DORA DEANE

OR

THE EAST INDIA UNCLE

BY

MRS. MARY J. HOLMES

_Author of "Tempest and Sunshine, " "Meadow Brook, " "Homestead onthe Hillside, " "The English Orphans, " "Maggie Miller, " etc. _

DORA DEANE, OR, THE EAST INDIA UNCLE

CHAPTER I. 

DORA AND HER MOTHER. 

Poor little Dora Deane! How utterly wretched and desolate she was, as she crouched before the scanty fire, and tried to warm thelittle bit of worn-out flannel, with which to wrap her mother'sfeet; and how hard she tried to force back the tears which wouldburst forth afresh whenever she looked upon that pale, sickmother, and thought how soon she would be gone!

It was a small, low, scantily furnished room, high up in the thirdstory of a crazy old building, which Dora called her home, and itsone small window looked out on naught save the roofs and spires ofthe great city whose dull, monotonous roar was almost the onlysound to which she had ever listened. Of the country, with itsbright green grass, its sweet wild flowers, its running brooks, and its shady trees, she knew but little, for only once had shelooked on all these things, and then her heart was very sad, forthe bright green grass was broken, and the sweet wild flowers weretrampled down, that a grave might be made in the dark, moist earthfor her father, who had died in early manhood, leaving his wifeand only child to battle with the selfish world as best theycould. Since that time, life had been long and dreary to the poorwidow, whose hours were well-nigh ended, for ere to-morrow's sunwas risen, _she_ would have a better home than that dreary, cheerless room, while Dora, at the early age of twelve, would bean orphan. 

It was a cold December night, the last one of the year, and thewintry wind, which swept howling past the curtainless window, seemed to take a sadder tone, as if in pity for the little girlwho knelt upon the hearthstone, and with the dim firelightflickering over her tear-stained face, prayed that she, too, mightdie, and not be left alone. 

"It will be so lonely--so cold without my mother!" she murmured. "Oh, let me go with her; I _cannot_ live alone. "

"Dora, my darling, " came faintly from the rude couch, and in aninstant the child was at her mother's side. 

Winding her arms fondly about the neck of her daughter, andpushing the soft auburn hair from off her fair, open brow, Mrs. Deane gazed long and earnestly upon her face. 

"Yes, you are like me, " she said at last, "and I am glad that itis so, for it may be Sarah will love you better when she sees inyou a look like one who once called her sister. And should_he_ ever return----"

She paused, while her mind went back to the years long ago--to theold yellow farmhouse among the New England hills--to the gray-haired man, who had adopted her as his own when she was written_fatherless_--to the dark-eyed girl, sometimes kind, andsometimes overbearing, whom she had called her sister, thoughthere was no tie of blood between them. Then she thought of thered house just across the way, and of the three brothers, Nathaniel, Richard, and John. Very softly she repeated the name ofthe latter, seeming to see him again as he was on the day when, with the wreath of white apple blossoms upon her brow, she sat onthe mossy bank and listened to his low spoken words of love. Againshe was out in the pale starlight, and heard the autumn wind gomoaning through the locust trees as _Nathaniel_, the strange, eccentric, woman-hating Nathaniel, but just returned from theseas, told her how madly he had loved her, and how the knowledgethat she belonged to another would drive him from his fatherlandforever--that in the burning clime of India he would make gold hisidol, forgetting, if it were possible, the mother who had bornehim! Then she recalled the angry scorn with which her adoptedsister had received the news of her engagement with John, and howthe conviction was at last forced upon her that Sarah herself hadloved him in secret, and that in a fit of desperation she hadgiven her hand to the rather inefficient Richard, ever aftertreating her rival with a cool reserve, which now came back to herwith painful distinctness. 

"But she will love my little Dora for _John's_ sake, if notfor mine, " she thought, at last; and then, as if she had all thetime been speaking to her daughter, she continued, " And you mustbe very dutiful to your aunt, and kind to your cousins, fulfillingtheir slightest wishes. "

Looking up quickly, Dora asked, "Have you written to Aunt Sarah?Does she say I can come?"

"The letter is written, and Mrs. Gannis will send it as soon as Iam dead, " answered Mrs. Deane. "I am sure she will give you ahome. I told her there was no alternative but the almshouse;"then, after a pause, she added: "I wrote to your uncle Nathanielsome months ago, when I knew that I must die. It is time for hisreply, but I bade him direct to Sarah, as I did not then think tosee the winter snow. "

"Did you tell him of me?" eagerly asked Dora, on whom the name ofUncle Nathaniel, or "Uncle Nat, " as he was more familiarly called, produced a more pleasant impression than did that of her auntSarah. 

"Yes", answered the mother, "it was of you that I wrote, commending you to his care, should he return to America. And ifyou ever meet him, Dora, tell him that on my dying bed I thoughtof him with affection--that my mind wandered back to the years oflong ago, when I was young, and ask him, for the sake of one hecalled his brother, and for her who grieves that ever she causedhim a moment's pain, to care for you, their orphan child. "

Then followed many words of love, which were very precious to Dorain the weary years which followed that sad night; and then, for atime, there was silence in that little room, broken only by thesound of the wailing tempest. The old year was going out on thewings of a fearful storm, and as the driving sleet beat againstthe casement, while the drifting snow found entrance through morethan one wide crevice and fell upon her pillow, the dying womanmurmured, "Lie up closer to me, Dora, I am growing very cold. "

Alas! 'twas the chill of death; but Dora did not know it, andagain on the hearthstone before the fast dying coals she knelt, trying to warm the bit of flannel, on which her burning tears felllike rain, when through the empty wood-box she sought in vain forchip or bark with which to increase the scanty fire. 

"But I will not tell _her_, " she softly whispered, whensatisfied that her search was vain, and wrapping the flannelaround the icy feet, she untied the long-sleeved apron whichcovered her own naked arms, and laying it over her mother'sshoulders, tucked in the thin bedclothes; and then, herself allshivering and benumbed, she sat down to wait and watch, singingsoftly a familiar hymn, which had sometimes lulled her mother intoa quiet sleep. 

At last, as her little round white arms grew purple with the cold, she moved nearer to the bedside, and winding them lovingly aroundher mother's neck, laid her head upon the pillow and fell asleep. And to the angels, who were hovering near, waiting to bear theirsister spirit home, there was given charge concerning the littlegirl, so that she did not freeze, though she sat there thelivelong night, calmly sleeping the sweet sleep of childhood, while the mother at her side slept the long, eternal sleep ofdeath!

 * * * * *

CHAPTER II. 

THE FIRST AND LAST NEW YEAR'S CALL. 

It was New Year's morning, and over the great city lay the deep, untrodden snow, so soon to be trampled down by thousands of busyfeet. Cheerful fires were kindled in many a luxurious home of therich, and "Happy New Year" was echoed from lip to lip, as if onthat day there were no aching hearts--no garrets where the bitingcold looked in. On pinching poverty and suffering old age--no low, dark room where Dora and her pale, dead mother lay, while overthem the angels kept their tireless watch until human aid shouldcome. But one there was who did not forget--one about whose housewas gathered every elegance which fashion could dictate or moneyprocure; and now, as she sat at her bountifully-furnishedbreakfast table sipping her fragrant chocolate, she thought of thepoor widow, Dora's mother, for whom her charity had been solicitedthe day before, by a woman who lived in the same block ofbuildings with Mrs. Deane. 

"Brother, " she said, glancing towards a young man who, before theglowing grate, was reading the morning paper, "suppose you makeyour first call with me?"

"Certainly, " he answered; "and it will probably be in some drearyattic or dark, damp basement; but it is well, I suppose, to beginthe New Year by remembering the poor. "

Half an hour later, and the crazy stairs which led to the chamberof death were creaking to the tread of the lady and her brother, the latter of whom knocked loudly for admission. Receiving noanswer from within, they at last raised the latch and entered. Thefire had long since gone out, and the night wind, as it poureddown the chimney, had scattered the cold ashes over the hearth andout upon the floor. Piles of snow lay on the window sill, and atumbler in which some water had been left standing, was broken inpieces. All this the young man saw at a glance, but when his eyefell upon the bed, he started back, for there was no mistaking therigid, stony expression of the upturned face, which lay there sowhite and motionless. 

"But the child--the child, " he exclaimed, advancing forward--"canshe, too, be dead!" and he laid his warm hand gently on Dora'sbrow. 

The touch aroused her, and starting up, she looked around for amoment bewildered; but when at last she turned towards her mother, the dread reality was forced upon her, and in bitter tones shecried, "Mother's dead, mother's dead, and I am all alone! Oh!mother, mother, come back again to me!"

The young man's heart was touched, and taking the child's littlered hands in his, he rubbed them gently, trying to soothe hergrief; while his sister, summoning the inmates from the adjoiningroom, gave orders that the body should receive the necessaryattention; then, learning as much as was possible of Dora'shistory, and assuring her that she should be provided for untilher aunt came, she went away, promising to return next morning andbe present at the humble funeral. 

That evening, as Dora sat weeping by the coffin in which hermother lay, a beautiful young girl, with eyes of deepest blue, andlocks of golden hair, smiled a joyous welcome to him whose_first_ New Year's call had been in the chamber of death, andwhose _last_ was to her, the petted child of fashion. 

"I had almost given you up, and was just going to cry, " she said, laying her little snowflake of a hand upon the one which thatmorning had chafed the small, stiff fingers of Dora Deane, andwhich now tenderly pressed those of Ella Grey as the young mananswered, "I have not felt like going out today, for my first callsaddened me;" and then, with his arm around the fairy form ofElla, his affianced bride, he told her of the cold, dreary room, of the mother colder still, and of the noble little girl, who haddivested herself of her own clothing, that her mother might bewarm. 

Ella Grey had heard of such scenes before--had cried over them inbooks; but the idea that _she_ could do anything to relievethe poor, had never entered her mind. It is true, she had oncegiven a _party dress_ to a starving woman, and a _pound ofcandy_ to a ragged boy who had asked for aid, but here hercharity ended; so, though she seemed to listen with interest tothe sad story, her mind was wandering elsewhere, and when hercompanion ceased, she merely said, "_Romantic_, wasn't it. "

There was a look of disappointment on the young man's face, whichwas quickly observed by Ella, who attributed it to its rightsource, and hastened to ask numberless questions about Dora--"Howold was she? Did he think her pretty, and hadn't she better go tothe funeral the next day and bring her home for a waiting-maid?--she wanted one sadly, and from the description, the orphan girlwould just suit. "

"No, Ella, " answered her lover; "the child is going to live in thecountry with some relatives, and will be much better off there. "

"The country, " repeated Ella. "_I_ would rather freeze in NewYork than to live in the dismal country. "

Again the shadow came over the gentleman's brow, as he said, "Doyou indeed object so much to a home in the country?"

Ella knew just what he wanted her to say; so she answered, "Oh, no, I can be happy anywhere with you, but do please let me spendjust one winter in the city after---"

Here she paused, while the bright blushes broke over her childishface. She could not say, even to him, "after we are married, " sohe said it for her, drawing her closer to his side, and forgettingDora Deane, as he painted the joyous future when Ella would be allhis own. Eleven o'clock sounded from more than one high tower, andat each stroke poor Dora Deane moaned in anguish, thinking toherself, "Last night at this time _she_ was here. " Eleveno'clock, said Ella Grey's diamond set watch, and pushing back herwavy hair, the young man kissed her rosy cheek, and bade her afond good-night. As he reached the door, she called him back, while she asked him the name of the little girl who had so excitedhis sympathy. 

"I do not know, " he answered. "Strange that I forgot to inquire. But no matter. We shall never meet again;" and feeling sure thatwhat he said was true he walked away. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER III. 

DORA'S RELATIVES. 

There hundred miles to the westward, and the storm, which, on NewYear's eve, swept so furiously over all parts of the State, wasperceptible only in the dull, gray clouds which obscured thewintry sky, shutting out the glimmering starlight, and apparentlymaking still brighter the many cheerful lights which shone forthfrom the handsome dwellings in the village of Dunwood. Still thenight was intensely cold, and, as Mrs. Sarah Deane, in accordancewith her daughter Eugenia's request, added a fresh bit of coal tothe already well-filled stove, she sighed involuntarily, wishingthe weather would abate, for the winter's store of fuel wasalready half gone, and the contents of her purse were far tooscanty to meet the necessity of her household, and at the sametime minister to the wants of her extravagant daughters. 

"But I can economize in one way, " she said, half aloud, andcrossing the room she turned down the astral lamp which wasburning brightly upon the table. 

"Don't, pray mother, make it darker than a dungeon!" petulantlyexclaimed Eugenia, herself turning back the lamp. "I do like tohave rooms light enough to see one's self;" and glancingcomplacently at the reflection of her handsome face, in the mirroropposite, she resumed her former lounging attitude upon the sofa. 

Mrs. Deane sighed again, but she had long since ceased to opposethe imperious Eugenia, who was to all intents and purposes themistress of the house, and who oftentimes led her mother andweaker-minded sister into the commission of acts from which theywould otherwise have shrunk. Possessed of a large share ofromance, Eugenia had given to their place the name of "LocustGrove;" and as Mrs. Deane managed to keep up a kind of outsideshow by practising the most pinching economy in everythingpertaining to the actual comfort of her family, they were lookedupon as being quite wealthy and aristocratic by those who sawnothing of their inner life--who knew nothing of the many shiftsand turns in the kitchen to save money for the decoration of theparlors, or of the frequent meager meals eaten from the pantryshelf, in order to make amends for the numerous dinner and eveningparties which Eugenia and Alice insisted upon giving, and whichtheir frequent visits to their friends rendered necessary. Extensive servant-hire was of course too expensive, and, as bothEugenia and Alice affected the utmost contempt for anything like_work_, their mother toiled in the kitchen from morning untilnight, assisted only by a young girl, whose mother constantlythreatened to take her away, unless her wages were increased, athing which seemed impossible. 

It was just after this woman's weekly visit, and in the midst ofpreparations for a large dinner party, that Mrs. Deane receivedher sister's letter, to which there was added a postscript, in astrange handwriting, saying she was dead. There was a moisture inMrs. Deane's eyes as she read the touching lines; and leaning herheated forehead against the cool window pane, she, too, thought ofthe years gone by--of the gentle girl, the companion of herchildhood, who had never given her an unkind word--of _him_--the only man she had ever loved--and Dora was their child--Fanny'schild and John's. 

"Yes, " she said, half aloud, "I will give her a home, " but anonthere came stealing over her the old bitterness of feeling, whichshe had cherished since she knew that Fanny was preferred toherself, and then the evil of her nature whispered, "No, I willnot receive their child. We can hardly manage to live now, and itis not my duty to incur an additional expense. Dora must staywhere she is, and if I do not answer the letter, she willnaturally suppose I never received it. "

Thus deciding the matter, she crushed the letter into her pocketand went back to her work; but there was an added weight upon herspirits, while continually ringing in her ears were the words, "Care for John's child and mine. " "If I could only make her of anyuse to me, " she said at last, and then as her eye fell upon_Bridget_, whose stay with her was so uncertain, the darkthought entered her mind, "Why could not Dora fill her place? Itwould be a great saving, and of course the child must expect towork. "

Still, reason as she would, Mrs. Deane could not at once bringherself to the point of making a menial of one who was every wayher equal; neither could she decide to pass the letter byunnoticed; so for the present she strove to dismiss the subject, which was not broached to her daughters until the evening on whichwe first introduced them to our readers. Then taking her seat bythe brightly burning lamp, she drew the letter from her pocket andread it aloud, while Alice drummed an occasional note upon thepiano and Eugenia beat a tattoo upon the carpet with her delicateFrench slipper. 

"Of course she won't come, " said Alice, as her mother finishedreading. "It was preposterous in Aunt Fanny to propose such athing!" and she glanced towards Eugenia for approbation of whatshe had said. 

Eugenia's quick, active mind had already looked at the subject inall its bearings, and in like manner with her mother she saw howDora's presence there would be a benefit; so to Alice's remark shereplied: "It will sound well for us to have a _cousin_ in the_poorhouse_, won't it? For my part, I propose that she comes, and then be made to earn her own living. We can dismiss Bridget, who is only two years older than Dora, and we shall thus avoidquarreling regularly with her vixenish mother, besides saving adollar every week--"

"So make a _drudge_ of Dora, " interrupted Alice. "Betterleave her in the poorhouse at once. "

"Nobody intends to make a _drudge_ of her, " retorted Eugenia. "Mother works in the kitchen, and I wonder if it will hurt Dora tohelp her. Every girl ought to learn to work!"

"Except Eugenia Deane, " suggested Alice, laughing, to think howlittle her sister's practise accorded with her theory. 

At this point in the conversation, Bridget entered, bringing aletter which bore the India post-mark, together with theunmistakable handwriting of Nathaniel Deane!

"A letter from Uncle Nat, as I live!" exclaimed Eugenia. "What_is_ going to happen? He hasn't written before in years. I dowish I knew when he expected to quit this mundane sphere, and howmuch of his money he intends leaving me!"

By this time Mrs. Deane had broken the seal, uttering anexclamation of surprise as a check for $500 fell into her lap. 

"Five hundred dollars!" screamed Eugenia, catching up the checkand examining it closely, to see that there was no mistake. "Theold miser has really opened his heart. Now, we'll have some_genuine_ silver forks for our best company, so we shan't bein constant terror lest some one should discover that they areonly plated. I'll buy that set of _pearls_ at Mercer's, too, and, Alice, you and I will nave some new furs. I'd go to Rochesterto-morrow, if it were not Sunday. What shall we get for you, mother? A web of cloth, or an ounce of sewing silk?" and theheartless girl turned towards her mother, whose face was white asashes, as she said faintly: "The money is not ours. It is Dora's--to be used for her benefit. "

"Not ours! What do you mean! It can't be true!" cried Eugenia, snatching the letter, and reading therein a confirmation of hermother's words. 

After a slight apology for his long silence, Undo Nat had spokenof Fanny's letter, saying he supposed she must be dead ere this, and that Dora was probably living with her aunt, as it was quitenatural she should do. Then he expressed his willingness to defrayall the expense which she might be, adding that though he shouldnever see her, as he was resolved to spend his days in India, hestill wished to think of her as an educated and accomplishedwoman. 

"Accompanying this letter, " he wrote, "is a check for $500, to beused for Dora's benefit. Next year I will make another remittance, increasing the allowance as she grows older. I have more moneythan I need, and I know of no one on whom I would sooner expend itthan the child of Fanny Moore. "

"Spiteful old fool!" muttered Eugenia, "I could relieve him of anysuperfluous dimes he may possess. "

But even Eugenia, heartless as she was, felt humbled and subduedfor a moment, as she read the latter part of her uncle's letter, from which we give the following extract:

"I am thinking, to-day, of the past, Sarah, and I grow a verychild again as I recall the dreary years which have gone over myhead, since last I trod the shores of my fatherland. You, Sarah, know much of my history. You know that I was awkward, eccentric, uncouth, and many years older than my handsomer, more highlygifted brother; and yet with all this fearful odds against me, youknow that I ventured to love the gentle, fair-haired Fanny, youradopted sister. You know this, I say, but you do not know howmadly, how passionately such as I can love--did love; nor how thememory of Fanny's ringing laugh, and the thought of the sunnysmile, with which I knew she would welcome me home again, cheeredme on my homeward voyage, when in the long night-watches I pacedthe vessel's deck, while the stars looked coldly down upon me, andthere was no sound to break the deep stillness, save the heavyswell of the sea. At the village inn where I stopped for a momentere going to my father's house, I first heard that her hand wasplighted to another, and in my wild frenzy, I swore that my rival, whoever it might be, should die!

"It was my youngest brother--he, who, on the sad night when ourmother died, had laid his baby head upon my bosom, and wepthimself to sleep--he whose infant steps I had guided, bearing himoften in my arms, lest he should 'dash his foot against a stone. 'And _his_ life I had sworn to take, for had he not comebetween me and the only object I had ever loved? There was no onestirring about the house, for it was night, and the family hadretired. But the door was unfastened, and I knew the way upstairs. I found him, as I had expected, in our old room, and all alone;for Richard was away. Had he been there, it should make nodifference, I said, but he was absent, and John was calmlysleeping with his face upturned to the soft moonlight which camein through the open window. I had not seen him for two long years, and now there was about him a look so much like that of my deadmother when she lay in her coffin bed, that the demon in my heartwas softened, and I seemed to hear her dying words again, 'I cantrust you, Nathaniel; and to your protection, as to a secondmother, I commit my little boy. '

"The little boy, whose curls were golden then, was now a brown-haired man--my brother--the son of my angel mother, whose spirit, in that dark hour of my temptation, glided into the silent room, and stood between me and her youngest born, so that _he_ wasnot harmed, and _I_ was saved from the curse of a brother'sblood. 

"'Lead us not into temptation, ' came back to me, just as I hadsaid it kneeling at my mother's side; and covering my face with myhands, I thanked God, who had kept me from so great a sin. Bendinglow, I whispered in his ear his name, and in a moment his armswere around my neck, while he welcomed me back to the home, which, he said, was not home without me. And then, when the moon had gonedown, and the stars shone too faintly to reveal his blushes, hetold me the story of his happiness, to which I listened, while thegreat drops of sweat rolled down my face and moistened the pillowon which my head was resting. 

"But why linger over those days of anguish, which made me an oldman before my time? I knew I could not stand by and see her weddedto another--neither could I look upon her after she was another'swife; so, one night, when the autumn days were come, I asked herto go with me out beneath the locust trees, which skirted myfather's yard. It was there I had seen her for the first time, andit was there I would take my final leave. Of the particulars ofthat interview I remember but little, for I was terribly excited. We never met again, for ere the morrow's daylight dawned, I hadleft my home forever--"

Then followed a few more words concerning Dora, with a requestthat she should write to him, as he would thus be able to judgesomething of her character; and there the letter ended. 

For a time there was silence, which was broken at last by Eugenia, whose active mind had already come to a decision. Dora would livewith them, of course--it was best that she should, and there wasno longer need for dismissing Bridget. The five hundred dollarsobviated that necessity, and it was _theirs_, too--theirs bythe way of remuneration for giving Dora a home--theirs to spend asthey pleased. And she still intended to have the _furs_, the_pearls_, and the _silver forks_, just the same as though themoney had been a special gift to her!

"Suppose _Uncle Nat_ should happen to come home, and Dorashould tell him?" suggested Alice, who did not so readily fall inwith her sister's views. 

"He'll never do that in the world, " returned Eugenia. "And even ifhe should, Dora will have nothing to tell, for she is not supposedto know of the money. If we feed, clothe, and educate her, it isall we are required to do. "

"But would that be exactly just?" faintly interposed Mrs. Deane, whose perceptions of right and wrong were not quite so blunted asthose of her daughter, who, in answer to her question, proceededto advance many good reasons why Dora, for a time at least, shouldbe kept in ignorance of the fact that her uncle supported her, andnot her aunt. 

"We can manage her better if she thinks she is dependent upon us. And then, as she grows older, she will not be continually askingwhat has become of the money, which, as I understand the matter, is really _ours_, and not _hers_. "

Still, Mrs. Deane was not quite convinced, but she knew howuseless it would be to argue the point; so she said nothing, except to ask how Dora was to get there, as she could not comealone. 

"I have it, " answered Eugenia. "I have long wished to spend a fewdays in New York, but that bane of my life, poverty, has alwaysprevented. Now, however, as old Uncle Nat has kindly furnished uswith the means, I propose that Alice and I start day after to-morrow, and return on Saturday. That will give us ample time tosee the _lions_ and get the city fashions. "

"It will cost a great deal for yon both to stay at those largehotels, " said Mrs. Deane; and Eugenia replied--

"One hundred dollars will cover all the expense, and pay Dora'sfare besides. What is the use of money, if we can't use it? Ishall get my furs, and jewelry, and forks while I'm there, so I'dbetter take along three hundred and fifty dollars, for fear of anyaccident. We are not obliged to spend it all, of course;" sheadded, as she saw the look of dismay on her mother's face. "And wecan bring back whatever there is left. "

For nineteen years Eugenia Deane had been suffered to have herway, and her mother did not like to thwart her now, for her temperwas violent, and she dreaded an outbreak; so she merely sighed inreply, and when, on Monday morning, Eugenia started for New York, her purse contained the desired three hundred and fifty dollars, which, after her arrival in the city, was spent as freely as if itreally belonged to her, and not to the orphan Dora, who was nowstaying with Mrs. Grannis, a kind-hearted woman in the same blockwhere her mother had died. The furs were bought, the pearlsexamined, the forks priced, and then Alice ventured to ask whenthey were going to find Dora. 

"I shall leave that for the last thing, " answered Eugenia. "Shecan't run away, and nobody wants to be bothered with a child tolook after. "

So for three more days little Dora looked out of the dingy windowupon the dirty court below, wishing her aunt would come, andwondering if she should like her. At last, towards the close ofFriday afternoon, there was a knock at the door and a haughty-looking, elegantly dressed young lady inquired if a little orphangirl lived there. 

"That's her--Aunt Sarah, " exclaimed Dora, springing joyfullyforward; but she paused and started back, as she met the cold, scrutinizing glance of Eugenia's large black eyes. 

"Are you the child I am looking for?" asked Eugenia, withoutdeigning to notice Mrs. Grannis's request that she would walk in. 

"I am Dora Deane, " was the simple answer; and then, as briefly aspossible, Eugenia explained that she had been sent for her, andthat early the next morning she would call to take her to thedepot. 

"_Did_ you know mother? Are you any relation?" asked Dora, trembling with eager expectation; and Alice, who, without hersister's influence, would have been a comparatively kind-heartedgirl, answered softly, "We are your cousins. "

There was much native politeness and natural refinement of mannerabout Dora, and instinctively her little chubby hand was extendedtowards her newly found relative, who pressed it gently, glancingthe while at her sister, who, without one word of sympathy for theorphan girl, walked away through the winding passage, and down thenarrow stairs, out into the sunlight, where, breathing morefreely, she exclaimed, "What a horrid place! I hope I haven'tcaught anything. Didn't Dora look like a Dutch doll in that longdress and high-neck apron?"

"Her face is pretty, though, " returned Alice, "and her eyes arebeautiful--neither blue nor black, but a mixture of both. How Ipitied her as they filled with tears when you were talking! Whydidn't you speak to her?"

"Because I'd nothing to say, " answered Eugenia, stepping into thecarriage which had brought them there, and ordering the driver togo next to Stuart's, where she wished to look again at a velvetcloak. 

"It is so cheap, and so becoming, too, that I am half tempted toget it, " she exclaimed. 

"Mother won't like it, I know, " said Alice, who herself began tohave some fears for the three hundred and fifty dollars. 

"Fudge!" returned Eugenia, adding the next moment, "I wonder ifshe'll have to buy clothes for Dora the first thing. I hope not, "and she drew around her the costly fur, for which she had paidfifty dollars. 

Of course the cloak was bought, together with several otherarticles equally _cheap_ and becoming, and by the time thehotel bills were paid, there were found in the purse just twenty-five dollars, with which to pay their expenses back to Dunwood. 

---------------

There were bitter tears shed at the parting next morning in Mrs. Grannis's humble room, for Dora felt that the friends to whom shewas going were not like those she left behind; and very lovinglyher arms wound themselves around the poor widow's neck as she wepther last adieu, begging Mrs. Grannis not to forget her, but towrite sometimes, and tell her of the lady who had so kindlybefriended her. 

"We can't wait any longer, " cried Eugenia, and with one morefarewell kiss, Dora went out of the house where she hadexperienced much of happiness, and where had come to her herdeepest grief. 

"Forlorn. What is that old thing going for! Leave it, " saidEugenia, touching with her foot a square, green trunk or chest, which stood by the side of the long, sack-like carpet-bagcontaining Dora's wardrobe. 

"It was father's--and mother's clothes are in it, " answered Dora, with quivering lips. 

There was something in the words and manner of the little girl, asshe laid her hand reverently on the offending trunk, that touchedeven Eugenia; and she said no more. An hour later, and theattention of more than one passenger in the Hudson River cars wasattracted towards the two stylish-looking ladies who came in, laden with bundles, and followed by a little girl in black, forwhom no seat was found save the one by the door where the windcrept in, and the unmelted frost still covered the window pane. 

"Won't you be cold here?" asked Alice, stopping a moment, erepassing on to her own warm seat near the stove. 

"No matter; I am used to it, " was Dora's meek reply; and wrappingher thin, half-worn shawl closer about her, and drawing her feetup beneath her, she soon fell asleep, dreaming sweet dreams of thehome to which she was going, and of the Aunt Sarah who would be toher a second mother!

_God help thee, Dora Deane!_

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CHAPTER IV. 

DORA'S NEW HOME. 

One year has passed away since the night when, cold, weary andforlorn, Dora followed her cousins up the graveled walk which ledto her new home. One whole year, and in that time she has somewhatchanged. The merry-hearted girl, who, until a few weeks before hermother's death, was happier far than many a favored child ofwealth, has become a sober, quiet, self-reliant child, performingwithout a, word of complaint the many duties which have graduallybeen imposed upon her. 

From her aunt she had received a comparatively welcome greeting, and when Eugenia displayed her purchases, which had swallowed upthe entire three hundred and fifty dollars, Mrs. Deane had laidher hand on the little girl's soft, auburn hair, as if to askforgiveness for the injustice done her by the selfish Eugenia, whose only excuse for her extravagance was, that "no one in herright mind need to think of bringing back any money from NewYork. " And Dora, from her seat on a little stool behind the stove, understood nothing, thought of nothing, except that Eugenia lookedbeautifully in her velvet cloak and furs, and that her aunt mustbe very rich, to afford so many handsome articles of furniture asthe parlor contained. 

"And I am glad that she is, " she thought, " for she will not be solikely to think me in the way. "

As time passed on, however, Dora, who was a close observer, beganto see things in their true light, and her life was far from beinghappy. By her cousin Alice she was treated with a tolerable degreeof kindness, while Eugenia, without any really evil intention, perhaps, seemed to take delight in annoying her sensitive cousin, constantly taunting her with her dependence upon them, and askingher sometimes how she expected to repay the debt of gratitude sheowed them. Many and many a night had the orphan wept herself tosleep, in the low, scantily furnished chamber which had beenassigned her; and she was glad when at last an opportunity waspresented for her to be in a measure out of Eugenia's way, and atthe same time feel that she doing something towards earning herliving. 

The oft-repeated threat of Bridget's mother that her daughtershould be removed, unless her wages were increased, was finallycarried into effect; and one Saturday night, Mrs. Deane wasstartled by the announcement that Bridget was going to leave. In amoment, Dora's resolution was taken, and coming to her aunt'sside, she said:

"Don't hire another girl, Aunt Sarah. Let _me_ help you. Ican do almost as much as Bridget, and you won't have to _pay_me either. _I_ shall only be paying you. "

Unclasping the handsome bracelet which had been purchased with aportion of the remaining one hundred and fifty dollars, Eugenia, ere her mother had time to reply, exclaimed:

"That is a capital idea! I wonder how you happened to be sothoughtful. "

And so it was decided that Dora should take Bridget's place, shethinking how much she would do, and how hard she would try toplease her aunt, who quieted her own conscience by saying "it wasonly a temporary arrangement until she could find anotherservant. "

But as the days went by, the temporary arrangement bid fair tobecome permanent, for Mrs. Deane could not be insensible to thevast difference which Bridget's absence made in her weeklyexpenses. Then, too, Dora was so willing to work, and souncomplaining, never seeking a word of commendation, except once, indeed, when she timidly ventured to ask Eugenia if "what she didwas enough to pay for her board?"

"Just about, " was Eugenia's answer, which, indifferent as it was, cheered the heart of Dora, as, day after day, she toiled on in thecomfortless kitchen, until her hands, which, when she came toLocust Grove, were soft and white as those of an infant, becamerough and brown, and her face gradually assumed the same dark hue, for she could not always stop to tie on her sunbonnet, when sentfor wood or water. 

With the coming of summer, arrangements had been made for sendingher to school, though Mrs. Deane felt at first as if she could notbe deprived of her services. Still for appearance' sake, if fornothing more, she must go; and with the earliest dawn the busycreature was up, working like a bee, that her aunt and cousinsmight not have so much to do in her absence. At first she wentregularly, but after a time it became very convenient to detainher at home, for at least two days in every week, and this wrungfrom her almost the only tears she had shed since the morning, when, of her own accord, she had gone into the kitchen to performa servant's duties. 

