[Illustration: "Well Chile, Wot You Wants Ter Say?"]

The Works of E. P. Roe

_VOLUME FIFTEEN_

THE EARTH TREMBLED

ILLUSTRATED

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I MARY WALLINGFORDCHAPTER II LOVE'S AGONYCHAPTER III UNCLE SHEBA'S EXPERIENCECHAPTER IV MARACHAPTER V PAST AND FUTURECHAPTER VI "PAHNASHIP"CHAPTER VII MARA'S PURPOSECHAPTER VIII NEVER FORGET; NEVER FORGIVECHAPTER IX A NEW SOLACECHAPTER X MISS AINSLEYCHAPTER XI TWO QUESTIONSCHAPTER XII A "FABULATION"CHAPTER XIII CAPTAIN BODINECHAPTER XIV "ALL GIRLS TOGETHER"CHAPTER XV TWO LITTLE BAKERSCHAPTER XVI HONEST FOESCHAPTER XVII FIRESIDE DRAMASCHAPTER XVIII A FAIR DUELLISTCHAPTER XIX A CHIVALROUS SURPRISECHAPTER XX THE STRANGER EXPLAINSCHAPTER XXI UNCLE SHEBA SAT UPONCHAPTER XXII YOUNG HOUGHTON IS DISCUSSEDCHAPTER XXIII THE WARNINGCHAPTER XXIV "THE IDEA!"CHAPTER XXV FEMININE FRIENDSCHAPTER XXVI ELLA'S CRUMB OF COMFORTCHAPTER XXVII RECOGNIZED AS LOVERCHAPTER XXVIII "HEAVEN SPEED YOU THEN"CHAPTER XXIX CONSTERNATIONCHAPTER XXX TEMPESTSCHAPTER XXXI "I ABSOLVE YOU"CHAPTER XXXII FALSE SELF-SACRIFICECHAPTER XXXIII A SURE TESTCHAPTER XXXIV "BITTERNESS MUST BE CHERISHED"CHAPTER XXXV NOBLE REVENGECHAPTER XXXVI A FATHER'S FRENZYCHAPTER XXXVII CLOUDS LIFTINGCHAPTER XXXVIII "YES, VILET"CHAPTER XXXIX THE EARTHQUAKECHAPTER XL "GOD"CHAPTER XLI SCENES NEVER TO BE FORGOTTENCHAPTER XLII A HOMELESS CITYCHAPTER XLIII "THE TERROR BY NIGHT"CHAPTER XLIV HOPE TURNED INTO DREADCHAPTER XLV A CITY ENCAMPINGCHAPTER XLVI "ON JORDAN'S BANKS WE STAN'"CHAPTER XLVII LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF A NIGHTCHAPTER XLVIII GOOD BROUGHT OUT OF EVIL

THE EARTH TREMBLED

THE EARTH TREMBLED

CHAPTER I

MARY WALLINGFORD

At the beginning of the Civil War there was a fine old residence onMeeting Street in Charleston, South Carolina, inhabited by a family almostas old as the State. Its inheritor and owner, Orville Burgoyne, was awidower. He had been much saddened in temperament since the death of thewife, and had withdrawn as far as possible from public affairs. Hislibrary and the past had secured a stronger hold upon his interest and histhoughts than anything in the present, with one exception, his idolizedand only child, Mary, named for her deceased mother. Any book would belaid aside when she entered; all gloom banished from his eyes when shecoaxed and caressed him. 

She was in truth one to be loved because so capable of love herself. Sheconquered and ruled every one not through wilfulness or imperiousness, butby a gentle charm, all her own, which disarmed opposition. 

At first Mr. Burgoyne had paid little heed to the mutterings whichpreceded the Civil War, believing them to be but Chinese thunder, producedby ambitious politicians, North and South. He was preoccupied by the studyof an old system of philosophy which he fancied possessed more truth thanmany a more plausible and modern one. Mary, with some fancy work in herhands, often watched his deep abstraction in wondering awe, andoccasionally questioned him in regard to his thoughts and studies; but ashis explanations were almost unintelligible, she settled down to thecomplacent belief that her father was one of the most learned men in theworld. 

At last swiftly culminating events aroused Mr. Burgoyne from hisabstraction and drove him from his retirement. He accepted what hebelieved to be duty in profound sorrow and regret. His own earlyassociations and those of his ancestors had been with the old flag and itsfortunes; his relations to the political leaders of the South were tooslight to produce any share in the alienation and misunderstandings whichhad been growing between the two great sections of his country, and hecertainly had not the slightest sympathy with those who had fomented theill-will for personal ends. Finally, however, he had found himself face toface with the momentous certainty of a separation of his State from theUnion. For a time he was bewildered and disturbed beyond measure; for hewas not a prompt man of affairs, living keenly in the present, but one whohad been suddenly and rudely summoned from the academic groves of the oldphilosophers to meet the burning imperative questions of theday--questions put with the passionate earnestness of a people excitedbeyond measure. 

It was this very element of popular feeling which finally turned the scalein his decision. Apparently the entire Southern people were unanimous intheir determination "to be free" and to separate themselves from their oldpolitical relations. His pastor with all other friends of his own rankconfirmed this impression, and, as it was known that he wavered, the bestand strongest men of his acquaintance argued the question with him. Hisdaughter was early carried away by the enthusiasm of her young companions, nevertheless she watched the conflict in her father's mind with thedeepest interest. She often saw him walk the floor with unwonted tears inhis eyes and almost agony on his brow; and when at last, he decided inaccordance with the prevailing sentiment of his State, the Act ofSecession and all that it involved became sacred in her thoughts. 

She trembled and shrank when the phase of negotiation passed away, and warwas seen to be the one alternative to submission. She never doubted orhesitated, however; neither did her father after his mind was once madeup. Every day the torrent of bitter feeling deepened and broadened betweenthem and the North, of which, practically, they knew very little. Evensuch knowledge as they possessed had come through distorted mediums, andnow everything was colored by the blackest prejudice. They were led tobelieve and made to feel that not only their possessions but their lifeand honor were at stake. In early years Mr. Burgoyne had served withdistinction in the war with Mexico, and he therefore promptly received acommission. 

The effect of her father's decision and action had been deepened ahundred-fold by an event which occurred soon afterward. Among thethousands who thronged to Charleston when Fort Sumter was attacked, wasthe son of a wealthy planter residing in the interior of the State. Thisyoung soldier's enthusiasm and devotion were much bruited in the city, because, waiving wealth and rank, he had served as a private. Hisfearlessness at Fort Moultrie enhanced his reputation, and when the smallgarrison of heroes, commanded by Major Anderson, succumbed, SidneyWallingford found that he had been voted a hero himself, especially by hisfair compatriots with whom he had formerly danced when visiting the town. 

The young fellow's head was not easily turned, however, for when, at anevening gathering, a group was lauding the great achievement he saiddisdainfully, "What! thousands against seventy? Despise the Yankees as wemay, the odds were too great. The only thing we can plume ourselves uponis that we would have fought just the same had the seventy been seventhousand. I think the fellows did splendidly, if they were Yankees, yetwhat else could we expect since their commander was a Southern man? Oh no!we must wait till the conditions are more even before we can exult overour victories. I reckon we'll have them all the same though. "

Murmurs of approbation followed these remarks, but he saw only theeloquent eyes of Mary Burgoyne, and, offering her his arm, led her away. 

The spring night was as warm as a June evening at the North, and theyjoined the groups that were strolling under the moonlight in the garden. 

Sidney felt the young girl's hand tremble on his arm, and he drew itcloser to his side. She soon asked falteringly, "Mr. Wallingford, do youthink--will the conditions become more even, as you suggested? Can it bethat the North will be so carried away by this abolition fanaticism as tosend armies and ships in the vain effort to subjugate us?"

"Thank you, Miss Mary, for saying that it will be a 'vain effort. '"

"Of course it will be, with such men as my father and"--she suddenlyhesitated. 

"And who else?" he gently asked, trying to look into her averted face. 

"Oh--well, " she stammered with a forced little laugh, "thousands of bravefellows like you. You do not answer my question. Are we to have anythinglike a general war? Surely, there ought to be enough good, wise men onboth sides to settle the matter. "

"The matter might be settled easily enough, " he replied lightly. "We knowour rights, and shall firmly assert them. If the Yankees yield, all well;if not, we'll make 'em. "

"But making them may mean a great war?"

"Oh, yes, some serious scrimmages I reckon. We're prepared however, andwill soon bring the North to its senses. "

"If anything should happen to my father!" she sighed. 

He had led her beneath the shadow of a palmetto, and now breathed into herear, "Mary, dear Mary, how much I'd give to hear you say in the same tone, 'If anything should happen to Sidney'!" She did not withdraw her hand fromhis arm, and he again felt it tremble more than before. "Mary, " hecontinued earnestly, "I have asked your father if I might speak to you, and he did not deny me the privilege. Oh, Mary, you must have seen my lovein my eyes and heard it in my tones long since. Mary, " he concludedimpetuously, "let me but feel that I am defending you as well as my State, and I can and will be a soldier in very truth. "

She suddenly turned and sobbed on his shoulder, "That's what I fear, --Ican hide my secret from you no longer--that's what I fear. Those I lovewill be exposed to sudden and terrible death. I am not brave at all. "

"Shall I go home and plant cotton?" he asked, half jestingly. 

"No, no, a thousand times no, " she cried passionately. "Have I not seenthe deep solemnity with which my father accepted duty so foreign to histastes and habits? Can you think I would wish you to shrink or fail--youwho are so strong and brave? No, no, in very truth. Self must mean onlyself-sacrifice until our sacred cause is won. Yet think twice, Sidney, before you bind yourself to me. I fear I am not so brave as other womenappear to be in these times. My heart shrinks unspeakably from war andbloodshed. Although I shall not falter, I shall suffer agonies of dread. Icannot let you go to danger with stern words and dry eyes. I fear you'llfind me too weak to be a soldier's wife. "

He led her into deeper and shadier seclusion as he asked, "Do you thinkI'll hesitate because you have a heart in your bosom instead of a stone?No, my darling. We must keep a brave aspect to the world, but my heart isas tender toward you as yours toward me. What else in God's universe couldI dread more than harm to you? But there is little cause to fear. Thewhole South will soon be with us, foreign nations will recognize us as anindependent people, and then we will dictate our own terms of peace; thenyou shall be my bride in this, our proud city by the sea. "

He kissed away her tears, and they strolled through the shadowy walksuntil each had regained the composure essential in the brightdrawing-rooms. 

A commission with the rank of captain was speedily offered youngWallingford. He accepted it, but said he would return home and raise hisown company. This action was also applauded by his friends and theauthorities. Mary saw her father smile approvingly and proudly upon herchoice, and he became her ideal hero as well as lover. 

He fulfilled his promises, and before many weeks passed, re-enteredCharleston with a hundred brave fellows, devoted to him. The company wasincorporated into one of the many regiments forming, and Mr. Burgoyneassured his daughter that the young captain was sure of promotion, andwould certainly make a thorough soldier. 

Even in those early and lurid days a few things were growing clear, andamong them was the fact that the North would not recognize the doctrine ofState Rights, nor peaceably accept the Act of Secession. Soldiers would beneeded, --how long no one knew, for the supreme question of the day hadpassed from the hands of statesmen to those of the soldier. The lack ofmutual knowledge, the misapprehension and the gross prejudices existingbetween the two sections, would have been ludicrous had they not beenfraught with such long-continued woes. Southern papers published suchstuff as this: "The Northern soldiers are men who prefer enlisting tostarvation; scurvy fellows from the back slums of cities, with whomFalstaff would not have marched through Coventry. Let them come South, andwe will put our negroes at the dirty work of killing them. But they willnot come South. Not a wretch of them will live on this side of the borderlonger than it will take us to reach the ground and drive them off. " TheNorthern press responded in kind: "No man of sense, " it was declared, "could for a moment doubt that this much-ado-about-nothing would end in amonth. The Northern people are simply invincible. The rebels, a mere bandof ragamuffins, will fly like chaff before the wind on our approach. " Thusthe wretched farces of bluster continued on either side until in blood, agony, and heartbreak, Americans learned to know Americans. 

President Lincoln, however, had called out seventy-five thousand troops, and these men were not long in learning that they could not walk over theSouth in three months. The South also discovered that these same men couldnot be terrified into abandoning the attempt. There were thoughtful men onboth sides who early began to recognize the magnitude of the struggle uponwhich they had entered. Among these was Major Burgoyne, and thepresentiment grew upon him that he would not see the end of the conflict. When, therefore, impetuous young Wallingford urged that he might call Maryhis wife before he marched to distant battlefields, the father yielded, feeling that it might be well for her to have another protector besideshimself. The union was solemnized in old St. Michael's Church, whereMary's mother and grandmother had been married before her; a day or two ofquiet and happiness was vouchsafed, and then came the tidings of the firstgreat battle of the war. Charleston responded with acclamations oftriumph; bells sent out their merriest peals; cannon thundered from everyfort on the harbor, but Mary wept on her husband's breast. Among thetelegrams of victory had come an order for his regiment to go Northimmediately. Not even a brief honeymoon was permitted to her. 

CHAPTER II

LOVE'S AGONY

As the exaggerated reports of a magnificent Confederate victory at BullRun continued to pour in, Major Burgoyne shared for a time in the generalelation, believing that independence, recognition abroad, and peace hadbeen virtually secured. All the rant about Northern cowardice appeared tobe confirmed, and he eagerly waited for the announcement that Washingtonhad been captured by Johnston's victorious army. 

Instead, came the dismal tidings from his only sister that her husband, Captain Hunter, had been killed in the battle over which he had beenrejoicing. Then for some mysterious reason the Southern army did notfollow the Federals, who had left the field in such utter rout and panic. It soon appeared that the contending forces were occupying much the samepositions as before. News of the second great uprising of the Northfollowed closely, and presaged anything but a speedy termination of theconflict. Major Burgoyne was not a Hotspur, and he grew thoughtful anddepressed in spirit, although he sedulously concealed the fact from hisassociates. The shadow of coming events began to fall upon him, and hisdaughter gradually divined his lack of hopefulness. The days were alreadysad and full of anxiety, for her husband was absent. He had scouted theidea of the Yankees standing up before the impetuous onset of the Southernsoldiers, and his words had apparently proved true, yet even thoseNorthern cowards had killed one closely allied to her before they fled. Remembering, therefore, her husband's headlong courage, what assurance ofhis safety could she have although victory followed victory?

Major Burgoyne urged his widowed sister to leave her plantation in thecharge of an overseer and make her home with him. "You are too near theprobable theatre of military operations to be safe, " he wrote, "and mymind cannot rest till you are with us in this city which we are rapidlymaking impregnable. " The result was that she eventually became a member ofhis family. Her stern, sad face added to the young wife's depression, forthe stricken woman had been rendered intensely bitter by her loss. Marywas too gentle in nature to hate readily, yet wrathful gleams would beemitted at times even from her blue eyes, as her aunt inveighed in herhard monotone against the "monstrous wrong of the North. " They saw theirside with such downright sincerity and vividness that the offendersappeared to be beyond the pale of humanity. Few men, even though thefrosts of many winters had cooled their blood and ripened their judgment, could reason dispassionately in those days, much less women, whose heartswere kept on the rack of torture by the loss of dear ones or the dread ofsuch loss. 

It is my purpose to dwell upon the war, its harrowing scenes and intenseanimosities, only so far as may be essential to account for my charactersand to explain subsequent events. The roots of personality strike deep, and the taproot, heredity, runs back into the being of those who lived andsuffered before we were born. 

Gentle Mary Burgoyne should have been part of a happier day andgeneration. The bright hopes of a speedily conquered peace were dyingaway; the foolish bluster on both sides at the beginning of the war hadceased, and the truth so absurdly ignored at first, that Americans, Northand South, would fight with equal courage, was made clearer by everybattle. The heavy blows received by the South, however, did not change herviews as to the wisdom and righteousness of her cause, and she continuedto return blows at which the armies of the North reeled, stunned andbleeding. Mary was not permitted to exult very long, however, for theterrible pressure was quickly renewed with an unwavering pertinacity whichcreated misgivings in the stoutest hearts. The Federals had made a stronglodgment on the coast of her own State, and were creeping nearer andnearer, often repulsed yet still advancing as if impelled by theremorseless principle of fate. 

At last, in the afternoon of a day early in April, events occurred neverto be forgotten by those who witnessed them. Admiral Dupont with hisarmored ships attempted to reduce Fort Sumter and capture the city. Thousands of spectators watched the awful conflict; Mary Wallingford andher aunt, Mrs. Hunter, among them. The combined roar of the guns exceededall the thunder they had ever heard. About three hundred Confederatecannon were concentrated on the turreted monitors, and some of thecommanders said that "shot struck the vessels as fast as the ticking of awatch. " It would seem that the ships which appeared so diminutive in thedistance must be annihilated, yet Mary with her powerful glass saw themcreep nearer and nearer. It was their shots, not those of her friends, that she watched with agonized absorption, for every tremendous bolt wasdirected against the fort in which was her father. 

The conflict was too unequal; the bottom of the harbor was known to bepaved with torpedoes, and in less than an hour Dupont withdrew hissquadron in order to save it from destruction. 

In strong reaction from intense excitement, Mary's knees gave way, and shesank upon them in thankfulness to God. Her aunt supported her to her room, gave restoratives, and the daughter in deep anxiety waited for tidingsfrom her father. He did not come to her; he was brought, and there settleddown upon her young life a night of grief and horror which no words candescribe. While he was sighting a gun, it had been struck by a shell fromthe fleet, and when the smoke of the explosion cleared away he was seenamong the debris, a mangled and unconscious form. He was tenderly takenup, and after the conflict ended, conveyed to his home. On the way thitherhe partially revived, but reason was gone. His eyes were scorched andblinded, his hearing destroyed by the concussion, and but one lingeringthought survived in the wreck of his mind. In a plaintive and almostchildlike tone he continually uttered the words, "I was only trying todefend my city and my home. "

Hour after hour he repeated this sentence, deaf to his child's entreatiesfor recognition and a farewell word. His voice grew more and more feebleuntil he could only whisper the sad refrain; at last his lips moved butthere was no sound; then he was still. 

For a time it seemed as if Mary would soon follow him, but her aunt, herwhite face tearless and stern, bade her live for her husband and herunborn child. These sacred motives eventually enabled her to rally, buther heart now centred its love on her husband with an intensity which madeher friends tremble for her future. His visits had been few and brief, andshe lived upon his letters. When they were delayed, her eyes had a hunted, agonized look which even her stoical aunt could not endure. 

One day about midsummer she found the stricken wife, unconscious upon thefloor with the daily paper in her clenched hand. When at last thephysician had brought back feeble consciousness and again banished it bythe essential opiate, Mrs. Hunter read the paragraph which, like a bolt, had struck down her niece. It was from an account of a battle in which theConfederates had been worsted and were being driven from a certain vantagepoint. "At this critical moment, " ran the report, "Colonel Wallingford, with his thinned regiment, burst through the crowd of fugitives rushingdown the road, and struck the pursuing enemy such a stinging blow as tocheck its advance. If the heroic colonel and his little band could onlyhave been supported at this instant the position might have been regained. As it was, they were simply overwhelmed as a slight obstacle is swept awayby a torrent. But few escaped; some were captured, while the colonel andthe majority were struck down, trampled upon and fairly obliterated as theNorthern horde of infantry and artillery swept forward all the moreimpetuously. The check was of very great advantage, however, for it gaveour vastly outnumbered troops more time to rally in a stronger position. "

This brief paragraph contained the substance of all that was ever learnedof the young husband, and his mangled remains filled an unknown grave. Hiswife had received the blow direct, and she never rallied. Week after weekshe moaned and wept upon her bed when the physician permittedconsciousness. Even in the deep sleep produced by opiates, she wouldshudder at the sound of Gilmore's guns as they thundered against FortsSumter and Wagner. A faithful colored woman who had been a slave in thefamily from infancy watched unweariedly beside her, giving place only tothe stern-visaged aunt, whose touch and words were gentle, but who hadlost the power to disguise the bitterness of her heart. She tried toawaken maternal instincts in the wife, but in vain, for there are woundsof the spirit, like those of the body, which are fatal. All efforts toinduce the widow to leave the city, already within reach of the Federalguns, were unavailing, and she was the more readily permitted to have herown way, because, in the physician's opinion, the attempt would provefatal. 

Meanwhile her time was drawing near. One August night she was dozing, andmoaning in her sleep, when suddenly there was a strange, demoniac shriekthrough the air followed by an explosion which in the still night wasterrifically loud. The invalid started up and looked wildly at her sablenurse, who was trembling like a leaf. 

"O Lawd hab mercy, Missus, " she exclaimed. "Dem Yankees shellin' de town. "

Mrs. Hunter was instantly at the bedside. The faithful doctor camehurriedly of his own accord, and employed all his skill. 

A few hours later Mrs. Hunter tried to say cheerily, "Come, Mary, here isa fine little girl for you to love and live for. "

"Aunty, " said the mother calmly, "I am dying. Let me see my child and kissher. Then put her next my heart till it is cold. "

Mrs. Hunter lifted her startled eyes to the physician, who sadly noddedhis head in acquiescence. In a few moments more the broken heart foundhealing far beyond all human passion and strife. 

With hot, yet tearless eyes, and a face that appeared to be chiselled frommarble in its whiteness and rigidity, the aunt took up the child. Her tonerevealed the indescribable intensity of her feelings as she said, "Thyname is Mara--bitterness. "

CHAPTER III

UNCLE SHEBA'S EXPERIENCE

Many years have elapsed since the events narrated in the last chapteroccurred, and the thread of story is taken up again in the winter of 1886. In a small dwelling, scarcely more than a cabin, and facing on an obscurealley in Charleston, a rotund colored woman of uncertain age is sitting bythe fire with her husband. She is a well-known character in the city, forshe earns her bread by selling cakes, fruits, and other light articleswhich may be vended in the street with chances of profit. Although "Aun'Sheba, " as she was familiarly called, had received no training formercantile pursuits, yet her native shrewdness had enabled her to hit uponthe principles of success, as may be discovered by the reader as the storyprogresses. She had always been so emphatically the master of the houseand the head of the family, that her husband went by the name of "UncleSheba. " It must be admitted that the wife shared in the popular opinion ofher husband. 

When in an amiable mood, which, happily, was her usual condition of mind, she addressed him as "Unc. ;" when some of his many short-comings exhaustedher good-nature--for Aun' Sheba had more good-nature than patience--he wasseverely characterized as "Mr. Buggone. " Since they had been brought up inMajor Burgoyne's family, they felt entitled to his surname, and byevolution it had become "Buggone. " Uncle Sheba's heart failed him when hiswife addressed him by this title, for he knew he was beyond the dead lineof safety. They dwelt alone in the cabin, their several children, with oneexception, having been scattered they knew not where. Adjacent was anothercabin, owned by a son-in-law, named Kern Watson, who had married theiryoungest daughter years before, and he was the pride of Aun' Sheba'sheart. Uncle Sheba felt that he was not appreciated, or perhapsappreciated too well, by his son-in-law, and their intercourse was ratherformal. 

On the evening in question, supper was over, but the table had not yetbeen cleared. Uncle Sheba was a good deal of an epicure, and, having leftnot a scrap of what his wife had vouchsafed to him, was now enjoying hiscorn-cob pipe. Aun' Sheba also liked a good square meal as much as anyone, and she had the additional satisfaction that she had earned it. Atthis hour of the day she was usually very tired, and was accustomed totake an hour's rest before putting her living-room in order for the night. Although the twilight often fell before she returned from her mercantilepursuits, she never intrusted Uncle Sheba with the task of getting supper, and no housekeeper in the city kept her provisions under lock and key morerigorously than did Aun' Sheba. After repeated trials, she had come to adecision. "Mr. Buggone, " she had said in her sternest tones, "you's wussdan poah white trash when you gets a chance at de cubbard. Sence I can'ttrus' you nohow, I'se gwine to gib you a 'lowance. You a high oleCrischun, askin' for you'se daily bread, an' den eatin' up 'nuff fer aweek. "

Uncle Sheba often complained that he was "skimped, " but his appearance didnot indicate any meagreness in his "'lowance, " and he had accepted his lotin this instance, as in others, rather than lose the complacentconsciousness that he was provided for without much effort on his part. 

Supper was Aun' Sheba's principal meal, and she practically dined at thefashionable hour of six. What she termed her dinner was a very uncertainaffair. Sometimes she swallowed it hastily at "Ole Tobe's rasteran, " asshe termed the eating-room kept by a white-woolled negro; again she would"happen in" on a church sister, when, in passing, the odor of some cookerywas appetizing. She always left, however, some compensation from herbasket, and so was not unwelcome. Not seldom, also, a lady or a citizenwho knew her well and the family to which she had once belonged, wouldtell her to go to the kitchen. On such days Aun' Sheba's appetite flaggedat supper, a fact over which her husband secretly rejoiced, since hisallowance was almost double. 

She was now resting after the fatigues of the day, and the effort to getand dispose of a very substantial supper, and was puffing at her pipe in ameditative aspect. Evidently something unusual was on her mind, and she atlast ejaculated, "I know dey'se poah. "

"Who's?" languidly queried Uncle Sheba. 

"Oh, you'd neber fin' out. Dey'd starve long o' you. "

"I dunno who dey is. What 'casion I got to pervide for dey?"

"Ha, ha, ha, Unc. ! You'se a great pervider. Somehow or oder I'se got denotion dat you'se a 'sumer. "

"I bress de Lawd my appetite am' failin' in spite ob de rheumatiz. "

"If you rheumatiz was only in you jints, dere'd be a comfort in keerin'fer you, Unc. , but it's in you min'. "

"You'll cotch it some day, an' den you know what 'tis. But who's dey datyou got on you min'?"

"Why, de young Missy and de ole Missus to be sho'. "

"I don't see how dey can be poah. Dey mus' hab kep' someting out all deyhad. "

"So dey did, but it wan't much, an' I jus' b'lebe it's clar dun gone!"

"What! de plantation in Virginny all gone?"

"How often I tole you, Unc. , dat I heard ole Missus say herself datplantation was all trompl'd in de groun' an' what was lef' was took fertaxes. "

"I forgits, " remarked Uncle Sheba, his eyes growing heavy in his lack ofinterest; "but ole Marse Wallingford mus' hab lef' de widder ob his sonsometing. "

"Now look heah, Unc. , you'se haf asleep. You'se 'lowance too hebby disebenin'. How you forgit when I tell you ober an' ober? You doan keer. Dat's de foot de shoe's on. You know ole Marse Wallingford's plantationwas trompl'd in de groun' too--not a stick or stone lef' by Sherman'ssogers. "

"Well, dey sole dere fine house on Meetin' Street, an' dat mus' a broughta heap, " protested Uncle Sheba, rousing himself a little. 

"Mighty little arter de mor'giges an' taxes was paid. Didn't I help dempack up what dey tink dey could sabe, and see poah Missy Mara wrung herhan's as she gib up dis ting an' dat ting till at las' she cry right out, 'Mought as well gib up eberyting. Why don't dey kill us too, like dey didall our folks?' You used to be so hot fer dat ole Guv'ner Moses and say hewas like de Moses in de Bible--dat he was raised up fer ter lead de culledpeople to de promise' lan'. You vote fer him, an' hurrah fer him, an'whar's yer promise' lan'? Little you know 'bout Scripter when you say hesecon' Moses. Don' want no more sich Moseses in dis town. Dey wouldn'tlebe a brick heah ef dey could take dem off. He'n his tribe got away wid'bout all ole Missus' and young Missus' prop'ty in my 'pinion. Anyhow Ifeels it in my bones dey's poah, an' I mus' try an' fin' out. Dey's soproud dey'd starbe fore dey'd let on. "

"'Spose you does fin' out, what kin you do? You gwine ter buy back de bighouse fer dem?"

"I'se not de one ter talk big 'bout what I'se gwine ter do, " replied Aun'Sheba, nodding her head portentously as she knocked the ashes from herpipe, and prepared for the remaining tasks of the evening. 

Her husband's self-interest took alarm at once, and he began to hitchuneasily on his chair. At last he broke out: "Now look heah, Aun' Sheba, you'se got suffin on you' min' 'bout dem white folks--"

"Dem white folks! Who you talkin' 'bout?"

"Well, dey ain't none o' our flesh an' blood, and de Bible say shuah datdey dat don' pervide fer dere own flesh an' blood am wuss dan a inferdel. "

"Den I reckon you'se an inferdel, Mister Buggone, " retorted Aun' Sheba, severely. 

