearance, the life, the glow, the sunlight ofher countenance. She gazed upon her with admiration and delight. 

"How handsome you have grown, Mittie, " said she, "and I doubt not asgood as you are handsome. And you look so much happier than you used todo. Oh! I do hope we shall love each other as sisters ought to do. It isso sweet to have a sister to love. "

The exchange of her warm, traveling dress for a loose, light undress, gave inexpressible relief to Helen, who, reclining on her _owndelightful bed_, began to feel a soft, living glow stealing over thepallor of her cheek. 

"Shall I comb and brush your hair for you?" asked Mittie, sitting downby the side of the bed, and gathering together the tangled tresses ofhazel brown, that looked dim in contrast with her own shining ravenhair. 

"Thank you, " said Helen, pressing her hand gratefully in both hers. "Youare so kind. Only smooth Alice's first. If her brother comes, she willwant to see him immediately--and you don't know what a pleasure it is toarrange her golden ringlets. "

"Don't _you_ want to see the young doctor, too, Helen?"

"To be sure I do, " replied Helen, with a brightening color, "more thanany one else in the world, I believe. But do they call him the youngdoctor, yet?"

"Yes--and will till he is as old as Methuselah, I expect, " repliedMittie, laughing. 

"Brother is not more than five or six and twenty, now, " cried Alice, with emphasis. 

"Or seven, " added Mittie. "Oh! he is sufficiently youthful, I dare say, but it is amusing to see how that name is fastened upon him. It isseldom we hear Doctor Hazleton mentioned. He does not look a day olderthan when he prescribed for you, Helen, in your yellow flannelnight-gown. He had a look of precocious wisdom then, which becomes himbetter now. "

Mittie began to think Helen very stupid, to say nothing of the dazzlingClinton, to whom she had taken particular pains to introduce her, whenshe suddenly asked her, "How long that very handsome young gentlemanwas going to remain?"

"You think him handsome, then, " cried Mittie, making a veil of theflaxen ringlets of Alice, so that Helen could not see the high colorthat suffused her face. 

"I think he is the handsomest person I ever saw, " replied Helen, just asif she were speaking of a beautiful picture or statue; "and yet there issomething, I cannot tell what, that I do not exactly like about him. "

"You are fastidious, " said Mittie, coldly, and the sudden gleam of hereye reminding her of the Mittie of other days, Helen closed her wearylips. 

Tho next morning, she sprang from her bed light and early as thesky-lark. All traces of languor, indisposition and fatigue had vanishedin the deep, tranquil, refreshing slumbers of the night. She awoke withthe joyous consciousness of being at home beneath her father's roof. Shewas not a boarder, subject to a thousand restraints, necessary butirksome. She was not compelled any more to fashion her movements to theringing of a bell, nor walk according to the square and compass. She wasfree. She could wander in the garden without asking permission. Shecould _run_ too, without incurring the imputation of rudeness andimpropriety. The gyves and manacles of authority had fallen from herbounding limbs, and the joyous and emancipated school-girl sang in thegladness and glee of her heart. 

Alice still slept--the door of Mittie's chamber was closed, and everything was silent in the household, when she flew down stairs, ratherthan walked, and went forth into the dewy morn. The sun was not yetrisen, but there was a deepening splendor of saffron and crimson abovethe horizon, fit tapestry for the pavilion of a God. The air was sofresh and balmy, it felt so young and inspiring, Helen could hardlyimagine herself more than five years old. Every thing carried her backto the earliest recollections of childhood. There were the swallowsflying in and out of their little gothic windows under the beetlingbarn-eaves; and there were the martins, morning gossips from timeimmemorial, chattering at the doors of their white pagodas, with theirbright red roofs and black thresholds. The old England robin, with itsplumage of gorgeous scarlet, dashed with jet, swung in its airy nest, suspended from the topmost boughs of the tall elms, and the blue andyellow birds fluttered with warbling throats among the lilac's nowflowerless but verdant boughs. Helen hardly knew which way to turn, shewas so full of ecstacy. One moment she wished she had the wings of thebird, the next, the petals of the flower, and then again she felt thatthe soul within her, capable of loving and admiring all these, was wortha thousand times more. The letters carved on the silver bark of thebeech arrested her steps. They were new. She had never seen them before, and when she saw the blended ciphers, a perception of the truth dawnedupon her understanding. Perhaps there never was a young maiden ofsixteen years, who had more singleness and simplicity of heart thanHelen. From her shy and timid habits, she had never formed those closeintimacies that so often bind accidentally together the artless and theartful. She was aware of the existence of love, but knew nothing of itsvarying phases. Its language had never been breathed into her ear, andshe never dreamed of inspiring it. Could it be that it was love, whichhad given such a glow and lustre to Mittie's face, which had softenedthe harshness of her manners, and made her apparently accessible tosisterly tenderness?

While she stood, contemplating the wedded initials, in a reverie so deepas to forget where she was, she felt something fall gently on her head, and a shower of fragrance bathed her senses. Turning suddenly round, thefirst rays of the rising sun glittered on her face, and gilt theflower-crown that rested on her brow. Clinton stood directly behind her, and his countenance wore a very different expression from what it didthe preceding evening. And certainly it was difficult to recognize thepale, drooping, spiritless traveler of the previous night, in thebright, beaming, blushing, shy, wildly-sweet looking fairy of themorning hour. 

Helen was not angry, but she was unaffectedly frightened at findingherself in such close proximity with this very oppressively handsomeyoung man; and without pausing to reflect on the silliness andchildishness of the act, she flew away as rapidly as a startled bird. Itseemed as if all the reminiscences of her childhood pressed home uponher in the space of a few moments. Just as she had been arrested yearsbefore, when fleeing from the snake that invaded her strawberry-bed, soshe found herself impeded by a restraining arm; and looking up shebeheld her friend, the young doctor, his face radiant with a thousandglad welcomes. 

"Oh! I am _so glad_ to see you once again, " exclaimed Helen, yieldinginvoluntarily to the embrace, which being one moment withheld, only madeher heart throb with double joy. 

"My sister, my Helen, my own dear pupil, " said Arthur Hazleton, and therich glow of the morning was not deeper nor brighter than the color thatmantled his cheek. "How well and blooming you look! They told me youwere ill and could not be disturbed last night. I did not hope to seeyou so brilliant in health and spirits. And who crowned you so gayly, the fair queen of the morning?"

"I don't know, " she cried, taking the chaplet from her head and shakingthe dew-drops from its leaves, "and yet I suspect it was Mr. Clinton, who came behind me while I was standing by yonder beech tree. "

Arthur's serious, dark eye rested on the young girl with a searching, anxious expression, as Clinton approached and paid the compliments ofthe morning with more than his wonted gracefulness of manner. Heapologized for the freedom he had taken so sportively and naturally, that Helen felt it would be ridiculous in her to assume a resentment shedid not feel, and yielding to her passionate admiration for flowers, shewreathed them again round her sun-bright locks. 

It was thus the trio approached the house. Mittie saw them from thewindow, and the keenest pang she had ever known penetrated her heart. She saw the beech tree shorn of its morning garland, that garland whichwas blooming triumphantly on her sister's brow. She saw Clinton walkingby her side, calling up her smiles and blushes according to his ownmagnetic will. 

She accused Helen of deceit and guile. Her languor and illness thepreceding evening was all assumed to heighten the blooming contrast ofthe present moment. Her morning ramble and meeting with Clinton wereall premeditated, her seeming artlessness the darkest and deepesthypocrisy. 

For a few weeks Mittie had revelled in the joy of an awakened nature. She had reigned alone, with no counter influence to thwart the suddenand luxuriant growth of passion. She, alone, young, beautiful andattractive, had been the magnet to youth, beauty and attraction. She hadbeen the centre of an island world of her own, which she had tried tokeep as inaccessible to others as the granite coast in the ArabianNights. 

Poor Mittie! The flower of passion has ever a dark spot on its petals, adark, purple spot, not always perceptible in the first unfolding andglory of its bloom; but sooner or later it spreads and scorches, andshrivels up the heart of the blossom. 

She tried to control her excited feelings. She was proud, and had aconviction that she would degrade herself by the exhibition of jealousyand envy. She tried to call up a bloom to her pale cheek, and a smile toher quivering lip, but she was no adept in the art of dissimulation, andwhen she entered the sitting room, Helen was the first to notice heraltered countenance. It was fortunate for all present that Alice hadseated herself at the piano, at the solicitation of Louis, and commenceda brilliant overture. 

Alice had always loved music, but now that she had learned it as an art, in all its perfectness, it had become the one passion of her life. Shelived in the world of sound, and forgot the midnight that surroundedher. It was impossible to look upon her without feeling the truth, thatif God closes with Bastile bars one avenue of the senses, He opensanother with widening gates "on golden hinges moving. " Alice trembledwith ecstacy at her own exquisite melody, like the nightingale whosesoft plumage quivers on its breast as it sings. She would raise hersightless eyes to Heaven, following the upward strain with feelings ofthe most intense devotion. She called music the wind of the soul, thebreath of God--and said if it had a color it must be _azure_. 

One by one they all gathered round the blind songstress. Arthur stoodbehind her, and Helen saw tears glistening in his eyes. She did notwonder at his emotion, for accustomed as she was to hear her, she nevercould hear Alice sing without feeling a desire to weep. 

"I feel so many wants, " she said, "that I never had before. "

While Alice was singing, Helen stole softly behind Mittie, and gentlyput the flowers on her hair. 

"I have stolen your roses, " she whispered, "but I do not mean to keepthem. "

Mittie's first impulse was to toss them upon the floor, but something inthe eye of Clinton arrested her. She dared not do it. And lookingsteadfastly downward, outblushed the roses on her brow. 

The cloud appeared to have passed away, and the family party thatsurrounded the breakfast table was a gay and happy one. 

"I told you, " said Mr. Gleason, placing Helen beside him, and smilingaffectionately on her gladsome countenance, "that we should have a verydifferent looking girl this morning from our poor, little sick traveler. All Helen wants is the air of home to revive her. Who would want to seea more rustic looking lassie than she is now?"

"I should like to see how Helen would look now in a yellow flannelrobe, " said Louis, mischievously, "and whether she will make as great asensation on her entrance into society as she did when she burst intothis room in such an impromptu manner?"

The remembrance of the _yellow flannel robe_, and the eventful eveningto which Louis alluded, was associated with the mother whom she hadnever ceased to mourn, and Helen bent her head to hide the tears whichgathered into her eyes. 

"You are not angry, gentle sister?" said Louis, seeking her downcastface. 

"Helen was never angry in her life, " cried her father, "it is her onlyfault that she has not anger enough in her nature for self-preservation. "

"Is that true, Helen?" asked the young doctor. "Has your father readyour nature aright?"

"No, " answered Helen, looking up with an ingenuous smile. "I have feltvery angry with you, and judged you very harshly several times. Yet Iwas most angry with myself for doing what you wished in spite of myvexation and rebellion. "

"Yet you believed me right all the time?"

"I believe so. At least you always said so. "

Helen conversed with Arthur Hazleton with the same freedom andchildishness as when an inmate of his mother's family. She was socompletely a child, she could not think of herself as an object ofimportance in the social circle. She was inexpressibly grateful forkindness, and Arthur Hazleton's kindness had been so constant and sodeep, she felt as if her gratitude should be commensurate with the giftsreceived. It was the moral interest he had manifested in her--theinfluence he exercised over her mind and heart which she most prized. Hewas a kind of second conscience to her, and it did not seem possible forher to do any thing which he openly disapproved. 

What Mittie could not understand was the playful, unembarrassed mannerwith which she met the graceful attentions of Clinton, after hisfascinations had dispersed her natural shyness and reserve. She neithersought nor avoided him, flattered nor slighted him. She appeared neitherdazzled nor charmed. Mittie thought this must be the most consummateart, when it was only the perfection of nature. Because the glass was soclear, so translucent, she imagined she was the victim of an opticalillusion. 

There was another thing in Helen, which Mittie believed the most studiedpolicy, and that was the affection and respect she manifested for herstep-mother. Nothing could be sweeter or more endearing than the"mother!" which fell from her lips, whenever she addressed her--thatname which, had never yet passed her own. Mittie had never sought thelove of her step-mother. She had rejected it with scorn, and yet sheenvied Helen the caressing warmth and maternal tenderness which was thenatural reward of her own loving nature. 

"Poor Miss Thusa!" exclaimed Helen, near the close of the day, "I mustgo and see her before the sun sets; I know, I am sure she will be gladto see me. "

"Supposing we go in a party, " said Clinton. "I should like to pay myrespects to the original old lady again. "

"I should think the rough reception she gave you, would preclude thedesire for a second visit, " said Mittie. 

"Oh! I like to conquer difficulties, " he exclaimed. "The greater theobstacles, the greater the triumph. "

Perhaps he meant nothing more than met the ear, but Mittie's omnipotentself-love felt wounded. She had been too easy a conquest, whose valuewas already beginning to lessen. 

"Miss Thusa and Helen are such especial friends, " she added, withoutseeming to have heard his remark, "that I should think their firstmeeting had better be private. I suspect Miss Thusa has manufactured anew set of ghost stories for Helen's peculiar benefit. "

"Are you a believer in ghosts?" asked Clinton of Helen. "If so, I envyyou. "

"Envy me!"

"Yes! There is such a pleasure in credulity. I sigh now over thevanished illusions of my boyhood. "

"I once believed in ghosts, " replied Helen, "and even now, in solitudeand darkness, the memories of childhood come back to me so powerfully, they are appalling. Miss Thusa might tell me a thousand stories now, without inspiring belief, while those told me in childhood can never beforgotten, or their impressions effaced. "

"Yet you like Miss Thusa, and seem to remember her with affection. "

"She was so kind to me that I could not help loving her--and she seemedso lonely, with so few to love her, it seemed cruel to shut up the heartagainst her. "

"One may be incredulous without being cruel, I should think, " saidMittie, with asperity. She felt the reproach, and could not believe itaccidental. Poor Mittie! how much she suffered. 

Helen, who was really desirous of seeing Miss Thusa, and did not wishfor the companionship of Clinton, stole away from the rest and took thepath she well remembered, through the woods. The excessive hilarity ofthe morning had faded from her spirits. There was somethingindescribable about Mittie that annoyed and pained her. The gleam ofkindness with which she had greeted her had all gone out, and leftdullness and darkness in its stead. She could not get near her heart. Atevery avenue it seemed closed against her, and resisted the golden keyof affection as effectually as the wrench of violence. 

"She must love me, " thought Helen, pursuing her way towards MissThusa's, and picking up here and there a yellow leaf that camefluttering down at her feet. "I cannot live in coldness and estrangementwith one I ought to love so dearly. It must be some fault of mine; Imust discover what it is, and if it he my right eye, I would willinglypluck it out to secure her affection. Alice is going home, and how worsethan lonely will I be!"

Helen caught a glimpse of the stream where, when a child, she used towade in the wimpling waters, and gather the diamond mica that sparkledon the sand. She thought of the time when the young doctor had washedthe strawberry stains from her face, and wiped it with his nice linenhandkerchief, and her heart glowed at the remembrance of his kindness. Mingled with this glow there was the flush of shame, for she could nothelp starting at every sudden rustling sound, thinking the coiling snakewas lurking in ambush. 

There was an air of desolation about Miss Thusa's cabin, which she hadnever noticed before. The stepping-stones of the door looked so muchlike grave-stones, so damp and mossy, it seemed sacrilege to tread uponthem. Helen hardly did touch them, she skipped so lightly over thethreshold, and stood before Miss Thusa smiling and out of breath. 

There she sat at her wheel, solemn and ancestral, and gray as ever, herfoot upon the treadle, her hand upon the distaff, looking so much like afixture of the place, it seemed strange not to see the moss growinggreen and damp on her stone-colored garments. 

"Miss Thusa!" exclaimed Helen, and the aged spinster started at thesound of that sweet, childish voice. Helen's arms were around her neckin a moment, and without knowing why, she burst into an unexpected fitof weeping. 

"I am so foolish, " said Helen, after she had dashed away her tears, andsqueezed herself into a little seat between Miss Thusa and her wheel, "but I am so glad to get home, so glad to see you all once more. "

Miss Thusa's iron nerves seemed quite unstrung by the unexpected delightof greeting her favorite child. She had not heard of her return, andcould scarcely realize her presence. She kept wiping her glasses, without seeming conscious that the moisture was in her own eyes, gazedon Helen's upturned face with indescribable tenderness, smoothed backher golden brown hair, and then stooping down, kissed, with an air ofbenediction, her fair young brow. 

"You have not forgotten me, then! You are still nothing but a child, nothing but little Helen. And yet you are grown--and you look healthierand rounder, and a shade more womanly. You are not as handsome asMittie, and yet where one stops to look at her, ten will turn to gaze onyou. "

"Oh, no! Mittie is grown so beautiful no one could think of any one elsewhen she is near. "

"The young man with the long black hair thinks her beautiful? Does henot?"

"I believe so. Who could help it?"

"Does she love you better than she used to?" asked Miss Thusa. 

"I will try to deserve her love, " replied Helen, evasively; "but, MissThusa, I am coming every day to take spinning lessons of you. I reallywant to learn to spin. Perhaps father may fail one of these days, and Ibe thrown on my own resources, and then I could earn my living as you donow. Will you bequeath me your wheel, Miss Thusa?"

The bright smile with which she looked up to Miss Thusa, died away in akind of awe, as she met the solemn earnestness of her glance. 

"Yes, yes, child, I have long intended it as a legacy of love to you. There is a history hanging to it, which I will tell you by and by. Formore than forty years that wheel and I have been companions and friends, and it is so much a part of myself, that if any one should cut into theold carved wood, I verily believe the blood-drops would drip from myheart. Things will grow together, powerfully, Helen, after a long, longtime. And so you want to learn to spin, child. Well! suppose you sitdown and try. These little white fingers will soon be cut by the flax, though, I can tell you. "

"May I, Miss Thusa, may I?" cried Helen, seating herself with childishdelight at the venerable instrument, and giving it a whirl that mighthave made the flax smoke. Miss Thusa looked on with a benevolent andpatronizing air, while Helen pressed her foot upon the treadle, wondering why it would jerk so, when it went round with Miss Thusa sosmoothly, and pulled out the flax at arm's length, wondering why itwould run into knots and bunches, when it glided so smooth and eventhrough Miss Thusa's practiced fingers. Helen was so busy, and soexcited by the new employment, she did not perceive a shadow cross thewindow, nor was she aware of the approach of any one, till an unusuallygay laugh made her turn her head. 

"I thought Miss Thusa looked wonderfully rejuvenated, " said ArthurHazleton, leaning against the window-frame on the outside of thebuilding, "but methinks she is the more graceful spinner, after all. "

"This is only my first lesson, " cried Helen, jumping up, for the bandhad slipped from the groove, and hung in a hopeless tangle--"and I fearMiss Thusa will never be willing to give me another. "

"Ten thousand, child, if you will take them, " cried Miss Thusa, good-naturedly, repairing the mischief her pupil had done. 

"Do you know the sun is down?" asked Arthur, "and that your path liesthrough the woods?"

Helen started, and for the first time became aware that the shadows oftwilight were deepening on the landscape. She did not think ArthurHazleton would accompany her home. He would test her courage as he haddone before, and taking a hurried leave of Miss Thusa, promising to stayand hear many a legend next time, she jumped over the stile beforeArthur could overtake her and assist her steps. 

"Would you prefer walking alone?" said Arthur, "or will you accept of myescort?"

"I did not think you intended coming with me, " said Helen, "or I wouldhave waited. "

"You thought me as rude and barbarous as ever. "

"Perhaps you think me as foolish and timid as ever. "

"You have become courageous and fearless then--I congratulate you--Itold you that you would one day be a heroine. "

"That day will never come, " said Helen, blushing. "My fears arehydras--as fast as one is destroyed another is born. Shadows will alwaysbe peopled with phantoms, and darkness is to me the shadow of thegrave. "

"I am sorry to hear you say so, Helen, " said the young doctor, takingher hand, and leading her along the shadowy path, "and yet you feel safewith me. You fear not when I am with you. "

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Helen, involuntarily drawing nearer to him--"I neverfear in your presence. Midnight would seem noonday, and all phantomsflee away. "

"And yet, Helen, " he cried, "you have a friend always near, stronger toprotect than legions of angels can be. Do you realize this truth?"

"I trust, I believe I do, " answered Helen, looking upward into the domeof darkening blue that seemed resting upon the tall, dark pillars of thewoods. "I sometimes think if I were really exposed to a great danger, Icould brave it without shrinking--or if danger impended over one Iloved, I should forget all selfish apprehensions. Try not to judge metoo severely--and I will do my best to correct the faults of mychildhood. "

They walked on in silence a few moments, for there was something hushingin the soft murmurs of the branches, something like the distant roaringof the ocean surge. 

"I must take Alice home to-morrow, " said he, at length; "her motherlongs to behold her. I wish you were going with her. I fear you will notbe happy here. "

"I cannot leave my father, " said Helen, sadly, "and if I can only keepout of the way of other people's happiness, I will try to be content. "

"May I speak to you freely, Helen, as I did several years ago? May Icounsel you as a friend--guide you as a brother still?"

"It is all that I wished--more than I dared to ask. I only fear that Ishall give you too much trouble. "

There was a gray, old rock by the way-side, that looked exactly as if itbelonged to Miss Thusa's establishment. Arthur Hazleton seated Helenthere, and threw himself on the moss at her feet. 

"I am going away to-morrow, " said he, "and I feel as if I had much tosay. I leave you exposed to temptation; and to put you on your guard, Imust say perhaps what you will think unauthorized. You know so little ofthe world--are so guileless and unsuspecting--I cannot bear to alarmyour simplicity; and yet, Helen, you cannot always remain a child. "

"Oh, I wish I could, " she exclaimed; "I cannot bear the thought of beingotherwise. As long as I am a child, I shall be caressed, cherished, andforgiven for all my faults. I never shall be able to act on my ownresponsibility--never. "

"But, Helen, you have attained the stature of womanhood. You are lookedupon as a candidate for admiration--as the rival of your beautifulsister. You will be flattered and courted, not as a child, but as awoman. The young man who has become, as it were, domesticated in yourfamily, has extraordinary personal attractions, and every member of thehousehold appears to have yielded to his influence. Were I as sure ofhis moral worth as of his outward graces, I would not say what I havedone. But, with one doubt on my mind, as your early friend, as theself-elected guardian of your happiness, I cannot forbear to caution, toadmonish, perhaps to displease, by my too watchful, too officiousfriendship. "

Arthur paused. His voice had become agitated and his manner excited. 

"You cannot believe me capable of the meanness of envy, " he added. "WereBryant Clinton less handsome, less fascinating, his sincerity and truthmight be a question of less moment. "

"How could you envy any one, " cried Helen, earnestly, unconscious howmuch her words and manner expressed. "Displeased! Oh! I thank you somuch. But indeed I do not admire Mr. Bryant Clinton at all. He isentirely too handsome and dazzling. I do not like that long, curling, shining hair of his. The first time I saw him, it reminded me of theundulations of that terrible snake in the strawberry patch, and I cannotget over the association. Then he does not admire me at all, only as thesister of Mittie. "

"He has paid Mittie very great and peculiar attention, and people lookupon them as betrothed lovers. Were you to become an object of jealousyto her, you would be very, very unhappy. The pleasure of gratifiedvanity would be faint to the stings exasperated and wounded love couldinflict. "

"For all the universe could offer I would not be my sister's rival, "cried Helen, rising impetuously, and looking round her with a wildstartled expression. "I will go and tell her so at once. I will ask herto confide in me and trust me. I will go away if she wishes it. If myfather is willing, I will live with Miss Thusa in the wild woods. "

"Wait awhile, " said Arthur, smiling at her vehemence, "wait Helen, patiently, firmly. When temptations arise, it is time to resist. I fearI have done wrong in giving premature warning, but the impulse wasirresistible, in the silence of these twilight woods. "

Helen looked up through the soft shadows to thank him again for hiscounsels, and promise that they should be the guide of her life, but thewords died on her lips. There was something so darkly penetrating in theexpression of his countenance, so earnest, yet troubled, so opposite toits usual serene gravity, that it infected her. Her heart beatviolently, and for the first time in her life she felt embarrassed inhis presence. 

That night Helen pressed a wakeful pillow. She felt many years olderthan when she rose in the morning, for the experience of the day hadbeen so oppressive. She could not realize that she had thought and feltand learned so much in twelve short hours. 

CHAPTER IX. 

 "All other passions have their hour of thinking, And hear the voice of reason. This alone Breaks at the first suspicion into frenzy, And sweeps the soul in tempests. "--_Shakspeare. _

The day that Alice left, Helen felt very sad and lonely, but shestruggled with her feelings, and busied herself as much as possible withthe household arrangements. Mrs. Gleason took her into the chamber whichMittie had been occupying alone, and showed her every thing that hadbeen prepared for her accommodation as well as her sister's. Helen wasunbounded in her gratitude, and thought the room a paradise, with itsnice curtains, tasteful furniture and airy structure. 

When night came on, Helen retired early to her chamber, leaving Mittiewith Clinton. She left the light burning on the hearth, for the memoryof the lonely spinster, invoking by her song the horrible being, whodescended, piece-meal, down the chimney, had not died away. That was thevery chamber in which Miss Thusa used to spin, and recite her dreadfultales, and Helen remembered them all. It had been papered, and painted, and renewed, but the chimney was the same, and the shadows rested thereas darkly as ever. 

When Mittie entered the room, Helen was already in that luxurious statebetween sleeping and waking, which admits of the consciousness ofenjoyment, without its responsibility. She was reclining on the bed, shaded by the muslin curtains, with such an expression of innocence andpeace on her countenance, it was astonishing how any one could havemarred the tranquillity of her repose. 

The entrance of her sister partially roused her, and the glare of thelamp upon her face completely awakened her. 

"Oh! sister!" she cried, "I am so glad you have come. It is so longsince we have slept together. I have been thinking how happy we can be, where so much has been done for our comfort and luxury. "

"You can enjoy all the luxuries yourself, " said Mittie, "and be welcometo them all. I am going to sleep in the next room, for I prefer beingalone, as I have been before. "

"Oh! Mittie, you are not going to leave me alone; you will not, surely, be so unkind?"