Possessing naturally a fondness for books, and feeling ambitiousto keep up with her class, she at last conceived the idea ofstudying at home; and many a night, long after her aunt andcousins were asleep, she sat up alone, poring over her books, sometimes by the dim light of a lamp, and again by the light ofthe full moon, whose rays seemed to fall around her more brightlythan elsewhere. It was on one of these occasions, when tracingupon her map the boundary lines of India, that her thoughtsreverted to her uncle Nathaniel, whose name she seldom heard, andof whom she had never but once spoken. Then in the presence of heraunt and cousins she had wondered why he did not answer hermother's letter. 

"Because he has nothing to write, I presume, " said Eugenia, whowould not trust her mother to reply. 

And Dora, wholly unsuspecting, never dreamed of the five hundreddollars sent over for her benefit, and which was spent long ago--though not for her--never dreamed of the letter which Eugenia hadwritten in reply, thanking her uncle again and again for hisgenerous gift, which she said "was very acceptable, for _ma_was rather poor, and it would aid her materially in providing forthe wants of Dora, " who was represented as being "a queer, old-fashioned child, possessing but little affection for any one andwho never spoke of her uncle Nathaniel, or manifested the leastgratitude for what he was doing!"

In short, the impression left upon the mind of Uncle Nat was thatDora, aside from being cold-hearted, was uncommonly dull, andwould never make much of a woman, do what they might for her! Witha sigh, and a feeling of keen disappointment, he read the letter, saying to himself, as he laid it away, "Can this be true ofFanny's child?"

But this, we say, _Fanny's_ child did not know; and as hereyes wandered over the painted map of India, she resolved to writeand to tell him of her mother's dying words--tell him how much sheloved him, because he was her father's brother, and how she wishedhe would come home, that she might know him better. 

"If I only had some keepsake to send him--something he wouldprize, " she thought, when her letter was finished. And then, asshe enumerated her small store of treasures, she remembered hermother's beautiful hair, which had been cut from her head, as shelay in her coffin, and which now held a place in the large squaretrunk. "I will send him a lock of that, " she said; and kneelingreverently by the old green trunk, the shrine where she nightlysaid her prayers, she separated from the mass of rich, brown hair, one long, shining tress, which she inclosed within her letter, adding, in a postscript, "It is mother's hair, and Dora's tearshave often fallen upon it. 'Tis all I have to give. "

Poor little Dora! Nathaniel Deane would have prized that simplegift far more than all the wealth which he called his, but it wasdestined never to reach him. The wily Eugenia, to whom Doraapplied for an envelope, unhesitatingly showing what she hadwritten, knew better than to send that note across the sea, andfeigning the utmost astonishment, she said: "I am surprised, Dora, that after your mother's ill-success, you should think of writingto Uncle Nat. He is a suspicious, miserly old fellow, and willundoubtedly think you are after his money!"

"I wouldn't send it for the world, if I supposed he'd fancy such athing as that, " answered Dora, her eyes filling with tears. 

"Of course you wouldn't, " continued Eugenia, perceiving heradvantage and following it up. "You can do as you like, but myadvice is that you do not send it; let him write to _you_first if he wishes to open a correspondence!"

This decided the matter, and turning sadly away, Dora went back toher chamber, hiding the letter and the lock of hair in the oldgreen trunk. 

"How can you be so utterly void of principle?" asked Alice, asDora quitted the room; and Eugenia replied: "It isn't a lack ofprinciple, it's only my good management. I have my plans, and I donot intend they shall be frustrated by that foolish letter, whichwould, of course, be followed by others of the same kind. Now I amperfectly willing that Uncle Nat should divide his fortune betweenus and Dora, but unfortunately he is a _one idea_ man, andshould he conceive a fancy for our cousin, our hopes are blastedforever; so I don't propose letting him do any such thing. Motherhas given up the correspondence to me, and I intend making the oldgentleman think I am a most perfect specimen of what a young ladyshould be, saying, of course, an occasional good word for_you!_ I believe I understand him tolerably well, and if inthe end I win, I pledge you my word that Dora shall not beforgotten. Are you satisfied?"

Alice could not say yes, but she knew it was useless to reasonwith her sister, so she remained silent; while a curious train ofthoughts passed through her mind, resulting at last in anincreased kindness of manner on her part towards her young cousin, who was frequently relieved of duties which would otherwise havedetained her from school. And Dora's step grew lighter, and herheart happier, as she thought that Alice at least cared for herwelfare. 

On New Year's Day there came a letter from Uncle Nat, containingthe promised check, which Eugenia held up to view, while she readthe following brief lines:

"Many thanks to Eugenia for her kind and welcome letter, which Imay answer at some future time, when I have anything interestingto say. "

"Have you written to Uncle Nat, and did you tell him of me, or ofmother's letter?" exclaimed Dora, Who had been sitting unobservedbehind the stove, and who now sprang eagerly forward, while hercheeks glowed with excitement. 

Soon recovering her composure, Eugenia answered, "Yes, I wrote tohim, and of course, mentioned you with the rest of us. His answeryou have heard. "

"But the other paper, " persisted Dora. "Doesn't that sayanything?"

For a moment Eugenia hesitated, and then, deciding that no harmcould come of Dora's knowing of the money, provided she was keptin ignorance of the object for which it was sent, she replied, carelessly, "Oh that's nothing but a _check_. The old gentlemanwas generous enough to send us a little money, which we needbadly enough. "

There was not one particle of selfishness in Dora's disposition, and without a thought or wish that any of the money should beexpended for herself, she replied, "Oh, I am so glad, for now AuntSarah can have that shawl she has wanted so long, and Alice thenew merino. "

Dear little Dora! she did not know why Eugenia's eyes so quicklysought the floor, nor understand why her aunt's hand was laid uponher head so caressingly. Neither did she know that Alice's suddenmovement towards the window was to hide the expression of herface; but when, a few days afterwards, she was herself presentedwith a handsome merino, which both Eugenia and Alice volunteeredto make, she thought there was not in Dunwood a happier child thanherself. In the little orphan's pathway there were a few sunnyspots, and that night when, by the old green trunk, she knelt herdown to pray, she asked of God that he would reward her aunts andcousins according to their kindnesses done to her!

Need we say that childish prayer was answered to the letter!

CHAPTER V. 

ROSE HILL. 

A little way out of the village of Dunwood, and situated upon aslight eminence, was a large, handsome building, which hadformerly been owned by a Frenchman, who, from the great profusionof roses growing upon his grounds, had given to the place the nameof "Rose Hill. " Two years before our story opens, the Frenchmandied, and since that time Rose Hill had been unoccupied, but nowit had another proprietor, and early in the summer Mr. HowardHastings and lady would take possession of their new home. 

Of Mr. Hastings nothing definite was known, except that he was aman of unbounded wealth and influence--"and a little peculiarwithal, " so said Mrs. Leah, the matron, who had come up from NewYork to superintend the arrangement of the house, which was fittedup in a style of elegance far surpassing what most of Dunwood'sinhabitants had seen before, and was for two or three weeks thrownopen to the public. Mrs. Leah, who was a servant in Mr. Hastings'sfamily and had known her young mistress's husband from childhood, was inclined to be rather communicative, and when asked to explainwhat she meant by Mr. Hastings's peculiarities, replied "Oh, he'squeer every way--and no wonder, with his kind of a mother. Why sheis rich as a Jew, and for all that, she made her only daughterlearn how to do all kinds of work. It would make her a betterwife, she said, and so, because _Ella_ had rather lie on thesofa and read a nice novel than to be pokin' round in the kitchenand tending to things, as he calls it, Mr. Hastings looks blue andtalks about _woman's_ duties, and all that nonsense. Recentlyhe has taken it into his head that late hours are killing her--that it isn't healthy for her to go every night to parties, concerts, operas, and the like o' that, so he's going to bury herin the stupid country, where she'll be moped to death, for ofcourse there's nobody here that she'll associate with. "

"The wretch!" exclaimed Eugenia, who formed one of the group oflisteners to this precious bit of gossip; but whether she intendedthis cognomen for the cruel husband, or Mrs. Leah, we do not know, as she continued to question the old lady of Mrs. Hastingsherself, asking if her health were delicate and if she werepretty. 

"Delicate! I guess she is, " returned Mrs. Leah. "If she hasn't gotthe consumption now, she will have it. Why, her face is as whiteas some of them lilies that used to grow on the ponds in oldConnecticut; and then to think her husband won't let her take allthe comfort she can, the little time she has to live! It's toobad, " and the corner of Dame Leah's silk apron went up to hereyes, as she thought how her lady was aggrieved. Soon recoveringher composure, she reverted to Eugenia's last question, andhastened to reply, "_pretty_, don't begin to express it. Justimagine the least little bit of a thing, with the whitest face, the bluest eyes and the yellowest curls, dressed in a light bluesilk wrapper, all lined with white satin, and tied with a tasselas big as my fist; wouldn't such a creature look well in thekitchen, telling Hannah it was time to get dinner, and seeing ifTom was cleaning the vegetables!"

And Mrs. Leah's nose went up at the very idea of a blue silkwrapper being found outside of the parlor, even if the husband ofsaid wrapper _did_ have to wait daily at least two hours forhis badly cooked dinner!

"Oh, but you ought to see her dressed for a party, " continued Mrs. Leah, "she looks like a queen, all sparkling with diamonds andpearls; but she'll never go to many more, poor critter!"

And as the good lady's services were just then needed in anotherpart of the building, she bade good morning to her audience, whocommented upon what they had heard, each according to their ownideas--some warmly commending Mr. Hastings for removing hisdelicate young wife from the unwholesome atmosphere of the city, while others, and among them Eugenia, thought he ought to let herremain in New York, if she chose. Still, while commiserating Mrs. Hastings for being obliged to live in "that _stupid village_, "Eugenia expressed her pleasure that she was coming, andon her way home imparted to Alice her intention of being quiteintimate with the New York lady, notwithstanding what "thespiteful old Mrs. Leah" had said about there being no one inDunwood fit for her to associate with. In almost perfect ecstacyDora listened to her cousin's animated description of Rose Hill, its handsome rooms and elegant furniture, and while her cheeksglowed with excitement, she exclaimed, "Oh, how I wish I could_really_ live in such a house!"

"And I shouldn't wonder if you did. Your present prospects lookvery much like it, " was Eugenia's scornful reply, which Dorascarcely heard, for her thoughts were busy elsewhere. 

She had an eye for the beautiful, and, strange to say, would atany time have preferred remaining in her aunt's pleasant parlor, to washing dishes from off the long kitchen table; but as thislast seemed to be her destiny, she submitted without a murmur, contenting herself the while by building _castles_, just asmany a child has done before her and will do again. Some how, too, Dora's castles, particularly the one of which she was mistress, were always large and beautiful, just like Eugenia's descriptionof Rose Hill, to which she had listened with wonder, it seemed sonatural, so familiar, so like the realization of what she had manya time dreamed, while her hands were busy with the dish towel orthe broom. 

Dora was a strange child--so her mother and her aunt Sarah bothhad told her--so her teachers thought, and so her companions said, when she stole away by herself to _think_, preferring her ownthoughts to the pastime of her schoolmates. This _thinking_was almost the only recreation which Dora had, and as it seldominterfered with the practical duties of her life, no one washarmed if she did sometimes imagine the most improbable things;and if for a few days succeeding her cousin's visit to Rose Hill, she did seem a little inattentive, and somewhat abstracted, it wasmerely because she had for a time changed places with thefashionable Mrs. Hastings, whose blue silk morning-gown, whilediscussed in the _parlor_, was worn in fancy in the _kitchen_. 

Dream on Dora Deane, dream on--but guard this, your lastimagining, most carefully from the proud Eugenia, who would scarcedeem you worthy to take upon your lips the name of Mrs. Hastings, much less to be even in fancy the mistress of Rose Hill. 

CHAPTER VI. 

MR. AND MRS. HASTINGS. 

In blissful ignorance of the gossip which his movements wereexciting in Dunwood, Mr. Hastings in the city went quietly on withthe preparations for his removal, purchasing and storing away indivers baskets, boxes and bags, many luxuries which he knew hecould not readily procure in the country, and which would be sadlymissed by his young girl-wife, who sat all day in her mother'sparlor, bemoaning her fate in being thus doomed to a life in the"horribly vulgar country. " She had forgotten that "she could liveanywhere with _him_, " for the Ella Hastings of to-day is theElla Gray of little more than a year ago, the same who hadlistened to the sad story of _Dora Deane_, without everthinking that some day in the future she should meet the littlegirl who made such an impression upon her husband. 

Howard Hastings was not the only man who, with a grand theory asto what a wife ought to be, had married from pure fancy; findingtoo late that she whom he took for a companion was a mereplaything--a doll to be dressed up and sent out into thefashionable world, where alone her happiness could be found. Stillthe disappointment to such is not the less bitter, because others, too, are suffering from the effect of a like hallucination, andHoward Hastings felt it most keenly. He loved, or fancied heloved, Ella Grey devotedly, and when in her soft flowing robes ofrichly embroidered lace, with the orange blossoms resting upon hergolden curls, and her long eyelashes veiling her eyes of blue, shehad stood at the altar as his bride there was not in all New Yorka prouder or a happier man. Alas, that in the intimate relationsof married life, there should never be brought to light faultswhose existence was never suspected! Yet so it is, and thehoneymoon had scarcely waned ere Mr. Hastings began to feel a verylittle disappointed, as, one after another, the peculiarities ofhis wife were unfolded to his view. 

In all _his_ pictures of domestic bliss, there had ever beena home of his own, a cheerful fireside, to which he could repair, when the day's toil was done, but Ella would not hear ofhousekeeping. To be sure, it would be very pleasant to keep up agrand establishment and give splendid dinner-parties, but she knewthat Howard, with his peculiar notions, would expect her to dojust as his "dear, fussy old mother did, " and that, she wouldn'tfor a moment think of, for she really "did not know the_names_ of one-half the queer-looking things in the kitchen. "

"She will improve as she grows older--she is very young yet, butlittle more than eighteen, " thought Mr. Hastings; and his heartsoftened towards her, as he remembered the kind of training shehad received from her mother, who was a pure slave of fashion, andwould have deemed her daughters degraded had they possessed anyknowledge of work. 

And still, when the aristocratic Howard Hastings had sued forElla's hand, she felt honored, notwithstanding that both hismother and sister were known to be well skilled in everythingpertaining to what she called "drudgery. " To remove his wife fromher mother's influence, and at the same time prolong her life, forshe was really very delicate, was Mr. Hasting's aim; and as he hadalways fancied a home in the country, he at last purchased RoseHill farm in spite of Ella's tears, and the frowns of her mother, who declared it impossible for her daughter to live withoutsociety, and pronounced all country people "rough, ignorant andvulgar. "

All this Ella believed, and though she was far too amiable andsweet-tempered to be really angry, she came very near _sulking_all the way from New York to Dunwood. But when at the depot, she met the new carriage and horses which had been purchasedexpressly for herself, she was somewhat mollified and tellingher husband "he was the best man in the world, " she tookthe reins in her own little soft, white hands, and laughed aloudas she saw how the spirited creatures obeyed her slightest wish. From the parlor windows of Locust Grove, Eugenia and her sisterlooked out upon the strangers, pronouncing Mr. Hastings the mostelegant-looking man they had ever seen, while his wife, thegirlish Ella, was thought far too pale to be very beautiful. 

Near the gate at the entrance to Rose Hill, was a clear limpidstream, where the school-children often played, and where theywere now assembled. A little apart from the rest, seated upon amossy bank, with her bare feet in the running water, and her richauburn hair shading her brown cheeks, was Dora Deane, not dreamingthis time, but watching so intently a race between two of hercompanions, that she did not see the carriage until it wasdirectly opposite. Then, guessing who its occupants were shestarted up, coloring crimson as she saw the lady's eyes fixed uponher, and felt sure she was the subject of remark. "Look, Howard, "said Ella. "I suppose that is what you call a rural sight--abarefoot girl, with a burnt face and huge sunbonnet?"

Ere Mr. Hastings could reply, Dora, wishing to redeem hercharacter, which she was sure she had lost by having been caughtwith her feet in the brook, darted forward and opening the gate, held it for them to pass. 

"Shall I give her some money?" softly whispered Ella, feeling forher purse. 

"Hush-sh!" answered Mr. Hastings, for he knew that money would bean insult to Dora, who felt more than repaid by the pleasant smilehe gave her as he said, "Thank you, miss. "

"I have seen a face like his before, " thought Dora, as she walkedslowly down the road, while the carriage kept on its way, and sooncarried Ella to her new home. 

Not to be pleased with Rose Hill was impossible, and as the youngwife's eye fell upon the handsome building, with its cool, vine-wreathed piazza--upon the shaded walks, the sparkling fountainsand the thousands of roses which were now in full bloom, shealmost cried with delight, even forgetting, for a time, that shewas in the "horrid country. " But she was ere long reminded of thefact by Mrs. Leah, who told of the "crowds of gaping people, " whohad been up to see the house. With a deprecating glance at thevillage where the "gaping people" were supposed to live, Ella drewnearer to her husband, expressing a wish that the good folks ofDunwood would confine their calls to the house and grounds, andnot be troubling her. But in this she was destined to bedisappointed, for the inhabitants of Dunwood were friendly, socialpeople, who knew no good reason why they should not be on terms ofequality with the little lady of Rose Hill; and one afternoon, about a week after her arrival at Dunwood, she was told that someladies were waiting for her in the parlor. 

"Dear me! Sophy, " said she, while a frown for an instant cloudedher pretty face, "tell them I'm not at home. "

"But I just told them you were, " answered Sophy, adding that "theladies were well-dressed and fine-looking, " and suggesting thather young mistress should wear down something more appropriatethan the soiled white muslin wrapper in which she had lounged allday, because "it was not worth her while to dress, when there wasno one but her _husband_ to see her. "

This, however, Ella refused to do. "It was good enough for countryfolks, " she said, as she rather reluctantly descended to theparlor, where her first glance at her visitors made her halfregret that she had not followed Sophy's advice. Mrs. Judge Howelland her daughter-in-law were refined, cultivated women, and ereElla had conversed with them five minutes, she felt that if therewas between them any point of inferiority, it rested with herself, and not with them. They had traveled much, both in the Old and NewWorld; and though their home was in Boston, they spent almostevery summer in Dunwood, which Mrs. Howell pronounced a mostdelightful village, assuring Ella that she could not well avoidbeing happy and contented. Very wonderingly the large childishblue eyes went up to the face of Mrs. Howell, who, interpretingaright their expression, casually remarked that when she wasyoung, she fell into the foolish error of thinking there could be_nobody_ outside the walls of a city. "But the experience ofsixty years has changed my mind materially, " said she, "for I havemet quite as many refined and cultivated people in the country asin the city. "

This was a new idea to Ella, and the next visitors, who came injust after Mrs. Howell left, were obliged to wait while she madequite an elaborate toilet. 

"Oh, Ella, how much better you are looking than you were an houror two since, " exclaimed Mr. Hastings, who entered the chamberjust as his wife was leaving it. 

"There's company in the parlor, " answered Ella, tripping lightlyaway, while her husband walked on into the dressing-room, where hestepped first over a pair of slippers, then over a muslin wrapper, and next over a towel, which Ella in her haste had left upon thefloor, her usual place for everything. 

This time the visitors proved to be Eugenia and Alice, with thefirst of whom the impulsive Ella was perfectly delighted, she wasso refined, so genteel, so richly dressed, and assumed withal sucha _patronizing_ air, that the shortsighted Ella felt ratheroverawed, particularly when she spoke of her "uncle in India, "with whom she was "_such_ a favorite. " During their stay, _servants_ were introduced as a topic of conversation, and onthat subject Eugenia was quite as much at home as Mrs. Hastings, descanting at large upon the many annoyances one was compelled toendure, both from the "ignorance and impertinence of hired help. "Once or twice, too, the words "my waiting-maid" escaped her lips, and when at last she took her leave, she had the satisfaction ofknowing that Mrs. Hastings was duly impressed with a sense of herimportance. 

"Such charming people I never expected to find in the country, andso elegantly dressed too, " thought Ella, as from her window shewatched them walking slowly down the long avenue. "That silk ofMiss Eugenia's could not have cost less than two dollars a yard, and her hands, too, were as soft and white as mine. They must bewealthy--those Deanes: I wonder if they ever give any parties. "

And then, as she remembered sundry gossamer fabrics which weredignified by the title of party dresses, and which, with manytears, she had folded away as something she should never need inthe country, she exclaimed aloud, "Why, can't _I_ have aparty here as well as at home? The house is a great deal largerthan the long narrow thing on which mama prides herself so much. And then it will be such fun to show off before the countrypeople, who, of course, are not all as refined as the Deanes. I'llspeak to Howard about it immediately. "

"Speak to me about what?" asked Mr. Hastings, who had entered theparlor in time to hear the last words of his wife. 

Very briefly Ella stated to him her plan of giving a large partyas soon as a sufficient number of the village people had called. 

"You know you wish me to be sociable with them, " she continued, asshe saw the slightly comical expression of her husband's face;"and how can I do it better than by inviting them to my house?"

"I am perfectly willing for the party, " answered Mr. Hastings, "but I do rather wonder what has so soon changed your mind. "

"Oh, nothing much, " returned Ella, "only the people don't seemhalf as vulgar as mama said they would. I wish you could seeEugenia Deane. She's perfectly magnificent--wears a diamond ring, Valenciennes lace, and all that. Her mother is very wealthy, isn'tshe?"

"I have never supposed so--if you mean the widow Deane, who livesat the place called 'Locust Grove, ' answered Mr. Hastings; andElla continued, "Yes, she is, I am sure, from the way Eugeniatalked. They keep servants, I know, for she spoke of a waiting-maid. Then, too, they have an old bachelor uncle in India, with amillion or more, and these two young ladies will undoubtedlyinherit it all at his death. "

"Miss Deane must have been very communicative, " said Mr. Hastings, who understood the world much better than his wife, and whoreadily guessed that Miss Eugenia had passed herself off for quiteas much as she was. 

"It was perfectly natural for her to tell me what she did, "answered Ella, "and I like her so much! I mean to drive over theresoon, and take her out riding. "

Here the conversation was interrupted by the ringing of the door-bell, and it was not again resumed until the Monday morningfollowing, when, at the breakfast-table, Ella asked for thecarriage to be sent round, as "she was going to call at Mrs. Deane's, and take the young ladies to ride. "

"But it is washing-day, " suggested Mr. Hastings, wishing to teasehis wife. "And nothing, I am told, mortifies a woman more than tobe caught with her hair in papers, and her arms in the suds. So, if you value your friend Eugenia's feelings, you had better waituntil to-morrow. "

"_Suds_, Howard! What do you mean?" asked the indignant Ella. "Eugenia Deane's hands never saw a wash-tub! Why, they are almostas white as mine. " And the little lady glanced rather admiringlyat the small snowy fingers, which handled so gracefully the heavyknife and fork of silver. 

"You have my permission to go, " said Mr. Hastings, "but I aminclined to think you'll have to wait a long time for your friendsto make their appearance. "

Mentally resolving not to tell him if she did, Ella ran up to herroom, where, leaving her morning dress in the middle of the floor, and donning a handsome plaid silk, she descended again to theparlor, and suggested to her husband the propriety of bringing theyoung ladies home with her to dinner, alleging, as one reason, that "there was no use of having a silver dining set and nicethings, unless there was somebody to see them. "

"And am not _I_ somebody?" asked Mr. Hastings, playfullywinding his arm around the little creature, who answered, "Why, yes--but mama never thought it worth her while always to have_the best things_ and fix up when there was no one to dinnerbut us and father; and I don't think I need to be so particular aswhen I was Ella Grey and you were Mr. Hastings, for now I am yourwife, and you are---"

Here she paused, while she stooped down to caress a hugeNewfoundland dog, which came bounding in. Then, remembering shehad not finished her sentence, she added after a moment, "And youare _only Howard!_"

Silenced, if not convinced, Mr. Hastings walked away, wondering ifevery husband, at the expiration of fifteen months, reached theenviable position of being "only Howard!" Half an hour later, andElla Hastings, having left orders with Mrs. Leah for a "companydinner, " was riding down the shaded avenue into the highway, whereshe bade the coachman drive in the direction of Locust Grove. 

CHAPTER VII. 

THE VISIT. 

The plain though comfortable breakfast of dry toast, bakedpotatoes and black tea was over. This morning it had been eatenfrom the kitchen table; for, as Mr. Hastings had surmised, it was_washing day_, and on such occasions, wishing to save work, Mrs. Deane would not suffer the dining-room to be occupied. Tothis arrangement the proud Eugenia submitted the more readily, asshe knew that at this hour they were not liable to calls; so shewho had talked of her _waiting-maid_ and wealthy uncle toMrs. Hastings, sat down to breakfast _with_ her waiting-maideating her potatoes with a knife and cooling her tea in hersaucer; two points which in the parlor she loudly denounced aspositive marks of ill breeding, but which in the kitchen, wherethere was no one to see her, she found vastly convenient! Piles ofsoiled clothes were scattered over the floor, and from a tubstanding near, a volume of steam was rising, almost hiding fromview the form of Dora Deane, whose round red arms were diving intothe suds, while she to herself was softly repeating the lesson inHistory, that day to be recited by her class, and which she hadlearned the Saturday night previous, well knowing that Monday'sduties would keep her from school the entire day. 

In the chamber above--her long, straight hair plaited up inbraids, so as to give it the wavy appearance she had so muchadmired in Mrs. Hastings--her head enveloped in a black silk apronand her hands incased in buckskin gloves, was Eugenia, setting herroom to rights, and complaining with every breath of her hard lot, in being thus obliged to exert herself on hot summer mornings. 

"Don't you wish yon were rich as Mrs. Hastings?" asked Alice, whochanced to come in. 

"That I do, " returned Eugenia. "I have been uncomfortable anddiscontented ever since I called upon her, for I can't see whythere should be such a difference. She has all the money, servantsand dresses which she wants, besides the handsomest and mostelegant man for a husband; while I, Eugenia Deane, who am tentimes smarter than she, and could appreciate these things so muchbetter, am obliged to make all sorts of shifts, just to keep upappearances. But didn't I impress her with a sense of my_greatness!_" she added, after a pause, and Alice rejoined, "Particularly when you talked of your _waiting-maid!_ I don'tsee, Eugenia, how you dare do such things, for of course Mrs. Hastings will eventually know that you mean Dora. "

"I'm not so sure of that, " returned Eugenia; "and even if shedoes, I fancy I have tact enough to smooth it over with her, forshe is not very deep. "

For a moment Alice regarded her sister intently, and then said, Iwonder from whom you take your character for deception. "

"I've dwelt upon that subject many a time myself, " answeredEugenia, and I have at last come to the conclusion that as fatherwas not famous for sense of any kind, I must be a second andrevised edition of mother--but hark, don't you hear the roll ofwheels?" And springing up, she reached the window just as Mrs. Hastings alighted from her carriage which stood before the gate. 

"Great goodness!" she exclaimed, "there's Mrs. Hastings cominghere to call--and _I_ in this predicament. What _shall_I do?"

"Let her wait, of course, until we change our dresses, " answeredAlice, and rushing down the Stairs, Eugenia bade Dora "show thelady into the parlor, " adding, "and if she asks for me, say I amsuffering from a severe headache, but you presume I will see her. "

Perfectly delighted at the idea of standing face to face with aperson of whom she had heard so much, Dora removed her high-neckedapron, and throwing it across the tub so that the sleeves trailedupon the floor, was hurrying away, when her foot becomingaccidentally entangled in the apron, she fell headlong to thefloor, bringing with her _tub_, _suds_, _clothes_ and all!To present herself in this drenched condition was impossible, and in a perfect tremor lest Mrs. Hastings should go away, Eugenia vibrated, brush in hand, between her own chamber andthe head of the kitchen stairs, scolding Dora unmercifully in theone place, and pulling at the long braids of her hair in theother. 

At last, just as Mrs. Hastings was about despairing of beingheard, and was beginning to think that possibly her husband mightbe right and Eugenia in the _suds_ after all, a chubby, brown-faced girl appeared, and after giving her a searching, curious glance, shewed her into the parlor. 

"Are the young ladies at home?" asked Mrs. Hastings; and Dora, whohad never told a falsehood in her life, and had no intention ofdoing so now, replied that they were and would soon be down; afterwhich, with a low courtesy she went back to the scene of her latedisaster, while Mrs. Hastings busied herself awhile by lookingaround the room which, though small, was very handsomelyfurnished. 

At last, beginning to grow sleepy, she took up a book andsucceeded in interesting herself so far as to nod quite approvingly, when the rustle of female garments aroused her, and in amoment Eugenia and Alice swept into the room. Both weretastefully dressed, while about Eugenia there was an air oflanguor befitting the _severe headache, _ of which Mrs. Hastingswas surprised to hear. 

"Then _that girl_ didn't tell you as I bade her to do, " saidEugenia; adding, that "Mrs. Hastings must have thought her veryrude to keep her so long waiting. "

But Mrs. Hastings was too good-natured to think anything, and, after a few commonplace remarks, she told the object of her call, saying, that "the fresh air would, undoubtedly, do Eugenia good. "In this opinion the young lady fully concurred, and, half an hourlater, she was slowly riding through the principal streets ofDunwood, wondering if her acquaintances did not envy her for beingon such terms of intimacy with the fashionable Mrs. Hastings. Verypolitely were the young ladies received by Mr. Hastings, on theirarrival at Rose Hill, and throughout the entire day theiradmiration, both for the place and its owner, increased, thoughEugenia could not conceal from herself the fact, that she stoodvery much in fear of the latter, whose keen black eyes seemed toread her very thoughts. How such a man came to marry Ella Grey, was to her a puzzle; and if occasionally she harbored the thoughtthat Eugenia Deane was far better suited to be the mistress ofHoward Hastings's home than the childish creature he had chosen, she was only guilty of what had, in a similar manner, been done bymore than one New York belle. Dinner being over, Ella led the wayto an upper balcony, which opened from her chamber, and which wasa cool, shaded spot. Scarcely were they seated, when rememberingsomething she had left in the parlor, she went back for it, and, in returning, she ran up the stairs so swiftly that a suddendizziness came over her, and with a low cry she fell half faintinginto the arms of her husband, who bent tenderly over her, whileEugenia made many anxious inquiries as to what was the matter, andif she were often thus affected. 

"Yes, often, " answered Ella, who began to revive; then, as theperspiration gathered thickly about the white lips, she pressedher blue-veined hand upon her side, and cried, "The pain--thepain! It has come again. Country air won't do me any good. I shalldie of consumption, just as mother said. " And as if she saw indeedthe little grave, on which the next summer's sun would shine, shehid her face in her husband's bosom, and sobbed aloud. Instantly adark thought flashed upon Eugenia--a thought which even _she_would not harbor, and casting it aside, she drew nearer to theweeping Ella, striving by an increased tenderness of manner toatone for having dared to think of a time when the little willowchair on the balcony would be empty, and Howard Hastings free. Soon rallying, Ella feigned to smile at her discomposure, sayingthat "consumption had been preached to her so much that she alwaysfelt frightened at the slightest pain in her side, " thoughtlesslyadding, as she glanced at her husband, "I wonder if Howard wouldmiss me any, were I really to die. "

A dark shadow settled upon Mr. Hastings's face, but he made noreply; and Eugenia, who was watching him, fancied she could readhis thoughts; but when they at last started for home, and she sawhow tenderly he wrapped a warm shawl around his delicate youngwife, who insisted upon going with them, she felt that howeverfrivolous and uncompanionable Ella might be, she was HowardHastings's wife, and, as such, he would love and cherish her tothe last. 

By her window in the attic sat Dora Deane, poring over to-morrow'slessons; but as the silvery voice of Ella fell upon her ear, shearose, and going to her cousin's chamber, looked out upon theparty as they drew near the gate. 

"How beautiful she is!" she whispered to herself, as, dropping hershawl, and flinging back her golden curls, Ella sprang up to reacha branch of locust blossoms, which grew above her head. 

Then, as she saw how carefully Mr. Hastings replaced the shawl, drawing his wife's arm within his own, she stole back to her room, and, resuming her seat by the window, dreamed, as maidens ofthirteen will, of a time away in the future, when she, too, mightperhaps be loved even as was the gentle Ella Hastings. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE PARTY. 

One pleasant July morning, the people of Dunwood were electrifiedby the news that on Thursday evening, Mrs. Howard Hastings wouldbe at home to between one and two hundred of her _friends_. Among the first invited was Eugenia, who had been Mrs. Hastings'schief adviser, kindly enlightening her as to the _somebodies_and _nobodies_ of the town, and rendering herself so generallyuseful, that, in a fit of gratitude, Mrs. Hastings had promisedher her brother Stephen, a fast young man, who was expectedto be present at the party. To appear well in his eyes was, therefore, Eugenia's ambition; and the time which was not spentin giving directions at Rose Hill, was occupied at home inscolding, because her mother would not devise a way by which shecould obtain a new pink satin dress, with lace overskirt, andflowers to match. 

