[Illustration: THE OLD MAJOR. ]

The Works of E. P. Roe

VOLUME THIRTEEN

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS

ILLUSTRATED

1883

PREFACE

The following story has been taking form in my mind for several years, and at last I have been able to write it out. With a regret akin tosadness, I take my leave, this August day, of people who have becomevery real to me, whose joys and sorrows I have made my own. Although aNorthern man, I think my Southern readers will feel that I have soughtto do justice to their motives. At this distance from the late CivilWar, it is time that passion and prejudice sank below the horizon, andamong the surviving soldiers who were arrayed against each other Ithink they have practically disappeared. Stern and prolonged conflicttaught mutual respect. The men of the Northern armies were convinced, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that they had fought men and Americans--men whose patriotism and devotion to a cause sacred to them was aspure and lofty as their own. It is time that sane men and women shouldbe large-minded enough to recognize that, whatever may have been theoriginal motives of political leaders, the people on both sides weresincere and honest; that around the camp-fires at their hearths and intheir places of worship they looked for God's blessing on theirefforts with equal freedom from hypocrisy. 

I have endeavored to portray the battle of Bull Run as it could appearto a civilian spectator: to give a suggestive picture and not ageneral description. The following war-scenes are imaginary, andcolored by personal reminiscence. I was in the service nearly fouryears, two of which were spent with the cavalry. Nevertheless, justlydistrustful of my knowledge of military affairs, I have submitted myproofs to my friend Colonel H. C. Hasbrouck, Commandant of Cadets atWest Point, and therefore have confidence that as mere sketches ofbattles and skirmishes they are not technically defective. 

The title of the story will naturally lead the reader to expect thatdeep shadows rest upon many of its pages. I know it is scarcely thefashion of the present time to portray men and women who feel verydeeply about anything, but there certainly was deep feeling at thetime of which I write, as, in truth, there is to-day. The heart ofhumanity is like the ocean. There are depths to be stirred when thecauses are adequate. E. P. R. 

CORNWALL-ON-THE-HUDSON, _August_ 21, 1883. 

CONTENTS

CHAPTER IAN EMBODIMENT OF MAY

CHAPTER IIMERE FANCIES

CHAPTER IIITHE VERDICT OF A SAGE

CHAPTER IVWARNING OR INCENTIVE

CHAPTER VIMPRESSIONS

CHAPTER VIPHILOSOPHY AT FAULT

CHAPTER VIIWARREN HILLAND

CHAPTER VIIISUPREME MOMENTS

CHAPTER IXTHE REVELATION

CHAPTER XTHE KINSHIP OF SUFFERING

CHAPTER XITHE ORDEAL

CHAPTER XIIFLIGHT TO NATURE

CHAPTER XIIITHE FRIENDS

CHAPTER XIVNOBLE DECEPTION

CHAPTER XV"I WISH HE HAD KNOWN"

CHAPTER XVITHE CLOUD IN THE SOUTH

CHAPTER XVIIPREPARATION

CHAPTER XVIIITHE CALL TO ARMS

CHAPTER XIXTHE BLOOD-RED SKY

CHAPTER XXTWO BATTLES

CHAPTER XXITHE LOGIC OF EVENTS

CHAPTER XXIISELF-SENTENCED

CHAPTER XXIIIAN EARLY DREAM FULFILLED

CHAPTER XXIVUNCHRONICLED CONFLICTS

CHAPTER XXVA PRESENTIMENT

CHAPTER XXVIAN IMPROVISED PICTURE GALLERY

CHAPTER XXVIIA DREAM

CHAPTER XXVIIIITS FULFILMENT

CHAPTER XXIXA SOUTHERN GIRL

CHAPTER XXXGUERILLAS

CHAPTER XXXIJUST IN TIME

CHAPTER XXXIIA WOUNDED SPIRIT

CHAPTER XXXIIITHE WHITE-HAIRED NURSE

CHAPTER XXXIVRITA'S BROTHER

CHAPTER XXXVHIS SOMBRE RIVALS

CHAPTEB XXXVIALL MATERIALISTS

CHAPTEE XXXVIITHE EFFORT TO LIVE

CHAPTEE XXXVIIIGRAHAM'S LAST SACRIFICE

CHAPTEE XXXIXMARRIED UNCONSCIOUSLY

CHAPTEE XLRITA ANDERSON

CHAPTEE XLIA LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM

CHAPTER I

AN EMBODIMENT OF MAY

"Beyond that revolving light lies my home. And yet why should I usesuch a term when the best I can say is that a continent is my home?Home suggests a loved familiar nook in the great world. There is nosuch niche for me, nor can I recall any place around which my memorylingers with especial pleasure. "

In a gloomy and somewhat bitter mood, Alford Graham thus soliloquizedas he paced the deck of an in-coming steamer. In explanation it may bebriefly said that he had been orphaned early in life, and that theresidences of his guardians had never been made homelike to him. Whilescarcely more than a child he had been placed at boarding-schoolswhere the system and routine made the youth's life little better thanthat of a soldier in his barrack. Many boys would have grown hardy, aggressive, callous, and very possibly vicious from being thrown outon the world so early. Young Graham became reticent and to superficialobservers shy. Those who cared to observe him closely, however, discovered that it was not diffidence, but indifference toward othersthat characterized his manner. In the most impressible period of hislife he had received instruction, advice and discipline in abundance, but love and sympathy had been denied. Unconsciously his heart hadbecome chilled, benumbed and overshadowed by his intellect. The actualworld gave him little and seemed to promise less, and, as a result notat all unnatural, he became something of a recluse and bookworm evenbefore he had left behind him the years of boyhood. 

Both comrades and teachers eventually learned that the retiring andsolitary youth was not to be trifled with. He looked his instructorsteadily in the eye when he recited, and while his manner wasrespectful, it was never deferential, nor could he be induced to yielda point, when believing himself in the right, to mere arbitraryassertion; and sometimes he brought confusion to his teacher byquoting in support of his own view some unimpeachable authority. 

At the beginning of each school term there were usually rough fellowswho thought the quiet boy could be made the subject of practical jokesand petty annoyances without much danger of retaliation. Graham wouldusually remain patient up to a certain point, and then, in dismay andastonishment, the offender would suddenly find himself receiving apunishment which he seemed powerless to resist. Blows would fall likehail, or if the combatants closed in the struggle, the aggressorappeared to find in Graham's slight form sinew and fury only. Itseemed as if the lad's spirit broke forth in such a flame ofindignation that no one could withstand him. It was also rememberedthat while he was not noted for prowess on the playground, few couldsurpass him in the gymnasium, and that he took long solitary rambles. Such of his classmates, therefore, as were inclined to quarrel withhim because of his unpopular ways soon learned that he kept up hismuscle with the best of them, and that, when at last roused, his angerstruck like lightning from a cloud. 

During the latter part of his college course he gradually formed astrong friendship for a young man of a different type, an ardentsunny-natured youth, who proved an antidote to his morbid tendencies. They went abroad together and studied for two years at a Germanuniversity, and then Warren Hilland, Graham's friend, having inheritedlarge wealth, returned to his home. Graham, left to himself, delvedmore and more deeply in certain phases of sceptical philosophy. Itappeared to him that in the past men had believed almost everything, and that the heavier the drafts made on credulity the more largely hadthey been honored. The two friends had long since resolved that theactual and the proved should be the base from which they would advanceinto the unknown, and they discarded with equal indifferenceunsubstantiated theories of science and what they were pleased to termthe illusions of faith. "From the verge of the known explore theunknown, " was their motto, and it had been their hope to spend theirlives in extending the outposts of accurate knowledge, in some one ortwo directions, a little beyond the points already reached. Since thescalpel and microscope revealed no soul in the human mechanism theyregarded all theories and beliefs concerning a separate spiritualexistence as mere assumption. They accepted the materialistic view. Tothem each generation was a link in an endless chain, and man himselfwholly the product of an evolution which had no relations to acreative mind, for they had no belief in the existence of such a mind. They held that one had only to live wisely and well, and thus transmitthe principle of life, not only unvitiated, but strengthened andenlarged. Sins against body and mind were sins against the race, andit was their creed that the stronger, fuller and more nearly completethey made their lives the richer and fuller would be the life thatsucceeded them. They scouted as utterly unproved and irrational theidea that they could live after death, excepting as the plant lives byadding to the material life and well-being of other plants. But atthat time the spring and vigor of youth were in their heart and brain, and it seemed to them a glorious thing to live and do their part inthe advancement of the race toward a stage of perfection not dreamedof by the unthinking masses. 

Alas for their visions of future achievement! An avalanche of wealthhad overwhelmed Hilland. His letters to his friend had grown more andmore infrequent, and they contained many traces of the business caresand the distractions inseparable from his possessions and newrelations. And now for causes just the reverse Graham also wasforsaking his studies. His modest inheritance, invested chiefly inreal estate, had so far depreciated that apparently it could not muchlonger provide for even his frugal life abroad. 

"I must give up my chosen career for a life of bread-winning, " he hadconcluded sadly, and he was ready to avail himself of any good openingthat offered. Therefore he knew not where his lot would be cast on thebroad continent beyond the revolving light that loomed every momentmore distinctly in the west. 

A few days later found him at the residence of Mrs. Mayburn, a prettycottage in a suburb of an eastern city. This lady was his aunt bymarriage, and had long been a widow. She had never manifested muchinterest in her nephew, but since she was his nearest relative he feltthat he could not do less than call upon her. To his agreeablesurprise he found that time had mellowed her spirit and softened herangularities. After the death of her husband she had developed unusualability to take care of herself, and had shown little disposition totake care of any one else. Her thrift and economy had greatly enhancedher resources, and her investments had been profitable, while thesense of increasing abundance had had a happy effect on her character. Within the past year she had purchased the dwelling in which she nowresided, and to which she welcomed Graham with unexpected warmth. Sofar from permitting him to make simply a formal call, she insisted onan extended visit, and he, divorced from his studies and thereforefeeling his isolation more keenly than ever before, assented. 

"My home is accessible, " she said, "and from this point you can makeinquiries and look around for business opportunities quite as well asfrom a city hotel. "

She was so cordial, so perfectly sincere, that for the first time inhis life he felt what it was to have kindred and a place in the worldthat was not purchased. 

He had found his financial affairs in a much better condition than hehad expected. Some improvements were on foot which promised to advancethe value of his real estate so largely as to make him independent, and he was much inclined to return to Germany and resume his studies. 

"I will rest and vegetate for a time, " he concluded. "I will wait tillmy friend Hilland returns from the West, and then, when the impulse ofwork takes possession of me again, I will decide upon my course. "

He had come over the ocean to meet his fate, and not the faintestshadow of a presentiment of this truth crossed his mind as he lookedtranquilly from his aunt's parlor window at the beautiful May sunset. The cherry blossoms were on the wane, and the light puffs of windbrought the white petals down like flurries of snow; the plum-treeslooked as if the snow had clung to every branch and spray, and theywere as white as they could have been after some breathless, large-flaked December storm; but the great apple-tree that stood well downthe path was the crowning product of May. A more exquisite bloom ofpink and white against an emerald foil of tender young leaves couldnot have existed even in Eden, nor could the breath of Eve have beenmore sweet than the fragrance exhaled. The air was soft with summer-like mildness, and the breeze that fanned Graham's cheek brought nosense of chilliness. The sunset hour, with its spring beauty, the songof innumerable birds, and especially the strains of a wood-thrush, that, like a _prima donna_, trilled her melody, clear, sweet anddistinct above the feathered chorus, penetrated his soul with subtleand delicious influences. A vague longing for something he had neverknown or felt, for something that books had never taught, orexperimental science revealed, throbbed in his heart. He felt that hislife was incomplete, and a deeper sense of isolation came over himthan he had ever experienced in foreign cities where every face wasstrange. Unconsciously he was passing under the most subtle andpowerful of all spells, that of spring, when the impulse to mate comesnot to the birds alone. 

It so happened that he was in just the condition to succumb to thisinfluence. His mental tension was relaxed. He had sat down by thewayside of life to rest awhile. He had found that there was no needthat he should bestir himself in money-getting, and his mind refusedto return immediately to the deep abstractions of science. It pleadedweariness of the world and of the pros and cons of conflictingtheories and questions. He admitted the plea and said:--

"My mind _shall_ rest, and for a few days, possibly weeks, it shallbe passively receptive of just such influences as nature andcircumstances chance to bring to it. Who knows but that I may gain adeeper insight into the hidden mysteries than if I were delving amongthe dusty tomes of a university library? For some reason I feel to-night as if I could look at that radiant, fragrant apple-tree andlisten to the lullaby of the birds forever. And yet their songssuggest a thought that awakens an odd pain and dissatisfaction. Eachone is singing to his mate. Each one is giving expression to anoverflowing fulness and completeness of life; and never before have Ifelt my life so incomplete and isolated. 

"I wish Hilland was here. He is such a true friend that his silence iscompanionship, and his words never jar discordantly. It seems to methat I miss him more to-night than I did during the first days afterhis departure. It's odd that I should. I wonder if the friendship, thelove of a woman could be more to me than that of Hilland. What wasthat paragraph from Emerson that once struck me so forcibly? My auntis a woman of solid reading; she must have Emerson. Yes, here in herbookcase, meagre only in the number of volumes it contains, is what Iwant, " and he turned the leaves rapidly until his eyes lighted on thefollowing passage:--

"No man ever forgot the visitations of that power to his heart andbrain which created all things new; which was the dawn in him ofmusic, poetry, and art; which made the face of nature radiant withpurple light, the morning and the night varied enchantments; when asingle tone of one voice could make the heart bound, and the mosttrivial circumstance associated with one form was put in the amber ofmemory; when he became all eye when one was present, and all memorywhen one was gone. "

"Emerson never learned that at a university, German or otherwise. Hewrites as if it were a common human experience, and yet I know no moreabout it than of the sensations of a man who has lost an arm. Isuppose losing one's heart is much the same. As long as a man's limbsare intact he is scarcely conscious of them, but when one is gone ittroubles him all the time, although it isn't there. Now when Hillandleft me I felt guilty at the ease with which I could forget him in thelibrary and laboratory. I did not become all memory. I knew he was mybest, my only friend; he is still; but he is not essential to my life. Clearly, according to Emerson, I am as ignorant as a child of one ofthe deepest experiences of life, and very probably had better remainso, and yet the hour is playing strange tricks with my fancy. "

Thus it may be perceived that Alford Graham was peculiarly open onthis deceitful May evening, which promised peace and security, to theimpending stroke of fate. Its harbinger first appeared in the form ofa white Spitz dog, barking vivaciously under the apple-tree, where apath from a neighboring residence intersected the walk leading fromMrs. Mayburn's cottage to the street. Evidently some one was playingwith the little creature, and was pretending to be kept at bay by itsbelligerent attitude. Suddenly there was a rush and a flutter of whitedraperies, and the dog retreated toward Graham, barking with stillgreater excitement. Then the young man saw coming up the path withquick, lithe tread, sudden pauses, and little impetuous dashes at hercanine playmate, a being that might have been an emanation from theradiant apple-tree, or, rather, the human embodiment of the blossomingperiod of the year. Her low wide brow and her neck were snowy white, and no pink petal on the trees above her could surpass the bloom onher cheeks. Her large, dark, lustrous eyes were brimming over withfun, and unconscious of observation, she moved with the natural, unstudied grace of a child. 

Graham thought, "No scene of nature is complete without the humanelement, and now the very genius of the hour and season has appeared;"and he hastily concealed himself behind the curtains, unwilling tolose one glimpse of a picture that made every nerve tingle withpleasure. His first glance had revealed that the fair vision was not achild, but a tall, graceful girl, who happily had not yet passedbeyond the sportive impulses of childhood. 

Every moment she came nearer, until at last she stood opposite thewindow. He could see the blue veins branching across her temples, thequick rise and fall of her bosom, caused by rather violent exertion, the wavy outlines of light brown hair that was gathered in a Greekcoil at the back of the shapely head. She had the rare combination ofdark eyes and light hair which made the lustre of her eyes all themore striking. He never forgot that moment as she stood panting beforehim on the gravel walk, her girlhood's grace blending so harmoniouslywith her budding womanhood. For a moment the thought crossed his mindthat under the spell of the spring evening his own fancy had createdher, and that if he looked away and turned again he would see nothingbut the pink and white blossoms, and hear only the jubilant song ofthe birds. 

The Spitz dog, however, could not possibly have any such unsubstantialorigin, and this small Cerberus had now entered the room, and wasbarking furiously at him as an unrecognized stranger. A moment laterhis vision under the window stood in the doorway. The sportive girlwas transformed at once into a well-bred young woman who remarkedquietly, "I beg your pardon. I expected to find Mrs. Mayburn here;"and she departed to search for that lady through the house with aprompt freedom which suggested relations of the most friendlyintimacy. 

CHAPTER II

MERE FANCIES

Graham's disposition to make his aunt a visit was not at all chilledby the discovery that she had so fair a neighbor. He was conscious oflittle more than an impulse to form the acquaintance of one who mightgive a peculiar charm and piquancy to his May-day vacation, and enrichhim with an experience that had been wholly wanting in his secludedand studious life. With a smile he permitted the fancy--for he was ina mood for all sorts of fancies on this evening--that if this girlcould teach him to interpret Emerson's words, he would make no crabbedresistance. And yet the remote possibility of such an event gave him asense of security, and prompted him all the more to yield himself forthe first time to whatever impressions a young and pretty woman mightbe able to make upon him. His very disposition toward experiment andanalysis inclined him to experiment with himself. Thus it would seemthat even the perfect evening, and the vision that had emerged fromunder the apple-boughs, could not wholly banish a tendency to give ascientific cast to the mood and fancies of the hour. 

His aunt now summoned him to the supper-room, where he was formallyintroduced to Miss Grace St. John, with whom his first meal under hisrelative's roof was destined to be taken. 

As may naturally be supposed, Graham was not well furnished with smalltalk, and while he had not the proverbial shyness and awkwardness ofthe student, he was somewhat silent because he knew not what to say. The young guest was entirely at her ease, and her familiarity with thehostess enabled her to chat freely and naturally on topics of mutualinterest, thus giving Graham time for those observations to which allare inclined when meeting one who has taken a sudden and strong holdupon the attention. 

He speedily concluded that she could not be less than nineteen ortwenty years of age, and that she was not what he would term a societygirl--a type that he had learned to recognize from not a fewrepresentatives of his countrywomen whom he had seen abroad, ratherthan from much personal acquaintance. It should not be understood thathe had shunned society altogether, and his position had ever entitledhim to enter the best; but the young women whom it had been hisfortune to meet had failed to interest him as completely as he hadproved himself a bore to them. Their worlds were too widely separatedfor mutual sympathy; and after brief excursions among the drawing-rooms to which Hilland had usually dragged him, he returned to hisbooks with a deeper satisfaction and content. Would his acquaintancewith Miss St. John lead to a like result? He was watching and waitingto see, and she had the advantage--if it was an advantage--of making agood first impression. 

Every moment increased this predisposition in her favor. She must haveknown that she was very attractive, for few girls reach her agewithout attaining such knowledge; but her observer, and in a certainsense her critic, could not detect the faintest trace of affectationor self-consciousness. Her manner, her words, and even their accentseemed unstudied, unpracticed, and unmodelled after any received type. Her glance was peculiarly open and direct, and from the first she gaveGraham the feeling that she was one who might be trusted absolutely. That she had tact and kindliness also was evidenced by the fact thatshe did not misunderstand or resent his comparative silence. At first, after learning that he had lived much abroad, her manner toward himhad been a little shy and wary, indicating that she may have surmisedthat his reticence was the result of a certain kind of superioritywhich travelled men--especially young men--often assume when meetingthose whose lives are supposed to have a narrow horizon; but shequickly discovered that Graham had no foreign-bred pre-eminence toparade--that he wanted to talk with her if he could only find somecommon subject of interest. This she supplied by taking him to groundwith which he was perfectly familiar, for she asked him to tell hersomething about university life in Germany. On such a theme he couldconverse well, and before long a fire of eager questions proved thathe had not only a deeply interested listener but also a veryintelligent one. 

Mrs. Mayburn smiled complacently, for she had some natural desire thather nephew should make a favorable impression. In regard to Miss St. John she had long ceased to have any misgivings, and the approval thatshe saw in Graham's eyes was expected as a matter of course. Thisapproval she soon developed into positive admiration by leading herfavorite to speak of her own past. 

"Grace, you must know, Alford, is the daughter of an army officer, andhas seen some odd phases of life at the various military stationswhere her father has been on duty. "

These words piqued Graham's curiosity at once, and he became thequestioner. His own frank effort to entertain was now rewarded, andthe young girl, possessing easy and natural powers of description, gave sketches of life at military posts which to Graham had more thanthe charm of novelty. Unconsciously she was accounting for herself. Inthe refined yet unconventional society of officers and their wives shehad acquired the frank manner so peculiarly her own. But thecharacteristic which won Graham's interest most strongly was herabounding mirthfulness. It ran through all her words like a goldenthread. The instinctive craving of every nature is for that whichsupplements itself, and Graham found something so genial in Miss St. John's ready smile and laughing eyes, which suggested an over-fullfountain of joyousness within, that his heart, chilled and repressedfrom childhood, began to give signs of its existence, even during thefirst hour of their acquaintance. It is true, as we have seen, that hewas in a very receptive condition, but then a smile, a glance that islike warm sunshine, is never devoid of power. 

The long May twilight had faded, and they were still lingering overthe supper-table, when a middle-aged colored woman in a flaming redturban appeared in the doorway and said, "Pardon, Mis' Mayburn; I'sea-hopin' you'll 'scuse me. I jes step over to tell Miss Grace dat demajor's po'ful oneasy, --'spected you back afo'. "

The girl arose with alacrity, saying, "Mr. Graham, you have brought meinto danger, and must now extricate me. Papa is an inveterate whist-player, and you have put my errand here quite out of my mind. I didn'tcome for the sake of your delicious muffins altogether"--with a nod ather hostess; "our game has been broken up, you know, Mrs. Mayburn, bythe departure of Mrs. Weeks and her daughter. You have often played agood hand with us, and papa thought you would come over this evening, and that you, from your better acquaintance with our neighbors, mightknow of some one who enjoyed the game sufficiently to join us quiteoften. Mr. Graham, you must be the one I am seeking. A gentlemanversed in the lore of two continents certainly understands whist, or, at least, can penetrate its mysteries at a single sitting. "

"Suppose I punish the irony of your concluding words, " Graham replied, "by saying that I know just enough about the game to be aware how muchskill is required to play with such a veteran as your father?"

"If you did you would punish papa also, who is innocent. "

"That cannot be thought of, although, in truth, I play but anindifferent game. If you will make amends by teaching me I will try toperpetrate as few blunders as possible. "

"Indeed, sir, you forget. You are to make amends for keeping metalking here, forgetful of filial duty, by giving me a chance to teachyou. You are to be led meekly in as a trophy by which I am topropitiate my stern parent, who has military ideas of promptness andobedience. "

"What if he should place me under arrest?"

"Then Mrs. Mayburn and I will become your jailers, and we shall keepyou here until you are one of the most accomplished whist-players inthe land. "

"If you will promise to stand guard over me some of the time I willsubmit to any conditions. "

"You are already making one condition, and may think of a dozen more. It will be better to parole you with the understanding that you are toput in an appearance at the hour for whist;" and with similar lighttalk they went down the walk under the apple-boughs, whence inGraham's fancy the fair girl had had her origin. As they passed underthe shadow he saw the dusky outline of a rustic seat leaning againstthe bole of the tree, and he wondered if he should ever induce hispresent guide through the darkened paths to come there some moonlightevening, and listen to the fancies which her unexpected appearance hadoccasioned. The possibility of such an event in contrast with its fargreater improbability caused him to sigh, and then he smiled broadlyat himself in the darkness. 

When they had passed a clump of evergreens, a lighted cottagepresented itself, and Miss St. John sprang lightly up the steps, pushed open the hall door, and cried through the open entrance to acosey apartment, "No occasion for hostilities, papa. I have made acapture that gives the promise of whist not only this evening but alsofor several more to come. "

As Graham and Mrs. Mayburn entered, a tall, white-haired man liftedhis foot from off a cushion, and rose with some little difficulty, buthaving gained his feet, his bearing was erect and soldier-like, andhis courtesy perfect, although toward Mrs. Mayburn it was tinged withthe gallantry of a former generation. Some brief explanationsfollowed, and then Major St. John turned upon Graham the dark eyeswhich his daughter had inherited, and which seemed all the morebrilliant in contrast with his frosty eyebrows, and said genially, "Itis very kind of you to be willing to aid in beguiling an old man'stedium. " Turning to his daughter he added a little querulously, "Theremust be a storm brewing, Grace, " and he drew in his breath as if inpain. 

"Does your wound trouble you to-night, papa?" she asked gently. 

"Yes, just as it always does before a storm. "

"It is perfectly clear without, " she resumed. "Perhaps the room hasbecome a little cold. The evenings are still damp and chilly;" and shethrew two or three billets of wood on the open fire, kindling a blazethat sprang cheerily up the chimney. 

The room seemed to be a combination of parlor and library, and itsatisfied Graham's ideal of a living apartment. Easy-chairs of variouspatterns stood here and there and looked as if constructed by the verygenius of comfort. A secretary in the corner near a window was open, suggesting absent friends and the pleasure of writing to them amidsuch agreeable surroundings. Again Graham queried, prompted by thepeculiar influences that had gained the mastery on this tranquil buteventful evening, "Will Miss St. John ever sit there penning wordsstraight from her heart to me?"

He was brought back to prose and reality by the major. Mrs. Mayburnhad been condoling with him, and he now turned and said, "I hope, mydear sir, that you may never carry around such a barometer as I amafflicted with. A man with an infirmity grows a little egotistical, ifnot worse. "

"You have much consolation, sir, in remembering how you came by yourinfirmity, " Graham replied. "Men bearing such proofs of service totheir country are not plentiful in our money-getting land. "

His daughter's laugh rang out musically as she cried, "That was meantto be a fine stroke of diplomacy. Papa, you will now have to pardon ascore of blunders. "

"I have as yet no proof that any will be made, " the major remarked, and in fact Graham had underrated his acquaintance with the game. Hewas quite equal to his aunt in proficiency, and with Miss St. John forhis partner he was on his mettle. He found her skilful indeed, quick, penetrating, and possessed of an excellent memory. They held their ownso well that the major's spirits rose hourly. He forgot his wound inthe complete absorption of his favorite recreation. 

As opportunity occurred Graham could not keep his eyes from wanderinghere and there about the apartment that had so taken his fancy, especially toward the large, well-filled bookcase and the pictures, which, if not very expensive, had evidently been the choice of acultivated taste. 

They were brought to a consciousness of the flight of time by a clockchiming out the hour of eleven, and the old soldier with a sigh ofregret saw Mrs. Mayburn rise. Miss St. John touched a silver bell, anda moment later the same negress who had reminded her of her father'simpatience early in the evening entered with a tray bearing a decanterof wine, glasses, and some wafer-like cakes. 

"Have I earned the indulgence of a glance at your books?" Grahamasked. 

"Yes, indeed, " Miss St. John replied; "your martyr-like submissionshall be further rewarded by permission to borrow any of them while intown. I doubt, however, if you will find them profound enough for yourtaste. "

"I shall take all point from your irony by asking if you think one canrelish nothing but intellectual roast beef. I am enjoying one of yourdelicate cakes. You must have an excellent cook. "

"Papa says he has, in the line of cake and pastry; but then he ispartial, "

"What! did you make them?"

"Why not?"

"Oh, I'm not objecting. Did my manners permit, I'd empty the plate. Still, I was under the impression that young ladies were not adepts inthis sort of thing. "

"You have been abroad so long that you may have to revise many of yourimpressions. Of course retired army officers are naturally in acondition to import _chefs de cuisine_, but then we like to keep upthe idea of republican simplicity. "

"Could you be so very kind as to induce your father to ask me to makeone of your evening quartette as often as possible?"

"The relevancy of that request is striking. Was it suggested by theflavor of the cakes? I sometimes forget to make them. "

"Their absence would not prevent my taste from being gratified if youwill permit me to come. Here is a marked volume of Emerson's works. May I take it for a day or two?"

She blushed slightly, hesitated perceptibly, and then said, "Yes. "

"Alford, " broke in his aunt, "you students have the name of beinggreat owls, but for an old woman of my regular habits it's gettinglate. "

"My daughter informs me, " the major remarked to Graham in parting, "that we may be able to induce you to take a hand with us quite often. If you should ever become as old and crippled as I am you will knowhow to appreciate such kindness. '"

"Indeed, sir, Miss St. John must testify that I asked to share yourgame as a privilege. I can scarcely remember to have passed sopleasant an evening. "

"Mrs. Mayburn, do try to keep him in this amiable frame of mind, "cried the girl. 

"I think I shall need your aid, " said that lady, with a smile. "Come, Alford, it is next to impossible to get you away. "

"Papa's unfortunate barometer will prove correct, I fear, " said MissSt. John, following them out on the piazza, for a thin scud wasalready veiling the stars, and there was an ominous moan of the wind. 

"To-morrow will be a stormy day, " remarked Mrs. Mayburn, who pridedherself on her weather wisdom. 

"I'm sorry, " Miss St. John continued, "for it will spoil our fairyworld of blossoms, and I am still more sorry for papa's sake. "

"Should the day prove a long, dismal, rainy one, " Graham ventured, "may I not come over and help entertain your father?"

"Yes, " said the girl, earnestly. "It cannot seem strange to you thattime should often hang heavily on his hands, and I am grateful to anyone who helps me to enliven his hours. "

Before Graham repassed under the apple-tree boughs he had fullydecided to win at least Miss St. John's gratitude. 

CHAPTER III

THE VERDICT OF A SAGE

When Graham reached his room he was in no mood for sleep. At first helapsed into a long revery over the events of the evening, trivial inthemselves, and yet for some reason holding a controlling influenceover his thoughts. Miss St. John was a new revelation of womanhood tohim, and for the first time in his life his heart had been stirred bya woman's tones and glances. A deep chord in his nature vibrated whenshe spoke and smiled. What did it mean? He had followed his impulse topermit this stranger to make any impression within her power, and hefound that she had decidedly interested him. As he tried to analyzeher power he concluded that it lay chiefly in the mirthfulness, thejoyousness of her spirit. She quickened his cool, deliberate pulse. Her smile was not an affair of facial muscles, but had a vivifyingwarmth. It made him suspect that his life was becoming cold and self-centred, that he was missing the deepest and best experiences of anexistence that was brief indeed at best, and, as he believed, soonceased forever. The love of study and ambition had sufficed thus far, but actuated by his own materialistic creed he was bound to make themost of life while it lasted. According to Emerson he was as yet butin the earlier stages of evolution, and his highest manhood whollyundeveloped. Had not "music, poetry, and art" dawned in his mind? Wasnature but a mechanism after whose laws he had been groping like ananatomist who finds in the godlike form bone and tissue merely? As hehad sat watching the sunset a few hours previous, the element ofbeauty had been present to him as never before. Could this sense ofbeauty become so enlarged that the world would be transfigured, "radiant with purple light"? Morning had often brought to himweariness from sleepless hours during which he had racked his brainover problems too deep for him, and evening had found him stillbaffled, disappointed, and disposed to ask in view of his toil, _Cuibono_? What ground had Emerson for saying that these same morningsand evenings might be filled with "varied enchantments"? The reason, the cause of these unknown conditions of life, was given unmistakably. The Concord sage had virtually asserted that he, Alford Graham, wouldnever truly exist until his one-sided masculine nature had beensupplemented by the feminine soul which alone could give to his beingcompleteness and the power to attain his full development. 

"Well, " he soliloquized, laughing, "I have not been aware thathitherto I have been only a mollusk, a polyp of a man. I am inclinedto think that Emerson's 'Pegasus' took the bit--got the better of himon one occasion; but if there is any truth in what he writes it mightnot be a bad idea to try a little of the kind of evolution that hesuggests and see what comes of it. I am already confident that I couldsee infinitely more than I do if I could look at the world throughMiss St. John's eyes as well as my own, but I run no slight risk inobtaining that vision. Her eyes are stars that must have drawnworshippers, not only from the east, but from every point of thecompass. I should be in a sorry plight if I should become 'allmemory, ' and from my fair divinity receive as sole response, 'Pleaseforget. ' If the philosopher could guarantee that she also would be'all eye and all memory, ' one might indeed covet Miss St. John as theteacher of the higher mysteries. Life is not very exhilarating atbest, but for a man to set his heart on such a woman as this girlpromises to be, and then be denied--why, he had better remain a polyp. Come, come, Alford Graham, you have had your hour of sentiment--out ofdeference to Mr. Emerson I won't call it weakness--and it's time youremembered that you are a comparatively poor man, that Miss St. Johnhas already been the choice of a score at least, and probably has madeher own choice. I shall therefore permit no delusions and the growthof no false hopes. "

Having reached this prudent conclusion, Graham yawned, smiled at theunwonted mood in which he had indulged, and with the philosophicpurpose of finding an opiate in the pages that had contained oneparagraph rather too exciting, he took up the copy of Emerson that hehad borrowed. The book fell open, indicating that some one had oftenturned to the pages before him. One passage was strongly marked oneither side and underscored. With a laugh he saw that it was the onehe had been dwelling upon--"No man ever forgot, " etc. 

"Now I know why she blushed slightly and hesitated to lend me thisvolume, " he thought. "I suppose I may read in this instance, 'No womanever forgot. ' Of course, it would be strange if she had not learned tounderstand these words. What else has she marked?"

Here and there were many delicate marginal lines indicating approvaland interest, but they were so delicate as to suggest that the strongscoring of the significant passage was not the work of Miss St. John, but rather of some heavy masculine hand. This seemed to restore theoriginal reading, "No _man_ ever forgot, " and some man had apparentlytried to inform her by his emphatic lines that he did not intend toforget. 

"Well, suppose he does not and cannot, " Graham mused. "That factplaces her under no obligations to be 'all eye and memory' for him. And yet her blush and hesitancy and the way the book falls open atthis passage look favorable for him. I can win her gratitude byamusing the old major, and with that, no doubt, I shall have to becontent. "

This limitation of his chances caused Graham so little solicitude thathe was soon sleeping soundly. 

CHAPTER IV

WARNING OR INCENTIVE?

The next morning proved that the wound which Major St. John hadreceived in the Mexican War was a correct barometer. From a leaden, lowering sky the rain fell steadily, and a chilly wind was fastdismantling the trees of their blossoms. The birds had suspended theirnest-building, and but few had the heart to sing. 

"You seem to take a very complacent view of the dreary prospectwithout, " Mrs. Mayburn remarked, as Graham came smilingly into thebreakfast-room and greeted her with a cheerful note in his tones. "Such a day as this means rheumatism for me and an aching leg forMajor St. John. "

"I am very sorry, aunt, " he replied, "but I cannot help rememberingalso that it is not altogether an ill wind, for it will blow me overinto a cosey parlor and very charming society--that is, if Miss St. John will give me a little aid in entertaining her father. "

"So we old people don't count for anything. "

"That doesn't follow at all. I would do anything in my power to banishyour rheumatism and the major's twinges, but how was it with you bothat my age? I can answer for the major. If at that time he knew anothermajor with such a daughter as blesses his home, his devotion to thepreceding veteran was a little mixed. "

"Are you so taken by Miss St. John?"

"I have not the slightest hope of being taken by her. "

"You know what I mean?"

"Yes, but I wished to suggest my modest hopes and expectations so thatyou may have no anxieties if I avail myself, during my visit, of thechance of seeing what I can of an unusually fine girl. Acquaintancewith such society is the part of my education most sadly neglected. Nevertheless, you will find me devotedly at your service whenever youwill express your wishes. "

"Do not imagine that I am disposed to find fault. Grace is a greatfavorite of mine. She is a good old-fashioned girl, not one of yourvain, heartless, selfish creatures with only a veneer of goodbreeding. I see her almost every day, either here or in her own home, and I know her well. You have seen that she is fitted to shineanywhere, but it is for her home qualities that I love and admire hermost. Her father is crippled and querulous; indeed he is oftenexceedingly irritable. Everything must please him or else he isinclined to storm as he did in his regiment, and occasionally heemphasizes his words without much regard to the third commandment. Buthis gusts of anger are over quickly, and a kinder-hearted and moreupright man never lived. Of course American servants won't stand harshwords. They want to do all the fault-finding, and the poor oldgentleman would have a hard time of it were it not for Grace. Sheknows how to manage both him and them, and that colored woman you sawwouldn't leave him if he beat and swore at her every day. She was aslave in the family of Grace's mother, who was a Southern lady, andthe major gave the poor creature her liberty when he brought his wifeto the North. Grace is sunshine embodied. She makes her old, irritable, and sometimes gouty father happy in spite of himself. Itwas just like her to accept of your offer last evening, for to banishall dullness from her father's life seems her constant thought. So ifyou wish to grow in the young lady's favor don't be so attentive toher as to neglect the old gentleman. "

Graham listened to this good-natured gossip with decided interest, feeling that it contained valuable suggestions. The response seemedscarcely relevant. "When is she to be married?" he asked. 

"Married!"

"Yes. It is a wonder that such a paragon has escaped thus long. "

"You have lived abroad too much, " said his aunt satirically. "Americangirls are not married out of hand at a certain age. They marry whenthey please or not at all if they please. Grace easily escapesmarriage. "

"Not from want of suitors, I'm sure. "

"You are right there. "

"How then?"

"By saying, 'No, I thank you. ' You can easily learn how very effectualsuch a quiet negative is, if you choose. "

"Indeed! Am I such a very undesirable party?" said Graham, laughing, for he heartily enjoyed his aunt's brusque way of talking, havinglearned already the kindliness it masked. 

"Not in my eyes. I can't speak for Grace. She'd marry you if she lovedyou, and were you the Czar of all the Russias you wouldn't have theghost of a chance unless she did. I know that she has refused morethan one fortune. She seems perfectly content to live with her father, until the one prince having the power to awaken her appears. When hecomes rest assured she'll follow him, and also be assured that she'lltake her father with her, and to a selfish, exacting Turk of a husbandhe might prove an old man of the sea. And yet I doubt it. Grace wouldmanage any one. Not that she has much management either. She simplylaughs, smiles, and talks every one into good humor. Her mirthfulness, her own happiness, is so genuine that it is contagious. Suppose youexchange duties and ask her to come over and enliven me while youentertain her father, " concluded the old lady mischievously. 

"I would not dare to face such a fiery veteran as you have describedalone. "

"I knew you would have some excuse. Well, be on your guard. Grace willmake no effort to capture you, and therefore you will be in all themore danger of being captured. If you lose your heart in vain to heryou will need more than German philosophy to sustain you. "

"I have already made to myself in substance your last remark. "

"I know you are not a lady's man, and perhaps for that very reason youare all the more liable to an acute attack. "

Graham laughed as he rose from the table, and asked, "Should I everventure to lay siege to Miss St. John, would I not have yourblessing?"

"Yes, and more than my blessing. "

"What do you mean by more than your blessing?"

"I shall not commit myself until you commit yourself, and I do notwish you to take even the first step without appreciating the risk ofthe venture. "

"Why, bless you, aunt, " said Graham, now laughing heartily, "howseriously you take it! I have spent but one evening with the girl. "

The old lady nodded her head significantly as she replied, "I have notlived to my time of life without learning a thing or two. My memoryalso has not failed as yet. There were young men who looked at me oncejust as you looked at Grace last evening, and I know what came of itin more than one instance. You are safe now, and you may beinvulnerable, although it does not look like it; but if you can seemuch of Grace St. John and remain untouched you are unlike most men. "

"I have always had the name of being that, you know. But as the perilis so great had I not better fly at once?"

"Yes, I think we both have had the name of being a little peculiar, and my brusque, direct way of coming right to the point is one of mypeculiarities. I am very intimate with the St. Johns, and am almost asfond of Grace as if she were my own child. So of course you can see agreat deal of her if you wish, and this arrangement about whist willadd to your opportunities. I know what young men are, and I know toowhat often happens when their faces express as much admiration andinterest as yours did last night. What's more, " continued theenergetic old lady with an emphatic tap on the floor with her foot, and a decided nod of her head, "if I were a young man, Grace wouldhave to marry some one else to get rid of me. Now I've had my say, andmy conscience is clear, whatever happens. As to flight, why, you mustsettle that question, but I am sincere and cordial in my request thatyou make your home with me until you decide upon your future course. "

Graham was touched, and he took his aunt's hand as he said, "I thankyou for your kindness, and more than all for your downright sincerity. When I came here it was to make but a formal call. With the exceptionof one friend, I believed that I stood utterly alone in the world--that no one cared about what I did or what became of me. I wasaccustomed to isolation and thought I was content with it, but I findit more pleasant than I can make you understand to know there is oneplace in the world to which I can come, not as a stranger to an inn, but as one that is received for other than business considerations. Since you have been so frank with me I will be equally outspoken;" andhe told her just how he was situated, and what were his plans andhopes. "Now that I know there is no necessity of earning mylivelihood, " he concluded, "I shall yield to my impulse to restawhile, and then quite probably resume my studies here or abroad untilI can obtain a position suited to my plans and taste. I thank you foryour note of alarm in regard to Miss St. John, although I must saythat to my mind there is more of incentive than of warning in yourwords. I think I can at least venture on a few reconnoissances, as themajor might say, before I beat a retreat. Is it too early to make onenow?"

Mrs. Mayburn smiled. "No, " she said, laconically, "I see that you think my reconnoissance will lead to a siege, " Grahamadded. "Well, I can at least promise that there shall be no rashmovements. "

CHAPTER V

IMPRESSIONS

Graham, smiling at his aunt and still more amused at himself, startedto pay his morning visit. "Yesterday afternoon, " he thought, "Iexpected to make but a brief call on an aunt who was almost a strangerto me, and now I am domiciled under her roof indefinitely. She hasintroduced me to a charming girl, and in an ostensible warningshrewdly inserted the strongest incentives to venture everything, hinting at the same time that if I succeeded she would give me morethan her blessing. What a vista of possibilities has opened since Icrossed her threshold! A brief time since I was buried in Germanlibraries, unaware of the existence of Miss St. John, and forgettingthat of my aunt. Apparently I have crossed the ocean to meet themboth, for had I remained abroad a few days longer, letters on the waywould have prevented my returning. Of course it is all chance, but acurious chance. I don't wonder that people are often superstitious;and yet a moment's reasoning proves the absurdity of this sort ofthing. Nothing truly strange often happens, and only our egotisminvests events of personal interest with a trace of the marvellous. Mybusiness man neglected to advise me of my improved finances as soon ashe might have done. My aunt receives me, not as I expected, but as onewould naturally hope to be met by a relative. She has a fair youngneighbor with whom she is intimate, and whom I meet as a matter ofcourse, and as a matter of course I can continue to meet her as longas I choose without becoming 'all eye and all memory. ' Surely a mancan enjoy the society of any woman without the danger my aunt suggestsand--as I half believe--would like to bring about. What signify myfancies of last evening? We often enjoy imagining what might bewithout ever intending it shall be. At any rate, I shall not sigh forMiss St. John or any other woman until satisfied that I should notsigh in vain. The probabilities are therefore that I shall never sighat all. "

As he approached Major St. John's dwelling he saw the object of histhoughts standing by the window and reading a letter. A syringa shrubpartially concealed him and his umbrella, and he could not forbearpausing a moment to note what a pretty picture she made. A sprig ofwhite flowers was in her light wavy hair, and another fastened by herbreastpin drooped over her bosom. Her morning wrapper was of the hueof the sky that lay back of the leaden clouds. A heightened colormantled her cheeks, her lips were parted with a smile, and her wholeface was full of delighted interest. 

"By Jove!" muttered Graham. "Aunt Mayburn is half right, I believe. Aman must have the pulse of an anchorite to look often at such a visionas that and remain untouched. One might easily create a divinity outof such a creature, and then find it difficult not to worship. I couldgo away now and make her my ideal, endowing her with all impossibleattributes of perfection. Very probably fuller acquaintance will provethat she is made of clay not differing materially from that of otherwomankind. I envy her correspondent, however, and would be glad if Icould write a letter that would bring such an expression to her face. Well, I am reconnoitring true enough, and had better not be detectedin the act;" and he stepped rapidly forward. 

She recognized him with a piquant little nod and smile. The letter wasfolded instantly, and a moment later she opened the door for himherself, saying, "Since I have seen you and you have come on so kindan errand I have dispensed with the formality of sending a servant toadmit you. "

"Won't you shake hands as a further reward?" he asked. "You will findme very mercenary. "

"Oh, certainly. Pardon the oversight. I should have done so withoutprompting since it is so long since we have met. "

"And having known each other so long also, " he added in the same lightvein, conscious meantime that he held a hand that was as full ofvitality as it was shapely and white. 

"Indeed, " she replied; "did last evening seem an age to you?"

"I tried to prolong it, for you must remember that my aunt said thatshe could not get me away; and this morning I was indiscreet enough towelcome the rain, at which she reminded me of her rheumatism and yourfather's wound. "

"And at which I also hope you had a twinge or two of conscience. Papa, " she added, leading the way into the parlor, "here is Mr. Graham. It was his fascinating talk about life in Germany that sodelayed me last evening. "

The old gentleman started out of a doze, and his manner proved that hewelcomed any break in the monotony of the day. "You will pardon my notrising, " he said; "this confounded weather is playing the deuce withmy leg. "

Graham was observant as he joined in a general condemnation of theweather; and the manner in which Miss St. John rearranged the cushionon which her father's foot rested, coaxed the fire into a morecheerful blaze, and bestowed other little attentions, proved beyond adoubt that all effort in behalf of the suffering veteran would beappreciated. Nor was he so devoid of a kindly good-nature himself asto anticipate an irksome task, and he did his utmost to discover thebest methods of entertaining his host. The effort soon becameremunerative, for the major had seen much of life, and enjoyedreference to his experiences. Graham found that he could be induced tofight his battles over again, but always with very modest allusion tohimself. In the course of their talk it also became evident that hewas a man of somewhat extensive reading, and the daily paper must havebeen almost literally devoured to account for his acquaintance withcontemporary affairs. The daughter was often not a little amused atGraham's blank looks as her father broached topics of Americaninterest which to the student from abroad were as little known orunderstood as the questions which might have been agitating theinhabitants of Jupiter. Most ladies would have been politely obliviousof her guest's blunders and infelicitous remarks, but Miss St. Johnhad a frank, merry way of recognizing them, and yet malice andridicule were so entirely absent from her words and ways that Grahamsoon positively enjoyed being laughed at, and much preferred herdelicate open raillery, which gave him a chance to defend himself, toa smiling mask that would leave him in uncertainty as to the fitnessof his replies. There was a subtle flattery also in this course, forshe treated him as one capable of holding his own, and not in need ofsocial charity and protection. With pleasure he recognized that shewas adopting toward him something of the same sportive manner whichcharacterized her relations with his aunt, and which also indicatedthat as Mrs. Mayburn's nephew he had met with a reception which wouldnot have been accorded to one less favorably introduced. 

How vividly in after years Graham remembered that rainy May morning!He could always call up before him, like a vivid picture, the oldmajor with his bushy white eyebrows and piercing black eyes, the smokefrom his meerschaum creating a sort of halo around his gray head, thefine, venerable face often drawn by pain which led to half-mutteredimprecations that courtesy to his guest and daughter could not whollysuppress. How often he saw again the fire curling softly from thehearth with a contented crackle, as if pleased to be once more anessential to the home from which the advancing summer would soonbanish it! He could recall every article of the furniture with whichhe afterward became so familiar. But that which was engraven on hismemory forever was a fair young girl sitting by the window with abackground of early spring greenery swaying to and fro in the storm. Long afterward, when watching on the perilous picket line or standingin his place on the battlefield, he would close his eyes that he mightrecall more vividly the little white hands deftly crocheting on somefeminine mystery, and the mirthful eyes that often glanced from it tohim as the quiet flow of their talk rippled on. A rill, had itconscious life, would never forget the pebble that deflected itscourse from one ocean to another; human life as it flows onward cannotfail to recognize events, trivial in themselves, which neverthelessgave direction to all the future. 

Graham admitted to himself that he had found a charm at this firesidewhich he had never enjoyed elsewhere in society--the pleasure of beingperfectly at ease. There was a genial frankness and simplicity in hisentertainers which banished restraint, and gave him a sense ofsecurity. He felt instinctively that there were no adverse currents ofmental criticism and detraction, that they were loyal to him as theirinvited guest, notwithstanding jest, banter, and good-natured satire. 

The hours had vanished so swiftly that he was at a loss to account forthem. Miss St. John was a natural foe to dulness of all kinds, andthis too without any apparent effort. Indeed, we are rarelyentertained by evident and deliberate exertion. Pleasurableexhilaration in society is obtained from those who impart, likewarmth, their own spontaneous vivacity. Miss St. John's smile was anantidote for a rainy day, and he was loath to pass from its genialpower out under the dripping clouds. Following an impulse, he said tothe girl, "You are more than a match for the weather. "

These words were spoken in the hall after he had bidden adieu to themajor. 

"If you meant a compliment it is a very doubtful one, " she replied, laughing. "Do you mean that I am worse than the weather which givespapa the horrors, and Mrs. Mayburn the rheumatism?"

"And me one of the most delightful mornings I ever enjoyed, " he added, interrupting her. "You were in league with your wood fire. The garishsunshine of a warm day robs a house of all cosiness and snugness. Instead of being depressed by the storm and permitting others to bedull, you have the art of making the clouds your foil. "

"Possibly I may appear to some advantage against such a dismalbackground, " she admitted. 

"My meaning is interpreted by my unconscionably long visit. I now mustreluctantly retreat into the dismal background. "

"A rather well-covered retreat, as papa might say, but you will needyour umbrella all the same;" for he, in looking back at the archlysmiling girl, had neglected to open it. 

"I am glad it is not a final retreat, " he called back. "I shall returnthis evening reinforced by my aunt. "

"Well, " exclaimed that lady when he appeared before her, "lunch hasbeen waiting ten minutes or more. "

"I feared as much, " he replied, shaking his head ruefully. 

"What kept you?"

"Miss St. John. "

"Not the major? I thought you went to entertain him?"

"So I did, but man proposes--"

"Oh, not yet, I hope, " cried the old lady with assumed dismay. "Ithought you promised to do nothing rash. "

"You are more precipitate than I have been. All that I propose is toenjoy my vacation and the society of your charming friend. "

"The major?" she suggested. 

"A natural error on your part, for I perceived he was very gallant toyou. After your remarks, however, you cannot think it strange that Ifound the daughter more interesting--so interesting indeed that I havekept you waiting for lunch. I'll not repeat the offence any oftenerthan I can help. At the same time I find that I have not lost myappetite, or anything else that I am aware of. "

"How did Grace appear?" his aunt asked as they sat down to lunch. 

"Like myself. "

"Then not like any one else you know?"

"We agree here perfectly. "

"You have no fear?"

"No, nor any hopes that I am conscious of. Can I not admire yourparagon to your heart's content without insisting that she bestow uponme the treasures of her life? Miss St. John has a frank, cordialmanner all her own, and I think also that for your sake she hasreceived me rather graciously, but I should be blind indeed did I notrecognize that it would require a siege to win her; and that would beuseless, as you said, unless her own heart prompted the surrender. Ihave heard and read that many women are capable of passing fancies ofwhich adroit suitors can take advantage, and they are engaged ormarried before fully comprehending what it all means. Were Miss St. John of this class I should still hesitate to venture, for nothing inmy training has fitted me to take an advantage of a lady's mood. Idon't think your favorite is given to fancies. She is too well poised. Her serene, laughing confidence, her more than content, comes eitherfrom a heart already happily given, or else from a nature so sound andhealthful that life in itself is an unalloyed joy. She impresses me asthe happiest being I ever met, and as such it is a delight to be inher presence; but if I should approach her as a lover, something tellsme that I should find her like a snowy peak, warm and rose-tinted inthe sunlight, as seen in the distance, but growing cold as you drawnear. There may be subterranean fires, but they would manifestthemselves from some inward impulse. At least I do not feel consciousof any power to awaken them. "

Mrs. Mayburn shook her head ominously. 

"You are growing very fanciful, " she said, "which is a sign, if not abad one. Your metaphors, too, are so farfetched and extravagant as toindicate the earliest stages of the divine madness. Do you mean tosuggest that Grace will break forth like a volcano on some fortuitousman? If that be your theory you would stand as good a chance as anyone. She might break forth on you. "

"I have indeed been unfortunate in my illustration, since you can sotwist my words even in jest. Here's plain enough prose for you. Noamount of wooing would make the slightest difference unless by somelaw or impulse of her own nature Miss St. John was compelled torespond. "

"Isn't that true of every woman?"

"I don't think it is. "

"How is it that you are so versed in the mysteries of the femininesoul?"

"I have not lived altogether the life of a monk, and the history ofthe world is the history of women as well as of men. I am merelygiving the impression that has been made upon me. "

CHAPTER VI

PHILOSOPHY AT FAULT

If Mrs. Mayburn had fears that her nephew's peace would be affected byhis exposure to the fascinations of Miss St. John, they were quiteallayed by his course for the next two or three weeks. If she hadindulged the hope that he would speedily be carried away by the charmswhich seemed to her irresistible, and so give the chance of a closerrelationship with her favorite, she saw little to encourage such ahope beyond Graham's evident enjoyment in the young girl's society, and his readiness to seek it on all fitting occasions. He played whistassiduously, and appeared to enjoy the game. He often spent two orthree hours with the major during the day, and occasionally beguiledthe time by reading aloud to him, but the element of gallantry towardthe daughter seemed wanting, and the aunt concluded, "No woman canrival a book in Alford's heart--that is, if he has one--and he issimply studying Grace as if she were a book. There is one symptom, however, that needs explanation--he is not so ready to talk about heras at first, and I don't believe that indifference is the cause. "

She was right: indifference was not the cause. Graham's interest inMiss St. John was growing deeper every day, but the stronger the holdshe gained upon his thoughts, the less inclined was he to speak ofher. He was the last man in the world to be carried away by a Romeo-like gust of passion, and no amount of beauty could hold his attentionan hour, did not the mind ray through it with a sparkle and poweressentially its own. 

Miss St. John had soon convinced him that she could do more than looksweetly and chatter. She could not only talk to a university-bred man, but also tell him much that was new. He found his peer, not in hislines of thought, but in her own, and he was so little of an egotistthat he admired her all the more because she knew what he did not, andcould never become an echo of himself. In her world she had been anintelligent observer and thinker, and she interpreted that world tohim as naturally and unassumingly as a flower blooms and exhales itsfragrance. For the first time in his life he gave himself up to thecharm of a cultivated woman's society, and to do this in his presentleisure seemed the most sensible thing possible. 

"One can see a rare flower, " he had reasoned, "without wishing topluck it, or hear a wood-thrush sing without straightway thinking of acage. Miss St. John's affections may be already engaged, or I may bethe last person in the world to secure them. Idle fancies of what shemight become to me are harmless enough. Any man is prone to indulge inthese when seeing a woman who pleases his taste and kindles hisimagination. When it comes to practical action one may expect anddesire nothing more than the brightening of one's wits and thesecuring of agreeable pastime. I do not see why I should not beentirely content with these motives, until my brief visit is over, notwithstanding my aunt's ominous warnings;" and so without anymisgivings he had at first yielded himself to all the spells that MissSt. John might unconsciously weave. 

As time passed, however, he began to doubt whether he could maintainhis cool, philosophic attitude of enjoyment. He found himself growingmore and more eager for the hours to return when he could seek hersociety, and the intervening time was becoming dull and heavy-paced. The impulse to go back to Germany and to resume his studies was slowin coming. Indeed, he was at last obliged to admit to himself that agame of whist with the old major had more attractions than the latestscientific treatise. Not that he doted on the irascible veteran, butbecause he thus secured a fair partner whose dark eyes were beamingwith mirth and intelligence, whose ever-springing fountain ofhappiness was so full that even in the solemnity of the game it foundexpression in little piquant gestures, brief words, and smiles thatwere like glints of sunshine. Her very presence lifted him to a higherplane, and gave a greater capacity for enjoyment, and sometimes simplyan arch smile or an unexpected tone set his nerves vibrating in amanner as delightful as it was unexplainable by any past experiencethat he could recall. She was a good walker and horsewoman, and astheir acquaintance ripened he began to ask permission to join her inher rides and rambles. She assented without the slightest hesitancy, but he soon found that she gave him no exclusive monopoly of theseexcursions, and that he must share them with other young men. Herabsences from home were always comparatively brief, however, and thatwhich charmed him most was her sunny devotion to her invalid and oftenvery irritable father. She was the antidote to his age and to hisinfirmities of body and temper. While she was away the world ingeneral, and his own little sphere in particular, tended toward ahopeless snarl. Jinny, the colored servant, was subserviency itself, but her very obsequiousness irritated him, although her drollery wasat times diverting. It was usually true, however, that but one touchand one voice could soothe the jangling nerves. As Graham saw thiswomanly magic, which apparently cost no more effort than the wood fireput forth in banishing chilliness and discomfort, the thought wouldcome, "Blessed will be the man who can win her as the light and lifeof his home!"

When days passed, and no one seemed to have a greater place in herthoughts and interest than himself, was it unnatural that the hopeshould dawn that she might create a home for him? If she had a favoredsuitor his aunt would be apt to know of it. She did not seemambitious, or disposed to invest her heart so that it might bringfortune and social eminence. Never by word or sign had she appeared tochafe at her father's modest competency, but with tact and skill, taught undoubtedly by army experience, she made their slender incomeyield the essentials of comfort and refinement, and seemed quiteindifferent to non-essentials. Graham could never hope to possesswealth, but he found in Miss St. John a woman who could impart to hishome the crowning grace of wealth--simple, unostentatious elegance. His aunt had said that the young girl had already refused more thanone fortune, and the accompanying assurance that she would marry theman she loved, whatever might be his circumstances, seemed verified byhis own observation. Therefore why might he not hope? Few men are somodest as not to indulge the hope to which their heart prompts them. Graham was slow to recognize the existence of this hope, and then hewatched its growth warily. Not for the world would he lose control ofhimself, not for the world would he reveal it to any one, least of allto his aunt or to her who had inspired it, unless he had some reasonto believe she would not disappoint it. He was prompted toconcealment, not only by his pride, which was great, but more by acharacteristic trait, an instinctive desire to hide his deeperfeelings, his inner personality from all others. He would not admitthat he had fallen in love. The very phrase was excessivelydistasteful. To his friend Hilland he might have given his confidence, and he would have accounted for himself in some such way as this:--

"I have found a child and a woman; a child in frankness andjoyousness, a woman in beauty, strength, mental maturity, andunselfishness. She interested me from the first, and every day I knowbetter the reason why--because she _is_ interesting. My reasonhas kept pace with my fancy and my deeper feeling, and impels me toseek this girl quite as much as does my heart. I do not think a manmeets such a woman or such a chance for happiness twice in a lifetime. I did not believe there was such a woman in the world. You may laughand say that is the way all lovers talk. I answer emphatically, No. Ihave not yet lost my poise, and I never was a predestined lover. Imight easily have gone through life and never given to these subjectsan hour's thought. Even now I could quietly decide to go away and takeup my old life as I left it. But why should I? Here is an opportunityto enrich existence immeasurably, and to add to all my chances ofsuccess and power. So far from being a drag upon one, a woman likeMiss St. John would incite and inspire a man to his best efforts. Shewould sympathize with him because she could understand his aims andkeep pace with his mental advance. Granted that my prospects ofwinning her are doubtful indeed, still as far as I can see there_is_ a chance. I would not care a straw for a woman that I couldhave for the asking--who would take me as a _dernier ressort_. Any woman that I would marry, many others would gladly marry also, andI must take my chance of winning her from them. Such would be my lotunder any circumstances, and if I give way to a faint heart now I mayas well give up altogether and content myself with a library as abride. "

Since he felt that he might have taken Hilland into his confidence, hehad, in terms substantially the same as those given, imagined hisexplanation, and he smiled as he portrayed to himself his friend'sjocular response, which would have nevertheless its substratum of truesympathy. "Hilland would say, " he thought, "'That is just like you, Graham. You can't smoke a cigar or make love to a girl withoutanalyzing and philosophizing and arranging all the wisdom of Solomonin favor of your course. Now I would make love to a girl because Iloved her, and that would be the end on't. '"

Graham was mistaken in this case. Not in laughing sympathy, but inpale dismay, would Hilland have received this revelation, for _he_ wasmaking love to Grace St. John because he loved her with all his heartand soul. There had been a time when Graham might have obtained a hintof this had circumstances been different, and it had occurred quiteearly in his acquaintance with Miss St. John. After a day that hadbeen unusually delightful and satisfactory he was accompanying theyoung girl home from his aunt's cottage in the twilight. Out of thecomplacency of his heart he remarked, half to himself, "If Hillandwere only here, my vacation would be complete. "

In the obscurity he could not see her sudden burning flush, and sinceher hand was not on his arm he had no knowledge of her startledtremor. All that he knew was that she was silent for a moment or two, and then she asked quietly, "Is Mr. Warren Hilland an acquaintance ofyours?"

"Indeed he is not, " was the emphatic and hearty response. "He is thebest friend I have in the world, and the best fellow in the world. "

Oh, fatal obscurity of the deepening twilight! Miss St. John's facewas crimson and radiant with pleasure, and could Graham have seen herat that moment he could not have failed to surmise the truth. 

The young girl was as jealous of her secret as Graham soon became ofhis, and she only remarked demurely, "I have met Mr. Hilland insociety, " and then she changed the subject, for they were approachingthe piazza steps, and she felt that if Hilland should continue thetheme of conversation under the light of the chandelier, a telltaleface and manner would betray her, in spite of all effort at control. Afragrant blossom from the shrubbery bordering the walk brushed againstGraham's face, and he plucked it, saying, "Beyond that it is fragrantI don't know what this flower is. Will you take it from me?"

"Yes, " she said, hesitatingly, for at that moment her absent lover hadbeen brought so vividly to her consciousness that her heart recoiledfrom even the slightest hint of gallantry from another. A moment laterthe thought occurred, "Mr. Graham is _his_ dearest friend; thereforehe is my friend, although I cannot yet be as frank with him as I wouldlike to be. "

She paused a few moments on the piazza, to cool her hot face and quiether fluttering nerves, and Graham saw with much pleasure that shefastened the flower to her breastpin. When at last she entered shepuzzled him a little by leaving him rather abruptly at the parlor doorand hastening up the stairs. 

She found that his words had stirred such deep, full fountains thatshe could not yet trust herself under his observant eyes. It is awoman's delight to hear her lover praised by other men, and Graham'swords had been so hearty that they had set her pulses bounding, forthey assured her that she had not been deceived by love's partialeyes. 

"It's true, it's true, " she murmured, softly, standing with dewy eyesbefore her mirror. "He is the best fellow in the world, and I wasblind that I did not see it from the first. But all will yet be well;"and she drew a letter from her bosom and kissed it. 

Happy would Hilland have been had he seen the vision reflected by thatmirror--beauty, rich and rare in itself, but enhanced, illumined, andmade divine by the deepest, strongest, purest emotions of the soul. 

CHAPTER VII

WARREN HILLAND

The closing scenes of the preceding chapter demand some explanation. Major St. John had spent part of the preceding summer at a seasideresort, and his daughter had inevitably attracted not a littleattention. Among those that sought her favor was Warren Hilland, andin accordance with his nature he had been rather precipitate. He wasardent, impulsive, and, indulged from earliest childhood, he had beenspoiled in only one respect--when he wanted anything he wanted it withall his heart and immediately. Miss St. John had seemed to him fromthe first a pearl among women. As with Graham, circumstances gave himthe opportunity of seeing her daily, and he speedily succumbed to the"visitation of that power" to which the strongest must yield. Almostbefore the young girl suspected the existence of his passion, hedeclared it. She refused him, but he would take no refusal. Having wonfrom her the admission that he had no favored rival, he lifted hishandsome head with a resolution which she secretly admired, anddeclared that only when convinced that he had become hateful to herwould he give up his suit. 

He was not a man to become hateful to any woman. His frank nature wasso in accord with hers that she responded in somewhat the same spirit, and said, half laughingly and half tearfully, "Well, if you will, youwill, but I can offer no encouragement. "

And yet his downright earnestness had agitated her deeply, disturbingher maiden serenity, and awaking for the first time the woman withinher heart. Hitherto her girlhood's fancies had been like summerzephyrs, disturbing but briefly the still, clear waters of her soul;but now she became an enigma to herself as she slowly grew consciousof her own heart and the law of her woman's nature to love and giveherself to another. But she had too much of the doughty old major'sfire and spirit, and was too fond of her freedom, to surrender easily. Both Graham and Mrs. Mayburn were right in their estimate--she wouldnever yield her heart unless compelled to by influences unexpected, atfirst unwelcomed, but in the end overmastering. 

The first and chief effect of Hilland's impetuous wooing was, as wehave seen, to destroy her sense of maidenly security, and to bring herface to face with her destiny. Then his openly avowed siege speedilycompelled her to withdraw her thoughts from man in the abstract tohimself. She could not brush him aside by a quiet negative, as she hadalready done in the case of several others. Clinging to her old life, however, and fearing to embark on this unknown sea of new experiences, she hesitated, and would not commit herself until the force thatimpelled was greater than that which restrained. He at last had thetact to understand her and to recognize that he had spoken to a girl, indeed almost a child, and that he must wait for the woman to develop. Hopeful, almost confident, for success and prosperity had seeminglymade a league with him in all things, he was content to wait. Themajor had sanctioned his addresses from the first, and he sought toattain his object by careful and skilful approaches. He had shownhimself such an impetuous wooer that she might well doubt hispersistence; now he would prove himself so patient and consideratethat she could not doubt him. 

When they parted at the seaside Hilland was called to the far West byimportant business interests. In response to his earnest pleas, inwhich he movingly portrayed his loneliness in a rude mining village, she said he might write to her occasionally, and he had written soquietly and sensibly, so nearly as a friend might address a friend, that she felt there could be no harm in a correspondence of thischaracter. During the winter season their letters had grown morefrequent, and he with consummate skill had gradually tinged his wordswith a warmer hue. She smiled at his artifice. There was no longer anyneed of it, for by the wood fire, when all the house was still andwrapped in sleep, she had become fully revealed unto herself. Shefound that she had a woman's heart, and that she had given itirrevocably to Warren Hilland. 

She did not tell him so--far from it. The secret seemed so strange, sowonderful, so exquisite in its blending of pain and pleasure, that shedid not tell any one. Hers was not the nature that could babble of theheart's deepest mysteries to half a score of confidants. To him firstshe would make the supreme avowal that she had become his by a sweetcompulsion that had at last proved irresistible, and even he mustagain seek that acknowledgment directly, earnestly. He was left togather what hope he could from the fact that she did not resent hiswarmer expressions, and this leniency from a girl like Grace St. Johnmeant so much to him that he did gather hope daily. Her letters werenot nearly so frequent as his, but when they did come he fairlygloated over them. They were so fresh, crisp and inspiring that theyreminded him of the seaside breezes that had quickened his pulses withhealth and pleasure during the past summer. She wrote in an easy, gossiping style of the books she was reading; of the good things inthe art and literary journals, and of such questions of the day aswould naturally interest her, and he so gratefully assured her that bythis course she kept him within the pale of civilization, that she wasinduced to write oftener. In her effort to gather material that wouldinterest him, life gained a new and richer zest, and she learned howthe kindling flame within her heart could illumine even common things. Each day brought such a wealth of joy that it was like a new and gladsurprise. The page she read had not only the interest imparted to itby the author, but also the far greater charm of suggesting thoughtsof him or for him; and so began an interchange of books andperiodicals, with pencillings, queries, marks of approval anddisapproval. "I will show him, " she had resolved, "that I am not adoll to be petted, but a woman who can be his friend and companion. "

And she proved this quite as truly by her questions, her intelligentinterest in his mining pursuits and the wild region of his sojourn, asby her words concerning that with which she was familiar. 

It was hard for Hilland to maintain his reticence or submit to thenecessity of his long absence. She had revealed the rich jewel of hermind so fully that his love had increased with time and separation, and he longed to obtain the complete assurance of his happiness. Andyet not for the world would he again endanger his hopes by rashness. He ventured, however, to send the copy of Emerson with the quotationalready given strongly underscored. Since she made no allusion to thisin her subsequent letter, he again grew more wary, but as springadvanced the tide of feeling became too strong to be wholly repressed, and words indicating his passion would slip into his letters in spiteof himself. She saw what was coming as truly as she saw all around herthe increasing evidences of the approach of summer, and no bird sangwith a fuller or more joyous note than did her heart at the prospect. 

Graham witnessed this culminating happiness, and it would have beenwell for him had he known its source. Her joyousness had seemed to hima characteristic trait, and so it was, but he could not know howgreatly it was enhanced by a cause that would have led to verydifferent action on his part. 

