THE DOCTOR'S DAUGHTER. 

BY "VERA. "AUTHOR OF "HONOR EDGEWORTH"

"_O Tempora! O Mores!_"

PREFACE. 

Charles Dickens observes with much truth, that "though seldom read, prefaces are continually written. " It may be asked and even wondered, why? I cannot say that I know the exact reason, but it seems to methat they may carry the same weight, in the literary world, thatcertain _sotto voce_ explanations, which oftentimes accompany theintroduction of one person to another, do in the social world. 

If it is permitted, in bringing some quaint, old-fashioned littlebody, before a gathering of your more fastidious friends, at once toreconcile them to his or her strange, ungainly mien, and to justifyyourself for acknowledging an intimacy with so eccentric a creature, by following up the prosy and unsuggestive: "Mr. B----, ladies andgentlemen, " or "Miss M----, ladies and gentlemen, " with such arefreshing paraphrase as, "brother-in-law of the celebrated LordMarmaduke Pulsifer, " or, "confidential companion, to the wife of thelate distinguished Christopher Quill the American Poet"--why shouldnot a like privilege be extended the labour-worn author, when heushers the crude and unattractive offspring of his own undauntedenergy into the arena of literary life?

Mr. B----, without the whispered guarantee of his relative importance, would never be noticed unless to be riled or ridiculed; and so withmany a meek and modest volume, whose key-note has never been sounded, or if sounded has never been heard. 

We would all be perfect in our attributes if we could! Who would writevapid, savourless pages, if it were in his power to set them aglowwith rare erudition, and dazzling conceptions of ethical and otherabstract subjects? If I had been born a Dickens, _lector benevole_, Iwould have willingly, eagerly, proudly, favoured you with a "Tale ofTwo Cities" or a "David Copperfield;" of that you may be morallycertain, however, it is no mock self-disparagement (!) that moves meto humbly acknowledge (!) my inferiority to this immortal mind. I haveavailed myself of the only alternative left, when I recognized theimpossibility of rivalling this protagonist among the _dramatispersonae_ of the great Drama of English Fiction, and have donesomething of which he speaks very tenderly and delicately somewhere inhis prolific writings, one's "best. " He says, "one man's best is asgood as another man's, " not in its results, (I know by experience), but in the abstract relationship which exists between the nature ofthe two efforts, and I am grateful to him for having thus providedagainst the possible discouragement of "small authorship. "

In the subjoining pages, I offer to the world, a pretenseless recordof the impressions, opinions, and convictions which have been, I maysay, thrust upon me by a contact, which is yet necessarily limited, with the phases of every-day life. 

That some of these reflections and conclusions should not meet withuniversal sympathy or approval, is not at all to be wondered at, whenwe consider how much more different, than alike, are any two humanlives and lots. I do not ask my readers to subscribe to those tenetsand opinions which may seem unreal and exaggerated to them, because oftheir different experience; I can only justify them in myself, bydeclaring them to be the outgrowth of my own personal speculations inthe market of commonplace existence. 

It has been my pleasure to probe under the surface of sorrow and songthat makes the swelling, restless tide of human passions a strange andtempting mystery, even to itself; and though my pen may have failed tocarry out the deep-rooted ambition of my soul, there is some comfortin the thought that I have made an effort; I have tried my youngwings, with the hope of soaring upward: if they are yet too feeble tobear me, I am no more than the young eagle, and must rise again frommy fall, to await a gathering confidence and strength that may, or maynot, be in store for me. 

A little mouse presumed to be the deliverer of a mighty lion, whenthis noble beast lay ensnared and entangled in a net; it was slow andtiresome work for the tiny benefactor to nibble now here, now there, wherever its small teeth could find a vulnerable or yielding spot: buta determination and decision of purpose, coupled with an undaunted andfearless perseverance, have given issue time and again to achievementseven greater, though still less promising, than the undertaking of thelittle mouse in the fable, but for those who can yet take heart, inthe face of possible failure, I think half the battle is won. 

In introducing a second effort to the public, I feel called upon toavail myself of the opportunity it affords me, of thanking manyreaders for the kindness and consideration extended to my first. Itwas kind of them to have dwelt at length upon its few redeemingtraits, and to have touched lightly and gently upon the cruder andmore faulty ones; it was kind of them to have taken into account everycircumstance which had any bearing upon the nature of the work: tohave alluded to the youth and inexperience of the writer. It was kind, even of those who took it upon themselves to aver, not in the hearingof the authoress herself, but elsewhere, that the composition was farfrom being original. This latter verdict would have been the highesttribute of all to the talent and erudition of the authoress, had theywho uttered it been capable or responsible judges of literary merit. Being of that class, instead, who feel it urgent upon them to saysomething, however garrulous or silly, when a local topic agitatestheir immediate sphere, the authoress has not much reason for hopingthat their intention was really to flatter her maiden effort, bypurposely mistaking it for the work of an older, and abler hero of thequill; however, if it might have been worthy of a maturer mind andmore powerful pen, in their eyes, a high compliment is necessarilyinsinuated, even there, for the humble writer. 

If the present story can lighten the burden of an idle hour ofsickness or sorrow; if it may shorten the time of waiting, or distractthe monotony of travel; if it may strike a key-note of common sympathybetween its author and its reader, where the shallow side of nature isregretfully touched upon; if it may attract the potent attention ofeven one of those whose words and actions regulate the tone and tenorof our social life, to the urgency of encouraging, promoting andfavouring the principles of an active Christian morality, whose beautylies, not in the depths or vastness of its abstract conceptions, butin its earnest, humble, and tireless labours for the advancement ofmen's spiritual and temporal welfare--if it may do any one of thesethings, it shall have more than realized the fond and fervent wish ofthe author's heart: it shall have reaped her a golden harvest for thetiresome task she has just accomplished, and shall have stimulatedanew her every energy, to associate itself more strongly and ardentlythan ever, with the cause which struggles for men's freedom from thefetters of a sordid and tyrant worldliness. 

CHAPTER I. 

Five-and-thirty years ago, before many of my fair young readers wereinflicted with the burdens of life, there came into this great world, under the most ordinary and unpretending circumstances, a helplesslittle baby girl: a dear, chubby, little thing, who at that moment, ifnever afterwards in the long and intricate course of her mortalcareer, looked every jot as interesting and as promising of a possibleextraordinary destiny as did the little being who, some years beforethat, opened her eyes for the first time upon the elegant surroundingsof a chamber in Kensington Palace; and neither the Princess Louise ofSachsen-Koburg, nor Edward the Duke of Kent, were any more elated orgratified over the grand event which came into their lives on thetwenty-fourth of May, in the year of Our Lord 1819, than Amey andAlfred Hampden were on the eighth of December, 185-, at the advent ofthis little stranger into their humble home. Buried in baby finery, this unsuspecting new-comer slumbered contentedly in a dainty cot. Theroom was silent and darkened, the bright morning sunshine being shutout by the heavy curtains which were carefully drawn across thewindow: there was a ring of rare contentment in the crackle and purrof the wood-stove, that filled a remote corner of the room with itscomfortable presence: and the sustaining spirit of wedded love, was aspronouncedly omnipresent as befitted the interesting occasion. 

Thus, so far as the eye of those who prognosticate from existingcircumstances could see, there was every prospect of comfort andhappiness in the dawning future, for this passive little bundle ofhumanity lying in state in her neatly furnished basket-cradle; whetherit pleased his reverence Father Time, or not, to subscribe thusobligingly to the wishes of a concerned few, is a secret which my pencan best tell. 

So strangely do the destinies of men and women resolve themselves outof every day circumstances, that philosophers and moralists, withtheir choicest erudition, are ofttimes puzzled over the solution of amysteriously chequered life, which they will not allow was guided bythe most natural and common-place accidents of existence. 

That there are certain premises, from which the tenor of a yet unlivedlife can be more or less accurately anticipated, no one will deny. There are certain surroundings, certain particular circumstances, that, from time immemorial have never failed to produce certaininfallible results; but, these abnormal pauses, and unforeseeninterruptions, that, time and again, have made of human lives the verything against which appearances were guarding them, are, it may beprovidentially, held outside of the range of man's moral vision, andscreen themselves in ambush along either side of the seemingly smoothvista, that spans the interval for certain individual human lives, between time and eternity. 

Such a high-sounding title as predestination, seems to lose much ofits potent charm when we take an interesting existence into our hands, to dissect it, and analyse it, and reduce it to a rational origin. Like decades of heterogeneous pearls, a human career with all itsvaried details, glides through the fingers of the moral anatomist, each fraction standing out by itself, suggesting its own real orrelative importance, yet associating itself ever with the rest, makingof the whole a more or less intricate, and, at best, a very unevenchain. 

When we consider that all the bewildering throng around and about ushave evolved into their present conditions of misery or joy from apassive and innocent babyhood, we are mystified and awe-stricken;there is so much inequality among the lots and portions of thechildren of men, that it comes strangely home to us in our reverie, torealize that the starting-point is, for one and all, the great and thelowly, one and the same. 

In its cradle, or on its mother's breast, the human creature knows nospecial individuality, but when the rails of the cradle have beenclimbed over, and the first foot-print stamped unaided upon the "sandsof time, " a distinct personality has been established, which is theembodiment of possible, probable, or uncertain influences--apersonality which grows and thrives upon internal stimulantsadministered by an expanding mind and heart, and which leans almostentirely for support upon the external accidents of fate or fortunethat may come in its way. 

Were we as thoroughly penetrated with this conviction as we should be, how different would be the issues of many human careers? Could weaccustom ourselves to meditate upon this truth as seriously as wewould upon a religious one, to examine our conscience from it as froma reliable standpoint every day of our lives, what a flood of sympathyand Christian charity would be let loose upon the social world fromconverted hearts?

When men and women will thoroughly understand the strange and intimateframe-work of human society, the wail of the pessimist will be soothedand hushed forever: for then will they realize how dependent we poormortals are upon each other for sorrows or joys: then will it be plainto them that no human life, however obscure, however trifling, is anunfeeling thing, apart from every other, outside the daily contact ofevery other. 

Ah! we think, that God's creation, in all its grandeur and unrivalledbeauty, would be little worth, to a creature born to live and enjoy italone: and the infinite Wisdom decreed otherwise, when it gave untoman a friend and companion in the first moments of his existence; butis the world less desolate, less empty to a million hearts, because amillion others inhabit it as well? Has God's original intentionconcerning the mutual love and companionship of His creatures, survived unto the present day? I think the record of each reader'slarge or small experience will answer this question for him eagerlyenough. 

That these preliminary reflections should be the outgrowth of such anordinary event as the coming of a new baby into the already crowdedworld may seem extravagant in more ways than one: but my object, asthe reader will see, is only to remind the forgetful majority, thatthere are necessarily many reasons why men and women who have had acommon starting-point in life, should find themselves ere long at suchdifferent goals. 

I would suggest to them to consider the essential impressionability ofthe human heart, especially in its period of early development, toexamine the nature of every external influence that weighs upon it, and if the innocence of childhood has been recklessly forfeited withtime, to reserve their judgment until every aspect of thecircumstances has been impartially viewed. 

I do not deny that the cradle in which I passed the first hours ofcomfort and ease I have ever known, was rocked by a hand as loving asthat which rested caressingly upon the royal brow of the babyVictoria. From the very first I was a peculiarly situated child, surrounded by many comforts of which the majority of well-bornchildren are deprived, and deprived of many comforts by whichlowly-born children are surrounded. I was happiest when I was tooyoung to distinguish between pleasure and pain, and, as it were toprovide for the emptiness of much of my after life, destiny willedthat my memory should be the strongest and most comforting faculty ofmy soul. 

My mother died when I was but a few days old, and thus it is that Ihave never known the real love or care of a true parent. Before I hadcelebrated my third birthday there was another Mrs. Hampden presidingover our household, but she was not my mother. This I never learned asa direct fact, in simple words, until I had grown older; but there isanother channel through which truths of this sorrowful natureoftentimes find their way: strange suspicions were creeping by degreesinto my heart, which with time gained great headway, and resolvedthemselves into a questioning doubt, whether there had not been a daywhen another, and a kinder face bent over my little cot, and smiledupon me with a sweetness that did not chill and estrange me from it. 

I had never been told in simple words, that my own mother lay underone of those tall silent tombstones in the graveyard, where oldHannah, our tried and trustworthy servant, was wont to go at times andpray. No one had whispered to me that my father's second wife was, byright, a stranger to the most sacred affections of my young soul, butI learned the truth by myself. 

When my growing heart began to seek and ask for the tender, patientsolicitude, which is to the child what the light and heat of thesummer sun are to the frailest tendril, no answer came to my muteappeal. My little weaknesses and childish errors were never met withthat enduring forbearance which is the distinctive outgrowth of aloving maternity. My trifling joys were rarely smiled upon, my pettysorrows never shared nor soothed by that unsympathetic guardian of myyouth, and so I grew up by myself in a strange sort of isolation, alienated in heart and spirit from those with whom of necessity I camein daily contact. 

And yet in many ways, my fathers' wife bestowed both care andconsideration upon me. My physical necessities were ever becominglyattended to. I was allowed to sit at the table with her, whichprivilege suggested no lack of substantial and dainty provisions, andmy governess was an accomplished and very discreet lady, whom mystep-mother secured after much trouble and worry; but here the limitwas drawn to her self-imposed duties; having done this much she restedsatisfied that she had so far outstepped the obligations of herneutral position. 

When I look back upon this period from the observatory of to-day, Ican afford to be more impartial in my judgments than I was in my youthand immaturity. I know now, that my father's second wife was naturallyone of those selfish, narrow-hearted women, who never go outside oftheir personal lot to taste or give pleasure. She had not the faintestconception of what the cravings or desires of a truly sensitive naturemay be, and therefore knew nothing of the possible consequences of thecold and unfeeling neglect with which my young life was blighted. 

And even, had anyone told her, that her every word and action werecalculated to make a deep-rooted impression upon me, she would haveshrugged her shoulders pettishly, I doubt not, and declared that itwas "not her fault, " that "some people were enough to provoke asaint. "

This was the woman whom the learned Doctor Hampden brought home toconduct his household. He had found her under the gas-light at afashionable gathering, and was taken with her, he hardly knew why. Shewas not very handsome, nor very winning, and certainly, not veryclever, but her family was a rare and tender off-shoot from anunquestionably ancient and time-honored aristocracy, and, inconsequence, she carried her head high enough above the ordinarysocial level, to have attracted a still more potent attention than Dr. Hampden's. 

I have heard that many a brow was arched in questioning surprise, whenthe engagement was formally announced, and that nothing but theripening years of the prospective bride could have reconciled her moresympathetic friends who belonged to that class of curious meddlersthat infest every society from pole to pole. 

My father was undoubtedly a gentleman, and this was mostcondescendingly admitted by his wife's fastidious coterie. A gentlemanby birth, by instinct, in dress, manners, taste, profession, andgeneral bearing. Moreover, he was a gentleman of social and politicalinfluence, whose name had crept into journals and newspapers ofpopular fame: in other words, he was one of "the men" of his day, witha voice upon all public matters that agitated his immediate sphere. Wherever he went, he was a gentleman of consequence, and carried nomean individuality with him: he was that sort of a man one expects tofind married and settled in life, though here conjecture about himmust begin and end. 

There are not a few men of his stamp in the world, and the reader Idoubt not has met them as frequently as I have myself. Sometimes theyare pillars of the state, leaders of political parties, with theirheads full of abstract calculations and wonderful statistics. Againthey are scientists, of a more or less exalted standing, artists, antiquarians, agnostics, and undertakers, and they are all harmless, respectable Benedicts, you know it without being told. You conclude itfrom instinctively suggested premises, and yet in resting at such animportant conclusion nothing could have persuaded you to halt at theevery day, half-way house of courtship. 

These men impress their fellow-men with the strange belief thatmatrimony was for them a pre-ordained, forechosen vocation, a thing tobe done systematically according to reasons and rules, and the trivialmind that would fain dwell upon a time in such methodical lives, whenheart predominated over head must apologize to the world of sentimentand pass on to some less sensitive point of consideration. 

My father, as I have said, was quite a consequential individual, hisvery white, and very stiff, and very shining shirt-front insinuated asmuch; his satiny black broadcloth confirmed it, and even the littlesilk guard, that rested consciously upon his immaculate linen, sustained the presumption. But for those and a few other reasons, hewas looked upon as a man of rigid method and severe discipline, a manoutside the grasp of ordinary human susceptibility, or, in morefamiliar terms, a man "without a heart. "

I remember, on one particular occasion, when the oft-ruffled serenityof my step-mother's temperament was wonderfully agitated, that shereproached him most touchingly for the utter absence of this tender, palpitating organ; and turning towards her with a smile of theblandest amusement, he explained to her, in a tone of remonstrativesarcasm, laying two rigid fingers of one hand argumentatively in theopen palm of the other, "that no man could live without a heart, " thatit was an essential element of existence, that its professional namewas derived from the Latin _cor_ or _cordis_, that it was "the greatcentral organ of circulation, with its base directed backward towardsthe spine, and its point, forward and downward, towards the left side, and that at each contraction it would be felt striking between thefifth and sixth ribs about four inches from the medium line. " "So yousee, my dear, " he concluded calmly and coldly, "that you talknonsense, when you say I have no heart. " That was my father'sdisposition; to suspect that any one, or anything else could hope forthe privilege of making his heart beat, except this natural physicalcontraction, were a vain and empty surmise indeed. And yet he had beentwice married; the question may suggest itself, had he ever loved? Idare say he had analysed his amative propensity thoroughly, and knewto what extent it existed within him, but when a man can reconcilehimself to the belief that on the "middle line of the skull, at theback part of his head, there is a long projection, below which, andbetween two similar protuberances, is his Organ of amativeness, " orthat by which he learns "the lesson of life, the sad, sad lesson ofloving, " methinks he is not outraged by a public opinion which castshim down in disgust from the pedestal of respectable humanity, andthis option I will leave to the reader, even though the subject inthis instance be my own parent. 

Whether his second wife, and the only Mrs. Hampden with whom we shallhave to deal, was disappointed in her expectations of her husband, ornot, is a something which I could only suspect, or at most, arrive atfrom the indications of appearances, as I am entirely ignorant of whatthe nature of such expectations may have been. 

The domestic atmosphere of our home was apparently healthy, anduntroubled by foreign or unpleasant elements; our surroundings wereapparently comfortable, and the family apparently satisfied. What morecould be desired? Critics complain of the indiscreet writer, whoraises the thick impenetrable veil, which is supposed to screen adomestic, political or social grievance from the common eye of allthree conditions. Even he who makes a little rend, with his own pen, for his own ambition's sake, is not pardoned, and so if every picturewhich the world holds up to view, presents a fair and brilliantsurface, whose business may it be to ask in an insinuating tone, whether the other side is just as enchanting or not?

If the world insists upon calling an apparently happy home, happy inreality, then ours was indisputably so, but the world and I have longsince ceased to agree upon matters of such a nature. 

My father was married for some time to his second wife before anymaterial change came into their lives. I took advantage of theinterval and grew considerably, having proved a most opportune victimon many an occasion for my disappointed step-mother's ill-humour. Thislatter personage had contracted several real or imaginary disordersand absorbed her own soul, with all its most tender attributes, in herconstant demand and need for a sympathy and solicitude which werenowhere to be found. Her husband had retired by degrees into theexclusive refuge of his scientific and literary pursuits, and lived aseffectually apart from the woman he had married, as far as friendlyintercourse and mutual confidence were concerned, as though they werestrangers. 

And yet, whenever Mrs. Hampden found herself well enough to go out, myfather accompanied her with the most amiable urbanity; thus, from timeto time, they appeared among the gay coterie to which they alwaysbelonged in name, looking as happy and contented as most husbands andwives do, who, for half a dozen years or so, have been trying oneanother's patience with more or less success. 

Thus by a strange unfitness of things, will one unheeded uncared-forlittle life drift out by itself into an open sea of dangers anddifficulties, with nothing more wholesome to distract it during thelong lonely hours of many successive days, as they come and go, thanits own morbid tendencies. 

Necessarily, this abnormal growth of an impressionable young soul, began to speak for itself, in accents which would have caught theready, willing ear of an attentive parent, had mine been such. In mytwelfth year I was as much a woman as I am to-day, matured andhardened by an experience that would have blighted a more yielding andless obdurate spirit. 

Convinced, that in point of fact, I was alone in the world, dependentupon my own resources for whatever little truant ray of sunshine Imight get from the golden flood that illuminated the world outside me, and forced by rigid, arbitrary circumstances to train my growingconvictions into many a hazardous channel, left to myself to gropeamong the dawning mysteries of life, that are a burden to age andexperience even when lightened by the helping hand of a commonsympathy, I ceased before long to struggle against these abstract foesthat made a mockery of my childish strength and resistance. 

For the first few years of my life, therefore, I had been my own care, my own and only friend, and oftentimes my own--but not only--enemy. Occasionally my father chatted with me, but that was mostly when I wasin good humour, and would not let him get an insight into the secretworkings of my busy little heart. But, even supposing I had, with achild's instinctive confidence in its parent, gone to him in my lonelyhours, and thrown my hands convulsively about his neck, to tell mytale of trifling woes, what difference would it have made? Verylittle. He would have given me a silver coin or two, and told me torun away and amuse myself, that he was busy and could not spare histime for idle amusement. No one knew this better than I did; thememory of one such experiment tried in my very early youth will neverleave my mind: it seemed to me that no future, however laden withcompensating joys, could efface the dreary outlines which thischildish experience had stamped upon my heart. 

That day, when full of a pent-up sorrow I had boldly decided to seekcomfort on my father's knee, is, and ever will be, a living, breathingpresent to me. In stifled sobs, I tried to tell my little tale ofgrief, and was about to bury my tear-stained face upon his shoulder, when he raised his eyes impatiently, and brushed away, with a peevishgesture, one of my salt tears that lay appealingly upon the smoothbroadcloth covering of his arm: he chided me for crying so veryimmoderately, saying, he hated "little girls that cried, " and drawinga silver piece from his pocket, he slipped it into my little tremblinghand, and banished me from the room. 

I never forgot this, from my dignified, gentlemanly father, althoughin my outward conduct there was nothing which insinuated the slightestreproach for the pain he had given me on that occasion. 

When I left his cheerless presence, I remember going back to myplay-room and throwing myself wearily into my little rocking-chair, where, with my face turned to the wall, I cried as if my baby-heartwould break. 

Here I rehearsed each feature of my bitter disappointment, and as myyoung spirit rose in proud and angry revolt against a fate that couldwound me so undeservedly, I flung the wretched coin, with which mythoughtless parent sought to buy his ease and comfort from me, violently upon the floor. 

Through my blinding tears I watched it roll quietly over the carpetand stop suddenly against the prostrate figure of a doll that lay at alittle distance from where I sat. This incident changed the wholetenor of my rebellious thought; in the earlier part of the day I haddressed this doll in very fine clothes, intending to carry it to thehouse of a poor neighbor, who lived in the rear of my father'spremises, and whose baby-girl was confined, through some hopelessdeformity, to the narrow limits of an invalid chair. 

Something prevented me from carrying out this generous design at thetime, but the discarded coin unexpectedly revived my abandonedproject, and turned my thoughts into a pleasant channel. I rose up anddried my eyes, and putting on my little sun-bonnet, gathered up thefashionable wax lady and the piece of despised money, and stealingdown a quiet back-stairway, I went out on my mission of charity. 

When I reached the home of my little invalid friend, I peerednoiselessly in at the window, as was my custom, lest, perhaps, Ishould awaken her from one of her quiet slumbers, but this time shewas not sleeping; she sat upright in her chair with pillows at herback, and her thin hair fell from her bowed head over the worn anddog-eared pages of her mother's prayer-book. It was her only othercompanion, besides her mother and me, and through many long, lonelyhours she was wont to turn the leaves backward and forward, dwellingwith the instinctive reverence of unsullied childhood, upon the homelyand inartistic representations it contained of the beautiful Drama ofthe Redemption. 

Such things, though seemingly trifling to relate, at this remoteperiod, when the sinful and foolish vanities of the world have crowdedthemselves in between me and my cherished memories of that holy epoch, I now regard as the true and unmistakeable key-note of my after life. 

For, was it not to little Ella Wray I first assumed the attitude ofthe worldling: subscribing to the laws and exigencies ofconventionality before I had suspected the existence of such aninfluence? When she praised me, and thanked me, and urged me to begrateful to the kind Father who had willed my surroundings to be thoseof comfort and prosperity, what did I do? Good reader! I smiled halfconsciously, and thus sanctioned her belief in my domestic happiness. I veiled the sorrow that dwelt in my young heart with the shadows of aborrowed playfulness, and I sullied the baby innocence of myunsuspecting soul with a smiling lie. 

But even in its infancy, human nature is prone to every passingweakness that assails it. To know that other eyes looked out from anarrower sphere upon my individual portion, and found it rich inadvantages over many others: to feel that in spite of all my harassinglittle cares, my life could assume an exterior aspect of smoothnessand happiness, was a short-lived, though powerful stimulant, even tomy childish heart; and I could not forfeit the small pleasure I tookin the consciousness, that at least my sufferings were hidden, thoughmy pleasures were widely known, by laying bare the actual condition ofmy affairs. 

Naturally enough, this feeling has but strengthened and matured withtime and experience, and to-day, scattered broadcast over the world, are friends of my childhood, my girlhood, and my womanhood, who lookupon my life as a tolerably beautiful thing, set apart by a lenientdestiny for a perpetual sunshine to brighten. 

Ah well! Who knows, in this strange world whether there are manyhappier than I? May it not be that other faces wear the mask of smileswith which I myself have played a double part? I think I know enoughof human nature now, to suspect with Reason, that this livery ofcontentment and joy which dazzles our eyes at intervals, as we reviewthe multitudes of the laughing and the gay, is a thing to be put onand off at will, like any other garment; and hence is it that theearthly happiness of men and women is susceptible of a relativedefinition only. I do not wish to argue that such a thing as happinessitself has become as obsolete in our day as hoop-skirts andside-combs, for, from the earliest reflections I have ever indulgedin, I have concluded that it is quite easy to attain to a tolerabledegree of happiness, if external influences be not too desperately atvariance with our efforts to arrive at its tempting goal: and evennow, when I have made my way through some of the densest and darkestfogs of experience, I know I should be happy yet, if, some day, I maysee the masses in revolt against the unjust tenets of nineteenthcentury _convenances_, and advocating in its stead the beautifuldoctrine of "soul to soul as hand to hand. "

Possibly, all these regretful conclusions are a sequel to the earlydisappointments and sorrows of my younger days, for, I admit, thatthough I thrived after a fashion under their depressing influence, they had, most necessarily, a peculiar effect upon my temperament. 

The one thing that wearied me above and more than all others, was thechangeless monotony of my existence; every day a tiresome repetitionof another, which forced me to attribute little or no value to time. 

I was not old enough to be sent to school, although I had entered uponwhat is called the years of discretion, but my father's wife had ahigh-bred fear, lest in sending me to an educational establishment Ishould indulge my uncouth tendencies by cultivating unfashionableacquaintances, that in after years, might possibly, in some remote, indefinite way, reflect upon her own unimpeachable dignity. 

There came a day, however, when exacting circumstances obliged her tolook upon the prospect of placing me at school with a more impartialeye. A change was creeping, slowly, but surely, into our lives: hardlyfor the better in one way, and yet, in the end, I must acknowledge, that to it I owe much of the happiness I have ever known. 

Whether or not my obdurate step-mother was in reality as susceptibleas a woman should be, I am not free to say; but when, after a fewyears of wedded life, the prospect of maternity began to grow lessshadowy and more reliable, her heart did seem to swell at rareintervals with a real, or assumed pity for the little woman who hadbeen left to wander about motherless and friendless, spending heryoung life, unheeded, among the cheerless apartments of her ownfather's house. 

While this new phase of existence was unfolding itself before hereyes, like the lava from a long-slumbering volcano, a kind word ordeed was born now and then of the momentary influence. She wouldstroke my head with a gesture of repenting, amending tenderness, giveme a bunch of gay ribbons for my last new doll, or even read me athrilling tale from my Christmas book of nursery fictions; but thatimpulse was necessarily short-lived, and once it became spent, thecrater of her heart closed up again, and all was as cold and quiet asbefore. 

To my untutored mind, this relaxation, limited though it was, became aperplexing mystery. I was conscious of no improvement in my attitudetowards my step-mother, I had not even wished, or determined to showher any more marked affection or respect than I had ever done, andthis, to tell the truth, was precious little. 

I did not know then, that this generous impulse of hers wasindependent of her own desire or will, that it filled her heartwithout her sanction or command, just as her life-blood did; that itpermeated her very being, when she neither sought nor expected it, andthat as it was self-creative, so would it of itself find asatisfactory outlet in expressions and actions of tender womanlysolicitude. 

As soon as my half-brother made his entrance into the world, however, things took another turn. I was no longer the free, unfetteredcreature I had been for the first part of my life. I could no longerdispose of my days and hours as I liked best, but was on the contraryforced to devote many of them to occupations of a most distastefulnature. 

The coming of this insignificant stranger into our home seemed adisturbing and restless evil in my eyes. Naturally my stepmother wasbeside herself with ecstacy, but why should she have expected the restof the household to be as absurdly enthusiastic?

When baby slept, the silence and stillness of death were sacredly andsolemnly imposed upon all. When baby was awake, the clatter provokedfor its infantship's pleasure was noisome and deafening to all. 

With the advent of this undesirable relative into our home isassociated, for me, the remembrance of all such impatient entreatiesas, "Amey, bring your toys here to baby--Amey, come and sing tobaby--Amey, come and rock baby to sleep"--and I, though striving toencourage a good intention and a hopeful outlook, finally succumbed tothe very human perversity of my soul, and when every atom of ordinaryendurance had given out, I realized that I had ended by loathing thevery name, or sight, or idea of the unwelcome baby. 

Then, came a fresh burden of domestic worries to my unfortunatestep-mother. She could not trust her darling to the care of servants;each one that she tried seemed determined to kill the little idol;they handled it as roughly and carelessly as if it were an ordinarybaby; shook it when it screamed and refused to rock it while it slept. In the end, with the undaunted heroism of unselfish maternity, sheresigned herself wholly and entirely to the exclusive care of herbeloved offspring, ministering to its ever increasing and multiplyingwants, with an admirable forebearance and kindness. Poor woman! shefound more than ample field for her patience and perseverance. 

Blest with the healthiest of lungs, my new step-brother had noscruples about asserting himself loudly and peevishly at all hours ofthe day and night; rending the air with prolonged and impatientscreams that wounded the sensitive mother's heart deeply, andirritated the rest of the household beyond endurance. 

By degrees its much tried parent was made to realize that this noisyacquisition to her home was considered unquestionably andirreclaimably, her own. No one envied it to her, and as no one soughtto share any of the possible benefits that might follow in its wake, neither did they seek to bear any of the burden of its existence inthe smallest detail. 

The overjoyed, yet afflicted mother, was welcome to whatever comfortor happiness her prophetic soul foresaw as a recompense to all thisendless worry and trouble. Even my father grew unsympathetic, andactually arose one night when baby's plaintive minor key wasresounding through the house, and closed his bed-room door mostemphatically, to keep out the disturbing echoes that had broken inupon his comfortable repose. 

None of this passed unnoticed by my fretted stepmother, whose opensoul absorbed every passing instance of this nature, and stowed awayits keen impressions to be acted upon later, when time had modifiedher responsibilities, and granted her a little respite from thetroubles of to-day. 

In the agitated meanwhile I had begun to try my young wings. I feltmyself growing inwardly and outwardly; something was stirring my heartwith unusual palpitations. I was beginning to realize that life afterall did not mean what daily passed within the narrow arena of my home;something whispered to me that outside those paltry limits, far awayover all the spires and chimney-tops, where the sky was so bright andblue, life, real life, unfolded itself under many a varied aspect, andwith this suspicion, sprung up a lingering dissatisfaction, a longingfor something which no words of mine could define. 

How clearly does this epoch of my life stand forth from the drearybackground of experience as I look at it from the watch-tower ofto-day? How I know now that this was the farewell passage of mychildhood, which was winging its flight, and leaving me to strugglewith the naked realities of life, which had hitherto been hidden andundreamt of mysteries to me. 

Ah! that passage of childhood, what a void it makes in the growingheart; and how quietly its place is filled by unworthier influences. Does all the abstract wealth, which there might be in the growth anddevelopment of those who learn the alphabet of life upon our knee, take one pang from the natural and pardonable sorrow with which wewatch the heavy footprint of an inevitable experience, crushing outthe last frail remnant of childhood from the hearts of those who sucha little while before were our "little ones?"

There is something far more appealing to the parent's heart in thehalf worn stocking of the child who toddled from its cradle to itsgrave, than in the mighty quill of her grey-haired poet son, rustedthough it be in the service of his art. In the broken stem of anunfinished life, a mother mourns a host of possibilities that cannever now be realized; if we may credit the prophecies of suchsorrowing mothers who, bending over the cradle from which somebaby-spirit has just passed into the kingdom of the little ones, tellin broken accents of sorrow and regret of all the promises of goodnessand greatness which have been sacrificed with that life, we must trulyadmit that the world in all its wealth of heroes, bold and brave, itsbards, its poets, its grand masters of the quill, the chisel and thebrush, has not on record such another career as has been blighted inits bloom each time the stern death-angel stood beside an infant'scot. 

And, if there are evils in our day which no human power can baffle orsubdue, with which reason and morals are struggling in vain, we mustnot forget, as we dwell upon them, what the possible, nay evenprobable mission was, of each little pair of dimpled hands that hecrossed on each still unheaving bosom, wherein might have been buriedsecrets and mysteries which the world will now never know. 

Yet, methinks, this transit from the cradle to the coffin is not sosad in all its bearings as that other death of childhood, whichintroduces us, not into a safe and definite eternity, but only intoanother phase of temporal life; when the toys and the picture booksare stowed away, when the mind and heart are awakening in theirbeautiful, untarnished susceptibility to the impressions of a world ofperils and of sorrows. 

Not unlike our final passage is it either, for we go through it once, and once only, and from its threshold our footsteps are directedtowards good or evil, for after-life. Let us remember this always, when we are tempted to pass our rigid judgments upon ourfellow-creatures. Let us not lose sight of these occult impediments offate, that may have caused our fallen brother to halt and stagger inthe way of righteousness almost in spite of his watchfulness and eagerintentions to do what is good. 

Without wearying the reader with a detailed account of that period ofmy life immediately associated with the advent of my interestinghalf-brother, I can permit myself to mention a few things which wereonly a very natural outgrowth of this altered condition of ourdomestic affairs. 

First and foremost be it understood that I looked upon this new-comeras a contribution sent by nature to fill up the gap that existedbetween my step-mother's affections and mine, and naturally enough, according as this child grew he drifted our two lives farther andfarther asunder. He absorbed all the latent sympathy and love from thematernal heart, and as such ardent sentiments had long been aliensfrom my breast, he had nothing to draw from the second source but aplacid and harmless indifference. 

My father held a reception occasionally in his sanctum, whither babywas carried with great pomp and ceremony to be smiled upon approvinglyuntil his good humour gave way, as soon as the little featureswrinkled ominously my father waved his hand towards the door, escorting mother, and child, and nurse with the most eager courtesyout of the room. 

I need not tell my readers that the machinery of our domestic life wassadly awry; neither in separate parts, nor as a whole, did it workproperly or satisfactorily, the metal was harsh and the little wheelscould never be got to run briskly or smoothly. How could they? I thinkof all the hopeless conditions on earth, that which aspires to be ableto blend human lives together, which have no more leaning towards oneanother than virtue to vice, is the maddest and vainest of all. 

An absence of common sympathies between two human hearts, will driftthem apart in spite of the hugest efforts that can be made to attractthem to a point of mutual interest; they who hope either by subterfugeor unselfish zeal, to reconcile phases of human character that havenot originally sprung from a common root of harmonious unison orcontrast, are as sure to see their ambition as ingloriously defeatedas if they had revived the search for the philosopher's stone. 

And yet how much estrangement there is among men and women who, ifthey had never been bound together by the sacred and solemn pledges ofwedded love, are supposed still to live according to a precept ofuniversal charity? How indifferent they become to one another'sfortune or fate? How repulsive to them the very suggestion of enteringgenerously into one another's lives to share each other's pleasuresand pains?

The world is full of this occult antagonism; every day Christians, asI have known them, look upon the happiness or sorrow of their brothertoilers as so much subtracted from their own glad or miserableexperience. Hence do they begrudge the smiles of fortune that cheeranother life outside their own, and are so easily satisfied to seefurrows on other brows than their own. I know that the human heart isinstinctively covetous of earthly happiness, and, in nine cases out often argues that its end justifies the means, whatever they may be, ofinsuring it. But I also know, that those fitful flashes of sunlightthat cross the path of struggling mortals in the course of an ordinaryhuman life, are too visionary and short-lived to begin to repay us forthe unworthy barter of our better selves, which is the price of suchtransient joys. 

What is real happiness but a memory or an anticipation? Do we realizethat it presides over our daily lives? Not until it has become a thingof the past; and as for the happiness of anticipation, it is not worthmuch when we take into account the vague uncertainty of the issues oftime, and the instability of unborn to-morrows. 

In a word then, our pleasure is nothing but a negative sensation whileit lasts; we are conscious that, for the time being, the burdensomefetters of sorrow are loosened, and our souls expand in a gloriousfreedom, the power of fate is temporarily suspended, the pressure isremoved from our spirit which soars about in its native element, likea captive bird set free, flapping its poor paralysed wings that fromlong imprisonment have almost forgotten their use--but pain!

Ah! surely no one questions whether pain is a positive sensation ornot; no one at least whose head has been bowed by adversity until hislips have touched the bitter waters, and tasted perhaps largely oftheir unpleasantness! Pain is vastly more to the human heart than theabsence of pleasure; pain is not merely an emptiness, or void, createdby the flight of more cheerful influences; it has a more definite anddistinct acceptation than this would allow; it has as many dark andmelancholy meanings as there are suffering souls in existence; it hasits phases of youth and maturity, now hopeful, now despairing, eitherour enemy or our friend. 

It professes to dwell among the children of men with the verystrictest impartiality, for pain is an aristocrat and a pauper; painrides in fine carriages, and clothes itself in fine linen; it smilesand sings as often as it mourns and weeps; pain is learned, and it isignorant; it underlies the deepest, tenderest love, and it instigatesthe darkest, bitterest hatred; in a word it is a weed which infeststhe very choicest parterres of our minds and hearts, it thrives amongthe buds and blossoms of men's intellects, and abounds above all amongthe flowers and fruits of his affections; it is indigenous to bothsoils, and no toiler, however industrious or persevering, has ever yetsucceeded in subduing its ravages. 

It is no wonder then that we sometimes go on a wild-goose chase afterpleasure; it is not surprising that the wisest of us make foolishattempts to grasp the will-o'-the-wisp that has been coaxing anddeceiving men for centuries. It is surprising that our persistentself-confidence persuades our better sense that where countlessgenerations of pleasure-seekers have failed we can hope to succeed. 

This parenthetical deviation is the fruit of my deep reflectionsconcerning this early period of my development; it is the web whichthe deft fingers of my memory have woven around many a quiet reverie;the substance of many a fire side cogitation, the phantoms of many atwilight's dreaming. 

I doubt not, that in that world of speculative opinions andquestionings, I have met the kindred spirits of many of my fellowbeings, clad in the ideal personality with which my thought investspeople, at the cross of those four great roads towards which, from allcorners of the earth, the spirits of mankind come trooping. We haveonly to close our lids upon our external surroundings and swift asthought itself is our passage into that fairy land of our reverie. 

As early as my tenth year I had begun to build castles in the openfire and to people the gloaming with whispering shadows; somehow thehabit has grown with me through all these years, with this difference, however: in the reveries of my womanhood the heroes and heroines cometo me, from a long vanished past, clothed in a misty reality, andassociated with every joy and sorrow of my life. 

In my childhood these were typical visions, the anticipation of arestless impatience which yearned for the touchstone of soberexperience, to-day they are the re-creation of memory, and a rehearsalof all those circumstances that have made sober experience acomprehensive word for me. 

Not that my life has made a heroine of me either in the world's eyesor my own. I dare say, to the passive observer, it is plain andordinary enough. It is when we take away the flesh and blood reality, which is the temple of the moral man, that the common-place aspects oflife become strange and attractive. 

Subtract one of those every-day lives from the busy, moving mass ofhumankind and place it under the microscope; bring up to the visiblesurface all that has lain hidden for years from the casual glance ofthe general observer; lay bare the secret tenor of its every thoughtand motive and impulse. Is it any longer the thing it seemed to bewhen jostled about in the busy throng?

Pluck one of the dusty blades of grass that grow unheeded by theroadside; there are hundreds of them at your feet so much alike thatthe one you chose had no identity, whatever, until you had, by chanceor design, separated it from the rest. Bear it away to your home andplace it under a powerful lens; is it still the same uninterestingblade it was a moment ago out in the noisy and crowded thoroughfare?Why does your gaze become riveted upon what is revealed? Ah! youdiscern that such homely things are not at all what you have been wontto think them. You are astonished to find how each individual trifleis in itself a wonderful creation, swarming with a hidden and undreamtof life, feeding a multitude of appetites, satisfying countlesscravings, struggling with a most powerful vitality, and challengingpowers, whose unseen tyranny is unsuspected by more than half theworld. 

No wonder, then, that a singled-out human life excites ourastonishment; no wonder that we look upon an isolated fellow-creatureas if he were not one of us, but removed by adventitious circumstancesfar above or below the common level of men and women. 

It is not always the exaggerating pen of the author that createsheroes and heroines out of our prosy humanity, and it is an undeniableand stable fact that truth is far stranger than fiction. It is becausewe men and women will conceal the realities of our lives from oneanother, and under the banner of an all-enduring pride, struggle forthe privilege of living under a surface of smooth, unruffled evenness, that humanity has become susceptible of so many false and misleadinginterpretations. 

CHAPTER II. 

As every human life has its crises and turning-points for better orworse, it will not surprise the reader to learn that there came a daywhen Destiny, having nothing else to do, probably, turned hergood-humoured attention towards mine. 

The commemoration of the coming into the world of my step-mother'sillustrious darling had been celebrated with due and undue festivitiesand enthusiasm from the rising to the setting of a golden June sun. Whether from an excess of spasmodic affectionate hugging, which, bythe way, was the chief feature of these joyful monthly, and quarterly, and half-yearly solemnities, or not, the little being in question wasmost unmanageably peevish and ill-humoured for three or four daysfollowing these occasions of ecstatic thanksgiving. 

One would imagine that by this time I had had sense enough to trainmyself into a placid resignation over such circumstances of my life, as seemed to me to be presided over by some inevitable ill-luck, but, on the contrary, a growing perversity began to stimulate me at thisepoch more eagerly than ever to rebel against decrees so openly unfairto me, and unable or unwilling, to cope with this moral enemy that hadtaken so firm a hold of me, I yielded myself up, a sort of helplessand reckless victim to its wiles, at the sacrifice, I must admit, ofmy personal peace and comfort. 

Usually, at this period I surprised and annoyed myself, when, inpassing accidentally before some tell-tale mirror, I saw thereflection of a distressed and impatient scowl: usually, too, I wasconscious of my step being quick and angry, I was not aware, however, that it was a growing deformity of my moral nature, oozing out thus inevery look and tone and gesture. 

I had no apprehension of a dawning crisis that would call upon me todeclare war against my worse or better self, for, of course, theycould not both be mistress of the field. How could I, all untaught, suspect that upon the issue of such a victory would depend thehappiness or misery of my after life?

Fortunately for me, some kind unseen hand was stretching forth in thehour of my need, somebody's deft fingers snatched the tangled web thathad gone so far astray in the weaving, and in the nick of time made ahazardous effort to smoothen the silken threads for the busy loom thatwaits not for the slow or the erring. 

I was standing on the gravel path beside a bed of flowers that was theobject of my fondest care, one fair summer morning, immediately aftera festive celebration in baby's honour. My cherished, but homely, wallflowers were dripping in the morning sunlight, and every leaf on myblossomless geraniums was carefully saturated. 

I stood, with my faded water-pot carelessly dangling from threefingers of one hand, looking so absorbedly down the avenue after thevanishing outlines of a glittering carriage that had just rolledsplendidly by, that the dregs of my water-can trickled all unheeded byme, down the side of my new sateen frock, accomplishing what, in theeyes of my step-mother, would seem nothing less than an absolute ruinand wreck. 

My attention was riveted upon the liveried driver and shining gildedtrimmings of this handsome conveyance, and a flood of seriousreflections suddenly burst upon me. I had begun to imagine myself thelucky centre of a thousand and one happy possibilities. I was grownup, and out in the world, the wife of a very rich man, with costlyplumes in my bonnet, and rich lace on my showy parasol, like the ladywho had just driven by: I was quite my own mistress, with servants andother people to obey me. I had a dashing barouche of my own, and wasrolling in conscious grandeur past my step-mother's window, with theback of my expensive bonnet turned towards the half-closed shutter, through which she was sure to be peering enviously--when the laths ofthe very shutter in question were shaken impatiently, and a hasty, authoritative voice cried out, "If you've nothing else to do but spoilyour new pink frock out there, Amelia Hampden, I wish you would comein and play with your baby-brother for awhile;" and then, as the blindand voice were lowered, I heard the usual "enough to provoke a saint, "which was the finishing touch to every reprimand I either did, or didnot, deserve. 

History repeats itself; nothing is surer. Here was I hand in hand witha well-known hero of the Arabian Nights, weeping in open-mouthedsorrow and astonishment over my basket of shattered glassware. I hadbroken the salutary precept which exhorts us sanguine mortals not tocount our chickens before they are hatched, and now mourned theprescribed result, an ice-cold shower bath in a Canadian Decembercould hardly be a more undesirable and unlooked for intrusion than wasthis unappreciated and pressing invitation of Mrs. Hampden's in myears at this particular moment. 

The rude awakening which her words caused me made me look quite absurdin my own eyes, and with the sudden consciousness that I had beenmaking a fool of myself, pondering over such shadowy improbabilities, as they seemed to me now, I turned sharply and impatiently from thespot where I had been standing, and passing through a rustic gatewayat the end of the walk, I flung my innocent water-pot, with a gestureof desperate anger, in among the cedar-bushes that skirted thecauseway leading into the lawn, and passed into the house. 

It has been written, that "nothing like the heavy step betrays theheavy heart, " and if this be true, the matter of weight regarding theseat of my affections, on this particular morning, was not a trivialone. With an inflamed and spiteful wilfulness, I stamped my feet witha louder and heavier tread on each step, as I ascended to answer myunwelcome summons. 

When I reached my step-mother's bed-chamber, the heavy curtain ofpadded repp, which was suspended for the prevention of such draughtsas might be smuggled in through key-holes, or other minute openingscaused by an ill-fitting door, was drawn quite across the entrance, and in my hasty and unforeseeing impatience I pushed it rudely asidewith rough hands and admitted myself within the sacred precincts, justin time to see myself branded by my own actions, an intolerable littleimp, who, on this occasion, if never before, _was_ "enough to provokea saint. "

In drawing the curtain so hastily from the entrance, I had pushed thepanels of the door rudely in, which unexpected treatment caused thatoft-abused fixture to swing unusually far back on its hinges, andknock with a heart-rending violence against the edge of baby's fraillittle cot, over which the fretted mother was now bendingbreathlessly. 

In a moment the terrible nature of my misdeed burst upon me; mystep-mother's horrified countenance and the baby's frightened screamswere a simultaneous and forcible indication of what awful results mayspring from a trifling source. I became angry with myself, for once, and with a very contrite countenance, I went towards my step-motherand held my arms out repentantly, offering to soothe the refractorydarling, all by myself. 

But, by this time her indignation had found a voice, and interruptedmy eager solicitude for reparation with a volley of well-meritedreproaches. Stamping her slipper emphatically upon the ground, anddeclaring that "I would pay for this, " she turned to the screaminglittle mortal who was struggling nervously among lace and finery, withno small show of an ill-temper of its own, and resumed the patient andwould be soothing lullaby, whose efficacy in the first instance hadbeen so ruthlessly spoiled by my impetuous conduct. 

Not daring to leave the room again until summarily dismissed by theruling power, I stood guiltily by the doorway with a look of sullenhelplessness on my face, toying half indifferently with the ends of apink ribbon that was fastened artistically to my frock. Suddenly, theunforgiving baby sent forth a fresh volley of screams, and the iratemother turned towards me with a new and awful scowl and bademe--"Begone" that "my very presence terrified the child. "

Nothing loth to leave this scene of confusion of which I myself wasthe direct cause, I turned abruptly and quitted the apartment in animpertinent silence. My step, so long as I thought my step-mothercould hear it, was quick and haughty. 

I passed along the corridor above, and down the broad front stairway, rattling the heels of my garden shoes on the tiles of the hall belowwith rather unnecessary emphasis. A loud slamming of the librarydoor--which shook the pendants of the gasaliers and caused a momentaryquaking of the whole house--announced my exit into the side garden, where I threaded my way among trees and flowerbeds to a vine-coveredsummer-house that stood at the end of the lawn. Arrived here, I flungmyself upon one of the rustic benches that lined the walls, andthrowing my arms at full length across the small table that stoodbeside me, I laid my face down upon them and burst into tears. Afterall, I was only a child, though so obstinate and impulsive: only achild, and yet I was very miserable. Reader, have you ever beenpersuaded to a popular, though strange belief, that our happiest areour youngest days? Are you able to look regretfully back upon yourlong-vanished yesterdays and wish that destiny might, for one shortmoment of time, let you hold them in your hands, to live them all overagain? If so, indeed your youth must have been an exceptionally happyone: for whether I speak from a personal experience or fromobservation, I cannot agree that the paths of childhood are floodedwith Life's sunshine, or overgrown with Fortune's flowers. If we lookback upon our earliest sorrows (and who are they that have none tolook upon?), and take into consideration the narrow limits of ourcapacity for either pleasure or pain when we are young, we must admitthat a broken doll or a lost penny are, after all, as fruitful ofgenuine and hopeless misery in their way, as are, in after-life, abroken heart or a lost friend. 