It was in vain that Mrs. Deane sought to convince her daughter howimpossible it was to raise the necessary funds. Eugenia wasdetermined; and at last, by dint of secretly selling a half-worndress to one Irish girl, a last year's bonnet to another, and abroche shawl to another, she succeeded in obtaining enough for thedesired purchase, lacking five dollars, and this last it seemedimpossible to procure. But Eugenia never despaired; and aparagraph read one evening in a city paper, suggested to her aplan which she resolved to execute immediately. 

It was nearly dark: her mother and sisters were in the village;Dora was gone on an errand, and she was alone. Half reluctantly, she opened the stair door which led to Dora's room, the low roomin the attic. Up the steep staircase, and through the narrow hallshe went, treading softly, and holding her breath, as if shefeared lest the dead, from her far-off grave in the great city, should hear her noiseless footfall, and come forth to prevent thewrong she meditated. But no, Fanny Deane slept calmly in hercoffin, and Eugenia kept on her way unmolested, until the chamberwas reached. Then, indeed, she hesitated, for there was, to her, something terrifying in the darkness which had gathered in thecorners of the room, and settled like a pall upon the old greentrunk. To reach that and secure the treasure it contained, wouldhave been the work of a moment; but, wholly powerless to advance, Eugenia stood still, while the cold perspiration started fromevery pore. 

"I can do anything but _that, _" she said, at last, and, as ifthe words had given her strength to move, she turned back, glidingagain through the narrow hall, and down the steep stairway, outinto the open air; and when, that night, as she often did, Doralooked for her mother's beautiful _hair, _ it lay in itsaccustomed place, unruffled and unharmed; and the orphan child, asshe pressed it to her lips, dreamed not of the danger which hadthreatened it, or of the snare about to be laid for herself byEugenia, who could not yet give up the coveted dress. 

Next morning, as Dora stood before the mirror, arranging her long, luxuriant hair, which she usually wore in braids, hanging down herback, Eugenia came up, and with an unusual degree of kindness inher manner, offered to fix it for her, commenting the while on theexceeding beauty of the rich auburn tresses, and saying, that ifshe were in Dora's place she would have it _cut off, _ as bythis means she would, when grown up, have much handsomer hair thanif it were suffered to remain long. Dora remembered having heardher mother say the same; but she had a pride in her hair, whichwas longer and thicker than any of her companions'; so she saidnothing until Eugenia, who, to serve her own purpose, would nothesitate to tell a falsehood, and who knew how much Dora admiredMrs. Hastings, spoke of that lady's beautiful curls, saying theywere all the result of her having worn her hair quite short untilshe was sixteen years of age. Then, indeed, Dora wavered. She hadrecently suffered much from the headache, too, and it mightrelieve that; so that when Eugenia offered her a coral bracelet inexchange for her hair, she consented, and Alice entered the roomjust as the last shining braid dropped upon the floor. 

"What upon earth!" she exclaimed, stopping short, and thenbursting into a loud laugh at the comical appearance which Dorapresented; for Eugenia had cut close to the head, leaving the hairso uneven that shingling seemed the only alternative, and to thispoor Dora finally submitted. When at last the performance wasended, and she glanced at herself in the mirror, she burst into aparoxysm of tears, while Alice tried to soothe her by saying thatit really would eventually benefit her hair, and that she wouldnot always look so strangely. 

But Dora, who began to suspect that it was pure selfishness onEugenia's part which had prompted the act, felt keenly theinjustice done her, and refused to be comforted, keeping her roomthe entire day, and weeping until her eyelids were nearlyblistered. Meantime, Eugenia had hurried off to the city with herill-gotten treasure, on which the miserly old Jew, to whom it wasoffered, looked with eager longing eyes, taking care, however, todepreciate its value, lest his customer should expect too much. But Eugenia was fully his equal in management, and when at nightshe returned home, she was in possession of the satin, the laceand the flowers, together with several other articles of finery. 

The next day was the party, and as Dora, besides being exceedinglytasteful, was also neat, and handy with her needle, she was keptfrom school, stitching the livelong day upon the dainty fabric, aportion of which had been purchased with her hair! Occasionally, as Eugenia glanced at the swollen eyelids and shorn head, bendingso uncomplainingly over the cloud of lace, her conscience smoteher for what she had done; but one thought of _Stephen Grey_and the impression she should make on him, dissipated all suchregrets; and when at length the hour for making her toiletarrived, her jaded cousin was literally made to perform all theoffices of a waiting-maid. Three times was the tired little girlsent down to the village in quest of something which thecapricious Eugenia _must_ have, and which, when brought, wasnot "the thing at all, " and must be exchanged. Up the stairs anddown the stairs she went, bringing pins to Alice and powder toEugenia, enacting, in short, the part of a second Cinderella, except that in her case no kind old godmother with her potent wandappeared to her relief!

They were dressed at last, and very beautifully Eugenia looked inthe pink satin and flowing lace, which harmonized so well with hercomplexion, and which had been bought with the united proceeds ofa velvet bonnet, a delaine dress, a broche shawl, and Dora's hair!

"Why don't you compliment me?" she said to the weary child, who, sick with yesterday's weeping, and the close confinement of to-day, had laid her aching head upon the arm of the lounge. 

Slowly unclosing her eyes, and fixing them upon her cousin, Doraanswered--

"You do look beautifully. No one will excel you, I am sure, unlessit be Mrs. Hastings. I wish I could see how she will dress. "

"You might go up and look in at the window; or, if I'd thought ofit, I could have secured you the office of door-waiter, " said thethoughtless Eugenia, adding, as she held out her shawl for Dora tothrow around her, "Don't you wish you could attend a party at RoseHill?"

There was a sneer accompanying this question, which Dora feltkeenly. Her little swelling heart was already full, and, withquivering lips and gushing tears, she answered, somewhat bitterly--

"I never expect to be anybody, or go any where;" then, as herservices were no longer needed, she ran away to her humble room, where from her window she watched the many brilliant lights whichshone from Rose Hill, and caught occasional glimpses of the airyforms which flitted before the open doors and windows. Once shewas sure she saw Eugenia upon the balcony, and then, as a sense ofthe difference between herself and her cousins came over her, shelaid her down upon the old green trunk, and covering her face withher hands, cried out, "Nobody cares for me, or loves me either. Iwish I had died that winter night. Oh, mother! come to me, I am solonely and so sad. "

Softly, as if it were indeed the rustle of an angel's wings, camethe evening air, through the open casement, cooling the feverishbrow and drying the tears of the orphan girl, who grew strangelycalm; and when at last the moon looked in upon her, she wassleeping quietly, with a placid smile upon her lips. Years after, and Dora Deane remembered that summer night, when, on the hardgreen trunk, she slept so soundly as not to hear the angry voiceof Eugenia, who came home sadly out of humor with herself and theworld at large. 

At breakfast, next morning, she was hardly on speaking terms withher sister, while _Stephen Grey_ was pronounced "a perfectbore-a baboon, with more hair than brains. "

"And to that I should not suppose you would object" said Alice, mischievously. " You might find it useful in case of an emergency. "

To this there was no reply, save an angry flash of the black eyes, which, it seems, had failed to interest Stephen Grey, who was farbetter pleased with the unassuming Alice, and who had paid thehaughty Eugenia no attention whatever, except, indeed, to planthis patent leather boot upon one of her lace flounces, tearing ithalf off, and leaving a sad rent, which could not well be mended. This, then, was the cause of her wrath, which continued for sometime; when really wishing to talk over the events. Of the evening, she became a little more gracious, and asked Alice how she liked_Mrs. Elliott_, who had unexpectedly arrived from New York. 

"I was delighted with her, " returned Alice; "she was such aperfect lady. And hadn't she magnificent hair! Just the color ofDora's" she added, glancing at the little cropped head, which hadbeen so suddenly divested of its beauty. 

"It wasn't all hers, though, " answered Eugenia, who invariably sawand spoke of every defect. "I heard her telling Ella that shebought a braid in Rochester as she came up. But what ails you?"she continued, speaking now to Dora, whose eyes sparkled with someunusual excitement and who replied--

"You said Mrs. Elliott, from New York. And that was the name ofthe lady who was so kind to me. Oh, if I only thought it were she, I'd----"

"Make yourself ridiculous, I dare say, " interrupted Eugenia, adding, that "there was more than one Mrs. Elliott in the world, and she'd no idea that so elegant a lady as Mr. Hastings's sisterever troubled herself to look after folks in such a miserable oldhovel as the one where Dora had lived. "

This, however, did not satisfy the child, who, during the weekthat Mrs. Elliott remained in the neighborhood, cast many longingglances in the direction of Rose Hill, gazing oft with tearfuleyes upon a female figure which sometimes walked upon the balcony, and which, perhaps, was her benefactress. One night it was told atLocust Grove that Mrs. Elliott had gone, and then, with a feelingof desolation for which she could not account, Dora again laid herface on the old green trunk and wept. 

Poor Dora Deane! The path she trod was dark, indeed, but there waslight ahead, and even now it was breaking upon her though she knewit not. 

-------------------

CHAPTER IX. 

DORA AT ROSE HILL. 

Summer was over. The glorious September days were gone. The hazyOctober had passed away, and the autumn winds had swept thewithered leaves from the tall trees which grew around Rose Hill;when one cold, rainy November morning, a messenger was sent toMrs. Deane, saying that Mrs. Hastings was sick, and wished to seeher. 

"Mrs. Hastings sent for mother! How funny! There must be somemistake, " said Eugenia, putting her head in at the door. "Are yousure it was mother?"

"Yes, quite sure, " answered the man. "Mrs. Hastings thought shewould know what to do for the baby, which was born yesterday, andis a puny little thing. "

This silenced Eugenia, who waited impatiently until nightfall, when her mother returned with a sad account of affairs at RoseHill. Mrs. Hastings was sick and nervous, Mrs. Leah was lazy andcross, the servants ignorant and impertinent, the house was indisorder; while Mr. Hastings, with a cloud on his face, illbefitting a newly-made father, stalked up and down the sick-room, looking in vain for an empty chair, so filled were they withblankets, towels, baby's dresses, and the various kinds of workwhich Ella was always beginning and never finishing. 

"Such an ignorant, helpless creature I never saw, " said Mrs. Deane, "Why, she _don't know anything_--and such lookingrooms! I don't wonder her servants give her so much trouble; butmy heart ached for him, poor man, when I saw him putting away thethings, and trying to make the room a little more comfortable"

It was even as Mrs. Deane had said. Ella, whose favorite theorywas, "a big house, a lot of things, and _chairs_ enough toput them in, " was wholly unprepared for sickness, which found herin a sad condition. To be sure there were quantities of Frenchembroidery, thread lace and fine linen, while the bed, on whichshe lay, cost a hundred dollars, and the rosewood crib was perfectof its kind, but there was a great lack of neatness and order; andas day after day Mr. Hastings stood with folded arms, lookingfirst from one window and then from the other, his thoughts werefar from being agreeable, save when he bent over the cradle of hisfirst-born, and then there broke over his face a look ofunutterable tenderness, which was succeeded by a shade of deepanxiety as his eye rested upon his frail young wife, whose faceseemed whiter even than the pillow on which it lay. 

After a few weeks, during which time Ella had gained a littlestrength and was able to see her friends, Eugenia came regularlyto Rose Hill, sitting all day by the bedside of the invalid, towhom she sometimes brought a glass of water, or some such trivialthing. Occasionally, too, she would look to see if the baby wereasleep, pronouncing it "a perfect little cherub, just like itsmother;" and there her services ended, for it never occurred toher that she could make the room much more cheerful by picking upand putting away the numerous articles which lay scattered around, and which were a great annoyance to the more orderly Mr. Hastings. Once, when Ella, as usual, was expatiating upon her goodness, asking her husband if she were not the best girl in the world, andsaying "they must make her some handsome present in return for allshe had done, " he replied, "I confess, I should think more of MissDeane, if she did you any real good, or rendered you any actualservice; but, as far as I can discover, she merely sits heretalking to you until you are wearied out. "

"Why, what would you have her do?" asked Ella, her large blue eyesgrowing larger and bluer. 

"I hardly know myself, " answered Mr. Hastings; "but it seems to methat a genuine woman could not sit day after day in such adisorderly room as this. "

"Oh, Howard!" exclaimed Ella, "you surely cannot expect EugeniaDeane to do a servant's duty. Why, she has been as delicatelybrought up as I, and knows quite as little of work. "

"More shame for her if this is true, " answered Mr. Hastingssomewhat bitterly, and Ella continued. 

"You've got such queer ideas, Howard, of _woman's duties. _ Ishould suppose you would have learned, ere this, that few ladiesare like your mother, who, though a blessed good soul, has theoddest notions. "

"But they make a man's home mighty comfortable, those odd notionsof mother's, " said Mr. Hastings; then, knowing how useless itwould be to argue the point, he was about changing the subject, when the new nurse, who had been there but a few days (the firstone having quarreled with Mrs. Leah, and gone home), came in andannounced her intention of leaving also, saying, "she would notlive in the same house with old mother Leah!"

It was in vain that Mr. Hastings tried to soothe the angry girl--she was determined, and for a second time was Ella left alone. 

"Oh, what will become of me?" she groaned, as the door closed uponher late nurse. "Do, pray, Howard, go to the kitchen and get mesome--some--_I don't know what, _ but get me _something!_"

With a very vague idea as to what he was to get or to do, Mr. Hastings left the room just as it was entered by Eugenia, to whomElla detailed her grievances. "Her head ached dreadfully, Howardwas cross, and her nurse gone. Oh, Eugenia!" she cried, "whatshall I do? I wish I could die. Don't ever get married. What shallI do?"

And hiding her face in the pillow, poor Ella sobbed bitterly. Fora time Eugenia stood, revolving the propriety of offering Dora asa substitute in the place of the girl who had just left. "Mothercan work a little harder, " she thought. "And Alice can help heroccasionally. It will please Mr. Hastings, I know. Poor man, _Ipity him!_"

So, more on account of the _pity_ she felt for Mr. Hastings, than for the _love_ she bore his wife, she said at last, "Wehave a little girl at our house, who is very capable for one ofher years. I think she would be quite handy in a sick-room. At allevents, she can rock the baby. Shall I send her up until you getsome one else?"

"Oh, if you only would, " answered Ella. "I should be so glad, "

So, it was arranged that _Dora_ should come next morning, andthen Eugenia, who was this time in a hurry, took her leave, havingfirst said that Mrs. Hastings "needn't think strange if Doracalled _her_ cousin and her mother _aunt, _ for she was apoor relation, whom they had taken out of charity!"

At first Mrs. Deane objected to letting her niece go, "for she wasneeded at home, " she said; but Eugenia finally prevailed, as shegenerally did, and the next morning Dora, who was rather pleasedwith the change, started bundle in hand for Rose Hill. She hadnever been there before, and she walked leisurely along, admiringthe beautiful house and grounds, and thinking Mrs. Hastings mustbe very happy to live in so fine a place. Ella was unusuallynervous and low-spirited this morning, for her husband had gone toRochester; and when Dora was shown into the room she was indulgingin a fit of crying, and paid no attention whatever when Mrs. Leahsaid, "This is the new girl. " "She'll get over it directly, "muttered the housekeeper, as she went from the room, leaving Dorainexpressibly shocked at witnessing such grief in one whom she hadthought so happy. 

"Can I do anything for you?" she said at last, drawing near, andinvoluntarily laying her hand on the golden curls she had so muchadmired. 

There was genuine sympathy in the tones of that childish voice, which touched an answering chord in Ella's heart, and lifting upher head she gazed curiously at the little brown-faced girl, whostood there neatly attired in a dress of plain dark calico, herauburn hair, which had grown rapidly, combed back from her openbrow, and her dark-blue eyes full of tears. No one could mistakeDora Deane for a menial, and few could look upon her without beingat once interested; for early sorrow had left a shade of sadnessupon her handsome face, unusual in one so young. Then, too, therewas an expression of goodness and truth shining out all over hercountenance, and Ella's heart yearned towards her at once astowards a long-tried friend. Stretching out her white, wastedhand, she said, "And you are _Dora. _ I am glad you have come. The sight of you makes me feel better already, " and the small, rough hand she held was pressed with a fervor which showed thatshe was sincere in what she said. It was strange how fast theygrew to liking each other--those two children--for in everythingsave years, Ella was younger far than Dora Deane; and it wasstrange, too, what a change the little girl's presence wrought inthe sick-chamber. Naturally neat and orderly, she could not sitquietly down in the midst of disorder, and as far as she was able, she put things in their proper places; then, as her quick-seeingeye detected piles of dust which for days had been unmolested, shesaid, "Will it disturb you if I sweep?"

"Not at all. Do what you like, " answered Ella, her own spiritsrising in proportion as the appearance of her surroundings wasimproved. 

Everything was in order at last. The carpet was swept, thefurniture dusted, the chairs emptied, the curtains looped back, and the hearth nicely washed. Fresh, clean linen was put upon thepillows, while Ella's tangled curls were carefully brushed andtucked under her tasteful cap, and then for the first time Doratook the baby upon her lap. It was a little thing, but verybeautiful to the young mother, and beautiful, too, to Dora, whenshe learned that its name was "Fannie. "

"_Fannie!_" how it carried her back to the long ago, when herfather had spoken, and her precious mother had answered to thatblessed name! And how it thrilled her as she repeated it again andagain, while her tears fell like rain on the face of theunconscious infant. 

"Why do you cry?" asked Ella, and Dora answered, "I am thinkingof mother. Her name was Fannie, and I shall love the baby for hersake. "

"Has your mother long been dead? Tell me of her" said Ella; anddrawing her chair close to the bedside, Dora told the sad story ofher life, while Ella Hastings's tears fell fast and her eyesopened wide with wonder as she heard of the dreary room, the deadmother, the bitter cold night, and of the good lady who broughtthem aid. 

Starting up in bed and looking earnestly at Dora, Ella said, "And_you_ are the little girl whom Howard and Mrs. Elliott foundsleeping on her mother's neck that New Year's morning. But Goddidn't let you freeze. He saved you to live with me, which youwill do always. And I will be to you a sister, for I know you mustbe good. "

And the impulsive creature threw her arms around the neck of theastonished Dora, who for some time could not speak, so surprisedand delighted was she to learn that her benefactress was indeedthe sister of Mr. Hastings, After a moment, Ella continued, "Andyou came to live with some distant relatives--with Mrs. Deane?"

"Yes, with Aunt Sarah" answered Dora, stating briefly thecomparatively double relationship that existed between herself andher cousins, and casually mentioning her uncle Nathaniel, whom shehad never seen. 

"Then he is _your_ uncle, too--the old East India man, whoseheir Eugenia is to be. I should think he would send _you_money. "

"He never does, " said Dora, in a choking voice. "He sent some toEugenia once, but none to me, " and a tear at her uncle's supposedcoldness fell on the baby's head. 

Ella was puzzled, but she could not doubt the truth of what Dorahad said, though she wisely refrained from betraying Eugenia, inwhom her confidence was slightly shaken, but was soon restored bythe appearance of the young lady herself, who overwhelmed her withcaressess, and went into ecstasies over the little Fannie, thussurely winning her way to the mother's heart. Owing to a severecold from which Eugenia was suffering, she left for home aboutdark, and soon after her departure, Ella began to expect herhusband. 

"If you will tell me where to find his dressing-gown and slippers, I'll bring them out for him, " said Dora, wheeling up before theglowing grate the large easy-chair which she felt almost sure wasoccupied by Mr. Hastings. 

"His gown and slippers!" repeated Ella. "It's an age since I sawthem, but I guess they are in the dressing-room, either behind thedoor, or in the black trunk, or on the shelf--or, stay, Ishouldn't wonder if they were on the _closet floor. _"

And there, under a promiscuous pile of other garments, Dora foundthem, sadly soiled, and looking as if they had not seen the lightfor many a day. Shaking out the gown, and brushing the dust fromoff the slippers, she laid them in the chair, and Ella, who waswatching her, said, "Pray, what put that into your mind?"

"I don't know, " returned Dora; "only I thought, perhaps, you didso, when you were well Ever so long ago, before pa died, mothermade him a calico dressing-gown, and he used to look so pleasedwhen he found it in his chair. "

"Strange I never thought of such things, " softly whispered Ella, unconsciously learning a lesson from the little domestic girl, whobrushed the hearth, dropped the curtains, lighted the lamp, andthen went out to the kitchen in quest of milk for Fannie. 

"He will be so happy and pleased!" said Ella, as, lifting up herhead, she surveyed the cheerful room. 

And happy indeed he was. It was the first time he had left hiswife since her illness, and with a tolerable degree of satisfactionhe took his seat in the evening cars. We say _tolerable_, for though he was really anxious to see Ella and the baby, he was in no particular haste to see the room in which hehad left them; and rather reluctantly he entered his handsomedwelling, starting back when he opened the door of the sickchamber, and half thinking he had mistaken another man's house forhis own. But Ella's voice reassured him, and in a few moments hehad heard from her the story of Dora Deane, who ere long came in, and was duly presented. Taking her hand in his, and looking downupon. Her with his large black eyes, he said, "I have seen youbefore, I believe, but I did not then think that when we met againI should be so much indebted to you. I am glad you are here, Dora. "

Once before had he held that hand in his, and now, as then, thetouch sent the warm blood bounding through her veins. She hadpassed through much since that wintry morning, had grown partiallyindifferent to coldness and neglect, but the extreme kindness ofMr. And Mrs. Hastings touched her heart; and stammering out analmost inaudible reply, she turned away to hide her tears, whileMr. Hastings, advancing towards the fire, exclaimed, "My doublegown! And it's so long since I saw it! To whose thoughtfulness amI indebted for this?"

"'Twas Dora, " answered Ella. "She thinks of everything. She is mygood angel, and I mean to keep her always, if she will stay. Willyou, dear?"

"Oh, if I only could, " answered Dora; "but I can't. They need meat home!"

"Why need you? They have servants enough, " said Ella, who had notyet identified Eugenia's waiting-maid with the bright, intelligentchild before her. 

"We have no servants but _me, _" answered the truthful Dora. "We are poor, and I help Aunt Sarah to pay for my board; so, yousee, I can't stay. And then, too, I must go to school. "

Perfectly astonished at this fresh disclosure, Ella glancedtowards her husband, whose quizzical expression kept her silent, for it seemed to say, "I told you all the time, that Miss Eugeniawas not exactly what you supposed her to be. "

"How could she deceive me so?" thought Ella, while Mr. Hastingswas mentally resolving to befriend the child, in whom he felt sucha strong interest. 

Wishing to know; something of her education, he questioned herduring the evening concerning her studies, and the books she hadread, feeling surprised and pleased to find how good a scholar shewas, considering her advantages. 

"There's the germ of a true, noble woman there. I wish my sistercould have the training of her, " he thought, as he saw howanimated she became when he mentioned her favorite books, and thenwatched her as she hovered round the bedside of his wife. 

Very swiftly and pleasantly passed the three following days, andduring all that time Eugenia did not once appear; but at the closeof the fourth day, a note was brought to Ella, saying that bothEugenia and her mother were sick, and Dora must come home. 

"Oh, how can I let you go?" cried Ella, while Dora crept away intoa corner and wept. 

But there was no alternative, and just at dark she came to saygood-by. Winding her feeble arms around her neck, Ella sobbed outher adieu, and then, burying her face in her pillow, refused to becomforted. One kiss for the little Fannie--one farewell glance atthe weeping Ella, and then, with a heavy heart, Dora went out froma place where she had been so happy--went back to the home whereno one greeted her kindly, save the old house cat, who purred ajoyous welcome, and rubbed against her side as she kindled a firein the dark, dreary kitchen, where, on the table, were piles ofdishes left for her to wash. That night, when, at a late hour, shestole up to bed, the contrast between her humble room and the cozychamber where she had recently slept, affected her painfully, and, mingled with her nightly prayer, was the petition, that "sometimeshe might go back and live with _Mr. Hastings. _"

Meantime at Rose Hill there was sorrowing for her, Ella refusingto be comforted unless she should return, Mr. Hastings, who hadspent the day in the city, and did not come home until evening, felt that something was wrong the moment he entered the door ofhis chamber. The fire was nearly out, the lamp was burning dimly, and Ella was in tears. 

"What is it, darling?" he asked, advancing towards her; and layingher aching head upon his bosom, she told him of her loss, and howmuch she missed the little brown-faced girl, who had been so kindto her. 

And Howard Hastings missed her too--missed the tones of her gentlevoice, the soft tread of her busy feet, and more than all, missedthe sunlight of comfort she had shed over his home. The babymissed her, too; for over her Dora had acquired an almost mesmericinfluence, and until midnight her wailing cry smote painfully uponthe ear of the father, who, before the morning dawned, hadconcluded that Rose Hill was nothing without Dora Deane. "Sheshall come back, too, " he said, and the sooner to effect this, hestarted immediately after breakfast for the house of Mrs. Deane. Very joyfully the deep blue eyes of Dora, who met him at the door, looked up into his, and her bright face flushed with delight whenhe told her why he had come. Both Eugenia and her mother wereconvalescent, and sitting by the parlor fire, the one in ashilling calico, and the other in a plaid silk morning gown. Atfirst Mrs. Deane objected, when she heard Mr. Hastings's errand, saying, with a sudden flash of pride, that "it was not necessaryfor her niece to work out. "

"And I assure you, it is not our intention to make a servant ofher, " answered Mr. Hastings, "We could not do otherwise than treatso near a relative of yours as an equal. "

This last was well timed, and quite complacently Mrs. Deanelistened, while he told her that if Dora were allowed to stay withthem until his wife was better, she should be well cared for, andhe himself would superintend her studies, so she should losenothing by being out of school. "Come, Miss Eugenia, " hecontinued, "please intercede for me, and, I assure you, both Ellaand myself will be eternally grateful. "

He had touched the right cord at last. Rumor said that EllaHastings would never see another summer, and if before her deaththe husband was eternally grateful, what would he not be after herdeath? Then, too, but the day before they had received aremittance from Uncle Nat, and with that they could afford to hirea servant; so, when Eugenia spoke, it was in favor of letting"_Mr. Hastings have Dora just when he wanted her_, if itwould be any satisfaction to poor dear Ella!"

A while longer Mr. Hastings remained, and when at last he arose togo, he was as sure that Dora Deane would again gladden his home ashe was next morning, when from his library window he saw her cometripping up the walk, her cheeks flushed with exercise, and hereyes sparkling with joy, as, glancing upward, she saw him lookingdown upon her. In after years, when Howard Hastings's cup was fullof blessings, he often referred to that morning, saying "he hadseldom experienced a moment of deeper thankfulness than the onewhen he welcomed back again to his fireside and his home theorphan Dora Deane. "

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CHAPTER X. 

ELLA. 

Very pleasantly to Dora did the remainder of the winter pass away. She was appreciated at last, and nothing could exceed the kindnessof both Mr. And Mrs. Hastings, the latter of whom treated her morelike a sister than a servant, while even Eugenia, who came oftento Rose Hill, and whose fawning manner had partially restored herto the good opinion of the fickle Ella, tried to treat her with ashow of affection, when she saw how much she was respected. Regularly each day Dora went to the handsome library where sherecited her lessons to Mr. Hastings, who became deeply interestedin watching the development of her fine intellectual mind. 

One thing, however, troubled her. Ella did not improve, and neversince Dora came to Rose Hill had she sat up more than an hour, butlay all day on her bed, while her face grew white almost as thewintry snow, save when a bright red spot burned upon her cheeks, making her, as Dora thought, even more beautiful than she had beenin health. Once in the gathering twilight, when they sat togetheralone, she startled Dora with the question, "Is everybody afraidto die?"

"Mother was not, " answered Dora, and Ella continued, "But she wasgood, and I am not. I have never done a worthy act in all my life. Never thought of _death_, or even looked upon it, for mothertold us there was no need of harrowing up our feelings--it wouldcome soon enough, she said; and to me, who hoped to live so long, it has come _too soon_--all too soon;" and the hot tearsrained through the transparent fingers, clasped so convulsivelyover her face. 

For many weeks Dora had felt an undefined presentiment of comingevil--had seen it in Ella's failing health--in the increasedtenderness of Mr. Hastings's manner, whenever he bent over thepillow of his young wife, or bore her in his arms, as he sometimesdid, to the window, that she might look out upon, the garden, andthe winding walks which she would never tread again. And now Ellaherself had confirmed it--had spoken of death as something verynear. 

"Oh, she must not die!" was Dora's mental cry of anguish, asmoving nearer to the bedside she grasped the little wasted handwhich lay outside the counterpane, and this was her only answer, for she could not speak. There was a numbness at her heart, achoking sensation in her throat, which prevented her utterance. But Ella understood her, and returning the warm pressure, shecontinued, "You, too, have seen it then, and know that I must die;but oh! you do not know how I dread the lonesome darkness of thegrave, or the world which lies beyond. If somebody would go withme, or teach me the way, it wouldn't be so hard. "

Poor Ella! Her life had been one round of fashionable folly, andnow that the world was fading from her view, her fainting soulcried out for light to guide her through the shadowy valley herfeet were soon to tread. And light came at last, through the wordof God and the teachings of the faithful clergyman, who was sentfor at her request, and who came daily up to see her. There was nomore fear now--no more terror of the narrow tomb, for there was_One_ to go with her--one whose arm was powerful to save; andon Him Ella learned to lean, clinging still with an undying loveto her husband, with whom she often talked of the time when hewould be alone and she be far away. 

"It is so hard to give you up, " she said one day, when as usual hewas sitting by her side; "so hard to say good-by forever, and knowthat though you will miss me at first, and mourn for me too, there_will_ come a time when another will take my place--anotherthan Ella can call you hers; but I am willing, " she continued, asshe saw him about to speak, "willing that it should be so. I haveloved you, Howard, more than you can know, or I can ever tell; butI am not worthy of you. I do not satisfy the higher feelings ofyour heart; I am not what _your_ wife should be, and for thisI must die. Many a night, when you were sleeping at my side, haveI lain awake, asking myself why _I_, to whom the world was sobeautiful and bright, must leave it so soon; and as I thought overthe events of our short married life, the answer came to me, 'Icannot make you happy as you ought to be, and for your sake I amtaken away. '"

"Oh, Ella, Ella!" groaned Mr. Hastings, laying his head besidehers, upon the pillow. 

From his inmost soul he knew that what she said was true; but forthis he would not that she should die. She had been to him agentle, loving wife, the one he had chosen from all others toshare his home; and though he had failed to find in her thecompanion he had sought, she was very dear to him--was the motherof his child; and the strong man's heart was full of anguish as hethought of giving her up so soon. Who would comfort him when shewas gone or speak to him words of love?

Softly the chamber door unclosed, and Dora Deane looked in; butseeing them thus together she stole away into the garden, wherethe early spring grass was just starting into life, and there, weeping bitterly, she too prayed that Ella might not die. Butneither tears nor prayers were of avail to save her. Still forweeks she lingered, and the soft June air, stealing in through theopen window, had more than once lifted the golden curls from offher fading brow, and more than one bouquet of sweet wild blossomshad been laid upon her pillow, ere the midnight hour, when, withanguish at their hearts, Howard Hastings and Dora Deane watchedtogether by her side, and knew that she was dying. There had beenlong, dreary nights of wakefulness, and the worn-out sufferer hadasked at last that she might die--might sleep the dreamless sleepfrom which she would never waken. And Howard Hastings, as nightafter night went by, and the laughing blue eyes which had won hisearly love grew dim with constant waking, had felt that it wouldbe better when his loved one was at rest. But death, however longexpected, is sudden at the last, and so it was to him, when he sawthe shadow creeping over her face, which cometh once to all. Shewould not suffer them to rouse the household, she would rather diewith them alone, she said, with Dora standing near, and herhusband's arms about her so that the tones of his voice should bethe last sound which would fall upon her ear, and Dora's hand thelast to minister to her wants. 

"I have loved you so much, Howard, oh, so much!" and the whiteclammy fingers, so soon to be laid away beneath the summerflowers, strayed lovingly through the raven locks of her husband, who could answer only with his tears, which fell fast upon herface. "And you too, Dora, " she continued, motioning the weepinggirl to advance, "I have loved you too, for you have been kind tome, and when I am gone, you will live here still and care for mychild, whom we have called _Fannie_. It is a beautiful name, Dora--your mother's name, and for your sake, I would fain let herkeep it--but, " turning to Mr. Hastings, and laying her handcaressingly upon his head, "when I no longer live, I would ratheryou should call my baby _Ella Grey;_ and if my husband"--here she paused to gather strength for what she was about to say, and after a moment continued, "if, in coming years, another sitsbeside you in my chair, and the voices of other children shallcall you father, you will not forget your first-born, I know, butwill love her better, and think, perchance, the oftener of me, ifshe bears my name, for, however, truly you may hereafter love, itwas Ella Grey that won your first affection. "

Again she paused, and there was no sound heard in the chamber ofdeath, save the sobs of those about to be bereaved, and the faintrustling of the leaves without, which were gently moved by thenight wind. 