Hilland had decided that he would not write to his friend concerninghis suit until his fate was decided in one way or the other. In fact, his letters had grown rather infrequent, not from waning friendship, but rather because their mutual interests had drifted apart. Theirrelations were too firmly established to need the aid ofcorrespondence, and each knew that when they met again they wouldresume their old ways. In the sympathetic magnetism of personalpresence confidences would be given that they would naturally hesitateto write out in cool blood. 

Thus Graham was left to drift and philosophize at first. But his auntwas right: he could not daily see one who so fully satisfied thecravings of his nature and coolly consider the pros and cons. He wasone who would kindle slowly, but it would be an anthracite flame thatwould burn on while life lasted. 

He felt that he had no reason for discouragement, for she seemed togrow more kind and friendly every day. This was true of her manner, for, looking upon him as Hilland's best friend, she gave him a genuineregard, but it was an esteem which, like reflected light, was devoidof the warmth of affection that comes direct from the heart. 

She did not suspect the feeling that at last began to deepen rapidly, nor had he any adequate idea of its strength. When a grain of corn isplanted it is the hidden root that first develops, and the controllinginfluence of his life was taking root in Graham's heart. If he did notfully comprehend this at an early day it is not strange that she didnot. She had no disposition to fall in love with every interesting manshe met, and it seemed equally absurd to credit the gentlemen of heracquaintance with any such tendency. Her manner, therefore, toward theother sex was characterized by a frank, pleasant friendliness whichcould be mistaken for coquetry by only the most obtuse or the mostconceited of men. With all his faults Graham was neither stupid norvain. He understood her regard, and doubted whether he could everchange its character. He only hoped that he might, and until he saw abetter chance for this he determined not to reveal himself, fearingthat if he did so it might terminate their acquaintance. 

"My best course, " he reasoned, "is to see her as often as possible, and thus give her the opportunity to know me well. If I shall everhave any power to win her love, she, by something in her manner ortone, will unconsciously reveal the truth to me. Then I will not beslow to act. Why should I lose the pleasure of these golden hours byseeking openly that which as yet she has not the slightest dispositionto give?"

This appeared to him a safe and judicious policy, and yet it may wellbe doubted whether it would ever have been successful with Grace St. John, even had she been as fancy free as when Hilland first met her. She was a soldier's daughter, and could best be won by Hilland'ssoldier-like wooing. Not that she could have been won any more readilyby direct and impetuous advances had not her heart been touched, butthe probabilities are that her heart never would have been touched byGraham's army-of-observation tactics. It would scarcely have occurredto her to think seriously of a man who did not follow her with aneager quest. 

On the other hand, as his aunt had suggested from the first, poorGraham was greatly endangering his peace by this close study of awoman lovely in herself, and, as he fully believed, peculiarly adaptedto satisfy every requirement of his nature. A man who knows nothing ofa hidden treasure goes unconcernedly on his way; if he discovers itand then loses it he feels impoverished. 

CHAPTER VIII

SUPREME MOMENTS

Graham's visit was at last lengthened to a month, and yet the impulseof work or of departure had not seized him. Indeed, there seemed lessprospect of anything of the kind than ever. A strong mutual attachmentwas growing between himself and his aunt. The brusque, quick-wittedold lady interested him, while her genuine kindness and hearty welcomegave to him, for the first time in his life, the sense of being athome. She was a woman of strong likes and dislikes. She had taken afancy to Graham from the first, and this interest fast deepened intoaffection. She did not know how lonely she was in her isolated life, and she found it so pleasant to have some one to look after and thinkabout that she would have been glad to have kept him with her always. 

Moreover, she had a lurking hope, daily gaining confirmation, that hernephew was not so indifferent to her favorite as he seemed. In her oldage she was beginning to long for kindred and closer ties, and shefelt that she could in effect adopt Grace, and could even endure theinvalid major for the sake of one who was so congenial. She thought itpolitic however to let matters take their own course, for her stronggood sense led her to believe that meddling rarely accomplishesanything except mischief. She was not averse to a little indirectdiplomacy, however, and did all in her power to make it easy andnatural for Graham to see the young girl as often as possible, and onelovely day, early in June, she planned a little excursion, which, according to the experience of her early days, promised well for heraims. 

One breathless June morning that was warm, but not sultry, she wentover to the St. Johns', and suggested a drive to the brow of a hillfrom which there was a superb view of the surrounding country. Theplan struck the major pleasantly, and Grace was delighted. She had thecraving for out-of-door life common to all healthful natures, butthere was another reason why she longed for a day under the open skywith her thoughts partially and pleasantly distracted from one greattruth to which she felt she must grow accustomed by degrees. It wasarranged that they should take their lunch and spend the larger partof the afternoon, thus giving the affair something of the aspect of aquiet little picnic. 

Although Graham tried to take the proposition quietly, he could notrepress a flush of pleasure and a certain alacrity of movementeminently satisfactory to his aunt. Indeed, his spirits rose to adegree that made him a marvel to himself, and he wonderingly queried, "Can I be the same man who but a few weeks since watched the dark lineof my native country loom up in the night, and with prospects as vagueand dark as that outline?"

Miss St. John seemed perfectly radiant that morning, her eyes vyingwith the June sunlight, and her cheeks emulating the roses everywherein bloom. What was the cause of her unaffected delight? Was it merelythe prospect of a day of pleasure in the woods? Could he hope that hispresence added to her zest for the occasion? Such were the questionswith which Graham's mind was busy as he aided the ladies in theirpreparations. She certainly was more kind and friendly than usual--yes, more familiar. He was compelled to admit, however, that hermanner was such as would be natural toward an old and trusted friend, but he hoped--never before had he realized how dear this hope wasbecoming--that some day she would awaken to the consciousness that hemight be more than a friend. In the meantime he would be patient, and, with the best skill he could master, endeavor to win her favor, instead of putting her on the defensive by seeking her love. 

"Two elements cannot pass into combination until there is mutualreadiness, " reasoned the scientist. "Contact is not combination. Myprovince is to watch until in some unguarded moment she gives the hopethat she would listen with her heart. To speak before that, either byword or action, would be pain to her and humiliation to me. "

The gulf between them was wide indeed, although she smiled so geniallyupon him. In tying up a bundle their hands touched. He felt anelectric thrill in all his nerves; she only noticed the circumstanceby saying, "Who is it that is so awkward, you or I?"

"You are Grace, " he replied. "It was I. "

"I should be graceless indeed were I to find fault with anything to-day, " she said impulsively, and raising her head she looked away intothe west as if her thoughts had followed her eyes. 

"It certainly is a very fine day, " Graham remarked sententiously. 

She turned suddenly, and saw that he was watching her keenly. Conscious of her secret she blushed under his detected scrutiny, butlaughed lightly, saying, "You are a happy man, Mr. Graham, for yousuggest that perfect weather leaves nothing else to be desired. "

"Many have to be content with little else, " he replied, "and days likethis are few and far between. "

"Not few and far between for me, " she murmured to herself as she movedaway. 

She was kinder and more friendly to Graham than ever before, but thecause was a letter received that morning, against which her heart nowthrobbed. She had written to Hilland of Graham, and of her enjoymentof his society, dwelling slightly on his disposition to make himselfagreeable without tendencies toward sentiment and gallantry. 

Love is quick to take alarm, and although Graham was his nearestfriend, Hilland could not endure the thought of leaving the field opento him or to any one a day longer. He knew that Graham was deliberateand by no means susceptible. And yet, to him, the fact conveyed by theletter, that his recluse friend had found the society of Grace sosatisfactory that he had lingered on week after week, spoke volumes. It was not like his studious and solitary companion of old. Moreover, he understood Graham sufficiently well to know that Grace would havepeculiar attractions for him, and that upon a girl of her mind hewould make an impression very different from that which had ledsociety butterflies to shun him as a bore. Her letter alreadyindicated this truth. The natural uneasiness that he had felt allalong lest some master spirit should appear was intensified. AlthoughGraham was so quiet and undemonstrative, Hilland knew him to bepossessed of an indomitable energy of will when once it was arousedand directed toward an object. Thus far from Grace's letter hebelieved that his friend was only interested in the girl of his heart, and he determined to forestall trouble, if possible, and secure thefruits of his patient waiting and wooing, if any were to be gathered. At the same time he resolved to be loyal to his friend, as far as hecould admit his claims, and he wrote a glowing eulogy of Graham, unmarred by a phrase or word of detraction. Then, as frankly, headmitted his fears, in regard not only to Graham, but to others, andfollowed these words with a strong and impassioned plea in his ownbehalf, assuring her that time and absence, so far from diminishingher mastery over him, had rendered it complete. He entreated forpermission to come to her, saying that his business interests, vast asthey were, counted as less than nothing compared with the possessionof her love--that he would have pressed his suit by personal presencelong before had not obligations to others detained him. Theseobligations he now could and would delegate, for all the wealth of themines on the continent would only be a burden unless she could shareit with him. He also informed her that a ring made of gold, which hehimself had mined deep in the mountain's heart, was on the way to her--that his own hands had helped to fashion the rude circlet-and thatitwas significant of the truth that he sought her not from the vantageground of wealth, but because of a manly devotion that would lead himto delve in a mine or work in a shop for her, rather than live a lifeof luxury with any one else in the world. 

For the loving girl what a treasure was such a letter! The joy itbrought was so overwhelming that she was glad of the distractionswhich Mrs. Mayburn's little excursion promised. She wished to quietthe tumult at her heart, so that she could write as an earnest womanto an earnest man, which she could not do on this bright June morning, with her heart keeping tune with every bird that sang. Such a responseas she then might have made would have been the one he would havewelcomed most, but she did not think so. "I would not for the worldhave him know how my head is turned, " she had laughingly assuredherself, not dreaming that such an admission would disturb hisequilibrium to a far greater degree. 

"After a day, " she thought, "out of doors with Mrs. Mayburn's genialcommon-sense and Mr. Graham's cool, half-cynical philosophy to steadyme, I shall be sane enough to answer. "

They were soon bowling away in a strong, three-seated rockaway, wellsuited to country roads, Graham driving, with the object of histhoughts and hopes beside him. Mrs. Mayburn and the major occupied theback seat, while Jinny, with a capacious hamper, was in the middleseat, and in the estimation of the diplomatic aunt made a good screenand division. 

All seemed to promise well for her schemes, for the young peopleappeared to be getting on wonderfully together. There was a constantsuccession of jest and repartee. Grace was cordiality itself; and inGraham's eyes that morning there was coming an expression of which hemay not have been fully aware, or which at last he would permit to beseen. Indeed, he was yielding rapidly to the spell of her beauty andthe charm of her mind and manner. He was conscious of a strange, exquisite exhilaration. Every nerve in his body seemed alive to herpresence, while the refined and delicate curves of her cheek andthroat gave a pleasure which no statue in the galleries of Europe hadever imparted. 

He wondered at all this, for to him it was indeed a new experience. His past with its hopes and ambitions seemed to have floated away toan indefinite distance, and he to have awakened to a new life--a newphase of existence. In the exaltation of the hour he felt that, whatever might be the result, he had received a revelation ofcapabilities in his nature of which he had not dreamed, and which atthe time promised to compensate for any consequent reaction. Heexulted in his human organism as a master in music might rejoice overthe discovery of an instrument fitted to respond perfectly to hisgenius. Indeed, the thought crossed his mind more than once that daythat the marvel of marvels was that mere clay could be so highlyorganized. It was not his thrilling nerves alone which suggested thisthought, or the pure mobile face of the young girl, so far removedfrom any suggestion of earthliness, but a new feeling, developing inhis heart, that seemed so deep and strong as to be deathless. 

They reached their destination in safety. The June sunlight would havemade any place attractive, but the brow of the swelling hill with itswide outlook, its background of grove and intervening vistas, leftnothing to be desired. The horses were soon contentedly munching theiroats, and yet their stamping feet and switching tails indicated thateven for the brute creation there is ever some alloy. Graham, however, thought that fortune had at last given him one perfect day. There wasno perceptible cloud. The present was so eminently satisfactory thatit banished the past, or, if remembered, it served as a foil. Thefuture promised a chance for happiness that seemed immeasurable, although the horizon of his brief existence was so near; for he feltthat with her as his own, human life with all its limitations was aricher gift than he had ever imagined possible. And yet, like a slightand scarcely heard discord, the thought would come occasionally, "Since so much is possible, more ought to be possible. With suchimmense capability for life as I am conscious of to-day, how is itthat this life is but a passing and perishing manifestation?"

Such impressions took no definite form, however, but merely passedthrough the dim background of his consciousness, while he gave hiswhole soul to the effort to make the day one that from its unalloyedpleasure could not fail to recall him to the memory of Miss St. John. He believed himself to be successful, for he felt as if inspired. Hewas ready with a quick reply to all her mirthful sallies, and he hadthe tact to veil his delicate flattery under a manner and mode ofspeech that suggested rather than revealed his admiration. She washonestly delighted with him and his regard, as she understood it, andshe congratulated herself again and again that Hilland's friend was aman that she also would find unusually agreeable. His kindness to herfather had warmed her heart toward him, and now his kindness andinterest were genuine, although at first somewhat hollow and assumed. 

Graham had become a decided favorite with the old gentleman, for hehad proved the most efficient ally that Grace had ever gained inquickening the pace of heavy-footed Time. Even the veteran's chilledblood seemed to feel the influences of the day, and his gallantrytoward Mrs. Mayburn was more pronounced than usual. "We, too, will beyoung people once more, " he remarked, "for the opportunity may notcome to us again. "

They discussed their lunch with zest, they smiled into one another'sface, and indulged in little pleasantries that were as light andpassing as the zephyrs that occasionally fluttered the leaves abovetheir heads; but deep in each heart were memories, tides of thought, hopes, fears, joys, that form the tragic background of all human life. The old major gave some reminiscences of his youthful campaigning. Inhis cheerful mood his presentation of them was in harmony with thesunny afternoon. The bright sides of his experiences were toward hisauditors, but what dark shadows of wounds, agony, and death were onthe further side! And of these he could never be quite unconscious, even while awakening laughter at the comic episodes of war. 

Mrs. Mayburn seemed her plain-spoken, cheery self, intent only onmaking the most of this genial hour in the autumn of her life, and yetshe was watching over a hope that she felt might make her last daysher best days. She was almost praying that the fair girl whom she hadso learned to love might become the solace of her age, and fill, inher childless heart, a place that had ever been an aching void. MissSt. John was too preoccupied to see any lover but one, and he was everpresent, though thousands of miles away. But she saw in Graham hisfriend, and had already accepted him also as her most agreeablefriend, liking him all the better for his apparent disposition toappeal only to her fancy and reason, instead of her heart. She sawwell enough that he liked her exceedingly, but Hilland's impetuouswooing and impassioned words had made her feel that there was aninfinite difference between liking and loving; and she pictured toherself the pleasure they would both enjoy when finding that theirseemingly chance acquaintance was but preparation for the closer tieswhich their several relations to Hilland could not fail to occasion. 

The object of this kindly but most temperate regard smiled into hereyes, chatted easily on any topic suggested, and appeared entirelysatisfied; but was all the while conscious of a growing need which, denied, would impoverish his life, making it, brief even as he deemedit to be, an intolerable burden. But on this summer afternoon hope wasin the ascendant, and he saw no reason why the craving of all that wasbest and noblest in his nature should not be met. When a supremeaffection first masters the heart it often carries with it a certainassurance that there must be a response, that when so much is given bya subtle, irresistible, unexpected impulse, the one receiving should, sooner or later, by some law of correspondence, be inclined to returna similar regard. All living things in nature, when not interferedwith, at the right time and in the right way, sought and found whatwas essential to the completion of their life, and he was a part ofnature. According to the law of his own individuality he had yieldedto Miss St. John's power. His reason had kept pace with his heart. Hehad advanced to his present attitude toward her like a man, and hadnot been driven to it by the passion of an animal. Therefore he washopeful, self-complacent, and resolute. He not only proposed to winthe girl he loved, cost what it might in time and effort, but in theexalted mood of the hour felt that he could and must win her. 

She, all unconscious, smiled genially, and indeed seemed the veryembodiment of mirth. Her talk was brilliant, yet interspersed withstrange lapses that began to puzzle him. Meanwhile she scarcely sawhim, gave him but the passing attention with which one looks up froman absorbing story, and all the time the letter against which herheart pressed seemed alive and endowed with the power to make eachthrob more glad and full of deep content. 

How isolated and inscrutable is the mystery of each human life! Herewere four people strongly interested in each other and most friendly, between whom was a constant interchange of word and glance, and yettheir thought and feeling were flowing in strong diverse currents, unseen and unsuspected. 

As the day declined they all grew more silent and abstracted. Deepershadows crept into the vistas of memory with the old, and those whohad become but memories were with them again as they had been on likeJune days half a century before. With the young the future, outlinedby hope, took forms so absorbing that the present was forgotten. Ostensibly they were looking off at the wide and diversifiedlandscape; in reality they were contemplating the more variedexperiences, actual and possible, of life. 

At last the major complained querulously that he was growing chilly. The shadow in which he shivered was not caused by the sinking sun. 

The hint was taken at once, and in a few moments they were on theirway homeward. The old sportive humor of the morning did not return. The major was the aged invalid again. Mrs. Mayburn and Graham wereperplexed, for Grace had seemingly become remote from them all. Shewas as kind as ever; indeed her manner was characterized by an unusualgentleness; but they could not but see that her thoughts were not withthem. The first tumultuous torrent of her joy had passed, and with ither girlhood. Now, as an earnest woman, she was approaching the hourof her betrothal, when she would write words that would bind her toanother and give direction to all her destiny. Her form was atGraham's side; the woman was not there. Whither and to whom had shegone? The question caused him to turn pale with fear. 

"Miss Grace, " he said at last, and there was a tinge of reproach inhis voice, "where are you? You left us some time since, " and he turnedand tried to look searchingly into her eyes. 

She met his without confusion or rise in color. Her feelings hadbecome so deep and earnest, so truly those of a woman standing on theassured ground of fealty to another, that she was beyond her formergirlish sensitiveness and its quick, involuntary manifestations. Shesaid gently, "Pardon me, Mr. Graham, for my unsocial abstraction. Youdeserve better treatment for all your efforts for our enjoyment to-day. "

"Please do not come back on compulsion, " he said. "I do not think I ama natural Paul Pry, but I would like to know where you have been. "

"I will tell you some day, " she said, with a smile that was sofriendly that his heart sprang up in renewed hope. Then, as ifremembering what was due to him and the others, she buried herthoughts deep in her heart until she could be alone with them andtheir object. And yet her secret joy, like a hidden fire, tinged allher words with a kindly warmth. Graham and his aunt were not onlypleased but also perplexed, for both were conscious of something inGrace's manner which they could not understand. Mrs. Mayburn wassanguine that her June-day strategy was bringing forth the much-desired results; her nephew only hoped. They all parted with cordialwords, which gave slight hint of that which was supreme in each mind. 

CHAPTER IX

THE REVELATION

Graham found letters which required his absence for a day or two, andit seemed to him eminently fitting that he should go over in theevening and say good-by to Miss St. John. Indeed he was disposed tosay more, if the opportunity offered. His hopes sank as he saw thatthe first floor was darkened, and in answer to his summons Jinnyinformed him that the major and Miss Grace were "po'ful tired" and hadwithdrawn to their rooms. He trembled to find how deep was hisdisappointment, and understood as never before that his old self hadceased to exist. A month since no one was essential to him; now hisbeing had become complex. Then he could have crossed the ocean with afew easily spoken farewells; now he could not go away for a few hourswithout feeling that he must see one who was then a stranger. Themeaning of this was all too plain, and as he walked away in the Junestarlight he admitted it fully. Another life had become essential tohis own. And still he clung to his old philosophy, muttering, "If thisbe true, why will not my life become as needful to her?" His theory, like many another, was a product of wishes rather than an inductionfrom facts. 

When he returned after a long ramble, the light still burning in MissSt. John's window did not harmonize with the story of the young girl'sfatigue. The faint rays, however, could reveal nothing, although theyhad illumined page after page traced full of words of such vitalimport to him. 

Mrs. Mayburn shared his early breakfast, and before he took his leavehe tried to say in an easy, natural manner:

"Please make my adieus to Miss St. John, and say I called to presentthem in person, but it seemed she had retired with the birds. Thecolored divinity informed me that she was 'po'ful tired, ' and I hopeyou will express my regret that the day proved so exceedinglywearisome. " Mrs. Mayburn lifted her keen gray eyes to her nephew'sface, and a slow rising flush appeared under her scrutiny. Then shesaid gently, "That's a long speech, Alford, but I don't think itexpresses your meaning. If I give your cordial good-by to Grace andtell her that you hope soon to see her again, shall I not better carryout your wishes?"

"Yes, " was the grave and candid reply. 

"I believe you are in earnest now. "

"I am, indeed, " he replied, almost solemnly, and with these vague yetsignificant words they came to an understanding. 

Three days elapsed, and still Graham's business was not completed. Inhis impatience he left it unfinished and returned. How his heartbounded as he saw the familiar cottage! With hasty steps he passed upthe path from the street. It was just such another evening as thatwhich had smiled upon his first coming to his aunt's residence, onlynow there was summer warmth in the air, and the richer, fuller promiseof the year. The fragrance that filled the air, if less delicate, wasmore penetrating, and came from flowers that had absorbed the sun'sstrengthening rays. If there was less of spring's ecstasy in the songof the birds, there was now in their notes that which was in trueraccord with Graham's mood. 

At a turn of the path he stopped short, for on the rustic seat beneaththe apple-tree he saw Miss St. John reading a letter; then he wentforward to greet her, almost impetuously, with a glow in his face anda light in his eyes which no one had ever seen before. She rose tomeet him, and there was an answering gladness in her face which madeher seem divine to him. 

"You are welcome, " she said cordially. "We have all missed you morethan we dare tell you;" and she gave his hand a warm, strong pressure. 

The cool, even-pulsed man, who as a boy had learned to hide hisfeelings, was for a moment unable to speak. His own intense emotion, his all-absorbing hope, blinded him to the character of her greeting, and led him to give it a meaning it did not possess. She, equallypreoccupied with her one thought, looked at him for a moment insurprise, and then cried, "He has told you--has written?"

"He! who?" Graham exclaimed with a blanching face. 

"Why, Warren Hilland, your friend. I told you I would tell you, but Icould not before I told him, " she faltered. 

He took an uncertain step or two to the tree, and leaned against itfor support. 

The young girl dropped the letter and clasped her hands in herdistress. "It was on the drive--our return, you remember, " she beganincoherently. "You asked where my thoughts were, and I said I wouldtell you soon. Oh! we have both been blind. I am so--so sorry. "

Graham's face and manner had indeed been an unmistakable revelation, and the frank, generous girl waited for no conventional acknowledgmentbefore uttering what was uppermost in her heart. 

By an effort which evidently taxed every atom of his manhood, Grahamgained self-control, and said quietly, "Miss St. John, I think betterof myself for having loved you. If I had known! But you are not toblame. It is I who have been blind, for you have never shown otherthan the kindly regard which was most natural, knowing that I wasHilland's friend. I have not been frank either, or I should havelearned the truth long ago. I disguised the growing interest I felt inyou from the first, fearing I should lose my chance if you understoodme too early. I am Hilland's friend. No one living now knows himbetter than I do, and from the depths of my heart I congratulate you. He is the best and truest man that ever lived. "

"Will you not be my friend, also?" she faltered. 

He looked at her earnestly as he replied, "Yes, for life. "

"You will feel differently soon, " said the young girl, trying to smilereassuringly. "You will see that it has all been a mistake, amisunderstanding; and when your friend returns we will have themerriest, happiest times together. "

"Could you soon feel differently?" he asked. 

"Oh! why did you say that?" she moaned, burying her face in her hands. "If you will suffer even in a small degree as I should!"

Her distress was so evident and deep that he stood erect and steppedtoward her. "Why are you so moved, Miss St. John?" he asked. "I havemerely paid you the highest compliment within my power. "

Her hands dropped from her face, and she turned away, but not soquickly as to hide the tears that dimmed her lustrous eyes. His lipquivered for a moment at the sight of them, but she did not see this. 

"You have merely paid me a compliment, " she repeated in a low tone. 

The lines of his mouth were firm now, his face grave and composed, andin his gray eyes only a close observer might have seen that anindomitable will was resuming sway. "Certainly, " he continued, "andsuch compliments you have received before and would often again wereyou free to receive them. I cannot help remembering that there isnothing unique in this episode. "

She turned and looked at him doubtingly, as she said with hesitation, "You then regard your--your--"

"My vacation experience, " he supplied. 

Her eyes widened in what resembled indignant surprise, and her tonesgrew a little cold and constrained as she again repeated his words. 

"You then regard your experience as a vacation episode. "

"Do not for a moment think I have been insincere, " he said, withstrong emphasis, "or that I should not have esteemed it the chiefhonor of my life had I been successful--"

"As to that, " she interrupted, "there are so many other honors that aman can win. "

"Assuredly. Pardon me, Miss St. John, but I am sure you have had toinflict similar disappointments before. Did not the men survive?"

The girl broke out into a laugh in which there was a trace ofbitterness. "Survive!" she cried. "Indeed they did. One is alreadymarried, and another I happen to know is engaged. I'm sure I'm glad, however. Your logic is plain and forcible, Mr. Graham, and you relievemy mind greatly. Men must be different from women. "

"Undoubtedly. "

"What did you mean by asking me, 'Could you soon feel differently?'"

He hesitated a moment and flushed slightly, then queried with a smile, "What did you mean by saying that I should soon learn to feeldifferently, and that when Hilland returned we should have themerriest times together?"

It was her turn now to be confused now; and she saw that her wordswere hollow, though spoken from a kindly impulse. 

He relieved her by continuing: "You probably spoke from an instinctiveestimate of me. You remembered what a cool and wary suitor I had been. Your father would say that I had adopted an-army-of-observationtactics, and I might have remembered that such armies rarelyaccomplish much. I waited for you to show some sign of weakness, andnow you see that I am deservedly punished. It is ever best to face thefacts as they are. "

"You appear frank, Mr. Graham, and you certainly have not studiedphilosophy in vain. "

"Why should I not take a philosophical view of the affair? In mypolicy, which I thought so safe and astute, I blundered. If from thefirst I had manifested the feeling"--the young girl smiled slightly atthe word--"which you inspired, you would soon have taught me thewisdom of repressing its growth. Thus you see that you have not theslightest reason for self-censure; and I can go on my way, at least awiser man. "

She bowed gracefully, as she said with a laugh, "I am now beginning tounderstand that Mr. Graham can scarcely regret anything which adds tohis stores of wisdom, and certainly not so slight an 'affair' as a'vacation episode. ' Now that we have talked over this littlemisunderstanding so frankly and rationally, will you not join us atwhist to-night?"

"Certainly. My aunt and I will come over as usual. "

Her brow contracted in perplexity as she looked searchingly at him fora moment; but his face was simply calm, grave, and kindly in itsexpression, and yet there was something about the man which impressedher and even awed her--something unseen, but felt by her woman'sintuition. It must be admitted that it was felt but vaguely at thetime; for Grace after all was a woman, and Graham's apparentphilosophy was not altogether satisfactory. It had seemed to her asthe interview progressed that she had been surprised into showing adistress and sympathy for which there was no occasion--that she hadinterpreted a cool, self-poised man by her own passionate heart andboundless love. In brief, she feared she had been sentimental over anoccasion which Graham, as he had suggested, was able to viewphilosophically. She had put a higher estimate on his disappointmentthan he, apparently; and she had too much of her father's spirit, andtoo much womanly pride not to resent this, even though she waspartially disarmed by this very disappointment, and still more so byhis self-accusation and his tribute to Hilland. But that whichimpressed her most was something of which she saw no trace in thecalm, self-controlled man before her. As a rule, the soul's life ishidden, except as it chooses to reveal itself; but there are timeswhen the excess of joy or suffering cannot be wholly concealed, eventhough every muscle is rigid and the face marble. Therefore, althoughthere were no outward signals of distress, Graham's agony was notwithout its influence on the woman before him, and it led her to say, gently and hesitatingly, "But you promised to be my friend, Mr. Graham. "

His iron will almost failed him, for he saw how far removed she wasfrom those women who see and know nothing save that which strikestheir senses. He had meant to pique her pride as far as he couldwithout offence, even though he sank low in her estimation; but suchwas the delicacy of her perceptions that she half divined the troublehe sedulously strove to hide. He felt as if he could sit down and crylike a child over his immeasurable loss, and for a second feared hewould give way. There was in his eyes a flash of anger at hisweakness, but it passed so quickly that she could scarcely note, muchless interpret it. 

Then he stepped forward in a friendly, hearty way, and took her handas he said: "Yes, Miss St. John, and I will keep my promise. I will beyour friend for life. If you knew my relations to Hilland, you couldnot think otherwise. I shall tell him when we meet of my first andcharacteristic siege of a woman's heart, of the extreme and prudentcaution with which I opened my distant parallels, and how, at last, when I came within telescopic sight of the prize, I found that he hadalready captured it. My course has been so perfectly absurd that Imust laugh in spite of myself;" and he did laugh so naturally andgenially that Grace was constrained to join him, although the troubleand perplexity did not wholly vanish from her eyes. 

"And now, " he concluded, "that I have experienced my first naturalsurprise, I will do more than sensibly accept the situation. Icongratulate you upon it as no one else can. Had I a sister I wouldrather that she married Hilland than any other man in the world. Wethus start on the right basis for friendship, and there need be noawkward restraint on either side. I must now pay my respects to myaunt, or I shall lose not only her good graces but my supper also;"and with a smiling bow he turned and walked rapidly up the path, anddisappeared within Mrs. Mayburn's open door. 

Grace looked after him, and the perplexed contraction of her browdeepened. She picked up Hilland's letter, and slowly and musinglyfolded it. Suddenly she pressed a fervent kiss upon it, and murmured:"Thank God, the writer of this has blood in his veins; and yet--andyet--he looked at first as if he had received a mortal wound, and--and--all the time I felt that he suffered. But very possibly I amcrediting him with that which would be inevitable were my case his. "

With bowed head she returned slowly and thoughtfully through thetwilight to her home. 

CHAPTER X

THE KINSHIP OF SUFFERING

When Graham felt that he had reached the refuge of his aunt's cottage, his self-control failed him, and he almost staggered into the duskyparlor and sank into a chair. Burying his face in his hands, hemuttered: "Fool, fool, fool!" and a long, shuddering sigh sweptthrough his frame. 

How long he remained in this attitude he did not know, so overwhelmedwas he by his sense of loss. At last he felt a hand laid upon hisshoulder; he looked up and saw that the lamp was lighted and that hisaunt was standing beside him. His face was so altered and haggard thatshe uttered an exclamation of distress. 

Graham hastily arose and turned down the light. "I cannot bear thatyou should look upon my weakness, " he said, hoarsely. 

"I should not be ashamed of having loved Grace St. John, " said the oldlady, quietly. 

"Nor am I. As I told her, I think far better of myself for having doneso. A man who has seen her as I have would be less than a man had henot loved her. But oh, the future, the future! How am I to support thetruth that my love is useless, hopeless?"

"Alford, I scarcely need tell you that my disappointment is bitteralso. I had set my heart on this thing. "

"You know all, then?"

"Yes, I know she is engaged to your friend, Warren Hilland. She cameover in the dusk of last evening, and, sitting just where you are, told me all. I kept up. It was not for me to reveal your secret. I letthe happy girl talk on, kissed her, and wished her all the happinessshe deserves. Grace is unlike other girls, or I should have knownabout it long ago. I don't think she even told her father until shehad first written to him her full acknowledgment. Your friend, however, had gained her father's consent to his addresses long since. She told me that. "

"Oh, my awful future!" he groaned. "Alford, " Mrs. Mayburn said, gentlybut firmly, "think of _her_ future. Grace is so good and kind that shewould be very unhappy if she saw and heard you now. I hope you did notgive way thus in her presence. "

He sprang to his feet and paced the room rapidly at first, then moreand more slowly. Soon he turned up the light, and Mrs. Mayburn wassurprised at the change in his appearance. 

"You are a strong, sensible woman, " he began. 

"Well, I will admit the premise for the sake of learning what is tofollow. "

"Miss St. John must never know of my sense of loss--my presentdespair, " he said, in low, rapid speech. "Some zest in life may comeback to me in time; but, be that as it may, I shall meet my troublelike a man. To make her suffer now--to cloud her well-meritedhappiness and that of my friend--would be to add a bitterness beyondthat of death. Aunt, you first thought me cold and incapable of strongattachments, and a few weeks since I could not have said that yourestimate was far astray, although I'm sure my friendship for Hillandwas as strong as the love of most men. Until I met you and Grace itwas the only evidence I possessed that I had a heart. Can you wonder?He was the first one that ever showed me any real kindness. I wasorphaned in bitter truth, and from childhood my nature was chilled andbenumbed by neglect and isolation. Growth and change are not so muchquestions of time as of conditions. From the first moment that I sawGrace St. John, she interested me deeply; and, self-complacent, self-confident fool that I was, I thought I could deal with the supremequestion of life as I had dealt with those which half the world neverthink about at all. I remember your warning, aunt; and yet, as I saidto myself at the time, there was more of incentive than warning inyour words, flow self-confidently I smiled over them! How perfectlysure I was that I could enjoy this rare girl's society as I would lookat a painting or listen to a symphony! Almost before I was aware, Ifound a craving in my heart which I now know all the world cannotsatisfy. That June day which you arranged so kindly in my behalf madeall as clear as the cloudless sun that shone upon us. That day I wasrevealed fully unto myself, but my hope was strong, for I felt that bythe very law and correspondence of nature I could not have such animmeasurable need without having that need supplied. In my impatienceI left my business unfinished and returned this evening, for I couldnot endure another hour of delay. She seemed to answer my glad lookswhen we met; she gave her hand in cordial welcome. I, blinded byfeeling, and thinking that its very intensity must awaken a likereturn, stood speechless, almost overwhelmed by my transcendent hope. She interpreted my manner naturally by what was uppermost in her mind, and exclaimed: 'He has told you--he has written. ' In a moment I knewthe truth, and I scarcely think that a knife piercing my heart couldinflict a deeper pang. I could not rally for a moment or two. Whenshall I forget the sympathy--the tears that dimmed her dear eyes! Ihave a religion at last, and I worship the divine nature of thatcomplete woman. The thought that I made her suffer aroused my manhood;and from that moment I strove to make light of the affair--to give theimpression that she was taking it more seriously than I did. I eventried to pique her pride--I could not wound her vanity, for she hasnone--and I partially succeeded. My task, however, was and will be adifficult one, for her organization is so delicate and fine that shefeels what she cannot see. But I made her laugh in spite of herself atmy prudent, wary wooing. I removed, I think, all constraint, and wecan meet as if nothing had happened. Not that we can meet often--thatwould tax me beyond my strength--but often enough to banish solicitudefrom her mind and from Hilland's. Now you know the facts sufficientlyto become a shrewd and efficient ally. By all your regard for me--whatis far more, by all your love for her--I entreat you let me bring nocloud across her bright sky. We are going over to whist as usual to-night. Let all be as usual. "

"Heaven bless you, Alford!" faltered his aunt, with tearful eyes. 

"Heaven! what a mockery! Even the lichen, the insect, lives a completelife, while we, with all our reason, so often blunder, fail, and missthat which is essential to existence. "

Mrs. Mayburn shook her head slowly and thoughtfully, and then said:"This very fact should teach us that our philosophy of life is false. We are both materialists--I from the habit of living for this worldonly; you, I suppose, from mistaken reasoning; but in hours like thesethe mist is swept aside, and I feel, I know, that this life cannot, must not, be all in all. "

"Oh, hush!" cried Graham, desperately. "To cease to exist andtherefore to suffer, may become the best one can hope for. Were it notcowardly, I would soon end it all. "

"You may well use the word 'cowardly, '" said his aunt in strongemphasis; "and brave Grace St. John would revolt at and despise suchcowardice by every law of her nature. "

"Do not fear. I hope never to do anything to forfeit her respect, except it is for the sake of her own happiness, as when to-day I triedto make her think my veins were filled with ice-water instead ofblood. Come, I have kept you far too long. Let us go through theformality of supper; and then I will prove to you that if I have beenweak here I can be strong for her sake. I do not remember my mother;but nature is strong, and I suppose there comes a time in every one'slife when he must speak to some one as he would to a mother. You havebeen very kind, dear aunt, and I shall never forget that you havewished and schemed for my happiness. "

The old lady came and put her arm around the young man's neck andlooked into his face with a strange wistfulness as she said, slowly:"There is no blood relationship between us, Alford, but we are nearerakin than such ties could make us. You do not remember your mother; Inever had a child. But, as you say, nature is strong; and although Ihave tried to satisfy myself with a hundred things, the mother in myheart has never been content. I hoped, I prayed, that you and Gracemight become my children. Alford, I have been learning of late that Iam a lonely, unhappy old woman. Will you not be my boy? I would rathershare your sorrow than be alone in the world again. "

Graham was deeply touched. He bowed his head upon her shoulder as ifhe were her son, and a few hot tears fell from his eyes. "Yes, aunt, "he said, in a low tone, "you have won the right to ask anything that Ican give. Fate, in denying us both what our hearts most craved, hasindeed made us near akin; and there can be an unspoken sympathybetween us that may have a sustaining power that we cannot now know. You have already taken the bitterness, the despair out of my sorrow;and should I go to the ends of the earth I shall be the better forhaving you to think of and care for. "

"And you feel that you cannot remain here, Alford?"

"No, aunt, that is now impossible; that is, for the present. "

"Yes, I suppose it is, " she admitted, sadly. 

"Come, aunty dear, I promised Miss St. John that we would go over asusual to-night, and I would not for the world break my word. "

"Then we shall go at once. We shall have a nice little supper on ourreturn. Neither of us is in the mood for it now. "

After a hasty toilet Graham joined his aunt. She looked at him, andhad no fears. 

CHAPTER XI

THE ORDEAL

Grace met them at the door. "It is very kind of you, " she said, "tocome over this evening after a fatiguing journey. "

"Very, " he replied, laughingly; "a ride of fifty miles in the carsshould entitle one to a week's rest. "

"I hope you are going to take it. "

"Oh, no; my business man in New York has at last aroused me to heroicaction. With only the respite of a few hours' sleep I shall ventureupon the cars again and plunge into all the perils and excitements ofa real estate speculation. My property is going up, and 'there's atide, ' you know, 'which, taken at its flood--'"

"Leads away from your friends. I see that it is useless for us toprotest, for when did a man ever give up a chance for speculation?"

"Then it is not the fault of man: we merely obey a general law. "

"That is the way with you scientists, " she said with a piquant nod andsmile. "You do just as you please, but you are always obeying someprofound law that we poor mortals know nothing about. We don't fallback upon the arrangements of the universe for our motives, do we, Mrs. Mayburn?"

"Indeed we don't, " was the brusque response. "'When she will, shewill, and when she won't, she won't, ' answers for us. "

"Grace! Mrs. Mayburn!" called the major from the parlor; "if you don'tcome soon I'll order out the guard and have you brought in. Mr. Graham, " he continued, as the young man hastened to greet him, "youare as welcome as a leave of absence. We have had no whist since youleft us, and we are nearly an hour behind time to-night. Mrs. Mayburn, your humble servant. Excuse me for not rising. Why the deuce my goutshould trouble me again just now I can't see. I've not seen you sincethat juvenile picnic which seemed to break up all our regular habits. I never thought that you would desert me. I suppose Mr. Graham carriesa roving commission and can't be disciplined. I propose, however, thatwe set to at once and put the hour we've lost at the other end of theevening. "

It was evident that the major was in high spirits, in spite of hiscatalogue of ills; and in fact his daughter's engagement had beenextremely satisfactory to him. Conscious of increasing age andinfirmity, he was delighted that Grace had chosen one so abundantlyable to take care of her and of him also. For the last few days he hadbeen in an amiable mood, for he felt that fortune had dealt kindly byhim. His love for his only child was the supreme affection of hisheart, and she by her choice had fulfilled his best hopes. Her futurewas provided for and safe. Then from the force of long habit hethought next of himself. If his tastes were not luxurious, he had atleast a strong liking for certain luxuries, and to these he wouldgladly add a few more did his means permit. He was a connoisseur inwines and the pleasures of the table--not that he had any tendenciestoward excess, but he delighted to sip the great wines of the world, to expatiate on their age, character, and origin. Sometimes he wouldlaughingly say, "Never dilate on the treasures bequeathed to us by theold poets, sages, and artists, but for inspiration and consolationgive me a bottle of old, old wine--wine made from grapes that ripenedbefore I was born. "

He was too upright a man, however, to gratify these tastes beyond hismeans; but Grace was an indulgent and skilful housekeeper, and madetheir slender income minister to her father's pleasure in a way thatsurprised even her practical friend, Mrs. Mayburn. In explanation shewould laughingly say, "I regard housekeeping as a fine art. The morelimited your materials the greater the genius required for producingcertain results. Now, I'm a genius, Mrs. Mayburn. You wouldn't dreamit, would you? Papa sometimes has a faint consciousness of the factwhen he finds on his table wines and dishes of which he knows theusual cost. 'My dear, ' he will say severely, 'is this paid for?''Yes, ' I reply, meekly. 'How did you manage it?' Then I stand upon mydignity, and reply with offended majesty, 'Papa, I am housekeeper. Youare too good a soldier to question the acts of your superior officer. 'Then he makes me a most profound bow and apology, and rewards me amplyby his almost childlike enjoyment of what after all has only cost me alittle undetected economy and skill in cookery. "

But the major was not so blind as he appeared to be. He knew more ofher "undetected" economies, which usually came out of her allowance, than she supposed, and his conscience often reproached him forpermitting them; but since they appeared to give her as much pleasureas they afforded him, he had let them pass. It is hard for a pettedand weary invalid to grow in self-denial. While the old gentlemanwould have starved rather than angle for Hilland or plead his cause bya word--he had given his consent to the young man's addresses with themien of a major-general--he nevertheless foresaw that wealth as theally of his daughter's affection would make him one of the mostdiscriminating and fastidious gourmands in the land. 

In spite of his age and infirmity the old soldier was exceedingly fondof travel and of hotel life. He missed the varied associations of thearmy. Pain he had to endure much of the time, and from it there was noescape. Change of place, scene, and companionship diverted his mind, and he partially forgot his sufferings. As we have shown, he was adevourer of newspapers, but he enjoyed the world's gossip far morewhen he could talk it over with others, and maintain on the questionsof the day half a dozen good-natured controversies. When at theseashore the previous summer he had fought scores of battles for hisfavorite measures with other ancient devotees of the newspaper. Gracehad made Graham laugh many a time by her inimitable descriptions ofthe quaint tilts and chaffings of these graybeards, as each urged theviews of his favorite journals; and then she would say, "You ought tosee them sit down to whist. Such prolonged and solemn sittings upsetmy gravity more than all their _bric-a-brac_ jokes. " And then shehad sighed and said, "I wish we could have remained longer, for papaimproved so much and was so happy. "

The time was coming when he could stay longer--as long as he pleased--for whatever pleased her father would please Grace, and would have toplease her husband. Her mother when dying had committed the old man toher care, and a sacred obligation had been impressed upon her childishmind which every year had strengthened. 

As we have seen, Grace had given her heart to Hilland by a compulsionwhich she scarcely understood herself. No thrifty calculations had hadthe slightest influence in bringing the mysterious change of feelingthat had been a daily surprise to the young girl. She had turned toHilland as the flower turns to the sun, with scarcely more than thedifference that she was conscious that she was turning. When at lastshe ceased to wonder at the truth that her life had become blendedwith that of another--for, as her love developed, this union seemedthe most natural and inevitable thing in the world--she began to thinkof Hilland more than of herself, and of the changes which her newrelations would involve. It became one of the purest sources of herhappiness that she would eventually have the means of gratifying everytaste and whim of her father, and could surround him with all thecomforts which his age and infirmities permitted him to enjoy. 

Thus the engagement ring on Miss St. John's finger had its heights anddepths of meaning to both father and daughter; and its bright goldenhue pervaded all the prospects and possibilities--the least as well asthe greatest--of the future. It was but a plain, heavy circlet ofgold, and looked like a wedding-ring. Such to Graham it seemed to be, as its sheen flashed upon his eyes during their play, which continuedfor two hours or more, with scarcely a remark or an interruptionbeyond the requirements of the game. The old major loved this completeand scientific absorption, and Grace loved to humor him. Moreover, shesmiled more than once at Graham's intentness. Never had he played sowell, and her father had to put forth all his veteran skill andexperience to hold his own. "To think that I shed tears over hisdisappointment, when a game of whist can console him!" she thought. "How different he is from his friend! I suppose that is the reasonthat they are such friends--they are so unlike. The idea of Warrenplaying with that quiet, steady hand and composed face under likecircumstances! And yet, why is he so pale?"

Mrs. Mayburn understood this pallor too well, and she felt that theordeal had lasted long enough. She, too, had acted her part admirably, but now she pleaded fatigue, saying that she had not been very wellfor the last day or two. She was inscrutable to Grace, and caused nomisgivings. It is easier for a woman than for a man to hide emotionsfrom a woman, and Mrs. Mayburn's gray eyes and strong features rarelyrevealed anything that she meant to conceal. The major acquiescedgood-naturedly, saying, "You are quite right to stop, Mrs. Mayburn, and I surely have no cause to complain. We have had more play in twohours than most people have in two weeks. I congratulate you, Mr. Graham; you are becoming a foeman worthy of any man's steel. "

Graham rose with the relief which a man would feel on leaving therack, and said, smilingly, "Your enthusiasm is contagious. Any manwould soon be on his mettle who played often with you. "

"Is enthusiasm one of your traits?" Grace asked, with an arch smileover her shoulder, as she went to ring the bell. 

"What! Have you not remarked it?"

"Grace has been too preoccupied to remark anything--sly puss!" saidthe major, laughing heartily. "My dear Mrs. Mayburn, I shall ask foryour congratulations tonight. I know we shall have yours, Mr. Graham, for Grace has informed me that Hilland is your best and nearestfriend. This little girl of mine has been playing blind-man's-buffwith her old father. She thought she had the handkerchief tight overmy eyes, but I always keep One corner raised a little. Well, Mr. Graham, this dashing friend of yours, who thinks he can carry all theworld by storm, asked me last summer if he could lay siege to Grace. Ifelt like wringing his neck for his audacity and selfishness. The ideaof any one taking Grace from me!"

"And no one shall, papa, " said Grace, hiding her blushing face behindhis white shock of hair. "But I scarcely think these details willinterest--"

"What!" cried the bluff, frank old soldier--"not interest Mrs. Mayburn, the best and kindest of neighbors? not interest Hilland'salter ego?"

"I assure you, " said Graham, laughing, "that I am deeply interested;and I promise you, Miss Grace, that I shall give Hilland a severercurtain lecture than he will ever receive from you, because he hasleft me in the dark so long. "

"Stop pinching my arm, " cried the major, who was in one of his jovialmoods, and often immensely enjoyed teasing his daughter. "You may wellhide behind me. Mrs. Mayburn, I'm going to expose a rank case offilial deception that was not in the least successful. This 'I came, Isaw, I conquered' friend of yours, Mr. Graham, soon discovered that hewas dealing with a race that was not in the habit of surrendering. Butyour friend, like Wellington, never knew when he was beaten. Hewouldn't retreat an inch, but drawing his lines as close as he dared, sat down to a regular siege. "

Graham again laughed outright, and with a comical glance at the younggirl, asked, "Are you sure, sir, that Miss St. John was aware of thesesiege operations?"

"Indeed she was. Your friend raised his flag at once, and nailed it tothe staff. And this little minx thought that she could deceive an oldsoldier like myself by playing the role of disinterested friend to alonely young man condemned to the miseries of a mining town. I wasoften tempted to ask her why she did not extend her sympathy to scoresof young fellows in the service who are in danger of being scalpedevery day. But the joke of it was that I knew she was undermined andmust surrender long before Hilland did. "

"Now, papa, it's too bad of you to expose me in this style. I appealto Mrs. Mayburn if I did not keep my flag flying so defiantly to thelast that even she did not suspect me. "

"Yes, " said the old lady, dryly; "I can testify to that. "

"Which is only another proof of my penetration, " chuckled the major. "Well, well, it is so seldom I can get ahead of Grace in anything thatI like to make the most of my rare good fortune; and it seems, Mr. Graham, as if you and your aunt had already become a part of ourpresent and prospective home circle. I have seen a letter in whichWarren speaks of you in a way that reminds me of a friend who was shotalmost at my side in a fight with the Indians. That was nearly half acentury ago, and yet no one has taken his place. With men, friendshipsmean something, and last. "

"Come, come, " cried Mrs. Mayburn, bristling up, "neither Grace nor Iwill permit such an implied slur upon our sex. "

"My friendship for Hilland will last, " said Graham, with quietemphasis. "Most young men are drawn together by a mutual liking--bysomething congenial in their natures. I owe him a debt of gratitudethat can never be repaid, He found me a lonely, neglected boy, who hadscarcely ever known kindness, much less affection, and his ardent, generous nature became an antidote to my gloomy tendencies. From thefirst he has been a constant and faithful friend. He has not oneunworthy trait. But there is nothing negative about him, for heabounds in the best and most manly qualities; and I think, " heconcluded, speaking slowly and deliberately, as if he were making aninward vow, "that I shall prove worthy of his trust and regard. "

Grace looked at him earnestly and gratefully, and the thought againasserted itself that she had not yet gauged his character or hisfeeling toward herself. To her surprise she also noted that Mrs. Mayburn's eyes were filled with tears, but the old lady was equal tothe occasion, and misled her by saying, "I feel condemned, Alford, that you should have been so lonely and neglected in early life, but Iknow it was so. "

"Oh, well, aunt, you know I was not an interesting boy, and had I beenimposed upon you in my hobbledehoy period, our present relations mightnever have existed. I must ask your congratulations also, " hecontinued, turning toward the major and his daughter. "My aunt and Ihave in a sense adopted each other. I came hither to pay her a formalcall, and have made another very dear friend. "

"Have you made only one friend since you became our neighbor?" askedGrace, with an accent of reproach in her voice. 

"I would very gladly claim you and your father as such, " he replied, smilingly. 

The old major arose with an alacrity quite surprising in view of hislameness, and pouring out two glasses of the wine that Jinny hadbrought in answer to Grace's touch of the bell, he gave one of theglasses to Graham, and with the other in his left hand, he said, "Andhere I pledge you the word of a soldier that I acknowledge the claimin full, not only for Hilland's sake, but your own. You havegenerously sought to beguile the tedium of a crotchety and irritableold man; but such as he is he gives you his hand as a true, stanchfriend; and Grace knows this means a great deal with me. "

"Yes, indeed, " she cried. "I declare, papa, you almost make mejealous. You treated Warren as if you were the Great Mogul, and he buta presuming subject. Mr. Graham, if so many new friends are not anembarrassment of riches, will you give me a little niche among them?""I cannot give you that which is yours already, " he replied; "nor haveI a little niche for you. You have become identified with Hilland, youknow, and therefore require a large space. "

"Now, see here, my good friends, you are making too free with my ownpeculiar property. You are already rich in each other, not countingMr. Hilland, who, according to Alford, seems to embody all humanexcellence. I have only this philosophical nephew, and even with himshall find a rival in every book he can lay hands upon. I shalltherefore carry him off at once, especially as he is to be absentseveral days. "

The major protested against his absence, and was cordiality itself inhis parting words. 

Grace followed them out on the moonlit piazza. "Mr. Graham, " she said, hesitatingly, "you will not be absent very long, I trust. "

"Oh, no, " he replied, lightly; "only two or three weeks. In additionto my affairs in the city, I have some business in Vermont, and whilethere shall follow down some well-remembered trout-streams. "

She turned slightly away, and buried her face in a spray of roses fromthe bush that festooned the porch. He saw that a tinge of color was inher cheeks, as she said in a low tone, "You should not be absent long;I think your friend will soon visit us, and you should be here towelcome him, " and she glanced hastily toward him. Was it the moonlightthat made him look so very pale? His eyes held hers. Mrs. Mayburn hadwalked slowly on, and seemingly he had forgotten her. The young girl'seyes soon fell before his fixed gaze, and her face grew troubled. Hestarted, and said lightly, "I beg your pardon, Miss Grace, but youhave no idea what a picture you make with the aid of those roses. Thehuman face in clear moonlight reveals character, it is said, and Iagain congratulate my friend without a shadow of doubt. Unversed as Iam in such matters, I am quite satisfied that Hilland will need noother welcome than yours, and that he will be wholly content with itfor some time to come. Moreover, when I find myself among the trout, there's no telling when I shall get out of the woods. "

"Is fishing, then, one of your ruling passions?" the young girl asked, with an attempt to resume her old piquant style of talk with him. 

"Yes, " he replied, laughing, so that his aunt might hear him; "butwhen one's passions are of so mild a type one may be excused forhaving a half-dozen. Good-by!"

She stepped forward and held out her hand. "You have promised to be myfriend, " she said, gently. 

His hand trembled in her grasp as he said quietly and firmly, "I willkeep my promise. "

She looked after him wistfully, as she thought, "I'm not sure abouthim. I hope it's only a passing disappointment, for we should not liketo think that our happiness had brought him wretchedness. "

CHAPTER XII

FLIGHT TO NATURE

Graham found his aunt waiting for him on the rustic seat beneath theapple-tree. Here, a few hours before, his heart elate with hope, hehad hastened forward to meet Grace St. John. Ages seemed to havepassed since that moment of bitter disappointment, teaching him howrelative a thing is time. 

The old lady joined him without a word, and they passed on silently tothe house. As they entered, she said, trying to infuse into thecommonplace words something of her sympathy and affection, "Now wewill have a cosey little supper. "

Graham placed his hand upon her arm, and detained her, as he replied, "No, aunt; please get nothing for me. I must hide myself for a fewhours from even your kind eyes. Do not think me weak or unmanly. Ishall soon get the reins well in hand, and shall then be quietenough. "

"I think your self-control has been admirable this evening. "

"It was the self-control of sheer, desperate force, and only partialat that. I know I must have been almost ghostly in my pallor. I havefelt pale--as if I were bleeding to death. I did not mean to take herhand in parting, for I could not trust myself; but she held it out sokindly that I had to give mine, which, in spite of my whole willpower, trembled. I troubled and perplexed her. I have infused anelement of sorrow and bitterness into her happy love; for in thedegree in which it gives her joy she will fear that it brings theheartache to me, and she is too good and kind not to care. I must goaway and not return until my face is bronzed and my nerves are steel. Oh, aunt! you cannot understand me; I scarcely understand myself. Itseems as if all the love that I might have given to many in the past, had my life been like that of others, had been accumulating for thishopeless, useless waste--this worse than waste, since it only woundsand pains its object. "

"And do I count for so little, Alford?"

"You count for more now than all others save one; and if you knew howcontrary this utter unreserve is to my nature and habit, you wouldunderstand how perfect is my confidence in you and how deep is myaffection. But I am learning with a sort of dull, dreary astonishmentthat there are heights and depths of experience of which I once hadnot the faintest conception. This is a kind of battle that one mustfight out alone. I must go away and accustom myself to a new conditionof life. But do not worry about me. I shall come back a vertebrate;"and he tried to summon a reassuring smile, as he kissed her inparting. 

That night Graham faced his trouble, and decided upon his futurecourse. 

After an early breakfast the next morning, the young man bade his auntgood-by. With moist eyes, she said, "Alford, I am losing you, just asI find how much you are and can be to me. "

"No, aunty dear; my course will prove best for us both, " he replied, gently. "You would not be happy if you saw me growing more sad anddespairing every day through inaction, and--and--well, I could neverbecome strong and calm with that cottage there just beyond the trees. You have not lost me, for I shall try to prove a good correspondent. "

Graham kept his word. His "real estate speculation" did not detain himlong in the city, for his business agent was better able to managesuch interests than the inexperienced student; and soon a letter datedamong the mountains and the trout streams of Vermont assured Mrs. Mayburn that he had carried out his intentions. Not long after, a boxwith a score of superb fish followed the letter, and Major St. John'sname was pinned on some of the largest and finest. During the nextfortnight these trophies of his sport continued to arrive at briefintervals, and they were accompanied by letters, giving in almostjournal form graphic descriptions of the streams he had fished, theirsurrounding scenery, and the amusing peculiarities of the natives. There was not a word that suggested the cause that had driven him sosuddenly into the wilderness, but on every page were evidences oftireless activity. 

The major was delighted with the trout, and enjoyed a high feastalmost every day. Mrs. Mayburn, imagining that she had divinedGraham's wish, read from his letters glowing extracts which apparentlyrevealed an enthusiastic sportsman. 

After his departure Grace had resumed her frequent visits to hercongenial old friend, and confidence having now been given in respectto her absent lover, the young girl spoke of him out of the abundanceof her heart. Mrs. Mayburn tried to be all interest and sympathy, butGrace was puzzled by something in her manner--something not absentwhen she was reading Graham's letters. One afternoon she said: "Tellyour father that he may soon expect something extraordinarily fine, for Alford has written me of a twenty-mile tramp through the mountainsto a stream almost unknown and inaccessible. "

"Won't you read the description to us this evening? You have no ideahow much pleasure papa takes in Mr. Graham's letters. He says theyincrease the gamy flavor of the fish he enjoys so much; and I halfbelieve that Mr. Graham in this indirect and delicate way is stillseeking to amuse my father, and so compensate him for his absence. Warren will soon be here, however, and then we can resume our whistparties. Do you know that I am almost jealous? Papa talks more ofVermont woods than of Western mines. You ought to hear him expatiateupon the trout. He seems to follow Mr. Graham up and down everystream; and he explains to me with the utmost minuteness just how theflies are cast and just where they were probably thrown to snare thespeckled beauties. By the way, Mr. Graham puzzles me. He seems to bethe most indefatigable sportsman I ever heard of. But I should neverhave suspected it from the tranquil weeks he spent with us. He seemedabove all things a student of the most quiet and intellectual tastes, one who could find more pleasure in a library and laboratory than inall the rest of the world together. Suddenly he develops into the mostardent disciple of Izaak Walton. Indeed, he is too ardent, too full ofrestless activity, to be a true follower of the gentle, placid Izaak. At his present rate he will soon overrun all Vermont;" and she lookedsearchingly at her friend. 

A faint color stole into the old lady's cheeks, but she replied, quietly: "I have learned to know Alford well enough to love himdearly; and yet you must remember that but a few weeks ago he was acomparative stranger to me. He certainly is giving us ample proof ofhis sportsmanship, and now that I recall it, I remember hearing of hisfondness for solitary rambles in the woods when a boy. "

"His descriptions certainly prove that he is familiar with them, " wasthe young girl's answer to Mrs. Mayburn's words. Her inward comment onthe slight flush that accompanied them was: "She knows. He has toldher; or she, less blind than I, has seen. " But she felt that theadmission of his love into which Graham had been surprised was not atopic for her to introduce, although she longed to be assured that shehad not seriously disturbed the peace of her lover's friend. A day ortwo later Hilland arrived, and her happiness was too deep, toocomplete, to permit many thoughts of the sportsman in the Vermontforests. Nor did Hilland's brief but hearty expressions of regret atGraham's temporary absence impose upon her. She saw that the formerwas indeed more than content with her welcome; that while hisfriendship was a fixed star of the first magnitude, it paled andalmost disappeared before the brightness and fulness of her presence. "Nature, " indeed, became "radiant" to both "with purple light, themorning and the night varied enchantments. "

Grace waited for Graham to give his own confidence to his friend if hechose to do so, for she feared that if she spoke of it estrangementmight ensue. The unsuspecting major was enthusiastic in his praises ofthe successful fisherman, and Hilland indorsed with emphasis all hesaid. Graham's absence and Grace's reception had banished even thethought that he might possibly find a rival in his friend, and hishappiness was unalloyed. 

One sultry summer evening in early July Graham returned to his aunt'sresidence, and was informed that she was, as usual, at her neighbor's. He went immediately to his room to remove the dust and stains oftravel. On his table still lay the marked copy of Emerson that Gracehad lent him, and he smiled bitterly as he recalled his complacent, careless surmises over the underscored passage, now so well understoodand explained. Having finished his toilet, he gazed steadily at hisreflection in the mirror, as a soldier might have done to see if hisequipment was complete. It was evident he had not gone in vain tonature for help. His face was bronzed, and no telltale flush or pallorcould now be easily recognized. His expression was calm and resolute, indicating nerves braced and firm. Then he turned away with the lookof a man going into battle, and without a moment's hesitancy he soughtthe ordeal. The windows and doors of Major St. John's cottage wereopen, and as he mounted the piazza the group around the whist-tablewas in full view--the major contracting his bushy eyebrows over hishand as if not altogether satisfied, Mrs. Mayburn looking at hers withan interest so faint as to suggest that her thoughts were wandering, and Hilland with his laughing blue eyes glancing often from his cardsto the fair face of his partner, as if he saw there a story that woulddeepen in its inthralling interest through life. There was no shadow, no doubt on his wide, white brow. It was the genial, frank, merry faceof the boy who had thawed the reserve and banished the gathering gloomof a solitary youth at college, only now it was marked by the strongerlines of early manhood. His fine, short upper lip was clean shaven, and its tremulous curves indicated a nature quick, sensitive, andready to respond to every passing influence, while a full, tawny beardand broad shoulders banished all suggestion of effeminacy. He appearedto be, what in truth he was, an unspoiled favorite of fortune, nowsupremely happy in her best and latest gift. "If I could but haveknown the truth at first, " sighed Graham, "I would not have lingeredhere until my very soul was enslaved; for he is the man above allothers to win and hold a woman's heart. "

That he held the heart of the fair girl opposite him was revealed byevery glance, and Graham's heart ached with a pain hard to endure, ashe watched for a moment the exquisite outlines of her face, her wide, low brow with its halo of light-colored hair that was in such markedcontrast with the dark and lustrous eyes, now veiled by silken lashesas she looked downward intent on the game, now beaming with the veryspirit of mirth and mischief as she looked at her opponents, and againsoftening in obedience to the controlling law of her life as sheglanced half shyly from time to time at the great bearded man on theother side of the table. 

"Was not the world wide enough for me to escape seeing that face?" hegroaned. "A few months since I was content with my life and lot. Whydid I come thousands of miles to meet such a fate? I feared I shouldhave to face poverty and privation for a time. Now they are my lot forlife, an impoverishment that wealth would only enhance. I cannot stayhere, I will not remain a day longer than is essential to make theimpression I wish to leave;" and with a firm step he crossed thepiazza, rapped lightly in announcement of his presence, and enteredwithout ceremony. 

Hilland sprang forward joyously to meet him, and gave him just such agreeting as accorded with his ardent spirit. "Why, Graham!" he cried, with a crushing grasp, and resting a hand on his shoulder at the sametime, "you come unexpectedly, like all the best things in the world. We looked for a letter that would give us a chance to celebrate yourarrival as that of the greatest fisherman of the age. "

"Having taken so many unwary trout, it was quite in keeping to take usunawares, " said Grace, pressing forward with outstretched hand, forshe had determined to show in the most emphatic way that Hilland'sfriend was also hers. 

Graham took the proffered hand and held it, while, with a humorousglance at his friend, he said: "See here, Hilland, I hold anindisputable proof that it's time you appeared on the confines ofcivilization and gave an account of yourself. "

"I own up, old fellow. You have me on the hip. I have kept one secretfrom you. If we had been together the thing would have come out, butsomehow I couldn't write, even to you, until I knew my fate. "

"Mr. Graham, " broke in the major, "if we were in the service, I shouldplace you in charge of the commissary department, and give you aroving commission. I have lived like a lord for the past two weeks;"and he shook Graham's hand so cordially as to prove his heart hadsympathized with an adjacent organ that had been highly gratified. 

"I have missed you, Alford, " was his aunt's quiet greeting, and shekissed him as if he were her son, causing a sudden pang as heremembered how soon he would bid her farewell again. 

"Why, Graham, how you have improved! You have gained a splendid colorin the woods. The only trouble is that you are as attenuated as someof the theories we used to discuss. "

"And you, giddy boy, begin to look quite like a man. Miss Grace, youwill never know how greatly you are indebted to me for my restraininginfluence. There never was a fellow who needed to be sat down upon sooften as Hilland. I have curbed and pruned him; indeed, I have almostbrought him up. "

"He does you credit, " was her reply, spoken with mirthfulimpressiveness, and with a very contented glance at the laughingsubject of discussion. 

"Yes, Graham, " he remarked, "you were a trifle heavy at times, andwere better at bringing a fellow down than up. It took all theleverage of my jolly good nature to bring you up occasionally. But Iam glad to see and hear that you have changed so happily. Grace andthe major say you have become the best of company, taking a humaninterest in other questions than those which keep the scientists bythe ears. "

"That is because I have broken my shell and come out into the world. One soon discovers that there are other questions, and some of themconundrums that the scientists may as well give up at the start. Isay, Hilland, how young we were over there in Germany when we thoughtourselves growing hourly into _savants!_"

"Indeed we were, and as sublimely complacent as we were young. Wouldyou believe it, Mrs. Mayburn, your nephew and I at one time thought wewere on the trail of some of the most elusive secrets of the universe, and that we should soon drag them from cover. I have learned sincethat this little girl could teach me more than all the universities. "

Graham shot a swift glance at his aunt, which Grace thought shedetected; but he turned to the latter, and said genially: "Icongratulate you on excelling all the German doctors. I know he'sright, and he'll remember the lore obtained from you long after he hasforgotten the deep, guttural abstractions that droned on his earsabroad. It will do him more good, too. "

"I fear I am becoming a subject of irony to you both, " said Grace. 

"They are both becoming too deep for us, are they not, Mrs. Mayburn?"put in the major. "You obtained your best knowledge, Mr. Graham, whenyou trampled the woods as a boy, and though you gathered so much of itby hook it's like the fish you killed, rare to find. If we were in theservice and I had the power, I'd have you brevetted at once, and getsome fellow knocked on the head to make a vacancy. You have beencontributing royally to our mess, and now you must take a soldier'sluck with us to-night. Grace, couldn't you improvise a nice littlesupper?"

"Please do not let me cause any such trouble this hot evening, " Grahambegan; "I dined late in town, and--"

"No insubordination, " interrupted Grace, rising with alacrity. "Certainly I can, papa, " and as she paused near Graham, she murmured:"Don't object; it will please papa. "

She showed what a provident housekeeper she was, for they all soon satdown to an inviting repast, of which fruit was the staple article, with cake so light and delicate that it would never disturb a man'sconscience after he retired. Then with genial words and smiles thatmasked all heartache, Graham and his aunt said good-night anddeparted, Hilland accompanying his friend, that he might pour out thelong-delayed confidence. Graham shivered as he thought of the ordeal, as a man might tremble who was on his way to the torture-chamber, butoutwardly he was quietly cordial. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE FRIENDS

After accompanying Mrs. Mayburn to her cottage door, the friendsstrolled away together, the sultry evening rendering them reluctant toenter the house. When they reached the rustic seat under the apple-tree, Hilland remarked: "Here's a good place for our--"

"Not here, " interrupted Graham, in a tone that was almost sharp in itstension. 

"Why not?" asked his friend, in the accent of surprise. 

"Oh, well, " was the confused answer, "some one may be passing--servants may be out in the grounds. Suppose we walk slowly. "

"Graham, you seem possessed by the very demon of restlessness. Theidea of walking this hot night!"

"Oh, well, it doesn't matter, " Graham replied, carelessly, althoughhis face was rigid with the effort; and he threw himself down on therustic seat. "We are not conspirators that we need steal away in thedarkness. Why should I not be restless after sitting in the hot carsall day, and with the habit of tramping fresh upon me?"

"What evil spirit drove you into the wilderness and made you thechampion tramp of the country? It seems to me you must have someremarkable confidences also. "

"No evil spirit, I assure you; far from it. My tramp has done me good;indeed, I never derived more benefit from an outing in the woods in mylife. You will remember that when we were boys at college no fellowtook longer walks than I. I am simply returning to the impulses of myyouth. The fact is, I've been living too idly, and of course therewould be a reaction in one of my temperament and habits. The vitalforce which had been accumulating under my aunt's high feeding and theinspiration resulting from the society of two such charming people asMajor and Miss St. John had to be expended in some way. Somehow I'velost much of my old faith in books and laboratories. I've beenthinking a great deal about it, and seeing you again has given astrong impulse to a forming purpose. I felt a sincere commiserationwhen you gave up your life of a student. I was a fool to do so. I havestudied your face and manner this evening, and can see that you havedeveloped more manhood out in those Western mines, in your contactwith men and things and the large material interests of the world, than you could have acquired by delving a thousand years among dustytomes. "

"That little girl over there has done more for me than Western minesand material interests. "

"That goes without saying; and yet she could have done little for you, had you been a dawdler. Indeed, in that case she would have hadnothing to do with you. She recognized that you were like the gold youare mining--worth taking and fashioning; and I tell you she is not agirl to be imposed upon. "

"Flatterer!"