"I wonder if I were not left alone, while Alice was with you, and Iwonder if I complained of unkindness!"

"But _you_ did not care. You are not dependent on others. I am sure ifyou had asked me, I would have spread a pallet on the floor, rather thanhave left you alone. "

"Helen, you are too old now to be such a baby, " said Mittie, impatiently; "it is time you were cured of your foolish fears of beingalone. You make yourself perfectly ridiculous by such nonsense. "

She busied herself gathering her night-clothes as she spoke, and tookthe lamp from the table. 

Helen sprang from the bed, and stood between Mittie and the door. 

"No, " said she, "if we must separate, I will go. You need not leave thechamber which has so long been yours. I do dread being alone, but alas!I must be lonely wherever I am, unless I have a heart to lean upon. Oh!Mittie, if you knew how I _could_ love you, you would let me throw myarms around you, and find a pillow on your sisterly breast. "

She looked pleadingly, wistfully at Mittie, while tears glittered in hersoft, earnest eyes. 

"Foolish, foolish child!" cried Mittie, setting down the lamppetulantly, and tossing her night-dress on the bed--"stay where you are, but do not inflict too much sentiment on me--you know I never liked it. "

"No, " said Helen, thoughtfully, "I might disturb you, and perhaps if Ionce conquer my timidity, I shall be victor for life. I should like tomake the trial, and I may as well begin to-night as any time. I do notwish to be troublesome, or intrude my company on any one. "

Helen's gentle spirit was roused by the arbitrary manner in which Mittiehad treated her, and she found courage to act as her better judgmentapproved. She was sorry she had pleaded so earnestly for what she mighthave claimed as a right, and resolved to leave her sister to thesolitude she so much coveted. 

With a low, but cold "good night, " she glided from the apartment, closedthe door, passed through the passage, entered a lonely chamber, andkneeling down by the bedside, prayed to be delivered from the bondage offear, and the haunting phantoms of her own imagination. When she laidher head upon the pillow, she felt strong in the resolution she hadexercised, glad that she had dared to resist her own weak, irresoluteheart. She drew aside the window curtains and let the stars shine downbrightly on her face. How could she feel alone, with such a gloriouscompany all round and about her? How could she fear, when so manyradiant lamps were lighted to disperse the darkness? Gradually the quickbeating of her heart subsided, the moistened lashes shut down over herdazzled eyes, and she slept quietly till the breaking of morn. When sheawoke, and recalled the struggles she had gone through, she rejoiced atthe conquest she had obtained over herself. She was sure if ArthurHazleton knew it, he would approve of her conduct, and she was glad thatshe cherished no vindictive feelings towards Mittie. 

"She certainly has a right to her preferences, " she said; "if she likessolitude, I ought not to blame her for seeking it, and I dare say mycompany is dull and insipid to her. I must have seemed weak and foolishto her, she who never knew what fear or weakness is. "

As she was leaving her room, with many a vivid resolution to conquer herbesetting weaknesses, her step-mother entered, unconscious that thechamber had an occupant. She looked around with surprise, and Helenfeared, with displeasure. 

"Mittie preferred sleeping alone, " she hastened to say, "and I thoughtshe had a prior right to the other apartment. "

"Selfish, selfish to the heart's core!" ejaculated Mrs. Gleason. "But, my dear child, I cannot allow you to be the victim of an arbitrary will. The more you yield, the more concessions will be required. You knownot, dream not, of Mittie's imperious and exacting nature. "

"I begin to believe, dear mother, that the discipline we most need, wereceive. I did feel very unhappy last night, and when I entered thisroom, the dread of remaining all alone, in darkness and silence, almoststopped the beatings of my heart. It was the first time I ever passed anight without some companion, for every one has indulged my weakness, which they believed constitutional. But after the first few moments--asense of God's presence and protection, of the guardianship of angels, of the nearness of Heaven, hushed all my fears, and filled me with akind of divine tranquillity. Oh! mother, I feel so much better thismorning for the trial, that I thank Mittie for having cast me, as itwere, on the bosom of God. "

"With such a spirit, Helen, " said her step-mother, tenderly embracingher, "you will be able to meet whatever trials the discipline of yourlife may need. Self-reliance and God-reliance are the two greatprinciples that must sustain us. We must do our duty, and leave theresult to Providence. And, believe me, Helen, it is a species ofingratitude to suffer ourselves to be made unhappy by the faults ofothers, for which we are not responsible, when blessings are clusteringrichly round us. "

Helen felt strengthened by the affectionate counsels of her step-mother, and did not allow the cloud on Mittie's brow to dim the sunshine ofhers. Mindful of the warnings of the young doctor, she avoided Clintonas much as possible, whose deep blue eyes with their long sable lashesoften rested on her with an expression she could not define, and whichshe shrunk from meeting. True to her promise she visited Miss Thusa oncea day, and took her spinning lessons, till she could turn the wheel likea fairy, and manufacture thread as smooth and silky as her venerableteacher. She insisted on bleaching it also, and flew about among thelong grass, with her bright watering pot, like a living flower sprung upin the wilderness. 

She was returning one evening from the cabin at a rather later hour thanusual, for she was becoming more and more courageous, and could walkthrough the woods without starting at every sound. The trees were nowbeginning to assume the magnificent hues of autumn, and glowed withmingled scarlet, orange, emerald, and purple. There was such abrightness, such a glory in these variegated dyes, that they took awayall impression of loneliness, and the crumpling of the dry, yellowleaves in the path had a sociable, pleasant sound. She hoped ArthurHazleton would return before this jewelry of the woods had faded away, that she might walk with him through their gorgeous foliage, and hearfrom his lips the deep moral of the waning season. She reached the grayrock where Arthur had seated her, and sitting down on a thick cushion offallen leaves, she remembered every word he had said to her the eveningbefore his departure. 

"Why are you sitting so mute and lonely here, fair Helen?" said amusical voice close to her ear, and Clinton suddenly came and took aseat by her side. Helen felt embarrassed by his unexpected presence, andwished that she could free herself from it without rudeness. 

"I am gazing on the beauty of the autumnal woods, " she replied, hercheeks glowing like the scarlet maple leaves. 

"I should think such contemplation better fitted one less young andbright and fair, " said Clinton. "Miss Thusa, for instance, in hertime-gray home. 

"I am sure nothing can be brighter or more glorious than these colors, "said Helen, making a motion to rise. It seemed to her she could see theblack eyes of Mittie gleaming at her through the rustling foliage. 

"Do not go yet, " said Clinton. "This is such a sweet, quiet hour--and itis the first time I have seen you alone since the morning after yourarrival. What have I done that you shun me as an enemy, and refuse methe slightest token of confidence and regard?"

"I am not conscious of showing such great avoidance, " said Helen, moreand more embarrassed. "I am so much of a stranger, and it seemed sonatural that you should prefer the society of Mittie, I considered myabsence a favor to both. "

"Till you came, " he replied, in a low, persuasive accent, "I did find acharm in her society unknown before, but now I feel every thought andfeeling and hope turned into a new channel. Even before you came, Ifelt you were to be my destiny. Stay, Helen, you shall not leave me tillI have told you what my single heart is too narrow to contain. "

"Let me go, " cried Helen, struggling to release the hand which he hadtaken, and springing from her rocky seat. "It is not right to talk to mein this manner, and I will not hear you. It is false to Mittie, andinsulting to me. "

"I should be false to Mittie should I pretend to love her now, when mywhole heart and soul are yours, " exclaimed the young man, vehemently. "Ican no more resist the impulse that draws me to you, than I can stay thebeatings of this wildly throbbing heart. Love, Helen, cannot be forced, neither can it be restrained. "

"I know nothing of love, " cried Helen, pressing on her homeward path, with a terror she dared not betray, "nor do I wish to know--but onething I do know--I feel nothing but dread in your presence. You make mewretched and miserable. I am sure if you have the feelings of agentleman you will leave me after telling you this. "

"The more you urge me to flee, the more firmly am I rooted to your side. You do not know your own heart, Helen. You are so young and guileless. It is not dread of me, but your sister's displeasure that makes youtremble with fear. You cannot fear me, Helen--you _must_, you _will_, you _shall_ love me. "

Helen was now wrought up to a pitch of excitement and terror that wasperfectly uncontrollable. Every word uttered by Clinton seemed burnedin--on her brain, not her heart, and she pressed both hands on herforehead, as if to put out the flame. 

"Oh! that Arthur Hazleton were here, " she exclaimed, "he would protectme. "

"No danger shall reach you while I am near you, Helen, " cried Clinton, again endeavoring to take her hand in his--but Helen darted into a sidepath and ran as fleetly and wildly as when she believed the glittering, fiery-eyed viper was pursuing her. Sometimes she caught hold of theslender trunk of a tree to give her a quicker momentum, and sometimesshe sprang over brooklets, which, in a calmer moment, she would havedeemed impossible. She felt that Clinton had slackened his pursuit asshe drew near her home, but she never paused till she found herself inher own chamber, where, sinking into a chair, she burst into a passionof tears such as she had never wept before. Shame, dread, resentment, fear--all pressed so crushingly upon her, her soul was bowed even to thedust. The future lowered so darkly before her. Mittie--she could nothelp looking upon her as a kind of avenging spirit--that would foreverhaunt her. 

While she was in this state of ungovernable emotion, Mittie came in, with a face as white and rigid as marble, and stood directly in front ofher. 

"Why have you fled from Clinton so?" she cried, in a strange, harshtone. "Tell me, for I will know. Tell me, for I have a right to know. "

Helen tried to speak, but her breathless lips sought in vain to utter asound. There was a bright, red spot in the centre of both cheeks, butthe rest of her face was as colorless as Mittie's. 

"Speak, " cried Mittie, stamping her foot, with an imperious gesture, "and tell me the truth, or you had better never have been born. "

"Ask me nothing, " she said at length, recovering breath to answer, "forthe truth will only make you wretched. "

"What has he said to you?" repeated Mittie, seizing the arm of Helenwith a force of which she was not aware. "Have you dared to let him talkto you about love?"

"Alas! I want not his love. I believe him not, " cried Helen; "and, oh!Mittie, trust him not. Think of him no more. He does not love you--isnot worthy of you. "

Mittie tossed Helen's arm from her with a violence that made her writhewith pain--while her eyes flashed with the bale-fires of passion. 

"How dare you tell me such a falsehood?" she exclaimed, "you little, artful, consummate hypocrite. He never told you this. You have beentrying to supplant me from the moment of your arrival, trying to makeyourself appear a victim, a saint--a martyr to a sister's jealous andexciting temper. I have seen it all. I have watched the whole, day afterday. I have seen you stealing off to Miss Thusa's--pretending to lovethat horrible old woman--only that you might have clandestine meetingswith Clinton. And now you are seeking to shake my confidence in hisfaith and truth, that you may alienate him more completely from me. "

"Oh! Mittie--don't, " cried Helen, "don't for Heaven's sake, talk sodreadfully. You don't mean what you say. You don't know what you aredoing. "

"I tell you I do know--and you shall know to your cost, you little wolfin lamb's clothing, " cried Mittie, growing more and more frantic as sheyielded to the violence of her passions. "It was not enough, was it, towind yourself round the young doctor with your subtle, childish ways, till you have made a fool of him with all his wisdom, treating him witha forwardness and familiarity that ought to make you blush at theremembrance--but you must come between me and the only being this sideof Heaven I ever cared for? Take care of yourself; get out of my way, for I am growing mad. The sight of you makes me a maniac. "

Helen was indeed terrified at an exhibition of temper so unparalleled. She rose, though her limbs trembled so she could scarcely walk, and tooktwo or three steps towards the door. 

"Where are you going?" exclaimed Mittie. 

"You told me to leave you, " said Helen, faintly, "and indeed I cannotstay--I ought not to stay, and hear such false and cruel things. I willnot stay, " she exclaimed, with a sudden and startling flash ofindignation; "I will not stay to be so insulted and trampled on. Let mepass. "

"You shall not go to Clinton. "

"Let me pass, I say, " cried Helen, with a wild vehemence, thatcontrasted fearfully with her usual gentleness. "I am afraid of you, with such daggers in your tongue. "

She rushed passed Mittie, flew down stairs, into the sitting room, inthe presence of her father, step-mother, and Clinton, who was sitting asif perfectly unconscious of the tempest he had roused. 

"Father, father, " she exclaimed, throwing herself into his arms. "Oh, father. "

Nothing could be more startling than her appearance. The bright spot onher cheek was now deepened to purple, and her eyes had a strange, feverish lustre. 

"Why, what is the meaning of this?" cried Mr. Gleason, turning in alarmto his wife. 

"Something must have terrified her--only feel of her hands, they are ascold as ice; and look at her cheeks. "

"She seems ill, very ill, " observed Clinton, rising, much agitated;"shall I go for a physician?"

"I fear Doctor Hazleton is not yet returned, " said Mrs. Gleason, anxiously. "I think she is indeed ill--alarmingly so. "

"No, no, " cried Helen, clinging closer to her father, "don't send forDoctor Hazleton--anybody in the world but him. I cannot see him. "

"How strange, " exclaimed Mr. Gleason, "she must be getting delirious. You had better carry her up stairs, " added he, turning to his wife, "anddo something to relieve her, while I go for some medical advice. She issubject to sudden nervous attacks. "

"No, no, " cried Helen, still more vehemently, "don't take me up stairs;I cannot go back; it would kill me. Only let me stay with you. "

Mr. Gleason, who well remembered the terrible fright Helen had sufferedin her childhood--her fainting over her mother's corpse--herimprisonment in the lonely school-house--believed that she had receivedsome sudden shock inflicted by a phantom of her own imagination. Herfrantic opposition to being taken up stairs confirmed this belief, andhe insisted on his wife's conveying her to her own room and giving heran anodyne. Clinton felt as if his presence must be intrusive, and leftthe room--but he divined the cause of Helen's strange emotion. He hearda quick, passionate tread overhead, and he well knew what thelion-strength of Mittie's unchained passions must be. 

Mrs. Gleason, too, had her suspicions of the truth, having seen Helen'shomeward flight, and heard the voice of Mittie soon afterwards in loudand angry tones. She besought her husband to leave her to her care, assuring him that all she needed was perfect quietude. For more than anhour Mrs. Gleason sat by the side of Helen, holding her hands in one ofhers, while she bathed with the other her throbbing temples. Graduallythe deep, purple flush faded to a pale hue, and her eyes gently closed. The step-mother thought she slept, and darkened the window--so that therays of the young moon could not glimmer through the casement. Mrs. Gleason looked upon Helen with anguish, seeing before her so much miseryin consequence of her sister's jealous and irascible temper. She sighedfor the departure of Clinton, whose coming had roused Mittie to suchterrible life, and whose fascinations might be deadly to the peace ofHelen. She could see no remedy to the evils which every day mightincrease--for she knew by long experience the indomitable nature ofMittie's temper. 

"Mother, " said Helen, softly, opening her eyes, "I do not sleep, but Irest, and it is so sweet--I feel as if I had been out in a terriblestorm--so shattered and so bruised within. Oh! mother, you cannot thinkof the shameful accusations she has brought against me. It makes meshudder to think of them. I shall never, never be happy again. They willalways be ringing in my ears--always blistering and burning me. "

"You should not think her words of such consequence, " said Mrs. Gleason, soothingly; "nothing she can say can soil the purity of your nature, oralienate the affections of your friends. She is a most unhappy girl, doomed, I fear, to be the curse of this otherwise happy household. "

"I cannot live so, " cried Helen, clasping her hands entreatingly, "Iwould rather die than live in such strife and shame. It makes me wickedand passionate. I cannot help feeling hatred rising in my bosom, andthen I loathe myself in dust and ashes. Oh! let me go somewhere, where Imay be at peace--anywhere in the world where I shall be in nobody's way. Ask father to send me back to school--I am young enough, and shall beyears yet; or I should like to go into a nunnery, that must be such apeaceful place. No stormy passions--no dark, bosom strife. "

"No, my dear, we are not going to give up you, the joy and idol of ourhearts. You shall not be the sacrifice; I will shield you henceforthfrom the violence of this lawless girl. Tell me all the events of thisevening, Helen, without reserve. Let there be perfect confidence betweenus, or we are all lost. "

Then Helen, though with many a painful and burning blush, told of herinterview with Clinton, and all of which Mittie had so franticallyaccused her. 

"When I rushed down stairs, I did not know what I was doing--my brainseemed on fire, and I thought my reason was gone. If I could find aplace of shelter from her wrath, a spot where her eye could not blazeupon me! that was my only thought. "

"Oh! that this dangerous, and I fear, unprincipled young man had neverentered our household!" cried Mrs. Gleason; "and yet I would not judgehim too harshly. Mittie's admiration, from the first, was only toomanifest, and he must have seen before you arrived, the extraordinarydefects of her temper. That he should prefer you, after having seen andknown you, seems so natural, I cannot help pitying, while I blame him. If it were possible to accelerate his departure--I must consult with Mr. Gleason, for something must be done to restore the lost peace of thefamily. "

"Let me go, dear mother, and all may yet be well. "

"If you would indeed like to visit the Parsonage, and remain till thisdark storm subsides, it might perhaps be judicious. "

"Not the Parsonage--never, never again shall I be embosomed in itshallowed shades--I would not go there now, for ten thousand worlds. "

"It is wrong, Helen, to allow the words of one, insane with passion, tohave the least influence on the feelings or conduct. Mrs. Hazleton, Arthur, and Alice, have been your best and truest friends, and you mustnot allow yourself to be alienated from them. "

Helen closed her eyes to hide the tears that gathered on their surface, and it was not long before she sunk into a deep sleep. She had indeedreceived a terrible shock, and one from which her nerves would longvibrate. 

The first time a young girl listens to the language of love, even if itsteals into her heart gently and soothingly as the sweet south wind, wakening the sleeping fragrance of a thousand bosom flowers, everyfeeling flutters and trembles like the leaves of the mimosa, and recoilsfrom the slightest contact. But when she is forced suddenly and rudelyto hear the accents of passion, with which she associates the idea ofguilt, and treachery, and shame, she feels as if some robber had brokeninto the temple consecrated to the purest, most innocent emotions, andstolen the golden treasures hidden there. This alone was sufficient towound and terrify the young and sensitive Helen, but when her sisterassailed her with such a temper of wrathful accusations, accusations soshameful and degrading, it is not strange that she was wrought up to thestate of partial frenzy which led her to rush to a father's bosom forsafety and repose. 

And where was Mittie, the unhappy victim of her own wild, ungovernablepassion?

She remained in her room with her door locked, seated at the window, looking out into the darkness, which was illuminated by the rays of awaxing moon. She could see the white bark of the beech tree, conspicuousamong the other trees, and knowing the spot where the letters werecarved, she imagined she could trace them all, and that they were thescarlet color of blood. 

She had no light in her room, but feeling in her writing desk for thepen-knife, she stole down stairs the back way and took the path she hadso often walked with Clinton. She was obliged to pass the room whereHelen lay, and glancing in at the window when the curtain fluttered, shecould see her pale, sad-looking face, and she did not like to lookagain. She knew she had wronged her, for the moment she had givenutterance to her railing words, conscience told her they were false. This conviction, however, did not lessen the rancor and bitterness ofher feelings. Hurrying on, she paused in front of the beech tree, andthe cyphers glared Upon her as if seen through a magnifying glass--theylooked so large and fiery. Opening her pen-knife, she smiled as amoonbeam glared on its keen, blue edge. Had any one seen the expressionof her features, as she gazed at that shining, open blade, they wouldhave shuddered, and trembled for her purpose. 

With a quick, hurried motion, she began to cut the bark from round theletters, till they seemed to melt away into one large cavity. She knewthat some one was coming behind her, and she knew, too, by a kind ofintuition, that it was Clinton, but she did not pause in her work ofdestruction. 

"Mittie! what are you doing?" he exclaimed. "Good Heavens!--give me thatknife. "

As she threw up her right hand to elude his grasp, she saw the bloodstreaming from her fingers. She was not aware that she had cut herself. She suffered no pain. She gazed with pleasure on the flowing blood. 

"Let me bind my handkerchief round the wound, " said Clinton, in agentle, sympathizing voice. "You are really enough to drive onefrantic. "

"_Your_ handkerchief!" she exclaimed, in an accent of ineffable scorn. "I would put a bandage of fire round it as soon. _Drive one frantic!_ Isuppose your conduct must make one very calm, very cool and reasonable. But I can tell you, Bryant Clinton, that when you made me the playthingof your selfish and changing passions, you began a dangerous game. Youthought me, perchance, a love-sick maiden, whose heart would break insilence and darkness, but you know me not. I will not suffer alone. If Isink into an abyss of wretchedness, it shall not be alone. I will dragdown with me all who have part or lot in my misery and despair. "

Clinton's eye quailed before the dark, passionate glance riveted uponhim. The moon gave only a pale, doubtful lustre, and its reflection onher face was like the night-light on deep waters--a dark, quiveringbrightness, giving one an idea of beauty and splendor and danger. Herhair was loose and hung around her in black, massy folds, imparting anair of wild, tragic majesty to her figure. Twisting one of the sabletresses round her bleeding fingers, she pressed them against her heart. 

"Mittie, " said Clinton. There was something remarkable in the voice ofClinton. Its lowest tones, and they were exceedingly low, were asdistinct and clear as the notes of the most exquisitely tunedinstrument. "Mittie! why have you wrought yourself up to this terriblepitch of passion? Yet why do I ask? I know but too well. I uttered a fewwords of gallant seeming to your young sister, which sent her flyinglike a startled deer through the woods. Your reproaches completed thework my folly began. Between us both we have frightened the poor childalmost into spasms. Verily we have been much to blame. "

"Deceiver! you told her that you loved me no more. Deny it if you can. "

"I will neither assert nor deny any thing. If you have not sufficientconfidence in my honor, and reliance on my truth to trust and believeme, my only answer to your reproaches shall be silence. Light indeedmust be my hold on your heart, if a breath has power to shake it. Thetime has been--but, alas!--how sadly are you changed!"

"I changed!" repeated she. "Would to Heaven I could change!"

"Yes, changed. Be not angry, but hear me. Where is the softness, thewomanly tenderness and grace that first enchanted me, forming as it didso bewitching a contrast with the dazzling splendor of your beauty? Idid not know then that daggers were sheathed in your brilliant eyes, orthat scorn lurked in those beautiful lips. Nay, interrupt me not. Where, I say, is the loving, trusting being I loved and adored? You watch mewith the vigilance of hatred, the intensity of revenge. Every word andlook have been misconstrued, every action warped and perverted byprejudice and passion. You are jealous, frantically jealous of a merechild, with whom I idly amused myself one passing moment. You have madeyour parents look coldly and suspiciously upon me. You have taught me abitter lesson. "

Every drop of blood forsook the cheeks of Mittie. She felt as if shewere congealing--so cold fell the words of Clinton on her burning heart. 

"Then I have forever estranged you. You love me no longer!" said she, ina faint, husky voice. 

"No, Mittie, I love you still. Constancy is one of the elements of mynature. But love no longer imparts happiness. The chain of gold istransformed to iron, and the links corrode and lacerate the heart. Ifeel that I have cast a cloud over the household, and it is necessary todepart. I go to-morrow, and may you recover that peace of which I havemomentarily deprived you. I shall pass away from your memory like thepebble that ruffles a moment the face of the water then sinks, and isremembered no more. "

"What, going--going to-morrow?" she exclaimed, catching hold of his armfor support, for she felt sick and dizzy at the sudden annunciation. 

"Yes!" he replied, drawing her arm through his, and retaining her hand, which was as cold as ice. "Your brother Louis will accompany me. It ismeet that he should visit my Virginian home, since I have so longtrespassed on the hospitality of his. Whether I ever return depends uponyourself. If my presence bring only discord and sorrow, it is better, far better, that I never look upon your face again. If you cannot trustme, let us part forever. "

They were now very near the house, very near a large tree, which had arustic bench leaning against it. Its branches swept against the fencewhich enclosed Miss Thusa's bleaching ground. The white arch of thebridge spanned the shadows that hung darkly over it. Mittie drew awayher arm from Clinton and sank down upon the bench. She felt as if theroots of her heart were all drawing out, so intense was her anguish. 

Clinton going away--probably never to return--going, too, cold, alteredand estranged. It was in vain he breathed to her words of love, theloving spirit, the vitality was wanting. And this was the dissolving ofher wild dreams of love--of her fair visions of felicity. But thekeenest pang was imparted by the conviction that it was her own fault. He had told her so, dispassionately and deliberately. It was her ownevil temper that had disenchanted him. It was her own dark passionswhich had destroyed the spell her beauty had wrapped around him. 

What the warnings of a father, the admonitions of friends had failed toeffect, a few words from the lips of Clinton had suddenly wrought. Hehad loved. He should love her once more--for she would be soft andgentle and womanly for his sake. She would be kind to Helen, andcourteous to all. This flashing moment of introspection gave her aglimpse of her own heart which made her shudder. It was not, however, the sunlight of truth, growing brighter and brighter, that made thestartling revelation; it was the lightning glare of excitement glancinginto the dark abysses of passion, fiery and transitory, leaving behind adeeper, heavier gloom. Self-abased by the image on which she had beengazing, and subdued by the might of her grief, she covered her face withher hands and wept the bitterest tears that ever fell from the eyes ofwoman. They were drops of molten pride, hot and blistering, leaving theeyes blood-shot and dim. It was a strange thing to see the haughtyMittie weep. Clinton sat down beside her, and poured the oil of hissmooth, seductive words on the troubled waves he had lashed into foam. Soft, low, and sad as the whispers of the autumn wind, his voicemurmured in her ear, sad, for it breathed but of parting. She continuedto weep, but her tears no longer flowed from the springs of agony. 

"Mittie!" A sterner voice than that of Clinton's breathed her name. "Mittie, you must come in, the night air is too damp. "

It was her father who spoke, of whose approach she was not aware. Hespoke with an air of authority which he seldom assumed, and taking herhand, led her into the house. 