"Bring me my baby, " she said at last; and Dora laid the sleepingchild in the arms of the young mother, who, clasping it fondly toher bosom, breathed over it a dying mother's blessing, and with adying mother's tears baptized it Ella Grey. 

There was a long, deep silence then, and when at last HowardHastings lifted up his head from the pillow where it had beenresting, and Dora Deane came timidly to his side, they gazedtogether on the face of the sweetly sleeping dead. 

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CHAPTER XI. 

THE HOUSE OF MOURNING. 

Ella Hastings was dead. The deep-toned bell proclaimed it to thepeople of Dunwood, who, counting the nineteen strokes, sighed thatone so young should die. The telegraphic wires carried it to herchildhood's home, in the far-off city; and while her tears weredropping fast for the first dead of her children, the fashionablemother did not forget to have her mourning in the most expensiveand becoming style. The servants in the kitchen whispered it oneto the other, treading softly and speaking low, as if aught coulddisturb the slumber of her who lay so motionless and still, unmindful of the balmy summer air which kissed her marble cheek. The grief-stricken husband repeated it again and again as he satby her side in the darkened room; and only they who have felt it, can know with what a crushing weight they fell upon his heart, thethree words--"She is dead!"

Yes, Ella was dead, and Eugenia Deane, with hypocritical tears, upon her cheek, gathered fresh, white rosebuds, and twining themin the golden curls which shaded the face of the beautiful dead, dared even there to think that _Howard Hastings was free_;and as she saw the silent grief of the stricken man, who, with hishead upon the table, sat hour after hour, unmindful of the manywho came to look on what had been his wife, her lip curled withscorn, and she marveled that one so frivolous as Ella should be sodeeply mourned. Once she ventured to speak, asking him sometrivial thing concerning the arrangement of affairs, and withoutlooking up, he answered, "Do as you like, until her mother comes. She will be here to-morrow. "

So, for the remainder of the day, Eugenia flitted from the parlorto the chamber of death, from the chamber of death to the kitchen, and from the kitchen back again to the parlor, ordering theservants, admitting visitors, and between times scolding Dora for"being so foolish as to cry herself sick for a person who, ofcourse, cared nothing for her, except as a waiter!"

Since the night of her mother's death, Dora's heart had not beenhalf so sore with pain. The girlish Ella had been very dear toher, and the tears she shed were genuine. To no one else would thebaby go, and after dinner was over, the dinner at which Eugeniapresided, and of which Mr. Hastings could not be induced topartake, she went into the garden with her little charge, seatingherself in a pleasant summer-house, which had been Ella's favoriteresort. It was a warm, drowsy afternoon, and at last, worn outwith weeping, and the fatigue of the last night's watching, shefell asleep, as the baby had done before. Not long had she satthus, when Mr. Hastings, too, came down the graveled walk, andstood at the arbor door. The constant bustling in and out ofEugenia annoyed him, and wishing to be alone, he had come out intothe open air, which he felt would do him good. When his eye fellon Dora, who was too soundly sleeping to be easily aroused, hemurmured, "Poor child! she is wearied with so many wakefulnights;" then fearing lest the slender arms should relax theirhold and drop the babe, he took it gently from her, and folding itto his bosom, sat down by her side, so that her drooping headcould rest upon his shoulder. 

For two long hours she slept, and it was not until the baby'swaxen fingers gave a vigorous pull to her short thick hair, thatshe awoke, feeling greatly surprised when she saw Mr. Hastingssitting near. 

"I found you asleep, " he said, by way of explanation, "and knowinghow tired you were, I gave you my arm for a pillow;" then, as thebaby wished to go to her, he gave it up, himself going slowly backto the lonesome house, from which Ella was gone forever. 

The next morning, the mother and her three youngest daughters, alldraped in deepest black, arrived at Rose Hill prepared to findfault with everything which savored at all of the "horridcountry. " Even Eugenia sank into nonentity in the presence of thecold city-bred woman, who ignored her existence entirely, notwithstanding that she loudly and repeatedly expressed so muchaffection for the deceased. 

"Perhaps your daughter wrote to you of me (Miss Deane); we weregreat friends, " she said, when they stood together in the presenceof the dead, and Mrs. Grey's emotions had somewhat subsided. 

"Possibly; but I never remember names, " returned the haughty lady, without raising her eyes. 

"There are so few people here with whom she could be intimate, "continued Eugenia, "that I saw a great deal of her. "

But to this Mrs. Grey made no reply, except to ask, "Whose ideawas it dressing Ella in this plain muslin wrapper, when she had somany handsome dresses? But it don't matter, " she continued, asEugenia was about to disclaim all participation in that affair. "It don't matter, for no one here appreciates anything better, Idare say. Where's the baby? I haven't seen that yet, " she asked asthey were descending the stairs. 

"She's with Dora, I presume, " answered Eugenia; and Mrs. Greycontinued--

"Oh, the nurse girl, whom Ella wrote so much, about. Send her in. "

But Eugenia was not one to obey orders so peremptorily given, and, for a long time, Madam Grey and her three daughters waited theappearance of the nurse girl, who, not knowing that they were inthe parlor, entered it at last, of her own accord, and stoodbefore them with such a quiet, self-possessed dignity, that evenMrs. Grey treated her with far more respect than she had theassuming Eugenia, whose rule, for the time being, was at an end. Everything had been done wrong; and when Mr. Hastings spoke ofhaving Ella buried at the foot of the spacious garden, in a quiet, grassy spot, where trees of evergreen were growing, she held upher hands in amazement at the idea that her daughter should restelsewhere than in the fashionable precincts of Greenwood. So Mr. Hastings yielded, and on the morning of the third day, Dorawatched with blinding tears the long procession winding slowlydown the avenue, and out into the highway towards the villagedepot, where the shrieking of the engine, and the rattling of thecar bell would be the only requiem tolled for Ella Hastings, asshe was borne rapidly away from a spot which had been her home forone brief year. 

The little Ella was in Dora's arms, and as she, too, saw thehandsome steeds and moving carriages, she laughed aloud, andpatted the window-pane with her tiny baby hands. Dear little one!she did not know--would never know, how much she was bereaved;but Dora knew, and her tears fell all the faster when she thoughtthat she, too, must leave her, for her aunt had said to Mr. Hastings, that after the funeral Dora must go home, adding, thatMrs. Leah would take care of Ella until his return. So, when thehum of voices and the tread of feet had ceased, when the shutterswere closed and the curtains dropped, Eugenia came for her to go, while Mrs. Leah came to take the child, who refused to leave Dora, clinging so obstinately to her neck, and crying so pitifully, thateven Eugenia was touched, and bade her cousin remain until Mr. Hastings came home. So Dora stayed, and the timid servants, asthey sat together in the shadowy twilight, felt not half so lonelywhen they heard her gentle voice singing the motherless babe tosleep. 

CHAPTER XII. 

WAYS AND MEANS. 

With all the showy parade and empty pomp of a fashionable cityfuneral, Ella was laid to rest in Greenwood, and, in theirdarkened parlor, arrayed in the latest style of mourning, themother and sisters received the sympathy of their friends, whohoped they would try to be reconciled, and were so sorry theycould not now go to the Springs, as usual. In another parlor, too, far more elegant but less showy than that of Mrs. Grey, anothermother wept for her only son, speaking to him blessed words ofcomfort in his bereavement, and telling him of the better world, where again he would meet the loved and lost. Once she ventured tohope that he would come back again to her fireside, now that hiswas desolate, but he refused. Rose Hill henceforth would be hishome, and though it was lonely and drear, he must in a few days goback to it; for the sake of the little one, doubly dear to him nowthat its mother was gone. Oh, how sad was that journey back, andwhat a sense of desolation came over him, as he drew near hishome, and knew that Ella was not there!--that never more wouldshe come forth to meet him--never again would her little feetstray through the winding walks, or her fairy fingers pluck theflowers she had loved so well. 

It was near the first of July. The day had been rainy and theevening was dark and cold. Wet, chilly, and forlorn, he enteredthe hall and ascended the stairs, but he could not that night goto the old room and find it empty; and he was passing on to hislibrary, when the sound of some one singing made him pause, whilea thrill of joy ran through his veins, for he knew that childishvoice, knew it was Dora Deane singing to his child. Another momentand he stood within the room where Ella had died. All traces ofsickness and death had been removed, and everything was in perfectorder. Vases of flowers adorned the mantel and the stands, seeminglittle out of place with the rain which beat against the window, and the fire which burned within the grate. In her crib layFannie, and sitting near was Dora Deane, her rich auburn haircombed smoothly back, and the great kindness of her heart shiningout from the depths of her clear blue eyes. 

There are people whose very presence brings with it a feeling ofcomfort, and such a one was Dora. Mr. Hastings had not expected tofind her there; and the sight of her bright face, though it didnot remove the heavy pain from his heart, took from him the senseof utter desolation, the feeling of being alone in his sorrow. 

"Dora, " he exclaimed, coming to her side, "I did not expect this!How happened you to stay?"

"The baby cried so hard, " answered Dora, "that Eugenia told me Imight remain until your return. "

"It was very kind and thoughtful in her, and I thank her verymuch. Will you tell her so?" he said, involuntarily laying hishand on Dora's head. 

Divesting himself at last of his damp overcoat, and donning thewarm dressing gown, which Dora brought him, he sat down before thefire, and listened while she told him how she had stayed in thatroom and kept it in order for him, because she thought it wouldnot seem half so bad to him if he came into it at once and foundit comparatively pleasant. 

"You are a very thoughtful girl, " he said, when she had finished, "and I hope I shall some time repay you for your kindness tomyself and Ella. "

But Dora did not wish for any pay, and at the mention of Ella'sname her tears burst forth afresh. The next morning, when news ofMr. Hastings's return was received at Locust Grove, Eugenia atonce suggested that Dora be sent for immediately. "It did not lookwell, " she said, "for a good sized girl, fourteen and a half yearsof age, to be staying in the same house with a widower. Folkswould talk!"

And growing suddenly very careful of her cousin's reputation, shedispatched a note to Rose Hill requesting her immediate return. Not that she really thought there would be any impropriety inDora's staying with Mr. Hastings, but because she had a plan bywhich she hoped herself to see him every day. And in this plan shesucceeded. As she had expected, her note brought down Mr. Hastingshimself, who, on his child's account, objected to parting withDora, unless it were absolutely necessary. 

"She is as well off there as here, " said he; "and why can't shestay?"

"I am perfectly willing she should take care of little Ella, "answered the previously instructed Mrs. Deane, who, in a measure, shared her daughter's ambitious designs; "but it must be donehere, if at all. I can't suffer her to remain alone with thosegossiping servants. "

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Eugenia, speaking as if this were the firstshe had heard of it. "That is a good idea. It will be delightfulto have the dear little creature here, and so much better for hertoo in case of _croup_, or anything like that, to be with anexperienced person like mother!"

"But, " said Mr. Hastings, "this would keep Dora entirely from herstudies, and that ought not to be. "

"It need not, " hastily interrupted Eugenia. "She can go to schoolevery day, for nothing will give me greater pleasure than to takecare of our dear Ella's child;" and the pocket-handkerchief wentup to her face to conceal the tears which might have been there, but probably were not. 

It was finally arranged, and in the course of a few days theparlor of Locust Grove was echoing sometimes to the laughter, andsometimes to the screaming, of little Ella Grey, who, from someunaccountable freak of babyhood, conceived a violent fancy forEugenia, to whom she would go quite as readily as to Dora, whosedaily absence at school she at last did not mind. Regularly eachday, and sometimes twice a day, Mr. Hastings came down to LocustGrove, and his manner was very kind toward Eugenia, when he foundher, as he often did, with his baby sleeping in her arms. He didnot know how many times, at his approach, it was snatched from thecradle by Eugenia, who, in reality, was not remarkably fond ofbaby-tending, and who, in the absence of the father, left thechild almost wholly to the care of her mother and sister. Management, however, was everything, and fancying she had foundthe shortest avenue to Mr. Hastings's heart, she, in his presence, fondled, and petted and played with his child, taking careoccasionally to hint of neglect on the part of Dora, whom he nowseldom saw as, at the hour of his calling, she was generally inschool. It was by such means as this that Eugenia sought toincrease Mr. Hastings's regard for herself, and in a measure shesucceeded; for though his respect for Dora was undiminished, hecould not conceal from himself the fact that Eugenia was veryagreeable, very interesting and very _kind to his daughter_!

As the autumn advanced, and the cold rainy weather precluded out-door exercise, it was but natural that he should spend much of histime at Locust Grove, where his tastes were carefully studied, hisfavorite books read, and his favorite authors discussed, whileEugenia's handsome black eyes smiled a welcome when he came, anddrooped pensively beneath her long eyelashes when he went away. Thus the autumn and the winter passed, and when the spring hadcome, the village of Dunwood was rife with rumors concerning theattraction which drew Mr. Hastings so often to Locust Grove; somesincerely pitying him if, indeed, he entertained a serious thoughtof making Eugenia Deane his wife, while others severely censuredhim for having so soon forgotten one whose grave had not been madea twelvemonth. But he had not forgotten, and almost every hour ofhis life was her loved name upon his lips, and the long goldentress his own hand had severed from her head was guarded as hischoicest treasure, while the dark hours of the night bore witnessto his lonely grief. And it was to escape this loneliness--toforget for a brief time the sad memories of the past--that hewent so often to Locust Grove, where as yet his child was thegreater attraction, though he could not be insensible to thecharms of Eugenia who spared no pains to interest him in herself. 

He was passionately fond of music, and many an hour she satpatiently at the piano, seeking to perfect herself in a difficultpiece, with which she thought to surprise him. But nothing, however admirably executed, could sound well upon her old-fashioned instrument, and how to procure a new one was the dailysubject of her meditations. Occasionally, as she remembered thebeautiful rosewood piano standing useless and untouched in theparlors of Rose Hill, something whispered her to wait "and itwould yet be hers. " But this did not satisfy her present desire, for aside from the sweet sounds, with which she hoped to entranceMr. Hastings, was the wish to make him think them much wealthierthan they were. From one or two circumstances, she had gatheredthe impression that he thought them poor, and, judging him byherself, she fancied her chances for becoming Mrs. Hastings 2d, would be greatly increased if by any means he could be made tobelieve her comparatively rich. As one means of effecting this, she must and would have a new piano, costing not less than fourhundred dollars. But how to procure the money was the question;the remittance from Uncle Nat, which had come on the first day ofJanuary, was already half gone, and she could not, as she had oncedone before, make Dora's _head_ keep her out of the difficulty. At last, a new idea suggested itself, and springing to herfeet she exclaimed aloud, for she was alone, "I have it; strangeI didn't think of that before. I'll write to the old man, andtell him that as Dora is now fifteen, we would gladly send heraway to school, if we had the means, but our expenses are so greatit is impossible, unless the money comes from him. And he'll do ittoo, the old miser!--for in his first letter he said he wouldincrease the allowance as Dora grew older. "

Suiting the action to the word, she drew out her writing-desk, andcommenced a letter to her "dearest Uncle Nathaniel, " feelinglydescribing to him their straitened circumstances, and the effortsof herself and her sister to keep the family in _necessaries_, which they were enabled to do very comfortably with the additionof the allowance he so generously sent them every year. Butthey wished now to send Dora to school, to see if anythingcould be made of her! She had improved latterly, and theyreally hoped a change of scene would benefit her. For Dora's sake, then, would "her dear uncle be so kind as to send them, on thereceipt of that letter, such a sum as he thought best. If so, hewould greatly oblige his loving niece. "

"There! That will do, " she said, leaning back in her chair, andlaughing as she thought what her mother and Alice would say, ifthey knew what she had done. "But they needn't know it, " shecontinued aloud, "until the money comes, and then they can't helpthemselves. "

Then it occurred to her that if Dora herself were to send somemessage, the coming of the money might be surer; and calling hercousin into the room, she said:

"I am about writing to old Uncle Nat--have you any word oranything to send him?"

"Oh, yes, " answered Dora. "Give him my love, and tell him how muchI wish he would come home--and stay!" she added, leaving theroom, and soon returning with a lock of soft brown hair, which shelaid upon the table. "Give him that, and tell him it wasmother's. "

Had a serpent started suddenly into life before Eugenia, she couldnot have turned whiter than she did at the sight of that hair. Itbrought vividly to mind the shadowy twilight, the darkness in thecorners, and the terror which came over her on that memorablenight, when she had thought to steal Dora's treasure. Soonrecovering her composure, however, she motioned her cousin fromthe room, and, resuming her pen, said to herself, "I shan't writeall that nonsense about his coming home, for nobody wants himhere; but the love and the hair may as well go. "

Then, as she saw how much of the latter Dora had brought, shecontinued, "There's no need of sending all this. It would makebeautiful hair ornaments, and I mean to keep a part of it; Dorawon't care, of course, and I shall tell her. "

Dividing off a portion of the hair for her own use, she laid itaside, and then in a postscript wrote, "Dora sends"--here shepaused; and thinking that "Dora's _love_" would please theold man too much, and possibly give him too favorable an opinionof his niece, she crossed out the "sends, " and wrote, "Dora wishesto be remembered to you, and sends for your acceptance a lock ofher mother's hair. "

Thus was the letter finished, and the next mail which left Dunwoodbore it on its way to India, Eugenia little thinking how much itwould influence her whole future life. 

----------------

CHAPTER XIII. 

UNCLE NAT. 

IT was a glorious moonlight night, and, like gleams of burnishedsilver, the moonbeams flashed from the lofty domes and minarets ofCalcutta, or shone like sparkling gems on the sleeping waters ofthe bay. It was a night when the Hindoo lover told his tale to thedusky maiden at his side, and the soldier, wearing the scarletuniform, talked to his blue-eyed bride of the home across thewaters, which she had left to be with him. 

On this night, too, an old man in his silent room, sat thinking of_his_ home far beyond the shores of "Merrie England. " Nearhim lay a letter, Eugenia's letter, which was just received. Hehad not opened it yet, for the sight of it had carried him backacross the Atlantic wave, and again he saw, in fancy, the granitehills which had girded his childhood's home--the rock where he hadplayed--the tree where he had carved his name, and the rushingmountain stream, which ran so swiftly past the red house in thevalley--the home where he was born, and where had come to him theheart grief which had made him the strange, eccentric being hewas. Thoughts of the dead were with him, too, to-night, and withhis face buried in his broad, rough hands, he thought of, _her_, whose winsome smile and gentle ways had woven aroundhis heart a mighty and undying love, such as few men ever felt. OfDora, too, he thought--Dora, whom he had never seen--and his heartyearned towards her with a deep tenderness, because his Fannie hadbeen her mother. 

"I should love her, I know, " he said, "even though she were cold-hearted and stupid as they say;" then, as he remembered theletter, he continued, "I will open it, for it may have tidings ofthe child. "

The seal was broken, the letter unfolded, and a tress of shininghair dropped on the old man's hand, clinging lovingly, as it were, about his fingers, while a low, deep cry broke the stillness ofthe room. He knew it in a moment--knew it was _Fannie'shair_--the same he had so oft caressed when she was but alittle girl and he a grown-up man. It was Fannie's hair, come tohim over land and sea, and his eyes grew dim with tears, whichrained over his thin, dark face as he kissed again and again theprecious boon, dearer far to him than the golden ore of India. "Fannie's hair!" very softly he repeated the words, holding it upto the moonlight, and then turning it toward the lamp, as if toassure himself that he really had it in his possession. "Why wasit never sent before?" he said at last, "or why was it sent atall?" and taking up the letter, he read it through, lingering longover the postscript, and grieving that Dora's message, the firsthe had ever received, should be comparatively so cold. 

"Why couldn't she have sent her _love_ to her poor old uncle, who has nothing in the wide, wide world to love save this one lockof hair! God bless you, Dora Deane, for sending that, " and againhe raised it to his lips, saying as he did so, "And she shall havethe money, too, aye, more than Eugenia asked; _one golden dollarfor every golden hair_, will be a meet return!" And the old manlaughed aloud at the novel idea, which no one but himself wouldhave conceived. It was a long, weary task, the counting of thosehairs; for more than once, when he paused in his work to think ofher whose head they once adorned, he forgot how many had beentold, and patiently began again, watching carefully, throughblinding tears, to see that none were lost, for he would not thatone should escape him. It was strange how childish the strong manbecame, counting those threads of hair; and when at last the laborwas completed, he wept because there were no more. Fifteen hundreddollars seemed too small a sum to pay for what would give him somuch joy; and _he_ mourned that the tress had not been larger, quite as much as did Eugenia, when she heard of his odd fancy. 

The moon had long since ceased to shine on the sleeping city, andday was breaking in the east, ere Nathaniel Deane arose from thetable where he had sat the livelong night, gloating over histreasure, and writing a letter which now lay upon the table. Itwas addressed to Dora, and in it he told her what he had done, blessing her for sending him that lock of hair, and saying thatthe sight of it made his withered heart grow young and greenagain, as it was in the happy days when he so madly loved hermother. Then he told her how he yearned to behold her, to lookupon her face and see which she was like, her father or hermother. Both were very dear to him, and for their sake he lovedtheir child. 

"No one will ever call me _father_, " he wrote, "and I amlonely in my Indian home, lined all over, as it is, with gold, andsometimes, Dora, since I have heard of you, orphaned thus early, Ihave thought I would return to America, and seeking out somepleasant spot, would build a home for you and me. And this I woulddo, were I sure that I was wanted there--that you would be happierwith me than with your aunt and cousins. Are they kind to you, mychild? Sometimes, in my reveries, I have fancied they were not--have dreamed of a girlish face, with locks like that against whichmy old heart is beating, and eyes of deep dark blue, lookingwistfully at me, across the waste of waters, and telling me ofcruel neglect and indifference. Were this indeed so, not all Indiawould keep me a moment from your side. 

"Write to me, Dora, and tell me of yourself, that I may judgesomething of your character. Tell me, too, if you ever think ofthe lonesome old man, who, each night of his life, remembers youin his prayers, asking that if on earth he may never look on_Fannie's_ child, he may at last meet and know her in thebetter land. And now farewell, my _daughter_, mine by adoption, if from no other cause. 

"Write to me soon, and tell me if at home there is one who wouldkindly welcome back. 

"Your rough old UNCLE NAT. "

"She'll answer that, " the old man said, as he read it over. "She'll tell me to come home, " and, like a very child, his heartbounded with joy as he thought of breathing again the air of thewestern world. 

The letter was sent, and with it we, too, will return to America, and going backward for a little, take up our story at a periodthree months subsequent to the time when Eugenia wrote to UncleNat. 

---------

CHAPTER XIV

MANAGEMENT. 

One year had passed away since the night when Ella Hastings died, and alone in his chamber the husband was musing of the past, andholding, as it were, communion with the departed, who seemed thisnight to be so near that once he said aloud, "Ella, are you withme now?" But to his call there came no answer, save the falling ofthe summer rain; and again, with his face upon the pillow, just asit had lain one year ago, he asked himself if to the memory of thedead he had thus long been faithful; if no thought of another hadmingled with his love for her; and was it to ascertain this thatshe had come back to him to-night, for he felt that she was there, and again he spoke aloud, "I have not forgotten you, darling; butI am lonesome, oh, so lonesome, and the world looks dark anddrear. Lay your hand upon my heart, dear Ella, and you will feelits weight of pain. "

But why that sudden lifting of the head, as if a spirit hand hadindeed touched him with its icy fingers? Howard Hastings was notafraid of the dead, and it was not this which made him start sonervously to his feet. His ear had caught the sound of a lightfootstep in the hall below, and coming at that hour of a stormynight, it startled him, for he remembered that the outer door hadbeen left unlocked. Nearer and nearer it came, up the windingstairs, and on through the silent hall, tin til it readied thethreshold of his chamber, where it ceased, while a low voice spokehis name. 

In an instant he was at the door, standing face to face with DoraDeane, whose head was uncovered, and whose hair was drenched withthe rain. 

"Dora, " he exclaimed, "how came you here and wherefore have youcome?"

"Your child!" was her only answer, and in another moment he, too, was cut in the storm with Dora Deane, whose hand he involuntarilytook in his, as if to shield her from the darkness. 

In a few words she told him how she had been aroused from hersleep by her aunt, who said the baby was dying with the croup;that the servant was timid and refused to go either for him or thephysician, and so she had come herself. 

"And were you not afraid?" he asked; and the heroic girl answered, "No; I fancied Ella was with me, cheering me on, and I felt nofear. "

Mr. Hastings made no reply, but, when lie reached the house, andsaw the white, waxen lace of the child, he felt that Ella hadindeed been near to him that night; that she had come for herlittle one, who, with a faint, moaning cry, stretched its handstowards Dora, as she entered the room. And Dora took it in herarms, holding it lovingly there, until the last, painful strugglewas over, and the father, standing near, knew that wife and childhad met together in heaven. 

At the foot of the garden, beneath the evergreens, where he hadwished to lay his other Ella, they buried the little girl, andthen Howard Hastings was, indeed, alone in the world--alone in hisgreat house, which seemed doubly desolate now that all were gone. For many weeks he did not go to Locust Grove, but remained in hisquiet rooms, brooding over his grief, and going often to thelittle grave beneath the evergreens. There, once, al the hour ofsunset, he found _Eugenia Deane_ planting flowers above hissleeping child! She had marveled much that he stayed so long away, and learning that the sunset hour was always spent in the garden, she had devised a plan for meeting him. It succeeded, and withwell-feigned embarrassment she was hurrying away, when he detainedher, bidding her tarry while he told her how much he thanked herfor her kindness to his child. 

"I have wished to come to Locust Grove, " he said, "and thank youall, but I could not, for there is now no baby face to greet me. "

"But there are those there still who would welcome you withpleasure, " softly answered Eugenia; and then with her dark eyessometimes on the ground and sometimes looking very pityingly onhim, she acted the art of a consoler, telling him how much betterit was for the child to be at rest with its mother. 

And while she talked, darkness fell upon them, so that HowardHastings could not see the look of triumph which the dark eyeswore when he said, "You must not go home alone, Miss Deane. Let meaccompany you. "

So the two went together very slowly down the long avenue, andwhen over an _imaginary_ stone the fair Eugenia stumbled, thearm of Howard Hastings was offered for her support, and then moreslowly still they continued on their way. From that time Mr. Hastings was often at Eugenia's side, and before the autumn wasgone, he had more than once been told she was to be his wife. Andeach time that he heard it, it affected him less painfully, untilat last he himself began to wonder how it were possible for himever to have disliked and distrusted a person so amiable, sointelligent and so agreeable as Eugenia Deane! Still he couldnever quite satisfy himself that he loved her, for there wassomething which always came up before him whenever he seriouslythought of making her his wife. This something he could notdefine, but when, as he sometimes did, he fancied Eugenia themistress of his house, there was always in the background the formof Dora Deane, gliding noiselessly about him, as she did thatnight when first she came to Rose Hill. He saw but little of hernow, for whenever he called, Eugenia managed to keep from the roomboth mother, sister and cousin, choosing to be alone with thehandsome widower, who lingered late and lingered long dreading areturn to his lonely home. 

Eugenia was now daily expecting an answer to her letter andfeeling sure that it would bring the money, she began to talk toMr. Hastings of her new piano. Playfully remarking, that as he wasa connoisseur in such matters, she believed she should call on himto aid in her selection; and this he promised to do, thinking thewhile of the unused instrument in his deserted parlor, and feelingstrongly tempted to offer her its use. Thus the weeks passed on, while Eugenia became more and more impatient for the letter. 

"It is an age since I had anything from the post-office I wishyou'd call and inquire, " she said to Dora one afternoon, as shesaw her preparing to go out. 

Scarcely was she gone, however, when, remembering something whichshe wanted, and, thinking she might possibly meet with Mr. Hastings, she started for the village herself reaching the officedoor just as Dora, accompanied by Mr. Hastings, was crossing thestreet in the, same direction. 

"I shan't have to go in now, " said Dora; and fancying hercompanion would prefer waiting for her cousin to walking with her, she passed on, all unconscious of what she had lost by being aminute too late. 

"A letter from Uncle Nat--directed to Dora, too!" and Eugenia grewalternately red and white, as, crushing the missive into herpocket, she went out into the street, where she was joined by Mr. Hastings. 

"Dora left me rather unceremoniously, " said he, as he bade hergood evening, " and so I waited to walk with you. "

But Eugenia could not appear natural, so anxious was she to knowwhat the letter contained. Up to the very gate Mr. Hastings went, but for once she did not ask him to stop; and he turned away, wondering at her manner, and feeling a little piqued at herunusual coolness. Hastening to her chamber, and crouching near thewindow, Eugenia tore open Dora's letter, and clutching eagerly atthe draft, almost screamed with delight when she saw the amount. FIFTEEN HUNDRED DOLLARS! She could scarcely believe her senses:and drawing still nearer the window, for the daylight was fadingfast, she sought for the reason of this unexpected generosity. Butthe old man's childish fancy, which would have touched a heartless hard than hers, aroused only her deepest ire--not because hehad counted out the hairs, but because there had not been more tocount. Jumping to her feet in her wrath, she exclaimed, "Fool thatI was, to have withheld one, when the old dotard would have paidfor it so richly. But it cannot now be helped, " she continued, andresuming her seat, she read the letter through, exploding, butonce more, and that at the point where Uncle Nat had spoken ofreturning asking if there was one who would welcome him home. 

"Gracious heavens!" she exclaimed, growing a little faint. "Wouldn't I be in a predicament? But it shall never be, if I canprevent, it, and I fancy I can. As Dora will not read this letter, it is not reasonably to be expected that she will answer it, andit will be some time, I imagine, before _I_ invite him tocome and see if we are kind to her! What a childish old thing hemust be, to pay so much for one little lock of hair! I'd send himall of mine, if I thought it would bring me fifteen hundreddollars. "

It did seem a large sum to her, that fifteen hundred dollars, morethan she dared to appropriate to herself; but the piano she wasdetermined to have, and, as she dreaded what her mother might say, she resolved upon keeping the letter a secret until the purchasewas made, and then Mrs. Deane could not do otherwise than indorsethe draft, and let her have the money. 

They had been talking of going to Rochester for some time past, and if she could manage to have Mr. Hastings go with her, shecould leave her mother at the hotel, or dispose of her elsewhere, while she went with him to the music rooms, and made theselection. As if fortune were, indeed, favoring her, Mr. Hastingscalled the next, night and they were, as usual, left togetheralone. She was looking uncommonly well this evening; and as shesaw how often and how admiringly his eyes rested upon her, hopewhispered that the prize was nearly won. After conversing awhileon different subjects, she spoke of her new piano, asking him ifhe remembered his promise of assisting her in a selection, andsaying she thought of going to the city some day that week. AgainMr. Hastings remembered the beautiful rosewood instrument, whosetones had been so long unheard in his silent home, and he said, "Do you not like Ella's piano?" while a feeling, shadowy andundefined, stole over him, that possibly it might, some day, behers; and Eugenia, divining his thoughts, answered artfully, "Oh, very much. I used to enjoy hearing dear Ella play, but that don'tdo me any good. It isn't mine, you know. "

Very softly and tenderly the beautiful black eyes looked into his, and the voice was low and gentle, as it breathed the sacred nameof Ella. It was the hour of Howard Hastings's temptation; and, scarce knowing what he did, he essayed to speak--to offer_her_ the piano, whose keys had been so often touched by thefairy fingers, now folded away beneath the winter snow. But hislips refused to move; there was a pressure upon them, as if alittle hand were laid upon his mouth to prevent the utterance ofwords he had better far not speak. Thus was he saved, and whenEugenia, impatient at his delay, cast towards him an anxiousglance, she saw that his thoughts were not of her, and, biting herlips with vexation, she half petulantly asked, "if he had anyintention of going to the city that week?"

"Yes--no--certainly, " said he, starting up as if from a deepreverie. Then, as he understood what was wanted of him, hecontinued, "Excuse me, Miss Deane. I was thinking of Ella, and thenight when she died. What were you saying of Rochester? I havebusiness there to-morrow, and if you go down, I will aid you all Ican. By the way, " he continued, "that is the night of ----'s grandconcert. How would you like to attend it?"