"No; friend. "

"You admire Grace very much. "

"I do indeed, and I respect her still more. You know I never was alady's man; indeed, the society of most young women was a weariness tome. Don't imagine I am asserting any superiority. You enjoyed theirconversation, and you are as clever as I am. "

"I understand, " said Hilland, laughing; "you had nothing in common. You talked to a girl as if she were a mile off, and often broachedtopics that were cycles away. Now, a girl likes a fellow to comereasonably close--metaphorically, if not actually--when he chats withher. Moreover, many that you met, if they had brains, had nevercultivated them. They were as shallow as a duck-pond, and with theirsmall deceits, subterfuges, and affectations were about astransparent. Some might imagine them deep. They puzzled and nonplussedyou, and you slunk away. Now I, while rating them at their worth, wasable from previous associations to talk a little congenial nonsense, and pass on. They amused me, too. You know I have a sort of laughingphilosophy, and everything and everybody amuses me. The fellows wouldcall these creatures angels, and they would flap their littlebutterfly wings as if they thought they were. How happened it that youso soon were _en rapport_ with Grace?"

"Ah, wily wretch!" Graham laughed gayly, while the night hid hislowering brows; "praise of your mistress is sweeter than flattery toyourself. Why, simply because she is Grace St. John. I imagine that itis her army life that has so blended unconventionality with perfectgood breeding. She is her bluff, honest, high-spirited old father overagain, only idealized, refined, and womanly. Then she must haveinherited some rare qualities from her Southern mother: you see myaunt has told me all about them. I once met a Southern lady abroad, and although she was middle-aged, she fascinated me more than any girlI had ever met. In the first place, there was an indescribable accentthat I never heard in Europe--slight, indeed, but very pleasing to theear. I sometimes detect traces of it in Miss St. John's speech. Thenthis lady had a frankness and sincerity of manner which put you atyour ease at once; and yet with it all there was a fine reserve. Youno more feared that she would blurt out something unsanctioned by goodtaste than that she would dance a hornpipe. She was singularly gentleand retiring in her manner; and yet one instinctively felt he wouldrather insult a Southern fire-eater than offend her. She gave theimpression that she had been accustomed to a chivalric deference frommen, rather than mere society attentions; and one unconsciouslyinfused a subtle homage in his very accent when speaking to her. Now, I imagine that Miss St. John's mother must have been closely akin tothis woman in character. You know my weakness for analyzingeverything. You used to say I couldn't smoke a cigar without goinginto the philosophy of it. I had not spent one evening in the societyof Miss St. John before I saw that she was a _rara avis_. Thenher devotion to her invalid father is superb. She enlisted me in hisservice the first day of my arrival. Although old, crippled, oftenracked with pain, and afflicted with a temper which arbitrary commandhas not improved, she beguiles him out of himself, smiles away hisgloom--in brief, creates so genial an atmosphere about him that everybreath is balm, and does it all, too, without apparent effort You seeno machinery at work. Now, this was all a new and very interestingstudy of life to me, and I studied it. There, too, is my aunt, who isquite as interesting in her way. Such women make general or wholesalecynicism impossible, or else hypocritical;" and he was about to launchout into as extended an analysis of the old lady's peculiarities, whenHilland interrupted him with a slap on the shoulder and a ringinglaugh. 

"Graham, you haven't changed a mite. You discourse just as of old, when in our den at the university we befogged ourselves in thetobacco-smoke and the denser obscurities of German metaphysics, onlyyour theme is infinitely more interesting. Now, when I met my paragon, Grace, whom you have limned with the feeling of an artist rather thanof an analyst, although with a blending of both, I fell in love withher. "

"Yes, Hilland, it's just like you to fall in love. My fear has everbeen that you would fall in love with a face some day, and not with awoman. But I now congratulate you from the depths of my soul. "

"How comes it that _you_ did not fall in love with one whom you admireso much? You were not aware of my suit. "

"I suppose it is not according to my nature to 'fall in love, ' as youterm it. The very phrase is repugnant to me. When a man is falling inany sense of the word, his reason is rather apt to be muddled andconfused, and he cannot be very sure where he will land. If you hadnot appeared on the scene my reason would have approved of my marriagewith Miss St. John--that is, if I had seen the slightest chance ofacceptance, which, of course, I never have. I should be an egregiousfool were it otherwise. "

"How about your heart?"

"The heart often leads to the sheerest folly, " was the sharprejoinder. 

Hilland laughed in his good-humored way. His friend's reply seemed theresult of irritation at the thought that the heart should have much tosay when reason demurred. "Well, Graham, " he said, kindly andearnestly, "if I did not know you so well, I should say you were themost cold-blooded, frog-like fellow in existence. You certainly are anenigma to me on the woman question. I must admit that my heart wentheadlong from the first; but when at last reason caught up, and hadtime to get her breath and look the case over, she said it was 'allright'--far better than she had expected. To one of my temperament, however, it seems very droll that reason should lead the way to love, and the heart come limping after. "

"Many a one has taken the amatory tumble who would be glad to reasonhis way up and back. But we need not discuss this matter in theabstract, for we have too much that is personal to say to each other. You are safe; your wonted good fortune has served you better thanever. All the wisdom of Solomon could not have enabled you to fall inlove more judiciously. Indeed, when I come to think of it, the wisdomof Solomon, according to history, was rather at fault in thesematters. Tell me how it all came about" (for he knew the story mustcome); "only outline the tale to-night. I've been speculating andanalyzing so long that it is late; and the major, hearing voices inthe grounds, may bring some of his old army ordnance to bear on us. "

But Hilland, out of the abundance of his heart, found much to say; andhis friend sat cold, shivering in the sultry night, his heart growingmore despairing as he saw the heaven of successful wooing that hecould never enter. At last Hilland closed with the words, "I say, Graham, are you asleep?"

"Oh, no, " in a husky voice. 

"You are taking cold. "

"I believe I am. "

"I'm a brute to keep you up in this style. As I live, I believe thereis the tinge of dawn in the east. "

"May every dawn bring a happy day to you, Warren, " was said so gentlyand earnestly that Hilland rested his arm on his friend's shoulder ashe replied, "You've a queer heart, Alford, but such as it is I wouldnot exchange it for that of any man living. " Then abruptly, "Do youhold to our old views that this life ends all?"

A thrill of something like exultation shot through Graham's frame ashe replied, "Certainly. "

Hilland sprang up and paced the walk a moment, then said, "Well, Idon't know. A woman like Grace St. John shakes my faith in our oldbelief. It seems profanation to assert that she is mere clay. "

The lurid gleam of light which the thought of ceasing to exist and tosuffer had brought to Graham faded. It did seem like profanation. Atany rate, at that moment it was a hideous truth that such a creaturemight by the chance of any accident resolve into mere dust. And yet itseemed a truth which must apply to her as well as to the grossest ofher sisterhood. He could only falter, "She is very highly organized. "

They both felt that it was a lame and impotent conclusion. 

But the spring of happiness was in Hilland's heart. The present wastoo rich for him to permit such dreary speculations, and he remarkedcordially and laughingly, "Well, Graham, we have made amends for ourlong separation and silence. We have talked all the summer night. I amrich, indeed, in such a friend and such a sweetheart; and the lattermust truly approach perfection when my dear old philosopher of thestoic school could think it safe and wise to marry her, were all theconditions favorable. You don't wish that I was at the bottom of oneof my mines, do you, Alford?"

Graham felt that the interview must end at once, so he rose and said, "No, I do not. My reason approves of your choice. If you wish more, my'queer heart, such as it is, ' approves of it also. If I had the powerto change everything this moment I would not do so. You have fairlywon your love, and may all the forces of nature conspire to prosperyou both. But come, " he added in a lighter vein, "Miss St. John may bewatching and waiting for your return, and even imagining that I, withmy purely intellectual bent, may regard you as a disturbing element inthe problem, and so be led to eliminate you in a quiet, scientificmanner. "

"Well, then, good night, or morning, rather. Forgive a lover'sgarrulousness. "

"I was more garrulous than you, without half your excuse. No, I'll seeyou safely home. I wish to walk a little to get up a circulation. Withyour divine flame burning so brightly, I suppose you could sit througha zero night; but you must remember that such a modicum of philosophyas I possess will not keep me warm. There, good-by, old fellow. Sleepthe sleep of the just, and, what is better in this chance-medleyworld, of the happy. Don't be imagining that you have any occasion toworry about me. "

Hilland went to his room in a complacent mood, and more in love thanever. Had not his keen-eyed, analytical friend, after weeks of carefulobservation, testified to the exceeding worth of the girl of hisheart? He had been in love, and he had ever heard that love is blind. It seemed to him that his friend could never love as he understood theword; and yet the peerless maiden had so satisfied the exactions ofGraham's taste and reason, and had proved herself so generallyadmirable, that he felt it would be wise and advantageous to marryher. 

"It's a queer way of looking at these things, " he concluded, with ashrug, "but then it is Graham's way. "

Soon he was smiling in his repose, for the great joy of his wakinghours threw its light far down into the obscurity of sleep. 

Graham turned slowly away, and walked with downcast face to the rusticseat. He stood by it a moment, and then sank into it like a man whohas reached the final limit of human endurance. He uttered no sound, but at brief intervals a shiver ran through his frame. His head sankinto his hands, and he looked and felt like one utterly crushed by afate from which there was no escape. His ever-recurring thought was, "I have but one life, and it's lost, worse than lost. Why should Istagger on beneath the burden of an intolerable existence, which willonly grow heavier as the forces of life fail?"

At last in his agony he uttered the words aloud. A hand was laid uponhis shoulder, and a husky, broken voice said, "Here is one reason. "

He started up, and saw that his aunt stood beside him. 

The dawn was gray, but the face of the aged woman was grayer and morepallid. She did not entreat--her feeling seemed too deep for words--but with clasped hands she lifted her tear-dimmed eyes to his. Herwithered bosom rose and fell in short, convulsive sobs, and it wasevident that she could scarcely stand. 

His eyes sank, and a sudden sense of guilt and shame at hisforgetfulness of her overcame him. Then yielding to an impulse, allthe stronger because mastering one who had few impulses, he took herin his arms, kissed her repeatedly, and supported her tenderly to thecottage. When at last they reached the quaint little parlor he placedher tenderly in her chair, and, taking her hand, he kissed it, andsaid solemnly, "No, aunty, I will not die. I will live out my days foryour sake, and do my best. "

"Thank God!" she murmured--"thank God!" and for a moment she leanedher head upon his breast as he knelt beside her. Suddenly she liftedherself, with a return of her old energy; and he rose and stood besideher. She looked at him intently as if she would read his thoughts, andthen shook her finger impressively as she said, "Mark my words, Alford, mark my words: good will come of that promise. "

"It has come already, " he gently replied, "in that you, my bestfriend, are comforted. Now go and rest and sleep. Have no fear, foryour touch of love has broken all evil spells. "

Graham went to his room, calmed by an inflexible resolution. It was nolonger a question of happiness or unhappiness, or even of despair; itwas simply a question of honor, of keeping his word. He sat down andread once more the paragraph in the marked copy of Emerson, "No manever forgot--" He gave the words a long, wistful look, and then closedthe volume as if he were closing a chapter of his life. 

"Well, " he sighed, "I did my best last night not to dispel theirenchantment, for of course Hilland will tell her the substance of ourtalk. Now, it must be my task for a brief time to maintain and deepenthe impression that I have made. "

Having no desire for sleep, he softly paced his room, but it was notin nervous excitement. His pulse was quiet and regular, and his mindreverted easily to a plan of extended travel upon which he had beendwelling while in the woods. At last he threw himself upon his couch, and slept for an hour or two. On awaking he found that it was past theusual breakfast hour, and after a hasty toilet he went in search ofhis aunt, but was informed that she was still sleeping. 

"Do not disturb her, " he said to the servant. "Let her sleep as longas she will. "

He then wrote a note, saying that he had decided to go to town toattend to some business which had been neglected in his absence, andwas soon on his way to the train. 

CHAPTER XIV

NOBLE DECEPTION

In the course of the forenoon Hilland called on his friend, and wasinformed that Graham had gone to the city on business, but wouldreturn in the evening. He also learned that Mrs. Mayburn wasindisposed, and had not yet risen. At these tidings Grace ran over tosee her old friend, hoping to do something for her comfort, and theyoung girl was almost shocked when she saw Mrs. Mayburn's pinched andpallid face upon her pillow. She seemed to have aged in a night. 

"You are seriously ill!" she exclaimed, "and you did not let me know. Mr. Graham should not have left you. "

"He did not know, " said the old lady, sharply, for the slightestimputation against Graham touched her keenly. "He is kindness itselfto me. He only heard this morning that I was sleeping, and he leftword that I should not be disturbed. He also wrote a note explainingthe business which had been neglected in his absence. Oh, I assureyou, no one could be more considerate. "

"Dear, loyal Mrs. Mayburn, you won't hear a word against those youlove. I think Mr. Graham wonderfully considerate for a man. You knowwe should not expect much of men. I have to manage two, and it keepsme busy, but never so busy that I cannot do all in my power for mydear old friend. I'll get your breakfast myself, and bring it to youwith my own hands, and force it upon you with the inexorable firmnessof Sairy Gamp;" and she vanished to the kitchen. 

The old lady turned her face to the wall and moaned, "Oh, if it couldonly have been! Why is it that we so often set our hearts on thatwhich is denied? After a long, dull sleep of years it seemed as if myheart had wakened in my old age only to find how poor and lonely I am. Alford cannot stay with me--I could not expect it--neither can Grace;and so I must go on alone to the end. I'm punished, punished thatyears ago I did not make some one love me; but I was self-sufficientthen. "

Her regret was deepened when Grace returned with a dainty breakfast, and waited on her with a daughter's gentleness and tenderness, makingher smile in spite of herself at her funny speeches, and beguiling herinto enjoyment of the present moment with a witchery that none couldresist. 

Presently Mrs. May burn sighed, "It's a fearfully hot day for Alfordto be in town. "

"For a student, " cried Grace, "he is the most indefatigable man I everheard of. Warren told me that they sat out there under the apple-treeand poured out their hearts till dawn. Talk about schoolgirls babblingall night. My comment on Warren's folly was a dose of quinine. It'sastonishing how these _savants_, these intellectual giants, needtaking care of like babies. Woman's mission will never cease as longas there are learned men in the world. They will sit in a draught anddiscuss some obscure law concerning the moons of Jupiter; but when thelaw resulting in influenza manifests itself, then they learn ourworth. "

"Oh, dear!" groaned Mrs. Mayburn, "I didn't give Alford any quinine. You were more provident than I. "

"How could you, when you were asleep?"

"Ah, true!" was the confused reply. "But then I should have beenawake. I should have remembered that he did not come in when I didlast night. "

The faint color that stole into the face that had been so pale gavesome surprise to the young girl. When once her mind was directed to asubject her intuitions were exceedingly keen. 

From the time the secret of his regard for her had been, surprisedfrom him, Graham had been a puzzle to her. Was he the cool, philosophical lover that he would have her think? Hilland was so frankin nature and so wholly under her influence that it was next toimpossible for him not to share with her his every thought. She had, therefore, learned substantially the particulars of last night'sinterview, and she could not fully accept his belief that Graham'sintellect alone had been captivated. She remembered how he had leanedagainst the tree for support; how pale he had been during the eveningthat followed; and how his hand had trembled in parting. Sheremembered his sudden flight to the mountains, his tireless energythere, as if driven on by an aching wound that permitted no rest. True, he had borne himself strongly and well in her presence theevening before; and he had given the friend who knew him so well theimpression that it was merely an instance of the quiet weighing of thepros and cons, in which, after much deliberation, the pros had won. There had been much in his course, too, to give color to this view ofthe case; but her woman's instinct suggested that there was somethingmore--something she did not know about; and she would have been lessor more than woman had she not wished to learn the whole truth in amatter of this nature. She hoped that her lover was right, and thatGraham's heart, in accordance with his development theory, was soinchoate as to be incapable of much suffering. She was not sure, however. There was something she surmised rather than detected. Shefelt it now in Mrs. Mayburn's presence, and caught a glimpse of it inthe flush that was fading from her cheeks. Had the nephew given hisaunt his confidence? or had she with her ripe experience and keeninsight discovered the ultimate truth?

It was evident that while Mrs. Mayburn still loved her dearly, andprobably was much disappointed that things had turned out as they had, she had given her loyalty to Graham, and would voluntarily neither donor say anything that would compromise him. The slight flush suggestedto Grace that the aunt had awaited the nephew's return in the earlydawn, and that they had spoken freely together before separating; butshe was the last one in the world to attempt to surprise a secret fromanother. 

Still she wished to know the truth, for she felt a little guilty overher reticence in regard to her relations with Hilland. She, perhaps, had made too much of the luxury of keeping her secret until it couldshine forth as the sun of her life; and Graham had been left in anignorance that had not been fair to him. With a growing perception ofhis character, now that she had given thought to the subject, she sawthat if he had learned to love her at all, it must have been inaccordance with his nature, quietly, deliberately, even analytically. He was the last man to fall tumultuously in love. But when he hadgiven it in his own way, could she be sure it was a cool, easilymanaged preference that he might at his leisure transfer to anotherwho satisfied his reason and taste even more fully than herself? Ifthis were true, her mind would be at rest; and she could likeHilland's friend heartily, as one of the most agreeable human odditiesit had been her fortune to meet. She had serious misgivings, however, which Mrs. Mayburn's sudden indisposition, and the marks of sufferingupon her face, did not tend to banish. 

Whatever the truth might be, she felt that he had shown muchthoughtfulness for her in his frankness with Hilland. He had renderedit unnecessary for her to conceal her knowledge of his regard. Sheneed have no secrets, so far as he was concerned. The only questionwas as to the nature of this regard. If the impression he sought togive her lover was correct, neither of them had cause for muchsolicitude. If to save them pain he was seeking to hide a deeperwound, it was a noble deception, and dictated by a noble, unselfishnature. If the latter supposition should prove true, she felt that shewould discover it without any direct effort. But she also felt thather lover should be left, if possible, under the impression his friendhad sought to make, and that Graham should have the solace of thinkinghe had concealed his feelings from them both. 

As the long evening shadows stretched eastward across the sloping lawnin front of the St. John cottage, the family gathered on the piazza toenjoy the welcome respite from the scorching heat of the day. 

The old major looked weary and overcome. A July sun was the only firebefore which he had ever flinched. Hilland still appeared a littleheavy from his long hot afternoon nap, his amends for the vigils ofthe previous night. Grace was enchanting in her light clingingdraperies, which made her lovely form tenfold more beautiful, becauseclothed in perfect taste. The heat had deepened the flush upon hercheeks, and brought a soft languor into her eyes, and as she stoodunder an arch of the American woodbine, that mantled the supports ofthe piazza roof, she might easily have fulfilled an artist's dream ofsummer. Hilland's eyes kindled as he looked upon her, as she stoodwith averted face, conscious meanwhile of his admiration, and exultingin it. What sweeter incense is ever offered to a woman?

"Grace, " he whispered, "you would create a pulse in a marble statueto-night. You never looked more lovely. "

"There is a glamour on your eyes, Warren, " she replied; and yet thequick flash of joy that came into her face proved the power of hiswords, which still had all the exquisite charm of novelty. 

"It's the glamour that will last while I do, " he responded, earnestly. "Are not this scene and hour perfect? and you are the gem of it all. Idon't see how a man could ask or wish for more than I have to-night, except that it might last forever. " A shadow passed over his face, andhe added, presently, "To think that after a few weeks I must return tothose blasted mines! One thing is settled, however. I shall close outmy interests there as speedily as possible; and were it not for myobligations to others, I'd never go near them again. I have moneyenough twice over, and am a fool to miss one hour with you. "

"You will be all the happier, Warren, if you close up your interestsin the West in a manly, business-like way. I always wish to be asproud of you as I am now. What's more, I don't believe in idle men, nomatter how rich they are. I should be worried at once if you hadnothing to do but sit around and make fine speeches. You'd soon wearyof the sugar-plum business, and so should I. I have read somewherethat the true way to keep a man a lover is to give him plenty ofwork. "

"Will you choose my work for me?"

"No; anything you like, so it is not speculation. "

"I think I'll come and be your father's gardener. "

"If you do, " she replied, with a decisive little nod, "you will haveto rake and hoe so many hours a day before you can have any dinner. "

"But you, fair Eve, would bring your fancy-work, and sit with me inthe shade. "

"The idea of a gardener sitting in the shade, with weeds growing onevery side. "

"But you would, my Eve. "

"Possibly, after I had seen that you had earned your bread by the'perspiration of your brow, ' as a very nice maiden lady, a neighbor ofours, always phrases it. "

"That shall be my calling as soon as I can get East again. Major, Iapply for the situation of gardener as soon as I can sell out myinterests in the mines. "

"I have nothing to do with it, " was the reply. "Grace commands thispost, and while here you are under her orders. "

"And you'll find out, too, what a martinet I am, " she added. "There'sno telling how often I'll put you under arrest and mount guard overyou myself. So!"

"What numberless breaches of discipline there will be!"

Lovers' converse consists largely in tone and glance, and these cannotbe written; and were this possible, it could have but the slenderestinterest to the reader. 

After a transient pause Hilland remarked: "Think of poor Graham in thefiery furnace of New York to-day. I can imagine what a wilted anddilapidated-looking specimen he will be if he escapes alive--By Jove, there he is!" and the subject of his speech came as briskly up thewalk as if the thermometer had been in the seventies instead of thenineties. His dress was quiet and elegant, and his form erect and stepelastic. 

As he approached the piazza and doffed his hat, Hilland cried:"Graham, you are the coolest fellow I ever saw. I was justcommiserating you, and expecting you to look like a cabbage--no, rose-leaf that had been out in the sun; and you appear just as if you hadstepped from a refrigerator. "

"All a matter of temperament and will, my dear fellow. I decided Iwould not be hot to-day; and I've been very comfortable. "

"Why did you not decide not to be cold last night?"

"I was so occupied with your interminable yarns that I forgot to thinkabout it. Miss Grace, for your sake and on this evening, I might wishthat there was a coolness between us, but from your kind greeting Isee there is not. Good-evening, major; I have brought with me a slightproof that I do not forget my friends;" and he handed him a largepackage of newspapers, several of them being finely illustratedforeign prints. 

"I promote you on the spot, " cried the delighted veteran. "I felt thatfate owed me some amends for this long, horrid day. My paper did notcome this morning, and I had too much regard for the lives of myhousehold to send any one up the hot streets after one. "

"Oh, papa!" cried Grace, "forgive me that I did not discover the fact. I'm sure I saw you reading a paper. "

"It was an old one. I read it through again, advertisements and all. Oh, I know you. You'd have turned out the whole garrison at twelve M. , had you found it out. "

Graham dropped carelessly into an easy-chair, and they all noted thepleasure with which the old gentleman adjusted his glasses, andscanned the pictures of the world's current history. Like many whosesight is failing, and to whom the tastes and memories of childhood arereturning, the poor old man found increasing delight in a picturewhich suggested a great deal, and aided him to imagine more; and hewould often beguile his tedium by the hour with the illustratedjournals. 

"Mr. Graham, " said Grace, after a pause in their talk, "have you seenyour aunt since your return?"

"No, " he replied, turning hastily toward her. 

"She is not very well; I've been to see her twice. "

He gave her a momentary but searching glance, rose instantly, andsaid: "Please excuse me, then. I feel guilty that I have delayed amoment, but this piazza was so inviting!" and he hastened away. 

"Does he look and act like a man who 'hid a secret sorrow'?" whisperedHilland, confidently. "I never saw him appear so well before. "

Grace smiled, but kept her thoughts to herself. To her also Graham hadnever appeared so well. There was decision in his step and slightestmovement. The old easy saunter of leisure was gone; the old half-dreamy and slightly cynical eyes of the student showed a purpose whichwas neither slight nor indefinite; and that brief, searching glance--what else could it be than a query as to the confidences his aunt mayhave bestowed during the day? Moreover, why did he avoid looking ather unless there was distinct occasion for his glance?

She would have known too well had she heard poor Graham mutter: "Mywill must be made of Bessemer steel if I can see her often as shelooked to-night and live. "

In the evening Hilland walked over to call on his friend and makeinquiries. Through the parlor windows he saw Graham reading to hisaunt, who reclined on a lounge; and he stole away again withoutdisturbing them. 

The next few days passed uneventfully away, and Graham's armor wasalmost proof against even the penetration of Grace. He did not assumeany mask of gayety. He seemed to be merely his old self, with a subtledifference, and a very unobtrusive air of decision in all hismovements. He was with his friend a great deal; and she heard themtalking over their old life with much apparent zest. He was as goodcompany for the major as ever, and when a whist played so good a gameas to show that he was giving it careful attention. There was agentleness toward his aunt that rather belied his character of stoicphilosopher. Indeed, he seemed to have dropped this phase also, andwas simply a well-bred man of the world, avoiding reference tohimself, and his past or present views, as far as possible. 

To a question of Hilland's one day he replied: "No; I shall not goback to my studies at present. As I told you the other night, myexcursion into the world has shown me the advantage of studying itmore fully. While I shall never be a Croesus like yourself, I ammodestly independent; and I mean to see the world we live in, and thenshall know better what I am studying about. "

When Hilland told Grace of this purpose, she felt it was in keepingwith all the rest. It might mean what was on the surface; it mightmean more. It might be a part of the possible impulse that had drivenhim into the Vermont woods, or the natural and rational step he wouldhave taken had he never seen her. At any rate, she felt that he wasdaily growing more remote, and that by a nice gradation of effort hewas consciously withdrawing himself. And yet she could scarcely dwellon a single word or act, and say: "This proves it. " His manner towardher was most cordial. When they conversed he looked at her steadilyand directly, and would respond in kind to her mirthful words andHilland's broad raillery; but she never detected one of the furtive, lingering glances that she now remembered with compunction were oncefrequent. It was quite proper that this should be so, but it wasunnatural. If hitherto she had only pleased his taste and satisfiedhis reason, it would be a safe and harmless pastime for him to lingernear her still in thought and reality. If he was struggling with apassion that had struck its root deep, then there was good reason forthat steady withdrawal from her society which he managed so naturallythat no one observed it but herself. Hilland had no misgivings, andshe suggested none; but whenever she was in the presence of Graham orMrs. Mayburn, although their courtesy and kind manner wereunexceptionable, she felt there was "something in the air. "

CHAPTER XV

"I WISH HE HAD KNOWN"

The heat continued so oppressive that the major gave signs ofprostration, and Grace decided to take him to his old haunt by theseashore. The seclusion of their cottage was, of course, moreagreeable to Hilland and herself under the circumstances; but Gracenever hesitated when her father was concerned. Shortly after thedecision was reached, Hilland met his friend, and promptly urged thathe and Mrs. Mayburn should accompany them. 

"Certainly, " was the quiet reply, "if my aunt wishes to go. "

But for some cause, if not for the reasons given, the old lady wasinexorable that evening, even though the major with much gallantryurged her compliance. She did not like the seashore. It did not agreewith her; and, what was worse, she detested hotels. She was better inher own quiet nook, etc. Alford might go, if he chose. 

But Graham when appealed to said it was both his duty and his pleasureto remain with his aunt, especially as he was going abroad as soon ashe could arrange his affairs. "Don't put on that injured air, " headded, laughingly, to Hilland. "As if you needed me at present! Youtwo are sufficient for yourselves; and why should I tramp after youlike the multitude I should be?

"What do you know about our being sufficient for our-selves, I'd liketo ask?" was the bantering response. 

"I have the best authority for saying what I do--written authority, and that of a sage, too. Here it is, heavily under-scored by a handthat I imagine is as heavy as your own. Ah! Miss Grace's consciouslooks prove that I am right, " he added, as he laid the open volume ofEmerson, which he had returned, before her. "I remember reading thatparagraph the first evening I came to my aunt's house; and I thoughtit a very curious statement. It made me feel as if I were a sort ofpolyp or mollusk, instead of a man. "

"Let me see the book, " cried Hilland. "Oh, yes, " he continued, laughing; "I remember it all well--the hopes, the misgivings withwhich I sent the volume eastward on its mission--the hopes and fearsthat rose when the book was acknowledged with no chidings or coldness, and also with no allusions to the marked passage--the endless surmisesas to what this gentle reader would think of the sentiments withinthese black lines. Ha! ha! Graham. No doubt but this is Sanscrit; andall the professors of all the universities could not interpret it toyou. "

"That's what I said in substance on the evening referred to--thatEmerson never learned this at a university. I confess that it's anexperience that is and ever will be beyond me. But it's surely goodauthority for remaining here with my aunt, who needs me more than youdo. "

"How is it, then, Mr. Graham, that you can leave your aunt for monthsof travel?" Grace asked. 

"Why, Grace, " spoke up Mrs. Mayburn, quickly, "you cannot expectAlford to transform himself into an old lady's life-long attendant. Hewill enjoy his travel and come back to me. "

The young girl made no answer, but thought: "Their defensive allianceis a strong one. "

"Besides, " continued the old lady, after a moment, "I think it's verykind of him to remain with me, instead of going to the beach for hisown pleasure and the marring of yours. "

"Now, that's putting it much too strong, " cried Hilland. "Graham nevermarred our pleasure. "

"And I hope he never will, " was the low, earnest response. To Grace'sear it sounded more like a vow or the expression of a controllingpurpose than like a mere friendly remark. 

The next day the St. John cottage was alive with the bustle ofpreparation for departure. Graham made no officious offers ofassistance, which, of course, would be futile, but quietly devotedhimself to the major. Whenever Grace appeared from the upper regions, she found her father amused or interested, and she smiled hergratitude. In the evening she found a chance to say in a low aside:"Mr. Graham, you are keeping your word to be my friend. If the sea-breezes prove as beneficial to papa as your society to-day, I shall beglad indeed. You don't know how much you have aided me by entertaininghim so kindly. "

Both her tone and glance were very gentle as she spoke these words, and for a moment his silence and manner perplexed her. Then he repliedlightly: "You are mistaken, Miss Grace. Your father has beenentertaining me. "

They were interrupted at this point, and Graham seemed to grow moreremote than ever. 

Hilland was parting from his friend with evident and sincere regret. He had made himself very useful in packing, strapping trunks, and in ageneral eagerness to save his betrothed from all fatigue; but wheneveroccasion offered he would sally forth upon Graham, who, with themajor, followed the shade on the piazza. Some jocular speech usuallyaccompanied his appearance, and he always received the same in kindwith such liberal interest that he remarked to Grace more than once, "You are the only being in the world for whom I'd leave Graham duringhis brief stay in this land. "

"Oh, return to him by all means, " she had said archly upon oneoccasion. " We did very well alone last year before we were aware ofyour existence. "

"YOU may not care, " was his merry response, "but it is written in oneof the oldest books of the world, 'It is not good for MAN to bealone. ' Oh, Grace, what an infinite difference there is between lovefor a woman like you and the strongest friendship between man and man!Graham just suits me as a friend. After a separation of years I findhim just the same even-pulsed, half-cynical, yet genial good fellow healways was. It's hard to get within his shell; but when you do, youfind the kernel sweet and sound to the core, even if it is rather dry. From the time we struck hands as boys there has never been anunpleasant jar in our relations. We supplement each othermarvellously; but how infinitely more and beyond all this is yourlove! How it absorbs and swallows up every other consideration, sothat one hour with you is more to me than an age with all the men ofwit and wisdom that ever lived! No; I'm not a false friend when I saythat I am more than content to go and remain with you; and if Grahamhad a hundredth part as much heart as brains he would understand me. Indeed, his very intellect serves in the place of a heart after afashion; for he took Emerson on trust so intelligently as tocomprehend that I should not be inconsolable. "

"Mr. Graham puzzles me, " Grace had remarked, as she absently inspectedthe buttons on one of her father's vests. "I never met just such a manbefore. "

"And probably never will again. He has been isolated and peculiar fromchildhood. I know him well, and he has changed but little inessentials since I left him over two years ago. "

"I wish I had your complacent belief about him, " was her mentalconclusion. "I sometimes think you are right, and again I feel as ifsome one in almost mortal pain is near me, and that I am to blame inpart. "

Whist was dispensed with the last night they were together, for theevening was close, and all were weary. Grace thought Graham lookedpositively haggard; but, whether by design or chance, he kept in theshadows of the piazza most of the time. Still she had to admit that hewas the life of the party. Mrs. Mayburn was apparently so overcome bythe heat as to be comparatively silent; and Hilland openly admittedthat the July day and his exertions had used him up. Therefore thelast gathering at the St. Johns' cottage came to a speedy end; andGraham not only said good-night, but also good-by; for, as heexplained, business called him to town early the following morning. Heparted fraternally with Hilland, giving a promise to spend a day withhim before he sailed for Europe. Then he broke away, giving Grace as afarewell only a strong, warm pressure of the hand, and hastened afterhis aunt, who had walked on slowly before. The major, after manyfriendly expressions, had retired quite early in the evening. 

Grace saw the dark outline of Graham's form disappear like a shadow, and every day thereafter he grew more shadowy to her. To a degree shedid not imagine possible he had baffled her scrutiny and left her indoubt. Either he had quietly and philosophically accepted thesituation, or he wished her to think so. In either case there wasnothing to be done. Once away with father and lover she had HER worldwith her; and life grew richer and more full of content every day. 

Lassitude and almost desperate weariness were in Graham's step as hecame up the path the following evening, for there was no furtherreason to keep up the part he was acting. When he greeted his aunt hetried to appear cheerful, but she said gently, "Put on no mask beforeme, Alford. Make no further effort. You have baffled even Grace, andthoroughly satisfied your friend that all is well. Let the straincease now; and let my home be a refuge while you remain. Your wound isone that time only can heal. You have made an heroic struggle not tomar their happiness, and I am proud of you for it. But don't try todeceive me or put the spur any longer to your jaded spirit. Reactioninto new hopes and a new life will come all the sooner if you give wayfor the present to your mood. "

The wise old woman would have been right in dealing with most natures. But Graham would not give way to his bitter disappointment, and forhim there would come no reaction. He quietly read to her the eveningpapers, and after she had retired stole out and gazed for hours on theSt. John cottage, the casket that had contained for him the jewel ofthe world. Then, compressing his lips, he returned to his room withthe final decision, "I will be her friend for life; but it must be anabsent friend. I think my will is strong; but half the width of theworld must be between us. "

For the next two weeks he sought to prepare his aunt for a longseparation. He did not hide his feeling; indeed, he spoke of it with acalmness which, while it surprised, also convinced her that it woulddominate his life. She was made to see clearly the necessity of hisdeparture, if he would keep his promise to live and do his best. Hepromised to be a faithful and voluminous correspondent, and she knewshe would live upon his letters. After the lapse of three weeks he hadarranged his affairs so as to permit a long absence, and then partedwith his aunt as if he had been her son. 

"Alford, " she said, "all that I have is yours, as you will find in mywill. "

"Dear aunty, " was his reply, "in giving me your love you have given meall that I crave. I have more than enough for my wants. Forgive methat I cannot stay; but I cannot. I have learned the limit of my powerof endurance. I know that I cannot escape myself or my memories, butnew scenes divert my thoughts. Here, I believe, I should go mad, orelse do something wild and desperate. Forgive me, and do not judge meharshly because I leave you. Perhaps some day this fever of unrestwill pass away, When it does, rest assured you shall see me again. "

He then went to the seaside resort where Hilland with the major andhis daughter was sojourning, and never had they seen a man whoappeared so far removed from the lackadaisical, disconsolate lover. His dress was elegant, although very quiet, his step firm and prompt, and his manner that of a man who is thoroughly master of thesituation. The major was ill from an indiscretion at the table duringthe preceding day, and Grace could not leave him very long. He sent tohis favorite companion and antagonist at whist many feeling messagesand sincere good wishes, and they lost nothing in hearty warmth asthey came from Grace's lips; and for some reason, which she couldscarcely explain to herself, tears came into her eyes as she gave himher hand in parting. 

He had been laughing and jesting vivaciously a moment before; but ashe looked into her face, so full of kindly feeling which she could notwholly repress, his own seemed to grow rigid, and the hand she heldwas so cold and tense as to remind her of a steel gauntlet. In thesupreme effort of his spiritual nature he belied his creed. Hisphysical being was powerless in the grasp of the dominant soul. Nomartyr at the stake ever suffered more than he at that moment, but hemerely said with quiet emphasis, "Good-by, Grace St. John. I shall notforget my promise, nor can there come a day on which I shall not wishyou all the happiness you deserve. "

He then bowed gravely and turned away. She hastily sought her room, and then burst into an irrepressible passion of tears. "It's all invain, " she sobbed. "I felt it. I know it. He suffers as I shouldsuffer, and his iron will cannot disguise the truth. "

The friends strolled away up the beach for their final talk, and atlength Hilland came back in a somewhat pensive but very complacentmood. Grace looked at him anxiously, but his first sentences reassuredher. 

"Well, " he exclaimed, "if Graham is odd, he's certainly the best andmost sensible fellow that ever lived, and the most steadfast offriends. Here we've been separated for years, and yet, for any changein his attitude toward me, we might have parted overnight at theuniversity. He was as badly smitten by the girl I love as a man of histemperament could be; but on learning the facts he recognizes thesituation with a quiet good taste which leaves nothing to be desired. He made it perfectly clear to me that travel for the present was onlya broader and more effective way of continuing his career as astudent, and that when tired of wandering he can go back to books witha larger knowledge of how to use them. One thing he has made clearerstill--if we do not see each other for ten years, he will come backthe same stanch friend. "

"I think you are right, Warren. He certainly has won my entirerespect. "

"I'm glad he didn't win anything more, sweetheart. "

"That ceased to be possible long before he came, but I--I wish he hadknown it, " was her hesitating response, as she pushed Hilland's hairback from his heated brow. 

"Nonsense, you romantic little woman! You imagine he has gone awaywith a great gaping wound in his heart. Graham is the last man in theworld for that kind of thing, and no one would smile more broadly thanhe, did he know of your gentle solicitude. "

Grace was silent a moment, and then stole away to her father's side. 

The next tidings they had of Graham was a letter dated among thefiords and mountains of Norway. 

At times no snowy peak in that wintry land seemed more shadowy orremote to Grace than he. Again, while passing to and fro between theirown and Mrs. Mayburn's cottage in the autumn, she would see him, withalmost the vividness of life, deathly pale as when he leaned againstthe apple-tree at their well-remembered interview. 

CHAPTER XVI

THE CLOUD IN THE SOUTH

The summer heat passed speedily, and the major returned to his cottageinvigorated and very complacent over his daughter's prospects. Hillandhad proved himself as manly and devoted a lover as he had been anardent and eventually patient suitor. The bubbling, overflowing streamof happiness in Grace's heart deepened into a wide current, bearingher on from day to day toward a future that promised to satisfy everylonging of her woman's heart. There was, of course, natural regretthat Hilland was constrained to spend several months in the West inorder to settle up his large interests with a due regard to the rightsof others, and yet she would not have it otherwise. She was happy inhis almost unbounded devotion; she would have been less happy had thisdevotion kept him at her side when his man's part in the worldrequired his presence elsewhere. Therefore she bade him farewell witha heart that was not so very heavy, even though tears gemmed her eyes. 

The autumn and early winter months lapsed quietly and uneventfully, and the inmates of the two cottages ever remembered that period oftheir lives as the era of letters--Graham's from over the seaabounding in vivid descriptions of scenes that to Mrs. Mayburn'sinterested eyes were like glimpses of another world, and Hilland's, even more voluminous and infinitely more interesting to one fairreader, to whom they were sacred except as she doled out occasionalparagraphs which related sufficiently to the general order of thingsto be read aloud. 

Graham's letters, however, had a deep interest to Grace, who sought totrace in them the working of his mind in regard to herself. She foundit difficult, for his letters were exceedingly impersonal, while themen and things he saw often stood out upon his page with vividrealism. It seemed to her that he grew more shadowy, and that he waswandering rather than travelling, drifting whithersoever his fancy orcircumstances pointed the way. It was certain he avoided the beatenpaths, and freely indulged his taste for regions remote andcomparatively unknown. His excuse was that life was far morepicturesque and unhackneyed, with a chance for an occasionaladventure, in lands where one was not jostled by people with guide-books--that he saw men and women as the influences of the ages hadbeen fashioning them, and not conventionalized by the mode of thehour. "Chief of all, " he concluded, jestingly, "I can send to my dearaunt descriptions of people and scenery that she will not find betterset forth in half a dozen books within her reach. "

After a month in Norway, he crossed the mountains into Sweden, and aswinter approached drifted rapidly to the south and east. One of hisletters was dated at the entrance of the Himalayas in India, andexpressed his purpose to explore one of the grandest mountain systemsin the world. 

Mrs. Mayburn gloated over the letters, and Grace laughingly told hershe had learned more about geography since her nephew had gone abroadthan in all her life before. The major, also, was deeply interested inthem, especially as Graham took pains in his behalf to give someaccount of the military organizations with which he came in contact. They had little of the nature of a scientific report. The soldier, hislife and weapons, were sketched with a free hand merely, and so becameeven to the ladies a picturesque figure rather than a militaryabstraction. From time to time a letter appeared in Mrs. Mayburn'sfavorite journal signed by the initials of the traveller; and theseepistles she cut out and pasted most carefully in a book which Gracejestingly called her "family Bible. "

But as time passed, Graham occupied less and less space in thethoughts of all except his aunt. The major's newspaper became moreabsorbing than ever, for the clouds gathering in the political skiesthreatened evils that seemed to him without remedy. Strongly Southernand conservative in feeling, he was deeply incensed at what he termed"Northern fanaticism. " Only less hateful to him was a class in theSouth known in the parlance of the times as "fire-eaters. "

All through the winter and spring of 1860 he had his "daily growl, " asGrace termed it; and she assured him it was growing steadily deeperand louder. Yet it was evidently a source of so much comfort to himthat she always smiled in secret over his invective--noting, also, that while he deplored much that was said and done by the leaders ofthe day, the prelude of the great drama interested him so deeply thathe half forgot his infirmities. In fact, she had more trouble withHilland, who had returned, and was urging an early date for theirmarriage. Her lover was an ardent Republican, and hated slavery withNew England enthusiasm. The arrogance and blindness of the South hadtheir counterpart at the North, and Hilland had not escaped theinfection. He was much inclined to belittle the resources of theformer section, to scoff at its threats, and to demand that the Northshould peremptorily and imperiously check all further aggressions ofslavery. At first it required not a little tact on the part of Graceto preserve political harmony between father and lover; but the latterspeedily recognized that the major's age and infirmities, togetherwith his early associations, gave him almost unlimited privilege tothink and say what he pleased. Hilland soon came to hear with good-natured nonchalance his Northern allies berated, and consideredhimself well repaid by one mirthful, grateful glance from Grace. 

After all, what was any political squabble compared with the fact thatGrace had promised to marry him in June? The settlement of thedifference between the North and South was only a question of time, and that, too, in his belief, not far remote. 

"Why should I worry about it?" he said to Grace. "When the North getsangry enough to put its foot down, all this bluster about State-rights, and these efforts to foist slavery on a people who aredisgusted with it, will cease. "

"Take care, " she replied, archly. "I'm a Southern girl. Think whatmight happen if I put my foot down. "

"Oh, when it comes to you, " was his quick response, "I'm theDemocratic party. I will get down on my knees at any time; I'll yieldanything and stand everything. "

"I hope you will be in just such a frame of mind ten years hence. "

It was well that the future was hidden from her. 

Hilland wrote to his friend, asking, indeed almost insisting, that heshould return in time for the wedding. Graham did not come, andintimated that he was gathering materials which might result in abook. He sent a letter, however, addressed to them both, and full of aspirit of such loyal good-will that Hilland said it was like abrother's grip. "Well, well, " he concluded, "if Graham has the book-making fever upon him, we shall have to give him up indefinitely. "

Grace was at first inclined to take the same view, feeling that, evenif he had been sorely wounded, his present life and the prospects itgave of authorship had gained so great a fascination that he wouldcome back eventually with only a memory of what he had suffered. Hermisgivings, however, returned when, on seeing the letter, Mrs. Mayburn's eyes became suddenly dimmed with tears. She turned awayabruptly and seemed vexed with herself for having shown the emotion, but only said quietly, "I once thought Alford had no heart; but thatletter was not written 'out of his head, ' as we used to say whenchildren. "

She gave Grace no reason to complain of any lack of affectionateinterest in her preparations; and when the wedding day came sheassured the blushing girl that "no one had ever looked upon a lovelierbride. "

Ever mindful of her father, Grace would take no wedding journey, although her old friend offered to come and care for him. She knewwell how essential her voice and hand were to his comfort; and shewould not permit him to entertain, even for a moment, the thought thatin any sense he had lost her. So they merely returned to his favoritehaunt by the sea, and Hilland was loyal to the only condition in theirengagement--that she should be permitted to keep her promise to herdying mother, and never leave her father to the care of others, unlessunder circumstances entirely beyond her control. 

Later in the season Mrs. Mayburn joined them at the beach, for shefound her life at the cottage too lonely to be endured. 

It was a summer of unalloyed happiness to Hilland and his wife, andthe major promised to renew his youth in the warm sunlight of hisprosperity. The exciting presidential canvass afforded abundant themefor the daily discussions in his favorite corner of the piazza, where, surrounded by some veteran cronies whom he had known in former years, he joined them in predictions and ominous head-shakings over themonstrous evils that would follow the election of Mr. Lincoln. Hilland, sitting in the background with Grace, would listen and strokehis tawny beard as he glanced humorously at his wife, who knew that hewas working, quietly out of deference to his father-in-law, but mosteffectively, in the Republican campaign. Although Southern born shehad the sense to grant to men full liberty of personal opinion--aquality that it would be well for many of her sisterhood to imitate. Indeed, she would have despised a man who had not sufficient force tothink for himself; and she loved her husband all the more because insome of his views he differed radically with her father and herself. 

Meantime the cloud gathering in the South grew darker and moreportentous; and after the election of President Lincoln the lightningof hate and passion began to strike from it directly at the nation'slife. The old major was both wrong and right in regard to the mostprominent leaders of the day. Many whom he deemed the worst fanaticsin the land were merely exponents of a public opinion that was risinglike an irresistible tide from causes beyond human control--from theGod-created conscience illumined by His own truth. In regard to theinstigators of the Rebellion, he was right. Instead of representingtheir people, they deceived and misled them; and, with an astuteunderstanding of the chivalrous, hasty Southern temper, they sowrought upon their pride of section by the false presentation offancied and prospective wrongs, that loyalty to the old flag, which atheart they loved, was swept away by the madness which precedesdestruction. Above all and directing all was the God of nations; andHe had decreed that slavery, the gangrene in the body politic, must becut out, even though it should be with the sword. The surgery washeroic, indeed; but as its result the slave, and especially the masterand his posterity, will grow into a large, healthful, and prosperouslife; and the evidences of such life are increasing daily. 

At the time of which I am writing, however, the future was not dreamedof by the sagacious Lincoln even, or his cabinet, much less was itforeseen by the humbler characters of my story. Hilland after readinghis daily journal would sit silent for a long time with contractedbrow. The white heat of anger was slowly kindling in his heart and inthat of the loyal North; and the cloud in the South began to throw itsshadow over the hearth of the happy wife. 

Although Hilland hated slavery it incensed him beyond measure that theSouth could be made to believe that the North would break through orinfringe upon the constitutional safeguards thrown around theinstitution. At the same time he knew, and it seemed to him everyintelligent man should understand, that if a sufficient majorityshould decide to forbid the extension of the slave system to newterritory, that should end the question, or else the Constitution wasnot worth the paper on which it was written. "Law and order, " was hismotto; and "All changes and reforms under the sanction of law, and atthe command of the majority, " his political creed. 

The major held the Southern view. "Slaves are property, " he said; "andthe government is bound to permit a man to take his property where hepleases, and protect him in all his rights. " The point where theveteran drew the line was in disloyalty to the flag which he had swornto defend, and for which he had become a cripple for life. As theSecession spirit became more rampant and open in South Carolina, theweight of his invective fell more heavily upon the leaders there thanupon the hitherto more detested abolitionists. 

When he read the address of Alexander H. Stephens, delivered to thesame people on the following evening, wherein that remarkable mansaid, "My object is not to stir up strife, but to allay it; not toappeal to your passions, but to your reason. Shall the people of theSouth secede from the Union in consequence of the election of Mr. Lincoln? My countrymen, I tell you frankly, candidly, and earnestly, that I do not think they ought. In my judgment the election of no man, constitutionally chosen, is sufficient cause for any State to separatefrom the Union. It ought to stand by and aid still in maintaining theConstitution of the country. We are pledged to maintain theConstitution. Many of us are sworn to support it"--when the veterancame to these words, he sprang to his feet without a thought of hiscrutch, and cried in a tone with which he would order a charge, "Thereis the man who ought to be President. Read that speech. "

Hilland did read it aloud, and then said thoughtfully, "Yes; if theleaders on both sides were of the stamp of Mr. Stephens and wouldstand firm all questions at issue could be settled amicably under theConstitution. But I fear the passion of the South, fired by theunscrupulous misrepresentations of a few ambitious men, will carry theCotton States into such violent disloyalty that the North in itsindignation will give them a lesson never to be forgotten. "

"Well!" shouted the major, "if they ever fire on the old flag, I'llshoulder my crutch and march against them myself--I would, by heaven!though my own brother fired the gun. " Grace's merry laugh rang out--for she never lost a chance to throw oil on the troubled waters--andshe cried, "Warren, if this thing goes on, you and papa will standshoulder to shoulder. "

But the time for that had not yet come. Indeed, there would everremain wide differences of opinion between the two men. The majorbelieved that if Congress conceded promptly all that the slave powerdemanded, "the demagogues of the South would soon be withoutoccupation;" while Hilland asserted that the whole thing originated inbluster to frighten the North into submission, and that the danger wasthat the unceasing inflammatory talk might so kindle the masses thatthey would believe the lies, daily iterated, and pass beyond thecontrol of their leaders. 

When at last South Carolina seceded, and it became evident that otherStates would follow, the major often said with bitter emphasis thatthe North would have to pay dearly for its sentiment in regard to thenegro. In Hilland's case strong exultation became a growing element inhis anger, for he believed that slavery was destined to receiveheavier blows from the mad zeal of its friends than Northernabolitionists could have inflicted in a century. 

"If the South casts aside constitutional protection, " he reasoned, "she must take the consequences. After a certain point is passed, theNorth will make sharp, quick work with anything that interferes withher peace and prosperity. "

"The work will be sharp enough, young man, " replied the major testily;"but don't be sure about its being quick. If the South once gets tofighting, I know her people well enough to assure you that theRepublican party can reach its ends only through seas of blood, ifthey are ever attained. "

Hilland made no reply--he never contradicted the old gentleman--but hewrote Graham a rather strong letter intimating that it was time forAmericans to come home. 

Graham would not have come, however, had not Grace, who had justreturned from Mrs. Mayburn's cottage, caused a postscript to be added, giving the information that his aunt was seriously ill, and that herphysician thought it might be a long time before she recovered, evenif life was spared. 

This decided him at once; and as he thought he might never see hiskind old friend again, he bitterly regretted that he had remained awayso long. And yet he felt he could scarcely have done otherwise; for inbitter disappointment he found that his passion, so far from beingconquered, had, by some uncontrollable law of his nature, simply grownwith time and become interwoven with every fibre of his nature. Hitherto he had acted on the principle that he must and would conquerit; but now that duty called him to the presence of the one whose loveand kindness formed an indisputable claim upon him, he began to reasonthat further absence was futile, that he might as well go back, and--as he promised his aunt--"do the best he could. "

It must be admitted that Hilland's broad hint, that in the comingemergency Americans should be at home, had little weight with him. From natural bent he had ever been averse to politics. In accordancewith his theory of evolution, he believed the negro was better off inhis present condition than he could be in any other. He was the lastman to cherish an enthusiasm for an inferior race. Indeed, he wouldhave much preferred it should die out altogether and make room forbetter material. The truth was that his prolonged residence abroad hadmade the questions of American politics exceedingly vague andinconsequential. He believed them to be ephemeral to the last degree--in the main, mere struggles of parties and partisans for power andspoils; and for their hopes, schemes, and stratagems to gain temporarysuccess, he cared nothing. 

He had not been an idler in his prolonged absence. In the first place, he had striven with the whole force of a powerful will to subdue auseless passion, and had striven in vain. He had not, however, yieldedfor a day to a dreamy melancholy, but, in accordance with his promise"to do his best, " had been tireless in mental and physical activity. The tendency to wander somewhat aimlessly had ceased, and he hadadopted the plan of studying modern life at the old centres ofcivilization and power. 

Hilland's letter found him in Egypt, and only a few weeks had elapsedafter its reception when, with deep anxiety, he rang the bell at hisaunt's cottage door. He had not stopped to ask for letters in London, for he had learned that by pushing right on he could catch a fastoutgoing steamer and save some days. 

The servant who admitted him uttered a cry of joy; and a moment laterhis aunt rose feebly from the lounge in her sitting-room, and greetedhim as her son. 

CHAPTER XVII

PREPARATION

Graham learned with deep satisfaction that the dangerous symptoms ofhis aunt's illness had passed away, and that she was now well advancedin convalescence. They gave to each other an hour or two of unreservedconfidence; and the old lady's eyes filled with tears more than onceas she saw how vain had been her nephew's struggle. It was equallyclear, however, that he had gained strength and a nobler manhood inthe effort; and so she told him. 

"If supper is ready, " he replied, "I'll prove to you that I am in veryfair condition. "

An hour later he left her, cheerful and comparatively happy, for theSt. Johns' cottage. From the piazza he saw through the lighted windowsa home-scene that he had once dreamed might bless his life. Hilland, evidently, was reading the evening paper aloud, and his back wastoward his friend. The major was nervously drumming on the table withhis fingers, and contracting his frosty eyebrows, as if perturbed bythe news. But it was on the young wife that Graham's eyes dweltlongest. She sat with some sewing on the further side of the openfire, and her face was toward him. Had she changed? Yes; but for thebetter. The slight matronly air and fuller form that had come withwifehood became her better than even her girlish grace. As she glancedup to her husband from time to time, Graham saw serene loving trustand content. 

"It is all well with them, " he thought; "and so may it ever be. "

A servant who was passing out opened the door, and thus he wasadmitted without being announced, for he cautioned the maid to saynothing. Then pushing open the parlor door, which was ajar, heentered, and said quietly: "I've come over for a game of whist. "

But the quietness of his greeting was not reciprocated. All rosehastily, even to the major, and stared at him. Then Hilland halfcrushed the proffered hand, and the major grasped the other, and therecame a fire of exclamations and questions that for a moment or twoleft no space for answer. 

Grace cried: "Come, Warren, give Mr. Graham a chance to get his breathand shake hands with me. I propose to count for something in thiswelcome. "

"Give him a kiss, sweetheart, " said her delighted husband. 

Grace hesitated, and a slight flush suffused her face. Graham quicklybent over her hand, which he now held, and kissed it, saying: "I'vebeen among the Orientals so long that I've learned some of theircustoms of paying homage. I know that you are queen here as of old, and that Hilland is by this time the meekest of men. "

"Indeed, was I so imperious in old times?" she asked, as he threwhimself, quite at home, into one of the easy-chairs. 

"You are of those who are born to rule. You have a way of your own, however, which some other rulers might imitate to advantage. "

"Well, my first command is that you give an account of yourself. Soextensive a traveller never sat down at our quiet fireside before. Open your budget of wonders. Only remember we have some slightacquaintance with Baron Munchausen. "

"The real wonders of the world are more wonderful than his inventions. Beyond that I hastened home by the shortest possible route afterreceiving Hilland's letter, I have little to say. "

"I thought my letter would stir you up. "

"In sincerity, I must say it did not. The postscript did, however. "

"Then, in a certain sense, it was I who brought you home, Mr. Graham, "said Grace. "I had just returned from a call on Mrs. Mayburn, and Imade Warren open the letter and add the postscript. I assure you wewere exceedingly anxious about her for weeks. "

"And from what she has told me I am almost convinced that she owes herlife more to you than to her physician. Drugs go but a little way, especially at her time of life; but the delicacies and nourishing foodyou saw she was provided with so regularly rallied her strength. Yes;it was your postscript that led to my immediate return, and notHilland's political blast. "

"Why, Graham! Don't you realize what's going on here?"

"Not very seriously. "

"You may have to fight, old fellow. "

"I've no objections after I have decided which side to take. "

"Good heavens, Graham! you will be mobbed if you talk that way here inNew England. This comes of a man's living abroad so much that he losesall love for his native land. "

"Squabbling politicians are not one's native land. I am not a hater ofslavery as you are; and if it produces types of men and women likethat Southern lady of whom I told you, it must be an excellentinstitution. "

"Oh, yes, " cried Hilland laughing. "By the way, Grace, my cool, cynical friend was once madly in love--at first sight, too--and with alady old enough to be his mother. I never heard a woman's charactersketched more tenderly; and his climax was that your mother must haveclosely resembled her. "

"Mr. Graham is right, " said the major impressively. "The Southproduces the finest women in the world; and when the North comes tomeet its men, as I fear it must, it will find they are their mothers'sons. "

"Poor Warren!" cried Grace; "here are all three of us against you--allpro-slavery and Southern in our sympathies. "

 "I admit at once that the South has produced THE finest woman in theworld, " said Hilland, taking his wife's hand. "But I must add thatmany of her present productions are not at all to my taste; nor willthey be to yours, Graham, after you have been here long enough tounderstand what is going on--that is, if anything at home can enlistyour interest. "

"I assure you I am deeply interested. It's exhilarating to breatheAmerican air now, especially so after just coming from regions whereeverything has been dead for centuries; for the people living therenow are scarcely alive. Of course I obtained from the papers in Egyptvery vague ideas of what was going on; and after receiving your lettermy mind was too preoccupied with my aunt's illness to dwell on muchbesides. If the flag which gave me protection abroad, and under whichI was born, is assailed, I shall certainly fight for it, even though Imay not be in sympathy with the causes which led to the quarrel. WhatI said about being undecided as to which side I would take was a half-jocular way of admitting that I need a great deal of information; andbetween you and the major I am in a fair way to hear both sides. Icannot believe, however, that a civil war will break out in this landof all others. The very idea seems preposterous, and I am not beyondthe belief that the whole thing is political excitement. I havelearned this much, that the old teachings of Calhoun have borne theirlegitimate fruit, and that the Cotton States by some hocus-pocuslegislation declare themselves out of the Union. But then therational, and to my mind inevitable, course will be, that therepresentative men of both sides will realize at last to what straitstheir partisanship is bringing them, and so come together and adjusttheir real or fancied grievances. Meanwhile, the excitement will dieout; and a good many will have a dim consciousness that they have madefools of themselves, and go quietly about their own business the restof their days. "

"Graham, you don't know anything about the true state of affairs, "said Hilland; and before the evening was over he proved his words trueto his friend, who listened attentively to the history of his nativeland for the past few months. In conclusion, Hilland said, "At onetime--not very long ago, either--I held your opinion that it was theold game of bluster and threatening on the part of Southernpoliticians. But they are going too far; they have already gone toofar. In seizing the United States forts and other property, they havepractically waged war against the government. My opinions have changedfrom week to week under the stern logic of events, and I now believethat the leading spirits in the South mean actual and finalseparation. I've no doubt that they hope to effect their purposepeaceably, and that the whole thing will soon be a matter of diplomacybetween two distinct governments. But they are preparing for war, andthey will have it, too, to their hearts' content. President Buchananis a muff. He sits and wrings his hands like an old woman, anddeclares he can do nothing. But the new administration will soon be inpower, and it will voice the demand of the North that this nonsense bestopped; and if no heed is given, it will stop it briefly, decisively. "

"My son Warren, " said the major, "you told your friend some time sincethat he knew nothing about this affair. You must permit me to say thesame to you. I feat that both sides have gone too far, much too far;and what the end will be, and when it will come, God only knows. "

Before many weeks passed Graham shared the same view. 

Events crowded upon each other; pages of history were made daily, andoften hourly. In every home, as well as in the cottages wherein dweltthe people of my story, the daily journals were snatched and read atthe earliest possible moment. Many were stern and exultant likeHilland; more were dazed and perplexed, feeling that something oughtto be done to stem the torrent, and at the same time were astonishedand troubled to find that perhaps a next-door neighbor sympathizedwith the rebellion and predicted its entire success. The socialatmosphere was thick with doubt, heavy with despondency, and oftenlurid with anger. 

Graham became a curious study to both Grace and his aunt; andsometimes his friend and the major were inclined to get out ofpatience with him. He grew reticent on the subject concerning whichall were talking, but he read with avidity, not only the history ofthe day, but of the past as it related to the questions at issue. 

One of his earliest acts had been the purchase of a horse noted intown as being so powerful, spirited, and even vicious, that few daredto drive or ride him. He had finally brought his ill-repute to aclimax by running away, wrecking the carriage, and breaking hisowner's ribs. He had since stood fuming in idleness; and when Grahamwished him brought to the unused stable behind his aunt's cottage, noone would risk the danger. Then the young man went after the horsehimself. 

"I've only one man in my employ who dares clean and take care of him, "remarked the proprietor of the livery stable where he was kept; "andhe declares that he won't risk his life much longer unless the bruteis used and tamed down somewhat. There's your property and I'd like tohave it removed as soon as possible. "

"I'll remove it at once, " said Graham, quietly; and paying no heed tothe crowd that began to gather when it was bruited that "Firebrand"--for such was the horse's name--was to be brought out, he took a bridleand went into the stall, first speaking gently, then stroking theanimal with an assured touch. The horse permitted himself to bebridled and led out; but there was an evil fire in his eye, and hegave more than one ominous snort of defiance. The proprietor, smittenby a sudden compunction, rushed forward and cried, "Look here, sir;you are taking your life in your hand. "

"I say, Graham, " cried Hilland's voice, "what scrape are you in, thatyou have drawn such a crowd?"

"No scrape at all, " said Graham, looking around and recognizing hisfriend and Grace mounted and passing homeward from their ride. "I'vehad the presumption to think that you would permit me to join youoccasionally, and so have bought a good horse. Isn't he a beauty?"

"What, Firebrand?"

"That's his present name. I shall re-christen him. "

"Oh, come, Graham! if you don't value your neck, others do. You'vebeen imposed upon. "

"I've warned him--" began the keeper of the livery stable; but herethe horse reared and tried to break from Graham's grasp. 

"Clear the way, " the young man cried; and as the brute came down heseized his mane and vaulted upon his bare back. The action was sosudden and evidently so unexpected that the horse stood still andquivered for a moment, then gave a few prodigious bounds; but therider kept his seat so perfectly that he seemed a part of the horse. The beast next began to rear, and at one time it seemed as if he wouldfall over backward, and his master sprang lightly to the ground. Butthe horse was scarcely on all fours before Graham was on his backagain. The brute had the bit in his teeth, and paid no attention toit. Graham now drew a flexible rawhide from his pocket, and gave hissteed a severe cut across the flanks. The result was another boundinto the air, such as experts present declared was never seen before;and then the enraged animal sped away at a tremendous pace There was ashout of applause; and Hilland and Grace galloped after, but soon lostsight of Graham. Two hours later he trotted quietly up to their door, his coal-black horse white with foam, quivering in every muscle, butperfectly subdued. 

"I merely wished to assure you that my neck was safe, and that I havea horse fit to go to the war that you predict so confidently, " he saidto Hilland, who with Grace rushed out on the piazza. 

"I say, Graham, where did you learn to ride?" asked his friend. 

"Oh, the horses were nobler animals than the men in some of the landswhere I have been, and I studied them. This creature will be afaithful friend in a short time. You have no idea how muchintelligence such a horse as this has if he is treated intelligently. I don't believe he has ever known genuine kindness. I'll guaranteethat I can fire a pistol between his ears within two weeks, and thathe won't flinch. Good-by. I shall be my own hostler for a short time, and must work an hour over him after the run he's had. "

"Well, " exclaimed Hilland, as he passed into the house with his wife, "I admit that Graham has changed. He was always great on tramps, but Inever knew him to care for a horse before. "

Grace felt that he had changed ever since he had leaned for supportagainst the apple-tree by which he was now passing down the frozenwalk, but she only said, "I never saw such superb horsemanship. "

She had not thought Graham exactly fine-looking in former days; but inhis absence his slight figure had filled out, and his every movementwas instinct with reserved force. The experiences through which he hadpassed removed him, as she was conscious, beyond the sphere ofordinary men. Even his marked reticence about himself and his viewswas stimulating to the imagination. Whether he had conquered his oldregard for her she could not tell. He certainly no longer avoided her, and he treated her with the frank courtesy he would naturally extendto his friend's wife. But he spent far more time with his aunt thanwith them; and it became daily more and more evident that he acceptedthe major's view, and was preparing for what he believed would be along and doubtful conflict. Since it must come, he welcomed theinevitable, for in his condition of mind it was essential that heshould be intensely occupied. Although his aunt had to admit that hewas a little peculiar, his manner was simple and quiet; and when hejoined his friends on their drives or at their fireside, he wasusually as genial as they could desire, and his tenderness for hisaunt daily increased the respect which he had already won from Grace. 

CHAPTER XVIII

THE CALL TO ARMS

On the 4th of March, 1861, was inaugurated as President the bestfriend the South ever had. He would never have deceived or misled her. In all the bloody struggle that followed, although hated, scoffed at, and maligned as the vilest monster of earth, he never by word or actmanifested a vindictive spirit toward her. Firm and sagacious, Lincolnwould have protected the South in her constitutional rights, thoughevery man at the North had become an abolitionist. Slavery, however, had long been doomed, like other relics of barbarism, by the spirit ofthe age; and his wisdom and that of men like him, with the logic ofevents and the irresistible force of the world's opinion, would havefound some peaceful, gradual remedy for an evil which wrought evenmore injury to the master than to the bondman. In his inauguraladdress he repeated that he had "no purpose, directly or indirectly, to interfere with slavery in the States where it existed. "

An unanswerable argument against disunion, and an earnest appeal toreason and lawful remedy, he followed by a most impressive declarationof peace and good-will: "In your hands, my dissatisfied fellow-countrymen, and not mine, is the momentous issue of civil war. Thegovernment will not assail you. You can have no conflict without beingyourselves the aggressors. You have no oath registered in heaven todestroy the government; while I shall have the most solemn one topreserve, protect, and defend it. "

These were noble words, and to all minds not confused by the turmoil, passion, and prejudices of the hour, they presented the issuesquarely. If the leaders of the South desired peaceful negotiation, the way was opened, the opportunity offered; if they were resolved onthe destruction of the Union, Lincoln's oath meant countless men andcountless treasure to defend it. 

Men almost held their breath in suspense. The air became thick withrumors of compromise and peace. Even late in March, Mr. Seward, thePresident's chief adviser, "believed and argued that the revolutionthroughout the South had spent its force and was on the wane; and thatthe evacuation of Sumter and the manifestation of kindness andconfidence to the Rebel and Border States would undermine theconspiracy, strengthen the Union sentiment and Union majorities, andrestore allegiance and healthy political action without resort tocivil war. "

To Graham, who, in common with millions in their homes, was studyingthe problem, this course seemed so rational and so advantageous to allconcerned, that he accepted it as the outline of the future. The oldmajor shook his head and growled, "You don't know the South; it's toolate; their blood is up. "

Hilland added exultantly, "Neither do you know the North, Graham. There will come a tidal wave soon that will carry Mr. Seward and thehesitating President to the boundaries of Mexico. "

The President was not hesitating, in the weak sense of the word. Equally removed from Mr. Buchanan's timidity and Mr. Seward'soptimistic confidence, he was feeling his way, gathering the reinsinto his hands, and seeking to comprehend an issue then too obscureand vast for mortal mind to grasp. What is plain to-day was not plainthen. 

It speedily became evident, however, that all talk of compromise onthe part of the Southern leaders was deceptive--that they wererelentlessly pursuing the course marked out from the first, hoping, undoubtedly, that the government would be paralyzed by their allies atthe North, and that their purposes would be effected by negotiationand foreign intervention. 

And so the skies grew darker and the political and social atmosphereso thick with doubt and discordant counsels that the horizon narrowedabout even those on the mountain-top of power. All breathed heavilyand felt the oppression that precedes some convulsion of nature. 

At length, on the morning of the 12th of April, as the darkness whichforeruns the dawn was lifting from Charleston Harbor, and Sumter laylike a shadow on the waves, a gun was fired whose echoes repeatedthemselves around the world. They were heard in every home North andSouth, and their meaning was unmistakable. The flash of that mortargun and of the others that followed was as the lightning burning itsway across the vault of heaven, revealing everything with intensevividness, and rending and consuming all noxious vapors. The cloudsrolled speedily away, and from the North came the sound of "a rushing, mighty wind. "

The crisis and the leader came together. The news reached Washingtonon Saturday. On Sunday Mr. Lincoln drafted his memorable call to arms, and on Monday it was telegraphed throughout the land. The response tothat call forms one of the sublimest chapters of history. 