"I'se not, " retorted her husband, assuming much solemnity, "I'se a 'umblean' 'flicted sarbent ob de Lawd, an' it's my duty to 'monstrate wid you. Iknow what's on you' min'. You'se gwine ter do fer dem white folks when yougot all you kin do now. "

"Mister Buggone, don' you call Miss Mara white folks no mo'. "

"Well, ain't she white folks? Didn't I slabe fer her granpar yeahs an'yeahs, an' wat I got ter show fer 't?"

"You got no stripes on you back, an' you'd had plenty ter show ef you'dwuked fer any oder man. I 'member all about you slabin' an' how de goodmajor use' to let you off. You know, too, dat he war so took up wid hisbook dat you could do foolishness right under his nose. An' dar was mypoah young Missy Mary, who hadn't de heart to hurt a skeeter. You s'pose Iwatch ober dat broken-hearted lam' an' her little chile an' den heah 'emcalled white folks, as if dey'se no 'count ter me? How ofen dat poah dyin'lam' turn to me in de middle ob de night an' say ter me, Sheba, you willtook keer on my chile ef it libe, an' I say to her 'fore de Lawd dat Iwould. An' I did too. Dat po' little moderless and faderless chile lay onmy bosom till I lubed it fer hersef, and Missy Mara neber gwine to habtrubble when I ain't dar. "

Aun' Sheba's voice had been reaching a higher and higher key under theinfluence of reminiscence and indignation. Although her husband was indire trepidation he felt that this point was too serious to be yieldedwithout a desperate effort. He had been put on short allowance once beforewhen his wife had gone to help take care of Mara in a severe illness, andnow he had a presentiment that Aun' Sheba would try to help support thegirl and her great-aunt as well as himself. Such an attempt threatenedprivations which were harrowing even to contemplate, and in a sort ofdesperation he resolved once more to assert his marital position. "Aun'Sheba, " he began with much dignity, "I'se been bery easy an' bendin' liketer you. I'se gib you you'se own head dead agin de principles ob Scripterwhich say dat de husban' am de head ob de wife--"

"Mister Buggone, " interrupted Aun' Sheba in a passion which was burstingall restraint, "you'se wrestin' Scripter to you'se own 'struction. Ef youam de head ob dis fam'ly, I'se gwine ter sit down an fole my hans, an youcan jes' git out an earn my libin' an' yours too. Git up dar now, an'bring in de wood an' de kinlin' fer de mawnin', an' when mawnin' come, youmake de fiah. Arter breakfas' you start right off ter work, and I'se siton de do' step and talk to de neighbos. You shall hab all de headin ob dehouse you wants, but you can't hab de 'sition widout de 'sponsibilities. I'se gwine now to take a res' an' be 'sported, " and the irate wife filledher pipe, sat down and smoked furiously. 

Uncle Sheba was appalled at the result of his Scriptural argument. Hewould like to be king by divine right without any responsibilities. Hisone thought now was to escape until the storm blew over and his wife'stolerant good-nature resumed its wonted sway. Shuffling cautiously aroundto the door he remarked meekly as he held it ajar, "I reckon I'll drap inat de prar-meetin', fer I tole brudder Simpkins I'd gib dem a lif' disebenin'. "

His heart misgave him as he heard his wife bound up and bolt the doorafter him, but he was a philosopher who knew the value of time inremedying many of the ills of life. It must be admitted that he could notget into the spirit of the meeting, and Brother Simpkins remarked ratherseverely at its close, "Mister Buggone, I'se feared you'se zeal amlanguishin'. "

Uncle Sheba's forebodings increased as he saw that his house was dark, andhe fell into something like panic when he found that the door was stillbolted. He knocked gently at first, then louder and louder, adding to theuproar by calls and expostulations. A light appeared in the adjacentcottage, and Kern Watson, his son-in-law, came out. "Wat de matter now, Uncle Sheba?" he asked. "Does yer wan' ter bring de perlice? You'se beentakin' a drap too much again, I reckon. "

"No, I'se only been to prar-meetin', and Aun' Sheba jes' dun gone and boltme out. "

"Well, you'se been cuttin' up some shine, an' dat's a fac'. Come in an'stop you noise. You can sleep on de lounge. We don' want to pay tendollahs in de mawnin to get you out ob de caboose. "

Uncle Sheba was glad to avail himself of this rather equivocalhospitality, and eagerly sought to win Kern's sympathy by relating hisgrievance. His son-in-law leaned against the chimney-side that he might, in his half-dressed condition, enjoy the warmth of the coals covered withashes on the hearth, and listened. He was a tall, straight negro ofpowerful build, and although his features were African, they were notgross in character. The candle on the mantel near him brought out hisprofile in fine silhouette, while his quiet steady eyes indicated a naturenot stirred by trifles. 

"You'se a 'publican, Kern, an' you knows dat we culled people got ter takekeer ob ourselves. "

"Yes, I'se a Republican, " said Kern, "but wat dat got ter do wid dismatter? Is Aun' Sheba gwine ter take any ob your money? Ef she set herheart on helpin' her ole Missus an' young Missy an' arn de money herself, whose business is it but hers? I'se a Republican because I belebe inpeople bein' free, wedder dey is white or black, but I ain't one ob demkin' ob Republicans dat look on white folks as inemies. Wot we do widoutdem, an' wat dey do widout us? All talk ob one side agin de toder is fooltalk. Ef dere's any prosperity in dis lan' we got ter pull tergedder. You'se free, Uncle Sheba, an' dere ain't a man in Charleston dat kinhender you from goin' to work termorrow. "

"I reckon I'se try ter git a wink ob slepe, Kern, " responded Uncle Shebaplaintively. "My narbes been so shook up dat my rheumatiz will be po'fulbad for a spell. "

Kern knew the futility of further words, and also betook himself to rest. 

With Aun' Sheba, policy had taken the place of passion. Through aknot-hole in her cabin she had seen her husband admitted to herson-in-law's dwelling, and so her mind was at rest. "Unc, " she muttered, "forgits his 'sper'ence at de prar-meetin's bery easy, but he mus' have a'sper'ence to-night dat he won't forgit. I neber so riled in my bawn days. Ef he tinks I can sit heah and see him go'mandizin' when my honey lam'Mara hungry, he'll fin' out. "

Before the dawn on the following day, Uncle Sheba had had time for manysecond thoughts, and when his wife opened the door he brought in plenty ofkindlings and wood. Aun' Sheba accepted these marks of submission in grimsilence, resolving that peace and serenity should come about gradually. She relented so far, however, as to give him an extra slice of bacon forbreakfast, at which token of returning toleration Uncle Sheba took heartagain. Having curtly told him to clear the table, Aun' Sheba proceeded tomake from the finest of flour the delicate cakes which she always soldfresh and almost warm from her stove, and before starting out on hervending tour of the streets, the store-room was locked against the oneburglar she feared. 

CHAPTER IV

MARA

On the same evening which witnessed Uncle Sheba's false step and itstemporarily disastrous results, Owen Clancy sat brooding over his fire inhis bachelor apartment. If his sitting-room did not suggest wealth, itcertainly indicated refined and intellectual tastes and a fair degree ofprosperity. A few fine pictures were on the walls, an unusuallywell-selected library, although a small one, was in a bookcase, while uponthe table lay several of the best magazines and reviews of the period. Above the mantel was suspended a cavalry sabre, its scabbard so dented asto suggest that it had seen much and severe service. Young Clancy's eyeswere fixed upon it, and his revery was so deep that a book fell from hishand to the floor without his notice. His thoughts, however, were dwellingupon a young girl. Strange that a deadly weapon should be allied to her inassociation. Yet so it was. He never could look upon that sabre which hisfather had used effectively throughout the Civil War, without thinking ofMara Wallingford. Neither this object nor any other was required toproduce thoughts of her, for he passed few waking hours in which she wasnot present to his fancy. He loved her sincerely, and felt that she knewit, and he also hoped that she concealed a deeper regard for him than shewould admit even to herself. Indeed he almost believed that if he couldshare fully with her all the ideas and antipathies symbolized by thebattered scabbard before him, his course of love would run smoothly. Itwas just at this point that the trouble between them arose. She waslooking back; he, forward. He could not enter into her sad and bitterretrospection, feeling that this was morbid and worse than useless. Remembering how cruelly she and her kindred had suffered, he made greatallowances for her, and had often tried to soften the bitterness in herheart by reminding her that he, too, had lost kindred and property. Bydelicate efforts he had sought to show the futility of clinging to a deadpast, and a cause lost beyond hope, but Mara would only become grave andsilent when such matters were touched upon. 

Clancy had been North repeatedly on business, and had never discovered aparticle of hostility toward him or his section in the men with whom hedealt and associated. They invited him to their homes; he met the women oftheir families, from whom he often received rather more than courtesy, forhis fine appearance and a certain courtliness of manner, inherited fromhis aristocratic father, had won a thinly veiled admiration of which hehad been agreeably conscious. Since these people had no controversy withhim, how could he continue to cherish enmity and prejudice against them?His warm Southern nature revolted at receiving hearty good-will and notreturning it in kind. There was nothing of a "we-forgive-you" in thebearing of his Northern acquaintances, nor was there any effusiveness incordiality with an evident design of reassuring him. He was made to feelthat he was guilty of an anachronism in brooding over the war, that it hadbeen forgotten except as history, and that the present with itsopportunities, and the future with its promise, were the themes ofthought. The elements of life, energy, hopefulness with which he came incontact had appealed to him powerfully, for they were in harmony with hisyouth, ambition, yes, and his patriotism. "The South can never grow richand strong by sulking, " he had often assured himself, "and since the olddream is impossible, and we are to be one people, why shouldn't we acceptthe fact and unite in mutual helpfulness?"

Reason, ambition, and policy prompted him to the divergence of view andaction which was alienating Mara. "Imitation of her example and spiritwould be political and financial suicide on our part, " he broke out. "Ilove her; and if she loved in the same degree, I would be more to her thanbitter memories. She would help me achieve a happy future for us both. Asit is, I am so pulled in different ways that I'm half insane, " and withcontracted brow he sprang up and paced the floor. 

But he could not hold to this mood long, and soon his face softened intoan expression of anxiety and commiseration. Resuming his chair histhoughts ran on, "She isn't happy either. For some cause I reckon shesuffers more than I do. She looked pale to-day when I met her, and herface was full of anxiety until she saw me, and then it masked all feeling. She has worn that same cloak now for three winters. Great Heaven! if sheshould be in want, and I not know it! Yet what could I do if she were? Whywill she be so proud and obdurate? I believe that gaunt, white-haired aunthas more to do with her course than her own heart. Well, I can't sit hereand think about it any longer. If I see her something may become clearer, and I must see her before I go North again. "

Mara Wallingford's troubles and anxieties had indeed been culminating oflate. Almost her sole inheritance had been sadness, trouble and enmity. Not only had her unhappy mother's history been kept fresh in her memory byher great-aunt, Mrs. Hunter, but the very blood that coursed in her veinsand the soul that looked out from her dark, melancholy eyes had receivedfrom that mother characteristics which it is of the province of this storyto reveal. To poor Mary Wallingford, the death of her father and of herhusband had been the unspeakable tragedy and wrong which had destroyed herlife; and the long agony of the mother had deprived her offspring of thenatural and joyous impulses of childhood and youth. If Mara had been leftto the care of a judicious guardian--one who had sought by all wholesomemeans to counteract inherited tendencies, a most cheerful and hopeful lifewould have been developed, but in this respect the girl had been mostunfortunate. The mind grows by what it feeds upon, and Mrs. Hunter'sspirit had become so imbittered by dwelling upon her woes and losses thatshe was incapable of thinking or speaking of much else. She had never beena woman of warm, quick sympathies. She had seen little of the world, and, in a measure, was incapable of seeing it, whatever advantages she mighthave had. This would have been true of her, no matter where her lot hadbeen cast, for she was a born conservative. What she had been brought upto believe would always be true; what she had been made familiar with byearly custom would always be right, and anything different would be viewedwith disapproval or intoleration. Too little allowance is often made forcharacters of this kind. We may regret rigidity and narrowness all weplease, but there should be some respect for downright sincerity and theinability to see both sides of a question. 

It often happens that if natures are narrow they are correspondinglyintense; and this was true of Mrs. Hunter. She idolized her husband dead, more perhaps than if he had been living. Her brother and nephew werehousehold martyrs, and little Mara had been taught to revere theirmemories as a devout Catholic pays homage to a patron saint. Between thewidow and all that savored of the North, the author of her woes, there wasa great gulf, and the changes wrought by the passing years had made noimpression, for she would not change. She simply shut her eyes and closedher ears to whatever was not in accord with her own implacable spirit. Shegrew cold toward those who yielded to the kindly influences of peace andthe healing balm of time; she had bitter scorn for such as were led bytheir interests to fraternize with the North and Northern people. In herindiscrimination and prejudice they were all typified by the unscrupulousadventurers who had made a farce of government and legally robbed theSouth when prostrate and bleeding after the War. She and her niece hadbeen taxed out of their home to sustain a rule they loathed. Not a fewwomen in Boston, in like circumstances, would be equally bitter andequally incapable of taking the broad views of an historian. 

The influence of such a concentrated mind warped almost to the point ofmonomania, upon a child like Mara, predisposed from birth to share in asimilar spirit, can be readily estimated. Peace and time, moreover, hadnot brought the ameliorating tendencies of prosperity, but rather acontinuous and hopeless pressure of poverty. 

Mrs. Hunter had been incapable of doing more than save what she could outof the wreck of their fortunes. There were no near relations, and thoseremaining, with most of their friends and acquaintances who had not beenalienated, were struggling like themselves in straitened circumstances. Yet out of this poverty, many open, generous hands would have beenstretched to the widow and her ward had they permitted their want to beknown. But they felt that they would rather starve than do this, for theybelonged to that class which suffers in proud silence. Although they hadpracticed an economy that was so severe as to be detrimental to bothhealth and character, their principal had melted away, and their jewelryand plate, with the exception of heirlooms that could not be sold withouta sense of sacrilege, had been quietly disposed of. The end of theirresources was near, and they knew not what to do. Mara had tried to ekeout their means by fancy-work, but she had no great aptitude for suchtasks, and her education was too defective and old-fashioned for theequipment of a modern teacher. She was well read, especially in theclassics, yet during the troubled years of her brief life she had not beengiven the opportunity to acquire the solid, practical knowledge whichwould enable her to instruct others. The exclusiveness and seclusion, socongenial to her aunt, had been against her, and now reticence and adisposition to shrink from the world had become a characteristic of herown. 

She felt, however, that her heart, if not her will, was weak toward OwenClancy. In him had once centred the hope of her life, and from him she nowfeared a wound that could never heal. 

She underrated his affection as he did hers. He felt that she should throwoff the incubus of the past for his sake; she believed that any depth oflove on his part should render impossible all intercourse with the Northbeyond what was strictly necessary for the transaction of business. Inorder to soften her prejudices, he had told her of his social experiencesin New York, and, as a result, had seen her face hardened against him.... She had no words of bitter scorn such as her aunt had indulged in whenlearning of the fact. She had only thought in sorrow that since he was"capable of accepting hospitality from the people who had murdered herkindred and blighted the South, there was an impassable gulf betweenthem. "

Now, however, the imperative questions of bread and shelter wereuppermost. She believed that Clancy could and would solve these questionsat once if permitted, and it was characteristic of her pride and what sheregarded as her loyalty, that she never once allowed herself to think ofthis alternative. Yet what could she and her aunt do? They were in thepathetic position of gentlewomen compelled to face the world withunskilled hands. This is bad enough at best, but far worse when hands arehalf paralyzed by pride and timidity as well as ignorance. The desperatetruth, however, stared them in the face. Do something they must, and thatspeedily. 

They were contemplating the future in a hopeless sort of dread andperplexity on the evening when Aunt Sheba and young Clancy's thoughts weredrawn toward them in such deep solicitude. This fact involves no mystery. The warm-hearted colored woman had seen and heard little things whichsuggested the truth, and the sympathetic lover had seen the face of theyoung girl when she was off her guard. Its expression had haunted him, andimpelled him to see her at once, although she had chilled his hopes oflate. 

When compelled to leave the old home, Mrs. Hunter had taken the secondfloor of a small brick house located on a side street. In spite of herselfMara's heart fluttered wildly for a moment when the woman who occupied thefirst story brought up Clancy's card. 

"You can't see him to-night, " said her aunt, frowning. 

Mara hesitated a moment, and then said firmly, "Yes, I will see him. Please ask him to come up. " When they were alone, she added in a lowvoice, "I shall see him once more, probably for the last time socially. Wecannot know what changes are in store for us. "

"Well, I won't see him, " said Mrs. Hunter, frigidly; and she left theroom. 

CHAPTER V

PAST AND FUTURE

Under the impulses of his solicitude and affection Clancy entered quickly, and took Mara's hand in such a strong, warm grasp that the color wouldcome into her pale face. In spite of her peculiarities and seemingcoldness, she was a girl who could easily awaken a passionate love in awarm, generous-hearted man like the one who looked into her eyes withsomething like entreaty in his own. She had a beauty peculiar to herself, and now a strange loveliness which touched his very soul. The quick flushupon her cheeks inspired hope, and a deep emotion, which she could notwholly suppress, found momentary expression. Even in that brief instantshe was transfigured, for the woman within her was revealed. As ifconscious of a weakness which seemed to her almost criminal, her facebecame rigid, and she said formally, "Please be seated, Mr. Clancy. "

"You must not speak to me in that way and in that tone, " he beganimpetuously, and then paused, for he was chilled by her cold, questioninggaze. Her will was so strong, and found such powerful expression in herdark, sad eyes, that for a moment he was dumb and embarrassed. Then hisown high spirit rallied, and a purpose grew strong that she should hearhim, and hear the truth also. His gray eyes, that had wavered for amoment, grew steady in their encounter with hers. 

Seating himself on the opposite side of the table, he said quietly, "Youthink I have no right to speak to you in such a way. "

"I fear we think differently on many subjects, Mr. Clancy. "

"Admitting that, would you like a man to be a weak echo of yourself?"

"A man should not be weak in any respect. I do not think it necessary, however, to raise the question of my likes or dislikes. "

"I must differ with you, Mara, " he replied gravely. 

"I agree with you now, fully, Mr. Clancy. We differ. Had we not betterchange the subject?"

"No, not unless you would be unfair. I am at a disadvantage. I am in yourhome. You are a lady, and therefore can compel me to leave unsaid what Iam bent on saying. We have been friends, have we not?"

She bowed her acquiescence. 

"Well, " he continued a little bitterly, "I have one Southern traitleft--frankness. You know I would speak in a different character ifpermitted, if I received one particle of encouragement. " Then, with asudden flush, he said firmly, "I will speak as I feel. I only pay homagein telling you what you must already know. I love you, and would make youmy wife. "

Her face became very pale as she averted it, and replied briefly, "You aremistaken, Mr. Clancy. "

"Mara, I am not mistaken. Will you be fair enough to listen to me? Weagree that we differ. Can we not also agree that we differconscientiously? You cannot think me false, even though you say I ammistaken. Hitherto you have opposed to me a dead wall of silence. Thoughyou will not listen to me as a lover, you might both listen and speak tome as a friend. That word would be hollow indeed if estrangment couldresult from honest differences of opinion. "

"It is far more than a difference of opinion. "

"Let the difference be what it may, Mara, " he answered gently, resolvingnot to be baffled, "if you are so sure you are right, you should at leastbe willing to accord to one whom you once regarded as a friend theprivilege of pleading his cause. Truth and right do not intrenchthemselves in repelling silence. That is the refuge of prejudice. If youwill hear my side of the question, I will listen with the deepest interestto yours, and believe me you have a powerful ally in my heart. "

"Your head has gained such ascendency over your heart, Mr. Clancy, thatyou cannot understand me. In some women the strongest reasons for oragainst a thing proceed from the latter organ. "

"Is yours, then, so cold toward me?" he asked sadly. 

"It is not cold toward the memory of my murdered parents, " she repliedwith an ominous flash in her eyes. 

Clancy looked at her in momentary surprise, then said firmly, "My fathereventually died from injuries received in the war, but he was notmurdered. He was wounded in fair battle in which he struck as well asreceived blows. "

Again there was a quick flush upon her pale face, but now it was one ofindignation as she said bitterly, "Fair battle! So you call it fair battlewhen men are overpowered in defending their homes. If armed robbers brokeinto your house, and you gave blows as well as received them, would younot be murdered if it so happened that you were killed? Why should wespeak of these subjects further?" And there was a trace of scorn in hertone. 

His pride was touched, and he was all the more determined that he would beheard. "I can give you good reason why we should speak further, " heanswered resolutely yet quietly. "However strong your feeling may be, Ihave too much respect for your intelligence and too much confidence inyour courage to believe that you will weakly shrink from hearing one whois as conscientious as yourself. I cannot accept your illustration, and donot think the instance you give is parallel. In the differences betweenthe North and the South, an appeal was made to the sword. If I had beenold enough I would have fought at my father's side. But the question isnow settled. No matter how we feel about it, the North and the South mustlive together, and it is not my nature to live in hate. Suppose Icould--suppose it were possible for all Southern men to feel as you do andact in accordance with such bitter enmity, what would be the result? Itwould be suicide. Our land would become a desert. Capital and commercewould leave our cities because there would be no security among a peopleimplacably hostile. Such a course would be more destructive than invadingarmies. My business, the business of the city, is largely with the North. If native Southern men tried to transact it in a cold, relentless spirit, we should lose the chance to live, much less to do anything for our land. We have suffered too much from this course already, and have allowedstrangers, who care nothing for us, to take much that might have beenours. I love the South too well to advocate a course which would prove sofatal. What is more, I cannot think it would be right. The North of yourimagination does not exist. I cannot hate people who have no hate for me, but on the contrary abound in honest, kindly feeling. "

She had listened quietly with her face turned from him, and now met hiseyes with an inscrutable expression in hers. "Have I not listened?" sheasked. 

"But you have not answered, " he urged, "you have not even tried to show mewherein I am wrong. "

The eyes whose sombre blackness had been like a veil now flamed with theanger she had long repressed. "How little you understand me, " she saidpassionately, "when you think I can argue questions like these. You arevirtually asking what to me is sacrilege. I have listened to youpatiently, at what cost to my feelings you are incapable of knowing. Doyou think that I can forget that my grandfather was mangled to death, andthat his last words were, 'I was only trying to defend my home'? Do youthink I can forget that my father was trampled into the very earth by yourNorthern friends with whom you must fraternize as well as trade? I willnot speak of my martyred mother. Her name and agony are too sacred to benamed in a political argument, " and she uttered these last words withintense bitterness. Then rising to end the interview, she continued coldlyin biting sarcasm, "Mr. Clancy, I have no relations with the North. I donot deal in cotton, and none of its fibre has found its way into mynature. "

At these words he flushed hotly, sprang up, but by an evident and powerfuleffort controlled himself, and sat down again. 

"How could you even imagine, " she added, "that words, arguments, politicaland financial considerations would tempt me to be disloyal to the memoryof my dead kindred?"

"You _are_ disloyal to them, " he said firmly. 

"What!"

"Mara, I am indeed proving myself a friend because I am such and more, andbecause you so greatly need a friend. Your kindred had hearts in theirbreasts. Would they doom you to the life upon which you are entering? Canyou not see that you are passing deeper and deeper into the shadow of thepast? What good can it do them? Could they speak would they say, 'We wishour sorrows to blight your life'? You are not happy, you cannot be happy. It is contrary to the law of God, it is impossible to human nature, thathappiness and bitter, unrelenting enmity should exist in the same heart. You are not only unhappy, but you are in deep trouble of some kind. I sawthat from your face to-day before you saw me and could mask from a friendits expression of deep anxiety. You shall hear the truth from me which Ifear you hear from no other, and your harsh words shall not deter me frommy resolute purpose to be kind, to rescue you virtually from a conditionof mind that is so morbid, so unhealthful, that it will blight your life. I cannot so wrong your father and mother as even to imagine that it couldbe their wish to see your beautiful young life grow more and moreshadowed, to see you struggling under burdens which strong, loving handswould lift from you. Can you believe that they, happy in heaven, can wishyou no happiness on earth?"

There was a grave, convincing earnestness in his tone, and a truth in hiswords hard to resist. What she considered loyalty to her kindred had beenlike her religion, and he had charged her with disloyalty, yes, and whilehe spoke the thought would assert itself that her course might be awretched mistake. Although intrenched in prejudice, and fortified againsthis words by the thought and feeling of her life, she had been made todoubt her position and feel that she might be a self-elected martyr. Theassertion that she was doing what would be contrary to the wishes of herdead kindred pierced the very citadel of her opposition, and tended toremove the one belief which had been the sustaining rock beneath her feet. She knew she had been severe with him, and she was touched by hisforbearance, his resolute purpose to befriend her. She remembered herpoverty, the almost desperate extremity in which she was, and her heartupbraided her for refusing the hand held out so loyally and persistentlyto her help. She became confused, torn, and overwhelmed by conflictingemotions; her lip quivered, and, bowing her head in her hands, she sobbed, "You are breaking my heart. "

In an instant he was on one knee at her side. "Mara, " he began gently, "ifI wound it is only that I may heal. Truly no girl in this city needs afriend as you do. For some reason I feel this to be true in my very soul. Who in God's universe would forbid you a loyal friend?" and he tried totake her hand. 

"I forbid you to be her friend, " said a stern voice. 

Springing up, Clancy encountered the gaze of a gaunt, white-haired woman, with implacable enmity stamped upon her thin visage. The young man's eyesdarkened as they steadily met those of Mrs. Hunter, and it was evidentthat the forbearance he had manifested toward the girl he loved would notbe extended to her guardian. Still he controlled himself, and waited tillshe should speak again. 

"Mr. Clancy, " she resumed after a moment, "Miss Wallingford is my ward; Ireceived her from her dying mother, and so have rights which you mustrespect. I forbid you seeing her or speaking to her again. "

"Mrs. Hunter, " he replied, "permit me to tell you with the utmost courtesythat I shall not obey you. Only Mara herself can forbid me from seeing heror speaking to her. "

"What right have you, sir--"

"The best of rights, Mrs. Hunter, I love the girl; you do not. Asremorselessly as a graven image you would sacrifice her on the altar ofyour hate. "

"Mr. Clancy, you must not speak to my aunt in that way. She has beendevoted to me from my infancy. "

"On the contrary, she has devoted you from infancy to sadness, gloom, andbitter memories. She is developing within you the very qualities mostforeign to a woman's heart. Instead of teaching you to enshrine the memoryof your kindred in tender, loving remembrance, she is forging that memoryinto a chain to restrain you from all that is natural to your years. Sheis teaching you to wreck your life in fruitless opposition to the healinginfluences that have followed peace. Madam, answer me--the question isplain and fair--what can you hope to accomplish by your enmity to me andto the principles of hope and progress which, in this instance, Irepresent, but the blighting of this girl whom I love?"

"You are insolent, sir, " cried Mrs. Hunter, trembling with rage. 

"No, madam, I am honest, and be the result to me what it may, you shallboth hear the truth to-night. "

"This is our home, " was the harsh response, "and you are not a gentlemanif you do not leave it instantly. "

"I shall certainly do so. Mara, am I to see you and speak to you no more?"

She had sunk into a chair, and again buried her face in her hands. 

He waited a moment, but she gave no sign. Then with his eyes fixed on herhe sadly and slowly left the apartment. 

At last she sprang up with the faint cry, "Owen, " but her aunt stoodbetween her and the door, and he was gone. 

CHAPTER VI

"PAHNASHIP"

When Mara realized that her lover had indeed gone, that in fact he hadbeen driven forth, and that she had said not one word to pave the way fora future meeting, a sense of desolation she had never known beforeoverwhelmed her. Hitherto she had been sustained by an unfaltering beliefthat no other course than the one which her aunt had inculcated waspossible; that, cost what it might, and end as it might, it was herheritage. All now was confused and in doubt. She had heard her lofty, self-sacrificing purpose virtually characterized as vain and wrong. Shehad idolized the memory of her father and mother, and yet had been toldthat her course was the very one of which they would not approve. Theworst of it all was that it now seemed true, for she could not believethat they would wish her to be so utterly unhappy. In spite of herunworldliness and lack of practical training, the strong common-sense ofClancy's question would recur, "What good will it do?" She was notsacrificing her heart to sustain or further any cause, and her heart nowcried out against the wrong it was receiving. These miserable thoughtsrushed through her mind and pressed so heavily upon all hope that sheleaned her arms upon the table, and, burying her face, sobbed aloud. 

"Mara, " said her aunt, severely, "I did not think you could be so weak. "

Until the storm of passionate grief passed, the young girl gave no heed toMrs. Hunter's reproaches or expostulations. At last she became quiet, asmuch from exhaustion as from self-control, and said wearily, "You needworry no further about Mr. Clancy. He will not come again. If he has aspark of pride or manhood left, he will never look at me again, " and aquick, heart-broken sob would rise at the thought. 