"Oh, so much!" answered Eugenia, her fine eyes sparkling withdelight. 

"But stop, " said he, "now I think of it, I have an engagementwhich may possibly prevent me from attending it, as I would liketo do with you, for I know you would enjoy it. Still, it may bethat I can, and if so, I'll call for you at the hotel. We can comehome on the eleven o'clock train. "

So, ere Mr. Hastings departed, it was arranged that Eugenia andher mother should next morning go down with him to the city, andthat in the evening he would, perhaps, accompany them to theconcert. 

"I am progressing fast, " thought Eugenia, as she sat alone in herchamber that night, after Alice had retired, "but still I wishhe'd come to the point, and not keep me in such suspense. Ithought once he was going to, and I believe now he would if hehadn't gone to thinking of Ella, and all that nonsense; but nevermind, he's worth waiting for, with his fine house and immensewealth; I shan't care so much about Uncle Nat's money then, thoughgoodness knows I don't want him turning up here some day andexposing me, as I dare say the meddlesome old thing would do. "

This reminded her of the letter, and, as Alice was asleep, shethought this as favorable an opportunity for answering it as shewould probably have. Opening her writing-desk, and taking her pen, she framed a reply, the substance of which was, that _ma, Alice_ and _herself_ were very, very thankful to her dearuncle for his generous gift to Dora, who, strange to say, manifested no feeling whatever!

"If she is grateful, " wrote Eugenia, "she does not show it in theleast. I hardly know what to make of her, she's so queer. Sometime, perhaps, she will appreciate your goodness, andmeanwhile, rest assured that I will see that your gift is used tothe best advantage. "

Not a word of coming home to the expectant old man, whose hearteach day grew lighter as he thought of the letter which _Dora_would write bidding him to come to the friends who would welcomehim back. Not one line from Dora to the kind uncle who, when heread the cruel lines, laid his weary head upon his pillow and weptbitterly that this, his last fond hope, was crushed!

There is such a thing as Retribution, and Eugenia Deane, sittingthere alone that night, shuddered as the word seemed whispered inher ear. But it could not deter her from her purpose. HowardHastings must be won. "The object to be gained was worthy of themeans used to gain it, " she thought, as she sealed the letter;then, placing the draft for the $1, 500 safely in her purse, shecrept softly to bed, sleeping ere long as soundly as if the weightof a guilty conscience had never rested upon her. 

CHAPTER XV. 

THE NEW PIANO. 

The next morning, at the appointed time, Mr. Hastings, Mrs. Deaneand her daughter stood together in the Dunwood Depot, awaiting thearrival of the train. Eugenia was in high spirits, chatting gailywith Mr. Hastings, whose manner was so unusually lover-like, thatmore than one looker-on smiled meaningly, as they saw how veryattentive he was. On reaching the city he parted from the ladiesfor a time, telling Eugenia, as he bade her good morning, that heshould probably not see her again until about three o'clock in theafternoon, when he would meet her at the music-rooms. 

"Meet you at the music-rooms for what?" asked Mrs. Deane, who, though she had frequently heard her daughter talking of a newpiano, had never for a moment believed her to be in earnest. 

"What do you suppose he would meet me for, unless it were to lookat pianos?" answered Eugenia, and her mother replied, "Look atpianos! A great deal of good that will do, I imagine, when both ofus together have but twenty-five dollars in the world!"

A curious smile flitted over Eugenia's face, as she thought of thedraft, but she merely replied, "And suppose we haven't any money, can't I _make believe_, and by looking at expensive instrumentsinduce Mr. Hastings to think we are richer than we are?I don't accuse him of being at all mercenary, but I do thinkhe would have proposed ere this, if he hadn't thought us sowretchedly poor. "

Mrs. Deane could not understand how merely looking at a costlypiano indicated wealth; but feeling herself considerable interestin her daughter's success, she concluded to let her pursue her owncourse, and the subject was not resumed again until afternoon, when, having finished their shopping, they sat alone in a privateroom, opening from the public hall, and opposite the ladies'parlor in the hotel. They had taken this room, because in case sheattended the concert, Eugenia would wish to rearrange her hair, and make some little change in her personal appearance. "Then, too, when Mr. Hastings came, " she said, "they would be bythemselves, and not have everybody listening to what they said. Bythe way, mother, " she continued, as she stood before the glass, "if Mr. Hastings can attend the concert, suppose you go home athalf-past six. You don't care for singing, you know, and besidesthat, you stumble so in the dark, that it will be so muchpleasanter for Mr. Hastings to have but one in charge. "

"And much pleasanter for you, too, to be alone with him, "suggested Mrs. Deane, who really cared but little for music, andwas the more willing to accede to Eugenia's proposal. 

"Why, yes, " answered the young lady. "I think it would bepleasanter--so if he says he can accompany me, you go home, like adear good old woman as you are. " And tying on her bonnet, Eugeniawent out to keep her appointment, finding Mr. Hastings therebefore her, as she had expected. 

Several expensive pianos were examined, and a selection at lastmade of a very handsome one, whose cost was $450. "I care butlittle what price I pay, if it only suits me, " said Eugenia, withthe air of one who had the wealth of the Indies at her disposal. "You will see that it is carefully boxed and sent to Dunwood, willyou not?" she continued, turning to the man in attendance, whobowed respectfully, and stood waiting for the money, while Mr. Hastings, too, it may be, wondered a very little if it would beforthcoming. "I did not know certainly as I should make apurchase, " continued Eugenia, "so I left the money with mother atthe hotel: I will bring it directly;" and she tripped gracefullyout of the store, followed by Mr. Hastings, who felt almost as ifhe had done wrong in suffering her to buy a new piano, when_Ella's_ would have suited her quite as well, and the nameupon it, "E. Hastings, " would make no difference!

Once, in the street, he thought to say something like this to herand prevent the purchase, but again an unseen hand, as it were, sealed his lips; and when he spoke, it was to tell her that hecould probably escort her to the concert, and would see her againabout dark. Here having reached the hotel, he left her, and walkedon a short distance, when, remembering something concerning theconcert, which he wished to tell her, he turned back, and, entering the hotel, went to the parlor, where he expected to findher. But she was not there, and thinking she had gone out for amoment and would soon return, he stepped into the hall, and as theday was rather cold, stood over the register, which was very nearEugenia's room. He had been there but an instant, when he caughtthe sound of his own name, and looking up, he saw that theventilator over the door opposite was turned back, so thateverything said within, though spoken in a low tone, could bedistinctly heard without. It was Eugenia who was speaking, and notwishing to listen, he was about turning away, when the words sheuttered aroused his curiosity and chained him to the spot. 

They were, "And what if Mr. Hastings _did_ give it to me? Ifhe marries me, and I intend that he shall, 'twill make nodifference whether the piano was bought afterward or a little inadvance. He knows, or ought to know, that I would not use Ella'sold one. "

"But has he ever said a word to you on the subject of marriage?"queried Mrs. Deane, and Eugenia answered, "Not directly, perhaps, but he has had it in his mind a hundred times, I dare say. Butpray don't look so distressed. I never knew before that schemingmothers objected to their daughters receiving costly presents fromthe gentlemen to whom they were engaged. "

"You are not engaged, " said Mrs. Deane, and Eugenia replied, "Butexpect to be, which is the same thing;" then after a pause, shecontinued, "but, jesting aside, Mr. Hastings did not buy thepiano. I bought it myself and expect to pay for it, too, that is, if you will indorse this draft. Look!" and she held to view thedraft, of which Mrs. Deane was, until that moment, whollyignorant. 

Wiping from his white brow the heavy drops of perspiration whichhad gathered thickly upon it, Mr. Hastings attempted to leave theplace, but the same hand which twice before had sealed his lips, was interposed to keep him there, and he stood silent andimmovable, while his surprise and indignation increased as theconversation proceeded. 

In great astonishment Mrs. Deane examined the draft, and thenquestioned her daughter as to how she came by it. Very brieflyEugenia told of the letter she had sent her Uncle Nat. "I knewthere was no surer way of gaining his goodwill, " said she, "thanby thrusting Dora in his face, so I asked her if she had anymessage, and she sent her love, together with a lock of hermother's hair, which I verily believe turned the old fellow'sheart. I have not the letter with me which he wrote in reply anddirected to Dora, but it was a sickish, sentimental thing, pratingabout his love for her mother, and how much he prized that lockwhich he said he would pay for at the rate of one dollar a hair!And, don't you believe, the silly old fool sat up all night, crying over and counting the hairs, which amounted to fifteenhundred! 'Twould have been more if I hadn't foolishly kept backsome for hair ornaments. I was so provoked, I could have thrownthem in the fire. "

"But if the letter was directed to Dora, how came you by it?"asked Mrs. Deane, who, knowing Eugenia as well as she did, wasstill wholly unprepared for anything like this. 

"'Twas the merest chance in the world, " answered Eugenia, statingthe circumstances by which the letter came into her possession, and adding that "Mr. Hastings must have thought her manner thatnight very strange; but come, " she continued, "do sign your namequick, so I can get the money before the bank closes. "

But this Mrs. Deane at first refused to do, saying it was nottheirs, and Dora should no longer be defrauded; at the same time, she expressed her displeasure at Eugenia's utter want ofprinciple. 

"Grown suddenly very conscientious haven't you!" scornfullylaughed the young lady, reminding her of the remittances annuallysent to them for Dora's benefit, but which had been unjustlywithheld; "very conscientious indeed; but I am thankful I partedcompany with that commodity long ago. "

Then followed a series of angry words, and bitter recriminations, by which the entire history of Eugenia's selfish treatment of hercousin, even to the cutting off her hair more than two yearsbefore, was disclosed to Mr. Hastings, who, immeasurably shockedand sick at heart, turned away just as Mrs. Deane, to avoidfurther altercation, expressed her readiness to indorse the draft, on condition that the balance, after paying for the piano, shouldbe set aside for Dora. 

"And haven't I told you repeatedly that the piano was all Iwanted? and I shouldn't be so particularly anxious about that, ifI did not think it would aid me in securing Mr. Hastings. "

"Which you never shall, so help me Heaven!" exclaimed theindignant man, as he strode noiselessly down the hall, and outinto the open air, where he breathed more freely, as if justescaping from the poisonous atmosphere of the deadly upas. 

It would be impossible to describe his emotion, as he walked onthrough one street after another. Astonishment, rage, horror, anddisgust each in turn predominated, and were at last succeeded by adeep feeling of thankfulness that the veil had been removed, andhe had escaped from the toils of one, who, slowly but surely, hadbeen winding herself around his fancy--he would not sayaffections, for he knew he had never loved her. "But she mighthave duped me, " he said, "for I am but human;" and then as hethought what a hardened, unprincipled woman she was, he shudderedand grew faint at the mere idea of taking such a one to fill theplace of his gentle, loving Ella. "I cannot meet her to-night, " hecontinued, as he remembered the concert. "I could not endure thesound of her voice, for I should say that to her which had betternot be said. I will go home--back to Dunwood, leaving her to waitfor me as long as she chooses. "

With him, to will was to do, and having finished his business, hestarted for the depot, whither Mrs. Deane had preceded him, havingbeen coaxed by Eugenia to return at half-past six, and thus leaveher the pleasure of Mr. Hastings's company alone. The piano hadbeen paid for, and as it was quite dark, and beginning to rain, the now amiable young lady accompanied her mother to the depot, and having seen her safely in the cars, which would not start insome minutes, was on her way back to the hotel, her mind toointently occupied with thoughts of coming pleasure to heed the manwho, with dark lowering brow, and hat drawn over his face, met heron the sidewalk, and who at sight of her started suddenly as ifshe had been a crawling serpent. 

"Will the Deanes always cross my path? "he exclaimed, as, openingthe car door, he saw near the stove the brown satin hat and blackplumes of the mother, who was sitting with her back towards him, and consequently was not aware of his presence. 

To find a seat in another car was an easy matter, and whileEugenia, at the hotel, was alternately admiring herself in theglass, and peering out into the hall to see if he were coming, hewas on his way to Dunwood, breathing more and more freely, as thedistance between them increased. 

"Yes, I have escaped her, " he thought, and mingled withthankfulness for this, was a deep feeling of sympathy for Dora, towhom such injustice had been done. 

He understood perfectly her position--knew exactly the course oftreatment, which, from the first, she had received, and whiletrembling with anger, he resolved that it should not continue. "I_can_ help her, and I _will_, " he said emphatically; thoughhow, or by what means he could not, in his present state ofexcitement, decide. Arrived at Dunwood, he stepped hastily fromthe car and walked rapidly down the street until he came oppositeLocust Grove. Then, indeed, he paused, while an involuntaryshudder ran through his frame as he thought of the many hours hehad spent within those walls with one who had proved herselfunworthy even of the name of woman. 

"But it is over now, " he said, "and when I cross that thresholdagain, may----"

The sentence was unfinished, for a light flashed suddenly out uponhim, and a scene met his view which arrested his footsteps atonce, and, raining as it was, he leaned back against the fence andgazed at the picture before him. The shutters were thrown open, and through the window was plainly discernible the form of DoraDeane, seated at a table on which lay a book which she seemed tobe reading. There was nothing elegant about her dress, nor didHoward Hastings think of this; his mind was intent upon _her_who had been so cruelly wronged, and whose young face, seenthrough the window on that winter night, looked very fair, so fairthat he wondered he had never thought before how beautiful wasDora Deane. 

At this point, Mrs. Deane, who had been slower in her movements, reached the gate, and, resigning his post near the fence, Mr. Hastings walked slowly home, bearing in his mind that picture ofDora Deane as he saw her through the window, with no shadows onher brow, save those left there by early grief, and which renderedher face still more attractive than it would otherwise have been. That night, all through the silent hours, there shone a glimmeringlight from the room where Howard Hastings sat, brooding upon whathe had heard, and meditating upon the best means for removingDora from the influence of her heartless cousin. Slowly over him, too, came memories of the little brown-faced girl who, when hishome was cheerless, had come to him with her kindly acts andgentle ways, diffusing over all an air of comfort and filling hishome with sunlight. Then he remembered that darkest hour of hisdesolation--that first coming home from burying his dead; and, nowas then he felt creeping over him the icy chill which had lainupon his heart when he approached the house whence they had bornehis fair girl wife. But he had found _her_ there--Dora Deane--folding his motherless baby to her bosom, and again in imaginationhe met the soft glance of her eye as she welcomed him backto Ella's room which seemed not half so lonely with Dorasitting by his side. Again he was with her in the storm which shehad braved on that night when his child lay dying--the child whomshe had loved so much, and who had died upon her lap. Anon, thispicture faded too, and he saw her as he had seen her but a fewhours before--almost a woman now, but retaining still the samefair, open brow, and sunny smile which had characterized her as achild. And _this_ was the girl whom Eugenia would trampledown--would misrepresent to the fond old uncle, far away. "But itshall never be, " he said aloud; "I will remove her Iron them byforce if need be. " But "where would she go?" he asked. Then as heremembered Ella's wish that he should care for her--a wish whichhis foolish fancy for Eugenia had for a time driven from his mind, he felt an intense longing to have her there with him; there, inhis home, where he could see her every day--not as his wife, forat that time Howard Hastings had never thought it possible for himto call her by that name, she seemed so much a child; but sheshould be his sister, and his manly heart throbbed with delight, as he thought how he would watch over and protect her from allharm. He would teach her and she would learn, sitting at his feetas she sat two years before; and life would seem no longer sad anddreary, for he would have a pleasant home and in it _DoraDeane!_ Ere long, however, his better judgment told him thatthe censorious, curious world would never suffer this to be;_she couldn't come as his sister--she couldn't come at all_--and again there came over him a sense of desolation, as if he werea second time bereaved. 

Slowly and steadily the raindrops pattered against the windowpane, while the lamp upon the table burned lower and lower, andstill Mr. Hastings sat there, pondering another plan, to which hecould see no possible objection, provided Mrs. Deane's consentcould be obtained: "and she shall consent, " he said, "or anexposure of her daughter will be the consequence. "

Then, it occurred to him that, in order to succeed, he must for atime at least appear perfectly natural--must continue to visit atLocust Grove, just as he had been in the habit of doing--must meetEugenia face to face, and even school himself to listen to thesound of her piano, which he felt would grate so harshly on hisear. And all this he could do if in the end Dora would bebenefited. 

For the more immediate accomplishment of his purpose, it seemednecessary that he should visit New York, and as in his presentexcitement, he could not rest at home, he determined upon goingthat very morning, in the early train. Pushing back the heavydrapery which shaded the window he saw that daylight was alreadybreaking in the east, and, after a few hurried preparations, heknocked at Mrs. Leah's door, and telling her that importantbusiness required his presence in New York, whither he should begone a few days, he started for the depot, just as the sun wasrising; and, that night, Mrs. Elliott, his sister, was surprisedto hear that he was in the parlor, and wished to see her. 

"Why, Howard!" she exclaimed, as she entered the room and saw howpale and haggard he was, "what is the matter, and why have youcome upon me so suddenly?"

"I have come, Louise, for aid, " he answered, advancing towardsher, and drawing her to his side. "Aid for an injured orphan. Doyou remember Dora Deane?"

"Perfectly well, " answered Mrs. Elliott. "I was too muchinterested in her to forget her soon. Ella wrote me that she wasliving in Dunwood, and when next I visited you, I intended seekingher out. But what of her, and how can I befriend her?"

In as few words as possible, Mr. Hastings told what he knew of herhistory since his sister saw her last, withholding not even thestory of his own strange fancy for Eugenia. "But that is over, thank Heaven, " he continued; "and now, Louise, you must take Dorato live with you. You have no child, no sister, and she will be toyou both of these. You must love her, educate her, make her justsuch a woman as you are yourself; make her, in short, what thatnoble-hearted old man in India will wish her to be when hereturns, as he shall do, if my life is spared; and Louise, " headded, growing more and more earnest, "she will well repay you foryour trouble. She brought sunshine to my home; she will bring itto yours. She is naturally refined and intelligent. She isamiable, ingenuous, open-hearted, and will one day be beautiful. "

"And you, my brother, love her?" queried Mrs. Elliott, looking himsteadily in his face, and parting the thick, black hair from offhis high, white forehead. 

_"Love her"_, Louise!" he answered, _"I love DoraDeane!_ Why, no. Ella loved her, the baby loved her, and forthis I will befriend her, but to _love her_, I never thoughtof such a thing!" and walking to the window, he looked out uponthe night, repeating to himself, _"Love Dora Deane_. I wonderwhat put that idea into Louise's brain?" Returning ere long tohis seat, he resumed the conversation, which resulted at last inMrs. Elliott's expressing her perfect willingness to give Dora ahome, and a mother's care, to see that she had every possibleadvantage, to watch over and make her not only what Uncle Natwould wish to find her, but what Howard Hastings himself desiredthat she should be. Of Mrs. Elliott, we have said but little, neither is it necessary that we should dwell upon her character atlarge. She was a noble, true-hearted woman, finding her greatesthappiness in doing others good. Widowed in the second year of hermarried life, her home was comparatively lonely, for no secondlove had ever moved her heart. In Dora Deane, of whom Ella hadwritten so enthusiastically, she felt a deep interest, and whenher brother came to her with the story of her wrongs, she gladlyconsented to be to her a mother, nay, possibly a sister, for, withwoman's ready tact, she read what Mr. Hastings did not evensuspect, and she bade him bring her at once. 

A short call upon his mother, to whom he talked of Dora Deane; ahasty visit to Ella's grave, on which the winter snow was lying; acivil bow across the street to Mrs. Grey, who had never quiteforgiven him for having _killed her daughter_; and he startedback to Dunwood bearing with him a happier, healthier, frame ofmind, than he had experienced for many a day. There was somethingnow worth living for--the watching Dora Deane grow up into awoman, whose husband would delight to honor her, and whosechildren would rise up and call her blessed. This picture, however, was not altogether pleasing, though why the thoughts ofDora's future husband should affect him unpleasantly, he could nottell. Still it did, and mentally hoping she would never marry, hereached Dunwood at the time and took his departure from it. Andhere we leave him while, in another chapter, we look in uponEugenia, whom we left waiting for him at the hotel. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

FAILURE AND SUCCESS. 

In a state of great anxiety, which increased each moment, Eugenialooked for the twentieth time into the long hall, and seeing noone, went back again to the glass, wondering if her new hat, which, without her mother's knowledge, had that afternoon beenpurchased, and now adorned her head, were as becoming as themilliner had said, and if fifteen dollars were not a great pricefor one in her circumstances to pay for a bonnet. Then she thoughtif Mr. Hastings proposed soon, as she believed he would, sheshould never again feel troubled about the trivial matter ofmoney, of which she would have an abundance. But where was he andwhy did he not come? she asked herself repeatedly, caring less, however, for the delay, when she considered that if they werelate, more people would see her in company with the elegant Mr. Hastings, who was well known in the city. 

"Eight o'clock as I live, " she exclaimed at last, consulting herwatch, "and the concert was to commence at half-past seven. Whatcan it mean?" and with another glance at her bonnet, she walkedthe length of the hall, and leaning far over the balustrade lookedanxiously down into the office below, to see if by any chance hewere there. 

But he was not, and returning to her room, she waited another halfhour, when, grown more fidgety and anxious, she descended to theoffice, inquiring if Mr. Hastings had been there that evening. Some one thought they had seen him in the ladies' parlor thatafternoon, but further information than that she could not obtain, and the discomfited young lady went back to her room in no veryenviable frame of mind, particularly as she heard the falling ofthe rain and thought how dark it was without. 

"What can have kept him?" she said, half crying with vexation. "And how I wish I had gone home with mother!"

Wishing, however, was of no avail, and when that night at half-past ten, the hotel omnibus as usual went to the depot, it carrieda very cross young lady, who, little heeding what she did, andcaring less, sat down beneath a crevice in the roof, through whichthe rain crept in, lodging upon the satin bows and drooping plumesof her fifteen-dollar hat, which, in her disappointment, she hadforgotten to exchange for the older one, safely stowed away in thebandbox she held upon her lap. Arrived at Dunwood station, shefound, as she had expected, no omnibus in waiting, nor any onewhose services she could claim as an escort, so, borrowing anumbrella, and holding up her dress as best she could, she started, band-box in hand, for home, stepping once into a pool of water, and falling once upon the dirty sidewalk, from which the mud andsnow were wiped by her rich velvet cloak, to say nothing of thefrightful pinch made in her other bonnet by her having crushed theband-box in her fall. 

In a most forlorn condition, she at last reached home, where toher dismay she found the door was locked and the fire gone out, her mother not having expected her to return on such a night asthis. To rouse up Dora, and scold her unmercifully, though forwhat she scarcely knew, was under the circumstances quite natural, and while Mr. Hastings at Rose Hill was devising the best means ofremoving Dora from her power, she at Locust Grove was venting theentire weight of her pent-up wrath upon the head of the devotedgirl, who bore it uncomplainingly. Removing at last her bonnet, she discovered the marks of the omnibus leak, and then her ire wasturned towards him as having been the cause of all her disasters. 

"I'll never speak to him again, never, " she exclaimed, as shecrept shivering to bed. 

But a few hours' quiet slumber dissipated in a measure her wrath, and during the next day she many times looked out to see himcoming, as she surely thought he would, laden with apologies forhis seeming neglect. But nothing appeared except the huge boxcontaining the piano, and in superintending the opening of thather mind was for a time diverted. Greatly Alice and Dora marveledwhence came the money with which the purchase had been made, andboth with one consent settled upon Mr. Hastings as having been thedonor. To this suggestion Eugenia made no reply, and feeling surethat it was so, Dora turned away and walking to the window sighedas she wondered what Ella would say if she could know who was totake her place in the heart of Howard Hastings. 

The instrument was finely toned, and Eugenia spent the remainderof the day in practising a very difficult piece, which she knewMr. Hastings admired, and with which she intended to surprise andcharm him. But he did not come, either that day or the next, andon the morning of the next, which was Saturday, feigning sometrivial errand to Mrs. Leah, she went herself to Rose Hill, casting anxious glances towards the windows of his room to see ifhe were in sight. Dame Leah was a shrewd old woman, and readilyguessing that Eugenia's visit was prompted from a desire to seeher master, rather than herself, she determined to tantalize herby saying nothing of him unless she were questioned. Continuallyhoping he would appear, Eugenia lingered until there was no longera shadow of excuse for tarrying, and then she arose to go, sayingas she reached the door, "Oh, now I think of it, Mr. Hastings hasa book in his library which I very much wish to borrow. Is he athome?"

"No, " answered Mrs. Leah, "he went to New York, Thursday morning, on the early train. "

"To New York!" repeated Eugenia, "for what? and when will he behome?"

"He said he had important business, " returned Mrs. Leah, addingthat "maybe he'd be home that night. "

Eugenia had heard all she wished to know, and forgetting entirelythe _book_, bade Mrs. Leah good-morning, and walked away, feeling in a measure relieved, for the _business_ which tookhim so suddenly to New York, had undoubtedly some connection withhis failing to call at the hotel for her! He had never called uponSunday evening, but thinking that after so long an absence hemight do so now, she sat in state from six o'clock till nine, starting nervously at every sound, and once, when sure she heardhim, running from the room, so he would not find her there, andthink she had been waiting for him. But he did not come, and thenext day, feeling exceedingly anxious to know if he had returned, and remembering the book, which she had failed to get, and_must_ have, she towards night sent _Dora_ to Rose Hill, bidding her if she saw Mr. Hastings tell him that her piano hadcome and she wished him to hear it. 

In the long kitchen by a glowing stove, Dame Leah sat, busy withher knitting, which she quickly suspended when she saw Dora, whowas with her a favorite. 

"So Eugenia sent you for that book?" she said, when told of Dora'serrand. "I'll see if he will lend it. "

Mr. Hastings was alone in his library. All that day he had beenmaking up his mind to call at Locust Grove, where he knew Eugeniawas impatiently expecting him, for Mrs. Leah had told him of hercall, winking slily as she spoke of the _forgotten book_!

"Yes, I will go and have it over, " he thought, just as Mrs. Leahentered, telling him that "Miss Deane wanted that book. "

Thinking that Eugenia was in the house, he answered hastily. "Takeit to her, and pray don't let her in here. "

"It's Dora, not Eugenia, " said Mrs. Leah, and instantly the wholeexpression of his countenance changed. 

"_Dora!_" he exclaimed. "It's a long time since I saw her inthis room. Tell her to come up. "

Very gladly Dora obeyed the summons, and in a moment she stood inthe presence of Mr. Hastings. 

"I am glad to see you, " he said, motioning her to the littlestool, on which she had often sat when reciting to him herlessons, and when she now sat down, it was so near to him that, had he chosen, his hand could have rested on her beautiful hair, for she held her hood upon her lap. 

Two months before and he would not have hesitated to smooth theseshining tresses, but the question of his sister, "Do you loveher?" had produced upon him a curious effect, making him halfafraid of the child-woman who sat before him, and who, afterwaiting a time for him to speak, looked up into his face, andsaid, "Do you want me for anything in particular, Mr. Hastings?"

"Want you, Dora? Want you?" he said, abstractedly, as if thatquestion, too, had puzzled him; then remembering himself, and whyhe had sent for her, he answered, "I want to talk with you, Dora--to tell you something. Do you remember my sister Mrs. Elliott?"

The eager, upward glance of Dora's eyes, was a sufficient answer, and he continued, "I saw her last week and talked with her of you. She wishes you to come and live with her. Will you go?"

Dora could never tell why she cried, but the thought of livingwith Mrs. Elliott, whom she regarded as an almost superior being, overcame her, and she burst into tears, while Mr. Hastings lookedat her, quite uncertain as to what, under the circumstances, itwas proper for him to do. If his sister had never bothered himwith that strange question, he would have known exactly how toact; but now in a state of perplexity, he sat motionless, until, thinking he must do something, he said gently, "_Dora, mychild_" The last word removed his embarrassment entirely. She_was a child_, and as such he would treat her. So he saidagain, " Dora, my child, why do you cry?" and Dora answeredimpulsively, "It makes me so glad to think of living with Mrs. Elliott, for you do not know how unhappy I have been since shefound me four years ago. "

"I know more than you suppose. But it is over now, " he said; andstretching out his arm, he drew her nearer to him, and resting herhead upon his knee, he soothed her as if she were indeed the childhe tried to believe she was, and he her gray-haired sire, insteadof a young man of twenty-seven!

And Dora grew very calm sitting there with Mr. Hastings's handupon her head, and when he told her it was all arranged, and sheshould surely go, she sprang to her feet, and while her cheeksglowed with excitement, exclaimed, "It is too good to come true. Something will happen, Aunt Sarah will not let me go. "

"Yes, she will, " said Mr. Hastings decidedly. "I am going thereto-night to talk with her. "

Then, as it was already growing dark, he rose to accompany Dorahome, both of them forgetting the book, which Eugenia seemeddestined never to receive. But she did not think to ask for it inher joy at meeting Mr. Hastings, who succeeded in appearingnatural far better than he had expected, telling her not that hewas sorry for having failed to keep his appointment, but that itwas not consistent for him to do so, and adding that he hoped shewas not very much disappointed. 

"Oh, no, " she said, "I know of course that business detainedyou;"--then, as she saw him looking at her piano, she advancedtowards it, and seating herself upon the stool, asked, "if hewould like to hear her play?"

He could not conscientiously answer "yes, " for he felt that thesound would sicken him; but he stood at her side and turned theleaves of her music as usual, while she dashed through the pieceshe had practised with so much care. 

"How do you like it?" she said, when she had finished; and heanswered, "I always admired your playing, you know, but the toneof the instrument does not quite suit me. It seems rather muffled, _as if the wires were made of hair!_" and his large blackeyes were bent searchingly upon her. 

Coloring crimson, she thought, "Can he have learned my secret?"then, as she remembered how impossible it was for him to knowaught of the money, she answered, "Quite an original idea, " at thesame time seating herself upon the sofa. Sitting down beside heras he had been in the habit of doing, he commenced at once uponthe object of his visit, asking if her mother were at home, andsaying he wished to see her on a matter of some importance; then, knowing who was really the ruling power there, he added, asEugenia arose to leave the room in quest of her mother, "perhaps Ihad better speak of my business first to you!"

Feeling sure now of a proposal, the young lady resumed her seat, involuntarily pulling at her fourth finger, and mentally hopingthe _engagement ring_ would be a diamond one. What then washer surprise when she found that not herself, but Dora was thesubject of his remarks! After telling her of his visit to hissister, and of her wishes with regard to Dora, he said, "since thedeath of my wife and baby, I have felt a deep interest in yourfamily for the kindness shown to me in my affliction. I promisedElla that I would befriend Dora, and by placing her with Louise, Ishall not only fulfil my word, but shall also be relieved of allcare concerning her. Do yon think I can persuade your mother tolet her go?"

Eugenia did not know. She would speak to her about it after he wasgone, and tell him on the morrow. 

"I shall rely upon you to plead my cause, " he continued; "Louise'sheart is quite set upon it, and I do not wish to disappoint her. "

"I will do my best, " answered Eugenia, never suspecting that Mr. Hastings was quite as anxious as his sister, who, she presumed, intended making a half companion, half waiting-maid of her cousin. 

"But it will be a good place for her, and somewhat of a relief tous, " she thought, after Mr. Hastings had gone. She is getting tobe a young lady now, and growing each year more and moreexpensive, I presume Mrs. Elliott will send her to school for atime at least, and in case our families should be connected, it iswell for her to do so. I wrote to Uncle Nat that we wished to sendher away to school, and this is the very thing. Mother won't ofcourse insist upon her having all that money, for she will be wellenough off without it, and if Mr. Hastings ever does propose, Ican have a handsome outfit! Fortune does favor me certainly. "

Thus Eugenia mused, and thus did she talk to her mother and shewas the more easily persuaded when she saw how eager Dora was togo. "

"I shall be sorry to leave you, Aunt Sarah, " said Dora, coming toher side, and resting her hand upon her shoulder, "but I shall beso happy with Mrs. Elliott, that I am sure you'll let me go. "

Mrs. Deane was naturally a cold, selfish woman, but the quiet, unassuming Dora had found a place in her heart, and she would bevery lonely without her; still it was better for her, and betterfor them all that she should go; so she at last gave her consent, and when the next day Mr. Hastings called he was told that Doracould go as soon as he thought best. 

"Let it be immediately, then, " he said. "I will write to Louiseto-night, and tell her we shall come next week. "

"I wish I could go to New York with her, " said Eugenia. "It's solong since I was there. "

"You had better wait till some other time, for I could not nowshow you over the city, " answered Mr. Hastings, who had no idea ofbeing burdened with Eugenia. 