In the St. John cottage, as in nearly all other homes, differences ofopinion on minor questions melted into nothingness. 

Graham read the electric words aloud, and his friend's only excitedcomment was:

"Graham, you will go. "

"Not yet, " was the quiet response "and I sincerely hope you will not. "

"How can a man do otherwise?"

"Because he is a man, and not an infuriated animal. I've been verychary in giving my opinion on this subject, as you know. You also knowthat I have read and thought about it almost constantly since myreturn. I share fully in Major St. John's views that this affair isnot to be settled by a mad rush southward of undisciplined Northernmen. I have traced the history of Southern regiments and officers inthe Revolution and in our later wars, and I assure you that we are onthe eve of a gigantic conflict. In that degree that we believe thegovernment right, we, as rational men, should seek to render iteffective service. The government does not need a mob: it needssoldiers, and such are neither you nor I. I have informed myselfsomewhat on the militia system of the country, and there are plenty oforganized regiments of somewhat disciplined men who can go at anhour's notice. If you went now, you--a millionaire--would not countfor as much as an Irishman who had spent a few months in a drill-room. The time may come when you can equip a regiment if you choose. Moreover, you have a controlling voice in large business interests;and this struggle is doomed from the start if not sustainedfinancially. "

"Mr. Graham is right, " said Grace, emphatically. "Even my woman'sreason makes so much clear to me. "

"Your woman's reason would serve most men better than their own, " washis smiling reply. Then, as he looked into her lovely face, pale atthe bare thought that her husband was going into danger, he placed hishand on Hilland's shoulder and continued, "Warren, there are othersacred claims besides those of patriotism. The cause should growdesperate indeed before you leave that wife. "

"Mr. Graham, " Grace began, with an indignant flush mantling the facethat had been so pale, "I am a soldier's daughter; and if Warrenbelieved it to be his duty--" Then she faltered, and burst into apassion of tears, as she moaned, "O God! it's--it's true. The bulletthat struck him would inflict a deadlier wound on me;" and she hid herface on Hilland's breast and sobbed piteously. 

"It is also true, " said Graham, in tones that were as grave and solemnas they were gentle, "that your father's spirit--nay, your own--wouldcontrol you. Under its influence you might not only permit but urgeyour husband's departure, though your heart broke a thousand times, Therefore, Hilland, I appeal to your manhood. You would be unworthy ofyourself and of this true woman were you guided by passion orexcitement. As a loyal man you are bound to render your country yourbest service. To rush to the fray now would be the poorest aid youcould give. "

"Graham talks sense, " said the major, speaking with the authority of aveteran. "If I had to meet the enemy at once, I'd rather have aregiment of _canaille_, and cowards at that, who could obey orderslike a machine, than one of hot-headed millionaires who might notunderstand the command 'Halt!' Mr. Graham is right again when hesays that Grace will not prevent a man from doing his duty any morethan her mother did. "

"What do _you_ propose to do?" asked Hilland, breathing heavily. Itwas evident that a tremendous struggle was going on in his breast, for it had been his daily and nightly dream to join the grand onsetthat should sweep slavery and rebellion out of existence. 

"Simply what I advise--watch, wait, and act when I can be of the mostservice. "

"I yield, " said Hilland, slowly, "for I suppose you are right. You allknow well, and you best of all, sweetheart"--taking his wife's face inhis hands and looking down into her tearful eyes--"that here is thetreasure of my life. But you also know that in all the past there havecome times when a man must give up everything at the need of hiscountry. "

"And when that time comes, " sobbed his wife, "I--I--will not--" Butshe could not finish the sentence. 

Graham stole away, awed, and yet with a peace in his heart that he hadnot known for years. He had saved his friend from the first wild meleeof the war--the war that promised rest and nothingness to him, evenwhile he kept his promise to "live and do his best. "

CHAPTER XIX

THE BLOOD-RED SKY

Days and weeks of intense excitement followed the terrific Unionreverses which at one time threatened the loss of the nationalcapital; and the North began to put forth the power of which it wasonly half conscious, like a giant taken unawares; for to all, exceptmen of Hilland's hopeful confidence, it soon became evident that theopponent was a giant also. It is not my purpose to dwell upon this, however, except as it influenced the actors of my story. 

Hilland, having given up his plans, was contentedly carrying out theline of action suggested by his friend. By all the means within hispower he was furthering the Union cause, and learned from experiencehow much more he could accomplish as a business man than byshouldering a musket, or misleading a regiment in his ignorance. Hemade frequent trips to New York, and occasionally went to Washington. Graham often accompanied him, and also came and went on affairs of hisown. Ostensibly he was acting as correspondent for the journal towhich he had written when abroad. In reality, he was studying thegreat drama with an interest that was not wholly patriotic orscientific. He had found an antidote. The war, dreaded so unspeakablyby many, was a boon to him; and the fierce excitement of the hour acounter-irritant to the pain at heart which he believed had become hislife-long heritage. 

He had feared the sorrowful reproaches of his aunt, as he gave himselfalmost wholly up to its influences, and became an actor in the greatstruggle. In this he was agreeably mistaken, for the spirited oldlady, while averse to politics as such, had become scarcely lessbelligerent than the major since the fall of Sumter. She cheerfullylet him come and go at his will; and in his loving gratitude it mustbe admitted that his letters to her were more frequent and interestingthan those to the journal whose badge was his passport to all parts ofour lines. He spent every hour he could with her, also; and she sawwith pleasure that his activity did him good. Grace thought he foundfew opportunities to pass an evening with them. She was exceedinglygrateful--first, that he had interpreted her so nobly, but chieflybecause it was his influence and reasoning that had led her husbandinto his present large, useful, happy action; and she could not helpshowing it. 

Graham's position of correspondent gave him far better opportunitiesfor observation than he could have had in any arm of the service. Oflate he was following the command of General Patterson, believing fromhis sanguinary vaporing that in his army would be seen the first realwork of the war. [Footnote: Patterson wrote to the Secretary of War:"You have the means; place them at my disposal, and shoot me if I donot use them to advantage. "] He soon became convinced, however, thatthe veteran of the Mexican War, like the renowned King of France, would march his "twenty thousand men" up the hill only to march themdown again. Hearing that McDowell proposed to move against the enemyat Manassas, he hastily repaired to Washington, hoping to find ageneral that dared to come within cannon-range of the foe. 

A sultry day late in the month of July was drawing to a close. Hillandand his wife, with Mrs. Mayburn, were seated under the apple-tree, atwhich point the walk intersected with the main one leading to thestreet. The young man, with a heavy frown, was reading from an "extra"a lurid outline of General McDowell's overwhelming defeat and the madpanic that ensued. Grace was listening with deep solicitude, her worklying idle in her lap. It had been a long, hard day for her. Of lateher father had been deeply excited, and now was sleeping from sheerreaction. Mrs. Mayburn, looking as grim as fate, sat bolt upright andknitted furiously. One felt instinctively that in no emergency of lifecould she give way to a panic. 

"Well, " cried Hilland, springing to his feet and dashing the paper tothe ground with something like an oath, "one battle has been fought inAmerica at which I thank the immortal gods I was not present. Why didnot McDowell drive a flock of sheep against the enemy, and furnish hisdivision commanders with shepherds' crooks? Oh, the burning, indelibledisgrace of it all! And yet--and the possibility of it makes me feelthat I would destroy myself had it happened--I might have run like theblackest sheep of them all. I once read up a little on the subject ofpanics; and there's a mysterious, awful contagion about themimpossible to comprehend. These men were Americans; they had beenfighting bravely; what the devil got into them that they had todestroy themselves and everything in an insane rush for life?"

"Oh, Warren, see the sky!" cried his wife, the deep solicitude of herexpression giving place to a look of awe. 

They all turned to the west, and saw a sunset that from the excitablecondition of their minds seemed to reflect the scenes recentlyenacted, and to portend those in prospect now for years to come. Linesof light and broken columns of cloud had ranged themselves across thewestern arch of the sky, and almost from the horizon to the zeniththey were blood-red. So deep, uniform, and ensanguined was thecrimson, that the sense of beauty was subordinated to the thought ofthe national tragedy reflected in the heavens. Hilland's face grewstern as he looked, and Grace hid hers on his breast. 

After a moment, he said, lightly, "What superstitious fools we are!It's all an accidental effect of light and cloud. "

A cry from Mrs. Mayburn caused them to turn hastily, and they saw herrushing down the path to the street entrance. Two men were helpingsome one from a carriage. As their obscuring forms stood aside, Grahamwas seen balancing himself on crutches. 

Hilland placed his wife hastily but tenderly on the seat, and was atthe gateway in almost a single bound. 

"You had better let us carry you, " Grace heard one of the men say ingruff kindness. 

"Nonsense!" was the hearty reply. "I have not retreated thus far somasterfully only to give my aunt the hysterics at last. "

"Alford, " said his aunt, sternly, "if it's wise for you to be carried, be carried. Any man here is as liable to hysterics as I am. "

"Graham, what does this mean?" cried his friend, in deep excitement. "You look as if half cut to pieces. "

"It's chiefly my clothes; I am a fitter subject for a tailor than fora surgeon. Come, good people, there is no occasion for melodrama. Withaunty's care I shall soon be as sound as ever. Very well, carry me, then. Perhaps I ought not to use my arm yet;" for Hilland, taking inhis friend's disabled condition more fully, was about to lift him inhis arms without permission or apology. It ended in his making what istermed a "chair" with one of the men, and Graham was borne speedily upthe path. 

Grace stood at the intersection with hands clasped in the deepestanxiety; but Graham smiled reassuringly, as he said, "Isn't this anheroic style of returning from the wars? Not quite like Walter Scott'sknights; but we've fallen on prosaic times. Don't look so worried. Iassure you I'm not seriously hurt. "

"Mrs. Mayburn, " said Hilland, excitedly, "let us take him to ourcottage. We can all take better care of him there. "

"Oh, do! please do!" echoed Grace. "You are alone; and Warren and Icould do so much--"

"No, " said the old lady quietly and decisively; for the moment theproposition was broached Graham's eyes had sought hers in imperativewarning. "You both can help me as far as it is needful. "

Grace detected the glance and noted the result, but Hilland beganimpetuously: "Oh, come, dear Mrs. Mayburn, I insist upon it. Graham ismaking light of it; but I'm sure he'll need more care than yourealize--"

"Hilland, I know the friendship that prompts your wish, " interruptedGraham, "but my aunt is right. I shall do better in my own room. Ineed rest more than anything else. You and your wife can do all youwish for me. Indeed, I shall visit you to-morrow and fight the battleover again with the major. Please take me to my room at once, " headded in a low tone. "I'm awfully tired. "

"Come, Mr. Hilland, " said Mrs. Mayburn, in a tone almostauthoritative; and she led the way decisively. 

Hilland yielded, and in a few moments Graham was in his own room, andafter taking a little stimulant, explained. 

"My horse was shot and fell on me. I am more bruised, scratched andused up, than hurt;" and so it proved, though his escape had evidentlybeen almost miraculous. One leg and foot had been badly crushed. Therewere two flesh wounds in his arm; and several bullets had cut hisclothing, in some places drawing blood. All over his clothes, fromhead to foot, were traces of Virginia soil; and he had the generalappearance of a man who had passed through a desperate melee. 

"I tried to repair damages in Washington, " he said, "but the confusionwas so dire I had to choose between a hospital and home; and as I hadsome symptoms of fever last night, I determined to push on till underthe wing of my good old aunty and your fraternal care. Indeed, I thinkI was half delirious when I took the train last evening; but it wasonly from fatigue, lack of sleep, and perhaps loss of blood. Now, please leave me to aunty's care to-night, and I will tell you allabout it to-morrow. "

Hilland was accordingly constrained to yield to his friend's wishes. He brought the best surgeon in town, however, and gave directionsthat, after he had dressed Graham's wounds, he should spend the nightin Mrs. Mayburn's parlor, and report to him if there was any changefor the worse. Fortunately, there was no occasion for his solicitude. Graham slept with scarcely a break till late the next morning; and hispulse became so quiet that when he waked with a good appetite thephysician pronounced all danger passed. 

In the evening he was bent on visiting the major. He knew they wereall eager for his story, and, calculating upon the veteran's influencein restraining Hilland from hasty action, he resolved that his old andinvalid friend should hear it with the first. From the character ofHilland he knew the danger to be apprehended was that he would throwhimself into the struggle in some way that would paralyze, or at theleast curtail, his efficiency. Both his aunt and the physician, whounderrated the recuperative power of Graham's fine physical condition, urged quiet until the following day; but he assured them he wouldsuffer more from restlessness than from a moderate degree of effort. He also explained to his aunt that he wished to talk with Hilland, and, if possible, in the presence of his wife and the major. 

"Then they must come here, " said the old lady, resolutely. 

With this compromise he had to be content; and Hilland, who had beencoming and going, readily agreed to fetch the major. 

CHAPTER XX

TWO BATTLES

In less than an hour Graham was in the parlor, looking, it is true, somewhat battered, but cheerful and resolute. His friends found himinstalled in a great armchair, with his bruised foot on a cushion, hisarm in a sling, and a few pieces of court-plaster distributed ratherpromiscuously over his face and head. He greeted Hilland and his wifeso heartily, and assured the major so genially that he should nowdivide with him his honors as a veteran, that they were reassured, andthe rather tragic mood in which they had started on the visit wasdispelled. 

"I must admit, though, " he added to his old friend, who was also madecomfortable in his chair, which Hilland had brought over, "that in myfall on the field of glory I made a sorry figure. I was held down bymy horse and trampled on as if I had been a part of the 'sacredsoil. '"

"'Field of glory, ' indeed!" exclaimed Hilland, contemptuously. 

 "I did not know that you had become a soldier, " said Grace, withsurprise. 

"I was about as much of a soldier as the majority, from the generalsdown, " was the laughing reply. 

"I don't see how you could have been a worse one, if you had tried, "was his friend's rejoinder. "I may do no better; but I should be lessthan a man if I did not make an effort to wipe out the disgrace assoon as possible. No reflection on you, Graham. Your wounds exonerateyou; and I know you did not get them in running away. "

"Yes, I did--two of them, at least--these in my arm. As to 'wiping outthis disgrace as soon as possible, ' I think that is a very secondarymatter. "

"Well! I don't understand it at all, " was Hilland's almost savageanswer. "But I can tell you from the start you need not enter on yourold prudent counsels that I should serve the government as a stay-at-home quartermaster and general supply agent. In my opinion, what thegovernment needs is men--men who at least won't run away. I now haveGrace's permission to go--dear, brave girl!--and go I shall. To stayat home because I am rich seems to me the very snobbishness of wealth;and the kind of work I have been doing graybeards can do just as well, and better. "

Graham turned a grave look of inquiry upon the wife. She answered itby saying with a pallid face: "I had better perish a thousand timesthan destroy Warren's self-respect. "

"What right have you to preach caution, " continued Hilland, "when youwent far enough to be struck by half a dozen bullets?"

"The right of a retreat which scarcely slackened until I was under myaunt's roof. "

"Come, Graham, you are tantalizing us, " said Hilland, impatiently. "There, forgive me, old fellow. I fear you are still a little out ofyour head, " he added, with a slight return of his old good-humor. "Dogive us, then, if you can, some account of your impetuous advance onWashington, instead of Richmond. "

"Yes, Mr. Graham, " added the major, "if you are able to give me somereason for not blushing that I am a Northern man, I shall be glad tohear it. "

"Mrs. Hilland, " said Graham, with a smiling glance at the young wife'stroubled face, "you have the advantage of us all. You can proudly say, 'I'm a Southerner. ' Hilland and I are nothing but 'low-down Yankees. 'Come, good friends, I have seen enough tragedy of late; and if, I haveto describe a little to-night, let us look at matters philosophically. If I received some hard knocks from your kin, Mrs. Hilland--"

"Don't say 'Mrs. Hilland, '" interrupted his friend. "As I've told youbefore, my wife is 'Grace' to you. "

"So be it then. The hard knocks from your kin have materially added tomy small stock of sense; and I think the entire North will be wiser aswell as sadder before many days pass. We have been taught that takingRichmond and marching through the South will be no holiday picnic. Major St. John has been right from the start. We must encounter brave, determined men; and, whatever may be true of the leaders, the peopleare as sincere in their patriotism as we are. They don't even dreamthat they are fighting in a bad cause. The majority will stand up forit as stoutly and conscientiously as your husband for ours. Have I notdone justice to your kin, Grace?"

"Yes, " she replied, with a faint smile. 

"Then forgive me if I say that until four o'clock last Sundayafternoon, and in a fair, stand-up fight between a Northern mob and aSouthern mob, we whipped them. "

"But I thought the men of the North prided themselves on their'staying power. '"

"They had no 'staying power' when they found fresh regiments andbatteries pouring in on their flank and rear. I believe that retreatwas then the proper thing. The wild panic that ensued resultednaturally from the condition of the men and officers, and especiallyfrom the presence of a lot of nondescript people that came to see thething as a spectacle, a sort of gladiatorial combat, upon which theycould look at a safe distance. Two most excellent results have beenattained: I don't believe we shall ever send out another mob ofsoldiers; and I am sure that a mob of men and women from Washingtonwill never follow it to see the fun. "

"I wish Beauregard had corralled them all--the mob of sight-seers, Imean, " growled the major. "I must say, Mr. Graham, that the hardknocks you and others have received may result in infinite good. Ithink I take your meaning, and that we shall agree very nearly beforeyou are through. You know that I was ever bitterly opposed to the mad'On to Richmond' cry; and now the cursed insanity of the thing isclearly proved. "

"I agree with you that it was all wrong--that it involved risks thatnever should have been taken at this stage of the war; and I am toldthat General Scott and other veteran officers disapproved of themeasure. Nevertheless, it came wonderfully near being successful. Weshould have gained the battle if the attack had been made earlier, orif that old muff, Patterson, had done his duty. "

"If you are not too tired, give us the whole movement, just as you sawit, " said Hilland, his eyes glowing with excitement. 

"Oh, I feel well enough for another retreat tonight. My trouble waschiefly fatigue and lack of sleep. "

"Because you make light of wounds, we do not, " said Grace. 

"Hilland knows that the loss of a little blood as pale and watery asmine would be of small account, " was Graham's laughing response. 

"Well, to begin at the beginning, I followed Patterson till convincedthat his chief impulse was to get away from the enemy. I then hastenedto Washington only to learn that McDowell had already had a heavyskirmish which was not particularly to our advantage. This wasSaturday morning, and the impression was that a general engagementwould be fought almost immediately. The fact that our army had metlittle opposition thus far created a false confidence. I did not careto risk my pet horse, Mayburn. You must know, aunty, I've rechristenedFirebrand in your honor, " said Graham. "I tried to get another mount, but could not obtain one for love or money. Every beast and conveyancein the city seemed already engaged for the coming spectacle. Themajority of these civilians did not leave till early on Sundaymorning, but I had plenty of company on Saturday, when with my goodhorse I went in a rather leisurely way to Centerville; for as acorrespondent I had fairly accurate information of what was takingplace, and had heard that there would be no battle that day. 

"I reached Centerville in the evening, and soon learned that theforward movement would take place in the night. Having put my horse inthorough condition for the morrow, and made an enormous supper throughthe hospitality of some staff-officers, I sought a quiet knoll onwhich to sleep in soldier fashion under the sky, but found the scenetoo novel and beautiful for such prosaic oblivion. I was on thehighest ground I could find, and beneath and on either side of me werethe camp-fires of an army. Around the nearest of these could be seenthe forms of the soldiers in every picturesque attitude; some stillcooking and making their rude suppers, others executing double-shuffles like war-dances, more discussing earnestly and excitedly theprospects of the coming day, and not a few looking pensively into theflames as if they saw pictures of the homes and friends they mightnever see again. In the main, however, animation and jollityprevailed; and from far and near came the sound of song, and laughter, and chaffing. Far down the long slope toward the dark, wooded valleyof Bull Run, the light of the fires shaded off into such obscurity asthe full moon permitted, while beyond the stream in the far distance along, irregular line of luminous haze marked the encampments of theenemy. 

"As the night advanced the army grew quiet; near and distant soundsdied away; the canvas tents were like mounds of snow; and by theflickering, dying flames were multitudes of quiet forms. At midnightfew scenes could be more calm and beautiful, so tenderly did the lightof the moon soften and etherealize everything. Even the parkedartillery lost much of its grim aspect, and all nature seemed tobreathe peace and rest. 

"It was rumored that McDowell wished to make part of the march in theevening, and it would have been well if he had done so. A little pastmidnight a general stir and bustle ran through the sleeping army. Figures were seen moving hurriedly, men forming into lines, and therewas a general commotion. But there was no promptness of action. Thesoldiers stood around, sat down, and at last lay on their arms andslept again. Mounting my horse, with saddle-bags well stuffed withsuch rations as I could obtain, I sought the centres of information. It appeared that the division under General Tyler was slow instarting, and blocked the march of the Second and the Third Division. As I picked my way around, only a horse's sagacity kept me fromcrushing some sleeping fellow's leg or arm, for a horse won't step ona man unless excited. 

"Well, Tyler's men got out of the way at last in a haphazard fashion, and the Second and Third Divisions were also steadily moving, buthours behind time. Such marching! It reminded one of countrymenstreaming along a road to a Fourth of July celebration. 

"My main policy was to keep near the commander-in-chief, for thus Ihoped to obtain from the staff some idea of the plan of battle andwhere its brunt would fall. I confess that I was disgusted at first, for the general was said to be ill, and he followed his columns in acarriage. It seemed an odd way of leading an army. But he came out allright; and he did his duty as a soldier and a general, although everyone is cursing him to-day. He was the first man on the realbattlefield, and by no means the first to leave it. 

"Of course I came and went along the line of march, or of stragglingrather, as I pleased; but I kept my eye on the general and his staff. I soon observed that he decided to make his headquarters at the pointwhere a road leading from the great Warrenton Turnpike passed to thenorth through what is known as the 'Big Woods. ' Tyler's commandcontinued westward down the turnpike to what is known as the StoneBridge, a single substantial arch at which the enemy were said to bein force. It now became clear that the first fighting would be there, and that it was McDowell's plan to send his main force under Hunterand Heintzelman further north through the woods to cross at some pointabove. I therefore followed Tyler's column, as that must soon becomeengaged. 

"The movements had all been so mortally slow that any chance forsurprise was lost. As we approached the bridge it was as lovely asummer morning as you would wish to see. I had ridden ahead with thescouts. Thrushes, robins, and other birds were singing in the trees. Startled rabbits, and a mother-bird with a brood of quails, scurriedacross the road, and all seemed as still and peaceful as any Sundaythat had ever dawned on the scene. It was hard to persuade one's selfthat in front and rear were the forces of deadly war. 

"We soon reached an eminence from which we saw what dispelled at oncethe illusion of sylvan solitude. The sun had been shining an hour ortwo, and the bridge before us and the road beyond were defended by_abatis_ and other obstructions. On the further bank a line ofinfantry was in full view with batteries in position prepared toreceive us. I confess it sent a thrill through every nerve when Ifirst saw the ranks of the foe we must encounter in no mere pageant ofwar. 

"In a few moments our forces came up, and at first one brigadedeployed on the left and another on the right of the pike. At last Iwitnessed a scene that had the aspect of war. A great thirty-poundParrot gun unlimbered in the centre of the pike, and looked like asurly mastiff. In a moment an officer, who understood his business, sighted it. There was a flash, bright even in the July sunlight, agrand report awakening the first echoes of a battle whose thunder washeard even in Washington; and a second later we saw the shell explodedirectly over the line of Confederate infantry. Their ranks broke andmelted away as if by magic. "

"Good shot, well aimed. Oh heavens! what would I not give to be thirtyyears younger! Go on, Graham, go on;" for the young man had stopped totake a sip of wine. 

"Yes, Graham, " cried Hilland, springing to his feet; "what next?"

"I fear we are doing Mr. Graham much wrong, " Grace interrupted. "Hemust be going far beyond his strength. "

The young man had addressed his words almost solely to the major, notonly out of courtesy, but also for a reason that Grace partiallysurmised. He now turned and smiled into her flushed, troubled face, and said, "I fear you find these details of war dull and wearisome. "

"On the contrary, you are so vivid a _raconteur_ that I fear Warrenwill start for the front before you are through. "

"When I am through you will think differently. "

"But you _are_ going beyond your strength. "

"I assure you I am not; though I thank you for your thoughtfulness. Inever felt better in my life; and it gives me a kind of pleasure tomake you all realize things as I saw them. "

"And it gives us great pleasure to listen, " cried Hilland. "Even Mrs. Mayburn there is knitting as if her needles were bayonets; and Gracehas the flush of a soldier's daughter on her cheeks. "

"Oh, stop your chatter, and let Graham go on, " said the major--"thatis, if it's prudent for him, " he added from a severe sense of duty. "What followed that blessed shell?"

"A lame and impotent conclusion in the form of many other shells thatevoked no reply; and beyond his feeble demonstration Tyler didnothing. It seemed to me that a determined dash at the bridge wouldhave carried it. I was fretting and fuming about when a staff-officergave me a hint that nothing was to be done at present--that it was allonly a feint, and that the columns that had gone northward through thewoods would begin the real work. His words were scarcely spoken beforeI was making my way to the rear. I soon reached McDowell's carriage atthe intersection of the roads, and found it empty. Learning that thegeneral, in his impatience, had taken horse and galloped off to seewhat had become of his tardy commanders, I followed at full speed. 

"It was a wild, rough road, scarcely more than a lane through thewoods; but Mayburn was equal to it, and like a bird carried me throughits gloomy shades, where I observed not a few skulkers cowering in thebrush as I sped by. I overtook Heintzelman's command as it wascrossing the run at Sudley's Ford; and such a scene of confusion Ihope never to witness again. The men were emptying their canteens andrefilling them, laving their hands and faces, and refreshingthemselves generally. It was really quite a picnic. Officers werestorming and ordering 'the boys'--and boys they seemed, indeed--tomove on; and by dint of much profanity, and the pressure of thosefollowing, regiment after regiment at last straggled up the furtherbank, went into brigade formation, and shambled forward. "

"The cursed mob!" muttered the major. 

"Well, poor fellows! they soon won my respect; and yet, as I saw themthen, stopping to pick blackberries along the road, I did feel likeriding them down. I suppose my horse and I lowered the stream somewhatas we drank, for the day had grown sultry and the sun's rays intenselyhot. Then I hastened on to find the general. It seemed as if we shouldnever get out of the woods, as if the army had lost itself in aninterminable forest. Wild birds and game fled before us; and I heardone soldier call out to another that it was 'a regular Virginia coon-hunt. ' As I reached the head of the column the timber grew thinner, and I was told that McDowell was reconnoitring in advance. Gallopingout into the open fields, I saw him far beyond me, already the targetof Rebel bullets. His staff and a company of cavalry were with him;and as I approached he seemed rapidly taking in the topographicalfeatures of the field. Having apparently satisfied himself, hegalloped to the rear; and at the same time Hunter's troops camepouring out of the woods. 

"There was now a prospect of warm work and plenty of it. For the lifeof me I can't tell you how the battle began. Our men came forward inan irregular manner, rushing onward impetuously, haltingunnecessarily, with no master mind directing. It seemed at first as ifthe mere momentum of the march carried us under the enemy's fire; andthen there was foolish delay. By the aid of my powerful glass I wasconvinced that we might have walked right over the first thin Rebelline on the ridge nearest us. 

"The artillery exchanged shots awhile. Regiments under the command ofGeneral Burnside deployed in the fields to the left of the road downwhich we had come; skirmishers were thrown out rapidly and began theirirregular firing at an absurd distance from the enemy. There washesitancy, delay; and the awkwardness of troops unaccustomed to acttogether in large bodies was enhanced by the excitement inseparablefrom their first experience of real war. 

"In spite of all this the battlefield began to present grand andinspiring effects. The troops were debouching rapidly from the woods, their bayonets gleaming here and there through the dust raised bytheir hurrying feet, and burning in serried lines when they wereranged under the cloudless sun. In every movement made by everysoldier the metal points in his accoutrements flashed andscintillated. Again there was something very spirited in theappearance of a battery rushed into position at a gallop--the almostinstantaneous unlimbering, the caissons moving to the rear, and theguns at the same moment thundering their defiance, while the smoke, lifting slowly on the heavy air, rises and blends with that of theother side, and hangs like a pall to leeward of the field. Thegrandest thing of all, however, was the change in the men. Theuncouth, coarsely jesting, blackberry-picking fellows that lagged andstraggled to the battle became soldiers in their instincts and risingexcitement and courage, if not in machine-like discipline andcoolness. As I rode here and there I could see that they were erect, eager, and that their eyes began to glow like coals from their dusty, sunburned visages. If there were occasional evidences of fear, therewere more of resolution and desire for the fray. 

"The aspect of affairs on the ridge, where the enemy awaited us, didnot grow encouraging. With my glass I could see re-inforcements comingup rapidly during our delay. New guns were seeking position, which wasscarcely taken before there was a puff of smoke and their ironmessage. Heavens! what a vicious sound those shells had! somethingbetween a whiz and a shriek. Even the horses would cringe and shudderwhen one passed over them, and the men would duck their heads, thoughthe missile was thirty feet in the air. I suppose there was someawfully wild firing on both sides; but I saw several of our mencarried to the rear. But all this detail is an old, old story to you, Major. "

 "Yes, an old story, but one that can never lose its fierce charm. Isee it all as you describe it. Go on, and omit nothing you canremember of the scene. Mrs. Mayburn looks as grim as one of yourcannon; and Grace, my child, you won't flinch, will you?"

"No, papa. "

"That's my brave wife's child. She often said, 'Tell me all. I wish toknow just what you have passed through. '"

A brief glance assured Graham that her father's spirit was thensupreme, and that she looked with woman's admiration on a scenereplete with the manhood woman most admires. 

"I cannot describe to you the battle, as such, " continued Graham. "Ican only outline faintly the picture I saw dimly through dust andsmoke from my own standpoint. Being under no one's orders, I could gowhere I pleased, and I tried to find the vital points. Of course, there was much heavy fighting that I saw nothing of, movements unknownto me or caught but imperfectly. During the preliminary conflict Iremained on the right of Burnside's command near the Sudley Road bywhich our army had reached the field. 

"When at last his troops began to press forward, their advance wasdecided and courageous; but the enemy held their own stubbornly. Thefighting was severe and deadly, for we were now within easy musketrange. At one time I trembled for Burnside's lines, and I saw one ofhis aides gallop furiously to the rear for help. It came almostimmediately in the form of a fine body of regulars under Major Sykes;and our wavering lines were rendered firm and more aggressive thanever. At the same time it was evident that our forces were going intoaction off to the right of the Sudley Road, and that another batteryhad opened on the enemy. I afterward learned that they were Rickett'sguns. Under this increasing and relentless pressure the enemy's lineswere seen to waver. Wild cheers went up from our ranks; and such isthe power of the human voice--the echo direct from the heart--thatthese shouts rose above the roar of the cannon, the crash of musketry, and thrilled every nerve and fibre. Onward pressed our men; the Rebellines yielded, broke, and our foes retreated down the hill, but at adogged, stubborn pace, fighting as they went. Seeing the directionthey were taking, I dashed into the Sudley Road near which I had keptas the centre of operations. At the intersection of this road with theWarrenton Turnpike was a stone house, and behind this the enemyrallied as if determined to retreat no further. I had scarcelyobserved this fact when I saw a body of men forming in the road justabove me. In a few moments they were in motion. On they came, aresistless human torrent with a roar of hoarse shouts and cries. I wascarried along with them; but before we reached the stone house theenemy broke and fled, and the whole Rebel line was swept back half amile or more. 

"Thus you see that in the first severe conflict of the day, and whenpitted against numbers comparatively equal, we won a decided victory. "

Both the major and Hilland drew a long breath of relief; and theformer said: "I have been hasty and unjust in my censure. If that rawmilitia could be made to fight at all, it can in time be made to fightwell. Mr. Graham, you have deeply gratified an old soldier to-night bydescribing scenes that carry me back to the grand era of my life. Ibelieve I was born to be a soldier; and my old campaigns stand out inmemory like sun-lighted mountain-tops. Forgive such high-flown talk--Iknow it's not like me--but I've had to-night some of my old battleexcitement. I never thought to feel it again. We'll hear the rest ofyour story to-morrow. I outrank you all, by age at least; and I noworder 'taps. '"

Graham was not sorry, for in strong reaction a sudden sense of almostmortal weakness overcame him. Even the presence of Grace, for whosesake, after all, he had unconsciously told his story, could notsustain him any longer, and he sank back looking very white. 

"You _have_ overexerted yourself, " she said gently, coming, to hisside. "You should have stopped when I cautioned you; or rather, weshould have been more thoughtful. "

"Perhaps I have overrated my strength--it's a fault of mine, " was hissmiling reply, "I shall be perfectly well after a night's rest. "

He had looked up at her as he spoke; and in that moment of weaknessthere was a wistful, hungry look in his eyes that smote her heart. 

A shallow, silly woman, or an intensely selfish one, would haveexulted. Here was a man, cool, strong, and masterful among other men--a man who had gone to the other side of the globe to escape her power--one who within the last few days had witnessed a battle with thequiet poise that enabled him to study it as an artist or a tactician;and yet he could not keep his eyes from betraying the truth that therewas something within his heart stronger than himself. 

Did Grace Hilland lay this flattering unction to her soul? No. Shewent away inexpressibly sad. She felt that two battle scenes had beenpresented to her mind; and the conflict that had been waged silently, patiently, and unceasingly in a strong man's soul had to her thehigher elements of heroism. It was another of those wretched problemsoffered by this imperfect world for which there seems no remedy. 

When Hilland hastened over to see his friend and add a few heartywords to those he had already spoken, he was told that he wassleeping. 

 CHAPTER XXI

THE LOGIC OF EVENTS

Graham was right in his prediction that another night's rest wouldcarry him far on the road to recovery; and he insisted, when Hillandcalled in the morning, that the major should remain in his accustomedchair at home, and listen to the remainder of the story. "My habit oflife is so active, " he said, "that a little change will do me good;"and so it was arranged. By leaning on Hilland's shoulder he was ableto limp the short distance between the cottages; and he found thatGrace had made every arrangement for his comfort on the piazza, wherethe major welcomed him with almost the eagerness of a child for whoman absorbing story is to be continued. 

"You can't know how you interested us all last night, " Grace began. "Inever knew papa to be more gratified; and as for Warren, he could notsleep for excitement. Where did you learn to tell stories?"

"I was said to be very good at fiction when a boy, especially when Igot into scrapes. But you can't expect in this garish light any sucheffects as I may have created last evening. It requires the mysteriouspower of night and other conditions to secure a glamour; and so youmust look for the baldest prose to-day. "

"Indeed, Graham, we scarcely know what to expect from you any more, "Hilland remarked. "From being a quiet cynic philosopher, content todelve in old libraries like the typical bookworm, you become anindefatigable sportsman, horse-tamer, explorer of the remote parts ofthe earth, and last, and strangest, a newspaper correspondent whodoesn't know that the place to see and write about battles is severalmiles in the rear. What will you do next?"

"My future will be redeemed from the faintest trace of eccentricity. Ishall do what about a million other Americans will do eventually--gointo the army. "

"Ah! now you talk sense, and I am with you. I shall be ready to go assoon as you are well enough. "

"I doubt it. "

"I don't. "

"Grace, what do you say to all this?" turning a troubled look upon thewife. 

"I foresee that, like my mother, I am to be the wife of a soldier, "she replied with a smile, while tears stood in her eyes. "I did notmarry Warren to destroy his sense of manhood. "

"You see, Graham, how it is. You also perceive what a knight I must beto be worthy of the lady I leave in bower. "

"Yes; I see it all too well. But I must misquote Shakespeare to you, and 'charge you to stand on the _order_ of your going;' and I thinkthe rest of my story will prove that I have good reason for thecharge. "

"I should have been sorry, " said the major, "to have had Grace marry aman who would consult only ease and safety in times like these. Itwill be awfully hard to have him go. But the time may soon come whenit would be harder for Grace to have him stay; that is, if she is likeher mother. But what's the use of looking at the gloomy side? I'vebeen through a dozen battles; and here I am to plague the world yet. But now for the story. You left off, Mr. Graham, at the rout of thefirst Rebel line of battle. "

"And this had not been attained, " resumed Graham, "without seriousloss to our side. Colonel Hunter, who commanded the Second Division, you remember, was so severely wounded by a shell that he had to leavethe field early in the action. Colonel Slocum of one of the RhodeIsland regiments was mortally wounded; and his major had his legcrushed by a cannon ball which at the same time killed his horse. Manyothers were wounded and must have had a hard time of it, poor fellows, that hot day. As for the dead that strewed the ground--their troubleswere over. "

"But not the troubles of those that loved them, " said Grace, bitterly. 

Graham turned hastily away. When a moment later he resumed hisnarrative, she noticed that his eyes were moist and his tones husky. 

"Our heaviest loss was in the demoralization of some of the regimentsengaged. They appeared to have so little cohesion that one feared allthe time that they might crumble away into mere human atoms. 

"The affair continually took on a larger aspect, as more troops becameengaged. We had driven the Confederates down a gentle slope, across asmall stream called Young's Branch, and up a hill beyond and to thesouth. This position was higher and stronger than any they had yetoccupied. On the crest of the hill were two houses; and the enemycould be seen forming a line extending from one to the other. Theywere evidently receiving re-enforcements rapidly. I could see graycolumns hastening forward and deploying; and I've no doubt that manyof the fugitives were rallied beyond this line. Meanwhile, I wasinformed that Tyler's Division, left in the morning at Stone Bridge, had crossed the Run, in obedience to McDowell's orders, and were onthe field at the left of our line. Such, as far as I could judge, wasthe position of affairs between twelve and one, although I can giveyou only my impressions. It appeared to me that our men were fightingwell, gradually and steadily advancing, and closing in upon the enemy. Still, I cannot help feeling that if we had followed up our success bythe determined charge of one brigade that would hold together, thehill might have been swept, and victory made certain. 

"I had taken my position near Rickett's and Griffin's batteries on theright of our line, and decided to follow them up, not only becausethey were doing splendid work, but also for the reason that they wouldnaturally be given commanding positions at vital points. By about twoo'clock we had occupied the Warrenton Turnpike; and we justly feltthat much had been gained. The Confederate lines between the twohouses on the hill had given way; and from the sounds we heard, theymust have been driven back also by a charge on our extreme left. Indeed, there was scarcely anything to be seen of the foe that thusfar had been not only seen but felt. 

"From a height near the batteries where I stood, the problem appearedsomewhat clear to me. We had driven the enemy up and over a hill ofconsiderable altitude, and across an uneven plateau, and they wereundoubtedly in the woods beyond, a splendid position which commandedthe entire open space over which we must advance to reach them. Theywere in cover; we should be in full view in all efforts to dislodgethem. Their very reverses had secured for them a position worth half adozen regiments; and I trembled as I thought of our raw militiaadvancing under conditions that would try the courage of veterans. Youremember that if Washington, in the Revolution, could get his newrecruits behind a rail-fence, they thought they were safe. 

"Well, there was no help for it. The hill and plateau must be crossedunder a pointblank fire, in order to reach the enemy, and that, too, by men who had been under arms since midnight, and the majoritywearied by a long march under a blazing sun. 

"About half-past two, when the assault began, a strange and ominousquiet rested on the field. As I have said, the enemy had disappeared. The men scarcely knew what to think of it; and in some a falseconfidence, speedily dispelled, was begotten. Rickett's battery wasmoved down across the valley to the top of a hill just beyond theresidence owned and occupied by a Mrs. Henry. I followed and enteredthe house, already shattered by shot and shell, curious to knowwhether it was occupied, and by whom. Pitiful to relate, I found thatMrs. Henry was a widow and a helpless invalid. The poor woman was inmortal terror; and it was my hope to return and carry her to someplace of safety, but the swift and deadly tide of war gave me nochance. [Footnote: Mrs. Henry, although confined to her bed, waswounded two or three times, and died soon afterward. ]

"Ricketts' battery had scarcely unlimbered before death was busy amonghis cannoneers and even his horses. The enemy had the cover not onlyof the woods, but of a second growth of pines, which fringed them andcompletely concealed the Rebel sharpshooters. When a man fell, nothingcould be seen but a puff of smoke. These little jets and wreaths ofsmoke half encircled us, and made but a phantom-like target for ourpeople; and I think it speaks well for officers and men that they notonly did their duty, but that Griffin's battery also came up, and thatboth batteries held their own against a terrific pointblank fire fromthe Rebel cannon, which certainly exceeded ours in number. The rangewas exceedingly short, and a more terrific artillery duel it would behard to imagine. At the same time the more deadly little puffs ofsmoke continued; and men in every attitude of duty would suddenlythrow up their hands and fall. The batteries had no business to be soexposed, and their supports were of no real service. 

"I can give you an idea of what occurred at this point only; but, fromthe sounds I heard, there was very heavy fighting elsewhere, which Ifear, however, was too spasmodic and ill-directed to accomplish therequired ends. A heavy, persistent, concentrated attack, a swift pushwith the bayonet through the low pines and woods, would have saved theday. Perhaps our troops were not equal to it; and yet, poor fellows, they did braver things that were utterly useless. 

"I still believe, however, all might have gone well, had it not beenfor a horrible mistake. I was not very far from Captain Griffin, andwas watching his cool, effective superintendence of his guns, whensuddenly I noticed a regiment in full view on our right advancingtoward us. Griffin caught sight of it at the same moment, and seemedamazed. Were they Confederates or National? was the question to bedecided instantly. They might be his own support. Doubtful and yetexceedingly apprehensive, he ordered his guns to be loaded withcanister and trained upon this dubious force that had come into viewlike an apparition; but he still hesitated, restrained, doubtless, bythe fearful thought of annihilating a Union regiment. 

"'Captain, ' said Major Barry, chief of artillery, 'they are yourbattery support. '

"'They are Confederates. ' Griffin replied, intensely excited. 'Ascertain as the world, they are Confederates. '

"'No, ' was the answer, 'I know they are your battery support. '

"I had ridden up within ear-shot, and levelled my glass upon them. 'Don't fire, ' cried Griffin, and he spurred forward to satisfyhimself. 

"At the same moment the regiment, now within short range, by a suddeninstantaneous act levelled their muskets at us. I saw we were doomed, and yet by some instinct tightened my rein while I dug my spurs intomy horse. He reared instantly. I saw a line of fire, and then poorMayburn fell upon me, quivered, and was dead. The body of a man brokemy fall in such a way that I was not hurt. Indeed, at the moment I waschiefly conscious of intense anger and disgust. If Griffin hadfollowed his instinct and destroyed that regiment, as he could havedone by one discharge, the result of the whole battle might have beendifferent. As it was, both his and Rickett's batteries werepractically annihilated. " [Footnote: Since the above was writtenColonel Hasbrouck has given me an account of this crisis in thebattle. He was sufficiently near to hear the conversation found in thetext, and to enable me to supplement it by fuller details. CaptainGriffin emphatically declared that no Union regiment could possiblycome from that quarter, adding, "They are dressed in gray. "

Major Barry with equal emphasis asserted that they were Nationaltroops, and unfortunately we had regiments in gray uniforms. Seeingthat Captain Griffin was not convinced, he said peremptorily, "Icommand you not to fire on that regiment. "

Of course this direct order ended the controversy, and Captain Griffindirected that his guns be shifted again toward the main body of theenemy, while he rode forward a little space to reconnoitre. 

During all this fatal delay the Confederate regiment was approaching, marching by the flank, and so passed at one time within pointblankrange of the guns that would scarcely have left a man upon his feet. The nature of their advance was foolhardy in the extreme, and at thetime that Captain Griffin wished to fire they were practicallyhelpless. A Virginia worm-fence was in their path, and so frightened, nervous, and excited were they that, instead of tearing it down, theybegan clambering over it until by weight and numbers it was trampledunder foot. 

They approached so near that the order to "fire low" was distinctlyheard by our men as the Confederates went into battle-line formation. 

The scene following their volley almost defies description. The horsesattached to caissons not only tore down and through the ascendingNational battle-line, but Colonel--then Lieutenant--Hasbrouck sawseveral teams dash over the knoll toward the Confederate regiment, that opened ranks to let them pass. So novel were the scenes of war atthat time that the Confederates were as much astonished as the membersof the batteries left alive, and at first did not advance, although itwas evident that there were, at the moment, none to oppose them. Thestorm of Rebel bullets had ranged so low that Lieutenant Hasbrouck andCaptain Griffin owed their safety to the fact that they were mounted. The horses of both officers were wounded. On the way down the northernslope of the hill, with the few Union survivors, Captain Griffin metMajor Barry, and in his intense anger and grief reproached himbitterly. The latter gloomily admitted that he had been mistaken. 

Captain Ricketts was wounded, and the battle subsequently surged backand forth over his prostrate form, but eventually he was sent as acaptive to Richmond. ]

The major uttered an imprecation. 

"I was pinned to the ground by the weight of my horse, but not soclosely but that I could look around. The carnage had been frightful. But few were on their feet, and they in rapid motion to the rear. Thehorses left alive rushed down the hill with the caissons, spreadingdismay, confusion, and disorder through the ascending line of battle. Our supporting regiment in the rear, that had been lying on theirarms, sprang to their feet and stood like men paralyzed with horror;meanwhile, the Rebel regiment, re-enforced, was advancing rapidly onthe disabled guns--their defenders lay beneath and around them--firingas they came. Our support gave them one ineffectual volley, thenturned and fled. "

Again the major relieved his mind in his characteristic way. 

"But you, Alford?" cried Grace, leaning forward with clasped hands, while his aunt came and buried her face upon his shoulder. "Are youkeeping your promise to live?" she whispered. 

"Am I not here safe and sound?" he replied, cheerily. "Nothing muchhappened to me, Grace. When I saw the enemy was near, I merely doubledmyself up under my horse, and was nothing to them but a dead Yankee. Iwas only somewhat trodden upon, as I told you, when the Confederatestried to turn the guns against our forces. 

"I fear I am doing a wrong to the ladies by going into thesesanguinary details. "

"No, " said the major, emphatically; "Mrs. Mayburn would have been ageneral had she been a man; and Grace has heard about battles all herlife. It's a great deal better to understand from the start what thiswar means. "

"I especially wished Hilland to hear the details of this battle as faras I saw them, for I think they contain lessons that may be of greatservice to him. That he would engage in the war was a foregoneconclusion from the first; and with his means and ability he may takea very important part in it. But of this later. 

"As I told you, I made the rather close acquaintance of your kin, Grace, and can testify that the 'fa' of their feet' was not 'fairy-like. ' Before they could accomplish their purpose of turning the gunson our lines, I heard the rushing tramp of a multitude, with defiantshouts and yells. Rebels fell around me. The living left the guns, sought to form a line, but suddenly gave way in dire confusion, andfled to the cover from which they came. A moment later a body of ourmen surged like an advancing wave over the spot they had occupied. 

"Now was my chance; and I reached up and seized the hand of a tall, burly Irishman. "What the divil du ye want?" he cried, and in his madexcitement was about to thrust me through for a Confederate. 

"'Halt!' I thundered. The familiar word of command restrained him longenough for me to secure his attention. 'Would you kill a Union man?'"

"'Is it Union ye are? What yez doin' here, thin, widut a uniform?'

"I showed him my badge of correspondent, and explained briefly. 

"Strange as it may seem to you, he uttered a loud, jolly laugh. 'Faix, an' it's a writer ye are. Ye'll be apt to git some memmyrandums theday that ye'll carry about wid ye till ye die, and that may be inabout a minnit. I'll shtop long enough to give yez a lift, or yezhoss, rather;' and he seized poor Mayburn by the head. His excitementseemed to give him the strength of a giant, for in a moment I wasreleased and stood erect. 

"'Give me a musket, ' I cried, 'and I'll stand by you. '

"'Bedad, hilp yersilf, ' he replied, pushing forward. 'There's plentyo' fellers lyin' aroun' that has no use for them;' and he was lost inthe confused advance. 

"All this took place in less time than it takes to describe it, forevents at that juncture were almost as swift as bullets. Lame as Iwas, I hobbled around briskly, and soon secured a good musket with asupply of cartridges. As with the rest, my blood was up--don't smile, Hilland: I had been pretty cool until the murderous discharge thatkilled my horse--and I was soon in the front line, firing with therest. 

"Excited as I was, I saw that our position was desperate, for a heavyforce of Confederates was swarming toward us. I looked around and sawthat part of our men were trying to drag off the guns. This seemed themore important work; and discretion also whispered that with mybruised foot I should be captured in five minutes unless I was furtherto the rear. So I took a pull at a gun; but we had made littleprogress before there was another great surging wave from the otherdirection, and our forces were swept down the hill again, I along withthe rest. The confusion was fearful; the regiments with which I hadbeen acting went all to pieces, and had no more organization than ifthey had been mixed up by a whirlwind. 

"I was becoming too lame to walk, and found myself in a seriousdilemma. " "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Hilland. "It was just becomingserious, eh?"

"Well, I didn't realize my lameness before; and as retreat was soon tobe order of the day, there was little prospect of my doing my share. As I was trying to extricate myself from the shattered regiments, Isaw a riderless horse plunging toward me. To seize his bridle andclimb into the saddle was the work of a moment; and I felt that, unlike McDowell, I was still master of the situation. Working my outof the press and to our right, I saw that another charge for the gunsby fresh troops was in progress. It seemed successful at first. Theguns were retaken, but soon the same old story was repeated, and acorresponding rush from the other side swept our men back. 

"Would you believe it, this capture and recapture occurred severaltimes. A single regiment even would dash forward, and actually drivethe Rebels back, only to lose a few moments later what they hadgained. Never was there braver fighting, never worse tactics. Therepeated successes of small bodies of troops proved that a compactbattle line could have swept the ridge, and not only retaken the guns, but made them effective in the conflict. As it was, the two sidesworried and tore each other like great dogs, governed merely by theimpulse and instinct of fight. The batteries were the bone betweenthem. 

"This senseless, wasteful struggle could not go on forever. That itlasted as long as it did speaks volumes in favor of the material ofwhich our future soldiers are to be made. As I rode slowly from theline and scene of actual battle, of which I had had enough, I becamedisheartened. We had men in plenty--there were thousands on everyside--but in what condition! There was no appearance of fear among themen I saw at about four P. M. (I can only guess the time, for my watchhad stopped), but abundant evidence of false confidence and still moreof the indifference of men who feel they have done all that should berequired of them and are utterly fagged out. Multitudes, both officersand privates, were lying and lounging around waiting for theircomrades to finish the ball. 

"For instance, I would ask a man to what regiment he belonged, and hewould tell me. 

"'Where is it?'

"'Hanged if I know. Saw a lot of the boys awhile ago. '

"Said an officer in answer to my inquiries, 'No; I don't know wherethe colonel is, and I don't care. After one of our charges we alladjourned like a town meeting. I'm played out; have been on my feetsince one o'clock last night. '

"These instances were characteristic of the state of affairs incertain parts of the field that I visited. Plucky or conscientiousfellows would join their comrades in the fight without caring whatregiment they acted with; but the majority of the great disorganizedmass did what they pleased, after the manner of a country fair, crowding in all instances around places where water could be obtained. Great numbers had thrown away their canteens and provisions, as tooheavy to carry in the heat, or as impediments in action. Officers andmen were mixed up promiscuously, hobnobbing and chaffing in a languidway, and talking over their experiences, as if they were neighbors athome. The most wonderful part of it all was that they had no sense oftheir danger and of the destruction they were inviting by theirunsoldierly course. 

"I tried to impress these dangers on one or two, but the reply was, 'Oh, hang it! The Rebs are as badly used up as we are. Don't you seethings are growing more quiet? Give us a rest!'

"By this time I had worked my way well to my right, and was on alittle eminence watching our line advance, wondering at the spiritwith which the fight was still maintained. Indeed, I grew hopeful oncemore as I saw the good work that the regiments still intact weredoing. There was much truth in the remark that the Rebels were used upalso, unless they had reserves of which we knew nothing. At that timewe had no idea that we had been fighting, not only Beauregard, butalso Johnson from the Shenandoah. 

"My hope was exceedingly intensified by the appearance of a long lineof troops emerging from the woods on our flank and rear, for I neverdreamed that they could be other than our own re-enforcements. Suddenly I caught sight of a flag which I had learned to know toowell. The line halted a moment, muskets were levelled, and I foundmyself in a perfect storm of bullets. I assure you I made a rapidchange of base, for when our line turned I should be between twofires. As it was, I was cut twice in this arm while galloping away. Ina few moments a battery also opened upon our flank; and it became ascertain as day that a large Confederate force from some quarter hadbeen hurled upon the flank and rear of our exhausted forces. Thebelief that Johnson's army had arrived spread like wildfire. Howabsurd and crude it all seems now! We had been fighting Johnson fromthe first. 

"All aggressive action on our part now ceased; and as if governed byone common impulse, the army began its retreat. 

"Try to realize it. Our retirement was not ordered. There werethousands to whom no order could be given unless with a voice like athunder peal. Indeed, one may say, the order was given by the thunderof that battery on our flank. It was heard throughout the field; andthe army, acting as individuals or in detachments, decided to leave. To show how utterly bereft of guidance, control, and judgment were ourforces, I have merely to say that each man started back by exactly thesame route he had come, just as a horse would do, while right beforethem was the Warrenton Pike, a good, straight road direct toCenterville, which was distant but little over four miles. 

"This disorganized, exhausted mob was as truly in just the fatalcondition for the awful contagion we call 'panic' as it would havebeen from improper food and other causes, for some other epidemic. TheGreeks, who always had a reason for everything, ascribed the namelessdread, the sudden and unaccountable fear, which bereaves men ofmanhood and reason, to the presence of a god. It is simply a latenthuman weakness, which certain conditions rarely fail to develop. Theywere all present at the close of that fatal day. I tell you franklythat I felt something of it myself, and at a time, too, when I knew Iwas not in the least immediate danger. To counteract it I turned androde deliberately toward the enemy, and the emotion passed. I halfbelieve, however, that if I had yielded, it would have carried me awaylike an attack of the plague. The moral of it all is, that theconditions of the disease should be guarded against. 

"When it became evident that the army was uncontrollable and wasleaving the field, I pressed my way to the vicinity of McDowell to seewhat he would do. What could he do? I never saw a man so overwhelmedwith astonishment and anger. Almost to the last I believe he expectedto win the day. He and his officers commanded, stormed, entreated. Hemight as well have tried to stop Niagara above the falls as that humantide. He sent orders in all directions for a general concentration atCenterville, and then with certain of his staff galloped away. I triedto follow, but was prevented by the interposing crowd. 

"I then joined a detachment of regulars and marines, who marchedquietly in prompt obedience of orders; and we made our way through thedisorder like a steamer through the surging waves. All the treatiseson discipline that were ever written would not have been so convincingas that little oasis of organization. They marched very slowly, andoften halted to cover the retreat. 

"I had now seen enough on the further bank of Bull Run, and resolvedto push ahead as fast as my horse would walk to the eastern side. Moreover, my leg and wounds were becoming painful, and I wasexceedingly weary. I naturally followed the route taken by Tyler'scommand in coming upon and returning from the field, and crossed BullRun some distance above the Stone Bridge. The way was so impeded byfugitives that my progress was slow, but when I at last reached theWarrenton Turnpike and proceeded toward a wretched little streamcalled Cub Run, I witnessed a scene that beggars description. 

"Throughout the entire day, and especially in the afternoon, vehiclesof every description--supply wagons, ambulances, and the carriages ofcivilians--had been congregating in the Pike vicinity of Stone Bridge. When the news of the defeat reached this point, and the roar of cannonand musketry began to approach instead of recede, a general movementtoward Centerville began. This soon degenerated into the wildestpanic, and the road was speedily choked by storming, cursing, terror-stricken men, who in their furious haste, defeated their own effortsto escape. It was pitiful, it was shameful, to see ambulances full ofthe wounded shoved to one side and left by the cowardly thieves whohad galloped away on the horses. It was one long scene of wreck andruin, through which pressed a struggling, sweating, cursing throng. Horses with their traces cut, and carrying two and even three men, were urged on and over everybody that could not get out of the way. Everything was abandoned that would impede progress, and arms andproperty of all kinds were left as a rich harvest for the pursuingConfederates. Their cavalry, hovering near, like hawks eager for theprey, made dashes here and there, as opportunity offered. 

"I picked my way through the woods rather than take my chances in theroad, and so my progress was slow. To make matters tenfold worse, Ifound when I reached the road leading to the north through the 'BigWoods' that the head of the column that had come all the way around bySudley's Ford, the route of the morning march, was mingling with themasses already thronging the Pike. The confusion, the selfish, remorseless scramble to get ahead, seemed as horrible as it could be;but imagine the condition of affairs when on reaching the vicinity ofCub Run we found that a Rebel battery had opened upon the bridge, ouronly visible means of crossing. A few moments later, from a littleeminence, I saw a shot take effect on a team of horses; and a heavycaisson was overturned directly in the centre of the bridge, barringall advance, while the mass of soldiers, civilians, and nondescriptarmy followers, thus detained under fire, became perfectly wild withterror. The caisson was soon removed, and the throng rushed on. 

"I had become so heart-sick, disgusted, and weary of the whole thing, that my one impulse was to reach Centerville, where I supposed weshould make a stand. As I was on the north side of the Pike, I skirtedup the stream with a number of others until we found a place where wecould scramble across, and soon after we passed within a brigade ofour troops that were thrown across the road to check the probablepursuit of the enemy. 

"On reaching Centerville, we found everything in the direst confusion. Colonel Miles, who commanded the reserves at that point, was unfit forthe position, and had given orders that had imperilled the entirearmy. It was said that the troops which had come around by Sudley'sford had lost all their guns at Cub Run; and the fugitives arrivingwere demoralized to the last degree. Indeed, a large part of the army, without waiting for orders or paying heed to any one, continued theirflight toward Washington. Holding the bridle of my horse, I lay downnear headquarters to rest and to learn what would be done. A councilof war was held, and as the result we were soon on the retreat again. The retreat, or panic-stricken flight rather, had, in fact, neverceased on the part of most of those who had been in the main battle. That they could keep up this desperate tramp was a remarkable exampleof human endurance when sustained by excitement, fear, or any strongemotion. The men who marched or fled on Sunday night had already beenon their feet twenty-four hours, and the greater part of them hadexperienced the terrific strain of actual battle. 

"My story has already been much too long. From the daily journals youhave learned pretty accurately what occurred after we reachedCenterville. Richardson's and Blenker's brigades made a quiet andorderly retreat when all danger to the main body was over. The sickand wounded were left behind with spoils enough to equip a good-sizedConfederate army. I followed the headquarters escort, and eventuallymade my way into Washington in the drenching rain of Monday, and foundthe city crowded with fugitives to whom the loyal people wereextending unbounded hospitality. I felt ill and feverish, and yieldedto the impulse to reach home; and I never acted more wisely. 

"Now you have the history of my first battle; and may I never see onelike it again. And yet I believe the battle of Bull Run will becomeone of the most interesting studies of American history and character. On our side it was not directed by generals, according to the rules ofwar. It was fought by Northern men after their own fashion andaccording to their native genius; and I shall ever maintain that itwas fought far better than could have been expected of militia whoknew less of the practical science of war than of the philosophy ofPlato. 

"The moral of my story, Hilland, scarcely needs pointing; and itapplies to us both. When we go, let us go as soldiers; and if we haveonly a corporal's command, let us lead soldiers. The grand Northernonset of which you have dreamed so long has been made. You have seenthe result. You have the means and ability to equip and command aregiment. Infuse into it your own spirit; and at the same time make ita machine that will hold together as long as you have a man left. "

"Graham, " said Hilland, slowly and deliberately, "there is noresisting the logic of events. You have convinced me of my error, andI shall follow your advice. "

"And, Grace, " concluded Graham, "believe me, by so doing he addstenfold to his chances of living to a good old age. "

"Yes, " she said, looking at him gratefully through tear-dimmed eyes. "You have convinced me of that also. "

"Instead of rushing off to some out-of-the-way place or camp, he mustspend months in recruiting and drilling his men; and you can be withhim. "

"Oh, Alford!" she exclaimed, "is that the heavenly logic of your long, terrible story?"

"It's the rational logic; you could not expect any other kind fromme. "

"Well, Graham, " ejaculated the major, with a long sigh of relief, "Iwouldn't have missed your account of the battle for a year's pay. Andmark my words, young men, you may not live to see it, or I either, butthe North will win in this fight. That's the fact that I'm convincedof in spite of the panic. "

"The fact that I'm convinced of, " said Mrs. Mayburn brusquely, moppingher eyes meanwhile, "is that Alford needs rest. I'm going to take himhome at once. " And the young man seconded her in spite of allprotestations. 

"Dear, vigilant old aunty, " said Graham, when they were alone, "youknow when I have reached the limit of endurance. "

"Ah! Alford, Alford, " moaned the poor woman, "I fear you are seekingdeath in this war. "

He looked at her tenderly for a moment, and then said, "Hereafter Iwill try to take no greater risks than a soldier's duties require. "

CHAPTER XXII

SELF-SENTENCED

Days, weeks, and months with their changes came and went. Hilland, with characteristic promptness, carried out his friend's suggestion;and through his own means and personal efforts, in great measure, recruited and equipped a regiment of cavalry. He was eager that hisfriend should take a command in it; but Graham firmly refused. 

"Our relations are too intimate for discipline, " he said. "We might beplaced in situations wherein our friendship would embarrass us. "

Grace surmised that he had another reason; for, as time passed, shesaw less and less of him. He had promptly obtained a lieutenancy in aregiment that was being recruited at Washington; and by the time herhusband's regiment reached that city, the more disciplinedorganization to which Graham was attached was ordered out on theVirginia picket line beyond Arlington Heights. 

Hilland, with characteristic modesty, would not take the colonelcy ofthe regiment that he chiefly had raised; but secured for the place afine officer of the regular army, and contented himself with acaptaincy. "Efficiency of the service is what I am aiming at, " hesaid. "I would much rather rise by merit from the ranks than command abrigade by favor. "

Unlike many men of wealth, he had a noble repugnance to taking anypublic advantage of it; and the numerous officers of the time that hadobtained their positions by influence were his detestation. 

Graham's predictions in regard to Grace were fulfilled. For longmonths she saw her husband almost daily, and, had it not been for thecloud that hung over the future, it would have been one of thehappiest periods of her life. She saw Hilland engaged in tasks thatbrought him a deep and growing satisfaction. She saw her father in hisvery element. There were no more days of dulness and weariness forhim. The daily journals teemed with subjects of interest, and withtheir aid he planned innumerable campaigns. Military men were comingand going, and with these young officers the veteran was an oracle. Hegave Hilland much shrewd advice; and even when it was not good, it waslistened to with deference, and so the result was just as agreeable tothe major. 

What sweeter joy is there for the aged than to sit in the seat ofjudgment and counsel, and feel that the world would go awry were itnot for the guidance and aid of their experience! Alas for the poorold major, and those like him! The world does not grow old as they do. It only changes and becomes more vast and complicated. What was wisestand best in their day becomes often as antiquated as the culverin thatonce defended castellated ramparts. 

Happily the major had as yet no suspicion of this; and when he andGrace accompanied Hilland and his regiment to Washington, the measureof his content was full. There he could daily meet other veterans ofthe regular service; and in listening to their talk, one might imaginethat McClellan had only to attend their sittings to learn how tosubdue the rebellion within a few months. These veterans were notbitter partisans. General Robert E. Lee was "Bob Lee" to them; and theother chiefs of the Confederacy were spoken of by some familiar_sobriquet_, acquired in many instances when boys at West Point. They would have fought these old friends and acquaintances to thebitter end, according to the tactics of the old school; but after thebattle, those that survived would have hobnobbed together over abottle of wine as sociably as if they had been companions in arms. 

Mrs. Mayburn accompanied the major's party to Washington, for, as shesaid, she was "hungry for a sight of her boy. " As often as his dutiespermitted, Graham rode in from the front to see her. But it began tobe noticed that after these visits he ever sought some perilous dutyon the picket line, or engaged in some dash at the enemy or guerillasin the vicinity. He could not visit his aunt without seeing Grace, whose tones were now so gentle when she spoke to him, and so full ofher heart's deep gratitude, that a renewal of his old fierce fever ofunrest was the result. He was already gaining a reputation for extremedaring, combined with unusual coolness and vigilance; and before thecampaign of '62 opened he had been promoted to a first lieutenancy. 

Time passed; the angry torrent of the war broadened and deepened. Menand measures that had stood out like landmarks were engulfed andforgotten. 

It goes without saying that the friends did their duty in camp andfield. There were no more panics. The great organizer, McClellan, hadmade soldiers of the vast army; and had he been retained in theservice as the creator of armies for other men to lead, his laborswould have been invaluable. 

At last, to the deep satisfaction of Graham and Hilland, theirregiments were brigaded together, and they frequently met. It was thennear the close of the active operations of '62, and the friends nowranked as Captain Graham and Major Hilland. Notwithstanding thereverses suffered by the Union arms, the young men's confidence wasunabated as to the final issue. Hilland had passed through severalsevere conflicts, and his name had been mentioned by reason of hisgallantry. Grace began to feel that fate could never be so cruel as todestroy her very life in his life. She saw that her father exultedmore over her husband's soldierly qualities than in all his wealth;and although they spent the summer season as usual at the seaside withMrs. Mayburn, the hearts of all three were following two regimentsthrough the forests and fields of Virginia. Half a score of journalswere daily searched for items concerning them, and the arrival of themails was the event of the day. 

There came a letter in the autumn which filled the heart of Grace withimmeasurable joy and very, very deep sadness. Mrs. Mayburn wasstricken to the heart, and would not be comforted, while the old majorswore and blessed God by turns. 

The cause was this. The brigade with which the friends were connectedwas sent on a _reconnaissance_, and they felt the enemy stronglybefore retiring, which at last they were compelled to doprecipitately. It so happened that Hilland commanded the rear-guard. In an advance he ever led; on a retreat he was apt to keep well to therear. In the present instance the pursuit had been prompt anddetermined, and he had been compelled to make more than one repellingcharge to prevent the retiring column from being pressed too hard. Hiscommand had thus lost heavily, and at last overwhelming numbers drovethem back at a gallop. 

Graham, in the rear of the main column, which had just crossed a smallwooden bridge over a wide ditch or little run through the fields, sawthe headlong retreat of Hilland's men, and he instantly deployed hiscompany that he might check the close pursuit by a volley. As theUnion troopers neared the bridge it was evidently a race for life andliberty, for they were outnumbered ten to one. In a few moments theybegan to pour over, but Hilland did not lead. They were nearly allacross, but their commander was not among them; and Graham was wildwith anxiety as he sat on his horse at the right of his line waitingto give the order to fire. Suddenly, in the failing light of theevening, he saw Hilland with his right arm hanging helpless, spurringa horse badly blown; while gaining fast upon him were four savage-looking Confederates, their sabres emitting a steely, deadly sheen, and uplifted to strike the moment they could reach him. 

With the rapidity of light, Graham's eye measured the distance betweenhis friend and the bridge, and his instantaneous conviction was thatHilland was doomed, for he could not order a volley without killinghim almost to a certainty. At that supreme crisis, the suggestionpassed through his mind like a lurid flash, "In a few moments Hillandwill be dead, and Grace may yet be mine. "

Then, like an avenging demon, the thought confronted him. He saw it inits true aspect, and in an outburst of self-accusing fury he passedthe death sentence on himself. Snatching out the long, straight swordhe carried, he struck with the spur the noble horse he bestrode, gavehim the rein, and made straight for the deep, wide ditch. There was notime to go around by the bridge, which was still impeded by the lastof the fugitives. 

His men held their breath as they saw his purpose. The feat seemedimpossible; but as his steed cleared the chasm by a magnificent bound, a loud cheer rang down the line. The next moment Hilland, who hadmentally said farewell to his wife, saw Graham passing him like athunderbolt. There was an immediate clash of steel, and then theforemost pursuer was down, cleft to the jaw. The next shared the samefate; for Graham, in what he deemed his death struggle, had almostceased to be human. His spirit, stung to a fury that it had neverknown and would never know again, blazed in his eyes and flashed inthe lightning play of his sword. The two others pursuers reined uptheir steeds and sought to attack him on either side. He threw his ownhorse back almost upon his haunches, and was on his guard, meaning tostrike home the moment the fence of his opponents permitted. At thisinstant, however, there were a dozen shots from the swarming Rebels, that were almost upon him, and he and his horse were seen to fall tothe ground. Meantime Hilland had instinctively tried to rein in hishorse, that he might return to the help of his friend, although fromhis wound he could render no aid. Some of his own men who had crossedthe bridge, and in a sense of safety had regained their wits, saw hispurpose, and dashing back, they formed a body-guard around him, anddragged his horse swiftly beyond the line of battle. 