"I should hope you would not look at him again after his insolence to me. "

Mara did not reply. For the first time her confidence in her aunt had beenshaken, for she could not but feel that Mrs. Hunter, in her judgment ofClancy, saw but one side of the question. She did not approve of his sternarraignment of her aunt, but she at least remembered his greatprovocation, and that he had been impelled to his harsh words by loyaltyto her. 

At last she said, "Aunty, I'm too worn out to think or speak any moretonight. There is a limit to endurance, and I've reached it. "

"That's just where the trouble is, " Mrs. Hunter tried to say reassuringly. "In the morning you will be your own true, brave self again. "

"What's the use of being brave; what can I be brave for?" thought Mara inthe solitude of her room. 

Although her sleep was brief and troubled, she had time to grow calm andcollect her thoughts. While she would not admit it to herself, Clancy'srepeated assertions of his love had a subtle and sustaining power. Shecould see no light in the future, but her woman's heart would revert tothis truth as to a secret treasure. 

In the morning after sitting for a time almost in silence over theirmeagre breakfast, her aunt began: "Mara, I wish you to realize the truthin regard to Mr. Clancy. It is one of those things which must be nipped inthe bud. There is only one ending to his path, and that is full acceptanceof Northern rule and Northern people. What is more, after his words to me, I will never abide under the same roof with him again. "

"Aunty, " said Mara sadly, "we have much else to think about besides Mr. Clancy. How are we going to keep a roof over our own heads?"

Compelled to face their dire need, Mrs. Hunter broke out into bitterinvective against those whom she regarded as the cause of their poverty. 

"Aunty, " protested Mara, almost irritably, for her nerves were sadly worn, "what good can such words do? We must live, I suppose, and you must adviseme. "

"Mara, I am almost tempted to believe that you regret--"

"Aunty, you must fix your mind on the only question to be considered. Whatare we to do? You know our money is almost gone. "

Mrs. Hunter's only response was to stare blankly at her niece. She couldeconomize and be content with very little as long as her habitual trainsof thought were not interrupted and she could maintain her proudseclusion. Accustomed to remote plantation life, she knew little of theways of the modern world, and much less of the methods by which a womancould obtain a livelihood from it. To the very degree that she had livedin the memories and traditions of the past, she had unfitted herself tounderstand the conditions of present life or to cope with itsrequirements. Now she was practically helpless. "We can't go and revealour situation to our friends, " she began hesitatingly. 

"Certainly not, " said Mara, "for most of them have all they can do tosustain themselves, and I would rather starve than live on the charity ofthose on whom we have no claim. "

"We might take less expensive rooms. "

"What good would that do, Aunty? If we can't earn anything, five dollarswill be as hard to raise as ten. "

"Oh, to think that people of the very best blood in the State, who oncehad scores of slaves to work for them, should be so wronged, robbed andreduced!"

Mara heaved a long, weary sigh, and Clancy's words would repeat themselvesagain and again. She saw how utterly incapable her aunt was to render anyassistance in their desperate straits. Even the stress of their presentemergency could not prevent her mind from vainly reverting to a past thatwas gone forever. Again her confidence was more severely shaken as she wascompelled to doubt the wisdom of their habits of seclusion and reticence, of living on from year to year engrossed by memories, instead of adaptingthemselves to a new order of things which they were powerless to prevent. "Truly, " she thought, "my father and mother never could have wished me tobe in this situation out of love for them. It is true I could never go tothe length that he does without great hypocrisy, and I do not see the needof it. I can never forget the immense wrong done to me and mine, but Auntyshould have taught me something more than indignation and hostility, however just the causes for them may be. "

While such was the tenor of her thoughts, she only said a little bitterly:"Oh, that I knew how to do something! My old nurse, Aun' Sheba, is betteroff than we are. "

"She belongs to us yet, " said Mrs. Hunter, almost fiercely. 

"You could never make her or any one else think so, " was the weary reply. "Well, now that I have thought of her, I believe I could advise with herbetter than any one else. "

"Advise with a slave? Oh, Mara!--"

"Whom shall I advise with then?" And there was a sharp ring in the girl'stone. 

"Oh, any one, so that it be not Mr. Clancy, " replied her aunt irritably. "Were it not that you so needed a protector, I could wish that I weredead. "

"Aunt, " said Mara, gently yet firmly, "we must give up this hopeless, bitter kind of talk. I, at least, must do something to earn honest bread, and I am too depressed and sad at heart to carry any useless burdens. Mr. Clancy said much that was wrong last night, and there are matters aboutwhich he and I can never agree, but surely he was right in saying that myfather and mother would not wish to see me crushed body and soul. If I amto live, I must find a way to live and yet keep my self-respect. I supposethe natural way would be to go to those who knew my father andgrandfather; but they would ask me what I could do. What could I tellthem? It would seem almost like asking charity. "

"Of course it would, " assented her aunt. 

Then silence fell between them. 

Before Mara could finish her morning duties and prepare for the street, aheavy step was heard on the stairs, then a knock at the door. Opening it, the young girl saw the very object of her thoughts, for Aun' Sheba's ampleform and her great basket filled all the space. 

"Oh, Aun' Sheba, " cried the girl, a gleam of hope lighting up her eyes, "I'm so glad to see you. I was just starting for your cabin. "

"Bress your heart, honey, Aun' Sheba'll allus be proud to hab you come. Myspec's, Missus, " and she dropped her basket and a courtesy before Mrs. Hunter. 

"Aun' Sheba, " said Mara, giving the kindly vender a chair, "you are somuch better off than we are. I was saying just that to aunty thismorning. "

"Why, honey, I'se only a po' culled body, and you'se a beauty like youmoder, bress her po' deah heart. "

"Yes, Aun' Sheba, you were a blessing to her, " said Mara with moist eyes. "How you watched over her and helped to take care of me! Perhaps you canhelp take care of me again. For some reason, I can speak to you and tellyou our troubles easier than to any one else in the world. "

"Dat's right, honey lam', dat's right. Who else you tell your troubles tobut Aun' Sheba? Didn't I comfort you on dis bery bres time an' time aginwhen you was a little mite? Now you'se bigger and hab bigger troubles, I'se bigger too, " and Aunt Sheba shook with laughter like a great form ofjelly as she wiped her eyes with sympathy. 

"Aun' Sheba, " said Mara in a voice full of unconscious pathos, "I don'tknow what to do, yet I must do something. It seems to me that I could bealmost happy if I were as sure of earning my bread as you are. "

"Now, doggone dat ar lazy husban' o' mine. But he got his 'serts an'll gitmo' ob dem eff he ain't keerful. I jes' felt it in my bones las' night how'twas wid you, an I 'lowed how I'd see you dis mawnin', an' den he beganto go on as ef you was nothin' but white folks stid ob my deah honey lam'dat I nussed till you was like my own chile. But he won' do so no mo'. "

"Oh, Aun' Sheba, believe me, I don't wish to interfere with any of yourduties to him, " began Mara earnestly. 

"Duty to him, " exclaimed the colored woman with a snort of indignation. "He mout tink a little 'bout his duty to me. Doan you trubble 'bout him, for he's boun' to git mo' dan his shar anyhow. Now I know de good Lawd putit in my min' to come heah dis mawnin' case you was on my min' las' night. You needn't tink you kin go hungry while Aun' Sheba hab a crus'. "

"I know what a big heart you've got, but that won't do, Aun' Sheba. Canyou think I would live idly on your hard-earned money?"

"Well, 'tis my money, an' I make mo dan you tink, an' a heap mo' dan I letUnc. Know about. He'd be fer settin' up his kerrige ef he knew, " and sheagain laughed in hearty self-complacency. "Why, honey, I can 'sport youan' Missus widout pinchin', an' who gwine to know 'bout it?"

"I'd know about it, " said Mara, rising and putting her hand caressingly onthe woman's shoulder, "yet I feel your kindness in the very depths of myheart. Come, I have a thought. Let me see what's in your basket. "

"Ony cakes dis mawnin', honey. Help you's sef. "

"Oh, how delicious they are, " said Mara eating one, and thoughtfullyregarding her sable friend. "You beat me making cakes, Aun' Sheba, and Ithought I was good at it. "

"So you am, Missy, so you am, fer I taught you mysef. "

"Aun' Sheba, suppose we go into partnership. "

"Pahnaship!" ejaculated Aun' Sheba in bewilderment. 

"Oh, Mara!" Mrs. Hunter expostulated indignantly. 

"Well, I suppose it would be a very one-sided affair, " admitted the girl, blushing in a sort of honest shame. "You are doing well without any helpfrom me, and don't need any. I'm very much like a man who wants to sharein a good business which has already been built up, but I don't know howto do anything else, and could at least learn better every day, and--and--I thought--I must do something--I thought, perhaps, if I madethe cakes and some other things, and you sold them, Aun' Sheba, youwouldn't have to work so hard, and--well, there might be enough profit forus both. "

"Now de Lawd bress you heart, honey, dar ain't no need ob you blisterin'you'se pretty face ober a fiah, bakin' cakes an' sich. I kin--"

"No, no, Aun' Sheba, you can't, for I won't let you. "

"Mara, " protested Mrs. Hunter, severely, "do you realize what you aresaying? Suppose it became known that you were in--in--" but the lady couldnot bring herself to complete the humiliating sentence. 

"Yis, honey, Missus am right. De idee! Sech quality as you in pahnashipwid ole Aun' Sheba!" and she laughed at the preposterous relationship. 

"Perhaps it needn't be known, " said Mara, daunted for a moment. Then thenecessities in the case drove her forward, and, remembering that her auntwas unable to suggest or even contemplate anything practicable, she saidresolutely, "Let it be known. Others of our social rank are supportingthemselves, and I'm too proud to be ashamed to do it myself even in thishumble way. What troubles me most is that I'm making such a one-sidedoffer to Aun' Sheba. She don't need my help at all, and I need hers somuch. "

"Now see heah, honey, is your heart set on dis ting?"

"Yes, it is, " replied Mara, earnestly. "My heart was like lead till youcame, and it would be almost as light as one of these cakes if I knew Icould surely earn my living. Oh, Aun' Sheba, you've had troubles, and youknow what sore troubles my poor mother had, but neither you nor she everknew the fear, the sickening dread which comes over one when you don'tknow where your bread is to come from or how you are to keep a roof overyour head. Aunty, do listen to reason. Making cake and other things forAun' Sheba to sell would not be half so humiliating as going to people ofmy own station and revealing my ignorance, or trying to do what I don'tknow how to do, knowing all the time that I was only tolerated. My planleaves me in seclusion, and if any one thinks less of me they can leave mealone. I don't want to make my way among strangers; I don't feel that Ican. This plan enables us to stay together, Aunty, and you must know nowthat we can't drift any longer. "

While Mara was speaking Aun' Sheba's thrifty thoughts had been busy. Hernative shrewdness gave her a keen insight into Mrs. Hunter's character, and she knew that the widow's mind was so warped that she was practicallyas helpless as a child. While, in her generous love for Mara and from acertain loyalty to her old master's family, she was willing temporarily toassume what would be a very heavy burden, she was inwardly glad, as shegrew accustomed to the idea, that Mara was willing to do her share. Indeedit would be a great relief if her basket could be filled for her, and shesaid, heartily, "Takes some time, honey, you know, fer an idee to git intomy tick head, but when it gits dar it stick. Now you'se sensible, an'Missus'll see it soon. You'se on de right track. Ob cose, I'd be proud obpahnaship, an' it'll be a great eas'n up to me. Makes a mighty long day, Missy, to git up in de mawnin' an' do my bakin' an' den tromp, tromp, tromp. I could put in an hour or two extra sleep, an' dat counts in awoman ob my age an' heft. But, law sakes! look at dat clock dar. I mus' begitten along. Set you deah little heart at res', honey. I'se comin' backdis ebenin', an' we'se start in kin' ob easy like so you hab a chance tolarn and not get 'scouraged. "

"I can't approve of this plan at all, " said Mrs. Hunter, loftily, "I washmy hands of it. "

"Now, now, Missus, you do jes' dat--wash you hans ob it, but don' you'fere wid Missy, kase it'll set her heart at res' and keep a home fer youbof. We's gwine to make a pile, honey, an' den de roses come back in youcheeks, " and nodding encouragingly, she departed, leaving more hope andcheer behind her than Mara had known for many a month. 

To escape the complaining of her aunt, Mara shut herself in her room andthought long and deeply. The conclusion was, "The gulf between us hasgrown wider and deeper. When Mr. Clancy learns how I have soughtindependence without his aid--" but she only finished the sentence by asad, bitter smile. 

CHAPTER VII

MARA'S PURPOSE

"Neber had sech luck in all my bawn days, " soliloquized Aun' Sheba as shesaw the bottom of her basket early in the day. "All my cus'mers kin' o'smilin' like de sunshine. Only Marse Clancy grumpy. He go by me like abrack cloud. I'se got a big grudge against dat ar young man. He use to bebery sweet on Missy. He mus' be taken wid some Norvern gal, and dat's'nuff fer me. Ef he lebe my honey lam' now she so po', dar's a bad streakin his blood and he don' 'long to us any mo'. I wouldn't be s'prised efdey hadn't had a squar meal fer a fortnight. I can make blebe dat I wantsto take my dinner 'long o' dem to sabe time, an' den dey'll hab a dinnerwat'll make Missy real peart 'fore she gin to work, " and full of herkindly intentions she bought a juicy steak, some vegetables, a quantity ofthe finest flour, sugar, coffee, and some spices. 

Mara had slipped out and invested the greater part of her diminished hoardin the materials essential to her new undertaking. Not the least amongthem, as she regarded it, was an account book. When, therefore, Aun' Shebabustled in between one and two o'clock, she found some bulky bundles onthe kitchen table over which Mrs. Hunter had already groaned aloud. 

"Law sakes, honey, what all dese?" the colored aunty asked. 

"They are my start in trade, " replied Mara, smiling. 

"Den you's gwine to hab a mighty big start, fer I got lots o' tings in disbasket. "

"Why, Aun' Sheba! Did you think I was going to let you furnish thematerials?"

"Ef you furnish de makin' up ob de 'terials what mo' you oughter do, I'dlike ter know?"

"Aun' Sheba, I could cheat you out af your two black eyes. "

"Dey see mo' dan you tink, Missy, " she replied, nodding sagaciously. 

"Yes, I reckon they do, but my eyes must look after your interests as wellas my own. I am going to be an honest partner. Do you see this book?"

"What dat ar got to do wid de pahnaship?"

"You will see. It will prevent you from ever losing a penny that belongsto you. "

"Penny, indeed! As if I'se gwine to stand on a penny!"

"Well, I am. Little as I know about business, I am sure it will be moresatisfactory if careful accounts are kept, and you must promise to tell methe whole truth about things. That's the way partners do, you know, andeverything is put down in black and white. "

"Oh, go 'long wid you, honey, an' hab you own way. All in my pahnaship godown in black, I s'pose, an' you'se in white. How funny it all am!" andthe old woman sat back in her chair and laughed in her joyous content. 

"It is all a very humiliating farce to me, " said Mrs. Hunter, lookingseverely at the former property. 

"Yas'm, " said Aun' Sheba, suddenly becoming stolid as a graven image. 

"Aunty, " said Mara firmly but gently, "the time has come when I must act, for your sake as well as my own. Nothing will prevent me from carrying outthis plan, except its failure to provide for Aun' Sheba as well as forourselves. "

"Well, I wash my hands of it, and, if your course becomes generally known, I shall have it understood that you acted without my approval. " And sherose and left the kitchen with great dignity. 

When the door closed upon her, Aun' Sheba again shook in vast and silentmirth. 

"Doan you trubble long o' Missus, honey, " she said, nodding encouraginglyat Mara. "She jes' like one dat lib in de dark an' can't see notin'right. " Then in sudden revulsion of feeling she added, "You po' honeylam', doan you see you'se got to take keer ob her jes' as ef she was achile?"

"Yes, " said Mara, sadly, "I've been compelled to see it at last. "

"Now doan you be 'scouraged. 'Tween us we take keer ob her, an' she be aheap betteh off eben ef she doan know it. You hab no dinner yit?"

"We were just going to get it as you came. "

"Well now, honey, I habn't had a bite nudder, an' I'se gwine to takedinneh heah ef you'se willin'. "

"Why, surely, Aun' Sheba. It's little we have, you but know I'd share mylast crust with you. "

Again the guest was bubbling over with good-natured merriment. "We ain'tgot to de las' crus' yit, an' I couldn't make my dinneh on a crus' nohow. Dar's one ting I'se jes' got to 'sist on in de pahnaship. I don't keernotin' 'bout 'count books and sich, but ef we'se gwine to make a fort'nyou got to hab a heap o' po'er in you'se arms. You got to hab a strongback and feel peart all ober. Dis de ony ting I 'sist on. Now how yougwine to be plump and strong?"

"Oh, I'm pretty strong, and I'll get stronger now that I have hope, andsee my way a little. "

"Hope am bery good fer 'sert, honey, but we want somep'n solider to startin on. You jes' set de table in de oder room, an' I'll be de brack rabendat'll pervide. Now you must min' kase I'se doing 'cording to Scripter, an' we neber hab no luck 'tall if we go agin Scripter. "

"Very well, " said Mara, laughing, "you shall have your own way. I seethrough all your talk, but I know you'll feel bad if you can't carry outyour purpose. You'll have a better dinner, too. "

"Yeh, yeh, she knows a heap moah'n me, " thought Aun' Sheba when alone, "but I know some tings too, bress her heart. I kin see dat her cheeks ampale and thin an' dat her eyes am gettin' so big and brack dat her purtyface am like a little house wid big winders. She got quality blood in hervein, shuah, but habn't got neah 'nuff. Heah's de 'terial wat gibs hopesometimes better'n preachin, " and she whipped out the steak and preparedit for the broiler. Then she clapped some potatoes into the oven, threwtogether the constituents of light biscuit, and put the coffee over thefire. A natural born cook, she was deft and quick, and had a substantialrepast ready in an amazingly short time. Soon it was smoking on the table, and then she said with a significant little nod at Mara, "Now I'se gwineto wait on Missus like ole times. "

Mara understood her and did not protest, for she felt the necessity ofhumoring her aunt, who quite thawed out at the semblance of her formerstate. While the poor lady enlarged on the thought that such should be thenormal condition of affairs, and would be if the world were not wholly outof joint, she nevertheless dined so heartily as to prove that she couldstill enjoy the good things of life if they were provided without personalcompromise on her part. Mara made a silent note of this, and felt morestrongly than ever that her aunt's needs and not her words must controlher actions. After dinner she said, "Come, aunty, you have had much to tryyour nerves of late, and there must be much more not in harmony with yourfeelings. It can't be helped, but I absolve you of all responsibility, andI know very well if you had what was once your own, I would not have toraise my hand. You see I am not seeking relief in the way that is soutterly distasteful to you, and, when you come to think this plan allover, you will admit that it is the one that would attract the leastattention, and involve the least change. Now lie down and take a good restthis afternoon. "

"Well, " said Mrs. Hunter, with the air of one yielding a great deal, "Iwill submit, even though I can not approve, on the one condition that youhave nothing more to say to Mr. Clancy. "

A painful flush overspread Mara's features, and she replied in aconstrained voice, "You will have no occasion to worry about Mr. Clancy. After--" then remembering that Aunt Sheba was within ear-shot, sheconcluded, "Mr. Clancy will have nothing to say to me when he knows whatis taking place. When you have thought it over you will see that my planmakes me independent of every one. "

"That is, if you succeed, " remarked Mrs. Hunter, "and it will be about theonly thing to be said in its favor. "

This degree of toleration obtained, Mara prepared to join Aunt Sheba inthe kitchen, with the purpose of giving her whole thought and energy tothe securing of an independence, now coveted more than ever. In spite ofthe influences and misapprehensions of her life which had tended toseparate her from Clancy, when she fully learned that he was affiliatingwith those who dwelt as aliens in her thoughts, she had been overborne byhis words and the promptings of her own heart. She was glad, indeed, thatshe had not revealed what she now regarded as her weakness, feeling thatit would have complicated matters most seriously. While she had beencompelled to see the folly of seclusion and inaction, the natural resultof a morbid pride which blinds as well as paralyzes, she was by no meansready to accept his views or go to his lengths. She would have sharedpoverty with him gladly if he would continue to be "a true Southerner, " inother words, one who submitted in cold and unrelenting protest to the neworder of things. In accepting this new order, and in availing himself ofit to advance his fortunes and those of his State as he also claimed, healienated her in spite of all his arguments, and his avowed love. She feltthat he should take the ground with her that they had suffered too deeply, and had been wronged too greatly, to ignore the past. They were aconquered people, but so were the Poles and Alsatians. Were those subjectraces ready to take the hands that had struck them and still held them inthraldom? Their indignant enmity was patriotism, not hate. Now that thehabitual thoughts of her life had been given time to resume their control, she felt all the more bitterly what seemed a hopeless separation. TheNorth had not only robbed her of kindred and property, but was now takingher lover. She knew she loved him, yet not for the sake of her love wouldshe be false to her deep-rooted feelings and convictions. If he had seenhow nearly she yielded to _him_, not to his views, the previous evening, it would have been doubly hard to show him in the end that she could nevershare in his life, unless he adopted her attitude of passive submission towhat could not be helped. 

Others might do as they pleased, but their dignity and personal memoriesrequired this position, and, as she had said to him, she could take noother course without hypocrisy, revolting alike to her feelings and senseof honor. His strong words, however, combining with the circumstances ofher lot, had broken the spell of her aunt's influence, and had planted inher mind the thought that any useless suffering on her part was notloyalty to the memory of her father and mother. Her new impulse was tomake the most and best of her life as far as she could conscientiously:and the hope would assert itself that if she were firm he would eventuallybe won over to her position. "If he loves as I do, " she thought, "he willbe. He, no doubt, is sincere, but he has been beguiled into seeing thingsin the light of his immediate interests. Love to me, if it is genuine, andloyalty to the cause for which his father gave his life, should lead himto the dignified submission of the conquered and away from all associationwith the conquerors that can be avoided. I'll prove to him, " was hermental conclusion, accompanied with a flash of her dark eyes, "that a girlignorant of the world and its ways, and with the help only of a formerslave, can earn her bread, and thus show him how needless are his Northernallies. "

Thoughts like these had been swiftly coursing through her mind whiledining, and therefore, when she joined Aun' Sheba in the kitchen, she wasready to employ every faculty, sharpened to the utmost, in the tasksbefore her. 

In that humble arena, and by the prosaic method contemplated, she wouldassert her unsubdued spirit, and maintain a consistency which should notbe marred, even at the bidding of love, by an insincere acceptance of hisviews and associations. 

CHAPTER VIII

NEVER FORGET; NEVER FORGIVE

While Ann' Sheba finished her dinner Mara began to open and put in theirplaces the slender materials which she had purchased as her first steptoward self-support. The generous meal, and especially the coffeecombining with the strong incentive of her purpose, gave elasticity to herstep and flushed her face slightly with color. The old aunty watched hercuriously and sympathetically as she thought, "Bress her heart how purtyshe am, bendin' heah an' dar like a willow an' lookin' de lady ebery inchwhile she doin' kitchen work! Quar pahner fer sech an ole woman as me terhab, but I dun declar dat her han's, ef dey am little, seem po'ful smart. Dey takes hole on tings jes' as if dey'd coax 'em right along whar shewants dem!" Then she broke out, "Wot a fool dat Owen Clancy am!"

Mara started and was suddenly busy in a distant part of the room. "Ireckon you are the only one that thinks so, Aun' Sheba, " she remarkedquietly. 

"Ef he could see you now he'd tink so hisself. "

"Very likely, " and there was a little bitterness in Mara's accent. 

"De mo' fool he be den, " said Aun' Sheba with an indignant toss of herhead. "Whar ud his eyes be ef he could see you and not go down on hismarrow-bones, I'd like to know? Habn't I seen all de quality ob dis town?and dat fer de new quality, " with a snap of her fingers, "an you take deshine off'n dem all eben in de kitchen. Law sakes, what kin' ob blood datman Clancy hab to lebe you kase you po'? Pears ter me de ole cun'l, hisfader, ud be orful figety in his coffin. "

"Mr. Clancy has not left me because I am poor, Aun' Sheba, " said Maragravely. "You do him great injustice. We are not so good friends as wewere simply because we cannot agree on certain subjects. But I wouldrather you would not talk about him to me or to any one else. Come now, you must give me some lessons in your mystery of making cakes that melt inone's mouth. Otherwise people will say you are growing old and losing yourhigh art. "

"Dey better not tell me no sech lies. Law, Missy, you is gwine ter beat meall holler wen onst you gits de hang ob de work. You little white han'sgib fancy teches dat ain't in my big black han'. Arter all, tain't dehan's; it's de min'. Dere's my darter Mis Watson. Neber could larn hermuch mo'n plain cookin'. Dere's a knack at dese tings dat's bawn in one. It's wot you granpa used ter call genus, an' you allus hab it, eben whenyou was a chile an' want ter muss in de kitchen. "

Thus full of reminiscence and philosophy eminently satisfactory to her ownmind, Aun' Sheba taught her apt and eager pupil the secrets of her craft. Mara was up with the dawn on the following day, and achieved fair success. Other lessons followed, and it was not very long before the girl passedbeyond the imitative stage and began to reason upon the principlesinvolved in her work and then to experiment. 

One day an old customer said to Aun' Sheba: "There's a new hand at thebellows. "

"Dunno not'n 'bout bellus. Ain't de cakes right?"

"Well, then, you've got some new receipts. "

"Like a'nuff I hab, " said the vender warily. "De pint am, howsumeber, isn't de cakes good?"

"Yes, they seem better every day, but they are not the same every day. Ireckon some one's coaching you. "

"Law sakes, Massa, wo't you mean by coachin' me?"

"Do you make the cakes?" was asked pointblank. 

"Now, Massa, you's gittin' too cur'us. Wot de Scripter say? Ask noquestions fer conscience' sake. "

"Come, come, Aun' Sheba; if you begin to wrest Scripture, I'll take painsto find you out. "

She shuffled away in some trepidation and shook her head over the problemof keeping her relations with Mara secret. "Missy puttin' her min' in decakes an' I didn't hab much min' to put in an' folks know de dif'ence, "she soliloquized. Later on she was down among the cotton warehouses, andfinding herself weary and warm, stopped to rest in the shade of abuilding. Suddenly Owen Clancy turned the corner. His brow was contractedas if in deep and not agreeable thought. 

Aun' Sheba's lowered at him, for he seemed about to pass her withoutnoticing her. The moment he became aware of her presence, however, hestopped and fixed upon her his penetrating gray eyes. His gaze was sopersistent and stern that she was disconcerted, but she spoke with heraccustomed assurance: "You ain't gwine ter call de perlice, is you, Mars'Clancy?" and she placed her arms akimbo on her hips. 

This reference was shrewd, for it reminded him that his grievance waspurely personal and one that he could not resent in her case, yet hisheart was so sore with the suspicion that Mara was looking to this negressfor help instead of to himself, that for the time being he detested thewoman. Love is not a judicial quality, and rarely has patience with thosewho interfere with its success. He had hoped that eventually the pressureof poverty would turn Mara's thoughts to him, especially as he hadrevealed so emphatically his wish to help her disinterestedly as a friendeven; but if his present fears were well grounded, he would have to admitthat her heart had grown utterly cold toward him. 

"Why should you think of the police, Aun' Sheba, unless you have somethingon your mind?" he asked, coolly removing the cover of the basket andhelping himself. "You didn't make these cakes. Did you steal them?"

"Marse Clancy, what you take me fer?"

"That depends on how honest your answers are. "'

"I ain't 'bliged ter answer 'tall. "

"Oh, you're afraid then. "

"No, I ain't afeerd. Ef dey is stolen, you'se a 'ceivin ob stolen goods, fum de way dem cakes dis'pearin'. "

"You're pert, Aun'Sheba. "

"Oh co'se I'se peart. Hab to be spry to arn a libin' in dese yer times, but I can do it fum dem dat's fren'ly and not fum dem dat glower at me. "

"Will you tell me if Miss Wallingford--"

"Marse Clancy, hab Miss Wallingford sent you word dat she want you to know'bout her 'fairs?"

"I understand, " he said almost savagely, and throwing a quarter into thebasket he passed on. 

There had been a tacit understanding at first that Mara's part in Aun'Sheba's traffic should not be revealed. The girl had not wholly shaken offthe influence of her aunt's opposition, and she shrank with almost morbiddread from being the subject of remark even among those of her own class. The chief and controlling motive for secrecy, however, had been distrust, the fear that the undertaking would not be successful. As the days hadpassed this fear had been removed. Aun' Sheba did not come to make herreturns until after she had taken her supper in the evening, and at aboutten in the morning she reached Mara's home by an unfrequented side street. There were those, however, who had begun to notice the regularity of hervisits and among them was Owen Clancy. We have also seen that thedaintiness of the viands had caused surmises. 