I do believe that on that June morning, when full of an untold sorrow, I stole away to the most secret and secluded spot I could find, I wasnot less miserable than I have been many a June morning since, thoughthe best of life's hard lessons have been learned in the meantime. Itseemed to me that all my hopes, and wishes, and endeavors would alwaysbe vain and fruitless; I could not see a bright side anywhere Ilooked. I was always doing and saying the wrong things; I was ineverybody's way: no one wanted me, no one cared for me--why was I everborn? I had no companions. My stepmother looked down upon thedangerous habit of allowing children to cultivate juvenile friendshipsindiscriminately, and I was not sufficient unto myself fordistractions that would keep me quietly out of the way. What good wasI? I was always ill-humored, vexing my step-mother and making babycry. It was plain to see that I was one too many in the world, andwhatever I did with myself I would be surely trespassing uponsomebody's privilege, outraging somebody's patience, and making myselfa nuisance generally. If there was a better place, thought I, I wonderwould I go there when all this discord of my present life had killedme? Besides, old Hannah had told me that I had another mother in thatvague "better place. " Every night at Hannah's knee I recited a littleprayer for her, and asked her to watch over me, to guard me from eviland make me worthy of joining her some day in her happy home. If my"other mother" was so sweet and kind and good, as Hannah told me inconfiding whispers she was, why did she not come to me when I was intears and tell me how to be good like her? She was too far away, Isupposed, up among the blue sunlit clouds, where all was bright andcheerful: an angel-mother with beautiful white wings like the picturein Hannah's prayer-book, and a sweet smiling face that always lookeddown on me, watching my words and actions. And while I thought thus, Isaw many such white-winged angels floating noiselessly about in anexquisite confusion, and distant strains of music, as Hannah said theysang, filled my listening ears. I felt myself being lifted gently bytender, unseen hands, and I wondered whether they would bear me far upabove spire and tower, away from all the worries of this desolateworld, into that happy sphere beyond where all is peace, and joy, andcontentment. 

On a sudden, I opened my eyelids and looked up. A cry of "Mr. Dalton!"escaped my lips before I had met his answering glance. I hadunderstood the situation and buried my face upon his shoulder, to hidethe fast gathering tears that swelled into an after-flood andthreatened to deluge my already tell-tale cheeks. I was no longerthrown recklessly upon the wooden summer-house bench. The gentle handsthat raised me in my dream and bore me heavenward, were not those of afar-off angel, as I understood the term, they were the strong brawnypalms of a man of four-and-thirty years, not so strong that theirtouch could not be as gentle as a mother's own, not so brawny thatthey could not dry the tearful lids of a sleeping child withoutdisturbing its repose. 

He had taken me in his arms and pillowed my drooping head upon hismanly breast. When I opened my eyes he was looking dreamily, halfsadly, half smilingly, into my face. He was not what you, reader, would call a handsome man, for you never knew him. To you, and to allthe world perhaps but me, he would be no more than a man in a crowd. But I need not here bring forward the wonderful power of associationwhich is the underlying beauty reflected from many a homely surface toeyes that prize and cherish them. What though a thing possess not inreality those charms with which it is identical in our minds andhearts? That which we believe to be, is, as effectually for us as ifits existence were sanctioned and sustained by all mankind, and so faras personal conviction goes there is no standard outside theindividual one. My idea of the beautiful is the only beautiful I canever really acknowledge or enjoy, and yet how far astray may it not befrom the concurrent idea of the majority, which is supposed to be theonly true standard. 

With a quick though earnest purpose, Mr. Dalton laid his strong warmhand upon my head and turned my tearful face towards him. There was ahovering smile around the pale, calm countenance that met my shy andhalf averted look. 

"Who is this?" he asked, peering into my misty eyes. "Is this AmeyHampden, I wonder, or have I made some dreadful mistake?"

I saw immediately that he suspected me of having been a naughty girl, and my sensitive pride was breaking into revolt. I tried to forcemyself from his steady hold, but his knitted fingers were as ironfetters about me. I had nothing left to do but give way to an outburstof rising ill-humor, or through my gathering tears, to make an humbleconfession of all that had passed that morning. While I debated withmyself I was conscious of his steady gaze being fixed upon me. I sawthe half-mischievous smile vanish from the corners of his eyes andmouth; my lips were trembling with a suppressed sorrow. He saw it, andbending over me asked in a tender, solicitous voice:

"What is the matter, little Amey? Are you ill? Come, tell me" heurged, with a gentle firmness turning me around and taking both myhands in his own large ones. 

"No, no, Mr. Dalton, Amey is not ill" I answered, sighing and lookingaway. "I wish she was though" I continued after a pause, "ill enoughto die. "

And this was all I could say, for my lips trembled ominously, thoughthere were now no unshed tears in my eyes. 

The expression on my companion's face changed suddenly. He had worn ahalf amused, half sympathetic look all along, as if my little troubleswere something he could afford to smile upon, and persuade even myselfto laugh at, but I fancy my voice must have been unusually sorrowful, as I am sure my face was unusually tear-stained and disfigured, for hedrew me to him a little closer and toying ever so affectionately andkindly with my flowing hair, his tone was gently remonstrative as hesaid:

"Amey, do you know that you use very wicked words when you talk likethis? You are a very comfortable and fortunate little girl in manyways, and because something disagreeable happens now and then you mustnot be so impatient and want to die. If you did die now" he continuedslowly and emphatically--then paused and added, "maybe you would besorry. "

"I don't care" came from me in a half defiant retort, "I couldn't besorrier than I am now. I am not comfortable and I am not fortunate, and disagreeable things are always happening, and if I can't diesoon, " I went on waxing quite tragic, "I'll run away. "

I stopped short after this, thinking I had put a splendidfinishing-touch to my out-spoken determination. I do not know whetherI expected Mr. Dalton to faint with fright and surprise on hearingsuch a daring declaration from me. If I did, I must have been sadlydisappointed when I detected a shadow of that hovering smile flittingback across his features, and heard him ask in a provoking tone. 

"Away! Where, Amey?"

The incisive ridicule implied in these words urged me to a still morereckless defiance, and affecting a very cutting sneer I answered--

"Perhaps you think I am not in earnest, Mr. Dalton, but _you'll see!_Remember I have told you that I am wretched, and it's all _her_ faultWhen I am gone you can tell papa that 'twas all her doing, that shehated me and I hated her, and I thought 'twas better to go away--and I_will_ go away Mr. Dalton"--I emphasized--"away into the bush, and ifno one comes to take me I'll do like the babes in the woods, and thelittle birds will cover me with nice green leaves when I'm dead. "

There were no tears now, I had worked myself into a dry rage and couldlook my monitor full in the face; my little arms were crossed with adetermination worthy of maturer years, and I was grand with theconviction of having frightened this big man into a belief of myrambling threats. I was a little disconcerted, however, when he lookedat me seriously and said in a slow measured tone:

"Then _this_ is not the Amey Hampden that I have known all along. Shewould never have said such ugly things as those I have just heard; shewas not a selfish little girl, and would fear to displease her friendsor those who loved her. "

He was winning me over, but before I yielded I must aim another arrow. 

"I guess you're right after all Mr. Dalton" I answered swinging onekid shoe in an aimless indifferent manner, and looking purposely awayat the leg of the rustic table, "cause _this_ Amey Hampden hasn't gotany friends, or any one to love her, either. "

"Are you telling the truth now, Amey? Look at me and repeat that, " heinterrupted quickly. 

I wished to be very brave, and turned my eyes full upon him; he tookmy chin in his large, warm palm and looked steadily into my face for amoment. I was conquered, and he saw it; he stooped and kissed me, andwe both laughed as I said

"Well; you never _said_ you were my friend. "

He arose, and taking me by the hand, we strolled over the lawn andpassed into the library together. 

Ernest Dalton was nearly twenty-five years my senior!

CHAPTER III. 

It is now an old and respected adage that "coming events cast theirshadows before, " and had I only been at all alive to the growingchanges in the routine of our daily life, I might easily have detectedthe outline of some hovering shadow which was heralding the advent ofsome strange, and hitherto undreamt of interruption, into thequestionably peaceful monotony of my early career. 

One fine August morning, some weeks after my tragic interview with Mr. Dalton, I sat on the step of the outer kitchen stairway, which ledinto an artistically cultivated vegetable patch at the rear of thehouse, absorbed in the intensely interesting occupation of cuttingsome elegantly-coloured ladies out of a superannuated fashion-plate. 

On the step above me was my garden hat, inverted, into which Ideposited my paper "swells" according as I trimmed them: on the stepbelow me sat old Hannah, scraping some new potatoes, according to herestablished principles of economy. We both worked diligently andsilently for awhile, and then old Hannah, pausing with a half cleanedpotatoe in one hand and a knife dripping with water in the other, looked at me seriously for a moment and said half meditatively:

"Well now; arn't you the baby, Miss Amelia, to spend your time overthat foolish stuff; fitter for you be knitting a little garter, orhemming a little handkerchief for yourself. "

I smiled, and without raising my eyes from the critical curve of mypaper lady's bustle, which I was then rounding most carefully, Ianswered:

"I suppose I might do better with my time, Hannah, if I knew how, butas I don't, I'd rather be doing this than nothing. "

"It says a lot for Miss Forty, then, " Hannah put in indignantly, "tothink you're goin' into your teens before long and that's all you knowhow to do!"

"Miss de Fortier did not come to teach me sewing and knitting, Hannah. She taught me lessons. "

"Lessons how are you! And what's become of them if she did? Oh, its afine way children are brought up in this country, " the old woman wenton half in soliloquy; "a bit of this and a bit of that and not much ofeither. I pity the housekeepers ye'll make yet. God help the poor menthat are waiting for ye. Many's the missing button and broken sockthey'll have to put up with!"

"Well, Hannah, " I interrupted, beginning an impromptu justificationand defence--but Hannah was destined never to have her convictionshaken, for just then I heard a sharp rapping at the library window, and gathering up the fragments of my fashion-plate in my linenpinafore, I ran outside and looked towards that end of the house. Myfather was standing at the open casement, and beckoned me to go tohim. Whether from the novelty of the occurrence, or the instinctiveawe in which I stood of my father, I immediately let go the margin ofmy pinafore, dropping scissors and ladies and all, in a most brusqueand heedless manner, and hastened into the library, while I wassmoothing out the wrinkled folds of my clean, starched apron. 

In my excitement I had forgotten to wonder at the strangecircumstance, but when my little hand clutched the great knob of thelibrary door and turned it, and when the placid countenance of mystep-mother looked up at me from a comfortable easy-chair at theopposite side of the room, I felt that some awful moment had dawned onmy existence. With as much nerve and self-control as a child usuallydisplays on such an occasion, I closed the door behind me and walkedtowards the window where my father was standing. 

He was clad in a gown of ruby cashmere, and wore an expensive cap andslippers to match; the girdle was untied, leaving the rich chenilletassels to trail almost upon the ground, and the velvet fronts soelaborately embroidered were crushed rudely aside by his hands, whichwere thrust into his breeches pockets. 

When I came up to where he stood, he turned slowly around and viewedme in my diminutive entirety from head to foot. Unable to restrain herlove of interference any longer, my step-mother here advised meparenthetically to "stand up straight, " sustaining her reasons forthus counselling me by the cheerful intelligence that "I was disposedto be round-shouldered any way, and should do my best to check thedeformity. " I raised my head and lowered my shoulders in silentobedience to this meek injunction, preparing myself inwardly for anattack of a much less generous and still more personal nature thanthis. What was my surprise when my father, taking a step towards me, and placing one hand half affectionately on my head, remarked in arather playful and, for him, quite a frivolous tone:

"Oh, we none of us go straight to Heaven, do we, Amey? We must bendour shoulders and droop our heads a little first. "

I was grateful to him for coming thus to my rescue, although Iunderstood neither the meaning of his ambiguous words, nor the motiveswhich prompted him to use them. I see more clearly through them now, however. 

"But, " he continued, taking me by the hand and leading me towards thelounge behind him, "this is not exactly what I want to talk to youabout; I admit that you are backward in many respects, but that is notaltogether your fault. "

I was looking at him with riveted attention while he spoke, sublimelyinnocent of the import of a single word he uttered. 

"And, " he added, in a slower and more directly communicative tone, ashe disengaged his hand from mine and leaned his arm on the back of thelounge behind me, "I have decided to send you to a first-rate school, Amey, where you will have a chance to perfect yourself in every way;do you think you will like to go away to school?" he asked, so timidlythat one would have thought my opinion on the matter could have somelittle value. 

Before I had time to master this question with all its ponderouspossibilities, my step-mother observed obligingly, "Of course she would like it, Alfred, and even if she wouldn't youknow she ought to go; Amelia herself knows, " she continued, withoutlooking at me, "that she is quite a dunce for her age, and will needto work very hard in order to make up for lost time. So, your fatherand I have decided, " she added conclusively, "that you shall go toboarding-school, Amelia, as early next month as you can be got ready. "

The word "boarding-school" was to me, perhaps, the vaguest and mostindefinite in the English language. I knew that such places existed, but it had never entered into my juvenile conception of things toassociate them in any way with my present or future career. In mydreamings I had often pictured myself as grown up and matured; I hadeven pictured my womanhood so far as tying two of Hannah's long apronsabout my waist, one in front and the other behind, and with a shawlthrown cornerwise over my shoulders, to fancy myself a lady in "longdresses" like the "Miss Hartmanns" that called upon my step-mother. 

I had wished to be the wife of a great, rich man, that I might do as Ipleased with myself, and be "somebody" with my airs and graces, but Ihad never met such an obstacle in the long rambles of my reverie as"going to school. " When, therefore, the subject was thrust upon mewithout any preparation, I felt as if I had seen a ghost and was toldto go and speak to it, that it wouldn't harm me; and, lest the readershould attribute my emotion to a more natural, and, I dare say, becoming sentiment, I will confess that it was owing purely to thenervous shock which I sustained at the unexpected mention of soimportant a change in my life, that my eyes filled up with tears, andthat I gave way to other ambiguous signs of appropriate agitation. 

All this, however, was neither here nor there, so far as the fixedintention of my parents was concerned to dispose of me for anindefinite period of time, and within three weeks of that day when theannouncement was first made to me, I was crying myself to sleep in anarrow little bed, hundreds of miles away from my father's house. 

Perhaps there was not another girl among the three hundred boarders ofNotre Dame Abbey, that had such little reason to be home-sick as AmeyHampden; and yet--God help us! into what strange moods we are prone tofall! When a wide-spreading distance had thrust itself between me andthe home of my early days, I could not help feeling that, after all, my heart had tendrils like other people's, and that this separationhad torn them rudely away from the objects, few or many, worthy orunworthy, around which they had twined with a clinging firmness. 

The bare, white-washed walls of this strange dormitory brought out intouching relief the cosy corners of my own little room at home, andthe strict and rigid discipline, to which I felt I never couldconform, made me look back with a hopeless regret upon the wandering, aimless hours I had spent unfettered, before I became a pupil of thisbleak institution. 

I did not know then, as I know now, that it is not the house whichmakes the home; that white-washed walls and painted floors may meltinto artistic beauty, where glows the never smouldering fire ofChristian love; and I have searched the world in vain for many a year, among riches and luxuries and comforts, but I have never had thesmallest glimpse of that same abiding, enduring and self-sacrificinglove which presided over me, waking or sleeping, smiling or weeping, during my happy, yet transient sojourn, in that distant Abbey of NotreDame. 

Within its walls my childhood melted into girlhood, and my girlhoodinto womanhood, and still, when I look out over the tree-tops, awaybeyond the misty mountains in the west, towards the spot where this mytruly happiest home lies nestled, when with one sweeping stroke of myactive pen I cancel twenty years of my life, and am back again alaughing, careless girl among my school companions, what is time tome? Only a huge and ugly shadow flitting between me and all that Ihave ever loved or cherished! A shadow, however, that flickers andbounds away, when, with her magic lantern, memory floods the vista ofthe past, with the light of "other days. "

When I returned to my father's house to spend a short vacation amongmy earliest friends, I had entered upon my sixteenth year. I had ofcourse, in the interval, been visited alternately by my father andstep-mother, who kept me quite _au courant_ of all that transpired intheir fashionable world in my absence. 

I had received photographs of my interesting half brother, which mademe familiar with the changes wrought in him physically, by time; butall this had no satisfaction for me, who would rather one glimpse ofold Hannah's frilled cap, or one peep through the narrow panes of EllaWray's humble cottage, than all the spicy intelligences of the doingsand sayings of possibly great people, for whom, however, I cared butvery little. 

At the close of our summer session of that year my father brought mehome for a visit of three months. I had grown considerably, and for aperson of tolerably good health, was very slender, which gave me theappearance of being yet taller than I was, and I felt an instinctivelyspiteful satisfaction in the consciousness that I had quite overcomeany tendencies I might ever have had towards being round-shouldered;the regular calisthenic exercises which we went through at the conventhad made a decided change for the better in my personal appearance. 

I was not long at home before I detected a resolution on the part ofmy step-mother to adopt a new, and altogether plausible, attitudetowards me. I was no longer a child; that was a self-evident fact:neither was I yet what society calls a "young lady, " but now-a-days aninteresting medium has been established and acknowledged; it is thefirst grade wherein the embryo society belles are initiated into allthe intricacies of high life. It has its own peculiarities, itsflutters of excitement, its rounds of pleasures, and distractions ofevery kind, aye--it has even its gossip, although the whisperers arebut budding misses with golden or raven locks floating down theirbacks. 

It is the adolescent stage: where the lisp or drawl, most popular inthe advanced circles, is affected with unquestionable propriety: whengrowing girls of susceptible sixteen, or thereabout, are meeklysubjected to a rigid training and instruction by their older and moresophisticated sisters, when they learn "dauncing" and "tennis" and"riding, " and go to small-and-earlies where a few grown couples arealso invited to amuse them, or rather I should say instruct them. 

Quite unconscious of any such prescribed routine being the "thing"among my family circle, I was almost stupefied by the look ofdistracted horror which flashed over my step-mother's face, when, theweek after my arrival, I shocked her sensitive good breeding by acoarse betrayal of my unpardonable ignorance. 

It was a perfect June day, flooded with a bright but not overwarmsunshine; the young leaves on the maple boughs outside my bed-roomwindow were swaying gently against the lattice, and below in thefreshly trimmed garden the flowers were unfolding their early beautyto the summer warmth. 

I had sought the safe retreat of my room, that I might, as I hadpromised, write long and loving letters to some of my much-regrettedschool-friends. When all my preparations were ready, and I had datedthe first of these effusions, I was disturbed by a timid knock at thedoor. I laid down my pen resignedly and went to open: it was the perthousemaid, who delivered "Mrs. Hampden's request that Miss Ameliawould kindly begin to dress. "

"Dress for what?" said I, in impatient surprise. "This is Tuesday, Miss, " the pampered maid answered insinuatingly, "Mrs. Hampden will beat home. "

"So will I, Janet, " I interrupted hastily, "and my present toilet isquite good enough for the house. "

With this rejoinder I closed the door a little forcibly, and went backto my writing. I had only time to trace--"My darling Ruby, "--when, without intimation or announcement of any kind, my step-mother burstinto my room, with her hair half dressed, and her toilet jacket flyingloosely about her, --

"Do you want to disgrace us in the eyes of these prattling servants, Amelia Hampden?" she began in a hoarse undertone, beckoning towardsthe hall outside: "the idea of not understanding my message any betterthan that, " she went on in a whisper of reproachful despair. "Anyonewould know, that when you've been away so long, you will be sure tohave people calling on you, so put away that"--she added imperatively, pointing disdainfully to my treasured writing materials--"and dressyourself. The Merivale girls, and the Hunters, and all those otherswill be here before you are half ready. "

I obeyed in placid silence; this was not the first hint whichcircumstances had thrown out of what was before me, while I remainedat home. We were very stylish, very fashionable people, it seemed, although I was so unworthy of sustaining my part of the reputation, inmy insignificant opinion we were very silly and very empty-mindedcreatures, and it was with this very encouraging conviction that Iproceeded to stow away my pen and paper, to renounce the rare pleasureI had counted upon for two days before that, and to prepare myself forthe possible intrusion of some juvenile Merivales and Hunters. 

Janet came in to dress my hair and fasten my new kid boots, andotherwise bore me with endeavors to beautify me for my reception. Itwas a task, however, that was soon ended, and half an hour later I wasseated in the drawing room below listening passively to the small talkof some very well dressed girls who had opened the list of myceremonious callers. 

Having never seen them before, my demeanor was naturally timid andrestrained, they were two sisters, and the younger one did all or mostof the talking. They were very well dressed, and altogethernon-committal, as far as speech and manners were concerned, but ourvocabulary of drawing-room chat very soon became exhausted, and with aquiet "good afternoon" they arose and passed out. 

As they left the drawing-room they were met at the door by two otheryoung misses who, at sight of them, raised their chins considerablyabove their natural level, and swept in without condescending tobestow even an accidental glance upon them. From where I sat Iobserved all this quietly, and with an effort to suppress a smile ofbland amusement, I arose and greeted my new-comers--the Merivales!Alice glided towards me with an air of imposing consciousness, andthrust a tiny, gloved hand into mine, and then with a graceful gestureshe turned towards her companion and murmured faintly, "my cousin, Miss Holgate--Miss Hampden. "

I bowed and smiled, and directed them to convenient seats, thesituation was becoming more and more trying to my inclination to laughoutright. When we were all three comfortably deposited in our chairs, Alice Merivale turned her beaming countenance languidly towards me andremarked that "it was a perfectly lovely aufternoon, " and while Ismiled my eager corroboration, her cousin surreptitiously observed, that it was "fairly delicious. "

Then followed exclamations over my long absence, and questions toonumerous ever to require answers, they were much more finished talkersthan their predecessors, and when I thought we had touched upon everysubject which could interest us mutually, Alice asked in a mostinsinuating tone if I had "known Florrie Grant before I went away toto school?"

Florrie and Carrie Grant were the slighted heroines who had just goneout. Fully alive to the import of her question, I affected a mostplacid expression of countenance and voice, and answered that I hadnot. 

"I thought so, " she remarked with an incisive smile, lookingsignificantly at her cousin, then changing her tone to one of mostprovoking haughtiness, she drooped her white lids over a daintilyplush satchel she held between her hands and drawled out a languid

"How do you like her?"

I felt that I was taking in Miss Merivale's tone and words and meaningwith a wincing suspicious glance. I was being initiated, and thesensation was so utterly different from anything I had everexperienced before, that my self-control suffered a momentarysuspension, when words came to me I used them with a particularemphasis. 

"I think I shall like her very much, " I answered, "when I have seenmore of her. I never like to judge people according to earlyimpressions, " I continued, looking straight at the ottoman before me, "because people so often appear to disadvantage at first, " but myarrow fell flat to the ground. Miss Merivale had not enough acumen todetect anything personal in the innuendo; resuming her incisive smileshe exclaimed quietly

"Oh, but _some_ people you know, Miss Hampden, are always the same, they have only one set of manners, of course I don't mean to say thatthe Grants are any of these, indeed I _never do_ say _anything_against _anyone_. Florrie, I believe, is a very nice little girl, inher set, of course I don't know much about her as _I_ have never mether anywhere. "

"Oh, no! None of _our_ friends know her, " Miss Holgate broke in with arelish. 

The elder girl frowned at this indiscreet remark, and interrupted itwith grave remonstrance, saying

"Hush, Edith! You shouldn't talk quite so plainly, " then with awonderful tact in one so young she lit up her face with a happyexpression, appropriate to her change of subject, and asked:

"Where does Mrs. Hampden think of spending the summer, this year?"

I could vouch no information on this point, as, I had not troubled toput the question to my step-mother myself, and so, after relating tome in a somewhat confidential tone, all the plans and projects whichher Mama and her Aunt Ada had arranged for their holiday season, andtheir strong temptation to try Riviere du Loup, where so manyfashionable people were said to be retiring just then, she finallyarose, and with an emphasized request that I would "run in" withoutthe least ceremony, to see her at any time, she bowed herself mostgracefully out of the room, followed by her younger and lesssophisticated relative. 

I need hardly say what turn the rising tide of my impressions andopinions took about this time. To one who had passed from thecheerless, loveless guardianship of a worldly step-mother, into thetender hands of patient and devoted sisters, to become, instead of awandering, uncared for waif, the object of the truest and holiestsolicitude that ever animated Christian hearts, this hollow mockery offashionable life was nothing more than a matchless absurdity. 

Had I grown up to this, in the unpropitious atmosphere of my own home, I daresay such phases of existence would have come upon me quitenaturally, and without my ever stopping to question their real orrelative solidity. But the "twig" had been differently inclined, byhands more worthy of training tender, susceptible off-shoots. Wherecan frail young innocence find a safe, secure and profitable refuge, from the destroying influence of evil, if not within convent walls? Itis there, or nowhere, that girlhood, growing, aspiring girlhood, ripens into a glorious womanhood. There, go hand in hand thedevelopment of mind, and what is more necessary, if possible for awoman, the cultivation of heart. Everyone who looks about him in thesocial world, and gives a moment of calm consideration to what he seesand hears, cannot but admit, that though surrounded by a vast fieldfor active and profitable labour, and with multiplied favours ofcircumstances thrown in their way, our girls lead comparativelyuseless lives, as if they were a recremental fraction of the humanrace, than which, indeed, many are no better, since they choose tolead such lives as can be fruitful of no direct benefit to themselvesor their fellow-mortals. 

It is not because a woman is excluded (rightly or not) from the morepublic arena of active life, that her energies need become paralyzedand wasted. It is not because the popular idea of propriety would denyher the right or opportunity to do great things for society or for thestate, in the same way as men are expected to do them, that she cannotwork her own great or little wonders in a quieter, but yet more directmanner. 

It is acknowledged that hers is the mission of the heart; it isadmitted that her sphere is in the family, and what is the mightiestcommonwealth in the world, but a family of families. Ah me! It is adark day with humankind when the sphere of a woman's action liesrigidly between her toilet table and the drawing-room. 

The proof that such limits as these are both unlawful and unnatural, is, that our women who are confined within them, are conscious intheir hearts of the wrong they are doing the world and themselves. Conscience is not yet an extinct, though it is fast becoming anunpopular and unfashionable faculty, and men and women play thePharisee with a deep sense of their own worthlessness and littlenessgnawing at their spirit all the while. 

I had been taught all this in time, and as early as my first vacationat home, among the fashionable juveniles of my step-mother's circle, Ihad begun to submit my valuable precepts to profitable practice. Myfirst callers taught me a very wholesome lesson which I have held uponthe surface of my memory through all these years. 

Whenever I have witnessed a repetition of that early experience, thepast has come forcibly back to me, with all the golden admonitions ofmy school-days, and I have felt myself stimulated anew, towards thesteady pursuit of those social virtues which are the outgrowth ofChristian charity, and a generous, impartial discrimination. 

I have met many Alice Merivales, since my youth, who cast theirstylish shadows ominously over the lives of many a Florrie Grant, andI have tried to sustain the weaker one, whenever it was in my power, the evil, I regret to see, is unabating. A new generation of littlemaidens is springing up around us, are they, too, destined to followthe beaten track their elders have trodden so unworthily? Will they betaught these nice discriminations between wealth and no wealth? Mustthey, too, meet a struggling gentility with a haughty, overbearingcarriage, and elbow out less independent aspirants, whom somecapricious fortune has brought within their contact? Does one littlestar in the vault above shine less brightly or twinkle less gladlybecause myriads of others do likewise? After all, what vainglory needthere be in accidents of birth or fortune. They are not virtuallyours, they have been given to us, and rest upon a changing wind that, to-morrow, may waft them far out of our Reach or sight forever. 

 "All flesh is grass; and all its glory fades Like the fair flower dishevelled in the wind, Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream!"

To attack this evil, at its root, is to expose one of the mostpowerful defects of our times, for no one can deny that this spiritwhich prevails among so-called well-bred people, is the evident resultof that "little learning" which is "a dangerous thing. " Of this Ibecame more strongly convinced as I grew older. 

My summer vacation was not long in coming to an end. I had whiled awaysome happy hours, and days and weeks, forming fleeting pleasures andseeing novel sights. My brother Freddie had entered very sparinglyinto my pleasures, as our tastes were vastly different, and his healthon the whole rather delicate, he was a pretty boy in a sailor costume, when I saw him after our long separation, with mild blue eyes and apallid countenance. He was sickly looking, with an expression ofhelpless peevishness about his otherwise pleasing mouth; his hair waswavy and of a golden colour, and his hands were thin and white, likethose of a baby girl. 

His mother persuaded herself that in multiplying and dwelling upon hiscomplaints, she was caring for him with affectionate solicitude, andto be told that he was not looking well, was enough to convinceFreddie that his life was hanging upon a thread, and that he mustswallow powders and pills without a question or a grimace. 

One morning towards the end of August, about a fortnight before myreturn to school, I heard my step-mother remark in a fretful tone that"Freddie's old symptoms" were "beginning to threaten him again, " andthat she "must send for Dr Campbell to come and see him. "

I looked up with some astonishment from the book which I was reading, and ventured to ask. 

"Cannot papa cure him?"

"I suppose he could, " she answered, "if he were not his father, butFreddie won't listen to his papa's directions, and cannot be persuadedto take the remedies he prescribes--besides, " she continuedapologetically, "when your father was away last fall and Freddie had avery miserable attack, I called in Dr. Campbell, and he cured him in afortnight, he is very clever, " she added with slow emphasis, straightening a fancy panel on the mantelpiece by which she stood. There was silence for a few moments, as I went on reading. 

"And he is by far the most popular person in the city, " my step-motherbroke forth again, sinking into a seat near the window and folding herarms I looked up, but did not close my book. 

"Who?" I asked indifferently. 

"Dr. Campbell, to be sure, " she answered a little snappishly, piquedthat I had not paid more attention to her favorite subject. Stillunwilling to drop the topic without having done it fuller justice, shewent on, half in soliloquy. 

"He is not married either, and has the best practice here; besidesbeing courted by everybody who is anything. I am confident that theHunters, and those people, call him in for mere trifles, just tocultivate his friendship. I know that Laura Hunter is fairly wildabout him--and she is a chronic dyspeptic, luckily, " my step-motheradded with a malicious chuckle. 

"Poor girl!" I exclaimed with well feigned sympathy, "I should thinkshe would not care to see any one she liked under such tryingcircumstances. "

"Neither does she--_except Dr Campbell_--she digests him so well thather family would like to see her live upon him altogether. "

I began to see that I was serving as a target for my step-mother'sridicule of something which wounded her jealous tendencies, she knewthat I could make no retort for or against the absent ones at whomthese sly missiles were being aimed. I knew nothing of thecircumstances so broadly treated by her, and I therefore kept silent, and applied myself to my book with renewed interest, and left mystep-mother mistress of the field--there was no glory in the conquest, to speak of. 

Towards four o'clock of the same afternoon Freddie and I were seatedupon the library floor, matching some very irregular blocks that, whenrightly fitted together, would display to our eager eyes the vividlycoloured representations of that classic and time-honoured tale knownas the "Death and burial of Cock Robin. "

We were progressing slowly, and had reached that very important partwhere the "fly, " as an ocular witness, gives his substantial andstraightforward evidence. I had a little narrow block between myfingers, and was glancing carefully among the unused pieces for itsmate, repeating abstractedly all the while:

 "I, said the fly, With my little eye I saw him die. "

"I, said the fly, with my little"--here the library was thrown open, and my step-mother, accompanied by a strange gentleman, walkedlaughingly into the room. 

"Here are both my babies!" she exclaimed with a well feigned air ofproud maternity, as she came towards us. "Are they not good littlechildren?" she asked in grand condescension, looking up into thestranger's face, then turning abruptly around she said in her formaltone

"Amelia, this is Dr. Campbell. "

I had sprung to my feet at sight of the intruders and stood distantlyin the shadow of the window curtains. I was conscious of lookingflushed and indignant, and did not relish the situation from any standpoint. The sing-song testimony of the fly was still ringing in myears, and I knew how very undignified and ridiculous it must havesounded to an uninterested stranger coming in suddenly upon us in thisway. 

Instead of going forward, therefore, with the careless simplicitybecoming my years, I merely inclined my head from where I stood, andgot perceptibly redder in the face. I must have looked up, since Iafterwards remembered the tall serious man standing like a dark shadowin the doorway, but this was the only impression of him I couldrecall. While he was bending over Freddie in professional solicitude, I effected a stealthy retreat by the door that led into the garden andsaw no more of him. 

In less than a month afterwards I was bending over my Algebra in thestudy hall of the dear old Abbey, striving most perseveringly tomaster an obstinate, unknown quantity that baffled me considerably. Idid not suspect that I was then setting myself a double task of thisnature, or that many another girl, besides myself, had first begun tochase some "unknown" phantom through the intricate stages of life atthe same time that she was puzzling over the hidden meaning of analgebraic equation. 

I had worked at my task with a steady perseverance for nearly an hour, but other things distracted me and I could not succeed with it. I laidone cheek pensively in the palm of my idle hand and with the other, which held my busy pencil, I played a random tattoo on my desk. Beforeme on my paper was a confused multitude of a's and y's and z's which Ihad failed to master with any satisfaction, although I had repeatedmany a patient effort with placid, hopeful, good-humor. 

Other thoughts quite alien to the subject I was then studying, beganto suggest themselves as a sort of refreshment to my mind. My vacationat home among worldly people and pursuits seemed to have thrown openbefore my eyes the hitherto undreamt of arena of active experience, and whether I willed it or not my memory dwelt persistently atintervals upon all I had seen, and heard, and done during the fleetingsummer months. 

In a few moments I was far outside the limits of Notre Dame Abbey, hovering in spirit around the neighborhood of my home, calling upthose faces and forms that had impressed me more than others. I wentback to the embarassing meeting with Dr Campbell in the library, andas I thought over it I felt the warm blood rising within me andsuffusing both my cheeks, as it is wont to do when any of the blundersof my life come back to me in my reverie. 

What was most vexing to all in this case was that I could not resolvemy floating memories of him into any definite outline or form, he wasa mere shadow to me, that had flitted across my way for a short momentand then left me bewildered and wondering. 

I was rudely awakened from my reflections by the loud unmusicalsummons of the class bell which set up a prolonged and monotonousringing just as I was struggling with all my vaguest and mostuncertain recollections of the much talked-of Dr Campbell. 

I arose with my task undone and went listlessly down to theclass-room. I could not help the dissatisfied mood which crept over meas I strolled lazily along the corridors and down the windingstairway. I felt myself suspended between two distinct lives since myreturn to school, two lives that ran as widely apart as the streams ofthe old and new world. The common-place reality of one was a constantand rather unwelcome intruder upon the dreamy uncertainty of theother, and I stood midway between the powers and attractions of both, a neutral, passive, and helpless victim. 

As might be expected I was one of Sister Andre's "black sheep" ordilatory pupils that morning. When our Algebra class was called I felthumbled and fallen. It was the first time for many years that AmeyHampden had been backward in her lessons, and what was worse, therewere girls in my section who had looked forward with an eager desireto a day when my conquering spirit would be baffled. 

I could detect a gathering expression of the meanest gratification onmore faces than one as I stood up to accuse myself, without anyjustification whatever, of having brought my task unprepared to theschool-room. The words almost stifled me. I fain would have pleadedillness or some other false reason for my transgression. Nothingseemed so dreadful as to provoke a sneer from my unworthy rivals. 

I could feel myself losing ground even at that moment, I, who had feltmyself so secure in my superiority, now saw myself threatened with amost inglorious downfall--a mere trifle in the eyes of the matured andsophisticated worldling who has had to do battle with some of the mostmerciless freaks of fate, but every ambitious student knows that sucha crisis as this, under circumstances such as these, tries his moralendurance, which is yet necessarily very limited, as severely as alike turning-point, on a grander scale, tested that of a Caesar or aBonaparte. 

I had made my own little conquests, and had established myself as aleading power among my fellow-students, in a way, maybe, I took a vainpleasure in my own successes which, after all, were only the lawfulperformances of my duty, but then, it is a very plausible thing forpeople to do what is expected of them now-a-days, and I had reaped abountiful harvest of recompense for my diligence and assiduity. 

However, I now saw plainly the truth of the proverbial warning that"Pride must have a fall, " and I resolved to bear up as bravely andworthily as my self-control would allow me. It seemed to me thatSister Andre's tone had never been so encouraging, or so partial, asshe said:

"I see these examples are very intricate, young ladies; I am afraid Iwill have to call upon Miss Hampden to solve them for us. "

Some of my rivals exchanged sarcastic glances. My hour had arrived! Istood boldly up and turned towards the dais upon which our mistresswas seated. 

"I have not prepared them, Sister Andre, " I answered, in a clear, steady voice. Just then a tall, slender girl, with dark eyes and hair, who was seated opposite to me, and whom I had never seen in our classbefore, rose from her seat and went up to Sister Andre's throne. Shespoke to her in a low, inaudible tone for a few short moments, andthen went back as quietly, and resumed her place. 

Sister Andre followed the stranger with a wistful glance, and thenturned her eyes upon me. 

"It is all right, Amey, " she said, gently, "to-morrow will do. "

I sat down in a state of dumb confusion, feeling dazed and mystified. Something urged me to affirm I had no valid reason for being excused, and looking across towards my apparent benefactor for some vagueexplanation of her conduct, I saw a re-assuring, encouragingexpression in her eyes as they met mine, so I merely smiled and saidnothing. 

That evening when supper was over and the hour of recreation hadarrived, I walked to the end of the pillared hall, where our new pupilstood gazing aimlessly out of a window that looked into our summerplay-ground, at the rear of the convent, she did not hear myapproaching step, apparently, for she never moved until I slipped myarm gently within her own and whispered:

"I have come to thank you for the great service you have done meto-day. "

She started suddenly and looked up at me with the loveliest brown eyesI ever saw, a smile crept into the corners of her rich red lips, whichbroke asunder quietly and somewhat sadly, revealing, as they did so, two rows of pretty, even teeth. Whether or not, I was partiallydisposed to admire her on account of the sentiments with which Iapproached her, I must admit that I thought I never saw such a visionof sparkling, feminine beauty in my life as she presented at thatmoment. 

"Oh, Miss Hampden, " she exclaimed, with a suspicion of a prettyforeign accent "don't speak of it, please, I realized your tryingsituation, and thought I knew something of the cause that provokedit. "

She had turned from the window and was toying familiarly with the bluebadge which, as a member of the Sodality of the Blessed Virgin, I havealways worn, her words surprised me, and I asked with an undisguisedcuriosity. 

"What did you know, Miss. ----?"

"Not _Miss_" she interrupted, while I stopped, not knowing what nameto call her by, "Hortense, " she emphasized, "Hortense de Beaumont, that is my name. "

"Well, Hortense, then, " I repeated, "what did you know about me?"

She lifted her fine, lustrous eyes to mine, but this time they werewistful and penetrating; then, taking my hand impulsively, she led meto a bench that stood a little away from us, saying:

"Come and I will tell you, Amey--for I am going to call you Amey, " sheput in parenthetically. We sat down, and without preamble myinteresting friend went on in her pretty foreign way to tell me thefollowing. 

"You see, Amey, " she began, "I arrived only last night at this conventand I have come from such a long way. Oh! I was tired and _ennuyee_when I reached here, and then every face was so strange. Oh! it wasdreadful" she exclaimed ardently, clasping her small white hands andlooking eagerly into my face. "I could not sleep at all, you mayimagine, " she continued, resuming the thread of her narrative, "andthis morning I felt fatigued again and quite lonesome. I went into thestudy-hall because I had nothing to do with myself, and, do you know, Amey, " she said with renewed earnestness, "when I saw you, it was soqueer, I felt sure that I knew you already. Your face was so familiar. I looked at you all the time, while you sat bending over your task, but you never looked at me. I was asking questions to myself aboutyou; I thought I should remember you, and while I was noticing youlike that, you halted suddenly in your work and began to think, andthen--oh! your face _was_ like one that I have seen somewhere, andthat I cannot now remember I knew that your thoughts had changedquickly, and dwelt no longer on your books, " she said smiling andlaying her hand gently on my two that were folded in my lap, "Theywere far away, perhaps with mine, and Amey, I liked you so much then, I did want to speak to you, but the bell just rang, and we went downto the class-room. When Sister Andre asked for the algebra class, Iknew you would not be pleased, and looking at you eagerly, I sawdisappointment and vexation in your face. I went up then to SisterAndre, and said 'Do not blame Miss Hampden if she is backward thismorning, it is hardly her fault. I will explain it to you betterby-and-bye, Sister, ' I said, and indeed" Hortense concluded, gesticulating prettily with both her slender hands, "it was not yourfault, as Sister Andre agreed with me when I told her of it after. "

Her eyes sparkled with a _piquante_ brightness as she finished herinteresting little story. There was a rich crimson spot on each duskycheek, and her red lips were parted in a bewitching smile. I wasenraptured, and told her, without the slightest reserve, the wholeprospect which was looming up so darkly before me had she not come tomy rescue. 

"At the same time, Hortense, " I argued, "I think you like me andsympathize with me, under a false conviction. You have surely neverseen me before, and I most certainly have never laid eyes upon youuntil now. If I had, I should not be likely to forget it, " I said, insinuating something of the profound admiration, with which herravishing beauty inspired me, in my tone as I did so. 

"O you will make me too proud, Amey!" she exclaimed so innocently, that I leaned over and touched her peach-like cheek with my lips. Shecoloured still more, as I did so. I noticed it, and I said:

"I will never tell you anything but the truth Hortense, will we befriends enough for this?"

"Oh, yes! Surely we will be friends, " she answered warmly, "not nowonly, but always, will we not?" she urged warmly. I need not say howreadily I agreed, and from that moment Hortense de Beaumont and I wereall in all to each other. 

CHAPTER IV

That there is some subtle sweetness in a true and stable friendship, no one can dare deny. It is divinely ordained that men's and women'slives will cross each other at certain stations on the long andoftentimes tedious journey of experience, and independent of either ofthem, a secret and mysterious influence, the exponent of an inherentChristian sympathy, will work its changes on their human hearts as themoulder on the yielding substance between his able fingers. I holdthat the friendship of which I speak is fruitful of more realhappiness in the world than any other influence of which we mortalsare susceptible, and I am well sustained in my belief. 

But though so wide a field is granted to our friendship, and though itmay reveal itself under a plurality of aspects to those who seek it, strange to say, the world knows very little about it. We speak of itas of some regretted treasure that has been long lost to humanity. Weare half convinced that the lightning speed of modern civilization hasbeen too much for it, and that it is destined for time to come, tocreep on apace within the range of our backward glance, but neverwithin reach of our grasp. 

And all the while we are only building up an opaque and dreary barrierthat will shut out much of the summer sunshine from our daily lives oftoil and trouble. Men and women who could make each other's burdens ofsorrow fewer and lighter by a mutual sympathy and devotedness, lookabove each other's heads in the hurrying crowd and pass by each other, shoulder to shoulder, wearing a mask of calm and cold neutrality overhearts that are glowing with an unspoken kindness and affection. 

"A woman, " says Bulwer, "if she be really your friend, will have asensitive regard for your character, honor and repute. She will seldomcounsel you to do a shabby thing, for a woman friend always desires tobe proud of you. She is, " he further observes, "to man _presidium etdulce decus_, bulwark, sweetness, ornament of his existence. "

And indeed his words and their import are most rational andself-sustaining. It is no longer a matter of private or personalopinion to decide whether the friendship of a truly good womanbenefits the man upon whom she bestows it or not. There are too manystriking arguments in her favor, thrown by the surging tide ofcircumstances upon the surface of life's agitated waters, to allow adoubt to assail her. Too often, within our own memory even, has theslender yet firm hand of a woman been seen outstretched to snatch thelife of a brother, husband or friend from the sluggish and perilousstream which runs slowly but surely on towards a hopeless ruin. "Themere idea, " says George Eliot, "that a woman had a kindness towardshim, spun little threads of tenderness from out his heart towardshers" and "there are natures, " she tells us, "in which, if they loveus, we are conscious of having a sort of baptism and consecration;they bind us over to rectitude and purity by their pure belief aboutus, and our sins become that worst kind of sacrilege which tears downthe invisible altars of trust. If you are not good, none is good. Those little words may give a terrific meaning to responsibility, mayhold a vitriolic intensity for remorse. " Will anyone dispute it?Moreover, it is the teaching of the only true philosophy by which menshould regulate their interior selves: that we "love one another, "that we mutually assist and encourage one another, that we sympathisewith each other in our joy and sustain one another in sorrow. Now, where a natural sympathy paves the way for the practice of this lessonof charity, how easy it is for men to bestow a beautiful livinginterpretation upon the Divine ordination concerning our mutualrelationships. 

The idea that a staunch and unswerving friendship is capable ofexisting between two women has become quite obsolete and exploded inour day. It is generously admitted that the frivolous tendencies whichare innate in us have too much of the upper hand to sanction anysentiment which pre-supposes a self abnegation or exalteddisinterestedness on our part. This is a serious heresy which maypossibly be accounted for simply enough. 

It is a well-attested fact, especially since the sacred precincts ofestablished truth have been raided by every puerile pedant andsciolist who can handle a pen, that any absurdity whatever, so long asit is clad "in the lion's skin" and no matter how loudly it brays, hassome fatal claim upon the rambling credulity of the multitude. And amethod of reasoning, though resting upon a general assertion which isutterly false, has won its own disciples time and again with an easyeffort. 

Even in this trifling stigma which denies us women the privilege ofbeing faithful to one another it is easy to see how a fraction oftruth has been led astray. It is the outgrowth of a high-soundingsyllogism, which deduces the sweeping general assertion that "allwomen are traitors" from the more limited one, which is unfortunatelytrue and deplorable, that some women are traitors. Nevertheless, Ifail to see what relationship can possibly exist between the two partsof the syllogism. The general is as undeniably false as the particularis undeniably true. 

I cannot conceive what pleasure human beings can derive from aconviction into which they have coaxed themselves by earnest labor, which has for its object the total destruction of their natural andsimple faith in their fellow creatures. We are all of us innocentuntil by our words or deeds we are branded guilty And we have anunquestionable right to the respect of other men so long as it has notbeen forfeited by such actions as are reckoned misdemeanors in thesocial world. 

Hortense de Beaumont and I signed our treaty of friendship before wehad, either of us, awakened to a suspicion of those probableimpediments which the world is so fond of bringing face to face withany established mutual attachment of ardent hearts. It was enough forme that a sweet, confiding simplicity looked trustfully out of thedepths of her brown eyes and hovered with unconscious witchery aroundher pretty red lips. The very way in which she raised her beautifulchin, so hopefully, so winningly, when she talked, would haveconquered me, independent of her other attractions. Although therewere no fascinating depths to my grey eyes, and no witchery, naturalor artificial, in the smile my lips afforded, Hortense, I venture tosay, fully reciprocated the love and trust which I so earnestlybestowed upon her. There was no uncertainty about our friendship, nowavering, no questioning, no doubt. The embers glowed with a strongand steady and cheerful intensity, and we sat before them basking intheir comfortable warmth, and sheltering our hearts from the chillingcoldness of the world without. Oh! these were happy days thatcompensated for all the loneliness I had endured in my childhood. After all, I had only been treasuring up my desire for companionshipand not sacrificing it, which made my sentiments only the more ardentwhen an opportunity came at last to indulge them. Looking back fromthat sunlit eminence upon the shadowy years of my previous life, I wasable to smile and forget everything, in the blissful consciousnessthat a rare, undreamt-of happiness had overtaken me after all, and hadflooded my lot with its dazzling loveliness; and even now I see itstanding prominently above all the other varied epochs of my life Ican follow with a distinct remembrance, one day after another as theymerged into a riper period of my existence, the spot where a shadowfirst came over the sunshine of our lives has never been a past to me. 

I remained at Notre Dame Abbey pursuing my studies devotedly until Iwas upon the threshold of my twentieth year. A letter from my fatherthen arrived, bidding me make whatever preparations my departure wouldnecessitate, that at the end of the autumn session he would come totake me home for good. This was a sad and unexpected surprise for me. I had just begun to be fascinated by my studies, which were now ofquite a dignified nature. I might as well add, since it cannot butprovoke a bland and suggestive smile from masculine erudition, that Ihad actually taken up moral philosophy, and aspired to distinguishmyself later as a metaphysician of some repute. But alas! for thevanity of human purposes and desires, this empty little note of myfather's came like the chillest wintry blast and smothered the smallcreeping flame of my newly awakened ambition. I pleaded and prayed foran extension of time, but the ultimate explanation was a ratherlengthy epistle from my step-mother, in which she adduced mostpersuasively that "there was no help for it, that I must come home. "Canada had changed administrators, and somebody very distinguished wasexpected to replace the old Governor-General. It was a most propitiousand opportune occasion for me to make my _debut_ in society, and, allthings considered, I had had quite enough instruction now to fit mefor an honorable position in the world. 

How foolishly and vainly assiduous I had been! An honourable position, according to that respectable authority, was literally no position atall. Its preliminary stage was that of an idle pleasure-seeker; itsmore progressive, that of an artful husband hunter, and itssummit--ah! its summit was where she stood herself, and where adeplorable percentage of our society wives and mothers are standing orstrutting about with their brilliant plumage expanded, airing theirsilly pride and lisping out in self-laudatory accents the story oftheir empty achievements in society. 