A yell of anger accompanied by a volley came from Graham's men that hehad left in line, and a dozen Confederate saddles were emptied; buttheir return fire was so deadly, and their numbers were sooverwhelming, that the officer next in command ordered retreat at agallop. Hilland, in his anguish, would not have left his friend hadnot his men grasped his rein and carried him off almost by force. Meanwhile the darkness set in so rapidly that the pursuit soonslackened and ceased. 

During the remainder of the ride back to their camp, which was reachedlate at night, the ardent-natured Hilland was almost demented. Hewept, raved, and swore. He called himself an accursed coward, that hehad left the friend who had saved his life. His broken arm was asnothing to him, and eventually the regimental surgeon had toadminister strong opiates to quiet him. 

When late the next day he awoke, it all came back to him with a dullyheavy ache at heart. Nothing could be done. His mind, now restored toits balance, recognized the fact. The brigade was under orders to moveto another point, and he was disabled and compelled to take a leave ofabsence until fit for duty. The inexorable mechanism of military lifemoves on, without the slightest regard for the individual; andGraham's act was only one of the many heroic deeds of the war, someseen and more unnoted. 

CHAPTER XXIII

AN EARLY DREAM FULFILLED

A few days later Grace welcomed her husband with a long, closeembrace, but with streaming eyes; while he bowed his head upon hershoulder and groaned in the bitterness of his spirit. 

"Next to losing you, Grace, " he said, "this is the heaviest blow Icould receive; and to think that he gave his life for me! How can Iever face Mrs. Mayburn?"

But his wife comforted him as only she knew how to soothe and bless;and Mrs. Mayburn saw that he was as sincere a mourner as herself. Moreover they would not despair of Graham, for although he had beenseen to fall, he might only have been wounded and made a prisoner. Thus the bitterness of their grief was mitigated by hope. 

This hope was fulfilled in a most unexpected way, by a cheerful letterfrom Graham himself; and the explanation of this fact requires thatthe story should return to him. 

He thought that the sentence of death which he had passed upon himselfhad been carried into effect. He had felt himself falling, and thenthere had been sudden darkness. Like a dim taper flickering in thenight, the spark of life began to kindle again. At first he wasconscious of but one truth-that he was not dead. Where he now was, inthis world or some other, what he now was, he did not know; but theessential _ego_, Alford Graham, had not ceased to exist. The factfilled him with a dull, wondering awe. Memory slowly revived, and itslast impression was that he was to die and had died, and yet he wasnot dead. 

As a man's characteristic traits will first assert themselves, he laystill and feebly tried to comprehend it all. Suddenly a strange, horrid sound smote upon his senses and froze his blood with dread. Itmust be life after death, for only his mind appeared to have anyexistence. He could not move. Again the unearthly sound, which couldnot be a human shriek, was repeated; and by half-involuntary anddesperate effort he started up and looked around. The scene at firstwas obscure, confused, and awful. His eye could not explain it, and heinstinctively stretched out his hands; and through the sense of touchall that had happened came back to his confused brain. He first feltof himself, passed his hand over his forehead, his body, his limbs: hecertainly was in the flesh, and that to his awakening intelligencemeant much, since it accorded with his belief that life and the bodywere inseparable. Then he felt around him in the darkness, and hishands touched the grassy field. This fact righted him speedily. As inthe old fable, when he touched the earth he was strong. He next notedthat his head rested on a smooth rock that rose but little above theplain, and that he must have fallen upon it. He sat up and lookedaround; and as the brain gradually resumed its action after itsterrible shock, the situation became intelligible. The awful soundsthat he had heard came from a wounded horse that was struggling feeblyin the light of the rising moon, now in her last quarter. He was uponthe scene of last evening's conflict, and the obscure objects that layabout him were the bodies of the dead. Yes, there before him were thetwo men he had killed; and their presence brought such a strong senseof repugnance and horror that he sprang to his feet and recoiled away. 

He looked around. There was not a living object in sight except thedying horse. The night wind moaned about him, and soughed and sighedas if it were a living creature mourning over the scene. 

It became clear to him that he had been left as dead. Yes, and he hadbeen robbed, too; for he shivered, and found that his coat and vestwere gone, also his hat, his money, his watch, and his boots. Hewalked unsteadily to the little bridge, and where he had left his lineof faithful men, all was dark and silent. With a great throb of joy heremembered that Hilland must have sped across that bridge to safety, while he had expiated his evil thought. 

He then returned and circled around the place. He was evidently alone;but the surmise occurred to him that the Confederates would return inthe morning to bury their dead, and if he would escape he must actpromptly. And yet he could not travel in his present condition. Hemust at least have hat, coat, and boots. His only resource was to takethem from the dead; but the thought of doing so was horrible to him. Reason about it as he might, he drew near their silent forms with anuncontrollable repugnance. He almost gave up his purpose, and took afew hasty steps away, but a thorn pierced his foot and taught him hisfolly. Then his imperious will asserted itself, and with animprecation on his weakness he returned to the nearest silent form, and took from it a limp felt hat, a coat, and a pair of boots, allmuch the worse for wear; and having arrayed himself in these, startedon the trail of the Union force. 

He had not gone over a mile when, on surmounting an eminence, he sawby dying fires in a grove beneath him that he was near the bivouac ofa body of soldiers. He hardly hoped they could be a detachment ofUnion men; and yet the thought that it was possible led him toapproach stealthily within earshot. At last he heard one patrol speakto another in unmistakable Southern accent, and he found that theenemy was in his path. 

Silently as a ghost he stole away, and sought to make a wide detour tothe left, but soon lost himself hopelessly in a thick wood. At last, wearied beyond mortal endurance, he crawled into what seemed theobscurest place he could find, and lay down and slept. 

The sun was above the horizon when he awoke, stiff, sore, and hungry, but refreshed, rested. A red squirrel was barking at him derisivelyfrom a bough near, but no other evidences of life were to be seen. Sitting up, he tried to collect his thoughts and decide upon hiscourse. It at once occurred to him that he would be missed, and thatpursuit might be made with hounds. At once he sprang to his feet andmade his way toward a valley, which he hoped would be drained by arunning stream. The welcome sound of water soon guided him, andpushing through the underbrush he drank long and deeply, bathed theugly bruise on his head, and then waded up the current. 

He had not gone much over half a mile before he saw through an openinga negro gazing wonderingly at him. "Come here, my good fellow, " hecried. 

The man approached slowly, cautiously. 

"I won't hurt you, " Graham resumed; "indeed you can see that I'm inyour power. Won't you help me?"

"Dunno, mas'r, " was the non-committal reply. 

"Are you in favor of Lincoln's men or the Confederates?" "Dunno, mas'r. It 'pends. "

"It depends upon what?"

"On whedder you'se a Linkum man or 'Federate. "

"Well, then, here's the truth. The Lincoln men are your best friends, if you've sense enough to know it; and I'm one of them. I was in thefight off there yesterday, and am trying to escape. "

"Oh golly! I'se sense enough;" and the genial gleam of the man's ivorywas an omen of good to Graham. "But, " queried the negro, "how you wear'Federate coat and hat?"

"Because I was left for dead, and mine were stolen. I had to wearsomething. The Confederates don't wear blue trousers like these. "

"Dat's so; an' I knows yer by yer talk and look. I knows a 'Federatewell as I does a coon. But dese yere's mighty ticklish times; an' anigger hab no show ef he's foun' meddlin'. What's yer gwine ter do?"

"Perhaps you can advise me. I'm afraid they'll put hounds on my trail"

"Dat dey will, if dey misses yer. "

"Well, that's the reason I'm here in the stream. But I can't keep thisup long. I'm tired and hungry. I've heard that you people befriendedLincoln's men. We are going to win, and now's the time for you to makefriends with those who will soon own this country. "

"Ob corse, you'se a-gwine ter win. Linkum is de Moses we're all a-lookin' ter. At all our meetin's we'se a-prayin' for him and to him. He's de Lord's right han' to lead we alls out ob bondage. "

"Well, I swear to you I'm one of his men. "

"I knows you is, and I'se a-gwine to help you, houn's or no houn's. Keep up de run a right smart ways, and you'se'll come ter a big flatstun'. Stan' dar in de water, an I'll be dar wid help. " And the mandisappeared in a long swinging run, Graham did as he was directed, and finally reached a flat rock, fromwhich through the thick bordering growth something like a path ledaway. He waited until his patience was wellnigh exhausted, and thenheard far back upon his trail the faint bay of a hound. He was aboutto push his way on up the stream, when there was a sound of hastysteps, and his late acquaintance with another stalwart fellowappeared. 

"Dere's no time ter lose, mas'r. Stan' whar you is, " and in a momenthe splashed in beside him. "Now get on my back. Jake dar will spell mewhen I wants him; fer yer feet mustn't touch de groun';" and away theywent up the obscure path. 

This was a familiar mode of locomotion to Graham, for he had beencarried thus by the hour over the mountain passes of Asia. They hadnot gone far before they met two or three colored women with a basketof clothes. 

"Dat's right, " said Graham's conveyance; "wash away right smart, anddunno nothin'. Yer see, " he continued, "dis yer is Sunday, and we'senot in de fields, an de women folks can help us;" and Graham thoughthat the old superstition of a Sabbath has served him well for once. 

They soon left the path and entered some very heavy timber, through anopening of which he saw the negro quarters and plantation dwellings inthe distance. 

At last they stopped before an immense tree. Some brush was pushedaside, revealing an aperture through which Graham was directed tocrawl, and he found himself within a heart of oak. 

"Dar's room enough in dar ter sit down, " said his sable friend. "An'you'se 'll find a jug ob milk an' a pone ob corn meal. Luck ter yer. Don't git lonesome like and come out. We'se a-gwine ter look ateryer;" and the opening was hidden by brush again, and Graham was leftalone. 

From a small aperture above his head a pencil of sunlight traversedthe gloom, to which his eyes soon grew accustomed, and he saw a rudeseat and the food mentioned. By extending his feet slightly throughthe opening by which he had entered, he found the seat reallycomfortable; and the coarse fare was ambrosial to his ravenousappetite. Indeed, he began to enjoy the adventure. His place ofconcealment was so unexpected and ingenious that it gave him a senseof security. He had ever had a great love for trees, and now it seemedas if one had opened its very heart to hide him. 

Then his hosts and defenders interested him exceedingly. By reason ofresidence in New England and his life abroad, he was not familiar withthe negro, especially his Southern type. Their innocent guile andpreposterous religious belief amused him. He both smiled and wonderedat their faith in "Linkum, " whom at that time he regarded as a longheaded, uncouth Western politician, who had done not a little mischiefof interfering with the army. 

"It is ever so with all kinds of superstition and sentimental belief, "he soliloquized. "Some conception of the mind is embodied, or someobject is idealized and magnified until the original is lost sight of, and men come to worship a mere fancy of their own. Then some mind, stronger and more imaginative than the average, gives shape and formto this confused image; and so there grows in time a belief, atheology, or rather a mythology. To think that this Lincoln, whom I'veseen in attitudes anything but divine, and telling broad, coarsestories--to think that he should be a demigod, antitype of thevenerated Hebrew! In truth it leads one to suspect, according toanalogy, that Moses was a money-making Jew, and his effort to lead hispeople to Palestine an extensive land speculation. "

Graham lived to see the day when he acknowledged that the poor negroesof the most remote plantations had a truer conception of the grandproportions of Lincoln's character at that time than the majority ofhis most cultivated countrymen. 

His abstract speculations were speedily brought to a close by thenearer baying of hounds as they surmounted an eminence over which layhis trail. On came the hunt, with its echoes rising and falling withthe wind or the inequalities of the ground, until it burst deep-mouthed and hoarse over the brow of the hill that sloped to thestream. Then there were confused sounds, both of the dogs and of men'svoices, which gradually approached until there was a pause, causedundoubtedly by a colloquy with Aunt Sheba and her associatewasherwomen. It did not last very long; and then, to Graham's dismay, the threatening sounds were renewed, and seemed coming directly towardhim. He soon gave up all hope, and felt that he had merely tocongratulate himself that, from the nature of his hiding-place, hecould not be torn by the dogs, when he perceived that the hunt wascoming no nearer--in brief, that it was passing. He then understoodthat his refuge must be near the bed of the stream, from which hispursuers were seeking on either side his diverging trail. This factrelieved him at once, and quietly he listened to the sounds, dyingaway as they had come. 

As the sun rose higher the ray of light sloped downward until itdisappeared; and in the profound gloom and quiet he fell asleep. Hewas awaked by hearing a voice call, "Mas'r. "

Looking down, he saw that the brush had been removed, and that theopening was partially obstructed by a goblin-like head with littlehorns rising all over it. 

"Mas'r, " said the apparition, "Aunt Sheba sends you dis, and sez deLord be wid you. "

"Thanks for Aunt Sheba, and you, too, whatever you are, " cried Graham;and to gratify his curiosity he sprang down on his knees and peeredout in time to see a little negro girl replacing the brush, while whathe had mistaken for horns was evidently the child's manner of wearingher hair. He then gave his attention to the material portion of AuntSheba's offering, and found a rude sort of platter, or low basket, made of corn husks, and in this another jug of milk, corn bread, and adelicious broiled chicken done to that turn of perfection of whichonly the colored aunties of the South are capable. 

"Well!" ejaculated Graham. "From this day I'm an abolitionist, aRepublican of the blackest dye. " A little later he added, "Any racethat can produce a woman capable of such cookery as this has a futurebefore it. "

Indeed, the whole affair was taking such an agreeable turn that he wasinclined to be jocular. 

After another long sleep in the afternoon, he was much refreshed, andeager to rejoin his command. But Issachar, or Iss, as his associatescalled him, the negro who had befriended him in the first instance, came and explained that the whole country was full of Confederates;and that it might be several days before it would be safe to seek theUnion lines. 

"We'se all lookin' out fer yer, mas'r, " he continued; "you won't wantfor nothin'. An' we won't kep yer in dis woodchuck hole arter nine obde ev'nin'. Don't try ter come out. I'm lookin' t'oder way while I'sea-talkin. Mean niggers an' 'Federates may be spyin' aroun'. But Ireckon not; I'se laid in de woods all day, a-watchin'. 

"Now I tell yer what 'tis, mas'r, I'se made up my mine to put out obheah. I'se gwine ter jine de Linkum men fust chance I gits. An' ifyer'll wait an' trus' me, I'll take yer slick and clean; fer I knowdis yer country and ebery hole whar ter hide well as a fox. If I gitssafe ter de Linkum folks, yer'll say a good word fer Iss, I reckon. "

"Indeed, I will. If you wish, I'll take you into my own service, andpay you good wages. "

"Done, by golly; and when dey cotch us, dey'll cotch a weasel asleep. "

"But haven't you a wife and children?"

"Oh, yah. I'se got a wife, an' I'se got a lot ob chillen somewhar inde 'Fed'racy; but I'll come wid you uns bime by, an' gedder up all Ican fine. I'se 'll come 'long in de shank ob de ev'nin', mas'r, andguv yer a shakedown in my cabin, an' I'll watch while yer sleeps. DenI'll bring yer back heah befo' light in de mawnin'. "

The presence of Confederate forces required these precautions forseveral days, and Iss won Graham's whole heart by his unweariedpatience and vigilance. But the young man soon prevailed on thefaithful fellow to sleep nights while he watched; for after the longinaction of the day he was almost wild for exercise. Cautious Isswould have been nearly crazed with anxiety had he known of the_reconnaissances_ in which his charge indulged while he slept. Graham succeeded in making himself fully master of the disposition ofthe Rebel forces in the vicinity, and eventually learned that thegreater part of them had been withdrawn. When he had communicated thisintelligence to Iss, they prepared to start for the Union lines on thefollowing night, which proved dark and stormy. 

Iss, prudent man, kept the secret of his flight from even his wife, and satisfied his marital compunctions by chucking her under the chinand calling her "honey" once or twice while she got supper for him. Ateight in the evening he summoned Graham from his hiding-place, and ledhim, with almost the unerring instinct of some wild creature of thenight, due northeast, the direction in which the Union forces weresaid to be at that time. It was a long, desolate tramp, and the dawnfound them drenched and weary. But the glorious sun rose warm andbright, and in a hidden glade of the forest they dried their clothes, rested, and refreshed themselves. After a long sleep in a densethicket they were ready to resume their journey at nightfall. Issproved an invaluable guide, for, concealing Graham, he would stealaway, communicate with the negroes, and bring fresh provisions. 

On the second night he learned that there was a Union force not veryfar distant to the north of their line of march. Graham had good causeto wonder at the sort of freemasonry that existed among the negroes, and the facility with which they obtained and transmitted secretintelligence. Still more had he reason to bless their almost universalfidelity to the Union cause. 

Another negro joined them as guide, and in the gray of the morningthey approached the Union pickets. Graham deemed it wise to wait tillthey could advance openly and boldly; and by nine o'clock he wasreceived with acclamations by his own regiment as one risen from thedead. 

After congratulations and brief explanations were over, his first taskwas to despatch the two brief letters mentioned, to his aunt andHilland, in time to catch the daily mail that left their advancedposition. Then he saw his brigade commander, and made it clear to himthat with a force of about two regiments he could strike a heavy blowagainst the Confederates whom he had been reconnoitring; and heoffered to act as guide. His proposition was accepted, and theattacking force started that very night. By forced marches theysucceeded in surprising the Confederate encampment and in capturing alarge number of prisoners. Iss also surprised his wife and Aunt Shebaeven more profoundly, and before their exclamations ceased he hadbundled them and their meagre belongings into a mule cart, with suchof the "chillen" as had been left to him, and was followingtriumphantly in the wake of the victorious Union column; and not a fewof their sable companions kept them company. 

The whole affair was regarded as one of the most brilliant episodes ofthe campaign and Graham received much credit, not only in the officialreports, but in the press. Indeed, the latter, although with no aidfrom the chief actor, obtained an outline of the whole story, from therescue of his friend to his guidance of the successful expedition, andit was repeated with many variations and exaggerations. He caredlittle for these brief echoes of fame; but the letters of his aunt, Hilland, and even the old major, were valued indeed, while a note fromthe grateful wife became his treasure of treasures. 

They had returned some time before to the St. John cottage, and shehad at last written him a letter "straight from her heart, " on thequaint secretary in the library, as he had dreamed possible on thefirst evening of their acquaintance. 

CHAPTER XXIV

UNCHRONICLED CONFLICTS

Graham's friends were eager that he should obtain leave of absence, but he said, "No, not until some time in the winter. "

His aunt understood him sufficiently well not to urge the matter, andit may be added that Grace did also. 

Hilland's arm healed rapidly, and happy as he was in his home life atthe cottage he soon began to chafe under inaction. Before very long itbecame evident that the major had not wholly outlived his influence atWashington, for there came an order assigning Major Hilland to duty inthat city; and thither, accompanied by Grace and her father, he soonrepaired. The arrangement proved very agreeable to Hilland during theperiod when his regiment could engage in little service beyond that ofdreary picket duty. He could make his labors far more useful to thegovernment in the city, and could also enjoy domestic life with hisidolized wife. Mrs. Mayburn promised to join them after the holidays, and the reason for her delay was soon made evident. 

One chilly, stormy evening, when nature was in a most uncomfortablemood, a card was brought to the door of Hilland's rooms at their innjust as he, with his wife and the major, was sitting down to one ofthose exquisite little dinners which only Grace knew how to order. Hilland glanced at the card, and gave such a shout that the waiternearly fell over backward. 

"Where is the gentleman? Take me to him on the double-quick. It'sGraham. Hurrah! I'll order another dinner!" and he vanished, chasingthe man downstairs and into the waiting-room, as if he were adetachment of Confederate cavalry. The decorous people in the hotelparlor were astounded as Hilland nearly ran over the breathless waiterat the door, dashed in like a whirlwind, and carried off his friend, laughing, chaffing, and embracing him all the way up the stairs. Itwas the old, wild exuberancy of his college days, only intensified bythe deepest and most grateful emotion. 

Grace stood within her door blushing, smiling, and with tears offeeling in her lovely eyes. 

"Here he is, " cried Hilland--"the very god of war. Give him hisreward, Grace--a kiss that he will feel to the soles of his boots. "

But she needed no prompting, for instead of taking Graham's profferedhand, she put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him again andagain, exclaiming, "You saved Warren's life; you virtually gave yoursfor his; and in saving him you saved me. May God bless you every houryou live!"

"Grace, " he said, gravely and gently, looking down into her swimmingeyes and retaining her hands in a strong, warm clasp, "I am repaid athousand-fold. I think this is the happiest moment of my life;" andthen he turned to the major, who was scarcely less demonstrative inhis way than Hilland had been. 

"By Jove!" cried the veteran, "the war is going to be the making ofyou young fellows. Why, Graham, you no more look like the young manthat played whist with me years since than I do. You have grown broad-shouldered and _distingue_, and you have the true military air inspite of that quiet civilian's dress. "

"Oh, I shall always be comparatively insignificant, " replied Graham, laughing. "Wait till Hilland wears the stars, as he surely will, andthen you'll see a soldier. "

"We see far more than a soldier in you, Alford, " said Grace, earnestly. "Your men told Warren of your almost miraculous leap acrossthe ditch; and Warren has again and again described your appearance asyou rushed by him on his pursuers. Oh, I've seen the whole thing in mydreams so often!"

"Yes, Graham; you looked like one possessed. You reminded me of thefew occasions when, in old college days, you got into a fury. "

A frown as black as night lowered on Graham's brow, for they wererecalling the most hateful memory of his life--a thought for which hefelt he ought to die; but it passed almost instantly, and in the mostprosaic tones he said, "Good friends, I'm hungry. I've splashedthrough Virginia mud twelve mortal hours to-day. Grace, be preparedfor such havoc as only a cavalryman can make. We don't get such fareas this at the front. "

She, with the pretty housewifely bustle which he had admired yearsago, rang the bell and made preparations for a feast. 

"Every fatted calf in Washington should be killed for you, " she cried--"prodigal that you are, but only in brave deeds. Where's Iss? I wantto see and feast him also. "

"I left him well provided for in the lower regions, and astounding the'cullud bredren' with stories which only the African can swallow. Heshall come up by and by, for I have my final orders to give. He leadsmy horse back to the regiment in the morning, and takes care of him inmy absence. I hope to spend a month with aunt. "

"And how much time with us?" asked Hilland, eagerly. 

"This evening. "

"Now, Graham, I protest--"

"Now, Hilland, I'm ravenous, and here's a dinner fit for the GreatMogul. "

"Oh, I know you of old. When you employ a certain tone you intend tohave your own way; but it isn't fair. "

"Don't take it to heart. I'll make another raid on you when I return, and then we shall soon be at the front together again. Aunty's lonely, you know. "

"Grace and I don't count, I suppose, " said the major. 

"I had a thousand questions to ask you;" and he looked so aggrievedthat Graham compromised and promised to spend the next day with him. 

Then he gave an almost hilarious turn to the rest of the evening, andone would have thought that he was in the high spirits natural to anyyoung officer with a month's leave of absence. He described the"woodchuck hole" which had been his hiding-place, sketched humorouslythe portraits of Iss, Aunt Sheba, who was now his aunt's cook, andgave funny episodes of his midnight prowlings while waiting for achance to reach the Union lines. Grace noted how skilfully he kept hisown personality in the background unless he appeared in some absurd orcomical light; and she also noted that his eyes rested upon her lessand less often, until at last, after Iss had had his most flatteringreception, he said good-night rather abruptly. 

The next day he entertained the major in a way that was exceedinglygratifying and flattering to the veteran. He brought some excellentmaps, pointed out the various lines of march, the positions of theopposing armies, and showed clearly what had been done and what mighthave been. He next became the most patient and absorbed listener, asthe old gentleman, by the aid of the same maps, planned a campaignwhich during the coming year would have annihilated the Confederacy. Grace, sitting near the window, might have imagined herself almostignored. But she interpreted him differently. She now had the keywhich explained his conduct, and more than once tears came into hereyes. 

Hilland returned early, having hastened through his duties, and was insuperb spirits. They spent an afternoon together which stood out inmemory like a broad gleam of sunshine in after years; and then Grahamtook his leave with messages from all to Mrs. Mayburn, who was toreturn with him. 

As they were parting, Grace hesitated a moment, and then steppingforward impulsively she took Graham's hand in both of hers, and saidimpetuously: "You have seen how very, very happy we all are. Do youthink that I forget for a moment that I owe it to you?"

Graham's iron nerves gave way. His hand trembled. "Don't speak to mein that way, " he murmured. "Come, Hilland, or I shall miss the train;"and in a moment he was gone. 

Mrs. Mayburn never forgot the weeks he spent with her. Sometimes shewould look at him wonderingly, and once she said: "Alford, it is hardfor me to believe that you have passed through all that you have. Dayafter day passes, and you seem perfectly content with my quiet, monotonous life. You read to me my old favorite authors. You chaff meand Aunt Sheba about our little domestic economies. Beyond a hasty runthrough the morning paper you scarcely look at the daily journals. Youare content with one vigorous walk each day. Indeed you seem to havesettled down and adapted yourself to my old woman's life for the restof time. I thought you would be restless, urging my earlier return toWashington, or seeking to abridge your leave, so that you might returnto the excitement of the camp. "

"No, aunty dear, I am not restless. I have outlived and outgrown thatphase of my life. You will find that my pulse is as even as yours. Indeed I have a deep enjoyment of this profound quiet of our house. Ihave fully accepted my lot, and now expect only those changes thatcome from without and not from within. To be perfectly sincere withyou, the feeling is growing that this profound quietude that hasfallen upon me may be the prelude to final rest. It's right that Ishould accustom your mind to the possibilities of every day in ourcoming campaign, which I well foresee will be terribly severe. Atfirst our generals did not know how to use cavalry, and beyond escortand picket duty little was asked of it. Now all this is changed. Cavalry has its part in every pitched battle, and in the intervals ithas many severe conflicts of its own. Daring, ambitious leaders arecoming to the front, and the year will be one of great and hazardousactivity. My chief regret is that Hilland's wound did not disable himwholly from further service in the field. Still he will come out allright. He always has and ever will. There are hidden laws that controland shape our lives. It seems to me that you were predestined to bejust what you are. Your life is rounded out and symmetrical accordingto its own law. The same is true of Hilland and of myself thus far. The rudiments of what we are to-day were clearly apparent when we wereboys. He is the same ardent, jolly, whole-souled fellow that clappedme on the back after leaving the class-room. Everybody liked him then, everything favored him. Often when he had not looked at a lesson hewould make a superb recitation. I was moody and introspective; so I amto-day. Even the unforeseen events of life league together to developone's characteristics. The conditions of his life today are in harmonywith all that has been; the same is true of mine, with the strangeexception that I have found a home and a dear staunch friend in onewho I supposed would ever be a stranger. See how true my theory is ofGrace and her father. Her blithesome girlhood has developed into thehappiest wifehood. Her brow is as smooth as ever, and her eyes asbright. They have only gained in depth and tenderness as the woman hastaken the place of the girl. Her form has only developed into lovelierproportions, and her character into a more exquisite symmetry. She hasbeen one continuous growth according to the laws of her being; and soit will be to the end. She will be just as beautiful and lovable inold age as now; for nature, in a genial mood, infused into her nodiscordant, disfiguring elements. The major also is completing hislife in consonance with all that has gone before. "

"Alford, you are more of a fatalist than a materialist. In my heart Ifeel, I know, you are wrong. What you say seems so plausible as to betrue; but my very soul revolts at it all. There is a deep undertone ofsadness in your words, and they point to a possibility that wouldimbitter every moment of the remnant of my life. Suppose you shouldfall, what remedy would there be for me? Oh, in anguish I have learnedwhat life would become then. I am a materialist like yourself, although all the clergymen in town would say I was orthodox. Fromearliest recollection mere things and certain people have beeneverything to me; and now you are everything, and yet at this hour thebullet may be molded which will strike you down. Grace, with her rich, beautiful life, is in equal danger. Hilland will go into the field andwill expose himself as recklessly as yourself. I have no faith in yourobscure laws. Thousands were killed in the last campaign, thousandsare dying in hospitals this moment, and all this means thousands ofbroken hearts, unless they are sustained by something I have not. Thisworld is all very well when all is well, but it can so easily becomean accursed world!" The old lady spoke with a strange bitterness, revealing the profound disquietude that existed under the sereneamenities of her age and her methodical life. 

Graham sought to give a lighter tone to their talk and said: "Oh, well, aunty, perhaps we are darkening the sun with our own shadows. Wemust take life as we find it. There is no help for that. You have doneso practically. With your strong good sense you could not dootherwise. The trouble is that you are haunted by old-time New Englandbeliefs that, from your ancestry, have become infused into your veryblood. You can't help them any more than other inherited infirmitieswhich may have afflicted your grandfather. Let us speak of somethingelse. Ah, here is a welcome diversion--the daily paper--and I'll readit through to you, and we'll gain another hint as to the drift of thisgreat tide of events. "

The old lady shook her head sadly; and the fact that she watched theyoung man with hungry, wistful eyes, often blinded with tears, provedthat neither state nor military policy was uppermost in her mind. 

CHAPTER XXV

A PRESENTIMENT

On Christmas morning Graham found his breakfast-plate pushed back, andin its place lay a superb sword and belt, fashioned much like the onehe had lost in the rescue of his friend. With it was a genial letterfrom Hilland, and a little note from Grace, which only said:

"You will find my name engraved upon the sword with Warren's. We haveadded nothing else, for the good reason that our names meaneverything--more than could be expressed, were the whole blade coveredwith symbols, each meaning a volume. You have taught us how you willuse the weapon, my truest and best of friends. GRACE HILLAND. "

His eyes lingered on the name so long that his aunt asked: "Why don'tyou look at your gift?"

He slowly drew the long, keen, shining blade, and saw again the name"Grace Hilland, " and for a time he saw nothing else. Suddenly heturned the sword and on the opposite side was "Warren Hilland, " and heshook his head sadly. 

"Alford, what _is_ the matter?" his aunt asked impatiently. 

"Why didn't they have their names engraved together?" he mutteredslowly, "It's a bad omen. See, a sword is between their names. I wishthey had been together. Oh, I wish Hilland could be kept out of thefield!"

"There it is, Alford, " began his aunt, irritably; "you men who don'tbelieve anything are always the victims of superstition. Bad omen, indeed!"

"Well, I suppose I am a fool; but a strange chill at heart struck mefor which I can't account;" and he sprang up and paced the flooruneasily. "Well, " he continued, "I would bury it in my own heartrather than cause her one hour's sorrow, but I wish their names hadbeen together. " Then he took it up again and said: "Beautiful as itis, it may have to do some stern work, Grace--work far remote fromyour nature. All I ask is that it may come between Hilland and dangeragain. I wish I had not had that strange, cursed presentiment"

"Oh, Alford! I never saw you in such a mood, and on Christmas morning, too!"

"That is just what I don't like about it--it's not my habit to indulgesuch fancies, to say the least. Come what may, however, I dedicate thesword to her service without counting any cost;" and he kissed hername, and laid the weapon reverently aside. 

"You are morbid this morning. Go to the door and see my present toyou. You will find no bad omens on his shining coat. "

Graham felt that it was weak to entertain such impressions as hadmastered him, and hastened out. There, pawing the frozen ground, was ahorse that satisfied even his fastidious eye. There was not a whitehair in the coal-black coat. In his enthusiasm he forgot his hat, andled the beautiful creature up and down, observing with exultation hisperfect action, clean-cut limbs, and deep, broad chest. 

"Bring me a bridle, " he said to the man in attendance, "and my hat. "

A moment later he had mounted. 

"Breakfast is getting cold, " cried his aunt from the window, delighted, nevertheless, at the appreciation of her gift. 

"This horse is breakfast and dinner both, " he shouted, as he gallopeddown the path. 

Then, to the old lady's horror, he dashed through the trees andshrubbery, took a picket-fence in a flying leap, and circled round thehouse till Mrs. Mayburn's head was dizzy. Then she saw him comingtoward the door as if he would ride through the house; but the horsestopped almost instantly, and Graham was on his feet, handing thebridle to the gaping groom. 

"Take good care of him, " he said to the man, "for he is a jewel. "

"Alford, " exclaimed his aunt, "could you make no better return for mygift than to frighten me out of my wits?"

"Dear aunty, you are too well supplied ever to lose them for so slighta cause. I wanted to show the perfection of your gift, and how well itmay serve me. You don't imagine that our cavalry evolutions are allperformed on straight turnpike roads, do you? Now you know that youhave given me an animal that can carry me wherever a horse can go, andso have added much to my chances of safety. I can skim out of a meleelike a bird with Mayburn--for that shall be his name--where ablundering, stupid horse would break my neck, if I wasn't shot. I sawat once from his action what he could do. Where on earth did you getsuch a creature?"

"Well, " said the old lady, beaming with triumphant happiness, "I havehad agents on the lookout a long time. The man of whom you had yourfirst horse, then called Firebrand, found him; and he knew well thathe could not impose any inferior animal upon you. Are you reallysincere in saying that such a horse as this adds to your chances ofsafety?"

"Certainly. That's what I was trying to show you. Did you not see howhe would wind in and out among the trees and shrubbery--how he wouldtake a fence lightly without any floundering? There is just as muchdifference among horses as among men. Some are simply awkward, heavy, and stupid; others are vicious; more are good at times and underordinary circumstances, but fail you at a pinch. This horse isthoroughbred and well broken. You must have paid a small fortune forhim. "

"I never invested money that satisfied me better. "

"It's like you to say so. Well, take the full comfort of thinking howmuch you have added to my comfort and prospective well-being. Thatgallop has already done me a world of good, and given me an appetite. I'll have another turn across the country after breakfast, and throwall evil presentiments to the winds. "

"Why, now you talk sense. When you are in any more such moods as thismorning I shall prescribe horse. "

Before New Year's day Graham had installed his aunt comfortably inrooms adjoining the Hillands', and had thanked his friends for theirgift in a way that proved it to be appreciated. Mrs. Mayburn had beencautioned never to speak of what he now regarded as a foolish andunaccountable presentiment, arising, perhaps, from a certain degree ofmorbidness of mind in all that related to Grace. Iss was on hand toact as groom, and Graham rode out with Hilland and Grace several timesbefore his leave expired. Even at that day, when the city was full ofgallant men and fair women, many turned to look as the three passeddown the avenue. 

Never had Grace looked so radiantly beautiful as when in the brilliantsunshine of a Washington winter and in the frosty air she gallopedover the smooth, hard roads. Hilland was proud of the almost wonderinglooks of admiration that everywhere greeted her, and too much in loveto note that the ladies they met looked at him in much the same way. The best that was said of Graham was that he looked a soldier, everyinch of him, and that he rode the finest horse in the city as if behad been brought up in a saddle. He was regarded by society asreserved, unsocial, and proud; and at two or three receptions, towhich he went because of the solicitation of his friends, he piquedthe vanity of more than one handsome woman by his courteousindifference. 

"What is the matter with your husband's friend?" a reigning belleasked Grace. "One might as well try to make an impression on a paving-stone. "

"I think your illustration unhappy, " was her quiet reply. "I cannotimagine Mr. Graham at any one's feet. "

"Not even your own?" was the malicious retort. 

"Not even my own, " and a flash of anger from her dark eyes accompaniedher answer. 

Still, wherever he went he awakened interest in all natures not dullor sodden. He was felt to be a presence. There was a consciousness ofpower in his very attitudes; and one felt instinctively that he wasfar removed from the commonplace--that he had had a history which madehim different from other men. 

But before this slight curiosity was kindled to any extent, much lesssatisfied, his leave of absence expired; and with a sense of deeprelief he prepared to say farewell. His friends expected to see himoften in the city; he knew they would see him but seldom, if at all. He bad made his visit with his aunt, and she understood him. His quietpoise was departing, and he longed for the stern, fierce excitement ofactive service. 

Before he joined his regiment he spent the day with his friends, andtook occasion once, when alone with Hilland, to make an appeal thatwas solemn and almost passionate in its earnestness, adjuring him toremain employed in duties like those which now occupied him. But hesaw that his efforts were vain. 

"No, Graham, " was Hilland's emphatic reply; "just as soon as there isdanger at the front I shall be with my regiment Now I can do morehere. "

With Grace he took a short ride in the morning while Hilland wasengaged in his duties, and he looked at the fair woman by his sidewith the thought that he might never see her again. It almost seemedas if Grace understood him, for although the rich color mantled in hercheeks and she abounded in smile and repartee, a look of deep sadnessrarely left her eyes. 

Once she said abruptly, "Alford, you will come and see us often beforethe campaign opens? Oh, I dread this coming campaign. You will comeoften?"

"I fear not, Grace, " he said, gravely and gently, "I will try to come, but not often. " Then he added, with a short, abrupt laugh, "I wish Icould break Hilland's leg. " In answer to a look of surprise hecontinued, "Could not your father procure an order that would keep himin the city? He would have to obey orders. "

"Ah, I understand you, " and there was a quick rush of tears to hereyes. "It's of no use. I have thought of everything, but Warren'sheart is set on joining his regiment in the spring. "

"I know it. I have said all that I could say to a brother on thesubject. "

"From the first, Alford, you have tried to make the ordeal of this warless painful to me, and how well you have succeeded! You have been ourgood genius. Warren, in his impetuous, chivalrous feeling, would havegone into it unadvisedly, hastily; and before this might--Oh, I can'teven think of it, " she said with a shudder. "But years have passedsince your influence guided him into a wiser and more useful course, and think how much of the time I have been able to be with him! And ithas all been due to you, Alford. But the war seems no nearer its end. It rather assumes a larger and more threatening aspect Why do not menthink of us poor women before they go to war?"

"You think, then, that even your influence cannot keep him from thefield?"

"No, it could not. Indeed, beyond a certain point I dare not exert it. I should be dumb before questions already asked, 'Why should I shrinkwhen other husbands do not? What would be said of me here? what by mycomrades in the regiment? What would your brave father think, thoughhe might acquiesce? Nay, more, what would my wife think in her secretheart?' Alas! I find I am not made of such stern stuff as are somewomen. Pride and military fame could not sustain me if--if--"

"Do not look on the gloomy side, Grace. Hilland will come out of itall a major-general. "

"Oh, I don't know, I don't know. I do know that he will often be indesperate danger; what a dread certainty that is for me! Oh, I wishyou could be always near him; and yet 'tis a selfish wish, for youwould not count the cost to yourself. "

"No, Grace; I've sworn that on the sword you gave me. "

"I might have known as much. " Then she added earnestly, "Believe me, if you should fall it would also imbitter my life. "

"Yes, you would grieve sincerely; but there would be an infinitedifference, an infinite difference. One question, however, is settledbeyond recall. If my life can serve you or Hilland, no power shallprevent my giving it. There is nothing more to be said: let us speakof something else. "

"Yes, Alford, one thing more. Once I misjudged you. Forgive me;" andshe caused her horse to spring into a gallop, resolving that nocommonplace words should follow closely upon a conversation that hadtouched the most sacred feelings and impulses of each heart. 

For some reason there was a shadow over their parting early in theevening, for Graham was to ride toward the front with the dawn. EvenHilland's genial spirits could not wholly dissipate it. Graham madeheroic efforts, but he was oppressed with a despondency which waswellnigh overwhelming. He felt that he was becoming unmanned, and inbitter self-censure resolved to remain with his regiment until the endcame, as he believed would be the case with him before the yearclosed. 

"Alford, remember your promise. We all may need you yet, " were hisaunt's last words in the gray of the morning. 

CHAPTER XXVI

AN IMPROVISED PICTURE GALLERY

Much to Graham's satisfaction, his regiment, soon after he joined it, was ordered into the Shenandoah Valley, and given some rough, dangerous picket duty that fully accorded with his mood. Even Hillandcould not expect a visit from him now; and he explained to his friendthat the other officers were taking their leaves of absence, and he, in turn, must perform their duties. And so the winter passeduneventfully away in a cheerful interchange of letters. Graham foundthat the front agreed with him better than Washington, and that hispulse resumed its former even beat A dash at a Confederate picket poston a stormy night was far more tranquilizing than an evening inHilland's luxurious rooms. 

With the opening of the spring campaign Hilland joined his regiment, and was eager to remove by his courage and activity the slightestimpression, if any existed, that he was disposed to shun dangerousservice. There was no such impression, however; and he was mostcordially welcomed, for he was a great favorite with both officers andmen. 

During the weeks that followed, the cavalry was called upon to doheavy work and severe fighting; and the two friends became moreconspicuous than ever for their gallantry. They seemed, however, tobear charmed lives, for, while many fell or were wounded, they escapedunharmed, At last the terrific and decisive campaign of Gettysburg opened; andfrom the war-wasted and guerilla-infested regions of Virginia theNorthern troops found themselves marching through the friendly andpopulous North. As the cavalry brigade entered a thriving village inPennsylvania the people turned out almost _en masse_ and gavethem more than an ovation. The troopers were tired, hungry, andthirsty; and, since from every doorway was offered a boundlesshospitality, the column came to a halt. The scene soon developed intoa picturesque military picnic. Young maids and venerable matrons, gray-bearded fathers, shy, blushing girls, and eager-eyed children, all vied with each other in pressing upon their defenders everydelicacy and substantial viand that their town could furnish at themoment. A pretty miss of sixteen, with a peach-like bloom in hercheeks, might be seen flitting here and there among the beardedtroopers with a tray bearing goblets of milk. When they were emptiedshe would fly back and lift up white arms to her mother for more, andthe almost equally blooming matron, smiling from the window, wouldfill the glasses again to the brim. The magnates of the village withtheir wives were foremost in the work, and were passing to and frowith great baskets of sandwiches, while stalwart men and boys werebringing from neighboring wells and pumps cool, delicious water forthe horses. How immensely the troopers enjoyed it all! No scowlingfaces and cold looks here. All up and down the street, holding bridle-reins over their arms or leaning against the flanks of their horses, they feasted as they had not done since their last Thanksgiving Day athome. Such generous cups of coffee, enriched with cream almost toothick to flow from the capacious pitchers, and sweetened not only withsnow-white sugar, but also with the smiles of some gracious woman, perhaps motherly in appearance, perhaps so fair and young that heartsbeat faster under the weather-stained cavalry jackets. 

"How pretty it all is!" said a familiar voice to Graham, as he wasdividing a huge piece of cake with his pet Mayburn; and Hilland laidhis hand on his friend's shoulder, "Ah, Hilland, seeing you is the best part of this banquet _a lamilitaire_. Yes, it is a heavenly change after the dreary landwe've been marching and fighting in. It makes me feel that I have acountry, and that it's worth all it may cost. "

"Look, Graham--look at that little fairy creature in white muslin, talking to that great bearded pard of a sergeant. Isn't that apicture? Oh, I wish Grace, with her eye for picturesque effects, couldlook upon this scene. "

"Nonsense, Hilland! as if she would look at anybody or anything butyou! See that white-haired old woman leading that exquisite littlegirl to yonder group of soldiers. See how they doff their hats to her. There's another picture for you. "

Hilland's magnificent appearance soon attracted half a dozen villagebelles about him, each offering some dainty; and one--a black-eyedwitch a little bolder than the others--offered to fasten a rose fromher hair in his button-hole. 

He entered into the spirit of the occasion with all the zest of hisold student days, professed to be delighted with the favor as shestood on tiptoe to reach the lappet of his coat; and then he stoopeddown and pressed his lips to the fragrant petals, assuring theblushing little coquette, meanwhile, that it was the next best thingto her own red lips. 

How vividly in after years Graham would recall him, as he stood there, his handsome head thrown back, looking the ideal of an old Norseviking, laughing and chatting with the merry, innocent girls aroundhim, his deep-blue eyes emitting mirthful gleams on every side!According to his nature, Graham drew off to one side and watched thescene with a smile, as he had viewed similar ones far back in theyears, and far away in Germany. He saw the ripples of laughter thathis friend's words provoked, and recognized the old, easy grace, thelight, French-like wit, that was wholly free from the French _doubleentendre_, and he thought: "Would that Grace could see him now, andshe would fall in love with him anew, for her nature is too large forpetty jealousy at a scene like that Oh, Hilland! you and the grouparound you make the finest picture of this long improvised gallery ofpictures. "

Suddenly there was a loud report of a cannon from a hill above thevillage, and a shell shrieked over their heads. Hilland's laughingaspect changed instantly. He seemed almost to gather the young girlsin his arms as he hurried them into the nearest doorway, and then witha bound reached Graham, who held his horse, vaulted into the saddle, and dashed up the street to his men who were standing in line. 

Graham sprang lightly on his horse, for in the scenes resulting fromthe kaleidoscopic change that had taken place he would be more athome. 

"Mount!" he shouted; and the order, repeated up and down the street, changed the jolly, feasting troopers of a moment since into veteranswho would sit like equestrian statues, if so commanded, though ahundred guns thundered against them. 

From the further end of the village came the wild yell characteristicof the cavalry charges of the Confederates, while shell after shellshrieked and exploded where had just been unaffected gayety andhospitality. 

The first shot had cleared the street of all except the Unionsoldiers; and those who dared to peep from window or door saw, withdismay, that the defenders whom they had so honored and welcomed wereretreating at a gallop from the Rebel charge. 

They were soon undeceived, however, for at a gallop the nationalcavalry dashed into an open field near by, formed with the precisionof machinery, and by the time that the Rebel charge had wellnigh spentitself in the sabring or capture of a few tardy troopers, Hilland withplatoon after platoon was emerging upon the street again at a sharptrot, which soon developed into a furious gallop as he dashed againsttheir assailants; and the pretty little coquette, bold not only inlove but in war, saw from a window her ideal knight with her red roseupon his breast leading a charge whose thunder caused the very earthto tremble; and she clapped her hands and cheered so loudly as heapproached that he looked up, saw her, and for an instant a sunnysmile passed over the visage that had become so stern. Then came theshock of battle. 

Graham's company was held in reserve, but for some reason his horseseemed to grow unmanageable; and sabres had scarcely clashed beforehe, with the blade on which was engraved "Grace Hilland, " was at herhusband's side, striking blows which none could resist. The enemycould not stand the furious onset, and gave way slowly, sullenly, andat last precipitately. The tide of battle swept beyond and away fromthe village; and its street became quiet again, except for the groansof the wounded. 

Mangled horses, mangled men, some dead, some dying, and others almostrejoicing in wounds that would secure for them such gentle nurses, strewed the streets that had been the scene of merry festivity. 

The pretty little belle never saw her tawny, bearded knight again. Sheundoubtedly married and tormented some well-to-do dry-goods clerk; buta vision of a man of heroic mold, with a red rose upon his breast, smiling up to her just as he was about to face what might be death, will thrill her feminine soul until she is old and gray. 

That night Graham and Hilland talked and laughed over the whole affairas they sat by a camp-fire. 

"It has all turned out as usual, " said Graham, ruefully. "You won avictory and no end of glory; I a reprimand from my colonel. "

"If you have received nothing worse than a reprimand you arefortunate, " was Hilland's response. "The idea of any horse becomingunmanageable in your hands! The colonel understands the case as wellas I do, and knows that it was your own ravenous appetite for a fightthat became unmanageable. But I told him of the good service yourendered, and gave him the wink to wink also. You were fearfully rashto-day, Graham. You were not content to fight at my side, but morethan once were between me and the enemy. What the devil makes you soheadlong in a fight--you that are usually so cool and self-controlled?"

Graham's hand rested on a fair woman's name engraved upon his sword, but he replied lightly: "When you teach me caution in a fight I'lllearn. "

"Well, excuse me, old fellow, I'm going to write to Grace. May nothave a chance very soon again. I say, Graham, we'll have _the_ battleof the war in a day or two. "

"I know it, " was the quiet response. 

"And we must win, too, " Hilland continued, "or the Johnnies will helpthemselves to Washington, Baltimore, Philadelphia, and perhaps NewYork. Every man should nerve himself to do the work of two. As I wassaying, I shall write to Grace that your horse ran away with you andbecame uncontrollable until you were directly in front of me, when youseemed to manage him admirably, and struck blows worthy of the oldFrench duellist who killed a man every morning before breakfast. Ithink she'll understand your sudden and amazingly poor horsemanship aswell as I do. "

She did, and far better. 

Hilland's prediction proved true. The decisive battle of Gettysburgwas fought, and its bloody field marked the highest point reached bythe crimson tide of the Rebellion. From Cemetery Ridge it ebbed slowlyand sullenly away to the south. 

The brigade in which were the friends passed through another fearfulbaptism of fire in the main conflict and the pursuit which followed, and were in Virginia again, but with ranks almost decimated. Grahamand Hilland still seemed to bear charmed lives, and in the brief pausein operations that followed, wrote cheerful letters to those so dear, now again at their seaside resort. Grace, who for days had been sopale, and in whose dark eyes lurked an ever-present dread of which shecould not speak, smiled again. Her husband wrote in exuberant spiritsover the victory, and signed himself "Lieutenant-Colonel. " Graham inhis letter said jestingly to his aunt that he had at last attained his"majority, " and that she might therefore look for a little morediscretion on his part. 

"How the boys are coming on!" exulted the old major. "They will bothwear the stars yet. But confound it all, why did Meade let Lee escape?He might have finished the whole thing up. "

Alas! the immeasurable price of liberty was not yet paid. 

One morning Hilland's and Graham's regiments were ordered out on whatwas deemed but a minor _reconnoissance_; and the friends, rested andstrong, started in high spirits with their sadly shrunken forces. Butthey knew that the remaining handfuls were worth more than full ranksof untrained, unseasoned men. All grow callous, if not indifferent, tothe vicissitudes of war; and while they missed regretfully manyfamiliar faces, the thought that they had rendered the enemy's linesmore meagre was consoling. 

Graham and Hilland rode much of the long day together. They went overall the past, and dwelt upon the fact that their lives had been sodifferent from what they had planned. 

"By the way, Graham, " said Hilland, abruptly, "it seems strange to methat you are so indifferent to women. Don't you expect ever to marry?"

Graham burst into a laugh as he replied: "I thought we had thatsubject out years ago, under the apple-tree--that night, you remember, when you talked like a schoolgirl till morning--"

"And you analyzed and philosophized till long after midnight--"

"Well, you knew then that Grace had spoiled me for every one else; andshe's been improving ever since. When I find her equal I'll marry her, if I can. "

"Poor, forlorn old bachelor that you are, and ever will be!" criedHilland. "You'll never find the equal of Grace Hilland. "

"I think I shall survive, Hilland. My appetite is good. As I live, there are some Confederates in yonder clump of trees;" and he putspurs to his horse on a little private _reconnoissance_. The fewhorsemen vanished, in the thick woods beyond, the moment they saw thatthey were perceived; and they were regarded as prowling guerillasonly. 

That night they bivouacked in a grove where two roads intersected, threw out pickets and patrols, and kindled their fires, for they didnot expect to strike the enemy in force till some time on thefollowing day. 

CHAPTER XXVII

A DREAM

Graham and his friend had bidden each other an early and cordial good-night, for the entire force under the command of Hilland's colonel wasto resume its march with the dawn. Although no immediate danger wasapprehended, caution had been learned by long experience. Thedetachment was comparatively small, and it was far removed from anysupport; and while no hints of the presence of the enemy in formidablenumbers had been obtained during the day, what was beyond them couldnot be known with any certainty. Therefore the horses had beencarefully rubbed down, and the saddles replaced. In many instances thebridles also had been put on again, with the bit merely slipped fromthe mouth. In all cases they lay or hung within reach of the tiredtroopers, who, one after another, were dropping off into the catlikeslumber of a cavalry outpost. 

As the fires died down, the shadows in the grove grew deeper and moreobscure, and all was quiet, except when the hours came round for therelief of pickets and the men who were patrolling the roads. Grahamremembered the evanescent group of Confederates toward whom he hadspurred during the day. He knew that they were in a hostile region, and that their movements must be already well known to the enemy ifstrong in their vicinity. Therefore all his instincts as a soldierwere on the alert. It so happened that he was second in command of hisregiment on this occasion, and he felt the responsibility. He had beenhis own groom on their arrival at the grove, and his faithful charger, Mayburn, now stood saddled and bridled by his side, as he reclined, half dozing, again thinking deeply, by the low, flickering blaze ofhis fire. He had almost wholly lost the gloomy presentiments that hadoppressed him at the beginning of the year. Both he and Hilland hadpassed through so many dangers that a sense of security was begotten. Still more potent had been the influence of his active out-of-doorlife. His nerves were braced, while his soldier's routine and thestrong excitement of the campaign had become a preoccupying habit. 

Only those who brood in idleness over the misfortunes anddisappointments of life are destroyed by them. 

He had not seen Grace for over half a year; and while she was and everwould be his fair ideal, he could now think of her with the quietudeakin to that of the devout Catholic who worships a saint removed fromhim at a heavenly distance. The wisdom of this remoteness became moreand more clear to him; for despite every power that he could put forthas a man, there was a deeper, stronger manhood within him whichacknowledged this woman as sovereign. He foresaw that his lot would beone of comparative exile, and he accepted it with a calm andinflexible resolution. 

Hearing a step he started up hastily, and saw Hilland approaching fromthe opposite side of his fire. 

"Ah, Graham, glad you are not asleep, " said his friend, throwinghimself down on the leaves, with his head resting on his hands. "Put alittle wood on the fire, please; I'm chilly in the night air, and thedews are so confoundedly heavy. "

"Why, Hilland, what's the matter?" Graham asked, as he complied. "Youare an ideal cavalryman at a nap, and can sleep soundly with one eyeopen. It has seemed to me that you never lost a wink when there was achance for it, even under fire. "

"Why are you not sleeping?"

"Oh, I have been, after my fashion, dozing and thinking by turns. Ialways was an owl, you know. Moreover, I think it behooves us to be onthe alert. We are a good way from support if hard pressed; and theenemy must be in force somewhere to the west of us. "

"I've thought as much myself. My horse is ready, as yours is, and Ileft an orderly holding him. I suppose you will laugh at me, but I'vehad a cursed dream; and it has shaken me in spite of my reason. Afterall, how often our reason fails us at a pinch! I wish it was morningand we were on the road. I've half a mind to go out with the patrolsand get my blood in circulation. I would were it not that I feel Ishould be with my men. "

"Where's your colonel?"

"The old war-dog is sleeping like a top. Nothing ever disturbs him, much less a dream. I say, Graham, I made a good selection in him, didn't I?"

"Yes, but he'll be promoted soon, and you will be in command. What'smore, I expect to see a star on _your_ shoulder in less than sixmonths. "

"As I feel to-night, I don't care a picayune for stars or anythingelse relating to the cursed war. I'd give my fortune to be able tokiss Grace and tell her I'm well. "

"You are morbid, Hilland. You will feel differently to-morrow, especially if there's a chance for a charge. "

"No doubt, no doubt. The shadow of this confounded grove seems asblack as death, and it oppresses me. Why should I, without apparentcause, have had such a dream?"

"Your supper and fatigue may have been the cause. If you don't mind, tell me this grisly vision. "

"While you laugh at me as an old woman--you, in whom reason ever sitsserene and dispassionate on her throne, except when you get into afight. "

"My reason's throne is often as rickety as a two-legged stool. No, Iwon't laugh at you. There's not a braver man in the service than you. If you feel as you say, there's some cause for it; and yet so complexis our organism that both cause and effect may not be worthy of verygrave consideration, as I have hinted. "

"Think what you please, this was my dream. I had made my dispositionsfor the night, and went to sleep as a matter of course. I had notslept an hour by my watch--I looked at it afterward--when I seemed tohear some one moaning and crying, and I thought I started up wideawake, and I saw the old library at home--the room you know so well. Every article of furniture was before me more distinctly than I cansee any object now, and on the rug before the open fire Grace wascrouching, while she moaned and wrung her hands and cried as if herheart was breaking. She was dressed in black--Oh, how white her handsand neck and face appeared against that mournful black--and, strangestof all, her hair fell around her snowy white, like a silver veil. Istarted forward to clasp her in my arms, and then truly awoke, forthere was nothing before me but my drooping horse, a few red coals ofmy expiring fire, and over all the black, black shadow of thisaccursed grove. Oh, for sunlight! Oh, for a gale of wind, that I mightbreathe freely again!" and the powerful man sprang to his feet andthrew open his coat at his breast. 

As he ceased speaking, the silence and darkness of the grove did seemominous and oppressive, and Graham's old wretched presentiment ofChristmas morning returned, but he strove with all the ingenuity inhis power to reason his friend out of his morbid mood, as he termedit. He kindled his fire into a cheerful blaze, and Hilland cowered andshivered over it; then looking up abruptly, he said, "Graham, you andI accepted the belief long ago that man was only highly organizedmatter. I must admit to you that my mind has often revolted at thisbelief; and the thought that Grace was merely of the earth has alwaysseemed to me sacrilegious. She never was what you would call areligious girl; but she once had a quiet, simple faith in a God and ahereafter, and she expected to see her mother again. I fear that ourviews have troubled her exceedingly; although with that rare reservein a woman, she never interfered with one's strong personalconvictions. The shallow woman tries to set everybody right with theweighty reason, 'Oh, because it IS so; all good people say it is so. 'I fear our views have unsettled hers also. I wish they had not; indeedI wish I could believe somewhat as she did. 

"Once, only once, she spoke to me with a strange bitterness, but itrevealed the workings of her mind. I, perhaps, was showing a littletoo much eagerness in my spirit and preparation for active service, and she broke out abruptly, 'Oh, yes, you and Alford can rush intoscenes of carnage very complacently. You believe that if the bullet isonly sure enough, your troubles are over forever, as Alford once said. I suppose you are right, for you learned men have studied into thingsas we poor women never can. If it's true, those who love as we doshould die together. ' It has often seemed that her very love--nay, that mine--was an argument against our belief. That a feeling so pure, vivid, and unselfish, so devoid of mere earthiness--a feeling thatapparently contains within itself the very essence of immortality--canbe instantly blotted out as a flame is extinguished, has become aterrible thought. Grace Hilland is worthy of an immortal life, and shehas all the capacity for it. It's not her lovely form and face that Ilove so much as the lovely something--call it soul, spirit, or whatyou choose--that will maintain her charm through all the changes fromyouth to feeble and withered age. How can I be sure that the samegentle, womanly spirit may not exist after the final change we calldeath, and that to those worthy of immortal life the boon is notgiven? Reason is a grand thing, and I know we once thought we settledthis question; but reason fails me to-night, or else love and theintense longings of the heart teach a truer and deeper philosophy--

"You are silent, Graham. You think me morbid--that wishes are fathersof my thoughts. Well, I'm not. I honestly don't know what the truthis. I only wish to-night that I had the simple belief in a reunionwith Grace which she had with regard to her mother. I fear we haveunsettled her faith; not that we ever urged our views--indeed we havescarcely ever spoken of them--but there has been before her the ever-present and silent force of example. It was natural for her to believethat those were right in whom she most believed; and I'm not sure weare right--I'm not _sure_. I've not been sure for a long time. "

"My dear Warren, you are not well. Exposure to all sorts of weather inthis malarial country is telling on you; and I fear your feelings to-night are the prelude of a fever. You shall stay and sleep by my fire, and if I hear the slightest suspicious sound I will waken you. Youneed not hesitate, for I intend to watch till morning, whether youstay or not. "

"Well, Graham, I will. I wish to get through this horrible night inthe quickest way possible. But I'll first go and bring my horse here, so the poor orderly can have a nap. "

He soon returned and lay down close to the genial fire, and Grahamthrew over him his own blankets. 

"What a good, honest friend you are, Graham!--too honest even to saysome hollow words favoring my doubts of my doubt and unbelief. If ithadn't been for you, I should have been dead long ago. In my blindconfidence, I should have rushed into the war, and probably shouldhave been knocked on the head at Bull Run. How many happy months I'vepassed with Grace since then!--how many since you virtually gave yourlife for me last autumn! You made sure that I took a man's, not afool's, part in the war. Oh, Grace and I know it all and appreciateit; and--and--Alford, if I should fall, I commend Grace to your care. "

"Hilland, stop, or you will unman me. This accursed grove _is_haunted, I half believe; and were I in command I would order 'Bootsand Saddles' to be sounded at once. There, sleep, Warren, and in themorning you will be your own grand self. Why speak of anything I coulddo for you and Grace? How could I serve myself in any surer way? Asschoolgirls say, 'I won't speak to you again. ' I'm going to prowlaround a little, and see that all is right;" and he disappeared amongthe shadowy boles of the trees. 

When he returned from his rounds his friend was sleeping, butuneasily, with sudden fits and starts. 

"He is surely going to have a fever, " Graham muttered. "I'd give ayear's pay if we were safe back in camp. " He stood before the firewith folded arms, watching his boyhood's friend, his gigantic shadowstretching away into the obscurity as unwaveringly as those of thetree-trunks around him. His lips were compressed. He sought to makehis will as inflexible as his form. He would not think of Grace, ofdanger to her and Hilland; and yet, by some horrible necromancy of thehour and place, the scene in Hilland's dream would rise before himwith a vividness that was overawing. In the sighing of the windthrough the foliage, he seemed to hear the poor wife's moans. 

"Oh, " he muttered, "would that I could die a thousand deaths toprevent a scene like that!"

When would the interminable night pass? At last he looked at his watchand saw that the dawn could not be far distant. How still everythinghad become! The men were in their deepest slumber. Even the wind haddied out, and the silence was to his overwrought mind like the hush ofexpectancy. 

This silence was at last broken by a shot on the road leading to thewest. Other shots followed in quick succession. 

Hilland was on his feet instantly. "We're attacked, " he shouted, andwas about to spring upon his horse when Graham grasped his hand inboth of his as he said, "In the name of Grace Hilland, be prudent"

Then both the men were in the saddle, Hilland dashing toward his owncommand, and each shouting, "Awake! Mount!"

At the same instant the bugle from headquarters rang through thegrove, giving the well-known order of "Boots and Saddles. "

In place of the profound stillness of a moment before, there were athousand discordant sounds--the trampling of feet, the jingling ofsabres, the champing of bits by aroused, restless horses thatunderstood the bugle call as well as the men, hoarse, rapid orders ofofficers, above all which in the distance could be heard Hilland'sclarion voice. 

Again and again from headquarters the brief, musical strains of thebugle echoed through the gloom, each one giving to the veterans adefinite command. Within four minutes there was a line of battle onthe western edge of the grove, and a charging column was in the roadleading to the west, down which the patrols were galloping at aheadlong pace. Pickets were rushing in, firing as they came. To theuninitiated it might have seemed a scene of dire confusion. In fact, it was one of perfect order and discipline. Even in the darkness eachman knew just what to do and where to go, as he heard the bugle callsand the stern, brief, supplementary orders of the officers. 

Graham found himself on the line of battle at the right of the road, and the sound that followed close upon the sharp gallop of the patrolwas ominous indeed. It was the rushing, thunderous sound of a heavybody of cavalry--too heavy, his ear soon foretold him, to promiseequal battle. 

The experienced colonel recognized the fact at the same moment, andwould not leave his men in the road to meet the furious onset. Again, sharp, quick, and decisive as the vocal order had been, the bugle rangout the command for a change of position. Its strains had not ceasedwhen the officers were repeating the order all down the column thathad been formed in the road for a charge, and scarcely a momentelapsed before the western pike was clear, and faced by a line ofbattle a little back among the trees. The Union force would now asknothing better than that the enemy should charge down that road withinpointblank range. 

If the Nationals were veterans they were also dealing with veteranswho were masters of the situation in their overwhelming force andtheir knowledge of the comparative insignificance of their opponents, whose numbers had been quite accurately estimated the day before. 

The patrols were already within the Union lines and at their properplaces when the Confederate column emerged into the narrow open spacebefore the grove. Its advance had subsided into a sharp trot; but, instead of charging by column or platoon, the enemy deployed to rightand left with incredible swiftness. Men dismounted and formed intoline almost instantly, their gray forms looking phantom-like in thegray dawn that tinged the east. 

The vigilant colonel was as prompt as they, and at the first evidenceof their tactics the bugle resounded, and the line of battle facingthe road which led westward wheeled at a gallop through the open treesand formed at right angles with the road behind the first line ofbattle. Again there was a bugle call. The men in both lines dismountedinstantly, and as their horses were being led to the rear by thosedesignated for the duty, a Union volley was poured into theConfederate line that had scarcely formed, causing many a gap. Thenthe first Union line retired behind the second, loading as they went, and, with the ready instinct of old fighters, putting trees betweenthemselves and the swiftly advancing foe while forming a third line ofbattle. From the second Union line a deadly volley blazed in the dimobscurity of the woods. It had no perceptible effect in checking theimpetuous onset of the enemy, who merely returned the fire as theyadvanced. 

The veteran colonel, with cool alertness, saw that he was faroutnumbered, and that his assailants' tactics were to drive himthrough the grove into the open fields, where his command would bespeedily dispersed and captured. His only chance was to run for it andget the start. Indeed the object of his reconnoissance seemed alreadyaccomplished, for the enemy was found to be in force in thatdirection. Therefore, as he galloped to the rear his bugler sounded"Retreat" long and shrilly. 

The dim Union lines under the trees melted away as by magic, and amoment later there was a rush of horses through the underbrush thatfringed the eastern side of the grove. But some men were shot, somesabred, and others captured before they could mount and extricatethemselves. The majority, however, of the Union forces were gallopingswiftly away, scattering at first rather than keeping together, inorder to distract the pursuit which for a time was sharp and deadly. Not a few succumbed; others would turn on their nearest pursuer inmortal combat, which was soon decided in one way or the other. Grahammore than once wheeled and confronted an isolated foe, and the swordbearing the name of the gentle Grace Hilland was bloody indeed. 

All the while his eye was ranging the field for Hilland, and with hisfleet steed, that could soon have carried him beyond all danger, hediverged to right and left, as far as their headlong retreatpermitted, in his vain search for his friend. 

Suddenly the bugle from the Confederate side sounded a recall. Theenemy halted, fired parting shots, and retired briskly over the field, gathering up the wounded and the prisoners. The Union forces drewtogether on a distant eminence, from which the bugler of the colonelin command was blowing a lively call to rendezvous. 

"Where, Hilland?" cried Graham, dashing up. 

The colonel removed a cigar from his mouth and said, "Haven't seen himsince I ordered the retreat. Don't worry. He'll be here soon. Hillandis sure to come out all right. It's a way he has. 'Twas a rather rapidchange of base, Major Graham. That the enemy should have ceased theirpursuit so abruptly puzzles me. Ah, here comes your colonel, and whenHilland puts in an appearance we must hold a brief council, although Isuppose there is nothing left for us but to make our way back to campand report as speedily as possible. I'd like to come back with adivision, and turn the tables on those fellows. I believe we fought adivis--"

"Hilland!" shouted Graham, in a voice that drowned the colonel'swords, and echoed far and wide. 

There was no answer, and the fugitives were nearly all in. 

Graham galloped out beyond the last lagging trooper, and with a crythat smote the hearts of those that heard it he shouted, "Hilland!"and strained his eyes in every direction. There was no response--noform in view that resembled his friend. 

At wild speed he returned and rode among Hilland's command. His mannerwas so desperate that he drew all eyes upon him, and none seemed ableor willing to answer. At last a man said, "I heard his voice just aswe were breaking from that cursed grove, and I've seen or heardnothing of him since. I supposed he was on ahead with the colonel;"and that was all the information that could be obtained. 

The men looked very downcast, for Hilland was almost idolized by them. Graham saw that there was an eager quest of information amongthemselves, and he waited with feverish impatience for further light;but nothing could be elicited from officers or privates beyond thefact that Hilland had been bravely doing his duty up to the momentwhen, as one of the captains said, "It was a scramble, 'each man forhimself, and the devil take the hindmost. '"

As long as there had been a gleam of hope that Hilland had escapedwith the rest, Graham had been almost beside himself in his feverishimpatience. 

He now rode to where the two colonels were standing, and the seniorbegan rapidly, "Major Graham, we sympathize with you deeply. We all, and indeed the army, have sustained a severe loss in even thetemporary absence of Lieutenant-Colonel Hilland; for I will notbelieve that worse has happened than a wound and brief captivity. Theenemy has acted peculiarly. I have fears that they may be flanking usand trying to intercept us on some parallel road. Therefore I shallorder that we return to camp in the quickest possible time. Good God, Graham! don't take it so to heart. You've no proof that Hilland isdead. You look desperate, man. Come, remember that you are a soldierand that Hilland was one too. We've had to discount such experiencesfrom the start. "

"Gentlemen, " said Graham, in a low, concentrated voice, and touchinghis hat to the two colonels, "I am under the command of you both--oneas my superior officer, the other as leader of the expedition. I askpermission to return in search of my friend. "

"I forbid it, " they both cried simultaneously, while the seniorofficer continued, "Graham, you are beside yourself. It would bealmost suicide to go back. It would certainly result in your capture, while there is not one chance in a thousand that you could do Hillandany good. "

Graham made no immediate reply, but was studying the ill-omened grovewith his glass. After a moment he said, "I do not think there will beany further pursuit. The enemy are retiring from the grove. Myexplanation of their conduct is this: There is some large decisivemovement in progress, and we were merely brushed out of the way thatwe might learn nothing of it. My advice is that we retain thiscommanding position, throw out scouts on every side, and I doubtwhether we find anything beyond a small rearguard in ten miles of uswithin a few hours. "

"Your anxiety for your friend warps your judgment, and it is contraryto my instructions, which were simply to learn if there was anyconsiderable force of the enemy in this region. Your explanation ofthe enemy's conduct is plausible, and has already occurred to me as apossibility. If it be the true explanation, all the more reason thatwe should return promptly and report what we know and what we surmise. I shall therefore order 'Retreat' to be sounded at once. "

"And I, Major Graham, " said his own colonel, "must add, that while youhave my sympathy, I nevertheless order you to your place in the march. Rather than permit you to carry out your mad project, I would placeyou under arrest. "

"Gentlemen, I cannot complain of your course, or criticise yourmilitary action. You are in a better condition of mind to judge whatis wise than I; and under ordinary circumstances I would submitwithout a word. But the circumstances are extraordinary. Hilland hasbeen my friend since boyhood. I will not remain in suspense as to hisfate; much less will I leave his wife and friends in suspense. I knowthat disobedience of orders in the face of the enemy is one of thegravest offences, but I must disobey them, be the consequences whatthey may. "

As he wheeled his horse, his colonel cried, "Stop him. He's underarrest!" But Mayburn, feeling the touch of the spur, sprang into hisfleet gallop, and they might as well have pursued a bird. 