All the father was moved within him, at the sight of his daughter'stears. It was the first time that he had seen them flow, or at least henever remembered to have seen her weep. She had not wept when a child, by the bed of a dying mother--(and the tears of childhood are usually anever-welling spring)--she had not wept over her grave--and now her bosomwas laboring with ill-suppressed sobs. What power had blasted thegranite rock that covered the fountain of her sensibilities?

He entreated her to confide in him, to tell him the cause of heranguish. If Clinton had been trifling with her happiness, he should notdepart without feeling the weight of parental indignation. 

"No man dare to trifle with my happiness!" she exclaimed. "Clinton darenot do it. Reserve your indignation for real wrongs. Wait till I askredress. Have I not a right to weep, if I choose? Helen may shed oceansof tears, without being called to account. All I ask, all I pray for, isto be left alone. "

Thus the proud girl closed the avenues of sympathy and consolation, andshut herself up with her own corroding thoughts, for the transientfeelings of humility and self-abasement had passed away with the low, sweet echoes of the voice of Clinton, leaving nothing but the sullenmemory of her grief. And yet the hope that he still loved her was thevital spark that sustained and warmed her. His last words breathed somuch of his early tenderness and devotion, his manner possessed all itswonted fascination. 

A calm succeeded, if not peace. 

CHAPTER X. 

 An ancient woman there was, who dwelt In an old gray collage all alone-- She turned her wheel the live long day-- There was music, I ween, in its solemn drone. As she twisted the flax, the threads of thought Kept twisting too, dark, mystic threads-- And the tales she told were legends old, Quaint fancies, woven of lights and shades. 

It is said that absence is like death, and that through its softeningshadow, faults, and even vices, assume a gentle and unforbidding aspect. But it is not so. Death, the prime minister of God, invests with solemnmajesty the individual on whom he impresses his cold, white seal. Theweakest, meanest being that ever drew the breath of life isawe-inspiring, wrapped in the mystery of death. It seems as if theinvisible spirit might avenge the insult offered to its impassive, deserted companion. But absence has no such commanding power. If themind has been enthralled by the influence of personal fascination, thereis generally a sudden reaction. The judgment, liberated from captivity, exerts its newly recovered strength, and becomes more arbitrary anduncompromising for the bondage it has endured. 

Now Bryant Clinton was gone, Mr. Gleason wondered at his owninfatuation. No longer spell-bound by the magic of his eye, and thealluring grace of his manners, he could recall a thousand circumstanceswhich had previously made no impression on his mind. He blamed himselffor allowing Louis to continue in such close intimacy with one, of whoseparentage and early history he knew nothing. He blamed himself stillmore, for permitting his daughter such unrestricted intercourse with ayoung man so dangerously attractive. He blamed himself still more, forconsenting to the departure of his son with a companion, in whoseprinciples he did not confide, and of whose integrity he had manydoubts. Why had he suffered this young man to wind around the householdin smooth and shining coils, insinuating himself deeper and deeper intothe heart, and binding closer and closer the faculties which mightcondemn, and the will that might resist his sorcery?

He blushed one moment for his weakness, the next upbraided himself forthe harshness of his judgment, for the uncharitableness of hisconclusions. The first letter which he received from Louis, did notremove his apprehensions. He said Clinton had changed his plans. He didnot intend to return immediately to Virginia, but to travel awhilefirst, and visit some friends, whom he had neglected for the charminghome he had just quitted. Louis dwelt with eloquent diffuseness on theadvantages of traveling with such a companion, of the fine opportunityhe had of seeing something of the world, after leading the student'smonotonous and secluded life. Enclosed in this letter were bills of alarge amount, contracted at college, of whose existence the father wasperfectly unconscious. No reference was made to these, save in thepostscript, most incoherent in expression, and written evidently with anunsteady hand. He begged his father to forgive him for havingforgotten--the word _forgotten_ was partially erased, and _neglected_substituted in its place--ah! Louis, Louis, you should have said_feared_ to present to him before his departure. He threw himself uponthe indulgence of a parent, who he knew would be as ready to pardon theerrors, as he was able to understand the temptation to which youth wasexposed, when deprived of parental guidance. 

The letter dropped from Mr. Gleason's hand. A dark cloud gathered on hisbrow. A sharp pain darted through his heart. His son, his ingenuous, noble, high-minded boy had deceived him--betrayed his confidence, andwasted, with the recklessness of a spendthrift, money to which he had nolegitimate claims. 

When Louis entered college, and during the whole course of his educationthere, Mr. Gleason had defrayed his necessary expenses, and supplied himliberally with spending money. 

"Keep out of debt, my son, " was his constant advice. "In everyunexpected emergency apply to me. Debt unnecessarily recurred is bothdishonorable and disgraceful. When a boy contracts debts unknown to hisparents, they are associated with shame and ruin. Beware of temptation. "

Mr. Gleason was not rich. He was engaged in merchandise, and had anincome sufficient for the support of his family, sufficient to supplyevery want, and gratify every wish within the bounds of reason; but hehad nothing to throw away, nothing to scatter broadcast beneath theploughshare of ruin. He did not believe that Louis had fallen intodisobedience and error without a guide in sin. Like Eve, he had beenbeguiled by a serpent, and he had eaten of the fruit of the tree offorbidden knowledge, whose taste

 "Brought death into the world, And all our woe!"

That serpent must be Clinton, that Lucifer, that son of the morning, that seeming angel of light. Thus, in the excitement of his anger, hecondemned the young man, who, after all, might be innocent of all guile, and free from all transgression. 

Crushing the papers in his hand, he saw a line which had escaped his eyebefore. It was this--

 "I cannot tell you where to address me, as we are now on the wing. I shall write again soon. "

"So he places himself beyond the reach of admonition and recall, "thought Mr. Gleason. "Oh! Louis, had your mother lived, how would herheart have been wrung by the knowledge of your aberration fromrectitude! And how will the kind and noble being who fills that mother'splace in our affections and home, mourn over her weak and degenerateboy. "

Yes! she did mourn, but not without hope. She had too much faith in theintegrity of Louis to believe him capable of deliberate transgression. She knew his ardent temperament his convivial spirit, and did not thinkit strange that he should be led into temptation. He must not withdrawhis confidence, because it had been once betrayed. Neither would shesuffer so dark a cloud of suspicion to rest upon Clinton. It was unjustto suspect him, when he was surrounded by so many young, and doubtless, evil companions. She regretted Clinton's sojourn among them, since ithad had so unhappy an influence on Mittie, but it was cowardly to plungea dagger into the back of one on whose face their hospitable smiles hadso lately beamed. We have said that she had a small property of her own. She insisted upon drawing on this for the amount necessary to settle thebills of Louis. She had reserved it for the children's use, and perhapswhen Louis was made aware of the source whence pecuniary assistancecame, he would blush for the drain, and shame would restrain him fromfuture extravagance. Mr. Gleason listened, hoped and believed. The cloudlighted up, and if it did not entirely pass away, glimpses of sunshinewere seen breaking through. 

And this was the woman whom Mittie disdained to honor with the title of_mother_!

Helen had recovered from the double shock she had received the nightprevious to Clinton's departure, but she was not the same Helen that shewas before. Her childhood was gone. The flower leaves of her heartunfolded, not by the soft, genial sunshine, but torn open by thewhirlwind's power. Never more could she meet Arthur Hazleton with theinnocent freedom which had made their intercourse so delightful. If hetook her hand, she trembled and withdrew it. If she met his eye, sheblushed and turned away her glance--that eye, which though it flashednot with the fires of passion, had such depth, and strength, andintensity in its expression. Her embarrassment was contagious, andconstraint and reserve took the place of confidence and ingenuousness;like the semi-transparent drapery over a beautiful picture, whichsuffers the lineaments to be traced, while the warm coloring andbrightness of life are chilled and obscured. 

The sisters were as much estranged as if they were the inmates ofdifferent abodes. Mrs. Gleason had prepared a room for Helen adjoiningher own, resolved she should be removed as far as possible from Mittie'sdagger tongue. Thus Mittie was left to the solitude she courted, andwhich no one seemed disposed to disturb. She remained the most of hertime in her own chamber, seldom joining the family except at table, where she appeared more like a stranger than a daughter or a sister. Sheseemed to take no interest in any thing around her, nor did she seek toinspire any. She looked paler than formerly, and a purplish shade dimmedthe brilliancy of her dazzling eyes. 

"You look pale, my daughter, " her father would sometimes say. "I fearyou are not well. "

"I am perfectly well, " she would answer, with a manner so cold anddistant, sympathy was at once repelled. 

"Will you not sit with us?" Mrs. Gleason would frequently ask, as sheand Helen drew near the blazing fire, with their work-baskets or books, for winter was now abroad in the land. "Will you not read to us, or withus?"

"I prefer being in my own room, " was the invariable answer; and usuallyat night, when the curtains were let down, and the lamps lighted in theapartment, warm and glowing with the genialities and comforts of home, the young doctor would come in and occupy Mittie's vacant seat. Notwithstanding the comparative coldness and reserve of Helen's manners, his visits became more and more frequent. He seemed reconciled to theloss of the ingenuous, confiding child, since he had found in its steadthe growing charms of womanhood. 

Arthur was a fine reader. His voice had that minor key which touches thechords of tenderness and feeling--that voice so sweet at the fireside, so adapted to poetry and all deep and earnest thoughts. He did not readon like a machine, without pausing to make remark or criticism, but hisbeautiful, eloquent commentaries came in like the symphonies of anorgan. He drew forth the latent enthusiasm of Helen, who, forgettingherself and Mittie's withering accusations, expressed her sentimentswith a grace, simplicity and fervor peculiar to herself. At thecommencement of the evening she generally took her sewing from thebasket, and her needle would flash and fly like a shooting arrow, butgradually her hands relaxed, the work fell into her lap, and yielding tothe combined charms of genius and music, the divine music of the humanvoice, she gave herself up completely to the rapture of drinking in

 "Those silver sounds, so soft, so dear, The listener held her breath to hear. "

If Arthur lifted his eyes from the page, which he had a habit of doing, he was sure to encounter a glance of bright intelligence and thrillingsensibility, instantaneously withdrawn, and then he often lost hisplace, skipped over a paragraph, or read the same sentence a secondtime, while that rich mantling glow, so seldom seen on the cheek ofmanhood, stole slowly over his face. 

These were happy evenings, and Helen could have exclaimed with littleFrank in the primer, "Oh! that winter would last forever!" And yet therewere times when she as well as her parents was oppressed with a weightof anxious sorrow that was almost insupportable, on account of Louis. Hecame not, he wrote not--and the only letter received from him hadexcited the most painful apprehensions for his moral safety. Itcontained shameful records of his past deviations from rectitude, andjudging of the present by the past, they had every reason to fear thathe had become an alien from virtue and home. Mr. Gleason seldom spoke ofhim, but his long fits of abstraction, the gloom of his brow, and theinquietude of his eye, betrayed the anxiety and grief rankling within. 

Helen knew not the contents of her brother's letter, nor the secretcause of grief that preyed on her father's mind, but his absence andsilence were trials over which she openly and daily mourned with deepand increasing sorrow. 

"We shall hear from him to-morrow. He will come to-morrow. " This was thenightly lullaby to her disappointed and murmuring heart. 

Mittie likewise repeated to herself the same refrain "He will cometo-morrow. He will write to-morrow. " But it was not of Louis that theprophecy was breathed. It was of another, who had become the onethought. 

Helen had not forgotten her old friend Miss Thusa, whom the rigors ofwinter confined more closely than ever to her lonely cabin. Almost everyday she visited her, and even if the ground were covered with snow, andicicles hung from the trees, there was a path through the woods, printedwith fairy foot-tracks, that showed where Helen had walked. Mr. Gleasonsupplied the solitary spinster with wood ready out for the hearth, hadher cottage banked with dark red tan, and furnished her with manycomforts and luxuries. He never forgot her devoted attachment to hisdead wife, who had commended to his care and kindness the lone woman onher dying bed. Mrs. Gleason frequently accompanied Helen in her visits, and as Miss Thusa said, "always came with full hands and left a fullheart behind her. " Helen sometimes playfully asked her to tell her thehistory of the wheel so long promised, but she put her off with a shakeof the head, saying--"she should hear it by and by, when the right timewas at hand. "

"But when is the right time, Miss Thusa?" asked Helen. "I begin to thinkit is to-morrow. "

"To-morrow never comes, " replied Miss Thusa, solemnly, "but death does. When his footsteps cross the old stile and tramp over the mossydoor-stones, I'll tell you all about that ancient machine. It won't doany good till then. You are too young yet. I feel better than I did inautumn, and may last longer than I thought I should--but, perhaps, whenthe ground thaws in the spring the old tree will loosen and fall--orbreak off suddenly near the root. I have seen such things in my day. "

"Oh! Miss Thusa, " said Helen, "I never want to hear any thing about it, if its history is to be bought so dear--indeed I do not. "

"Only if you should marry, child, before I die, " continued Miss Thusa, musingly, "you shall know then. It is not very probable that such willbe the case; but it is astonishing how young girls shoot up intowomanhood, now-a-days. "

"It will be a long time before I shall think of marrying, Miss Thusa, "answered Helen, laughing. "I believe I will live as you do, in a cottageof my own, with my wheel for companion and familiar friend. "

"It is not such as you that are born to live alone, " said the spinster, passing her hand lovingly over Helen's fair, warm cheek. "You are alove-vine that must have something to grow upon. No, no--don't talk inthat way. It don't sound natural. It don't come from the heart. Now _I_was made to be by myself. I never saw the man I wanted to live one daywith--much less all the days of my life. They may say this is sourgrapes, and call me an old maid, but I don't care for that; I must havemy own way, and I know it is a strange one; and there never was a mancreated that didn't want to have his. You laugh, child. I hope you willnever find it out to your cost. But you havn't any will of your own; soit will be all as it should be, after all. "

"Oh, yes I have, Miss Thusa; I like to have my own way as well as anyone--when I think I am right. "

"What makes your cheeks redden so, and your heart flutter like a birdcaught in a snare?" cried the spinster, looking thoughtfully, almostsorrowfully, into Helen's soft, loving, hazel eyes. "_That step_ doesn'tcross my threshold so often for nothing. You would know it in an army often thousand. "

The door opened and Arthur Hazleton entered. The day was cold, and acomfortable fire blazed in the chimney. The fire-beams that werereflected from Helen's glowing cheek might account for its burning rose, for it even gave a warmer tint to Miss Thusa's dark, gray form. Arthurdrew his chair near Helen, who as usual occupied a little stool in thecorner. 

"What magnificent strings of coral you have, Miss Thusa?" said he, looking up to a triple garland of red peppers, strung on some of her ownunbleached linen thread, and suspended over the fire-place. "I supposethey are more for ornament than use. "

"I never had any thing for ornament in my life, " said Miss Thusa. "Isupply the whole neighborhood with peppers; and I do think a drink ofpepper tea helps one powerfully to bear the winter's cold. "

"I think I must make you my prime minister, Miss Thusa, " said the youngdoctor, "for I scarcely ever visit a patient, that I don't find sometraces of your benevolence, in the shape of balmy herbs and medicinalshrubs. How much good one can do in the world if they only think of it!"

"It is little good that I've ever done, " cried the spinster. "All mycomfort is that I havn't done a great deal of harm. "

Opening the door of a closet, at the right of the chimney, she stoopedto lift a log of wood, but Arthur springing up, anticipated hermovement, and replenished the already glowing hearth. 

"You keep glorious fires, Miss Thusa, " said he, retreating from the hotsparkles that came showering on the hearth, and the magnificent blazethat roared grandly up the chimney. 

"It is _her_ father that sends me the wood--and if it isn't his daughterthat is warmed by my fire-side, let the water turn to ice on thesebricks. "

"And now, Miss Thusa, " said the young doctor, "while we are enjoyingthis hospitable warmth, tell us one of those good old-fashioned stories, Helen used to love so much to hear. It is a long time since I have heardone--and I am sure Helen will thank me for the suggestion. "

"I ought to be at my wheel, instead of fooling with my tongue, " repliedMiss Thusa, jerking her spectacles down on the bridge of her nose. "Ishan't earn the salt of my porridge at this rate; besides there's toomuch light; somehow or other, I never could feel like reciting them inbroad daylight. There must be a sort of a shadow, to make me inspired. "

"Please Miss Thusa, oblige the doctor this time, " pleaded Helen. "I'llcome and spin all day to-morrow for you, and send you a sack of saltbeside. "

"Set a kitten to spinning!" exclaimed Miss Thusa, her grim featuresrelaxing into a smile--putting at the same time her wheel against thewall, and seating herself in the corner opposite to Helen. 

"Thank you, " cried Helen, "I knew you would not refuse. Now please tellus something gentle and beautiful--something that will make us betterand happier. Ghosts, you know, never appear till darkness comes. Theangels do. "

Miss Thusa, sat looking into the fire, with a musing, dreamy expression, or rather on the ashes, which formed a gray bed around the burningcoals. Her thoughts were, however, evidently wandering inward, throughthe dim streets and shadowy aisles of that Herculaneum of thesoul--memory. 

Arthur laid his hand with an admonishing motion on Helen, whose lipsparted to speak, and the trio sat in silence for a few moments, waitingthe coming inspiration. It has been so often said that we do not like torepeat the expression, but it really would have been a study for apainter--that old, gray room (for the walls being unpainted were of thecolor of Miss Thusa's dress;) the antique, brass-bound wheel, thescarlet tracery over the chimney, and the three figures illuminated bythe flame-light of the blazing chimney. It played, that flame-light, with rich, warm lustre on Helen's soft, brown hair and roseate cheek, quivered with purplish radiance among Arthur's darker locks--and lightedup with a sunset glow, Miss Thusa's hoary tresses. 

"Gentle and beautiful!" repeated the oracle. "Yes! every thing seemsbeautiful to the young. If I could remember ever feeling young, I daresay beautiful memories would come back to me. 'Tis very strange, though, that the older I grow, the pleasanter are the pictures that arereflected on my mind. The way grows smoother and clearer. I suppose itis like going out on a dark night--at first you can hardly see the handbefore you, but as you go groping along, it lightens up more and more. "

She paused, looked from Arthur Hazleton to Helen, then from Helen toArthur, as if she were endeavoring to embue her spirit with the graceand beauty of youth. 

"I remember a tale, " she resumed, "which I heard or read, long, longago--which perhaps I've never told. It is about a young Prince, who washeir to a great kingdom, somewhere near the place where the garden ofEden once was. When the King, his father, was on his death bed, hecalled his son to him, and told him that he was going to die. 

"'And now, my son, ' he said, 'remember my parting words. I leave you allalone, without father or mother, brother or sister--without any one tolove or love you. Last night I had a dream, and you know God's will wasmade known in dreams, to holy men of old. There came, in my dream, anaged man, with a beard as white as ermine, that hung down like a mantleover his breast, with a wand in his right hand, and stood beside my bed. 

"'Hear my words, ' he exclaimed, in a solemn voice, 'and tell them toyour son. When you are dead and gone, let him gird himself for a longpilgrimage. If he stay here, he will be turned into a marble statue. Toavert this doom, he must travel through the world till he finds a youngmaiden's warm, living heart--and the maiden must be fair and good, andbe willing to let the knife enter her bosom, and her heart be takenbleeding thence. And then he must travel farther still, till a whitedove shall come from the East, and fold its wings on his breast. If youwould save your kingdom and your son, command him to do this. It is thewill of the Most High. '

"The old man departed, but his words echoed like thunder in my ears. Obey him, my son, the vision came from above. 

"The young Prince saw his father laid in the tomb, then prepared himselffor his pilgrimage. He did not like the idea of being turned intomarble, neither did he like the thought of taking the heart of a youngand innocent maiden, if he should find one willing to make theoffering--which he did not believe. The Prince had a bright eye and alight step, and he was dressed in brave attire. The maidens looked outof the windows as he passed along, and the young men sighed with envy. He came to a great palace, and being a King's son, he thought he had aright to enter it; and there he saw a young and beautiful lady, allshining with diamonds and pearls. There was a great feast waiting in thehall, and she asked him to stay, and pressed him to eat and drink, andgave him many glasses of wine, as red as rubies. After the feast wasover, and he felt most awfully as he did it, he begged for her heart, the tears glittering in his eyes for sorrow. She smiled, and told him itwas already his--but--when with a shaking hand he took a knife, andaimed it at her breast, she screamed and rushed out of the hall, as ifthe evil one was behind her--Don't interrupt me, child--don't--I shallforget it all if you do. Well, the Prince went on his way, thinking theold man had sent him on a fool's errand--but he dared not disobey hisdead father, seeing he was a King. It would take me from sun to sun totell of all the places where he stopped, and of all the screaming andthreatening that followed him wherever he went. It is a wonder he didnot turn deaf as an adder. At last he got very tired and sorrowful, andsat down by the wayside and wept, thinking he would rather turn tomarble at once, than live by such a horrible remedy. He saw a littlecabin close by, but he had hardly strength to reach it, and he thoughthe would stay there and die. 

"'What makes you weep?' said a voice so sweet he thought it was musicitself, and looking up, he saw a young maiden, who had come up a pathbehind him, with a pitcher of water on her head. She was beautiful andfair to look upon, though her dress was as plain as could be. Sheoffered him water to drink, and told him if he would go with her to thelittle cabin, her mother would give him something to eat, and a bed tolie upon, for the night dew was beginning to fall. He had not on hisfine dress at this time, having changed it for that of a young peasant, thinking perhaps he would succeed better in disguise. So he followed hersteps, and they gave him milk, and bread, and honey, and a nice bed tosleep upon, though it was somewhat hard and coarse. And there he fellsick, and they nursed him day after day, and brought him back to health. The young maiden grew more lovely in his eye, and her voice sounded moreand more sweet in his ear. Sometimes he thought of the sacrifice he wasto ask, but he could not do it. No, he would die first. One night, theold man with the long, white beard, came in his dream, to his bedside. He looked dark and frowning. 

"'This is the maiden, ' he cried, 'your pilgrimage is ended here. Do asthou art bidden, and then depart. '

"When the morning came, he was pale and sad, and the young girl was paleand sad from sympathy. Then the Prince knelt down at her feet, and toldher the history of his father's dream and his own, and of his exceedinggreat and bitter sorrow. He wept, but the maiden smiled, and she lookedlike an angel with that sweet smile on her face. 

"'My heart is yours, ' she said, 'I give it willingly and cheerfully. Drain from it every drop of blood, if you will--I care not, so it save_you_ from perishing. '

"Then the eyes of the young Prince shone out like the sun after a storm, and drawing his dagger from his bosom, he--"

"Stop, Miss Thusa--don't go on, " interrupted Helen, pale with emotion. "I cannot bear to hear it. It is too awful. I asked you for somethingbeautiful, and you have chosen the most terrible theme. Don't finishit. "

"Is there not something beautiful, " said the young doctor, bending down, and addressing her in a low voice--"is there not something beautiful insuch pure and self-sacrificing love? Is there no chord in your heartthat thrills responsive as you listen? Oh, Helen--I am sure _you_ coulddevote yourself for one you loved. "

"Oh, yes!" she answered, forgetting, in her excitement, all her naturaltimidity. "I could do it joyfully, glorying in the sacrifice. But he, soselfish, so cruel, so sanguinary--it is from him I shrink. His heart isalready marble--it cannot change. "

"Wait, child--wait till you hear the end, " cried Miss Thusa, inspired bythe effect of her words. "He drew a dagger from his bosom, and was aboutto plunge it in his _own_ heart, and die at her feet, when the old manof his dream entered and caught hold of his arm. "

"''Tis enough, ' he cried. 'The trial is over. She has given you herheart, her warm, living heart--take it and cherish it. Without love, manturns to stone--and thus becomes a marble statue. You have proved yourown love and hers, since you are willing to die for each other. Put upyour dagger, and if you ever wound that heart of hers, the vengeance ofHeaven rest upon you. '

"Thus saying, he departed, but strange to tell, as he was speaking, hisface was all the time growing younger and fairer, his white beardgradually disappeared, and as he went through the door, a pair of whitewings, tipped with gold, began to flutter on his shoulders. Then theyknew it was an angel that had been with them, and they bowed themselvesdown to the floor and trembled. Is there any need of my telling you, that the Prince married the young maiden, and carried her to hiskingdom, and set her on his throne? Is there any need of my saying howbeautiful she looked, with a golden crown on her head, and a goldenchain on her neck, and how meek and good she was all the time, in spiteof her finery? No, I am sure there isn't. Now, I must go to spinning. "

"That _is_ beautiful!" cried Helen, the color coming back to hercheeks, "but the white dove, Miss Thusa, that was to fold its wings onhis bosom. You have forgotten that. "

"Have I? Yes--yes. Sure enough, I am getting old and forgetful. Thewhite dove that was to come from the east! I remember it all now:--Afterhe had reigned awhile he dreamed again that he was commanded to go inquest of the dove, and take his young Queen with him. They were to go onfoot as pilgrims, and leave all their pomp and state behind them, withtheir faces towards the east, and their eyes lifted to Heaven. Whilethey were journeying on, the young Queen began to languish, and growpale and wan. At last she sunk down at his feet, and told him that shewas going to die, and leave him alone in his pilgrimage. The young Kingsmote his breast, and throwing himself down by her side, prayed to Godthat he might die too. Then she comforted him, and told him to live forhis people, and bow to the will of the Most High. 

"'You were willing to die for me, ' she cried, 'show greater love bybeing willing to live when I am gone--love to God and me. '

"'The will of God be done, ' he exclaimed, prostrating himself before theLord. Then a soft flutter was heard above his head, and a beautifulwhite dove flew into his bosom. At the same time an angel appeared, whomhe knew was the old man of his dream, all glorified as it were, and themoment he breathed on her, the dying Queen revived and smiled on herhusband, just as she did in her mother's cabin. 

"'You were willing to give your own life for hers, ' said the angel tothe young King, 'and that was love. You were willing to give her up toGod, and that was greater love to a greater being. Thou hast beenweighed in the balance and not found wanting. Return and carry in thybosom the milk-white dove, and never let it flee from thy dwelling. '

"The angel went up into Heaven--the young King and Queen returned totheir palace, where they had a long, happy, and godly reign. "

The logs in the chimney had burned down to a bed of mingled scarlet andjet, that threw out a still more intense heat, and the sun had rolleddown the west, leaving a bed of scarlet behind it, while Miss Thusarelated the history of the young Prince of the East. 