"He expects me to go with him sometime, or he would never havesaid that, " thought Eugenia, and this belief kept her good-naturedduring all the bustle and hurry of preparing Dora for her journey. 

The morning came at last on which Dora was to leave, and withfeelings of regret Mrs. Deane and Alice bade her good-by, whileEugenia accompanied her to the depot, where she knew she shouldsee Mr. Hastings. 

"I've half a mind to go with you as far as Rochester, " she said toDora, in his presence, as the cars came up, but he made no reply, and the project was abandoned. 

Kissing her cousin good-by, she stood upon the platform until thetrain had moved away, and then walked slowly back to the house, which even to her seemed lonesome. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

THE QUESTION ANSWERED. 

It was late in the evening when our travelers reached the city, which loomed up before Dora like an old familiar friend. Theyfound Mrs. Elliott waiting to receive them, together with Mr. Hastings's mother, who, having heard so much of _Dora Deane_, had come over to see her. Very affectionately did Mrs. Elliottgreet the weary girl, and after divesting her of her wrappings, she led her to her mother, whose keen eyes scrutinized herclosely, but found no fault in the fair childish face which lookedso timidly up to her. Half bewildered, Dora gazed about her, andthen, with her eyes swimming in tears, whispered softly to Mr. Hastings, "I am so afraid it will prove to be a dream. "

"I will see that it does not, " said Mrs. Elliott, who hadoverheard her, and who, as time passed on, became more and moreinterested in the orphan girl. 

For several days Mr. Hastings lingered, showing her all over thecity, and going once with her to visit the room where he had foundher. But the elements had preceded them--fire and water--and not atrace of the old building remained. At the expiration of a week, Mr. Hastings started for home, half wishing he could take Dorawith him, and wondering if his sister were in earnest, when sheasked him _if he loved her?_

A new world now seemed open to Dora, who never thought it possiblefor her to be so happy. The ablest instructors were hired to teachher, and the utmost care bestowed upon her education, whilenothing could exceed the kindness both of Mrs. Elliott and Mrs. Hastings, the latter of whom treated her as she would have done ayoung and favorite daughter. One evening when Mrs. Elliott wasdressing for a party, Dora asked permission to arrange her softglossy hair, which she greatly admired. 

"It's not all my own, " said Mrs. Eliott, taking off a heavy braidand laying it upon the table. "I bought it in Rochester, nearly twoyears ago, on the day of Ella's party. I have often wished I knewwhose it was, " she continued, "for to me there is somethingdisagreeable in wearing other people's hair, but the man of whom Ipurchased it, assured me that it was cut from the head of a young, healthy girl. "

For a moment Dora stood thinking--then catching up the beautifulbraid and comparing it with her own she exclaimed, "_It wasmine! It was mine!_ Eugenia cut it off, and sold it the daybefore the party. Oh, I am so glad, " she added, "though I wassorry then, for I did not know it would come to you, the dearestfriend I ever had, " and she smoothed caressingly the shining hair, now a shade lighter than her own. 

Mrs. Elliott had heard from her brother the story of Dora's shornlocks, and the braid of hair was far more valuable to her, nowthat she knew upon whose head it had grown. In her next letter toher brother, she spoke of the discovery, and he could not forbearmentioning the circumstances to Eugenia, who, not suspecting howmuch he knew of the matter, answered indifferently, "Isn't itfunny how things do come round? Dora had so much of the headachethat we thought it best to cut off her hair, which she wished meto sell for her in Rochester, I think she was always a littlepenurious!"

Wholly disgusted with this fresh proof of her duplicity, Mr. Hastings could scarcely refrain from upbraiding her for herperfidy, but thinking the time had not yet come, he restrained hiswrath, and when, next he spoke, it was to tell her of a _foreigntour_ which he intended making. 

"I have long wished to visit the old world, " said he, "and asthere is nothing in particular to prevent my doing so, I shallprobably start the first of June. I should go sooner, but I preferbeing on the ocean in the summer season. "

For a moment Eugenia grew faint, fancying she saw an end of allher hopes, but soon rallying, she expatiated largely upon thepleasure and advantages to be derived from a tour through Europe, saying, "it was a happiness she had herself greatly desired, butshould probably never realize. "

"Not if you depend upon me for an escort, " thought Mr. Hastings, who, soon after, took his leave. 

Much Eugenia wondered whether he would ask the important question, and take her with him, and concluding at last that he would, shesecretly made some preparations for the expected journey! But alasfor her hopes! The spring went by the summer came, and she wasstill Eugenia Deane, when one evening towards the middle of June, Mr. Hastings came over to say good-by, as he was intending tostart next morning for New York, or rather for his sister'scountry seat on the Hudson, where she was now spending the summer. This was a death-blow to Eugenia, who could scarcely appearnatural. Tears came to her eyes, and once when she attempted totell him how lonely Rose Hill would be without him, she failedentirely for want of voice. 

"How hoarse you are. Have you a cold, " said Mr. Hastings, and thatwas all the notice he took of her emotion. 

Fearing lest he should suspect her real feelings, she tried tocompose herself, and after a time said, jokingly, "I shouldn'twonder if you were going to take you a wife from some of the citybelles. "

"Oh, no, " he answered lightly. "Time enough to think of that whenI return. "

This gave her hope, and she bore the parting better than she couldotherwise have done. 

"You will not forget me entirely, I trust, " she said, as she gavehim her hand. 

"Oh, no, " he answered. "That would be impossible. I have manyreasons which you do not perhaps suspect, for remembering you! Bythe way, " he continued, "have you any message for Dora! I shallprobably see her as she is with my sister. "

"Give her my love, " answered Eugenia, "and tell her to write moredefinitely of her situation. She never particularizes, but merelysays she is very happy. I do hope Mrs. Elliott will make somethingof her!"

The next moment Mr. Hastings's good-by was ringing in her ears, and he was gone. Seating herself upon the stairs, and covering herface with her hands, Eugenia wept bitterly, and this was theirparting. 

One week later and at the same hour in the evening, Mr. Hastingssat in his sister's pleasant parlor, looking out upon the bluewaters of the Hudson, and wondering why, as the time for hisdeparture drew near, his heart should cling so fondly to thefriends he was to leave behind. "I shall see them again if Ilive, " he said, "and why this dread of bidding them farewell?"

At this moment his sister entered the room, bringing to him aletter from a rich old Texan bachelor, who was spending the summerwith some friends in the vicinity of her home. It was directed tothe "Guardians of Dora Deane, " and asked permission to addressher! He had seen her occasionally at Mrs. Elliott's house, had mether frequently in his morning rambles, and the heart which forforty-five years had withstood the charms of northern beauties andsouthern belles, was won by the modest little country girl, and hewould make her his wife, would bear her to his luxurious home, where her slightest wish should be his law. With a curious smileupon her lip, Mrs. Elliott read this letter through, and thenwithout a word to Dora, carried it to her brother, watching himwhile he read it, and smiling still more when she saw the flushupon his brow, and the unnatural light in his eye. 

"Have you talked with Dora?" he said, when he had finishedreading. 

"No, I have not, " answered his sister. "I thought I would leavethat to you, for in case she should ask my advice, my fear oflosing her might influence me too much. "

"_Louise_" he exclaimed, leaning forward so that his hotbreath touched her cheek, "you surely do not believe that DoraDeane cares aught for that old man. She is nothing but a child. "

"She is seventeen next November, " said Mrs. Elliott, "almost asold as Ella was when first you were engaged, and how can we tellhow often she has thought of matrimony? Mr. _Trevors_ is aman of unexceptionable character, and though old enough to be herfather, he is immensely wealthy, and this, you know, makes a vastdifference with some girls. "

"But not with her--not with Dora Deane, I'm sure, " he said. "Whereis she? Send her to me, and I will see. "

Dora's governess, who had accompanied them to the country, wassometimes very exacting, and this day she had been unusuallycross, on account of her pupil's having failed in one or twolessons. 

"I'll report you to Mr. Hastings, and see what he can do, " she hadsaid as she hurled the French Grammar back upon the table. 

This threat Dora had forgotten, until told that Mr. Hastings hadsent for her; then, fancying he wished to reprimand her, sheentered the parlor reluctantly, and rather timidly took a seatupon an ottoman near the window, where he was sitting. 

During Dora's residence with Mrs. Elliott, she had improved much, both in manner and personal appearance, and others than the Texanplanter called her beautiful. The brownish hue, which her skin hadacquired from frequent exposure, was giving way to a clearer andmore brilliant complexion, while the peculiarly sweet expressionof her deep blue eyes would have made a plain face handsome. ButDora's chief point of beauty lay in her _hair_--her beautifulhair of reddish brown. It had grown rapidly, fully verifyingAlice's prediction, and in heavy shining braids was worn aroundher classically shaped head. And Dora sat there very still--demurely waiting for Mr. Hastings to speak, wondering if he wouldbe severe, and at last laughing aloud when, in place of theexpected rebuke, he asked if she knew Mr. Trevors. 

"Excuse me, " she said, as she saw his look of surprise, "MissJohnson threatened to report me for indolence, and I thought youwere going to scold me. Yes, I know Mr. Trevors. I rode horsebackwith him last week. "

A pang shot through Mr. Hastings's heart, but he continued, holding up the letter, "He has sued for your hand. He asks you tobe his wife. Will you answer yes?"

And trembling with excitement, he awaited her reply, while therevelation of a new light was faintly dawning upon him. 

"Mr. Trevors wish _me_ to be his wife--that old man?" sheexclaimed, turning slightly pale. "It cannot be; let me read theletter. " And taking it from his hand, she stood beneath thechandelier, and read it through, while Mr. Hastings scanned herface to see if he could detect aught to verify his fears. 

But there was nothing, and breathing more freely, he said, as shereturned to him the letter, "Sit down here, Dora, and tell me whatI shall say to him. But first consider well, Mr. Trevors is rich, and if money can make you happy, you will be so as his wife. "

Dora did not know why it was, but she could not endure to hear himtalk in such a calm, unconcerned manner of what was so revolting. It grieved her, and laying her head upon the broad window seat, she began to cry. Mr. Hastings did not this time say "Dora, mychild, " for Louise had told him she was not a child, and he beganto think so, too. Drawing his chair nearer to her, and laying hishand upon her hair, he said gently, "will you answer me?"

"Yes, " she replied, somewhat bitterly. "If Mrs. Elliott is tiredof me, I will go away, but not with Mr. Trevors. I would ratherdie than marry a man I did not love, because of his gold. "

"Noble girl!" was Mr. Hastings's involuntary exclamation, but Doradid not hear it, and looking him in his face, she said, "do youwish me to marry him?"

"Never, never, " he answered, "him, nor any one else!"

"Then tell him so, " said she, unmindful of the latter part of theremark. "Tell him I respect him, but I cannot be his wife. "

And rising to her feet she left the room, to wash away in anotherfit of tears the excitement produced by her first offer. 

Very still sat Mr. Hastings when she was gone, thought afterthought crowding fast upon him, and half bewildering him by theirintensity. He could answer Louise's question now! It had come tohim at last, sitting there with Mr. Trevor's letter in his hand, and Dora at his feet. _Dora_ who was so dear to him, and hisfirst impulse was to hasten to her side, and sue for the love shecould not give the gray-haired Texan. 

"And she will not tell me nay, " he said. "It will come to her asit has to me--the love we have unconsciously borne each other. "

He arose to leave the room, but meeting his sister in the door, heturned back, and seating himself with her in the deep recess ofthe window, he told her of the mighty love which had been so longmaturing, and of whose existence he did not dream until anotheressayed to come between him and the object of his affection. 

"And, Louise, " he said, "Dora Deane must be mine. Are you willing--will you call her sister, and treat her as my wife?"

And Mrs. Elliott answered, "I know, my brother, that you love DoraDeane. I knew it when I asked you that question, and if to-night Itried to tease you by making you believe it possible that shecared for Mr. Trevors, it was to show you the nature of yourfeelings for her. And I am willing that it should be so--but notyet. You must not speak to her of love, until you return. Hear meout, " she continued, as she saw in him a gesture of impatience, "Dora is no longer a child--but she is too young to be trammeledwith an engagement. And it must not be. You must leave her freetill she has seen more of the world, and her mind is more mature. "

"Free till another wins her from me, " interrupted Mr. Hastings, somewhat bitterly; and his sister answered, "I am sure that willnever be, though were you now to startle her with your love sheprobably would refuse you. "

"_Never_" he said emphatically; and Mrs. Elliott replied, "Ithink she would. She respects and admires you, but as you havelooked upon her as a child, so in like manner has she regarded youas a father, or, at least the husband of Ella, and suchimpressions must have time to wear away. You would not take herwith you, and it is better to leave her as she is. I will watchover her and seek to make her what your wife ought to be, and whenyou return she will be older, will be capable of judging forherself, and she will not tell you no. Do you not think myreasoning good?"

"I suppose it is, " he replied, "though it is sadly at variancewith my wishes. Were I sure no one would come between us, I couldmore easily follow your advice, and were it not that I go for_her_ I would give up my journey at once, and stay where Icould watch and see that no one came near. "

"This I will do, " said Mrs. Elliott, "and I fancy I can keep hersafe for you. "

Awhile longer they talked together, and their conversation was atlast interrupted by the appearance of Dora herself who came to saygood night. 

"Come and sit by me, Dora, " said Mr. Hastings, unmindful of hissister's warning glance. "Let me tell you what I wish you to dowhile I am gone, " and moving along upon the sofa, he left a placefor her at his side. 

Scarcely was she seated when a servant appeared, wishing to speakwith Mrs. Elliott, and Mr. Hastings was left alone with Dora, withwhom he merely talked of what he hoped to find her when hereturned. Once, indeed, he told her how often he should think ofher, when he was far away, and asked as a keepsake a lock of hersoft hair. 

Three days afterwards he went to New York accompanied by Mrs. Elliott and Dora. He was to sail next morning, and wishing to seeas much of the latter as possible, he felt somewhat chagrinedwhen, soon after their arrival, his sister insisted upon takingher out for a time, and forbade him to follow. For this briefseparation, however, he was amply repaid when, on the morrow, hissister, who went with him on board the vessel, placed in his handat parting a daguerreotype, which she told him not to open tillshe was gone. He obeyed, and while Dora in his sister's home wasweeping that he had left them, he in his state-room was gazingrapturously on a fair young face, which, looking out from itshandsome casing, would speak to him many a word of comfort when hewas afar on the lonely sea. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

MR. HASTINGS IN INDIA. 

It was night again in Calcutta, and in the same room where wefirst found him was Nathaniel Deane--not alone this time, forstanding before him was a stranger--"an American, " he calledhimself, and the old East Indiaman, when he heard that word, grasped again the hand of his unknown guest, whose face hecuriously scanned to see if before he had looked upon it. But hehad not, and pointing him to a chair, he too sat down to hear hiserrand. Wishing to know something of the character of theindividual he had come so far to see, Mr. Hastings, for he it was, conversed awhile upon a variety of subjects, until, feeling surethat 'twas a noble, upright man, with whom he had to deal, hesaid, "I told you, sir, that I came from New York, and so I did;but my home is in Dunwood. "

One year ago, and Uncle Nat would have started with delight at themention of a place so fraught with remembrances of _Dora_, but Eugenia's last cruel letter had chilled his love, and now, when he thought of Dora, it was as one incapable of eitheraffection or gratitude. So, for a moment he was silent, and Mr. Hastings, thinking he had not been understood, was about to repeathis remark, when Uncle Nat replied, "My brother's widow lives inDunwood--Mrs. Richard Deane--possibly you may have seen her!" Andwith a slight degree of awakened interest, the little keen blackeyes looked out from under their thick shaggy eyebrows at Mr. Hastings, who answered, "I know the family well. Dora is not nowat home, but is living with my sister. "

Many and many a time had Uncle Nat repeated to himself the name of_Dora_, but never before had he heard it from other lips, andthe sound thrilled him strangely, bringing back in a moment allhis olden love for one whose mother had been so dear. In the jetblack eyes there was a dewy softness now, and in the tones of hisvoice a deep tenderness, as, drawing nearer to his guest, he saidin a half whisper, "Tell me of _her_--of _Dora_--for though I never sawher, I knew her mother. "

"And loved her too, " rejoined Mr. Hastings, on purpose to rouse upthe old man, who, starting to his feet exclaimed, "How knew_you_ that? _You_, whom I never saw until to-night! Whotold you that I loved Fannie Deane? Yes, it is true, young man--true, though _love_ does not express what I felt for her; shewas my _all_--my very _life_, and when I lost her the worldwas a dreary blank. But go on--tell me of the child, and ifshe is like her mother. Though how should you know? You, who neversaw my Fannie?"

"I _have_ seen her, " returned Mr. Hastings, "but death wasthere before me, and had marred the beauty of a face which oncemust have been lovely. Five years ago last January I found herdead, and at her side was Dora, sweetly sleeping with her armsaround her mother's neck. "

_"You--you, "_ gasped the old man, drawing near to Mr. Hastings--"you found them thus! I could kneel at your feet, whoever you may be, and bless you for coming here to tell me this;I never knew before how Fannie died. They never wrote me that, butgo on and tell me all you know. Did Fannie freeze to death whilein India I counted my gold by hundreds of thousands?"

Briefly Mr. Hastings told what he knew of Mrs. Deane's sad death, while the broad chest of Uncle Nat heaved with broken sobs, andthe big tears rolled down his sunken cheeks. 

"Heaven forgive me for tarrying here, while she was suffering somuch!" he cried; "but what of _Dora_ She did not die. I havewritten to her, " and sent her many messages, bat never a word hasshe replied, save once"--here Uncle Nat's voice grew tremulous ashe added, "and then she sent me this--look--'twas Fannie's hair, "and he held to view a silken tress much like the one which laynext Howard Hastings's heart! "Oh, what a child it made of me, thefirst sight of this soft hair, " he continued, carefully returningit to its hiding-place, without a word of the generous manner inwhich it had been paid for. 

"Shall I tell him now?" thought Mr. Hastings, but Uncle Nathanielspoke before him, and as if talking with himself, said softly, "Oh, how I loved her, and what a wreck that love has made of me. But I might have known it. Twenty-one years' difference in ourages was too great a disparity, even had my face been fair asJohn's. She was seventeen, and I was almost forty; I am_sixty_ now, and with every year added to my useless life, mylove for her has strengthened. "

"Could you not transfer that love to her daughter? It might makeyou happier, " suggested Mr. Hastings, and mournfully shaking hishead, Uncle Nat replied, "No, no, I've tried to win her love sohard. Have even thought of going home, and taking her to my bosomas my own darling child--but to all my advances, she has turned adeaf ear. I could not make the mother love me--I cannot make thechild. It isn't in me, the way how, and I must live here allalone. I wouldn't mind that so much, for I'm used to it now, butwhen I come to die, there will be nobody to hold my head, or tospeak to me a word of comfort, unless God sends Fannie back to mein the dark hour, and who knows but He will?"

Covering his face with his hands, Uncle Nathaniel cried aloud, while Mr. Hastings, touched by his grief, and growing each momentmore and more indignant, at the deception practised upon thelonesome old man, said slowly and distinctly: "_Dora Deane neverreceived your letter--never dreamed how much you loved her--neverknew that you had sent her money, She has been duped--abused--andyou most treacherously cheated by a base, designing woman! To tellyou this, sir, I have come over land and sea! I might have writtenit, but I would rather meet you face to face--would know if youwere worthy to be the uncle of Dora Deane!_"

Every tear was dried, and bolt upright, his keen eyes flashinggleams of fire, and his glittering teeth ground firmly together, Nathaniel Deane sat, rigid and immovable, listening to the foulstory of Dora's wrongs, till Mr. Hastings came to the withholdingof the letter, and the money paid for Fannie's hair. Then, indeed, his clenched fists struck fiercely at the empty air, as if Eugeniahad been there, and springing half way across the room, heexclaimed, "_The wretch! The fiend! The beast! The Devil!_What _shall_ I call her? Help me to some name which will beappropriate. "

"You are doing very well, I think, " said Mr. Hastings, smiling inspite of himself at this new phase in the character of the excitedman, who, foaming with rage, continued to stalk up and down theroom, setting his feet upon the floor with vengeance, and withevery breath denouncing Eugenia's perfidy. 

"Curse her!" he muttered, "for daring thus to maltreat Fannie'schild, and for making me to believe her so ungrateful and unkind. And she once cut off her hair to buy a party dress with, you say, "he continued, stopping in front of Mr. Hastings, who nodded in theaffirmative, while Uncle Nat, as if fancying that the few thinlocks, which grew upon his own bald head, were Eugenia's long, black tresses, clutched at them savagely, exclaiming, "The selfishjade! But I will be avenged, and Madam Eugenia shall rue the daythat she dared thus deceive me. That mother, too, had not, itseems, been wholly guiltless. She was jealous of my Fannie--shehas been cruel to my child. I'll remember that, too!" and a bitterlaugh echoed through the room, as the wrathful old man thought ofrevenge. 

But as the wildest storm expends its fury, so Uncle Nat at lastgrew calm, though on his dark face there were still traces of thefierce passion which had swept over it. Resuming his seat andlooking across the table at Mr. Hastings, he said, "It is notoften that _old Nat Deane_ is moved as you have seen himmoved to-night; but the story you told me set me on fire, and fora moment, I felt that I was going mad. But I am now myself again, and would hear how you learned all this. "

In a few words, Mr. Hastings told of his foolish fancy forEugenia, and related the circumstance of his having overheard herconversation at the hotel in Rochester. 

"And Dora, you say, is beautiful and good, " said Uncle Nat; "and Ishall one day know her and see if there is in her aught like herangel mother, whose features are as perfect to me now as when lastI looked upon them beneath the locust trees. "

Bending low his head, he seemed to be thinking of the past, whileMr. Hastings, kissing fondly the picture of Dora Deane, laid itsoftly upon the table, and then anxiously awaited the result. Uncle Nathaniel did not see it at first, but his eye ere long fellupon it, and, with a cry like that which broke from his lips whenfirst he looked on his dead Fannie's hair, he caught it up, exclaiming, "'Tis _her_--'tis Fannie--my long-lost darling, come back to me from the other world. Oh, Fannie, Fannie!" hecried, as if his reason were indeed unsettled, "I've been solonesome here without you. Why didn't you come before?"

Again, for a time, he was silent, and Mr. Hastings could see thetears dropping upon the face of Dora Deane, who little dreamed ofthe part she was acting, far off in Hindostan. Slowly the realitydawned upon Uncle Nat, and speaking to Mr. Hastings, he said, "Whoare you that moves me thus from one extreme to another, making mefirst a _fury_ and then a _child_?"

"I have told you I am Howard Hastings, " answered the young man, adding that the picture was not that of Fannie, but her child. 

"I know--I know it, " returned Uncle Nat, "but the first sight ofit drove me from my senses, it is so like her. The same open brow, the same blue eyes, the same ripe lips, and more than all, thesame sweet smile which shone on me so often 'mid the granite hillsof New Hampshire. And it is mine, " he continued, making a movementto put it away. "You brought it to me, and in return, if you haveneed for gold, name the sum, and it shall be yours, even to half amillion. "

Money could not buy that picture from Howard Hastings, and thoughit grieved him to do so, he said, very gently, "I cannot part withthe likeness, Mr. Deane, but we will share it together until theoriginal is gained. "

Leaning upon his elbows and looking steadily at his visitor, UncleNathaniel said, "You have been married once?"

"Yes, sir, " answered Mr. Hastings, while his countenance flushed, for he readily understood the nature of the questioning to whichhe was to be subjected. 

"What was the name of your wife?" was the next query, and Mr. Hastings replied, "Ella Grey. "

"Will you describe her?" said Uncle Nat, and almost as vividly asthe features of Dora Deane were delineated by the artist's power, did Mr. Hastings portray by word the laughing blue eyes, the pale, childish face, the golden curls, and little airy form of her whohad once slept upon his bosom as his wife. 

"And did you love her, this Ella Grey?" asked Uncle Nat. 

"Love her? Yes. But she is dead, " answered Mr. Hastings, whileUncle Nat continued:

"And now if I mistake not, you love Dora Deane?"

"_Yes, better than my life, _" said Mr. Hastings, firmly. "Have you any objections?"

"None whatever, " answered Uncle Nat, "for, though you are astranger to me, there is that in your face which tells me youwould make my darling happy. But it puzzles me to know how, lovingone as you say you did, you can forget and love another. "

"I have not forgotten, " said Mr. Hastings, sadly; "God forbid thatI should e'er forget my Ella; but, Mr. Deane, though she was goodand gentle, she was not suited to me. Our minds were whollyunlike; for what I most appreciated, was utterly distasteful toher. She was a fair, beautiful little creature, but she did notsatisfy the higher, nobler feelings of my heart; and she, too, knew it. She told me so before she died, and spoke of a comingtime when I would love another. She did not mention _Dora_, who then seemed like a child, but could she now come back to me, she would approve my choice, for she, too, loved Dora Deane. "

"Have you told her this?" asked Uncle Nat--"told Dora how muchyou loved her?"

"I have not, " was Mr. Hastings reply. "My sister would not sufferit until my return, when Dora will be more mature. At first Iwould not listen to this; but I yielded at last, consenting themore willingly to the long separation, when I considered that withLouise she was at least safe from Eugenia, and I hope, safe fromany who might seek either to harm her, or win her from me. "

"You spoke of having stopped in Europe on your way hither, " saidUncle Nat. "How long is it since you left New York?"

"I sailed from there the latter part of June, almost ten monthsago, " was Mr. Hastings's answer, adding that, as he wished tovisit some parts of Europe, and left home with the ostensiblepurpose of doing so, he had thought it advisable to stop there onhis way, for he well knew that Mr. Deane, after learning why hehad come, would be impatient to return immediately. 

"Yes, yes; you are right, " answered the old man. "I would go to-morrow if possible; but I shall probably never return to India, and I must make some arrangements for leaving my business in thehands of others. Were Dora still in Eugenia's power, I would nottarry a moment, I would sacrifice everything to save her, but asyou say she is safe with your sister, and a few weeks' delay, though annoying to me, will make no difference with her. Do theyknow aught of this--those _wretches_ in Dunwood?" he continued, beginning to grow excited. 

"They suppose me to be in Europe, for to no one save my mother andsister, did I breathe a word of India, " Mr. Hastings replied; andUncle Nat rejoined, "Let them continue to think so, then. I wouldrather they should not suspect my presence in America until I meetthem face to face and taunt them with their treachery. It shallnot be long, either, before I do it. In less than a month, we arehomeward bound--and then, Miss Eugenia Deane--_we'll see!_"and his hard fist came down upon the table, as he thought of herdismay when told that he stood before her. 

But alas for Uncle Nat! The time was farther in the distance thanhe anticipated. The excitement of what he had heard, told upon aframe already weakened by constant toil and exposure in the sultryclimate of India, and one week from the night of Mr. Hastings'sarrival, the old man lay burning with fever, which was greatlyaugmented by the constant chafing at the delay this unexpectedillness would cause. Equally impatient, Mr. Hastings watched overhim, while his heart grew faint with hope deferred, as weeks, andeven months, glided by; while vessel after vessel sailed away, leaving Uncle Nat prostrate and powerless to move. He had neverbeen sick before in all his life, and his shattered frame was longin rallying, so that the summer, and the autumn and a part of thewinter passed away, ere, leaning heavily on Mr. Hastings's arm, hewent on board the ship which was to take him home--take him toDora Deane, who had listened wonderingly to the story of herwrongs, told her by Mrs. Elliott at Mr. Hastings's request. 

Indignant as she was at Eugenia, she felt more than repaid for allshe had suffered, by the knowledge that Uncle Nat had always lovedher; and many a cheering letter from her found its way to thebedside of the invalid, who laid each one beneath his pillow, beside the picture which Mr. Hastings suffered him to keep. Morethan once, too, had Dora written to Mr. Hastings _kind, sisterlynotes_, with which he tried to be satisfied, for he saw thatshe was the same frank, ingenuous girl he had left, and from oneor two things which she wrote, he fancied he was not indifferentto her. "She did not, at least, care for another, " so Louiseassured him. There was comfort in that, and during the weary dayswhen their floating home lay, sometimes becalmed and sometimestossed by adverse winds, he and Uncle Nat whiled away the tedioushours, by talking of the happiness which awaited them when homewas reached at last. 

During Mr. Deane's illness, Mr. Hastings had suggested that theannual remittance be sent to Dunwood, as usual, lest they shouldsuspect that something was wrong, if it were withheld, and to thisUncle Nat reluctantly consented saying, as he did so, "It's thelast dime they'll ever receive from me. I'll see her starve beforemy eyes, that girl Eugenia. "

Still, as the distance between himself and the young ladydiminished, he felt a degree of satisfaction in knowing that thedraft had as usual been sent, thus lulling her into a state ofsecurity with regard to himself. Rapturously he talked of themeeting with Dora, but his eye was fiery in its expression when hespoke of that other meeting, when Eugenia would be the accused andhe the wrathful accuser. The invigorating sea breeze did him good, and when at last the Cape was doubled and he knew that the waveswhich clashed against the ship, bore the same name with thosewhich kissed the shores of America, he stood forth upon the deck, tall and erect as ever, with an eager, expectant look in his eye, which increased as he each day felt that he drew nearer and Bearerto his home--and _Dora Deane_. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

THE MEETING. 

One bright, beautiful summer morning, a noble vessel was sailingslowly into the harbor of New York. Groups of passengers stoodupon her deck, and a little apart from the rest were Uncle Nat andHoward Hastings, the former gazing eagerly towards the city, whichhad more than doubled its population since last he looked upon it. 

"We are almost home, " he said to his companion, joyfully, forthough the roof that sheltered his childhood was further to thenorthward, among the granite hills, he knew that it was_America_, the land of his birth, which lay before him, andas a child returns to its mother after a long and weary absence, So did his heart yearn towards the shore they were fastapproaching. 

A crowd of memories came rushing over him, and when, at last, theplank was lowered, he was obliged to lean upon the stronger arm ofHoward Hastings, who, procuring a carriage, bade the hackman drivethem at once to his sister's. For some time Mrs. Elliott and Dorahad been looking for the travelers, whose voyage was unusuallylong, and they had felt many misgivings lest the treacherous seahad not been faithful to its trust; but this morning they were notexpecting them, and wishing to make some arrangements for removingto her country seat on the Hudson, Mrs. Elliott had gone out thereand taken Dora with her. Mr. Hastings's first impulse was tofollow them, but knowing that they would surely be home thatnight, and remembering how weary Uncle Nathaniel was, he wiselyconcluded to remain in the city and surprise them on their return. 

Like one in a dream, Uncle Nat walked from room to room, askingevery half hour if it were not almost time for the train, andwondering if Dora would recognize him if no one told her who hewas. Scarcely less excited, Mr. Hastings, too, waited and watched;and when, just at dark, he heard the door unclose, and Dora'svoice in the hall without, the rapid beating of his heart wasdistinctly audible. 

"That's _her_--that's _Dora_. I'll go to her at once, "said Uncle Nat; but Mr. Hastings kept him back, and Dora passed onto her room, from which she soon returned, and they could hear thesound of her footsteps upon the stairs, as she drew near. 

With his face of a deathlike whiteness, his lips apart, and theperspiration standing thickly about them, Uncle Nat sat leaningforward, his eyes fixed upon the door through which she wouldenter. In a moment she stood before them--Dora Deane--but far morelovely than Mr. Hastings had thought or dreamed. Nearly two yearsbefore, he had left her a school girl, as it were, and now hefound her a beautiful woman, bearing about her an unmistakable airof refinement and high breeding. She knew him in an instant, andwith an exclamation of surprised delight, was hastening forward, when a low, moaning cry, from another part of the room, arrestedher ear, causing her to pause ere Mr. Hastings was reached. UncleNat had recognized her--knew that she was Dora and attempted torise, but his strength utterly failed him and stretching out histrembling arms towards her, he said supplicatingly, "_Me first, Dora me first. _"

It was sufficient, and Dora passed on with a welcoming glance atMr. Hastings, who feeling that it was not for him to witness thatmeeting, glided noiselessly from the room in quest of his sister. Fondly the old man clasped the young girl to his bosom, and Doracould hear the whispered blessings which he breathed over her, andfelt the hot tears dropping on her cheek. 