They saw this at once, and the colonel in command only growled, "---this reconnoissance. Here we've lost two of the finest officers in thebrigade, as well as some of our best men. Sound 'Retreat. '"

There was a hesitancy, and a wild impulse among Hilland's men tofollow Graham to the rescue, but it was sternly repressed by theirofficers, and the whole command was within a few moments on a sharptrot toward camp. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

ITS FULFILMENT

Graham soon slackened his pace when he found that he was not pursued, and as his friends disappeared he returned warily to the brow of theeminence and watched their rapid march away from the ill-fatedlocality. He rode over the brow of the hill as if he was following, for he had little doubt that the movements of the Union force werewatched. Having tied his horse where he could not be seen from thegrove, he crept back behind a sheltering bush, and with his glassscanned the scene of conflict. In the road leading through the grovethere were ambulances removing the wounded. At last these disappeared, and there was not a living object in sight. He watched a littlelonger, and buzzards began to wheel over and settle upon thebattleground--sure evidence that for the time it was deserted. 

He hesitated no longer. Mounting his horse he continued down the hillso as to be screened from any possible observers, then struck off tohis left to a belt of woods that extended well up to the vicinity ofthe grove. Making his way through this bit of forest, he soon came toan old wood-road partially grown up with bushes, and pushed his wayrapidly back toward the point he wished to attain. Having approachedthe limits of the belt of woods, he tied his horse in a thicket, listened, then stole to the edge nearest the grove. It appeareddeserted. Crouching along a rail fence with revolver in hand, he atlast reached its fatal shade, and pushing through its fringe of lowergrowth, peered cautiously around. Here and there he saw a lifelessbody or a struggling, wounded horse, over which the buzzards hovered, or on which they had already settled. Disgusting as was theirpresence, they reassured him, and he boldly and yet with an awfuldread at heart began his search, scanning with rapid eye eachprostrate form along the entire back edge of the grove through whichthe Union forces had burst in their swift retreat. 

He soon passed beyond all traces of conflict, and then retraced hissteps, uttering half-unconsciously and in a tone of anguish hisfriend's name. As he approached what had been the extreme right of theUnion line in their retreat, and their left in the advance, he behelda dead horse that looked familiar. He sprang forward and saw that itwas Hilland's. 

"Hilland! Warren!" he shouted, wild with awful foreboding. 

From a dense thicket near he heard a feeble groan. Rushing into it, hestumbled against the immense mossy trunk of a prostrate, decayingtree. Concealed beyond it lay his friend, apparently dying. 

"Oh, Warren!" he cried, "my friend, my brother, don't you know me? Oh, live, live! I can rescue you. "

There was no response from the slowly gasping man. 

Graham snatched a flask from his pocket and wet the pallid lips withbrandy, and then caused Hilland to swallow a little. The stimulantkindled for a few moments the flame of life, and the dying man slowlybecame conscious. 

"Graham, " he murmured feebly--"Graham, is that you?"

"Yes, yes, and I'll save you yet. Oh, in the name of Grace, I adjureyou to live. "

"Alas for Grace! My dream--will come true. "

"Oh, Hilland, no, no! Oh, that I could die in your place! What is mylife to yours! Rally, Warren, rally. My fleet horse is tied near, orif you are too badly wounded I will stay and nurse you. I'll fire apistol shot through my arm, and then we can be sent to the hospitaltogether. Here, take more brandy. That's right. With your physique youshould not think of death. Let me lift you up and stanch your wound. "

"Don't move me, Graham, or I'll bleed to death instantly, and--and--Iwant to look in your face--once more, and send my--true love to Grace. More brandy, please. It's getting light again. Before it was dark--oh, so dark! How is it you are here?"

"I came back for you. Could I ride away and you not with me? Oh, Warren! I must save your life. I must, I must!"

"Leave me, Graham; leave me at once. You will be captured, if notkilled, " and Hilland spoke with energy. 

"I will never leave you. There, your voice proves that your strengthis coming back. Warren, Warren, can't you live for Grace's sake?"

"Graham, " said Hilland, solemnly, "even my moments are numbered. Onemore gush of blood from my side and I'm gone. Oh, shall I becomenothing? Shall I be no more than the decaying tree behind which Icrawled when struck down? Shall I never see my peerless bride again?She would always have been a bride to me. I can't believe it. Theremust be amends somewhere for the agony of mind, not body, that I'veendured as I lay here, and for the anguish that Grace will suffer. Oh, Graham, my philosophy fails me in this strait, my whole nature revoltsat it. Mere corruption, chemical change, ought not to be the end of a_man_. "

"Do not waste your strength in words. Live, and in a few short weeksGrace may be your nurse. Take more brandy, and then I'll go forassistance. "

"No, Graham, no. Don't leave me. Life is ebbing again. Ah, ah!farewell--true friend. Un--bounded love--Grace. Commit--her--yourcare!"

There was a convulsive shudder and the noble form was still. 

Graham knelt over him for a few moments in silent horror. Then he toreopen Hilland's vest and placed his hand over his heart. It wasmotionless. His hand, as he withdrew it, was bathed in blood. Hepoured brandy into the open lips, but the powerful stimulant waswithout effect. The awful truth overwhelmed him. 

Hilland was dead. 

He sat down, lifted his friend up against his breast, and hung overhim with short, dry sobs--with a grief far beyond tears, careless, reckless of his own safety. 

The bushes near him were parted, and a sweet girlish face, full offear, wonder, and pity, looked upon him. The interpretation of thescene was but too evident, and tears gushed from the young girl'seyes. 

"Oh, sir, " she began in a low, faltering voice. 

The mourner paid no heed. 

"Please, sir, " she cried, "do not grieve so. I never saw a man grievelike that. Oh, papa, papa, come, come here. "

The quick pride of manhood was touched, and Graham laid his friendreverently down, and stood erect, quiet, but with heaving breast. Hasty steps approached, and a gray-haired man stood beside the younggirl. 

"I am your prisoner, sir, " said Graham, "but in the name of humanity Iask you to let me bury my dead. "

"My dear young sir, in the name of humanity and a more sacred Name, Iwill do all for you in my power. I am a clergyman, and am here with aparty from a neighboring village, charged with the office of buryingthe dead with appropriate rites. I have no desire to take youprisoner, but will be glad to entertain you as my guest if theauthorities will permit. Will you not give me some brief explanationof this scene while they are gathering up the dead?"

Graham did so in a few sad words. The daughter sat crying on the mossylog meanwhile, and the old man wiped his eyes again and again. 

"Was there ever a nobler-looking man?" sobbed the girl; "and to thinkof his poor wife! Papa, he must not be buried here. He must be takento our little cemetery by the church, and I will often put flowers onhis grave. "

"If you will carry out this plan, sweet child" said Graham, "onebroken-hearted woman will bless you while she lives. "

"Think, papa, " resumed the girl--"think if it was our Henry what wewould wish. "

"I'm glad you feel as you do, my child. It proves that this horriblewar is not hardening your heart or making you less gentle orcompassionate. I will carry out your wishes and yours, sir, and willuse my whole influence to prevent your noble fidelity to your friendfrom becoming the cause of your captivity. I will now summonassistance to carry your friend to the road, where a wagon can takehim to the village. "

In a few moments two negro slaves, part of the force sent to bury thedead, with their tattered hats doffed out of respect, slowly bore thebody of Hilland to the roadside. Graham, with his bare head bowedunder a weight of grief that seemed wellnigh crushing, followedclosely, and then the old clergyman and his daughter. They laid theprincely form down on the grass beside a dark-haired young Confederateofficer, who was also to be taken to the cemetery. 

The sad rites of burial which the good old man now performed over bothfriend and foe of subordinate rank need not be dwelt upon. While theywere taking place Graham stood beside his friend as motionless as ifhe had become a statue, heedless of the crowd of villagers and countrypeople that had gathered to the scene. 

At last a sweet voice said: "Please, sir, it's time to go. You ridewith papa. I am young and strong and can walk. "

His only response was to take her hand and kiss it fervently. Then heturned to her father and told him of his horse that was hidden in thenearest edge of the belt of woods, and asked that it might be sent forby some one who was trustworthy. 

"Here is Sampson, one of my own people; I'd trust him with all Ihave;" and one of the negroes who had borne the body of Hillandhastened away as directed, and soon returned with the beautiful horsethat awakened the admiration of all and the cupidity of a few of thenondescript characters that had been drawn to the place. 

A rude wagon was drawn to the roadside, its rough boards covered withleafy boughs, and the Union and the Confederate officer were placed init side by side. Then the minister climbed into his old-fashioned gig, his daughter sprang lightly in by his side, took the reins and slowlyled the way, followed by the extemporized hearse, while Graham on hishorse rode at the feet of his friend, chief mourner in bitter truth. The negroes who had buried the dead walked on either side of the wagonbareheaded and oblivious of the summer sun, and the country people andvillagers streamed along the road after the simple procession. 

The bodies were first taken to the parsonage, and the stains of battleremoved by an old colored aunty, a slave of the clergyman. Graham gaveinto the care of the clergyman's daughter Hilland's sword and someother articles that he did not wish to carry on his return to theUnion lines. Among these was an exquisite likeness of Grace smiling inher happy loveliness. 

Tears again rushed into the young girl's eyes as she asked in accentsof deepest commiseration: "And will you have to break the news toher?"

"No, " said Graham hoarsely; "I could not do that. I'd rather face athousand guns than that poor wife. "

"Why do you not keep the likeness?"

"I could not look upon it and think of the change which this fatal daywill bring to those features. I shall leave it with you until shecomes for his sword and to visit his grave. No one has a better rightto it than you, and in this lovely face you see the promise of yourown womanhood reflected. You have not told me your name. I wish toknow it, for I shall love and cherish it as one of my most sacredmemories. "

"Margarita Anderson, " was the blushing reply. "Papa and my friendscall me Rita. "

"Let me call you what your name signifies, and what you have provedyourself to be--Pearl. Who is Henry?"

"My only brother. He is a captain in our army. "

"You are a true Southern girl?"

"Yes, in body and soul I'm a Southern girl;" and her dark eyes flashedthrough her tears. 

"So was the original of this likeness. She is kin to you in blood andfeeling as well as in her noble qualities; but she loved her Northernhusband more than the whole world, and all in it was nothing comparedwith him. She will come and see you some day, and words will fail herin thanks. "

"And will you come with her?"

"I don't know. I may be dead long before that time. "

The young girl turned away, and for some reason her tears flowedfaster than ever before. 

"Pearl, my tender-hearted child, don't grieve over what would be sosmall a grief to me. This evil day has clouded your young life withthe sadness of others. But at your age it will soon pass;" and hereturned to his friend and took from him the little mementoes that heknew would be so dear to Grace. 

Soon after, the two bodies were borne to the quaint old church andplaced before the altar. Both were dressed in their full uniforms, andthere was a noble calmness on the face of each as they slumbered sideby side in the place sacred to the God of peace, and at peace witheach other for evermore. 

For an hour the bell tolled slowly, and the people passed in at onedoor, looked upon the manly forms, and with awed faces crept out atthe other. 

It was indeed a memorable day for the villagers. They had beenawakened in the dawn by sounds of distant conflict. They had exultedover a brilliant victory as the Confederate forces came marchingrapidly through their streets. 

They had been put on the _qui vive_ to know what the rapid movement oftheir troops meant. Some of the most severely wounded had been left intheir care. The battlefield with its horrors had been visited, andthere was to be a funeral service over two actors in the bloody drama, whose untimely fate excited not only sympathy, but the deep interestand curiosity which ever attend upon those around whom rumor has wovena romantic history. The story of Graham's return in search of hisfriend, of the circumstances of their discovery by Rita, of thelikeness of the lovely wife who would soon be heart-broken fromthe knowledge of what was known to them, had got abroad among thepeople, and their warm Southern hearts were more touched by the fateof their Northern foe than by that of the officer wearing the liveryof their own service, but of whom little was known. 

Graham's profound grief also impressed them deeply; and the presenceof a Union officer, sitting among them, forgetful of his danger, ofall except that his friend was dead, formed a theme which would bedwelt upon for months to come. 

Near the close of the day, after some appropriate words in the church, the venerable clergyman, with his white locks uncovered, led the waythrough the cemetery to its further side, where, under the shade of animmense juniper-tree, were two open graves. As before, Graham followedhis friend, and after him came Rita with a number of her youngcompanions, dressed in white and carrying baskets of flowers. After animpressive burial service had been read, the young girls passed to andfro between the graves, throwing flowers in each and singing as theywent a hymn breathing the certainty of the immortality that had beenthe object of poor Hilland's longing aspiration. Graham's heartthrilled as he heard the words, for they seemed the answer to hisfriend's questions. But, though his feelings might be touched deeply, he was the last man to be moved by sentiment or emotion from aposition to which his inexorable reason had conducted him. 

The sun threw its level rays over a scene that he never forgot--thewhite-haired clergyman standing between the open graves; the youngmaidens, led by the dark-eyed Rita, weaving in and out, their whitehands and arms glowing like ivory as they strewed the flowers, meanwhile singing with an unconscious grace and pathos that touchedthe rudest hearts; the concourse of people, chiefly women, old men, and children, for the young and strong were either mouldering onbattlefields or marching to others; the awed sable faces of thenegroes in the further background; the exquisite evening sky; thesongs of unheeding birds, so near to man in their choice ofhabitation, so remote from his sorrows and anxieties--all combined toform a picture and a memory which would be vivid and real to hislatest day. 

The graves were at last filled and piled up with flowers. Then Graham, standing uncovered before them all, spoke slowly and earnestly:

"People of the South, you see before you a Northern man, an officer inthe Union army; but as I live I cherish no thought of enmity towardone of you. On the contrary, my heart is overwhelmed with gratitude. You have placed here side by side two brave men. You have rendered totheir dust equal reverence and honor. I am in accord with you. Ibelieve that the patriotism of one was as sincere as that of theother, the courage of one as high as that of the other, that theimpulses which led them to offer up their lives were equally noble. Inyour generous sympathy for a fallen foe you have proved yourselvesAmericans in the best sense of the word. May the day come when thatname shall suffice for us all. Believe me, I would defend your homesand my own with equal zeal;" and with a bow of profound respect heturned to the grave of his friend. 

With a delicate appreciation of his wish, the people, casting backwardlingering, sympathetic glances, ebbed away and he was soon left alone. 

CHAPTER XXIX

A SOUTHERN GIRL

When Graham was left alone he knelt and bowed his head in the flowersthat Rita had placed on Hilland's grave, and the whole horrible truthseemed to grow, to broaden and deepen, like a gulf that had opened athis feet. Hilland, who had become a part of his own life and seemedinseparable from all its interests, had disappeared forever. Butyesterday he was the centre of vast interests and boundless love; nowhe had ceased to be. The love would remain, but oh, the torture of aboundless love when its object has passed beyond its reach!

The thought of Grace brought to the mourner an indescribable anguish. Once his profound love for her had asserted itself in a way that hadstung him to madness, and the evil thought had never returned. Now sheseemed to belong to the dead husband even more than when he wasliving. The thought that tortured him most was that Grace would notlong survive Hilland. The union between the two had been so close andvital that the separation might mean death. The possibilityoverwhelmed him, and he grew faint and sick. Indeed it would seem thathe partially lost consciousness, for at last he became aware that someone was standing near and pleading with him. Then he saw it was Rita. 

"Oh, sir, " she entreated, "do not grieve so. It breaks my heart to seea man so overcome. It seems terrible. It makes me feel that there aredepths of sorrow that frighten me. Oh, come with me--do, please. Ifear you've eaten nothing to-day, and we have supper all ready foryou. "

Graham tottered to his feet and passed his hand across his brow, as ifto brush away an evil dream. 

"Indeed, sir, you look sick and faint. Take my arm and lean on me. Iassure you I am very strong. "

"Yes, Pearl, you are strong. Many live to old age and never become astrue a woman as you are to-day. This awful event has wellnigh crushedme, and, now I think of it, I have scarcely tasted food since lastevening. Thank you, my child, I will take your arm. In an hour or twoI shall gain self-control. "

"My heart aches for you, sir, " she said, as they passed slowly throughthe twilight. 

"May it be long before it aches from any sorrow of your own, Pearl. "

The parsonage adjoined the church. The old clergyman abounded inalmost paternal kindness, and pressed upon Graham a glass of home-madewine. After he had taken this and eaten a little, his strength andpoise returned, and he gave his entertainers a fuller account ofHilland and his relations, and in that Southern home there was asgenuine sympathy for the inmates of the Northern home as if they allhad been devoted to the same cause. 

"There are many subjects on which we differ, " said his host. "Youperceive that I have slaves, but they are so attached to me that I donot think they would leave me if I offered them their freedom. I havebeen brought up to think slavery right. My father and grandfatherbefore me held slaves and always treated them well. I truly think theydid better by them than the bondmen could have done for themselves. Togive them liberty and send them adrift would be almost like throwinglittle children out into the world. I know that there are evils andabuses connected with our system, but I feel sure that liberty givento a people unfitted for it would be followed by far greater evils. "

"It's a subject to which I have given very little attention, " Grahamreplied. "I have spent much of my life abroad, and certainly yourservants are better off than the peasantry and very poor in many landsthat I have visited. "

With a kind of wonder, he thought of the truth that Hilland, who sohated slavery, had been lifted from the battlefield by slaves, andthat his remains had been treated with reverent honor by a slave-holder. 

The old clergyman's words also proved that, while he deprecated thewar unspeakably, his whole sympathy was with the South. His only son, of whom neither he nor Rita could speak without looks of pride andaffection kindling in their faces, was in the Confederate service, andthe old man prayed as fervently for success to the cause to which hehad devoted the treasure of his life as any Northern father couldpetition the God of nations for his boy and the restoration of theUnion. At the same time his nature was too large, too highly ennobledby Christianity, for a narrow vindictive bitterness. He could love theenemy that he was willing his son should oppose in deadly battle. 

"We hope to secure our independence, " he added, "and to work out ournational development according to the genius of our own people. I prayand hope for the time when the North and South may exist side by sideas two friendly nations. Your noble words this afternoon found theirecho in my heart. Even though my son should be slain by a Northernhand, as your friend has been by a Southern, I wish to cherish novindictive bitterness and enmity. The question must now be settled bythe stern arbitrament of battle; but when the war is over let it notbe followed by an era of hate. "

He then told Graham how he had lost his beloved wife years before, andhow lonely and desolate he had been until Rita had learned to care forhim and provide for his comfort with almost hourly vigilance. 

"Yes, " said Graham, "I have seen it; she is to you what my friend'swife is to her invalid father, the immeasurable blessing of his life. How it will be now I hardly know, for I fear that her grief willdestroy her, and the old major, her father, could not long survive. "

A note was now handed to the old gentleman, who, having read it, appeared greatly distressed. After a moment's hesitancy he gave it toGraham, who read as follows:

"I heard the North'ner speak this arternoon, an' I can't be one totake and rob him of his horse and send him to prison. But it'll bedone to-night if you can't manage his escape. Every rode is watched, an' your house will be searched to-night. ONE OF THE BAND. 

"You'll burn this an' keep mum or my neck will be stretched. "

"Who brought the note?" Mr. Anderson asked, going to the door andquestioning a colored woman. 

"Dunno, mas'r. De do' open a little, and de ting flew in on de flo'. "

"Well, " said Graham, "I must mount and go at once;" and he was aboutto resume his arms. 

"Wait, wait; I must think!" cried his host. "For you to go alone wouldbe to rush into the very evils we are warned against. I am pained andhumiliated beyond measure by this communication. Mr. Graham, do notjudge us harshly. There is, I suppose, a vile sediment in everycommunity, and there is here a class that won't enlist in open, honorable warfare, but prowl around, chiefly at night, intent on deedslike this. "

"Papa, " said Rita, who had read the warning, "I know what to do;" andher brave spirit flashed in her eyes. 

"You, my child?"

"Yes. I'll prove to Mr. Graham what a Southern girl will do for aguest--for one who has trusted her. The deep, deep disgrace of hiscapture and robbery shall not come on our heads. I will guide him atonce through the woods to old Uncle Jehu's cabin. No one will think oflooking for him there; for there is little more than a bridle-pathleading to it; but I know the way, every inch of it. "

"But, Rita, I could send one of the servants with Mr. Graham. "

"No, papa; he would be missed and afterward questioned, and some awfulrevenge taken on him. You must say that I have retired when thevillains come. You must keep all our servants in. Mr. Graham and Iwill slip out. He can saddle his horse, and I, you know well, cansaddle mine. Now we must apparently go to our rooms and within half anhour slip out unperceived and start. No one will ever dare touch me, even if it is found out. "

"Pearl, priceless Pearl, I'll fight my way through all the guerillasin the land, rather than subject you to peril. "

"You could not fight your way through them, the cowardly skulkers. What chance would you have in darkness? My plan brings me no peril, for if they met us they would not dare to touch me. But if it costs memy life I _will_ go, " she concluded passionately. "This disgracemust not fall on our people. "

"Rita is right, " said the old clergyman, solemnly. "I could scarcelysurvive the disgrace of having a guest taken from my home, and theywould have to walk over my prostrate form before it could be done; andto send you out alone would be even more shameful. The plan does notinvolve much peril to Rita. Although, in a sense, you are my enemy, Iwill trust this pearl beyond price to your protection, and old Jehuwill return with her until within a short distance of the house. Asshe says, I think no one in this region would harm her. I will co-operate with you, Rita, and entreat the Heavenly Father until I claspyou in my arms again. Act, act at once. "

Graham was about to protest again, but she silenced him by a gesturethat was almost imperious. "Don't you see that for papa's sake, for myown, as well as yours, I must go? Now let us say good-night as if wewere parting unsuspicious of trouble. When I tap at your door, Mr. Graham, you will follow me; and you, papa, try to keep our people inignorance. "

Graham wrung the clergyman's hand in parting, and said, "You willalways be to me a type of the noblest development of humanity. "

"God bless you, sir, " was the reply, "and sustain you through thedangers and trying scenes before you. I am but a simple old man, trying to do right with God's help. And, believe me, sir, the South isfull of men as sincere as I am. "

Within half an hour Graham followed his fair guide down a backstairway and out into the darkness. Rita's pony was at pasture in afield adjoining the stable, but he came instantly at her soft call. 

"I shall not put on my saddle, " she whispered. "If I leave it hangingin the stable it will be good evidence that I am in my room. Therewill be no need of our riding fast, and, indeed, I have often riddenwithout a saddle for fun. I will guide you to your horse and saddle inthe dark stable, for we must take him out of a back door, so thatthere will be no sound of his feet on the boards. "

Within a few moments they were passing like shadows down a shaded lanethat led from the house to the forest, and then entered what was amere bridle-path, the starlight barely enabling the keen-eyed Rita tomake it out at times. The thick woods on either side prevented alldanger of flank attacks. After riding some little time they stoppedand listened. The absolute silence, broken only by the cries of thewild creatures of the night, convinced them that they were notfollowed. Then Rita said, "Old Jehu has a bright boy of sixteen orthereabout, and he'll guide you north through the woods as far as hecan, and then God will protect and guide you until you are safe. Iknow He will help you to escape, that you may say words of comfort tothe poor, broken-hearted wife. "

"Yes, Pearl, I think I shall escape. I take your guidance as a goodomen. If I could only be sure that no harm came to you and your noblefather!"

"The worst of harm would have come to us had we permitted the evilthat was threatened. "

"You seem very young, Pearl, and yet you are in many ways very matureand womanly. "

"I am young--only sixteen-but mamma's death and the responsibility itbrought me made my childhood brief. Then Henry is five years olderthan I, and I always played with him, and, of course, you know I triedto reach up to those things that he thought about and did. I've neverbeen to school. Papa is educating me, and oh, he knows so much, and hemakes knowledge so interesting, that I can't help learning a little. And then Henry's going into the war, and all that is happening, makesme feel so very, very old and sad at times;" and so she continued inlow tones to tell about herself and Henry and her father, of theirhopes of final victory, and all that made up her life. This she didwith a guileless frankness, and yet with a refined reserve that wasindescribable in its simple pathos and beauty. In spite of himselfGraham was charmed and soothed, while he wondered at the exquisiteblending of girlhood and womanhood in his guide. She also questionedhim about the North and the lands he had visited, about his aunt andGrace and her father; and Graham's tremulous tones as he spoke ofGrace led her to say sorrowfully, "Ah, she is very, very dear to youalso. "

"Yes, " he said, imitating her frankness, "she is dearer to me than mylife. I would gladly have died in Hilland's place to have saved herthis sorrow. Were it not for the hope of serving her in some way, death would have few terrors to me. There, my child, I have spoken toyou as I have to only one other, my dear old aunty, who is like amother. Your noble trust begets trust. "

Then he became aware that she was crying bitterly. 

"Pearl, Pearl, " he said, "don't cry. I have become accustomed to a sadheart, and it's an old, old story. "

"Oh, Mr. Graham, I remember hearing mamma say once that women learnmore through their hearts than their heads. I have often thought ofher words, and I think they must be true. Almost from the first myheart told me that there was something about you which made youdifferent from other people. Why is the world so full of trouble ofevery kind? Ah, well, papa has taught me that heaven will make amendsfor everything. "

They had now reached a little clearing, and Rita said that they werenear Jehu's cabin, and that their final words had better be saidbefore awakening the old man. "I must bathe my face, too, " she added, "for he would not understand my tears, " and went to a clear littlespring but a few paces away. 

Graham also dismounted. When she returned he took her hand and raisedit reverently to his lips as he said, "Pearl, this is not a case forordinary thanks. I no doubt owe my life, certainly my liberty, to you. On that I will not dwell. I owe to you and your father far more, andso does poor Grace Hilland. You insured a burial for my friend thatwill bring a world of comfort to those who loved him. The thought ofyour going to his grave and placing upon it fresh flowers from time totime will contain more balm than a thousand words of well-meantcondolence. Pearl, my sweet, pure, noble child, is there nothing I cando for you?"

"Yes, " she faltered; "it may be that you can return all that we havedone a hundred-fold. It may be that you will meet Henry in battle. Inthe memory of his little sister you will spare him, will you not? Ifhe should be captured I will tell him to write to you, and I feel surethat you will remember our lonely ride and the gray old father who ispraying for you now, and will not leave him to suffer. "

Graham drew a seal ring from his finger and said: "Dear Pearl, takethis as a pledge that I will serve him in any way in my power and atany cost to myself. I hope the day will come when he will honor mewith his friendship, and I would as soon strike the friend I have lostas your brother. "

 "Now I am content, " she said. "I believe every word you say. "

"And Grace Hilland will come some day and claim you as a sister dearlybeloved. And I, sweet Pearl, will honor your memory in my heart ofhearts. The man who wins you as his bride may well be prouder than anemperor. "

"Oh, no, Mr. Graham, I'm just a simple Southern girl. "

"There are few like you, I fear, South or North. You are a girl tokindle every manly instinct and power, and I shall be better forhaving known you. The hope of serving you and yours in some way and atsome time will give a new zest and value to my life. "

"Do not speak so kindly or I shall cry again. I've been afraid youwould think me silly, I cry so easily. I do not think we Southerngirls are like those at the North. They are colder, I imagine, or atleast more able to control their feelings. Papa says I am a child ofthe South. I can't decide just how much or how little I ought to feelon all occasions, and ever since I saw you mourning over your friendwith just such passionate grief as I should feel, my whole heart hasached for you. You will come and see us again if you have a chance?"

"I will make chances, Pearl, even though they involve no little risk. "

"No, no; don't do that. You ought to care too much for us to do that. Nothing would give me pleasure that brought danger to you. If I couldonly know that you reached your friends in safety!"

"I'll find a way of letting you know if I can. "

"Well, then, good-by. It's strange, but you seem like an old, oldfriend. Oh, I know Henry will like you, and that you will like him. Next to mamma's, your ring shall be my dearest treasure. I shall lookat it every night and think I have added one more chance of Henry'ssafety. Oh, I could worship the man who saved his life. "

"And any man might worship you. Good-by, Pearl;" and he kissed herhand again and again, then lifted her on her pony with a tendernessthat was almost an embrace, and she rode slowly to the door of alittle log cabin, while Graham remained concealed in the shadow of thewoods until it was made certain that no one was in the vicinity exceptJehu and his family. 

The old man was soon aroused, and his ejaculations and exclamationswere innumerable. 

"No, missy, dars no un been roun' heah for right smart days. It's allsafe, an' Jehu an' his ole ooman knows how ter keep mum when Mas'rAnderson says mum; an' so does my peart boy Huey"--who, named for hisfather, was thus distinguished from him. "An' de hossifer is a Linkumman? Sho, sho! who'd a tink it, and his own son a 'Federate! Well, well, Mas'r Anderson isn't low-down white trash. If he thought a tingwas right I reckon de hull worl' couldn't make him cut up any white-trash didoes. "

When Rita explained further the old negro replied with alacrity: "Obcose Jehu will took you home safe, an' proud he'll be ter go wid you, honey. You'se a mighty peart little gal, an' does youse blood an'broughten up jestice. Mighty few would dar' ride five mile troo delonesome woods wid a strange hossifer, if he be a Linkum man. He mus'be sumpen like Linkum hisself. Yes, if you bain't afeared ter show himde way, Huey needn't be;" and the boy, who was now wide awake, saidhe'd "like notten better dan showin' a Linkum man troo de woods. "

Graham was summoned, and in a few moments all was arranged. 

He then drew the old man aside and said, "You good, faithful old soul, take care of that girl as the apple of your eye, for she has only oneequal in the world. Here is one hundred dollars. That will pay for agood many chickens and vegetables, won't it?"

"Lor' bless you, mas'r, dey ain't chickens nuff in Ole Virginny tobrought hundred dollars. "

"Well, I'll tell you what I'm afraid of. This region may be wasted bywar, like so many others. You may not be troubled in this out-of-the-way place. If Mr. Anderson's family is ever in need, you are now paidto supply them with all that you can furnish"

"'Deed I is, mas'r, double paid. "

"Be faithful to them and you shall have more 'Linkum money, ' as youcall it. Keep it, for your money down here won't be worth much soon. "

"Dat's shoah. De cullud people bain't all prayin' for Linkum fornotten. "

"Good-by. Do as I say and you shall be taken care of some day. Saynothing about this. "

"Mum's de word all roun' ter-night, mas'r. "

"Huey, are you ready?"

"I is, mas'r. "

"Lead the way, then;" and again approaching Rita, Graham took off hishat and bowed low as he said, "Give my grateful greeting to yourhonored father, and may every hope of his heart be fulfilled in returnfor his good deeds today. As for you, Miss Anderson, no words canexpress my profound respect and unbounded gratitude. We shall meetagain in happier times;" and backing his horse, while he stillremained uncovered, he soon turned and followed Huey. 

"Well, now, " ejaculated Jehu. "'Clar ter you ef dat ar Linkum hossiferbain't nigh onter bein' as fine a gemman as Mas'r Henry hisself. Won'tyou take some 'freshment, missy? No? Den I'se go right 'long wid you. "

Rita enjoined silence, ostensibly for the reason that it was prudent, but chiefly that she might have a respite from the old man'sgarrulousness. Her thoughts were very busy. The first romance of heryoung life had come, and she still felt on her hands the kisses thathad been so warm and sincere, although she knew they were given by onewho cherished a hopeless love. After all, it was but her vividSouthern imagination that had been kindled by the swift, strangeevents of the past twenty-four hours. With the fine sense of the besttype of dawning womanhood, she had been deeply moved by Graham'sstrong nature. She had seen in him a love for another man that was astender and passionate as that of a woman, and yet it was bestowed uponthe husband of the woman whom he had loved for years. That he had nothesitated to risk captivity and death in returning for his friendproved his bravery to be unlimited, and a Southern girl adorescourage. For a time Graham would be the ideal of her girlish heart. His words of admiration and respect were dwelt upon, and her cheeksflushed up seen in the deep shadow of the forest. Again her tearswould fall fast as she thought of his peril and of all the sad scenesof the day and the sadder ones still to come. Grace Hilland, aSouthern girl like herself, became a glorified image to her fancy, andit would now be her chief ambition to be like her. She would keep herlovely portrait on her bureau beside her Bible, and it should bealmost equally sacred. 

In the edge of the forest she parted from Jehu with many and warmthanks, for she thought it wise that there should not be the slightestchance of his being seen. She also handed him a Confederate bill outof her slender allowance, patted him on the shoulder as she would somefaithful animal, and rode away. He crept along after her till he sawher let down some bars and turn her pony into the fields. He thencrept on till he saw her enter a door, and then stole back to theforest and shambled homeward as dusky as the shadows in which hewalked, chuckling, "Missy Rita, sweet honey, guv me one of dern'Federate rags. Oh, golly! I'se got more money--live Linkum money--danMas'r Anderson hisself, and I'se got notten ter do but raise chickensan' garden sass all my born days. Missy Rita's red cheeks never growpale long as Jehu or Huey can tote chickens and sass. "

 CHAPTER XXX

GUERILLAS

Graham, beyond a few low, encouraging words, held his peace and alsoenjoined silence on his youthful guide. His plan was to make a widecircuit around the battlefield of the previous day, and then strikethe trail of the Union forces, which he believed he could follow atnight. Huey thought that this could be done and that they could keepin the shelter of the woods most of the distance, and this theyaccomplished, reconnoitring the roads most carefully before crossingthem. Huey was an inveterate trapper; and as his pursuit was quite asprofitable as raising "sass, " old Jehu gave the boy his own way. Therefore he knew every path through the woods for miles around. 

The dawn was in the east before Graham reached the Union trail, and bedecided to spend the day in a dense piece of woods not very fardistant. Huey soon settled the question of Mayburn's provender bypurloining a few sheaves of late oats from a field that they passed;but when they reached their hiding-place Graham was conscious that hewas in need of food himself, and he also remembered that a boy isalways ravenous. 

"Well, Huey, " he said, "in providing for the horse you have attendedto the main business, but what are we going to do?"

"We'se gwine ter do better'n de hoss. If mas'r'll 'zamine his saddle-bags, reckon he'll fine dat Missy Rita hain't de leddy to sen' us offon a hunt widout a bite of suthin' good. She sez, sez she to me, inkind o' whisper like, 'Mas'r Graham'll fine suthin' you'll like, Huey;'" and the boy eyed the saddle-bags like a young wolf. 

"Was there ever such a blessed girl!" cried Graham, as he pulled out aflask of wine, a fowl cut into nice portions, bread, butter, andrelishes--indeed, the best that her simple housekeeping afforded inthe emergency. In the other bag there was also a piece of cake of suchportentous size that Huey clasped his hands and rolled up his eyes ashe had seen his parents do when the glories of heaven were expatiatedupon in the negro prayer-meetings. 

"That's all for you, Huey, and here's some bread and cold ham to gowith it. When could she have provided these things so thoughtfully? Itmust have been before she called me last night. Now, Huey, if you evercatch anything extra nice in the woods you take it to Miss Rita. Thereis ten dollars to pay you; and when the Lincoln men get possessionhere I'll look after you and give you a fine chance, if you have beenfaithful. You must not tell Miss Rita what I say, but seem to do allof your own accord. I wish I had more money with me, but you will seeme again, and I will make it all right with you. "

"It's all right now, mas'r. What wouldn't I do for Missy Rita? When myole mammy was sick she bro't med'cin, and a right smart lot ob tings, and brung her troo de weariness. Golly! Wonder Missy Rita don't gostraight up ter heben like dem rackets dey shoots when de 'Federatessay dey hab a vict'ry;" and then the boy's mouth became so full thathe was speechless for a long time. 

The sense of danger, and the necessity for the utmost vigilance, haddiverted Graham's thoughts during his long night ride; and with asoldier's habit he had concentrated his faculties on the immediateproblem of finding the trail, verifying Huey's local knowledge byobservation of the stars. Now, in the cool summer morning, with Rita'sdelicious repast before him, life did not seem so desperate a thing ason the day before. Although exceedingly wearied, the strength of mindwhich would enable him to face his sad tasks was returning. He thoughtlittle about the consequences of his disobedience to orders, and caredless. If he lost his rank he would enlist as a private soldier afterhe had done all in his power for Grace, who had been committed to hiscare by Hilland's last words. He felt that she had the most sacredclaims upon him, and yet he queried, "What can I do for her beyondcommunicating every detail of her husband's last hours and his burial?What remedy is there for a sorrow like hers?"

At the same time he felt that a lifelong and devoted friendship mightbring solace and help at times, and this hope gave a new value to hislife. He also thought it very possible that the strange vicissitudesof war might put it in his power to serve the Andersons, in whom hefelt a grateful interest that only such scenes as had just occurredcould have awakened. It would ever be to him a source of unalloyed joyto add anything to Rita Anderson's happiness. 

His kind old aunt, too, had her full share of his thoughts as hereclined on the dun-colored leaves of the previous year and reviewedthe past and planned for the future. He recalled her words, "that goodwould come of it, " when he had promised to "live and do his best. "Although in his own life he had missed happiness, there was still aprospect of his adding much to the well-being of others. 

But how could he meet Grace again? He trembled at the very thought. Her grief would unman him. It was agony even to imagine it; and shemight, in her ignorance of an officer's duties in battle, think thatif he had kept near Hilland the awful event might have been averted. 

After all, he could reach but one conclusion--to keep his old promise"to do his best, " as circumstances indicated. 

Asking Huey, who had the trained ear of a hunter, to watch and listen, he took some sleep in preparation for the coming night, and then gavethe boy a chance to rest. 

The day passed quietly, and in the evening he dismissed Huey, withassurances to Rita and her father that a night's ride would bring himwithin the Union lines, and that he now knew the way well. The boydeparted in high spirits, feeling that he would like "showin' Linkummen troo de woods" even better than trapping. 

Then looking well to his arms, and seeing that they were ready forinstant use, Graham started on his perilous ride, walking his horseand stopping to listen from time to time. Once in the earlier part ofthe night he heard the sound of horses' feet, and drawing back intothe deep shadow of the woods he saw three or four men gallop by. Theywere undoubtedly guerillas looking for him, or on some prowl withother objects in view. At last he knew he must be near his friends, and he determined to push on, even though the dawn was growing bright;but he had hardly reached this conclusion when but a short distance inadvance a dozen horsemen dashed out of a grove and started toward him. 

They were part of "The Band, " who, with the instincts of their class, conjectured too truly that, since he had eluded them thus far, theirbest chance to intercept him would be at his natural approach to theUnion lines; and now, with the kind of joy peculiar to themselves, they felt that their prey was in their power, beyond all hope ofescape, for Graham was in plain sight upon a road inclosed on eitherside by a high rail fence. There were so many guerillas that there wasnot a ghost of a chance in fighting or riding through them, and for amoment his position seemed desperate. 

"It's Mayburn to the rescue now, " he muttered, and he turned and spedaway, and every leap of his noble horse increased the distance betweenhim and his pursuers. His confidence soon returned, for he felt thatunless something unforeseen occurred he could ride all around them. His pursuers fired two shots, which were harmless enough, but to hisdismay Graham soon learned that they were signals, for from afarmhouse near other horsemen entered the road, and he was between twoparties. 

There was not a moment to lose. Glancing ahead, he saw a place wherethe fence had lost a rail or two. He spurred toward it, and thegallant horse flew over like a bird into a wide field fringed on thefurther side by a thick growth of timber. Bullets from theintercepting party whizzed around him; but he sped on unharmed, whilehis pursuers only stopped long enough to throw off a few rails, andthen both of the guerilla squads rode straight for the woods, with theplan of keeping the fugitive between them, knowing that in its tanglehe must be caught. 

Graham resolved to risk another volley in order to ride around thepursuers nearest the Union lines, thus throwing them in the rear, withno better chance than a stern chase would give them. In order toaccomplish this, however, he had to circle very near the woods, and indoing so saw a promising wood-road leading into them. The yellingguerillas were so close as to make his first plan of escape extremelyhazardous; therefore, following some happy instinct he plunged intothe shade of the forest. The road proved narrow, but it was open andunimpeded by overhanging boughs. Indeed, the trees were the straight, slender pines in which the region abounded, and he gained on all ofhis pursuers except two, who, like himself, were superbly mounted. Thethud of their horses' hoofs kept near, and he feared that he mightsoon come to some obstruction which would bring them to closequarters. Mayburn was giving signs of weariness, for his mettle hadbeen sorely tried of late, and Graham resolved to ambush his pursuersif possible. An opportunity occurred speedily, for the road made asharp turn, and there was a small clearing where the timber had beencut. The dawn had as yet created but a twilight in the woods, and theobscurity aided his purpose. He drew up by the roadside at thebeginning of the clearing, and in a position where he could notreadily be seen until the guerillas were nearly abreast, and waited, with his heavy revolver in hand and his drawn sword lying across thepommel of his saddle. 

On they came at a headlong pace, and passed into the clearing but afew feet away. There were two sharp reports, with the slightestpossible interval. The first man dropped instantly; the other rodewildly for a few moments and then fell headlong, while the riderlesshorses galloped on for a time. 

Graham, however, soon overtook them, and with far more compunctionthan he had felt in shooting their riders, he struck them such a blowwith his sword on their necks, a little back of their ears, that theyreeled and fell by the roadside. He feared those horses more than all"The Band"; for if mounted again they might tire Mayburn out in aprolonged chase. 

To his great joy the wood lane soon emerged into another large openfield, and he now felt comparatively safe. 

The guerillas, on hearing the shots, spurred on exultantly, feelingsure of their prey, but only to stumble over their fallen comrades. One was still able to explain the mode of their discomfiture; and thedusky road beyond at once acquired wholesome terrors for thesurvivors, who rode on more slowly and warily, hoping now for littlemore than the recapture of the horses, which were the envy of alltheir lawless hearts. Your genuine guerilla will always incur a heavyrisk for a fine horse. They soon discovered the poor brutes, and sawat a glance that they would be of no more service in irregularprowlings. Infuriated more at the loss of the beasts than at that ofthe men, they again rushed forward only to see Graham galloping easilyaway in the distance. 

Even in their fury they recognized that further pursuit was useless, and with bitter curses on their luck, they took the saddles from thefallen horses, and carried their associates, one dead and the otherdying, to the farmhouse in which dwelt a sympathizer, who had giventhem refreshment during the night. 

A few hours later--for he travelled the rest of the way very warily--Graham reported to his colonel, and found the brigade under orders tomove on the following morning, provided with ten days' rations. 

The officer was both delighted and perplexed. "It's a hard case, " hesaid. "You acted from the noblest impulses; but it was flatdisobedience to orders. "

"I know it. I shall probably be dismissed from the service. If so, colonel, I will enlist as a private in your regiment. Then you canshoot me if I disobey again. "

"Well, you are the coolest fellow that ever wore the blue. Come withme to headquarters. "

The fact of his arrival, and an imperfect story of what had occurred, soon got abroad among the men; and they were wild in their approval, cheering him with the utmost enthusiasm as he passed to thebrigadier's tent. The general was a genuine cavalryman; and was toowise in his day and generation to alienate his whole brigade by anymartinetism. He knew Graham's reputation well, and he was aboutstarting on a dangerous service. The cheers of the men crowding to histent spoke volumes. Hilland's regiment seemed half beside themselveswhen they learned that Graham had found their lieutenant-colonel dyingon the field, and that he had been given an honorable burial. Thegeneral, therefore, gave Graham a most cordial welcome; and said thatthe question was not within his jurisdiction, and that he wouldforward full particulars at once through the proper channels to theSecretary of War, adding, "We'll be on the march before orders canreach you. Meanwhile take your old command. "

Then the story had to be repeated in detail to the chief officers ofthe brigade. Graham told it in as few words as possible, and they allsaw that his grief was so profound that the question of his futureposition in the army was scarcely thought of. "I am not a sentimentalrecruit, " he said in conclusion. "I know the nature of my offence, andwill make no plea beyond that I believed that all danger to ourcommand had passed, and that it would ride quietly into camp, as itdid. I also thought that my superiors in giving the order were moreconcerned for my safety than, for anything else. What the consequencesare to myself personally, I don't care a straw. There are somemisfortunes which dwarf all others. " The conference broke up with themost hearty expressions of sympathy, and the regret for Hilland'sdeath was both deep and genuine. 

"I have a favor to ask my colonel, with your approval, General, " saidGraham. "I would like to take a small detachment and capture the ownerof the farmhouse at which was harbored part of the guerilla band fromwhich I escaped. I would like to make him confess the names of hisassociates, and send word to them that if harm comes to any who showedkindness or respect to officers of our brigade, severe punishment willbe meted out on every one whenever the region is occupied by Unionforces. "

"I order the thing to be done at once, " cried the general. "Colonel, give Major Graham as many men as he needs; and, Graham, send wordwe'll hang every mother's son of 'em and burn their ranches if theyindulge in any more of their devilish outrages. Bring the farmer intocamp, and I will send him to Washington as a hostage. "

On this occasion Graham obeyed orders literally. The farmer and two ofthe guerillas were captured; and when threatened with a noosed ropeconfessed the names of the others. A nearly grown son of the farmerwas intrusted with the general's message to their associates; andGraham added emphatically that he intended to come himself some dayand see that it was obeyed. "Tell them to go into the army and becomestraightforward soldiers if they wish, but if I ever hear of anotheroutrage I'll never rest till the general's threat is carried out. "

Graham's deadly pistol shots and the reputation he had gained in thevicinity gave weight to his words; and "The Band" subsided into themost humdrum farmers of the region. Rita had ample information of hissafety, for it soon became known that he had killed two of the mostactive and daring of the guerillas and captured three others; and sheworshipped the hero of her girlish fancy all the more devoutly. 

CHAPTER XXXI

JUST IN TIME

Graham returned to camp early in the afternoon, and was again greetedwith acclamations, for the events that had occurred had become betterknown. The men soon saw, however, from his sad, stern visage that hewas in no mood for ovations, and that noisy approval of his course wasvery distasteful. After reporting, he went directly to his tent; itsflaps were closed, and Iss was instructed to permit no one to approachunless bearing orders. The faithful negro, overjoyed at his master'ssafe return, marched to and fro like a belligerent watch-dog. 

Graham wrote the whole story to his aunt, and besought her to makeknown to Grace with all the gentleness and tact that she possessed theawful certainty of her husband's death. A telegram announcing himamong the missing had already been sent. "Say to her, " he said, inconclusion, "that during every waking moment I am grieving for her andwith her. Oh, I tremble at the effect of her grief: I dread itsconsequences beyond all words. You know that every power I possess iswholly at her service. Write me daily and direct me what to do--if, alas! it is within my power to do anything in regard to a grief thatis without remedy. "

He then explained that the command was under orders to move thefollowing day, and that he would write again when he could. 

During the next two weeks he saw some active service, taking part inseveral skirmishes and one severe engagement. In the last it was hisfortune to receive on the shoulder a sabre-cut which promised to be apainful though not a dangerous wound, his epaulet having broken theforce of the blow. 

On the evening of the battle a telegram was forwarded to himcontaining the words:

 "Have written fully. Come home if you can for a short time. All needyou. CHARLOTTE MAYBURN. "

 In the rapid movements of his brigade his aunt's letters had failedto reach him, and now he esteemed his wound most fortunate since itsecured him a leave of absence. 

His journey home was painful in every sense of the word. He wasoppressed by the saddest of memories. He both longed and dreadedunspeakably to see Grace, and the lack of definite tidings from herleft his mind a prey to the dreariest forebodings, which were enhancedby his aunt's telegram. The physical pain from which he was never freewas almost welcomed as a diversion from his distress of mind. Hestopped in Washington only long enough to have his wound re-dressed, and pushed northward. A fatality of delays irritated him beyondmeasure; and it was late at night when he left the cars and was drivento his aunt's residence. 

A yearning and uncontrollable interest impelled him to approach firstthe cottage which contained the woman, dearer to him than all theworld, who had been so strangely committed to his care. To hissurprise there was a faint light in the library; and Hilland's ill-omened dream flashed across his mind. With a prophetic dread at heart, he stepped lightly up the piazza to a window. As he turned the blindshe witnessed a scene that so smote his heart that he had to leanagainst the house for support. Before him was the reality of poorHilland's vision. 

On the rug before the flickering fire the stricken wife crouched, wringing her hands, which looked ghostly in their whiteness. A candleburning dimly on a table increased the light of the fire; and by theirunited rays he saw, with a thrill of horror, that her loosened hair, which covered her bowed face and shoulders, was, in truth, silverwhite; and its contrast with her black wrapper made the whole scene, linked as it was with a dead man's dream, so ghostly that heshuddered, and was inclined to believe it to be the creation of hisoverwrought senses. In self-distrust he looked around. Other objectswere clear in the faint moonlight. He was perfectly conscious of thedull ache of his wound. Had the phantom crouched before the firevanished? No; but now the silver hair was thrown back, and GraceHilland's white, agonized face was lifted heavenward. Oh, how white itwas!

She slowly took a dark-colored vial from her bosom. 

Thrilled with unspeakable horror, "Grace!" he shouted, and by adesperate effort threw the blind upward and off from its hinges, andit fell with a crash on the veranda. Springing into the apartment, hehad not reached her side before the door opened, and his aunt'sfrightened face appeared. 

"Great God! what does this mean, Alford?"

"What _does_ it mean, indeed!" he echoed in agonized tones, as heknelt beside Grace, who had fallen on the floor utterly unconscious. "Bring the candle here, " he added hoarsely. 

She mechanically obeyed and seemed almost paralyzed. After a moment'ssearch he snatched up something and cried: "She's safe, she's safe!The cork is not removed. " Then he thrust the vial into his pocket, andlifted Grace gently on the lounge, saying meanwhile: "She has onlyfainted; surely 'tis no more. Oh, as you value my life and hers, act. You should know what to do. I will send the coachman for a physicianinstantly, and will come when you need me. "

Rushing to the man's room, he dragged him from his bed, shook himawake, and gave him instructions and offers of reward that stirred thefellow's blood as it had never been stirred before; and yet when hereached the stable he found that Graham had broken the lock and had ahorse saddled and ready. 

"Now ride, " he was commanded, "as if the devil you believe in wasafter you. "

Then Graham rushed back into the house, for he was almost besidehimself. But when he heard the poor old major calling piteously, andasking what was the matter, he was taught his need of self-control. Going up to the veteran's room, he soothed him by saying that he hadreturned late in the night in response to his aunt's telegram, andthat he had found Grace fainting on the floor, that Mrs. Mayburn andthe servants were with her, and that a physician had been sent for. 

"Oh, Graham, Graham, " moaned the old man, "I fear my peerless girl islosing her mind, she has acted so strangely of late. It's time youcame. It's time something was done, or the worst may happen. "

With an almost overwhelming sense of horror, Graham remembered hownearly the worst had happened, but he only said: "Let us hope theworst has passed. I will bring you word from Mrs. Mayburn from time totime. "

His terrible anxiety was only partially relieved, for his aunt saidthat Grace's swoon was obstinate, and would not yield to the remediesshe was using. "Come in, " she cried. "This is no time for ceremony. Take brandy and chafe her wrists. "

What a mortal chill her cold hands gave him! It was worse than whenHilland's hands were cold in his. 

"Oh, aunt, she will live?"

"Certainly, " was the brusque reply. "A fainting turn is nothing. Come, you are cool in a battle: be cool now. It won't do for us all to loseour wits, although Heaven knows there's cause enough. "

"How white her face and neck are!"--for Mrs. Mayburn had opened herwrapper at the throat, that she might breathe more easily--"just asHilland saw her in his dream. "

"Have done with your dreams, and omens, and all your weird nonsense. It's time for a little more _common_-sense. Rub her wrists gentlybut strongly; and if she shows signs of consciousness, disappear. "

At last she said hastily, "Go"

Listening at the door, he heard Grace ask, a few moments later, in afaint voice, "What has happened?'"

"You only fainted, deary. "

"Why--why--I'm in the library. "

"Yes, you got up in your sleep, and I followed you; and the doctorwill soon be here, although little need we have of him. "

"Oh, I've had a fearful dream. I thought I saw Warren or Alford. Isurely heard Alford's voice. "

"Yes, dear, I've no doubt you had a bad dream; and it may be thatAlford's voice caused it, for he arrived late last night and has beentalking with your father. "

"That must be it, " she sighed; "but my head is so confused. Oh, I amso glad he's come! When can I see him?"

"Not till after the doctor comes and you are much stronger. "

"I wish to thank him; I can't wait to thank him. "

"He doesn't want thanks, deary; he wants you to get well. You owe itto him and your father to get well--as well as your great and lifelongsorrow permits. Now, deary, take a little more stimulant, and thendon't talk. I've explained everything, and shown you your duty; and Iknow that my brave Grace will do it. "

"I'll try, " she said, with a pathetic weariness in her voice thatbrought a rush of tears to Graham's eyes. 

Returning to Major St. John, he assured him that Grace had revived, and that he believed she would be herself hereafter. 

"Oh, this cursed war!" groaned the old man; "and how I have exulted init and Warren's career! I had a blind confidence that he would comeout of it a veteran general while yet little more than a boy. Myambition has been punished, punished; and I may lose both the childrenof whom I was so proud. Oh, Graham, the whole world is turning asblack as Grace's mourning robes. "

"I have felt that way myself. But, Major, as soldiers we must facethis thing like men. The doctor has come; and I will bring him herebefore he goes, to give his report. "

"Well, Graham, a father's blessing on you for going back for Warren. If Grace had been left in suspense as to his fate she would have gonemad in very truth. God only knows how it will be now; but she has abetter chance in meeting and overcoming the sharp agony of certainty. "

Under the physician's remedies Grace rallied more rapidly; and he saidthat if carried to her room she would soon sleep quietly. 

"I wish to see Mr. Graham first, " she said, decisively. 

To Mrs. Mayburn's questioning glance, he added, "Gratify her. I havequieting remedies at hand. "

"He will prove more quieting than all remedies. He saved my husband'slife once, and tried to do so again; and I wish to tell him I neverforget it night or day. He is brave, and strong, and tranquil; and Ifeel that to take his hand will allay the fever in my brain. "

"Grace, I am here, " he said, pushing open the door and bending hisknee at her side while taking her hand. "Waste no strength in thanks. School your broken heart into patience; and remember how dear, beyondall words, your life is to others. Your father's life depends onyours. "

"I'll try, " she again said; "I think I feel better, differently. Anoppression that seemed stifling, crushing me, is passing away. Alford, was there no chance--no chance at all of saving him?"

"Alas! no; and yet it is all so much better than it might have been!His grave is in a quiet, beautiful spot, which you can visit; andfresh flowers are placed upon it every day. Dear Grace, compare yourlot with that of so many others whose loved ones are left on thefield. "

"As he would have been were it not for you, my true, true friend, " andshe carried his hand to her lips in passionate gratitude. Then tearsgushed from her eyes, and she sobbed like a child. 

"Thank the good God!" ejaculated Mrs. Mayburn. "These are the firsttears she has shed. She will be better now. Come, deary, you have seenAlford. He is to stop with us a long time, and will tell youeverything over and over. You must sleep now. "

Graham kissed her hand and left the room, and the servants carried herto her apartment. Mrs. Mayburn and the physician soon joined him inthe library, which was haunted by a memory that would shake his soulto his dying day. 

The physician in a cheerful mood said, "I now predict a decided changefor the better. It would almost seem that she had had some shock whichhas broken the evil spell; and this natural flow of tears is betterthan all the medicine in the world;" and then he and Mrs. Mayburnexplained how Grace's manner had been growing so strange and unnaturalthat they feared her mind was giving way. 

"I fear you were right, " Graham replied sadly; and he told them of thescene he had witnessed, and produced the vial of laudanum. 

The physician was much shocked, but Mrs. Mayburn had already guessedthe truth from her nephew's words and manner when she first discoveredhim. 

"Neither Grace nor her father must ever know of this, " she said, witha shudder. 

"Certainly not; but Dr. Markham should know. As her physician, heshould know the whole truth. "

"I think that phase of her trouble has passed, " said the doctor, thoughtfully; "but, as you say, I must be on my guard. Pardon me, youdo not look well yourself. Indeed, you look faint;" for Graham hadsunk into a chair. 

"I fear I have been losing considerable blood, " said Graham, carelessly; "and now that this strong excitement is passing, it beginsto tell. I owe my leave of absence to a wound. "

"A wound!" cried his aunt, coming to his side. "Why did you not speakof it?"

"Indeed, there has been enough to speak of beyond this trifle. Take alook at my shoulder, doctor, and do what you think best. "

"And here is enough to do, " was his reply as soon as Graham's shoulderwas bared: "an ugly cut, and all broken loose by your exertions thisevening. You must keep very quiet and have good care, or this reopenedwound will make you serious trouble. "

"Well, doctor, we have so much serious trouble on hand that a littlemore won't matter much. "

His aunt inspected the wound with grim satisfaction, and then said, sententiously: "I'm glad you have got it, Alford, for it will keep youhome and divert Grace's thoughts. In these times a wound that leavesthe heart untouched may be useful; and nothing cures a woman's troublebetter than having to take up the troubles of others. I predict a dealof healing for Grace in your wound. "

"All which goes to prove, " added the busy physician, "that woman'snature is different from man's. "

When he was gone, having first assured the major over and over againthat all danger was past, Graham said, "Aunt, Grace's hair is as whiteas yours. "

"Yes; it turned white within a week after she learned the certainty ofher husband's death. "

"Would that I could have died in Hilland's place!"

"Yes, " said the old lady, bitterly; "you were always too ready todie. "

He drew her down to him as he lay on the lounge, and kissed hertenderly, as he said, "But I have kept my promise 'to live and do mybest. '"

"You have kept your promise _to live_ after a fashion. My words havealso proved true, 'Good has come of it, and more good will come ofit. '"

CHAPTER XXXII

A WOUNDED SPIRIT

Grace's chief symptom when she awoke on the following morning was anextreme lassitude. She was almost as weak as a violent fever wouldhave left her, but her former unnatural and fitful manner was gone. Mrs. Mayburn told Graham that she had had long moods of deepabstraction, during which her eyes would be fixed on vacancy, with astare terrible to witness, and then would follow uncontrollableparoxysms of grief. 

"This morning, "said her anxious nurse, "she is more like a brokenlily that has not strength to raise its head. But the weakness willpass; she'll rally. Not many die of grief, especially when young. "

"Save her life, aunty, and I can still do a man's part in the world. "

"Well, Alford, you must help me. She has been committed to your care;and it's a sacred trust"

Graham was now installed in his old quarters, and placed under AuntSheba's care. His energetic aunt, however, promised to look in uponhim often, and kept her word. The doctor predicted a tedious time withhis wound, and insisted on absolute quiet for a few days. He wasmistaken, however. Time would not be tedious, with frequent tidings ofGrace's convalescence and her many proofs of deep solicitude about hiswound. 

Grace did rally faster than had been expected. Her system had receiveda terrible shock, but it had not been enfeebled by disease. Withreturning strength came an insatiate craving for action--an almostdesperate effort to occupy her hands and mind. Before it was prudentfor Graham to go out or exert himself--for his wound had developedsome bad symptoms--she came to see him, bringing delicacies made withher own hands. 

Never had her appearance so appealed to his heart. Her face had grownthin, but its lovely outlines remained; and her dark eyes seemedtenfold more lustrous in contrast with her white hair. She had now apresence that the most stolid would turn and look after with awondering pity and admiration, while those gifted with a fineperception could scarcely see her without tears. Graham often thoughtthat if she could be turned into marble she would make the idealstatue representing the women of both the contending sections whosehearts the war had broken. 

As she came and went, and as he eventually spent long hours with herand her father, she became to him a study of absorbing interest, inwhich his old analytical bent was not wholly wanting. "What, " he askedhimself every hour in the day, "will be the effect of an experiencelike this on such a woman? what the final outcome?" There was in thisinterest no curiosity, in the vulgar sense of the word. It was ratherthe almost sleepless suspense of a man who has everything at stake, and who, in watching the struggle of another mind to cope withmisfortune, must learn at the same time his own fate. It was far morethan this--it was the vigilance of one who would offer help at alltimes and at any cost, Still, so strong are natural or acquiredcharacteristics that he could not do this without manifesting some ofthe traits of the Alford Graham who years before had studied themirthful Grace St. John with the hope of analyzing her power andinfluence. And had he been wholly indifferent to her, and asphilosophical and cynical as once it was his pride to think he was, she would still have remained an absorbing study. Her sudden and awfulbereavement had struck her strong and exceptional spiritual naturewith the shattering force of the ball that crashes through muscle, bone, and nerves. In the latter case the wound may be mortal, or itmay cause weakness and deformity. The wounded spirit must survive, although the effects of the wound may be even more serious and far-reaching--changing, developing, or warping character to a degree thateven the most experienced cannot predict. Next to God, time is thegreat healer; and human love, guided by tact, can often achieve signalsuccess. 

But for Graham there was no God; and it must be said that this wasbecoming true of Grace also. As Hilland had feared, the influence ofthose she loved and trusted most had gradually sapped her faith, whichin her case had been more a cherished tradition, received from hermother, than a vital experience. 

Hilland's longings for a life hereafter, and his words of regret thatshe had lost the faith of her girlhood, were neutralized by the bitterrevolt of her spirit against her immeasurable misfortune. Her ownexperience was to her a type of all the desolating evil and sorrow ofthe world; and in her agony she could not turn to a God who permittedsuch evil and suffering. It seemed to her that there could be nomerciful, overruling Providence--that her husband's view, when hismind was in its most vigorous and normal state, was more rational thana religion which taught that a God who loved good left evil to makesuch general havoc. 

"It's the same blind contention of forces in men as in nature, " shesaid to herself; "and only the strong or the fortunate survive. "

One day she asked Graham abruptly, "Do you believe that the humanspirit lives on after death?"

He was sorely troubled to know how to answer her, but after a littlehesitation said, "I feel, as your husband did, that I should be gladif you had the faith of your girlhood. I think it would be a comfortto you. "

"That's truly the continental view, that superstition is useful towomen. Will you not honestly treat me as your equal, and tell me whatyou, as an educated man, believe?"

"No, " he replied, gravely and sadly, "I will only recall with emphasisyour husband's last words. "

"You are loyal to him, at least; and I respect you for it. But I knowwhat you believe, and what Warren believed when his faculties werenormal and unbiased by the intense longing of his heart. I am only awoman, Alford, but I must use such little reason as I have; and nobeing except one created by man's ruthless imagination could permitthe suffering which this war daily entails. It's all of the earth, earthy. Alford, " she added, in low, passionate utterance, "I couldbelieve in a devil more easily than in a God; and yet my unbeliefsinks me into the very depths of a hopeless desolation. What am I? Amere little atom among these mighty forces and passions which rock theworld with their violence. Oh, I was so happy! and now I am crushed bysome haphazard bullet shot in the darkness. "

He looked at her wonderingly, and was silent. 

"Alford, " she continued, her eyes glowing in the excitement of herstrong, passionate spirit, "I will not succumb to all this monstrousevil. If I am but a transient emanation of the earth, and must soonreturn to my kindred dust, still I can do a little to diminish theawful aggregate of suffering. My nature, earth-born as it is, revoltsat a selfish indifference to it all. Oh, if there is a God, why doesHe not rend the heavens in His haste to stay the black torrents ofevil? Why does He not send the angels of whom my mother told me when achild, and bid them stand between the armies that are desolatingthousands of hearts like mine? Or if He chooses to work by silent, gentle influences like those of spring, why does He not bring humanhearts together that are akin, and enhance the content and happinesswhich our brief life permits? But no. Unhappy mistakes are made. Alas, my friend, we both know it to our sorrow! Why should I feign ignoranceof that which your unbounded and unselfish devotion has proved sooften? Why should you not know that before this deadly stroke fell myone grief was that you suffered; and that as long as I could pray Iprayed for your happiness? Now I can see only merciless force or blindchance, that in nature smites with the tornado the lonely forest orthe thriving village, the desolate waves or some ship upon them. Men, with all their boasted reason, are even worse. What could be more madand useless than this war? Alford, I alone have suffered enough tomake the thing accursed; and I must suffer to the end: and I am onlyone of countless women. What is there for me, what for them, but togrow lonelier and sadder every day? But I won't submit to the evil. Iwon't be a mere bit of helpless drift. While I live there shall be alittle less suffering in the world. Ah, Alford! you see how farremoved I am from the sportive girl you saw on that May evening yearsago. I am an old, white-haired, broken-hearted woman; and yet, " with agrand look in her eyes, she concluded, "I have spirit enough left totake up arms against all the evil and suffering within my reach. Iknow how puny my efforts will be; but I would rather try to push backan avalanche than cower before it. "

Thus she revealed to him the workings of her mind; and he worshippedher anew as one of the gentlest and most loving of women, and yetpossessed of a nature so strong that under the guidance of reason itcould throw off the shackles of superstition and defy even fate. Underthe spell of her words the evil of the world did seem an avalanche, not of snow, but of black molten lava; while she, too brave and nobleto cower and cringe, stood before it, her little hand outstretched tostay its deadly onset. 

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE WHITE-HAIRED NURSE

Life at the two cottages was extremely secluded. All who felt entitledto do so made calls, partly of condolence and partly from curiosity. The occupants of the two unpretending dwellings had the respect of thecommunity; but from their rather unsocial ways could not be popular. The old major had ever detested society in one of its phases--that is, the claims of mere vicinage, the duty to call and be called upon bypeople who live near, when there is scarcely a thought or taste incommon. With his Southern and army associations he had drifted to aNew England city; but he ignored the city except as it furnishedfriends and things that pleased him. His attitude was not contemptuousor unneighborly, but simply indifferent. 

"I don't thrust my life on any one, " he once said to Mrs. Mayburn, "except you and Grace. Why should other people thrust their lives onme?"

His limited income had required economy, and his infirmities a lifefree from annoyance. As has been shown, Grace had practiced the onewith heart as light as her purse; and had interposed her own sweetself between the irritable veteran and everything that could vex him. The calling world had had its revenge. The major was profane, they hadsaid; Grace was proud, or led a slavish life. The most heinous sin ofall was, they were poor. There were several families, however, whomGrace and the major had found congenial, with various shades ofdifference; and the young girl had never lacked all the society shecared for. Books had been her chief pleasure; the acquaintance of goodwhist-players had been cultivated; army and Southern friends hadappeared occasionally; and when Mrs. Mayburn had become a neighbor, she had been speedily adopted into the closest intimacy. When Hillandhad risen above their horizon he soon glorified the world to Grace. Tothe astonishment of society, she had married a millionaire, and theyhad all continued to live as quietly and unostentatiously as before. There had been another slight effort to "know the people at the St. John cottage, " but it had speedily died out. The war had broughtchiefly military associations and absence. Now again there was aninflux of callers largely from the church that Grace had onceattended. Mrs. Mayburn received the majority with a grim politeness, but discriminated very favorably in case of those who came solely fromhonest sympathy. All were made to feel, however, that, like a mourningveil, sorrow should shield its victims from uninvited observation. 

Hilland's mother had long been dead, and his father died at the timewhen he was summoned from his studies in Germany. While on good termswith his surviving relatives, there had been no very closerelationship or intimacy remaining. Grace had declared that she wishedno other funeral service than the one conducted by the good oldConfederate pastor; and the relatives, learning that they had nointerest in the will, speedily discovered that they had no furtherinterest whatever. Thus the inmates of the two cottages were left topursue their own shadowed paths, with little interference from theoutside world. The major treasured a few cordial eulogies of Hillandcut from the journals at the time; and except in the hearts wherein hewas enshrined a living image, the brave, genial, high-souled manpassed from men's thoughts and memories, like thousands of others inthat long harvest of death. 

Graham's wound at last was wellnigh healed, and the time was drawingnear for his return to the army. His general had given such a veryfavorable account of the circumstances attending his offence, and ofhis career as a soldier both before and after the affair, that thematter was quietly ignored. Moreover, Hilland, as a soldier and byreason of the loyal use of his wealth, stood very high in theestimation of the war authorities; and the veteran major was notwithout his surviving circle of influential friends. Graham, therefore, not only retained his rank, but was marked for promotion. 