Mara had become preoccupied with her success and with plans for increasingit. At first Aun' Sheba had supplemented her attempts, and her plan hadbeen entered on so quietly and carried forward so smoothly that even Mrs. Hunter was becoming reconciled to the scheme although she tried to concealthe fact. It would be hard to find two women more ignorant of the world, or more averse to being known by it, yet from it the unsophisticated girlnow hoped to divert a little sustaining rill of currency without a rippleof general comment until the hour should come when she could reveal thetruth to Clancy as a rebuke to his course and as a suggestion that a manmight do more and yet not compromise himself. Full of these thoughts andhopes, her life, if not happy, had at least ceased to stagnate and wasgrowing in zest and interest. 

The day on which occurred the events just narrated was destined to prove afateful one. When Aun' Sheba came in the evening it was soon evident thatshe had something on her mind. She paid little heed to the accounts whileMara was writing them down and explaining the margin of profit, as thegirl was always careful to do, for it satisfied her conscience that herover-loyal partner was prospering now as truly as before. After everythinghad been attended to and the programme arranged for the morning, Aun'Sheba still sat and fidgeted in her chair. Mara leaned back in hers andlooking across the kitchen table said: "Be honest now. There's somethingyou want to say. "

"Don't want ter say it, but s'pose I ought. "

"I reckon you had, Aun' Sheba. "

The woman's native shrewdness had been sharpened by the varied experienceof her calling, and she had become convinced that the policy of secrecywould be a failure. What would be Mara's course when compelled to face thetruth, was the question that troubled her. The kind soul hoped that itwould make no difference, and proposed to use all her tact to induce thegirl to continue her enterprise openly, believing that this course wouldbe best for several reasons. She had the wit to know that Mara would yieldfar more out of consideration for her than for any thought of self, so shesaid as a masterpiece of strategy, "Marse Clancy ax me to-day if I stolede cakes. "

"What, " cried Mara, flushing hotly. 

"Jes dat--ef I stole de cakes; an' anoder man say I was gittin' newreseets or dat somebody was coachin' me, whateber dat is. Den he put itright straight, 'Did you make 'em?'"

"Oh, Aun' Sheba, I've thoughtlessly been causing trouble. I should havecontinued to make the cakes just as you did, and it was only to divert mymind that I tried other ways. I won't do so any more. "

"Dunno 'bout dat, honey. "

"Indeed I will not when I promise you. "

"I doesn't want any sech a promise. De folks like de new-fangle' cakesbetteh, an' gwine back to de ole way wouldn't do no good. It's allboun'ter come out dat I'se sellin' fer you as well as fer me. Marse Clancyaxed ef you wasn't, leastways he 'gan to ax when I shut him up. "

"How did you shut him up?" said Mara, breathing quickly. 

"By axin' him anoder question. Yah, yah, I'se Yankee 'nuff fer dat. I say, 'Hab Miss Wallingford sen' you word dat she want you to know 'bout her'fairs'?"

"Didn't he say anything after that?"

"Yes, he say 'I understand, ' an' I'spect he do, fer he drap a quarter inmy basket an' look as if he was po'ful mad as he walk away. He better min'his own business. "

Mara understood Clancy and Aun' Sheba did not. The young girl was troubledand perplexed, for she could not but see in her lover's mind the effect ofher step. She felt that it was natural he should be hurt and even angeredto learn that, after all he had offered to do for her, she should availherself of Aun' Sheba's services instead of his. What she feared most wasthat he would take it as final evidence that she was hostile to himpersonally and not merely estranged because he would not conform his viewsand life to her own. Her secret and dearest purpose, that of teaching himthat he could live without compromise as she could, might be defeated. What if the very act should lead to the belief that she no longer wishedto have any part in his life? A girl cannot feel that same toward a manwho has told her openly of his love, for such words break down thebarriers of maidenly reserve even in her own self-communings. Since he hadspoken so plainly she could think more plainly. She knew well how mistakenAun' Sheba was in her judgment, but could not explain that Clancy felt hewas not only rejected as a lover but had been ignored even as a helpfulfriend; and her own love taught her to gauge the bitterness of thisapparent truth. 

She soon became conscious that Aun' Sheba was watching her troubled face, and to hide her deeper thoughts she said, "Yes, I suppose it is all boundto come out. Well, let it. You shall not be misjudged. " "Law sake, Missy, wot does I keer! De ting dat trouble me is dat you'se gwine to keer toomuch. I doan want you to gib up and I doan want you to be flustered ef youfin' it's known. De pa'hnership, as you call 'im, been doin' you a heap o'good. You'se min' been gettin' int'usted an' you fo'gits you'se troubles. Dat's wot pleases me. Now to my po' sense, folks is a heap betteh off, takin' keer ob dem selves, dan wen dey worry 'bout wat dis one say an' datone do. Dere is lots ob folks dat'll talk 'bout you a month dat won't lif'dere finger for you a minit. An' wat can dey say, honey, dat'll harm you?You prouder'n all ob dem, but you got dis kin' ob pride. Ef de rent falldue you fight again eben you'se ole nuss payin' it. Talk's only breff, butan empty pocket mean an orful lot ob trouble to folks who ain't willin' totake out ob dere pocket wat dey didn't put dere. "

"Yes, Aun' Sheba, I think it would be the worst kind of trouble. "

"I know it ud be fer you, but dar's Unc. He'd like his pocket filled eberyday an' he wouldn't keer who filled it ef he could spend. He'd say de Lawdpervided. Unc. 'd rather trust de Lawd dan work any day. "

"I am afraid you are not very religious, " said Mara, smiling. 

"Well, I of'n wonder wedder I'se 'ligious or no, " resumed Aun' Sheba, introspectively. "Some sarmons and prars seem like bread made out ob bran, de bigger de loaf de wuss it is. Unc. Says I'se very cole an backsliden, but I'd be a heap colder ef I didn't keep up de wood-pile. 

"And you help others keep up their wood-piles. "

"Well, I reckon I does, but dere ain't much 'ligion in dat. Dat's kin' obhuman natur which de preacher say am bad, bery bad stuff. De Lawd knows Isay my prars sho't so as to be up an' doin'. Anyhow I doan belebe he likester be hollered at so, as dey do in our meetin' an' Unc. Says dat sechtalk am 'phemous. But dat ain't heah nor dar. We'se gwine right along, honey, ain't we? We'se gwine ter min' our own business jes' as if we'sethe bigges' pahners in de town?"

"Yes, Aun' Sheba, you can say what you please hereafter, and I want you tocome and go openly. I should have taken the stand before and saved youfrom coming out evenings. It has been far more on Aunty's account than onmy own. "

"Well, honey, now my min's at res' an' I belebe we do po'ful lot ob trade. Dat orful human natur gwine to come in now an' I belebe dat folks who knowyou an' all 'bout you'se family will help you, 'stid ob talkin' agin you. You see. You knows I doan' mean no disrespec' to ole Missus, but she'd jessit down an' starbe, tinkin' ob de good dinners she orter hab, an' did habin de ole times. All you'se folks in hebin is a smilin' on you, honey. Deyis, fer I feels it in my bones. You'se got de co'age ob you pa an' granpaan' dey know, jes' as we knows, dat ole Missus take a heap mo' comfortgrumblin' dan in bein' hungry. "

"Oh, Aun' Sheba, do you truly think they know about my present life?" thegirl asked, with wet eyes. 

"Dat's a bery deep question, honey, but it kin' a seem reason'ble ter medat wen you gettin' on well an' wen you doin' good to some po' soul deLawd'll sen' an angel to tell 'em. Wen dey ain't hearin' notin' I spectsdey's got to tink as we does dat no news is good news. "

The girl was deeply moved, for the vernacular of her old nurse had beenfamiliar from childhood and did not detract from the sacred themessuggested. "Oh, that I could have seen my father, " she sighed. "Portraitsare so unsatisfying. Tell me again just how he looked. "

"He'd be proud ob you, honey, an' you kin be proud ob him. You hab hiseyes, only you'se is bigger and of'n look as if you'se sorrowin' way downin you soul. Sometimes, eben wen you was a baby, you'd look so long an'fixed wid you big sad eyes as if you seed it all an' know'd it all dat Iused to boo-hoo right out. Nuder times I'd be skeered, fer you'd reach outyou'se little arms as ef you seed you'se moder an' wanted to go to her. DeLawd know bes' why he let such folks die. She was like a passion vinecreepin' up de oak--all tender and clingin' an' lubin', wid tears in herblue eyes ebin wen he pettin' her, an' he was tall an' straight an' strongwid eyes dat laffed or flashed jes as de 'casion was. I kin see him nowcome marchin' down Meetin' Street at de head ob his men, all raisedhisself. He walk straight as an arrow wid his sword flashin' in desunshine an' a hundred men step tromp, tromp, arter him as ef dey proud tofollow. Missy Mary stood on de balc'ny lookin' wid all her vi'let eyes an'wabin' her hank'chief. Oh, how purty she look! de roses in her cheek, herbref comin' quick, bosom risin' an' fallin', an' she a-tremblin' an' alibeall ober wid excitement an' pride an' lub. Wen he right afore de balc'nyhis voice rung out like a trumpet, 'Right 'bout, face. 'Sent arms. ' I dundeclar dat 'fore we could wink dey was all in line frontin' us wid dereguns held out. Den he s'lute her wid his sword an' she take a red rose fumher bosom an' trow it to him an' he pick it up an' put it to his lips; denit was 'Right 'bout! March!' an' away dey went tromp, tromp, towa'ds deBat'ry. I kin see it all. I kin see it all. O Lawd, Lawd, dey's all dead, "and she rocked back and forth, wiping her eyes with her apron. 

Mara sprang up, her streaming tears dried by the hotness of herindignation as she cried, "And I too can see him, with his little band, dashing against almost an army and then trodden in the soil he died todefend. No, no, Owen Clancy, never!"

"Ah, " said a low stern voice, "that's the true spirit. Now, Mara, you areyour father's child. Never forget; never forgive, " and they saw that Mrs. Hunter stood with them in the dim kitchen. 

"Dunno 'bout dat, Missus. Reckon de wah am ober, an' what we gwine ter dowid de Lawd's prar? Dar, dar, honey, 'pose you'se nerves. 'Taint bes' totink too much ob de ole times, an' I mustn't talk to you so no mo'. "

CHAPTER IX

A NEW SOLACE

On her way home Aun' Sheba shook her head more than once in perplexity anddisapprobation over what she had heard. She had the freedom of speech ofan old family servant who had never been harshly repressed even when aslave, and now was added the fearlessness of a free woman. Her affectionfor Mara was so strong that in her ignorance she shared in some of thegirl's prejudices against the North, but not in her antipathy. The thoughtthat Clancy had waned in his regard or that he could even think of aNorthern girl after having "kep' company" with Mara, had beenexasperating, but now Aun' Sheba began to suspect that the estrangementwas not wholly his fault. "She set agin him by his gwine Norf an' hishabin' to do wid de folks dat she an' ole Missus hates. Doan see why he ismad at me 'bout it. Reckon he's mad anyhow an' can't speak peac'ble tonobody. Well, I likes him a heap betteh in dat view ob de case an' he kinglower at me all he please 'long as he ain't 'sertin' young Missy case sheis po'. Couldn't stan' dat no how. He's willin' an' she ain't, an' dat watshe mean by sayin' 'No, Owen Clancy, nebbeh. ' She won't lis'n to him kasehe doan hate de Norf like pizen. Now dat is foolishness, an' she's sot upto it by de ole Missus. De Norf does as well as it know how. To be sure, it ain't quality like young Missy, but it buy de cotton an' it got depo'r. Wat's mo', it gib me a chance to wuck fer mysef. I would do as muchfer young Missy as eber. I'd wuck my fingers off fer her, but I likes terdo it like white folks, kase I lub her. She orten' be so hard on youngClancy. He got his way ter make and dere'd be no good in his buttin' hishead agin a wall. Tings am as dey is, an' I'm glad dey is as dey am. Dey'sa long sight betteh fer cullud folks and white folks too, ef dey's a min'ter pull wid de curren' sted ob agin it. Massa Clancy's no fool. He knowdis. He los' his pa an his prop'ty too, but he know betteh dan to go onhatin' fereber. Dey can't spec' me to uphole dem in dis fer it agin deScripter an' my feelin's. Ole Missus bery 'ligious. She dun fergit wat dewords mean she say ebry Sunday, But den, wot de use ob callin' ole Missusto 'count. She neber could see ony her side ob de question. It don makeany dif'ence to her how many widers dere is in de Norf an' she hab jesdinged her 'pinions inter young Missy eber sence she was bawn. I'se gladter do fer dem long as I lib, but I'se gwine ter speak my min' too. "

With such surmises and self-communings she reached her home and foundUncle Sheba asleep in his chair and the fire out. She nodded at himominously and muttered, "I gib him anuder lesson. " Slipping quietly intothe bedroom, she bolted the door, and, unrelenting to all remonstrancesleft him to get through the night as well as he could in his chair. Theresult justified the wisdom of the means employed, for thereafter UncleSheba always had a good fire when she returned. 

Aun' Sheba had correctly interpreted the ellipsis suggested by Mara'spassionate utterance. The scenes called up by her old nurse's words andrendered vivid by a strong imagination again presented themselves as animpassable barrier between herself and her lover unless he should feeltheir significance as she did. As a woman her heart was always pleadingfor him, but when strongly excited by the story of the past her angerflamed that he should even imagine that she would continue her regard forhim. Indeed she wondered and was almost enraged at herself that she couldnot at once blot out his image and dismiss him from her thoughts when hewas taking the course of all others most repugnant to her. At such momentsshe could easily believe that all was over between them, but with quietpersistence her heart knew better, and preferred love to enmities and sadmemories. 

Moreover, passionate as had been her mood there was a hard, homelycommon-sense in her old nurse's words, "Reckon de wah's ober an' wat yougwine ter do wid de Lawd's prar?" that quenched her fire like cold water. No one can be in a false position, out of harmony with normal laws andprinciples, without meeting spiritual jars. Mara was too young and toointelligent not to recognize the difficulties in maintaining her position, but she believed sincerely that the circumstances of her lot justifiedthis position and made it the only honorable one for her. Northerners wereto her what the Philistines were to the ancient Hebrews, the hereditaryfoes from which she had suffered the chief ills of her life. To compromisewith them was to compromise with evil, and therefore she was always ableto reason away the significance of all words like those of Aun' Sheba, although for the moment they troubled her. 

Mrs. Hunter, however, had long since been incapable of doubts orcompunctions. She tolerated Aun' Sheba's outspokenness as she would thatof a child or a slave babbling of matters far above her comprehension. 

The day marked a change in Mara's policy and action, and these led to somevery important experiences. A false pride had at first prompted, or atleast induced her to acquiesce in secrecy; now an honest pride led her toopenness in all her efforts to obtain a livelihood. She would volunteer noinformation, but would simply go on in an unhesitating manner, let theconsequences be what they might. 

They soon began to take a surprisingly agreeable form, for the quick warmsympathies of the Southern people were touched. Here was a young girl, therepresentative of one of the oldest and best families, seeking quietly andunostentatiously to support herself and her aged aunt. There had beenscores of people who would gladly have offered her assistance, but theyhad respected her reticence in regard to her affairs as jealously as theyguarded the condition of their own. Frank in the extreme with each otherin most respects, there was an impoverished class in the city who wouldsuffer much rather than reveal pecuniary need or accept the slightestapproach to charity. Poverty was no reproach among these families that hadonce enjoyed wealth in abundance. Indeed it was rather like a badge ofhonor, for it indicated sacrifice for the "lost cause" and an unreadinessfor thrifty compacts and dealings with those hostile to that cause. In theclass to which Mara belonged, therefore, she gained rather than lost insocial consideration, and especial pains were taken to assure her of thisfact. 

Those in whose veins, even in Mrs. Hunter's estimation, flowed the oldestand bluest blood, called more frequently and spoke words of cheer andencouragement. That good lady, in a rich but antiquated gown, received theguests and was voluble in Mara's praises and in lamentation over thewrongs of the past. The majority were sympathetic listeners, but all wereglad that the girl could do and was willing to do something more thancomplain. To their credit it should be said that they were ready to domore than sympathize, for even the most straitened found that they couldspare something for Mara's cake, and Aun' Sheba's basket began to beemptied more than once every day. Orders were given also, and the younggirl had all she could do to keep up with the growing demand. 

It was well for her that each day brought its regular work, and its closefound her too weary for the brooding so often the bane of idleness. Yet, in spite of all that was encouraging, the cheering words spoken to her, the elation of Aun' Sheba and the excitement resulting from her humbleprosperity, she was ever conscious of a dull ache at heart. Clancy hadgone North for an indefinite absence, and it looked as if their separationwere final. In vain she assured herself that it was best that they shouldnot meet again until both were satisfied that their paths led apart. Sheknew that she had hoped his path would come back to hers--that in secretshe hoped this still, with a pathetic persistence which defied all effort. She believed, however, that such effort was her best resource, for he wasagain under the influences she most feared and detested. At times shereproached herself for having been too reserved, too proud and passionatein her resentment at his course. He had asked her to convince him of hiserror if she could, and she had not only failed to make such effort, butalso had denied him the hope that would have been more than all argument. Thus, at variance with her heart, she alternated between the two extremesof anger at his course and regret and compunction at her own. As a rule, though, her resolute will enabled her to concentrate her thoughts on dailyoccupations and immediate interests, and it became her chief aim to sooccupy herself with these interests that no time should be left forthoughts which now only tended to distress and discourage. 

Mara was a girl who consciously would be controlled by a few simplemotives rather than by impulses, circumstances or the influence of others. We have seen that loyalty, as she understood it, was her chief motive. Herlove for parents she had never seen was profound, and all relating to themwas sacred. To do what she believed would be pleasing to them, what wouldnow reflect honor upon their memory, was her supreme duty. All othermotives would be dominated by this pre-eminent one and all action guidedby it. She felt that the effort to provide for her aunt, the one remainingmember of her family, and to enable her to spend her remaining days in thecongenial atmosphere of the past, would certainly be in accord with herparents' wishes. Then by natural sequence her sympathies went out to thosewhose fortunes, like her own, had been wrecked by the changes againstwhich they could interpose only a helpless protest. In various ways shelearned of those of her own class who had been disabled and impoverished, whose lives were stripped of the embroidery of pleasant littlegratifications only permitted by a surplus of income. It gradually came tobe a cherished solace after the labors of the morning, to carry to thesick and afflicted, dwelling in homes of faded gentility like her own, some delicacy made by her own hands. While these were received in thespirit in which they were brought, the girl's lovely, sympathetic face wasfar more welcome, and the orphan began to embody to those of the oldregime the cause for which they all had suffered so much. Within thislimited circle Mara was kindness and gentleness itself, beyond it cold andunapproachable. Occasionally some, with whom she had no sympathy, soughtto patronize her. They intimated that they were willing to buy lavishily, but it was also evident that they wished their good-will appreciated andreciprocated in ways that excited the girl's scorn. In spite of herpoverty and homely work, it was known that she was a favorite in the mostaristocratic circle in the city, and there are always those ready to seeksocial recognition in many and devious ways. These pushing peoplerepresented to Mara the Northern element and leaven in the city, and shesoon made it clear that there was an invisible line beyond which theycould not pass. Their orders were either declined or scrupulously filled, if her time permitted, but with a quiet tact which was inflexible shewarded off every approach which was not purely commercial. 

CHAPTER X

MISS AINSLEY

While in New York, Owen Clancy had been kept informed of the drift ofthose events in which he was especially interested. While Mara's efforthad increased his admiration for her, its success had still furtherdiscouraged his hope. In his way he was as proud as she was. He hadcommitted himself to a totally different line of action, for in hisbusiness relations he had been led into friendly relations with manyNorthern people in both cities. He had accepted and returned theirhospitalities in kind as far as it was possible for a young bachelor ofmodest means. This courtesy had been expected and accepted as a matter ofcourse, and to exchange it for cold, freezing politeness limited only tomatters of trade, would not only subject him to ridicule but cut short hisbusiness career. Considerations supreme in Mara's circle were ignored bythe great world, and, having once felt the impulses of the large currentsof life, it would be impossible for Clancy to withdraw into the littleside eddy wherein thought was ever turning back to no purpose. Havingclasped hands and broken bread with the men and women of the North, hefelt that he could not, and would not stultify himself, even for the sakeof his love, by any change toward them. They would despise him not only asa miracle of narrowness but also as an insincere man, whose courtesy hadbeen but business policy, easily dropped at the bidding of some morepressing interest. 

His last interview with Mara had depressed him exceedingly, for while ithad increased his love it had also revealed to him the radical divergencein their views and made it more clear that he could only hope to win herlove by the sacrifice of self-respect. He must cease to be a thinking, independent man, a part of his own day and generation, and fix histhoughts upon the dead issues of the past. "The idea, " he would mutter, "of sitting down and listening to Mrs. Hunter's inane and endless lament. "He could not conform to Mara's views without being guilty of hypocrisyalso, and she proved her narrowness by not recognizing this truth. 

After all, the point of view was chiefly the cause of the trouble betweenthem. She had ever dwelt in the shaded valley; he had been on themountain-top, and so had secured a broad range of vision. He had come intocontact with the great forces which were making the future and the men ofthe future, and he recognized that his own State and his own people mustbe vitalized by these forces or else be left far behind. And herepresented a large and increasing class in his native city. In birth andbreeding he was the peer of Mara or any of her aristocratic circle. He hadadmission to the best society in the State, and, if looked upon coldly bysome, it was for the same reasons which actuated the girl for whom hewould gladly yield everything except his principles and right of privatejudgment. 

While he had many warm, sympathetic friends he felt that the old shouldgive way to the new, he yet ran against the prejudices which Mara embodiedso often that he began to feel ill at ease in Charleston. 

He thought of removing permanently to cosmopolitan New York more than onceduring his absence North. If he should be fully convinced after his returnthat Mara was lost to him, unless he became a part of her implacable andreactionary coterie, it might be better for his peace of mind that he werefar away. 

One evening, before his departure home, he was invited to dine with agentleman who had large railroad interests in the South. Mr. Ainsley was awidower, a man of wealth, and absorbed in the pleasure of its increase. Hehad made a business acquaintance with Clancy, and, finding him unusuallyintelligent and well informed in regard to Southern matters, naturallywished to converse more at length with him. The cordial invitation, thehearty welcome of the Northern capitalist could scarcely fail ingratifying the young Southerner, who keenly felt the importance ofinteresting just such men as his host in the enterprises underconsideration. During the preliminary talk in the library of his palatialhome, Mr. Ainsley soon discovered that his guest was not only wellinformed but frank and honest in statements, giving the cons as well asthe pros, in spite of an evident desire to secure for the South all theadvantages possible. 

Before going to the dining-room, Miss Caroline, his host's only daughter, entered the library and was presented. Clancy was fairly dazzled by herremarkable beauty. She was a blonde of the unusual type characterized bydark eyes and golden hair. Naturally, therefore, the first impression ofbeauty was vivid, nor was it banished by closer observation. As shepresided with ease and grace at her father's table, Clancy found himselffascinated as he had never been before by a stranger. 

Although their table-talk lost its distinctively business and statisticalcharacter, Mr. Ainsley still pursued his inquiries in a broad, generalway, and the daughter also asked questions in regard to life and societyat the South which indicated a personal interest on her part. 

At last she said, "Papa thinks it quite possible that we may spend sometime in your region, and in that case we should probably make Charlestonour headquarters. I have a friend, Mrs. Willoughby--do you know her?"

"Yes, indeed; a charming lady. She resides on the Battery. "

"I'm glad you know her. I met her abroad, and we became very fond of eachother. She has often asked me to visit her, but as I rarely leave Papa, the way has never opened. "

"My daughter is very good in accompanying me in my various businessexpeditions, " her father explained, "and you know they do not often leadto fashionable watering-places, nor can they always be adjusted to suchseasons as I could desire. I wish I could go to Charleston at an earlydate, but in view of other interests, I cannot tell when I can get away. "

"When I do come, I shall make the most of my name and insist on beingregarded as a Carolinian, " said Miss Ainsley, laughing. 

Clancy was pleased with the conceit and the delicate compliment implied, but he was already impressed with the idea that his hostess was the mostcosmopolitan girl that he had ever met. She piqued his curiosity, and heled her to talk of her experiences abroad. Apparently she had been as muchat home in Europe as in America, and had been received in the highestsocial circles everywhere. When after dinner she played for him somebrilliant, difficult classical music, he began to regard her a perfectflower of metropolitan culture. Yet she perplexed him. She revealed somuch about herself without the slightest hesitation, yet at the same timeseemed to veil herself completely. He and her father could broach no topicof conversation in which she could not take an intelligent part. Mattersof European policy were touched upon, and she was at home in regard tothem. She smiled broadly when he tried to explain to her father thatpatience would still be required with the South, but that in time the twoparts of the country would be more firmly welded together than ever. "Suchantipathies amuse me, " she said. "It is one side keeping up a quarrelwhich the other has forgotten all about. "

"The circumstances are different, Miss Ainsley, " Clancy replied. "The warcost me my father, my property, and impoverished my State. "

He could not tell whether her eyes expressed sympathy or not, for they hadbeamed on him with a soft alluring fire from the first, but her fatherspoke up warmly: "The North has not forgotten, especially the oldergeneration. We have not suffered materially and have become absorbed innew interests, but the heart of the North was wounded as truly as that ofthe South. I wish to assure you, Mr. Clancy, how deeply I sympathize withand honor your spirit of conciliation. What is there for us all but to beAmericans? Believe me, sir, such men as yourself are the strength and hopeof your section. "

"I believe with you, Mr. Ainsley, that it has been settled that we are tohave but one destiny as a nation, but in justice to my people I must saythat our wounds were so deep and the changes involved so vast that it isbut reasonable we should recover slowly. You may say that we committederrors during the reconstruction period, yet they were errors natural to aconquered people. In the censure we have received from many quarters wehave been almost denied the right to our common human nature. Possibly theNorth, in our position would not have acted very differently. But the past_is_ past, and the question is now, what is right and wise? I know that Irepresent a strong and growing sentiment which desires the unity andprosperity of the entire country. I in turn, sir, can say that men likeyourself, in coming among us and investing their money do more than allpoliticians in increasing this sentiment. It proves that you trust us; andtrust begets trust and good feeling. The North, however, will always bemistaken if it expects us to denounce our fathers or cease to honor themen who fought and prayed for what they believed was right. "

"Suppose, Mr. Clancy, " Miss Ainsley asked, with mirthful eyes, "that aparty in the South had the power to array your section against the Northagain, would you go with your section?"

"Oh, come, Carrie, it is scarcely fair to ask tests on utterly improbablesuppositions, " said her father laughing, yet he awaited Clancy's answerwith interest. 

"No, " he said quietly, "not with the light I now possess. I would havedone so five years ago. Are Northern young men so intrinsically wise andgood that they are not influenced by their traditions and immediateassociations?"

"Mr. Clancy, where are your eyes? Go to the Delmonico cafe at noonto-morrow, and observe the flower of our patrician youth taking theirbreakfast. You will see beings who are intrinsically what they are. "

"I fear we are rather even in this respect, " said Clancy, laughing. "Youhave your metropolitan dudes and manikins, and we our rural ruffians, slaves of prejudice, who hate progress, schools and immigration, as theydo soap and water. There is some consideration for our fellows, however, for they scarcely know any better, and many of their characteristics arebred in the bone. It would almost seem that the class you refer to arefools and nonentities from choice. "

"I fear not, " she said, lifting her eyebrows, "if I were a medical studentI should be tempted to kill one of them--it wouldn't be murder--to see ifhe had a brain. "

"You think brain, then, is absolutely essential?'

"Yes, indeed. I could endure a man without a heart, but not if he were afool. If a man is not capable of thinking himself into what is sensible heis a poor creature. "

Clancy shrugged his shoulders in slight protest and soon after took hisleave, having first acquiesced in an appointment with Mr. Ainsley at hisoffice in the morning. 