Yes, it was true for her that I had received plenty of instruction forthe mission which she had reserved for me, but in spite of her, now, Iwas far outside the limit of her power over me. Not that I waspredisposed to cross her plans and wishes with an obstinate perversityas of old. I had grown too sensible for that now; but I knew thateducation always carries an unquestionable independence about with it, which asserts itself firmly, though calmly, in the lace of polishedignorance. I felt that I was now superior to my step-mother by rightof that cultivation, more even of heart than of mind, which had neverbeen bestowed upon her. The good Sisters of Notre Dame had lifted meout of the chaos of fashionable ignorance, and had given me a forcibleimpetus towards that rising hill of knowledge, whence I could lookdown upon the fate I had escaped, with a proud and tender gratitude. Without further ado, therefore, I wrote back a reply declaring that Iwould be ready to leave my happy convent home at the period indicated, and, inserting an artfully-worded hope that they would not bedisappointed with the fruits of my scholastic labors, I signed myselftheir most obedient and respectful daughter. 

In three months from that eventful date the gas-light of the CanadianSenate Chamber was falling upon my white brocaded Watteau train, as Iadvanced towards the throne where our courteous Governors stand everywinter, with a patience and forbearance worthy of a better cause. Anofficer in glistening regimentals looked at my card through hiseyeglass, and dutifully called out "Miss Hampden, " while I bowed, andfollowed the motley procession of young and old, that were wendingtheir way to the galleries above. 

I was no longer a child, no longer a school-girl in the eyes of theworld, but a "young lady" with ambitions and desires attributed to mewhether I thought of them or not. 

It was late in November when I bade farewell to Notre Dame Abbey, never more to darken its hallowed threshold as a pupil. That partingwas one of the saddest recollections which my memory treasures. Everyhall and stairway, every nook and corner of that solemn old building, were bound to my heart by closest ties. It is strange how much deeplove we have to spare for places and things that enter largely intoour lives. For my part, I know that the dear old Abbey has a claimupon my affections which no power on earth can lessen or destroy. 

I left Hortense after me, and while she remained I was always withher--not in flesh and blood indeed, but, better still, in heart andmind and soul, shadowing her wherever she went, and revelling in thesame sweet companionship still, though a great distance stretchedbetween us. 

Hortense and I said our first good-bye on the 25th of November, thefeast of the glorious Saint Catherine. The evening meal was over, andthe long procession of happy, laughing girls had passed out of therefectory into the spacious recreation hall, where first I spoke to mydear little friend. Hortense and I lingered behind. I had only onehour more to spend with her, and it seemed that a great deal yetremained unsaid. From where we stood we could plainly hear the buzz ofringing voices in the crowded room beyond. There was unusual rejoicingto-night, for it was a _conge_ in honor of Saint Catherine, but thejoyful confusion seemed only to throw our mutual sadness into morepronounced relief, and for awhile we stood in silence, hand in hand, half-shrouded in the darkness of the outer doorway. Then Hortensesaid, in a tremulous whisper. 

"Let us go into the chapel. "

I took her arm tenderly, and we passed quietly along the dimly litcorridor that led into the main portion of the building. A single gasjet burned in the large square hall outside. We hurried across it, forthe glare was unwelcome to the tear-stained faces of both, all wassilent and still as death. Hortense opened the chapel doornoiselessly, and we glided in. Darkness here too, and yet notdarkness, for great giant shadows leaped over the vacant pews, andchased one another over the cold, white keys of the organ. Thesanctuary light was flickering fitfully in its crystal bowl, andpeopling the holy precincts with phantom worshippers. Gleams ofsilvery moonlight flooded the farther end, and brought out toadvantage every hoary blade and tree and flower that lay upon theglistening window panes. If we had needed inspiration from externalthings at this moment, how easily we could have received it. But therewas not a fibre within us that was not already awake to suchsoul-stirring influences. We went on tiptoe towards the altar-rail, and knelt upon the topmost step. To tell what followed would be tointrude upon the sacredness of the soul's privacy. Suffice it to saythat for some solemn moments we knelt and prayed together, eachknowing well what to ask from Him who has promised that they who "askshall receive. " When my petition was ended I turned and looked atHortense. She was praying still, her thin white hands were clasped andrested on the rail before her. Her eyes were raised towards theCrucifix that stood over the Tabernacle, her lips were slightlyparted, and a deep crimson spot glowed on each beautiful cheek. Ibecame spell-bound for a moment, wondering whether in Heaven she couldlook any lovelier; but as I gazed upon her she raised her slender handand blessed herself. Her prayer was over and it was surely heard. 

Half an hour after this I stood robed in my warm furs awaiting myfather's arrival. I had said my adieux to teachers and school-mates, and was now drying my eyes for the hundredth time in expectation of asummons to leave hurriedly. At last there was a stamping of horses'hoofs on the cold, frozen ground outside, followed by a violentringing of the door-bell. The hour had come. 

I stood hastily up. Now that the end was near where was the use ofdelay. I took Hortense's tearless face between my trembling hands andstooped to kiss her for the last time. I had determined to be brave atthis moment but I said "good-bye" in a broken sob and two large tearsfell upon her pale cheeks from my quivering lashes. She did not brushthem away but looking earnestly into my eyes said in a low eager voiceas though she were finishing her thought aloud. 

"And we will always be friends like this, Amelia, in spite of distanceor anything?"

"Always, " I answered as her lips lay upon mine and then we parted. 

CHAPTER V. 

From the quiet, peaceful routine of a convent life I was whirled intothe maddest and wildest confusion, at least such did it seem to methen, when I was unsophisticated, and ignorant of the ways in whichfashionable womanhood develops itself. 

My step-mother went through my wardrobe making incredible additionsand alterations, informing me as she did so that I would be thecynosure of many searching eyes when I appeared in the drawing-roomswhich she frequented. I also received many graceful hints as to whatwas expected of me in conversation and demeanour, and I did not needany assistance whatever to realize that I was a sort of speculation, that I would carry an insinuation of my father's wealth and mymother's position about with me wherever I went. I was not given tounderstand or to fear that my own intrinsic worth would likely be theobject of any serious consideration. My step-mother encouraged me bysaying that "Alice Merivale was out before me and was quite a success, and all I had to do was to renew my early friendship with her" or inother words to play the parasite as prettily as I knew how. Aboutthis, however, I had made up my mind before I appeared in the busyarena of fashionable society. Twice a week now I put on some of myexpensive new toilets and went with my step-mother in our handsomeconveyance to make calls. I was presented to every one of any note, and drank tea in the best drawing-rooms the Capital could boast of. Sofar my step-mother looked happy. I had not been awkward atintroductions, nor dull in conversations. I had even made some verypithy remarks where they could do me most service, and knew the nameof a historic personage to whom Lady Pendleton alluded vaguely, forgetting his title. I was invaded in my turn on our reception day byall the wealth and beauty of the capital. Great, pompous dames inheavy mantles and rustling robes sat themselves down in imposingcondescension beside me to discuss the last dinner party at GovernmentHouse, or recite a series of domestic woes brought on by thatrefractory necessity--the cook. Simpering young ladies, and simperingladies that were no longer young, greeted me with a pretty, patronizing courtesy, and smiled upon my remarks as sweetly as wegrown people do at the crude observances of a prattling child. 

There was a time I must admit when I was only a child in the eyes ofsome of these maidens. When I was ten and they were twenty how farapart we stood in sympathies and tastes? But it is astonishing howrapidly youth overtakes maturity. Although the inevitable disparity ofyears can never be altered or overcome, the material differences whichnecessarily accrue from it are easily mastered. 

So far, the course of my new life ran smoothly and calmly on, but animpediment was looming up in the near distance. Mrs. Hartmann's cardswere out for her annual brilliant "At Home. " Every one was whisperingabout and speculating in a hopeful way, as people do when a grandsocial event of this nature is on the _tapis_. My step-mother spentthe whole of the day before among her fragments of small finery, re-arranging tumbled laces and trimmings, and sorting her handsomejewels. I gave my afternoon leisure to Hortense, writing her a mostminute and graphic account of my initiation into fashionable life, myprogress and its probable result. 

When the eventful night came and the gas was lighted all was hurry andflurry and confusion in our home. My step-mother and I repaired to ourrooms in quiet walking costumes which we had worn in the afternoon, and an hour or so later we emerged in the fullest ball-toilet. I wasready first, and gathering up my expensive train of satin and orientallace, I glided across the hall and tapped at my step-mother's bedroom. 

In answer to a faint "come in, " I admitted myself just in time to seethe faithful Janet bestowing her attention upon the bare, plumpshoulders of her mistress, who stood before her cheval glass in silentself-contemplation. 

She had only to fasten a necklet of diamonds at her throat, to gatherup her gloves and lace hand-kerchief and allow Janet to wrap her up inher downy opera cloak, and she was ready. As she turned from the glassher gaze fell fully upon me. I could see that she was notdisappointed, but her generous admiration in no way interfered withthe consciousness which filled her of her own superior dignity andgrace. She may have envied me my youth, for she was loth to grow oldamong these gay distractions, however, she only said "you'll do nicelyAmelia" and we left the room. 

We went down to the dimly-lit drawing-room where a cheerful fireburned in the polished grate, and my stepmother rang for tea. Thelittle French parlor maid appeared a moment later and laid the tinytable beside us. Two steaming cups stood invitingly on the tray, butbefore taking hers my step-mother suddenly remembered she had left herjewel case unlocked, and she hurried out of the room in a state ofanxious excitement. I turned my back to the fire and in utterabstraction riveted my gaze upon the butterfly handles of the teacups. I was thinking. Such circumstances as these always brought back mysimple yesterdays with a renewed force to my memory. I was thinking soprofoundly that I neither heard nor saw my father, who had appeared inthe doorway and was standing on the sheep-skin rug looking strangelyat me. 

I must have felt the power of his steady gaze, for suddenly and almostinvoluntarily, I raised my eyes and beheld him leaning against thepolished casement, the heavy red curtain over the entrance hangingloosely and gracefully behind him, making an effective background forhis white hair and pensive face. 

Seeing my reverie broken, he strode noiselessly across the room andstood beside me at the fire. The thought crossed my mind that therewas something unusual in his manner and expression to-night. He passedhis hand wearily over his brow and eyes, and as if in helplessobedience to some uncontrollable impulse he leaned forward and touchedhis firm dry lips to my cheek. 

I started, and why should'nt I? It was the first time my father hadever kissed me, at least so long as I could remember. I felt a deepblush creeping up to my very ears; in fact I was stupidly agitated, and he saw it. With a tenderness such as his voice had not known formany a year he said:

"Amey, you are a living, breathing vision of my happy past, to-night. I never saw such a likeness before. " His words sank into a whisper asmy step-mother's footfall sounded on the stairs outside. He heard it, and turning away left the room abruptly. I drank my cup of tea andprepared to leave as one moving about in a dream. This was one of thestrangest experiences I had ever had; some secret spring seemed tohave been magically touched within me, and all the pent-up love anddevotion of a life-time now flowed freely through my veins. I wasattracted most powerfully towards the cold, distant man whom I haddreaded all along, and whom I could have hated ardently had it notbeen a sin against nature. 

His words, though vague, had a clear and holy meaning for me. He mustthen have loved my dear dead mother, I thought fondly, when twentyyears of separation have not effaced her memory from his heart andmind. 

I was busy with these reflections as we drove through the streets ofthe city towards the Hartmann's residence, and I alighted at theirdoor with my eyes full of unshed tears. How strangely at odds we canbe with the circumstances of our daily lives. 

Very soon, however, I was obliged to dispel all such personal andintimate ruminations. I was no longer my own property to dispose of asI willed. I was standing in the doorway of the spacious ball-room witha circle of new-made gentlemen acquaintances around me; my father andhis wife stood a short distance from me and watched the proceedingswithout looking at them. 

"May I have the fifth Miss Hampden, " the very good-looking Mr. Haliburton was asking with a smile. 

"What is the dance?" I interrupted as he was about to scribble hisinitials. 

"A polka, " he replied with sweet urbanity. I shook my head negativelyand tried to look pleasantly sorry. He raised his perfect darkeye-brows in thorough astonishment and put in an exclamatory "Why?"

"No fast dances, " I said in a seriously playful tone, "I will give youthe sixth, it is a lancers. "

"Oh, this is too bad, " he argued earnestly, "however, " he continuedwith his peculiar, winning smile, "I am thankful for any. " He wrotehis name very badly on my programme, and mine on his, then with a mostgraceful bow made way for a new petitioner. 

I had nearly the same little dialogue with each hero that addressedme, and as there were but four slow dances on the programme for theevening, I was soon in a trying dilemma. Amiable and courteous asthese fashionable lions were acknowledged to be, they could not getthemselves to sacrifice the pleasure, great or small, which they foundin a waltz or polka, to sit the dance out quietly with a girl ofscruples and principles. 

I had to be satisfied, therefore, with the conviction that I wasdoomed to spend the greater part of the evening alone; and what wasmore consoling still, this being my first appearance at a ball, I wassure to be closely watched by many a fair rival. Already the music forthe opening dance was sounding. I was engaged for this one, and hadfor my vis-a-vis my step-mother and an imposing gentleman in heavyregimentals. My partner was an ordinary man of the period, of mediumheight, with common-place moustache and neatly trimmed side-whiskers, who made several differently worded remarks of the same meaning uponthe same subject. 

I was disposed not to enjoy this evening for many reasons, and I wasconscious of going through the figures of the dance automatically andtastelessly. I came back after each lady's chain to my tiresomepartner, wishing earnestly that it would soon be over. My step-motherdetected my listless manner, and came to me later, when the dance wasended and I had been left by the amiable Mr. Fawcett standing before apicture of Siddons which I was ostensibly admiring with enthusiasm. There was a becoming smile on the lace of my step-mother, as therealways was in fashionable company, but there was no sweetness in theanger which was interpreted by the quick, impatient words that flashedfrom behind the glittering plumes of her splendid fan into my ear:

"Don't make an idiot of yourself, " she said, hoarsely, coming up tome, and standing in a well-studied attitude before the picture I waslooking at. "It is unpardonable vulgar and rude of you to takeexception to any dances on the programme, as if Mrs. Hartmann wouldallow any impropriety where her own daughters are concerned. " She wenton fanning herself briskly, showing nothing of her indignation in herface. 

Without raising my eyes I answered quietly: "Do not excite yourselffor nothing, you may be sure I shall not disgrace you, but I amdetermined not to get into the arms of any of these men to-night. "

She moved away while I was speaking and I saw no more of her until wewere preparing to leave. During the dances that intervened between thequadrille and the lancers, that I had given to Mr. Haliburton, I hadamused myself as best I could, talking to some prosy relatives of thefamily who stood around the walls, and turning over the leaves of anartistic scrap-book that lay upon the broad window-sill at one end ofthe room. 

I was grateful when Mr. Haliburton came and took me away into thecrowd. I was beginning to feel tired of the situation and to wish Iwere safely at home. 

The second dance, however, was livelier than the first. My partner wasa vivacious flirt who made every one feel merry for a while, and Ibegan to enjoy it after we had gone through the first figure. We wereslower than the dancers next to us, who had finished and were waitingfor us, to change the music. I was advancing to my vis-a-vis, lookingaround the room at the same time, when my eyes suddenly fell. I sawsomeone in the distance watching my movements, someone who hadevidently just come in. He was not a young man, and yet he was hardlyold. I had not time to take further notice of his appearance, for themusic ceased and we began the last frolicsome figure of our dance. AsI passed into the conservatory later on Mr. Haliburton's arm I stole aglance towards the end of the room where this "somebody" had beenstanding, but he was gone. I need not have felt concerned and yet Idid. More than that, I was disappointed, and it was with an unfeignedweariness and impatience that I threw myself into the low, basketrocking-chair under a canopy covered with ivy to which Mr. Haliburtonconducted me. 

I was glad to see him go from me, though it was but for a moment; Iwould have time to reason with myself before he came back with theices. 

When I found myself alone, I no longer checked the heavy sigh that hadlain heavy in my breast all night. I leaned my head back against thevine-clad pillar behind me and almost sobbed. I was feeling miserable. A footfall somewhere made me spring into an erect, sitting postureagain. I took an ivy leaf between my fingers and toyed nervously withit I waited for a confirmation of my worst fears, that my step-motherhad followed me and heard me sigh, but there was no one. When all wasquiet again I ventured to look carefully around. The secret was out, on a rustic bench at the other side of my graceful canopy "somebody"was sitting alone. His profile met my full view, his pensive half-sadprofile. I looked at it for a moment and, springing up, I moved asidemy rocking chair and rushed towards him. 

"Mr. Dalton!" I cried out impulsively, and then stopped suddenlyshort--what if it were not he at all?

He turned and caught me in my attitude of suppressed excitement, thebench was between us. He held out both hands over its curved backsaying:

"Amey, is it you?"

There was a strange look as of a misty uncertain pleasure in his eyes. I gave him my small hands, for they were small when he had gatheredthem into his, and we looked at one another in silence for a fewmoments. 

"Come here and sit down beside me little one, " he said in his oldaffectionate way. "How you have grown!" he exclaimed, moving one endof the rustic seat to let me pass. I had forgotten all about Mr. Haliburton or any one else but Mr. Dalton; the glad surprise of seeinghim absorbed every other consideration. 

"Yes, but not changed, am I?" I put in, eagerly, sitting down besidehim and looking earnestly into his gravely glad face. 

"Yes, you are very much changed Amey, " he said in a serious yet tendervoice, "but, " he continued slowly, "I should recognize you all thebetter for the change. " His words were meaningless to me, but thenthey had always been so when we were friends long ago. "You arechanged too Mr. Dalton, " I retorted reciprocatingly. "At first I didnot know you at all, and it was only by rude staring that I managed toremember you. Where have you been all this time, that I have neverseen you?" I asked. 

"Rambling all over the world, " he answered dreamily. "And so youmissed me, did you?" he added, changing his tone to one of playfulenquiry. "Well, Amey, so have I missed you, at least I have oftenthought of you in my travels and wondered how you were getting on. Ineed not tell you, " he continued teasingly, "how often I have beenhaunted by the dreadful threat you made when I saw you last about--"

"Now, don't say any more, " I interrupted, "I remember all that wellenough. We are all a little silly sometime in our lives, " I alleged inself defence. 

"Poor Amey!" he said almost in a whisper, "you do not know how pronehuman nature is to folly--yet, when you are as old as I, you will havelearned something of it. "

"You speak as if you were very ancient, " I exclaimed, making little ofhis serious talk. 

"Well, " he broke in slowly, "I can't be very young now, when I hadAmey Hampden on my knee some fifteen years ago, but do not tell thatof me, like a good child, " he added in playful eagerness "for, being abachelor yet, you see, it might harm me. "

"Do you mean that it would excite formidable jealousies?" I askedrising, and laughing carelessly, and then, half sorry for havinguttered these words I diverted his attention from them by announcingmy wish to go inside. 

He arose, and accompanied me, with as much active gallantry as if hehad been twenty-five years younger. Leaning on his strong, stalwartarm, I passed into the crowded and confused ball-room feelingpeculiarly revived, and strangely happier than when I had left it ashort half-hour before. But I could not get rid of a suspicion thatwas forcing itself into my mind with regard to Mr. Dalton. There wascertainly some restraint over him, and the look in his clear, softblue eyes was not so steady as it used to be. And yet, what could Iexpect from him more than he had given me? I did not know, but itseemed that after our long, long separation, he ought not to be soquiet and silent. It is true that our place of meeting was a ratherunpropitious one, but this did not satisfy me. He was not quite theMr. Dalton that I remembered, that, as a child I had loved, and stillI felt proudly happy to lean on his powerful arm and exchangeoccasional glances and remarks with him. 

We walked through the ball-room where amusement was now at its zenith, and when we had reached the upper end Mr. Dalton paused and looked atthe gay scene before us. He had seemingly forgotten me, while histhoughts were busy with their own weaving. We had only been there amoment when my father advanced towards me accompanied by anothergentleman. 

"Amey, " he began before he had quite reached me, "have you forgottenour friend Dr. Campbell. "

I was sensibly confused as I withdrew my hand from Mr. Dalton's arm togive it to Dr. Campbell. I bowed and smiled as at our firstintroduction in the library at home, and I fear I was guilty even ofblushing, too. 

Mr. Dalton, seeing my attention diverted, bowed himself gracefullyaway. My father had vanished before him, and thus was I leftcompletely at the mercy of a trying circumstance. 

Dr. Campbell broke the awkward silence happily, saying:

"It cannot be for want of an introduction, Miss Hampden, that you andI are not friends. "

"No indeed, " I answered stupidly, not knowing very well what to say. 

"Are you dancing this evening, " he next asked, in a most composed tonewhich made me envy him. 

"Very little, " said I. "I am exclusive on that subject. "

"Which means that you will not honour me, " he interrupted blandly, looking questioningly into my face. 

"Oh, no!" I exclaimed seeing how misinterpreted my words were. "I meanwith regard to the dances, not the people. I do not like fast dances. "

"Neither do I particularly, " he answered, offering me his arm, "exceptwhen I sit them out. May I?" he asked in such a graceful deferentialway that I know I smiled approvingly as I slipped my hand within hisarm and went with him into the little ante-room opposite, where coalsglowed in the open fire-place and a soft rose-coloured light fell overall the delicate splendor of the furnishings. 

There were two heavy plush arm-chairs already drawn up to the fender, and Dr. Campbell moving one gently towards me, smilingly remarked that"we were evidently expected. "

I took one and he sank into the other with a gesture of pronouncedease. The light from the fire was full upon his face and form, andfeeling secure in the shadow of a fancy screen that had been shovedbeside my chair, I set myself earnestly to work to analyse thiswonderful man. 

He was passively handsome, with a large brow and very large, expressive eyes. They were blue, too, but not like Mr. Dalton's. Theywere dreamier and more attractive. His face was quite bronzed, and hisfine mouth was admirably set off by well-curved brown moustaches. Hischin was bare but for one little bit under the lower lip. He wascaressing this seeming favorite with one white, slender hand, almostfine enough for a lady's, while I observed him with keen scrutiny. Hewas an English Canadian, I learned that before I ever saw him, bornand bred under Canadian skies, but this implies little of his bias ordisposition. 

Canada has not yet shaken off the fetters of her great grandparentssufficiently to bring out in a clear, marked way her ownindividuality. Her native sons and daughters inherit too faithfullythe English, Irish, Scotch or French tenor of the characters of theirpredecessors to be able to grant to our ambitious country the nationalpeculiarities and idiosyncracies which she covets, in order to assertherself freely, as the mother of a people who bear her resemblancestamped upon their mental and moral features. When a country hassucceeded in fixing a seal upon the brow of every son that is born toher, she has secured the right of being paralleled, at least in onerespect, with the greatest nations of the world. In time, Canada willaccomplish this, for Canadians should be wonderful people. It bafflesher to-day, because it is a question of time, and in her incapacity toinfluence time, Canada is only equal to Caesar's Rome, or Victoria'sGreat Britain. 

There was a look of keen intelligence in Dr Campbell's countenancethat pleased me particularly, something so refreshing to see, afterall the vapid expressions of uneducated men. I could easily understandnow, how he gained that _prestige_ which made conquests for himwherever he went. Truly, I did not believe him a very widely informedman, but he was a man of fixed principles and a man of ambition. Moreover he had a wonderful _savoir-faire_ that carried him throughall sorts of adventitious circumstances gracefully. It is a clearcounterfeit of genuine acumen, and, with a world that knows no better, gets just as much favor and praise. 

During the fifteen minutes that we passed together in Mrs. Hartmann'scosy morning-room, with our feet on her polished brass fender, welearned much of one another's hidden selves, that people who had knownus both for years had failed to gather. 

I went to supper on Dr. Campbell's arm and gave him a rose from mybouquet. He saw us to our carriage when we were leaving, and promisedto call on the following Tuesday. 

This is a lengthy and tedious summary of my first and last ball. 

For I never went to another. What was the use? I was essentially outof place with my principles about dancing. My step-mother stormed andraged after the Hartmann's At Home, declaring that I had disgracedmyself and her; that such guests as I, were a burden to a hostess andan infliction on the rest of the company. All this, along with my ownprivate conclusions, went far towards helping me to make up my mind, once for all, that I had gone to my last "dance. " And to be candid Imust admit that it was no effort whatever for me to abstain from thesewould-be pleasures. They were literally not worth the fuss and troubleand expense of getting to them. But I went to other gatherings whichwere infinitely more enjoyable. I had many another _tete-a-tete_ withArthur Campbell before the winter was out. The last attraction beforeParliament closed was a "Musical" at the Merivales. 

CHAPTER VI. 

Alice Merivale had "come out" with the greatest eclat into our socialcircles. With wealth and beauty, grace and a certain number of showyaccomplishments, she had made conquests without the slightest efforton her part. She was a finished musician, and had a sweet, thrillingvoice. She talked pleasant nonsense, danced beautifully, flirted veryartfully, and altogether seemed the living embodiment of everyattribute which is calculated to endear a human creature to itsfellow-men. She even gave a peculiar tone to the circle she moved in, and it was quite a forcible guarantee that a gathering was select andmost exclusive if Alice Merivale was present. 

When I returned the second time from school to prepare myself for apublic life Alice Merivale was the first to call upon me. She came inquite unceremoniously one morning, looking very beautiful in asealskin mantle and hat, and declared in the prettiest manner possiblethat we must be great friends; we lived so near and had known eachother for such a long time that there should not be anything likeceremony between us. 

"I shall almost need you now that Aunt Ada is married and Edith hasgone to Germany" she argued in pretty plaintiveness. 

I liked this, though indeed, at the time it surprised me more than alittle. I had expected to find her developed into a feather-brained, affected young lady who was shortsighted in a great many ways. I hadnever been able to dissociate the early impression she made on me fromher later redeeming phases. Poor Florrie Grant vanishing out of thedoorway under Miss Merivale's sublime contempt came back to my memorytime and again, and I made up my mind that Alice Merivale and I couldnever claim to be kindred souls. 

But when I saw her after the lapse of some years and observed theperfection of her physical loveliness I could no longer harden myheart against her. It has always been a weakness of mine to slavishlyadmire feminine beauty. There is a witchery about graceful curves, andheavy eyelids, drooping lashes and dimpled chins that stronger soulsthan mine cannot resist; and when the haughty little Alice of mygirlhood stood before me in all the glory of her fresh and beautifulwomanhood I forgave her all the past. 

I hardly knew what she talked about, so rapturously did I gaze, nowupon her delicate pink ear, now upon the melting curves that broughther white chin into provoking notice, then her roguish, winning, violet eyes with their long dark lashes and languid brows. There waseverything to love in her so far as the eye could see, from the wavingprofusion of golden hair to the toe of her dainty slipper. 

I had met her at all the entertainments of the season. I had watchedher pretty manoeuvres and followed her flirtations with a quietamusement. Her admirers were numberless and pursued her with the mostemphatic devotedness. She was an item in the individual lives of youngpeople of both sexes, exciting in some hearts the bitterest envy andjealousy, and kindling the name of an all-consuming love in manyothers. She had earned the palm of triumph and victory all through thegay season, and now that the end was near she decided to gather allthose who had witnessed her conquests abroad, within her own home andthere make her retiring courtesy under peculiarly advantageouscircumstances. She was to leave in a fortnight after for an extendedtour through Europe. 

It was the fifteenth of March and the Merivales' "Musical" was tocommence at eight o'clock. The wind blew fiercely through the stiff, naked boughs of the giant maples, and drifted the light powdery snowmadly on before it. I had been in-doors all day listening to the weirdwailing of the ceaseless wind as it whistled down the chimneys andswept past the house corners. I had written and read and stitcheduntil my eyes were wearied and my fingers numb, and it was only fouro'clock, that turning-point on a March day from the sunshine to thegloaming when we women know not what to do with ourselves; when it istoo cold to go out or expect visitors, too late in the day to beginany occupation, too dark to read with any comfort, and too early tolight the lamps. I went to the window and looked impatiently into thestreet but there was no comfort to be had there; a milkman's wagonstood over the way, his horse pawing the frozen ground while he filledhis measure with the cold white liquid. A band of little children ranscreaming by with a large dog drawing a sleigh; a beggar woman clad inflimsy rags was mounting the steps of a neighboring house, and thatwas all. I shrugged my shoulders and turned away with a smotheredyawn. The piano stood open before me, I threw myself carelessly on thestool and thrummed languidly on the key-board for a moment or so, butI was not in the humor to play, and with another yawn I arose, crossedthe hall and passed into my father's library. 

He was usually there at this hour, but early that afternoon he hadgone into the country to see a patient, and as he would not be backuntil after dinner, I appropriated his sanctum in his stead. A fireburned in the grate, not a roaring blazing fire, but a pile ofsteadily glowing coals, intensely red and hot, that kept the roomcomfortable, but threw no shadow on the tinted walls. 

I wheeled the light lounge that stood opposite the door towards thefire, and sank gratefully into it to have a little "think" about thepast, all to myself. I began to distinguish the spires of Notre DameAbbey rising clearly out of the glowing embers. Faces that I lovedpeeped through its latticed windows, smilingly, and voices that werelike the breath of summer in my ear called to me from its hallowedportals. I was back among the scenes of my early happiness, the winterday was flooded with summer warmth and sunshine; the birds twitteredin the fresh green foliage, and the stream murmured placidly on at thefoot of the convent garden. My languor and weariness were gone; I wascheerful and glad again, as I had been in my careless girlhood. Howlong it lasted according to time reckoned by minutes and hours, I knewnot. In my dream many days came and went with new and repeateddelights. All I know is, that when I awoke the room was shrouded indarkness and the fire had grown cheerless and dull I started up, forthe change was a shock to me. I did not know I had fallen asleep, andit must have been a full hour or more since I came into the library. More than that, I felt a sharp sensation for which I could notthoroughly account. For a moment I suspected that some one must be inthe room, then again, the unbroken stillness re-assured me that thiswas mere fancy. I felt an abiding presence which seemed to hover rightaround me. I raised myself on one elbow and asked in an audiblewhisper:

"Is anyone here?"

A coal gave way in the fire-place and the embers loosened and fell. Istarted involuntarily, but there was no answer to my question. Irubbed my eyes briskly and stood up. As I did so, something fell uponthe floor with a clinking noise. I put my hand up instinctively to myears. One ruby ear-ring was missing. I groped my way to themantel-piece and struck a light. Stepping carefully back towards thelounge, with my eyes buried in the carpet, I spied a glittering objectat a little distance from where I had been standing. I stooped andpicked it up. To my great surprise it was not my ruby ear-ring. It wasa small oval locket suspended from a few links of a heavy gold chain, one of the uppermost links was crooked and broken. 

I turned it over and over between my fingers, holding the candle sothat the light fell full upon it. It was not my father's; of that Iwas fully certain. It had a strange, unfamiliar look about it such asother people's small wares always have for us, and yet, the more Iexamined it, the more I began to think I had seen it somewhere before. I was mystified. As I turned my head I descried my missing ear-ringlying in the threads of a crocheted tidy that had lain under my head. Setting down the candle, I extricated it and restored it to my ear. Ithen blew out the light and went quietly up to my own room. 

I had just closed the door and secured myself against possibleintrusion when the sound of the dinner-bell broke upon my ear. Iimmediately rose, and storing my newly found treasure hurriedly away, I went down to the dining-room. 

My step-mother was already there, chatting with Mrs. Hunter, who hadcome in to spend a quiet hour of the afternoon, and accepted aninformal invitation to dinner. 

My father had not yet returned, and as Freddie was still at college, we were quite a cosy little dinner party in ourselves. 

I apologized for my delay, accusing myself of having fallen asleep, and with a smiling enquiry about the general health of the Hunterfamily I took my seat and began to unfold my table-napkin. 

"Then you did not see what came for you this afternoon, if you've beendozing, " my step-mother said pouring a ladle of soup into Mrs. Hunter's plate. 

I looked eagerly towards her and exclaimed with a smile of surprise:

"No! Did anything come?"

My step-mother glanced significantly at Mrs. Hunter, but that lady waseither very hungry or saw no fun in the allusion, for she went onquietly tasting her soup without looking up. 

This piqued my step-mother a little, I fancy, for she said withunusual emphasis and insinuation. 

"Oh, you won't be at all surprised, Amelia, it is only what you mightexpect now, some more of Dr. Campbell's kind attentions, that's all. "

"What is it?" I put in with an uncontrollable relish and curiosity. 

"_This_ time, " said my step-mother, "it is a box of the loveliestflowers, for to-night of course. "

"Dr. Campbell is very thoughtful, " Mrs. Hunter here ventured toassert, "he often sends Laura books and flowers and such pretty songs;he is a great favorite, " she added, half satisfied no doubt that shehad knocked all the sentiment out of this offering to me. But mystep-mother was not to be baffled even if she had to show me to thehighest advantage. 

"Oh!" she answered, with an effort at indifference, "he knows how tobe a favorite. In his profession, especially, it is far better tocourt popularity in this way. I would say he studied his own interestin Amey's case too, " she continued, spitefully, "only that he knows, since Freddie went away, we never have any strange doctors for thehousehold. What do you say, Amey?" she asked in a teasing tone, changing the nature of the subject. 

"I am sure I cannot presume to interpret Dr. Campbell's motives, " Ianswered quietly, "but there is no reason why his gift should not beone of friendship, " I added, with conscious dignity. 

Mrs. Hunter's "Of course not" put an end to this sensitive topic. Itwas dangerous ground and could lead to mischief. So we all thought, Ifancy, for by tacit consent it was dropped for the rest of the meal. 

After dinner we had a tame little chat in the drawing-room over ourcups of tea, and then Mrs. Hunter left, for she too had to dress forthe "Musical, " and there was now not much time to spare. 

Arthur Campbell's flowers were truly lovely. When I went up to my roomI saw them laid out before me, and, I must confess, I felt a littleflattered at this mark of preference from one who was so highlyesteemed by all who knew him. I raised them tenderly and examined themone by one. They were rich and delicate and sweet smelling. 

There was a little card among them with the words "Will Miss Hampdenfavor the giver by wearing these flowers this evening?" neatly writtenupon it; below them the clear signature "V. Arthur Campbell, " wasinscribed in the same loose but neat characters. 

I could not help smiling while I dressed. Maybe I was a littleconceited, but no one saw me. 

The circumstances of our introduction and acquaintanceship, altogether, were so very peculiar that I could not dwell upon themwith a sober face. Besides, Arthur Campbell was a lion in society, asuccess in his profession and the desired of many calculating mothers. What would these people say if I quietly stepped inside them in ArthurCampbell's favor?

I took up his flowers and began to choose those I should wear. Afterall, I thought, it was not always wealth and beauty that accomplishedthe greatest things. I might surprise our little world yet, though myface had no extraordinary beauty, nor my form any marvellousgrace--with which hypothesis I laid a rich spray upon my breast and, finding it becoming, fastened it there. 

Ah me! how vain and foolish our weak humanity can be at times! Somelittle unexpected circumstance gives us a key-note, and we sustain itthrough a heart-stirring melody that will never charm our ear save inthis misty reverie. We girls of one-and-twenty summers are so easilyborne along by every passing breath of unstable experience; so easilystimulated by rivalry that begins in little things but may yet creepinto the great crises of our lives; so easily stung to impulsiveaction by the incisive smile and word of jealousy or pride; so easilyled away by aspects that show us only their bright and cheerful side;so easily wearied of the happy, careless monotony of our young lives!And yet, there is an exquisite pleasure for us in the weaving of thosedelicate golden webs that are destined to be torn so rudely asunder bya prosy and matter-of-fact reality. 

The thoughts suggested by Arthur Campbell's gracious offering took afirm and exclusive hold of my mind, from the moment I saw it, until Isat beside him in the Merivales' vast drawing-room. 

He looked handsomer than ever that night, it seemed to me, as he camesmiling towards me and asked leave to take the vacant chair beside me. Every one was busy talking and laughing, for the music had not yetbegun and we felt quite secure in our remote corner to say and do aswe pleased. It is so often quite easy to be alone in a crowd. 

"I need not ask you how you are, Miss Hampden, " Arthur Campbell began, sinking down carelessly into his seat, "your looks are perfect. "

"Such unworthy adulation Dr. Campbell!" I exclaimed in mockindignation, "besides" I said, with some malice "I would like to knowhow many times you have paid this compliment before it reached me. "

"This is very unfair, Miss Hampden" he retorted with a pleasant smile. "Upon my honor, I did not--well yes, to be candid, I said somethinglike it to Miss Merivale, but she is the only one beside yourself. "

"I knew it!" I interrupted triumphantly "and I daresay she is the onlylady you have spoken to at all, since you came in, except myself. "

He looked at me with his solemn blue eyes for a moment and then saidin a half jesting, half earnest, tone:

"I wish I could make you jealous. "

He did not turn away his eyes after this, but let them jest in calmscrutiny upon my half averted countenance. There was a power in hiswords that thrilled me for a second or so. I may have betrayed someagitation in my answer. I closed my fan and opened it again nervouslybefore I replied:

"Have you heard that I am easily provoked to jealousy?"

"Not at all, " he said in quite a serious voice, "and if I heard it athousand times I could not believe it. You are too sure of yourself togive way to such a sentiment. "

"But we cannot rely very much upon ourselves under somecircumstances. "

"Very true, and very fortunately, for we resolve to support attitudesunder some circumstances, that are neither true to ourselves, nor fairto our fellow-creatures. Don't you think so?" he asked, taking my fanout of my lap and looking intently at it. 

"I don't think I understand you very well, " I answered timidly. 

Just then the sounds of voices were hushed, and the loud strains ofRossini's _Semiramide_ filled the room. That ended our conversationfor awhile. The music proceeded with little or no intermission, forupwards of an hour. All the vocal and instrumental talent of the citywas present, and the audience was treated to a rare and most happilyrendered repertoire. Miss Hartmann had just finished an Arietta ofBeethoven's, which was rapturously received, when Alice Merivale stoleup behind me, radiant in pale green mist--as it seemed to me--to askhow I enjoyed the selections. 

I could scarcely think of answering her until my eyes had taken in thefull beauty of her face and form. 

"I want you all to be in a very good humour, before I begin" she saidcoquettishly, "for I will try your patience very hard, yoursespecially, Dr. Campbell, " she added, looking at him now for the firsttime, "you are such a merciless critic--a perfect epicure in music. "

He smiled languidly at her, and swept a glance over her from head tofoot. 

"Is it any wonder" he asked lazily; "when you spoil us by feasting uswith the perfection of every sort of loveliness, what else can youexpect?"

She touched him smartly on the nose with a roll of music she held inher hand--for they were old friends--and flitted away, saying:

"It is a good thing that I have never had any faith in men of yourprofession. "

He looked after her in undisguised, ardent admiration. I saw it, andif I remember well, a vague wish was creeping into my heart at thetime, that I had been as lithe and fair a creature as Alice Merivale. Before I had dwelt much upon it however, silence was again restoredand our charming hostess had appeared before us. 

Low and sweet, the first thrilling notes came from her swan-likethroat; then a strain of violin accompaniment and loud chords from thepiano, and she broke forth into a passionate refrain that held herlisteners spell-bound. 

I had ceased to look at her, and was busy watching the expression onArthur Campbell's face. It was one of profound admiration. His eyeswere riveted upon her with a devouring look, he was lost to everysurrounding, dead to every influence for the time being but the magicpower of this beautiful voice that trembled in the scented air anddied away into a musical whisper. 

She bowed and retired as the pent up emotions of her audience hadgiven way; exclamations of praise and enthusiasm greeted her on everyside. 

She deserved all this and more, if it were possible to give it to her. I had been enraptured myself over her singing, but still I could notsee the necessity or appropriateness of Arthur Campbell's prolongedecstacy. I began to think it was affected, and turned away from him totalk to a little lady with gold-rimmed spectacles who sat quietly onthe other side of me. 

When I addressed her she raised her glasses and wiped her eyes with adainty lace handkerchief. 

"Very beautiful, was it not?" I said, for want of something moreappropriate. 

"Ah! mon Dieu! oui!" she exclaimed warmly, and then proceeded to tellme in very broken English that "Mees Alice" was the pupil of herdeceased sister, who had come from France some years before and hadundertaken the vocal instruction of _haut ton_ young ladies, in orderto save their aged mother from a destitution which threatened her, owing to some heavy reverses which had befallen them in their nativeland. 

I was outwardly very sympathetic as she recited these melancholydetails. She did not suspect, poor thing, what an effort I was obligedto make to keep track of her subject at all, and I was conscious ofhaving won her kind favor under false pretences. Before she couldpursue her pet topic to any fuller advantage, however, the music beganagain and our newly made friendship was effectually nipped in the bud. During the next selection, which was a lengthy piano solo by thefashionable Miss Nibbs, I busied myself observing all that transpiredabout me. Miss Nibbs herself was worthy of some notice; perched uponthe piano-stool, her flat feet barely reaching the pedals, and herill-formed bulky figure swaying now on one side, now on another. Whatever Miss Nibbs had been in her youth, and to speak truly onemight doubt at this period of her existence if she had ever known ayounger day, she certainly was very much worn and used looking in herdecline. Not even the faded remnants of an earlier grace or gentilityhelped to redeem the weak points of nature about her. She was astranger to me, and yet I could have declared with the most perfectsanction of my moral certitude that she was the direct descendant of aplebeian stock. Not but that she had counterfeited patricianattributes according to her own interpretation of them as earnestly asshe knew how; but such, empty pretensions as these are too transparentto the all-discerning eye of true gentility. They can not easilyassume that which they have no right to claim. A haughty, overbearingdemeanor, or a powerful drawl, is no guarantee of good breeding, andthese were poor Miss Nibbs' only titles to it. I will admit that, inmy fretted mood, I saw her at her worst. Not a wrinkle of herill-fitting bodice escaped me, not a movement of her ungainly formpassed unnoticed, I was dissecting her to a pitiful disadvantage, following up each new discovery with a moral of my own when ahalf-subdued voice whispered in my ear:

"Spare her, Miss Hampden. "

I looked up significantly and met Dr. Campbell's mock-reproachfulglance, resting full upon me. 

"Spare whom?" I asked, very innocently. 

"Oh! you wicked critic of human frailties, " he answered slowly, "whomdo you think?"

I betrayed myself with an ill-suppressed smile which broadened into agenuine laugh as poor Miss Nibbs retired most awkwardly from her post, very well satisfied with herself, no doubt. 

During the interval that followed, Dr. Campbell amused himself withthe indulgence of a new freak. He leaned his elbow on the back of thechair in front of us, and turning his face towards me supported hishead in the palm of his hand. There was a new expression on hiscountenance which foreboded the tantalising remark that followed:

"Do you know, Miss Hampden, " he began, looking at me through his halfclosed eye-lids, "you are beginning to puzzle me strangely. Did anyone ever tell you you are an eccentric girl?"

"Oh dear! yes! my step-mother persuaded me to that comfortableconviction long ago, " I answered laughingly. 

He followed up this agreeable retort with a most expressive "Ahem!"and then paused a moment before adding in a very emphatic tone:

"Well, you are a queer girl, you know. "

"Because I fall short of your standard, I suppose?" I interrupted, passing my hand languidly over my brow and eyes. 

"Well that is not a bad guess, Miss Hampden, but that is not the onlyreason. "

The shaft pierced me. Arthur Campbell was not always in a mood toflatter. I wanted to prove to him that two could play at his littlegame and I hardly knew how to match him. 

"I suppose I ought to feel quite grieved at this intelligence, " Ianswered consciously, "but, dear me, " with an artificial sigh, "Icannot bring myself to study people's opinions; that is probably onefeature of my eccentricity?" I added in an interrogative tone, lookingaimlessly at him. 

He was silent for a moment during which he looked around the room. Then he stood up saying:

"Let us go outside, I see the music is over. "

I rose and took his proffered arm and we turned towards the door. Aswe passed out my eyes fell upon Mr. Dalton's solitary figure standingby the window opposite. A stern, set expression was upon hiscountenance, and his glance was riveted upon us. I inclined my headwith a smile, but he either saw not or purposely took no notice of it, for he went on staring abstractedly until we vanished into theadjoining room. 

For a second time in our lives Arthur Campbell and I were alone amidstsuggestive surroundings such as met us as we passed under the heavycurtain that screened the cosiest of _boudoirs_ from the general view. 

There is such a special appropriateness about certain circumstancesthat one cannot help speculating to some extent upon their probableand possible issues. It is a known fact that a vast percentage ofsociety marriages are the outgrowth of these little stolen_tete-a-tetes_ that are snatched from the gay confusion of some noisygathering. No one will be so unreasonable as to denounce the youngheart that flutters with some timid anticipation, as it forsakes themad merry-making of the ball room for the quiet insinuating stillnessof some reserved nook by a flickering fireside, where the flower-ladenatmosphere whispers interesting suggestions of its own. Far be it fromme to overshadow such gleams of sunlight, by censure or cruel mockery, and when I affirm most earnestly that such flutterings of vagueexpectation never animated my poor heart, so cold, so empty, sounbelieving, it is not that I hold it outside and above such aninfluence. I only lay bare the barrenness of its nature and thetrustless reserve that always made the world around me seem wrapped ina gloomy pall, that inspired me with suspicion, if not altogether fearof it. 

I will not take the responsibility of affirming that my views were atall odd or singular, and incompatible with the real condition offeminine hearts at that time. Neither would I like to assure the worldthat our blooming society girls of to-day are any more credulous orunwisely susceptible than many were at the date I speak of. It hasbecome a popular belief, I think, that beauty coupled with afascinating manner in a woman, is as heartless and unfeeling as astone, and yet is just indifferent and neutral enough to abstain frominflicting any more direct pain than that to which its indiscreetvictims expose themselves knowingly. There is a certain pity excitedby human moths that flutter about our drawing-rooms with their smoothvelvety wings charred and disfigured, but even in the sympathyexpressed there is a ring of "I told you so, " and "beware the nexttime" that makes the sufferer's burden only heavier to endure. 

I can not take upon me to say that Arthur Campbell's beautiful pinionshad touched the dangerous flame with any alarming results. I believedhim to be very human in spite of his multiplied efforts to establishhimself above or below that limit. I saw, when our acquaintanceshipwas only an hour old, that he was an artful man and, to no smallextent, a conceited man. I did not suspect him of regulating his lifeaccording to the dictates of a scrupulous conscience. In fact Idaresay I was uncharitable enough to look upon him as wanting thatblessed monitor, altogether. He professed no definite religiousbelief, and generally held all creeds to be equally good. Sometimeswhen he wanted to excite the particular interest of some orthodoxyoung lady he leaned towards the agnostics, and without upholdingtheir tenets, exactly, wanted to know why their right to establishthemselves should be so universally questioned and condemned. He likedto see pretty faces looking shocked, and his ears revelled in thesound of a plaintively persuading voice that argued on the side of oldtruth; he would even allow himself to be converted for the moment by areproachful look from indignant blue eyes. It gave a flavour to alanguid flirtation and "after all, " he was wont to say, "what religioncan be better than that whose ministers are fair and beautiful women. "

He was an acknowledged flirt; a regular knave of Hearts; and yettotally unlike those professional lady-killers who carry their smoothchins so very high above their would-be rivals in fashionabledrawing-rooms. There was no insinuation of his purpose or design aboutArthur Campbell as he stepped quietly in among the many _coteries_ ofwhich he was a spoiled darling. His profession excused him for hislate arrivals everywhere, and, in the bargain, granted him ampleopportunity for intruding himself upon the notice of everyone presentwithout being condemned for presumption or conceit. It was whisperedof him that his private life was based upon free and easy principles, and that he was not altogether so circumspect a walker in the ways ofrighteousness as he was in the ways of society. Such an accusation, however, remained perforce under an open verdict. Too many of thosewho might have decided against him had delicate glass-houses of theirown to care for, and it would likely prove a treacherous missile thatwould aim at the well-propped reputation of Doctor Campbell. 

I had my own private opinion about him, which never prevented me fromopenly admiring his tactics, from enjoying his company, and, in asense, from coveting his attentions. Strangely enough, I had everyopportunity for indulging all three. We were thrown frequentlytogether, and I could not help seeing that he took more than a passingnotice of me. To tell the truth, until a certain time I neverquestioned the possible motive that might have inspired him to seek mycompany. I met him always with a cordial, and may be a very cordial, smile. He was an interesting man, who talked well, and as suchappealed largely to my ardent appreciation. We became friends in avery little while, and probably contributed largely towards eachother's mutual enjoyment. But very soon the all-seeing eye of ajealous scrutiny was upon us, and we were singled out wherever wewent. Little rumors were being hatched, destined before long to creepout from under the great fostering wing of that old hen, Gossip, whois ever chuckling over some new and active brood. People caught themessage and repeated it with a relish. People said that young Campbellwas no fool in aspiring to succeed to Dr. Hampden's practice. Peoplesaid: Trust the fellow to spy out a rich man's only daughter. Peoplesaid: The Hampdens have made a dead set on Campbell, always asking himto luncheon, etc. People said: He is fooling her. In fact people gaveexpression to every uncomplimentary sentiment which the circumstancescould possibly suggest, and it was only then that I turned myattention to the matter at all. I heard the floating verdicts thatwere being pronounced upon us, and thenceforth I also infused acertain purpose into our hitherto aimless relationship. I quietlyresolved to meet that respectable body so widely known as the "people"in open combat. I needed no formidable weapon, an old halter wouldanswer my purpose fully, for of course my readers know that thisloud-voiced authority, this much feared power, this braying denouncerof men's private, social, or moral attitudes is only our friend theass in a pretty well-fitting lion-skin, not nearly so dangerous astimid souls imagine, a nuisance certainly, but that is all. 

When Arthur Campbell and I vacated the crowded drawing-room, therefore, and passed into the quiet retreat opposite, many asignificant glance followed us besides poor Mr. Dalton's. I knew itand so did he, although no mention was made of it by either of us. Wehad drifted imperceptibly into that phase of a growing friendshipwhich is silent upon certain interesting topics. We often talked in avague and general way about the tender influences, but never now byany chance allowed our random remarks to convey any personalreflections. We were puzzling over one another, which is a fatalresource for unfortified hearts, but we prided ourselves upon ourwell-guarded and invulnerable affections, and, in a way, playfullydefied the inevitable to conquer us. 