"Speak to me, darling, " he said at last; "let me hear your ownvoice assuring me that never again shall we be parted until yourmother calls for me to come and be with her. "

Looking lovingly up in to his face, Dora answered, "I will neverleave nor forsake you, my father, but whereever your home may bethere will mine be also. "

Clasping her still closer in his arms, he said, "God bless you, mychild, for so I will call you, and never, I am sure, did earthlyparent love more fondly an only daughter than I love you, myprecious Dora. I have yearned so often to behold you, to look intoyour eyes and hear you say that I was loved, and now that it hascome to me, I am willing, almost, to die. "

Releasing her after a moment, and holding her off at a littledistance, he looked earnestly upon her, saying, as he did so, "Yes, you _are_ like her--like your mother, Dora. Some, perhaps, would call you even more beautiful, but to me there isnot in all the world a face more fair than hers. "

In his delight at seeing her, he forgot for the time being howdeeply she had been injured, and it was well that he did, for nownothing marred the happiness of this meeting, and for half an hourlonger he sat with her alone, talking but little, but looking everat the face so much like her whom he had loved and lost. At last, as if suddenly remembering himself, he said, "Excuse me, Dora; thesight of you drove every other thought from my mind, and I havekept you too long from one who loves you equally well with myself, and who must be impatient at the delay. He is worthy of you, too, my child, " he continued, without observing how the color fadedfrom Dora's cheek. "He is a noble young man, and no son was everkinder to a father than he has been to me, since the night when Iwelcomed him to my home in India. Go to him, then, my daughter, and ask him to forgive my selfishness. "

From several little occurrences, Dora had received the impressionthat a marriage between herself and Mr. Hastings would not bedistasteful to his sister, but she had treated the subject lightlyas something impossible. Still the thought of his loving anotherwas fraught with pain, and when at last she knew that he was onthe stormy sea, and felt that danger might befall him--when thefaces of his mother and sister wore an anxious, troubled look asdays went by, bringing them no tidings--when she thought it justpossible that he would never return to them again, it came to herjust as two years before it had come to him, and sitting alone inher pleasant chamber, she, more than once had wept bitterly, asshe thought how much she loved him, and how improbable it was thathe should care for her, whom he had found almost a beggar girl. 

In the first surprise of meeting him she had forgotten everything, save that he had returned to them in safety, and her mannertowards him then was perfectly natural; but now when Uncle Nat, after telling what he did, bade her go to him, she quitted theroom reluctantly, and much as she wished to see him, she wouldundoubtedly have run away upstairs, had she not met him in thehall, together with Mrs. Elliott, who was going to pay herrespects to Uncle Nat. 

"I have not spoken with you yet, Dora, " he said, taking her handbetween both his. "Go in there, " motioning to the room he had justleft, "and wait until I present Louise to your uncle. "

It was a habit of Dora's always to cry just when she wished toleast, and now entering the little music room, she threw herselfupon the sofa and burst into tears. Thus Mr. Hastings found her onhis return, and sitting down by her side, he said gently, "Areyou, then, so glad that I have come home?"

Dora would not, for the world, let him know her real feelings, andshe answered, "Yes, I am glad, but I am crying at what Uncle Natsaid to me. "

Mr. Hastings bit his lip, for this was not exactly the kind ofmeeting he had anticipated, and after sitting an awkward moment, during which he was wishing that she had not answered him as shedid, he said: "Will you not look up, Dora, and tell me how youhave passed the time of my absence? I am sure you have improved itboth from your own appearance and what Louise has told me. "

This was a subject on which Dora felt that she could trustherself, and drying her tears, she became very animated as shetold him of the books she had read, and the studies she hadpursued. "I have taken music lessons, too, " she added. "Would youlike to hear me play?"

Mr. Hastings would far rather have sat there, watching her brightface, with his arm thrown lightly around her waist, but it wasthis very act, this touch of his arm, which prompted her proposal, and gracefully disengaging herself she crossed over to the piano, which was standing in the room, and commenced singing the old, andon that occasion very appropriate, song of "Home again, homeagain, from a foreign shore. " The tones of her voice were rich andfull, and they reached the ear of Uncle Nat, who in his eagernessto listen, forgot everything, until Mrs. Elliott said, "It is Dorasinging to my brother. Shall we join them?"

Leading the way she ushered him into the music room, where, standing at Dora's side, he listened rapturously to her singing, occasionally wiping away a tear, called forth by the memories thatsong had awakened. The sight of the piano reminded him of Eugenia, and when Dora had finished playing, he laid his broad hand uponher shoulder and said, "Do you ever hear from them--the villains?"

Dora knew to whom he referred, and half laughing at his excitedmanner, she replied, as she stole a mischievous glance towards Mr. Hastings, "I received a letter from Eugenia not long since, andshe seemed very anxious to know in what part of Europe Mr. Hastings was now traveling, and if he were ever coming home!"

"Much good his coming home will do _her_, the_trollop!_" muttered Uncle Nat, whispering incoherently tohimself as he generally did, when Eugenia was the subject of histhoughts. "Don't answer the letter, " he said at last, "or, if youdo, say nothing of me; I wish to meet them first as a stranger. "

Near the window Mr. Hastings was standing, revolving in his ownmind a double surprise which he knew would mortify Eugenia morethan anything else. But in order to effect this, Uncle Nat mustremain _incog. _ for some time yet, while Dora herself must bewon, and this, with the jealous fears of a lover, he fancied mightbe harder to accomplish than the keeping Uncle Nat silent when inthe presence of Eugenia. 

"To-morrow I will see her alone, and know the worst, " he thoughtand glancing at Dora, he felt a thrill of fear lest she, in allthe freshness of her youth, should refuse her heart to one, whohad called another than herself his wife. 

But Ella Grey had never awakened a love as deep and absorbing asthat which he now felt for Dora Deane, and all that night he layawake, wondering how he should approach her, and fancyingsometimes that he saw the cold surprise with which she wouldlisten to him, and again that he read in her dark blue eyes theanswer which he sought. The morrow came, but throughout the entireday, he found no opportunity of speaking to her alone, for UncleNat hovered near her side, gazing at her as if he would never tireof looking at her beautiful face. And Dora, too, had much to sayto the old man, on this the first day after his return. With hishead resting upon her lap, and her soft white hand upon hiswrinkled brow, she told him of her mother, and the message she hadleft for him on the sad night when she died. Then she spoke of herAunt Sarah, of Eugenia and Alice, and the wrath of Uncle Nat wassomewhat abated, when he heard _her_ pleading with him not tobe so angry and unforgiving--

"I can treat Alice well, perhaps, " he said, "for she, it seems, was never particularly unkind. And for your sake, _I_ mayforgive the mother. But Eugenia _never!_--not even if Fannieherself should ask me!"

Thus passed that day, and when the next one came, Uncle Nat stillstayed at Dora's side, following her from room to room, and neverfor a moment leaving Mr. Hastings with her alone. In this mannernearly a week went by, and the latter was beginning to despair, when one evening as the three were together in the little musicroom, and Mrs. Elliott was with her mother, who was ill, itsuddenly occurred to Uncle Nat that he had appropriated Doraentirely to himself, not giving Mr. Hastings a single opportunityfor seeing her alone. 

"I have wondered that he did not tell me he was engaged, " hethought, "but how could he when I haven't given him a chance tospeak to her, unless he did it before me; strange, I should be soselfish: but I'll make amends now--though I do hope he'll bequick!"

Rising up, he walked to the door, when thinking that Mr. Hastingsmight possibly expect him to return every moment, and so keepsilent, he said, "I've been in the way of you young folks longenough, and I feel just as if something might happen if I left youtogether! Call me when you want me?" so saying he shut the door, and Mr. Hastings was alone at last with Dora Deane!

Both knew to what Uncle Nat referred, and while Dora fidgeted fromone thing to another, looking at a book of prints wrong side up, and admiring the pictures, Mr. Hastings sat perfectly still, wondering why he was so much afraid of her. Two years before hefelt no fear; but a refusal at that time would not have affectedhim as it would do now, for he did not then know how much he lovedher. Greatly he desired that she should speak to him--look at him--or do something to break the embarrassing silence; but this Dorahad no intention of doing, and she was just meditating thepropriety of _running away_, when he found voice enough tosay, "Will you come and sit by me, Dora?"

She had always obeyed him, and she did so now, taking a seat, however, as far from him as possible, on the end of the sofa. Still, when he moved up closely to her side, and wound his armabout her, she did not object, though her face burned withblushes, and she thought it quite likely that her next act wouldbe to cry! And this she did do, when he said to her, "Dora, do youremember the night when Ella died?"

He did not expect any answer yet, and he continued, "She told me, you know, of a time when, though not forgetting her, I should loveanother--should seek to call another my wife. And, Dora, she wasright, for I do love another, better, if it be possible, than Idid my lost Ella. 'Tis four years since she left me, and now thatI would have a second wife, will the one whom I have chosen fromall the world to be that wife, answer me _yes?_ Will she goback with me in the autumn to my long deserted home, where herpresence always brought sunlight and joy?"

There was no coquetry about Dora Deane, and she could not havepractised it now, if there had been. She knew Mr. Hastings was inearnest--knew that he meant what he said--and the little hand, which at first had stolen partly under her dress, lest he shouldtouch it, came back from its hiding-place, and crept slowly alonguntil his was reached, and there she let it lay! _This_ washer answer, and he was satisfied!

For a long long time they sat together, while Mr. Hastings talked, not wholly of the future when she would be his wife, but of theNew Year's morning, years ago, when he found her sleeping in thechamber of death--of the bright June afternoon, when she sat withher bare feet in the running brook--of the time when she firstbrought comfort to his home--of the dark, rainy evening, when thesight of her sitting in Ella's room, with Ella's baby on her lap, had cheered his aching heart--of the storm she had braved to tellhim his baby was dying--of the winter night when he watched herthrough the window--of the dusky twilight when she sat at his feetin the little library at Rose Hill--and again in his sister's homeon the Hudson, when he first knew how much he loved her. Of allthese pictures so indelibly stamped upon his memory, he told her, and of the many, many times his thoughts had been of her when afaron a foreign shore. 

And Dora, listening to him, did not care to answer, her heart wasso full of happiness, to know that she should be thus loved by onelike Howard Hastings. From a tower not far distant, a city clockstruck _twelve_, and then, starting up, she exclaimed, "_Solate!_ I thought 'twas only ten! We have kept Uncle Nat toolong. Will you go with me to him?" and with his arms still aroundher, Mr. Hastings arose to accompany her. 

For half an hour after leaving the music-room Uncle Nat had walkedup and down the long parlors, with his hands in his pockets, hoping Mr. Hastings _would_ be brief, and expecting eachmoment to hear Dora calling him back! In this manner an hour ormore went by, and then grown very nervous and cold (for it was adamp, chilly night, such as often occurs in our latitude, even insummer) he began to think that if _Dora_ were not coming, afire would be acceptable, and he drew his chair near to theregister, which was closed. Wholly unaccustomed to furnaces, hedid not think to open it, and for a time longer he sat wonderingwhy he didn't grow warm, and if it took everybody as long topropose as it did Mr. Hastings. 

It "didn't take me long to tell my love to Fanny, " he said, "butthen she refused, and when they accept, as Dora will, it's alwaysa longer process, I reckon!"

This point satisfactorily settled, he began to wish the atmosphereof the room would moderate, and hitching in his chair, he at lastsat directly over the register! but even this failed to warm him, and mentally concluding that although furnaces might do very wellfor New Yorkers, they were of no account whatever to an East Indiaman, " he fell asleep. In this situation, Dora found him. 

"Poor old man, " said she, "'twas thoughtless in me to leave him solong, " and kissing his brow, she cried, "Wake up, Uncle Nat--wakeup!" and Uncle Nat, rubbing his eyes with his red stiff fingers, and looking in her glowing face, thought "that something hadhappened!"

CHAPTER XX. 

THE SPRINGS. 

Mr. Hastings and Dora were engaged. Mrs. Hastings, the mother, andMrs. Elliott, the sister, had signified their entire approbation, while Uncle Nat, with a hand placed on either head of the youngpeople, had blessed them as his children, hinting the while thatfew brides e'er went forth as richly dowered as should Dora Deane. The marriage was not to take place until the following October, asMr. Hastings wished to make some improvements at Rose Hill, whichwas still to be his home proper, though Uncle Nat insisted uponbuying a very elegant house in the city for a winter residence, whenever they chose thus to use it. To this proposal Mr. Hastingsmade no objection, for though he felt that his greatest happinesswould be in having Dora all to himself in Dunwood, he knew thatsociety in the city would never have the effect upon her which itdid upon Ella, for her tastes, like his own, were domestic, and onalmost every subject she felt and thought as he did. 

Immediately after his engagement he imparted to Uncle Nat aknowledge of the double surprise he had planned for Eugenia, andthe old gentleman at last consented, saying though, that "'twasdoubtful whether he could hold himself together when first he metthe young lady. Still with Mr. Hastings's presence as a check, hewould try. "

So it was arranged that in Dunwood, where Mr. Hastings's returnwas still unknown, Uncle Nat should pass as a _Mr. Hamilton_, whom Mr. Hastings had picked up in his travels. Four years of hisearlier life had been spent in South America, and whenever hespoke of any particular place of abode it was to be of _BuenosAyres_, where he had once resided. By this means he could themore easily learn for himself the character and disposition of hisrelatives, and feeling now more eager than ever to meet them, hehere started with Mr. Hastings for Dunwood. It was morning whenthey reached there, and with a dark, lowering brow, he lookedcuriously at the house which his companion designated as _LocustGrove_. It was a pleasant spot, and it seemed almost impossiblethat it should be the home of a woman as artful and designing asEugenia. About it now, however, there was an air of desertion. Thedoors were shut and the blinds closed, as if the inmates wereabsent. 

On reaching Rose Hill, where he found his servants overwhelmedwith delight at his unexpected return, Mr. Hastings casuallyinquired of Mrs. Leah if the Deanes were at home. A shadow passedover the old lady's face, and folding her arms, she leaned againstthe door and began: "I wonder now, if you're askin' after them thefirst thing! I don't know but they are well enough, all butEugenia, I believe I never disliked anybody as I do her, and nowonder, the way she's gone on. At first she used to come up herealmost every week on purpose to ask about you, though shepretended to tumble over your books, and mark 'em all up with herpencil. But when that scapegrace _Stephen Grey_ came, shetook another _tack_, and the way she and he went on wasscandalous. She was a runnin' up here the whole time that hewasn't a streakin' it down there. "

"_Stephen Grey been here?_ When and what for?" interruptedMr. Hastings, who, as his father-in-law, during his absence, hadremoved to Philadelphia, knew nothing of the family. 

"You may well ask that, " returned Mrs. Leah, growing very muchexcited as she remembered the trouble the fast young man had madeher. "Last fall in shootin' time, he came here, bag, baggage, gun, dogs and all--said it didn't make a speck of difference, you beingaway--'twas all in the family, and so you'd a' thought, the way hewent on, drinkin', swearin', shootin', and carousin' with a lot offellers who stayed with him here a spell, and then, when they weregone, he took a flirtin' with Eugenia Deane, who told him, I'llbet, more'n five hundred lies about an old uncle that, she says, is rich as a Jew, and has willed his property to her and Alice. "

"The viper!" muttered Uncle Nat to himself; and Mrs. Leahcontinued, "I shouldn't wonder if old Mr. Grey was gettin' poor, and Steve, I guess, would marry anybody who had money; but Lordknows I don't want him to have her, for though he he ain't an atomtoo good, I used to live in the family and took care of him whenhe was little. I should a' written about his carryin's on to Mrs. Elliott, only I knew she didn't think any too much of the Greys, and 'twould only trouble her for nothin'. "

"But where are they now--Mrs. Deane and her daughters?" asked Mr. Hastings; and Mrs. Leah replied. "Gone to Avon Springs: and folksdo say they've done their own work, and ate cold victuals off thepantry shelf ever since last November, so as to save money, to cuta swell. I guess Eugenia'll be mighty glad if that old uncle everdies. For my part, I hope he won't! or, if he does, I hope hewon't leave her a dollar. "

"_Not a dime!_" thought Uncle Nat, who, not being supposed tofeel interested in Eugenia Deane, had tried to appear indifferent, holding hard the while upon the rounds of his chair "to keephimself together. "

Alone with Mr. Hastings, his wrath burst forth, but after a fewtremendous explosions, he grew calm, and proposed that they tooshould go at once to Avon. "We shall then see the lady in all herglory, " said he, "and maybe hear something about her old uncle, though you'll have to keep your eye on me, or I shall go off on asudden, and shake her as a dog would a snake! We'll send for Mrs. Elliott and Dora to join us there, " he continued; "it will be funto bring them together, and see what Eugenia will do. "

"I am afraid you could not restrain yourself, " said Mr. Hastings;but Uncle Nat was sure he could, and after a few days they startedfor Avon, where "Miss Eugenia Deane, the heiress, " was quite abelle. 

For a long time after Mr. Hastings's departure for Europe, she hadremained true to him, feeding on the remembrance of his partingwords, that "he had more reasons for remembering her than shesupposed;" but when, as months went by, he sent her neitherletter, paper nor message, she began to think that possibly he hadnever entertained a serious thought concerning her, and whenStephen Grey came, she was the more ready to receive hisattentions, and forgive his former neglect. He was a reckless, unprincipled fellow, and feeling this time rather pleased with thebold dashing manner of Eugenia, backed as it was by the supposedwill of Uncle Nat, he made some advances, which she readily met, making herself and him, as Mrs. Leah had said, "perfectlyridiculous. " When he left Dunwood he went west, telling herplayfully, that, "if he found no one there who suited him betterthan she, he would the next summer meet her at Avon, and perhapspropose! He was disgusted with Saratoga, Newport, Nahant, and allthose stupid places, " he said, "and wished to try something new. "

To spend several weeks at Avon, therefore, was now Eugenia'sobject. She had succeeded in coaxing her mother to withhold fromDora the thousand dollars, a part of which was safely invested fortheir own benefit, but this alone would not cover all theirexpenses, for Mrs. Deane, growing gay and foolish as she grewolder, declared her intention of going to Avon also. "The waterwould do her good. " she said, "and 'twas time she saw a little ofsociety. "

To this plan Eugenia did not particularly object, for it wouldindicate wealth, she thought, for the whole family to spend thesummer at a watering place. Still it would cost a great deal, andthough Uncle Nat's remittance came at the usual time, they did notdare to depend wholly upon that, lest on their return there shouldbe nothing left with which to buy their bread. In this emergency, they hit upon the expedient of dismissing their servant, andstarving themselves through the winter and spring, for the purposeof making a display in the summer; and this last they were nowdoing. Eugenia fluttered like a butterfly, sometimes in whitesatin, sometimes in pink, and again in embroidered muslin; whileher mother, a very little disgusted with _society_, but stilldetermined to brave it through, held aside her cambric wrapper andmade faces over _three glasses_ of spring water in the morning, drowned herself in a hot bath every other day, rode twicea day in crowded omnibuses to and from the springs, through banksof sand and clouds of dust, and sat every evening in the heatedparlors with a very red face, and a very tight dress, wondering ifeverybody enjoyed themselves as little in society as she did, andthinking ten dollars per week a great deal to pay for being asuncomfortable as she was!

For her disquietude, however, she felt in a measure repaid whenshe saw that Eugenia was the most showy young lady present, andmanaged to keep about her a cross-eyed widower, a near-sighted-bachelor, a medical student of nineteen, a broken-down merchant, alame officer, a spiritualist, and Stephen Grey! This completed thelist of her admirers, if we except a gouty old man, who praisedher dancing, and would perhaps have called her beautiful, but forhis better half, who could see nothing agreeable or pleasing inthe dashing belle. True to his promise, Stephen Grey had met herthere, and they were in the midst of quite a flirtation, when Mr. Hastings and Uncle Nat arrived; the latter registering his name as_Mr. Hamilton_; and taking care soon after to speak of _BuenosAyres_, as a place where he formerly lived. The ruse wassuccessful, and in less than half an hour, it was known throughthe house, that "the singular looking old gentleman was aSouth American, a bachelor, and rich undoubtedly, as such menalways were!"

The Deanes were that afternoon riding with Stephen Grey, and didnot return until after supper, a circumstance which Eugeniagreatly lamented when she learned that their numbers had beenincreased by the arrival of an elegant looking stranger from NewYork, together with an old South American, whose name wasHamilton. The name of the other Eugenia's informant did not know, for he had not registered it, but "he was a splendid looking man, "she said, and with more than usual care, Eugenia dressed herselffor the evening, and between the hours of eight and nine, sailedinto the parlor with the air of a queen. 

From his window in an upper chamber Uncle Nat had seen the ladies, as they returned from their ride; and when Mr. Hastings, who atthat time was absent from the room, came back to it, he found theold gentleman hurriedly pacing the floor and evidently muchexcited. 

"_I've seen her_, " said he, "_the very one herself--Eugenia Deane!_ I knew her mother in a moment, and I knew hertoo, by her evil eyes. I could hardly refrain from pouncing uponher, and I believe I did shake my fist at her! But it's over now, "he continued, "and I am glad I have seen her, for I can meet herand not betray myself; though, Hastings, if at any time I ammissing, you may know that I've come up here to let myself off, for my wrath must evaporate somehow. "

Feeling confident that he could trust him, Mr. Hastings ere longaccompanied him to the parlor, where his gentlemanly manners, andrather peculiar looks procured for him immediate attention; andwhen Eugenia entered the room, he was conversing familiarly withsome gentlemen whose notice she had in vain tried to attract. At alittle distance from him and nearer the door was Mr. Hastings, talking to Stephen Grey. Eugenia did not observe him until she wasdirectly at his side, then, turning pale, she altered anexclamation of surprise, while he, in his usual polite, easymanner, offered his hand, first to her mother, and then to herselfand Alice, saying, in reply to their many inquiries as to when hereturned, that he reached Dunwood a few days before, and findingthey were all at Avon, had concluded to follow. At this remark thepallor left Eugenia's cheek, and was succeeded by a bright glow, for "Mr. Hastings must feel interested in her, or he would nothave followed her there;" and the black eyes, which a few hoursbefore had smiled so bewitchingly upon Stephen Grey, now shonewith a brighter lustre, as she talked with Mr. Hastings of hisEuropean tour, asking him why he had stayed so long, and tellinghim how natural it seemed to have him home once more. 

"By the way, " she continued, "they say there is an old SouthAmerican here--a queer old fellow--did he come with you?"

"Yes, " answered Mr. Hastings, glancing towards Uncle Nat, whoseeyes had never for a moment lost sight of Eugenia; "I found him inmy travels, and liking him very much, brought him home with me. Allow me to introduce you, for though rather eccentric, he's afine man, and quite wealthy, too. "

"_Wealth is nothing!_ I wouldn't think any more of him forthat, " returned Eugenia, taking Mr. Hastings's arm, and advancingtoward Uncle Nat, whose left hand grasped tightly one side of hisblue coat, while the other was offered to Eugenia. 

With a slight shudder, he dropped her hand as soon as it wastouched; then, pressing his fingers together so firmly, that hislong nails left marks in his flesh, he looked curiously down uponher, eyeing her furtively as if she had been a wild beast. Nothingof all this escaped Eugenia, who, feeling greatly amused at whatshe thought to be his embarrassment, and fancying he had neverbefore conversed with so fine a lady as herself, she commencedquizzing him in a manner excessively provoking to one of hisexcitable temperament. Lifting up first one foot, and then theother, he felt his patience fast giving way, and at last, as herridicule became more and more marked, he could endure it nolonger, but returned it with a kind of sarcasm far more scathingthan anything she could say. Deeply chagrined, and feeling thatshe had been beaten with her own weapons, she was about to leavethe "old bear" as she mentally styled him, when remembering thathe was Mr. Hastings's friend, and, as such worthy of more respectthan she had paid him, she said playfully, "I have a mother andsister here, whom you may like better than you do me. I'llintroduce them, " and tripping across the room, she made known herwishes to her mother, adding that "there was a chance for her, ashe was an old bachelor. "

Long and searchingly the old man looked in the face of the widow, thinking of the time when she had called _Fannie_ her sister;but of this Mrs. Deane did not know; and remembering what Eugeniahad said, she blushed crimson, and as soon as possible, stoleaway, leaving him alone with Alice, with whom he was betterpleased, talking with her so long that Eugenia, who was hoveringnear Mr. Hastings, began to laugh at what she called her_sister's conquest_. Nothing had escaped Mr. Hastings, andthinking this a good opportunity for rebuking the young lady, hespoke of Mr. Hamilton in the highest terms, saying that, "heshould consider any disrespect paid to his friend a slight tohimself. " This hint was sufficient, and wishing to make amends forher rudeness, Eugenia ere long sought the stranger, and tried tobe very agreeable; but there was no affinity between them, and toMr. Hastings, who was watching them, they seemed much like afierce mastiff, and a spiteful cat, impatient to pounce upon eachother!

During the evening the three were standing together, and Eugeniasuddenly remembering Dora, asked Mr. Hastings how she was, sayingshe seldom wrote to them, and when she did, her letters amountedto nothing. With a warning glance at Uncle Nat, whose face grewvery dark, Mr. Hastings replied that she was well, and had, hethought, improved under his sister's care. 

"I am glad, " said she, "for there was need enough of improvement. She was so unrefined, always preferring the kitchen to the parlor, that we couldn't make anything of her. "

A sudden "_Ugh!_" from Uncle Nat stopped her, and she askedhim what was the matter. 

"Nothing, nothing, " said he, wiping his face, "only I am gettingpretty warm, and must cool off. "

The next moment he was gone, and when, at a late hour, Mr. Hastings repaired to his room, he knew by the chairs, boots, brushes, and books scattered over the floor, that Uncle Nat, snoring so loudly in bed, had cooled off!

"I had to hold on, to keep from falling to pieces right beforeher, " he said, next morning, in speaking of the last night'sadventure; "but I shall do better next time. I am getting a littleaccustomed to it. "

And he was right, for only twice during the entire day and eveningdid he disappear from the room. Once when Eugenia sat down toplay, and once when he heard her telling Stephen Grey, who askedher to ride again, that, "he really must excuse her, as she had aletter to write to _Uncle Nat_, who undoubtedly wondered whyshe was so tardy. And you know, " she said, "it won't do to neglecthim!"

Uncle Nat knew it was a farce to get rid of Stephen Grey, who wasnothing compared with his brother-in-law, but his indignation wasnot the less; and Mr. Hastings, when he saw the long blue coatflying up the stairs, smiled quietly, though he pitied the poorold man, who was thus kept vibrating between his chamber and theparlor. 

In this manner several days passed away, during which time UncleNat's temper was severely tested, both by Eugenia's remarksconcerning Dora, and by what she said of himself, for he more thanonce heard her speaking of _"Old Uncle Nat, "_ who sent hermoney to buy the various articles of jewelry which she wore. Onsuch occasions it seemed almost impossible for him to restrain hisanger, and he often wished he had never promised to keep silent;but by frequent visits to his chamber, which witnessed many aterrific storm, he managed to be quiet, so that Eugenia had nosuspicion whatever, though she disliked him greatly, and wished hehad never come there. Mr. Hastings troubled her, too, for she feltvery uncertain as to the nature of his feelings towards her. Hetreated her politely, but that was all, and no management on herpart could draw from him any particular attention. 

"Maybe he's jealous of Stephen Grey, " she thought, and then shebecame so cold towards the latter individual, that had he notremembered _Uncle Nat's will_, in which he firmly believed, he would have packed his trunk at once, and left her in disgust. 

But Stephen's necessities were great. There was standing againsthim a long list of bills, which his father refused to pay, and hewas ready to marry the first purse which was offered. Had Eugeniabeen altogether agreeable to him, he would have proposed ere this, but without knowing why, he felt afraid of her. Added to this wasthe memory of his mother's threat, that his father shoulddisinherit him if he disgraced them by marrying _that Deanegirl_, in whose expected fortune she did not believe. Sohalting between two opinions, he allowed himself to be taken upand cast off whenever the capricious Eugenia chose. 

In the meantime, Uncle Nat had cultivated the acquaintance of Mrs. Deane and Alice, finding the latter quite a pleasant girl, andfeeling disposed to think more favorably of the former when heheard her speak kindly of Dora, as she always did. Matters were inthis state, when, one afternoon, in compliance with her brother'swritten request, Mrs. Elliott arrived, together with Dora. Most ofthe visitors were at the springs, and as Eugenia never let anopportunity pass for showing herself to the guests of thedifferent houses, she too was there, and thus failed to see howtenderly Dora was greeted by Mr. Hastings, and how fondly UncleNat clasped her in his arms, holding her hand all the way up thestairs, and only releasing her when she reached the door of theroom, which had been previously engaged for them by Mr. Hastings. Feeling slightly indisposed, Mrs. Elliott did not go down tosupper, and as Dora chose to remain with her, neither of them wereseen until evening. Eugenia had heard of the arrival of twoaristocratic looking ladies, one of whom was young and verybeautiful, and this aroused her fears at once. Hitherto she hadreigned without a rival, for aside from her beauty, the generallybelieved rumor of her being an heiress, procured for her attentionfor many who otherwise would have been disgusted with heroverbearing manner and boisterous conduct; for, like many others, she had fallen into the error of thinking that to be _fashionable_, she must be bold and noisy, and no voice in the drawing-roomever reached so high a note as hers. Still she was toleratedand flattered, and when the friend, who told her of the newarrivals, and who had caught a view of Dora's face, laughinglybade her beware lest her star should begin to wane, she curledher lip in scorn, as if anything in Avon could compete withher, who "had spent so many seasons at _Saratoga_ and _Newport_, and who would have gone there this summer, only she wanteda change, and then it was more quiet for _Ma_!"

This was one of her stereotyped remarks until Mr. Hastings came, but he knew her, and in his presence she was less assuming. Shehad heard that the new arrivals were his friends, and thinkingthey must of course be _somebody_, she arrayed herself forthe evening with unusual care, wearing her white satin and lacebertha, the most becoming and at the same time the most expensivedress she had. 

"I wish I had some pearls, " she said, glancing at her raven hair;"they would look so much richer than these flowers. "

"I should think an heiress like _you_ would have everythingshe wanted, " suggested Alice, mischievously, and Eugenia replied, "Oh, pshaw! We shall never get more than five hundred a year fromUncle Nat, but I don't much care. Old Mr. Grey is wealthy, and ifMr. Hastings don't manifest any more interest in me than he hassince he came here, I shall let that foolish _Steve_ propose, much as I dislike him. "

So saying, she clasped upon her arm a heavy bracelet, for whichthe sum of forty dollars had been paid, and descended with hermother and sister to the parlor. Mrs. Elliott and Dora were therebefore her--the former leaning on Mr. Hastings's arm, while thelatter was already surrounded by a group of admirers, a few ofwhom had met her before. She was standing with her back towardsEugenia, who singled her out in a moment, as her rival, noticingfirst her magnificent hair, in which an ornament of any kind wouldhave been out of place, and which was confined at the back of thehead by a small and elegantly wrought gold comb. Her dress wasperfectly plain, consisting simply of white India muslin, whichfitted her admirably and seemed well adapted to her youthful form. 

"Who is she?" inquired Eugenia of Uncle Nat, who had stationedhimself near the door, on purpose to see how the first sight ofDora would affect her. 

"Who is she!" he replied. "Strange you don't know your own cousin_Dora Deane_, " and a look of intense satisfaction danced inhis keen eyes, as he saw the expression of astonishment whichpassed over Eugenia's face. 

"Impossible!" she exclaimed, while a pang of envy shot through herheart. "That stylish looking girl can't be Dora! Why, I alwayssupposed Mrs. Elliott made a half servant, half companion of her. She never told us any different;" and with a vague hope that theold South American might be mistaken, she took a step or twoforward just as Dora turned round, disclosing to view her face. 

There was no longer any doubt, and with mingled feelings ofsurprise, mortification, jealousy, and rage, Eugenia advanced tomeet her, wisely resolving as she did so to make the best of it, and never let her cousin know how much annoyed she was. Both Mrs. Deane and Alice were greeted kindly by Dora, who could scarcely bemore than polite to Eugenia, and when the latter made a movementto kiss her, she involuntarily drew back, feeling that she couldnot suffer it. 

"Grown suddenly very proud, " muttered Eugenia, at the same timedetermining that her mother should insist upon taking Dora homewith them, and secretly exulting as she thought how she shouldagain work in the dark kitchen at Locust Grove, as she had donebefore. "That'll remove some of her fine airs, I reckon, " shethought, as, with bitter hatred at her heart, she watched heryoung cousin, who, throughout the entire evening, continued to bethe center of attraction. 

Everybody asked who she was; everybody pronounced her beautiful, and everybody neglected Eugenia Deane, who, greatly enraged, retired early, and vented her wrath in tears, to think that theonce despised Dora should now be so far above her. 