On the way to his hotel and until late into the night, he thought over hisexperiences of the evening. Did Miss Ainsley intend to compliment him bysuggesting that he was thinking himself into what was sensible? It wasdifficult to tell what she intended as far as he was concerned. "She couldonly have the most transient interest in such a stranger as I am, " hereasoned, "yet her eyes were like magnets. They both fascinate and awakenmisgivings. Perhaps they are the means by which she discovers whether aman is a fool or not; if he speedily loses his head under their spells, she mentally concludes, weighs and finds wanting. Probably, however, likehosts of pretty women, she simply enjoys using her powers and seeing mensuccumb; and men not forearmed and steeled as I am, might well hesitate tosee her often, for my impression is right strong that she has more brainthan heart. Yet she is a dazzling creature. Jove, what a contrast to Mara!Yet there is a nobility and womanly sincerity in Mara's expression than Icannot discover in Miss Ainsley's face. However wrong Mara may be, you aresure she is sincere and that she would be true to her conscience even ifshe put the whole North to the sword; but this brilliant girl--how muchconscience and heart has she? Back of all her culture and accomplishmentsthere is a woman; yet what kind of a woman? Well, the prospects are that Imay have a chance to find out when she comes South. One thing is certain, she will not discover that I am a fool by speedily kindling a vainsentiment. Yet I would like to find her out, to discover the moral textureof her being. A girl like Miss Ainsley could more than fulfil a man'sideal or else make his life a terror. "

He called again just before his departure, and saw her alone. As at first, she appeared to veil the woman in her nature completely, while, at thesame time, the mild lightning of her eyes played about him. 

Although consciously on his guard he found himself fascinated in spite ofhimself by her marvellous beauty, and his curiosity piqued more than ever. He discovered that her range of reading was wide, especially in modernEuropean literature, and he was charmed by her broad, liberal views. Perhaps it was because he was singularly free from egotism that he was soconscious of her fine reticence which took the mask of apparent frankness. Most men would have been flattered by her seeming interest in them andwillingness to listen to all they had to say about themselves. Accordingto Clancy's opinion, conversation should be an equal interchange. Helooked direct into Miss Ainsley's eyes. They bewildered and perplexed him, for they appeared to gather the rays of some light he did not understandand focus them upon himself. He wished he could see her in the society ofother men and could learn more of her antecedents so that he might betteraccount for her, but he went away feeling that she was more of an enigmathan ever. 

The glamour of her perplexing personality was upon him during much of hisjourney, but as he approached his native city thoughts of Marapredominated. Was she utterly estranged, and was the secret of hercoldness due to the truth that he had never had any real hold upon herheart? If Mrs. Hunter had not so harshly interposed at the critical momentof their last interview, he believed that he would have discovered why itwas she said he was "breaking her heart. " Was it because he charged herwith disloyalty to her kindred? Or had his own course which she felt wasseparating them some part in her distress? The fact that she had beensilent to his last appeal, that she had proved his fears in regard to herpoverty to be true, yet had sought aid from such an unexpected source, rather than permit him to endow her with his love and all that itinvolved, forced him to the miserable conclusion that she had at leastdecided against him. 

But hope dies hard in a lover's breast. He longed to see her again, yethow could he see her except in the presence of others?

He knew they soon would meet; he was determined that they should; andpossibly something in her involuntary manner or expression might suggestthat she had thought of his words in his absence. 

She had thought of his words as we know, but she had also been given otherfood for reflection which the following chapter will reveal. 

CHAPTER XI

TWO QUESTIONS

In the division of labor between Mara and her aunt, the latter, with theassistance of their landlady's daughter, tried to leave the young girl fewtasks beyond that of filling Aun' Sheba's basket. 

Mrs. Hunter was also expected to be ready to receive callers, and excuseMara during the morning hours. Under the new order of things, more peopledropped in than in former times, for, as we have seen, it had become akindly fashion to show good-will. The caller on a certain morning in Aprilwas not wholly actuated by sympathy, for she had news which she believedwould be interesting if not altogether agreeable. Clancy's attentions hadnot been unknown, and he had at first suffered in the estimation of othersas well as of Aun' Sheba, because of his apparent neglect. The impression, however, had been growing, that Mara had withdrawn her favor on account ofhis friendly relations with Northern people and his readiness to bury thepast. The morning visitor had not only learned of a new proof of hisobjectionable tendencies, but also--so do stories grow as theytravel--that he was paying attention to a New York belle and heiress. Mrs. Hunter was soon possessed of these momentous rumors, and when, at last, weary from her morning labors, Mara sat down to their simple dinner, shesaw that her aunt was preternaturally solemn and dignified. The girlexpressed no curiosity, for she knew that whatever burdened her aunt'smind would soon be revealed with endless detail and comment. 

"Well, " ejaculated Mrs. Hunter at last, "my impressions concerning peopleare usually correct, and it is well for you that they are. If it had notbeen for me you might have become entangled in association with a manfalse and disloyal in all respects. I say entangled in association, resulting from a moment of weakness, for assuredly the instant you gainedself-possession and had time for thought, you would have repudiatedeverything. I saved you from the embarrassment of all this, and now youcan realize how important was the service I rendered. I have heard of theperformances of Mr. Clancy at the North. "

The hot flush on Mara's cheeks followed by pallor proved that herindifference had been thoroughly banished, but she only looked at her auntlike one ready for a blow. 

"Yes, " resumed Mrs. Hunter, "the story has come very straight--straightfrom that young Mrs. Willoughby, who, with her husband, seems as ready toforget and condone all that the South has suffered as your devoted admirerhimself. Devoted indeed! He is now paying his devotions at another shrine. A Northern girl with her Northern gold is the next and natural step in hiscareer, and he said to her pointblank that if the South again sought toregain her liberty, he would not help. He wasn't a Samson, but he was notlong in being shorn by a Northern Delilah of what little strength he had. "

"How do you know that this is true?" asked Mara rigid, with suppressedfeeling. 

"Oh, Mrs. Willoughby must talk if the heavens fell. It seems that she metthis Northern girl abroad, and that they have become great friends. Shehas received a letter, and it is quite probable that this girl will comehere. It would be just like her to follow up her new admirer. Mrs. Willoughby is so hot in her advocacy of what she terms the 'New South, 'that she must speak of everything which seems to favor her pestilentialideas. By birth she belongs to the Old South and the only true South, andshe tries to keep in with it, but she is getting the cold shoulder frommore than one. "

Mara said nothing, but her brow contracted. 

"You take it very quietly, " remarked her aunt severely. 

"Yes, " said Mara. 

"Well, if I were in your place I would be on fire with indignation. "

"Perhaps I would be if I did not care very much, " was the girl'sconstrained answer. 

"I do not see how you can care except as I do. "

"You are you, aunty, and I am myself. People are not all made exactlyalike. "

"But a girl should have some self-respect. "

"Yes, aunty, and she should be respected. I am one to show my self-respectby deeds, not words. You must not lecture me any more now as if I were achild, " and she rose and left her almost untasted dinner. 

A little thought soon satisfied Mrs. Hunter that the iron had entered deepinto the soul of her niece, and that her deeds would be satisfactory. Shetherefore finished her dinner complacently. 

Mara felt that she had obtained a test which might justly compel thegiving up of her dream of love forever. She was endowed with a simplicityand sincerity of mind which prompted to definite actions and conclusions, rather than to the tumultuous emotions of anger, jealousy and doubt. Shewould not doubt; she would know. Either Clancy had been misrepresented orhe had not been, and he had seemed so true and frank in his words to herthat she would not condemn him on the story of a gossip. From her point ofview she concluded that if he had gone so far as to say to a Northern girlthat he would not join the South in an effort to achieve independence, supposing such an attempt to be made, then he had passed beyond the paleof even her secret sympathy and regard, no matter what the girl mightbecome to him. She scarcely even hoped that there would ever be a chancefor him to make such a choice of sides as his reputed words indicated, buthe could contemplate the possibility, and if he could even think, in suchan imagined exigency, of remaining aloof from the cause for which his andher own father had died, then he would be dismissed from her thoughts asutterly unworthy. 

So she believed during the unhappy hours of the afternoon which wererobbed of all power to bring rest. She determined, if it were possible, tohear the truth from his own lips. She would subdue her heart by giving itproof positive that he had either drifted or had been lured far away. Ifthis were true--and she would not be influenced by her aunt's bitterprejudice--then it was all over between them. If once so completelyconvinced that he did not love her sufficiently to give up his Northernaffiliations for her sake, her very pride would cast out her own stubbornlove. 

The opportunity to accomplish all she desired soon occurred, for later shemet him at a house where a few guests had been invited to spend theevening. Social life had ceased to divide sharply upon the opinions heldby different persons, and the question as to what guests should be broughttogether had been decided by the hostess chiefly on the ground of birthand former associations. On this occasion when Clancy's eyes met those ofMara, he bowed, and was about to cross the room in the hope of receivingsomething like a welcome after his absence, but he was repelled at onceand chilled by her cold, slight bow, and her prompt return of attention tothe gentleman with whom she was conversing. 

Clancy was so hurt and perturbed that he was capable of but indifferentsuccess in his efforts to maintain conversation with others. When supperwas served he strayed into the deserted library and made a pretence oflooking at some engravings. A dear and familiar voice brought a suddenflush to his face, but the words, "Mr. Clancy, I wish to speak with you, "were spoken so coldly that he only turned and bowed deferentially and thenoffered Mara a chair. 

She paid no attention to this act, and hesitated a moment in visibleembarrassment before proceeding. 

"Miss Wallingford, " he began eagerly, "I have longed and hoped--"

She checked him by a gesture as she said, "Perhaps I would better speakfirst. I have a question to ask. You need not answer it of course if youdo not wish to. I am not conventional in seeking this brief interview. Indeed, " she added a little bitterly, "my life has ceased to beconventional in any sense, and I have chosen to conform to a few simpleverities and necessities. As you once said to me, you and I have beenfriends, and, if I can trust your words, you have meant kindly by me--"

"Miss Wallingford, can you doubt my words, " he began in low, passionateutterance, "can you doubt what I mean and have meant? You know I--"

Her brow had darkened with anger, and she interrupted him, saying, "Yousurely cannot think I have sought this interview in the expectation oflistening to such words and tones. I have come because I wish to be just, because I will not think ill of you unless I must, because I wish you toknow where I stand immovably. If my friendship is worth anything you willseek it by deeds, not words. I now only wish to ask if you said in effect, while North, that if the South should again engage in a struggle forfreedom you would not help?"

Clancy was astounded, and exclaimed, "Miss Wallingford, can you evencontemplate such a thing?"

Her face softened as she said, "I knew that you could never have saidanything of the kind. "

How tremendous was the temptation of that moment! He saw the whole truthinstantaneously, that she was lost to him unless he came unreservedly toher position. In that brief moment her face had become an exquisitetransparency illumined with an assurance of hope. He had an instinctiveconviction that even if he admitted that he had spoken the words, yetwould add, "Mara, I am won at last to accept your view of right and duty, "all obstacles between them would speedily melt away. 

The temptation grappled his heart with all the power of human love, andthere was an instant of hesitation that was human also, and thenconscience and manhood asserted themselves. With the dignity of consciousvictory he said gravely, "Miss Wallingford, I have ever treated yourconvictions with respect even when I differed with you most. I have anequal right to my own convictions. I should be but the shadow of a man ifI had no beliefs of my own. You misunderstand me. My first thought as youspoke was surprise that you could even contemplate such a thing as arenewed struggle between the North and the South. "

"Certainly I could contemplate it, sir, though I can scarcely hope forit. "

"I trust not; and even at the loss of what I value far more than you canever know, I will not be false to myself nor to you. I did speak suchwords, and I must confirm them now. " She bowed frigidly and was turningaway when he said, "I, too, perhaps have the right to ask a question. "

She paused with averted face. "Can you not at least respect a man who isas sincere as you are?"

Again the vigilant Mrs. Hunter, uneasy that Mara and Clancy were notwithin the range of her vision, appeared upon the scene. She glared amoment at the young man, and Mara left the room without answering him. 

CHAPTER XII

A "'FABULATION"

It had been Mara's belief, indeed almost her hope, that if truth compelledClancy to admit that he had spoken the obnoxious words he would become toher as a "heathen man and a publican. " No matter how much she mightsuffer, she had felt that such proof of utter lack of sympathy with herand all the motives which should control him, would simplify her courseand render it much easier, for she had thought that her whole nature wouldrise in arms against him. It would end all compunction, quench hope andeven deal a fatal blow to love itself. She would not only see it her dutyto banish him from her thoughts, but had scarcely thought it possible thathe could continue to dwell in them. 

The result had not justified her expectations, and she was baffled, exasperated and torn by conflicting feelings. Although he had admitted thewords and confirmed them to her very face, he had not allowed himself tobe put in a position which enabled her to turn coldly and contemptuouslyaway. Brief as had been the interview, he had made it impossible for herto doubt two things; first, that the Northern girl was nothing to him andthat he had not spoken the words to win her favor, for he had come back toherself with the same love in his eyes and the same readiness to give itexpression despite her coldness and even harshness. No matter how bitterlyshe condemned herself, this truth thrilled and warmed her very soul. Inthe second place, however mistaken he might be, he had compelled her tobelieve him to be sincere, so loyal, indeed, to his own sense of rightthat not even for her sake would he yield. She could not doubt this as theeagerness of the lover passed into the grave dignity and firmness of aself-respecting man. Moreover, another truth had been thrust upon herconsciousness--that she was more woman than partisan. As he had stoodbefore her, revealing his love and constancy and at the same timeasserting his right to think and act in accordance with his ownconvictions, he had appeared noble, handsome, manly; her heartacknowledged him master, and however vigilantly she might conceal thefact, she could not deny it to herself. 

Nevertheless, his course had simplified her action; it had decided herthat all was over between them. The case was hopeless now; for neithercould yield without becoming untrue to themselves, and there could be nohappy union in such radical diversity. The less often they met the better, as he only made her course the harder to maintain and the separation morepainful than it had been before. 

She might hide her unhappiness, but she could not banish the resultingdespondency and flagging strength. Her aunt had half forced an explanationof the reason why she was alone with Clancy, and, in hasty self-defence, she admitted a resolve to know with certainty whether he had spoken thewords charged against him. When Mrs. Hunter learned that he hadacknowledged the truth of the story, she spoke of him with redoubledbitterness, making it hard indeed for Mara to listen, for her heart tookhis side almost passionately. Unintentionally Mrs. Hunter proved herselfthe young man's best ally, yet Mara outwardly was compelled to acquiesce, for she herself had proved the enormity which was to end everything. Consistency, however, was torn to tatters one day, and she said in suddenpassion, "Aunty, never mention Mr. Clancy's name again. I demand this asmy right. "

When Mara spoke in this manner Mrs. Hunter yielded. Indeed she was not alittle perplexed over the girl who had been so passive and subservient. She was not a profound reasoner upon any subject, nor could she understandhow one step, even though Mara had been driven to it by hard necessity, led to many others. The girl had begun to assert her individual life, andher nature, once awakened, was proving a strong one. Deepening andwidening experience perplexed and troubled her unguided mind, and preparedthe way for doubtful experiments. 

As before, Aun' Sheba was quick to discover that all was not well withMara, but believed that she, like herself, was working beyond herstrength. The old woman had a bad cold and was feeling "rudder po'ly" oneevening when her minister came to pay a pastoral visit. 

On so momentous an occasion as this, her son-in-law Kern Watson and hiswife and children were summoned; a few neighbors also dropped in as theyoften did, for Aun' Sheba was better in their estimation than anynewspaper in town. Since the necessity for much baking had been removed, she had hired out her stove in order to make more room and to enjoy thegenial fire of the hearth. So far from being embarrassed because her headwas tied up in red flannel, she had the complacent consciousness that shewas the social centre of the group, an object of sympathy and therespected patron of all present. 

The Reverend Mr. Birdsall, the minister, treated Aun' Sheba with muchconsideration; he justly regarded her as one of the "pillars of thechurch, " knowing well from long experience that she abounded in liberalityif not in long prayers and contentions. He was a plain, sincere, positiveman who preached what he believed to be the truth. If he was sometimesbeyond it, beneath it or away from it altogether, he was as serenelyunconscious of the fact as were his hearers. There was no agnosticism inhis congregation, for he laid down the law and the gospel in a way thatdiscouraged theological speculation. Nevertheless, among his followersthere were controversial spirits who never doubted that they were right, however much they might question his ecclesiastical methods and views. Tomany, freedom meant the right to have their say, and, as is often true, those having the least weighty matter on their minds were the most readyto volunteer opinions and advice. Aun' Sheba was a doer, not a talker, inher church relations. If she occasionally dozed a little in her pew duringthe sermon, she was always wide awake when the plate was passed around;and if a "brother" or a "sister" were sick she found time for a visit, nordid she go empty-handed. If it were a case of back-sliding she had ahomely way of talking sense to the delinquent that savored a little ofworldly wisdom. There were not a few who shared in her doubt whether shewas "'ligious" or not, but the Reverend Mr. Birdsall was not of these. Hewould only have been too glad to have discovered more religion like hers. 

"Mis' Buggone, " he said, sympathetically, after Aun' Sheba had given hersymptoms with much detail, "in you is a case whar de spirit is willin' butde flesh is weak. You'se been a-goin' beyon' you strengt. "

"Yes, Elder, dat is de gist ob de whole business, " affirmed Kern Watson. "Moder's tromped de streets wid her big basket till she is dun beat out. She's undertook mo'n her share an' is s'portin' too many people. "

"Kern, you means well, " said Aun' Sheba with dignity, "but you mus' not'fleet on young Missy. She am de las' one in de worl' to let a body s'porther while she fol' her han's. She's po'ly too, jes' kase she's a workin'harde'n me. "

Uncle Sheba hitched uneasily in his chair, feeling that the conversationrather reflected on him, and he was conscious that old Tobe, keeper of the"rasteran, " was glaring at him. "I reckin, " he said, "dat de min'stermight offer a word ob prar an' comfort fore he go. "

"What pressin' business, " asked his wife, severely, "hab you got, Unc. , dat you in sech a hurry fer de min'ster ter go? We ain't into de shank obde ebenin' yet, an' dar's no 'casion to talk 'bout folks goin'. "

"I dun said nothin' 'bout folks goin', " complained Uncle Sheba in anaggrieved tone, "I was ony a suggestin' wot 'ud be 'propriate ter de'casion _fore_ dey go. "

"Mr. Buggone is right, and prar is always 'propriate, " said Mr. Birdsallin order to preserve the serenity of the occasion. "Before this littlecompany breaks up we will sing a hymn and hab a word ob prar. But we mus'use de right means in dis worl' an' conform ter de inexorable law ob deuniverse. Here's de law and dar's de gospel, and dey both have dar place. If a brick blow off a chimley it alus falls ter de groun'. Dat's one kin'ob law. Water runs down hill, dat's much de same kin' ob law. If a manhangs roun' a saloon an' wastes his time an' money, he's boun' to gitseedy an' ragged an' a bad name, an' his fam'ly gets po' an' mis'ble;dat's another kin' ob law--no 'scapin' it. He's jest as sure ter run downhill as de water. Den if we git a cut or a burn or a bruise we hab pain;dat's anuder kin' ob law, an' we all know it's true. But dar's a heap obgood people, Mis' Buggone, who think dey can run dis po' machine ob a bodyin a way dat would wear out wrought-iron, and den pray de good Lawd terkeep it strong and iled and right up to the top-notch ob po'r. Now dat'sagainst both law and gospel, for eben He who took de big contrac' ter savethe worl' said ter his disciples, 'come ye yourselves apart and rest awhile. ' I reckon dat's de law and de gospel for you, Mis' Buggone, aboutdis time. " Nods of approval were general, and Kern Watson gave the senseof the meeting in his hearty way. 

"'Deed it am, Elder, " he said. 'You'se hit de nail squar on de head. Ownup, now, moder, dat you'se neber been preached at mo' convincin'. Hi! wota book dat Bible am! It's got a word in season fer ebry 'casion. "

"Well, " said Aun' Sheba, meditatively, "I wants ter be open ter de truf, an' I does own up, Kern, dat de Elder puts it monstis peart an' beryconwincin'. But, " she continued argumentatively, laying the forefinger ofher left hand on the broad palm of her right, "dars gen'ly two sides to aquestion. Dat's whar folks git trip up so of'n--dey sees ony one side. I've 'served dat it's po'ful easy fer folks ter tell oder folks wat ter doand wat not ter do. No 'fence, Elder. You been doin' you duty, but you'sebeen layin' down rudder 'stended princ'ples. I know you'se got ter preachbroad an' ter lay down de truf fer de hull winyard, but I wants ter knowwat ter do wid my own little patch ob ground. Now here's me and dar's myyoung Missy 'pendin' on me. "

"Dat's whar I jes' doesn't 'gree wid Aun' Sheba, " put in her husband asshe paused a moment for breath. He felt that public opinion was veeringover to his side and might be employed to enforce his views. "It is allbery well fer one ter do all dey can 'sistently fer oders, but--"

"Mr. Buggone, " remarked Aun' Sheba sternly. 

Uncle Sheba subsided, and she went on, "Dere's my young Missy dat'spendin' on me, but she ain't pendin' in de sense ob hangin' on me, " andshe paused and looked impressively at Unc. "She's usin' her two littlehan's jest as hard as she know how, an' a heap too hard. Wat's mo' she'susin' dem to good puppus. I jes' declar' to you, Elder an' frens, datsince she took hole, de business am rollm' up an' it gettin' too big ferboth ob us. Dat's whar de shoe pinches. I ain't loss notin'. I'se made aheap mo' by doin' fer young Missy. In dis 'fabulation, I doesn't want no'flections on her, kase dey wouldn't be fair. Now, Kern, you'se rightsmart. You'se had my 'proval eber sence you took a shine ter Sissy. Ud youbelebe it, Elder and frens, dat son-in-law ob mine offered ter s'port mean' me do nuffin but jes' help Sissy and look arter de chil'n. But datain't my way. I likes ter put my own money in my own pocket an' I likester take it out agin, an' it jes' warm my heart like a hick'y fiah terhelp dat honey lam' ob mine dat I nussed. So you see, Elder, dat gen'lpreachin' am like meal. Folks has got ter take it an' make out ob it alittle hoe-cake fer dere selves. It's de same ole meal, but we's got terhab it in a shape dat 'plies ter our own inards, sperital and bodily. "

Again there were nods of assent and sounds of approval which old Tobe putinto words. "Aun' Sheba, " he said, "you puts you'se 'pinions monst'uspeart, too. I'se an ole man an' has had my shar ob 'sperence, an' I'sealus 'served dat de hitch come in at de 'plyin' part. Dere's a sight obpreachin' dat soun' as true an' straight as dat de sun an' rain make decotton grow, but when you git down to de berry indewidooel cotton plantdere's ofen de debil to pay in one shape or oder. Dere's a wum at de rootor a wum in de leaves, or dey's too much rain or too much sun, or desile's like a beef bone dat's been biled fer soup mo' dan's reasonable. Now Aun' Sheba's de indewidooel cotton-plant we's a-'siderin', an' I doansee how she's gwine to res' a while any mo'n I kin. Ef I shet up myrasteran de business gwine ter drap off ter some oder rasteran. "

"But, bruder Tobe, isn't it better, even as you put it, " protested theminister, "dat Mis Buggone's business should drop off an' yours too, dandat you should drop off youselves? Howsumever, I see de force ob what youboth say, and we mus' try ter hit upon a golden mean. I reckon dar's a wayby which you can both keep your business and yet keep youselves from goin'beyon' your 'bility. You are both useful citizens and supporters ob degospel, and I'm concerned fer your welfare, bodily as well as sperital. "

"Aun' Sheba, " said her daughter, "you'se my moder an' I ought ter be defust one ter help ease you up. I just dun declar dat you'se got ter takeVilet ter help you up. I kin spar her, an' I will spar her. She's strongan' gwine on twelve, an' de babies is gitten so dat dey ain't aroun' undermy feet all de time. Vilet's spry an' kin run here an' dar an' fill deorders. She'd ease you up right smart. "

"Now, Sissy, " said her husband, who always called her by the old householdname, "dat's bery sens'ble and childlike in you to put yousef out feryou'se muder. I'd been tinkin' 'bout Vilet, but I didn't like de suggestinob her leabin' you to do so much, ob de work. But go ahead, Sissy; goahead, Vilet, an' you'll fin' me easy goin' at meal times. "

"Come here, Vilet, " said the minister. 

The girl had been sitting on the floor at Aun' Sheba's feet, listeningquietly and intelligently to all that had been said. She was tall for herage, and had the quiet steadfastness of gaze that was characteristic ofher father. He was exceedingly fond and proud of her, for, with verylittle schooling, she had learned to read and write. Even as a child shehad much of his patience and unselfishness, thus making herself veryuseful at home. She looked unshrinkingly at the minister, but trembledslightly, for she felt all eyes were upon her. 

"Vilet, " began Mr. Birdsall, "you are said to be a good chile, an' I likethe sens'ble, quiet way in which you stan' up an' look me in de face. Ireckon dar ain't much foolishness in you. Your fader and moder hab shownde right spirit, de self-denying spirit dat de Lawd will bless. Can yousay the fifth commandment, chile?" Vilet repeated it promptly. 

"Dat's right. Now your fader an' moder are honahing dar moder, an' you aregoin' to hab a chance ter honah dem an' your granma, too. You will habtemptations in de streets ter be pert an' idle, ter stop an' talk to disone and ter answer back to dat one in a way you shouldn't. But if you goalong quiet an' steady, an' do what you're tole, an' be car'ful 'bout demoney an' de messages an' de orders an' so forth, you will reflect honahon us all an' 'specially on all your folks. You understan', Vilet?"

"Yes, sir. "

The minister put his hand on her head, and said solemnly, "You have myblessin', Vilet. "

She ducked a little courtesy, and again squatted at the feet of Aun'Sheba, who, much affected, was wiping her eyes with her apron, whileSissy's emotion was audible. 

"Now, frens, " resumed Mr. Birdsall, "this 'mergency of Mis Buggone'shealth has been met in de right human and Scriptural spirit. Frens andfam'ly hab gathered 'roun' de 'flicted one, an' hab paid dar respect terher usefulness an' value, an' hab shown her becomin' sympathy. Her ownfam'ly, as is also becomin', hab been first ter ease her up accordin', first, to the law of primigeneshureship. I know dat dis is a long word, but long words of'en mean a heap, an' dat's why dey are so long. Dat goodlittle girl, Vilet, is de oldes' granchile, an' she fulfils a great law inhelpin' her granma. Den it's accordin' to the gospel, for a loving an'self-denyin' spirit has been shown. Mr. Watson has obeyed de great law ofmatrimony. He has married _into_ dis fam'ly, an' he pulls with it an' forit instead ob against it as we see too of'en. De Lawd's blessin' will reston dis fam'ly. "

"I feels greatly comforted, " said Aun' Sheba. "Dis has been a bressedseason an' a out-pourin'. I mos' feels 'ligious dis ebenin'. De chilen an'dis deah chile" (patting Vi'let's head) "warm me up betteh'n flannel an'de fiah. Elder, you'se a good shep'd ob de flock. You'se a lookin' arterbody an' soul. You'se got de eddication to talk big words to us, an', nowwe'se free, we hab a right to big words, no mattah how much dey mean. It'spo'ful comfortin' ter know we'se doin' 'cordin' to de law an' de gospel. "

"'Pears ter me, " said old Tobe, "dat Uncle Sheba might hab a little lawan' gospel 'plied ter him. He am one ob de fam'ly. I'se a heap ol'er danhe be, an' I'se up wid de sun an' I ony wish I could set when de sun sets. 'Pears like he orter tote some ob de tings ez well ez his slip ob agrandaughter, " and old Tobe's wool seemed fairly to bristle withindignation and antipathy. 

"I've no doubt, " began Mr. Birdsall, "but Mr. Buggone'll emulate--"

"Elder, " interrupted Aunt Sheba, with portentous solemnity, "dere'sbobscure 'flictions in dis worl' dat can't be 'splained, an' de 'flictionsofen begin wen we say 'for bettah or wusser. ' You'se say youself in depulpit dat de gret an' bressed sinner, Paul, had a thorn in de flesh an'he couldn't git rid ob it nohow, dat he jes' bar wid it an' go 'bout hisbusiness. Ole Tobe _am_ old, but he wasn't bawn tired. Dere's men dat'spo'ful weak in de jints ob de body, yit dat doesn't hender dem fromgittin' 'round, but wen de weak feelin' gits inter de jints ob de min' dendey's shuah to be kinder limpsy-slimpsy an' dey ain't no help fer it. Ez Isez afore, de 'fliction am bobscure. You see de feet an' you see de han's, an' you tink dat dey kin go an' do like oder han's an' feet, but deydoesn't an' dey can't. Dere ain't no backbone runnin' up troo de min' an'wen dere ain't no backbone in de min' de pusson jest flop down yere an'flop down dar whareber dere's a com'fo'ble place to flop. Dere's'flictions dat we kin pray agin an' pray out'n ob, an' dere's oders we jesgot ter bar, an' we gits so kinder used to'm at las dat we'd be mo'mis'ble ef dey wuz tooken away. We'se got to take de bittah wid de sweet, but, tank de Lawd! de sweet 'domernate in dis yere fam'ly. Now let's habsome praise an' prar. Vilet, honey, sing de hymn you'se moder lern you. "

And in a somewhat shrill, yet penetrating, musical voice, the girl sang:

 "I'se a-journeyin', I'se a-journeyin', An' de way am bery long; De road ain't known, de way ain't shown, Yit I journeys wid a song. 