Arthur Campbell held the heavy drapery aside until I had glided intothe room. He then drew it briskly across the doorway and followed meto an ebony cabinet before which I had stood to look at a comicalcrockery pug that lay on one of its tiny shelves. He glanced over myshoulder at my interesting distraction, and was silent for a moment. Icould feel his breath upon my hair and ear, then he said slowly:

"You seem to be fond of animals, which is your favorite?"

An answer rushed to my lips and I was conscious of a mischievousexpression creeping over my face. Had I reflected for a moment I mightnever have uttered it, but before I had time to weigh my words, theyhad been pointedly pronounced. 

"Man--of course, " I said; "Which is yours?"

He did not answer as quickly as I had, and yet I did not dare look athim or speak again. After a moment's pause, however, I ventured toraise my eyes towards the cabinet, and as I did so, how my heartthumped, how my cheeks reddened. He had stretched one hand out toreach some object that stood on one of the ebony brackets above me, and the reflection in the little square mirror before us was, to saythe least, rather suggestive. The bracket being higher than the mirrorwas not visible in it. The effect produced therefore was that of abroadcloth sleeve, carefully brought around two slender shoulders, anda handsome manly countenance leaning a little towards a blushingmaiden's face. Worse than all, he too happened to look into the glassat the same moment, and our eyes in shrinking from one another'sglance met under an awkward circumstance. He looked steadily at AmeyHampden in mirrorland, and then said in a very conventional tone, turning his eyes towards the bracket:

"Pardon me, I want to show you something. "

It was a beautiful white dove which, though lifeless, had retainedmuch of its grace and softness. In its beak was a dainty little cardupon which was inscribed in large characters: "Love one another. "

"Do you like it?" he asked after we had examined it silently for amoment. 

"The idea is certainly original, " I answered evasively. 

"Yes, but do you like it?" he repeated

"Which?" I asked, "the bird, or the idea altogether?"

"The idea altogether. "

"Oh! ye-e-s, " I drawled as indifferently as I possibly could. "It is avery chaste conception on the whole--but--"

"But what?"

"Oh! there is not much in it after all. "

"Miss Hampden! you astonish me! Not much in loving one another, especially with such an exalted, enduring love as that which the dovesymbolises. "

"You mistake me, Dr Campbell, " I interrupted suddenly, looking up athim, but I did not finish, for some one just vanished out of thedoorway as I turned my head. The curtain was still swaying when Istopped my remark abruptly, and Arthur Campbell following my glance, strode towards the entrance and looked indignantly out. The passagewas clear, and he returned, laughing, saying the eavesdropper was noone more formidable than the draught. I was not so easily convinced, however, and asked to go back in to the drawing-room where themerriment was still unabating. He did not seem quite pleased, butnevertheless offered me his arm unhesitatingly, and we passed in amongthe noisy crowd just in time for the summons to supper. 

CHAPTER VII. 

When I awoke the morning after the Merivales' Musical, the forenoonwas already pretty well advanced and a light, warm fire was burning inmy room. Outside, the winter wind was shrieking plaintively, and overevery pane of the window were dense layers of frosty ferns andgrasses. It wanted a few minutes for the half hour after ten by theprattling little time-piece on the mantel. I arose and dressedlanguidly, feeling dull and oppressed and rang for a cup of strongcoffee. I felt no appetite for breakfast, and drawing my warm, heavywrapper around me I wheeled a low easy chair toward the fire and sankwearily into it. 

It may be a wise policy for the votaries of gaslight pleasures tomaintain that there is no baneful result arising from a constantpursuit of such distractions, but, however wise this attitude may be, I hardly think it can rely upon the sanction of our conscience. It iscertainly not sound truth. For the abnormal life which societyprescribes for her followers is fruitful of most injuriousconsequences. Evil effects do not always thrust themselves upon ournotice in any directly pronounced way. Very often those which are mostpernicious have a stealthy and unobtrusive progress, and it is onlywhen their destructive mission is well accomplished that we becomeaware of their existence. There are physical, moral, and mentalwrecks, the playthings of every varying circumstance that agitates thesea of life, who are living examples of the truth I uphold: men andwomen who have made an oblation of their greatest energies andcapacities to lay upon the altars of a profitless materialism. This isof course the extreme limit of worldliness, but in many cases it had atame and semi-respectable beginning, originating from circumstances asseemingly safe as those which make up our own individual lives. Whocan tell whether danger will allow us to tempt and tease her withimpunity. The fortifications around our personal lots are not sostable as we imagine, and they require our constant and vigilantsupervision. While we are feasting and rioting the scouts of the enemyare conspiring strongly against us. 

For myself I say, that every indulgence of this kind invariably bringsme an uncomfortable re-action, and I have never been able to satisfymyself with the explanation which is popularly received regarding it. It is not merely the result of physical disorder, of that I am sure. There is not a morbid tendency, ever so latent within me, that is notbrought forcibly to the surface during this re-action, and I neverrealize so fully that the pleasures of the senses are empty andfleeting as when I have given myself up to an unbridled indulgence ofany of them. I have rested my eyes upon every conceivable form andphase of animate and inanimate beauty in my life-time, and to-day mypoor eyes are tired and dissatisfied. My ear, that has been inclinedto every sort of sweet and sad melody, is still waiting and hoping fora soul-stirring refrain that will never reach it; and my heart, thathas quickened at glad surprises and fluttered during hours of theworld's happiness, is still asking, still searching for a joy thatwill minister in full to its demands. No wonder then that so many ofus pause in the midst of our gay confusion, and ask ourselves wearily:"What is the use?"

What is the use of all these vain efforts of ours to feed our innerappetites with a diet that can never nourish or sustain? What is theuse of all these monotonous beginnings that never have any tangibleend? What is the use of playing so burdensome a part upon the socialstage? What is the use of deceiving ourselves and our fellow-men, whenthere is such a glorious cause of truth to fight for? Ah! it is theway of the world, and that is a power which we fear to defy. The wayof the world! These little words have justified sin and crime over andover again. They have masked the vilest cunning with a surface ofunquestionable propriety; they have quietly sanctioned one fashionablefolly after another, until vice and virtue are brought to one level, ay, and if needs be, the former triumphs, and the latter is shovedaside to make headway for its counterfeit. It is the way of the worldthat poverty be sneered at and denounced, that humility be ridiculed, that modesty be mocked, not openly not daringly, but by covert andcutting insinuation, the ever are weapon of the moral coward. It isthe way of the world that sorrow be held pent up in hearts that aredying for care and sympathy, the way of the world that selfish motivesbe the best, that might is right, and indeed who can say our dazzling, splendid, cruel world has not its way? And we, its victims, itsvotaries, what recompense have we?

Such reflections as these trooped in solemn order before my mentalvision as I sat staring into the coals, that frosty morning after theMerivales' entertainment. Every circumstance of the preceding nightrehearsed itself in my memory. I repeated Arthur Campbell's everyword. I had not forgotten one. I recalled Mr. Dalton's steady look, even Miss Nibbs' funny little personality rode upon the embers, andbrought a faint smile to my pensive countenance. I teazed myself withinterrogative conjectures of every kind, now leaning towards one, andnow towards another. Somehow the vagaries of our hope or of our fancy, like ourselves, look their best by gas-light, and show a verydisappointing complexion in the open daylight. While I sat thusweaving and tangling the webs of my aimless thought, the door openedand my step-mother glided in with a dainty little note between herfingers. 

"Lazy girl, " she muttered in a half yawn, throwing the note into mylap. "Rouse yourself, and read this. An answer is wanted. "

It was from Alice Merivale, to my surprise, and appeared to have beenscratched off in a hurry:

"If you have nothing on hand for the afternoon, dear Amey, I wish youwould come over at about one o'clock and take luncheon with me. It isso stupid. A. M. "

I folded it up and smiled, as I went in search of my writingmaterials. 

In half an hour after I was waiting to be admitted into their house. Iwas shown into Alice's apartment according to her direction. She waslying on a lounge by the fire, with her delicate hands clasped overher shapely head. Her long, yellow hair fell in soft braids on eachslender shoulder. She wore a _negligee_ of white, with delicatetrimmings of swan's down and looked, on the whole, the livingimpersonation of luxury and beauty. When I was shown in she greeted mewith a languid smile, but did not alter her comfortable position. 

"I am so glad you've come, Amey, " she said looking up at me where Istood beside her. "Just throw your becoming wearables anywhere thereand come and sit down for a chat. "

I did as she told me, and a moment later we were both settledluxuriously before the glowing embers ready for mutual entertainment. 

"Did you think I was crazy, Amey, when you received my note thismorning?" Alice asked, drawing the vagrant folds of her soft wrapperabout her. 

"Well, no, Alice, " I answered slowly, "but I found it a little queer, that was all. "

"Queer world, is'nt it Amey?"

I smiled, and still looking into the fire said, as if in soliloquy. 

"How much alike we girls are. I came to that very conclusion an hourago before my own embers. "

"What reason have _you_ to think that?" she said, with a wonderinglook in her beautiful blue eyes. 

"Every reason in the world. "

"And I have so often envied you, Amey Hampden, and thought you afortunate and happy girl beside a wretch like me. "

"Alice!" I broke in, in consternation "how can you talk like this?You, the spoilt darling of Fortune herself, you, the cynosure of somany eyes, the possessor of untold worldly comfort and happiness. "

"Go on, go on, I like that, " she interrupted ironically. 

"Well, you know you are, " I added emphatically. 

"A wretch! yes, without a doubt" she answered firmly. "I am rich inthat which can buy everything but peace of mind and contentment ofheart. I am fortunate enough to escape that experience which gives aflavor and a charm to existence. I am the cynosure of eyes that arecontent with surface glitter only, and the possessor of comforts andhappiness that have made my life the empty, blighted thing it is. "

She paused while the sound of her altered voice vibrated in the room, then laughed a merry, artful little laugh and rising languidly to herfeet, added:

"Oh, dear! oh dear! what funny people we are!"

Before any more was said upon this tender subject we went down tolunch, laughing and chatting as gaily as though we were thefreest-hearted creatures in existence. 

We spent an hour in discussing the good things below, and then wentback arm-in-arm to the cosy apartments we had vacated above. The firehad been renewed and our seats still in the same suggestive placesattracted us towards them again. Alice threw herself upon her loungeand hummed a snatch of her last night's selection, which she suddenlyinterrupted with a fully-indulged yawn out of which again emerged ataunting

"Come now Amelia, _a quoi penses-tu_?"

"I was thinking of you, " I answered, "you are such a queer girl. "

"You will be still further convinced of that opinion when you know alittle more about me, " she said in a jocosely earnest tone. "You knowI intend to go to Europe in a fortnight, ostensibly to see thetime-honored sights, to gloat over venerable art, and improve my mindgenerally with such a broad view of experience, but Oh! what a blindthat is!" she exclaimed in mock indignation. "Of course everybodyknows that I am being sent out to seek my fortune, matrimoniallyspeaking. I am too rich, and too beautiful, and too accomplished to bethrown away upon a self-made Canadian. I must go in search ofpatrician smiles across the sea, and win them for a plausible cause. "

She curled her lips into an expression of supreme disgust, as shefinished, and began to toy with the end of one golden braid. 

"You don't mean half of what you say, Alice, " I interposed quietly. "Since you are not satisfied with all the good things the gods haveprovided so far, I know only one other that can infuse a soul intoyour vapid and savor less comforts. It is possible for your presentgloom to be dispelled by the warmth and brightness of a sunshine thatcheers the loneliest lives, and I think you can never be happy withoutit. "

"What is it?" she asked curtly. 

"Love, " I answered, "honest, stable, earnest love. "

"Faugh!" she exclaimed, flinging her delicate braid away from hercaressing fingers, "is that all?"

"That is all, a mere trifle if you will, but it is the axis aroundwhich men's temporal happiness revolves. "

"Men's perhaps, but not women's, " she added proudly. "I tell you what, Amey, the world waits for no one, each age has its manners, andcustoms, its social peculiarities and special features since thebeginning of time men have had to be led by the age in which theylived, and ours is no exception. Once upon a time marriage was acontract conducted on the great principle of buying and selling. Civilization with deft and tender fingers has smoothened away therough and repulsive aspect of such a custom, and our ministers nowask, with a bland affectation of pastoral solicitude, 'Who _giveth_this woman away?' Giveth her! forsooth; and in nine cases out of tenhow dearly is she bought! Why, we women are selling our bodies and oursouls too, for that matter, every day that comes and goes. But wecannot help it, " she added after a short pause, "and fortunatelycircumstances are trained to suit our dilemma. I shall go across theAtlantic for inspection, and if all goes well I shall return bespokenfor life. I shall certainly not marry for love, and as compensationmust be found somewhere, I will marry for position. I have the wealthmyself. "

Her words chilled me. Their tone was cold and hard. I looked at herand said half sadly, "Alice, why do you talk like this? You have drifted into this peevishsort of pessimism without forethought. How can you deliberately sit ina shadow when the sun is shining all around you. With beauty andriches and intelligence you have the keys to a world of happiness. Icannot think why you should choose to hold this dreary outlook beforeyour eyes. It seems a strange contrast to the popular belief thatprevails about your happy condition. "

She curled her thin, pretty lips into a smile of incisive sarcasm anddrew a weary breath before she answered me. Then she said in a halfmelancholy tone:

"Yes, I know that it is the fate of rich people to be envied. I knowthat my different circumstances are coveted by girls that are athousandfold happier than I, and it is a miserable thing to realize, but how can I help it? Amey, to tell you the wretched truth, I am sickof life, and if there can be respite for me in death, I wish I mightdie tonight. You may think this is the fruit of a gloomy mood, but itis the result of long reflection. Last night I was gay, I sang andplayed and chatted merrily. Men admired and flattered me, but what isleft of it all to-day? Nothing but ashes. I know that what they saidwas not sincere, and still I remember it all with a girlishgratification. If we were always singing and dancing, and fooling oneanother, life might be more endurable, but these intervals of drearyre-action are a dear price for our social pleasures. " She paused for amoment and then added slowly. 

"Sometimes I am tempted to renounce my wordly life and go quietly intosome holy retreat where all such troubles are kept at bay, and thenthe thought becomes repulsive when I think of how worthless I havebeen, and how worthless I would still be among useful women. "

She laughed drearily as she uttered these words and came towards thefire saying

"What a fuss I make about a little human life, eh Amey?"

"It is right that you should, " I answered gravely, "it is dearer toyou I suppose than anything in the world. "

She stroked my hair affectionately and we both looked into the fire. One of her dainty slippers rested on the fender, one of her jewelledhands lay tremulously on my shoulder. 

I knew that something should be said to her while this mood was onher, but what right had I to speak? I, who advocated every drearyconviction she had just uttered! I, who was so wretched and tired ofmy own life, what could I say to cheer or encourage her? My heart wasfull, but my lips were dumb. Something was telling me that there wasno perfect happiness for women on earth, but I could not permit myselfto express so gloomy a belief at this critical moment, when a fair, young, beautiful creature stood waiting beside me for a stimulus tohope and perseverance. 

While I sat reflecting, she herself interpreted my mental soliloquy. 

"This is the way with all of us, Amey, " she said in a quieter andgentler tone. "I never knew a woman who, if she told the truth, couldpride herself on being happy. It is beyond the narrow limits of ourpresent sphere. The maids that wait upon us envy us and think that inour places they would have nothing left to wish for. The discontentedseamstress that stitches away at my expensive dresses fancies theymust shelter a happy heart, whose lot she covets; and all the while Iam wishing for anything else in the world besides what I have. Whetherwe marry or remain single, life is a burden to us. We go on from dayto day wondering how we may best dispose of ourselves. And nothingever comes of it but this miserable discontent which leaves nopossible margin for hope for the morrow. If one could only make avirtue of the resignation which is thrust upon one by an undaunteddestiny, " she concluded with a long-drawn sigh, "one might be thebetter for it. "

"Yes, " I answered earnestly, "if one only could! I do believe that theonly sweetness in life is in being good, and those only who have neverpractised virtue, doubt it. For myself, when I have devoted some timesincerely to my religious duties I know that I feel a better, and mostcertainly a happier, woman. My life has a higher aim, my ambition asafer guide, and my efforts a more stable support, but I am not alwaysfaithful to my good resolutions and I am easily won away fromdevotional pursuits. "

"Well then, Amey, you must blame yourself if you are not thoroughlyhappy, " Alice interrupted almost fiercely. "You have this greatadvantage over me. I have no religion. I never had any. I am supposedto belong to the Church which we occasionally frequent. I am supposedto take a lively interest in foreign missions and the Jews. I amsupposed to sanction a doctrine which has never been explained to me;but do I? Not I. Only for the instinctive belief which I cannot helpholding in God and a life to come, I would be no more than a veryanimal; and only for a something within me--a sort of moral regulator, which the Church calls conscience, I would never stop to question whatis right or what is not. This is all the religion I have ever known. Ihave been brought up with the conviction that most creeds aretolerable, but that my own is the most fashionable, and it iscertainly an easy one to live by, so I have never questioned it much. I should not care to fast or abstain or kneel as much as you Catholicsdo. I should abhor accusing myself, in sincere humility, of mywrong-doing, or making amends for every trifling misdemeanor, and asmy religion does not ask me to do anything I dislike, I cannot quarrelwith it. "

"Certainly not, if you are happy in it" I put in quietly. 

"I am not happy in it" she answered snappishly "but I could be I daresay, if it only assumed an authority over me; if it commanded where itcounsels; if it exacted where it approves only, if it bound me underpain of grievous sin as yours does. "--

"Ah! if it did! if it did, it would be no longer the same religion. Itwould lose nine-tenths of its present advocates. However, it is not myintention to enter upon a religious dissertation. I would not disturbyour present convictions deliberately for the world, but if you wantedmy assistance or asked it, I should be glad to give it to you. Onething I will tell you, however, before I go" I added, rising andconfronting her, "it is a deep wrong you do your soul in allowing itto be assailed by so many doubts which you do not take the trouble tosatisfy. There are many like you, Alice, I know a dozen whose soulsare riding the unstable surface of a religious speculation. This istempting God, and you owe yourself the duty of satisfying every wantof your inner being. There is a why and a wherefore for everything, therefore clear away the dark clouds that lie between you and Truth. Study and read and reflect, until you can lay your hand in good faithupon your heart, and say: Now I have found the consoling truth, now mydoubts have disappeared and my belief is made sure, and staunch, andconsoling. That religion which shall best purify you, whose motivesare entirely supernatural, which shall oblige you to exalt allhumanity over yourself, which shall infuse a holy motive into yourevery thought, word and deed, which shall fill your life with apurpose unlike any it has hitherto known, shall make you happy hereand hereafter--and if you like, you can find it with a little search. "

We said no more on any subject. The afternoon was well-advancedalready, and bidding her a fond good-bye, I left her with a promise tosee her again before her departure for her much talked-of trip. 

Leaving the Merivales' house, I wended my way in a moody silencetoward my own home. The wind was rising and small snowflakes weredrifting cheerlessly about in the raw wintry air. I bowed my headagainst the storm and plodded silently on. I was thinking of manythings the while, and allowing myself to become absorbed in an earnestrehearsal of my own prosy life. Other people passed by me with betterreasons to sigh I am sure, and yet mine was a deep-drawn breath, fullof meaning and misery, which I would have controlled had I not been sodistracted and absent-minded at the time. 

I doubt if anything could have awakened me from my reverie so suddenlyand so effectually as the measured slow accent which broke upon my earat this juncture. 

"How do you do Amey?"

Simple enough: a mere conventional greeting if you will, but I felt itvibrate through my whole system. I looked up and saw Mr. Daltonstanding before me. The way was narrow, and he had moved aside intothe deep snow to let me pass. Involuntarily, I stood and looked up athim. I felt more kindly toward him than I had ever done before, I knewnot why. In some vague uncertain way he had been associated with myrecent thoughts, not asserting himself as any distinct feature inconnection with my cogitation, but underlying it with a merelyinsinuated influence that made his presence felt in a secret, undetermined sort of way. I had been wondering about him andquestioning his motives within myself as I plodded through thesprinkled streets and now, he was standing before me, a realpersonage, the substance of a dreamy memory of him which I had beendwelling upon since my departure from the Merivales'. 

When we had stopped and saluted one another an awkward silence ensued. I felt as if he had read my secret in my tell-tale countenance, buthis face wore that passive look it always wore and his voice was calmand commonplace as usual as he asked. 

"Are you going home now?"

"Yes" I answered, "I have been visiting Alice Merivale. I had luncheonwith her and a little talk. "

"I will go back with you if you like, " said he turning around tofollow me. 

I assented of course, and we hurried on to where the path was widerthat we might be companionable and walk side by side. 

"You had a little talk you say? I fling discretion to the winter wind, and ask, what about?"

"It is a wonder you don't say whom about" I returned with someemphasis. 

"It is" he answered. "I must have been distracted indeed not to haveput it in that way, however, it will do now, will it not?"

"Quite as well" said I, "for early or late the question can elicit nodefinite answer, as we talked of no one. "

"What?"

"Surprising, isn't it?" I asked satirically, "nevertheless it is thestartling truth. "

"Maybe so, " said he softly. "I thought on the day after an event suchas last night's young girls had a great deal to say in confidenceabout people and things. I see I have been mistaken, although--"

"Although what?"

"Well--although last night lay itself particularly open to aninteresting criticism, I think. "

"Musical evenings generally do I think. "

"I mean everything else but the music. "

"What else was there?"

"Desperate flirting or earnest love-making, I wish I knew which. "

"I wish I could tell you really, Mr. Dalton, but you seem to know moreabout the matter already than I do. "

"I cannot help it Amey, " he said in a muffled tone, then looking up. "It promises to be a stormy night, " he added in an entirely new voice. 

"I am afraid so" I answered, standing before our own gate. "Will youcome in for a moment?"

"Thank you, I have an engagement, good afternoon. "

"Good afternoon. "

He raised his hat and turned away and I passed into the house filledwith the strangest emotions I had ever known. I went straight to myown room and threw myself into a capacious easy-chair near the fire. The gray shadows of the early winter evening were just touchingeverything around me. I was in an excited mood and for what? A newsuspicion had suddenly thrust itself in between me and a happy, satisfying conviction which I had cherished of late. The reader willnot question whether there is one thing in life more annoying or morediscouraging than to see one's settled belief in anything suddenlyuprooted and tossed about by unexpected yet not unpleasantcircumstances. Some small whispering voice from the farthest depths ofmy heart struggled to the surface now and asked me plainly andbrusquely to come to an understanding with my inner self once for all, instead of leaning in this half-decided way, now towards oneconviction, now towards another. 

"I cannot help it, Amey. " What was he going to say? What did he think?Why did he stop there? "Desperate flirtation, or earnest love-making. I wish I knew which. " Queer thing to say, that. But what a queer manhe was! What did it matter to him which it was? Did he mean to alludeto Arthur Campbell and me, or was he perhaps thinking of himself andsomebody? Why did I dismiss him summarily? If I had urged him to comein he would have consented, and we might have talked it out. We eachthought a great deal more than we said, but after all, maybe it waswell as it stood. What could he ever be to me more than an oldfriend--twice my age--and maybe I was too precipitate andpresumptuous. How did I know he thought of me in any other light thanthe child he had always known me? I stood up with this impedimentthrown voluntarily in the way, and took off my street apparel. In aquarter of an hour later dinner was served, and I went down cheerfullyto the dining-room. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

To age and experience, I doubt not that this period of my life seemschildish and aimless. There is something in a pair of spectacles, astride the wrinkled noses of maturity, that makes the world ofsentiment seem a mere nursery where growing boys and girls amusethemselves carelessly before stepping into their manhood or womanhood. Can it be that this glowing love of which poets sing, is, after all, survived by such a short, uncertain thing as a human life? When we areyoung it is so easy to believe our love will last unto the very end, and this conviction darts a golden sunbeam across the unborn years: asunbeam in which our heaviest sorrows become dancing motes, a sunbeamwhich spans the full interval allotted us between this world and thenext. But it is only rational to fear that some of those huge, blackshadows which are ever flitting through the "corridors of time" willcross our sunbeam when we least expect it, and yet this is a warningwe will not hear, until a personal experience teaches it to our heartsin sorrowful accents. 

I had toyed with my own conjectures and speculations all through thegay season. Every where I went I met the same people. I saw theorigin, progress, and final consummation of many a love-match, fromthe formal introduction of both parties, to the glittering tell-talediamond on the finger of a dainty hand. I had learned many lessonsboth from passive observation and active experience, and now as theseason of feasting and flirting and merry-making was waning into thequietude of advancing spring, I had only to sit me down and rehearsethe wonderful little past which had come and gone, bringing wonderfulchanges to many another heart besides Amey Hampden's. 

May came, with its dazzling sunshine and its whispers of summerwarmth, and the birds carolled as birds have done every spring-timesince the world began. June came, and the bare branches sent forththeir tender buds to greet it. The birds flitted from bough to boughand carolled louder and lustier than ever. It was the earlysummer-time; that short but blissful interval between the ravages ofspring and the tyranny of scorching mid-summer. It is our misfortunein Canada to know nothing whatever of the beauty of that spring-timewhich has been flattered and idolized by poets' pens in every age. With us this intermediate season is nothing more nor less than aneminently uninteresting transition, invariably announced by suchharbingers as bare and brown and dirty roads; slushy pathways, runningwith melted snow and ice; a warm, wet and foggy atmosphere, with greatdrops falling constantly from the twigs of the trees and the drenched, black eaves of the houses. It is a time for macintoshes and soundrubbers; a golden age for patent cough mixtures and freckles, thesworn destroyer of artificial curls and long clothes. It is true thata glad, golden sunshine floods the earth at times, but what of that, when sullied, muddy streams are rushing and bubbling on with a roaringspeed, plunging into hollow drains at every street-corner; when sulkyfoot-passengers pick their uncomfortable way through all the debris ofwhat had been the beauty of the dead season. Fashionable young men, with the extremities of their expensive tweeds turned carefully up, choose their steps over the treacherous crossways, leaning upon theirsilk umbrellas with an unfeigned expression of utter disapproval, andladies in trim ulsters and very short skirts pilot themselves alongthe unclean thoroughfares, with very emphatic airs of impatience anddisgust. This is certainly not the season, in those Canadian citieswhose winters are so severe, when "the young man's fancy lightly turnsto thoughts of love. " If there is a time in the year when this worthysentiment is ignored, and I may say deliberately ostracised, byCanadian youth, it is in the spring. But like all earthlycircumstances, this, too, dies a natural death, and is succeeded by atruly enjoyable and suggestive period, that of early summer. It hasbeen my experience to meet with many people who become the victims ofa depressing melancholy in the spring. Some acknowledge that it is apresentiment, and resign themselves to many morbid feelings about theuncertain issue of this period of the year; but common sense rejectsthis theory. It is only natural that after having indulged our everyenergy while the air was bracing and cold, after having walked andtalked, and feasted and danced, and made merry without interruptionday and night during the winter months, we should feel a physicalprostration in the end, and as a consequence something of a mentaldepression as well. For my own part, I have always had a reflectiveand serious spell in the spring-time. Those things that a few monthsbefore would have dazzled my eyes and tempted my senses, seem emptyand vapid and worthless, and I go on wondering over my recent folliesand weaknesses as if I were never to commit them again. It is truethat the contemporary season of Lent has something to do with theseeffects. "Remember, man, thou art but dust, " is not the mostenlivening of warnings which can be submitted to us for moraldigestion, and we who carry these solemn words back from church onAsh-Wednesday morning need not be surprised if our gayer inclinationsdesert us almost immediately. 

All these changes had followed fast upon the receding items of myinteresting season, and it was now summer time. My half-brother cameback from college, an altered youth, as uninteresting in histransition as the season I have just described. He was an overgrownboy, of that age when boys are seldom interesting except to oneanother; that age of physical, mental and moral conflict, when theanxious mother can scarcely trust the testimony of her confidence inthe future greatness of her growing son; when the calculating fatherbecomes agitated in his eagerness to know if his bashful heir willfavor religious, professional, or commercial tendencies, and when thegrown-up sister tries to anticipate in a grown-up sisterly way whatsort of a drawing room item her now unsophisticated relative willprove to be. This last is the most trying speculation of all. How biga boy's feet invariably look in a fashionable sister's eyes! how longhis arms, and how shapeless his hands! Poor blushing youth, is not theordeal worst for himself, at that period when he scarcely dares trustthe most modest of monosyllabic discourses to be articulated by thoselips that are warning a waiting public of the dawn of whiskerdom!Freddy, once so lithe and graceful and pretty, had been transformedinto an ungainly being, all length, without breadth or thickness. Hehad not even the advantage of the average immatured youth, he hadneither muscle nor physical bulk. He was still a delicate boy with anervous cough and a fretted look. He was more than ever peevish andself-willed, with this only difference. In his earlier years hisselfishness was at least manifested in a dependent sort of way; histhousand wants were made known in impatient requests. Now, it spoke inimperative accents and decided in its own favor, regardless of thecomfort or concern of any other person. Of course I was not surprised, for "as the twig is bent so is the tree inclined, " but my step-motherwas disappointed with the results of all her anxious solicitude, andbegan to see when it was vain, how thankless such indulgent effortsprove in the end. Freddy's soul was altogether absorptive, taking inwhatever offerings gratified him, but yielding no return, and I ask, is there anything so discouraging to an ardent love as this coldneutrality, which proves, without a scruple, that all affectionlavished upon it is an irretrievable waste. 

As fortune or accident would have it, I was destined to see verylittle of this relation. Before he had been a fortnight at home Ireceived a letter from Hortense de Beaumont's mother, informing me ofthe serious illness of my little friend, and entreating me, if it wereat all possible or convenient, to go to them for a little while, as myname was constantly on the lips of the dear invalid. 

I had begun to wonder at the breach in the correspondence betweenHortense and myself, but it had not then been so protracted as to haveexcited my fears. I attributed her delay to a thousand and onepossible impediments, and went on, hoping each day would put an end tomy vague conjectures. That day was come at length but the tidings werenot what I had prepared myself to hear. I persuaded myself that hermother's excessive love had exaggerated the unfortunate condition ofmy little friend's health, but, nevertheless determined to go to heras soon as possible. I showed the letter to my father, who had longago become familiar with the name and attributes of this lovedcompanion, and having obtained his sanction to my eager proposals, Iset about making immediate preparations for my journey. 

Before ten days had elapsed I was nearing my destination and Hortensede Beaumont's home. My father had entrusted me to the wife of aprofessional friend of his who was travelling with her son, and whoseroute opportunely corresponded with mine at this particular time. ButI may say with truth that I travelled alone, for with the exception ofa few crude observations now and then, the silence of discretion wasunbroken between us. The lady was old, bulky, and the victim of aprolonged bilious attack all the way. The son was a red-hairedgentleman with very new gold-rimmed spectacles and a scented silkhandkerchief. We travelled by rail to Prescott, keeping our peace incontemplative sullenness all the while. The day was hot and dusty, andthe car as uncomfortable as it could possibly be. 

I sheltered my tell-tale face behind a friendly paper, and distractedmyself with an impartial view of the surrounding country. It was earlyin the afternoon, and the full sunshine lay hot and strong upon thetilled and furrowed fields that stretched away as far as the eye couldsee on either side. Picturesque little farm houses skirted the roadhere and there, and stalwart men with their bronzed arms bared to theelbows rested pleasantly on their instruments of toil as the trainrushed past them, shouting and waving their broad-rimmed hats until wehad left them far behind. Immediately in front of me propped up byinnumerable coats and bundles, my lady patron dozed heavily. The thickgreen veil that screened her bilious expression from the general viewquivered and heaved as each deep-drawn breath escaped her powerfulnostrils. In her fat lap lay her folded hands with their half-glovesof thick black lace, the pitiful victims of countless flies. Theexertion of eating a sandwich had sent her to sleep. The remnants ofthis popular refreshment were now being actively appreciated by ahungry, buzzing multitude that made their very best of their goldenopportunity. Her hopeful heir sat at a little distance on the sameseat twirling his thumbs with an apparently decided purpose. Once ortwice he drew his scented handkerchief from his side pocket with anartful flourish and frightened the troublesome swarm away from hisparent's sleeping form, but seeing their undaunted determination torestore themselves almost immediately, he respectfully stowed thescented article away with a final flourish and re-applied himself tothe interrupted pleasure or task of twirling his thumbs with anapparent purpose. 

Busied with my own intimate thoughts I escaped an _ennui_ that wouldotherwise have proved almost unbearable, and was pleasantly enoughdistracted until the first monotony of fields and farm houses wasbroken by the outskirts of the romantic town of Prescott--romantic, because to the traveler who steps from the dusty afternoon train andalights amid its unpropitious surroundings, it suggests itselfstrongly as a living illustration of a "deserted village, " asmelancholy to look upon as ever sweet Auburn could have been. Mydrowsy chaperone was awakened too suddenly, and was therefore verycross and ill-humored for some time after. It was with difficulty wepersuaded her to follow us along the track, at the end of which loomedup a dismal wooden building whither we directed our vagrant steps, notknowing what better to do. Here we deposited our sundry parcels andawaited some crisis, we hardly knew what. We were informed that ourboat would not reach there before evening, and to escape the monotonyof our new surroundings we decided to board the ferry which was nownearing shore, and spend the intervening hours with our neighborsacross the line. The comfort and compensation which my drowsychaperone found in a capacious rocking-chair on the upper deck of theferry restored her ruffled temperament to its original neutrality, much to her hopeful heir's gratification, and sinking into itssympathetic depths, she made a worthy effort to repair her recentrudely broken slumbers. 

Her son, with alarming gallantry, placed an easy-chair near therailing of the deck for me, paid the triple fare and discreetly keptat a distance. His bashfulness and timid reserve recommended him to mygenuine admiration as much as if it had been pure amiability, or adesire to do me a good turn that had prompted him to leave me tomyself. 

I was gathering experience on new grounds and I feared interruptionfrom any one. The briny odor of the St. Lawrence carried on the softsummer breeze was grateful and refreshing to me. The brightestsunlight I ever saw was dancing and riding on the green sparklingripples that wrinkled the broad surging surface before me. Beside meon a bench under the awning sat a party of American ladies from theother side--at least so I conjectured, and with reason. A look decidedit. They were clad in pronouncedly cool costumes, dresses that wouldmake a full ball toilet in Canada, but which exposed much prettinessto the ruthless action of the sun and wind on this hot midsummerafternoon. They were using their lips and tongues in a violent manner, accompanying commonplace remarks with the most exaggerated varietiesof facial expressions I ever saw. But they were only harbingers ofwhat one meets on landing. These strangely attired damsels inelaborate head-gear and high-heeled shoes strutted about the streetsof Ogdensburg in any number. They give life to the pretty town I mustadmit, and excite the interest of the uninitiated tourist who isaccustomed to judge women, especially, according to the standardpeculiar to Canada. It is a wonder to me that the drowsy and vapidcondition of Ogdensburg's _vis-a-vis_ does not check, in some measure, the animation and spirit of that busy town. There was more life thereon that sleepy summer afternoon than I have seen in a month in some ofour cities, with all their pretensions. It is only fair to the UnitedStates to admit that the spirit of progress and enterprise underliesevery square inch of its soil and animates every fibre of itsconstitution. 

In the evening we boarded our boat for the West, and began our journeyin earnest. I shall never forget this trip, and I cannot but wonderwhy. I was alone, for the most part, with my thoughts, which were farfrom being cheerful companions; still, whenever I steal into theadytum of my memory I find it there to greet me with its peculiarassociations. 

The evening being warm and sultry we remained on deck for many hoursafter supper. There was no moon, but heaven's vault was alive withtwinkling stars. I sat a little apart from my friends, leaning overthe railing, looking abstractedly into the dark restless water. I wasdisturbed once by my considerate cavalier, who brought me a shawl, saying the night air was likely to provoke rheumatism or neuralgia, orsuch other inconveniences to which our flesh is heir. 

I took it with a grateful smile, made a limited remark upon the beautyof the panorama before us, enquired solicitously about the old lady'scomfort and spirits, and then considering my duty accomplished, Iwrapped myself warmly in the folds of my shawl and settled myselfcosily for another reverie. 

With a wonderful acumen, the gaunt gentleman seized the insinuatingsituation, and considering himself summarily dismissed, he edged awayby stealthy strides and left me to my cogitations once again. 

Strangely enough, I began to think of Mr. Dalton, and my severalinterviews with him. He had puzzled me, that was all, there was noharm in wondering about him, surely, if I did not give too much timeand attention to the possibly dangerous subject. After all, there wassomething in him so different from other men, even from ArthurCampbell. There was always some deep, happy meaning to his simplestwords, and his most commonplace conceptions of things were flavoredwith this mystifying attraction whatever it was. 

That he had had some peculiar experience was evident in his everylook, and tone, and word. His very reserve betrayed him and excitedpeople's curiosity about his past career. I had known him all my life, and he had always been the same. I had sat upon his knee with my tinyarms twined about his neck, he had told me thrilling tales, had playedwith me, and had kissed me--not often--but on two or three occasionsthe last time was just before I went to school. Then, when I cameback--how strange it was--he seemed surprised to see me grown andmatured, while he apparently had remained the same. 

I suppose he saw that I was no longer the dependent child who confidedto him her petty joys and sorrows, but a young lady, self-consciousand reserved to a certain extent; a young lady with her own pronouncedtastes and settled opinions, whose life had drilled out into anindependent channel away from the early source which he had beenpleased to control and guide. 

Perhaps he was taking the right course, and that I had no need to feeldisappointed over his attitude towards me, but I was disappointed allthe same. I thought he would always be a dear friend, on whom I couldlean and rely, but here my thought was checked. Would I have beensatisfied with his _friendship_? Could I have kept within its narrowlimits and been content to see him lavish something still moreprecious upon another?

We are frank at the tribunal of our own most intimate thought, and Iknow what answer came whispering itself into my heart at this crisis. I roused myself from my reverie and looked out at the changing scenerybefore us. We were among the Thousand Islands. 

Dark broken outlines of trees and rock, with here and there theglimmer and twinkle of a light, the murmur of broken wavelets touchingthe shore on every side, and the faint sound of happy human voicessomewhere in the misty distance, were what greeted my eyes and ears. Icould see nothing defined in the wild panorama about me, only that thedarkness was broken here and there, by a darker something, from whichtall pine-tops reared themselves majestically, less shrouded than therest. It was a soul-stirring sight, so gloomy, so misty, so silent. Iwas almost sorry later to have looked upon the same scene by daylight, although the hand of man has put an artificial touch here and there, which, by the light of day, improves the general view. 

After all, what are nature's grandest phases to us unless they suggestsomething of our own selves? I have never been able to look uponmountain or valley with other than my corporal eyes, and I have alwaysadmired those places in a half-regretful way, where the print of humanfootsteps is unknown. There is no perfect beauty in the external worldwithout the presence of man, and all that silent waste of prairie landand towering mountain, which stretches away in an unbroken monotonytowards our northern limits, is to me a lifeless, useless mass, andwill be so until it has submitted every inch of its wild, untroddensurface to the honest industry of toiling humanity. When these giantmountain-tops look down in friendly patronage upon the gables andtowers, and curling smoke-wreaths of some struggling hamlets lying attheir feet, I shall see their grandeur and admire it, but where dumbnature sits in lone and pensive solitude away from the hum of goldenindustry, beyond the reach and influence of civilization, it has forme only a cold surface of beauty like the sleep of death. 

This thought came back to me on the following day, when we were ridingthe restless waters of Lake Ontario. As far as the eye could see inany direction nothing was visible but waves and sky. I tried toimagine myself doomed to live alone with nature's reckless beauty, such as I saw it then above and around me, and my heart shivered atthe mere thought of such a terrible destiny. I know "there is societywhere none intrude, " but I prefer to believe "it is not good for manto be alone. " All the richest and rarest charms of Nature or of Arthave never had more than a relative value for me, but give me oneshort moment of sympathetic human companionship, and with its borrowedlight I see beauty above and around me everywhere. Yet how hard it isfor us to find this influence that gifts the hours of time with goldenopinions, and bears them away as if to the measure of some hallowedstrains. There were human souls of every nature beside me, while Ileaned over that sunny deck, looking vacantly out upon miles and milesof heaving water, and yet it was to me as if I stood alone callingafter friends that could not hear my far-off voice, no bond of mutualinterest, care or devotion united me to any one among that motleycrowd. To them perhaps, I was not even a definite individual, but onlya fraction of the bulk that moved about the boat in moody silence. 

If circumstances such as these did not cross our daily lives atcertain intervals, I wonder what would become of all the wholesalemoralising and reflections which they engender for most of us. We, whoare the playthings of the moods of fate, what would we do withourselves if these moments of quiet reverie and placid realizationswere taken away from us altogether? One thing is certain. Many a noblegenerous deed, the outgrowth of one pensive hour, would never havebeen performed; many lives now re-united and happy on account of somecalm impartial meditation, would be drifting in lonely wretchednessasunder, the victims of some hasty, ill-explained impediment, that alittle reason could easily have removed. 

Thus busily entertained by my own peculiar cogitations, time spedwithout bringing me as much _ennui_ as I had feared. When night fellagain we were in view of Toronto City and looked upon our journey aswell nigh accomplished. So much is suggested by the distant prospectof giant towers and steeples, the glimmer of countless lights and themuffled buzz of active reality, as one sees and hears them from thedeck of a steamer nearing the shore. There were the lusty shouts ofboatmen on the wharf, rising above the ringing of discordant bells, and the rumble of railway trains. There was clanging and clashing ofmetal on every side, hauling of ropes, pitching and heaving ofmerchandise, with now a shrill scream from the throat of some daintycraft hard by, and again a hoarse sepulchral response from a largervessel as it came or went. There was a buzz of human voices expressiveof every sort of agitation and confusion, and quietly through it all, the great waves slapped against the shore with a heavy monotonoussplashing, and bounded back in sullen fury into the depths beyond. 

The half-hour after ten rang clearly out from an illuminated clock ina distant tower, as we picked our steps along the narrow gangway, anddeposited ourselves with a sense of infinite relief on _terra firma_once more. 

CHAPTER IX. 

Hortense was very ill and Madame de Beaumont very disconsolate, when Ireached them. The lively, sparkling look was all gone from the prettyface I had learned to love so dearly, only a wasted remnant of herformer beauty remained. Who could detect the change more keenly thanI? I, who had feasted upon every line and curve that constituted herphysical perfection, whose memory had been fed upon the recollectionof their rare loveliness, and whose hope had lived upon thisexpectation of seeing her soon again. 

When I arrived she was sleeping, the still quiet sleep of an infant, her breast scarcely heaving as the feeble breath came and went. Hermother was standing by the open doorway in an adjoining room lookingin upon the peaceful invalid with tearful eyes. She advanced ontip-toe to meet me, and twining her arms around me led me away down adimly-lit corridor into a cosy sitting-room at the end, where acheerful gas-light greeted us. Our noiseless entrance disturbed thesolitary occupant, who, as we crossed the threshold, rose up abruptlyfrom where he sat by a small table near the window, and gathering upthe books which he had been reading, strode eagerly towards acurtained doorway opposite, and vanished behind the waving drapery, just as we passed into the room. 

There was an uneasy look in Madame de Beaumont's eyes for a second ortwo as they followed the receding figure. Then with an affectation ofordinary solicitude she turned and said to me, "I did not know that anyone was here. We disturbed Bayard at hisstudies I am afraid. "

"Let us go somewhere else, " I suggested a little eagerly. 

"Oh, " she answered, shaking her head significantly, "that would notbring him back I assure you, we may as well be comfortable here aselsewhere, now. He is such a queer boy. "

She was evidently under the impression that I knew something definiteabout this person who, in spite of his suggestive name, seemed timidand strange as a fawn, but as I had a burning desire to knoweverything about Hortense's illness I was not tempted to indulge thissecondary curiosity, so his name was summarily abandoned for the dearinvalid's. 

Madame de Beaumont could not account in any definite or satisfactorymanner for her daughter's present condition. It was the result, shesaid, of a growing indisposition that had stolen over her lately, andthis was why her fears had such little hope lest her complaint shouldprove a constitutional decline that would baffle all the skilfulefforts of her physicians. 

"She began, " the mother said in a voice of sobs, "by renouncing allher pleasures. She did not care for one thing and was too tired foranother. She took no interest in anything that had distracted herbefore; she would only read, and write letters to you and in the endshe renounced even these relaxations. The doctors suspect that somemental strain may have been worrying her, but I can think of none. Allthat we could do to make her happy and comfortable we did, and I havenever heard her complain, or wish for anything that she had notalready. What will I do if I lose her?" Madame de Beaumont suddenlycried, burying her face in her hands and weeping bitterly. "Herfather, you know, died of consumption, " she added in a hopelesswhisper, raising her head and looking at me sorrowfully. 

It was a sad scene and one that I was not prepared to meet. I hadassured myself that Madame de Beaumont's letter was exaggerated, andnow it seemed not to have conveyed to me half vividly enough theactual state of the unfortunate circumstances. 

We had some slight refreshment served on the little table before us, but neither of us could partake of it heartily. I swallowed somemouthfuls of food more out of duty than anything else, and indulgedmyself with a cup of strong tea, my favorite beverage, after which werepaired quietly to the sick-room to have a look at Hortense beforeretiring. 

Faint glimmers of light, leaping from the night lamp that burned dimlyon a table by the bedside, danced in flickering shadows every now andthen upon her pallid cheeks, but still she slept quietly andpeacefully. One would think it was the sleep that knows no earthlywaking were it not for the warm look of her paleness, and the feeblethrobbing of something in her thin white neck. 

"She will spend the whole night like this, " her mother whispered, drawing me away. "The nurse watches her steadily and Bayard occupiesthe next room, but they are never disturbed. She dozes quietly thewhole night long. To-morrow she will know you and talk to you. Youmust go to your room now, my dear, for you are tired and travel-worn. Come, I will show you the way, " she added, putting her arm around mywaist and leading me out of the room. 

When we reached the door we were met by the timid hero of thesitting-room, who now found himself almost in our arms. He was makinga stealthy entrance, and we a stealthy exit, and we came upon oneanother so suddenly that we all three stood motionless and silent foran awkward second or so. 

Madame de Beaumont relieved the stupid situation by saying, "MissHampden, this is my son, I suppose you know him already by name. "

I was too surprised to say or do anything appropriate. I merely raisedmy eyes and inclined my head a little, and worked my way through thedoor with an impatience almost equal to that with which he had flownfrom the room which we had invaded an hour or so before. 

In a few minutes more I was safe and secure in my own apartment, freeto sit down quietly and make out a calm realization of the whole stateof affairs for my own private benefit. The figure I had just leftstanding in the opposite doorway came back to me now, moreclearly-defined in memory than he was to my corporal eyes as theyrested on him. He was a handsome fellow, very handsome, but howstrange looking, with his rich embroidered gown falling about him inheavy folds, and his cap shoved back off his brow, throwing his markedfeatures into exquisite relief, this was Hortense's brother of whomshe had never spoken to me, whose name I had never heard untilto-night! This was Bayard de Beaumont!

I stood up and began to unfasten my trinkets, and my eyes wereinstinctively raised to a picture which hung over the mirror besideme. It consisted of two photographs in a pretty delicate frame, onewas Bayard's, the other was a woman's, not his mother's, nor hissister's. It was of some one I had never seen. I raised the lamp abovemy head and scrutinized it. It was a beautiful face, but one of cold, passive loveliness. There was something in the handsome mouth whichmade me wince as I looked upon it, and those large speaking eyes. Whata depth theirs was, too deep, I thought, too alluring, might not oneget lost in such labyrinths as these?

I gazed upon the picture until my hand, exhausted, trembled with thelighted lamp it held, and even then I had not seen it half enough butI turned away and went on in moody thoughtfulness with my finalpreparations for retiring. 

I knelt and said my evening prayers, with many a struggle againstteasing distractions, I must admit. 

Such a queer nature was mine! I do not know whether others resemble meor not in this respect, but from my young girlhood, I have always beenled away by those faces, books, sounds or pictures, that aresuggestive of any kind of deep or pent up emotion. I know not exactlywhether it be that I look upon them as associated in some dim distantway with my own uneventful life, yet how could that be? What havevagrant strains of unfamiliar music conceived by unknown minds, andplayed by unseen hands to do with the mechanism of one undreamt ofhuman soul? What can those heart-moving pages of the authors I love, have to do with the issue of an existence of which they have neverheard nor thought? What part could these fascinating faces have playedin the personal drama of my life, when they have never been calledupon to bestow even the tame smile of conventional greeting upon me?What bearing could those speaking pictures have upon the story of myindividual experience when they are often the only reflection of dayslong past and forgotten, children of some pensive artist's fancy thatnever had another life outside of his conception, than that infused bybrush or chisel? Yet it always seems to me that as I look into thosebooks and faces, or as I lend my ear to those engaging sounds, somechord vibrates within me that makes me feel as if my memory werestruggling to awake from some lethargy: scenes and sorrows of myyesterdays come back for a short moment to my vivid recollection, andseem to hang around these powerful incentives in a misty halo. It maybe the caprice of an extravagant imagination, it may be the freak of afoolish fancy, an empty day-dream, an idle reverie, but to me while itlasts, it is sweeter than any reality. 

Thus was it with this picture that hung upon my bedroom wall thatnight. I could not take my eyes from it. There I lay, tired andtravel-worn, on an easy bed; but the light burned beside me and Icould not sleep. Something held my gaze fixed upon the opposite wall. I could but stare and wonder at the curious loveliness of that woman'sface, and ask myself doubtfully over and over again whether suchbeauty always engenders proportionate happiness for its possessor. 