Helen, in the intensity of her interest, had forgotten the glidinghours, and wondered where the day had flown. 

"I think if you related me such stories, Miss Thusa, every day, " saidthe young doctor, "I should be a wiser and better man. I shall notforget this soon. "

"I do not believe I shall tell another story as long as I live, " repliedshe, shaking her head oracularly. "I had to exert myself powerfully toremember and put that together as I wanted to. Well, well--all the giftsof God are only loans after all, and He has a right to take them awaywhenever He chooses. We mustn't murmur and complain about it. "

"Dear Miss Thusa, this is the best story you ever told, " cried Helen, while she muffled herself for her cold, evening walk. "There issomething so touching in its close--and the moral sinks deep in theheart. No, no; I hope to hear a hundred more at least, like this. I amglad you have given up ghosts for angels. "

The wind blew in strong, wintry gusts, as they passed through theleafless woods. Helen shivered with cold, in spite of the warm garmentsthat sheltered her. The scarlet of the horizon had faded into a chill, darkening gray, and as they moved through the shadows, they werescarcely distinguishable themselves from the trees whose dry branchescreaked above their heads. Arthur folded his cloak around Helen toprotect her from the inclemency of the air, and the warmth of summerstole into her heart. They talked of Miss Thusa, of the story she hadtold, of its interest and its moral, and Arthur said he would be willingto make a pilgrimage to Mecca, over burning coals, for such a heart asthe maiden offered to the young Prince. That very heart was throbbingclose, very close to his, but its deep emotions found no utterancethrough the lips. Helen remarked that she would willingly travel withbleeding feet from end to end of the universe, for the beautiful whitedove, which was the emblem of God's holy spirit. 

"Helen, that dove is nestling in your bosom already, " cried ArthurHazleton; "but the heart I sigh for, will it indeed ever be mine?"

Helen could not answer, for she dared not interpret the words which, though addressed to herself, might have reference to another. With thehumility and self-depreciation usually the accompaniment of deepreverence and devotion, she could not believe it possible that one soexalted in intellect, so noble in character, so beloved and honored byall who knew him, so much older than herself; one, too, who knew all herweaknesses and faults, could ever look upon her otherwise than withbrotherly kindness and regard. Then she contrasted his manner with thatof Clinton, for his were the only love-words that ever were breathedinto her ear, and she was sure that if Clinton's was the language oflove, Arthur's was that of friendship only. Perhaps her silence chilled, it certainly hushed the expression of his thoughts, for he spoke nottill they reached the threshold of her home. The bright light gleamingthrough the blinds, showed them how dark it had grown abroad since theyleft Miss Thusa's cottage. Helen was conscious then how very slowly theymust have walked. 

"Thank you, " said she, releasing herself from the sheltering folds thathad enveloped her. "Hark!" she suddenly exclaimed, "whose voice is thatI hear within? It is--it must be Louis. Dear, dear Louis!--so longabsent!--so anxiously looked for!"

Even in that moment of joy, while bounding over the threshold with thefleetness of a fawn, the dreaded form of Clinton rose before the eye ofher imagination, and arrested for a moment her flying steps. Again sheheard the voice of Louis, and Clinton was forgotten. 

CHAPTER XI. 

 "Go, sin no more! Thy penance o'er, A new and better life begin! God maketh thee forever free From the dominion of thy sin! Go, sin no more! He will restore The peace that filled thy heart before, And pardon thine iniquity. "--_Longfellow. _

"I am glad you came _alone_, brother, " cried Helen, when, after thesupper was over, they all drew around the blazing hearth. Louis turnedabruptly towards her, and as the strong firelight fell full upon hisface, she was shocked even more than at first, with his alteredappearance. The bloom, the brightness, the joyousness of youth weregone, leaving in their stead, paleness, and dimness, and gloom. Helooked several years older than when he left home, but his was not thematurity of the flower, but its premature wilting. There was a worm inthe calyx, preying on the vitality of the blossom, and withering up itsbeauty. 

Yes! Louis had been feeding on the husks of dissipation, though in hisfather's house there was food enough and to spare. He had been sellinghis immortal birth-right for that which man has in common with thebrutes that perish, and the reptiles that crawl in the dust. Slowly, reluctantly at first, had he stepped into the downward path, lookingback with agonies of remorse to the smooth, green, flowery plains he hadleft behind, striving to return, but driven forward by the gravitatingpower of sin. The passionate resolutions he formed from day to day ofamendment, were broken, like the light twigs that grow by the mountainwayside. 

He had looked upon the wine when it was red, and found in its dregs thesting of the adder. He had participated in the maddening excitement ofthe gaming-table, from which remorse and horror pursued him withscorpion lash. He had entered the "chambers of death"--though avengingdemons guarded its threshold. Poor, tempted Louis! poor, fallen Louis!In how short a space has the whiteness of thy innocence been sullied, the glory of thy promise been obscured! But the flame fed by oxygen soonwastes away by its own intensity, and ardent passions once kindled, burnwith self-consuming rapidity. 

We have not followed Louis in his wild and reckless course since he lefthis father's mansion. It was too painful to witness the degeneracy ofour early favorite. But the whole history of the past was written on hishaggard brow and pallid cheek. It need not be recorded here. He hadthought himself a life-long alien from the home he had disgraced, fornever could he encounter his father's indignant frown, or call up theblush of shame on Helen's spotless cheek. 

But one of those mighty drawings of the spirit--stronger than chains oftriple steel--that thirst of the heart for pure domestic joy, which thefoaming goblet can never quench--that immortal longing which rises upfrom the lowest abysses of sin, that yearning for pardon which stirredthe bosom of the Hebrew prodigal, constrained the transgressing Louis toburst asunder the bonds of iniquity, and return to his father's house. 

"I am glad you have come alone, brother, " repeated Helen, repressing thesigh that quivered on her lips. 

"Who did you expect would be my companion?" asked Louis, putting backthe long, neglected locks, that fell darkly over his temples. 

"I feared Bryant Clinton would return with you, " replied Helen, regretting the next moment that she had uttered a name which seemed tohave the effect of galvanism on Mittie--who started spasmodically, andlifted the screen before her face. No one had asked for Clinton, yet allhad been thinking of him more or less. 

"I have not seen him for several weeks, " he replied, "he had businessthat called him in another direction, but he will probably be heresoon. "

Again Mittie gave a spasmodic start, and held the screen closer to herface. Helen sighed, and looked anxiously towards her mother. Theannouncement excited very contradictory emotions. 

"Do you mean to imply that he is coming again as the guest of yourparents, as the inmate of this home?" asked Mr. Gleason, sternly. 

"Yes, sir, " replied Louis, a red streak flashing across his face. "Howcould it be otherwise?"

"But it _shall_ be otherwise, " exclaimed Mr. Gleason, rising abruptlyfrom his chair, and speaking with a vehemence so unwonted that itinspired awe. "That young man shall never again, with my consent, sitdown at my board, or sleep under my roof. I believe him a false, unprincipled, dangerous companion--whom my doors shall never more beopened to receive. Had it not been for him, that pale, stone-like, petrified girl, might have been brilliant and blooming, yet. Had it notbeen for him, I should not have the anguish, the humiliation, the shameof seeing my son, my only son, the darling of his dead mother's heart, the pride and hope of mine, a blighted being, shorn of the brightness ofyouth, and the glory of advancing manhood. Talk not to me of bringingthe destroyer here. This fireside shall never more be darkened by hispresence. "

Mr. Gleason paused, but from his eye, fixed steadfastly on Louis, thelong sleeping lightning darted. Mittie, who had sprung from her chairwhile her father was speaking, stood with white cheeks and parted lips, and eyes from which fire seemed to coruscate, gazing first at him, andthen at her brother. 

"Father, " cried Louis, "you wrong him. My sins and transgressions are myown. Mountain high as they are, they shall not crush another. Mine isthe sorrow and guilt, and mine be the penalty. I do not extenuate my ownoffences, but I will not criminate others. I beseech you, sir, to recallwhat you have just uttered, for how can I close those doors upon afriend, which have so lately been opened for him with ungrudginghospitality?"

Mittie's countenance lighted up with an indescribable expression. Shecaught her brother's hand, and pressing it in both hers, exclaimed--

"Nobly said, Louis. He who can hear an absent friend defamed, withoutdefending him, is worthy of everlasting scorn. "

But Helen, terrified at the outburst of her father's anger, andoverwhelmed with grief for her brother's humiliation, bowed her head andwept in silence. 

Mr. Gleason turned his eyes, where the lightning still gleamed, fromLouis to Mittie, as if trying to read her inscrutable countenance. 

"Tell me, Mittie, " he cried, "the whole length and breadth of theinterest you have in this young man. I have suffered you to elude thissubject too long. I have borne with your proud and sullen reserve toolong. I have been weak and irresolute in times past, but thoroughlyaroused to a sense of my authority and responsibility as a father, aswell as my duty as a man, I command you to tell me all that has passedbetween you and Bryant Clinton. Has he proffered you marriage? Has heexchanged with you the vows of betrothal? Have you gone so far withoutmy knowledge or approval?"

"I cannot answer such questions, sir, " she haughtily replied, the hotblood rushing into her face and filling her forehead veins with purple. "You have no right to ask them in this presence. There are some subjectstoo sacred for investigation, and this is one. There are limits even toa father's authority, and I protest against its encroachments. "

Those who are slow to arouse to anger are slow to be appeased. The flamethat is long in kindling generally burns with long enduring heat. Mr. Gleason had borne, with unexampled patience, Mittie's strange andwayward temper. For the sake of family peace he had sacrificed his ownself-respect, which required deference and obedience in a child. Buthaving once broken the spell which had chained his tongue, and meeting aresisting will, his own grew stronger and more determined. 

"Do you dare thus to reply to _me_, your father?" cried he; "you willfind there are limits to a father's indulgence, too. Trifle not with myanger, but give me the answer I require. "

"Never, sir, never, " cried she, with a mien as undaunted as CharlotteCorday's, that "angel of assassination, " when arraigned before thetribunal of justice. 

"Did you never hear of a discarded child?" said he, his voice sinkingalmost to a whisper, it was so choked with passion. 

"Yes, sir. "

"And do you not fear such a doom?"

"No, sir. "

"My husband, " exclaimed Mrs. Gleason, laying her hand imploringly on hisshoulder, "be calm. Seek not by violence to break the stubborn willwhich kindness cannot bend. Let not our fireside be a scene of domesticcontention, which we shall blush to recall. Leave her to the dark andsullen secrecy she prefers to our tenderness and sympathy. And, onething I beseech you, my husband, suspend your judgment of the characterof Clinton till Louis is able to explain all that is doubtful andmysterious. He is weary now, and needs rest instead of excitement. "

There was magic in the touch of that gentle hand, in the tones of thatpersuasive voice. The father's stern brow relaxed, and a cloud of thedeepest sadness extinguished the fiery anger of his glance. The cloudcondensed and melted away in tears. Helen saw them, though he turnedaway, and shaded his face with his hand, and putting her arms round him, she kissed the hand which hung loosely at his side. This act, so tenderand respectful, touched him to the heart's core. 

"My child, my darling, my own sweet Helen, " he cried, pressing herfondly to his bosom. "You have always been gentle, loving and obedient. You have never wilfully given me one moment's sorrow. In the name of thybeautiful mother I bless thee, and thou shalt be blessed. "

The excitement of his feelings gave an exalted tone to his voice andwords, and as the benediction stole solemnly into her heart, Helen feltas if the plumage of the white dove was folded in downy softness there. In the meantime Mittie had quitted the room, and Mrs. Gleason drawingnear Louis, sat down by him, and addressed him in a kind, cheeringmanner. 

"These heavy locks must be shorn to-morrow, " said she, passing her handover his long, dark hair. "They sadden your countenance too much. Anight's sleep, too, will bring back the color to your face. You are overweary now. Retire, my son, and banish every emotion but gratitude foryour return. You are safe now, and all will yet be well. "

"Oh, mother, " he answered, suffering his head to droop upon hershoulder, then suddenly lifting it, "I am not worthy to rest on thissacred pillow. I am not worthy to touch the hem of your garments, but ifthe deepest repentance--the keenest remorse, " he paused, for his voicefaltered, then added, passionately, "oh, mother--

 'Not poppy, nor mandragora, Nor all the drowsy sirups of the world Can ever medicine me to the sweet sleep'

I once slept beneath this hallowed roof. "

"No, my son--but there is a remedy more balmy and powerful than all thedrugs of the East, which you can obtain without money and withoutprice. "

Louis shook his head mournfully. 

"I will give you an anodyne to-night, prepared by my own hand, andto-morrow--"

"Give me the anodyne, kindest and best of mothers, but don't, forHeaven's sake, talk of to-morrow. "

But whether man speak or be silent, Time, the unresting traveler, presses on. Never but once have its chariot wheels been stayed, when thesun stood still on the plains of Gibeon, and the moon hung pale andimmovable over the vale of Ajalon. Sorrow and remorse are greatprophets, but Time is greater still, and they can no more arrest oraccelerate its progress than the breath of a new-born infant can movethe eternal mountains from their base. 

Louis slept, thanks to his step-mother's anodyne, and the dreaded morrowcame, when the broad light of day must reveal all the inroads theindulgence of guilty passions had caused. Another revelation must bemade. He knew his father would demand a full history of his conduct, andit was a relief to his burdened conscience, that had so long groanedunder the weight of secret transgressions, to cast itself prostrate atthe feet of parental authority in the dust and ashes of humiliation. Butwhile he acknowledged and deplored his own vices, he could notcriminate Clinton. He implored his father to inflict upon him anypenalty, however severe, he knew, he felt it to be just, but not torequire of him to treat his friend with ingratitude and insult. His staywould not be long. He must return very soon to Virginia. He had beenprevented from doing so by a fatal and contagious disease that had beenraging in the neighborhood of his home, and when that subsided, otheraccidental causes had constantly interfered with his design. Must thehigh-spirited Virginian go back to his native regions with the story sooft repeated of New England coldness and inhospitality verified in hisown experience?

"Say no more, " said his father. "I will reflect on all you have said, and you shall know the result. Now, come with me to the counting-house, and let me see if you can put your mathematics to any practical use. Employment is the greatest safeguard against temptation. "

There was one revelation which Louis did not make, and that was theamount of his debts. He dared not do it, though again and again he hadopened his lips to tell it. 

"To-morrow I will do it, " thought he--but before the morrow came herecollected the words of Miss Thusa, uttered the last time he hadvisited her cabin--"If you should get into trouble and not want to vexthose that are kin, you can come to me, and if you don't despise mycounsel and assistance perhaps it may do you good. " This had made butlittle impression on him at the time, but it came back to him now"_powerfully_" as Miss Thusa would say; and he thought it possible therewas more meant than reached the ear. He remembered how meaningly, howeven commandingly her gray eye had fixed itself on him as she spoke, andhe believed in the great love which the ancient spinster bore him. Atany rate he knew she would be gratified by such a proof of confidence onhis part, and that with Spartan integrity she would guard the trust. Itwould be a relief to confide in her. 

He waited till twilight and then appeared an unexpected but welcomevisitor at the Hermitage, as Helen called the old gray cottage. Thelight in the chimney was dim, and she was hastening to kindle a morecheering blaze. 

"No, Miss Thusa, " said he, "I love this soft gloom. There's no need of ablaze to talk by, you know. "

"But I want to see you, Louis. It is long since we've watched yourcoming. Many a time has Helen sat where you are now, and talked aboutyou till the tears would run down her cheeks, wondering why you didn'tcome, and fearing some evil had befallen you. I've had my misgivings, too, though I never breathed them to mortal ear, ever since you went offwith that long-haired upstart, who fumbled so about my wheel, trying tofool me with his soft nonsense. What has become of him?"

"He is at home, I believe--but you are too harsh in your judgment, MissThusa. It is strange what prejudiced you so against him. "

"Something _here_, " cried the spinster, striking her hand against herheart; "something that God put here, not man. I'm glad you and he haveparted company; and I'm glad for more sakes than one. I never lovedMittie, but she's her mother's child, and I don't like the thought ofher being miserable for life. And now, Louis, what do you want me to dofor you? I can see you are in trouble, though you don't want the fire toblaze on your face. You forget I wear glasses, though they are notalways at home, where they ought to be, on the bridge of my nose. "

"You told me if I needed counsel or assistance, to come to you and nottrouble my kindred. I am in distress, Miss Thusa, and it is my ownfault. I'm in debt. I owe money that I cannot raise; I cannot tax myfather again to pay the wages of sin. Tell me now how you can aid me;_you_, poor and lonely, earning only a scanty pittance by the flax onyour distaff, and as ignorant of the world as simple-hearted Helenherself?"

Miss Thusa leaned her head forward on both hands, swaying her bodyslowly backward and forward for a few seconds; then taking the poker, she gave the coals a great flourish, which made the sparks fly to thetop of the chimney. 

"I'll try to help you, " said she, "but if you have been doing wrong andbeen led away by evil companions, he, your father, ought to know it. Better find it out from yourself than anybody else. "

"He knows all my misconduct, " replied Louis, raising his head with anair of pride. "I would scorn to deceive him. And yet, " he added, with aconscious blush, "you may accuse me of deception in this instance. Hehas not asked me the sum I owe--and Heaven knows I could not go andthrust my bills in his face. I thought perhaps there was some usurer, whom you had heard of, who could let me have the money. They are debtsof honor, and must be paid. "

"Of _honor_!" repeated Miss Thusa, with a tone of ineffable contempt. "Ithought you had more sense, Louis, than to talk in that nonsensical way. It's more--it's downright wicked. I know what it all means, well enough. They're debts you are ashamed of, that you had no business to make, thatyou dare not let your father know of; and yet you call them debts ofhonor. "

Louis rose from his seat with a haughty and offended air. 

"I was a fool to come, " he muttered to himself; "I might have knownbetter. The Evil Spirit surely prompted me. "

Then walking rapidly to the door, he said--

"I came here for comfort and advice, Miss Thusa, according to your ownbidding, not to listen to railings that can do no good to you or to me. I had been to you so often in my boyish difficulties, and found sympathyand kindness, I thought I should find it now. I know I do not deserveit, but I nevertheless expected it from you. But it is no matter. I mayas well brave the worst at once. "

Snatching up his hat and pulling it over his brows, he was about toshoot through the door, when the long arm of Miss Thusa was interposedas a barrier against him. 

"There is no use in being angry with an old woman like me, " said she, ina pacifying tone, just as she would soothe a fretful child. "I alwaysspeak what I think, and it is the truth, too--Gospel truth, and you knowit. But come, come, sit down like a good boy, and let us talk it allover. There--I won't say another cross word to-night. "

The first smile which had lighted up the face of Louis since his return, flitted over his lip, as Miss Thusa pushed him down into the chair hehad quitted, and drew her own close to it. 

"Now, " said she, "tell me how much money you want, and I'll try to getit for you. Have faith in me. That can work wonders. "

After Louis had made an unreserved communication of the whole, she toldhim to come the next day. 

"I can do nothing now, " said she, "but who knows what the morrow maybring forth?"

"Who, indeed!" thought Louis, as he wended his solitary way homeward. "Iknow not why it is, but I cannot help having some reliance on thepromises of this singular old woman. It was my perfect confidence in hertruth and integrity that drew me to her. What her resources are, I knownot; I fear they exist only in her own imagination; but if she shouldbefriend me in this, mine extremity, may the holy angels guard and blessher. Alas! it is mockery for me to invoke them. "

The next day when he returned to her cabin, he found her spinning withall her accustomed solemnity. He blushed with shame, as he looked roundon the appearance of poverty that met his eye, respectable andcomfortable poverty, it is true--but for him to seek assistance of theinmate of such a dwelling! He must have thought her a sorceress, to havebelieved in the existence of such a thing. He must have been maddened tohave admitted such an idea. 

"Forgive me, Miss Thusa, " said he, with the frankness of the _boy_Louis, "forgive me for plaguing you with my troubles. I was not in myright senses yesterday, or I should not have done it. I have resolved tohave no concealments from my father, and to tell him all. "

Miss Thusa dipped her hand in a pocket as deep as a well, which she woreat her right side, and taking out a well-filled and heavy purse, she putit in the hand of Louis. 

"There is something to help you a little, " said she, without looking himin the face. "You must take it as a present from old Miss Thusa, andnever say a word about it to a human being. That is all I ask ofyou--and it is not much. Don't thank me. Don't question me. The moneywas mine, honestly got and righteously given. One of these days I'lltell you where it came from, but I can't now. "

Louis held the purse with a bewildered air, his fingers trembling withemotion. Never before had he felt all the ignominy and all the shamewhich he had brought upon himself. A hot, scalding tide came rushingwith the cataract's speed through his veins, and spreading with burninghue over his face. 

"No! I cannot, I cannot!" he exclaimed, dropping the purse, andclenching his hands on his brow. "I did not mean to beg of your bounty. I am not so lost as to wrench from your aged hand, the gold that maypurchase comfort and luxuries for all your remaining years. No, MissThusa, my reason has returned--my sense of honor, too--I were worse thana robber, to take advantage of your generous offer. "

"Louis--Louis Gleason, " cried Miss Thusa, rising from her seat, hertall, ancestral-looking figure assuming an air of majesty andcommand--"listen to me; if you cast that purse from you, I will nevermake use of it as long as I live, which won't be long. It will do no goodto a human being. What do I want of money? I had rather live in thislittle, old, gray hut than the palace of the Queen of England. I hadrather earn my bread by this wheel, than eat the food of idleness. Yourfather gives me fuel in winter, and his heart is warmed by the fire thathe kindles for me. It does him good. It does everybody good to befriendanother. What do I want of money? To whom in the wide world should Igive it, but you and Helen? I have as much and more for her. My heart isdrawn powerfully towards you two children, and it will continue to draw, while there is life in its fibres or blood in its veins. Take it, Isay--and in the name of your mother in heaven, go, and sin no more. "

"I take it, " said Louis, awed into submission and humility by herprophetic solemnity, "I take it as a loan, which I will labor day andnight to return. What would my father say, if he knew of this?"

"He will not know it, unless you break your word, " said Miss Thusa, setting her wheel in motion, and wetting her fingers in the gourd. "Youmay go, now, if you will not talk of something else. I must go and getsome more flax. I can see all the ribs of my distaff. "

Louis knew that this was an excuse to escape his thanks, and giving herhand a reverent and silent pressure, he left the cabin. Heavy as leadlay the purse in his pocket--heavy as lead lay the heart in his bosom. 

Helen met him at the door, with a radiant countenance. 

"Who do you think is come, brother?" she asked. 

"Is it Clinton?" said he. 

"Oh! no--it is Alice. A friend of her brother was coming directly here, and she accompanied him. Come and see her. "

"Thank God! _she_ cannot see!" exclaimed Louis, as he passed into thepresence of the blind girl. 

Though no beam of pleasure irradiated her sightless eyes, her bright andheightening color, the eager yet tremulous tones of her voice assuredhim of a joyous welcome. Alice remembered the thousand acts of kindnessby which he had endeared to her the very helplessness which had calledthem forth. His was the hand every ready to guide her, the arm offeredfor her support. His were the cheering accents most welcome to her ears, and his steps had a music which belonged to no steps but his. His image, reflected on the retina of the soul, was beautiful as the dream ofimagination, an image on which time could cast no shadow, being withoutvariableness or change. 

"Thank God, " again repeated Louis to himself, "that she cannot see. Ican read no reproach in those blue and silent orbs. I can drink in herpure and holy loveliness, till my spirit grows purer and holier as Igaze. Blessings on thee for coming, sweet and gentle Alice. As Davidcharmed the evil spirit in the haunted breast of Saul, so shall thydivine strains lull to rest the fiends of remorse that are wrestling andgnawing in my bosom. The time has been when I dreamed of being thy guidethrough life, a lamp to thy blindness, and a stay and support to thyhelpless innocence. The dream is past--I wake to the dread reality of myown utter unworthiness. "

These thoughts rose tumultuously in the breast of the young man, in themoment of greeting, while the soft hand of the blind girl lingeredtremblingly in his. Without thinking of the influence it might have onher feelings, he sought her presence as a balm to his chafed andtortured heart, as a repose to his worn and weary spirit, as an anodyneto the agonies of remorse. The grave, sad glance of his father; theserious, yet tender and pitying look of his step-mother; and thepensive, melting, sympathizing eye of Helen, were all daggers to hisconscience. But Alice could not see. No daggers of reproach weresheathed in those reposing eyes. Oh! how remorse and shame shrink frombeing arraigned before that throne of light where the immortal spiritsits enthroned--the human eye! If thus conscious guilt recoils from thegaze of man, weak, fallible, erring man, how can it stand the consumingfire of that Eternal Eye, in whose sight the heavens are not clean, andbefore which archangels bend, veiling their brows with their refulgentwings!

It was about a week after the arrival of Louis and the coming of Alice, that, as the family were assembled round the evening fireside, a notewas brought to Louis. 

"Clinton is come, " cried he, in an agitated voice, "he waits me at thehotel. "

"What shall I say to him, father?" asked he, turning to Mr. Gleason, whose folded arms gave an air of determination to his person, whichLouis did not like. 

"Come with me into the next room, Louis, " said Mr. Gleason, and Louisfollowed with a firm step but a sinking heart. 

"I have reflected deeply, deliberately, prayerfully on this subject, myson, since we last discussed it, and the result is this: I cannot, whilesuch dark doubts disturb my mind, I cannot, consistent with my duty as afather and a Christian, allow this young man to be domesticated in myfamily again. If I wrong him, may God forgive me--but if I wrong my ownhousehold, I fear He never will. "

"I cannot go--I will not go!" exclaimed Louis, dashing the note on thefloor. "This is the last brimming drop in the cup of humiliation, bitterer than all the rest. "

"Louis, Louis, have you not merited humiliation? Have _you_ a right tomurmur at the decree? Have I upbraided you for the anxious days andsleepless nights you have occasioned me? For my blasted hopes andembittered joys? No, Louis. I saw that your own heart condemned you, andI left you to your God, who is greater than your own heart and mine!"

"Oh, father!" cried Louis, melted at once by this pathetic and solemnappeal, "I know I have no right to claim any thing at your hands, but Ibeg, I supplicate--not for myself--but another!"