"But it shall not be, " she said, and then to her mother sheunfolded her plan of having Dora go home with them immediately. "I'd as soon be in Joppa as to stay here with her for a rival, "she said. "Mr. Hastings don't care for me, I know, and I hate thatold codger of a Hamilton, with his sarcastic remarks and pryingeyes. I've been here long enough, and I mean to go home. "

To this proposition Mrs. Deane assented willingly; but sheexpressed her doubts concerning her ability to make Dora accompanythem. 

"Of course she'll go, " said Eugenia. "Her mother placed her underyour control, and she is bound to obey. "

Yielding at last, as she generally did, Mrs. Deane promised to seewhat she could do, and the next day she announced to Mrs. Elliotther intention of taking _Dora_ home with her. "I am gratefulfor all you have done for her, " said she; "but we need her, andcannot spare her any longer, so, Dora dear, " turning to her niece, "pack up your things, and we will start to-morrow morning. "

Had Uncle Nat been there, he would, undoubtedly, have exploded atonce; but he was not present, neither was Mr. Hastings, and itremained for Mrs. Elliott alone to reply, which she did firmly anddecidedly. "No, Mrs. Deane, Dora cannot go. She was committed toyour care, I know, but you gave her up to me, and I shall not partwith her unless I am legally compelled to do so, or she wishes togo. She can answer this last for herself, " and she turned towardsDora, who, drawing nearer to her, replied, "I am sorry to disobeyyou, Aunt Sarah, but I cannot leave Mrs. Elliott. "

Mrs. Deane was not very courageous, and unwilling to press herclaim, she turned away and reported her ill-success to Eugenia, who heaped a torrent of abuse upon both Mrs. Elliott, Dora, theold South American, and Mr. Hastings, who, she declared, were allleagued against them. 

"But I don't care, " said she, "old Mr. Grey is quite as wealthy asMr. Hastings, and by saying the word, I can marry _Steve_ atany time; and I will do it, too, " she continued, "and that proudMrs. Elliott shall yet be obliged to meet me on terms of equality, for she will not dare to neglect _the Greys!_"

Somewhat comforted by this thought, she dried her tears, andsignified her willingness to start for home on the morrow, even ifDora did not accompany her. As yet, she had no suspicion whateverof the engagement existing between Mr. Hastings and her cousin. There was nothing in the manner of either to betray it, and when, next morning, attired in her traveling dress, she stood with themupon the piazza, she little thought how and where she would nextmeet them. At her side was Stephen Grey. He had been won over byher gracious smiles the night previous, and was now going with heras far as Rochester, where, if a favorable opportunity werepresented, he intended offering himself for her acceptance. UncleNat was not present, and Eugenia was glad that it was so, forthere was something about him exceedingly annoying to her, and shealways felt relieved at his absence. 

"Why do you go so soon? I thought you were intending to spend thesummer, " said one of her old admirers; and with a scornful toss ofher head, she replied, "It is getting so insufferably dull here, that I can't endure it any longer. "

Just then the omnibus was announced, and with a hurried good-by, she followed her baggage down the stairs, and amid a cloud of dustwas driven rapidly away, while Uncle Nat, from his chamber window, sent after her a not very complimentary or affectionate adieu. Arrived at the hotel in Rochester, where Eugenia had once waitedin vain for Mr. Hastings, Stephen Grey managed to hear from heragain, that she had well founded hopes of being one of the heirsof Nathaniel Deane, who, she said, sent them annually a sum ofmoney varying from five to fifteen hundred dollars. This was quitea consideration for one whose finances were low, and whose father, while threatening to disinherit him, was himself on the verge ofbankruptcy, and thinking the annual remittance worth securing, even if the _will_ should fail, Stephen found an opportunityto go down on his knees before her after the most approvedfashion, telling her that "she alone could make him happy, andthat without her he should be wretched;" and she, knowing just howmuch in earnest he was, promised to be his wife, intending thewhile to break that promise if she saw in Mr. Hastings any signsof renewed interest. So when Stephen pressed her to name an earlyday, she put him off, telling him she could not think of beingmarried until near the middle of autumn, and at the same timerequesting him to keep their engagement a secret, for she did notwish it to be a subject of remark, as engaged people always were. To this, Stephen consented willingly, as he would thus escape, fora time, his mother's anger. And so when, tired, jaded, cross anddusty, Eugenia Deane reached Locust Grove, she had the satisfactionof knowing that her trip to the Springs had been successful, inasmuch as it procured for her "_a husband such as he was_. "

CHAPTER XXI. 

THE DOUBLE SURPRISE. 

The Deanes had been home about two weeks when Mr. Hastingsreturned to Rose Hill, accompanied by the "Old South American, "who seemed to have taken up his abode there. Being naturallyrather reserved, the latter visited but little in the village, while at Locust Grove he never called, and seldom saw Eugenia whenhe met her in the street. 

Mr. Hastings, too, was unusually cool in his manner towards her, and this she imputed wholly to the fact of her having been rude tohis friend on the night of her introduction. "He was never sobefore, " she thought, and she redoubled her efforts to beagreeable, to no effect, as he was simply polite to her andnothing more. So after a series of tears and headaches, she gavehim up, comforting herself with the belief that he would nevermarry anybody. After this, she smiled more graciously upon StephenGrey, who, pretending to be a lawyer, had, greatly to herannoyance, hung out his sign in Dunwood, where his office properseemed to be in the bar-room, or drinking-saloon, as in one ofthese he was always to be found, when not at Locust Grove. 

One evening, towards the last of September, when he came as usualto see her, he startled her with the news, that there was ere longto be a new bride at Rose Hill! Starting involuntarily, Eugeniaexclaimed, "A new bride! It can't be possible! Who is it?"

It was months since Stephen had been in New York, and he knewnothing, except that the lady was from the city, and he mentioneda _Miss Morton_, with whom he had several times seen Mr. Hastings walking, and who was very intimate with Mrs. Elliott. Atfirst Eugenia refused to believe it, but when she had rememberedhow extensively Mr. Hastings was repairing his place, and heardthat the house was being entirely refurnished, and fitted up in aprincely style, she wept again over her ruined hopes, andexperienced many a sharp pang of envy, when from time to time shesaw go by loads of elegant furniture, and knew that it was not forherself, but another. The old South American, too, it was said, was very lavish of his money, purchasing many costly ornaments, and furnishing entirely the chamber of the bride. For this thefair Eugenia styled him "a silly old fool, " wondering "whatbusiness it was to him, " and "why he need be so much interested inone who, if she had any sense, would, in less than two weeks, turnhim from the house, with his heathenish ways. " Still, fret as shewould, she could not in the least retard the progress of matters, and one morning towards the last of October, she heard from Mrs. Leah, whom she met at a store in the village, that the wedding wasto take place at the house of the bride on Tuesday of the nextweek, and that on Thursday evening following, there was to be agrand party at Rose Hill, far exceeding in splendor and elegancethe one given there some years before. 

"Crowds of folks, " she said, "are coming from the city with thebridal pair, who would start on Wednesday, stay in Syracuse allnight, and reach Dunwood about three o'clock on Thursdayafternoon. The invitations for the village people, " she added, "were already written and were left with her to distribute onWednesday morning. "

Eugenia would have given much to know if she were invited, but shewas too proud to ask, and assuming an air of indifference shecasually inquired the name of the bride. 

With the manner of one in a deep study, Mrs. Leah replied, "Let mesee! It's a very common name. Strange I don't speak it!"

"_Morton?_" suggested Eugenia, but Mrs. Leah affected not tohear her, and, having completed her purchases, she left the storeand walked slowly homeward, dropping more than one tear on thebrown paper parcel she held in her hand. 

Crying, however, was of no avail, and mentally chiding herself forher weakness, she resolved to brave it through, comforting herselfagain with the thought that _the Greys_ were as aristocraticas the _Hastings_, and as Stephen's wife she should yet shinein the best society, for in case she married him she was resolvedthat he should take her at once to Philadelphia, where she wouldcompel his proud mother to notice her. This helped to divert hermind, and in the course of the day she was talking gaily of theparty, and wondering if she should be as intimate with the secondMrs. Hastings as she had been with the first!

That night, Alice went down to the post-office, from which shesoon returned, evidently much excited; and rushing into the roomwhere her mother and sister were sitting, she said, as she threw aletter into the lap of the latter, "It's from _Uncle Nat_, and postmarked _New York_. "

Turning whiter than ever she was before, Eugenia could scarcelycommand herself to break the seal, and read the few brief lineswhich told her that Uncle Nat had, at last, concluded to comehome, that a matter of some importance would keep him from LocustGrove for a few days; but if nothing occurred, he would be withthem on Saturday evening of next week! In the postscript, headded, that "he should expect to find Dora with them, and he hopedher going away to school had been a benefit to her. "

So great was their consternation that for some minutes neither ofthem uttered a word, but each waited for the other to suggest someway of acting in the present emergency. As Eugenia's mind was themost active of the three she was the first to speak. After ventingher indignation upon Uncle Nat, for intruding himself where he wasnot wanted, she continued: "We are in a sad dilemma, but we mustmake the best of it, and inasmuch as he is coming, I am glad thatDora is what she is. We can tell him how rapidly she has improved, and how rejoiced we are that it is so. I am glad I have saidnothing about her for the last two years, except that she was awayat school. I'll write to her to-night, and tell her to meet himhere, and come immediately. You know, she is good-natured, and onmy bended knees I'll confess what I have done, and beg of her notto betray me to him, or let him know that we did not pay for hereducation, and if she refuses, you, mother, must go down on yourknees, too, and we'll get up between us such a scene that she willconsent, I know--if not, why, we must abide the consequence"--andwith the look of one about to be martyred, Eugenia sat down andwrote to Dora, beseeching her to "come without delay, as there wassomething they must tell her before meeting Uncle Nat!"

This was Friday night, and very impatiently she awaited an answer, which, though written on Monday, did not come until the Wednesdayfollowing. 

"What does she say?" cried Mrs. Deane and Alice, crowding aroundher, while with a rueful face she read that Dora would bedelighted to meet Uncle Nat at Locust Grove, but could not comequite so soon as they wished to have her. 

 "You have undoubtedly heard, " she wrote, "of Mr. Hastings'sapproaching marriage, at which I wish to be present. Mrs. Elliottwill accompany the bridal party to Rose Hill on Thursday, and shethinks I had better wait and come with her. I shall probably seeyou at the party. 

"Yours in haste, "DORA DEANE. "

On Eugenia's mind there was not a shadow of suspicion that _DoraDeane_, appended to that letter, had ere this ceased to be hercousin's name--that Mr. Hastings, who, together with Uncle Nat, had the Saturday previous gone down to New York, had bent fondlyover her as she wrote it for the last time, playfully suggestingthat she add to it an H, by way of making a commencement, nor yetthat Uncle Nat, with an immense degree of satisfaction in hisface, had read the short note, saying as he did so, "We'll cheat'em, darling, won't we?"

Neither did she dream that last night's moon shone down on DoraDeane, a beautiful, blushing bride, who, with orange blossoms inher shining hair, and the deep love-light in her eye, stood by Mr. Hastings's side and called him her husband. Nothing of all thisshe knew, and hastily reading the letter, she exclaimed, "Plagueon her! a vast deal of difference _her_ being at the weddingwould make. But no matter, the old codger will not be here untilSaturday night, and there'll be time enough to coax her. "

Just then the cards of invitation were left at the door, and inthe delightful certainty of knowing that she was really invited, she forgot in a measure everything else. In the evening she wasannoyed as usual with a call from Stephen Grey. He had that dayreceived news from home that his father's failure could not longbe deferred, and judging Eugenia by himself, he fancied she wouldsooner marry him now, than after he was the son of a bankrupt. Accordingly he urged her to consent to a private marriage at hermother's on Friday evening, the night following the party. 

"There was nothing to be gained by waiting, " he said--an opinionin which Eugenia herself concurred, for she feared lest in someway her treachery should be betrayed, and she should lose StephenGrey, as well as Mr. Hastings. 

Still she could hardly bring herself to consent until she had seenDora, and she replied that she would think of it, and answer himat the party. Thursday morning came, and passed, and about half-past two, Eugenia saw Mr. Hastings's carriage pass on its way tothe depot, together with two more, which had been hired to conveythe guests to Rose Hill. Seating herself by her chamber window, she waited impatiently for the cars, which came at last, and in afew moments the roll of wheels announced the approach of thebridal party. Very eagerly Eugenia, Alice, and their mother gazedout through the half closed shutters upon the carriage in front, which they knew was Mr. Hastings's. 

"There's Mrs. Elliott looking this way. Don't let her see us, "whispered Alice, while her mother singled out old Mrs. Hastingsfor Dora, wondering why she didn't turn that way. 

But Eugenia had no eye for any one, save the figure seated next toMr. Hastings, and so closely veiled as entirely to hide herfeatures. 

"I wouldn't keep that old brown thing on my face, unless it was sohomely I was afraid of having it seen, " she said; and hoping thebride of Howard Hastings might prove to be exceedingly ugly, sherepaired to Dora's room, and from the same window where Dora oncehad watched the many lights which shone from Rose Hill, she nowwatched the travelers until they disappeared within the house. Then, rejoining her mother and sister she said, "I don't see whyDora can't come over here a little while before the party. There'splenty of time and I do want to have it off my mind. Besides that, I might coax her to assist me in dressing, for she has good taste, if nothing more; I mean to write her a few lines asking her tocome. "

The note was accordingly written, and despatched by the Irishgirl, who soon returned, bearing another tiny note, which read asfollows:

"I cannot possibly come, as I have promised to be present at thedressing of the bride. "DORA. "

Forgetting her recent remark, Eugenia muttered something about, "folks thinking a great deal of her taste, " then turning to theservant girl, she asked "how Dora looked, and what she said?"

"Sure, I didn't see her, " returned the girl; "Mistress Leah carriedyour letter to her, and brought hers to me. Not a ha'p'orth ofanybody else did I see. " And this was all the information whichEugenia could elicit concerning the people of Rose Hill. 

The time for making their toilet came at last, and while Eugeniawas missing the little _cropped head_ girl, who, on a similaroccasion, had obeyed so meekly her commands, a fair young bridewas thinking also of that night, when she had lain upon hermother's old green trunk, and wept herself to sleep. Wishing to befashionable, Eugenia and her party were the last to arrive. Theyfound the parlors crowded, and the dressing-room vacant, so thatneither of them received the slightest intimation of the surprisewhich awaited them. In removing her veil, Eugenia displaced one ofthe flowers in her hair, and muttering about Alice's awkwardness, she wished she could see Dora just a minute, and have her arrangethe flowers!

But Dora was busy elsewhere, and pronouncing herself ready, Eugenia, took the arm of Stephen Grey, and followed her mother andsister downstairs. At a little distance from the door was Mr. Hastings, and at his side was Dora, wondrously beautiful in hercostly bridal robes. She had gracefully received the congratulationsof her Dunwood friends, who, while expressing their surprise, had also expressed their delight at finding in the new mistressof Ross Hill, the girl who had ever been a favorite in thevillage. Near her was Uncle Nat, his face wearing an expressionof perfect happiness, and his eye almost constantly upon thedoor, through which Eugenia must pass. There was a rustleof silk upon the stairs, and drawing nearer to Dora, he awaitedthe result with breathless interest. 

Mrs. Deane came first, but scarcely had she crossed the threshold, ere she started back, petrified with astonishment, and clutchingAlice's dress, whispered softly, "am I deceived, or _is itDora?_"

And Alice, with wild staring eyes, could only answer"_Dora_;" while Eugenia, wondering at their conduct, stroveto push them aside. Failing in this, she raised herself on tiptoe, and looking over their heads, saw what for an instant chilled herblood, and stopped the pulsations of her heart. It was the_bride_, and fiercely grasping the arm of Stephen Grey tokeep herself from falling, she said, in a hoarse, unnatural voice, "_Great Heaven--it is Dora!_ DORA DEANE!"

Fruitful as she had hitherto been in expedients, she was nowutterly powerless to act, and knowing that in her present state ofexcitement, she could not meet her cousin, she turned back andfleeing up the stairs, threw herself upon a chair in the dressing-room, where, with her hands clasped firmly together, she sat rigidas marble until the storm of passion had somewhat abated. 

"And _she_ has won him--_Dora Deane_, whom I have so illtreated, " she said at last, starting at the sound of her voice, itwas so hollow and strange. Then, as she remembered the coming ofUncle Nat and the exposure she so much dreaded, she buried herface in her hands, and in the bitterness of her humiliation criedout, "It is more than I can bear!"

Growing ere long more calm, she thought the matter over carefully, and decided at last to brave it through--to greet the bride as ifnothing had occurred, and never to let Mr. Hastings know how sharpa wound he had inflicted. "It is useless now, " she thought, "tothrow myself upon the mercy of Dora. She would not, of course, withhold my secret from her husband, and I cannot be despised byhim. I have loved him too well for that. And perhaps he'll neverknow it, " she continued, beginning to look upon the brighter side. "Uncle Nat may not prove very inquisitive--may not stay with uslong; or if he does, as the wife of Stephen Grey, I can bear hisdispleasure better, " and determining that ere another twenty-fourhours were gone, she would cease to be Eugenia Deane, she aroseand stood before the mirror, preparatory to going down. 

The sight of her white haggard face startled her, and for a momentshe felt that she could not mingle with the gay throng below, whowould wonder at her appearance. But the ordeal must be passed, andsummoning all her courage, she descended to the parlor, just asher mother and Alice, alarmed at her very long absence, werecoming in quest of her. Crossing the room mechanically she offeredher hand to Dora, saying, while a sickly smile played around herbloodless lips, "You have really taken us by surprise, but Icongratulate you; and you too, " bowing rather stiffly to Mr. Hastings, who returned her greeting so pleasantly, that she beganto feel more at ease, and after a little, was chatting familiarlywith Dora, telling her she must be sure and meet, "Uncle Nat, " onSaturday evening, and adding in a low tone, "If I've ever treatedyou badly, I hope you won't tell him. " "I shall tell him nothing, "answered Dora, and comforted with this answer, Eugenia moved away. 

"You are looking very pale and bad to-night. What is the matter?"said Uncle Nat, when once he was standing near her. 

"Nothing but a bad headache, " she replied, while her black eyesflashed angrily upon him, for she fancied he saw the painfulthrobbings of her heart, and wished to taunt her with it. 

Supper being over, Stephen Grey led her into a little side room, where he claimed the answer to his question. It was in theaffirmative, and soon after, complaining of the intense pain inher head, she begged to go home. Alone in her room, with no onepresent but her mother and Alice, her pent-up feelings gave away, and throwing herself upon the floor she wished that she had diedere she had come to this humiliation. 

"That Dora, a beggar as it were, should be preferred to _me_is nothing, " she cried, "compared to the way which the whole thingwas planned. That old wretch of a Hamilton had something to dowith it, I know. How I hate him, with his sneering face!"

Becoming at length a little more composed, she told her mother ofher expected marriage with Stephen Grey. 

"But why so much haste?" asked Mrs. Deane, who a little proud ofthe alliance, would rather have given a large wedding. 

Sitting upright upon the floor, with her long loose hair fallingaround her white face, Eugenia answered bitterly, "Stephen Greyhas no more love for me than I have for him. He believes that weare rich, or we will be when Uncle Nat is dead. For _money_he marries me, for money I marry him. I know old Grey is wealthy, and as the wife of his son, I will yet ride over Dora's head. ButI must be quick, or I lose him, for if after Uncle Nat's arrivalour real situation should chance to be disclosed, Steve would nothesitate to leave me. 

 'So to-morrow or never a bride I shall be, '"

she sang with a gaiety of manner wholly at variance with the worn, suffering expression of her countenance. Eugenia was terriblyexpiating her sins, and when the next night, in the presence of afew friends, she stood by Stephen Grey, and was made his wife, shefelt that her own hands had poured the last drop in the brimmingbucket, for, as she had paid, there was not in her heart aparticle of esteem or love for him who was now her husband. 

"It's my destiny, " she thought; "I'll make the best of it, " andher unnatural laugh rang out loud and clear, as she tried toappear gay and happy. 

Striking contrast between the gentle bride at Rose Hill, who feltthat in all the world, there was not a happier being than herself--and the one at Locust Grove, who with bloodshot eyes and lividlips gazed out upon the starry sky, almost cursing the day thatshe was born, and the fate which had made her what she was. Everand anon, too, there came stealing on her ear the fearful word_retribution_, and the wretched girl shuddered as she thoughtfor how much she had to atone. 

Marveling much at the strange mood of his bride, Stephen Grey, onthe morning succeeding his marriage, left her and went down to thevillage, where he found a letter from his father, telling him thecrisis had come, leaving him more than one hundred thousanddollars in debt! Stephen was not surprised--he had expected it, and it affected him less painfully when he considered that hiswife would inherit a portion of Uncle Nathaniel's wealth. 

"I won't tell her yet, " he thought, as he walked back to LocustGrove, where, with an undefined presentiment of approaching evil, Eugenia moved listlessly from room to room, counting the hourswhich dragged heavily, and half wishing that Uncle Nat wouldhasten his coming, and have it over!

 * * * * *

The sun went down, and as darkness settled o'er the earth, a heavyload seemed pressing upon Eugenia's spirits. It wanted now but afew minutes of the time when the train was due, and trembling, shescarcely knew why, she sat alone in her chamber, wondering how sheshould meet her uncle, or what excuse she should render, if herperfidy were revealed. The door bell rang, and in the hall belowshe heard the voices of Mr. Hastings and Dora. 

"I must go down, now, " she said, and forcing a smile to her face, she descended to the parlor, as the shrill whistle of the enginesounded in the distance. 

She had just time to greet her visitors and enjoy their surpriseat the announcement of her marriage, when her ear caught the soundof heavy, tramping footsteps, coming up the walk, and a violentringing of the bell announced another arrival. 

"You go to the door, Stephen, " she whispered, while an icycoldness crept over her. 

He obeyed, and bending forward in a listening attitude she heardhim say, "Good evening, Mr. Hamilton. "

Just then, a telegraphic look between Mr. Hastings and Dora caughther eye, and springing to her feet, she exclaimed, "_Mr. Hamilton!_" while a suspicion of the truth flashed likelightning upon her. The next moment he stood before them, UncleNat, his glittering black eyes fixed upon Eugenia, who quailedbeneath that withering glance. 

"_I promised yon I would come to-night_" he said, "_and Iam here, Nathaniel Deane! Are you glad to see me?_" and hiseyes never moved from Eugenia, who sat like one petrified, as didher mother and sister. "Have you no word of welcome??" hecontinued. "Your letters were wont to be kind and affectionate. Ihave brought them with me, as a passport to you friendship. ShallI show them to you?"

His manner was perfectly cool and collected, but Eugenia felt thesting each word implied, and, starting up, she glared defiantly athim, exclaiming, "Insolent wretch! What mean you by this? And whatbusiness had you thus to deceive us?"

"The fair Eugenia does not believe in _deceit_, it seems. Pity her theory and practise do not better accord, " he answered, while a scornful smile curled his lips. 

"What proof have you, sir, for what you say?" demanded Eugenia;and with the same cold, scornful smile, he replied, "Far betterproof than you imagine, fair lady. Would you like to hear it?"

Not suspecting how much he knew, and goaded to madness by hiscalm, quiet manner, Eugenia replied, "I defy you, old man, toprove aught against me. "

"First, then, " said he, "let me ask you what use you made of thatfifteen hundred dollars sent to Dora nearly three years ago? Wasnot this piano, " laying his hand upon the instrument, "bought witha part of that money? Did Dora ever see it, or the five hundreddollars sent annually by me?"

Eugenia was confounded. He did know it all, but how had she beenbetrayed? It must be through Dora's agency, she thought, andturning fiercely towards her, she heaped upon her such a torrentof abuse, that, in thunder-like tones, Uncle Nat, now reallyexcited, bade her keep silent; while Howard Hastings arose, andconfronting the angry woman, explained briefly what he had done, and why he had done it. 

"Then you, too, have acted a traitor's part?" she hissed; "but itshall not avail, I will not be trampled down by either you, orthis gray-haired--"

"Hold!" cried Uncle Nat, laying his broad palm heavily upon hershoulder. "I am too old to hear such language from you, younglady. I do not wish to upbraid you farther with what you havedone. 'Tis sufficient that I know it all, that henceforth we arestrangers;" and he turned to leave the room, when Mrs. Deane, advancing towards him said pleadingly, "Is it thus, Nathaniel, that you return to us, after so many years? Eugenia may have beentempted to do wrong, but will you not forgive her for her father'ssake?"

"_Never!_" he answered fiercely, shaking off the hand she hadlain upon his arm. "Towards Alice I bear no ill will; and you, madam, who suffered this wrong to be done, I may, in time, forgive, but _that woman_, " pointing towards Eugenia, "_Never!_"And he left the room, while Eugenia, completely overwhelmedwith a sense of her detected guilt, burst into a passionatefit of tears, sobbing so bitterly that Dora, touched by hergrief, stole softly to her side, and was about to speak, when, thrusting her away, Eugenia exclaimed, "Leave me, Dora Deane, andnever come here again. The sight of you mocking my wretchedness ishateful and more than I can bear!"

There were tears in Dora's eyes, as she turned away, and offeringher hand to her aunt and cousin, she took her husband's arm, and"went out of a house, where she had suffered so much, and which, while Eugenia remained, she would never enter again. "

Like one in a dream sat Stephen Grey. He had been a silentspectator of the exciting scene, but thought had been busy, andere it was half over, his own position was clearly defined, and heknew that, even as he had cheated Eugenia Deane, so Eugenia Deanehad cheated him. It was an even thing, and unprincipled andselfish as he was, he felt that he had no cause for complaint. Still the disappointment was not the less severe, and when thebride of a day, looking reproachfully at him through her tears, asked, "why he didn't say to her a word of comfort?" he coollyreplied, "because I have nothing to say. You have got yourselfinto a deuced mean scrape, and so have I!"

Eugenia did not then understand what he meant, and, when, an houror two later, she dried her tears, and began to speak of animmediate removal to Philadelphia, where she would be moreeffectually out of Uncle Nat's way, she was surprised at hisasking her, "what she proposed doing in the city, and if she hadany means of support. "

"Means of support!" she repeated. "Why do you ask that question, when your father is worth half a million, and you are his onlyson?"

With a prolonged whistle, he answered, "Father worth a copper centand I a precious fool comes nearer the truth!"

"What do you mean?" she asked, in unfeigned astonishment; and hereplied, "I mean that three days ago father _failed_, to thetune of one hundred thousand dollars, and if you or I have anybread to eat hereafter, one or the other of us must earn it!"

Eugenia had borne much to-day, and this last announcement was theone straw too many. Utterly crushed, she buried her face in herhands, and remained silent. She could not reproach her husband, for the deception had been equal, and now, when this last hope hadbeen swept away, the world indeed seemed dreary and dark. 

"What shall we do?" she groaned at last, in a voice so full ofdespair, that with a feeling akin to pity, Stephen, who had beenpacing up and down the room, came to her side, saying, "Why can'twe stay as we are? I can average a pettyfogging suit a month, andthat'll be better than nothing. "

"I wouldn't remain here on any account after what has happened, "said Eugenia; "and besides that, we couldn't stay, if we would, for now that Uncle Nat's remittance is withdrawn, mother hasnothing in the world to live on. "

"Couldn't you take in _sewing_, " suggested Stephen, "or_washing_, or _mopping_?"

To the sewing and the washing Eugenia was too indignant to reply, but when it came to the _mopping_, she lifted up her hands inastonishment, calling him "a fool and a simpleton. "

"Hang me, if I know anything about woman's work, " said Stephen, resuming his walk, and wondering why the taking in of _mopping_should be more difficult than anything else. "I have it, " he said atlength, running his fingers over the keys of the piano. "Can'tyou teach music? The piano got you into a fix, and if I were you, I'd make it help me out. "

"I'll use it for kindling-wood first, " was her answer, and Stephenresumed his cogitations, which resulted finally in his tellingher, that on the prairies of Illinois there were a few acres ofland, of which he was the rightful owner. There was a house on it, too, he said, though in what condition he did not know, and ifthey only had a little money with which to start, it would be bestfor them to go out there at once. This plan struck Eugenia morefavorably than any which he had proposed. 

Humbled as she was, she felt that the further she were fromDunwood, the happier she would be, and after a consultation withMrs. Deane, it was decided that the beautiful rosewood pianoshould be sold, and that with the proceeds, Stephen and Eugeniashould bury themselves for a time at the West. Two weeks morefound them on their way to their distant home, and when thatwinter, Dora Hastings, at Rose Hill, pushed aside the heavy damaskwhich shaded her pleasant window, and looked out upon the snow-covered lawn and spacious garden beyond, Eugenia Grey, in herhumble cabin, looked through her paper-curtained window upon thesnow-clad prairie, which stretched away as far as eye could reach, and shed many bitter tears, as she heard the wind go wailing pasther door, and thought of her home far to the east, towards therising sun. 

CHAPTER XXII

CONCLUSION

Three years have passed away, and twice the wintry storms haveswept over the two graves, which, on the prairies of Illinois, were made when the glorious Indian summer sun was shining o'er theearth, and the withered leaves of autumn were strewn upon theground. Stephen and Eugenia are dead--he, dying as a drunkarddies--she, as a drunkard's wife. Uncle Nat had been to visit thewestern world, and on his return to Rose Hill, there was asoftened light in his eye, and a sadness in the tones of hisvoice, as, drawing Dora to his side, he whispered, "I haveforgiven her--forgiven Eugenia Deane. "

Then he told her how an old man in his wanderings came one day toa lonely cabin, where a wild-eyed woman was raving in delirium, and tearing out handfuls of the long black hair which floated overher shoulders. This she was counting one by one, just as the oldEast India man had counted the silken tress which was sent to himover the sea, and she laughed with maniacal glee as she said thenumbering of all her hairs would atone for the sin she had done. At intervals, too, rocking to and fro, she sang of the fearfulnight when she had thought to _steal_ the auburn locks concealedwithin the old green trunk; on which the darkness lay so heavyand so black, that she had turned away in terror, and glidedfrom the room. In the old man's heart there was much of bitternesstowards that erring woman for the wrong she had done to him andhis, but when he found her thus, when he looked on the new-madegrave beneath the buckeye tree, and felt that she was dying ofstarvation and neglect, when he saw how the autumn rains, drippingfrom a crevice in the roof, had drenched her scanty pillowsthrough and through--when he sought in the empty cupboard for foodor drink in vain, his heart softened towards her, and for manyweary days he watched her with the tenderest care, administeringto all her wants, and soothing her in her frenzied moods, as hewould a little child, and when at last a ray of reason shone for amoment on her darkened mind, and she told him how much she hadsuffered from the hands of one who now slept just without thedoor, and asked him to forgive her ere she died, he laid upon hisbosom her aching head, from which in places the long hair had beentorn, leaving it spotted and bald, and bending gently over her, hewhispered in her ear, "As freely as I hope to be forgiven ofHeaven, so freely forgive I you. "

With a look of deep gratitude, the dark eyes glanced at him for amoment, then closed forever, and he was alone with the dead. 

Some women, whose homes were distant two or three miles, hadoccasionally shared his vigils, and from many a log cabin thepeople gathered themselves together, and made for the departed agrave, and when the sun was high in the heavens, and not a clouddimmed the canopy of blue, they buried her beside her husband, where the prairie flowers and the tall rank grass would wave aboveher head. 

This was the story he told, and Dora listening to it, weptbitterly over the ill-fated Eugenia, whose mother and sister neverknew exactly how she died, for Uncle Nathaniel would not tellthem, but from the time of his return from the West his mannertowards them was changed, and when the New Year came round, onehundred golden guineas found entrance at their door, accompaniedwith a promise that when the day returned again, the gift shouldbe repeated. 

 * * * * *

On the vine-wreathed pillars, and winding walks of Rose Hill, thesoftened light of the setting sun is shining. April showers havewakened to life the fair spring blossoms, whose delicate perfume, mingling with the evening air, steals through the open casement, and kisses the bright face of Dora, beautiful now as when shefirst called him her husband who sits beside her, and who each dayblesses her as his choicest treasure. 

On the balcony without, in a large-armed willow chair, is seatedan old man, and as the fading sunlight falls around him, a bright-haired little girl, not yet two years of age, climbs upon hisknee, and winding her chubby arms around his neck lisps the nameof "Grandpa, " and the old man, folding her to his bosom, sings toher softly and low of _another Fannie_, whose eyes of bluewere much like those which look so lovingly into his face. Anondarkness steals over all but the new moon, "hanging like a silverthread in the western sky, " shows us where Howard Hastings issitting, still with Dora at his side. 

On the balcony, all is silent; the tremulous voice has ceased; theblue-eyed child no longer listens; old age and infancy sleepsweetly now together; the song is ended; the story is done. 

THE END.