"And Bayard loved her, " I went on in mental soliloquy. "This strange, handsome fellow with the sad face and solemn air. " Did he still loveher, I wondered, or was she called away in her youthful grace andloveliness to where he could only see her with the eyes of faith? Didhe now live upon her cherished memory, isolated from all the profanedistractions of social life? Where was she, or who was she, and whyhad Hortense never spoken of her in all her intimate conversationswith me? Was she his wife? May not this picture have got there in someaccidental way? She might be a relative. It might have happened thatthey were just the same size and style of portrait, and were puttogether on that account. But no! something in the faces of bothinsinuated a close relationship. They were more to one another, I feltsure, than friend or relative. There was love, quiet, steady, absorbing love in his great dark eyes, as if in resting upon thebeauty of that other face they had found happiness and repose forever. They even suggested something of a reproachful love, as if they foundthose attractions too winning, and not human enough. I almost covetedthe respectfully devouring glance of those contemplative brown eyes, for we women with faces of very ordinary fabric cannot believe thatmen love us altogether as they would if our cheeks were like damaskroses and our eyes like dew-kissed violets. Nor do we blame them. Yethow often does it come to pass that a woman's beauty is thestumbling-block to her earthly happiness? With only a face for herfortune, many a bright-eyed, laughing belle has gone out to seeksorrow and misery. The world is full of them, they are rolling in easycarriages up and down the thoroughfares of life, each a pampered anddearly bought idol of some powerful old Croesus, whom to love would beto outrage every principle of nature and worthy sentiment, and, therefore, to live upon milk and honey and be clad in the finest ofpurple, beauty will sanction her own destruction, living a lovelesslife, ever haunted by a memory of something brighter and happier thatmight have been. And all for this, that others may look withadmiration, and possibly with envy upon her glittering wealth, or thatshe may reflect some of the social power and prestige of the man whomarries her. She may escape destitute gentility; she may pass into thehigher walks of refined society, may be waited upon by many servants, and be the cynosure of eyes that under other circumstances had neverdeigned to favor her with a casual notice. What of that? She may, atlast, recline in an expensive casket, and rich exotics may lie insplendid profusion about her, there may be tolling of many bells andsighing of many friends, but after that? Does the grave show any morerespect to these remnants of dainty humanity stowed away in thestillness of an artistic vault, than to the handful of pauper humanbones that crumble to their final dust under the unmarked, unnoticedsod?

With such reflections as these, and while my eyes were still fixedupon the fascinating photograph I fell into a deep sleep. 

I dreamed strange things that night. Phantom forms with a dark mysticbeauty about them glided round me. I saw a woman with long raventresses and tear-dimmed eyes shrouded in flowing draperies, leaningover a narrow rustic bridge under which dark and muddy water ran in agurgling stream. Her elbow leaned upon the railing, and her pensiveface lay half-buried in one slender hand. She was looking into thedepths below, and a great misery was written upon her handsomefeatures. I dreamed that I was hurrying by the spot where she wasstanding, eager to reach the other side unobserved by her. As I stolewith noiseless tread behind her, I heard her talking to the waters ina slow and humdrum monotone:

"Even if I did it, " she was saying "he wouldn't care now. No! Bayardwouldn't care, no one would care. Would you care?" She screamed, turning suddenly around and clutching me tightly with both tremblinghands. My blood ran cold, my very hair stood up on end, as I saw thewild glitter in her dark, lustrous eyes, and the hopeless frenzy inher harsh and hollow laugh. I wrestled once, with all the strength Icould command, and with a piercing scream I awoke! Cold clammy dropslay on my face and hands. My heart was throbbing wildly against mybreast. I lay prostrate, paralyzed with fear, staring into the outergloom. It was just at the turn of the darkness when things areoutlined though still colorless and shadowy, and I could see thedelicate frame opposite me suspended by invisible cords from aninvisible nail--that cursed thing that had haunted me in my sleep andreduced me to this painful condition. 

There was a flicker of light through the keyhole and crevices of mybed-room door at this crisis. Someone turned the handle cautiously andfinding the bolt drawn from the inside, whispered huskily. 

"What is the matter?"

I could not recognize the voice, but sitting up in my bed, I answeredfaintly:

"Oh! it is nothing. I have had a dreadful nightmare, that is all. "

The light flickered again and the cautious footsteps retreated, leaving me alone with the dusk and my fears. I fell back upon mypillow and crept under the warm coverings. I was weak and shivering, and a violent pain darted through my head. In a few moments thatseemed like hours to me, I fell asleep again. This time it was aquiet, dreamless slumber, which restored me greatly, and refreshed mylooks and my humor for breakfast. 

When I awoke a second time, a bright morning sunshine flooded theroom. The birds sang lustily outside my window, carts and carriagesrumbled along the road; bells were ringing and all the voices ofindustry and activity were united in a great chorus which proclaimedthe advent of another day. 

No one spoke of my tragic experience when I appeared at the breakfasttable. Madame de Beaumont and her son were already in the dining-roomwhen I went down, and we took our seats almost immediately. Hortensewas still sleeping, they said, and looked quite refreshed after thenight. 

"I hope I did not disturb her when I screamed?" I ventured to remark. 

"When you screamed!" Madame de Beaumont exclaimed in bewilderment. 

"Yes! did you not hear me?" I asked, just as astonished. 

"No indeed, " she answered, "did you Bayard?" turning towards her sonwho sat at the upper end of the table. 

"Miss Hampden had supper too late last night, " he said, evading adirect reply, "and that with traveling, and the excitement of seeingHortense so very ill, would disturb any one's slumber. "

I thought he intended that the subject of my nightmare, should besummarily dismissed with this explanation, and feeling a littleunkindness in the arbitrary way in which he expressed himself, Iturned to Madame de Beaumont and with a self-justifying tone remarked:

"It is the first time in my life I have ever had a nightmare, and Icannot account for it. I had been looking at a picture that hangs overthe looking-glass in the room you gave me, and do you know itsuggested such a queer train of thought, that immediately on fallingasleep I dreamed of it, and such a dream! It would have frightened anyone. "

Madame de Beaumout busied herself among the tea-things while I spoke, and never raised her eyes, but Bayard, laying down his knife and fork, turned his gaze full upon me. There was a covert sneer, I thought, inthe look which he directed at me so steadily, and feeling painfullymystified and uncomfortable under the whole situation, I bent my headover my chocolate and sipped it slowly for need of a betterdistraction. After a moment or so of unflinching staring, thecourteous Bayard resumed his breakfast with double the appetite, itseemed to me, with which he began it. This was my uncongenialinitiation into my friend's home. 

CHAPTER X. 

Before the week was out, Hortense, to the surprise and delight of usall, was able to move about from one room to another. She looked whiteand wasted still, but her old manner had returned to her in a greatmeasure, and she laughed and chatted eagerly with us, one afteranother, thus giving strong confirmation to the hopes expressed by hermedical adviser, who now predicted a rapid convalescence. 

The sun was warm and invigorating, and nature at the very climax ofher summer beauty, the leaves green and plentiful, and the breezegentle and refreshing. Everything in the external world tempted one to"fling dull care away" and be happy while these propitious momentslingered with time. 

Madame de Beaumont and her son were so hopeful now of Hortense'scomplete recovery that they ventured to leave home for a week or tendays to attend to some family business that had been delayed onaccount of her serious illness, but it was with many a partinginjunction, regarding the care and attention that should beunceasingly bestowed upon her darling during her enforced absence, that the solicitous mother left me in charge. Anxious to fulfil mypledge to the very letter. I gave myself up to the exclusivecompanionship of my little friend from that moment. It was indeed apleasure and a recreation for me, now that she was able to laugh andtalk as before. 

Two weeks had elapsed since my arrival in Toronto and many strangeconjectures had held possession of my mind during this comparativelyshort interval. I had seen nothing, I may say, of the quiet hero ofthe household. His time was spent either in the solemn seclusion ofhis own apartments or out of doors. Occasionally we met going out of, or coming into, a room, going up or down stairs or passing along somecorridor. We nearly always had meals together, and on a few occasionshe even sat with us for an hour after dinner, but of what good wasthat? The conversation was tame and impersonal when we were alltogether, and when we two met by accident there was a quiet mutualgreeting which began and ended on the spot. 

I was still of the opinion that he was a handsome man and a finefellow altogether, but the suspicion that he was shrouded in mysteryrepelled me, despite my best intentions and desires. I have nevertaken to those deep natures that talk in discreet monosyllables andcling to the sheltering refuge of such safe subjects as are thesubstance of everybody's and anybody's chit-chat. Maybe I judge themharshly when I persuade myself that the records of their past couldnot stand the open daylight of a free-and-easy discussion. Thisverdict is, however, the suggestion of my instinct, and need not carryweight with anyone but myself. 

Lest any of the ardent believers in the pre-eminent curiosity ofwomankind be wondering how I could have restrained my burning desiresto ferret out the secrets of this man's life for so long, I musthasten to inform them that conjointly with this feminine weakness Ihad a most unyielding pride, a pride that absorbed _even_ mycuriosity. Though I pined to know the wonderful story of his past, this prevailing vice forbade me to quench my devouring thirst at thefountainhead of satisfaction. 

Hortense had not volunteered to open the subject with me, neither hadher mother, though both must have known full well that my suspicionswere aroused. I did not therefore intend to ask a confidence whichcould not be given willingly and freely. It was virtually nothing tome what this man did or did not, and as his experience had probably apainful halo about it, I was not eager to refer to it in the remotestpossible way. 

Before he left with Madame de Beaumont he came into the sitting-roomwhere I was standing, looking out of the window, to bid me good-bye. 

He wore a traveling costume of a becoming gray color, and held his hatin one gloved hand. I heard him come in, but purposely did not lookaround. As he was generally engaged with business of his own when hewent in or out of a room, I was not supposed to know that, on thisparticular occasion, he was making a flattering exception for me. Iwent on biting my lips abstractedly, with my head leaning against thecasement. He cleared his throat emphatically, but what was that to me?"Ahem" was not enough like either of my names, to justify my lookingaround. 

He walked to the mantel-piece and inspected its familiar furnishingsfor a moment, making what seemed to me unnecessary noise and fuss ashe did so. I would have given worlds for a pair of keen eyes at theback of my head during this artful performance, but as no suchabnormal desire could be favored, I had to be satisfied with myconjectures and suppositions about his motives, and the variousexpressions that were chasing one another over his face as he wentthrough this programme of failures. 

At last, having spent his every indirect effort to attract my absorbedattention, he took a book from the table, and placing it deliberatelyunder his arm, as if it were one of the many things that brought himinto the room, he strode quietly towards me, saying in a verynon-committal and yet courteous tone. 

"I shall say goodbye, Miss Hampden, I hope you will take every care, of yourselves, and that we shall find you well on our return. "

"Thank you, " I answered, very politely, "there will be no fear of me. Good bye. "

He took the tips of my three longest fingers, my thumb and littlefinger not having been ordained by nature to meet the cordial grasp ofmen of this stamp, and having repeated his good-bye, he stalked out ofthe room in conscious dignity and grandeur. 

I made a mocking face, I know I did, when his back was turned. I hatedhim for not taking more notice of me than this. I did not want anyviolent attentions or silly love-making from him. He need not think Iwas a frivolous heart-hunter, for I was not. If I had been a man, hewould have discussed politics or science or newspaper topics with melong before this. How did he know I could not match him in these beinga woman? He was one of those wonderful erudites, I supposed, who thinkthat a girl's conversational power lies rigidly between dry goods andsentiment. Poor things! What a heresy they foster? But what need Icare? He was a glum, unsociable recluse anyway, may be at a loss for asecond idea to keep his mind busy. He was certainly not worth worryingabout, so I gathered up my needle-work that rested on the window-sill, and with a deliberate sullenness went in search of Hortense. 

She had fallen asleep on the lounge in her bedroom, and the old nurse, having closed the shutters and drawn the curtains to keep out theafternoon light, was seated in the adjoining room, busily knitting astocking. 

Free, therefore, to dispose of myself as I wished for the next hour, Iput on my things and went to stroll about the busy streets of thecity. 

Avoiding the fine, open thoroughfares, where business and pleasurewere airing themselves, I leisurely turned down a gloomy by-way whichwas lined on either side by the massive walls and rear wings of huge, dismal, commercial establishments. Not a soul was visible anywhere, itwas long and narrow and dirty, with deep ruts in the mud that lay in athick covering over the road. It was intercepted, some distance down, by another street much worse to look at, and a little farther on, thewoeful panorama became still more awful and repulsive. A littlepassage which seemed to have strayed away from all connection withhuman decency or sympathy ran to the left. It was so very narrow thatthough the surrounding buildings straggled up to only an ordinaryheight, the daylight scarcely penetrated it. And indeed it is to bewondered whether a bright sunlight would not but bring out moreclearly than ever the appalling features of the place. Could gold andsilver sunbeams hope to beautify the heaps of refuse and rubbish thatwere piled up here and there at intervals against some staggeringfence? Could a flood of sunlight improve the dingy house-fronts thatlooked drearily out upon this cheerless prospect, or lend a charm tothe hardened faces of those that peered through dirty window-panes, orwho stood idly in some rickety doorway?

The spectacle was indeed heart-stirring. 

 "Why shines the sun except that he Makes gloomy nooks for grief to hide? And pensive shades for melancholy When all the earth is bright beside?"

The words seemed written on the dingy house-tops before me, and borneon the gusty breeze that wafted noxious odors far and wide. My heartturned sick, and yet this was what I had come out to see. I could nothave gone away from a lively city like this, where towers and steeplesof lofty and majestic buildings reared themselves in proud beautytowards heaven, without having also looked on the picture's gloomyside. Where so much wealth and fashion and finery dazzled the casualeye, there must, said I, be also 'poverty, hunger and dirt, ' and weremy words not fully verified now?

I have been warned more than once of the danger of going unattendedalong these haunts of misery and vice, but whether or not it isbecause my motive is one of pure philanthropy, and my sentimentsexclusively sympathetic I do not know, I have, however, escaped up tothis without interference from the lowly inhabitants of these obscurecorners, and can vouch for the latent gallantry of many a ragged hero, who restored a fallen umbrella or parcel with as much courtesy as hisbrother clad in broadcloth ever showed me. 

That human mind which feasts exclusively upon the dainty morsels oflife is only half educated, though there are grand fragments ofknowledge and experience to be gathered among the haunts of high art, and where stand the immortal monuments of power and fame, though theheart may swell with a just enthusiasm at sight of the marvels whichhave risen out of gold piles, the coffers of nations or individuals, Ihold that all the majesty of the best-spent wealth has not power toawaken such a depth of feeling in the human breast as one of thesetottering huts with its mouldy walls and mud-spattered window-panes, the "Home Sweet Home" of flesh and blood as real and as sensitive asour pampered own. 

To think that in the world's great capitals there is squalor whichcould never compare with what my eyes then beheld! Think of MurrayHill and the Alaska District, Fell's Point, or the Basin, and what asea of human wrecks we contemplate in a fraction of America'scontinent alone. And again, think of the waste of wealth the wideworld over. Think how vice is wined and dined, and clad in the finestof fabrics, while honest humanity, in helpless hunger, cries out toears that are deaf and hearts that have turned to stone. Oh, well mayit be said that the rich man's chances of heaven are as those of thecamel going through the eye of a needle, if the recording angelpencils down the use and abuse of every dangerous penny that mighthave been well spent, and was not. 

With such reflections as these I turned my steps slowly back throughthe dingy by-ways. 

The afternoon was waning, and the hour was near when daily toil wouldbe suspended, and the workers would repair to these their miserablehomes. I had met a few already with their picks and shovels on theirragged shoulders, and had stood to see them vanish under these crookeddoorways where little children lingered waiting and watching for theircheerless coming. I saw some others lay down the instruments of theirhonest labor outside the corner entrance of a large but smoky row ofwooden tenements that skirted one gloomy street. A doorway cut throughthe sharp angles of the corner of the building, allowed a small canopyto project in a triangular peak over two dirty battered steps that ledinto a dimly-lit room on the ground floor. Suspended from the point ofthe canopy was a lamp of a dull red color, which with rain spatteringsand droppings, and a long-standing accumulation of cobwebs and dusthad grown barely translucent, and must have emitted but a sickly lightat night-fall. A worn and ragged rope-mat lay on the second step, andacross the upper half of the dilapidated door (which was of glass) afaded screen was drawn that kept the inner room secure from thecurious gaze of passers-by. 

Those who had been born and brought up under the shadow of thisominous establishment, must have known many a tale of sorrow and woethat owed its origin to that vile ground-floor. 

I discovered, on closer scrutiny, that some faded letters across thedirty lamp, intimated to the general public that this was the "Ace ofSpades. " And in the money-till of the Ace of Spades, doubtless was theprice of many a poor man's toil, the bread and meat of his hungrychildren squandered and sacrificed with a fiendish recklessness. Within the dingy walls of the Ace of Spades was bartered the domestichappiness of many a home that had been cheerless enough, God knows, without this extra curse. 

I shivered as I passed it by, to think that amid such haunts of miseryand starvation, a place like this could flourish, growing fat upon thelife-blood of famishing humanity, and a pity that is akin to a mostcontemptuous hatred swelled my breast, when I asked myself: What sortof being presides over this soul-trap? Can it be rational? Can it havea soul? Can it ever understand what even animal sympathy is?

The gold that is stolen from the rich man's coffers has some claim torespectability, over these ill-gotten coins that are so many mouthfulsof bread snatched from the jaws of perishing hunger. 

I turned away feeling sick at heart, and directed my vagrant stepstowards home. All the pomp and glory of the world's wealth were dimmedand darkened before my eyes by this huge black shadow of penury andsuffering, that had darted across my way at that moment. If suchthoughts as these could be ever with us, if such vivid reminders ofthe shallowness and vanity of earth's transient splendors would abidewith us constantly, how paltry would our idolized and coveted honorsappear, and how much more profitable would our wasted energies become!But our minds are frivolous, and easily distracted from great pursuitsby petty, external circumstances. We become too readily absorbed inthe study of our own selves, and those elements of experience that mayyield us pleasure or pain during our sojourn among mortal men. Veryoften our own instability of purpose annoys and discourages us. Ourspirit has desired the accomplishment of one thing, but our contraryflesh has silenced these better demands in gratifying its own caprice. It takes us a very long time to learn the danger of trusting ourfallible natures too far. The man who goes forward to defy temptation, telling himself he will not fall, is running down towards a steepprecipice, and has not the power of self-control when he reaches thecritical point. 

I was faithful to my wholesome meditation while I sauntered back alonethrough the busy streets. When I raised my eyes to look uponglittering carriages, bearing beauty and ease and comfort along thehighway, I said to myself in all sincerity, What will it avail them inthe end?

But, gentle reader, if I have found fault with the weakness of humannature, and censured its infidelity to noble purposes, it is because Ihave taught myself the realization. Think you, I have stood where mybrothers and sisters have fallen? or have been much the better forknowing so well where the straight path of duty lies?

When I entered the house of my friend I left the best part of my newconvictions upon the threshold, and bounded up the stairway with aslight a step as if life's darkest phases were unheard of mysteries tome. 

Hortense was still lying on the lounge, and the curtains were stilldrawn, but her eyes were wide open, and the rosy warmth of a recenthappy slumber lay on each delicate cheek. 

I crept softly towards her, lest perhaps I should find her dozing, buther sleep had not left a languid trace behind. She looked up at mewith a bright smile, saying, "Oh, you naughty truant, where have you been?"

"I went for a little walk, " I answered, stooping over her and kissingher brow. "I saw you were sleeping, and having nothing to do, I took afancy to explore the town. Have you been awake long?"

"Oh, yes! for hours!" she said playfully. "I have counted my fingersabout a dozen times. I have discovered that that picture between thewindows hangs to one side, and the table-cover is longer at the backthan in the front. That bottle casts a shadow just like a man's faceand--"

"Oh, come!" I broke in, "you are improvising as you go along. Youwould not look so rosy and good-humored if you had been lying awakeall that time. You will not make me believe such ponderous fibs, " Iadded, throwing my hat and parasol wearily on the bed. 

"You are quite too cute, Amey, " she answered, rising slowly and takingmy arm affectionately, "in fact you are a genius my dear, " she addedin a pompous tone. 

"So they all tell me, " I retorted quietly, "and yet I feel very muchlike other people. "

"Well, you are not like other people, indeed you are not!" sheexclaimed earnestly. "If you were I would never have liked you. "

"Don't you like 'other people'?"

"Not generally, some other people I do, but not all _Mon Dieu! non pastous !_" she added, shaking her head emphatically and lookingabstractedly before her. 

The current of her thought must have changed suddenly, for she raisedher face with a bright expression upon it now and said

"Let us do something--something to keep us alive--What shall it be?"

"We might drink your cod liver oil, " I suggested; "it is recommendedfor that purpose, is it not?"

"How smart you are Miss Hampden!" she exclaimed. "Well, I will leaveall that sport to yourself, it has no charm for me, I know, " she thencried, interrupting herself, "let us go to your room, and you willshow me all your pretty things. I have not seen anything since youcame, such a prisoner as I have been. "

"I hope you will feel repaid, " I said, putting one arm tenderly aroundher frail waist, and leading her out, "but I have not much to showyou, Hortense. "

We repaired to my room at the other end of the corridor, and Hortense, seating herself on a pile of pillows on the floor, insisted on beingshown all the new jewellery and trinkets that had been bestowed on mewhen I "came out. "

This trivial circumstance is, I am fully conscious, quite enough toprovoke the blandest of smiles from masculine lips. 

"Such a paltry distraction for sensible people!" I hear them utter. Sobe it; we will not dispute the point in our own favor, but we willconfess that whether it reflect or not upon the tone and dignity ofour leading tastes, there is an undeniable gratification for everywoman in the contemplation of another's wardrobe or jewel-box. It is arest for our eyes that are wearied of gazing upon our own familiarbelongings, to search among the novel trinkets of a friend. We like totouch them, to hold them, to try them in our ears, or on our fingers, or to twine them around our wrists, not that we covet them either, fora moment's inspection gratifies us, and we tire of them quickly. 

It is an inherent peculiarity I dare say, and most certainly aharmless one. We all have it to some extent. I will admit that it hasits abuses like all other innocent things, that it is often a powerfulchannel for individual venom and an incentive to the emptiest vanity. There are women I know, who buy bonnets on purpose to vex Mrs. Jones, their rival neighbor, and I have seen Mrs. Parvenue, time and again, indulging a magnificent caprice with some rare luxury, upon whichstraitened aristocracy was bestowing covetous and admiring glances. Our daily observations confirm the fact that feather brained_protegees_ of fortune, expend much wealth, and flaunt much finery forthe passive pleasure of being looked at with wonder by a strugglinggentility; and the essence of their gratification, virtually lies inthe consciousness that they are provoking a scrutiny, at least, frombetter-bred people not in possession of such solid wealth as affordsthem these material comforts. 

All this however is an abuse, the offspring of most sordid andcontemptible motives. It is the unmistakable brand of the plebeian, and compromises the one who favors it, beyond amendment. It is well tomention it, however, for there are persons of limited observation, andthere must needs be persons of a limited experience at all times who, for want of knowing the whole truth, will be tempted to pass acomprehensive general verdict where a particular one only is deserved. It is the misfortune of good to be counterfeited by a simpering evilwhich works its wonders among the uninitiated, and for this reason, itis not injudicious to openly discuss both sides of a question beforeadopting a partiality for either one. 

When however as in our case, the pleasure is equally divided betweenthe owner of the fine things and the one who appreciates them, thereis a possibility of spending a very happy hour in their inspection. When one is free, as I was, to take up each pretty trinket separatelyand tell its little story to an attentive ear and a sympathetic heart, the circumstance becomes quite propitious for an interchange offriendly confidences, as we shall see. 

I had opened and closed more than a dozen jewel-cases. I had revealedto my friend's devouring gaze, my newest acquisitions in silver andgold, and how earnestly she had admired them all. It was refreshing tome to watch her as she clasped my bracelets on her slender wrists, andhung my ear rings from her delicate little ears; now exclaiming overthe novelty of one, now listening eagerly to the whispered accountabout another. At last we had emptied out the great box that held allthese little cases of morocco and plush, and putting them back one byone, I turned the tiny key in its tiny lock, and opening my trunklodged it safely inside. Hortense was sitting beside me still, pouringout a volley of impulsive praise upon what I had just shown her, andas I raised the lid of my trunk, with the privilege of an intimatefriend she leaned over and peeped curiously in. 

"What is in that red case there Amey?" she asked half timidly, thenlooking apologetically into my face added: "You see my curiosity isnot satisfied yet. "

"That is my ivory-covered prayer-book I told you of, " said I, drawingit from its seclusion and laying it in her lap. "I seldom use it, itis too showy. "

"It is very handsome" she muttered under her breath. "From yourfather, " she continued, speaking to herself, "a Christmas gift. Howlovely!"

She put it gently back in its padded holder, and returned it to me. Then peeping into the open trunk once more she said

"Don't be cross, old woman, I want to know all your things, so that Icould recognize them any where again. I like them, chiefly becausethey belong to you. What is in that Japanese box over there?"

"Oh, that is not worth showing you, " I said, with a smile of ridicule. "I keep all my odds and ends there, broken and old-fashioned trinkets. It is a very uninteresting heap, I assure you. "

"I don't care, " she persisted obstinately. "You must let me see them. I like old broken stuff, it will be a change from all the finery Ihave been feasting on. "

"Well, if you will, you will I suppose, you tantalising child!" Iexclaimed in mock resignation, dragging out the shabby receptacle uponwhich lingered the faint outlines of Japanese ladies in brilliantcostumes. 

"I hope you will like the contents, " I remarked derisively, handingher the box. "While you are improving your mind studying them, I shalljust restore some order to these dilapidated quarters, " I said, as Iturned around towards my neglected dressing table that was reduced toa most confusing state of chaos. 

The fragments rattled and clinked awhile between her busy fingers, andthen were silent. I was so occupied with my new purpose that I did notnotice the stillness at first, but suddenly I looked around inquestioning scrutiny. The box lay on the floor beside her, unheeded. Between her fingers was some small, shining thing, upon which her eyeswere fastened greedily. While I stood watching her, she turned herhead slowly round and in a quiet, almost supplicating, tone said, "Amey, come here. "

I went and knelt beside her, laying one arm fondly around her neck. 

"What do you want?" I asked, hardly noticing what she held in oneslender palm. 

"Where did you get this Amey? Do you mind telling me?"

She looked up into my face as she spoke, with such pleading sorrowfuleyes, that I snatched the trinket impulsively from her and turned itover in my own hand. 

It was the forgotten locket I had found in the library on that Marchafternoon before the Merivales' musical. A change passed over my ownface at sight of it, and it was with some agitation I answeredHortense's timid question:

"It is a strange thing how you came by this. I have never seen it butonce, the night I found it, until now. "

"You found it then, " she murmured slowly with her eyes still buried inmy face. "Have you ever opened it?"

I laughed dryly and said, "It is a queer thing, isn't it, but I neverhave. "

"Open it now, " she interrupted seriously. I took it between my fingersand after repeated efforts managed to open it. There were two smallphotographs inside. One was Ernest Dalton's--and the other was mine!

A crimson flush deluged my face and neck, my hand trembled and thelocket fell into Hortense's lap. She raised her solemn eyes now grownsadder and more solemn than ever, and said in a voice more plaintiveand pleading than any voice I ever heard before, "Then you know him?"

I was mystified. I could hardly remember afterwards what I hadanswered to her strange question. I think I said in a seeminglyindifferent voice, "Is it Mr. Dalton?"

But I know she looked at me with an expression of infinite reproachfullonging and asked, "Have you a doubt of it?"

"But I never gave him a picture of mine, " I argued, "and moreover, Inever had pictures taken like this one. If it is he, where did he getthis, and why did he put it here?"

She shot a wincing, suspicious glance at me from under her white lidsand repeated huskily, "You never gave him this picture?"

"On my word, I did not Hortense, " I answered. "How could I? It neverbelonged to me. I never saw it in my life until this moment. We cannotbe sure that it is my portrait. "

"Look at those eyes and that mouth, and the hair waving over thatbrow, " she muttered, half in soliloquy, with her gaze still bent uponthe mysterious locket. "Of course it is you, Amey Hampden, and no oneelse. "

"Well, it is a dark puzzle to me, " I said, "and I wish I could explainit. "

Then suddenly remembering the other strange feature of thecircumstance, I turned impulsively to Hortense and observed:

"I did not know that you and Mr. Dalton were friends. I never heardhim mention your name. "

"Nor did I know that you and he were friends, " she interrupted, alittle incisively, I thought. "I never heard him mention _your_ name. "

"That is strange" said I, "for he has known me from my infancy. I havesat upon Mr. Dalton's knee time and again, listening to his thrillinganecdotes and telling him my petty confidences. "

"Have you?" very indifferently. 

"Yes, and that is why I am morally certain this picture can in no waybe associated with me, for there is no reason why Mr. Dalton shouldhave one and keep it secret. Besides, I ought to know" I arguedwarmly, "whether I had ever had such pictures taken, and whether hehad been given one or not. "

"Well it is very like you, Amey, " Hortense resumed in a more calm andfriendly tone "So much so, that when I saw you for the first time atNotre Dame Abbey, I recognized you from this. "

"Oh then you have seen this before, " I exclaimed. 

A deep, red shadow flitted across her face for one moment and sheanswered timidly. 

"Yes, he showed it to me, but when I met you I could not rememberwhere it was I had seen your face before. It troubled me then, and ithas often puzzled me since. Now, the whole mystery is solved" shesaid, rising from her lowly seat, and going towards the window. Shestill held the locket in one open palm, and I know she muttered, halfaudibly, as she turned away

"Who else could it be?"

From that moment Hortense was not the same. She tried hard to appearher old self. She even laughed and chatted more merrily than ever, butI felt rather than saw the difference. There was some undertone ofmystery about this affair, that she was striving to hide from me, andthat conviction built up an ugly barrier between our hithertounswerving loves. I had never broached any subject to her thatrequired to be spoken of reservedly or discreetly. I would not havehad her know that secrets should exist between us, and therefore Icould not help feeling the sting of these unfortunate circumstancesthat had been so strongly evolved out of chance. 

Of one thing I was certain that Hortense did not look upon EarnestDalton as an ordinary friend or acquaintance. Ordinary friends havenot the same influence over us as he seemed to exercise over her. Wedo not blush at the mention of their names, nor are we agitated byevery little reminder of their lives or persons. We can think of themwithout a far-away look in our eyes, and can speak of them without atremor in our voice or a sudden change of expression in ourcountenance. 

"If she loves him" said I, in my reverie, that night, and why shouldshe not, it is no wonder that this strange likeness should bedisagreeable to her. It has given me some pleasure to see this thingthat only looks like me so carefully stowed away in his locket. Thereis every reason why the same discovery should grieve her--if she caresfor him. 

I then went back in memory to that dull March afternoon, I had passedin quiet reflection before the library fire. How vividly it all roseup before me. My sudden awakening from a stupid slumber, my firmconviction that some one else was in the room, my timid whisperingquestion, the tinkling sound of something falling upon the floor, andmy subsequent surprise on finding this queer, unfamiliar trinket lyingat my feet. Now that it was proven to be Ernest Dalton's, the mysterywas thicker than ever. How had it come there? I asked myself thisperplexing question over and over again. Perhaps it had been lying inthe folds of the upholstering for days or months, and that by chance Ihad disturbed it when I threw myself wearily upon the sofa. Mr. Daltonoften came to sit and talk with my father of an evening when we wereout. In fact we were never surprised to see him drop in at any moment, and it was quite likely, I concluded, that he had lost the littleornament without knowing it, and as no one of the household had mademention of it to him, as they would have done had it been found, heevidently thought it useless to speak about it under thecircumstances, and out of his silence and mine grew this new aspect ofaffairs. 

Satisfied with the probability of this solution, I dismissed the firstview of the subject and gave my thought and attention to that othermore interesting one, which compromised, to all appearances, my littlefriend's affections. There was no doubting her sentiment. All theartful veneering she could ever put upon her words or actions had nopower to deceive me. There was no indifference in her indifferentattitudes, none at least that was real. Who could tell better than I, who had myself gone through the ordeal? I knew too well what thenature of such a conflict was, not to have detected its workings whenthey were going on under my very eyes. Besides, was there not somestrange new feeling awakened within my own breast, by this unexpectedturn of the tide; and was I not striving to guard it and hide it, maybe as vainly as my friend, for all I knew. 

I had been making vague conjectures about Ernest Dalton for some time, wooing the possibility if not the probability of being more closelyassociated with his life some day, than I was at this period. Hiswords had always an underlying signification for me apart from thatwhich any casual listener would detect, and I had studied him so!Every outline of his face and figure was engraven upon my memory, thevery curves of his ears, the shape of his figure, the form of hiseye-brows, the fit of his collar, the pattern of his neck-ties, allwere quite familiar to me. I had taken a pleasure in noticing them, and a still greater pleasure in telling them to myself over and overagain. Surely then, he was more to me than all those other people whocame and went and left not a trace of their personality inscribed uponmy mind or heart. In spite of my wilful protestations, and avowals ofindifference, I must have been living all along in the fetters ofhappy slavery, else, why so many fond recollections of a past thatwas, after all, but the interesting progress of a prosy human life?

It takes very little to settle our doubts sometimes, and rudely awakenus from dreams and fancies that have colored our idle hours with atinge of exquisite gladness. The best of us are jealous in theabstract, though even in words and deeds we are above the paltrypassion; and the fear that, while we are holding our idol at adistance the better to feast our eyes upon the beauty of its form, intruders are creeping dangerously near to it is enough to stimulateus to prompt action. 

We make a rush forward to seize our treasure and bear it triumphantlyaway where no one dares to trespass. But Mr. Dalton had not sanctionednor encouraged such a regard for me, and I was proud, more thananything else, more proud than loving, more proud than persevering. For my own peace of mind I would not stop to analyse my real feelingtowards him. A passive friendship seemed to satisfy him, why should itnot also satisfy me? He saw that Arthur Campbell showed a preferencefor me and might seriously engage my affections at any moment. But hedid not care evidently. Perhaps he thought he was too old; maybe hewas poor, maybe he was not sure of a return of love from me? Did thisuncertainty justify him? Not in my eyes. Faint heart never won fairlady. A man who "never tells his love" cannot be judged by the samestandard as the pensive maid who lets

 "Concealment like a worm i' the bud Feed on her damask cheek. "

If I were a man, I would win the object of my love in spite of destinyherself, and therefore have I little faith in timid hearts that shrinkfrom such impediments as inevitably obstruct that course that neverdoes run smooth. 

The man who loves a woman as a true woman deserves to be loved, willnever give her a second place in his regard before the world. We havenothing to be ashamed of in our honest loves and therein lies a rigidtest. It is true that in our day it makes a great difference to uswhether certain persons attract the potent attention of fashion'svotaries or not. A plain face, or an awkward gait, or an eccentricmanner, can turn the tide of a whole human life; for such superficialirregularities have proved many a time to be a stumbling block to ourmost willing affections, when we could have loved and cherished a soulwere it not for these accidents of the flesh: an uncouth demeanor, anunpolished exterior, an old fashioned accent, or something just astrifling which our modern propriety ridicules. It has come to this, Iknow, in our times, that the world expects an explanation or anapology of some kind, when people of social standing allow themselvesto be wooed and won by persons whose lives are not regulated accordingto the popular taste. Men marry beauty and talent and accomplishmentsas though any of these things were solid enough to maintain theirprospective fortunes and women betroth themselves to men and manners, and are satisfied that if they have nothing to eat, they will alwayshave something to look at. The great majority of rejected men in thehigher walks of civilization, as the word is used in our day, arewhole-souled fellows, whose clothes have the misfortune to fit awry, whose shoes are clumsy, and whose ways are natural. It omens ill forthe human race that in spite of its much vaunted development andprogress, there should be such a mental poverty and moral weaknessprevailing among the representative classes. It is nothing else than aserious reflection upon this self-glorifying century of ours, to notehow subservient our people are to harmful, social regulation, and howindifferent they have become to those moral restrictions that encroachupon the liberty of these questionable conventionalities. 

These, however, are not the people that are ever associated with themention of the nobler and grander phases of human life. We pity themfor sacrificing their better selves to so thankless and perishable acause, and we would redeem them by gentle persuasion if they werewilling, but there are aspects of the situation upon which our eagersolicitude may not trespass, and having reached this limit we mustturn away with a shrug of the shoulders and leave them to their ownhazardous guidance. 

Ernest Dalton was not one of these, although he happened to bemarkedly favored by persons of every distinction and rank. He wasreceived with a smile and a pleasant greeting wherever he went. He hadwon the goodwill of social, political and scientific magnates, and yetit could not be said of him, as of many another such luminary, that hepaid too dear for his whistle. He had not purchased his popularitywith servile adulation and at a sacrifice of his own personal dignity. The smiles of the world are too transient and uncertain to repay onefor such a compromising tribute, especially when we can provoke themin a worthier and more respectful manner. I doubt, however, if ever alaurel-crown were worn more comfortably than Ernest Dalton could haveworn his. 

And yet he was a very plain man, who spoke with an ordinary accent, who wore unfashionable clothes, who never boasted of pedigree, but whoearned a distinct individuality about with him though he neverintruded it upon others. He was affable and agreeable without thatexaggeration of either quality which spends itself in profuselaudation of social comets. He was a favorite but not a parasite, andcould lay his hand sincerely upon the clumsy waistcoat that shelteredhis sterling heart and say to that world of artifice and cunning. _Nonserviam. _

Surely if it is possible to extract any sweetness from a world-givenfame or distinction, it is when that world has thrust it on us, andnot when we have begged and striven and pined for it, and bribedhidden forces to unite in supporting and advocating our cause. Thereis no flavor to the cup of fortune when we have used ourfellow-mortals as stepping-stones to the rank or wealth which bringsus within reach of it. 

It may seem that I had an exaggerated view of Mr. Dalton's standing insociety, but it was the popular view that every one fostered, andcould not, therefore, be magnified by my personal appreciation of histrue worth. I had always admired him, even before I began to think ofhim in any particular way, the thought that he had been one of the fewkind patrons of my neglected youth, seemed to bring him yet nearer tomy deepest regard as I grew older. 

But he had changed with my life. He was not now what he had been in myyounger days. No one would have thought, to watch us together orlisten to our aimless conversation, that we had ever been more thanordinary acquaintances. This vexed me. I wanted him to show me moreattention on account of our long-standing relationship. I thought hecould have presumed upon our early friendship to call me by namebefore strangers, or in some way insinuate that I was more to him thanall that motley crowd of fashionable humanity that flitted and buzzedaround us. 

Ah! there are many such petty needs as this gnawing at our poor, dissatisfied hearts. Things are going wrong on all sides of us, andthe beautiful harmonious mechanism of life that enthusiasts singabout, seems nothing but a helpless repetition of jarring discords forsome of us. The circumstances of our varied experience do not fit intothe places allotted them, and we find ourselves often in false andpainful positions, with no alternative but to endure patiently orpeevishly what men call the inevitable. 

If only we did not wish so ardently for those things that may not be!Why does not the human heart control itself with some philosophy thatcan despoil forbidden fruit of all its tempting qualities? Why need wecovet probabilities that may never be nearer to realization than theyare now?

This sort of reasoning had helped me in some measure to combat theworrying dissatisfaction that threatened to preside over what shouldbe the happiest epoch my life. I drifted into a voluntaryforgetfulness of old associations. I stifled the suggestive voice ofmemory, and since this is the way of the world, thought I, let mesubscribe to its profane regulations as well as the rest. I will bethe plaything of chance, and risk my lot for better or worse. 

But here was an impediment, already, which awakened the long dormantmemories of my past. Here was something that needed investigation, andmight possibly in its issue, interfere with my worldly-wise policy. Icould not tell yet, but the time must come now when these vagarieswould end in one thing or another. 

With these conflicting reflections storming my pillow, I fell asleep. My mind was tired, and I slept the heavy, dreamless slumber ofexhaustion. When I awoke again it was morning, although it seemed tome, I had but a moment before turned over and closed my drooping eyes. 

I arose and dressed abstractedly and went in search of Hortense. Wewere to have breakfast in her room, she informed me, as she wasfeeling unusually lazy. I looked at her curiously and saw less colorand freshness in her cheeks, less sparkle and vigor in her eyes. 

"You are sure it is laziness, Hortense?" I asked leaning over her, andtouching my lips to hers. 

"Why, of course it is, " she answered, stretching her arms drowsilyover her head and laughing lazily. "You have all been so good to me, that I feel quite spoiled, " she added, rising slowly and comingtowards the dainty, impromptu breakfast-table which had been set forus, near the open window. Our meal proceeded in subdued gaiety. Wetalked and laughed about many things, as if neither heart was busywith other and deeper reflections, and we did not fail to do justiceto the tempting provisions before us. 

When the meal was over Hortense said

"I do not like the way you have dressed your hair this morning Amey, you do not look like yourself at all. "

I laughed and answered indifferently

"Oh! it will do well enough. What difference does it make?"

"Well, it does make a difference, Miss!" she broke in with playfulemphasis. "It makes the difference that I am going to do it over. Comeinto the dressing-room and I will make a perfect beauty of you. Youshall see. "

I arose and followed her into the adjoining room, where she placed twoseats before a long mirror that reached nearly to the floor. Mine wasa low footstool, and hers a padded chair. I threw myself down at herfeet, and drawing out my hairpins gave myself up entirely to thegratification of her latest caprice. 

Very soon her old humor broke out in merry little peals of laughter, as she turned me into a Japanese or Feejee Islander, by appropriatearrangements of my plentiful hair; or her old partiality asserteditself as she praised my flowing tresses and made me assume attitudesthat were peculiar to the representation of Faith or Undine. 

"Oh! now you look like pictures of Mary Magdalene!" she exclaimedsuddenly, as I stooped to pick something off the floor. "Stay that wayjust for a moment. I hear _la bonne_ coming and I want her to see you. Here she is. " There was a hurried tap at the door and _la bonne_ camein, with a face so full of purpose that we forgot our fancifulamusement. She advanced towards me with a little folded paper whichshe held out saying

"Mademoiselle, c'est un telegram!"

It was probably from Mde de Beaumont, I thought, announcing herreturn, and quietly signing the necessary paper, I tore open thesealed message and read it. 

The room began to turn about me. The words grew blurred before my eyesI raised my hands in distraction to my head and fell sobbing onHortense's knees. 

"Amey, dear Amey, what is the matter?" She cried, eagerly bending overme with quick starting tears of sympathy in her eyes. 

"My father!" I moaned, "my poor father!"

"Is he ill or what? Do tell me what ails him Amey?"

"Worse than that, he is dying, " I sobbed out convulsively. "He will bedead before I get back. Oh! What will I do!"

"Do not cry so, Amey dear, " Hortense interrupted faintly. "It may notbe so bad as you think; These telegrams always sound so blunt anddreadful. While there's life, there's hope, you know. Come and getready immediately, time is your best friend now. "

I took her arm and went passively with her to my own room. Herfortitude sustained me greatly. I rolled my flowing hair up againcarelessly enough, God knows, this time, and began my preparations formy sorrowful journey home. 

Hortense talked to me all the time and kept my own maddening thoughtsat bay. I gathered together only those things I would urgentlyrequire, and gave her my keys to attend to all the rest when I wasgone. 

In an hour from the time I had received the dreadful intelligence ofmy father's sudden and serious illness, I was taking leave ofHortense, with a bitter sorrow and fear within my heart. 

"Good-bye Amey, and may God bless and comfort you!" she saidreverently, with both hands clasped about my neck, "and remember, " sheadded, kissing away my fast falling tears, "if ever you have need of afriend to love you, or serve you, or comfort you, you must come to me, will you not Amey? tell me you will. "

"You are very kind Hortense, " I answered in a broken sob, "some day Imay have cause to remember these words. "

"And you will act upon them, Amey? Will you not?" she put in eagerly. "Can you doubt that my heart will ever be a refuge for you? If youthink anything of me you will make me this promise before we part. "

I looked steadily at her through all my blinding tears, and saw thehallowed light of the noblest and most generous human sympathyreflected on her wasted countenance. I could never doubt her again, nomatter what strange or suspicious things came to pass. I took herthin, warm hands in mine and answered firmly:

"I promise you, Hortense, when I need the love and devotion ofsustaining friendship, I shall come to you. Good-bye!"

And then we parted. 

I stopped on my way to the depot to send a telegram to Mde. DeBeaumont, apprising her of the cause of my enforced departure, andentreating her to come home as soon as possible lest Hortense shouldhave another attack of illness. Having discharged this duty, I gavemyself up entirely to my own sad thoughts. 

CHAPTER XI. 

It was evening when the train reached my destination, a quiet, pleasant, Autumn evening. The tinted leaves were stirring gently onthe boughs, and here and there an early star was twinkling in thedusky vault above me. As soon as the noise and tumult had abated alittle, I arose and sauntered slowly towards the doorway of the nowdeserted car. On the platform outside stood Mr. Dalton and Freddy, looking anxiously at the passengers as they filed out from each exit. 

Freddy saw me first and cried out impulsively. "Here she is!"

Mr. Dalton turned quickly around and hurried towards me. 

"What is the news?" I asked, studying both their faces. "Is he dead?"

"No Amey, " Mr. Dalton answered with a voice of deep sympathy, "it isnot so bad as that, though he is very ill indeed!"

"Thank God!" I muttered, "I shall see him and speak to him then afterall. "

I got into the carriage with them and drove towards home. Mr. Daltondid not wait for me to question him, but began to tell me the sadstory of my father's sudden prostration, as soon as the horses' headswere turned away from the noisy depot. 

He had been sitting with him the night before, he said, and theytalked quite cheerfully as usual over their cigars. "He had even beenquizzing me as an old bachelor, " Mr. Dalton observed, with a faintsmile, "telling me I had wasted my life in solitude, and all that kindof thing. It was a fine night and we sat smoking and chatting until itwas quite late, when suddenly I looked at my watch and started up. Itwas near midnight. "

"Although I have no one to scold me for keeping late hours, " said I, "I must hurry away now; it is time for respectable Christians to bedreaming. "

"And are you a respectable Christian, Dalton?" he interrupted, playfully. 

"Well I might be worse, " said I. 

"Yes yes, old fellow, that's true" he answered, "I wish more of uswere like you. You're a good fellow Dalton, " he continued, rising upand slapping me vigorously on the shoulders. 

With this we shook hands and bade one another goodnight. I lit a freshcigar and went out by the library door. There was a bright moonlightoutside, and I sauntered quietly down the causeway towards the streetbeyond. I had just reached the gate when I heard Mrs. Hampden's screamsin the distance. I listened and heard her call my name. I flung downmy cigar and rushed back towards the library. The door was open andyour father was lying on the floor with his eyes closed. I persuadedthem all to be quiet, for the servants, and Mrs. Hampden, and Fredhere had all rushed frantically in. We despatched a messengerimmediately for the doctor and in a little while we had the patientremoved to his room, where he now lies. "We are awaiting a crisis" headded in a low tone, as we drew up in front of our doomed house, "thedoctor says nine hours will bring one change or another. "

We stepped out of the vehicle and passed quietly in. Not a sound wasaudible anywhere. I went up to my own familiar, little room, and flungmy hat and other out-door apparel listlessly upon the bed. I bathed myeyes and smoothed my hair, before going out to encounter any one ofthe household. In the dimly lighted hall outside, I met old Hannah, who dropped her apron from her eyes at my approach and whispered:

"The Lord be praised, Miss Amelia but I am glad to see you back. Howdo you feel yourself?"

"Oh! I am all right Hannah" I answered, "but how is poor papa, will heever get better?"

"God is good Miss Amelia and he does what's best" she put in vaguely, "when our time comes, you know, the best of us has to go. It's rightto be prepared for the worst, for the will of God must be our willtoo. "

Her words brought the hot, blinding tears into my eyes again. 

"Can I go to him?" I asked, leaning towards her, "Could I speak tohim, would he know me?"

She shook her head silently for a moment and then said:

"The doctor will be here in half an hour or so, perhaps he'd let youin to see him when he comes. In the meantime" she added, "come downand eat a bit, for I am sure you don't look much too well yourself. "

"What doctor have you?" I asked after a moment's reflection. 

"Well, there's two, you know, " she answered me gravely, "but DrCampbell comes the oftenest. Dr. Jasper and himself came together lastnight but he's been here twice to-day already. Oh! he's been so kindand attentive Miss Amelia, it would do you good to see him. "

I changed the subject by asking bluntly, "Where's Mrs. Hampden?"

Hannah hesitated a moment and moved towards the stair. 

"She's lying down" she said, "the shock's made her weak. "

I followed and we descended into the dining-room below. Some teathings were spread out upon a tray and Hannah brought in the urn. Isat down and resting my elbows carelessly on the table, I buried myface in my hands. With a strict injunction to take some supper Hannahleft me, having various duties to perform outside. The strong aroma ofthe freshly-made tea was almost enough to satisfy me. At any rate Idid not pour out any immediately. I was too tired, too dazed, tooeverything to exert myself in anyway. My head was still unsteady fromthe motion of the car. My eyes burned from the bitter tears I hadshed. My lips were parched, and dry, and feverish, my temples throbbedwith a dull oppressive pain, and my heart was very heavy. I heaved adeep unsuppressed sigh which died away into a plaintive moan. My lidsclosed wearily and two large hot tears fell upon the smooth whitelinen table-cloth. 

"Amey, my poor child, " said someone, laying a heavy hand upon one ofmy shoulders. I started and raised my eyes involuntarily. Mr. Daltonwas standing by my chair looking down upon me with an infinite pity inhis face. 

"I thought no one was here" I said coldly. "When did you come in?"

He did not answer me with words but I shall never forget the way helooked when I asked this unfeeling question. His reproachful glancebrought the color to my pale cheeks. I felt ashamed and sorry forhaving spoken thus, and I sought to excuse myself in a measure bysaying, "I feel so wearied and distracted, I hardly know what I amdoing. "

"Drink a cup of tea, it will refresh you, " he said with much deepsolicitude in his voice. 