"'Tis in vain, Louis. Urge me no more. On this point I am inflexible. But, since it is so painful to you, I will go myself and openly avow thereasons of my conduct. "

"No, sir, " exclaimed Louis, "not for the world. I will go at once. "

He turned suddenly and quitted the apartment, and then the house, with ahalf-formed resolution of fleeing to the wild woods, and never morereturning. 

Mittie, who was fortunately in her room above, (fortunately, we say, forher presence would have been as fuel to flame, ) heard the quick openingand shutting of doors, and the sound of rapid steps on the flag-stonesof the yard. 

"Louis, Louis, " she cried, opening the window and recognizing his figurein the star-lit night, "whither are you going?"

"To perdition!" was the passionate reply. 

"Oh, Louis, speak and tell me truly, is Clinton come?"

"He is. "

"And you are going to bring him here?"

"No, never, never! Now shut the window. You have heard enough. "

Yes, she had heard enough! The sash fell from her hand, and a pane ofglass, shivered by the fall, flew partly in shining particles againsther dress, and partly lay scattered on the snowy ground. A fragmentrebounded, and glanced upon her forehead, making the blood-drops trickledown her cheek. Wiping them off with her handkerchief, she gazed on thecrimson stain, and remembering her bleeding fingers when they parted, and Miss Thusa's legend of the Maiden's Bleeding Heart, sheinvoluntarily put her hand to her own to feel if it were not bleeding, too. All the strong and passionate love which had been smoulderingthere, beneath the ashes of sullen pride, struggling for vent, heavedthe bosom where it was concealed. And with this love there blazed afiercer flame, indignation against her father for the prohibition thatraised a barrier between herself and Bryant Clinton. One moment sheresolved to rush down stairs and give utterance to the vehement angerthat threatened to suffocate her by repression; the next, the image of astern, rebuking father, inflexible in his will, checked her rash design. Had she been in his presence and heard the interdiction repeated, herresentful feelings would have burst forth; but, daring as she was, therewas some restraining influence over her passions. 

Then she reflected that parental prohibitions were as the gossamer webbefore the strength of real love, --that though Clinton was forbidden tomeet her in her father's house, the world was wide enough to furnish atrysting-place elsewhere. Let him but breathe the word, she was ready tofly with him from zone to zone, believing that even the frozen regionsof Lapland would be converted into a blooming Paradise by the magic ofhis love. But what if he loved her no more, as Helen had asserted? Whatif Helen had indeed supplanted her?

"No, no!" cried she, aloud, shrinking from the dark and evil thoughtsthat came gliding into her soul; "no, no, I will not think of it! Itwould drive me mad!"

It was past midnight when Louis returned, and the light still burned inMittie's chamber. The moment she heard his step on the flag-stones, shesprang to the window and opened it. The cold night air blew chill on herfeverish and burning face, but she heeded it not. 

"Louis, " she said, "wait. I will come down and open the door. "

"It is not fastened, " he replied; "it is not likely that I am barred outalso. Go to bed, Mittie--for Heaven's sake, go to bed. "

But, throwing off her slippers, she flew down stairs, the carpetmuffling the sound of her footsteps, and met her brother on thethreshold. 

"Why will you do this, Mittie?" cried he, impatiently. "Do go back--I amcold and weary, and want to go to bed. "

"Only tell me one thing--have you no message for me?"

"None. "

"When does he go away?"

"I don't know. But one thing I can tell you; if you value your peaceand happiness, let not your heart anchor its hopes on him. Look upon allthat is past as mere gallantry on his side, and the natural drawing ofyouth to youth on yours. Come this way, " drawing her into thesitting-room, where the dying embers still communicated warmth to theapartment, and shed a dim, lurid light on their faces. "Though my headaches as if red-hot wires were passing through it, I must guard you atonce against this folly. You know so little of the world, Mittie, youdon't understand the manners of young men, especially when firstreleased from college. There is a chivalry about them which convertsevery young lady into an angel, and they address them as such. Theirattentions seldom admit a more serious construction. Besides--but nomatter--I have said enough, I hope, to rouse the pride of your sex, andto induce you to banish Clinton from your thoughts. Good-night. "

Though he tried to speak carelessly, he was evidently much agitated. 

"Good-night, " he again repeated, but Mittie stood motionless as astatue, looking steadfastly on the glimmering embers. "Go up stairs, " hecried, taking her cold hand, and leading her to the door, "you will befrozen if you stay here much longer. "

"I am frozen already, " she answered, shuddering, "good night. "

The next morning, when the housemaid went into her room to kindle afire, she was startled by the appearance of a muffled figure seated atthe window, with the head leaning against the casement; the face was aswhite as the snow on the landscape. It was Mittie. She had not laid herhead upon the pillow the whole live-long night. 

CHAPTER XII. 

 "Beautiful tyrant--fiend angelical-- Dove-feathered raven!--wolf-devouring lamb-- Oh, serpent heart--hid in a flowering cave, Did e'er deceit dwell in so fair a mansion!"--_Shakspeare. _

 "Pray for the dead. Why for the dead, who are at rest? Pray for the living, in whose breast The struggle between right and wrong Is raging terrible and strong. "--_Longfellow. _

"Are you willing to remain with her alone, all night?" asked the youngdoctor. 

Helen glanced towards the figure reclining on the bed, whose lengthappeared almost supernatural, and whose appearance was rendered moregloomy by the dun-colored counterpane that enveloped it--and though hercountenance changed, she answered, "Yes. "

"Have you no fears that the old superstitions of your childhood willresume their influence over your imagination, in the stillness of themidnight hour?"

"I wish to subject myself to the trial. I am not quite sure of myself. Iknow there is no real danger, and it is time that I should battlesingle-handed with all imaginary foes. "

"But supposing your parents should object?"

"You must tell them how very ill she is, and how much she wishes me toremain with her. I think they will rejoice in my determination--rejoicethat their poor, weak Helen has any energy of purpose, any will or powerto be useful. "

"If you knew half your strength, half your power, Helen, I fear youwould abuse it. "

A bright flame flashed up from the dark, serene depths of his eyes, andplayed on Helen's downcast face. She had seen its kindling, and nowfelt its warmth glowing in her cheek, and in her inmost heart. Thelarge, old clock behind the door, struck the hour loudly, with itsmetallic hands. Arthur started and looked at his watch. 

"I did not think it was so late, " he exclaimed, rising in haste. "I havea patient to visit, whom I promised to be with before this time. Do youknow, Helen, we have been talking at least two hours by this fireside?Miss Thusa slumbers long. "

He went to the bedside, felt of the sleeper's pulse, listenedattentively to her deep, irregular breathing, and then returned toHelen. 

"The opiate she has taken will probably keep her in a quiet state duringthe night--if not, you will recollect the directions I have given--andadminister the proper remedies. Does not your courage fail, now I amabout to leave you? Have you no misgivings now?"

"I don't know. If I have, I will not express them. I am resolved onself-conquest, and your doubts of my courage only serve to strengthen myresolution. "

Arthur smiled--"I see you have a will of your own, Helen, under thatgentle, child-like exterior, to which mine is forced to bend. But I willnot suffer you to be beyond the reach of assistance. I will send a womanto sleep in the kitchen, whom you can call, if you require her aid. As Itold you before, I do not apprehend any immediate danger, though I donot think she will rise from that bed again. "

Helen sighed, and tears gathered in her eyes. She accompanied Arthur tothe door, that she might put the strong bar across it, which was MissThusa's substitute for a lock. 

"Perhaps I may call on my return, " said he, "but it is very doubtful. Take care of yourself and keep warm. And if any unfavorable change takesplace, send the woman for me. And now good-night--dear, good, braveHelen. May God bless, and angels watch over you. "

He pressed her hand, wrapped his cloak around him, and left Helen to hersolitary vigils. She lifted the massy bar with trembling hands, and slidit into the iron hooks, fitted to receive it. Her hands trembled, butnot from fear, but delight. Arthur had called her "dear and brave"--andlong after she had reseated herself by the lonely hearth, the echo ofhis gentle, manly accents, seemed floating round the walls. 

The illness of Miss Thusa was very sudden. She had risen in the morningin usual health, and pursued until noon her customary occupation--when, all at once, as she told the young doctor, "it seemed as if a knife wentthrough her heart, and a wedge into her brain--and she was sure it was adeath-stroke. " For the first time, in the course of her long life, shewas obliged to take her bed, and there she lay in helplessness andloneliness, unable to summon relief. The young doctor called in theafternoon as a friend, and found his services imperatively required as aphysician. The only wish she expressed was to have Helen with her, andas soon as he had relieved the sufferings of his patient, Arthur broughtHelen to the Hermitage. When she arrived, Miss Thusa was under theinfluence of an opiate, but opening her heavy eyes, a ray of lightemanated from the dim, gray orbs, as Helen, pale and awe-struck, approached her bedside. She was appalled at seeing that powerful frameso suddenly prostrated--she was shocked at the change a few hours hadwrought in those rough, but commanding features. The large eye-ballslooked sunken, and darkly shaded below, while a wan, gray tint, meltingoff into a bluish white on the temples, was spread over the face. 

"You will stay with me to-night, my child, " said she, in a voicestrangely altered. "I've got something to tell you--and the time iscome. "

"Yes. I will stay with you as long as you wish, Miss Thusa, " repliedHelen, passing her hand softly over the hoary looks that shaded the browof the sufferer. "I will nurse you so tenderly, that you will soon bewell again. "

"Good child--blessed child!" murmured she, closing her eyes beneath theslumberous weight of the anodyne, and sinking into a deep sleep. 

And now Helen sat alone, watching the aged friend, whose strongly-markedand peculiar character had had so great an influence on her own. Forawhile the echo of Arthur's parting words made so much music in her ear, it drowned the harsh, solemn ticking of the old clock, and stole like asweet lullaby over her spirit. But gradually the ticking sounded louderand louder, and her loneliness pressed heavily upon her. There was alittle, dark, walnut table, standing on three curiously wrought legs, ina corner of the room. On this a large Bible, covered with dark, linencloth, was laid, and on the top of this Miss Thusa's spectacles, withthe bows crossing each other, like the stiffened arms of a corpse. Helencould not bear to look upon those spectacles, which had always seemed toher an inseparable part of Miss Thusa, lying so still and melancholythere. She took them up reverently, and laid them on a shelf, thendrawing the table near the fire, or rather carrying it, so as not toawaken the sleeper, she opened the sacred book. The first words whichhappened to meet her eye, were--

"Where is God, my Maker, who giveth me songs in the night?"

The pious heart of the young girl thrilled as she read this beautifuland appropriate text. 

"Surely, oh God, Thou art here, " was the unspoken language of thatyoung, believing heart, "here in this lonely cottage, here by this bedof sickness, and here also in this trembling, fearing, yet trustingspirit. In every life-beat throbbing in my veins, Thy awful steps Ihear. Yet Thou canst not come, Thou canst not go, for Thou art evernear, unseen, yet felt, an all pervading, glorious presence. "

Had any one seen Helen, seated by that solitary hearth, with her handsclasped over those holy pages, her mild, devotional eyes raised toHeaven, the light quivering in a halo round her brow, they might haveimagined her a young Saint, or a young Sister of Charity, ministering tothe sufferings of that world whose pleasures she had abjured. 

A low knock was heard at the door. It must be the young doctor, for whoelse would call at such an hour? Yet Helen hesitated and trembled, holding her breath to listen, thinking it possible it was but thepressure of the wind, or some rat tramping within the walls. But whenthe knock was repeated, with a little more emphasis, she took the lamp, entered the narrow passage, closing the door softly after her, removedthe massy bar, certain of beholding the countenance which was thesunlight of her soul. What was her astonishment and terror, on seeinginstead the never-to-be-forgotten face and form of Bryant Clinton. Hadshe seen one of those awful figures which Miss Thusa used to describe, she would scarcely have been more appalled than by the unexpected sightof this transcendently handsome young man. 

"Is terror the only emotion I can inspire--after so long an absence, too?" he asked, seizing her hand in both his, and riveting upon her hiswonderfully expressive, dark blue eyes. "Forgive me if I have alarmedyou, but forbidden your father's house, and knowing your presence here, I have dared to come hither that I might see you one moment before Ileave these regions, perhaps forever. "

"Impossible, Mr. Clinton, " cried Helen, recovering, in some measure, from her consternation, though her color came and went like the beacon'srevolving flame. "I cannot see you at this unseasonable hour. There is asick, a very sick person in the nest room with whom I am watching. Icannot ask you to come in. Besides, " she added, with a dignity thatenchanted the bold intruder, "if I cannot see you in my father's house, it is not proper that I see you at all. " She drew back quickly, utteringa hasty "Good-night, " and was about to close the door, when Clintonglided in, shutting the door after him. 

"You must hear me, Helen, " said he, in that sweet, low voice, peculiarto himself. "Had it not been for you I should never have returned. Itold you once that I loved you, but if I loved you then I must adore younow. You are ten thousand times more lovely. Helen, you do not know howcharming, how beautiful you are. You do not know the enthusiasticdevotion, the deathless passion you have inspired. "

"I cannot conceive of such depths of falsehood, " exclaimed Helen, hertimid eyes kindling with indignation; "all this have you said to Mittie, and far more, and she, mistaken girl, believes you true. "

"I deceived myself, alas!" cried he, in a tone of bitter sorrow. "Ithought I loved her, for I had not yet seen and known her gentler, lovelier sister. Forgive me, Helen--love is not the growth of our will. 'Tis a flower that springs spontaneously in the human heart, ofcelestial fragrance, and destined to immortal bloom. "

"If I thought you really loved me, " said Helen, in a softened tone, shrinking from the fascination of his glance, and the sorcery of hisvoice, "I should feel great and exceeding sorrow--for it would be invain. But the love that I have imagined is of a very different nature. Slowly kindled, it burns with steady and unceasing glory, unchanging asthe sun, and eternal as the soul. "

Helen paused with a burning flush, fearful that she had revealed the onesecret of her heart so lately revealed to herself, and Clinton resumedhis passionate declarations. 

"If you will not go, " said she, all her terror returning at thevehemence of his suit, "if you will not go, " looking wildly at the doorthat separated her from the sick room, "I will leave you here. You darenot follow me. The destroying angel guards this threshold. "

In her excitement she knew not what she uttered. The words came unbiddenfrom her lips. She laid her hand on the latch, but Clinton caught holdof it ere she had time to lift it. 

"You shall not leave me, by heaven, you shall not, till you haveanswered one question. Is it for the cold, calculating Arthur Hazletonyou reject such love as mine?"

Instead of uttering an indignant denial to this sudden and vehementinterrogation, Helen trembled and turned pale. Her natural timidity andsensitiveness returned with overpowering influence; and added to these, a keen sense of shame at being accused of an unsolicited attachment, acharge she could not with truth repel, humbled and oppressed her. 

 "A murderous guilt shows not itself more soon Than love that would seem hid. "

So thought Helen, while shrinking from the glance that gleamed upon her, like blue steel flashing in the sunbeams. Yes! Arthur Hazleton _was_cold compared to Clinton. He loved her even as he did Alice, with acalm, brotherly affection, and that was all. He had never praised herbeauty or attractions--never offered the slightest incense to her vanityor pride. Sometimes he had uttered indirect expressions, which had madeher bosom throb wildly with hope, but humility soon chastened theemotion which delicacy taught her to conceal. Cold indeed sounded thewarmest phrase he had ever addressed her, "God bless you, dear, good, brave Helen, " to Clinton's romantic and impassioned language, though, when it fell from his lips, it passed with such melting warmth into herheart. Swift as a swallow's flight these thoughts darted through Helen'smind, and gave an indecision and embarrassment to her manner, whichemboldened Clinton with hopes of success. All at once her countenancechanged. The strangeness of her situation, the lateness of the hour, theimpropriety of receiving such a visitor in that little dark, narrowpassage--the dread of Arthur's coming in, and finding her alone with herdreaded though splendid companion--the fear that Miss Thusa might wakenand require her assistance--the vision of her father's displeasure andMittie's jealous wrath--all swept in a stormy gust before her, drivingaway every consideration but one--the desire for escape, and thedetermination to effect it. The apprehension of awaking Miss Thusa, byrushing into her room, died in the grasp of a greater terror. 

"Let me go, " she exclaimed, wrenching her hand from his tightening hold. "Let me go. You madden me. "

In her haste to open the door the latch rattled, and the door swung towith a violence that called forth a groan from the awakening sleeper. Turning the wooden button that fastened it on the inside, she sunk downinto the first seat in her reach, and a dark shadow, flecked with sparksof fire, floated before her eyes. Chill and dizzy, she thought she wasgoing to faint, when her name, pronounced distinctly by Miss Thusa, recalled her bewildered senses. She rose, and it seemed as if the bedcame to her, for she was not conscious of walking to it, but she foundherself bending over the patient and looking steadfastly into herclouded eyes. 

"Helen, my dear, " said she, "I feel a great deal better. I must haveslept a long time. Have I not? Give me a little water. There, now sitdown close by my bed and listen. If that knife cuts my breath again, Ishall have to give up talking. Just raise my head a little, and hand memy spectacles off the big Bible. I can't talk without them. But how dimthe glasses are. Wipe them for me, child. There's dust settled onthem. "

Helen took the glasses and wiped them with her soft linen handkerchief, but she sighed as she did so, well knowing that it was the eyes thatwere growing dim instead of the crystal that covered them. 

"A little better--a little better, " said the spinster, looking wistfullytowards the candle. "Now, Helen, my dear, just step into the other roomand bring here my wheel. It is heavy, but not beyond your strength. Ialways bring it in here at night, but I can't do it now. I was takensick so sudden, I forgot it. It's my stay-by and stand-by--you know. "

Helen looked so startled and wild, that Miss Thusa imagined her struckwith superstitious terror at the thought of going alone into anotherroom. 

"I'm sorry to see you've not outgrown your weaknesses, " said she. "It'smy fault, I'm afraid, but I hope the Lord will forgive me for it. "

Helen was not afraid of the lonely room, so near and so lately occupied, but she was afraid of encountering Clinton, who might be lingering bythe open door. But Miss Thusa's request, sick and helpless as she was, had the authority of a command, and she rose to obey her. She barred theouter door without catching the gleam of Clinton's dark, shining hair, and having brought the wheel, with panting breath, for it was indeedvery heavy, sat down with a feeling of security and relief, since theenemy was now shut out by double barriers. One window was partly raisedto admit the air to Miss Thusa's oppressed lungs, but they were bothfastened above. 

"You had better not exert yourself, Miss Thusa, " said Helen, aftergiving her the medicine which the doctor had prescribed. "You are notstrong enough to talk much now. "

"I shall never be stronger, my child. My day is almost spent, and thenight cometh, wherein no man can work. I always thought I should have asudden call, and when I was struck with that sharp pain, I knew myMaster was knocking at the door. The Lord be praised, I don't want tobar him out. I'm ready and willing to go, willing to close my long andlonely life. I have had few to love, and few to care for me, but, thankGod, the one I love best of all does not forsake me in my last hour. Helen, darling, God bless you--God bless you, my blessed child. "

The voice of the aged spinster faltered, and tear after tear trickledlike wintry rain down her furrowed cheeks. All the affections of anaturally warm and generous heart lingered round the young girl, who wasstill to her the little child whom she had cradled in her arms, andhushed into the stillness of awe by her ghostly legends. Helen, inexpressibly affected, leaned her head on Miss Thusa's pillow, and weptand sobbed audibly. She did not know, till this moment, how strong anddeep-rooted was her attachment for this singular and isolated being. There was an individuality, a grandeur in her character, to whichHelen's timid, upward-looking spirit paid spontaneous homage. The wildsweep of her imagination, always kept within the limits of the purestmorality, her stern sense of justice, tempered by sympathy andcompassion, and the tenderness and sensibility that so often softenedher harsh and severe lineaments, commanded her respect and admiration. Even her person, which was generally deemed ungainly and unattractive, was invested with majesty and a certain grace in Helen's partial eyes. She was old--but hers was the sublimity of age without its infirmity, the hoariness of winter without its chillness. It seemed impossible toassociate with her the idea of dissolution. Yet there she lay, helplessas an infant, with no more strength to resist the Almighty's will, thana feather to hurl back the force of the whirlwind. 

"You see that wheel, Helen, " said she, recovering her usual calmness--"Itold you that I should bequeath it, as a legacy, to you. Don't despisethe homely gift. You see those brass bands, with grooves in them--justscrew them to the right as hard as you can--a little harder. "

Helen screwed and twisted till her slender wrists ached, when the brasssuddenly parted, and a number of gold pieces rolled upon the floor. 

"Pick them up, and put them back, " said Miss Thusa, "and screw it upagain--all the joints will open in that way. The wood is hollowed outand filled with gold, which I bequeath to you. My will is in there, too, made by the lawyers where I found the money. You remember when thatadvertisement was put in the papers, and I went on that journey, partof the way with you. Well, I must tell you the shortest way, though it'sa long story. It was written by a lady, on her death-bed, a widow lady, who had no children, and a large property of her own. You don't remembermy brother, but your father does. He was a hater of the world, andalmost made me one. Well, it seemed he had a cause for his misanthropywhich I never knew of, for when he was a young man he went away fromhome, and we didn't hear from him for years. When he came back, he wassad and sickly, and wanted to get into some little quiet place, wherenobody would molest him. Then it was we came to this little cabin, wherehe died, in this very room, and this very bed, too. "

Miss Thusa paused, and the room and the bed seemed all at once clothedwith supernatural solemnity, by the sad consecration of death. Death hadbeen there--death was waiting there. 

"Oh! Miss Thusa, you are faint and weary. Do stop and rest, I pray you, "cried Helen, bathing her forehead with camphor, and holding a glass ofwater to her lips. 

But the unnatural strength which opium gives, sustained her, and shecontinued her narrative. 

"This lady, when young, had loved and been betrothed to my brother, andthen forsook him for a wealthier man. It was that which ruined him, andI never knew it. He had one of those still natures, where the waters ofsorrow lie deep as a well. They never overflow. She told me that shenever had had one happy moment from the time she married, and that herconscience gnawed her for her broken faith. Her husband died, and lefther a rich widow, without a child to leave her property to. After awhile she fell sick of a long and lingering disease, for which there isno cure. Then she thought if she could leave her money to my brother, orhe being dead, to some of his kin, she could die with more comfort. So, she put the advertisement in the paper, which you all saw. I didn't wantthe money, and wanted to come away without it, but she sent for alawyer, and had it all fastened upon me by deeds and writings, whether Iwas willing or not. She didn't live but a few days after I got there. The lawyer was very kind, and assisted me in my plans, though hethought them very odd. There is no need of wasting my breath in tellinghow I had the money changed into gold, and the wheel fixed in the wayyou see it, after a fashion of my own. I would not have touched one centof it, had it not been for you, and next to you, that poor boy, Louis. Ididn't want any one to know it, and be dinning in my ears about moneyfrom morning to night. I had no use for it myself, for habits don'tchange when the winter of life is begun. There is no use for it in thedark grave to which I am hastening. There is no use for it near thegreat white throne of God, where I shall shortly stand. When I am deadand gone, Helen, take that wheel home, and give it a place wherever youare, for old Miss Thusa's sake. I really think--I'm a strange, foolishold woman--but I really think I should like to have its likeness paintedon my coffin lid. A kind of coat-of-arms, you know, child. "

Miss Thusa did not relate all this without pausing many times forbreath, and when she concluded she closed her eyes, exhausted by theeffort she had made. In a short time she again slept, and Helen satpondering in mute amazement over the disclosure made by one whom she hadimagined so very indigent. The gold weighed heavy on her mind. It didnot seem real, so strangely acquired, so mysteriously concealed. Itreminded her of the tales of the genii, more than of the actualities ofevery day life. She prayed that Miss Thusa might live and take care ofit herself for long years to come. 

Several times during the recital, she thought she heard a sound at thewindow, but when she turned her head to ascertain the cause, she sawnothing but the curtain slightly fluttering in the wind that crept in atthe opening, with a soft, sighing sound. 

It was the first time she had ever watched with the sick, and she foundit a very solemn thing. Yet with all the solemnity and gloom broodingover her, she felt inexpressible gratitude that she was not haunted bythe spectral illusions of her childhood. Reason was no longer thevassal, but the monarch of imagination, and though the latter oftenproved a restless and wayward subject, it acknowledged the former asits legitimate sovereign. 

Miss Thusa, lying so rigid and immovable on her back, with her handscrossed on her breast, a white linen handkerchief folded over her headand fastened under the chin, looked so resembling death, that it wasdifficult to think of her as a living, breathing thing. Helen gazed uponher with indescribable awe, sometimes believing it was nothing butsoulless clay before her, but even then she gazed without horror. Herexceeding terror of death was gone, without her being conscious of itsdeparture. It was like the closing of a dark abyss--there was _terrafirma_, where an awful chasm had been. There was more terror to her inthe vitality burning in her own heart, than in that poor, enfeebledform. How strong were its pulsations! how loud they sounded in themidnight stillness!--louder than the death-watch that ticked by thehearth. To escape from the beatings of "this muffled drum" of life, shewent to the window, and partly drawing aside the curtain, breathed on apane of glass, so that the gauzy web the frost had woven might melt awayand admit the vertical rays of the midnight moon. How beautiful, howresplendent was the scene that was spread out before her! She had notthought before of looking abroad, and it was the first time the solemnglories of the noon of night had unfolded to her view. In the morning adrizzling rain had fallen, which had frozen as it fell on the branchesof the leafless trees, and now on every little twig hung pendantdiamonds, glittering in the moonbeams. The ground was partially coveredwith snow, but where it lay bare, it was powdered with diamond dust. Asilvery net-work was drawn over the windows, save one clear spot, whichher melting breath had made. She looked up to the moon, shining so high, so lone on the pale azure of a wintry heaven, and felt an impulse tokneel down and worship it, as the loveliest, holiest image of theCreator's goodness and love. How tranquil, how serene, how soft, yetglorious it shone forth from the still depths of ether! What a divinemelancholy it diffused over the sleeping earth! Helen felt as she oftendid when looking up into the eyes of Arthur Hazleton. So tranquil, soserene, yet so glorious were their beams to her, and so silently andholily did they sink into the soul. 