CHORUS

 "De journey, de journey, howeber rough de road, It's a-leadin', it's a-leadin', to a hebinly abode. 

 "I'se a-travelin', I'se a-travelin', From de cradle to de grave, De road am rough and sho' anuff, De heart, hit mus' be brave. 

 "I'se a-wondrin', I'se a-wondrin', Wen de journey will be true; But I goes along wid sigh an' song An' a cheery word fer you. "

Kern Watson and his wife were gifted with those rich, mellow, Africanvoices made so familiar in plantation songs and hymns. In the case of"Sissy" there was a pathetic, contralto, minor quality in her tones, andthe first time young Watson heard her sing a spell was thrown round hisfancy which led to all the rest. The same might be said of her, for whenher husband, then a stranger, poured forth, in one of their eveningmeetings, the great rich volume of his voice, she ceased to sing that shemight listen with avidity. It was not long after that before Kern musteredcourage to ask "Miss Buggone, mout I hab de pleasure ob 'companyin' youhome?" Not many months elapsed before he accompanied her home to stay, with Aun' Sheba's full consent. 

Other hymns followed in which Uncle Sheba took part with much unction, forhe wished to impress all present that in spite of the "bobscureaffliction" he "injied 'ligion" as much as any of them. Mr. Birdsalloffered a characteristic prayer, and then Aun' Sheba nodded to Sissy, whobrought out a large supply of cakes and apples. Some gossip among thewomen and political discussion among the men occurred while these werebeing disposed of, and then the little company broke up, leaving Aun'Sheba much improved in health and spirits. 

CHAPTER XIII

CAPTAIN BODINE

The next day was warm and sunny, and Aun' Sheba, rising much refreshed, felt herself equal to her duties in spite of her fears to the contrary. She took Vilet with her to a shop, and there purchased a much smallerbasket, the weight of which when filled would not be burdensome to thegirl. Thus equipped she appeared before Mara at the usual hour with hergrandchild, and began complacently: "Now, honey lam', you'se gwine to habtwo strings to you'se bow. I sometimes feel ole an' stiff in my jints an'my heft is kinder agin me in trompin'. Here's my granddaughter, an' she'sspry as a cricket. She kin run yere an' dar wid de orders'n less dan notime, so you won't be kept kin' ob scruged back an' down kase I'se slowan' hebby. You see?"

"Yes, Aun' Sheba, and I am very glad to see. I have been worrying aboutyou, for it has seemed to me that you were going beyond your strength, andyet I did not know of any one to help you or whether you wanted any one. "

"Now, honey, you jes' took de words out'n my mouth 'bout you. You'selookin' po'ly, an' I'se dreffle 'feared you'se gwine ter get beat ont. Youwant help mo'n me, an' I'se had it on my min' ter talk wid you. "

"Oh, Aun' Sheba, I'm very well, " protested Mara, yet glad to think thather paleness and languor were ascribed to fatigue. 

"Now see yere, honey, I'se got my blin' side, I know, but it ain't towardyou. I watch ober you too many yeahs not to know wen you po'ly. You'segwine beyon' you strengt, too. Why can't you get some one ter he'p you an'den we go along swimmin'?"

"Well, I'll see. I reckon I'll be better soon, and I don't care to do morethan can be done in a quiet way. "

The new arrangement on Aun' Sheba's side of the "pana'ship" soon began towork well. Vilet proved quick and trustworthy, saving her grandmother manya weary step, and Mara was compelled to see that the mutual income mightbe greatly increased if she also had efficient help. She recognized thetruth that she was becoming worn, and she also knew the cause to be thatshe worked without the spring of hopefulness or even the quietness of aheart at rest. She had almost decided to intrust Aun' Sheba with the taskof finding a suitable helper, when she made two acquaintances who weredestined to become intimately associated with her experiences. 

One afternoon she felt so lonely, desolate and hopeless that she felt shemust go out of herself. The future was taking on an aspect hard to face. Disposed to self-sacrifice, she was wretchedly conscious that there wasnothing on which she could bestow a devotion which could sustain orinspire. There was no future to look forward to, no cause to be furthered, no goal to be reached by brave, patient effort. If she had lived at thetime of the war she would have loved scarcely less than her mother, buther heart would have been almost equally divided between the cause andthose who fought and suffered for it. If her lot had been cast in theNorth it would have been much the same. The same patriotic motives wouldhave kindled her imagination and produced the most intense loyalty inthought and action. She was endowed with a spirit which, had she lived inthe past, might easily have led her into an effort to restore someoverthrown dynasty, and she would have so idealized even a veryquestionable conspiracy as to render it worthy, in her belief, ofunstinted self-sacrifice. A girl of her character would have faced thewild beasts of the Roman amphitheatre for the sake of her faith, or shewould have intrigued against the Spanish Inquisition although hourlyconscious that she was exposing herself to its horrors. It was this verytendency to give herself up wholly to some object which she felt had asupreme claim upon her, that had enabled her to live so long upon thememories of the past. The lost cause, for which her father had died, hadbeen as sacred to her as the old dream of freedom to a Pole, but Clancy'squestion in regard to the old phase of her life, "What good will it do?"combining with other circumstances, had awakened her to the futility ofher course. Denied the hope of any future achievement, lacking a powerfulmotive to sacrifice herself and her love, her strong nature chafed andtended to despondency at the thought of a simple existence. It was notenough merely to earn a living and live. She craved an inspiring object, an antidote for her heartache, a consciousness that in giving up much shealso accomplished much. Yet the future stretched away like an arid plainand she was depressed by the foreboding that every step carried herfurther from all that could give zest to life. She was, therefore, in amood to accept anything which would relieve the dreary monotony. 

On the afternoon in question she decided to call upon an old lady who hadlost nearly all her kindred and property. "Surely, " thought the girl, "shehas nothing to look forward to in this world but a few more straitenedyears, then death. I wish I were as old as she. "

Taking a little delicacy she started out to pay the visit, hoping to gainan insight into the philosophy of patient endurance. She veiled herselfheavily, for she was ever haunted by the fear of meeting Clancy on thestreet, and that her tell-tale face might lead him to guess the cost ofher effort to avoid him. 

An old colored woman showed the way into the parlor while she went up toprepare her mistress for the call. Reading by the window was a middle-agedgentleman who bowed gravely and resumed his book. 

He riveted Mara's attention instantly, for her first glance revealed thathe had lost his right leg and that crutches leaned against the arm of hischair. He could not be other than a veteran of the Confederate army, as itwould be strange indeed to find an ex-soldier of the North in that abode. His strong, finely-cut side face, distinctly outlined against the light, was toward her. It was marked by deep lines as if the man had suffered andhad passed through memorable experiences. He wore no beard or whiskers, but an iron-gray mustache gave a distinguished cast to a visage whosehabitual expression was rather cold and haughty. 

Mara had time to note these characteristics before she was summoned toMrs. Bodine's apartment. Although the day was mild, the old lady, wrappedin shawls, sat by an open fire, and her wrinkled face lighted up withpleasure as the girl came toward her. Indeed, there was something likeexcitement in her manner as she kissed her guest and said: "Bring yourchair close, my dear, so I can see you and hold your hand. I've somethingto tell you which I reckon will interest you almost as much as it doesme. "

When Mara was seated in a low chair she resumed: "How much you would looklike your father, child, if your eyes were bright and laughing instead ofbeing so large and sad! Well, well, there has been enough to make all oureyes sad, and you, poor child, have had more than enough. Yet you are goodand brave, my dear. So far from sitting down in helpless grieving, you aretaking care of yourself and have time to think of an old woman like me. Poor Mrs. Hunter! what would she do without you? She, like so many of us, has been blighted and stranded, and she would have been worse off than Iif it had not been for you, for I have a little left, but oh, it is solittle. Never did I wish it were more so much as I do now. You must bepatient with me, child. I sit here so much alone that it is a godsend tohave some one to talk to, and you are the very one I wanted to see. I wasgoing to send for you, for I knew you would like to see my guests. Mycousin and his daughter are visiting me, and I wish they could stay withme always. I knew you would like to meet Captain Bodine--"

"Captain Bodine!" exclaimed Mara, "why, that is the name of an officer whoused to be in my father's regiment. "

"He is the very same, my dear. "

"Was that he in the parlor?" Mara asked, trembling with excitement. 

"Yes, he and his daughter arrived only yesterday. "

"Oh!" said Mara, "I've received letters from him, and I've longed to seehim for years. Can I not go down and speak to him at once? I surely do notneed any introduction to the old friend of my father. "

"No, my dear, no indeed. You need no formal introduction to any guest orrelative of mine. Besides, he knows you well and all about you, althoughhe has never seen you since you were a child. It would please him greatlyto have you go down and speak to him at once, for he would know that Iwould tell you about his being here, and he might think you cold or formalif you delayed seeing him. I'm glad you feel so, my dear, but you mustcome back and sit with me awhile before you go home. I'll ring for Hannahand have a nice little feast while you are downstairs. "

Mara scrupulously veiled her impatience until her kind, garrulous friendwas through, and then stole with swift, noiseless tread to the parlorbelow. Standing in the doorway, she saw that the object of her quest wasabsorbed in his book. "He is my ideal of the soldier of that day, " shethought. "How truly he represents us, with his sad, proud face andmutilated body!" In a sort of awe she hesitated a moment and then saidtimidly, "Captain Bodine. "

He looked up quickly, and seeing Mara's lustrous eyes and flushed face, divined instantly who she was. 

"Is not this Miss Wallingford?" he asked, his face expressing gladanticipation as he began to gather up his crutches. 

"Do not rise, " cried Mara, coming forward instantly with outstretchedhands. 

But he was on his crutches, and said feelingly, "Heaven forbid that Ishould receive the daughter of my old friend with so little respect. " Hetook the girl's face into his hands, and looked earnestly into her eyes. "Yes, " he resumed gently, "you are Sidney Wallingford's child. God blessyou, my dear, " and he kissed her lightly on the forehead. "You won't mindthis from an old comrade of your father, " he said as he made her take hischair and sat down near her. "We have been bereft of so much that whatremains has become very precious. I know all about you, Mara. "

Tears were in the girl's eyes as she replied falteringly, "And I know ofyou, sir, and have longed to meet you. You can scarcely know how much yourwords mean to me when you say you were my father's comrade and friend. Iknew this, but it seems more real to me now, and I feel that seeing you iscoming as near as I can to seeing him. "

"My poor child! Would to God that he had lived, for you would have beenhis pride and solace, as my daughter is to me. When I saw you last youwere a little black-eyed girl and happily did not understand your loss, although you looked as if you did. I never thought so many years wouldpass before I saw you again, but we have had to fight some of our hardestbattles since the war, " and he sighed deeply. 

"How soon can I meet your daughter?" Mara asked, her eyes full ofsympathy. 

"Very soon. I urged her to take a walk on the Battery, for she has notbeen very well of late. I said I knew all about you, as I have been toldof your loyalty and brave efforts and your kindness to my aged cousin, butnow that I see you, I feel that I know very little. Your face is full ofstories, my dear child. You are young, and yet you look as if the memoriesof the past had made you far older than your years warrant That is thetrouble with us. We have much more to look back upon than to look forwardto. Yet it should not be so with you. "

"It can scarcely be otherwise, " Mara answered sadly; "you have touched thevery core of our trouble, and I suppose it is the trouble with us all whoare so closely linked with the past--we have so little to look forward to. But now that you can tell me about my father the past seems so near andreal that I do not wish to think about anything else. "

Time sped rapidly as Captain Bodine recalled the scenes and incidents ofhis life which were associated with his old commander, and Mara listenedwith an absorbed, tearful interest which touched him deeply. The proud, reserved expression of his face had passed away utterly, and the girlappreciated the change. His sympathy, the gentleness of his tones and theprofound respect which was blended with his paternal manner made her feelthat her father's friend was already her friend in a very near and sacredsense. While he was reserved about his own affairs, and she also wasconscious of a secret of which she could never speak, they had so much incommon that she felt that they could talk for hours. But the old lady inthe apartment above grew impatient, and at last Hannah stood courtesyingin the door as she said, "Missus p'sent her compl'ments an' say would beglad to see you. "

"There, I've been selfish and thoughtless, " said Captain Bodine, "but Ishall see you again, for it will give Ella and me great pleasure to callupon you. "

"Yes, indeed, we must meet often, " Mara added earnestly. "I hope you aregoing to make a long stay in Charleston. "

"I scarcely know, " he replied, and again there was an involuntary sigh;"but I must keep you no longer. "

CHAPTER XIV

"ALL GIRLS TOGETHER"

"I'm not going to lose my visit altogether, " said Mrs. Bodine, when Marareturned with an apology. "If the captain has only one leg, he can get outand around better than I can. Indeed it is wonderful how he does getaround. He is the spryest man on crutches I ever saw, and you know, mydear, I've seen a good many. In that dreadful war we were only too glad toget our men back, what was left of them, and if an arm or a leg weremissing we welcomed them all the more, but we couldn't give much more thana welcome. It was wreck and ruin on every side. If we had our own thecaptain would be well off, as you and I would be, but he is poor; poorerthan most of us. In fact, he hasn't anything. He wasn't one of thosesupple jointed men who could conform to the times, and he wasn't broughtup to make his living by thrifty ways. But he did his best, poor boy, hedid his best. Would you like to hear more about him?"

"Yes, indeed, " Mara replied, "you can't know how deeply I am interested inhim and his daughter. He was my father's comrade in arms, his friend andfollower. You must pardon me for staying away so long, but when he begantalking of my father I felt as if I could listen forever, you know. Ihonor him all the more because he is poor. "

"Yes, my dear, I know. Most of us are learning the hard lessons ofpoverty. I call him a boy because it seems only the other day he was a boyand a handsome one, too. He used to visit us here, and was so full of funand frolic! But he has had enough to sober him, poor fellow. He wasscarcely more than a boy when the war began, but he was among the first toenlist, and, like your father, he was a private soldier at first. He soonreceived a commission in the same regiment of which your father becamecolonel, and no doubt would have reached a much higher rank if he had notlost his leg. He met with this loss before your brave father was killed, but I suppose he told you. "

"Yes, " faltered Mara, "he told me why he was not with my father at thelast. "

"Yes, if he could he would have been with him and died with him, andsometimes I almost think he wishes that such had been his fate, he hassuffered so much. During the remainder of the war he had command of inlandpositions which did not require marching, and he always made the record ofa brave, high-minded officer. After the war he married a lovely girl, andtried to keep the old plantation: but his capital was gone, taxes werehigh, the negroes wouldn't work, and I suppose he and his wife didn't knowhow to practice close economy, and so the place had to be sold. It didn'tbring enough to pay the mortgages. It cut him to the quick to part withthe old plantation on which the family had lived for generations, but farworse was soon to follow, for his wife died, and that nearly broke hisheart. Since that time he has lived in Georgia with his only child, Ella, getting such occupation as he could--office work of various kinds, but Isuppose his reserved, gloomy ways rendered him unpopular; and even our ownpeople, when it comes to business, prefer an active man who has a readyword for every one. I conjecture much of this, for he is not inclined totalk about himself. Poor as I am, I'm glad they accepted my invitation, and I mean to do all in my power to get him employment here. I have alittle influence yet with some people, and perhaps a place can be found ormade for him. He and his daughter don't require very much, and God knowsI'd share my last crust with them, and, " she concluded with a littleapologetic laugh, "it _is_ almost like sharing a crust. "

"Oh, he will get employment, " cried Mara, enthusiastically; "his disabledcondition in itself will plead eloquently for him. How old is Ella?"

"She must be eighteen or thereabout. "

"I wonder if she wouldn't like to help me?"

"Help you? She'd be delighted. But then, my dear, you must not be carriedaway by your generous feeling. We're all proud of you because you havestruck out so bravely for yourself; but surely you have burdens enoughalready. "

"Perhaps Ella can lighten my burden, and I hers; but it is very homely, humble work. "

"You dear child!" exclaimed Mrs. Bodine, with her little chirruping laugh, "you are not a very homely, humble doer of the work. I reckon there's noprouder girl in town. But that's the way it is with the captain and all ofus, in fact. The poorer we are, the prouder we are. Well, well, our prideis about all we can keep in these times. You need have no fear, however, that Ella will hesitate in helping you, except as she may very naturallythink herself incompetent, or that you are wronging yourself in trying tohelp her. "

"We'll see about it, " Mara remarked thoughtfully; "I will invite her tospend a morning with me, and then she can obtain a practical idea of mywork. She might not like it at all, or she might like to do something elsemuch better, and so would be embarrassed if I asked her to help me, disliking to refuse, and yet wishing to do so. "

"Ah, well, " said Mrs. Bodine, smiling; "we have some right to thinkourselves 'quality' still, as old Hannah calls us. We are just asconsiderate of one another's feelings as if we were all Royal Highnesses. Have it your own way, my dear, if you truly think Ella can be of serviceto you. I reckon you need help, for you don't look as well as when I sawyou last. "

"Yes, " acquiesced Mara, "I think I do need help. Aun' Sheba'sgranddaughter is assisting her, and a good deal more could be sold if itwere properly prepared. It would be a great happiness if my need openedthe way for Ella, for I feel it would please my father as much as it wouldplease me if I could be of service to his old friend and his daughter. "

"I have heard, dear, that you are always trying to do what you thoughtyour father and mother would like. "

"God forbid I should do otherwise, " said the girl solemnly. 

"Well, perhaps they know all about it, " said the old lady, wiping a tearfrom her eye. "How close our troubles bring us together. You are lonelyfor your parents, and I am lonely for my husband and children. "

"And yet you are braver and more cheerful than I, " responded Mara; "I wasso sad and discouraged over the future this afternoon, that I came to you, thinking that you might unconsciously teach me patience and courage. TrulyI was guided, for you face everything like a soldier. Then in meetingCaptain Bodine, I seem to have been brought nearer my father than everbefore. I can't hear about him without tears, yet I would turn from anypleasure in the world to hear about him. What happiness if he had livedand I could help him in some way!"

"Well, my dear, we all have our own way of bearing our burdens, and Ioften wonder whether I have done more laughing or crying in my life. Ithas been one or the other most of the time. I have always thanked the Lordthat when the pain or the trouble was not too severe, I could laugh, andsoon I know all tears will be wiped away. It's harder for you, my dear; itis harder for you than me. My voyage has been long and stormy; husband, sons, and the cause for which they died all lost; but I'm coming into theharbor. You've got your voyage before you. But take courage. Who knows butthat your early days may be your darkest days? They can't always be darkwhen you are so ready to brighten the lives of others. There, I hearElla's voice. "

A moment later there was a knock at the door, and Ella Bodine entered. Wehave all seen bright-hued flowers growing in shaded places, and amongcold, grim rocks. Such brightness had the young girl who now appears uponthe scene of our story. One speedily felt that its cause was not inexternals, but that it resulted from inherent qualities. As with Mara, there had been much in her young life sad and hard to endure. She had notsurmounted her trouble by shallowness of soul or callousness, but ratherby a spiritual buoyancy which kept her above the dark waves, and enabledher to enjoy all the sunshine vouchsafed. Yet, unlike her father and Mara, she lived keenly in the present. She sympathized truly and honestly withher father, and in a large measure intelligently recognized the nature ofthe deep shadows projected across his life from the past, but it was herdisposition to keep as near to him as possible and yet remain just beyondthe shadows. She possessed a wholesome common-sense which taught her thatthe shadows were not hers and that they were not good for her father; soshe was ever making inroads upon them, beguiling him into a smile, surprising him into a laugh--in brief, preventing the shadows fromdeepening into that gloom which is dangerous to bodily and spiritualhealth. She made his small earnings go a great way, and banished from hislife the sordidness of poverty. God outlines an angel in many a woman'sheart, and often privations and sorrow, more surely than luxury, fill outthe divine sketch. In the instance of Ella Bodine the angelic was sosweetly and inextricably interwoven with all that was human that to mortalcomprehension she was better than a wilderness of conventional angels. Shewas depressed now under one of the few forms of adversity that could casther down. Her father was out of employment, their slender income hadceased, and they were dependent. She felt this cruel position all the morebecause Mrs. Bodine out of her poverty gave her hospitality so unstintedlyand ungrudgingly. 

To the sensitive, fine-natured girl it was like feeding upon the life ofanother, and that other a generous friend. 

During her walk a score of schemes to earn money had presented themselvesto her inexperienced mind, but her hands had learned only how to eke out asmall salary and to minister to her father. She had come home resolute todo something, but troubled because she knew not what to do. 

She paused a moment on the threshold of Mrs. Bodine's apartment, andlooked questioningly at Mara, at the same time half divining who she was. 

"Come along, Ella, " cried Mrs. Bodine, with a little joyous laugh ofanticipation, "and kiss one of your best friends, although you never sawher before. "

"Is it Mara?"

Mara's smile and swift approach answered her question. In an instant thetwo girls were in each other's arms, their warm Southern hearts touched bythe electric fire of sympathy and mutual understanding. Mrs. Bodineclapped her little, thin hands and cried, "Oh, that's fine. Southern girlshave not died out yet. Why, even my old withered heart had one of the mostdelicious thrills it ever experienced. Now, my dears, come and sit besideme and get acquainted. "

"Oh, I know you already, Mara Wallingford, " said Ella with sparkling eyes. 

"And I am learning to know you, Ella. I know you already well enough tolove you. "

"Well, " exclaimed Mrs. Bodine, raising her hands in a comic gesture, "Ireckon the ice is broken between you. "

They all laughed at this sally, and Mara was so cheered, her nerves alltingling with excitement, that she could scarcely believe herself to bethe half-despairing girl of a few hours before. "Now come, " resumed Mrs. Bodine, "let us all be girls together and have a good talk. At this rateI'll soon be younger than either of you. I haven't had my share yet. Doyou believe it, Ella? Mara has been downstairs petting your father for anhour. "

"I wonder where he is. He wasn't in the parlor when I came in. "

"I reckon he followed your good example and went out for a walk. I heardthe door shut. Well, you girls make a picture that it does my old eyesgood to look at. Here's Mara with her creamy white skin and eyes aslustrous now as our Southern skies when full of stars, but sometimes, ohso sad and dark. Dear child, I wish I could take the gloom all out ofthem, for then I could think your heart was light. But I know how it is; Iknow. Your mother gave you her sad heart when she gave you life, but youhave your father's strength and courage, my dear, and you will never giveup. And here is Ella with complexion of roses and snow and eyes likeviolets with the morning dew still on them--forgive an old woman's floweryspeech, for that's the way we used to talk when I was young--yes, here isElla, a little peach blossom, yet brimming over with the wish to become abig, luscious peach. Lor, Lor--oh, fie! Am I saying naughty words? Butthen, my dears, you know my husband was a naval officer, and no man everswore more piously than he. Bad words never sounded bad to me when hespoke them--he was such a good Christian! and he always treated me as heexpected to be treated when he was on deck. I reckon that I and theCommodore are the only ones that ever ordered _him_ around, " and the oldlady cried and laughed at the same time, while the faces of her youngcompanions were like flowers brightened by the sun while still wet withdew. 

"Let me see, " continued the old lady, "where was I when I began to swear alittle; just a little, you know. It is a sort of tribute to my husband, and so can't be very wicked. Oh, I remember, I was thinking what fun itwould have been to chaperon you two girls at one of our grand balls in thegood old times. I would sail around like a great ship of the line, convoying two of the trimmest little crafts that ever floated, and all thepirates, I mean gallant young men, my dears, would hover near, dying tocut you out right under my guns, or nose, as land-lubbers would say. Well, well, either of you could lead a score of them a chase before you signedarticles of unconditional surrender, " and Mrs. Bodine leaned back in herchair and laughed in her silvery little birdlike twitter. The girlslaughed with her, pleased in spite of themselves with visions that, bothin their nature and by tradition, accorded with the young romantic periodof life. But memory speedily began to restore gravity to Mara's face. Mrs. Bodine recognized this, and her own face grew gentle and sorrowful. Layinga hand on each of the girls heads she resumed, "Do not think I am afrivolous old woman because I run on so. I do not forget the present anymore than Mara, I see, cannot. Dear children, the circumstances of yourlot render you as burdened and, in some ways, almost as old as I am. Ellacan forget easier than you, Mara, but that is because God has putbrightness into her heart. Let us all face the truth together. I am longpast being an elegant matron. I am only a poor old childless widow withbut a few more days of feebleness and suffering before me, yet I do notsigh in a bitter, murmuring spirit. Old as I am, I am still God's littlechild, and sometimes I think this truth makes me as mirthful as a child. When the pain is hardest to bear, when the past, oh, the past--with allits immeasurable losses, begins to crush my very soul, I turn my dim eyesupward and repeat to myself, 'There _is_ a Heaven of eternal rest andjoy, ' and so I grow serene in my waiting. I have always loved the bright, pleasant things of this world--it was my nature to do so--but He who bearsthe burdens and heartbreak of the whole world has gently lifted my love upto Him. Didn't He have compassion on the widow of Nain, and say to her, 'Weep not'? My gallant husband, my brave boys and this poor little widoware all in His hands, and I try to obey His gentle command not to weepexcept sometimes when I can't help it and He knows I can't. "

The two girls with their heads in her lap were crying softly fromsympathy. With light, caressing touches to each the old lady continued, "Ella, my dear, you are like me in some respects. You, too, love thebright pleasant things of this world, and you are so divinely blessed witha buoyancy of heart that you will make what is hard and humdrum bright foryourself and others. You will embroider life with sunshine if there is anysunshine at all. Like myself, you will be able to smile and laugh wheneverthe pain is not too severe, yet I fear it will be very hard sometimes. Bat, as my husband would say, you are taut, trim and well ballasted, andgood for a long, safe voyage. You have obeyed the Fifth Commandment, andits promise is yours. 

"Mara, dear child my heart, for some reason, aches for you. I knew andloved your grandfather and your father and mother. You were born into aheritage of bitterness and sorrow, and I fear Mrs. Hunter, with all hergood qualities, was not so constituted as to be able to counteractinherited tendencies. I wish I could have brought you up, for then wecould have cried or laughed together over what happened. 

"But you have learned to repress and to brood--two dangerous habits. Youwant to do some great thing, and alas! there is seldom a great thing whichwe poor women can do. You are not impelled by ambition or a desire fornotoriety, but by a sort of passion for self-sacrifice. 

"If you had lived twenty odd years ago no soldier of the South could havebeen braver or more devoted. You are not satisfied with mere living andmaking the best of life as it is. I don't know why, but I feel that thereare depths in your heart which no one understands. Be careful, dear child, and be patient. Don't yield to some morbid idea of duty, or be involved insome chimerical plan of an achievement. 

"Learn Ella's philosophy, and be as content with sunshine and daily dutyas possible. Ella will do this unconsciously, my dear; you will have to doit consciously, just as a sick man seeks health. But you will both have togo forward and meet woman's lot. I was once a young girl, fancy free, likeyou. How much has happened since! I now feel like an old hen that wouldlike to gather you both under her wing in shelter from all trouble, " andagain her little laugh chimed out while she wiped away the tears whichsprang from her motherly heart. 

The thump of Captain Bodine's crutches was heard on the stair. "Bring himin, " said Mrs. Bodine, mopping her eyes vigorously. 

Ella ran to the door and admitted him, and then, with a pretty custom shehad, took away a crutch, and substituting one of her own round shoulderssupported him to a large armchair. The low western sun flooded the roomwith light. He looked questioningly at the dewy eyes of the two girls andat the evidences of emotion which Mrs. Bodine had not been fully able toremove. 

"Well, " said he, "what part am I to have in this mournful occasion?"

Ella stood beside him with her arm about his neck, and was about to speak, when Mrs. Bodine said quickly in her piquant way, "You are to be chiefmourner. "

"A role for which I am peculiarly fitted, " he replied sadly, not catchingher humor. 

"Oh, papa, you don't understand, " cried Ella, "we have been having just aheavenly time. "

He looked at Mara as she stood beside the old lady, and his very soul wastouched by the sympathy expressed for him in her beautiful eyes. Standingthere, enveloped in sunshine, it seemed to him that no angel of God couldregard him more kindly. It was not pity, but rather honor, affection andthat deep commiseration of which but few women are capable. He feltinstinctively that she knew all and that her woman's heart was sufferingvicariously with him and for him. The very air was electrical with deephuman feeling, and he, yielding to a strong impulse scarcely understood, said earnestly, "God bless you, Mara Wallingford. "

Sensible old Mrs. Bodine felt that it was time to come back to every-daylife, so she said promptly, "Yes, and He is going to bless her, and blessus all. If there is any mourning to be done on this occasion you must doit. We three girls have been having a good talk, and are the better forit. That's the demmed total--oh, fie! there I am at it again. Well, CousinHugh, to take you into our entire confidence, we have been facing thingsand have arrived at several conclusions, one of which is--now, Ella, shutyour ears--that you have one of the best daughters in the world, and thatshe and Mara have quite broken the ice between them and are going to bevery good friends, and I was saying how I would like to convoy two suchgirls in one of our ballrooms in the good old times--oh, well, we havejust been having a long lingo as girls will when they get together. "

Captain Bodine was gifted with tact and a quick appreciation. Heunderstood the old lady and her purpose. 