He poured it out himself and laid it down beside me. It was an actionas gentle and graceful as any woman's. Through all my grief andfatigue, I could not but notice it. 

I took it from him and sipped it obediently, while he, with his handsthrust into his pockets, walked up and down the room in silentmeditation. Before I had finished, the door opened again and Freddyappeared saying:

"Doctor Campbell is with my father now. He has asked to see you. "

Remembering Hannah's words that he might allow me to talk a little tomy father, I jumped from my seat at the sound of this intelligence andhurried after Freddy. 

Mr. Dalton held the door open for me as I passed, and though he spokenot a word, I knew immediately that he had put a wrong constructionupon my eager response to this summons. It was not a time forexplanations, however, and I hastened past him and up the broadstairway outside. 

At the door of the sick-room Doctor Campbell stood waiting for me. Heput out both hands eagerly and clasped mine. When we are condolingwith one another in such hours as this, we throw off the restraint ofconventionality and stand before one another, as two human souls, bound by the holy ties of an earnest sympathy; the question ofordinary decorum becomes suspended, while we weep with our afflictedbrother and sister, and we call one another tenderly and respectfullyby name, though the next moment we must be distant and reserved asbefore. 

Doctor Campbell led me quietly into the room where my father layprostrate, the victim of a dreadful illness. There was hardly anychange discernible in his placid features, only a haggard line abouthis mouth that told of inward pain and struggle. His face was a littleflushed and his breathing labored. He opened his eyes so, weapproached the bed and smiled at me. Doctor Campbell seeing that herecognized me stole from the room and left us alone. 

"Poor Amey!" Were the first faint words he uttered closing his eyeswearily again. 

"Do you feel any better?" I asked bending over him and touching mylips to his brow. 

He shook his head on the pillow and muttered feebly:

"It's all over with me, child, only a matter of time. "

"Maybe not, father" I argued, but with little confidence. There wassomething ominous in his changed expression, something that smote myheart with a solemn fear as I looked with anxious scrutiny upon him. Istole from the room for a moment, and went in search of DoctorCampbell. He was in the library standing before the book shelves whenI entered. 

"I want to know Doctor, " said I, full of my purpose, "whether myfather is in danger of immediate death. "

He started at my question and turned quickly around. 

"I am afraid that his chances of life are few indeed Amey, " heanswered earnestly. "Perhaps it is as well to let you know. "

"It is better" said I, "it is your duty, " and with these words I leftthe room as abruptly as I had entered it. 

It was indeed his duty, for it concerned the destiny of a human soulthat was soon to pass from time into eternity. My father was reallydying, and every moment was of infinite value to him now. As soon asthis terrible realization was thrust upon me, I dried my eyesdeliberately, and calmed my agitated feelings. There will be plenty oftime for grief afterwards, I said to myself, when I am friendless andalone in the world. 

No one had thought of caring for my poor father's spiritual needs inthis awful hour. My step-mother considered her best was done when theservices of two able medical men had been secured, and no one elsewished to make any delicate suggestions while she was assuming themanagement. I had arrived therefore in the nick of time, for beforethe sun was very high in the heavens on the morning following myreturn, my father lay cold and white upon his bed. 

All night long, I had watched and prayed with him. Now and then hisfeeble voice broke forth in earnest responses, as his dim gaze fellupon the bronze crucifix I had placed between his fingers, and oncewhen I had paused to listen to his breathing, he uttered plaintively:"More, Amey, go on. "

How I thanked God for this favor! I, who had prayed so often on bendedknees and with tearful eyes for the ultimate conversion of my father. When I placed the lighted candle in his dying hand and saw him receivethe last rites of Holy Church, I felt that all the gloom and sorrow ofmy heart had been lifted and dispelled in a moment. 

When the gray of the early morning crept in through the latticedwindow, his eye-lids drooped slowly and shut the things of earth fromhis mortal gaze forever. 

His lips trembled with a final effort. "Have mercy on me, O God, according to thy great mercy, " and with the words "Father, into thyhands I commend my spirit!" his last breath was spent, and his voiceechoed into eternity. 

CHAPTER XII. 

It was easy for us to understand the cause of my father's suddenillness and death, when we came to enquire into our financialcondition. The family treasury had been well-nigh emptied of itscontents, by a series of pecuniary losses that had been sustainedunknown to us by my unfortunate father previous to his demise. He hadrisked his money with good motives and a hopeful outlook, but therealization had brought such a merciless contradiction to his sanguineexpectations that he gave way under the cruel and unlooked for blow, and passed out of the medley and confusion in which he had been thrownby Fate to grope his way unaided and alone. Although we were no longerwhat the world calls rich, we were by no means left destitute or poor. We were, of course, called upon by the exigencies of our alteredcircumstances to make many sacrifices. As this was an inevitablenecessity, it was as well for us to put our shoulders bravely andgenerously to the wheel and accept the decree with a respectfulresignation. "The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away" and men'sdefiant or wailing attitudes under an unexpected visitation ofadversity only re-act to their own ultimate prejudice and do notlessen the heavy burden by a feather-weight. 

My step-mother took a rather sensible though worldly view of herposition. She silently resolved that if abnegation were at allcompulsory, and sacrifices demanded by the new tide of affairs, theywould of course be practised, but not where the eye of curious pitycould penetrate. 

The world, that had honored and respected her as the wife of a wealthyman, should never through any fault of hers gain an insight into herreversed fortunes. This very consciousness, that she had thescrutinizing eye of society to deceive and a deep misery to veneerwith smooth words and a false glitter, that a fashionable pity had tobe defied and coldly rejected, lent her a heroic fortitude, schooledher to a forbearance worthy of less sordid motives and flavoured hervery misfortunes with a vital determination that half-soothed the painthey naturally inflicted. 

In the first sad hours of our bereavement we were comforted andconsoled by many friends. I believe that my father was universallymourned as a good citizen, of sterling worth; he had been no man'senemy, and had served a goodly number of his fellow-creatures noblyand generously, without ostentation or self-glory. He was ever acareful and indulgent, though not an affectionate parent, and now thathe was gone I could afford to interpret his indifference, even in thisway, in a new and more partial manner. He had had no conception ofwhat the needs of a clinging, susceptible heart may be, andtransgressed entirely out of his ignorance and not through any wilfulintent to make his coldness or carelessness keenly felt. 

We never know what our true estimate of any one is until he or she hasbeen removed beyond the power of our amending or repentant love. Ifsuch a one be called beyond that bourne whence there is no comingback, how soft, and hallowed, and subdued a light is shed by ourtender, respectful, and sorrowing memory upon what once had beenincentives to our unforgiving and deeply injured pride. If such a onebe cast by accident of circumstances or fate so far away from theyearning glance of our regretful eyes, so far beyond that pass, wherepleading, human voices become lost in thousand-tongued confusions, howchanged the once bright picture of our lives becomes; how vain andpurposeless all other aims, save that which, with the powerfulstrength of a hope that is half despair, pursues the object of ourrash unkindness, with outstretched hands and plaintive tone, beseeching for a pardon that may never greet our mortal ears? I, whohad lived an obstinate alien from the love and devotion of my parent, who never went outside the narrow, rigid circle of my unyielding prideto tempt or merit his regard, now felt a great void left within myheart which nothing on earth could ever fill again. 

When the veil of my former prejudice was rent asunder, and I couldonly see the still white features and the folded hands of him fromwhose timid love I had become a voluntary exile, how I hated thesensitive young heart that had turned away in cold rebellion, when itsduty was to glow with an undaunted, even servile fidelity. 

Perhaps it was because I found myself so utterly alone, for this deathclosed up the narrow by-ways of mutual sympathy that had ever existedbetween the widowed Mrs. Hampden and myself. An elder brother of hershad come to attend her husband's funeral, and had evinced the deepestand most exclusive solicitude and compassion for her in herbereavement. He took an intense interest in Fred, holding him at arm'slength for a flattering inspection of his physical perfections, andlooked upon me as some curious outside appendage to the familypretensions. 

They revelled in one another's sustaining sympathy and love, holdingconfidential councils by themselves for hours at a time in my latefather's library. I was not intruded upon in my early grief by theircondolences or companionship, they left me uninterrupted to mybroodings and my tears, as if I had not the same right to theprivileges of investigating our altered affairs as they. 

Oh, how slow and how weary are those moments of solitary anguish, whenthe great tide of universal sympathy is ebbing from us in our grief!How oppressive the silence of suffering when no soothing accent oftender and comforting encouragement breaks upon our listening, impatient ears! How feeble the heart when no helping hand is nigh! Howcheerless the prospect upon which the smile of a sustaining love hasceased to play!

About a fortnight after the funeral, on a gloomy October day, as I satby the window in the privacy of my own room, looking out at fallingleaves, and fading flowers, and drifting clouds, old Hannah rappedtimidly at the door and informed me that "Mrs. Hampden and thegentleman would like to see me down stairs. "

I arose listlessly and sauntered down to the library where they hadall three been just assembled in solemn conclave. My step-mother, inher fresh black costume and stiff white cap, was seated in a rockingchair near the door, wearing a placid look of the most harmless andinnocent neutrality: her solicitous brother occupied the extreme outermargin of a chair by the centre-table, on which his bony hands withtheir well-trimmed finger nails were modestly resting, becominglyfolded. The hind legs of his sparingly patronized seat were thrustinto the air by the weight of his high-bred humanity being entirelydeposited upon the front ones. Fred occupied the sofa, where he wascomfortably stretched at full length, with his arms thrown carelesslyover his head which was resting tenderly in his palms. 

When I came into the room the three pairs of eyes were simultaneouslyturned towards me. My step-mother gave me a gradual look beginningwith the hem of my skirts and reaching my serious face by slowdegrees. Her solicitous brother, without apology or explanation, lowered his spectacles which, during the family conference, had beenshoved up on his capacious brow, and directed an unflinching stare atme in the vicinity of my eyes. Fred, who could not take me all in atonce without disturbing himself somewhat, satisfied himself with afull gaze upon as much of my outline as was easily defined in hisrecumbent attitude. 

"Have you sent for me?" I asked, indifferently, not addressing anyonein particular, my aim being merely to break the monotonous silencewhich prevailed during my inspection. 

The solicitous brother dropped his lower jaw as if he intended toanswer me, after he had given me to understand that I had eithershocked or surprised him very much, or both, and said

"--a--yes, young lady--yes, we have sent for you--a--be seated, younglady, be seated, " he continued, disengaging his modest hands fromtheir becoming, mutual clasp, and waving one in a graceful, curvedline towards an unoccupied seat in a remote end of the room. 

"We think it our duty, " he began, in a sepulchral monotone, fasteninghis spectacles upon me as if he intended to add, "to frighten you outof your very wits, " which was a rash presumption on my part, however, for he only said, "to submit to you the result of our carefulinvestigation into the affairs of your late lamented father. " I noddeda quiet assent, my step-mother pressed a deep-bordered handkerchief toher eyes, and Fred looked vacantly at the pattern on the wall. 

"As you are aware, " he continued, clearing his throat which had grownsomewhat rusty from his pompous exordium "the late respected gentlemanin question did not leave matters in as satisfactory a condition asmight have been desired--in fact--eh--well, altogether, the residue ofhis once considerable fortune makes but a paltry annuity for hisbereaved survivors. Were Mrs. Hampden the only claimant she would eventhen have but a widow's mite, but there are others, unf--others, asyou know, these others, ahem, ahem, of course, have a sort of right toa reasonable share, although they have youth and energy on their side, which she has not--however--that is not the point, " he put in hastily, as he detected an uneasy gesture from the object of his solicitude. "The subject which we have to submit to your consideration, younglady, is this--we have decided that in her present condition of healthand spirits, Mrs. Hampden is unfit to remain here in the gloomypresence of depressing associations--in fact it is a question whethershe shall ever be able to resume her domestic duties in this place, "here the handkerchief with the deep border was again produced, and thedoleful widowed countenance buried in its folds. "We deem itadvisable, " said the solicitous brother, casting a look of tender, heart-stirring compassion upon his afflicted relative, "to remove herto her native town, where her surroundings will be less suggestive ofthe recent heavy loss she has been called upon to sustain, and whereher crushed energies may regain some of their old buoyancy. " Theshapely shoulders of the afflicted relative shook with convulsivesobs, after which melancholy interruptions the solicitous brotherproceeded in a less feeling and more business-like tone. 

"As circumstances have kept you estranged from the friends andimmediate relatives of your late father's surviving wife, we fearedyou might not be willing to accompany her on this journey. Her son, ofcourse, would not desert her in any case just now but being stillunder age, must submit himself to her immediate guardianship, therefore, young woman, if you have any particular friends orrelatives of your own whom you would like to visit for an indefinitetime, we beg that you notify them and prepare yourself as soon aspossible. It is Mrs. Hampden's desire that the furniture be disposedof for safe-keeping, and the house carefully locked and secured beforeher departure; I trust, therefore, that you will not delay inconsidering the subject, and that you will kindly submit your decisionto us as soon as possible. "

There was a dead silence for a few moments after this eloquentaddress. 

"Is that all?" I then asked coldly and firmly, rising from my seat, and looking at him straight in the face. 

"A--ahem--yes, young lady. I think there is no other point left to bediscussed" the solicitous brother simpered, dropping the hind legs ofhis chair and coming towards the door to escort me, and "I trust youwill not experience any inconvenience" he added in a half conciliatorytone--"we lost no time--eh--in making known our decision to you. "

"Oh, you are very kind and considerate. I shall always feel deeplyindebted to you!" I retorted quietly as I swept past him, out of theroom. 

I went back to my vacant seat by the window, and threw myself wearilyinto it--then--it had come to this--that I was politely turned out ofmy own home with no option, no alternative but to seek whatevershelter I best could find among strangers! It was hard, to be left atthe mercy of such a bitter fate as this! So young, so friendless, soproud, and a woman!

I did not burst into tears at the melancholy realization, tears were amockery then: there was too much fire flaming in my eyes, and boilingmy blood with indignation; my bosom heaved with quick-drawn sighs, andmy lips were smiling in angry scorn. This, then was the result oftheir secret conferences, to get rid of me! It was not a difficulttask, if they only knew it, for my pride would fight more than halftheir battles for them, and carry me anywhere, to the farthermostcorner of the earth, rather than see me trespass upon their privacy orinterfere with their selfish plans. I was their toy, their tool, theywere not honest enough to challenge me in fair and open combat, theyplotted without me, and behind my back, I would not buckle on mysword, for so unworthy an engagement, no matter what the issue costme. I would let them carry the day. It is the only kind of triumphdesigning heroes ever know, and we who are above the cowards'subterfuge, can well afford to give them this, we would not have itsaid, we stood to meet them, lest it might be inferred, that we hadcome down from the pedestal of our untarnished dignity, to theiringlorious level. 

But these boisterous reflections soon became spent. I could not affordto be quite so defiant, I, who was alone in the wide world? A seriousduty lay before me, the future, with its burden of uncertain sorrowslay at my feet, the past was nothing to me now, but a receding visionof happiness more secure than any I was ever likely to know again. Imust go in search of a home, where would I turn my eyes? North, South, East or West? they were all strange alike to me? I thought ofHortense, and my parting promise to her, but there was no comfort inthe remembrance of it now. Any other test of friendship but this! Howcould I live under one roof with uncongenial souls like Bayard deBeaumont? How did I know whether they would welcome me now, when I washomeless, and in a sense dependent?

I thought of the dear, distant Abbey, where I had passed the happiestdays of my not over-happy life--but it was now some years since I hadleft its safe seclusion, and those who had known me and cared for me, were likely scattered and gone. 

I would be greeted with that reserved kindness which good strangerhearts extend to any homeless waif--and that, would be worse than all!I thought of my fashionable companions, who had pampered me, andcourted me, in my palmy days. How different they all appeared to menow, when I was in need of their kindness and favour! Alice Merivalewas away, pleasuring in England, the Hartmanns! the Hunters! thePendletons! what a cold shoulder they would turn to me, any of them, did I seek their shelter in comparative poverty!

And even if they welcomed me, and ministered to my every want, could Irest quietly beneath their roofs? Could I subdue my rebellious prideand accept their patronage humbly and gratefully "Ah no, " said I, rising up, with a deep-drawn sigh, "I must think of some other plan, none of these would ever do?"

While I was yet standing in deliberation by the window, the dooropened softly, and my step-mother glided in. I turned, and looked ather for a moment, as she advanced towards me and then directed my gazeback again in silence to the street below. She came nearer and laidher thin hand upon my shoulder. I recoiled involuntarily. 

"Amey" she began in the gentle tones of an eager peace maker, "I havecome to talk to you a little about the subject just mentioned by mybrother. "

"Is there anything he left out, pray?" I interrupted incisively. 

"No, " she answered reproachfully, "but you may not understand ourmotives properly?"

"Through no fault of his then, " I muttered half savagely, "he was mostexplicit, I thought!"

"You are inclined to be unfair to us Amey, and we are trying to doeverything for the best, " said my step-mother persuasively. 

"That depends on what you mean, by _the best_" I interrupted curtly. 

"We mean, the welfare of all concerned, " she broke in, "my brotherinsists upon my returning with him, and Freddie will, of course, accompany me. So might you, " she added courteously, "but I think itwould not be wise. You would not be happy among my relatives, of thatI am sure. So we think, that leaving you the option of a choice fromamong your own numerous friends, is the most discreet policy of all. "

"You are very kind, " said I, with choking sarcasm, "to have thought ofme at all. You might have given me up with the furniture forsafe-keeping, or locked me securely away here in the house until yourreturn. "

"Don't be so unkind, Amey, " my step-mother pleaded amicably, "youought to know, that I am concerned in your welfare and will not leavehere, until I see you comfortably lodged. "

"Like the furniture?" said I. 

She did not answer this with words, but I felt her scrutinizing lookdirected full upon me, I knew I was in a most uncharitable andprovoking mood, but I was not responsible, heaven knows, for what Isaid or did under such maddening influences. I did not want to givefull vent to my momentary hatred and indignation, and as my stepmother's attitude was tempting me strongly to indulge both, I turned, and said as calmly as I could:

"Have you anything in particular to say to me, that I have not heardbefore? If not, I think we had better separate!"

"I thought you would not object to discuss our projected plans, alittle, with me, " she answered with a subdued peevishness. "If youwere not so cold and proud, I would like to offer you a fewsuggestions and in some way prove to you, that my guardianship, limited though it may be, is not merely a formal responsibility. "

"What would you have me do?"

"I can't say definitely--but if you would only rouse yourself to afull realization of your position, there is a great deal in your powerto do. You are an orphan now, and reject my authority in every way--itis evident that we can never be friends. Why don't you look about you, for love and devotion that will make a happy substitute for what youhave lost? You are no longer a child; you are quite able to face themore serious responsibilities of life. If you gave your presentattention to this, there would be no necessity for your going amongstrangers. "

"If I gave my attention to what?" I interrupted sullenly. 

"You understand me very well--if you wished, you could make yourselfvery comfortable. Some of the best chances which the city affords arewithin your reach; other girls would not need to have them pointed outso. "

"I suppose you mean marriage!" I said indifferently. "Well, there isjust this difference between me and other girls, on this point, _I_shall never choose matrimony as the lesser of two evils. I shall neverseek it as a refuge, nor grasp it as a ready alternative; _I_ havebeen brought up to look upon it as a sacrament, of course, I mustallow for that, " I added pointedly. 

"That is a very high-sounding principle indeed, " she replied, "but itcan hardly be applied just now. You can't help the issues of fate, andif you were worthy of men's special admiration and love before this, Isuppose a change in your condition, or in the outward circumstancesthat affect you but indirectly, can make no difference--" She stopped, and after an effective pause added, "It will make none to ArthurCampbell, anyway, of that I am sure. "

"Arthur Campbell has never asked me to become his wife, " I broke inemphatically. 

"That is your own fault. You have not given him proper encouragement. "

"No, because I am not at all certain that I would accept him. "

"Then you are a fool, " she cried out warmly and indignantly, "and youdeserve your lot. He is everything that one could wish, as far aswealth and appearance, and family and rank, are concerned. He was, moreover, a favorite of your poor father's and his friend to the end, "she added with a tremulous voice, "and your poor father often spoke ofyou being married to Arthur Campbell, " she continued, persuasively, "Iheard him say it time and again. "

"My father said this, you are sure, " I exclaimed, looking eagerly intoher face. 

"He did indeed, I remember well having heard him, " she answered withdeep emphasis. 

"But, my father did not know, " I began in a low murmur, lookingwistfully out at the yellow leaves and fleeting clouds. I stoppedsuddenly, remembering that I was not alone. Before either of us couldspeak again Hannah appeared in the doorway with the afternoon mailbetween her hands. 

This interrupted our _tete-a-tete_. My step-mother took the bundle ofletters, from which she handed me three, and went away to share thecontents of her own with her sympathetic relatives below. Two of minewere familiar to me; one bearing an English post-mark was from AliceMerivale, the other was Hortense's dear writing. 

I tore them open and, resuming my seat, read them leisurely. Howdifferent they were in every respect! One the effusion of a worldly, artful, diplomatic beauty, the other an earnest interpretation of theloving, ardent sentiments of a whole-souled emotional child woman. 

Alice had not yet heard of my father's death, and her closely-writtenpages told tales of fashionable pleasures and distractions of everysort. She had yachted and hunted, and bathed and danced, she had dinedwith the pompous Lord Mayor of London; she had hung on the braidedcoat sleeve of high military relics of modern antiquity, and had beenkissed on both cheeks by all the wrinkled-lipped dowagers of thesurrounding country. 

She had been riding and driving, eating and drinking, walking andtalking, with magnates of every age, sex and condition. "At first itperfectly appalled me, Amey love, " she wrote in her strange, facetiousway, "none but the upper, upper cream of humanity wherever I went. Ofcourse it is taken for granted that I am worthy of the greatprivileges extended to me. Everything is so intensely exclusive inthis Christian country. People whose hands are soiled with the stainof labour, I don't care how refined or how honest it is, never by anychance find themselves at the mahogany board of aristocracy. Coat-sleeves bearing the finger-marks of honourable industry could notsafely rub against the sleek broadcloth of high-life unless bysacrificing some of their beautiful (?) hieroglyphics and forfeitingto some extent the reputations they have earned and not inherited. "

"I wonder what some of these starched patricians would do in ourcountry, Amey? for there respectable commercial industry is wined anddined without question by Her Majesty's worthy representatives, theleast evil, I suppose, would be the complete loss of appetite, thatwould be sure to assail them. "

"I can't tell how much longer we may remain here, " her interestingletter continued, "Papa is still hopeful of wonderful results, thereare some placid suitors going about, loaded with a burden of pedigreeand the honours of their dead, and I know that my sanguine parentfondly expects, that he shall awake some morning and find ourgeneration made famous by such a burden being condescendingly laidbefore my satin slippers. _Vanitas Vanitatum!_ But, how grand it wouldbe? Picture it, think of it, common place men! Sir Maximus and LadyAdlepait? How would the obscure Miss Hampden, fancy that? To be sure, this indefinite suitor has nought but the borrowed chivalry of hisdeparted ancestors, and if he seek to crown me at all (which is only aheart-rending possibility) it must be with the laurels, hard won bythe heroes of a former generation. His silky hands will be full ofnothing more tempting than slender veins of genuine blue-blood--but, as papa says--what do we want any more money for, we have enough forany ordinary human life-time?"

"If the project of my anxious parent should assume any definite orreliable outlines, I shall let you know immediately, for I haveimplicit faith in you, and I know you would never betray me, I musttell my novel experiences and opinions to some one, and the bestsomeone is you. Take every care of yourself, while I am absent, someday you will be coming to my manor-house on a visit. I will try to geta husband who has some unmarried masculine relatives, so as to keep upthe fun of my own courtship among my particular girl-friends. I intendto make the most of my life while it lasts, I believe in the world Iam most sure of, so don't trouble me with any of your pious lectures, they only upset me, and make me feel very gloomy. Give my love toevery one who thinks of asking about me, and write a long, chatty, gossiping letter, very soon to your sincere ALICE. "

Her bright, spicy pages had wooed me away from all my gloomy thoughtsand surroundings. My tired spirit had flown across the broad Atlanticat sight of her missive, and reveled for a few happy moments, amidphantom pleasures. Now, with her finished letter lying in my listlessfingers, upon my lap, I was creeping back to my sorrows from thisoutward sunshine, that had fallen in a golden flood, upon the darkshadows of my present miseries. The slow awakening to my actualcondition reminded me of my third, unnoticed letter. I took it upaimlessly, it was unfamiliar to me, and turned it over in my hand. 

"Who is it from?" I muttered in quiet astonishment, tearing the thickenvelope across with a half amused curiosity. The reader will notwonder that my curiosity became still more deeply aroused as I tookout the neatly folded paper which was enclosed, and read thefollowing--

"MY DEAR AMEY, --I have learned with profound regret of your dearfather's recent demise, and hasten to offer you my most earnestcondolence. It is a great grief, I know, but not without itsconsolations, for it is our beautiful privilege, to live in hope, awaiting the day of a happy re-union with those who are not lost butonly gone before. 

"In the early hours of our sorrow, no matter what its nature may be, we cannot incline ourselves to look upon the brighter side, which ourfriends will endeavour to hold up to us; therefore I will not intrudemy feeble words of comfort upon you now; my object in writing to youat present is to ask you whether you intend to live on with yourfather's second wife or not?

"If you should find yourself in any dilemma pertaining to thiscritical question, I wish you to understand, that my house and home(such as they are) will always be open to you. You have a right tothem, and nothing would give me greater pleasure, than to have youwith me. In a sense we are strangers, for circumstances have kept usapart, but, I think I love you more dearly than any of those withwhose names and lives you are more familiar. 

"I am the only surviving relative of your dear, dead mother in thiscountry; our fathers, being brothers, but as I lost mine in my earlyyouth, I was brought up in my uncle's house, with your mother for alittle sister. 

"It now happens, that you may need the shelter of a real home. I wishI had better to offer you, but such as it is, I beg you will nothesitate to accept it, if it can relieve you from greater discomforts. 

"I am, my dear Amey, "Your loving and sincere cousin, "BESSIE NYLE. "

My hands fell into my lap a second time; I was almost dazed withastonishment. To think that at the very moment when I was puzzlingover the melancholy enigma, of where to find a home whose sheltercould be both generously given and comfortably received, this strangebut earnest offer should suggest itself. 

Without a moment's hesitation or forethought, I sat down and wrote ahurried reply, accepting with eager enthusiasm the shelter of her homeand love, adding, that circumstances would force me to avail myself ofher cordial hospitality even sooner, perhaps, than she expected, as mystep-mother was leaving the house in a week from that date and wouldlike to see me safely disposed of before her departure. 

It was only when this letter was sealed and dispatched that I began toanalyse my extraordinary situation and its possible issues. It is truethat at the time of my decision I saw only a haven of rest rising outof the gloom and mists that hung heavily about me, some definiteshelter from the storm of confusion and sorrow that had broken upon mylife so suddenly. 

But when time wore on a little I began to question myself uneasilyabout the step I had so precipitately taken. To act upon my cousin'skind suggestion, was to go away from all my dearest and fondestassociations; it would oblige me to give up my past life, sorrows andjoys alike; to abandon the few friends, in whose companionship I hadfound one of my rarest delights, and to go among strangers who couldnot care for me except in a relative or, at most, an indirect way. 

What would they say? those who pretended to be interested in mywelfare and happiness, when they found I had gone to a new home amongnew faces and strange hearts, would they miss me? Would they wish meback? or would they soon forget me amid the other gay distractions oftheir daily lives?

Should I let them know that I was to leave so soon for an indefinitelength of time? If they were anxious about me they could come and findit out; but they had come after the funeral and I would not see them;how could they tell I wanted them now? It was the penalty of my formerindifference that I must need sympathy and consolation when they hadboth passed out of my reach. 

What a dreary, endless thing life seemed at this period!

A sort of lethargy had taken firm hold of all my senses. I went aboutlike one dreaming, sighing and weeping, and wishing I were dead. Myheart lay like a heavy stone within my breast, and a dark impenetrablegloom seemed to have shut out all the brightness of life from my eyesforever. 

It was dreary Autumn weather besides, and that fed my morbidtendencies considerably, the wind was plaintive and the leaves weredying, the very sunshine looked pale and cold. 

A few days after my reply to cousin Bessie's generous offer I receiveda second letter from her which was earnest and loving, and gentle asthe first. She expressed great delight at my decision and ensured methe heartiest of welcomes on my arrival. 

It was now the eve of our departure and most of our preparations wereconsummated. I sat in my usual retreat by the window looking out forthe last time upon everything that could remind me of a period when Iwas less miserable than I was then. Now, that I had nothing todistract or busy me, I could sit with folded hands communing with mypast and making uncertain conjectures about my future. 

I could be happy with Hortense de Beaumont, I thought, if her familywere not so strange--and yet--could I? after what had passed. Myfriendship with her had cost me more than I had ever feared or dreamedof and still it was not her fault nor my own. It had been our fate, that we should both have loved the same man, at least not love him, but be capable of loving him, which is a different thing. She reallyloved Ernest Dalton and I?--might have loved him at any moment, butthat moment must never come now. 

Hortense should never have cause to think regretfully of what mighthave been, were it not for Amey Hampden; I should never stand in herway except to guard her, to shield her from sorrow or harm. 

I could imagine too well what the pain would be to love and to lose inthis instance, and I should therefore never inflict it upon any heartwhose happiness was as dear to me as my own. It is true that up tothis, Ernest Dalton had never spoken to me of his love, how could Ithen presume to sacrifice him, when he was not mine to give or tohold? Ah! whoever does not believe in any love but that which finds anoutlet in articulate words, knows little or nothing about its power ordepth. There is a voiceless love that is neither seen nor heard byother eyes and ears--and I believe it is the best--underlying theframework of our lives; it is a part of every pulse and fibre of ourbeing, no one may know it, no one may heed it, but it glows onundaunted, with its steady, faithful purpose, ministering to its owngreat needs out of the fulness and abundance of its own intensity. Such is the nature of the noblest sentiments which have ever inspireda human heart, the love of God is a silent love, but it is also anactive, self-abnegating love, the love of country is a silent love, too great, too sacred for paltry, feeble words. Is it an active love?History knows best. 

And our love for one another, may it not lean towards this wonderfulperfection? May it not be a silent love of that silence which is farmore expressive than words? May it not brighten our eyes and quickenour pulse, though our lips look so neutral and dumb? Does any onedoubt it? Anyone at least, whose own keen perceptions have left himabove the necessity of falling in with the ready-made judgments andopinions of the surface-scanning multitude?

I do not say that such was Ernest Dalton's regard for me; I do not saythat at this time he loved me, I mean in a particular way; but I dosay, because I do think, that he acted as if he could. I was not quitethe same to him as every other woman friend, he had not spoken to meon many occasions since my return from school; but though they werefew they were sufficient to convince me of this. 

If a person be honest and trustworthy, the art of veneering is almostbeyond his grasp. His smile is a true smile, and his frown a sincerefrown; he will not caress you with one hand and cruelly smite you withthe other; he can never be a friend to your face and a foe when yourback is turned. If he loves you it is written on every feature of histruthful countenance, if he despises you he will show it to you alone. I doubt if there ever lived a more honest or trustworthy being thanErnest Dalton. 

It was a temptation to fall in love with a man like him, with hisdepth of character and his strength of feeling, with truth and wisdomon his lips, with honor and virtue in his heart. According to ourcommon ideas of men and what we would like them to be, it was littlewonder that Hortense and I both knowing Ernest Dalton, should haveleaned towards him impulsively from the first, though his years weredouble our own. So tall and so dignified as he was, with such astriking face and such engaging manners, so courteous, so clever, sogood, and he was not yet old, the sprinkling of gray in the hair thatcrept over his handsome brow seemed to lend fresh vigour to his looksand confirm the character which his appearance otherwise insinuated. 

But all this was nothing to _me now_, no more than if it had been somepassing dream of summer sun-light and flowers; no more than if someoptical illusion had dazzled my eyes and gladdened my heart for ashort moment, and left me as suddenly again, with my tame andcommon-place reality. 

I must not even dwell upon the memory of what might have been, for Iwas pretty sure to marry some one else, and then Ernest Dalton couldnever come back to me in any other light than that of a devotedfriend. "I have saved myself in time, " said my thought, as I stood upand went away from the window, "a day might have come when to give himup would be to renounce the happiness of my whole life--that day thatI had sometimes fondly, though vainly, dreamed of, with all itswitching possibilities and which now lay crumbled to dust at my feet. 

"What else could I expect?" said I, with a weary sigh, "Is not painthe fate of the great majority, is not sorrow the portion of thechildren of men?" Anyhow, I was not likely to see Mr. Dalton everagain. I had sent him his locket, with a few words explaining that"_it had been found_ in the library, and _being identified_ as his, Iwas happy to return it, hoping that its temporary loss had not causedhim uneasiness or worry. "

I thought that was the best way of returning it, under thecircumstances, and the safest for me, it would prevent any awkwardexplanations, and accomplish the chief end as effectually as apersonal interview. This opinion, however, was not Mr. Dalton's, for asI turned from the window I could hear the shrill ringing of a bellbelow, and a moment later Hannah came to announce--

"Mr. Dalton!"

"I cannot see him!" I said, "I am busy and tired--and--tell him, I donot see any one, that will do!"

"Miss Amelia, I think you'd better come, " old Hannah suggested, with arespectful, suasive tone, "he says he is the oldest friend you have, and so interested in your welfare, you might show him a little moredeference, that's just what he said, when he saw me looking reluctantabout obeying his wish. You know Miss he's always been like a limb ofthe family--and it seems unfair. "

"Yes, yes Hannah, I will go!" I interrupted eagerly, "tell him, Ishall be down in a moment. " I flew to the glass, and began to smoothenmy ruffled hair, it was better after all to go down, as if nothingwere the matter, he was only my friend, my good, trustworthy friend, and I was not treating him as he merited to be treated in thiscapacity. 

Having restored some order to my appearance, I followed old Hannahdown the broad stairway, and entered the drawing-room. He was standingby the mantel, with his back turned, as I went in; in one hand, heheld his hat and stick, in the other some vagrant trifle he had takenfrom the mantel-piece, and which he was studying with seemingly greatinterest and attention. 

At the sound of my foot-fall, he turned slowly around, and cameforward to greet me; his face was very serious, and his manner steadyand quiet. 

"I am glad you have come Amey!" he said, as he took my hand and heldit tenderly for a moment, "I feared you would send me away againto-day--although, I do not wish to intrude upon you in your grief. Ihear, you are going away!" he then added, motioning me to a seat, andthrowing himself half wearily into another, "Is it true?"

"Yes, my cousin, Mrs. Nyle, has written for me, " I answered timidly, "and I have decided to go--to-morrow!"

"To-morrow!" he repeated with some surprise. 

"Yes, to-morrow morning, the others take the afternoon train for theirdestination, " I said quietly. 

"How long do you think you will remain away?" he next asked. 

"I cannot tell, it will all depend upon circumstances. "

"What circumstances, Amey?"

I coloured a little, and looked across the room. It was his privilegeas a friend to ask these questions I supposed, although I was notquite prepared to answer them. 

"Whether I like my new home and friends, and whether they like me, " Ibegan awkwardly. 

"Oh, that is what you mean?" he exclaimed gently, interrupting myreply. 

I was silent, this was not a safe subject, what else did he think Icould have meant?

"I suppose if I had not called this afternoon, you would have gonewithout bidding me good-bye, " he resumed, after a short pause. 

"I have not said any good-byes, " I answered with an effort to justifymyself. "I didn't see the use" I added, half scornfully, "I am not theAmey Hampden to the world, now, that I used to be. "

"You are to me--you will always be!"

This was a most stable friendship. How good and sincere he was!

"Thank you, Mr. Dalton, it is kind of you to say so, a friend in need, you know, is a friend indeed. "

"It is the only time I could ever feel that I was your friend, Amey, "he said, with a half melancholy voice, "even when you were a littlechild, you never took much notice of me, unless something had gonewrong. "

I liked this allusion to the past, it was timely, and brought out ourpresent relationship clearly and comfortably. I laughed, and looked athim freely, as I answered:

"That must have been pretty often, for it seems to me that things havebeen going wrong all my life, " then fearing to strike a dangerouskey-note, I added, hastily, "but I must not complain, there arehundreds of people more miserable than I in the world. "

"I know one, at any rate, who is, " he interrupted, in an undertone. "Ihave to thank you for returning my locket, " he continued, in the samestrain, as if it had been suggested by the first remark, "I had givenit up as an irretrievable loss. "

"Oh! then you got it safely, " I exclaimed, with a forcedgratification, "I am so glad it was found, for your sake. "

"I would not like to lose it now, it is older than you are, Amey, " heobserved, without changing his sonorous voice. 

"Is it indeed?" I answered, not knowing what else to say. 

"I lost it on the day of the Merivales' last 'At Home, '" he went on, as if talking to himself, "I had it when I came in here, and I missedit when I went out. "

"You were not here on that day, were you?" I interrupted, impulsively, after which I could have bitten the end of my tongue off. 

He was confused for a moment; it was the first time I had ever seenhim in the least agitated, and in my curious astonishment I lost allself-control. 

"I would remember if you had been here, for the day is clearly stampedin my memory: it was cold and stormy, " I argued, warmly, "I don'tthink anyone went out of doors that could help it; it was drifting andblustering so. "

"So it was, " he answered, evasively, "what a good memory you have. "

"For trifles--yes, " said I, somewhat playfully. A pause ensued, duringwhich he looked straight before him at the pattern on the carpet Itwisted my rings abstractedly round my fingers, trying to think ofsomething safe to talk about, when, to my surprise, he stood upabruptly before me, and held out his hand. 

"It is growing late, " he said, with a friendly smile, "and I must notdetain you; this is, " (and he took my timid fingers firmly in his owndeep grasp) "good-bye, I suppose?"

His full gaze was upon me I could feel it I could see it even before Ihad raised my eyes. 

"This is good-bye, " I repeated, meeting his glance bravely and openly. 

"Good-bye then, and may God bless you, Amey, " he said, with a deep, earnest voice; "Sometimes when your memory flies back to your oldhome, give a kindly thought to your old friends as well, for we shalloften, often think of you. "

He was holding my hand all the while, which is not forbidden betweensuch friends as we were, and without taking it away, I lookedreproachfully into his face, and said:

"Don't think so little of me as to imagine I need this partingrejoinder, Mr. Dalton; I can ill afford to forget my few good friends, and you have always been one to me. I hope when we meet again, I willhave no more to reproach you with in this respect than you will haveagainst me. I could not say more than this. "

"Oh, yes you could, " he faltered, laying his other hand over mycaptive fingers, "but it is better not, my--Amey, at least--nevermind, I was forgetting--good-bye once again, and God bless you. "

I could feel the touch of his trembling hands upon my own; I couldhear the sound of his agitated voice vibrating around me--and I mightnever see him again!

I stood motionless for a few seconds in the open doorway where he hadjust left me, feeling dazed and bewildered. His presence seemed tolinger a little with me after he had gone! Something in the veryatmosphere thrilled me as if his spirit had tarried to witness there-action that now took place, and had in tender pity shrouded me withits consoling and protecting love. 

I felt miserable and lonely, and creeping up the stairway again, Ireturned to the refuge of my room, and threw myself wearily on my bed. The twilight was beginning to fall, and with its advancing shadowscame trooping before my tearful eyes all the various episodes of mychequered life. 

To think that mine were what the world had ever called favouredcircumstances! I knew a hundred and one persons who looked upon me asa happy, gifted girl, because, forsooth, I had had money and positionbecause I had education and social advantages! If this was what theworld called happiness, what then could its misery be?

The question tormented me, whether in the end it were better to followin the dazzling wake of this all-conquering worldliness, and bycrushing all my scruples arise to a new life of careless, thoughtlessgaiety, like Alice Merivale's; or whether the whispers of my betterimpulse were the more salutary and satisfactory of the two, and boundme in all conscience to an obedience and sanction of its precepts. 

It was too late now, however, to discuss this point any longer withmyself. I had acted so far upon a magnanimous resolve, which, thoughdoomed to cast a shadow upon my own personal lot, would flood anotherlife with the beauty and glory of a compensating sunshine. 

"It is more blessed to give than to receive, " I said, inwardly, and ifI persevere in this generous determination, though it engenderrepeated acts of self-denial, I cannot but be recompensed in the end. My new home and friends will distract me greatly from my broodings, and by and by all these ephemeral sorrows will have passed away, asyoung sorrows always do, leaving but a faint trace behind them. 

"But, if Ernest Dalton be in love with Hortense de Beaumont, " said thelittle voice on the plaintiffs side, "why does he show you such signsof preference as these; is that the course, of a truly honourableman?"

"Surely!" said the defence "If I magnify evidences of a substantialfriendship into something more serious, that is not hisfault--besides, he may love me in a way, but he must love herbetter--and, in any case, supposing he should love me best, if I offerhim no encouragement, if I even positively refuse him, Hortense'shappiness cannot but be ultimately benefited by it. "

I arose, in a little while, and bathed my face, for the dinner-hourwas near, and I had to play my part for the last time, before the triobelow. 

When I went down, they were already seated around the table, mystep-mother in solemn consciousness at one end, and her solicitousbrother looking meekly up at her from the other. Fred had all one sideto himself, the other, was reserved for me. 

It was a quiet, formal meal, disturbed now and then by a curtmonosyllable from one or the other of us. We had not much to say toeach other, considering that it was our last repast around that familyboard, the dishes and cutlery had all the chat and confusion amongthemselves. When it was over, I went back to my own quarters andattended to my final preparations, the time of my departure was nownear at hand. 

Next morning I looked in vain for some friendly face at the depot. Noone had thought of me at the last, though most of my friends had heardof my intended departure. I could not be convinced so soon that I wasno longer the same person whom these people had flattered and courteda few short months ago. 

Our home, disturbed by the hand of death, was no longer a temple ofsociety worship where gas-light revels would be held and the comets ofthe gay world gathered together to feast. Henceforth, I was an orphangirl with limited means and uncertain prospects. Some day, if Imarried well, these people would suddenly remember my past glories andthen, these slumbering friendships would be likely to revive; to opentheir hearts and homes to me again. Until then I must consider myselfas set aside, not rudely, nor coldly, but with a negative intimationof my altered circumstances which has quite sufficient force for anysoul so keen and sensitive as mine. 

In one sense, of course, it was all the same to me. I had nevercounted upon these social ties to any extent, and would not feel theirloss acutely but--these poor human hearts of ours--how they will yearnfor other human sympathies and regards? I could have been resigned toleave my home and early associations if I might take away with me thesoothing conviction that my absence left a void somewhere, anywhere, that would always be a void until I came back to fill it. I had anexalted notion of fidelity and remembrance then, which has beenroughly used upon the touchstone of experience since. 

But as even this frail compensation was denied me, I saw more clearlythan ever how urgent it was for me to go forth resignedly wherethousands of my fellow-toilers were struggling already, and, withoutlooking back upon my brighter yesterday, press onward patiently andforbearingly in the course which an unexpected reverse had opened outfor me. 

When night fell I was lodged in my new home. 

CHAPTER XII. 

My cousin Bessie, or Mrs. Robert Nyle, lived in a small, comfortablehouse, on a quiet street, in a small comfortable city, not more than aday's journey from the place of my former residence. 

I had, of course, made many conjectures about the relative merits anddemerits of the new home towards which I was travelling in all haste. With nothing more accurate to build upon than my cousin's reservedletters and my own vivid imagination, it could hardly be expected thatI could arrive very near the truth in my speculations about myuncertain destiny. 

Nor did I. I had pictured my cousin Bessie as quite a morbid and prosycharacter, suspended midway between a hopeless resignation and ahelpless despair. I thought there must be lines of sadness about hermouth and a profusion of silver in her hair, I had almost heard herplaintive sighs, and had begun to invent cures for her nervousheadaches. I do not know why such gloomy foresights loomed up beforeme, unless it be because I fancied she was poor and yet educated, andin our circle at that time it was generally believed that people sosituated were eminently miserable and uncomfortable. We will not besatisfied with the uncertain until we have made mental sketches of thepeople and places connected with it, even though they be all awry, asmine were in this instance. 

Cousin Bessie was a tall, graceful woman with chestnut brown hair andfine soft eyes, her figure was slight as a girl's, though she was nolonger young, and her step was as active and light as ever it couldhave been in her maiden days. She was not a beautiful woman, but therewas as much kindness and dignity combined in her dear face as to makeit more attractive than many a handsome one. I was simply charmed withher appearance and manner, and made up my mind that I had no furtherreason to be solicitous about my future happiness after she had takenme securely under her charge. 

Cousin Bessie's household consisted of her husband, Robert Nyle, andtheir two children, Zita and Louis. Mr. Nyle, who was somewhat olderthan his wife, was one of these placid, easy going husbands that theworld knows little about on account of their retirement and admirabledomestic qualities. Zita was then a pretty, growing girl of sixteensummers and Louis a handsome boy of eighteen. 

I lived with cousin Bessie for many seasons, and at the end of thattime I had become more truly attached to her and her dear family thanI had ever been to my own. Yet they were plain people, living a quiet, unostentatious life in the very heart of social exuberances, they werenot rich either, in fact they had little more than medium comforts, ofthose which it takes money to buy, but the sweetness and happiness oftheir home was not of that kind which gold can gather, it is richerand rarer far than that. 

It pleased me to find that they were not wealthy nor worldly. I had solittle now, myself, that richer relatives would have pitied me andbeen urged to bestow petty charities upon me now and then, when my owndiminished income proved insufficient to meet the great demands thatstylish living could not fail to make upon it. 

"I hope you won't feel like a captive bird in this little cage ofours, " cousin Bessie remarked with a quiet smile the morning after myarrival. "I offered it only as a shelter, Amey, you know, until youcan make yourself more comfortable elsewhere. "

I looked at her reproachfully and answered without hesitation:

"I am glad you do not specify my time. I hope I may take as long as Ilike, to find some place I prefer to this. "

"Oh certainly!" said she, with a covert amusement. "You are more thanwelcome to remain here, as long as you are contented. "

There was a time, when I would have doubted the possibility of mybeing satisfied under circumstances such as these, but to look uponrespectable seclusion from a distance, is not really to see, andunderstand what it is; there is a latent charm about it, which isknown only to those who embrace it with cheerful hearts. 

Cousin Bessie had no servants, not even one, fashionable humanity, think of _that_! This surprised and even disappointed me at first, butsoon it also became absorbed by that all prevailing spirit of quietcontentment that presided over their domestic circle, and kept the sunshining when it was shadow outside. 

I did not question cousin Bessie about the necessity for dispensingwith menial assistance. It was a delicate subject, but when Zita andLouis and Mr. Nyle went away, one morning after breakfast, I began toclear away the dishes and make myself generally useful. 

Cousin Bessie watched me from her corner by the kitchen table, whereshe was engaged in preparing some sundries for the next meal and whenI had made my last trip with an armful of the breakfast equipage, shelooked up with a meaning smile, and said, "This is the see-saw of life, Amey, yesterday you were away up, andto-day you are away down. "

"It is the safer place of the two, Cousin Bessie, don't you think so?"

"Well, if I did not think it, Amey, my life would hardly be worthliving, " she answered with a quiet emphasis. 

"Why? You don't think you will always be down, do you?" I askedtimidly, plunging a cup and saucer into the boiling water. 

"I don't know; we were better off once, in one way, but it is a longtime ago, " she answered, taking a large white apron from a peg besideher in the wall, and offering it to me, "Put this over your dress, child, and take off your pretty rings, " she put in parenthetically, and then went on--

"Robert was a man of wealth when we married, we had a fine house withservants and horses and every such luxury--while the money was therehe lavished it upon us: but he lost heavily one year, there was a bankfailure first, and a series of smaller misfortunes followed quickly inits wake. We had to sacrifice house and horses, and all, and come downthe ladder to our present station. The children found it hard in thebeginning, but they have come to look upon it now, nearly as theirfather and I do. "

"But you are not poor, cousin Bessie, " I interrupted, as I dried aplate briskly with my linen cloth. 

"No: not poor exactly: but we must be careful and economical forawhile, until Zita and Louis are educated: we will make everysacrifice that is necessary to grant them a thorough education. Whenthey are rich in knowledge they won't mind how empty their purses are;they will feel themselves equal to the best in the land. When theyhave finished their courses here, if they show themselves susceptibleto a still higher training, we will make still greater restrictionsupon our household expenses to favor any particular talent they mayhave developed. Robert and I decided that long ago. "

"I suppose it is a good plan, " I said half doubtfully, "if it does notunfit them for their after-life. "

"You mean it may raise them above their station?" cousin Bessieinterrupted eagerly. "Well, you are not the only one who thinks that, but it never shall. We have seen such a possible danger ahead and havelaboured to avert it I have done my utmost all their lives to bringthem up to frugal habits. We have taught them to live sparingly inevery way; to shun those people and places that tempt one to idleamusements and questionable pastimes, and never to seek the society ofsuch persons as are brought up to pity or ridicule poverty andstruggling gentility. They are fond of one another, and in theirmutual companionship do not miss the intercourse which is denied themwith the outside world. I have explained to Zita that the saint whosename she bears was a poor servant-maid, who was looked down upon andignored by those who were better favored by the world; and that likeher, she must be poor and humble in spirit, satisfied to be a littlenobody here if she can be happy hereafter. Louis learned the story ofhis royal patron saint when he was a lisping baby at my knee, andunderstands now, I think, how secondary material prosperity is to theadvancement of the moral man. I am almost sure he could wear a crownand rule a nation, and yet look upon such glories as mere accidents ofexistence, that must be subject to higher aims and occupations. "

"Then you are happy in the possession of very exceptional children, Cousin Bessie, " said I, shaking my towel and hanging it up to dry. Mytask was finished, and I sat down beside my industrious cousin who wasnow up to her elbows in a basin of flour. 