In the morning the young doctor found his patient in the same feeble, slumberous state. There was no apparent change either for better orworse, and he thought it probable she might linger days and even weeks, gradually sinking, till she slept the last great sleep. 

"You look weary and languid, Helen, " said he, anxiously regarding theyoung watcher, "I hope nothing disturbed your lonely vigils. Iendeavored to return, that I might relieve you, in some measure, of yourfatiguing duty, but was detained the whole night. "

Helen thought of the terror she had suffered from Clinton's intrusion, but she did not like to speak of it. Perhaps he had already left theneighborhood, and it seemed ungenerous and useless to betray him. 

"I certainly had no ghostly visitors, " said she, "and what is more, Idid not fear them. All unreal phantasies fled before that sad reality, "looking on the wan features of Miss Thusa. 

"I see you have profited by the discipline of the last twelve hours, "cried Arthur, "and it was most severe, for one of your temperament andearly habits. I have heard it said, " he added, thoughtfully, "that thosewho follow my profession, become callous and indifferent to humansuffering--that their nerves are steeled, and their heartsindurated--but I do not find it the case with me; I never approach thebedside of the sick and the dying without deep and solemn emotion. Ifeel nearer the grave, nearer to Heaven and God. "

"No--I am sure it cannot be said of you, " said Helen, earnestly, "youare always kind and sympathizing--quick to relieve, and slow to inflictpain. "

"Ah, Helen, you forget how cruel I was in forcing you back, where thedeadly viper had been coiled; in making you take that dark, solitarywalk in search of the sleeping Alice; and even last night I might havespared you your lonely night watch, if I would. Had I told you that youwere too inexperienced and inefficient to be a good nurse, you wouldhave believed me and yielded your place, or at least shared it withanother. Do you still think me kind?"

"Most kind, even when most exacting, " she replied. Whenever her feelingswere excited, her deep feelings of joy as well as sorrow, Helen's eyesalways glistened. This peculiarity gave a soft, pensive expression toher countenance that was indescribably winning, and made her smile fromthe effect of contrast enchantingly sweet. 

The glistening eye and the enchanting smile that followed these words, or rather accompanied them, were not altogether lost on Arthur. 

Mrs. Gleason came to relieve Helen from the care of nursing, andinsisted upon her immediate return home. Helen obeyed with reluctance, claiming the privilege of resuming her watch again at night. She wantedto be with Miss Thusa in her last moments. She had a sublime curiosityto witness the last strife of body and soul, the separation of thevisible and the invisible; but when night came on, exhausted naturesought renovation in the deepest slumbers that had ever wrapped her. Arthur, perceiving some change in his patient, resolved to remain withher himself, having hired a woman to act as subordinate nurse duringMiss Thusa's sickness. She occupied the kitchen as bed-room--anapartment running directly back of the sick chamber. 

Miss Thusa's strength was slowly, gently wasting. Disease had struck herat first like a sharp poignard, but life flowed away from the woundwithout much after suffering. The greater part of the time she lay in acomatose state, from which it was difficult to rouse her. 

Arthur sat by the fire, with a book in his hand, which at times seemeddeeply to interest him, and at others, he dropped it in his lap, andgazing intently into the glowing coals, appeared absorbed in themysteries of thought. 

About midnight, when reverie had deepened into slumber, he was startledby a low knock at the door. He had not fastened it as elaborately asHelen had done, and quickly and noiselessly opening it, he demanded whowas there. It was a young boy, bearing him a note from the family he hadvisited the preceding night. His patient was attacked with some veryalarming symptoms, and begged his immediate attendance. Having wakenedthe woman and commissioned her to watch during his absence, Arthurdeparted, surprised at the unexpected summons, as he had seen thepatient at twilight, who then appeared in a fair way of recovery. Hissurprise was still greater, when arriving at the house he found that nosummons had been sent for him, no note written, but the whole householdwere wrapped in peaceful slumbers. The note, which he carried in hispocket, was pronounced a forgery, and must have been written with somedark and evil design. But what could it be? Who could wish to draw himaway from that poor, lone cottage, that poor sick, dying woman? It wasstrange, inexplicable. 

Mr. Mason, the gentleman in whose name the note had been written, andwho fortunately happened to be the sheriff of the county, insisted uponaccompanying him back to the cottage, and aiding him to discover itsmysterious purpose. It might be a silly plot of some silly boy, but thatdid not seem at all probable, as Arthur was so universally respected andbeloved--and such was the dignity and affability of his character, thatno one would think of playing upon him a foolish and insulting trick. 

The distance was not great, and they walked with rapid footsteps overthe crisp and frozen ground. Around the cabin, the snow formed a thickcarpet, which, lying in shade, had not been glazed, like the generalsurface of the landscape. Their steps did not resound on this whitecovering, and instead of crossing the stile in front of the cabin, theyvaulted over the fence and approached the door by a side path. Themoment Arthur laid his hand upon the latch he knew some one had enteredthe house during his absence, for he had closed the door, and now it wasajar. With one bound he cleared the passage, and Mr. Mason, who was atall and strong man, was not left much in the rear. The inner door wasnot latched, and opened at the touch. The current of air which rushed inwith their sudden entrance rolled into the chimney, and the fire flashedup and roared, illuminating every object within. Near the centre of theroom stood a man, wrapped in a dark cloak that completely concealed hisfigure, a dark mask covering his face, and a fur cap pulled deep overhis forehead. He stood by the side of Miss Thusa's wheel, whichpresented the appearance of a ruin, with its brazen bands wrenchedasunder, and its fragments strewed upon the floor. He was evidentlyarrested in the act of destruction, for one hand grasped the distaff, the other clinched something which he sought to conceal in the folds ofhis cloak. 

Miss Thusa, partly raised on her elbow, which shook and trembled fromthe weight it supported, was gazing with impotent despair on herdismembered wheel. A dim fire quivered in her sunken eyes, and hersharpened and prominent features were made still more ghastly by theopaque frame-work of white linen that surrounded them. She was utteringfaint and broken ejaculations. 

"Monster--robber!--my treasure! Take the gold--take it, but spare mywheel! Poor Helen! I gave it to her! Poor child! It's she you arerobbing, not me! Oh, my God! my heart-strings are breaking! My wheel, that I loved like a human being! Lord, Lord, have mercy upon me!"

These piteous exclamations met the ear of Arthur as he entered the room, and roused all the latent wrath of his nature. He forgot every thing butthe dark, masked figure which, gathering up its cloak, sprang towardsthe door, with the intention of escaping, but an iron grasp held itback. Seldom, indeed, were the strong but subdued passions of ArthurHazleton suffered to master him, but now they had the ascendency. Henever thought of calling on Mr. Mason to assist him quietly in securingthe robber, as he might have done, but yielding to an irresistibleimpulse of vengeance, he grappled fiercely with the mask, who writhedand struggled in his unclinching hold. Something fell rattling on thefloor, and continued to rattle as the strife went on. Mr. Mason, knowingthat by virtue of his authority he could arrest the offender at once, looked on with that strange pleasure which men feel in witnessing scenesof conflict. He was astonished at the transformation of the youngdoctor. He had always seen him so calm and gentle in the chamber ofsickness, so peaceful in his intercourse with his fellow-men, that hedid not know the lamb could be thus changed into the lion. 

Arthur had now effected his object, in unmasking and uncloaking hisantagonist, and he found himself face to face with--Bryant Clinton. Theyoung men stood gazing at each other for a few moments in perfectsilence. They were both of an ashy paleness, and their eyes glitteredunder the shadow of their darkened brows. But Clinton could not longsustain that steadfast, victor glance. His own wavered and fell, and theblood swept over his face in a reddening wave. 

"Let me go, " said he, in a low, husky voice, "I am in your power; but bemagnanimous and release me. I throw myself on your generosity, not yourjustice. "

Arthur's sternly upbraiding eye softened into an expression of thedeepest sorrow, not unmingled with contempt, on beholding thedegradation of this splendidly endowed young man. He reminded him of afallen angel, with his glorious plumage all soiled and polluted with themire and corruption of earth. He never had had faith in his integrity;be believed him to be the tempter of Louis, the deceiver of Mittie, reckless and unprincipled where pleasure was concerned, but he did notbelieve him capable of such a daring transgression. Had he been alone, he would have released him, for his magnanimity and generosity wouldhave triumphed over his sense of justice, but legal authority waspresent, and to that he was forced to submit. 

"_I_ arrest you, sir, in virtue of my authority as sheriff of thecounty, " exclaimed Mr. Mason; "empty your pockets of the gold you havepurloined from this woman, and then follow me. Quick, or I'll give yourough aid. "

The pomp and aristocracy of Clinton's appearance and manners had madehim unpopular in the neighborhood, and it is not strange that a man whomhe had never condescended to notice should triumph in his disgrace. Helooked on with vindictive pleasure while Clinton, after a uselessresistance, produced the gold he had secreted, but Arthur turned awayhis head in shame. He could not bear to witness the depth of hisdegradation. His cheek burned with painful blushes, as the gold clinkedon the table, ringing forth the tale of Clinton's guilt. 

"Now, sir, come along, " cried the stern voice of the sheriff. "Doctor, Ileave the care of this to you. "

While he was speaking, he drew a pair of hand-cuffs from his pocket, which he had slipped in before leaving home, thinking they might come inuse. 

"You shall not degrade me thus!" exclaimed Clinton, haughtily, writhingin his grasp; "you shall never put those vile things on me!"

"Softly, softly, young gentleman, " cried the sheriff, "I shall hurt yourfair wrists if you don't stand still. There, that will do. Come along. No halting. "

Arthur gave one glance towards the retreating form of Clinton, as hepassed through the door, with his haughty head now drooping on hisbreast, wearing the iron badge of crime, and groaned in spirit, that sofair a temple should not be occupied by a nobler indwelling guest. Sorapidly had the scene passed, so still and lone seemed the apartment, for Miss Thusa had sunk back on her pillow mute and exhausted, that hewas tempted to believe that it was nothing but a dream. But the wheellay in fragments at his feet, the gold lay in shining heaps upon thetable, and a dark mask grinned from the floor. That gold, too!--howdream-like its existence! Was Miss Thusa a female Midas or Aladdin? Wasthe dull brass lamp burning on the table, the gift of the genii? Was theold gray cabin a witch's magic home?

Rousing himself with a strong effort, he examined the condition of hispatient, and was grieved to find how greatly this shock had acceleratedthe work of disease. Her pulse was faint and flickering, her skin coldand clammy, but after swallowing a cordial, and inhaling the strong odorof hartshorn, a reaction took place, and she revived astonishingly; butwhen she spoke, her mind evidently wandered, sometimes into the shadowsof the past, sometimes into the light of the future. 

"What shall I do with this?" asked Arthur, pointing to the gold, anxiousto bring her thoughts to some central point; "and these, too?" stoopingdown and picking up a fragment of the wheel. 

"Screw it up again--screw it up, " she replied, quickly, "and put thegold back in it. 'Tis Helen's--all little Helen's. Don't let them robher after I'm dead. "

Rejoicing to hear her speak so rationally, though wondering if what shesaid of Helen was not the imagining of a disordered brain, he began toexamine the pieces of the wheel, and found that with the exertion of alittle skill he could put them together again, and that it was only someslender parts of the machine which were broken. He placed the money inits hollow receptacles, united the brazen rings, and smoothed thetangled flax that twined the distaff. Ever and anon Miss Thusa turnedher fading glance towards him, and murmured, "It is good. It is good!"

For more than an hour she lay perfectly still, when suddenly moving, sheexclaimed, "Put away the curtain--it's too dark. "

Arthur drew aside the curtain from the window nearest the bed, and thepale, cold moonlight came in, in white, shining bars, and striped thedark counterpane. One fell across Miss Thusa's face, and illuminated itwith a strange and ghastly lustre. 

"Has the moon gone down?" she asked. "I thought it stayed till morningin the sky. But my glasses are getting wondrous dim. I must have a newpair, doctor. How slow the wheel turns round; the band keeps slippingoff, and the crank goes creaking, creaking, for want of oil. LittleHelen, take your feet off the treadle, and don't sit so close, darling. I can't breathe. "

She panted a few moments, catching her breath with difficulty, thentossing her arms above the bed-cover, said, in a fainter voice, "The great wheel of eternity keeps rolling on, and we are all bound uponit. How grandly it moves, and all the time the flax on the distaff issmoking. God says in the Bible He will not quench it, but blow it to aflame. You've read the Bible, havn't you, doctor? It is a powerful book. It tells about Moses and the Lamb. I'll tell you a story, Helen, about aLamb that was slain. I've told you a great many, but never one likethis. Come nearer, for I can't speak very loud. Take care, the thread issliding off the spool. Cut it, doctor, cut it; it's winding round myheart so tight! Oh, my God! it snaps in two!"

These were the last words the aged spinster ever uttered. Themain-spring of life was broken. When the cold, gray light of morning hadextinguished the pallid splendor of the moon, and one by one the objectsin the little room came forth from the dimness of shade, which a singlelamp had not power to disperse, a great change was visible. The darkcovering of the bed was removed, the bed itself was gone--but through asnowy white sheet that was spread over the frame, the outline of a tallform was visible. All was silent as the grave. A woman sat by thehearth, with a grave and solemn countenance--so grave and so solemn sheseemed a fixture in that still apartment. The wheel stood still by thebed-frame, the spectacles lay still on the Bible, and a dark, gray dresshung in still, dreary folds against the wall. 

After a while the woman rose, and walking on tiptoe, holding her breathas she walked, pulled the sheet a little further one side. Foolishwoman! had she stepped with the thunderer's tread, she could not havedisturbed the cold sleeper, covered with that snowy sheet. 

Two or three hours after, the door opened and the young doctor enteredwith a young girl clinging to his arm. She was weeping, and as soon asshe caught a glimpse of the white sheet she burst into loud sobs. 

"We will relieve you of your watch a short time, " said Arthur; and thewoman left the room. He led Helen to the bedside, and turning back thesheet, exposed the venerable features composed into everlasting repose. Helen did not recoil or tremble as she gazed. She even hushed her sobs, as if fearing to ruffle the inexpressible placidity of that dreamlessrest. Every trace of harshness was removed from the countenance, and aserene melancholy reigned in its stead. A smile far more gentle than sheever wore in life, lingered on the wan and frozen lips. 

"How benign she looks, " ejaculated Helen, "how happy! I could gazeforever on that peaceful, silent face--and yet I once thought death soterrible. "

"Life is far more fearful, Helen. Life, with all its feverish unrest, its sinful strife, its storms of passion and its waves of sorrow. Oh, had you beheld the scene which I last night witnessed in this veryroom--a scene in which life revelled in wildest power, you would trembleat the thought of possessing a vitality capable of such unholyexcitement--you would envy the quietude of that unbreathing bosom. "

"And yet, " said Helen, "I have often heard you speak of life as aninestimable, a glorious gift, as so rich a blessing that the singleheart had not room to contain the gratitude due. "

"And so it is, Helen, if rightly used. I am wrong to give it so dark acoloring--ungrateful, because my own experience is bright beyond thecommon lot--unwise, for I should not sadden your views by anticipation. Yes, if life is fearful from its responsibilities, it _is_ glorious inits hopes and rich in its joys. Its mysteries only increase itsgrandeur, and prove its divine origin. "

Thus Arthur continued to talk to Helen, sustaining and elevating herthoughts, till she forgot that she came in sorrow and tears. 

There was another, who came, when he thought none was near, to pay thelast tribute of sorrow over the remains of Miss Thusa, and that wasLouis. He thought of his last interview with her, and her last wordsreverberated in his ear in the silence of that lonely room--"In the nameof your mother in Heaven, go and sin no more. "

Louis sunk upon his knees by that cold and voiceless form, and vowed, inthe strength of the Lord, to obey her parting injunction. He could nevernow repay the debt he owed, but he could do more--he could be just tohimself and the memory of her who had opened her lips wisely to reprove, and her hand kindly to relieve. 

Peace be to thee, ancient sibyl, lonely dweller of the old gray cottage. No more shall thy busy fingers twist with curious skill the flaxenfibres that wreath thy distaff--no more shall the hum of thy wheelmingle in chorus with the buzzing of the fly and the chirping of thecricket. But as thou didst say in thy dying hour, "the great wheel ofeternity keeps rolling on, " and thou art borne along with it, no longera solitary, weary pilgrim, without an arm to sustain or kindred heart tocheer, but we humbly trust, one of that innumerable, glorious company, who, clothed in white robes and bearing branching palms, sing the greatpraise-song that never shall end, "Allelulia--the Lord God omnipotentreigneth. "

CHAPTER XIII. 

 "Come, madness! come unto me senseless death, I cannot suffer this! here, rocky wall, Scatter these brains, or dull them. "--_Baillie. _

 "I know not, I ask not, If guilt's in thy heart-- I but know that I love thee, Whatever thou art. "--_Moore. _

In a dark and gloomy apartment, whose grated windows and dreary wallswere hung here and there with blackening cobwebs--and whose darkness andgloom were made visible by the pale rays of a glimmering lamp, sat theyoung, the handsome, the graceful, the fascinating Bryant Clinton. Hesat, or rather partly reclined on the straw pallet, spread in a cornerof the room, propped on one elbow, with his head drooping downward, andhis long hair hanging darkly over his face, as if seeking to veil hismisery and shame. 

It was a poor place for such an occupant. He was a young man of leisurenow, and had time to reflect on the past, the present, and the future. 

The past!--golden opportunities, lost by neglect, swept away bytemptation, or sold to sin. The present!--detection, humiliation, andignominy. The future!--long and dreary imprisonment--companionship withthe vilest of the vile, his home a tomb-like cell in thepenitentiary--his food, bread and water--his bed, a handful ofstraw--his dress, the felon's garb of shame--his magnificent hair shornclose as the slaughtered sheep's--his soft white hands condemned toperpetual labor!

As this black scroll slowly unrolled before his spirit's eye, this blackscroll, on which the characters and images gleamed forth so red andfiery, it is no wonder that he writhed and groaned and gnashed histeeth--it is no wonder that he started up and trod the narrow cell withthe step of a maniac--that he stopped and ground his heel in thedust--that he rushed to the window and shook the iron bars, withunavailing rage--that he called on God to help him--not in the fervor offaith, but the recklessness of frenzy, the impotence of despair. 

Suddenly a deadly sickness came over him, and reeling back to hispallet, he buried his face in his hands and wept aloud--and the wail ofhis soul was that of the first doomed transgressor, "My punishment isgreater than I can bear. "

While there he lies, a prey to keen and unavailing agonies, we will takea backward glance at the romance of his childhood, and the temptationsof his youth. 

Bryant Clinton was the son of obscure parents. When a little boy, hisremarkable beauty attracted the admiration of every beholder. He was thepet of the village school, the favorite on the village green. Hisintelligence and grace were equal to his beauty, and all of theseattributes combined in one of his lowly birth, seemed so miraculous, hewas universally admitted to be a prodigy--a nonpareil. When he was aboutten years of age, a gentleman of wealth and high social standing, waspassing through the town, and, like all strangers, was struck by theremarkable appearance of the boy. This gentleman was unmarried, thoughin the meridian of life, and of course, uncontrolled master of all hismovements. He was very peculiar in character, and his impulses, ratherthan his principles, guided his actions. He did not love his relatives, because he thought their attentions were venal, and resolved to adoptthis beautiful boy, not so much from feelings of benevolence towardshim, as a desire to disappoint his mercenary kindred. Bryant's naturalaffections were not strong enough to prove any impediment to thestranger's wish, and his parents were willing to sacrifice theirs, forthe brilliant advantages offered to their son. Behold our young prodigytransplanted to a richer soil, and a more genial atmosphere. Hisbenefactor resided in a great city, far from the little village where hewas born, so that all the associations of his childhood were broken upand destroyed. He even took the name of his adopted father, thus losinghis own identity. Had Mr. Clinton been a man of pure and uprightprinciples, had he been faithful to the guardianship he had assumed, and educated his _heart_, as well as his mind, Bryant might have beenthe ornament instead of the disgrace, the blessing instead of the baneof society. He had no salient propensities to evil, no faults whichrighteous wisdom might not have disciplined. But indulged, caressed, praised and admired by all around him, the selfishness inherent in ournature, acquired a hot-bed growth from the sultry moral atmosphere whichhe breathed. 

The gentle, yet restraining influence which woman, in her purity andexcellence, ever exerts, was unfortunately denied him. Mr. Clinton was abachelor, and the careful, bustling housekeeper, who kept his servantsand house in order, was not likely to burden herself with the charge ofyoung Bryant's morals. All that Mr. Clinton supervised, was his progressat school, which surpassed even his most sanguine expectations. He wasstill the prodigy--the nonpareil--and as he had the most winning, insinuating manners--he was still the favorite of teachers and pupils. As he grew older, he was taken much into society, and young as he was, inhaled, with the most intense delight, the incense of female adulation. The smiles and caresses bestowed upon the boy-paragon by beautiful andcharming women, instead of fostering his affections, as they would havedone, had they been lavished upon him for his virtues rather than hisgraces, gave precocious growth and vigor to his vanity, till, like thecedar of Lebanon, it towered above all other passions. This vanity wasonly visible to others in an earnest desire to please--it only made himappear more amiable and gentle, but it was so strong, so vital, that itcould not, "but by annihilating, die. "

Another fatal influence acted upon him. Mr. Clinton, like most richbachelors, was fond of having convivial suppers, where wine and mirthabounded. To these young Bryant was often admitted, for his beauty andtalents were the pride and boast of his adopted father. Here he wasinitiated into the secrets of the gaming-table, not by practice, (for hewas not allowed to play himself, ) but by observation, a medium ofinstruction sufficiently transparent to his acute and subtle mind. Herehe was accustomed to hear the name of God uttered either in irreverenceor blasphemy, and the cold sneer of infidelity withered the germs ofpiety a mother's hand had planted in his bosom. Better, far better hadit been for him, never to have left his parent's humble but honestdwelling. 

Just as he was about to enter college, Mr. Clinton suddenly died of astroke of apoplexy, leaving the youth whom he had adopted, exposed tothe persecutions of his worldly and venal relatives. He had resolved tomake a will, bequeathing his property to Bryant, as his sole heir; buthaving a great horror of death, he could not bear to perform the actwhich would remind him too painfully of his mortality. 

"Time enough when I am taken sick, " he would say, "to attend to thesethings;" but the blow which announced the coming of death, crushed thecitadel of thought. There was no time for making wills, and Bryant wasleft far poorer than his adopted father had found him, for he hadacquired all the tastes which wealth alone can gratify, and all thevices, too. 

When he returned, reluctant and disappointed, with alienated feelings, to his native home, he found that his father was dead, and his mother asolitary widow. By selling the little farm which had served them for asupport, and restricting herself of every luxury, and many comforts, shecould defray the expenses of a collegiate education, and this sheresolved to do. Bryant accepted the sacrifice without hesitation, deeming it his legitimate right. 

On his way to the university, which was still more remote from hisnative village than that was from the home of his adopted father, heconceived the design of imposing upon his new companions the story ofhis Virginian birth--though born in reality in one of the Middle States. He had heard so much of Virginian aristocracy, of the pride of tracingone's descent from one of the _first families_ of Virginia, that hethought it a pardonable deception if it increased his dignity andconsequence. He was ashamed of his parentage, which was concealed underthe somewhat patrician name of Clinton, and as he chose to change hisbirth-place, it was not very probable that his real origin would bediscovered. He had previously ascertained that no boys were members ofthe college, who had ever seen him before, or who knew any thing of theregion where he had dwelt. He soon became a star-scholar, from thebrilliancy of his talents, and a favorite, too, from the gracefulpliancy of his manners, and apparent sweetness of his disposition. Butwith all his grace and sweetness, he was unprincipled and dissolute, andexerted the commanding influence he had acquired over the minds of hiscompanions, to lead them into temptation, and lure them to sin. Yet hehad the art to appear himself the tempted, as well as they. His agencywas as invisible as it was powerful, and as fatal, too. When, withseeming reluctance, he took his seat at the gaming-table and won, as heinvariably did, from his unsuspecting comrades, he manifested thedeepest regret and keenest remorse. No one suspected that it was throughhis instrumentality they were seduced into error and ruin. 

Louis, the impulsive, warm-hearted, and confiding Louis Gleason, wasdrawn as if by fascination towards this young man. There was a luminousatmosphere around him, that dazzled the judgment, and rendered it blindto his moral defects. Dissipation appeared covered with a golden tissue, that concealed all its deformity; and reckless prodigality received thehonors due to princely generosity. 

When Clinton accompanied Louis to his father's house, and beheld thebeautiful Mittie, gilt, as he first saw her by the rays of the settingsun, he gave her the spontaneous homage which beauty ever received fromhim. He admired and for a little time imagined he loved her. But she wastoo easy a conquest to elate his vanity, and he soon wearied of her tooexacting love. Helen, the shy, child-like, simple hearted Helen, baffledand interested him. She shunned and feared him, and therefore he pursuedher with increasing fervor of feeling and earnestness of purpose. Finding himself terribly annoyed by Mittie's frantic jealousy, heresolved to absent himself awhile till the tempest he had raised waslulled, and urging Louis to be his companion, that he might have a pleafor returning, departed, as has been described, not to his pretendedhome, but to haunts of guilty pleasure, where the deluded Louisfollowed, believing in his infatuation that he was only walking side byside with one sorely tempted, reluctantly transgressing, and as oftrepenting as himself. 

With the native chivalry of his character, he refused to criminate his_friend_, and justify his father's anger. It was to Clinton _his debtsof honor_ were chiefly due, and it was for this reason he shrunk fromrevealing them to his father. 