"Cousin Sophy, " he said, "you are just the same as when, a boy, I used tovisit you--tears and smiles close together. Well, I believe that Heavencomes down very near when you three girls get together. "

The old lady lay back in her chair and laughed heartily. "Oh, Ella, if youonly knew what a mischievous boy your father was once! But, there, we havehad enough of the past and the future for one day. Mara, my dear, you muststay and banquet with us. No, no, no, I won't hear any excuse. When I onceget on quarter-deck every one must obey orders. Ella, direct Hannah tospread the festive board. You and Mara can lend a hand, and you can put onall we have in five minutes. To think that I should have eaten thatdelicious jelly you brought, greedy old cormorant that I am!"

A few moments later Mara supported the old lady down to the dining-room, and, though the viands were few and meagre, the banqueters, to say theleast, were not commonplace. Mara said nothing of her plan, but Ella wasinvited to spend the following morning with her. In the late lingeringtwilight Captain Bodine escorted the young girl home. On the way thitherthey came plump upon Owen Clancy. He glanced keenly from one to the otheras he lifted his hat. Mara's only response was a slight bow. 

CHAPTER XV

TWO LITTLE BAKERS

Mara led Captain Bodine up to their little parlor and introduced him toMrs. Hunter, who received him most cordially, feeling that in him sherecognized a congenial spirit. He treated her with the respect andold-time courtesy which she said was "so truly Southern. " Their feelingsand beliefs touched closely at several points, yet they were verydifferent in their essential characteristics. Poor Mrs. Hunter had beenlimited by nature and education. She could not help being narrow in allher views; she was scarcely less able to dismiss her intense, bitterprejudices. She was quite incapable of reasoning herself into her mentalposition; it was simply the inevitable result of her circumstances, herlot and her own temperament. Captain Bodine was a proud man, as proudtoward himself as toward others. The cause for which he and his kindredhad suffered and lost so much had been sacred, and therefore it ever wouldbe sacred. To change his views, to begin revising his opinions, would beto stultify himself and to reflect dishonor on his comrades in arms whohad perished. In the very depths of his young, ardent spirit he had oncedevoted himself to the South; he had listened reverently to prayers fromthe pulpit that God would bless the Southern armies; he had never enteredinto battle without petitions to Heaven, not that he might escape, butthat the "Northern invader" might be overcome; his uniform had beenstained with blood again and again as he held dying comrades in his armsand spoke words of cheer. In his more limited way, he had the spirit of"Stonewall" Jackson. It was impossible for a man with his nature and withhis memories to argue the whole matter over coolly and recognizemisleading errors. During his youth and early manhood his feelings hadbeen so intense as to be volcanic, and that feeling, like lava, had cooledof into its present unchangeable forms and sombre hues. What wasbitterness and almost spite in Mrs. Hunter was a deep, abiding sorrow inhis heart, a great dream unfulfilled, a cause lofty because so idealized, in support of which he often saw in fancy, when alone, spectral thousandsin gray, marching as he once had seen them in actual life. That all hadbeen in vain, was to him one of those mysterious providences to which hecould only bow his head in mournful resignation, in patient endurance. Hehad no hate for the North, for he was broad enough in mind to recognizethat it saw the question from its own point of view, and, as a soldier, heknew that its men had fought gallantly. But the North's side of thequestion was not his side. He had been conquered in arms but not convincedin spirit. While he had respect and even admiration for many of his oldfoes, and malice toward none, he still felt that there was a bridgelesschasm between them, and, by the instincts of his nature, he kept himselfaloof. If he could perform an act of kindness to a Northerner he would doso unhesitatingly; then he would turn away with the impulse of an alien. He had no ambitious schemes or hopes for the future; he had buried the"lost cause" as he had buried his wife, with a grief that was too deep fortears. He had come to value life only for Ella's sake, and he tried to dohis best from a soldier-like and Christian sense of duty, until he toocould join his old comrade in arms. 

Mrs. Hunter could not comprehend such a man, and he gave to her but thecasual, respectful sympathy which he thought due to a gentlewoman who hadlost much like so many other thousands in the South. After a brief call hehobbled away on his crutches, forgetting Mrs. Hunter and, indeed, almosteverything in the deep interest excited by Mara, the daughter of his oldfriend. "Would to God, " he muttered, "that Sidney Wallingford could havelived and seen that girl look at him as she looked at me to-day. "

Soon after Captain Bodine's departure, Mara pleaded fatigue and retired toher room, promising to answer her aunt's many questions on the morrow. Shewas very sad and discouraged with herself, and yet she had not thedespairing sense of the utter futility of her life which had oppressed herwhen she started out in the early afternoon. 

She had become so absorbed and interested by the incidents and experiencesof her visit as to be almost happy. Just as she had attained a conditionof mind which had not blessed her for months, she must meet Owen Clancy. With a sort of inward rage and wonder, she asked herself: "Why did myheart flutter so? Why did every nerve in my body tingle? He is nothing tome and never can be, yet, when he passed, a spirit from heaven couldhardly have moved me more. What is his mysterious power which I cannoteradicate? Oh, oh, was not my life hard enough before? Must I go on, hiding this bitter secret? fighting this hopeless and seemingly endlessfight? Well, well, thank God for this day, after all. In Ella Bodine andher father I have found friends who will occupy my thoughts and becomeincentives which I did not possess before. Dear father, my own dear, dead, soldier father, it would please you to have me do something for your oldfriend. "

The next morning was bright and sunny, and, after an early breakfast, Marawas in the kitchen, with all the ingredients of the dainties she soskilfully produced, spread out upon the tables. Ella had been asked tocome early; her father had escorted her to Mara's residence, and then goneaway on an errand of his own. 

The young girl was greeted with a warmth which made her at home at once, and proved the experiences of the previous afternoon were not the resultof mood or passing sentiment. There was a depth in Mara's eyes and afirmness about her mouth and chin which did not indicate changing andunreasoning "moods and tenses. " In the clearer, calmer thought of themorning all her kind purposes toward Captain Bodine and Ella had beenstrengthened, and she also believed more fully that by interesting herselfin them she would find the best antidote for her own trouble. 

Ella had been welcomed by Mrs. Hunter, and now, as she sat in the littlesun-lighted kitchen, there was neither past nor future to her. The presentscene, with its simple, homely details, was all absorbing. 

It meant very much to the girl, for she saw how Mara was achievingindependence, and by work, too, which housekeeping for her father enabledher to understand better than any other. Mara's pulses were alsoquickened, for she understood the eager, intelligent glances of herfriend. For a few moments, Ella, as company, felt compelled to maintainthe quiet position of spectator; then overborne, she sprang up exclaiming:"Oh, Mara, dear, do give me an apron and let me help you. I'd have such ajolly forenoon!"

"Why, certainly, Ella, if it would give you pleasure. "

The article was produced, and, with a sigh of deep content, the girl tiedit around a waist by no means waspish. Then off came the little cuffs, andup the sleeves were rolled to the shoulder. 

"Ella, what lovely arms you have! If I were a man I should be distractedby such a pair of arms. "

"Well, " remarked the girl, looking at them complacently, "they'd be strongenough to help a man that I cared sufficiently for to marry, but I haven'tseen that man yet, and I hope his lordship will keep his distanceindefinitely--till I have more time to bother with him and hisdistractions. "

"Is your time, then, so completely occupied?"

"It isn't occupied at all, and that's the plague of it. But I reckon itsoon will be, " she added with an emphatic little nod. "Papa shall learnthat I can do something more for him than cook, and your example has firedmy ambition. I'll ransack this town till I find something to do that willbring money. Dear old Mrs. Bodine! wasn't she perfectly enchantingyesterday? Do you think I can be content to live in idleness on herslender means? No, indeed. I'd buy a scrubbing-brush first. Oh, isn't thisfun?" and the flour was already up to her elbows. 

"Oh, Ella, dear, I'd feel just as you do if I had a father to work for. "

"Now, Mara, don't talk so, or I'll put my floury arms right about yourneck and spoil this dough with a flood of briny tears. See, the sun isshining and there is work to be done. Let's be jolly, and we'll have ourlittle weep after sundown. Oh, Mara, dear, I wish I could make you aslight-hearted as I am. I used to think it was almost wicked for me to beso light-hearted, but I don't think so any more, for I know I've kept papafrom going down into horrid depths of gloom. And then this irrepressiblespirit of fun helps me over ever so many hard places. " She sprang backinto the middle of the room, and, striking a serio-comic attitude, continued: "Here I am in no end of trouble--for me. There is a griefpreying on my vitals that would make a poet's hair stand on end should heattempt to portray it. Were there a lover around the corner, sighing likea furnace, I would say to him 'Avaunt! My heart is broken, and do youthink I can bother with you?' I am at odds with fate. I am in the mostdeplorable position into which any human being can sink. I have _nothingto do_. But here is a weapon by which one girl has conquered destiny, " andshe brandished the roller with which she had been pressing out the dough, "and I, too, shall find a sword which will cut all the pesky knots of thissnarled-up old world. Then when I have achieved complete and lofty victoryand independence, as you have, dear, I may say to the lover around thecorner, 'Step this way, sir. I must consider first whether you would beagreeable to papa, and then whether you would be agreeable to me andthen'--Oh, what a little fool I am, and so many cookies to make. Pleasedon't send me home. I will work now like a beaver, " and her round whitearms grew tense as she rolled with a vigor that would almost flattenbrickbats. 

Mara stood at one side watching her with eyes that grew wonderfullylustrous as was ever the case when she was pleased or excited. Then shestole up behind Ella, and, putting her arm around her neck, looked intoher eyes as she asked, "Wouldn't you like to help me?"

"Of course I like to help you, " said Ella, turning with surprise upon herfriend. 

"Now, Ella, be frank with me. Say no if you feel no. Wouldn't you like tohelp me all the time and earn money in this way?"

A slow deep flush overspread Ella's face as she stood for a moment withdowncast eyes as if oppressed with a sense of shame. Then she said humbly:"Forgive me, Mara. I've been very thoughtless. I didn't think you wouldtake my ranting as an appeal to your generous heart. Believe me, Mara, Iwas not hinting to you that I might share in the little you are earning sobravely. As if you had not burdens enough already. "

Mara never once removed her eyes from the girl's ingenuous face andpermitted her to reveal the unselfishness and sacred pride of her nature;then she said gently and firmly: "No, Ella, I did not misunderstand you amoment, and I want you to understand me. In one sense we have beenacquainted always, yet we have loved each other from personal knowledgebut a few short hours. We Southern girls need no apologies for our swiftintuitions, our quick, warm feelings. I had this on my mind as soon asMrs. Bodine told me about your being here, and I had quite set my heartupon it as soon as I saw you. Ella, dear, I _need_ help; I have more thanI can do. There is business enough to support us both, and I had almostconcluded to ask Aim' Sheba to get me a helper. But what a delight itwould be to work with you!"

Ella's face had been brightening as if gathering all the sunshine in thespring sky, and she was about to speak eagerly when Mara stopped her by agesture. "Wait, " she said, "I did not say anything of this last eveningbecause I was not sure you would like the work. If you do not like it, youmust be frank to tell me so. If you do enter on it you must let me manageall in business-like ways, for I fear that you, like Aun' Sheba, will beinclined toward very loose accounts. You must be willing to take what Ifeel that you should have, and there must be no generous insubordination. Now you have the exact truth. "

Ella's lip was quivering and her eyes were filling with gathering tears. With a little quaver in her voice she struggled hard to give a mirthfulconclusion to the affair. "I accept the position, ma'am, " she faltered, making a courtesy, then rushed into her friend's arms and sobbed: "Oh, Mara, Mara, you have lifted such a burden from my heart! I have had manytroubles, but somehow it seemed that I couldn't bear this one, though Itried hard to keep the pain to myself--papa and I being dependent. Andthen to have the whole trouble banished by working with you in just thekind of work I like! Oh, Mara, darling, how can I ever thank you enough?"

"Good Lawd, honey, hab you heerd on any ob you'se folks dyin'?" and Aun'Sheba's awed face and ample form filled the doorway, with Vilet'swondering little visage peeping around behind her. 

Ella sprang away, and, turning her back on the newcomers, mopped her facevigorously with her floury apron. 

"No, Aun' Sheba, " replied Mara, smiling through her tears, for Ella'sstrong emotion had unsealed the fountain of her eyes, "I've only followedyour good advice and secured just the kind of help I need, the daughter ofmy father's dear old friend, Captain Bodine. I reckon you remember him. "

"Well, now, de Lawd be bressed!" ejaculated Aun' Sheba, sitting down withher great basket at her feet. "'Member him? Reckon I does. I kin jes' seede han'-som boy as he march away wid you'se fader. An' his little Missy isyou'se helper?" and she looked curiously at Ella, who was still seeking togain self-control. 

The girl wheeled around with a face wonderfully stained and streaked withflour and tears, and, ducking just such a courtesy as Vilet would havemade, said to Aun' Sheba, "Yes'm. I'm the new hand. I'm a baker by trade. "

Aun' Sheba's appreciation of humor was instantaneous, and she sat back inher chair, which shook and groaned under her merriment. "Can't fool disculled pusson, " she began at last. "You tink we doesn't keep up wid detimes, but we does. I'se had a bery int'restin' season wid ole Hannah, wholib wid Mis' Bodine, bress her heart! She's quality yere on arth an' shegwine ter be quality in Hebin. I knows a heap 'bout you an' you'se pa. Iknowd him 'fore you did. I'se seed him in de gran' ole house in Meetin'Street a dinin' agin an' agin wid Marse Wallingford an' my deah MisseMary, den a bride, an' de gran' ole Major Buggone. Oh, Missy Mara, ef youcould ony seen de ole major, you'd a seen a genywine So' Car'linygen'l'man ob wat dey call de ole school. Reckon dey habn't any bettehschools now. An' young Marse Sidney, dat's you'se fader, Missy, and youngMarse Hugh, dat's you'se fader, Missy Ella, dey was han'som as picters an'dey drink toasts ter Missy Mary an' compliment her an' she'd blush like ared rose; an' wen dey all 'bout ter march away Missy Mary kiss Marse Hughjes as ef he her own broder. Lor, Lor, how it all come back ter me! Ef deLawd don' bress de pa'na'ship twix' you two gyurls den I des dun beat. "

Regardless of flour the two little bakers stood before Aun' Sheba witharms around each other while she indulged in reminiscences, then Ella, dashing away the tears that were gathering again, said brusquely, "The newhand will have to be boss if we go on this way. Aun' Sheba, we haven't gota blessed thing ready to put in your basket. "

"Many han's make light wuck, " said the old woman sententiously. "I comeyere arly dis mawnin' to gib Missy Mara a lif' kase she's been lookin'po'ly an' I hab her on my min' anxious-like. But now, wid a larfin', sunshiny little ting like you aroun', Missy Ella, she'll soon be as peartas a cricket. Vilet, chile, jes wait on me an' han' me tings, an' dese twobaskets'll be filled in de quickest jiffy you eber see. "

And so it turned out. Aunt Sheba was a veteran in the field. Flour, sugarand spices seemed to recognize her power and to come together as if sheconjured. The stove was fed like the furnace of Nebuchadnezzar, and thegirls' faces suggested peonies as the cake grew light and brown. 

Mrs. Hunter, having finished her morning duties, entered at last andlooked with doubtful, troubled eyes upon the scene. Ella and Aun' Sheba'smirthful talk ceased, while little Vilet regarded the tall, gray-hairedwoman with awe. 

"Well, times _have_ changed, " said the lady, with a sort of groan. "Ourhome has become little better than a bake-shop. "

"Well, Missus, " replied Aun' Sheba, with the graven-image expression thatshe often assumed before Mrs. Hunter, "I'se know'd of homes dat hab becomewuss dan bake-shops. Neber in my bawn days hab I heerd on an active, prosp'rous baker starbin'. Jes' you try dis cooky right fum de stove an'see ef it doan melt in you'se mouf. " And so Aun' Sheba stopped Mrs. Hunter's lamentations and clinched her argument. 

CHAPTER XVI

HONEST FOES

Captain Bodine's errand was characteristic of the man. He had accepted hiscousin's hospitality and sympathy most gratefully, and his quickapprehension had gathered from some of her words that she was bent onmoving her little segment of "heaven and earth, " to secure him employment. While perfectly ready to receive any gracious benefactions from heaven, where he justly believed that the good old lady's power centred chiefly, he shrank from her terrestrial efforts in his behalf, knowing that theymust be made with very few exceptions among those who were straitened andburdened already. He did not want a "place made" for him and to feel thatother Southern men were practicing a severer self-denial in order to doso. With a grim, set look on his face as if he were going into battle, hehalted downtown to the counting-room of one of the wealthiest merchantsand shippers in the City. He knew this man only by reputation, and hisfriends would regard an application for employment to Mr. Houghton, asextraordinary as it certainly would be futile in their belief. Mr. Houghton was quite as bitter against the South in general and Charlestonin particular as Mrs. Hunter in her enmity of all that savored of theNorth; and, as human nature goes, they both had much reason, or rathercause, for their sentiments. The experiences of many of that day were notconducive to calm historical estimates or to "the charity that sufferethlong and is kind. " Mr. Houghton was a New England man, and hated slaveryalmost as intensely as it deserved to be hated. The trouble with him hadbeen that he did not separate the "peculiar institution" widely enoughfrom the men who had been taught by their fathers, mothers and ministersto believe in it. He made no allowances for his Southern fellow-citizens, as many of them would make none for him. With him, it was "Slave-driver";with them, "Abolitionist"; yet he revered and they revered thegreat-hearted planter of Mount Vernon. 

When the war came at last to teach its terrible, yet essential lessons, Mr. Houghton's eldest son was among the first to exercise the courage ofthe convictions which had always been instilled into his mind. The grimNew Englander saw him depart with eyes that, although tearless, were fullof agony, also of hatred of all that threatened to cost him so much. Hisworst fears were fulfilled, for his son was drowned in a night attack onFort Sumter, and, in his father's morbid fancy, still lay in the mud andooze at the bottom of Charleston harbor. 

The region gained a strange fascination for the stricken man, and he atlast resolved to live near his son's watery grave and take from the veryhands of those whom he regarded as his boy's murderers the business whichthey might regard as theirs naturally. So he removed to Charleston, andemployed his capital almost as an instrument of revenge. He did not dothis ostentatiously, or in any way that would thwart his purpose or hisdesire to accumulate money, but his aims had come to be very generallyrecognized, and he received as much hate as he entertained. Yet his wealthand business capacity made him a power in commercial circles, and Southernmen, who would no more admit him to their homes than they would an ogre, dealt with him in a cool politeness that was but the counterpart of hisgrim civility. 

Captain Bodine knew that Mr. Houghton employed much help in his business. He knew that the work of many of his employes must be largely mechanical, requiring little or no intercourse with the master, and the veteranreasoned, "I could give him honest work, and he in return, pay me mysalary, we personally not being under the slightest social obligation toeach other. I'd rather wring money from his hard fist than take it fromthe open hand of a too generous friend. I could then get bread for Ellaand myself on the simple ground of services rendered. "

He therefore entered the outer office and asked for Mr. Houghton. A clerksaid, "He is very busy, sir. Cannot I attend to your matter?"

"I wish to see Mr. Houghton personally. "

"Will you send in your card, sir?"

Captain Bodine took one from his pocket and wrote upon it, "I wish to seeyou briefly on a personal matter. " A moment later he was ushered into Mr. Houghton's presence, who was writing rapidly at his desk. Bodine stoodstill, balancing himself on his crutches while the merchant finished thesentence. He looked at the hard wrinkled face and shock of white hair withthe same steady composure that he had often faced a battery, as yetsilent, but charged with fiery missiles. 

At last Mr. Houghton looked up with an impatient word upon his lip, butchecked it as he saw the striking figure before him. For an instant thetwo men looked steadily into each other's eyes. Ever since the war, Captain Bodine had dressed in gray, and Mr. Houghton knew instinctivelythat his visitor was a Confederate veteran. Then the captain's mutilationcaught his attention, and his very manhood compelled him to rise andstiffly offer a chair. 

"You wished to see me personally, " he remarked, coldly. "I must requestyou to be brief, for I rarely allow myself to be disturbed at this hour. "

"I will be brief. I merely come to ask if you have employment for atolerably rapid, accurate penman?"

"Do you refer to yourself?" Mr. Houghton asked, his brow darkening. 

"I do, sir. "

"Do you think this a sufficient excuse for interrupting me at this hour?"

"Yes, sir. "

Again there was a fixed look in each other's eyes, and Mr. Houghton, withhis large knowledge of men and affairs, became more distinctly aware thathe was not dealing with an ordinary character. He put his thought inwords, for at times he could be very blunt, and he was conscious of anincipient antagonism to Bodine. 

"You think you are a Southern gentleman, my equal, or rather, my superior, and entitled to my respectful consideration at any hour of the day. "

"I certainly think I am a Southern gentleman. I do not for a moment thinkI am entitled to anything from you. "

"Yet you come and ask a favor with as much dignity as if you representedthe whole State of South Carolina. "

"No, sir, I represent only myself, and I have asked no favor. There aremany in your employ. I supposed your relations with them were those ofbusiness, not of favor. "

"Well, sir, " replied Mr. Houghton, coldly, "there are plenty with whom Ican enter into such relations without employing an enemy of my country. "

"Mr. Houghton, I will bring this interview to a close at once, and thenyou can settle the matter in a word. Your country will never receive anyharm from me. I am one of a conquered people, and I have now no ambitionother than that of earning bread for my child and myself. You havedealings with Southern men and ex-Confederate soldiers. You buy from themand sell to them. I, as one of them, ask nothing more than that you shouldbuy my labor for what it is worth to you in dollars and cents. Regard mylabor as a bale of cotton, and the case is simple enough. "

The lava-crust over the crater of the old man's heart was breaking up, forthe interview was recalling all the associations which centred around thedeath of his son. Captain Bodine evoked a strange mixture of antipathy andinterest. There was something in the man which compelled his respect, andyet he seemed the embodiment of the spirit which the New Englander couldneither understand nor tolerate. His thought had travelled far beyondbusiness, and he looked at his visitor with a certain wrathful curiosity. After a moment he said abruptly, "You fought through the war, I suppose?"

"I fought till I was disabled, sir, but I tried to do a soldier's duty tothe close of the war. "

"Duty!" ejaculated Mr. Houghton, with an accent of indescribablebitterness. "You would have killed my son if you had met him?"

"Certainly, if I met him in fair fight and he did not kill me first. "

"There wasn't any fair fight at all, " cried the old man passionately. "Itwas an atrocious, wicked, causeless rebellion. "

The dark blood mounted to Captain Bodine's very brow, but he controlledhimself by a strong effort, and only said calmly, "That is your opinion. "

The veins fairly stood out on Mr. Houghton's flushed, usually pallid, face. "Do you know, " he almost hissed, "that my boy lies at the bottom ofyour accursed harbor yonder?"

"I did not know it, sir. I do know that the sons of Southern fathers andthe fathers themselves lie beside him. "

"But what was the use of it all? Damn the whole horrible crime! What wasthe use of it all?"

A weaker, smaller-brained man than Bodine would have retorted vehementlyin kind and left the place, but the captain was now on his mettle andmetaphorically in the field again, with the foe before him. What is more, he respected his enemy. This Northern man did not belong to theex-governor Moses type. He was outspoken and sincere to the heart's corein his convictions, and moreover that heart was bleeding in father-love, from a wound that could never be stanched. Bodine resolved to put allpassion under his feet, to hold his ground with the coolness and tenacityof a general in a battle, and attain his purpose without the slightestpersonal compromise. His indomitable pride led him to feel that he wouldrather work for this honest, implacable foe than for any man in the city, because their relations would be so purely those of business, and to bringhim to terms now would be a triumph over which he could inwardly rejoice. 

"Mr. Houghton, " he said, gravely, "we have wandered far from the topicwhich I at first introduced. Your reference to your son proves that youhave a heart; your management of business certifies to a large brain. Ithink our conversation has made it clear that we are both men of decidedconvictions and are not afraid to express them. If you were a lesser manthan you are, I would have shrugged my shoulders contemptuously and leftyour office long ago. Yet I am your equal, and you know it, although Ihave scarcely a penny in the world. I am also as honest as you are, and Iwould work for you all the more scrupulously because you detest me and allthat I represent. I, on the other hand, would not expect a single grain ofallowance or consideration, such as I might receive from a kindly disposedemployer. We would not compromise each other in the slightest degree byentering into the relations of employer and employed. I would obey yourorders as a soldier has learned to obey. Apart from business we should bestrangers. I knew we were hostile in our feelings, but I had theimpression--which I trust may be confirmed--that you were not acommonplace enemy. The only question between us is, 'Will you buy my laboras you would any other commodity in the Charleston market?'"

Captain Bodine's words proved his keen appreciation of character. The oldman unconsciously possessed the spirit of a soldier, and it had beenevoked by the honest, uncompromising attitude of the Southerner. Hisemotion passed away. His manner became as courteous as it was cold andimpassive. "You are right, sir, " he said, "we are hostile and willprobably ever remain so, but you have put things in a light which enablesme to comply with your wishes. I take you at your word, and will buy yourlabor as I would any other article of value. I know enough of life to beaware of the courtesy which occasionally exists between men whose feelingsand beliefs strongly conflict, yet I agree with you that, apart frombusiness, we can have little in common. When can you come?"

"To-morrow. "

"Are you willing to leave the question of compensation open till I canlearn what your services are actually worth?"

"I should prefer to have the question settled in that way. "

Both men arose. "Good-morning, Captain Bodine, " said the merchant, bowingslightly. "Good-morning, Mr. Houghton, " and the captain halted quietlyback to Mrs. Bodine's home of faded gentility. 

Mr. Houghton sat down at his desk and leaned his head thoughtfully uponhis hand. "I wouldn't have believed that I could have done this, " hemuttered. "If he had knuckled to me one iota I would have shown him thedoor; if he hadn't been so crippled--if he hadn't been so downright honestand brave--confound it! he almost made me feel both like killing him andtaking him by the hand. Oh, Herbert, my poor, lost boy, I don't wonderthat you and so many fine fellows had to die before such men wereconquered. "

CHAPTER XVII

FIRESIDE DRAMAS

Ella was so overjoyed at her prospects when all had been explained to her, that she insisted on Mara's spending the evening at the Bodines' so thather father might understand the whole arrangement. 