Of all this, however, he thought and cared little. If he had lovedGrace before, he idolized her now. And yet with all her deep affectionfor him and her absolute trust, she seemed more remote than ever. Inthe new phase of her grief she was ever seeking to do little thingswhich she thought would please him. But this was also true of hercourse toward Mrs. Mayburn, especially so toward her father, and also, to a certain extent, toward the poor and sick in the vicinity. Her oneeffort seemed to be to escape from her thoughts, herself, in aceaseless ministry to others. And the effort sometimes degeneratedinto restlessness. There was such a lack of repose in her manner thateven those who loved her most were pained and troubled. There was notenough to keep her busy all the time, and yet she was ever impelled todo something. 

One day she said to Graham, "I wish I could go back with you to thewar; not that I wish to shed another drop of blood, but I would liketo march, march forever. "

Shrewd Mrs. Mayburn, who had been watching Grace closely for the lastweek or two, said quietly: "Take her back with you, Alford. Let herbecome a nurse in some hospital. It will do both her and a lot of poorfellows a world of good. "

"Mrs. Mayburn, you have thought of just the thing, " cried Grace. "In ahospital full of sick and wounded men I could make my life amount tosomething; I should never need to be idle then. "

"Yes, you would. You would be under orders like Alford, and would haveto rest when off duty. But, as you say, you could be of great service, instead of wasting your energy in coddling two old people. You mightsave many a poor fellow's life. "

"Oh, " she exclaimed, clasping her hands, "the bare thought of savingone poor woman from such suffering as mine is almost overwhelming. Buthow can I leave papa?"

"I'll take care of the major and insure his consent. If men are sopossessed to make wounds, it's time women did more to cure them. It'sall settled: you are to go. I'll see the major about it now, if he_has_ just begun his newspaper;" and the old lady took her knittingand departed with her wonted prompt energy. 

At first Graham was almost speechless from surprise, mingled doubt andpleasure; but the more he thought of it, the more he was convincedthat the plan was an inspiration. 

"Alford, you will take me?" she said, appealingly. 

"Yes, " he replied, smilingly, "if you will promise to obey my ordersin part, as well as those of your superiors. "

"I'll promise anything if you will only take me. Am I not under yourcare?"

"Oh, Grace, Grace, I can do so little for you!"

"No one living can do more. In providing this chance of relieving alittle pain, of preventing a little suffering, you help me, you serveme, you comfort me, as no one else could. And, Alford, if you arewounded, come to the hospital where I am; I will never leave you tillyou are well. Take me to some exposed place in the field, where thereis danger, where men are brought in desperately wounded, where youwould be apt to be. "

"I don't know where I shall be, but I would covet any wound that wouldbring you to my side as nurse. "

She thought a few moments, and then said, resolutely: "I will keep asnear to you as I can. I ask no pay for my services. On the contrary, Iwill employ my useless wealth in providing for exposed hospitals. WhenI attempt to take care of the sick or wounded, I will act scrupulouslyunder the orders of the surgeon in charge; but I do not see why, if Ipay my own way, I cannot come and go as I think I can be the mostuseful. "

"Perhaps you could, to a certain extent, if you had a permit, " saidGraham, thoughtfully; "but I think you would accomplish more byremaining in one hospital and acquiring skill by regular work. Itwould be a source of indescribable anxiety to me to think of yourgoing about alone. If I know just where you are, I can find you andwrite to you. "

"I will do just what you wish, " she said, gently. 

"I wish for only what is best for you. "

"I know that. It would be strange if I did not. "

Mrs. Mayburn was not long in convincing the major that her plan mightbe the means of incalculable benefit to Grace as well as to others. He, as well as herself and Graham, had seen with deep anxiety thatGrace was giving way to a fever of unrest; and he acquiesced in theview that it might better run its course in wholesome and usefulactivity, amid scenes of suffering that might tend to reconcile her toher own sorrow. 

Graham, however, took the precaution of calling on Dr. Markham, who, to his relief, heartily approved of the measure. On one point Grahamwas firm. He would not permit her to go to a hospital in the field, liable to vicissitudes from sudden movements of the contending armies. He found one for her, however, in which she would have ample scope forall her efforts; and before he left he interested those in charge sodeeply in the white-haired nurse that he felt she would always beunder watchful, friendly eyes. 

"Grace, " he said, as he was taking leave, "I have tried to be a truefriend to you. "

"Oh, Alford!" she exclaimed, and she seized his hand and held it inboth of hers. 

His face grew stern rather than tender as he added: "You will not be atrue friend to me--you will wrong me deeply--if you are reckless ofyour health and strength. Remember that, like myself, you have enteredthe service, and that you are pledged to do your duty, and not to workwith feverish zeal until your strength fails. You are just as muchunder obligation to take essential rest as to care for the most sorelywounded in your ward. I shall take the advice I give. Believing that Iam somewhat essential to your welfare and the happiness of those whomwe have left at home, I shall incur no risks beyond those whichproperly fall to my lot. I ask you to be equally conscientious andconsiderate of those whose lives are bound up in you. "

"I'll try, " she said, with that same pathetic look and utterance whichhad so moved him on the fearful night of his return from the army. "But, Alford, do not speak to me so gravely, I had almost saidsternly, just as we are saying good-by. "

He raised her hand to his lips, and smiled into her pleading face ashe replied, "I only meant to impress you with the truth that you havea patient who is not in your ward--one who will often be sleepingunder the open sky, I know not where. Care a little for him, as wellas for the unknown men in your charge. This you can do only by takingcare of yourself. You, of all others, should know that there arewounds besides those which will bring men to this hospital. "

Tears rushed into her eyes as she faltered, "You could not have made astronger appeal. "

"You will write to me often?"

"Yes, and you cannot write too often. Oh, Alford, I cannot wish youhad never seen me; but it would have been far, far better for you ifyou had not. "

"No, no, " he said, in low, strong emphasis. "Grace Hilland, I wouldrather be your friend than have the love of any woman that everlived. "

"You do yourself great wrong (pardon me for saying it, but yourhappiness is so dear to me), you do yourself great wrong. A girl likePearl Anderson could make you truly happy; and you could make herhappy. "

"Sweet little Pearl will be happy some day; and I may be one of thecauses, but not in the way you suggest. It is hard to say good-by andleave you here alone, and every moment I stay only makes it harder. "

He raised her hand once more to his lips, then almost rushed away. 

Days lapsed into weeks, and weeks into months. The tireless nursealleviated suffering of every kind; and her silvery hair was like ahalo around a saintly head to many a poor fellow. She had the deepsolace of knowing that not a few wives and mothers would have mournedhad it not been for her faithfulness. 

But her own wound would not heal. She sometimes felt that she wasslowly bleeding to death. The deep, dark tide of suffering, in spiteof all she could do, grew deeper and darker; and she was growing wearyand discouraged. 

Graham saw her at rare intervals; and although she brightened greatlyat his presence, and made heroic efforts to satisfy him that she wasdoing well, he grew anxious and depressed. But there was nothingtangible, nothing definite. She was only a little paler, a littlethinner; and when he spoke of it she smilingly told him that he wasgrowing gaunt himself with his hard campaigning. 

"But you, Grace, " he complained, "are beginning to look like a wraiththat may vanish some moonlight night. "

Her letters were frequent, sometimes even cheerful, but brief. Hewrote at great length, filling his pages with descriptions of nature, with scenes that were often humorous but not trivial, with genuinelife, but none of its froth. Life for both had become too deep atragedy for any nonsense. He passed through many dangers, but these, as far as possible, he kept in the background; and fate, pitying hisone deep wound, spared him any others. 

At last there came the terrible battle of the Wilderness, and thewards were filled with desperately wounded men. The poor nursegathered up her failing powers for one more effort; and Confederateand Union men looked after her wonderingly and reverently, even intheir mortal weakness. To many she seemed like a ministering spiritrather than a woman of flesh and blood; and lips of dying men blessedher again and again. But they brought no blessing. She only shudderedand grew more faint of heart as the scenes of agony and deathincreased. Each wound was a type of Hilland's wound, and in everyexpiring man she saw her husband die. Her poor little hands tremblednow as she sought to stem the black, black tide that deepened andbroadened and foamed around her. 

Late one night, after a new influx of the wounded, she was greatlystartled while passing down her ward by hearing a voice exclaim, "Grace--Grace Brentford!"

It was her mother's name. 

The call was repeated; and she tremblingly approached a cot on whichwas lying a gray-haired man. 

"Great God!" he exclaimed, "am I dreaming? am I delirious? How is itthat I see before me the woman I loved forty-odd years ago? You cannotbe Grace Brentford, for she died long years since. "

"No, but I am her daughter. "

"Her daughter!" said the man, struggling to rise upon his elbow--"herdaughter! She should not look older than you. "

"Alas, sir, my age is not the work of time, but of grief. I grew oldin a day. But if you knew and loved my mother, you have sacred claimsupon me. I am a nurse in this ward, and will devote myself to you. "

The man sank back exhausted. "This is strange, strange indeed, " besaid. "It is God's own providence. Yes, my child, I loved your mother, and I love her still. Harry St. John won her fairly; but be could nothave loved her better than I. I am now a lonely old man, dying, Ibelieve, in my enemy's hands, but I thank God that I've seen GraceBrentford's child, and that she can soothe my last hours. "

"Do not feel so discouraged about yourself, " said Grace, her tearsfalling fast. "Think rather that yon have been brought here that Imight nurse you back to life. Believe me, I will do so with tender, loving care. "

"How strange it all is!" the man said again. "You have her very voice, her manner. But it was by your eyes that I recognized you. Your eyesare young and beautiful like hers, and full of tears, as hers werewhen she sent me away with an ache to my heart that has never ceased. It will soon be cured now. Your father will remember a wild youngplanter down in Georgia by the name of Phil Harkness. "

"Indeed, sir, I've heard both of my parents speak of you, and it wasever with respect and esteem. "

"Give my greeting to your father, and say I never bore him any ill-will. In the saddest life there is always some compensation. I havehad wealth and honors; I am a colonel in our army, and have been ableto serve the cause I loved; but, chief of all, the child of GraceBrentford is by my side at the end. Is your name Grace also?"

"Yes. Oh, why is the world so full of hopeless trouble?"

"Not hopeless trouble, my child. I am not hopeless. For long years Ihave had peace, if not happiness--a deep inward calm which theconfusion and roar of the bloodiest battles could not disturb. I canclose my eyes now in my final sleep as quietly as a child. In a fewhours, my dear, I may see your mother; and I shall tell her that Ileft her child assuaging her own sorrow by ministering to others. "

"Oh, oh!" sobbed Grace, "pray cease, or I shall not be fit for myduties; your words pierce my very soul. Let me nurse you back tohealth. Let me take you to my home until you are exchanged, for I mustreturn. I must, must. My strength is going fast; and you bring beforeme my dear old father whom I have left too long. "

"My poor child! God comfort and sustain you. Do not let me keep youlonger from your duties, and from those who need you more than I. Comeand say a word to me when you can. That's all I ask. My wound wasdressed before your watch began, and I am doing as well as I couldexpect. When you feel like it, you can tell me more about yourself. "

Their conversation had been in a low tone as she sat beside him, thepatients near either sleeping or too preoccupied by their ownsufferings to give much heed. 

Weary and oppressed by bitter despondency, she went from cot to cot, attending to the wants of those in her charge. To her the oldcolonel's sad history seemed a mockery of his faith, and but anotherproof of a godless or God-forgotten world. She envied his belief, withits hope and peace; but he had only increased her unbelief. But allthrough the long night she watched over him, coming often to his sidewith delicacies and wine, and with gentle words that were far moregrateful. 

Once, as she was smoothing back his gray locks from his damp forehead, he smiled, and murmured, "God bless you, my child. This is a foretasteof heaven. "

In the gray dawn she came to him and said, "My watch is over, and Imust leave you for a little while; but as soon as I have rested I willcome again. "

"Grace, " he faltered, hesitatingly, "would you mind kissing an old, old man? I never had a child of my own to kiss me. "

She stooped down and kissed him again and again, and he felt her hottears upon his face. 

"You have a tender heart, my dear, " he said, gently. "Good-by, Grace--Grace Brentford's child. Dear Grace, when we meet again perhaps alltears will be wiped from your eyes forever. "

She stole away exhausted and almost despairing. On reaching her littleroom she sank on her couch, moaning; "Oh, Warren, Warren, would that Iwere sleeping your dreamless sleep beside you!"

Long before it was time for her to go on duty again she returned tothe ward to visit her aged friend. His cot was empty. In reply to hereager question she was told that he had died suddenly from internalhemorrhage soon after she had left him. 

She looked dazed for a moment, as if she had received a blow, thenfell fainting on the cot from which her mother's friend had beentaken. The limit of her endurance was passed. 

Before the day closed, the surgeon in charge of the hospital told hergently and firmly that she must take an indefinite leave of absence. She departed at once in the care of an attendant; but stories of thewhite-haired nurse lingered so long in the ward and hospital that atlast they began to grow vague and marvellous, like the legends of asaint. 

CHAPTER XXXIV

RITA'S BROTHER

All through the campaign of '64 the crimson tide of war deepened andbroadened. Even Graham's cool and veteran spirit was appalled at theawful slaughter on either side. The Army of the Potomac--the grandestarmy ever organized, and always made more sublime and heroic bydefeat--was led by a man as remorseless as fate. He was fate tothousands of loyal men, whom he placed at will as coolly as if theyhad been the pieces on a chessboard. He was fate to the Confederacy, upon whose throat he placed his iron grasp, never relaxed until lifewas extinct. In May, 1864, he quietly crossed the Rapidan for thedeath-grapple. He took the most direct route for Richmond, ignoringall obstacles and the fate of his predecessors. To think that GeneralGrant wished to fight the battle of the Wilderness is pure idiocy. Onewould almost as soon choose the Dismal Swamp for a battleground. Itwas undoubtedly his hope to pass beyond that gloomy tangle, over whichthe shadow of death had brooded ever since fatal Chancellorsville. ButLee, his brilliant and vigilant opponent, rarely lost an advantage;and Graham's experienced eye, as with the cavalry he was in theextreme advance, clearly saw that their position would give their foesenormous advantages. Lee's movements would be completely masked by thealmost impervious growth, He and his lieutenants could approach withinstriking distance, whenever they chose, without being seen, and hadlittle to fear from the Union artillery, which the past had given themmuch cause to dread. It was a region also to disgust the very soul ofa cavalryman; for the low, scrubby growth lined the narrow roadsalmost as effectually as the most scientifically prepared_abatis_. 

Graham's surmise was correct. Lee would not wait till his antagonisthad reached open and favorable ground, but he made an attack at once, where, owing to peculiarities of position, one of his thin regimentshad often the strength of a brigade. 

On the morning of the 5th of May began one of the most awful andbloody battles in the annals of warfare. Indeed it was the beginningof one long and almost continuous struggle which ended only atAppomattox. 

With a hundred thousand more, Graham was swept into the bloody vortex, and through summer heat, autumn rains, and winter cold, he marched andfought with little rest. He was eventually given the colonelcy of hisregiment, and at times commanded a brigade. He passed throughunnumbered dangers unscathed; and his invulnerability became a proverbamong his associates. Indeed he was a mystery to them, for his facegrew sadder and sterner every day, and his reticence about himself andall his affairs was often remarked upon. His men and officers hadunbounded respect for him, that was not wholly unmixed with fear; forwhile he was considerate, and asked for no exposure to danger in whichhe did not share, his steady discipline was never relaxed, and he kepthimself almost wholly aloof, except as their military relationsrequired contact. He could not, therefore, be popular among the hard-swearing, rollicking, and convivial cavalrymen. In a long period ofinaction he might have become very unpopular, but the admirable mannerin which he led them in action, and his sagacious care of them andtheir horses on the march and in camp, led them to trust himimplicitly. Chief of all, he had acquired that which with the sternveterans of that day went further than anything else--a reputation fordauntless courage. What they objected to were his "glum looks andunsocial ways, " as they termed them. 

They little knew that his cold, stern face hid suffering that wasgrowing almost desperate in its intensity. They little knew that hewas chained to his military duty as to a rock, while a vulture ofanxiety was eating out his very heart. What was a pale, thin, white-haired woman to them? But what to him? How true it is that often theheaviest burdens of life are those at which the world would laugh, andof which the overweighted heart cannot and will not speak!

For a long time after his plunge into the dreary depths of theWilderness he had received no letters. Then he had learned of Grace'sreturn home; and at first he was glad indeed. His aunt had writtennothing more alarming than that Grace had overtaxed her strength incaring for the throngs of wounded men sent from the Wilderness, thatshe needed rest and good tonic treatment. Then came word that she was"better"; then they "hoped she was gaining"; then they were about togo to "the seashore, and Grace had always improved in salt air. " Itwas then intimated that she had found "the summer heat veryenervating, and now that fall winds were blowing she would growstronger. " At last, at the beginning of winter, it was admitted thatshe had not improved as they had hoped; but they thought she washolding her own very well--that the continued and terrific characterof the war oppressed her--and that every day she dreaded to hear thathe had been stricken among other thousands. 

Thus, little by little, ever softened by some excuse or some hope, thebitter truth grew plain: Grace was failing, fading, threatening tovanish. He wrote as often as he could, and sought with all his skillto cheer, sustain, and reconcile her to life. At first she wrote tohim not infrequently, but her letters grew further and further apart, and at last she wrote, in the early spring of '65. 

"I wish I could see you, Alford; but I know it is impossible. You arestrong, you are doing much to end this awful war, and it's your dutyto remain at your post. You must not sully your perfect image in mymind, or add to my unhappiness by leaving the service now for my sake. I have learned the one bitter lesson of the times. No matter how much_personal_ agony, physical or mental, is involved, the war mustgo on; and each one must keep his place in the ranks till he falls oris disabled. I have fallen. I am disabled. My wound will not close, and drop by drop life and strength are ebbing. I know I disappointyou, my true, true friend; but I cannot help it. Do not reproach me. Do not blame me too harshly. Think me weak, as I truly am. Indeed, when I am gone your chances will be far better. It costs me a greateffort to write this. There is a weight on my hand and brain as wellas on my heart. Hereafter I will send my messages through dear, kindMrs. Mayburn, who has been a mother to me in all my sorrow. Do notfear: I will wait till you can come with honor; for I must see youonce more. "

For a long time after receiving this letter a despair fell on Graham. He was so mechanical in the performance of his duties that hisassociates wondered at him, and he grew more gaunt and haggard thanever. Then in sharp reaction came a feverish eagerness to see the warended. 

Indeed all saw that the end was near, and none, probably, more clearlythan the gallant and indomitable Lee himself. At last the Confederatearmy was outflanked, the lines around Petersburg were broken through, and the final pursuit began. It was noted that Graham fought andcharged with an almost tiger-like fierceness; and for once his mensaid with reason that he had no mercy on them. He was almost countingthe hours until the time when he could sheathe his sword and say withhonor, "I resign. "

One morning they struck a large force of the enemy, and he led aheadlong charge. For a time the fortunes of the battle wavered, forthe Confederates fought with the courage of desperation. Graham on hispowerful horse soon became a conspicuous object, and all gave waybefore him as if he were a messenger of death, at the same timewondering at his invulnerability. 

The battle surged on and forward until the enemy were driven into athick piece of woods. Graham on the right of his line directed hisbugler to give the order to dismount, and a moment later his line ofbattle plunged into the forest. In the desperate _melee_ that followedin the underbrush, he was lost to sight except to a few of his men. Itwas here that he found himself confronted by a Confederate officer, from whose eyes flashed the determination either to slay or to beslain. Graham had crossed swords with him but a moment when herecognized that he had no ordinary antagonist; and with his instinctof fight aroused to its highest pitch he gave himself up wholly to apersonal and mortal combat, shouting meantime to those near, "Leavethis man to me. "

Looking his opponent steadily in the eye, like a true swordsman, heremained first on the defensive; and such was his skill that his long, straight blade was a shield as well as a weapon. Suddenly the darkeyes and features of his opponent raised before him the image of RitaAnderson; and he was so overcome for a second that the Confederatetouched his breast with his sabre and drew blood. That sharp prick andthe thought that Rita's brother might be before him aroused everyfaculty and power of his mind and body. His sword was a shield again, and he shouted, "Is not your name Henry Anderson?"

"My name is our cause, " was the defiant answer; "with it I will liveor die. "

Then came upon Graham one of those rare moments in his life when nomortal man could stand before him. Ceasing his wary, rapid fence, hissword played like lightning; and in less than a moment theConfederate's sabre flew from his hand, and he stood helpless. 

"Strike, " he said, sullenly; "I won't surrender. "

"I'd sooner cut off my right hand, " replied Graham, smiling upon him, "than strike the brother of Rita Anderson. "

"Is your name Graham?" asked his opponent, his aspect changinginstantly. 

"Yes; and you are Henry. I saw your sister's eyes in yours. Take upyour sword, and go quietly to the rear as my friend, not prisoner. Iadjure you, by the name of your old and honored father and your noble-hearted sister, to let me keep my promise to them to save your life, were it ever in my power. "

"I yield, " said the young man, in deep despondency. "Our cause_is_ lost, and you are the only man in the North to whom I should bewilling to surrender. Colonel, I will obey your orders. "

Summoning his orderly and another soldier, he said to them, "Escortthis gentleman to the rear. Let him keep his arms. I have too muchconfidence in you, Colonel Anderson, even to ask that you promise notto escape. Treat him with respect. He will share my quarters to-night. " And then he turned and rushed onward to overtake the extremeadvance of his line, wondering at the strange scene which had passedwith almost the rapidity of thought. 

That night by Graham's camp-fire began a friendship between himselfand Henry Anderson which would be lifelong. The latter asked, "Haveyou heard from my father and sister since you parted with them?"

"No. My duties have carried me far away from that region. But it is asource of unspeakable gratification that we have met, and that you cantell me of their welfare. "

"It does seem as if destiny, or, as father would say, Providence, hadlinked my fortunes and those of my family with you. He and Rita wouldactually have suffered with hunger but for you. Since you were therethe region has been tramped and fought over by the forces of bothsides, and swept bare. My father mentioned your name and that ofColonel Hilland; and a guard was placed over his house, and he andRita were saved from any personal annoyance. But all of his slaves, except the old woman you remember, were either run off or enticedaway, and his means of livelihood practically destroyed. Old UncleJehu and his son Huey have almost supported them. They, simple souls, could not keep your secret, though they tried to after their clumsyfashion. My pay, you know, was almost worthless; and indeed there waslittle left for them to buy. Colonel Graham, I am indebted to you forfar more than life, which has become wellnigh a burden to me. "

"Life has brought far heavier burdens to others than to you, ColonelAnderson. Those you love are living; and to provide for and protectsuch a father and sister as you possess might well give zest to anylife. Your cause is lost; and the time may come sooner than you expectwhen you will be right glad of it. I know you cannot think so now, andwe will not dwell on this topic. I can testify from four years'experience that no cause was ever defended with higher courage or moreheroic self-sacrifice. But your South is not lost; and it will be thefault of its own people if it does not work out a grander destinywithin the Union than it could ever achieve alone. But don't let usdiscuss politics. You have the same right to your views that I have tomine. I will tell you how much I owe to your father and sister, andthen you will see that the burden of obligation rests upon me;" and hegave his own version of that memorable day whose consequencesthreatened to culminate in Grace Hilland's death. 

Under the dominion of this thought he could not hide the anguish ofhis mind; and Rita had hinted enough in her letters to enable Andersonto comprehend his new-found friend. He took Graham's hand, and as hewrung it he said, "Yes, life has brought to others heavier burdensthan to me. "

"You may have thought, " resumed Graham, "that I fought savagely to-day; but I felt that it is best for all to end this useless, bloodystruggle as soon as possible. As for myself, I'm just crazed withanxiety to get away and return home. Of course we cannot be togetherafter tonight, for with the dawn I must be in the saddle. Tonight youshall share my blankets. You must let me treat you as your father andRita treated me. I will divide my money with you: don't grieve me byobjecting. Call it a loan if you will. Your currency is now worthless. You must go with the other prisoners; but I can soon obtain yourrelease on parole, and then, in the name of all that is sacred, returnhome to those who idolize you. Do this, Colonel Anderson, and you willlift a heavy burden from one already overweighted"'

"As you put the case I cannot do otherwise, " was the sad reply. "Indeed I have no heart for any more useless fighting. My duty now isclearly to my father and sister. "

That night the two men slumbered side by side, and in the dawn partedmore like brothers than like foes. 

As Graham had predicted, but a brief time elapsed before Leesurrendered, and Colonel Anderson's liberty on parole was soonsecured. They parted with the assurance that they would meet again assoon as circumstances would permit. 

At the earliest hour in which he could depart with honor, Graham'surgent entreaty secured him a leave of absence; and he lost not amoment in his return, sending to his aunt in advance a telegram toannounce his coming. 

CHAPTER XXXV

HIS SOMBRE RIVALS

Never had his noble horse Mayburn seemed to fail him until the hourthat severed the military chain which had so long bound him toinexorable duty, and yet the faithful beast was carrying him like thewind. Iss, his servant, soon fell so far behind that Graham paused andtold him to come on more leisurely, that Mayburn would be at theterminus of the military railroad. And there Iss found him, withdrooping head and white with foam. The steam-engine was driven to CityPoint with the reckless speed characteristic of military railroads;but to Graham the train seemed to crawl. He caught a steamer bound forWashington, and paced the deck, while in the moonlight the dark shoresof the James looked stationary. From Washington the lightning expresswas in his view more dilatory than the most lumbering stage of the oldregime. 

When at last he reached the gate to his aunt's cottage and walkedswiftly up the path, the hour and the scene were almost the same aswhen he had first come, an indifferent stranger, long years before. The fruit-trees were as snowy white with blossoms, the air asfragrant, the birds singing as jubilantly, as when he had stood at thewindow and gazed with critical admiration on a sportive girl, a child-woman, playing with her little Spitz dog. As he passed the spot whereshe had stood, beneath his ambush behind the curtains, his excitedmind brought back her image with lifelike realism--the breeze in herlight hair, her dark eyes brimming with mirth, her bosom panting fromher swift advance, and the color of the red rose in her cheeks. 

He groaned as he thought of her now. 

His aunt saw him from the window, and a moment later was sobbing onhis breast. 

"Aunt, " he gasped, "I'm not too late?"

"Oh, no, " she said, wearily; "Grace is alive; but one can scarcely saymuch more. Alford, you must be prepared for a sad change. "

He placed her in her chair, and stood before her with heaving breast. "Now tell me all, " he said, hoarsely. 

"Oh, Alford, you frighten me. You must be more composed. You cannotsee Grace, looking and feeling as you do. She is weakness itself;" andshe told him how the idol of his heart was slowly, gradually, butinevitably sinking into the grave. 

"Alford, Alford, " she cried, entreatingly, "why do you look so stern?You could not look more terrible in the most desperate battle. "

In low, deep utterance, he said, "This is my most desperate battle;and in it are the issues of life and death. "

"You terrify _me_, and can you think that a weak, dying woman can lookupon you as you now appear?"

"She shall not die, " he continued, in the same low, stern utterance, "and she must look upon me, and listen, too. Aunt, you have beenfaithful to me all these years. You have been my mother. I mustentreat one more service. You must second me, sustain me, co-work withme. You must ally all your experienced womanhood with my manhood, andwith my will, which may be broken, but which shall not yield to mycruel fate. "

"What do you propose to do?"

"That will soon be manifest. Go and prepare Grace for my visit. I wishto see her alone. You will please be near, however;" and he abruptlyturned and went to his room to remove his military suit and the dustof travel. 

He had given his directions as if in the field, and she wonderinglyand tremblingly obeyed, feeling that some crisis was near. 

Grace was greatly agitated when she heard of Graham's arrival; and twoor three hours elapsed before she was able to be carried down andplaced on the sofa in the library. He, out in the darkness on thepiazza, watched with eyes that glowed like coals--watched as he haddone in the most desperate emergency of all the bloody years ofbattle. He saw her again, and in her wasted, helpless form, her hollowcheeks, her bloodless face, with its weary, hopeless look, her mortalweakness, he clearly recognized his _sombre rivals_, _Grief andDeath_; and with a look of indomitable resolution he raised hishand and vowed that he would enter the lists against them. If it werewithin the scope of human will he would drive them from their prey. 

His aunt met him in the hall and whispered, "Be gentle. "

"Remain here, " was his low reply. "I have also sent for Dr. Markham;"and he entered. 

Grace reached out to him both her hands as she said, "Oh, Alford, youare barely in time. It is a comfort beyond all words to see youbefore--before--" She could not finish the sinister sentence. 

He gravely and silently took her hands, and sat down beside her. 

"I know I disappoint you, " she continued. "I've been your evil genius, I've saddened your whole life; and you have been so true and faithful!Promise me, Alford, that after I'm gone you will not let my blightedlife cast its shadow over your future years. How strangely stern youlook!"

"So you intend to die, Grace?" were his first, low words. 

"Intend to die?"

"Yes. Do you think you are doing right by your father in dying?"

"Dear, dear papa! I have long ceased to be a comfort to him. He, too, will be better when I am gone. I am now a hopeless grief to him. Alford, dear Alford, do not look at me in that way. "

"How else can I look? Do you not comprehend what your death means to_me_, if not to others?"

"Alford, can I help it?"

"Certainly you can. It will be sheer, downright selfishness for you todie. It will be your one unworthy act. You have no disease: you haveonly to comply with the conditions of life in order to live. "

"You are mistaken, " she said, the faintest possible color coming intoher face. "The bullet that caused Warren's death has been equallyfatal to me. Have I not tried to live?"

"I do not ask you to _try_ to live, but to _live_. Nay, more, I demandit; and I have the right. I ask for nothing more. Although I haveloved you, idolized you, all these years, I ask only that you complywith the conditions of life and live. " The color deepened perceptiblyunder his emphatic words, and she said, "Can a woman live whose heart, and hope, and soul, if she has one, are dead and buried?"

"Yes, as surely as a man whose heart and hope were buried long yearsbefore. There was a time when I weakly purposed to throw off theburden of life; but I promised to live and do my best, and I am hereto-day. You must make me the same promise. In the name of all thepast, I demand it. Do you imagine that I am going to sit down tamelyand shed a few helpless tears if you do me this immeasurable wrong?"

"Oh, Alford!" she gasped, "what do you mean?"

"I am not here, Grace, to make threats, " he said gravely; "but I fearyou have made a merely superficial estimate of my nature. Hilland isnot. You know that I would have died a hundred times in his place. Hecommitted you to my care with his last breath, and that trust gavevalue to my life. What right have you to die and bring to me theblackness of despair? I am willing to bear my burden patiently to theend. You should be willing to bear yours. "

"I admit your claim, " she cried, wringing her hands. "You have madedeath, that I welcome, a terror. How can I live? What is there left ofme but a shadow? What am I but a mere semblance of a woman? The snowis not whiter than my hair, or colder than my heart. Oh, Alford, youhave grown morbid in all these years. You cannot know what is best. Your true chance is to let me go. I am virtually dead now, and when myflickering breath ceases, the change will be slight indeed. "

"It will be a fatal change for me, " he replied, with such calmemphasis that she shuddered. "You ask how you can live. Again Irepeat, by complying with the conditions of life. You have beencomplying with the conditions of death; and I will not yield you tohim. Grief has been a far closer and more cherished friend than I; andyou have permitted it, like a shadow, to stand between us. The timehas now come when you must choose between this fatal shadow, thisuseless, selfish grief, and a loyal friend, who only asks that he maysee you at times, that he may know where to find the one life that isessential to his life. Can you not understand from your own experiencethat a word from you is sweeter to me than all the music of theworld?--that smiles from you will give me courage to fight the battleof life to the last? Had Hilland come back wounded, would you havelistened if he had reasoned, 'I am weak and maimed--not like my oldself: you will be better off without me'?"

"Say no more, " she faltered. "If a shadow can live, I will. If a poor, heartless, hopeless creature can continue to breathe, I will. If Idie, as I believe I must, I will die doing just what you ask. If it ispossible for me to live, I shall disappoint you more bitterly thanever. Alford, believe me, the woman is dead within me. If I live Ishall become I know not what--a sort of unnatural creature, havinglittle more than physical life. "

"Grace, our mutual belief forbids such a thought. If a plant is deeplyshadowed, and moisture is withdrawn, it begins to die. Bring to itagain light and moisture, the conditions of its life, and it graduallyrevives and resumes its normal state. This principle applies equallyto you in your higher order of existence. Will you promise me that, atthe utmost exertion of your will and intelligence, you will try tolive?"

"Yes, Alford; but again I warn you. You will be disappointed. "

He kissed both her hands with a manner that evinced profound gratitudeand respect, but nothing more; and then summoned his aunt and Dr. Markham. 

Grace lay back on the sofa, white and faint, with closed eyes. 

"Oh, Alford, what have you done?" exclaimed Mrs. Mayburn. 

"What is right and rational. Dr. Markham, Mrs. Hilland has promised touse the utmost exertion of her will and intelligence to live. I askthat you and my aunt employ your utmost skill and intelligence in co-operation with her effort. We here--all four of us--enter upon abattle; and, like all battles, it should be fought with skill andindomitable courage, not sentimental impulse. I know that Mrs. Hillandwill honestly make the effort, for she is one to keep her word. Am Inot right, Grace?"

"Yes, " was the faint reply. 

"Why, now I can go to work with hope, " said the physician briskly, ashe gave his patient a little stimulant. 

"And I also, " cried the old lady, tears streaming down her face. "Oh, darling Grace, you will live and keep all our hearts from breaking. "

"I'll try, " she said, in almost mortal weariness. 

When she had been revived somewhat by his restoratives, Dr. Markhamsaid, "I now advise that she be carried back to her room, and Ipromise to be unwearied in my care. "

"No, " said Graham to his aunt. "Do not call the servants; I shallcarry her to her room myself;" and he lifted her as gently as he wouldtake up a child, and bore her strongly and easily to her room. 

"Poor, poor Alford!" she whispered--"wasting your rich, full heart ona shadow. "

CHAPTER XXXVI

ALL MATERIALISTS

When Graham returned to the library he found that the major hadtottered in, and was awaiting him with a look of intense anxiety. 

"Graham, Graham!" he cried, "do you. Think there is any hope?"

"I do, sir. I think there is almost a certainty that your daughterwill live. "

"Now God be praised! although I have little right to say it, for I'veput His name to a bad use all my life. "

"I don't think any harm has been done, " said Graham, smiling. 

"Oh, I know, I know how wise you German students are. You can't findGod with a microscope or a telescope, and therefore there is none. ButI'm the last man to criticise. Grace has been my divinity since hermother died; and if you can give a reasonable hope that she'll live toclose my eyes, I'll thank the God that my wife worshipped, in spite ofall your new-fangled philosophies. "

"And I hope I shall never be so wanting in courtesy, to say the least, as to show anything but respect for your convictions. You shall knowthe whole truth about Grace; and I shall look to you also for aid in acombined effort to rally and strengthen her forces of life. You know, Major, that I have seen some service. "

"Yes, yes; boy that you are, you are a hundred-fold more of a veteranthan I am. At the beginning of the war I felt very superior andexperienced. But the war that I saw was mere child's-play. "

"Well, sir, the war that I've been through was child's play to mecompared with the battle begun to-night. I never feared death, exceptas it might bring trouble to others, and for long years I coveted it;but I fear the death of Grace Hilland beyond anything in this world orany other. As her father, you now shall learn the whole truth;" and hetold his story from the evening of their first game of whist together. 

"Strange, strange!" muttered the old man. "It's the story of PhilipHarkness over again. But, by the God who made me, she shall reward youif she lives. "

"No, Major St. John, no. She shall devote herself to you, and live thelife that her own feelings dictate. She understands this, and I_will_ it. I assure you that whatever else I lack it's not a will. "

"You've proved that, Graham, if ever a man did. Well, well, well, yourcoming has brought a strange and most welcome state of affairs. Somehow you've given me a new lease of life and courage. Of late we'veall felt like hauling down the flag, and letting grim death do hisworst. I couldn't have survived Grace, and didn't want to. Only pluckyMrs. Mayburn held on to your coming as a forlorn hope. You now make mefeel like nailing the flag to the staff, and opening again with everygun. Grace is like her mother, if I do say it. Grace Brentford neverlacked for suitors, and she had the faculty of waking up _men_. Forgive an old man's vanity. Phil Harkness was a little wild as ayoung fellow, but he had grand mettle in him. He made more of a figurein the world than I--was sent to Congress, owned a big plantation, andall that--but sweet Grace Brentford always looked at me reproachfullywhen I rallied her on the mistake she had made, and was contentmentitself in my rough soldier's quarters, " and the old man took off hisspectacles to wipe his tear-dimmed eyes. "Grace is just like her. She, too, has waked up men. Hilland was a grand fellow; and, Graham, youare a soldier every inch of you, and that's the highest praise I canbestow. You are in command in this battle, and God be with you. Yourunbelief doesn't affect _Him_ any more than a mole's. "

Graham laughed--he could laugh in his present hopefulness--as hereplied, "I agree with you fully. If there is a personal Creator ofthe universe, I certainly am a small object in it. " "That's not whatI've been taught to believe either; nor is it according to my reason. An infinite God could give as much attention to you as to the solarsystem. "

"From the present aspect of the world, a great deal would appearneglected, " Graham replied, with a shrug. 

"Come, Colonel Graham, " said the major, a little sharply, "you and Ihave both heard the rank and file grumble over the tactics of theirgeneral. It often turned out that the general knew more than the men. But it's nice business for me to be talking religion to you or any oneelse;" and the idea struck him as so comical that he laughed outright. 

Mrs. Mayburn, who entered at that moment, said: "That's a welcomesound. I can't remember, Major, when I've heard you laugh. Alford, youare a magician. Grace is sleeping quietly. "

"Little wonder! What have I had to laugh about?" said the major. "Butmelancholy itself would laugh at my joke to-night. Would you believeit, I've been talking religion to the colonel, --if I haven't!"

"I think it's time religion was talked to all of us. "

"Oh, now, Mrs. Mayburn, don't you begin. You haven't any God any morethan Graham has. You have a jumble of old-fashioned theologicalattributes, that are of no more practical use to you than thedoctrines of Aristotle. Please ring for Jinny, and tell her to bringus a bottle of wine and some cake. I want to drink to Grace's health. If I could see her smile again I'd fire a _feu de joie_ if I couldfind any ordnance larger than a popgun. Don't laugh at me, friends, "he added, wiping the tears from his dim old eyes; "but the barethought that Grace will live to bless my last few days almost turns myhead. Where is Dr. Markham?"

"He had other patients to see, and said he would return by and by, "Mrs. Mayburn replied. 

"It's time we had a little relief, " she continued, "whatever thefuture may be. The slow, steady pressure of anxiety and fear wasbecoming unendurable. I could scarcely have suffered more if Grace hadbeen my own child; and I feared for you, Alford, quite as much. "

"And with good reason, " he said, quietly. 

She gave him a keen look, and then did as the major had requested. 

"Come, friends, " cried he, "let us give up this evening to hope andcheer. Let what will come on the morrow, we'll have at least one moregleam of wintry sunshine to-day. "

Filling the glasses of all with his trembling hand, he added, whenthey were alone: "Here's to my darling's health. May the good Godspare her, and spare us all, to see brighter days. Because I'm notgood, is no reason why He isn't. "

"Amen!" cried the old lady, with Methodistic fervor. 

"What are you saying amen to?--that I'm not good?"

"Oh, I imagine we all average about alike, " was her grim reply--"themore shame to us all!"

"Dear, conscience-stricken old aunty!" said Graham, smiling at her. "Will nothing ever lay your theological ghosts?"

"No, Alford, " she said, gravely. "Let us change the subject. "

"I've told Major St. John everything from the day I first came here, "Graham explained; "and now before we separate let it be understoodthat he joins us as a powerful ally. His influence over Grace, afterall, is more potent than that of all the rest of us united. My wordsto-night have acted more like a shock than anything else. I haveplaced before her clearly and sharply the consequences of yieldingpassively, and of drifting further toward darkness. We must possessourselves with an almost infinite patience and vigilance. She, afterall, must bear the brunt of this fight with death; but we must be everon hand to give her support, and it must be given also unobtrusively, with all the tact we possess. We can let her see that we are morecheerful in our renewed hope, but we must be profoundly sympatheticand considerate. "

"Well, Graham, as I said before, you are captain. I learned to obeyorders long ago as well as to give them;" and the major summoned hisvalet and bade them goodnight. 

Graham, weary in the reaction from his intense feeling and excitement, threw himself on the sofa, and his aunt came and sat beside him. 

"Alford, " she said, "what an immense change your coming has made!"

"The beginning of a change, I hope. "

"It was time--it was time. A drearier household could scarcely beimagined. Oh, how dreary life can become! Grace was dying. Every day Iexpected tidings of your death. It's a miracle that you are aliveafter all these bloody years. All zest in living had departed from themajor. We are all materialists, after our own fashion, whollydependent on earthly things, and earthly things were failing us. Inlosing Grace, you and the major would have lost everything; so would Iin losing you. Alford, you have become a son to me. Would you break amother's heart? Can you not still promise to live and do your best?"

"Dear aunt, we shall all live and do our best. "

"Is that the best you can say, Alford?"

"Aunty, there are limitations to the strength of every man. I havereached the boundary of mine. From the time I began the struggle inthe Vermont woods, and all through my exile, I fought this passion. Ihesitated at no danger, and the wilder and more desolate the region, the greater were its attractions to me. I sought to occupy my mindwith all that was new and strange; but such was my nature that thislove became an inseparable part of my being. I might just as well havesaid I would forget my sad childhood, the studies that have interestedme, your kindness. I might as well have decreed that I should not lookthe same and be the same--that all my habits of thought and traits ofcharacter should not be my own. Imagine that a tree in your garden hadwill and intelligence. Could it ignore the law of its being, all thelong years which had made it what it is, and decide to be some otherkind of tree, totally different? A man who from childhood has had manyinterests, many affections, loses, no doubt, a sort of concentrationwhen the one supreme love of his life takes possession of him. IfGrace lives, and I can see that she has at last tranquilly andpatiently accepted her lot, you will find that I can be tranquil andpatient. If she dies, I feel that I shall break utterly. I can't lookinto the abyss that her grave would open. Do not think that I wouldconsciously and deliberately become a vulgar suicide--I hope I longsince passed that point, and love and respect for you forbid thethought--but the long strain that I have been under, and thedominating influence of my life, would culminate. I should give waylike a man before a cold, deadly avalanche. I have been frank withyou, for in my profound gratitude for your love and kindness I wouldnot have you misunderstand me, or think for a moment that I proposeddeliberately to forget you in my own trouble. The truth is just this, aunt: I have not strength enough to endure Grace Hilland's death. Itwould be such a lame, dreary, impotent conclusion that I should sinkunder it, as truly as a man who found himself in the sea weighted by aton of lead. But don't let us dwell on this thought. I truly believethat Grace will live, if we give her all the aid she requires. If shehonestly makes the effort to live--as she will, I feel sure--she canscarcely help living when the conditions of life are supplied. "

"I think I understand you, Alford, " said the old lady, musingly; "andyet your attitude seems a strange one. "

"It's not an unnatural one. I am what I have been growing to be allthese years. I can trace the sequence of cause and effect until thismoment. "

"Well, then, " said the old lady, grimly, "Grace must live, if it be inthe power of human will and effort to save her. Would that I had thefaith in God that I ought to have! But He is afar off, and He acts inaccordance with an infinite wisdom that I can't understand. Thehappiness of His creatures seems a very secondary affair. "

"Now, aunty, we are on ground where we differ theoretically, to saythe least; but I accord to you full right to think what you please, because I know you will employ all the natural and rational expedientsof a skilful nurse. "

"Yes, Alford; you and Grace only make me unhappy when you talk in thatway. I know you are wrong, just as certainly as the people whobelieved the sun moved round the earth. The trouble is that I know itonly with the same cold mental conviction, and therefore can be of nohelp to either of you. Pardon me for my bluntness: do you expect tomarry Grace, should she become strong and well?"

"No, I can scarcely say I have any such hope. It is a thought I do noteven entertain at present, nor does she. I am content to be her friendthrough life, and am convinced that she could not think of marriageagain for years, if ever. That is a matter of secondary importance. All that I ask is that she shall live. "

"Well, compared with most men, a very little contents you, " said hisaunt dryly. "We shall see, we shall see. But you have given me such anincentive that, were it possible, I'd open my withered veins and giveher half of my poor blood. "

"Dear aunty, how true and stanch your love is! I cannot believe itwill be disappointed. "

"I must go back to my post now, nor shall I leave it very often. "

"Here is Dr. Markham. He will see that you have it often enough tomaintain your own health, and I will too. I've been a soldier too longto permit my chief of staff to be disabled. Pardon me, doctor, but itseems to me that this is more of a case for nursing and nourishmentthan for drugs. "

"You are right, and yet a drug can also become a useful ally. In myopinion, it is more a case for change than anything else. When Mrs. Hilland is strong enough, you must take her from this atmosphere andthese associations. In a certain sense she must begin life over again, and take root elsewhere. "

"There may be truth in what you say;" and Graham was merged in deepthought when he was left alone. The doctor, in passing out a fewmoments later, assured him that all promised well. 

CHAPTER XXXVII

THE EFFORT TO LIVE

As Graham had said, it did seem that infinite patience and couragewould be required to defeat the dark adversaries now threatening thelife upon which he felt that his own depended. He had full assurancethat Grace made her promised effort, but it was little more than aneffort of will, dictated by a sense of duty. She had lost her hold onlife, which to her enfeebled mind and body promised little beyondrenewed weariness and disappointment. How she could live again in anyproper sense of the word was beyond her comprehension; and what wasbare existence? It would be burdensome to herself and become wearisometo others. The mind acts through its own natural medium, and all thelight that came to her was colored by almost despairing memories. 

Too little allowance is often made for those in her condition. Thestrong man smiles half contemptuously at the efforts of one who isfeeble to lift a trifling weight. Still, he is charitable. He knowsthat if the man has not the muscle, all is explained. So material arethe conceptions of many that they have no patience with those who havebeen enfeebled in mind, will, and courage. Such persons would say, "Ofcourse Mrs. Hilland cannot attend to her household as before; but sheought to have faith, resignation; she ought to make up her mindcheerfully to submit, and she would soon be well. Great heavens!haven't other women lost their husbands? Yes, indeed, and they worriedalong quite comfortably. "

Graham took no such superficial view. "Other women" were not Grace. Hewas philosophical, and tried to estimate the effect of her ownpeculiar experience on her own nature, and was not guilty of theabsurdity of generalizing. It was his problem to save Grace as shewas, and not as some good people said she ought to be. Still, his firmbelief remained, that she could live if she would comply with what hebelieved to be the conditions of life; indeed, that she could scarcelyhelp living. If the time could come when her brain would be nourishedby an abundance of healthful blood, he might hope for almost anything. She would then be able to view the past dispassionately, to recognizethat what _was past_ was gone forever, and to see the folly of agrief which wasted the present and the future. If she never becamestrong enough for that--and the prospect was only a faint, half-acknowledged hope--then he would reverently worship a patient, gentle, white-haired woman, who should choose her own secluded path, he beingcontent to make it as smooth and thornless as possible. 

Beyond a brief absence at the time his regiment was mustered out ofthe service, he was always at home, and the allies against death--withtheir several hopes, wishes, and interests--worked faithfully. At lastthere was a more decided response in the patient. Her sleep becameprolonged, as if she were making amends for the weariness of years. Skilful tonic treatment told on the wasted form. New blood was made, and that, in Graham's creed, was new life. 

His materialistic theory, however, was far removed from any grossconception of the problem. He did not propose to feed a woman into anew and healthful existence, except as he fed what he deemed to be herwhole nature. In his idea, flowers, beauty in as many forms as hecould command and she enjoy at the time, were essential. He ransackednature in his walks for things to interest her. He brought her outinto the sunshine, and taught her to distinguish the different birdsby their notes. He had Mrs. Mayburn talk to her and consult with herover the homely and wholesome details of housekeeping. Much of thenews of the day was brought to her attention as that which shouldnaturally interest her, especially the reconstruction of the South, asrepresented and made definite by the experience of Henry Anderson andhis sister. He told her that he had bought at a nominal sum a largeplantation in the vicinity of the parsonage, and that Colonel Andersonshould be his agent, with the privilege of buying at no more of anadvance than would satisfy the proud young Southerner's self respect. 

Thus from every side he sought to bring natural and healthfulinfluences to bear upon her mind, to interest her in life at everypoint where it touched her, and to reconnect the broken threads whichhad bound her to the world. 

He was aided earnestly and skilfully on all sides. Their success, however, was discouragingly slow. In her weakness Grace made patheticattempts to respond, but not from much genuine interest. As she grewstronger her manner toward her father was more like that of her formerself than was the rest of her conduct. Almost as if from the force ofhabit, she resumed her thoughtful care for his comfort; but beyondthat there seemed to be an apathy, an indifference, a drearypreoccupation hard to combat. 

In Graham's presence she would make visible effort to do all hewished, but it was painfully visible, and sometimes she wouldrecognize his unobtrusive attentions with a smile that was sadder thanany words could be. One day she seemed almost wholly free from thedeep apathy that was becoming characteristic, and she said to him, "Alas, my friend! as I said to you at first, the woman _is_ deadwithin me. My body grows stronger, as the result of the skill and helpyou all are bringing to bear on my sad problem, but my heart is dead, and my hope takes no hold on life. I cannot overcome the feeling thatI am a mere shadow, and have no right to be here among the living. Youare so brave, patient, and faithful that I am ever conscious of a sortof dull remorse; but there is a weight on my brain and a despairingnumbness at my heart, making everything seem vain and unreal. Pleasedo not blame me. Asking me to feel is like requiring sight of theblind. I've lost the faculty. I have suffered so much that I havebecome numb, if not dead. The shadows of the past mingle with theshadows of to-day. Only you seem real in your strong, vain effort, andas far as I can suffer any more it pains me to see you thus wasteyourself on a hopeless shadow of a woman. I told you I shoulddisappoint you. "

"I am not wasting myself, Grace. Remain a shadow till you can be more. I will bear my part of the burden, if you will be patient with yours. Won't you believe that I am infinitely happier in caring for you asyou are than I should be if I could not thus take your hand andexpress to you my thought, my sympathy? Dear Grace, the causes whichled to your depression were strong and terrible. Should we expect themto be counteracted in a few short weeks?"

"Alas, Alford! is there any adequate remedy? Forgive me for sayingthis to you, and yet you, of all people, can understand me best. Youcling to me who should be nothing to a man of your power and force. You say you cannot go on in life without me, even as a weak, dependentfriend--that you would lose all zest, incentive, and interest; for Icannot think you mean more. If you feel in this way toward me, who inthe eyes of other men would be a dismal burden, think how Warrendwells in my memory, what he was to me, how his strong sunny naturewas the sun of my life. Do you not see you are asking of me what yousay you could not do yourself, although you would, after your ownbrave, manly fashion? But your own belief should teach you the natureof my task when you ask me to go on and take up life again, from whichI was torn more completely than the vine which falls with the tree towhich it clung. "

"Dear Grace, do not think for a moment that I am not always gratefullyconscious of the immense self-sacrifice you are making for me andothers. You long for rest and forgetfulness, and yet you know wellthat your absence would leave an abyss of despair. You now add so muchto the comfort of your father! Mrs. Mayburn clings to you with all thelove of a mother. And I, Grace--what else can i do? Even your frail, sad presence is more to me than the sun in the sky. Is it pureselfishness on my part to wish to keep you? Time, the healer, willgradually bring to you rest from pain, and serenity to us all. Whenyou are stronger I will take you to Hilland's grave--"

"No, no, no!" she cried, almost passionately. "Why should I go there?Oh, this is the awful part of it! What I so loved has become nothing, worse than nothing--that from which I shrink as something horrible. Oh, Alford! why are we endowed with such natures if corruption is tobe the end? It is this thought that paralyzes me. It seems as if pure, unselfish love is singled out for the most diabolical punishment. Tothink that a form which has become sacred to you may be put away atany moment as a horrible and unsightly thing! and that such should bethe end of the noblest devotion of which man is capable! My wholebeing revolts at it; and yet how can I escape from its truth? I ambeset by despairing thoughts on every side when able to think at all, and my best remedy seems a sort of dreary apathy, in which I do littlemore than breathe. I have read that there comes a time when thetortured cease to feel much pain. There was a time, especially at thehospital, when I suffered constantly--when almost everything but yousuggested torturing thoughts. I suffered with you and for you, butthere was always something sustaining in your presence. There isstill. I should not live a month in your absence, but it seems as ifit were your strong will that holds me, not my own. You have given methe power, the incentive, to make such poor effort as I am puttingforth. Moreover, in intent, you gave your life for Warren again andagain, and as long as I have any volition left I will try and do allyou wish, since you so wish it. But my hope is dead. I do not see howany more good can come to me or through me. "

"You are still willing, however, to permit me to think for you, toguide you? You will still use your utmost effort to live?"

"Yes. I can refuse to the man who went back to my dying husbandnothing within my power to grant. It is indeed little. Besides, I amin your care, but I fear I shall prove a sad, if not a fatal legacy. "

"Of that, dear Grace, you must permit me to be the judge. All that youhave said only adds strength to my purpose. Does not the thought thatyou are doing so very much for me and for all who love you bring somesolace?"

"It should. But what have I brought you but pain and deep anxiety? Oh, Alford, Alford! you will waken some bitter day to the truth that youlove but the wraith of the girl who unconsciously won your heart. Youhave idealized her, and the being you now love does not exist. How canI let you go on thus wronging yourself?"

"Grace, " replied he, gravely and almost sternly, "I learned in thenorthern woods, among the fiords of Norway, under the shadow of theHimalayas, and in my long, lonely hours in the war, whom I loved, andwhy I loved her. I made every effort at forgetfulness that I, atleast, was capable of exerting, and never forgot for an hour. Am I asentimental boy, that you should talk to me in this way? Let us leavethat question as settled for all time. Moreover, never entertain thethought that I am planning and hoping for the future. I see in youraffection for me only a pale reflection of your love for Hilland. "

"No, Alford, I love you for your own sake. How tenderly you have everspoken of little Rita Anderson, and yet--"

"And yet, as I have told you more than once, the thought of loving hernever entered my mind. I could plan for her happiness as I would for asister, had I one. "

"Therefore you can interpret me. "

"Therefore I have interpreted you, and, from the first, have asked fornothing more than that you still make one of our little circle, eachmember of which would be sadly missed, you most of all. "

"I ought to be able to do so little as that for you. Indeed, I amtrying. "

"I know you are, and, as you succeed, you will see that I am content. Do not feel that when I am present you must struggle and make unwontedeffort. The tide is setting toward life; float gently on with it. Donot try to force nature. Let time and rest daily bring theirimperceptible healing. The war is over. I now have but one object inlife, and if you improve I shall come and go and do some man's work inthe world. My plantation in Virginia will soon give me plenty ofwholesome out-of-door thoughts. "

She gave him one of her sad smiles as she replied wearily, "You set mea good example. "

This frank interchange of thought appeared at first to have a goodeffect on Grace, and brought something of the rest which comes fromsubmission to the inevitable. She found that Graham's purpose was asimmovable as the hills, and at the same time was more absolutelyconvinced that he was not looking forward to what seemed an impossiblefuture. Nor did he ask that her effort should be one of feeblestruggles to manifest an interest before him which she did not feel. She yielded to her listlessness and apathy to a degree that alarmedher father and Mrs. Mayburn, but Graham said: "It's the course ofnature. After such prolonged suffering, both body and mind need thislethargy. Reaction from one extreme to another might be expected. "

Dr. Markham agreed in the main with this view, and yet there was aslight contraction of perplexity on his brows as he added: "I shouldnot like to see this tendency increase beyond a certain point, orcontinue too long. From the first shock of her bereavement Mrs. Hilland's mind has not been exactly in a normal condition. There arephases of her trouble difficult to account for and difficult to treat. The very fineness of her organization made the terrible shock moreserious in its injury. I do not say this to discourage you--far fromit--but in sincerity I must call your attention to the fact that everynew phase of her grief has tended to some extreme manifestation, showing a disposition toward, not exactly mental weakness, butcertainly an abnormal mental condition. I speak of this that you mayintelligently guard against it. If due precaution is used, the happymean between these reactions may be reached, and both mind and bodyrecover a healthful tone. I advise that you all seek some resort bythe sea, a new one, without any associations with the past. "

Within a few days they were at a seaside inn, a large one whose verysize offered seclusion. From their wide and lofty balconies they couldwatch the world come and go on the sea and on the land; and the worldwas too large and too distant for close scrutiny or petty gossip. Theycould have their meals in their rooms, or in the immense dining-hall, as they chose; and in the latter place the quiet party would scarcelyattract a second glance from the young, gay, and sensation-loving. Their transient gaze would see two old ladies, one an invalid, an oldand crippled man, and one much younger, who evidently would never takepart in a german. 

It was thought and hoped that this nearness to the complex world, withthe consciousness that it could not approach her to annoy and pry, might tend to awaken in Grace a passing interest in its many phases. She could see without feeling that she was scanned and surmised about, as is too often the case in smaller houses wherein the guests are notcontent until they have investigated all newcomers. 

But Grace disappointed her friends. She was as indifferent to theworld about her as the world was to her. At first she was regarded asa quiet invalid, and scarcely noticed. The sea seemed to interest hermore than all things else, and, if uninterrupted, she would sit andgaze at its varying aspects for hours. 

According to Graham's plan, she was permitted, with littleinterference, to follow her mood. Mrs. Mayburn was like a watchfulmother, the major much his former self, for his habits were too fixedfor radical changes. Grace would quietly do anything he asked, but shegrew more forgetful and inattentive, coming out of her deepabstraction--if such it could be termed--with increasing effort. WithGraham she seemed more content than with any one else. With him shetook lengthening walks on the beach. He sat quietly beside her whileshe watched the billows chasing one another to the shore. Their swiftonset, their defeat, over which they appeared to foam in wrath, theirbackward and disheartened retreat, ever seemed to tell her in some dimway a story of which she never wearied. Often she would turn and lookat him with a vague trouble in her face, as if faintly rememberingsomething that was a sorrow to them both; but his reassuring smilequieted her, and she would take his hand as a little child might havedone, and sit for an hour without removing her eyes from the waves. Hewaited patiently day after day, week after week, reiterating tohimself, "She will waken, she will remember all, and then will havestrength and calmness to meet it. This is nature's long repose. "

It was growing strangely long and deep. 

Meanwhile Grace, in her outward appearance, was undergoing a subtlechange. Graham was the first to observe it, and at last it wasapparent to all. As her mind became inert, sleeping on a downy couchof forgetfulness, closely curtained, the silent forces of physicallife, in her deep tranquillity, were doing an artist's work. Thehollow cheeks were gradually rounded and given the faintest possiblebloom. Her form was gaining a contour that might satisfy a sculptor'sdream. 

The major had met old friends, and it was whispered about who theywere--the widow of a millionaire; Colonel Graham, one of the mostdashing cavalry officers in the war which was still in all minds;Major St. John, a veteran soldier of the regular service, who had beenwounded in the Mexican War and who was well and honorably known to thechief dignitaries of the former generation. Knowing all this, thequidnuncs complacently felt at first that they knew all. The nextthing was to know the people. This proved to be difficult indeed. Themajor soon found a few veteran cronies at whist, but to others wasmore unapproachable than a major-general of the old school. Graham wasfar worse, and belles tossed their heads at the idea that he had everbeen a "dashing cavalry officer" or dashing anything else. Before thesummer was over the men began to discover that Mrs. Hilland was themost beautiful woman in the house--strangely, marvellously, supernaturally beautiful. 

An artist, who had found opportunity to watch the poor unconsciouswoman furtively--not so furtively either but that any belle in thehostelry would know all about it in half a minute--raved about thecombination of charms he had discovered. 

"Just imagine, " he said, "what a picture she made as she sat alone onthe beach! She was so remarkable in her appearance that one mightthink she had arisen from the sea, and was not a creature of theearth. Her black, close-fitting dress suggested the form of Aphroditeas she rose from the waves. Her profile was almost faultless in itsexquisite lines. Her complexion, with just a slight warm tingeimparted by the breeze, had not the cold, dead white of snow, but theclear transparency which good aristocratic blood imparts. But her eyesand hair were her crowning features. How shall I describe the deep, dreamy languor of her large, dark eyes, made a hundred-fold moreeffective by the silvery whiteness of her hair, which had partlyescaped from her comb, and fell upon her neck! And then her sublime, tranquil indifference! That I was near, spellbound with admiration, did not interest her so much as a sail, no larger than a gull's wing, far out at sea. "

"Strange, strange!" said one of his friends, laughing; "herunconsciousness of your presence was the strangest part of it all. Whydid you not make a sketch?"

"I did, but that infernal Colonel Graham, who is said to be hershadow--after her million, you know--suddenly appeared and askedsternly: 'Have you the lady's permission for this sketch?' I stammeredabout being 'so impressed, that in the interests of art, ' etc. He thensnatched my sketch and threw it into the waves. Of course I was angry, and I suppose my words and manner became threatening. He took a steptoward me, looking as I never saw a man look. 'Hush, ' he said, in alow voice. 'Say or do a thing to annoy that lady, and I'll wring yourneck and toss you after your sketch. Do you think I've been through ahundred battles to fear your insignificance?' By Jove! he looked as ifhe could do it as easily as say it. Of course I was not going to brawlbefore a lady. "

"No; it wouldn't have been prudent--I mean gentlemanly, " remarked hisbantering friend. 

"Well, laugh at me, " replied the young fellow, who was as honest aslight-hearted and vain. 'I'd risk the chance of having my neck wrungfor another glimpse at such marvellous beauty. Would you believe it?the superb creature never so much as once turned to glance at us. Sheleft me to her attendant as completely as if he were removing anannoying insect. Heavens! but it was the perfection of high breeding. But I shall have my revenge: "I'll paint her yet. "

"Right, my friend, right you are; and your revenge will be terrible. Her supernatural and high-bred nonchalance will be lost forever shouldshe see her portrait;" and with mutual chaffing, spiced with good-natured satire, as good-naturedly received, the little party in asmoking-room separated. 

But furtive eyes soon relieved the artist from the charge ofexaggeration. Thus far Grace's manner had been ascribed to high-bredreserve and the natural desire for seclusion in her widowhood. Now, however, that attention was concentrated upon her, Graham feared thatmore than her beauty would be discovered. 

He himself also longed inexpressibly to hide his new phase of troublefrom the chattering throng of people who were curious to know aboutthem. To know? As if they could know! They might better sit down togossip over the secrets of the differential and the integral calculus. 

But he saw increasing evidences that they were becoming objects of"interest, " and the beautiful millionaire widow "very interesting, " asit was phrased; and he knew that there is no curiosity so penetratingas that of the fashionable world when once it is aroused, and the gamedeemed worthy of pursuit. 

People appeared from Washington who had known Lieutenant-ColonelHilland and heard something of Graham, and the past was being ferretedout. "Her hair had turned white from grief in a night, " it wasconfidently affirmed. 

Poor Jones shrugged his shoulders as he thought: "I shall never be thecause of my wife's hair turning white, unless I may, in the future, prevent her from dyeing it. "

After all, sympathy was not very deep. It was generally concluded thatColonel Graham would console her, and one lady of elegant leisure, proud of her superior research, declared that she had seen the colonel"holding Mrs. Hilland's hand, " as they sat in a secluded angle of therocks. 

Up to a certain time it was comparatively easy to shield Grace; butnow, except as she would turn her large, dreamy eyes and unresponsivelips upon those who sought her acquaintance, she was as helpless as achild. The major and Mrs. Mayburn at once acquiesced in Graham's wishto depart. Within a day or two the gossips found that their prey hadescaped, and Grace was once more in her cottage home. 

At first she recognized familiar surroundings with a sigh of content. Then a deeply troubled look flitted across her face and she looked atGraham inquiringly. 

"What is it, Grace?" he asked, gently. 

She pressed her hand to her brow, glanced around once more, shook herhead sadly, and went to her room to throw off her wraps. 

They all looked at one another with consternation. Hitherto they hadtried to be dumb and blind, each hiding the growing and awfulconviction that Grace was drifting away from them almost as surely asif she had died. 

"Something must be done at once, " said practical Mrs. Mayburn. 

"I have telegraphed for Dr. Markham, " replied Graham, gloomily. "Nothing can be done till he returns. He is away on a distant trip. "

"Oh!" groaned the old major, "there will be an end of me before thereis to all this trouble. "

CHAPTER XXXVIII

GRAHAM'S LAST SACRIFICE

A terrible foreboding oppressed Graham. Would Grace fulfil herprediction and disappoint him, after all? Would she elude him, escape, _die_, and yet remain at his side, beautiful as a dream? Oh, theagony of possessing this perfect casket, remembering the jewel thathad vanished! He had vowed to defeat his gloomy rivals, Grief andDeath, and they were mocking him, giving the semblance of what hecraved beyond even imagined perfection, but carrying away into theirown inscrutable darkness the woman herself. 

What was Grace?--what becoming? As he looked he thought of her as asculptor's ideal embodied, a dream of beauty only, not a woman--as thelegend of Eve, who might, before becoming a living soul, haveharmonized with the loveliness of her garden without seeing or feelingit. 

He could not think of her mind as blotted out or perverted; he couldnot conceive of it otherwise than as corresponding with her outwardsymmetry. To his thought it slumbered, as her form might repose uponher couch, in a death-like trance. She went and came among them like asomnambulist, guided by unconscious instincts, memories, and habits. 

She knew their voices, did, within limitations, as they requested; butwhen she waited on her father there was a sad, mechanical repetitionof what she had done since childhood. Mrs. Mayburn found her docileand easily controlled, and the heart-stricken old lady was vigilanceitself. 

Toward Graham, however, her manner had a marked characteristic. He washer master, and she a dumb, lovely, unreasoning creature, that lookedinto his eyes for guidance, and gathered more from his tones than fromhis words. Some faint consciousness of the past had grown into aninstinct that to him she must look for care and direction; and shenever thought of resisting his will. If he read to her, she turned tohim her lovely face, across which not a gleam of interest orintelligence would pass. If he brought her flowers, she would holdthem until they were taken from her. She would pace the garden walksby his side, with her hand upon his arm, by the hour if he wished it, sometimes smiling faintly at his gentle tones, but giving no proofthat she understood the import of his words. At Hilland's name onlyshe would start and tremble as if some deep chord were struck, whichcould merely vibrate until its sounds were faint and meaningless. 

It was deeply touching also to observe in her sad eclipse how heringrained refinement asserted itself. In all her half-conscious actionthere was never a coarse look or word. She was a rose without itsperfume. She was a woman without a woman's mind and heart. These hadbeen subtracted, with all the differences they made; otherwise she wasGrace Hilland. 

Graham was profoundly perplexed and distressed. The problem had becometoo deep for him. The brain, nourished by good blood, had not broughtlife. All his skill and that of those allied with him had failed. Thematerialist had matter in the perfection of breathing outline, butwhere was the woman he loved? How could he reach her, how make himselfunderstood by her, except as some timid, docile creature responds to acaress or a tone? His very power over her was terrifying. It was builtupon the instinct, the allegiance that cannot reason but isunquestioning. Nothing could so have daunted his hope, courage, andwill as the exquisite being Grace had become, as she looked up to himwith her large, mild, trusting eyes, from which thought, intelligence, and volition had departed. 

At last Dr. Markham came, and for several days watched his patientclosely, she giving little heed to his presence. They all hung on hisperturbed looks with a painful anxiety. For a time he was veryreticent, but one day he followed Graham to his quarters in Mrs. Mayburn's cottage, where he was now much alone. Grace seemed to misshim but slightly, although she always gave some sign of welcome on hisreturn. The mocking semblance of all that he could desire often sotantalized him that her presence became unendurable. The doctor foundhim pacing his room in a manner betokening his half-despairingperplexity. 

"Colonel Graham, " he said, "shall I surprise you when I say physiciansare very fallible? I know that it is not the habit of the professionto admit this, but I have not come here to talk nonsense to you. Youhave trusted me in this matter, and admitted me largely into yourconfidence, and I shall speak to you in honest, plain English. Mrs. Hilland's symptoms are very serious. What I feared has taken place. From her acute and prolonged mental distress and depression, of whichshe would have died had you not come, she reacted first into mentallethargy, and now into almost complete mental inactivity. I cannotdiscover that any disturbed physical functions have been an element inher mental aberration, for more perfect physical life and loveliness Ihave never seen. Her white hair, which might have made her look old, is a foil to a beauty which seems to defy age. 