When Clinton found himself excluded from the presence of Helen, whoselove he was resolved to win, his indignation and mortification wereindescribable; but acknowledging no obstacles to his designs, he watchedhis opportunity and entered Miss Thusa's cabin, as we have related inthe last chapter. He was no actor in that interview, for he really feltfor Helen, emotions purer, deeper and stronger than he had ever beforecherished for woman. He had likewise all the stimulus of rivalry, for hebelieved that Arthur Hazleton loved her, that calm, self-possessed andinscrutable being, whose dark, spirit-reaching eye his own had evershunned. Helen's unaffected terror, her repulsion and flight werewormwood and gall to his pampered vanity and starving love. Herundisguised emotion at the mention of Arthur, convinced him of hisascendency over her heart, and the hopelessness of his present pursuit. Still he lingered near the spot, unwilling to relinquish an object thatseemed more and more precious as the difficulty of obtaining itincreased. He stood by the window, watching, at times, glimpses ofHelen's sweet, yet troubled countenance, as the curtain flapped in thewintry wind. It was then he heard Miss Thusa relate the secret of herhidden wealth, and the demon of temptation whispered in his ear that thehidden gold might be his. Helen cared not for it--she knew not itsvalue, she needed it not. Very likely when the wheel should come intoher possession, and she examined its mystery, if the legacy weremissing, she would believe its history the dream of an excitedimagination, and think of it no more. He had never stolen, and it didseem low and ungentlemanlike to steal, but this was more like findingsome buried treasure, something cast up from the ocean's bed. It was notso criminal after all as cheating at the gaming-table, which he was inthe constant habit of doing. Then why should he hesitate if opportunityfavored his design? Mr. Gleason had insulted him in the grossest manner, Helen had rejected him, Louis had released himself from his thraldom. There was no motive for him to remain longer where he was, and he wasassured suspicion would never rest on him, though he took his immediatedeparture. The next night he attempted to execute his shameful purposeby forging the note, sending it by an unsuspecting messenger, thusdespatching the young doctor, on a professional errand. Every thingseemed to favor him. The woman whom Arthur had commanded to keep watchduring his absence had sunk back into a heavy sleep as soon as his voicedied on her ear--so there was nothing to impede the robber's entrance. Clinton waited till he thought Arthur had had time to reach the place ofhis destination, and then stole into the sick chamber with noiselesssteps. Miss Thusa was awakened by a metallic, grating sound, and beheld, with unspeakable horror, her beloved wheel lying in fragments at thefeet of the spoiler. The detection, the arrest, the imprisonment arealready known. 

And now the unhappy young man lay on his bed of straw, in an ignominiouscell, cursing the gold that had tempted, and the weakness and folly thathad yielded and rushed into the snare. Louis had visited him, but hisvisit had afforded no consolation. What was pity or sympathy without thepower to release him? Nothing, yea, worse than nothing. He could nottell the hour, for time, counted by the throbs of an agonized heart, seems to have the attribute of eternity--endless duration. He knew itwas night by the lamp which had been brought in with the bread andwater, which stood untasted by him. He had not noticed the darkeningshadow stealing over the grated windows, his soul was so dark within. Heknew, too, that it must be somewhat late, for the lamp grew dimmer anddimmer, capped by a long, black wick, with a hard, fiery crest. 

He heard the key twisting in the rusted lock, the door swinging heavilyopen, and supposed the jailor was examining the cells before retiring torest. He was confirmed in this belief by seeing his figure through theopening, but when another figure glided in, and the jailor retreated, locking the door behind him, he knew that his prison had received anunexpected guest. He could not imagine what young boy had thought ofvisiting his cell, for he knew not one of the age this youth appeared tobe. He was wrapped in a dark cloak, so long that it swept the prisonfloor, and a dark fur cap pulled far over the forehead, shaded his face. 

Clinton raised himself on his elbow and called out, in a gloomy tone, "Who is there?"

The youth advanced with slow steps, gathering up the sweeping folds ofhis cloak as he walked, and sunk down upon the wooden bench placedagainst the damp brick wall. Lifting his hands and clasping themtogether, he bowed his face upon them, while his frame shook withimprisoned emotion. The hands clasped over his face gleamed like snow inthe dim cell, and they were small and delicate in shape, as a woman's. The dejected and drooping attitude, the downcast face, the shrouded andtrembling form, the feminine shame visible through the disguise, awakened a wild hope in his heart. Springing up from his pallet, heeagerly approached the seeming boy, and exclaimed--

"Helen, Helen--have you relented at last? Do you pity and forgive me? Doyou indeed love me?"

"Ungrateful wretch!" cried a voice far different from Helen's. Thedrooping head was quickly raised, the cap dashed from the head, and thecloak hurled from the shoulders. "Ungrateful wretch, as false as vile, do you know me now?"

"Mittie! is it indeed you?" said Clinton, involuntarily recoiling a fewsteps from the fiery glance that flashed through her tears. "I am notworthy of this condescension. "

"Condescension!" repeated she, disdainfully. "Condescension! Yes--yousay well. You did not expect me!" continued she, in a tone of witheringsarcasm. "I am sorry for your disappointment. I am sorry the gentleHelen did not see fit to leave her downy bed, and warm room, braving theinclemency of the wintry blast, to minister to her waiting lover. It isa wondrous pity. "

Then changing her accent, and bursting into a strain of the mostimpassioned emotion--

"Oh, my soul! was it for this I came forth alone, in darkness andstealth, like the felon whose den I sought? Is it on such a being asthis, I have wasted such boundless wealth of love? Father, mother, brother, sister--all vainly urged their claims upon my heart. It wasmarble--it was ice to them. They thought I was made of stone, granite;would to Heaven I were. But you, Clinton; but you breathed upon therock, you softened, you warmed; and now, wretch, you grind it intopowder. You melted the ice--and having drained the waters, you have lefta dry and burning channel--here. "

Mittie pressed her hand upon her heart, with a gesture of pain, andbegan to traverse wildly the narrow cell; her cloak, which had fallenback from her shoulders, sweeping in the dust. Every passion waswrestling for mastery in her bosom. 

"Why, " she exclaimed, suddenly stopping and gazing fixedly upon him, "why did you make me conscious of this terrible vitality? What motivehad you for crossing my path, and like Attila, the destroyer, witheringevery green blade beneath my feet? I had never wronged you. What motive, I ask, had you for deceiving and mocking me, who so madly trusted, soblindly worshipped?"

"Spare me, Mittie, " exclaimed the humbled and convicted Clinton. "Trample not on a fallen wretch, who has nothing to say in his defence. But one thing I will say, I have not intended to deceive you. I did loveyou, and felt at the time all that I professed. Had you loved me less, Ihad been more constant. But why, let me ask, have you sought me here, toupbraid me for my inconstancy? What good can it do to you or to me? Youcall me a wretch: and I acknowledge myself to be one, a vile, ungratefulwretch. Call me a thief, if you will, if the word does not blister yourtongue to utter it. I confess it all. Now leave me to my fate. "

"Confess one thing more, " said Mittie, "speak to me as if it were yourdying hour--for you will soon be dead to me, and tell me, if it is forthe love of Helen you abandon mine?"

Clinton hesitated, a red color flushed his pallid cheek. He could not atthat moment, in the presence of such deep and true passion, utter afalsehood; and degraded as he was, he could not bear to inflict the painan avowal of the truth might cause. 

"Speak, " she urged, "and speak truly. It is all the atonement I ask. "

"My love can only reflect disgrace on its object. Rejoice that it restson her, rather than yourself. But she has avenged your wrongs. Sherejected me before my hand was polluted with this last foul crime. Sheupbraided me for my perfidy to you, and fled from my sight with horror. Had she loved me, I might have been saved--but I am lost now. "

Mittie stood immovable as a statue. Her eyes were fixed upon the floor, her brow contracted and her lips firmly closed. She appeared to be goingthrough a petrifying process, so marble was her complexion, so rigid herfeatures, so unchanging her attitude. 

 "'Twas but a moment o'er her soul Winters of memory seemed to roll, "

congealing her as they rolled. As Clinton looked upon her and contrastedthat pale and altered form, with the resplendent figure that he hadbeheld like an embodied rainbow on the sun-gilded arch, his consciencestung him with a scorpion sting. He had said to himself, while parlyingwith the tempter about the gold, that he had never _stolen_. He now feltconvicted of a far worse robbery, of a more inexpiable crime--for whichGod, if not man, would judge him--the theft of a young and trustingheart, of its peace, its confidence and hope, leaving behind a cold anddreary void. He could not bear the sight of that desolate figure, solately quickened with glowing passions. 

"Clinton, " said Mittie, breaking the silence in a low, oppressed voice, "I see you have one virtue left, of the wreck of all others. I honorthat one. You asked me why I came. I will tell you. I knew you guilty, steeped in ignominy, the scorn and by-word of the town, guilty too of acrime more vile than murder, for murder may be committed from the wildimpulse of exasperated passion--but theft is a cold, deliberate, selfish, coward act. Yet knowing all this, I felt willing to brave everydanger, to face death itself, if it were necessary, to release you fromthe horrid doom that awaits you--to save you from the living grave whichyawns to receive you. I am willing still, in spite of your alienatedaffection, your perjured vows and broken faith--so mighty andall-conquering is even the memory of the love of woman. Here, wrap thiscloak about you, pull this cap over your brows--your long, dark hairwill aid the disguise. The jailer will not detect it, or mark yourtaller figure, by this dim and gloomy light. He is sleepy and weary, andI know his senses are deadened by brandy; I perceived its burning fumesas we walked that close and narrow passage. Clinton, there is no dangerto myself in this release, you know there is not. The moment theydiscover me, they will let me go. Hasten, for he will soon be here. "

"Impossible, " exclaimed Clinton, "I cannot consent; I cannot leave youin this cell--this cold, fireless cell, on such a night as this. Icannot expose you to your father's displeasure, to the censures of theworld. No, Mittie, I am not worthy of this generous devotion; but frommy soul I bless you for it. Besides, it would be all in vain. Adiscovery would be inevitable. "

"Escape would be certain, " she cried, with increasing energy. "I markedthat jailer well--his senses are too much blunted for the exercise ofclear perception. You are slender and not very tall; your face is asfair as mine, your hair of the same color. If you refuse, I will seek acolder couch than that pallet of straw; I will pass the night under theleafless trees, and my pillow shall be the snowy ground. As for myfather's displeasure, I have incurred it already. As for the censures ofthe world, I scorn them. What do you call the world? This village, thistown, this little, narrow sphere? I live in a world of my own, as highabove it as the heavens are above the earth. "

Clinton's opposition weakened before her commanding energy. The hope offreedom kindled in his breast, and lighted up his countenance. 

"But you, " said he, irresolutely, "even if you could endure the horrorsof the night, cannot be concealed on his entrance. How can you pass forme?" he cried, looking down on her woman's apparel, for she had thrownthe cloak over his arm, and stood in her own flowing robes. 

"I will throw myself on the pallet, and draw the blankets over me. Mysable locks, " gathering them back in her hand, for they hung looselyround her face--"are almost the counterpart of yours. I can concealtheir length thus. " Untying the scarf which passed over her shouldersand encircled her waist, she folded it over her flowing hair. "When theblanket is over me, " she added, "I shall escape detection. Hasten! Thinkof the long years of imprisonment, the solitary dungeon, the clankingchains, the iron that will daily enter your soul. Think of all this, andfly! Hark! I hear footsteps in the passage. Don't you hear them? My God!it will be too late!"

Seizing the cloak, she threw it over his shoulders, snatched up the cap, and put it upon his head, which involuntarily bent to receive it, andwildly tearing herself from the arms that wrapped her in a partingembrace, sprang to the pallet, and shrouded herself in the dismal foldsfrom which Clinton had shrunk in disgust. 

Clinton drew near the door. It opened, and Arthur Hazleton entered thecell. The jailer stood on the outside, fumbling at the lock, turning themassy key backward and forward, making a harsh, creaking sound. His headwas bent close to the lock, in which there appeared to be someimpediment. The noise which he made with the grating key, the stoopingposition he had assumed, favored the escape of Clinton. 

As Arthur entered, he glided out, unperceived by him, for the jailer hadbrought no light, and the prisoner was standing in the shadow of thewall. 

"There, " grumbled the jailer, "I believe that will do--I must have thislock fixed to-morrow. Here, doctor, take the key, I can trust _you_, Iknow. When you are ready to go, drop it in my room, just underneaththis. I mean drop in, and give it to me, I am sick to-night. I amobliged to go to bed. "

Arthur assured him that he would attend faithfully to his directions, and that he might retire in perfect security. Then locking the doorwithin, he walked towards the pallet, where the supposed form of theprisoner lay, in the stillness of dissembled sleep. His face was turnedtowards the straw, the bed cover was drawn up over his neck, nothing wasdistinctly visible in the obscurity but a mass of dark, gleaming hair, reflecting back the dim light from its jetty mirror. 

Arthur did not like to banish from his couch, that

 "Friend to the wretch, whom every friend forsakes. "

He seated himself on the bench, folded his cloak around him, and awaitedin silence the awakening of the prisoner. He had come, in obedience tothe commands of his Divine Master, to visit those who are in prison, andminister unto them. Not as Mittie had done, to assist him in eluding thejust penalty of the offended majesty of the laws. He did not believe theperpetrator of such a crime as Clinton's entitled to pardon, but helooked upon every son of Adam as a brother, and as such an object ofpity and kindness. 

While he sat gazing on the pallet, watching for the first motion thatwould indicate the dispersion of slumber, he heard a cough issuing fromit, which his practiced ear at once recognized as proceeding from awoman's lungs. A suspicion of the truth flashed into his mind. He rose, bent over the couch, and taking hold of the covering, endeavored to drawit back from the face it shrouded. He could see the white hands thatclinched it, and a tress of long, waving hair, loosened by the motion, floated on his sight. 

"Mittie--Mittie Gleason!" he exclaimed, bending on one knee, and tryingto raise her--"how came you here? Yet, why do I ask? I know but toowell--Clinton has escaped--and you--"

"_I am here!_" she cried, starting to her feet, and shaking back herhair, which fell in a sable mantle over her shoulders, flowing far belowthe waist. "I am here. What do you wish of me? I am not prepared toreceive company just yet, " she added, deridingly; "my room is ratherunfurnished. "

She looked so wild and unnatural, her tone was so mocking, her glance sodefying, Arthur began to fear that her reason was disordered. Fever wasburning on her cheeks, and it might be the fire of delirium thatsparkled in her eyes. He took her hand very gently, and tried to countthe beatings of her pulse, but she snatched it from him with violence, and commanded him to leave her. 

"This is my sanctuary, " she cried. "You have no right to intrude intoit. Begone!--I will be alone. "

"Mittie, I will not leave you here--you must return with me to yourfather's house. Think of the obloquy you may incur by remaining. Come, before another enters. "

"If I go, _you_ will be suspected of releasing the prisoner, and sufferthe penalty due for such an act. No, no, I have braved all consequences, and I dare to meet them. "

"Then I leave you to inform the jailer of the flight of the prisoner. Itis my duty. "

"You will not do so mean and unmanly a deed!" springing between him andthe door, and pressing her back against it. "You will not basely informof him whom a young girl has had the courage to release. _You_--a man, will not do it. _Will you?_"

"An act of justice is never base or cowardly. Clinton is a convictedthief, and deserves the doom impending over such transgressors. He is anunprincipled and profligate young man, and unworthy the love of apure-hearted woman. He has tempted your brother from the paths ofvirtue, repaid your confidence with the coldest treachery, violated thelaws of God and man, and yet, unparalleled infatuation--you love himstill, and expose yourself to slander and disgrace for his sake. "

He spoke sternly, commandingly. He had tried reason and persuasion, henow spoke with authority, but it was equally in vain. 

"Who told you that I love him?" she repeated. "'Tis false. I hate him. Ihate him!" she again repeated, but her lips quivered, and her voicechoked. 

Arthur hailed this symptom of sensibility as a favorable omen. He hadnever intended to inform the jailer of Clinton's escape. He would not beinstrumental to such an event himself, knowing, as he did, his guilt, but since it had been effected by another, he could not help rejoicingin heart. Perhaps Clinton might profit by this bitter lesson, and"reformation glittering over his faults"--efface by its lustre the darkstain upon his name. And while he condemned the rashness and mourned forthe misguided feelings of Mittie, he could not repress an involuntarythrill of admiration for her deep, self-sacrificing love. What a pitythat a passion so sublime in its strength and despair should beinspired by a being so unworthy. 

"Will you not let me pass?" said he. 

"Never, for such a purpose. "

"I disclaim it altogether, I never intended to put in execution thethreat I breathed. It was to induce you to leave this horrible placethat I uttered it. I am ashamed of the subterfuge, though the motive waspure. Mittie, I entreat you to come with me; I entreat you with thesincerity of a friend, the earnestness of a brother. I will neverbreathe to a human being the mystery of Clinton's escape. I will guardyour reputation with the most jealous vigilance. Not even my blind Aliceshall be considered a more sacred trust than you, if you confideyourself to my protecting care. "

"Are you indeed my friend?" she asked, in a softened voice, with aremarkable change in the expression of her countenance. "I thought youhated me. "

"Hated you! What a suspicion!"

"You have always been cold and distant--never sought my friendship, ormanifested for me the least regard. When I was but a child, and youfirst visited our family, I was attracted towards you, less by yourgentle manners than your strong, controlling will. Had you shown as muchinterest in me as you did in Helen, you might have had a wondrousinfluence on my character. You might have saved me from that which isdestroying me. But it is all past. You slighted me, and lavished allyour care on Helen. Every one cared for Helen more than me, and my heartgrew colder and colder to her and all who loved her. What I have sincefelt, and why I have felt it for others, God only knows. Others! Whyshould I say others? There never was but one--and that one, the falsefelon, whom I once believed an angel of light. And he, even he hasthrown my heart back bleeding at my feet, for the love he bears toHelen. "

"Which Helen values not, " said the young doctor, half in assertion andhalf in interrogation. 

"No, no, " she replied, "a counter influence has saved her from themisery and shame. "

Mittie paused, clasped her hands together, and pressed them tightly onher bosom. 

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "it is no metaphor, when they talk of arrowspiercing the breast. I feel them here. "

Her countenance expressed physical suffering as well as mental agony. She shivered with cold one moment, the next glowed with feverish heat. 

Arthur took off his cloak, and folded it round her, and she offered noresistance. She was sinking into that passive state, which oftensucceeds too high-wrought emotion. 

"You are very kind, " said she, "but _you_ will suffer. "

"No--I am accustomed to brave the elements. But if you think I suffer, let us hasten to a warmer region. Give me your hand. "

Firmly grasping it, he extinguished the lamp, and in total darkness theyleft the cell, groped through the long, narrow passage, down the windingstairs, at the foot of which was the jailer's room. Arthur was familiarwith this gloomy dwelling, so often had he visited it on errands ofmercy and compassion. It was not the first time he had been entrustedwith the key of the cells, though he suspected that it would be thelast. The keeper, only half awakened, received the key, locked his owndoor, and went back to his bed, muttering that "there were not many mento be trusted, but the young doctor was one. "

When Arthur and Mittie emerged from the dark prison-house into theclear, still moonlight, (for the moon had risen, and over the night hadthrown a veil of silvery gauze, ) Arthur's excited spirit subsided intopeace, beneath its pale, celestial glory. Mittie thought of thefugitive, and shrunk from the beams that might betray his flight. Thesudden barking of the watch-dog made her tremble. Even their own shadowson the white, frozen ground, she mistook for the avengers of crime, inthe act of pursuit. 

"What shall we do?" said Arthur, when, having arrived at Mr. Gleason'sdoor, they found it fastened. "I wish you could enter unobserved. "

Mittie's solitary habits made her departure easy, and her absenceunsuspected, but she could not steal in through the bolts and locks thatimpeded her admission. 

"No matter, " she cried, "leave me here--I will lie down by thethreshold, and wait the morning. All places are alike to me. "

Louis, whose chamber was opposite to Mittie's, in the front part of thehouse, and who now had many a sleepless night, heard voices in theportico, and opening the window, demanded "who was there?"

"Come down softly and open the door, " said Arthur, "I wish to speak toyou. "

Louis hastily descended, and unlocked the door. 

His astonishment, on seeing his sister with Arthur Hazleton, at thathour, when he supposed her in her own room, was so great that he heldthe door in his hand, without speaking or offering to admit them. 

"Let us in as noiselessly as possible, " said Arthur. "Take her directlyto her chamber, kindle a fire, give her a generous glass of Port wine, and question her not to-night. Let no servant be roused. Wait upon heryourself, and be silent on the morrow. Good-night. "

"It is too bright, " whispered she, as Louis half carried her up stairs, stepping over the checker-work the moon made on the carpet. 

"What is too bright, Mittie?"

"Nothing. Make haste--I am very cold. "

Louis led Mittie to a chair, then lighting a candle, he knelt down andgathered together the still smoking brands. A bright fire soon blazed onthe hearth, and illuminated the apartment. 

"Now for the wine, " said he. 

"He is gone, Louis, " said she, laying her hand on his arm. "He is fled. I released him. Was it not noble in me, when he loves Helen, and he athief, too?"

Louis thought she spoke very strangely, and he looked earnestly at herglittering eyes. 

"I am glad of it!" he exclaimed--"he is a villain, but I am glad he isescaped. But you, Mittie--you should not have done this. How could youdo it? Did Arthur Hazleton help you?"

"Oh, no! I did it very easily--I gave him your cloak and cap. You mustnot be angry, you shall have new ones. They fitted him very nicely. Hewould run faster, if my heart-strings did not get tangled round hisfeet, all bleeding, too. Don't you remember, Miss Thusa told you aboutit, long ago?"

"My God, Mittie! what makes you talk in that way? Don't talk so. Don'tlook so. For Heaven's sake, don't look so wild. "

"I can't help it, Louis, " said she, pressing her hands on the top of herhead, "I feel so strange here. I do believe I'm mad. "

She was indeed delirious. The fever which for many days had been burningin her veins, now lighted its flames in her brain, and raged for morethan a week with increasing violence. 

She did not know, while she lay tossing in delirious agony, that thefugitive, Clinton, had been overtaken, and brought back in chains to amore hopeless, because doubly guarded captivity. 

Justice triumphed over love. 

He who sows the wind, must expect to reap the whirlwind. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

 "High minds of native pride and force, Most deeply feel thy pangs, remorse. "--_Scott. _

 "Lord, at Thy feet ashamed I lie, Upward I dare not look-- Pardon my sins before I die, And blot them from Thy book. "--_Hymn. _

When Mittie awoke from the wild dream of delirium, she was weak as anew-born infant. For a few moments she imagined herself the inhabitantof another world. The deep quietude of the apartment, its soft, subdued, slumberous light, the still, watching figures seated by her bedside, formed so strong a contrast to the gloomy cell, with its chill, dampair, and glimmering lamp--its rough keeper and agitated inmate--thatcell which, it appeared to her, she had just quitted. Two fair youngforms, with arms interlaced, and heads inclined towards each other, theone with locks of rippling gold, the other of soft, wavy brown, seemedwatching angels to her unclosing eyes. She felt a soft pressure on herfaintly throbbing pulse, and knew that on the other side, opposite thewatching angels, a manly figure was bending over her. She could not turnher head to gaze upon it, but there was a benignity in its presencewhich soothed and comforted her. Other forms were there also, but theyfaded away in a soft, hazy atmosphere, and her drooping eye-lids againclosed. 

In the long, tranquil slumber that followed, she passed the crisis ofher disease, and the strife-worn, wandering spirit returned to thethrone it had abdicated. 

And now Mittie became conscious of the unbounded tenderness and carelavished upon her by every member of the household, and of theunwearied attentions of Arthur Hazleton. Helen herself could not havebeen more kindly, anxiously nursed. She, who had believed herself anobject of indifference or dislike to all, was the central point ofsolicitude now. If she slept, every one moved as if shod with velvet, the curtains were gently let down, all occupation suspended, lest itshould disturb the pale slumberer;--if she waked, some kind hand wasever ready to smooth her pillow, wipe the dew of weakness from her brow, and administer the cordial to her wan lips. 

"Why do you all nurse me so tenderly?" asked she of her step-mother, onenight, when she was watching by her. "Me, who have never done any thingfor others?"

"You are sick and helpless, and dependent on our care. The hand of Godis laid upon you, and whosoever He smites, becomes a sacred object inthe Christian's eyes. "

"Then it is not from love you minister to my weakness. I thought itcould not be. "

"Yes, Mittie. It is from love. We always love those who depend on us forlife. Your sufferings have been great, and great is our sympathy. Pity, sympathy, tenderness, all flow towards you, and no remembrance of thepast mingles bitterness with their balm. "

"But, mother, I do not wish to live. It were far kinder to let me die. "

It was the first time Mittie had ever addressed her thus. The nameseemed to glide unconsciously from her lips, breathed by her softenedspirit. 

Mrs. Gleason was moved even to tears. She felt repaid for all herforbearance, all her trials, by the utterance of this one little word, so long and so ungratefully withheld. Bending forward, with aninvoluntary movement, she kissed the faded lips, which, when rosy withhealth, had always repelled her maternal caresses. She felt the feeblearm of the invalid pass round her neck, and draw her still closer. Shefelt, too, tears which did not _all_ flow from her own eyes moisten hercheek. 

"I do not wish to live, mother, " repeated Mittie, after this ebullitionof sensibility had subsided. "I can never again be happy. I never canmake others happy. I am willing to die. Every time I close my eyes Ipray that my sleep may be death, my bed my grave. "

"Ah! my child, pray not for death because you have been saved from thecurse of a granted prayer. Pray rather that you may live to atone by alife of meekness and humility for past errors. You ought not to bewilling to die with so great a purpose unaccomplished, since God doesnot now _will_ you to depart. You mistake physical debility forresignation, weariness of life for desire for heaven. Oh, Mittie, not inthe sackcloth and ashes of _selfish_ sorrow should the spirit be clothedto meet its God. "

Mittie lay for some time without speaking, then lifting her melancholyblack eyes, once so haughty and brilliant, she said--

"I will tell you why I wish to die. I am now humbled andsubdued--conscious and ashamed of my errors, grateful for yourunexampled goodness. If I die now, you will shed some tears over mygrave, and perhaps say, 'Poor girl! she was so young, and so unhappy--weremember her faults only to forgive them. ' But if I live to be strongand healthy as I have been before, I fear my heart will harden, and myevil temper recover all its terrible power. It seems to me now as if Ihad been possessed by one of those fiends which we read of in the Bible, which tore and rent the bosom that they entered. It is not cast out--itonly sleeps--and I fear--oh!--I dread its wakening. "

"Oh, Mittie, only cry, 'Thou Son of David, have mercy on me--' only cryout, from the depths of a contrite spirit--and it will depart, thoughits name be legion. "

"But I fear this contrition may be transitory. I do pray, I do cry outfor mercy now, but to-morrow my heart may harden into stone. You, whoare so perfect and pious, think it easy to be good, and so it is, on asick bed--when gentle, watching eyes and stilly steps are round you, andthe air you breathe is embalmed with blessings. With returning healththe bosom strife will begin. Your thoughts will no longer centre on me. Helen will once more absorb your affections, and then the serpent envywill come gliding back, so cold and venomous, to coil itself in myheart. "

"My child--there is room enough in the world, room enough in ourhearts, and room enough in Heaven, for you and Helen too. "

She spoke with solemnity, and she continued to speak soothingly andpersuasively till the eyes of the invalid were closed in slumber, andthen her thoughts rose in silent prayer for that sin-sick and life-wearysoul. 