"They are my chief comfort, to tell you the truth, " she answered, asif in soliloquy, while she sifted handfuls of the white powder throughher busy fingers, "and I thank God for this great compensation thathas survived all my other pleasures. There is no wretchedness, Ithink, like that which must fill the heart of a mother whose childrenhave strayed away from her loving, clinging solicitude into theby-ways of folly or vice. It is a dark blight upon the most buoyantheart that ever swelled with maternal devotion. I sometimes think Iwould rather have never existed, that I could forfeit all the grandprivileges of a created being destined for a noble end, rather thanhave become the mother of impious and vicious children. "

"Then it is well you have saved yours from such a common fate, " I putin warmly, "for I think in the world's present stage, young peoplehave a monopoly of all the evil tendencies to which our flesh isprone. "

"You are right there Amey, and more's the pity, " cousin Bessieanswered, leaning her white palms on the sides of the dish and lookingout of the kitchen window away over the steeples of the distantchurch, as if her glance fell upon the whole wicked world at once. "There is hardly a channel of sin and guilt that has not been exploredby these young persons, who should not even know of the existence ofsuch dangers. So much fine manhood is wasted in folly and dissipation;so many noble energies devoted to degrading causes, so much mentalgreatness given to solving the mysteries of villainy and roguery. Oh!it is written on the brow of modern youth, in flaming characters, " sheexclaimed, closing her fingers tightly over the edges of the dish, upon which her hands still rested. "When I pass along the busy streetsof the town, I see the wickedness of the world on many a fair youngface, and my heart swells with a great desire to know whose life isbeing saddened by their extravagances. 'They are dear to someone, surely, ' I say to myself, 'there must be some one from whom they aretrying to hide their deeds of darkness, ' and I could almost stop toplead in favor of that lingering love, that they turn back from thebeck and call of temptation to that other wholesome course whichyields reward both here and hereafter. I cannot help this strongsentiment that stirs within my breast. I love the beauty of bloominghuman nature; I like to see the glow of physical and moral health uponits beaming countenance, and the stimulus to noble purposes in itsrestless heart, but it seems as if this never can be again with themajority. "

"It is a sad outlook, Cousin Bessie, but there must be a remedysomewhere, " I suggested, full of the enthusiasm which hadcharacterized her remarks. 

"Remedy? Yes, of course there's a remedy, " she retorted emphatically, "but the world's votaries have elbowed it out. What can one expectfrom a baby girl who has been brought up for the world, but that sheshall be of the world? Little misses who can waltz before they knowthe 'Our Father, ' who are taught manners before morals, and are givenfor their absolute standard 'what others will say. ' Can they becomegood women? It would be a paradox to suppose so. And our boys inknickerbockers who smoke cigars and buy ten cent novels, who speculatein the market of experience with ill-gotten gain, who form opinions oflife from dime shows and contact with veterans in vice; can they growin virtue and integrity after such an initiation as this? It would benothing less than a moral phenomenon if they did. Yes there is aremedy, and its application is needed at the very root of the evil. Let fathers and mothers look abroad over the heads of their prattlingoffspring, and realize the fate that is awaiting them if they do nottake proper and timely precautions. I attribute much blame to thembecause I have seen results of their carelessness grow and magnifyunder my own eyes. "

Here the door-bell rang violently, and interrupted cousin Bessie'swholesome homily on the social irregularities of the day. As her handswere still buried in flour I started to my feet and answered the hastysummons. A man in ragged attire stood leaning against the outer postof the doorway. His soft hat was slouched over one eye, and histurned-up faded coat-collar but half-concealed the fragments of asoiled shirt front that lay open on his breast inside. When Iconfronted him, he advanced a step and said, with his eyes directedtowards his boots, "Will you give me a little help, miss, for God's sake. I am starvingand can get no work. "

Cousin Bessie from her place by the window could hear his words, andcoming to the door, she looked at him from head to foot. He was youngand stalwart, though so destitute. 

"I will give you some work and pay you well for it" she said. "Come, you are a strapping young fellow and won't find it hard to do. "

He was silent for a moment and still kept looking at his dilapidatedboots. 

"I will give you the price of an honest, independent supper" shecontinued, "that is better than begging it. You will relish it, Iknow. "

"It's done ma'am" said he, kicking his dusty toes against the stepwhere he stood. "Show me the work. "

Cousin Bessie looked significantly at me and led him out to where hisoccupation lay. As she turned to leave him, with a strict injunctionto do it well, he raised his hat from his head and turned reverentlytowards her. 

"I'll do it as well as mortal hands can do it ma'am" he said with atremor in his hoarse husky voice. "You're the first woman as hasspoken a kind word to me since--since--I buried the one that 'ud havemade my life different if she'd lived. "

"Your mother?" Asked Cousin Bessie gently. 

"No, ma'am, she was more, she was my wife, but only for a year. When Ilost her I lost my luck and my courage, and everything. I've hardlydone a day's good since. "

He drew the back of one brawny, dirty hand across his eyes and turnedaway his head. Cousin Bessie was looking at him with a great pity inher countenance. 

"Have you a child?" she next asked. 

"One, ma'am, a little girl, but not like the mother. "

"Where is she?"

"On the streets, like myself, begging her bread and going to ruin, " heanswered in dogged despair. 

"How old is she?" cousin Bessie asked, with renewed interest. 

"Maybe thirteen or thereabout, ma'am, poor, small thing, " he repliedwith a dash of fatherly love. 

"Can she read or write?" was cousin Bessie's next query. 

"I couldn't say, ma'am. I never taught her. I've been a heartlesswretch and didn't mind about her much. "

"I am afraid you have done her a great injustice, " said cousin Bessie, turning to re-enter the house. "I hope you will try to make someamends. Begin your work, like a good fellow, and I will see you againbefore you go. "

She came back to her duties in the kitchen with a thoughtful face anda slow, measured step. 

"Is your hero in rags at his work?" I asked playfully, when she hadclosed the door behind her. 

"Yes, I am glad to say, " she answered, "manual labor is what thesefellows want. I shall keep him busy until evening, now that he hasstarted, it will only cost me a few pence, and it will keep him out ofso much harm. "

There was a pause of a few moments after this. Cousin Bessie thenlooked up and said, half regretfully:

"I wish I had a few spare dollars now. I could, perhaps do some goodwith them. "

"What is your latest freak?" asked I, returning her steady glance. 

"I would like to send for his little girl, " said she, "the winter iscoming on, and there will be extra work to do, in consequence. She maybe smart enough to clean our windows and wash the wainscoting. Shecould run errands and answer the door for a trifle, and we might teachher her prayers and her catechism and send her to church on Sunday, which is never done for her now. "

"But you do not know who or what she may be, " I argued dissuasively. 

"That is nothing, " she persisted. "She is only a child, and our houseis so small that no harm can be done in it unknown to me. I think itwould do her good if she came. You and Zita might take an interest inher and make something respectable of her poor, empty life. "

"Perhaps you are right, Cousin Bessie, " I conceded, "let us send forher, I can easily afford to clothe her, it will be such a pleasure tome to contribute towards the success of one of your good works. "

And so we sent for her. Next day she arrived, carrying a miniaturewooden box in one hand and a little old faded umbrella in the other. She was small and dark, with sharp, black eyes and pale features. Hershort hair clustered thickly around her brow and over her ears, fromwhich hung suspended a pair of long brass ear-rings. A ring of thesame valuable material was conspicuous on one small finger. She wasvery ragged and careless-looking, but had an intelligent sparkle inher quick glance that diverted one's attention from her appearance. 

"What is your name?" asked Cousin Bessie, admitting her into the hall. 

"Snip, ma'am, " she answered, sweeping a glance from the ceiling to thefloor. 

"Snip!" we both exclaimed. 

"Well, that's what the Grimes and the Dwyers and all them calls me, anyhow, " she argued, with a perfectly placid countenance. 

"What does your father call you?" cousin Bessie asked. 

"Sometimes he says 'little 'un, ' and more times it's 'girly. ' I ain'tparticular about names, ma'am, suit yourself, " she said, without achange of expression, which was one of stolid earnestness. 

"Well, then, we'll call you 'Girly' for the time being, " cousin Bessieinterposed, smiling and directing a glance of sly amusement at me. 

"I hope you will be a very good little girl while you are in my houseand we shall all be very good to you, " Cousin Bessie began in apremonitory tone. "You must give up your old friends now and listen tous instead and--" here she paused, as if the next sacrifice had to bedelicately proposed. "I don't like to see those ear-rings nor thatring with you, they are not becoming to a poor little girl. "

Up went the two small hands to the ear-rings, which were hurriedlydragged out, she pulled the tight brass ring from her finger, revealing a dark blue circle where it had lain, and gathering themtogether in her little palm she looked us straight in the face andsaid with great earnestness

"D'ye suppose I care a continental for finery?" Then curling her redlips as if she had discovered that we so misjudged her, she shook herbushy head sideways with an emphatic gesture and said with a fieryindignation, which amused us intensely

"Not I! I hate it! I wore it for spite. I'll give this to either ofyou ladies now, and I'll never ask to lay eyes on it again. "

Cousin Bessie took them from her saying, "You look better without them, Girly, " then changing her tone to oneof gentle, solicitous enquiry, she asked the pert little stranger, "Do you ever go to church, Girly, or say any prayers?"

The child's face became shadowed for a moment and her lips quivered. When she spoke, her voice had lost its bright carelessness, it was lowand broken. 

"I'll tell you the truth ma'am, if I died for it. P'raps you'll thinkme awful wicked but I'll tell you, now you asked me. One Sundaymorning I was walking past the big church in the far end of the town, an' the bells began to ring and ring, an' says I, 'I think I'll justgo in an' watch them prayin' but when I peeped in no one was inside. Iturned to the man that pulled the ropes an' asked him when it 'udbegin. 'In fifteen minutes' says he, like a growl, 'this is the firstbell. ' So I ran back to our house, for father and I had a room thenwith the Grimes, an' I got some water in the little basin an' washedmy face an' hands good an' clean. I brushed my hair down an' took outmy green shawl that I keep clean an' whole for sometimes, an' put iton. I got back in lots of time to the church an' crep' into one of thebig seats, waitin' for the music to begin. In a few minutes, alongcame a grand little lady, all dressed in velvet, with yellow hair anda big bonnet, an' a gentleman with her, an' she stood at the door ofthe pew an' beckoned me out. 'There's room enough for us all, Miss, ' Iwhispered, pushing farther down the seat, but here the gentlemanrapped his stick on the wood an' said so cross 'Hurry out, hurry outthere. '"

Here her voice broke into a sob which, however, she swallowed bravely, and went on after a moment's pause "So I went then to another, alittle one with no cushings on it, 'cause I thought grand peopledidn't own that, but I was only there a little while when a fat womancame rollin' up to me an' catchin' me by the arm said, 'Here, I am notpayin' for this pew for other people to sit in, this is my pew. ' I wasmad then, I knew she wasn't a lady, an' I made a face when I wasgettin' out, an' says I, 'Oh, dear' Missis Porpoise, who said itwasn't your pew, you want a whole pew to yourself anyhow. ' The aisleswas all wet, for 'twas a rainy mornin', an' I wasn't goin' to kneelthere with my green shawl on, so I made a bold stroke and darted intoanother pew. This time 'twas alright: this was a kept one forstrangers, an' I had it all to myself. The music began, an' oh! it wasso nice! I was quite gettin' over all my temper when such a swell of alady came up the aisle with such a swell of a gentleman, an' landed inbeside me. They didn't turn me out, 'cause they'd no right to, butthey did worse. She looked at me an' turned such a mouth on her, thengathered up her fine flounces as if I was goin' to eat 'em, an' lookedat the gentleman so complainin'-like. Then she pulled out a little bitof a red and white handkerchief, an' hides her nose in it. I knew wellenough what she was up to, an' didn't mind her at first, but it ain'tpleasant havin' people makin' faces an' stuffin' their noses beforeyou, an' so I got up an' asked 'em to let me out. When I was passin'her I gathered in my rags tight an' held my shawl up to my nose justlike she had done, an' says I, in a whisper, as if to myself, 'oh, youdirty beggars, let me get away from you. ' The people in the next pewlooked back an' laughed, an' I saw the color risin' up in her face asI turned away. I left the church after that, an' says I, 'there's noroom for the poor to be good, I guess I won't try it again; an' youcan bet I didn't, " she added, with an emphatic nod of her bushy head, and a sparkling wrath in her black eyes. 

"But that wasn't right, Girly, " said cousin Bessie, "it is not thatway in every church, nor is everybody like those three persons youhappened to come across. "

"It's equal to me, ma'am; I got enough of it, " she retorted, quickly, "when its fine on a Sunday now, I go to the grave-yard, my mother isthere an' it's a big place, there's room for all kinds in it. I sitdown an' cry a bit, an' ask her to pray for the poor, for they have ahard time of it here, but I don't think she can hear me, for I'm notmuch the better of my prayers. "

Cousin Bessie and I here exchanged glances again. Such a hardenedlittle heart as this was in one so young. We did not remonstrate withher then, but attended to her more immediate physical wants, there wassomething worth caring for in the little waif, and we determined to doit slowly and surely. 

Before the week expired we had initiated her into the ways of thehouse, and transformed her exterior, to begin with, into that of acivilized and respectable member of the great human family. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

The winter was coming on, as Cousin Bessie had said every leaf wasblown from its bough, and the Autumn sky was grayer and cloudier thanever. 

It was a lonely season, especially for one with such a heart full ofmemories as mine, the wind spoke to me in the most plaintive ofwhispers, now with the voice of one absent friend, now with that ofanother. I had no definite grief at this period under the safeprotecting roof of my good, kind relatives, only that there was anemptiness about my comfort, which made it incomplete and not quite assatisfactory as it should have been. 

Something was stirring in my breast as if with fluttering wingsagainst these fetters of the flesh! Something was always asking, always wishing, always urging me, to do I knew not what '_Taediumvitae_. ' It is the merciless enemy of mortal man! the robber of ourpeace, the skeleton in the closet, the dreg in our pleasure-cup, theruthless spoiler of our fancy-woven webs! It is the separate sorrow ofmen and women, and is the summing up of the stones of all human lives. 

Some have grown weary of idleness, pleasure and wealth, and some aremore weary of cold and starvation, and toil, the student is weary ofstudy, and the artist is weary of art, the vicious grow weary of vice, and great men grow weary of fame; old men grow tired on their journey, and children get tired at their play, it is one of those "touches ofnature" that makes our world become "kin. " For a sigh is a whisper ofsorrow, no matter what breast may have heaved it, and pain is a pall, thick and heavy, laid over hopes that are dead. 

Some of us have strange lives! secrets, known only to ourselves, thatchange the face of all nature before our eyes, we are sent adrift onevery passing current, to explore the truths of experience forourselves, and sad lessons some of them are, which we read through ourgathering tears, and learn with a beating heart!

As the autumn months drifted on towards a bleak November, I becamemore and more absorbed, looking wistfully out of the windows, orsitting dreamily before the fire. I often thought of that better land, whither my angel-mother had flown years ago, my father had gone therenow, too. Would it not be well if I were with them? Only one morelittle mound of earth, rising beside theirs, one solitary littlemortal falling back from the weary pilgrimage, and lying down to restby the roadside, one heavy heart less among that throbbing multitude, one faint toiler more, borne from the crowded vineyard. 

With my elbows resting on my knees and my face buried in my palms, Isat and thought of all such weird possibilities, as I looked vacantlyinto the fire. There are times when the world, with its exuberance ofpleasure and wealth, is powerless to tempt or cheer us, when its mostsplendid pageantry is vapid and shallow to our tired gaze, when itslaughter and song are a noisy discord, that deafens and distracts us!when its pledges and promises are instruments of selfish purposes andhidden cunning, and its policy, the exponent of a rabid andfar-reaching materialism. These are moments, when our passions are athigh tide, with our conscience riding on the topmost surface-waves, they are propitious intervals, if we choose to make the best of them, or they may only be fitful breaks in the glad monotony of our sensual, easy-going lives--breaks, that our evil tendencies most often survive, seeing them rise, and surge, and ebb, in fearless defiance, and thenquietly resuming their old sway, when the moral struggle has subsided!

One afternoon, I made an effort to rouse myself from this growinglethargy, which had begun to undermine the whole tenor of mycharacter. Zita and Louis were away, at their schools, and cousinBessie was busy as usual over household duties, Girly was frying meatin the kitchen, and the frizzling, seething noises had almost sent meto sleep in my chair, where I sat sewing. It wanted a half hour yet ofdinner-time, so I put on my hat and jacket and sauntered out into theopen air. 

It was a bracing November day, the dead leaves lay crisp and troddenby the roadside, and the gray clouds flitted in their solemn silenceacross the low-leaden sky, a light wind swayed the naked tree-tops, and tinged the beaming faces of pedestrians with a healthy roseatehue. This was a happy contrast to my cheerless mood, and with aquickened step, I overtook the stream of gayer people that throngedthe lively thoroughfare, and gave myself wholly up to every passingdistraction. 

I had no particular business to discharge, except to run away frommyself, and therefore every little peculiarity, every minute featureof men, women, or things, that suggested themselves to my aimlessscrutiny were carefully reviewed and criticized. I went placidly onnow casting a passing glance on exhibitions of stale confectionery, now on a display of attractive millinery, again it was a "ten cent"establishment, offering such bargains as might puzzle the mosteconomical house-wife, and finally my attention was caught by asuccession of dazzling windows, with their bewildering panorama ofJapanese figures and coloured _bric-a-brac_, windows crowded with fansand parasols, and variegated lamp-shades, oriental trays andglove-boxes, pieces of ware, from whose dirty green surface emptilypeered the pale faces of native Japanese, there were whisk-holders, and wall-baskets, and all sorts of ornaments trimmed in Japanesefabrics, looking coaxingly out at the public. 

Scrolls and mats, panels and firescreens, whereon the hand of art hadcaused to spring and flourish these slender Eastern stalks, whichsprout in drooping foliage, at the summit of their lanky height. Therewas an endless variety gathered into this limited space, it was ascene which should provoke a regretful tear, for memory's sake, fromthe patriotic oblong eye of any exiled Japanese. 

My eyes still wandered over these many-hued trifles, and my mind wasstill busy with its vagrant reflections, when a gruff voice said in myear:

"Move on there--do you hear. "

I started, and saw Zita on one side and Louis on the other; they werereturning from their day's mental toil, and had spied me loitering bythe shop windows. I joined them, and in happy, careless concourse, wetrod our way towards our home. When we reached the house the lamps hadbeen lighted and the curtains drawn, dinner steamed upon the table. 

Feeling better for my walk, I sat down with rosy cheeks and sharpenedappetite to my evening meal. As I was about to begin Mr. Nyle handed mea letter, which had arrived during my absence. I took it up and lookedat it curiously, a smile broke over my countenance as I did so, for Irecognized Hortense's delicate handwriting. 

All during dinner this welcome little letter lay in my lap. Every nowand then I touched it caressingly, as if trying to read it with myfinger-tips, and wondered how long it would be before cousin Bessiewould move her chair away from the table, that I might retire andgratify myself with its contents. 

So much for human foresight and wisdom! We hold our misery in our ownhand, and we do not know it, we look with impatient smiles andlonging, upon that whose fruit is sorrow for our hearts, and we cannotsee it or realize it. 

Dinner was over at last, and I glided away from the happy circle tothe quietude of my own quarters I lit the lamp, and seating myselfcomfortably in a rocking chair, tore open my friend's letter, and readas follows:

"My dearest Amey

"I have looked forward with such impatient eagerness to this pleasureof answering your last dear letter, and now that an opportunityoccurs, I hardly know what to say to you. 

"Perhaps it is because there is so much I _might_ tell, if it wereonly time, when the time comes you, and only you, shall know all, youmust not blame me for my present reserve, for at best, I could buthalf tell it now, any way. 

"It is something that has lain on my heart, day and night, for someyears, and that is likely at last to make me happier than I have beenfor many a day. You will be glad of it, because it will have made yourpoor Hortense so happy. It concerns some one else, about whom, youmust have made many strange conjectures, since your recent visit tome, I was doubtful then, or I would have told you a little, but now Ifeel more sure, and see my way better. 

"However, I must not bewilder you with words in the beginning. I shallonly repeat that I see much happiness in the near distance forHortense de Beaumont. Heaven grant that nothing shall now come betweenme and this long-looked for realization. Mamma sends you her fondestlove, and so does your own HORTENSE. "

"_You will be glad, because it will have made your poor Hortense sohappy_!" These words seemed to stand out from all the rest, andattract my attention more forcibly. "_Some one about whom you musthave made many strange conjectures since your recent visit to me. _"Ah! it was clear enough to me now. She may as well have written herstory through; but, was it not what I had expected? What I hadprepared for? Why should the announcement of its accomplishment shockor surprise me now? He was nothing to _me_, --but a friend! as friendswe had parted, and if we ever met again, it should only be asfriends--perhaps not even as the friends we were then, if he wereHortense de Beaumont's husband. 

I folded her letter slowly and quietly, and put it safely away; Iwanted never to see it, or read it again, it was the story of my dearfriend's happiness, and it should not bring sorrow, or disappointmentto me, so long as I professed to love her, or sympathize with her. Sokind, so thoughtful, so affectionate a little creature as she had evershown herself to me. How many of her heart's treasures she had freelylavished upon me during the course of our eventful friendship!

If she had had the better fortune of the two, it was her luck, and shedeserved it. "_Heaven grant that nothing now shall come between me andthis long-looked for realization_!" Poor child! how fond she was ofhim, could any one cast an impediment between such loves as these?

I turned down the light, and left the room: there were laughter andmerry-making below, perhaps they would help me to forget these gloomythoughts. I stepped lightly down the narrow stairway, and entered thecosy sitting room, where the family were assembled, with a pleasant, careless countenance. 

They were engaged in a lively discussion when I came into the room;cousin Bessie had just conveyed the tidings, that an invitation hadbeen left that afternoon for "Zita and Amey" from Mrs. WaylandRutherby, asking them to go in on the following day, as Pansy and LuluRutherby had a young lady staying with them, and would like tointroduce her to their friends. "Louis and Papa and myself" she wasjust adding, "are expected to drop in after dinner, when there will bemusic and a little dancing. "

"Did you say we would go, Cousin, Bessie?" I put in, coming towardsher and drawing up a seat beside hers. 

"Of course, you will go, " she answered emphatically. "Sophie Rutherbyis my old school-friend, and we never refuse her. "

"But I prefer not to go Cousin Bessie, I have not been out anywheresince--my father's death. "

"Nonsense child! you are not going to mope away your young life likethis, " she broke in indignantly, "however, if you have any scruples, you can come away after dinner, before the active pleasuresbegin--there will be no one there in the afternoon but you and Zita. Surely you cannot object to that. "

So it was settled, that we were to go to Mrs. Rutherby's, and theeventful afternoon came in due time. Zita was a little longer thanusual before her looking-glass on that occasion, and was as pretty andfresh as a mountain daisy, when she came down at last to join mebelow. 

We were received with gushing, girlish enthusiasm, by Pansy and LuluRutherby, in their rare and expensive toilets, they were both prettyand lively, and we talked and laughed during our first half-hourtogether, as though we had been old friends all our lives. Pansy andLulu took poor Zita by storm, they showed their latest programmes ofdances, and repeated for her benefit the newest compliments which hadbeen paid to them by their respective admirers, since they had lastentertained her. 

Mrs. Rutherby and her senior guest, the mother of the younger lady, sat side by side on a remote sofa exchanging confidential whispersabout their daughters. Miss Longfield, the Rutherby's "girl friend, "and I, of necessity found ourselves thrown together, a little way fromthe rest. She was a tall, pale girl with a very high _chignon_, a verystiff satin dress, and very queer little shoes with very pronouncedheels. 

"You belong to Canada, I suppose?" she began looking at mespeculatively from head to foot. 

"Yes, I have always lived here, " I answered, returning the speculativeglance and concluding that Miss Longfield's complexion was decidedlysallow. 

"Then you've been to Court, I guess?" she next asked. 

"To Court, " I exclaimed, raising my voice and my eyebrows. 

"Why, yes" she retorted somewhat indignantly, "you've got Royalty overhere, haven't you?"

"Oh! now I understand, " said I with a covert smile, "you mean, have Ibeen presented to Her Royal Highness?"

She nodded her _chignon_ affirmatively with a satisfied air, and beganbiting her under lip, which operation, however, was immediatelyinterrupted by an expressive--"It must be awfully nice. "

I took the trouble to give my American friend a lengthy description ofour drawing-room receptions, in which she became ardently interested, never interrupting me until I had come to the end. She then surprisedme with the question. 

"Don't you have any refreshments?" put in a high key. 

"Not until we get home, " said I laughing. "The ceremony is virtuallyover when the people have been presented. "

This rather disappointed her, I am afraid, but what could I do? Shedismissed the subject summarily by touching upon another new one--thatof our winter sports. I had to describe the tobogganing costumes, their effect at night when bonfires were burning in the vicinity ofthe hills, the sensation of going down, and the excitement of trudgingback again to the top. She listened admirably and seemed thoroughlyappreciative of my generous effort to entertain her. When I hadfinished, she remarked very quietly. 

"It must be real nice, and ever such good fun, but I could never tryit. It would smother me right there--I'm always under doctors' orders, you know, " she added in a subdued, confidential whisper, "I've gotseven diseases?"

"Have you indeed?" I exclaimed in genuine consternation. "You don'tlook as if you had, " I continued by way of encouragement, but withouteffect, for she interrupted me, fretfully saying:

"Oh, yes I do! Anyone would know I had anaemia, I am so pale, anddyspepsia, for I eat so few things, and such a little at a time; thenthere's dyscrasia, comes from poverty of the blood, and mypalpitations, that prevent me from having any pleasures worth callingso, besides these, " she added, putting her reckoning finger upon herthumb, "I suffer from neuralgia, and acute rheumatism, and, " (on thesecond finger of the other, hand, which represented seven) "aninflammation of the spine. So now, what do you think of that?"

"Well, really I am very sorry for you, poor Miss Longfield'" I saidwith an effort to let my sympathy overcome my burning desire to laughoutright; "you have been very unfortunate indeed, to have contractedso many diseases at once. "

"Oh my constitution has always been weak, " she sighed; "I take sometwenty different medicines, I believe, " she added, as if she weretrying to frighten me out of the room, "you'd hardly believe it, Iknow, you are so healthy. "

Here we were interrupted by Mrs. Longfield's plaintive voice remindingher invalid daughter that she had been sitting "to one side too long, "and would "excite her spinal inflammation" if she did not "straightenup against the cushions of her chair. "

Miss Longfield sighed peevishly, as she fell back in languid obedienceto this solicitous injunction; she was constantly exposing herselfthus rashly to the mercy of her chronic complaints. Shortly afterthis, dinner was announced, and we were mutually delighted, I expect, to find the latest turn of our conversation, which threatened to beflat and uninteresting, thus brought to a happy, though abrupttermination. 

As soon after dinner as manners would allow me to leave, I bade goodevening to my amiable hostesses, who were profuse in their regrets andexpressions of disappointment at my early departure, and I saunteredquietly back to cousin Bessie's house. 

It was not yet dark, though the moon was visible in the clear sky, andrelieved, to find myself once more alone, I walked with purposely slowand leisure steps towards my home, rehearsing in my mind, with muchgenuine amusement, my recent brilliant and highly intellectualconversation with Miss Longfield. 

As I drew near the Nyles' gate, its familiar squeak and theaccompanying clash of its iron latches, broke upon my ear. I started, and peering through the gathering dusk, I saw the figure of a man turninto the street and stride rapidly away in the opposite direction fromthe one I was then pursuing. My heart gave a great leap, I hardly knewwhy, and the blood rushed into my face, something caught in my throatand I gave a short, hysterical cough. I had reached the gate, and theair around it was yet laden with the scent of a rich cigar, though thefigure had passed into the distant gloom. 

I pushed it open nervously, and it fell to with the same squeak andclash as before. I stopped for a moment, and leaning over the lowrailing I looked eagerly up and down the silent street. The moonstruggled through a feathery cloud at this instant, and flooded thescene before me with its gentle light; I saw a figure again, beyondthe shadows of the tall, bare trees that lay upon the white moonlitwalk, it stopped, and turned sharply around, a little red light wasmoving with it, back towards where I was standing. 

My heart beat loud and fast, as the footsteps drew nearer and nearer. I recoiled impulsively behind the projecting post beside me: I was acoward at the last moment, the scent of the cigar became stronger andstronger, the ring of advancing footsteps quicker and louder--they hadreached the gate and paused--there was only the post between us now. Iheld my breath, and did not dare to move while this suspense lasted. Would he never move on? I asked myself. How foolish I was to havewaited there at all? I felt tempted to make one bound and spring upthe garden-steps, but I had not courage enough even for this. 

While I was busy with these thoughts, the interesting figure recededto the outer end of the sidewalk and scanned the upper portion of thehouse eagerly. I then heard him mutter an impatient "Pshaw!" under hisbreath, and he turned to walk away. 

All my deserted courage rushed back to me the instant I saw him movingfrom me. I sprang from my hiding-place, and leaning my arms upon thebars of the gate as before, I said timidly:

"Who is that?"

The figure halted suddenly and turned around. In a moment he wasstanding beside me with his hat in one hand, the other extendedtowards me. 

"Why, Dr Campbell, can this be _you_?" I cried in slow bewilderment. 

"Yes, Miss Hampden, it is I" he answered nervously, "Are you glad tosee me?"

"Glad" I repeated, half reproachfully, "why should I not be glad? I amdelighted to see you. Won't you come in" I asked, making a movement toopen the gate. 

"I have just been to the house, asking for you, " he said. "They toldme you had gone out to dine, and they could not say exactly when youwould come back. I have only to-day to spend in the town, and wasfeeling quite disappointed at not finding you at home, when theclashing of the gate arrested my attention. But tell me, " heinterrupted gently, "How are you, how have you been since I saw youlast?"

"Oh, I have been well enough, thank you. Cousin Bessie is the verypersonification of kindness, and gives me every comfort. I only hopeyou have been as well treated as I have, " I returned, with an effortat ordinary civility. 

He did not answer immediately; he looked away from me and then saidslowly. 

"I have been pretty well--but not well enough. I have been studyingand working very hard. "

"What, _you?_" escaped me before I could control it. He laughed an oddlittle laugh and added: "Yes--_me_, I have not gone out to a dance orpleasure party of any kind since--since you left. I have lived with mybooks, day and night"

"You must have had some ominous vision in your sleep, Dr. Campbell, " Isaid with unrestrained surprise, "to have become converted to suchsedentary habits in so short a time. "

"Yes, you are right, " he answered curtly and somewhat eagerly, "I hada strange, beautiful vision that showed me the folly and emptiness ofmy life more plainly than anything else could ever have done, and Ithank that vision that I have been able to make amends in time for theomissions and transgressions of the past. "

I was half frightened at his earnest voice and serious expression, Ihardly knew what to answer him. When I did speak, I was conscious of atremor in my voice that must have betrayed something of the suspicionhis words had awakened in me. 

"Your better life is worthier of you, Dr Campbell, " I managed toreply. "You were disposed, I must admit, to make too little of yourenergies, which are above the ordinary level. "

"It was hardly my fault, " he said sadly, "I was in a sort of stupor, Ibelieve. I rejected the light of faith and morals from my life, andtried to imagine myself above it. What else could I expect but theresult which followed?"

He was terribly in earnest, his brow was deeply contracted and hisface was whiter than the pale moonlight. 

"Then you are a better man for it in every way, I perceive, " was mytimid rejoinder. 

"I hope so, Amey, I have tried hard to be. "

I was startled by the mention of my own name in such a solemn tone, but my heart was swelling with a rushing tide of sympathy for the manwho had so pronounced it. 

"Then you will not regret it, believe me, " I said, infusing a buoyantencouragement into my voice. 

"No, I will not, I feel sure, " he answered, disengaging his hands andleaning one elbow on the bar to support his face in his palm. We stoodfor a few seconds in silence, during which I looked abstractedly intothe space before me. I knew that his eyes were turned upon me, although I could not see them. Suddenly he said in a low tone, almostin a whisper. 

"I wish I could read your thoughts, Amey?"

I looked at him quickly, and laughed. Before I had time to make anyreply, the door of the house was opened wide, and cousin Bessieaccompanied by her husband and Louis, stepped out upon the platform. Abeam of lamplight fell full upon Arthur Campbell's face, which wasstern and white, he gave me his unsteady hand, and said brusquely:

"Good-night! I will come and see you to-morrow if you will let me?"

He raised his hat, and bowing with a touch of his old grace andgallantry, he strode away. 

"Well, well Amey!" said Mr. Nyle, in a teasing voice as I turned andconfronted the family trio. "I never would have thought this of _you_!you might have told us something about it, I'm sure--eh Bessie?"

"Oh we have no right to know her little secrets" cousin Bessie gentlyanswered, while she drew on one glove. "Amey is sure not to doanything foolish, I feel certain of that. Is that the gentleman whocalled to see you a little while ago, Amey?" she asked, with a verydiscreet curiosity. 

"Yes, Cousin Bessie, it is Dr. Campbell, he attended my father in hislast illness, you know, I told you about him, " I explained veryearnestly. 

"Oh yes, dear I remember! he seems to be a very nice person: I hope hewill come again to see you before he goes. "

"He asked leave to come to-morrow!" I answered "I suppose you don'tmind?"

"Not in the least, child, why should I?" she put in, somewhatplayfully. "Come Robert! come Louis!" she added, as she descended thesteps leading to the gate. "We are not over early. I hope you won't belonesome, Amey, " she said, turning back, with one hand on the opengate. 

"Not she, " Mr. Nyle broke in, with mischief in his tone, "she'll keepherself busy with such pleasant thoughts that she will never missus--go on. "

He held the gate open until Cousin Bessie and Louis had passed out. Iwas standing on the topmost step waiting to see them off, and Mr. Nyle, looking at me to attract my attention, struck an attitude exactly likethat in which they had surprised Dr. Campbell, leaning just aslanguidly upon the bars. 

 "How silver-sweet sound lovers tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears!"

He exclaimed, in such a ridiculously sentimental tone, that we alllaughed outright, and cousin Bessie pulling him forcibly away by thecoat-sleeve, looked over his shoulder at me and said consolingly:

"Never mind, Amey, he can't throw stones from a glass house, he didthis kind of thing many a time in his own day--you know you did, " sheadded, linking her arm within his, and turning her eyes upon hisbeaming face with a dash of revived tenderness and old love. I caughthis answering glance, with its accompanying smile so full of a deepmeaning, and the tears came into my eyes. I bade them good-night andwent quietly into the house. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Next day Arthur Campbell came to see me, as he had said, and in CousinBessie's humble little parlor, by the cheerful glowing embers, askedme to become his wife. I might have known it--perhaps I did know it, in spite of my wilful perverseness in denying it to myself, but I hadnot imagined it to be like this. There was no thrill or joy for me inthe sound of his earnest voice, no definite sensation of thathappiness which is said to attend this circumstance, no prospect ofgolden pleasures in the near future, that would find us united inthese holy bonds. 

It was a simple proposal of marriage from the lips of a man Irespected and liked; a man of talent, and wealth and position, whoflattered me by so generous an offer of his love. There was a glow offire about his sentiment, mine had none, and yet I could not havegiven him up at that moment for all the world. I liked him, and Iwanted to teach myself to like him still more. He had given up theattractions of worldly life on my account, and had gone back to thesimple faith of his boyhood, he said my memory had been his onlysafe-guard where he had hitherto known no law, that I had "started upin the darkness of his life" like a steady and hopeful beacon-lightthat beckoned him on to better purposes. 

"Whether you consent to marry me, or not" said he "I shall always bethe better of having known and loved you, and, if you cannot love mein return, it will satisfy you perhaps to know that you have done me agreat good otherwise. "

I sat in silence for a moment, listening to the deep vibrations of hissolemn voice, ringing through the quiet little room, the hand thatsupported my thoughtful face had grown cold and clammy, somethingweighed upon my heart, like an unfolded mystery, pregnant with sorrowor joy, I knew not which. He stood beside me, leaning one elbowagainst the broad, old fashioned mantel, and looking into the fire--atlength I raised my eyes, and said with a timid voice. 

"I do not deserve your love, Arthur--though I would now, if I could, if it were in my power. "

"What do you mean Amey?" he interrupted with solemn enquiry. 

I fidgeted with the folds of my drapery, for another few seconds, andthen answered nervously:

"I hardly know, myself, " then lifting up my eyes to his serious faceagain, I said as frankly as I knew how. "You have not asked me, Arthur, whether I have ever loved any one else before?"

He kept on, looking steadily at me, until his blue eyes seemed to havepenetrated the very farthest depths of my soul; then, he answered, slowly, and with thrilling emphasis. 

"You have loved Ernest Dalton, I know. Is there any one else?"

I dropped my lids instantly, and folded my hands tightly together, hiswords went through and through me. I hardly knew what to say next, butfeeling that it was urgent upon me to speak in some way, I asked in asubdued tone, with my eyes still lowered upon my folded hands, "How do you know I loved Ernest Dalton?"

He laughed, not gaily, nor carelessly, and taking a stride across theroom, turned and said, "It is enough, that I know it, Amey. I don'task you to confide your past secrets to me--neither do I blame you forhaving been attached to Dalton, he is a good fellow, and though I amnot half as worthy as he is, I presume to covet the same prize that hedoes--our luck is in your hands!"

"Ernest Dalton has never spoken to me, of love or marriage, " I put inhastily. 

"And Arthur Campbell has" said he, pausing in his rapid strides again, and standing close beside me--"that should make some difference?"

"So it does, and I give him the preference!" I said, rising from myseat, and extending my cold, nervous fingers towards him. "It is truethat I have dwelt upon Ernest Dalton's memory with a glowing, girlishenthusiasm. I have thought of him by day and by night. I have fanciedmy love returned, and imagined how happy we could be together. I havewatched him with jealous eyes as he came and went, in and out of ourcircles at home. I have wished him near me, when I was desolate andmiserable, and could endure no one else--but now, I would not havethings different from what they are: all that can be a finished, sealed irrevocable past to you and me. I will marry you, if you aresatisfied with my disposition; I will devote my whole life to yourhappiness, Arthur, and if I can help it you shall never have cause toreproach me, or regret the step you have taken. If you love me, youwill not find it hard to trust me enough, even for this!"

"Amey, that is all I want to hear--you have spoken openly andhonourably, you have done me the fullest justice I could ask. Ibelieve your simple, earnest promises, I could not do otherwise, itwould kill me to doubt you now. I shall go back to my toil with alighter heart than I have had for many a day. "

He left for home on the following morning, and as he rolled out of thedepot of our little town I sat alone by the fireside, where, yesterday, I had pledged myself to him, twisting and turning asparkling diamond upon my finger. It was a handsome seal of ourplighted loves; inside, on the smooth round gold, the words "Arthurand Amey" with the date of the month and year were neatly inscribed. 

CHAPTER XV. 

Alice Merivale came home for Christmas, that is, in the early part ofDecember. She had been announced for weeks before, and her immediatecircle were considerably agitated over the welcome tidings, and inquite a flutter of conjecture and expectation concerning the result ofher extended trip. 

Two days after her arrival I received a hasty little note from her, inwhich she insisted upon my going to spend the holidays with her, asshe had thousands of topics to discuss with me, and was longing to layeyes on me again after so protracted an interval of separation. 

The prospect was a pleasant one to me; that interval to which shealluded had brought me many a reason for wishing to return to my oldhome, for a little sojourn among those friends and scenes that hadspecial claims upon my memory and affections. I submitted her kindoffer to cousin Bessie for a decision, and was of course, encouragedto accept it, on the grounds that I had never taken a day of realrecreation since I had come to live with her. 

The day before I left was snowy and windy, and cold; it was mybirthday. Cousin Bessie took me by the hand, and leading me into thesitting-room after luncheon, said:

"Sit there, Amey, " motioning me to a low rocker that stood on one sideof the fire, while she drew up an easy chair for herself on the other, "I want to talk to you. "

With wondering surprise I threw myself into my seat and looked at herwith eager impatience, waiting for her to begin. She did not lose muchtime, only while she picked up her knitting from a work-basket on thetable beside her. When she had put her needle safely through the firststitch she turned her eyes kindly upon me and began:

"So this is your birthday, Amey? Poor Amey; I remember the day youwere born, well. I never thought at that time the world would be sucha see-saw as it has since shown itself to be. I never expected I wouldbe called upon to offer you the shelter of my humble roof. "

I rocked myself slowly to and fro, and with a sigh answered:

"What would I have done without you, Cousin Bessie?"

This brought a sudden thought into my mind, it was so strange that itshould never have crossed my mind before, I looked up quickly intocousin Bessie's face and asked with a puzzled and eager curiosity:

"How did you come to know I wanted a home, Cousin Bessie. Who told youof my father's death?"

She laughed a quiet, suspicious little laugh and then replied:

"I have been waiting for this question ever since you came, and it hasbeen a continual wonder to me that you have not asked it. However, Iwill tell you all about it to-day, and it is a long, long story fromthe beginning, " said she, laying her knitting down upon her lap andtaking off her glasses, which she wore only while working. 

"Your mother and I, as I told you already, were brought up together inher father's house She was as like you, my child, as your image in theglass, and on this account I have felt that ever since you have beenwith me, I have been living my young days over again with my poor, dead Amelia, that was as dear as life to my heart. I have told youabout our school days and earlier experiences. I will now tell you thestrange sequel, for I think it is time you knew it. 

"When your mother was in her eighteenth year she went to visit awidowed aunt of hers who was very wealthy, and whose entire fortunewas supposed to be accumulating for your mother's ultimateinheritance. While she was there she met a young student who fellviolently in love with her, and whose regard she fully reciprocated. They were both young, and handsome and ardent; both well educated andhighly accomplished, and both devotedly attached to each other. Whenyour mother came back he nearly died of loneliness and grief, and shewas little better, moping around the house in quiet corners, broodingover the fire and losing interest in her former occupations. Herfather noticed the change and suspecting the truth, discountenanced itfrom the very first. He did not say much to Amey herself, but I sawthat he was resolved to throw impediments in the way of their love'sprogress. He called it 'stuff' and in his desire to suppress andcondemn it, he was warmly supported by his maiden sister, who had longago decided that Amey's husband should be entirely of her choosing, and should be one whose social position would restore to the Hartneyfamily some of the _prestige_ which they had lost through reverses. 

"Amey's mother was dead at this time, which accounts for the domesticreins being altogether in the severe Miss Hartney's hands. For awhile, however, all bade fair to progress favorably between the young people, some letters even had been exchanged between them, when one day MissHartney came sailing into the library with a covert light of triumphin her little piercing eyes, with the announcement to your mother, herfather and myself, who were seated around the table with our differentoccupations, that she was 'going off for a few days, to Aunt Liddy's, 'and wanted to know whether we had 'any messages to send?'

"The color rushed into your poor mother's cheeks. She bowed her headvery low over her papers and muttered. 

"'Oh yes, give Aunt Liddy my fondest love and tell her I am making allhaste with the screen I have promised her. I shall send it to her inless than three weeks, ' she added, daring now to look up when heragitation had subsided. 

"'Perhaps you would rather take it up yourself, eh?'" said her aunt, pinching her ears in malicious playfulness. 'I guess I know somethingabout this screen for Aunt Liddy, it is a screen in more ways thanone--ha-ha, ' she exclaimed in taunting mockery, but still with aneffort to keep up a simpering pretence to good-humor. 

"Your mother was afraid to say a word, her father had brought her upto look upon this sister of his as a limb of a jealous law, that wouldcrush or annihilate her if she slighted or disrespected her in anyway. But the crimson spots came back into her cheeks, and she fellinto a sullen, indignant silence, that lasted long after hercontemptible relative had left us with her incisive good-byes. Thatwas a fatal visit for your poor mother's hopes, when her aunt returnedshe was armed to the teeth for her combat, it began the day after herarrival; she had invited herself to come and sit with us as we busiedourselves around the table in the library, as before; she wheeled herchair towards the window, and leaning back among its cushions, shebegan artfully. 

"'Aunt Liddy was asking me what would make a nice wedding present, girls; she expects to be called upon to make one very soon;' the colorcrept into your mother's cheeks, and her brown hair almost touched thepaper she wrote upon. 'I told her I would ask you, ' Miss Hartneyadded, pointedly, 'as you're likely to know more about modern tastesthan I. '"

"'It depends on the sort of person it is intended for, ' I said, veryindifferently, without looking up from my work; 'no two peopleappreciate the same gift in exactly the same way. '

"'Well, Aunt Liddy does not know very much about the prospectivebride; the groom is her friend, he is a young student of theUniversity there, ' your mother paused, but did not raise her eyes. 'His name is--Dalton, ' Miss Hartney went on with an insinuation ofmalicious triumph. 

"Cousin Bessie!" I cried, leaning forward with quick eagerness andinterrupting her story, "_Dalton_, did you say?"

"Yes, Ernest Dalton, " she answered me quietly. "Ernest Dalton whom younow know, and who is the cause of your being with me to-day. "

I looked at her vacantly for a moment, and falling back languidly inmy seat, muttered faintly, "Go on. "

"Where was I?" she resumed, looking wistfully into the space betweenus; "Oh, yes--where Miss Hartney pronounced Ernest Dalton's name soflourishingly--your mother looked up at her with a blanched face whenshe said this, and asked:

"'Do you know for certain that what you say is true?'

"'Oh! my dear Amey--really--you frighten me, ' her aunt exclaimed, withdilated eyes and recoiling gesture, 'I am sure I can't say whether itis Gospel truth or not, I only know what I heard and what I saw!'

"'What you _saw_?' your mother interrupted, huskily. 'What did you_see_, Aunt Winnie?'

"'I saw this Mr. Dalton paying such attentions to a young lady while Iwas there as would convince anyone of the truth of the rumours thatare afloat about him, ' she simpered out, half-defiantly. 

"'His sister, perhaps' your mother muttered, knocking her ivorypen-handle nervously against her white teeth. 

"'No, indeed--nor his cousin neither, ' Miss Hartney retorted, with acovert little sneer. 'What is it to you any way, child, who she is, orwhat he does?' she then asked with cruel mischief. 

"'It is all the world to me, Aunt Winnie, ' your mother made answer, rising up in solemn dignity, with a white face and quivering lips, 'Itis my life to me, for I love this man. '

"'Whatever are you talking of, child!' her aunt screamed, leaning herthin hands on the arms of her chair, and bending towards her niece infurious consternation. 'Pretty work this is; how will your father likeit, I wonder, ' she gasped, sinking back again among her cushions in adry rage. 

"'I don't care how anyone likes it, ' said your mother quietly andsadly. 'I am old enough now to know my own duty. I shall love, andmarry whoever I please. '

"'Well! upon my word--you don't mean to say so--do you, Queen Amelia?'Miss Hartney returned in cold irony. 'Well then, my dear, you hadbetter be wider awake to your own interests, ' she went on, 'for yourfirst attempt is going sadly against you already, poor child. I'm gladyour choice pleases you, you are not fastidious--but to allappearances your regard is not reciprocated very warmly. May be, he isonly amusing himself during your absence, I can't say. He would be agreat fool not to take you when you are so willing, and aunt Liddy isso fond of you, and getting old now--but it is evident that he enjoysthe society of the other girl. Aunt Liddy herself, with all herpartiality for you, confessed that Ernest Dalton's manner is much moredistant and reserved with you, than with this Inez Campuzano, with herSpanish beauty, enough to intoxicate any silly, sentimental youth. '

"'Go on, aunt Winnie, said your suffering mother, ' looking up at hertormentor, with a glance of reproachful sarcasm. 'Go on, this is verycomforting, and you seem to relish it. What else?'

"'What else?' Miss Hartney repeated, with all the dainty sarcasm of adisappointed old maid. 'Well! since you will know, child, I may aswell tell you--the brave Mr. Dalton is not alone in the field; he hasa powerful rival; one of those dark, heroic-looking Frenchmen of highbirth and fierce tempers. He swears he will have Mlle. Campuzano'shand, or Ernest Dalton's heart-blood--at least this is the story Ihave heard; she, in all her rich southern foreign loveliness, plays abecomingly passive part, and is wooed, they say, first by one and thenby the other. If I were you, Amelia, I would never marry any one whowas not more faithful to me, than this, there will be little happinessin store for you, if you do; he has plainly slighted you, in givingcause for such vile rumours while I was in the town, and could hear ofhis unbecoming behaviour--give him up child, he is altogether unworthyof you. ' Miss Hartney added, infusing something of a would-be sympathyand solicitude unto her shrill accents. 

"Your mother stood for a moment toying nervously with her white, trembling fingers. She was so proud. My poor, dear Amelia, and thistaunting intelligence smote her to her heart's core. She swallowed agreat choking sob, and drove the blinding tears that lay upon thesurface of her large sad eyes back into the deep caverns from whencethey had sprung. She then sat quietly down, and resumed her writing. In a month from that date, my dear Amey, " cousin Bessie added in a lowhushed voice, "she was married to your father, Alfred Hampden, who hadwooed her in the meantime. "

The hot tears were rolling down my cheeks during this latter part ofmy mother's love-story, and when cousin Bessie looked and saw them, she buried her own face in her hands, and wept silently for fewmoments. 

"And how did it end?" I asked through my sobs, impatient to know everydetail. 

"Sadly enough, " said cousin Bessie, wiping her eyes with a littlelinen handkerchief, and folding her hands on her knees. "The truthcame out when it was too late. Young Dalton's actions had beenmisconstrued by a malicious rumor, as many a good person's are. He hadinterested himself somewhat in Mlle. Campuzano at the request of thevery man who, it was said, had determined to murder him, being adevoted and earnest friend to him all along. He waited patiently for alittle while, thinking it would all come right in time; at length, hewrote such a pleading letter to your mother, urging her to renew herold trust in him, and to do him the justice, if not the kindness, ofbelieving his solemn assurances, before the careless gossip of theirmutual enemies. This letter reached our house on her wedding-day aftershe had left for her honey-moon trip. 