"Pardon me for saying it, but I fear our treatment has beensuperficial. We men of the world may believe what we please, but tomany natures, especially to an organization like Mrs. Hilland's, hopeand faith are essential. She has practically been without these fromthe first, and, as you know, she was sinking under the strugglemaintained by her own brave, womanly spirit. She was contending withmore than actual bereavement. It was the hopelessness of the strugglethat crushed her, for she is not one of that large class of women whocan find consolation in crape and becoming mourning. 

"In response to your appeal, she did make the effort you required, butit was the effort of a mind still without hope or faith--one that sawno remedy for the evils that had already overwhelmed her--and I mustbear witness that her efforts were as sincere as they were pathetic. We all watched to give every assistance in our power. I've lain awakenights, Colonel Graham, to think of remedies that would meet herneeds; and good Mrs. Mayburn and your old black cook, Aunt Sheba, prepared food fit for the gods. You were more untiring and effectivethan any of us, and the major's very infirmities were among herstrongest allies. Well, we have the result--a woman who might be amodel for a goddess, even to her tranquil face, in which there is notrace of varying human feeling. Explanation of the evil that crushedher, hope, and faith were not given--who can give them?--but they wereessential to her from the first. Unbelief, which is a refuge to some, was an abyss to her. In it she struggled and groped until her mind, appalled and discouraged and overwhelmed, refused to act at all. Inone sense it is a merciful oblivion, in another a fatal one, fromwhich she must be aroused if possible. But it's a hard, hard case. "

"You make it hard indeed, " said Graham, desperately. "What faith can Iinstil except the one I have? I can't lie, even for Grace Hilland. Sheknew well once that I could easily die for her. "

"Well, then, " said the physician, "permit a plain, direct question. Will you marry her?"

"Marry her--as she now is?" cried Graham, in unfeigned astonishment. 

"You said you could die for her. This may be going much further. Indeed I should call it the triumph of human affection, for in honestyI must tell you that she may never be better, she may become worse. But I regard it as her only chance. At any rate, she needs a vigilantcaretaker. Old Mrs. Mayburn will not be equal to the task much longer, and her place will have to be filled by hired service. I know it islike suggesting an almost impossible sacrifice to broach even thethought, remembering her condition, but--"

"Dr. Markham, " said Graham, pacing the floor in great agitation, "youwholly misunderstand me. I was thinking of her, not of myself. Whatright have I to marry Grace Hilland without her consent? She couldgive no intelligent assent at present. "

"The right of your love; the right her husband gave when he committedher to your care; the right of your desire to prevent her fromdrifting into hopeless, lifelong imbecility, wherein she would bealmost at the mercy of hired attendants, helpless to shield herselffrom any and every wrong; the right of a man to sacrifice himselfabsolutely for another if he chooses. "

"But she might waken from this mental trance and feel that I had takena most dishonorable advantage of her helplessness. "

"Yes, you run that risk; but here is one man who will assure her tothe contrary, and you would be sustained by the consciousness of thepurest motives. It is that she may waken that I suggest the step;mark, I do not advise it. As I said at first, I am simply treating youwith absolute confidence and sincerity. If matters go on as they are, I have little or no hope. Mrs. Mayburn is giving way under the strain, and symptoms of her old disorder are returning. She cannot watch Mrs. Hilland much longer as she has been doing. Whom will you put in herplace? Will you send Mrs. Hilland to an asylum, with its rules andsystems and its unknown attendants? Moreover, her present tranquilcondition may not last. She may become as violent as she now isgentle. She may gradually regain her intelligence, or it may berestored to her by some sudden shock. If the mysteries of the physicalnature so baffle us, who can predict the future of a disorderedintellect? I have presented the darkest side of the picture; I stillthink it has its bright side. She has no hereditary mental weakness tocontend with. As it developed somewhat gradually, it may pass in thesame manner. If you should marry her and take her at once to Europe, change of scene, of life, with your vigilant presence ever near, mightbecome important factors in the problem. The memory that she wascommitted to your care has degenerated into a controlling instinct;but that is far better than nothing. The only real question in my mindis, Are you willing to make the sacrifice and take the risks? You knowthe world will say you married her for her money, and that will behard on a man like you. "

Graham made a gesture of contempt: "That for the world, " he said. "Have you broached this subject to her father and my aunt?"

"Certainly not before speaking to you. "

"You then give me your assurance, as a man, that you believe thisright, and that it is Grace Hilland's best chance--indeed, almost heronly chance--for recovery?"

"I do most unhesitatingly, and I shall do more. I shall bring from NewYork an eminent physician who has made mental disease a study all hislife, and he shall either confirm my opinion or advise you better. "

"Do so, Dr. Markham, " said Graham, very gravely. "I have incurredrisks before in my life, but none like this. If from any cause Mrs. Hilland should recover memory and full intelligence, and reproach mefor having taken advantage of a condition which, even among savagetribes, renders the afflicted one sacred, all the fiendish tortures ofthe Inquisition would be nothing to what I should suffer. Still, proveto me, prove to her father, that it is her best chance, and for GraceHilland I will take even this risk. Please remember there must be noprofessional generalities. I must have your solemn written statementthat it is for Mrs. Hilland's sake I adopt the measure. "

"So be it, " was the reply. "I shall telegraph to Dr. Armandimmediately to expect me, and shall say that I wish him to be preparedto come at once. "

"Do so, and consider no question of expense. I am no longer poor, andif I were, I would mortgage my blood at this juncture. "

On the following evening Dr. Armand was almost startled by the visionon the veranda of the St. John cottage. A silvery-haired woman satlooking placidly at the glowing sunset, with its light and its rose-hues reflected in her face. 

"If ever there was a picture of a glorified saint, there is one, " hemuttered, as he advanced and bowed. 

She gave him no attention, but with dark eyes, made brilliant by thelevel rays, she gazed steadily on the closing day. The physician stolea step or two nearer, and looked as steadily at her, while hisexperienced eye detected in all her illuminated beauty the absence ofthe higher, more subtle light of reason. Dr. Markham had told him nextto nothing about the case, and had asked him to go and see forhimself, impressing him only with the fact that it was a question ofvital importance that he was to aid in deciding; that he must give ithis whole professional skill, and all the necessary time, regardlessof expense. The moment he saw Grace, however, the business aspect ofthe affair passed from his mind. His ruling passion was aroused, andhe was more than physician--a student--as the great in any callingever are. 

Graham came to the door and recognized instinctively the intent, eagle-eyed man, who merely nodded and motioned him to approach hispatient. Graham did so, and Grace turned her eyes to him with a timid, questioning glance. He offered her his arm; she rose instantly andtook it, and began walking with him. 

"Were you looking at the sunset, Grace?"

She turned upon him the same inquiring eyes, but did not answer. 

"Do you not think it very beautiful? Does it not remind you of thesunset you saw on the evening when I returned from my first battle?"

She shook her head, and only looked perplexed, "Why, Grace, " he continued, as if provoked, "you _must_ remember. I was carried, you know, and you and Mrs. Mayburn acted as if myscratches were mortal wounds. "

She looked frightened at his angry tones, clasped her hands, and withtears in her eyes looked pleadingly up to him. 

"Dear Grace, don't be worried. " He now spoke in the gentlest tones, and lifted her hand to his lips. A quick, evanescent smile illuminedher face. She fawned against his shoulder a moment, placed his handagainst her cheek, and then leaned upon his arm as they resumed theirwalk, Dr. Armand keeping near them without in the least attracting herattention. 

"Grace, " resumed Graham, "you must remember. Hilland, Warren, youknow. "

She dropped his arm, looked wildly around, covered her face with herhands, and shuddered convulsively. 

After a moment he said, kindly but firmly, "Grace, dear Grace. "

She sprang to him, seized his hand, and casting a look of suspicion atDr. Armand, drew him away. 

A few moments later she was again looking tranquilly at the west, butthe light had departed from the sky and from her face. It had the lookof one who saw not, thought and felt not. It was breathing, livingdeath. 

Graham looked at her mournfully for a few moments, and then, with agesture that was almost despairing, turned to the physician, who hadnot lost a single expression. 

"Thank you, " was that gentleman's first laconic remark; and he droppedinto a chair, still with his eyes on the motionless figure of Grace. 

At last he asked, "How long would she maintain that position?"

"I scarcely know, " was the sad response; "many hours certainly. "

"Please let her retain it till I request you to interfere. The moon isrising almost full, the evening is warm, and she can take no harm. "

The major tottered out on his crutches, and was given his chair, thephysician meanwhile being introduced. Brief and courteous was Dr. Armand's acknowledgment, but he never took his eyes from his patient. The same was true of his greeting to Mrs. Mayburn; but that goodlady's hospitable instincts soon asserted themselves, and sheannounced that dinner was ready. 

"Take Mrs. Hilland to dinner, " said the physician to Graham; "butfirst introduce me. "

The young man approached and said, "Grace. " She rose instantly andtook his arm. "This is Dr. Armand, Grace. He has called to see you. "She made him a courteous inclination, and then turned to Graham to seewhat next was expected of her, but he only led her to the dining-room. 

"Gracie, darling, bring me my cushion, " said her father, speaking ashe had been used to do when she was a little girl. 

She brought it mechanically and arranged it, then stood in expectancy. "That will do, dear;" and she returned to her seat in silence. Throughout the meal she maintained this silence, although Dr. Armandbroached many topics, avoiding only the name of her husband. Hermanner was that of a little, quiet, well-bred child, who did notunderstand what was said, and had no interest in it. The physician'sscrutiny did not embarrass her; she had never remembered, much lessforgotten him. 

When the meal was over they all returned to the piazza. At thephysician's request she was placed in her old seat, and they all satdown to watch. The moon rose higher and higher, made her hair moresilvery, touched her still face with a strange, ethereal beauty, andthrew the swaying shadow of a spray of woodbine across her motionlessfigure--so motionless that she seemed a sculptured rather than abreathing woman. 

After a while the old major rose and groaned as he tottered away. Mrs. Mayburn, in uncontrollable nervous restlessness, soon followed, thatshe might find relief in household cares. The two men watched on tillhours had passed, and still the lovely image had not stirred. At lastDr. Armand approached her and said, "Mrs. Hilland. "

She rose, and stood coldly aloof. The name, with her prefix, did nottrouble her. She had long been accustomed to that "Hilland, " as Grahamuttered the word, alone affected her, touching some last deep chord ofmemory. 

"Mrs. Hilland, " the doctor continued, "it is getting late. Do you notthink you had better retire?"

She looked at him blankly, and glanced around as if in search of someone. 

"I am here, Grace, " said Graham, emerging from the doorway. 

She came to him at once, and he led her to Mrs. Mayburn, kissing herhand, and receiving, in return, her strange, brief, fawning caress. 

"I would like to know the history of Mrs. Hilland's malady from thebeginning, " said Dr. Armand, when Graham returned. 

"I cannot go over it again, " replied Graham, hoarsely. "Dr. Markhamcan tell you about all, and I will answer any questions. Your room isready for you here, where Dr. Markham will join you presently. I mustbid you good-night;" and he strode away. 

But as he passed under the apple-tree and recalled all that hadoccurred there, he was so overcome that once more he leaned against itfor support. 

CHAPTEE XXXIX

MARRIED UNCONSCIOUSLY

There was no sleep for Graham that night, for he knew that two skilfulmen were consulting on a question beyond any that had agitated hisheart before. As he paced the little parlor with restless steps, AuntSheba's ample form filled the doorway, and in her hands was a traybearing such coffee as only she knew how to brew. 

"Thanks, Aunt Sheba, " he said, motioning to a table, without pausingin his distracted walk. 

She put down the tray, retreated hesitatingly, and then began: "DearMas'r Graham, my ole heart jes aches for yer. But don't yer be so castdown, mas'r; de good Lord knows it all, and I'se a-prayin' for yer andde lubly Miss Grace night and day. "

He was so utterly miserable that he was grateful for even this homelysympathy, and he took the old woman's hand in his as he said kindly, "Pray on, then, good old aunty, if it's any comfort to you. Itcertainly can do no harm. "

"Oh, Mas'r Graham, you dunno, you dunno. Wid all yer wise knowin' yerdunno. You'se all--good Mis' Mayburn, de ole major, an' all--are in dedark land ob unbelievin', like poor Missy Grace. She doesn't know howyou'se all tink about her an' lub her; needer does you know how degood Lord tinks about you and lubs you. You guv me my liberty; you guvwhat I tinks a sight more on; you'se been kind to de poor old slavedat los' all her chillen in de weary days dat's gone. I'se a'memberin' yer all de time. You hab no faith, Mas'r Graham, and poorole Aunt Sheba mus' hab faith for yer. An' so I will. I'se a wrastlin'wid de Lord for yer all de time, an' I'se a-gwine to wrastle on till Isees yer an' Missy Grace an' all comin' inter de light;" and she threwher apron over her head, and went sobbing away. 

He paused for a moment when she left him, touched deeply by thestrong, homely, human sympathy and gratitude of the kind old soul whofed him--as he never forgot--when he was a fugitive in a hostile land. That she had manifested her feeling after what he deemed her ownignorant, superstitious fashion was nothing. It was the genuinemanifestation of the best human traits that touched him--pure gemsillumining a nature otherwise so clouded and crude. 

Late at night footsteps approached, and the two physicians entered. "Ifirst permitted Dr. Armand to form his own impressions, and since havetold him everything, " said Dr. Markham, "and he strongly inclines tomy view. Realizing the gravity of the case, however, he has consentedto remain a day or two longer. We will give you no hasty opinion, andyou shall have time on your part to exercise the most deliberatejudgment. "

Dr. Armand confirmed his associate's words, and added, "We will leaveyou now to the rest you must need sorely. Let me assure you, however, that I do not by any means consider Mrs. Hilland's case hopeless, andthat I am strongly impressed with the belief that her recovery mustcome through you. A long train of circumstances has given you almostunbounded influence over her, as you enabled me to see this evening. It would be sad to place such a glorious creature in the care ofstrangers, for it might involve serious risk should she regain hermemory and intelligence with no strong, sympathetic friend, acquaintedwith her past, near her. I am inclined to think that what is nowlittle more than an instinct will again develop into a memory, andthat the fact that she was committed to your care will fully reconcileher to the marriage--indeed, render her most grateful for it, ifcapable of understanding the reasons which led to it. If furtherobservation confirms my present impressions, I and Dr. Markham willplainly state our opinions to her father and Mrs. Mayburn. As mycolleague has said, you must comprehend the step in all its bearings. It is one that I would not ask any man to take. I now think that theprobabilities are that it would restore Mrs. Hilland to healtheventually. A year of foreign travel might bring about a gradual andhappy change. "

"Take time to satisfy yourselves, gentlemen, and give me your decisionas requested. Then you have my permission to give your opinions toMajor St. John. "

Within a week this was done, and the poor old man bowed his head onGraham's shoulder and wept aloud in his gratitude. Mrs. Mayburn also, wiping away her tears, faltered, "You know, Alford, how I schemed forthis marriage years ago; you remember my poor blind strategy on thatJune day, do you not? How little I thought it would take place undercircumstances like these! And yet, I've thought of it of late often, very often. I could not go on much longer, for I am old and feeble, and it just broke my heart to think of Grace, our Grace, passing intothe hands of some hired and indifferent stranger or strangers. Ibelieve she will recover and reward your sacrifice. "

"It is no sacrifice on my part, aunt, except she wakens only toreproach me. "

"Well, devotion, then; and little sense she'd ever have, " concludedthe old lady, after her own brusque fashion, "if she does not fall onher knees and bless you. You could now take better care of her than I, for she trusts and obeys you implicitly. She is docile and gentle withme, but often strangely inattentive. She would be still more so with astranger; and the idea of some strong, unfeeling hands forcing herinto the routine of her life!" Thus almost completely was removed fromhis mind the unspeakable dread lest he was taking an unfair advantageof helplessness. He fully recognized also that the ordeal for himselfwould be a terrible one--that it would be the fable of Tantalusrepeated for weeks, months, perhaps for years, or for life. Theunfulfilled promise of happiness would ever be before him. His dark-visaged rivals, Grief and Death, would jeer and mock at him from aface of perfect beauty. In a blind, vindictive way he felt that hisexperience was the very irony of fate. He could clasp the perfectmaterial form of a woman to his heart, and at the same time his heartbe breaking for what could not be seen or touched. 

The question, however, was decided irrevocably. He knew that he couldnot leave helpless Grace Hilland to the care of strangers, and thatthere was no place for him in the world but at her side; and yet itwas with something of the timidity and hesitation of a lover that heasked her, as they paced a shady garden-walk, "Grace, dear Grace, willyou marry me?"

His voice was very low and gentle, and yet she turned upon him astartled, inquiring look. "Marry you?" she repeated slowly. 

"Yes, let me take care of you always, " he replied, smilingly, and yetas pale almost as herself. 

The word "care" reassured her, and she gave him her wonted smile ofcontent, as she replied, very slowly, "Yes. I want you to take care ofme always. Who else can?"

"That's what I mean by marrying you--taking care of you always, " hesaid, raising her hand to his lips. 

"You are always to take care of me, " she replied, leaning her head onhis shoulder for a moment. 

"Mrs. Mayburn is not strong enough to take care of you any longer. Shewill take care of your father. Will you let me take care of you as shedoes?"

She smiled contentedly, for the word "care" appeared to make allnatural and right. 

It was arranged that they should be married in the presence of Dr. Markham, Aunt Sheba, and Jinny, in addition to those so deeplyinterested. The physician prepared the clergyman for the ceremony, which was exceedingly brief and simple, Grace smiling into Graham'sface when he promised to take care of her always, and she signifyingher consent and pleasure in the manner that was so mute and sad. Thenhe told her that he was going to take her away, that she might getperfectly strong and well; and she went at his request withouthesitancy, although seeming to wonder slightly at the strong emotionof her father and Mrs. Mayburn when parting from her. Jinny, who hadbeen her nurse in childhood, accompanied her. Dr. Markham also wentwith them as far as the steamer, and they sailed away into a future asvague and unknown to them as the ocean they were crossing. 

The waves seen from the deck of the steamer produced in Grace the samecontent with which she had gazed at them from the shore during theprevious summer; only now there were faint signs of wonder in herexpression, and sometimes of perplexity. Her eyes also wandered aroundthe great vessel with something of the interest of a child, but sheasked no questions. That Graham was with her and smiled reassuringlyseemed sufficient, while the presence of her old colored nurse, who insome dim way was connected with her past, gave also an additionalsense of security. 

As time elapsed and they began their wanderings abroad, it seemed toGraham that his wife was beginning life over again, as a very littlequiet child would observe the strange and unaccountable phenomenaabout it. Instead of her fixed vacancy of gaze, her eyes began to turnfrom object to object with a dawning yet uncomprehending interest. Hein simplest words sought to explain and she to listen, though it wasevident that their impression was slight indeed. Still there wasperceptible progress, and when in his tireless experimenting he beganto bring before her those things which would naturally interest achild, he was encouraged to note that they won a larger and morepleased attention. A garden full of flowers, a farmyard with itssleek, quiet cattle, a band of music, a broad, funny pantomime, werefar more to her than Westminster Abbey or St. Paul's. Later, thevariety, color, and movement of a Paris boulevard quite absorbed herattention, and she followed one object after another with much thesame expression that might be seen on the face of a little girlscarcely three years old. This infantile expression, in contrast withher silver hair and upon her mature and perfect features, was patheticto the last degree, and yet Graham rejoiced with exceeding joy. Withevery conscious glance and inquiring look the dawn of hope brightened. He was no longer left alone in the awful solitude of living death. Thebeautiful form was no longer like a deserted home. It now had atenant, even though it seemed but the mind of a little child. The raysof intelligence sent out were feeble indeed, but how much better thanthe blank darkness that had preceded! Something like happiness beganto soften and brighten the husband's face as he took his child-wifehere and there. He made the long galleries of the Louvre and of Italyher picture-books, and while recognizing that she was pleased withlittle more than color, form, and action--that the sublime, equallywith the vicious and superstitious meanings of the great masters, werehidden--he was nevertheless cheered and made more hopeful by the factthat she _was_ pleased and observant--that she began to single outfavorites; and before these he would let her stand as long as shechose, and return to them when so inclined. 

She had lost the power of reading a line. She did not know even herletters; and these he began to teach her with unflagging zeal andpatience. How the mysterious problem would end he could not tell. Itmight be that by kindling a little light the whole past would becomeillumined; it might be that he would have to educate her over again;but be the future what it would, the steadfast principle of devotionto her became more fixed, and to care for her the supreme law of hisbeing. 

From the time of his first message to them he had rarely lost anopportunity to send a letter to the anxious ones at home, and theirreplies abounded in solicitous, grateful words. Dr. Markham oftencalled, and rubbed his hands with increasing self-gratulation over thesuccess of his bold measure, especially as encomiums on his sagacityhad been passed by the great Dr. Armand. 

Nearly a year had passed, and Graham and his wife, after theirsaunterings over the Continent, were spending the summer in theScottish Highlands. They sailed on the lochs, fished from their banks, and climbed the mountain passes on little shaggy ponies that wereScotch in their stubbornness and unflinching endurance. Grace hadbecome even companionable in her growing intelligence, and in theplace of her silent, inquiring glances there were sometimes eager, childlike questionings. 

Of late, however, Graham noted the beginnings of another change. Withgrowing frequency she passed her hand over her brow, that wascontracted in perplexity. Sometimes she would look at him curiously, at Jinny, and at the unfamiliar scenes of her environment, then shakeher head as if she could not comprehend it all. Speedily, however, shewould return with the zest of a quiet little girl to the pleasures andtasks that he unweariedly provided. But Graham grew haggard andsleepless in his vigilance, for he believed that the time of herawakening was near. 

One day, while sailing on a loch, they were overtaken by a heavy stormand compelled to run before it, and thus to land at no little distancefrom their inn. Grace showed much alarm at the dashing waves andhowling tempest. Nor was her fright at the storm wholly that of anunreasoning child. Its fury seemed to arouse and shock her, and whileshe clung to Graham's hand, she persisted in sitting upright andlooking about, as if trying to comprehend it all. After landing theyhad a long, fatiguing ride in the darkness, and she was unusuallysilent. On reaching her room she glanced around as if all wasunfamiliar and incomprehensible. Graham had a presentiment that thehour was near, and he left her wholly to the care of her old colorednurse, but almost immediately, from excessive weariness, she sank intoa deep slumber. 

Her lethargy lasted so late in the following day that he was alarmed, fearing lest her old symptoms were returning. With anxious, holloweyes, he watched and waited, and at last she awoke and looked at himwith an expression that he had longed for through many weary months, and yet now it terrified him. 

"Alford--Mr. Graham, " she began, in deep surprise. 

"Hush, dear Grace. You have been very ill. "

"Yes, but where am I? What has happened?"

"Very much; but you are better now. Here is Jinny, your old nurse, whotook care of you as a child. "

The old colored woman came in, and, as instructed, said: "Yes, honey, I'se tooken care ob you since you was a baby, and I'se nebber lef'you. "

"Everything looks very strange. Why, Alford, I had a long, sad talkwith you but a short time since in the library, and you were so kindand unselfish!"

"Yes, Grace; we spoke frankly to each other, but you have been veryill since then, worse than ever before. At your father's request andDr. Markham's urgent counsel, I brought you to Europe. It was said tobe your only chance. "

"But where is Mrs. Mayburn?"

"She is at home taking care of your father. Her old sicknessthreatened to return. She could take care of you no longer, and youneeded constant care. "

A slow, deep flush overspread her face and even her neck as shefaltered: "And--and--has no one else been with me but Jinny?"

"No one else except myself. Grace, dear Grace, I am your husband. Iwas married to you in the presence of your father, Mrs. Mayburn, andyour family physician. "

"Now long since?" she asked, in a constrained voice. 

"About a year ago. "

"Have we been abroad ever since?"

"Yes, and you have been steadily improving. You were intrusted to mycare, and there came a time when I must either be faithful to thattrust, or place you in the hands of strangers. You were helpless, dearGrace. "

"Evidently, " in the same low, constrained tone. "Could--could you nothave fulfilled your trust in some other way?"

"Your father, your second mother, and your physician thought not. "

"Still--" she began, hesitated, and again came that deep, deep flush. 

"For your sake, Grace, I incurred the risk of this awful moment. "

She turned, and saw an expression which brought tears to her eyes. "Icannot misjudge you, " she said slowly; "the past forbids that. But Icannot understand it, I cannot understand it at all. "

"Perhaps you never will, dear Grace; I took that risk also to saveyour life and mind. "

"My mind?"

"Yes, your mind. If, in recalling the past, the memory of which hasreturned, you can preserve sufficient confidence in me to wait tillall is clear and explained, I shall be profoundly grateful. I foresawthe possibility of this hour; I foresaw it as the chief danger andtrial of my life; and I took the risk of its consequences for yoursake because assured by the highest authority that it was your onechance for escape, not from death, but from a fate worse than death, which also would have removed you from my care--indeed the care of allwho loved you. I have prepared myself for this emergency as well as Icould. Here are letters from your father, Mrs. Mayburn, Dr. Markham, and Dr. Armand, one of the most eminent authorities in the world onbrain diseases. But after all I must be judged by your woman's heart, and so stand or fall. I now have but one request, or entreaty rather, to make--that you do not let all the efforts we have made in yourbehalf be in vain. Can you not calmly and gradually receive the wholetruth? There must be no more relapses, or they will end in black ruinto us all. Now that you can think for yourself, your slightest wishshall be my law. Jinny, remain with your mistress. "

He lifted her passive hand to his lips, passed into their littleparlor, and closed the door. Grace turned to her nurse, and in low, almost passionate utterance, said: "Now tell me all. "

"Lor' bress you, Missy Grace, it 'ud take a right smart time to tellyer all. When de big doctors an' all de folks say you'se got to habstrangers take care ob you or go ter a'sylum, and arter all you'd gitwuss, Mas'r Graham he guv in, and said he'd take care ob you, and deyall bress 'im and tank 'im, and couldn't say 'nuff. Den he took you'cross de big ocean--golly I how big it be--jes' as de doctor said;an' nebber hab I seed sich lub, sich 'votion in a moder as Mas'rGraham hab had fer you. He had to take care ob you like a littlechile, an' he was teachin' you how to read like a little chile when, all on a suddint, you wakes up an' knows ebryting you'se forgotten. But de part you doesn't know is de part mos' wuth knowin'. No womaneber had sich a husban' as Mas'r Graham, an' no chile sich a moder. 'Clar' ter grashus ef I b'lieve he's ebber slep' a wink wid hiswatchin' an' a-tinkin' what he could do fer you. "

"But, Jinny, I'm not ill; I never felt stronger in my life. "

"Laws, Missy Grace, dar's been a mirackle. You'se strong 'nuff 'ceptyour mine's been off wisitin' somewhar. Golly! you jes' git up an' letme dress you, an' I'll show yer de han'somest woman in de worl'. Allyer's got ter do now is jes' be sensible like, an' yer won't have yermatch. "

Grace cast an apprehensive look toward the door of the parlor in whichwas her husband, and then said hurriedly: "Yes, dress me quick. Oh, heavens! how much I have to think about, to realize!"

"Now, honey dear, you jes' keep cool. Don't go an' fly right off dehandle agin, or Mas'r Graham'll blow his brains out. Good Lor', howdat man do look sometimes! An' yet often, when he was pintin' out yerletters ter yer, or showin' yer pearty tings, like as you was a chile, he look so happy and gentle like, dat I say he jes' like a moder. "

Grace was touched, and yet deep, deep in her soul she felt that awrong had been done her, no matter what had been the motives. Jinnyhad no such fine perceptions, but with a feminine tact which runs downthrough the lowliest natures, she chose one of Grace's quietest, yetmost becoming costumes, and would not let her go to the glass tillarrayed to the dusky woman's intense satisfaction. Then she led hermistress to the mirror and said: "Look dar, honey! All de pictersyou'se eber seen can't beat dat!" and Grace gazed long and fixedly atthe lovely creature that gazed back with troubled and bewildered eyes. 

"Was--was I like that when--when he married me?"

"Yes, an' no, honey. You only look like a picter of a woman den--aberry pearty picter, but nothin' but a picter arter all. Mas'r Grahamhab brought yer ter life. "

With another lingering, wondering glance at herself, she turned awayand said: "Leave me, now, Jinny; I wish to be alone. "

The woman hesitated, and was about to speak, but Grace waved her awayimperiously, and sat down to the letters Graham had given her. Sheread and re-read them. They confirmed his words. She was a wife: herhusband awaited her but a few feet away--her _husband_, and she hadnever dreamed of marrying again. The past now stood out luminous toher, and Warren Hilland was its centre. But another husband awaitedher--one whom she had never consciously promised "to love, honor, andobey. " As a friend she could worship him, obey him, die for him; butas her _husband_--how could she sustain that mysterious bond whichmerges one life in another? She was drawn toward him by every impulseof gratitude. She saw that, whether misled or not, he had beengoverned by the best of motives--nay, more, by the spirit of self-sacrifice in its extreme manifestation--that he had been made tobelieve that it was her only chance for health and life. Still, in herdeepest consciousness he was but Alford Graham, the friend most lovedand trusted, whom she had known in her far distant home, yet not herhusband. How could she go to him, what could she say to him, in theirnew relations that seemed so unreal?

She trembled to leave him longer in the agony of suspense; but herlimbs refused to support her, and her woman's heart shrank with astrange and hitherto unknown fear. 

There was a timid knock at the door. 

"Come in, Alford, " she said, tremblingly. 

He stood before her haggard, pale, and expectant. 

"Alford, " she said, sadly, "why did you not let me die?"

"I could not, " he replied, desperately. "As I told you, there is alimit to every man's strength. I see it all in your face and manner--what I feared, what I warned Dr. Markham against. Listen to me. Ishall take you home at once. You are well. You will not require myfurther care, and you need never see my face again. "

"And you, Alford?" she faltered. 

"Do not ask about me. Beyond the hour when I place you in yourfather's arms I know nothing. I have reached my limit. I have made thelast sacrifice of which I am capable. If you go back as you are now, you are saved from a fate which it seemed to me you would most shrinkfrom could you know it--the coarse, unfeeling touch and care ofstrangers who could have treated you in your helplessness as theychose. You might have regained your reason years hence, only to findthat those who loved you were broken-hearted, lost, gone. They are nowwell and waiting for you. Here are their letters, written from week toweek and breathing hope and cheer. Here is the last one from yourfather, written in immediate response to mine. In it he says, 'My handtrembles, but it is more from joy than age. ' You were gainingsteadily, although only as a child's intelligence develops. He writes, 'I shall have my little Grace once more, and see her mind grow up intoher beautiful form. '"

She bent her head low to hide the tears that were falling fast as shefaltered: "Was it wholly self-sacrifice when you married me?"

"Yes--in the fear of this hour, the bitterest of my life--yes. It hasfollowed me like a spectre through every waking and sleeping hour. Please make the wide distinction. My care for you, the giving up of mylife for you, is nothing. That I should have done in any case, as faras I could. But with my knowledge of your nature and your past, Icould not seem to take advantage of your helplessness without anunspeakable dread. When shown by the best human skill that I couldthus save you, or at least ensure that you would ever have gentle, sympathetic care, I resolved to risk the last extremity of evil tomyself for your sake. Now you have the whole truth. "

She rose and came swiftly to him--for he had scarcely entered the roomin his wish to show her respect--and putting her arm around his neck, while she laid her head upon his breast, said gently and firmly: "Thesacrifice shall not be all on your side. I have never consciouslypromised to be your wife, but now, as far as my poor broken spiritwill permit, I do promise it. But be patient with me, Alford. Do notexpect what I have not the power to give. I can only promise that allthere is left of poor Grace Hilland's heart--if aught--shall beyours. "

Then for the first time in his life the strong man gave way. Hedisengaged her so hastily as to seem almost rough, and fell forward onthe couch unconscious. The long strain of years had culminated in thehour he so dreaded, and in the sudden revulsion caused by her wordsnature gave way. 

Almost frantic with terror, Grace summoned her servant, and help fromthe people of the inn. Fortunately an excellent English physician wasstopping at the same house, and he was speedily at work. Grahamrecovered, only to pass into muttering delirium, and the burden of hisone sad refrain was: "If she should never forgive me!"

"Great heavens, madam! what _has_ he done?" asked the matter-of-factEnglishman. 

What a keen probe that question was to the wife as she sat watchingthrough the long, weary night! In an agony of self-reproach sherecalled all that he had done for her and hers in all the years, andnow in her turn she entreated _him_ to live; but he was as unconsciousas she had been in the blank past. No wooing, no pleading, could havebeen so potent as his unconscious form, his strength broken at last inher service. 

"O God!" she cried--forgetting in her anguish that she had no God--"have I been more cruel than all the war? Have I given him the woundthat shall prove fatal--him who saved Warren's life, my own, myreason, and everything that a woman holds dear?"

Graham's powerful and unvitiated nature soon rallied, however, andunder the skilful treatment the fever within a few days gave place tothe first deep happiness he had ever known. Grace was tender, considerate, her own former self, and with something sweeter to himthan self-sacrifice in her eyes; and he gave himself up to anunspeakable content. 

It was she who wrote the home letters that week, and a wondrous talethey told to the two old people, who subsisted on foreign news evenmore than on Aunt Sheba's delicate cookery. 

Graham was soon out again, but he looked older and more broken thanhis wife, who seemingly had passed by age into a bloom that could notfade. She decided that for his sake they would pass the winter inItaly, and that he should show her again as a woman what he had triedto interest her in as a child. Her happiness, although often deeplyshadowed, grew in its quiet depths. Graham had too much tact to be anardent lover. He was rather her stanch friend, her genial but mostconsiderate companion. His powerful human love at last kindled a quietflame on the hearth of her own heart that had so long been cold, andher life was warmed and revived by it. He also proved in picturegalleries and cathedrals that he had seen much when he was abroadbeyond wild mountain regions and wilder people, and her mind, seemingly strengthened by its long sleep, followed his vigorouscriticism with daily increasing zest. 

The soft, sun-lighted air of Italy appeared to have a healing balm forboth, and even to poor Grace there came a serenity which she had notknown since the "cloud in the South" first cast its shadow over herdistant hearth. 

To Graham at last there had come a respite from pain and fear, a deepcontent. His inner life had been too impoverished, and his nature toochastened by stern and bitter experience, for him to crave gayety andexuberant sentiment in his wife. Her quiet face, in which now was theserenity of rest, and not the tranquillity of death in life, grewdaily more lovely to him; and he was not without his human pride as hesaw the beauty-loving Italians look wonderingly at her. She in turnwas pleased to observe how he impressed cultivated people with hisquiet power, with a presence that such varied experiences had combinedto create. Among fine minds, men and women are more truly felt thanseen. We meet people of the plainest appearance and mostunostentatious manner, and yet without effort they compel us torecognize their superiority, while those who seek to impress otherswith their importance are known at once to be weak and insignificant. 

It was also a source of deep gratification to Grace that now, sinceher husband had obtained rest of mind, he turned naturally tohealthful business interests. Her own affairs, of which he had chargein connection with Hilland's lawyer, were looked after and explainedfully to her; and his solicitude for Henry Anderson's success led toan exchange of letters with increasing frequency. Much businessrelating to the Virginia plantation was transacted on the shores ofthe Mediterranean. 

Grace sought to quiet her compunctions at leaving her father and Mrs. Mayburn so long by frequent letters written in her dear old style, bycases of Italian wines, delicate and rare; exquisite fabrics of theloom, and articles of _vertu_; and between the letters and the giftsthe old people held high carnival after their quaint fashion all thatwinter. 

The soft Italian days lapsed one after another, like bright smiles onthe face of nature; but at last there came one on which Grace leanedher head upon her husband's shoulder and whispered, "Alford, take mehome, please. "

Had he cared for her before, when she was as helpless as a littlechild? Jinny, in recalling that journey and in dilating on the wondersof her experience abroad, by which she invariably struck awe into thesouls of Aunt Sheba and Iss, would roll up her eyes, and turn outwardthe palms of her hands, as she exclaimed, "Good Lor', you niggers, howI make you 'prehen' Mas'r Graham's goin's on from de night he sez, sezhe ter me, 'Pack up, Jinny; we'se a-gwine straight home. ' Iss 'claresdat Mas'r Graham's a ter'ble soger wid his long, straight sword andpistol, an' dat he's laid out more 'Federates dan he can shake a stickat. Well, you'd nebber b'lieve he'd a done wuss dan say, 'How d'ye' toa 'Federate ef yer'd seen how he 'volved roun' Missy Grace. Hewouldn't let de sun shine on her, nor de win' blow near her, andeberybody had ter git right up an' git ef she eben wanted ter sneeze. On de ship he had eberybody, from de cap'n to de cabin-boys, a waitin'on her. Dey all said we hab a mighty quiet v'yage, but Lor' bress yer!it was all 'long ob Mas'r Graham. He wouldn't let no wabes run terpitch his darlin' roun'. Missy Grace, she used ter sit an' larf an'larf at 'im--bress her dear heart, how much good it do me to hear dehoney larf like her ole dear self! Her moder used ter be mightykeerful on her, but 'twan't nothin' 'pared ter Mas'r Graham's goin'son. "

Jinny had never heard of Baron Munchausen, but her accounts of foreignexperiences and scenes were much after the type of that famous_raconteur_; and by each repetition her stories seemed to make aportentous growth. There was, however, a residuum of truth in all hermarvels. The event which she so vaguely foreshadowed by ever-increasing clouds of words took place. In June, when the nests aroundthe cottage were full of little birds, there was also, in a downy, nest-like cradle, a miniature of sweet Grace Graham; and Jinnythenceforth was the oracle of the kitchen. 

CHAPTER XL

RITA ANDERSON

The belief of children that babies are brought from heaven seems oftenverified by the experiences that follow their advent. And truly thebaby at the St. John cottage was a heavenly gift, even to thecrotchety old major, whom it kept awake at night by its unseasonablecomplaints of the evils which it encountered in spite of GrandmaMayburn, faithful old Aunt Sheba, who pleaded to be its nurse, and thegentle mother, who bent over it with a tenderness new and strange evento her heart. 

She could laugh now, and laugh she would, when Graham, with atrepidation never felt in battle, took the tiny morsel of humanity, and paraded up and down the library. Lying back on the sofa in one ofher dainty wrappers, she would cry, "Look at him, papa; look at thatgrim cavalryman, and think of his leading a charge!"

"Well, Gracie, dear, " the old major would reply, chuckling at hiswell-worn joke, "the colonel was _only_ a cavalryman, you know. He'snot up in infantry tactics. "

One morning Grandma Mayburn opened a high conclave in regard to thebaby's name, and sought to settle the question in advance by saying, "Of course it should be Grace. "

"Indeed, madam, " differed the major, gallantly, "I think it should benamed after its grandmother. "

Grace lifted her eyes inquiringly to her husband, who stood regardingwhat to him was the Madonna and child. 

"I have already named her, " he said, quietly. 

"You, you!" cried his aunt, brusquely. "I'd have you know that this isan affair for grave and general deliberation. "

"Alford shall have his way, " said the mother, with quiet emphasis, looking down at the child, while pride and tenderness blended sweetlyin her face. 

"Her name is Hilda, in memory of the noblest man and dearest friend Ihave ever known. "

Instantly she raised her eyes, brimming with tears, to his, andfaltered, "Thank you, Alford"; and she clasped the child almostconvulsively to her breast, proving that there was one love which noother could obliterate. 

"That's right, dear Grace. Link her name with the memory of Warren. She will thus make you happier, and it's my wish. "

The conclave ended at once. The old major took off his spectacles towipe his eyes, and Mrs. Mayburn stole away. 

From that hour little Hilda pushed sorrow from Grace's heart with herbaby hands, as nothing had ever done before, and the memory of thelost husband ceased to be a shadow in the background. The innocentyoung life was associated with his, and loved the more intensely. 

Graham had spoken from the impulse of a generous nature, too large tofeel the miserable jealousies that infest some minds; but he hadspoken more wisely than he knew. Thereafter there was a tenderness inGrace's manner toward him which he had never recognized before. Hetasted a happiness of which he had never dreamed, alloyed only by thethought that his treasures were mortal and frail. But as the littleone thrived, and his wife bloomed into the most exquisite beauty seenin this world, that of young and happy motherhood, he gave himself upto his deep content, believing that fate at last was appeased. Themajor grew even hilarious, and had his morning and evening parades, ashe called them, when the baby, in its laces and soft draperies, wasbrought for his inspection. Mrs. Mayburn, with all the accumulatedmaternal yearnings of her heart satisfied, would preside at theceremony. Grace, happy and proud, would nod and smile over hershoulder at her husband, who made a poor pretence of reading hispaper, while the old veteran deliberately adjusted his spectacles andmade comments that in their solemn drollery and military jargon wereirresistible to the household that could now laugh so easily. Theyoung life that had come had brought a new life to them all, and thedark shadows of the past shrank further and further into thebackground. 

But they were there--all the sad mysteries of evil that had crushedthe mother's heart. Once they seemed to rush forward and close aroundher. Little Hilda was ill and Grace in terror. But Dr. Markhamspeedily satisfied her that it was a trivial matter, and proved it tobe so by his remedies. The impression of danger remained, however, andshe clung to her little idol more closely than ever; and this was trueof all. 

Time sped tranquilly on. Hilda grew in endearing ways, and began tohave knowing looks and smiles for each. Her preference for hergrandfather with his great frosty eyebrows pleased the old gentlemanimmensely. It was both droll and touching to observe how one often soirascible would patiently let her take off his spectacles, toy withand often pull his gray locks, and rumple his old-fashioned ruffles, which he persisted in wearing on state occasions. It was also silentlynoted that the veteran never even verged toward profanity in thepresence of the child. 

Each new token of intelligence was hailed with a delight of whichnatures coarse or blunted never know. The Wise Men of old worshippedthe Babe in the manger, and sadly defective or perverted in theirorganizations are those who do not see something divine in a littleinnocent child. 

Henry and Rita Anderson, at the urgent solicitation of Graham and hiswife, came on in the autumn to make a visit, and, by a very strangecoincidence, Graham's favorite captain, a manly, prosperous fellow, happened to be visiting him at the time. By a still more remarkableconjunction of events, he at once shared in his former colonel'sadmiration of the dark-eyed Southern girl. She was very shy, distant, and observant at first, for this fortuitous captain was a Northerner. But the atmosphere of the two cottages was not in the least conduciveto coolness and reserve. The wood fires that crackled on the hearth, or something else, thawed perceptibly the spirited girl. Moreover, there were walks, drives, horseback excursions, daily; and Iss shoneforth in a glory of which he had never dreamed as a plantation hand. There were light steps passing to and fro, light laughter, cheery, hearty voices--in which the baby's crowing and cooing were heard as alow, sweet chord--music and whist to the major's infinite consent. Theshadows shrank further into the background than ever before. No onethought of or heeded them now; but they were there, cowering andwaiting. 

Only Aunt Sheba was ill at ease. Crooning her quaint lullabies to thebaby, she would often lift her eyes to heaven and sigh, "De good Lordhab marcy on dem! Dey's all a drinkin' at de little shaller pools datmay dry up any minit. It's all ob de earth; it's all ob tings, nothin'but tings which de eyes can see and de han's can touch. De good Lordlift dar eyes from de earth widout takin' dat mos' dear!"

But no one thought of old Aunt Sheba except as a faithful creatureborn to serve them in her humble way. 

The Northern captain soon proved that he had not a little Southerndash and ardor, and he had already discovered that his accidentalvisit to Graham was quite providential, as he had been taught toregard events that promised favorably. He very significantly askedColonel Anderson to take a gallop with him one morning, but they hadnot galloped far before he halted and plumply asked the brother'spermission, as the present representative of her father, to pay hisaddresses to Rita. Now Captain Windom had made a good impression onthe colonel, which Graham, in a very casual way, had been at pains tostrengthen; and he came back radiant over one point gained. But he wasmore afraid of that little Virginian girl than he had ever been of allher Southern compatriots. He felt that he must forego his cavalrytactics and open a regular siege; but she, with one flash of hermirthful eyes, saw through it all, laughed over it with Grace, whomfrom worshipping as a saint she now loved as a sister. Amid the pausesin their mutual worship of the baby, they talked the captain over in away that would have made his ears tingle could he have heard them; butGrace, underneath all her good-natured criticism, seconded herhusband's efforts with a mature woman's tact. Rita should be madehappy in spite of all her little perversities and Southern prejudices, and yet the hands that guided and helped her should not be seen. 

The captain soon abandoned his siege tactics, in which he was ill atease, and resumed his old habit of impetuous advances in which Grahamhad trained him. Time was growing short. His visit and hers would soonbe over. He became so downright and desperately in earnest that thelittle girl began to be frightened. It was no laughing matter now, andGrace looked grave over the affair. Then Rita began to be very sorryfor him, and at last, through Graham's unwonted awkwardness andinattention to his guests, the captain and Rita were permitted to takea different road from the others on an equestrian party. When theyappeared the captain looked as if he were returning from a successfulcharge, and Rita was as shy and blushing as one of the wild roses ofher native hills. She fled to Grace's room, as if it were the onlyrefuge left in the world, and her first breathless words were: "Ihaven't promised anything--that is, nothing definite. I said he mightcome and see me in Virginia and talk to papa about it, and I'd thinkit over, and--and--Well, he was so impetuous and earnest! Goodheavens! I thought the Northern people were cold, but that captainfairly took away my breath. You never heard a man talk so. "

Grace had put down the baby, and now stood with her arm around herfriend, smiling the sweetest encouragement. 

"I'll explain it all to you, Miss Rita, " began Graham's deep voice, ashe advanced from a recess. 

"Oh, the powers! are you here?" and she started back and looked at himwith dismay. 

"Yes, " said he, "and I merely wished to explain that my friend Windomwas in the cavalry, and from much fighting with your brave, impetuoushard-riders we gradually fell into their habits. "

"I half believe that you are laughing at me--that you are in leaguewith him, and have been all along. "

"Yes, Rita, noble little woman, truest friend at the time of my bitterneed, I am in league with any man worthy of you--that is, as far as aman can be who seeks to make you happy;" and he took her hand and heldit warmly. 

"Here come my silly tears again, " and she dashed them to right andleft. Then, looking up at him shyly, she faltered, "I must admit thatI'm a little bit happy. "

"I vowed you should be, all through that dark ride on which you led meaway from cruel enemies; and every flower you have placed on the graveof that noble man that Grace and I both loved has added strength to myvow. "

"Oh, Rita, Rita, darling!" cried Grace, clasping her in close embrace;"do you think we ever forget it?"

"Can you think, Rita, that in memory of that never-to-be-forgotten dayI would give Captain Windom the opportunities he has enjoyed if I didnot think he would make you happy? One cannot live and fight side byside with a man for years and not know his mettle. He was lion-like inbattle, but he will ever be gentleness itself toward you. Best of all, he will appreciate you, and I should feel like choking any fellow whodidn't. "

"But indeed, indeed, I haven't promised anything; I only said--"

"No matter what you said, my dear, so long as the captain knows. Weare well assured that your every word and thought and act were trueand maidenly. Let Windom visit you and become acquainted with yourfather. The more you all see of him the more you will respect him. "

"You are wonderfully reassuring, " said the young girl, "and I learnedto trust you long ago. Indeed, after your course toward Henry, Ibelieve I'd marry any one you told me to. But to tell the truth, Ihave felt, for the last few hours, as if caught up by a whirlwind andlanded I don't know where. No one ever need talk to me any more aboutcold-blooded Northerners. Well, I must land at the dinner-table beforelong, and so must go and dress. It's proper to eat under thecircumstances, isn't it?"

"I expect to, " said Graham, laughing, "and I'm more in love than youare. "

"Little wonder!" with a glance of ardent admiration toward Grace, andshe whisked out. In a moment she returned and said, "Now, Colonel, Imust be honest, especially as I think of your vow in the dark woods. Iam very, _very_ happy;" and then in a meteoric brilliancy of smiles, tears, and excitement, she vanished. 

On the day following Captain Windom marched triumphantly away, and hisabsence proved to Rita that the question was settled, no matter whatshe had said when having little breath left to say anything. 

She and her brother followed speedily, and Graham accompanied them, tosuperintend in person the setting up of a beautiful marble columnwhich he and Grace had designed for Hilland's grave. 

It was a time of sad, yet chastened, memories to both. In theirconsciousness Hilland had ceased to exist. He was but a memory, cherished indeed with an indescribable honor and love--still only amemory. There was an immense difference, however, in the thoughts ofeach as they reverted to his distant grave. Graham felt that he hadthere _closed_ a chapter of his life--a chapter that he wouldever recall with the deep melancholy that often broods in the heartsof the happiest of men whose natures are large enough to be trulyimpressed by life's vicissitudes. Grace knew that her girlhood, herformer self, was buried in that grave, and with her early lover hadvanished forever. Graham had, in a sense, raised her from the dead. His boundless love and self-sacrifice, his indomitable will, hadcreated for her new life, different from the old, yet full of tranquiljoys, new hopes and interests. He had not rent the new from the old, but had bridged with generous acts the existing chasm. He was doingall within his power, not jealously to withdraw her thoughts from thatterrible past, but to veil its more cruel and repulsive features withflowers, laurel wreaths, and sculptured marble; and in her heart, which had been dead, but into which his love had breathed a new life, she daily blessed him with a deeper affection. 

He soon returned to her from Virginia, and by his vivid descriptionsmade real to her the scenes he had visited. He told her how Rita andher brother had changed the plot in which slept the National and theConfederate officer into a little garden of blossoming greenery; howhe had arranged with Colonel Anderson to place a fitting monument overthe young Confederate officer, whose friends had been impoverished bythe war; and he kissed away the tears, no longer bitter anddespairing, evoked by the memories his words recalled. Then, inlighter vein, he described the sudden advent of the impetuous captain;the consternation of the little housekeeper, who was not expecting himso soon; her efforts to improvise a feast for the man who wouldblissfully swallow half-baked "pones" if served by her; her shypresentation of her lover to the venerable clergyman, which he andHenry had witnessed on the veranda through the half-closed blinds, andthe fond old man's immense surprise that his little Rita should have alover at all. 

"My dear sir, " he said, "this is all very premature. You must wait forthe child to grow up before imbuing her mind with thoughts beyond heryears. "

"'My dear Dr. Anderson, ' had pleaded the adroit Windom, 'I will waitindefinitely, and submit to any conditions that you and Miss Ritaimpose. If already she has impressed me so deeply, time can onlyincrease my respect, admiration, and affection, if that were possible. Before making a single effort to win your daughter's regard, I askedpermission of her brother, since you were so far away. I have notsought to bind her, but have only revealed the deep feeling which shehas inspired, and I now come to ask your sanction also to myaddresses. '

"'Your conduct, ' replied the old gentleman, unbending urbanely towardthe young man, 'is both honorable and considerate. Of course you knowthat my child's happiness is my chief solicitude. If, after severalyears, when Rita's mind has grown more mature, her judgment confirms--'

"Here Rita made a little _moue_ which only her red lips could form, and Henry and I took refuge in a silent and precipitate retreat, lest our irreverent mirth should offend the blind old father, to whomRita is his little Rita still. You know well how many years, monthsrather, Windom will wait. 

"Well, I left the little girl happier than the day was long, for Ibelieve her eyes sparkle all through the night under their longlashes. As for Windom, he is in the seventh heaven. 'My latestcampaign in Virginia, ' he whispered to me as I was about to ride away;'good prospects of the best capture yet won from the Confederacy. '"

And so he made the place familiar to her, with its high lights anddeep shadows, and its characters real, even down to old Jehu and hisson Huey. 

CHAPTEE XLI

A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM

Autumn merged imperceptibly into winter, and the days sped tranquillyon. With the exception of brief absences on business, Graham wasmostly at home, for there was no place like his own hearth. His heart, so long denied happiness, was content only at the side of his wife andchild. The shadows of the past crouched further away than ever, buteven their own health and prosperity, their happiness, and thereflected happiness of others could not banish them wholly. The lightswhich burned so brightly around them, like the fire on their hearth, had been kindled and were fed by human hands only, and were everliable to die out. The fuel that kept them burning was the best thatearth afforded, but the supply had its inherent limitations. Each newtranquil day increased the habitual sense of security. Graham was busywith plans of a large agricultural enterprise in Virginia. The more hesaw of Henry Anderson the more he appreciated his sterling integrityand fine business capabilities, and from being an agent he had becomea partner. Grace's writing-desk, at which Graham had cast a wistfulglance the first time he had seen it, was often covered with maps ofthe Virginia plantation, which he proposed to develop into its bestcapabilities. Grace had a cradle by the library fire as well as in herroom. Beside this the adopted grandmother knitted placidly, and themajor rustled his paper softly lest he should waken the littlesleeper. Grace, who persisted in making all of her little one's daintyplumage herself, would lift her eyes from time to time, full ofgenuine interest in his projects and in his plans for a dwelling onthe plantation, which should be built according to her taste andconstructed for her convenience. 

The shadows had never been further away. Even old Aunt Sheba waslulled into security. Into her bereaved heart, as into the hearts ofall the others, the baby crept; and she grew so bewitching with herwinsome ways, so absorbing in her many little wants and her need ofwatching, as with the dawning spirit of curiosity she sought toexplore for herself what was beyond the cradle and the door, that AuntSheba, with the doting mother, thought of Hilda during all wakinghours and dreamed of her in sleep. 

At last the inconstant New England spring passed away, and June camewith its ever-new heritage of beauty. The baby's birthday was to bethe grand fete of the year, and the little creature seemed to enterinto the spirit of the occasion. She could now call her parents andgrandparents by name, and talk to them in her pretty though senselessjargon, which was to them more precious than the wisdom of Solomon. 

It was a day of roses and rose-colors. Roses banked the mantelpieces, wreathed the cradle, crowned the table at which Hilda sat in state inher high chair, a fairy form in gossamer laces, with dark eyes--Grace's eyes--that danced with the unrestrained delight of a child. 

"She looks just like my little Grace of long, long years ago, " saidthe major, with wistful eyes; "and yet, Colonel, it seems butyesterday that your wife was the image of that laughing little witchyonder. "

"Well, I can believe, " admitted Grandma Mayburn, "that Grace was aspretty--a tremendous compliment to you, Grace--but there never was andnever will be another baby as pretty and cunning as our Hilda. "

The good old lady never spoke of the child as Grace's baby. It wasalways "ours. " In Graham, Grace, and especially Hilda, she had herchildren about her, and the mother-need in her heart was satisfied. 

"Yes, Hilda darling, " said the colonel, with fond eyes, "you havebegun well. You could not please me more than by looking like yourmother; the next thing is to grow like her. "

"Poor blind papa, with the perpetual glamour on his eyes! He willnever see his old white-haired wife as she is. "

He looked at her almost perfect features with the bloom of health uponthem, into her dark eyes with their depths of motherly pride and joy, at her snowy neck and ivory arms bare to the summer heat, and longestat the wavy silver of her hair, that crowned her beauty with an almostsupernatural charm. 

"Don't I see you as you are, Grace?" he said. "Well, I am oftenspellbound by what I do see. If Hilda becomes like you, excepting yoursorrows, my dearest wish in her behalf will be fulfilled. "

Old Aunt Sheba, standing behind the baby's chair, felt a chill atheart as she thought: "Dey'se all a-worshippin' de chile and eachoder. I sees it so plain dat I'se all ob a-tremble. "

Surely the dark shadows of the past have no place near that birthdayfeast, but they are coming nearer, closing in, remorseless, relentlessas ever, and among them are the gloomy rivals against whom Grahamstruggled so long. He thought he had vanquished them, but they arestealing upon him again like vindictive, unforgiving savages. 

There was a jar of thunder upon the still air, but it was not heeded. The room began to darken, but they thought only of a shower that wouldbanish the sultriness of the day. Darker shadows than those ofthunder-clouds were falling upon them, had they known it. 

The wine was brought, and the health of the baby drank. Then Graham, ordering all glasses to be filled, said reverently: "To the memory ofWarren Hilland! May the child who is named for him ever remind us ofhis noble life and heroic death. "

They drank in silence, then put down the glasses and sat for momentswith bowed heads, Grace's tears falling softly. Without, nature seemedequally hushed. Not a breath stirred the sultry air, until at last aheavier and nearer jar of thunder vibrated in the distance. 

The unseen shadows are closing around the little Hilda, whose eyelidsare heavy with satiety. Aunt Sheba is about to take her from herchair, when a swift gust, cold and spray-laden, rushes through thehouse, crushing to the doors and whirling all light articles into acarnival of disorder. 

The little gossamer-clad girl shivered, and, while others hastilyclosed windows, Grace ran for a shawl in which to wrap her darling. 

The shower passed, bringing welcome coolness. Hilda slept quietlythrough its turmoil and swishing torrents--slept on into the twilight, until Aunt Sheba seemed a shadow herself. But there were darkershadows brooding over her. 

Suddenly, in her sleep, the child gave an ominous barking cough. 

"Oh, de good Lor'!" cried Aunt Sheba, springing to her feet. Then witha swiftness in which there was no sign of age, she went to the landingand called, "Mas'r Graham. "

Grace was in the room before him. "What is it?" she askedbreathlessly. 

"Well, Missy Grace, don't be 'larmed, but I tinks Mas'r Graham 'udbetter sen' for de doctor, jes' for caution like. "

Again came that peculiar cough, terror-inspiring to all mothers. 

"Alford, Alford, lose not a moment!" she cried. "It's the croup. "

The soldier acted as if his camp were attacked at midnight. There wereswift feet, the trampling of a horse; and soon the skill of science, the experience of age, and motherly tenderness confronted the blackshadows, but they remained immovable. 

The child gasped and struggled for life. Grace, half frantic, followedthe doctor's directions with trembling hands, seeking to do everythingfor her idol herself as far as possible. Mrs. Mayburn, gray, grim, with face of ashen hue, hovered near and assisted. Aunt Sheba, prayingoften audibly, proved by her deft hands that the experience of herlong-past motherhood was of service now. The servants gathered at thedoor, eager and impatient to do something for "de bressed chile. " Thepoor old major thumped restlessly back and forth on his crutches inthe hall below, half swearing, half praying. Dr. Markham, pale withanxiety, but cool and collected as a veteran general in battle, putforth his whole skill to baffle the destroyer. Graham, standing in thebackground with clenched hands, more excited, more desperate than hehad ever been when sitting on his horse waiting for the bugle to soundthe charge, watched his wife and child with eyes that burned in theintensity of his feeling. 

Time, of which no notice was taken, passed, although moments seemedlike hours. The child still struggled and gasped, but more and morefeebly. At last, in the dawn, the little Hilda lay still, looked upand smiled. Was it at her mother's face, or something beyond?

"She is better, " cried Grace, turning her imploring eyes to thephysician, who held the little hand. 

Alas! it was growing cold in his. He turned quickly to Graham andwhispered: "Support your wife. The end is near. "

He came mechanically and put his arm around her. 

"Grace, dear Grace, " he faltered, hoarsely, "can you not bear thissorrow also for my sake?"

"Alford!" she panted with horror in her tones--"Alford! why, why, herhand is growing cold!"

There was a long low sigh from the little one, and then she was still. 

"Take your wife away, " said Dr. Markham, in a low, authoritative tone. 

Graham sought to obey in the same mechanical manner. She sprang fromhim and stood aloof. There was a terrible light in her eyes, beforewhich he quailed. 

"Take me away!" she cried, in a voice that was hoarse, strained, andunnatural. "Never! Tell me the belief of your heart. Have I lost mychild forever? Is that sweet image of my Hilda nothing but clay? Isthere nothing further for this idol of my heart but horriblecorruption? If this is true, no more learned jargon to me about lawand force! If this is true, I am the creation of a fiend who, with allthe cruel ingenuity of a fiend, has so made me that he can inflict theutmost degree of torture. If this is true, my motherhood is a lie, andgood is punished, not evil. If this is true, there is neither God norlaw, but only a devil. But let me have the truth: have I lost thatchild forever?"

He was dumb, and an awful silence fell upon the chamber of death. 

Graham's philosophy failed him at last. His own father-heart could notaccept of corruption as the final end of his child. Indeed, itrevolted at it with a resistless rebound as something horrible, monstrous, and, as his wife had said, devilish. His old laboriousreasoning was scorched away as by lightning in that moment of intenseconsciousness when _his_ soul told him that, if this were true, his nature also was a lie and a cheat. He knew not what he believed, or what was true. He was stunned and speechless. 

Despair was turning his wife's face into stone, when old Aunt Sheba, who had been crouching, sobbing and praying at the foot of the littlecouch, rose with streaming eyes and stretched out her hands toward thedesperate mother. 

"No, Missy Grace, " she cried, in tones that rang through the house;"no, no, no. Your chile am not lost to you; your chile am not dead. She on'y sleeps. Did not de good Lord say: 'Suffer de little chillenter come unter Me'? An' Hilda, de dear little lamb, hab gone ter Him, an' is in de Good Shepherd's arms. Your little chile am not lost toyou, she's safe at home, de dear bressed home ob heben, whar yourmoder is Missy Grace. De Hebenly Father say, 'Little Hilda, youneedn't walk de long flinty, thorny path and suffer like you'se dearmoder. You kin come home now, and I'se 'll take keer ob ye till modercomes. ' Bress de little lamb, she smile when de angels come fer her, an' she's safe, safe for ebermore. No tears fer little Hilda, noheartbreak in all her 'ternal life. Dear Missy Grace, my little babydie, too, but I hain't los' it. No, no. De Good Shepherd is a keepin'it safe fer me, an' I shall hab my baby again. "

It is impossible to describe the effect of this passionate utteranceof faith as it came warm and direct from the heart of another bereavedmother, whose lowliness only emphasized the universal human need ofsomething more than negations and theories of law and force. The majorheard it in the hall below, and was awed. Mrs. Mayburn and theservants sobbed audibly. The stony look went out of Grace's face;tears welled up into her hot, dry eyes, and she drew near and bentover her child with an indescribable yearning in her face. Aunt Shebaceased, sank down on the floor, and throwing her apron over her faceshe rocked back and forth and prayed as before. 

Suddenly Grace threw herself on the unconscious little form, and criedwith a voice that pierced every heart: "O God, I turn to Thee, then. Is my child lost to me forever, or is she in Thy keeping? Was mymother's faith true? Shall I have my baby once more? Jesus, art Thou aShepherd of the little ones? Hast Thou suffered my Hilda to come untoThee? Oh, if Thou art, Thou canst reveal Thyself unto me and save abroken-hearted mother from despair. This child _was_ mine. Is itmine still?" and she clasped her baby convulsively to her bosom. 

"Suffer de little chillen ter come unter me, and forbid dem not, '"repeated Aunt Sheba in low tones. 

Again a deep, awed silence fell upon them all. Grace knelt so longwith her own face pressed against her child's that they thought shehad fainted. The physician motioned Graham to lift her up, but heshook his head. He was crushed and despairing, feeling that in onelittle hour he had lost the belief of his manhood, the child that hadbrought into his home a heaven that he at least could understand, andas he heard his wife's bitter cry he felt that her life and reasonmight soon go also. He recognized again the presence of his bitterrivals, Grief and Death, and felt that at last they had vanquishedhim. He had not the courage or the will to make another effort. 

"Mrs. Graham, for your husband's sake--" began Dr. Markham. 

"Ah! forgive me, Alford, " she said, rising weakly; "I should not haveforgotten you for a moment. "

She took an uncertain step toward him, and he caught her in his arms. 

Laying her head upon his breast, she said gently, "Alford, our baby isnot dead. "

"Oh, Grace, darling!" he cried in agony, "don't give way, or we areboth lost. I have no strength left. I cannot save you again. Oh! ifthe awful past should come back!"

"It now can never come back. Alford, we have not lost our child. AuntSheba has had a better wisdom than you or I, and from this hour forthmy mother's faith is mine. Do not think me wild or wandering. In myvery soul has come the answer to my cry. Horrible corruption is notthe end of that lovely life. You can't believe it, any more than I. Dear little sleeper, you are still _my_ baby. I shall go to you, and you will never suffer as I have suffered. God bless you, AuntSheba! your heaven-inspired words have saved me from despair. Alford, dear Alford, do not give way so; I'll live and be your true andfaithful wife. I'll teach you the faith that God has taught me. "

He drew long, deep breaths. He was like a great ship trying to rightitself in a storm. At last he said, in broken tones:

"Grace, you are right. It's not law or force. It's either God, who insome way that I can't understand, will bring good out of all thisevil, or else it's all devilish, fiendish. If after this night you canbe resigned, patient, hopeful, your faith shall be mine. "

The shadows, affrighted, shrank further away than ever before. "I takeyou at your word, " she replied, as she drew him gently away. "Come, let us go and comfort papa. "

One after another stole out after them until Mrs. Mayburn was alonewith the dead. Long and motionless she stood, with her eyes fixed onthe quiet, lovely face. 

"Hilda, " at last she moaned, "little Hilda, shall poor old grandmaever see our baby again?"

At that moment the sun rose high enough to send a ray through thelattice, and it lighted the baby's face with what seemed a smile ofunearthly sweetness. 

A few moments later Aunt Sheba found the aged woman with her head uponlittle Hilda's bosom, and there she received a faith that broughtpeace. 

A few evenings later there was a grassy mound, covered with roses, under the apple-tree by the rustic seat; and at the head of the littlegrave there was placed a block of marble bearing the simpleinscription:

"Here sleeps our Baby Hilda. "

 * * * * * * *

Years have passed. The little monument is now near another and astately one in a Virginia cemetery. Fresh flowers are on it, showingthat "Our Baby Hilda" is never forgotten. Fresh flowers are beneaththe stately column, proving that the gallant soldier sleeping under itis never forgotten. Fresh flowers are on the young Confederate'sgrave, commemorating a manly and heroic devotion to a cause that wassacred to him. The cause was lost; and had he lived to green old agehe would have thanked God for it. Not least among the reasons forthankfulness is the truth that to men and peoples that which theirhearts craved is often denied. 

Not far away is a home as unostentatious as the Northern cottage, butlarger, and endowed with every homelike attribute. Sweet Grace Grahamis its mistress. Her lovely features are somewhat marked by time andher deep experiences, but they have gained a beauty and serenity thatwill defy time. Sounds of joyous young life again fill the house, andin a cradle by her side "little Grace" is sleeping. Grandma Mayburnstill knits slowly by the hearth, but when the days are dry and warmit is her custom to steal away to the cemetery and remain for hourswith "Our Baby. " The major has grown very feeble, but his irritableprotest against age and infirmity has given place to a serene, quietwaiting till he can rest beside the brave soldiers who have forgottentheir laurels. 

Colonel Anderson, now a prosperous planter, has his own happy homelife, and his aged father shares the best there is in it. He stillpreaches in the quaint old church, repaired but not modernized, andhis appearance and life give eloquence to his faltering words. Theevent of the quiet year is the annual visit of Rita and Captain Windomwith their little brood. Then truly the homes abound in breezy life;but sturdy, blue-eyed Warren Graham is the natural leader of all thelittle people's sport. The gallant black horse Mayburn is still Iss'spride, but he lets no one mount him except his master. Aunt Shebapresides at the preparation of state dinners, and sits by the cradleof baby Grace. She is left, however, most of the time, to her owndevices, and often finds her way also to the cemetery to "wisit datdear little lamb, Hilda, " murmuring as she creeps slowly with hercane, "We'se all a-followin' her now, bress de Lord. "

Jinny's stories of what she saw and of her experiences abroad havebecome so marvellous that they might be true of some other planet, butnot of ours. Dusky faces gather round her by the kitchen fire, andabsolute faith is expressed by their awed looks. Old Jehu has all thechickens and "sass" he wants without working for them, and his sonHuey has settled down into a steady "hand, " who satisfies his formerruling passion with an occasional coon-hunt. Both of the colonels havethe tastes of sportsmen, and do all in their power to preserve thegame in their vicinity. They have become closer friends with thelapsing years, and from crossing swords they look forward to the timewhen they can cross their family escutcheons by the marriage of thesturdy Warren with another little Rita, who now romps with him in achild's happy unconsciousness. 

There are flecks of gray in Graham's hair and beard, and deep lines onhis resolute face, but he maintains his erect, soldierly bearing evenwhen superintending the homely details of the plantation. Every onerespects him; the majority are a little afraid of him, for where hiswill has sway there is law and order, but to the poor and sorrowful hegives increasing reason to bless his name. His wife's faith has becomehis. She has proved it true by the sweet logic of her life. In theirbelief, the baby Hilda is only at home before them, and the soldierwithout fear and without reproach has found the immortality that helonged for in his dying moments. He is no longer a cherished, honoredmemory only; he is the man they loved, grown more manly, more noble inthe perfect conditions of a higher plane of life. The dark mysteriesof evil are still dark to them--problems that cannot be solved byhuman reason. But in the Divine Man, toward whose compassionate facethe sorrowful and sinful of all the centuries have turned, they havefound One who has mastered the evil that threatened their lives. Theyare content to leave the mystery of evil to Him who has become intheir deepest consciousness Friend and Guide. He stands between themand the shadows of the past and the future. 

THE END