Mittie never alluded to Clinton in her conversation with her mother. There was only one being to whom she now felt willing to breathe hisname, and that was Arthur Hazleton. The first time she was alone withhim, she asked the question that had long been hovering on her lips. Shewas sitting in an easy chair, supported by pillows, her head resting onher wasted hand. The reflection of the crimson curtains gave a glow tothe chill whiteness of her face, and softened the gloom of her sableeyes. She looked earnestly at Arthur, who knew all that she wished toask. The color mounted to his cheek. He could not frame a falsehood, andhe feared to reveal the truth. 

"Are there any tidings of him?" said she; "is he safe--or has his flightbeen discovered? But, " continued she in a lower voice, "you need notspeak. Your looks reveal the whole. He is again imprisoned. "

Arthur bowed his head, glad to be spared the painful task of assertingthe fact. 

"And there is no hope of pardon or acquittal?" she asked. 

"None. He _must_ meet his doom. And, Mittie, sad as it is--it is just. Your own sense of rectitude and justice will in time sanction thedecree. You may, you must pity him--but love, unsupported by esteem, must expire. You are mourning now over a bright illusion--a fallenidol--a deserted temple; but believe me, your mourning will change tojoy. The illusion is dispelled, that truth may shine forth in all itssplendor; the idol thrown down that the living God may be enthroned uponthe altar; the temple deserted that it may be filled with the glory ofthe Lord. "

"You are right, Arthur, in one thing--would to God you were in all. Itis not love I now feel, but despair. It is dreadful to look forward to acold, unloving existence. I shudder to think how young I am, and howlong I may have yet to live. "

"Yours is the natural language of disappointed youth. You have passedthrough a fiery ordeal. The sore and quivering heart shrinks from thecontact even of sympathy. You fear the application of even Gilead'sbalm. You are weak and languid, and I will not weary you withdiscussion; but spring will soon be here; genial, rejoicing spring. Youwill revive with its flowers, and your spirit warble with its singingbirds. Then we will walk abroad in the hush of twilight--and if you willpromise to listen, I will preach you a daily sermon, with nature for mytext and inspiration too. "

"Ah! such sermons should be breathed to Helen only. She can understandand profit by them. "

"There is room enough in God's temple for you and Helen too, " repliedArthur. Mittie remembered the words of her step-mother, so similar, andwas struck by the coincidence. Her own views seemed very selfish andnarrow, by contrast. 

The flowers of spring unfolded, and Mittie did indeed revive and bloomagain, but it was as the lily, not the rose. The love tint of the latterhad faded, never to blush again. 

There was a subdued happiness in the household, which had long been astranger there. 

Louis, though his brow still wore the traces of remorse, was happy inthe consciousness of errors forgiven, confidence restored, and goodresolutions strengthened and confirmed. He devoted himself to hisfather's business with an industry and zeal more worthy of praise, because he was obliged to struggle with his natural inclinations. Hebelieved it his father's wish to keep him with him, and he made it hislaw to obey him, thinking his future life too short for expiation. Therewas another object, for which he also thought life too short, and thatwas to secure the happiness of Alice--whom he loved with a purity andintensity that was deepened by her helplessness and almost infantineartlessness. He knew that her blindness was hopeless, but it seemed tohim that he loved her the more for her blindness, her entire dependenceon his care. It would be such a holy task to protect and cherish her, and to throw around her darkened life the illuminating influence oflove. 

She was still with them, and Mrs. Hazleton had been induced to leave theseclusion of the Parsonage, and become the guest of Mrs. Gleason. Itmust have been a strong motive that tempted her from the hallowedshades, which she had never quitted since her husband's death. Reader, can you conjecture what that motive was?

A very handsome new house, built in the cottage style, had been latelyerected in the vicinity of Mr. Gleason's, under the superintendence ofthe young doctor, and rumor said that he was shortly to be married toHelen Gleason. Every one thought it was time for _him_ to be married, ifhe ever intended to be, but many objected to her extreme youth. That, however, was the only objection urged, as Helen was a universalfavorite, and Arthur Hazleton the idol of the town. 

Arthur had never made Helen a formal declaration of love. He had neverasked her in so many many words, "Will you be my wife?" As imperceptiblyand gracefully as the morning twilight brightens into the fervor andglory of noonday, had the watchfulness and tenderness of friendshipdeepened into the warmth and devotion of perfect love. Helen could notlook back to any particular scene, where the character of the friend wasmerged into that of the lover. She felt the blessed assurance that shewas beloved, yet had any one asked her how and when she first receivedit, she would have found it difficult to answer. He talked to her of thehappiness of the future, of _their_ future, of the heaven of mutualtrust and faith and love, begun on earth, in the kingdom of theirhearts, till it seemed as if her individual existence ceased, and lifewith him became a heavenly identity. There were other life interests, too, twining together, as the following scene will show. 

The evening before the wedding-day of Arthur and Helen, as Mrs. Hazletonwas walking in the garden, gathering flowers and evergreens for bridalgarlands to decorate the room, Louis approached her, hand in hand withher blind child. 

"Mrs. Hazleton, " said he with trembling eagerness, "will you give meyour daughter, and let us hallow the morrow by a double wedding?"

"What, Alice, my poor blind Alice!" exclaimed Mrs. Hazleton, dropping inastonishment the flowers she had gathered. "You cannot mean what yousay--and her misfortune should make her sacred from levity. "

"I do mean it. I have long and ardently wished it. The consciousness ofmy unworthiness has till now sealed my lips, but I cannot keep silencelonger. My affection has grown too strong for the restraints imposedupon it. Give me your daughter, dearer to me for her blindness, moreprecious for her helplessness, and I will guard her as the richesttreasure ever bestowed on man. "

Mrs. Hazleton was greatly agitated. She had always looked on Alice asexcluded by her misfortune from the usual destiny of her sex, asconsecrated from her birth for a vestal's lot. She had never thought ofher being wooed as a wife, and she repelled the idea as somethingsacrilegious. 

"Impossible, Louis, " she answered. "You know not what you ask. My Aliceis set apart, by her Maker's will, from the sympathies of love. I havedisciplined her for a life of loneliness. She looks forward to no other. Disturb not, I pray thee, the holy simplicity of her feelings, byinspiring hopes which never can be realized. "

"Speak, Alice, " cried Louis, "and tell your mother all you just now saidto me. Let me be justified in her eyes. "

Alice lifted her downcast, blushing face, while the tears rolled gentlyfrom her beautiful, sightless eyes. 

"Mother, dear mother, forgive me if I have done wrong, but I cannot helpmy heart's throbbing more quickly at the echo of his footsteps or themusic of his voice. And when he asked me to be his wife and be ever withhim, I could not help feeling that it would make me the happiest ofhuman beings. Oh, mother, you cannot know how kind, how good, how tenderhe has been to me. The world never looks dark when he is near. "

Alice bowed her head on the shoulder of Louis, while her fair ringletsswept in shining wreaths over her face. 

"This is so unexpected!" cried Mrs. Hazleton. "I must speak with yourparents. "

"I come with their full consent and approbation. Alice will take theplace of Helen in the household, and prevent the aching void that wouldbe left. "

"Alas! what can Alice do?"

"I can love him and pray for him, mother, live to bless him, and die, too, for his sake, if God requires such a sacrifice. "

"Is not hers a heavenly mission?" cried Louis, taking the hand whichrested on his arm, and laying it gently against his heart. "This littlehand, whose touch quickens the pulsations of my being, will be a shieldfrom temptation, a safeguard from sin. What can I do for her half soprecious as her blessings and her prayers? If I am a lamp to her path, she will be a light to my soul. 'What can Alice do?' She can do everything that a guardian angel can do. Give her to me, for I need herwatchful cares. "

"I see she is yours already, " cried the now weeping mother, "I cannottake away what God has given. May He bless you, and sanctify thispeculiar and solemn union. "

Thus there was a double wedding on the morrow. 

"But she had no wedding dress prepared!" says one

A robe of pure white muslin was all the lovely blind bride wished, andthat she had always ready. A wreath of white rose-buds encircling herhair, completed her bridal attire. Helen wore no richer decoration. Spotless white, adorned with sweet, opening flowers, what could be moreappropriate for youth and innocence like theirs?

Mittie wore the same fair, youthful livery, and a stranger might havemistaken her for one of the brides of the evening--but no love-lightbeamed in her large, dark, melancholy eyes. She would gladly haveabsented herself from a scene in which her blighted heart had nosympathy, but she believed it her _duty_ to be present, and when shecongratulated the wedded pairs, she tried to smile, though her smile wasas cold as a moonbeam on snow. 

Helen's eyes filled with tears at the sight of that faint, cold smile. She thought of Clinton, as he had first appeared among them, splendid inyouthful beauty, and then of Clinton, languishing in chains, and doomedto long imprisonment in a lonely dungeon. She thought of her sister'swasted affections, betrayed confidence, and blasted hopes, andcontrasting _her_ lot with her own blissful destiny, she turned asideher head and wept. 

"Weep not, Helen, " said Arthur, in a low voice, divining the cause ofher emotion, and fixing on the retiring form of Mittie his ownglistening eye; "she now sows in tears, but she may yet reap in joy. Hers is a mighty struggle, for her character is composed of strong andwarring elements. Her mind has grasped the sublime truths of religion, and when once her heart embraces them, it will kindle with the fire ofmartyrdom. I have studied her deeply, intensely, and believe me, my owndear Helen, my too sad and tearful bride, though she is now wadingthrough cold and troubled waters, her feet will rest on the green marginof the promised land. "

And this prophecy was indeed fulfilled. Mittie never became gentle, amiable and loving, like Helen, for as Arthur had justly said, hercharacter was composed of strong and warring elements--but after a longand agonizing strife, she did become a zealous and devoted Christian. The hard, metallic materials of her nature were at last fused by theflame of divine love. She had passed through a baptism of fire, andthough it had blistered and scarred, it had purified her heart. Christianity, in her, never wore a serene and joyous aspect. Its diademwas the crown of thorns, its drink often the vinegar and gall. It was onthe Mount of Calvary, not of Transfiguration, that she beheld herSaviour, and her God. 

Had she been a Catholic, she would have worn the vesture of sackcloth, and slept upon the bed of iron, and even used the knotted scourge inexpiation of her sins, but as the severe simplicity of her Protestantfaith forbade such penances, she manifested, by the most rigidself-denial and strictest devotion, the sincerity of her penitence andthe fervor of her faith. 

Was Miss Thusa forgotten? Did she sleep in her lonely grave unhonoredand unmourned?

In a corner of Helen's own room, conspicuous in the mids of the elegant, modern furniture that adorns it, there stands an ancient brass-boundwheel. The brass shines with the lustre of burnished gold, and the darkwood-work has the polish of old mahogany. Nothing in Helen's possessionis so carefully preserved, so reverently guarded as that ancestralmachine. 

Nor is this the only memento of the aged spinster. In the grave-yard isa simple monument of gray marble, which gratitude and affection haveerected to her memory. Instead of the willow, with weeping branches, theusual badge of grief--a wheel carved in bas relief perpetuates theremembrance of her life-long occupation. Below this is written theinscription--

"She laid her hands to the spindle, and her hands held the distaff. "

"She opened her mouth with wisdom, and in her tongue was the law ofkindness. "

THE END. 

BOOKS SENT EVERYWHERE FREE OF POSTAGE

BOOKS FOR EVERYBODY AT GREATLY REDUCED RATES. 

PUBLISHED AND FOR SALE BY

T. B. PETERSON, No. 102 Chestnut Street, Philad'a. 

IN THIS CATALOGUE WILL BE FOUND THE LATEST AND BEST WORKS BY THE MOSTPOPULAR AND CELEBRATED WRITERS IN THE WORLD. 

AMONG WHICH WILL BE FOUND

CHARLES DICKENS'S, MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ'S, SIR E. L BULWER'S, G. P. R. JAMES'S, ELLEN PICKERING'S, CAPTAIN MARRYATT'S, MRS. GREY'S, T. S. ARTHUR'S, CHARLES LEVER'S, ALEXANDRE DUMAS', W. HARRISON AINSWORTH'S, D'ISRAELI'S, THACKERAY'S, SAMUEL WARREN'S, EMERSON BENNETT'S, GEORGELIPPARD'S, REYNOLDS', C. J. PETERSON'S, PETERSON'S HUMOROUS AMERICANWORKS, HENRY COCKTON'S, EUGENE SUE'S, GEORGE SANDS', CURRER BELL'S, ANDALL THE OTHER BEST AUTHORS IN THE WORLD. 

--> The best way is to look through the Catalogue, and see what booksare in it. You will all be amply repaid for your trouble. 

SPECIAL NOTICE TO EVERYBODY. --Any person whatever in this country, wishing any of the works in this Catalogue, on remitting the price ofthe ones they wish, in a letter, directed to T. B. Peterson, No. 102Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, shall have them sent by return of mail, to any place in the United States, _free of postage_. This is a splendidoffer, as any one can get books to the most remote place in the country, for the regular price sold in the large cities, _free of postage_, onsending for them. 

--> All orders thankfully received and filled with despatch, and sent byreturn of mail, or express, or stage, or in any other way the personordering may direct. Booksellers, News Agents, Pedlars, and all otherssupplied with any works published in the world, at the lowest rates. 

--> Any Book published, or advertised by any one, can be had here. 

--> Agents, Pedlars, Canvassers, Booksellers, News Agents, &c. , throughout the country, who wish to make money on a small capital, woulddo well to address the undersigned, who will furnish a complete outfitfor a comparatively small amount. Send by all means, for whatever booksyou may wish, to the Publishing and Bookselling Establishment of

T. B. PETERSON, No. 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia

T. B. PETERSON, 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, HAS JUST PUBLISHED AND FOR SALE

STEREOTYPE EDITIONS OF THE FOLLOWING WORKS, Which will be found to be the Best and Latest Publications, by the MostPopular and Celebrated Writers in the World. 

Every work published for Sale here, either at Wholesale or Retail. 

All Books in this Catalogue will be sent to any one to any place, permail, _free of postage_, on receipt of the price. 

MRS. SOUTHWORTH'S Celebrated WORKS. 

=With a beautiful Illustration in each volume. =

RETRIBUTION. A TALE OF PASSION. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. Complete in two volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar; or bound in one volume, cloth, for $1. 25. 

INDIA. THE PEARL OF PEARL RIVER. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. Complete in two large volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar; or bound in one volume, cloth, for $1. 25. 

THE MISSING BRIDE; OR, MIRIAM THE AVENGER. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. Complete in two volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar; or bound in one volume, cloth, for $1. 25. 

THE LOST HEIRESS. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. Being a work of powerful interest. Complete in two volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar; or bound in one volume, cloth, for $1. 25. 

THE WIFE'S VICTORY; AND NINE OTHER NOUVELLETTES. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. Complete in two volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar; or bound in one volume, cloth, for $1. 25. 

THE CURSE OF CLIFTON. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. Complete in two volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar; or bound in one volume, cloth, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents. 

THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. Complete in two volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar; or bound in one volume, cloth, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents. 

THE DESERTED WIFE. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. Complete in two volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar; or bound in one volume, cloth, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents. 

THE INITIALS. A LOVE STORY OF MODERN LIFE. By a daughter of the celebrated Lord Erskine, formerly Lord High Chancellor of England. It will be read for generations to come, and rank by the side of Sir Walter Scott's celebrated novels. Two volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar; or bound in one volume, cloth, for $1. 25. 

The whole of the above are also published in a very fine style, bound infull Crimson, gilt edges, gilt sides, full gilt backs, etc. , and makevery elegant and beautiful presentation books. Price Two Dollars acopy. 

CHARLES DICKENS' WORKS. 

The best and most popular in the world. Ten different editions. NoLibrary can be complete without a Sett of these Works. Reprinted fromthe Author's last Editions. 

"PETERSON'S" is the only complete and uniform edition of CharlesDickens' works published in America; they are reprinted from theoriginal London editions, and are now the only edition published in thiscountry. No library, either public or private, can be complete withouthaving in it a complete sett of the works of this, the greatest of allliving authors. Every family should possess a sett of one of theeditions. The cheap edition is complete in Twelve Volumes, paper cover;either or all of which can be had separately. Price Fifty cents each. The following are their names. 

 DAVID COPPERFIELD, NICHOLAS NICKLEBY, PICKWICK PAPERS, DOMBEY AND SON, MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, BARNABY RUDGE, OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, SKETCHES BY "BOZ, " OLIVER TWIST, BLEAK HOUSE, DICKENS' NEW STORIES. Containing The Seven Poor Travellers. Nine New Stories by the Christmas Fire. Hard Times. Lizzie Leigh. The Miner's Daughters, etc. CHRISTMAS STORIES. Containing--A Christmas Carol. The Chimes. Cricket on the Hearth. Battle of Life. Haunted Man, and Pictures from Italy. 

A complete sett of the above edition, twelve volumes in all, will besent to any one to any place, _free of postage_, for Five Dollars. 

COMPLETE LIBRARY EDITION. 

In FIVE large octavo volumes, with a Portrait, on Steel, of CharlesDickens, containing over Four Thousand very large pages, handsomelyprinted, and bound in various styles. 

 Volume 1 contains Pickwick Papers and Curiosity Shop. " 2 do. Oliver Twist, Sketches by "Boz, " and Barnaby Rudge. " 3 do. Nicholas Nickleby and Martin Chuzzlewit. " 4 do. David Copperfield, Dombey and Son, Christmas Stories, and Pictures from Italy. " 5 do. Bleak House, and Dickens' New Stories. Containing--The Seven Poor Travellers. Nine New Stories by the Christmas Fire. Hard Times. Lizzie Leigh. The Miner's Daughters, and Fortune Wildrod, etc. 

 Price of a complete sett. Bound in Black cloth, full gilt back, $7 50 " " " " scarlet cloth, extra, 8 50 " " " " library sheep, 9 00 " " " " half turkey morocco, 11 00 " " " " half calf, antique, 15 00

--> _Illustrated Edition is described on next page. _ _It is the only Magazine whose Fashion Plates can be relied on. _ Specimens sent, gratuitously, if written for, post-paid. 

--> All Postmasters constituted Agents. But any person may get up aClub. 

--> Persons remitting will please get the Postmaster to register theirletters, in which case the remittance may be at our risk. When the sumis large, a draft should be procured, the cost of which may be deductedfrom the amount. 

T. B. PETERSON'S

WHOLESALE AND RETAIL

Cheap Book, Magazine, Newspaper, Publishing and BooksellingEstablishment, is at

=No. 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. =

T. B. PETERSON has the satisfaction to announce to the public, that hehas removed to the new and spacious BROWN STONE BUILDING, NO. 102CHESTNUT STREET, just completed by the city authorities on the GirardEstate, known as the most central and best situation in the city ofPhiladelphia. As it is the Model Book Store of the Country, we willdescribe it: It is the largest, most spacious, and best arranged Retailand Wholesale Cheap Book and Publishing Establishment in the UnitedStates. It is built, by the Girard Estate, of Connecticut sand-stone, ina richly ornamental style. The whole front of the lower story, exceptthat taken up by the doorway, is occupied by two large plate glasswindows, a single plate to each window, costing together over threethousand dollars. On entering and looking up, you find above you aceiling sixteen feet high; while, on gazing before, you perceive a vistaof One Hundred and Fifty-Seven feet. The retail counters extend back foreighty feet, and, being double, afford counter-room of One Hundred andSixty feet in length. There is also over _Three Thousand feet ofshelving in the retail part of the store alone_. This part is devoted tothe retail business, and as it is the most spacious in the country, furnishes also the best and largest assortment of all kinds of books tobe found in the country. It is fitted up in the most superb style; theshelvings are all painted in Florence white, with gilded cornices forthe book shelves. 

Behind the retail part of the store, at about ninety foot from theentrance, is the counting-room, twenty feet square, railed neatly off, and surmounted by a most beautiful dome of stained glass. In the rear ofthis is the wholesale and packing department, extending a furtherdistance of about sixty feet, with desks and packing counters for theestablishment, etc. , etc. All goods are received and shipped from theback of the store, having a fine avenue on the side of Girard Bank forthe purpose, leading out to Third Street, so as not to interfere withand block up the front of the store on Chestnut Street. The cellar, ofthe entire depth of the store, is filled with printed copies of Mr. Peterson's own publications, printed from his own stereotype plates, ofwhich he generally keeps on hand an edition of a thousand each, making astock, of his own publications alone, of over three hundred thousandvolumes, constantly on hand. 

T. B. PETERSON is warranted in saying, that he is able to offer suchinducements to the Trade, and all others, to favor him with theirorders, as cannot be excelled by any book establishment in the country. In proof of this, T. B. PETERSON begs leave to refer to his greatfacilities of getting stock of all kinds, his dealing direct with allthe Publishing Houses in the country, and also to his own long list ofPublications, consisting of the best and most popular productions of themost talented authors of the United States and Great Britain, and to hisvery extensive stock, embracing every work, new or old, published in theUnited States. 

T. B. PETERSON will be most happy to supply all orders for any books atall, no matter by whom published, in advance of all others, and atpublishers' lowest cash prices. He respectfully invites CountryMerchants, Booksellers, Pedlars, Canvassers, Agents, the Trade, Strangers in the city, and the public generally, to call and examine hisextensive collection of cheap and standard publications of all kinds, comprising a most magnificent collection of CHEAP BOOKS, MAGAZINES, NOVELS, STANDARD and POPULAR WORKS of all kinds, BIBLES, PRAYER BOOKS, ANNUALS, GIFT BOOKS, ILLUSTRATED WORKS, ALBUMS and JUVENILE WORKS of allkinds, GAMES of all kinds, to suit all ages, tastes, etc. , which he isselling to his customers and the public at much lower prices than theycan be purchased elsewhere. Being located at No. 102 CHESTNUT Street, the great thoroughfare of the city, and BUYING his stock outright inlarge quantities, and not selling on commission, he can and will sellthem on such terms as will defy all competition. Call and examine ourstock, you will find it to be the best, largest and cheapest in thecity; and you will also be sure to find all the _best, latest, popular, and cheapest works_ published in this country or elsewhere, for sale atthe lowest prices. 

--> Call in person and examine our stock, or send your orders by _maildirect_, to the CHEAP BOOKSELLING and PUBLISHING ESTABLISHMENT of

 =T. B. PETERSON, No. 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. =

Transcriber's Note

The following typographical errors were corrected:

 13 _Collins_ changed to _Collins. _ 14 ornament than use changed to ornament than use. 17 I be!'" changed to I be!' 18 few moments" changed to few moments, " 20 and God wont changed to and God won't 29 merry-making and frolicking changed to merry-making and frolicking. 32 _Milton_ changed to _Milton. _ 40 repeated Helen, changed to repeated Helen. 50 and she wont changed to and she won't 52 than a cipher changed to than a cipher. 53 study hereafter. Changed to study hereafter. " 54 she is sleeping changed to "she is sleeping 55 waiting for her changed to waiting for her. 71 whispered Helen changed to whispered Helen. 71 in or out changed to in or out. 72 "'Now, " changed to "'Now, ' 73 child did'nt changed to child didn't 77 mild summer evening, changed to mild summer evening. 82 to love her changed to to love her. 86 It's nobody but changed to "It's nobody but 90 the young doctor changed to the young doctor. 91 blessed light? changed to blessed light?" 113 and more pervading changed to and more pervading. 116 dissappointment changed to disappointment 119 gloriou changed to glorious 120 ancestral figure of Misss changed to ancestral figure of Miss 128 deep, tranquil, refreshing changed to deep, tranquil, refreshing 128 joyious changed to joyous 133 to see me. Changed to to see me. " 139 It is all changed to "It is all 148 he had roused, changed to he had roused. 149 said Mrs. Leason changed to said Mrs. Gleason 155 going tomorrow changed to going to-morrow 162 whithering changed to withering 164 I believe I changed to "I believe I 166 shant changed to shan't 176 corruscate changed to coruscate 179 "'Not poppy, changed to 'Not poppy, 180 his own experience?" changed to his own experience? 184 which wont be changed to which won't be 190 _Shakspeare_ changed to _Shakspeare. _ 205 Poor child!. Changed to Poor child! 217 abscence changed to absence 221 not very call changed to not very 229 _Hymn_ changed to _Hymn. _ 233 dissappointed changed to disappointed 241 OLIVER TWIST changed to OLIVER TWIST, 243 INDA; changed to LINDA; 243 etter books changed to better books 245 with many Husbands changed to with many Husbands. 245 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE changed to PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 245 HE BARONET'S changed to THE BARONET'S 247 OUISE LA VALLIERE changed to LOUISE LA VALLIERE 247 538 pages, wit changed to 538 pages, with 249 Love. " etc. Changed to Love, " etc. 253 equal to th changed to equal to the 259 _the_ Lamplighter. '" changed to _The Lamplighter_. " 262 Philadelphia, changed to Philadelphia. 

The following words had inconsistent spelling and hyphenation. 

 ecstacy / ecstasy eyelids / eye-lids fireside / fire-side jailer / jailor needlework / needle-work penknife / pen-knife waterfall / water-fall wayside / way-side workbox / work-box

Other inconsistencies found in the text:

Prices on the advertising pages were printed with a period or a space ora comma between the dollars and cents. This inconsistency has beenmaintained.