"Shortly after her return, her aunt Liddy died, and as she was leftsole heiress to the money and property, she was obliged to go to thefuneral: there, she met Ernest Dalton once again. I believe theirinterview was heart-rending. She had her dignity as the wife ofanother man to sustain, and he had that dignity to respect, but hecleared himself in her eyes, and they bade one another a long farewellin the stillness of the death-chamber, with only the peacefulslumberer, who lay with the eternal sleep upon her cold drooped lids, as their witness and their safe-guard. 

"Your poor mother was never the same again, and succumbed to the veryfirst trial that beset her after this. She died, while you were yetstruggling into existence. Heaven had pity upon her blighted life, andcalled her from the world of shadows and sighs that encompassed herround about. They repented--all of them--when repentance was onlyremorse, and kissed her dead lips with a passionate pleading forpardon, that was terrible to see. 

"They christened you, calling you by her name, and Ernest Dalton wasasked to be your god-father: these were the only amends they were everable to make. I hope Heaven was merciful to them all, for they aredead and gone now, " Cousin Bessie added, wiping fresh tears of bittersadness from her eyes, "but it was a cruel wrong they did her--acruel, cruel wrong, " she repeated, swaying herself to and fro, andlooking vacantly into the fire. 

"And Ernest Dalton is my guardian, my god-father?" I said in a huskywhisper, leaning towards her. 

"Yes dear, did he never tell you? He couldn't speak of your mother, Isuppose, " she answered when I had shaken my head in a mute reply toher question; "he couldn't, God help him. I heard he carries herpicture and his to this day, in a little locket on his watch-chain, and that he lives in voluntary singleness, determined that no oneshall ever replace her in his love. "

The tears were swimming in my eyes again: something throbbed andburned within my head, and my heart lay full and heavy in my breast. Iremembered the little locket I had found, and saw Hortense's and mymistake about it now; but I would not speak of it then, I could not. Ithought of Hortense's mysterious letter, and puzzled over it inpainful confusion, but I would not mention that either, until it hadshown me its meaning more definitely. One thing I did ask, with atrembling, unsteady voice:

"What became of this Miss Campuzano, did you hear, Cousin Bessie?"

"She married the Frenchman, dear, as she intended from the first. Sheliked the name and the prospect altogether of becoming his wife. "

"What was his name?"

"Bayard de Beaumont, a good one it is I believe. "

"Bayard de Beaumont!" I fairly screamed after her. "Oh, CousinBessie, " I cried--"how very strange all this is, my nerves are on firewith agitation. I know him. I have met him, he is the brother of mylittle friend Hortense, whose family name I never happened to tellyou. "

"Well! that is the man, and a poor prize he had in his Spanishbeauty, " cousin Bessie went on. "She was as dazzling as the sunlight, and as beautiful as the richest exotic, but she was as heartless as astone. He was the maddest man in love, they said, that ever lived. Hemade an idol of that woman and simply worshipped her, and she smiledupon him, the cold cruel traitress, as she smiled upon everybody; wonhis heart and his senses with her artful wiles, and in the belief thathe was rich, as well as high-born, she married him. "

"And they were not happy?" I put in eagerly. 

"Happy!" Cousin Bessie repeated with terrible emphasis. "I don't thinkthey were happy at the close of their wedding-day. She who had beenall smiles, all sweetness before, showed herself in her true coloursthen. I have been told, that while they were traveling on theirwedding-day, she coolly remarked to him that, 'there was no reason nowwhy she should take the trouble to be always in a stupid good-humour, that he had taken her 'for better, for worse, ' and if it was 'forworse' she couldn't help it. '"

"You can imagine how broken-hearted he became, " Cousin Bessieproceeded, seeing how impatient I was to learn the whole story. "Hegrew morbid and gloomy at first, now appealing to her with the remnantof his former passionate love for her, now indulging her everycaprice, thus hoping to guard against occasions that might provoke herquick and cutting sarcasm; but he was always coldly and cruellybaffled; he had married beauty and grace, and external loveliness inthe height of its perfection, but oh! what a soul was coupled with allthis!" Cousin Bessie exclaimed, shrinking into herself. "She was themost eminently and systematically selfish woman that ever lived, andshe lived to weep and regret it. When she saw that her shamefulbehaviour alienated her from the love her husband had once cherishedand professed for her, she declared herself injured and deceived, anddetermined to revenge herself. This she did, at the risk of her verysoul. "

"What did she do?" I asked in breathless enquiry. 

"Had recourse to opium" said Cousin Bessie with a curl of her lip, anda shrug of her honest shoulders. "And kept at it" she continued, "until she brought herself to where she is to day!"

"Where?" I asked again, in a hushed whisper. 

"To the mad-house, for she has become a raving maniac. Her lastsubterfuge was too much for her, and I only hope it may not havecompromised her eternal happiness, in vainly striving to gratify afiendish, unreasonable wrath, and avenge imaginary wrongs. Poor thing, her beauty was a fatal gift to her!"

With the other strange features of cousin Bessie's story stilluppermost in my mind, it is little wonder that I sank back dumfoundedand dazed, into my chair, as these final words resounded in my ears. Icould see Bayard de Beaumont, with his grave, solemn face standingunder a shadow of sorrow and gloom before me. What an infinitesadness, his seemed to me now, when I knew all! And my dream! Howstrange, how true it was. How well I knew that there was danger inthat handsome face, with its intriguing loveliness, and its mocksincerity!

The outer door closed, while I sat silently thinking, and Louis andZita came in with happy, beaming faces, and their school-books piledupon their arms. Cousin Bessie rose up, with a warning look at me, andkissed them both, tenderly, in her usual way. 

The subject of our afternoon chat was hushed in a moment, and we gaveour attention to the simple discussion of domestic topics, but itseems to me, if Zita or Louis had been in the least suspicious theycould easily have detected the strained, unnatural efforts whichcousin Bessie and I both made to appear disinterested and free fromdistractions, during the rest of that evening. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

By noon, next day, I had reached my old home, and was folded in AliceMerivale's warm embrace. How beautiful she looked, standing on theplatform of the depot as we steamed in? So tall, and graceful, andlady-like, so handsomely dressed, so striking in every particular!

I was proud to be claimed by her, when I came out, and be ledenthusiastically away by her, into their comfortable sleigh, amongtheir rich and luxurious robes: in twenty minutes we were at thehouse, where a cordial reception greeted me on every side. 

The news of my engagement had got ahead of me; there is no bridlingintelligences of this nature, whether they go up with the smoke out ofour chimneys, or creep through the key-holes of our doors, it is hardto say, but get abroad, they must, and do. 

They are served up at the _recherche_ repasts of fashionable families, and keep time with the stitches of gossip-loving milliners anddress-makers, they are the great prevailing attraction at tea-socials, sewing societies and bazaars, and are not unfrequently discussed overthe genial "rosy" or behind a flavoured cigar. Rumour is the worstepidemic that has ever visited humanity. 

But as there is nothing to be ashamed of, in half of what Rumour saysabout us, we may as well meet it with a friendly face, and this I did, when my old friends teazed or congratulated me in their peculiar way. I shall not dwell at length upon the details of my first visit to myold home: those persons and circumstances that may interest thereader, more particularly, shall alone claim my attention. ErnestDalton was not in town, he had left some days before my arrival, andhad given no definite promise to return at a late or early date. Ionly learned, that he had "gone away. "

Arthur Campbell, I do not count, of course, for I saw him every day atleast, sometimes twice and oftener, in the twenty-four hours; andAlice Merivale? She had her own story, which I may as well finish forthe reader, as I pass by. 

She had been home, about three weeks, when a dashing young Englishmantook the Capital by storm. One of those tall, lean, wiry-lookingfellows with clothes so well-fitting that a pocket-full of bank-noteswould have utterly destroyed the desired effect. He wore very long andvery pointed shoes, and a peculiar little hat, made of hideous tweed, with flaps tied over the low crown with fluttering ribbons. He carrieda tall, lean, wiry-looking stick, not a bad counterpart of himself, ifit had only had a tweed cap on one end, and a pair of tooth-pick shoeson the other, with here and there a little slit for a silkhandkerchief, or a reserved cigar. His drawl was perfect, and hiseye-glass as bright--as his wits. 

In his outer pocket, he carried a little plush card-case, stuffed withlittle printed visiting cards, on whose immaculate surface, thename--Mr. Sylvester Davenport Clyde--lay in conscious dignity andbeauty. Away down in the left hand corner, like a parentheticalguarantee of Mr. Clyde's imposing social standing, was neatlyinscribed--Portland Place, London, England. 

Mr. Sylvester Davenport Clyde, of Portland Place, London, England, apleasure tourist in Canada, with a (figurative) mortgage on every townhe visited, and a claim on the hand of one of Canada's fairestdaughters. 

It would be too hazardous of me, perhaps to declare that he had noclaim upon her heart, but with the most perfect sanction of the mostscrupulous discretion, I can safely avow, that she never loved him, for she owned to me, she did not. She laughed most boisterously athim, when he took his maiden snow-shoe tramp, and actually displeasedhim with her ridicule, when he came up the toboggan hill after anunfortunate slide, making strenuous efforts to shake the wet snow fromunder his stiff, linen cuffs; his yellow gloves were sadly spoiled, and his eye-glass broken; his hat was injured by being blown off inthe descent, and there were other still more grievous consequenceswhich need not be mentioned, since the mercy of the darkness kept themfrom the general view. 

She married him, however, before he returned to Portland Place. Herfather and mother shouldered the responsibility of paraphrasing hisgenteel pretensions by enumerating, for the gratification or envy ofother Canadian husband-seekers, the many titled connections andimmediate relatives of their prospective son-in-law. 

If all they said were true he must have been related to half thelanded aristocracy of that world-famed metropolis. What surprised me, above and beyond all comprehension, was, that Mrs. Merivale, for alady who had completely forgotten that "prepositions govern theobjective case, " could remember with such accurate fidelity theendless syllables of these high-sounding titles, and the intricatechannels and by-ways through which the original blue blood came downthe stream of vanished generations into the narrow vessels that madeMr. Sylvester Davenport Clyde's humanity sacred and precious tofashionable eyes. 

There was not much mention of whose son he was, his social prestigehad a more remote source than his immediate parentage. He was greateras a grandson, immortal as a nephew, a very idol on fashion's shrinewhen his relations by marriage were taken into account. He had endlesscousins of high-bred notoriety, who had again married into stillgreater and grander families, all of whom Mrs. Merivale now reckonedas easily at her fingers' ends, as she could the days of the week, orseasons of the year. In this brainless boy who was, and ever must bean alien to the finer susceptibilities and nobler aspirations of trueand sturdy manhood, the Merivales were pleased to see, a full andhappy realization of all their fondest hopes. Alice would be courtedand flattered in the highest circles; was not that what their dreamhad been from the first?

And Alice herself was seemingly satisfied. Her better nature had beencrushed out entirely by her frivolous pastimes and pursuits. There wasno re-action now, no leaping up of the old flame which cast great uglyshadows over her other life. She had stifled her strugglingconscience, had laughed its keen remonstrances to scorn, and now shewas free. Nothing now would do her but a ceaseless round of pleasuresand gay distractions. Nothing but feasting, and merry-making and song. There must be no lull in the din of glad confusion, no pause in thering of that restless mirth--that mock pacifier of human scruples thatstirs and stimulates us to-day, but that to-morrow drives our deepestmisery to remorse. 

They were married after Easter, and such a wedding as it was! Half themerchants of the town might have retired upon their profits when itwas over if they had had any hankering after good society, which theydid not happen to have. Her bridal equipage, of course, came fromEngland and was chosen by the Dowager Lady Trebleston, a great-aunt ofthe groom, who was not at all distinguished for any particular abilityto choose a wedding outfit with extraordinary taste or economy, butwhose name lent a flavour to the choice, as "Dresden" does to china, or "Cambridge" to sausages. 

It was quite disappointing to Mrs. Merivale if any of her visitors hadheard of Lady Trebleston's name, in connection with the bridal array, before she had had the opportunity and exquisite pleasure of impartingit. Still, she had many such disappointments, for the news had spreadlike wild-fire at its first mention, and floated through the town onevery lip, regardless of discrimination. 

The wedding-presents were marvels of beauty and wealth, and such anarray as there was. Alice contemplated them with many a sweepingglance of open admiration, which was generally followed by the dancingof a light pirouette around the room, and an exulting cry of "Whowouldn't get married after that, eh, Miss Hampden?"

As this was not the time for remonstration of any sort, on my part, Iremained utterly passive throughout, watching the proceedings in theirorigin and progress with a curious and puzzling eye. Alice was full ofthe occasion; she danced and sang, and skipped about the house, in themaddest manner possible, hugging us all around whenever some newaddition arrived to her already magnificent collection of gifts. 

Such a trying on of dresses, and mantles and hats. Such endlessspeculations about the ultimate crisis of the whole affair, and how itwould all come off. What the papers would say, and what people wouldthink. Such an arranging of after-sports, travels, and elaboratereceptions. I expected the hair, of not only the men, women, andchildren, but of all the fur-bearing animals of the town, whetheralive, or in door mats, to stand rigidly on end with consternation atsight of such realizations, and the teeth of all the combs and saws inthe country, to water with envy when the great climax would havearrived. 

No one spoke of her marriage as a great and solemn change coming intoher life. No one foresaw cheerful glimpses of a happy, domestic life, presided over by a steady sustaining unity of loves. No pictures weredrawn of quiet, fireside pleasures, in their future home, no praisesuttered of a woman's hallowed power to make life's burdens easy forhim whose happiness she is free to make or mar. 

Every one said how bright a star this dazzling bride would be; thecomet of many seasons, the cynosure of many jealous and many admiringeyes. No one said: "how loving, how devoted she will be, a model wife, a patient helpmate, the joy and comfort of her husband's days. " Thiswas a minor consideration. I suppose, the world knows nothing of thesestay-at-home little housewives, the angels of many a happy hearth, whose busy fingers, beaming smiles and gentle accents are the rest andrefuge of many a toil-worn weaver at life's heavy loom. To lay asidethe world's distressing cares at sunset, to wipe his moistened brow, and "homeward plod his weary way" to his cabin small and lowly, whereglows this cheerful love in one dear breast, in one sweet face, is tothe uncouth "ploughman" a joy, a comfort, which many a prince dothenvy. 

It is not I who say it, but our century has proven beyond a question, unfortunately, that the full Christian interpretation of the Divineordination concerning those "whom God hath joined together" has, likemany other principles of rigid morality, become for the most partdependant upon that honest, toiling, sterling mass of humanity uponwhich society looks down with a haughty forbearance or condescendingpatronage. When we want a type of genuine manhood, let us leave thelighted hall, where gilded folly revels, let us leave the solemnchamber of science and of art, men have chilled it with the foul andwithering breath of infidelity and materialism, let us leave the busyarena of commerce, men are gloating over gain and gold in their hiddencorners; let us rest with that sturdy, active, middle-class, where themechanic's ingenious conceptions puzzle and captivate the mostlistless observer; let us watch the busy minds and busier fingers ofthose men, so fascinated by their daily toil, that all the worldoutside their own great pursuits has become a power beyond them, whichthey neither flatter, nor defy. If the labour of the right hand be thetouchstone of men's inward morality, then how conclusively my theoryis sanctioned by the black and brawny fingers of the human industry, whose praises I could sing forever; there is no treacherous ambush insuch natures, as I speak of now; no hidden recesses, where the animalman may lay in wait to assault or overcome the spiritual man. Everylurking tendency to evil is easily blighted by that stimulatingactivity which brings moisture to the furrowed brow, which strengthensthe sinewy arm, and stamps its wholesome seal upon the broad andhardened hand!

It seems odd enough, to say, that among such are found the greatestand noblest phases of humanity, and yet, is it not so? Is not that mangreat and noble, whose honest path lies straight within the precinctsof righteousness? who has lifted himself above the power of sordidinfluences, who looks upon mortal throes as the stepping-stones toimmortal joys? that man to whose watchful eyes the shallow side ofnature is ever uppermost, he who serves but one master, whose onlypolicy is honesty, whose only stimulus is the ever-abiding promise ofa blissful hereafter, and whose attitude towards his fellow-creaturesis one of charity and kind forbearance?

I have wandered a little, while noting down the details of AliceMerivale's fashionable wedding, and though I feel that it is doing Mr. Sylvester Davenport Clyde a cruel injustice to bring him to the frontagain, beside such pictures of exalted humanity as we have just beencontemplating, I owe it, in amendment, for my trespass upon thereader's patience, to proceed with the interrupted thread of my story, and can therefore only trust to the generosity of his disposition notto dwell at any length upon the compromising nature of the contrast, but to remember Mr. Clyde, in his more interesting character ofbridegroom, at a very showy and stylish wedding ceremony. 

When the great event had come and gone, no one could tell exactlywhether half his or her sanguine expectations had been fulfilled ornot. I had an uneasy suspicion, at the time, that the soundness of thefamily's mental organization had become temporarily suspended, fromMrs. Merivale down--they seemed to have gone stark mad. 

It was six weeks after the ceremony of pelting a glittering carriagewith white slippers and rice, as it rolled away from theirfestive-looking mansion, that Mrs. Merivale dropped down into aneasy-chair one afternoon with the greatest languor and physicaldepression, and declaring that "those fashionable weddings were enoughto knock a body up for a month, " quietly fell asleep among hercomfortable cushions. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

There is only a little more labor for my long-used wheel, and thethreads of my uneven life will have run on to the crisis. I cannotconsole myself with the thought that it has been watched through itstedious progress, by loving or partial glances: the bobbin was faultyand stiff at times, and the worker grew pensive and weary. Sometimes, the sunlight broke over my toil, and I sang to the wheel as it wasrolling; but sometimes again there were shadows, and the wheel wasthen heavy and slower. Sometimes, the threads grew so tangled, that Isighed with impatience and worry, the weft bears the marks in theweaving--they are plain, in unwinding the pirns--and still, 'twas alabor of love, this patchwork of sunlight and shadow, this discord ofsorrow and song. 

"The fragment of a life, however typical, is not the sample of an evenweb" said George Eliot, and who knew the nature of the warp and weftof our human fabric better than she! We pass from our joy to oursorrow, as the night passes into the day, it is part and parcel of themechanism of our daily lives, smiling and sighing, we spin and weweave till the twilight's gray dusk overtakes us--then our tired handsare folded together, and the Master takes care of the rest. 

From Alice Merivale's wedding, I was called to Hortense de Beaumont'sbedside. In the comparatively short interval of our separation, shehad wasted almost beyond recognition. We were mistaken when wepersuaded ourselves, that she had baffled her former attack, she hadnever quite rallied, and when the March winds began to blow, her frailconstitution gave way anew. She drooped so quickly, that it was toolate when real danger was apprehended, to take her to a warmer refuge. Madame de Beaumont looked little better than her invalid daughter fromweeping and worrying, when I arrived. 

On the second day, only, was I allowed to see Hortense, and what achange I saw! There was death in every feature, every curve of heronce beautiful face. She revived as usual, when I was announced, andwanted to sit up and talk a great deal more than the attendingphysician would allow, or than she was really able to do. They tookadvantage of this desire of hers, to coax her to nourish herself morethan she was wont. 

"If you take your prescriptions and obey orders, I shall let you havea half-hour's conversation with your friend every day, " said thedoctor one morning, in a bargaining tone; "if not" he added, pausing, and looking at her seriously--after which he shook his head slowly andemphatically, and said no more. 

"Very well then, I will try to take them doubled if you like" sheanswered faintly, directing a playful glance towards me, and breakinginto one of her old smiles. "I must talk to her!"

She could not "take them doubled, " poor child, but she made heroicefforts to swallow them as prescribed, in order that she might haveher talk with me. My poor Hortense! She never had but the onehalf-hour's conversation with me, for she passed into a better world, before the birds had learned their summer songs. 

"Put away that book, and come here, my Amey" she said faintly oneafternoon, as I sat by her bedside watching with her. I closed thevolume and going nearer to her, sat on the margin of her bed, and tookher delicate hands in mine. 

"I have something to tell you now--my big secret--that I wrote youabout, you know. "

She began in broken sentences, her breath was weak and short, and hervoice like an echo. 

"It would not be so long if you knew about--about Bayard, poor--Bayard, and that dreadful--" she stopped, and a crimson spotappeared on each pallid cheek. I leaned over her gently, and said in asoothing whisper:

"May be I do know it, my little woman. Is it about Bayard'sunfortunate marriage? If so, they have told me the whole sad story. "

She bowed her head, in answer to my question and muttered feebly:

"I am so glad because I hate to speak of it, but my secret is notthat. Do you know where Inez is now?"

I nodded affirmatively. "Well, first when she went there, Bayard had adreadful sickness, and he wanted to die--called out to death at everymoment to come and rescue him, though he was not prepared; he wouldnot hear of forgiving Inez, he declared he hated her, and was glad ofher affliction, and still, with these sentiments he wanted to die! Oh, how I prayed against his prayer!" she exclaimed, with an effort ofenthusiasm, "how I begged of God, to turn a deaf ear to his madsupplication, and lend a willing one to mine. I suffered an agony ofsuspense, and at last, the crisis came, he struggled with it, conquered it, and got better. So far my prayer was heard, but mytrouble was not over, he regained his health and his strength, but hewas a changed man otherwise. He hated his past life and the woman whowas so intimately associated with it; he became gloomy and reckless, gave up his religion with all its practices of piety, and abandonedhimself to books of science, such as are the ruin of human souls allover the world. I remonstrated with him hourly, but without avail--" aslight coughing interrupted her here, I gave her a drink and shook upher pillows, and feeling somewhat refreshed, she lay back again andcontinued:

"Mamma thought that his solitude was perhaps his great enemy and wroteto his college chum, Mr. Dalton, to come and visit us for a littlewhile. " At the mention of Ernest Dalton's name a faint pink colourrose steadily into her face. "He came and spent three months with us, but did little good in the way we had hoped he could, but he was kindand consoling in another way. He gave poor mamma great comfort whilehe remained; when he left they sent me to Notre Dame, I don't knowwhy, although it proved a great blessing in the end. 

"My mother used to write me about Bayard's moods, which were now oftenworse, and never better. Ah! no one knew what a burden of grief Icarried to and from the class-room of Notre Dame Abbey. Sometimes Ifelt that only for my mother, death would be a merciful relief, whichis a sad conviction for one so young. One day, " she said, lowering hervoice almost to a whisper and folding her thin hands over the whitecounter-pane "I was praying in the chapel and I began to thinkseriously of all my troubles, how dark and gloomy they looked and howweak and cowardly I seemed! Suddenly a little voice within me began toask: 'Why don't you make some desperate effort to save those whosemisfortunes are making you so miserable? Why would you not try somedaring sacrifice for instance, so that your brother be set free andthe ultimate recovery and conversion of his wife be obtained?' Ihesitated and looked through my gathering tears at the flickering lampin the sanctuary. What sacrifice could I make? _I_ had no pleasures, no real comforts in life--nor the prospect of any--except one, andeven that was only a shadowy, misty hope, the merest uncertainty; butit was my dearest, best-loved fancy, and I could not do more then thanresign it, so I knelt down, Amey, where you and I knelt side by side afew nights later before you went away, and--" a sob came into herthroat and tears dimmed her eyes; my own were moist in expectation ofwhat was coming. She rested a little, and allowing her tears to fallunwiped upon her cheeks, she took up the broken thread and added:

"I pledged myself to Our Blessed Lady, in soul and body for all thedays of my life, if, by her holy intercession the double conversionsof Bayard and Inez might be accomplished before I died. "

"You mean that you promised--"

"Never to marry, " she added eagerly "although at that time, onlyHeaven knew how I had grown to love Ernest Dalton. I did not know hewas _your_ friend then, Amey. I fancied he had spoken in aparticularly kind way to me and he could not but see how fondly Icherished his every word and look--but I gave him up--the onlysacrifice I had to lay upon that altar of supplication. Afterwards Isaw that what I had done out of solicitude for the welfare of thosewho are nearest and dearest to me on earth would, perhaps, have beenexacted of me by the cruel irony of fate. Ernest Dalton loved you allalong, I suspected it on that day when we examined his lockettogether, and your strange, conscious look when I spoke of himconvinced me of it easily. "

"Poor Hortense, " I muttered in a half sob. --"He is my guardian, mygod-father, and the picture in his locket is not mine at all, it is mymother's. "

"Amey! Your mother's?"

"Yes, he loved her years ago before she married my father. There wassome misunderstanding between them and they drifted apart, but he hasalways been faithful to her memory up to this. They say I am very likeher, " I added slowly, folding my hands and looking away towards thedistant gray clouds outside. 

"Her living image, " said Hortense, wistfully, "if I may judge by thatlittle picture, but you--didn't you love him too, Amey?" she askedwith an eager look, stroking my hand gently with her own delicatepalm. 

"It is a time for confessions, Hortense, " I answered timidly, "or Ishould never tell you this, however, we may as well be frank with oneanother now. I thought I did, until I had reason to suspect that youloved him also, from that moment I resigned him to you and refused tothink of him ever again, except as an old, esteemed and devotedfriend. I did not know at that time that he had ever known my mother, nor did I suspect the existence of the close ties that bind us to oneanother in a different way. I only knew that in encouraging my regardfor him, I might be trespassing upon the peace and happiness of yourlife and that is something that Amey Hampden never would or could doto Hortense de Beaumont above all other living creatures. "

"You thought he would return my love in time and that we wouldultimately be happy together, and with this hope you made yoursacrifice did you?" she questioned eagerly. 

"I did, my darling little friend! I would not come between you andyour life's projects, for all the world, " I answered, clasping herwasted form in my strong, loving embrace. "I would have been wellrepaid, when I saw you happy with my help. "

She leaned her head upon my shoulder and wept in silence for a moment. I would have checked her, but there were sobs in my own voice, andwater in my eyes. At last when I had calmed myself a little, I strokedher hair kindly and consolingly, entreating her to be quiet andcomposed. "You shall harm yourself, with crying, and they will blameme" I urged, "so cheer up like a good little woman, and be yourselfagain. "

She looked up quickly, as I spoke, the fresh tears trembled on herlids, like dew upon the petals of some woodland flower, but a smile, as bright as the sun-ray that dispels the dew-drop broke over her wanand wasted countenance, as she answered:

"Blame _you_! Oh Amey I have never been so happy, as with you. Youhave been more than a sister to me, you have done for me what no oneelse in the world would have thought of doing for another but AmeyHampden!"

"It has brought you no benefit, my little woman" I said regretfully, "although I believed your happiness was partly in my hands at thetime. "

"It has brought me more than you can ever realize, Amey, " sheinterrupted, falling back among her pillows, tired from her exertion. "It has held the cup of a soothing friendship to my parched andfevered lip whose draught has dispelled every sorrow that lay hopelessand heavy upon my heart. If life could tempt me, now, to return to myformer vigour and strength, it need only hold up to my dying eyes thepicture of your unselfish heroism. When one has a friend, such as youhave been, the pleasures of the world have a double sweetness; in alittle while" she added, lowering her voice, and looking away towardsthe western horizon, into which the setting sun had begun to dip hisyellow rays, "I will have left all these things behind me; the joysand sorrows of my young life will recede together into the mists oftime, as I go on to my eternity--but, I know there will be someremaining who will carry my memory, the memory of my little life, thatwas not more than half spent, through all the years of her own happyone, someone to pray for me, to commune with me in spirit, even when Ihave passed into that shadow-land. And that will be you, my Amey. Perhaps it will comfort you then, to remember that I died in peace andcontentment after all--for my poor prayer has been heard in heaven. When I wrote you that last letter, about my dawning compensation, Icould see that I had not made my sacrifice in vain, Bayard waschanging, every one saw it, resolving himself into the better man, hehas since become, and more than that, Amey--oh, how it thrills me tothink of it!" she exclaimed with reverent ardour "a change has takenplace elsewhere! We received a letter from the superintendent of theasylum where poor Inez is confined, telling us that she had many lucidmoments of late, and that her attendants had frequently found her uponher knees, with streaming eyes and trembling hands, imploringforgiveness for her past follies. This was soon followed by a secondone, which urged Bayard to go to her: her health and strength werefailing, it said, and there were great hopes of her recovering hersenses before death. His name, it further stated, was ever on herlips. 

"Bayard had a terrible struggle with his pride and his passions. Hewalked the room through the whole of one livelong night, sighing andmoaning, and talking to himself in muttered syllables--mamma and Icould hear him, and he prayed unceasingly, again and again. I renewedmy promises and my life oblation. Towards morning Bayard grew calmerand when the sun rose he unlocked his door and came to seek us in ourseclusion. How pale his handsome face had grown! How wild anddishevelled his wavy hair! How marked were the lines of misery andcare around his mouth and eyes! He came to my bed and leaned tenderlyover me, I could see the traces of his recent conflict so plainlythen. "

"'Good-bye, little sister, ' he said, 'I am going away for a few days, take care of yourself during my absence, --and pray for me. ' He kissedme with his cold, dry lips and turned away. When he came back a weeklater there was a peaceful sadness where his misery had been. He hadseen Inez again; had sat by her death-bed and held her dying hand ingenerous forgiveness. He believed her then that she sorely repented ofher past. Her dark hair had turned almost white, and where rich curvesof beauty had marked the outlines of her face and form there werehollows and angles of emaciation and suffering. She died with apleading for pardon and mercy upon her lips, and Bayard came back abetter man. He says he will devote the remainder of his life to anatonement for his past, and this is what I have been waiting to hearbefore I could die in peace. I cannot presume to say, " Hortense addedhumbly, "that my poor prayers alone could have brought about thesewonderful conversions, but I suppose they have helped, the goodsisters at Notre Dame always told us to 'ask and we should receive, 'and I believe them now. What is the pledge I have made to the fruit ithas yielded? The happiness which the world affords is well lost insuch a cause as this. Is it not, my Amey?"

"Indeed it is, " I answered earnestly, "but all the same I think youhave done the most noble and heroic of Christian actions in enlistingagainst your own earthly happiness to favor such a cause howeverworthy it may be. "

"I do not regret it now, Amey, " she said with a sweet, sad smile;"when we look back upon our lives from the watch-tower of a dawningeternity we are glad to see some noble effort standing out in relieffrom all the daily transgressions that confront us. I wish now therewere more such purposes in my empty life. "

"This one comprised all others, it seems to me, " I put in, earnestly, "you renounced even the possible and uncertain joys of the world. Youlived under the yoke of this voluntary self-sacrifice, which wasbringing you nearer and nearer every day to your reward. "

"I have been well repaid, " she answered faintly, closing her tiredlids wearily, and folding her hands; after a pause she opened them andcontinued:

"When they saw how ill I was they sent for Mr. Dalton again, and hecame to see me. He told me you were on your way to visit MissMerivale, who was to be married in a little while, and that you weresaid to be engaged to Doctor Campbell, which was puzzling news to meat that time. He spoke sympathetically but not regretfully, I thought, of your engagement, and I wondered more than ever what relationshipexisted between Ernest Dalton and you. He praised Doctor Campbell inthe highest terms and said that you had 'made a man of him' for life. Bayard was glad to have Mr. Dalton with us and kept him for severalweeks. He left with a promise to return soon again, I suppose he likesto comfort Bayard while his sorrows are fresh, " she added, closing hereyes languidly and sighing faintly. 

Just then Mdme. De Beaumont came in on tip-toe with some temptingmorsel for her little invalid. This broke the strain of confidence, and as Hortense showed symptoms of exhaustion and drowsiness, aftertaking her nourishment, we lowered the blinds and stole from the room. In a few moments she was fast asleep. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

By degrees Hortense succumbed to her disease. There were no happyrevivals of her old mood now; no flickering of the old vitality thathad brightened other lives besides her own. 

She dozed nearly all day long, speaking very little and hardly heedingthe questions that were breathed into her ears. The April thaw had setin and the air was moist and chilly. There was something cloudy andoppressive in the very atmosphere one breathed, but as the days woreon the sunshine grew warmer and brighter, and the birds hopping fromtwig to twig cleared their little throats and sang forth a merrygreeting to the advancing summer-time. 

The sunshine that flooded the world without grew warmer and brighter, it is true, but the sunshine of hope that gladdens sorrow-strickenhuman hearts in hours of wearisome suspense became colder and dimmeras each new day confirmed the painful fears of Hortense's friendsconcerning her ultimate recovery. 

The time had at last arrived when death's dreadful warning rested onevery feature of her wasted countenance. We no longer exchangedcheerful glances of mutual encouragement as we glided in and out ofher chamber. All was solemn and silent as the awful visitor whoseadvent was now unmistakably and hopelessly announced. 

There were tears, and sobs, and aching hearts that could not plead toHope now, for Hope had grown powerless and passive; and so we waitedin sorrow and suspense for the dismal day that was so surely at hand, praying and watching with our loved one while the flame faintlyflickered with a dying effort within her soul. 

May came--the bright, golden month of song and sunshine--and still thefaint flame flickered, leaping up at times with a delusive strengthand activity, then sinking down again until it almost expired forever. One afternoon I returned late. I had gone out into the fields insearch of a handful of Mayflowers. I thought they might bring a smileto my darling's lips, and for hours I had wandered about the opencountry searching amid the tender early blades for violets--white orblue. 

I was coming back as, the sun began to set, feeling tired andlow-spirited. I had found but a few little flowers, for the season waslate, and I was eager to reach my destination with them while thefreshness of their beauty glowed on their tiny leaves. When I stole toher room, however, the door was partly closed, and Bayard was walkingslowly up and down the corridor outside. 

"You cannot go in now, " he said in a whisper, laying one hand tenderlyupon my shoulder, "Father Douglas is with her. Go and wait in thelittle front room, " he added "I will call you when she is aloneagain. "

I turned softly around, and crept on tip-toe to the sitting-room, atthe end of the passage; the door was partly open, and I glided innoiselessly. In an easy chair, by the open window, with his backtowards me, sat Ernest Dalton, alone. 

He did not hear me, and I stood with my hand upon the casement, wondering what I had better do: it was only for a moment, however. Hewas not the same man to me now, with whom I had parted so strangely, after my father's death; he was neither Hortense's lover nor mine, buta good friend to us both; he was my guardian, and the only father Ihad left. 

It seemed strange to me, at that instant, that I ever should havelooked upon him differently, I, who had sat upon his knee in mychildhood, and cried myself to sleep within his arms, why should Ishrink from him now, when his shoulders were bending with their burdenof sorrow, and his hair growing silver, with the bitter touches oftime?

By right, he should have been my father! My poor mother had loved himso! perhaps he was thinking of her, as he sat there, looking vacantlyout towards the west. I stole my hand from the casement, and crepttowards him slowly and gently. Still he did not heed me, he was sunkin a reverie too profound; a little footstool lay on the floor at hisfeet, I dropped myself quietly upon it, and looked up with a smileinto his face. 

"Mr. Dalton!" was all I could say at the moment. 

He started, as if from sleep, and turned his sad blue eyes upon me, with a quiet wonder. 

"It is you little Amey, is it?" he said, at length, taking both myhands and bending down towards me. "How are you, little one; are youwell and happy?"

"I am not little Amey any more, Mr. Dalton, " I answered, with my handsstill in his, and my eyes turned up to his good, honest face. "I havegrown into a great woman since I saw you last; I have learned manythings--sorrowful things; they have told me the story of my mother'slife, and it has changed the whole nature of my own. "

"They have told you?--did they tell you all?" he asked in a low, tremulous voice. 

"Yes, everything, " I answered warmly; "Mrs. Nyle has given me everydetail. "

He looked at me steadily for a moment in silence, and the tearsgathered in his blue eyes--but they did not fall. When they had goneback again he drew the footstool nearer, and began to stroke my hairwith one gentle hand. 

"Amey, " he said, "I have been waiting for this day through many a longand lonely year. I might have hastened it, I suppose, but I couldnot--however, perhaps it is time enough now. You know, now, " hecontinued, taking my hands in his again and holding them firmlytogether, "why I have watched you, and followed your progress throughchildhood and girlhood, into your blooming womanhood. You know why Ishared your little joys and sorrows in your youth; why I persuadedyour father to send you to Notre Dame, when I saw how miserable yourlife was at home. During your absence I managed to find out the onlysurviving relative I knew you had. I feared a day might come when youwould find yourself in need of such a friend, and indeed such came topass. When you returned from school I met you in the Hartmanns' ballroom; I had come in late on the evening train, and found an invitationamong my letters; I knew you had come home, and expected to find youthere, so I hastened thither, and saw you, as you know, first when youwere dancing, and next in the conservatory. I shall never forget howyou looked that night, Amey; it was as if time had rolled its ironportals back, and that forth from the buried past came the dearest andholiest associations of my life. I saw in you, as plainly as if the'loved and lost' one her self had stood before me, the image proud andbeautiful, of my first and only love. "

"My mother?" I faltered. 

"Your mother, " he repeated. 

"I remember now, " I said, with slow, sad emphasis, "that papa lookedstrangely at me that night too, and did what he had not done for yearsbefore, he kissed me kindly and tenderly, and muttered something aboutmy being the 'image of his happy past, ' and of his never having seen'such a likeness before. '"

"It is little wonder, child, " Mr. Dalton answered, looking wistfullyinto the space between us. "He loved her, too, poor Hampden--every onedid--but I loved her first, and best--yes, I know I loved her best. How I watched your every look and tone and gesture at this time, Amey, " he exclaimed eagerly, "they were constantly bringing back myvanished youth, and casting fitful gleams of sunshine across my wintrytrack. And you took to me. I could see the reflection of the oldlove-light, faint though it was, in the eyes that were only like hers, and not really hers--yes it was a living pledge of her early love eachtime you watched for me, and welcomed me, or singled me out in acrowded room from all the rest. It was her inheritance, that she leftyou, wherewith to gladden the life that Fate had urged her todarken, --and you did it, my little one, though it could never be quitethe same. "

"I loved you, and watched you jealously, God knows I did, but it wasnot with that other dead love, which shall never be revived on earth. In the sight of heaven we belonged to one another, a pledge is apledge, in spite of all the subterfuges and impediments of destiny, and we were pledged to one another. Therefore do I weep my widowedlove, as if men had called her mine, as well as heaven. "

"You were the only living reminder of my past to me, and as such Icherished and guarded you. One day I almost forgot that you were onlywhat you are to me--it was the anniversary of that betrothal day, andthough the winter wind blew cold and fierce without, something of theold fire glowed anew within my breast. I said to myself as I saunteredalong the quiet street, 'I will go and see my _other_ Amey, incommemoration of this eventful day, perhaps she will smile a familiarsmile and speak words of kindness, like those my heart remembers, oflong ago. '"

"I went up to the house and asked, as usual, for your father, " hesaid, breaking into a sad smile. "They told me he was in his library, and with the privileges of an old friend I walked unceremoniously in. It was nearly dark there, and the fire was smouldering quietly amongthe gathering ashes, there was a lounge drawn up before it, on whichmy 'other' Amey lay sleeping. My coming in did not disturb her; shenever moved, one hand was thrown carelessly over her shapely head, theother hung down beside her, a rich red glow was on each pretty cheekand the shadow of a smile upon the lips so like those silent sealedones that twenty odd years before had spoken their love into mylistening ear. 

"I looked down upon her, scarcely daring to breathe, lest the spell bebroken. We were alone in the room--we two, and it was a day pregnantwith stirring remembrances for me. Even supposing the spirit of myloved and lost one kept guard beside her sleeping child, would shecheck the honest impulse that seized me at that moment? Would shecover the unconscious lips, that in deepest reverence and mosthallowed and respectful love I stooped and kissed? Would she, Amey--tell me do you think she would?" he pleaded, with a wistfulsadness. 

"I don't think so, Mr. Dalton, " I replied in solemn earnest. "If thingshad been otherwise, no one would have had a better right to do so thanyou. Even as it is, your faithful, I may say religious, love for mypoor angel-mother recommends you before all others to my everlastingesteem and affection. Besides--" I added a little playfully--"I am yourgod-child, you know!"

"I have not forgotten it, bless you '" he answered. "You have herspirit in you, " he then muttered, as if in soliloquy, and then went onto say--

"It was on that day, that I lost this little amulet of mine--thispriceless treasure, with the image of her beauty within, I have wornit for twenty years and more, I shall wear it until I die! I knew Ilost it in that library, and used to assure myself that it was safe, though I would not mention it to any one. At last, you returned it tome, and I restored it to its accustomed place. It is all I will have, in a little while, when Arthur Campbell has taken you away from me. "

I have never been able to say very much in the trying moments of mylife, and so when Mr. Dalton's story was ended, I only looked out ofthe window upon the gathering twilight, listening to the echo of hisplaintive accents, as they settled down upon my heart forever. After apause, he spoke again:--"You have promised to marry Campbell, have younot?" he asked. 

"Yes Mr. Dalton, I think he is a worthy fellow, don't you?" I replied. 

"He is Amey, he is. I trust you will both be happy, " was thedistracted rejoinder, and then Bayard knocked timidly at the door; Iknew what the summons meant and starting to my feet at once, I wentand obeyed it. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

It was my last vigil by Hortense's bed-side--for, when morning camewith its glad sun-beams, her spirit had passed away--there was nostruggle, no pain, only a sinking to rest, a falling to sleep; a quiettransit from life's worrying turmoil, into the hallowed peace ofdeath!

With a handful of fresh violets, and a cross upon her breast, a lily, white and newly-gathered, in her hand, the emblem of that purity inwhich her eternal sleep had overtaken her, she lay within the quietprecincts of her little room. 

Many tears were shed, and many sighs were heaved about her! So young, so fresh a flower in life's great garden, lying before us with itsbroken stem!

We bade her our last farewell, and resigned her to the grave; I, whohad loved her with all the intimate intensity of a glowing friendship, kissed her cold lips again and again, and turned away from her, forever. Mr. Dalton wiped the moisture from his eyes, as he stoopedover the coffin lid, and touched her brow, fondly but reverently, withhis trembling lips, Mdme. De Beaumont fell upon the prostrate figureof her darling, and in their last mortal embrace, swooned away! Bayardleaning slowly over her, with a face almost as pallid as her own, muttered in feeble sobs--"My angel! my guardian angel!" and with onelong, lingering kiss, the last he could ever give her, he turned fromher, baptized anew in her self-abnegating love, a conscious andcontrite penitent. 

When the funeral was over and peace and quiet were in a measurerestored to the agitated hearts of her mother and Bayard, I made mysilent preparations to depart. Mr. Dalton had left before me. Madamede Beaumont parted from me with the greatest reluctance, and indeed, Iwas not over anxious to leave her so soon after her severebereavement, but my duty now lay elsewhere. 

It was with the greatest profusion of gratitude and expressions of thedeepest appreciation and regard, that Bayard and his mother bade metheir last farewells. We went together to Hortense's grave in themorning, and prayed awhile; I plucked one little sprig of early cloverthat had struggled into bloom above her, and carried it away with meas the last parting souvenir of my deeply lamented friend. 

When I returned to the comfort and quiet of Cousin Bessie's home, fromwhich I had been estranged for many months, I began to feel there-action of all my recent exertions setting in. I struggled againstit with all the violence of a perverse inclination to combat it, but Iwas baffled; I grew weaker day by day, and at length succumbed to thedepressing influence of a slow fever. 

How good, and generous and thoughtful, dear Cousin Bessie provedherself a thousand times over during my tedious illness. Nevercomplaining, never impatient, though at times I was so peevish andtrying, night after night she tended me with her own loving hands, cheering me up when I was disposed to be gloomy, with the happiest ofpredictions about my near recovery. At last, I began to show theeffects of her careful nursing, and was well enough to be helpeddownstairs by Girly, or Zita or some one of that loving household--andeven here their untiring solicitude pursued me; there was no end tothe diversity of the distractions they provided for me, foremost amongwhich was an invitation written by Louis urging Arthur Campbell tocome and spend a few weeks at the house. 

Cousin Bessie has most seriously maintained to this day that wetreated her very shabbily on this occasion; she declares she shallnever forgive Arthur, but she says it so good-humouredly that I amtempted to suspect her sincerity. 

That she should have brought us together in the fulness and generosityof her heart, and that we should have taken advantage of theopportunity she afforded us of enjoying one another's company frommorning until night, to plot and plan a speedy escape from herimmediate guardianship, seemed to her a selfish and ungrateful returnfor so great a favour. 

But she was too kind-hearted to wear her pleasant scowl very long. Mr. Nyle would talk of a time when "somebody" that he "had since hadreason to know very well had committed just such an appalling offence, herself and, " he argued, very suggestively, "unless that 'somebody'has had reason to regret and repent of her own rash ingratitude, " he"could not see why she should interfere with other people, who weretempted to follow in her footsteps. "

Zita and Louis laughed merrily at such allusions from their father, whose own eyes sparkled with the "light of other days, " as he spokethem, and Cousin Bessie either bowed her head much lower than usualover her knitting as she heard them, or looked playfully up at herhusband with a quick revival of the old time love in her pleasant, earnest features, and entreated him to "have sense, for mercy's sakeand not have the children laughing at him. "

In the first week of June, while the young summer sunshine was brightand pleasant, Arthur and I were married, Zita was my pretty bridesmaidand Louis our gallant groomsman; our only guests were the Rutherbysand Mr. Dalton. 

Cousin Bessie gave us a cosy wedding breakfast, and it was amidriotous merry-making and boisterous good wishes for a long and happyfuture we drove away from the little gate, where some months beforethat we had begun the chapter whose joyful sequel was now in progress. 

The rest is an old story, familiar to many homes and hearts, the storyof that wedded happiness which is the outgrowth of two steady, abiding, enduring loves. I have been happier as Arthur Campbell's wifethan I could ever have been as Ernest Dalton's, and I shall state why:

When we are young, we develop a tendency to exalt and idealize thecommon-place phases of life beyond all limits of reason orpossibility. We flatter our buoyant expectations with the convictionthat there is honey in the heart of every trifling flower we mustgather by life's dusty roadside, and that it needs but the magic touchof our own hand to have it brought to the surface. This is a pleasantdelusion, which, however, is susceptible of being rudely and roughlydispelled by an impartial experience as we grow older, when thisexaggerated tendency creeps into our loves, and it is there it holdsthe fullest sway, and does the maddest mischief, the danger of adisenchanting awakening is still greater and more hazardous. For whenwe love in an abstract sense we exclusively, love in utter oblivion ofthe exactions of real life; we never stop to consider that that lovewhich purposes to endure and strengthen with time must be coupled witha broad, impartial view of the stubborn circumstances, which are thefacts of existence. A love that is all poetry and moonshine dies asudden death in the face of practical dilemmas. 

I have become convinced of this many a time, though my experience ofwedded life is necessarily limited. Arthur and I have counted thegrocer's bills, and made out the wash account, with the pleasantestsmiles and most playful manner possible; and I have felt as I leanedupon his shoulder and scanned the items before us, that he was thedearest and best of husbands, whereas--Mr. Dalton, oh shades of poetryand song! imagine Ernest Dalton poring over a soapy wash account. Imention it, and Arthur joins me in the merry laugh the bare thought ofit provokes. 

Mr. Dalton, however, was always our good, kind friend, while heremained in our town. To the spirit of emigration that pervaded ourcities some years later we owe his loss. He stole away without lettingany one know of his definite purpose, and buried himself in thesolitude of the North-West prairies. 

For a time he was a punctual correspondent, but there came a breachand a pause, during which we learned of his serious illness, andsubsequently of his death. To the end he had remembered us, and no onegrieved for him more earnestly, more deeply than Arthur and I. 

Some weeks after the announcement of his death had been made known tous, I received a little box which had been found among his personalbelongings, addressed to me. It contained the identical locket whichhad been in my possession once before, and which was now bequeathed tome with injunctions to wear it faithfully, in memory of the twodeparted ones, whose time-worn pictures lay safely stowed away within. 

His money and other properties he bequeathed to the little fair-hairedprattler now playing at my knee. We have called him Ernest DaltonCampbell, but Arthur says we must keep that until he is big, and inthe meantime has christened him "Toddles, " which is very absurd to mythinking, but to which, with all the edifying obedience of a Christianwife I am bound to submit now, as well as in every matter of greateror less moment. 

I thought I had finished my story when I laid down my pen, a fewmonths ago, and gave a long-drawn sigh of infinite relief. Time has, however, hastened the development of a few more items, that may be ofmore or less interest to those readers who have kindly followed the_dramatis personae_, that have been flitting through these chapters, with a partial attention. 

As I write the closing words my _dramatis personae_ come trooping tothe front, to group themselves for the final tableau--Cousin Bessieand her faithful husband are the central and leading figures; herhands are folded, and a happy, peaceful smile plays around the cornersof her good-humoured face. 

On one side of her stands Zita, a pretty, blushing bride, leaning onPhilip Rutherby's arm; so ardent is the young bridegroom in hisadmiration that he threatens to spoil the whole effect, if we keep himbefore the public eye for very long. Louis is not with them, he hasbeen sent away to college. 

On the other side of the leading figures, Dr. And Mrs. Campbell, witha roguish gray-eyed darling, are grouped affectionately together; theyall look very happy, but I think Mrs. Campbell is the most so of any. At a little distance from this last small circle stands our oldfriend, Girly, now grown beyond all recognition into a pleasing andpromising womanhood; and away in the misty background a long-forgottentrio loom out in sombre sullenness; they are Mrs. Hampden, and Fredand the 'solicitous brother. ' Fred is a hopeless dyspeptic, who cangive his mind to nothing else but his digestion, which unfortunatecircumstance frets his new disenchanted parent and provokes his nolonger solicitous uncle. 

They are all in apparent ill-humour, so we will screen them off fromour laughing, happy band, as we rise to make our final curtsey andretire behind the curtain of our private, domestic lives.