When she returned early in the afternoon, she found him, as Mara hadbefore, reading quietly at one of the parlor windows. He looked up withnot only glad welcome in his eyes, but also with much genuine interest, for he was anxious to learn what further impression Mara had made upon hisdaughter. The man who had accepted patient endurance as his lot, couldscarcely comprehend the profound impression made upon him by the child ofhis old friend. He had made no effort to analyze his feelings, notdreaming that there was any reason why he should do this. To his mindcircumstances and the girl herself were sufficient to account for thedeepest sympathy. Then that look with which she had regarded him on theprevious evening--he could never forget that while he lived. He thereforeregarded Ella's flushed, happy face, and said, "You seem to hesitate inletting your experiences be known, but I reckon, from the sparkle of youreyes, that you have had a good time. "

"Oh, papa, I have had a good time, so much more than a good time. Ihesitate because I don't know just how or where to begin--how to tell youall the good news. Dear papa, you have had so many more troubles than Ihave, and some perhaps which you think I do not share in very deeply. Itwas best for us both that I did not--too deeply. But you have a troublenow in which I do share more than you know, more than I wanted you toknow. We were here dependent on our dear old cousin who is so unselfishthat she would almost open her poor old veins for us. This was too hardfor either of us to endure very long, and I had made up my mind that Iwould do something to relieve you--that if Mara could earn money I could. "

"My dear child, I appreciate your feelings, and you have understood mine, but let me hasten to assure you that I have found a way by which I cansupport you and myself also. "

"You have? So soon? Oh, that is glorious. Tell me all about it. "

"No, indeed. Not till I have your wonderful news, and learn how youenjoyed your visit. "

"No more visiting for me, or rather perpetual visiting. Oh, papa, thinkwhat bliss! I'm to help Mara, work with Mara every day, and have a sharein the profits. "

The captain's face grew sad and almost stern. Ella understood himinstantly, and put her hand over his mouth as he was about to speak. "Now, papa, don't you perform the same little tragedy that I did. I know justhow you feel and what you are going to say. Mara had it in her mind themoment she heard I was in town and--"

"Ella, " interrupted her father, firmly, "I do not often cross you, but youmust let me decide this question. Mara is capable of any degree ofself-sacrifice, of even something like a noble deception in this case. No, this cannot be. I would protect that girl even as I would you, and youboth need protection against your own generous impulses more than allelse. "

In vain she tried to explain, and recounted minutely all that hadhappened. The captain was so deeply touched that his eyes grew dim withmoisture. Again he exclaimed, "Would to God Sidney Wallingford had lived, even though poor and crippled as I am, that he might have worshipped thisnoble-hearted, generous girl. She has indeed a rare nature. She carriedout her self-sacrificing purpose well, but I understand her better thanyou do, my dear. With all a woman's wit, tact, and heart she deceived youand would deceive us all. She would smile in triumph as she denied herselffor our sakes what she most needed. But, Ella, you know we cannot let herdo this. "

The girl was staggered and in sore perplexity. Her father's view was notpleasing to her ingenuous nature; there had been a sincerity in Mara'swords and manner which had been confirmed not only by circumstances, butalso by Aun' Sheba's hearty approval. "I shall be sorry if what you thinkis true, " she said, sadly. "I don't wish to be deceived, not even fromsuch motives as you attribute to Mara, and, of course, she could have noothers if you are right. But how can you be right? There was such a verityabout it all. Why, papa, when at first I imagined that Mara might havethought I had been hinting in my very foolish talk that I wished whatafterward took place, I was so overwhelmed with shame that I could hardlyspeak. If you had seen how she reassured me, and heard her earnest words, declaring she needed me--oh, if that was all deception, even from thekindest and noblest motive, I should be wounded to the heart, I couldnever be sure of Mara again and scarcely of any one else. I can't think asyou do. Let us ask Cousin and see what she thinks. "

The captain was now in perplexity himself, yet he held to his firstimpression. "I admit, " he said, hesitatingly, "that it was not the wisestcourse on Mara's part, yet often the best people, especially when young, ardent, and a little morbid, are led by the noblest motives to do what isunwise and scarcely right. Mara is not an ordinary girl, and cannot bejudged by common standards. Be assured, she would die rather than deceiveyou to your harm, but a purpose to do you good might confuse both herjudgment and conscience, especially if it involved self-sacrifice on herpart. You must not blame me if I wish to be more thoroughly convinced. Yes, you can ask Cousin Sophy's opinion if you wish. "

"Then come with me, papa, and state your case as strongly as you can. I'drather go hungry than go forward another step if you are right. "

The wise old lady, who could talk by the hour on most occasions, listenedto both sides of the question and then remarked with sphinx-likeambiguity. "Your father, Ella, has obtained a remarkably correct idea ofMara's character. You know I told her in your hearing that she had apassion for self-sacrifice, and was prone to take a morbid sense of duty. At the same time, I do not by any means say he is right in this particularinstance. Mara is coming this evening--let her satisfy you both in her ownway. I have my opinion, but would rather she would make the matter plainto you. "

The shrewd old lady, to whom the wheels of time often seemed to moveslowly, was bent on a bit of drama at her own fireside, at the same timebelieving that a word, a tone, or even a glance from the young girlherself would have more power to banish the captain's doubts than anythingshe could say. "And yet, " thought Mrs. Bodine, "Mara is capable of justthis very kind of dissimulation. "

Evening in the South differs slightly from our late afternoon, and the sunwas scarcely below the horizon when Mara arrived under the escort of Mrs. Hunter, who had also been invited. Therefore Ella in her feverishimpatience had not long to wait. 

Mrs. Bodine's simple meal was over, and after having had a fire lighted onthe parlor hearth, she had ensconced herself in a low rocking-chair inreadiness to receive her guests. There was a sort of stately cordiality inthe meeting between her and Mrs. Hunter, quiet courtesy on the part ofCaptain Bodine toward all, while honest Ella could not banish a slightconstraint from her manner. Mara gradually became conscious of this andwondered at it. She also soon observed that no reference was made to thecompact of the morning, and this perplexed her still more. 

Meanwhile, Mrs. Bodine, having all the dramatis personae about her, wascomplacency embodied, and not averse to taking a part in the little playherself. She managed at first that the conversation should be general. Sheserenely indulged in reminiscences which waked others from Mrs. Hunter, and even the captain was beguiled into half-humorous old-time anecdotesabout some one they all knew. 

"Well, " ejaculated Mrs. Bodine, sighing, "that--oh, good gracious! whatwas I going to say? Cousin Hugh, you can remember that my most excellenthusband accustomed me to rather strong adjectives. Well, that hardheartedold wretch, Mr. Houghton, eventually got all the property of the poor manwe were talking about. "

"Did he?" said the captain, quietly. "Well, I reckon I'll get some of itback again. "

"You? I'd like to know how. He'd take your head off at one bite if hecould. "

"I reckon he would; he looked so inclined this morning. I spent half anhour alone with him this morning, and am going to work for him to-morrow. "

The general exclamations amounted to a chorus, and Mrs. Hunter, bridling, began formally and almost severely, "Pardon me, Captain Bodine, I do notwish to be presuming or officious, but I fear you have been absent fromthe city so long that you are not aware of the general estimation in whichthis Northern carpet-bagger is held. "

"I certainly have had a chance to form my own opinion of him, Mrs. Hunter, and I reckon that he and I will not be any better friends than he and youwould be. "

"Friends, " ejaculated the old lady, "I could annihilate him. Oh, CaptainBodine, believe me, you have made a mistake. What will be left of our pastif the best and bravest of our number strike hands with these vampires ofthe North?"

"I have not struck hands with him, nor do I ever expect to. "

"Hugh, Cousin Hugh, " protested Mrs. Bodine, "I don't understand this moveat all. "

"Papa, " cried Ella, with her arms about his neck, "you have done this formy sake, so do please give it up for my sake. Some other way will beprovided for us. "

"Mara, are you, too, down on me?"

"No, sir, never; but I'll share my last crust with you if you will havenothing to do with that man. "

"I thought so, you brave, generous girl. That was like your father, andreminds me of a bit of experience. We were on a forced march, and theprovision train had not kept up. It was night, and we were too weary tohunt around for a morsel. Wallingford (he was major then) came to me andsaid, 'Bodine, I've a hard tack and one cup of coffee. We'll go halves, 'and so we did. He was so impolite as to take his half first. Do you knowwhy?"

"I can guess, " she replied with downcast brimming eyes. 

"I reckon you can--you of all others; but he didn't succeed. I turned onhim in mock severity and remarked, 'Major Wallingford, I never thought youwould try to overreach an old friend. See, you have scarcely taken over athird of the coffee and hard tack. ' He slapped me on the back and declaredhe would have me arrested for insubordinate and disrespectful language. Considering what sleepy, jaded men we were, we had a lot of fun over thatmeagre banquet, but he had to yield even if he were my superior. I fearyou are inclined to go halves just like your father. "

"Well, Hugh, " cried Mrs. Bodine impatiently, "even that is better thanyour taking whatever this--this--I want an adjective that is not toowicked. "

"No matter, Cousin Sophy, we'll each supply one according to our owndegree of wickedness. A Yankee would say 'darned' though, confound thefellows, they seem to learn to fight and swear in equal degrees. "

"I won't say 'darned, '" said the old lady, almost trembling in herirritation and excitement, for she was being treated to more of a dramathan she had bargained for. "It is a word I never heard my husband use. Bah! all words are inadequate. I say anything is better than that youshould go to this old Houghton for what little he may choose to give you. "

"Now, I appeal to you, Mara--is this fair, four against one?"

"But, dear Captain Bodine, you don't know how deeply we feel about this. "

"Ah, that is the charge our enemies bring against us. We _feel_, but don'treason, they say. We have much reason to retort, 'You reason, but have nofeeling and little comprehension for those that have. ' Come, I will beserious now, " and his expression became grave and firm. "Cousin Sophy, Mr. Houghton will never give me a penny, nor would I take a gift from him evenif starving, yet I have a genuine respect for the man. Let me, as asoldier, illustrate my course, and then I will explain more fully. SupposeI was on a march and was hungry. On one hand were ample provisions in thecamp of the enemy; on the other a small farmhouse occupied by friends whohad already been robbed of nearly all they had. If I went to these friendsthey would, as Mara has said, share their last crust. Do you not think itwould be more in accordance with the feelings of a man to make a dash atthe enemy's overflowing larder, and not only get what I needed but alsobring away something for my impoverished friends? I reckon it would. Imuch prefer spoiling the Egyptians, cost me what it may. My dear child, "turning to Mara, "do you think I would take half your crust when I knowyou need the whole of it? No, indeed. Then you must remember that we gotin the habit of living off the enemy during the war. To drop all thisfigurative talk, let me put the matter in plain English, as I did to Mr. Houghton this morning. We had a pretty hot action, I can tell you. Therewas no compromise in word or manner on either side, but he listened toreason, and so will you. Pick out your most blue-blooded, stanchest SouthCarolinians, in the city, and they deal with Mr. Houghton. They sell tohim; they buy of him, and there it all ends. I have no cotton to sell, butI told him to regard my labor as a bale of cotton and to buy it, if he sowished, at what it was worth. I also told him that apart from our businessrelations we would be strangers, so you see I am neither better nor worse, practically, no different from other Charlestonians. "

Mrs. Bodine leaned back in her chair, and laughed till the tears came intoher eyes. "I do declare, " she gasped: "God made men different from women, and I reckon He knew what He was about. I surrender, Cousin Hugh. Yourargument has blown me out of the water. Spoil this old Egyptian to yourheart's content, only remember when there are no Egyptians to spoil, ifyou don't come to your friends you will have one savage old woman to dealwith. "

Mrs. Hunter shook her head dubiously. "I don't know what to think of allthis, " she said. "It appears to me that it tends to break down thepartition wall between us and those from whom we have received wrongswhich should never be forgiven. "

"My dear Mrs. Hunter, " replied the captain, urbanely, "the more thepartition wall is broken down in one sense, the better. Isn't it wiser forme to get money out of Mr. Houghton than to sulk and starve? I _had_ tobreak through the wall to get bread. Of course, " he added quietly, "we allunderstand one another. My military figures of speech must not be pressedtoo far. I do not propose to knock Mr. Houghton on the head, or even takethe smallest possible advantage of him. On the contrary, because we arehostile, I shall be over-scrupulous, if possible, to do his work well. From him, as I told him, I expect not the slightest allowance, consideration, or kindness. "

"Oh, " thought Mara, "how clearly he has put my own thought and wish. Whycould not Owen Clancy have earned his own bread and mine by taking thecourse of this brave Southern man? I have been shown to-night how noble, how dignified and how easy it was. Why should he talk of love when he willnot see what is so reasonable in the action of another?"

"Cousin Hugh, you said one thing which needs explanation. You said you hada respect for this man floughton, who we all know has not a particle ofgood-will toward us. "

"Chiefly because he is such an honest enemy, " Bodine replied. "He makeshard bargains with our people when he can, but have you ever heard of hischeating or doing anything underhand? I learned a good deal about hisbusiness character while in Georgia, and his course to-day correspondedwith what I had been told. Moreover, his feelings got the better of him, and he revealed in one passionate sentence that his eldest son was killed, and, as he says, lies at the bottom of our harbor here. This fact enabledme to stand better what I had to take from him, " and in answer to hiscousin's questions he revealed the substance of the interview. "I dothis, " he concluded, "that you and other friends may better understand mycourse. To-morrow Mr. Houghton becomes my employer, and I shall owe acertain kind of loyalty. The more seldom we mention his name thereafter, the better; and I shall never speak of him except in terms of coldrespect. "

"Since you have told me about his son, " said Mrs. Bodine, "I won't availmyself of the privilege of freeing my mind to-night, even if it will be mylast chance, that is when you are present. After all, why should I beratehim? In one aspect he is to me a sort of ogre representing all that isharsh, intolerant and cruel, rejoicing in his power to drain thelife-blood of a conquered and impoverished people; yet he rose before meas you spoke as a heartbroken father, warped and made unnatural by pain, haunted by the ghost of his son whom his arms cannot embrace. Sometimeswhen thinking alone, the people of the world seem like a lot of squabblingchildren, with only degrees of badness and goodness between them. Childrenmake no allowances for each other. It is like or dislike, quick andmanifested. It is well there is a Heavenly Father over all who may leadone and all of us 'to make up' some day. I tell you what it is, Hugh, wemay all have to shake hands in Heaven. "

"Like enough, Cousin Sophy. In matters pertaining to Heaven you are abetter authority than I am. "

"For very good reason. Heaven is nearest those who feel its need most. Youmay think I am a queer Christian, and I sometimes think so myself--hatingsome people as near as I dare, and calling old Houghton a wretch. Don't Iknow about his heartache? Who better than I? God knows I would give hisson back to him if I could. God knows I can almost swear at him; He knowsalso that if he were brought into this house wounded I'd nurse him with myfeeble hand as I would you, Cousin Hugh, but I would be apt to say when hegot well (and here came in her little chirping laugh), 'Good sir, I havenot the slightest objection to your going back to Massachusetts, bag andbaggage. ' By the way, he has another son who has not been much inCharleston--being educated at the North, they say. He must be a grown mannow. I was told that when here last he resented the fact bitterly thatthere was some society in town which he could not enter. "

"I reckon not, " remarked Mrs. Hunter, grimly, and then followed somedesultory conversation between the two elder ladies. 

As was frequently his custom--in common with men whose past is more thantheir future promises to be--the captain had lapsed into a train ofthought which took him far away from present surroundings. He was rousedby Mrs. Hunter's preparations for departure, and looking suddenly at Mara, saw that her eyes were filled with tears. He was at her side instantly, and, taking her hand, asked gently, "What troubles you, my child?"

With bowed head she replied: "I understand you, Captain Bodine; your wordshave made everything clear to me. "

He still held her hand and thought a moment. "About Ella's coming to you?"he asked. 

"Yes, I'm not one of the Egyptians, but I'd so set my heart on it. "

"Because of _your_ need, not Ella's?" again the captain queried, while hisgrasp on her hand tightened. 

"Oh, Captain Bodine, do you think I could deceive you or a girl like Ellaunder any circumstances? If she did not come after to-day I feel that Ishould give up in despair very soon. I do need help, and just such help tobody and mind as she can give me. "

"Forgive me, Mara. The little story I told about your father explains whyI feared. But we will say no more about it. I would rather have Ella withyou than with any one else in the world. "

"There, " cried that buoyant young woman, "I knew I was right. Out of themouths of babes and sucklings you old people are destined to learnwisdom. "

"Well, " said Mrs. Bodine, "I've had more drama tonight than I reckoned on, and I haven't been leading lady either. Will the chief baker escort me tothe dining-room?"

After cake and cream, the captain escorted Mrs. Hunter and Mara home. Hedetained the latter at the door a moment, and said gently, "Mara, shun thechief danger of your life. Never be unfair to yourself. "

CHAPTER XVIII

A FAIR DUELLIST

The great hand of time which turns the kaleidoscope of human affairsappeared to move slowly for a few weeks, as far as the characters of mystory are concerned. The two little bakers worked together daily, oneabounding in mirth and drollery, and the other cheered, or rather beguiledfrom melancholy in spite of herself. Business grew apace, not only becausetwo girls who evoked general sympathy were the principals of the firm, butalso for the reason that they put something of their own dainty naturesinto their wares. Aun' Sheba trudged and perspired in moderation, for thefleet-footed Vilet seemed to outrun Mercury. Moreover, the "head-pahners, "as Aun' Sheba called them, insisted that their commercial travellersshould take the street-cars when long distances were involved. 

Captain Bodine and Mr. Houghton maintained their business relation in thecharacteristic manner indicated by their first interview. Theex-Confederate was given some routine work which kept him at a remote deska certain number of hours a day, and employer and employee rarely met, andscarcely ever spoke to each other. The captain, however, had no reason tocomplain of his salary, which was paid weekly, and sufficed for his modestneeds. So far from being dependent on his large-hearted cousin, he andElla were enabled to contribute much to her material comfort, andimmeasurably to her daily enjoyment. She and Ella were in the sunshineagain, and it was hard to say which of the two talked the most genialnonsense. The old lady had what is termed "a sweet tooth, " and loveddainties. The two girls, therefore, vied with each other in evolving rareand harmless delicacies. 

"Two Ariels are ministering to me, " she said, "and sometimes I feel sojolly that I would like to share with that old--I mean Mr. Houghton. "

The girls never forgot, however, the depths beneath the ripple and sparkleof the old lady's manner. 

As spring verged into summer, Uncle Sheba yielded more and more to thelassitude of the season. His "bobscure 'fliction" seemed to grow upon him, if it were possible to note degrees in his malady, but Aun' Sheba said, "'Long as he is roun' like a log an' don' bodder me I is use' ter it. " Heeven began to neglect the "prar-meetin', " and old Tobe told him to hisface, "You'se back-slidin' fur as you kin slide, inch or so. " Hisson-in-law, Kern Watson, had won such a good reputation for steadinessthat he was taken into the fire department. When off duty he was alwayswith "Sissy an' de chilen. "

Outwardly there was but slight change in Owen Clancy. He had never beeninclined to make many intimate acquaintances, and those who knew him bestonly noted that he seemed more reserved about himself if possible, andthat he was unusually devoted to business. Yet he was much spoken of inbusiness circles, for it was known that he was the chief correspondent ofthe wealthy Mr. Ainsley of New York, who was making large investments inthe South. Among the progressive men of the city, no matter what might betheir political faith and association, the young man was winning goldenopinions, for it was clearly recognized that he ever had the interest ofhis section at heart, that in a straightforward, honorable manner he wasmaking every effort to enlist Northern capital in Southern enterprises. Hehad withdrawn almost wholly from social life, and ladies saw him butseldom in their drawing-rooms. When among men, however, he talkedearnestly and sagaciously on the business topics of the hour. The eveningusually found him with book in hand in his bachelor apartment. 

Beneath all this ordinary ebb and flow of daily life, changes were takingplace, old forces working silently, and new ones entering in to complicatethe problems of the future. As unobtrusively as possible, Clancy kepthimself informed about Mara and all that related to her welfare. By somemalign fate, as she deemed it, she would unexpectedly hear of him, encounter him on the street, also, yet rarely now, meet him at some smallevening company. He would permit no open estrangement, and alwayscompelled her to recognize him. One evening, to her astonishment andmomentary confusion he quietly took a seat by her side and entered intoconversation, as he might have done with other ladies present. By neithertone nor glance did he recognize any cause for estrangement between them, and he talked so intelligently and agreeably as to compel her admiration. His mask was perfect, and after an instant hers was equally so, yet allthe time she was as conscious of his love as of her own. 

He recognized the new element which the Bodines had brought into her life, and with a lover's keen instinct began to surmise what the captain mightbecome to her. He was not long in discovering the former relations of theveteran to Colonel Wallingford, and he justly believed that, as yet, Mara's regard was largely the result of that old friendship and an entireaccordance in views. But he was not so sure about Bodine, whom he knew butslightly and with whom he had no sympathy. He had learned substantiallythe ground on which the captain had taken employment from Mr. Houghton, and as we know, he was bitterly hostile to that whole line of policy. "Itwould eventually turn every Southern man into a clerk, " he muttered, "whenit is our patriotic duty to lead in business as in everything else thatpertains to our section. " Yet he knew, or at least believed, that if hehad taken the same course Mara might now be his wife. 

Sometimes, when reading, apparently, he would throw down his book and sayaloud in his solitude, "Bah, I'm more loyal to the South than thissombre-faced veteran. He would keep his State forever in his own crippledcondition. No crutches for the South, I say; no general clerkship to theNorth, but an equal onward march, side by side, to one national destiny. He thinks he is a martyr and may very complacently let Mara think so too. Who has given up the more? He a leg, and I my heart's love!"

It has already been shown that Clancy touched the extremes of politicaland social life in the city. Some, of whom Mrs. Hunter was an exasperatedexponent, could be cold toward him, but they could neither ignore nordespise him. Those beginning to cast off the fetters of enmity andprejudice, secretly admired him and were friendly. While cordial in hisrelations, therefore, with Northern people and Northern enterprises of theright stamp, he had not so lost his hold on Mara's exclusive circle as toremain in ignorance of what was transpiring within it, and he secretlyresolved that if Bodine sought to take the girl of his heart from him, and, as he truly believed, from all chance of true happiness herself, hewould give as earnest a warning as ever one soul gave to another. 

In June he received a strong diversion to his thoughts. Mr. Ainsley wrotehim from New York, in effect, that he with his daughter would soon be inCharleston--that his interests in the South had become so large as torequire personal attention; also that he had new enterprises in view. Theyoung man's interest and ambition were naturally kindled. As Mara hadtaken the Bodines and their affairs as an antidote for her trouble, hesought relief in the preoccupation which the Ainsleys might bring to hismind. Accordingly he met father and daughter at the station and escortedthem to the hotel with some degree of pleasurable excitement. 

Miss Ainsley made the same impression of remarkable beauty andcosmopolitan culture as at first. There was a refined, easy poise in herbearing. Indeed he almost fancied that, to her mind, coming to Charlestonwas a sort of condescension, she had visited so many famous cities in theworld. She greeted him cordially, and to a vain man her brilliant eyeswould have expressed more than the mere pleasure of seeing an oldacquaintance again. 

But few days elapsed before Mr. Ainsley was on the wing, here and therewhere his interests called him, meantime making the Charleston hotel hisheadquarters. Miss Ainsley's friend, Mrs. Willoughby, carried off thedaughter to her pretty home on the Battery, where sea-breezes tempered theSouthern sun. Clancy aided the father satisfactorily in business ways, andthe daughter found him so agreeable socially as to manifest a wish to seehim often. She interested him as a _"rara avis"_ which he felt that hewould like to understand better, and he would have been less than a man ifnot fascinated by her beauty, accomplishments and intelligence. MissAinsley could not fail to charm the eyes of sense as well, and she was notchary of the secret that she had been fashioned in one of Nature's finestmolds. The soft, warm languor of the summer evenings was, to her, ampleexcuse for revealing the glowing marble of her neck and bosom to darkSouthern eyes, and admirers began to gather like bees to honey ready made. 

Clancy had wished to see her deportment toward other young men, and nowhad the opportunity. The result flattered him in spite of himself. Toothers she was courteous, affable and sublimely indifferent. When heapproached it seemed almost as if a film passed from her eyes, that sheawakened into a fuller life and became an enchantress in her versatilepowers. He responded with as fine a courtesy as her own, although quitedifferent, but there was a cool, steady self-restraint in eyes and mannerwhich piqued and charmed her. 

Clancy would be long in learning to understand Miss Ainsley. He mightnever reach the secret of her life, and certainly would not unless hebluntly asked her to marry him--asked her so bluntly and persistently thatall the wiles of which woman is capable opened no avenue of escape. Shewas an epicure of the finest type. If she had been asked to a banquet onMount Olympus, she would have preferred to dine from the one deliciousdish of ambrosia most to her taste and to sip only the choicest brand ofnectar. Profusion, even at a feast of the gods, would have no charms forher. She had begun to see the world so early and had seen so much of itthat she had learned the art of elimination to perfection. Sensuous to thelast degree, but not sensual, she had a cool self-control and a finenessof taste which led her to choose but a few refined pleasures at a time andthen to enjoy them deliberately and until satiety pointed to a new choice. Keen of intellect, she had studied society and with almost the skill of anaturalist had recognized the various types of men and women. This coolobservation had taught her much worldly wisdom. She saw all about her, mere girls jaded with life already, faded young women keeping up with thefashionable procession as fagged out soldiers drag themselves along in therear of a column. She had seen fresh young _debutantes_ rush into thegiddy whirl to become pallid from the excess of one season. At one time, she and other friends of hers had been exultant, excited and distracted bytheir many admirers and suitors. She soon wearied, however, of thisindiscriminate slaughter, and the devoted eager attentions, the manifestdesires and hopes of commonplace men, so far from kindling a sense oftriumph and power, almost made her ill. She became like a knight of theolden time who had hewn down inferiors until he was sick of gore. 

And so she gradually withdrew from the fashionable rout, took time forreading and study and the perfection of her accomplishments. She acceptedmerely such invitations as were agreeable to her, smiling contemptuouslyat the idea that in order to maintain position in society one must wearherself out by rushing around to everything; and society respected her allthe more. It became a triumph to secure her presence; but she only wentwhere everything would accord with her taste and inclination. This wastrue of her life abroad as well as at home. Conscious of her father'swealth, and that, apart from an unexacting companionship to him, she coulddo as she pleased, she proposed to make the most of life as she estimatedit. She would have all the variety she wished, but she would take itleisurely. She would not perpetrate the folly of gulping pleasures, stillless would she permit herself to fall tumultuously in love with someordinary man only to waken from a romantic dream to discover how ordinaryhe was. 

She was also too shrewd, indeed one may almost say too wise, to think ofan ambitious marriage. The man of millions or the man of rank or famecould never buy her unless personally agreeable to her. Yet she was rarelywithout a suitor, whom to a certain point she encouraged. Unless a manpossessed some real or fancied superiority which pleased or interestedher, she was practically inaccessible to him. She would be courtesyitself, yet by her strong will and tact would speedily make a gentlemanunderstand, "You have no claim upon me; your wishes are nothing to me. " Ifhe interested her, however, if she admired him even slightly, she wouldgive him what she might term a chance. Then to her mind their relationsbecame much like a duel; she at least would conquer him; he might subdueher if he could; she would give him the opportunity, and if he could finda weak place in her polished armor and pierce her heart she would yield. The question was whether she had a heart, and she was not altogether sureof this herself. On one thing, however, she was resolved--she would notgive up her liberty, ease and epicurean life for the duties, obligationsand probable sorrows of wifehood, unless she met a man who had the powerto make this course preferable. 

During Clancy's visit to New York in the winter, Mr. Ainsley had spoken ofhim to his daughter in terms that interested her before she even saw theyoung man, and the moment the experienced woman of the world (for she wasa woman of the world, though but little past her majority) looked upon himshe was still more interested, recognizing at a glance the truth thatwhatever Clancy might be, he was not commonplace. This explains why he wasperplexed by the intentness and soft fire of her eyes. If the way opened, she was inclined to give him "a chance. " It might cost him dear, as it hadothers, but that was his affair. She felt that he was highly honored anddistinguished in being given what she contemptuously denied to the greatmajority. The way _had_ opened. She was in Charleston, and now, thisparticular and lovely June evening found her on a balcony overlooking theshining ripples of the bay, reclining in a cane chair with her headleaning against a pillar and her eyes fixed on him with all the dangerousfascination they possessed. Some soft, white clinging material draped herform that was rendered more graceful than usual by her well-chosenattitude. A spray from an ivy vine hung above her, and its slightly movingshadow flickered on her throat and bosom. She knew she was entrancinglybeautiful; so did he. He felt that if he were an artist nothing was leftto be desired. As a man he was flattered with her preference and charmedwith her beauty. He did not and could not believe that he had more than apassing interest in her mind as yet, and he felt that she would never bemore to him than a gifted lovely friend, who could at one and the sametime gratify his taste and bestow fine intellectual companionship. Theytalked freely with lapses of silence between them. These she wouldoccasionally break with little snatches of song from some opera. Herfamiliarity with life abroad enabled her to say much which supplementedhis reading and which interested him. So he was not averse to theseinterviews and was conscious of no danger. 

To her they had an increasing pleasure. She was delighted that Clancythawed so deliberately, that instead of speedily verging toward sentimenthe found more pleasure in her intellectuality than in her outward beauty. So many others to whom she had given a chance had quickly lost both theirheads and hearts, and she was beginning to rejoice in the belief that itmight require a summer's tactics to beguile him of either. His gray eyes, which appeared dark in the moonlight, were clearly regarding her withquiet admiration, but instead of paying a compliment he would broach sometopic so interesting in itself that before she knew it she was talkingwell and even brilliantly. 

This present evening he did pay her a compliment, however, which delightedher. She had stated her view of a subject, and he had replied, "I mustdiffer with you most decidedly, Miss Amsley. " Then he added with a littleapologetic laugh, "I could have made such a remark to very few ladies. Iwould have said, 'I beg your pardon, do not think I am contradicting you, but possibly on further reflection--' In brief, I would have gone throughthe whole conventional circumlocution. You are a woman of mind, and youput your views so strongly and clearly that I forget everything exceptyour thought. Good reason why, your thought is so interesting, all themore so because it is your view, not mine, and because I do not agree withyou. Have I made sufficient apology?"

"You have done much more, Mr. Clancy, you have paid me the only kind of acompliment that I enjoy. I am sick of conventionalities, and as forordinary compliments, I am as satiated as one would be if the entirecontents of Huyler's candy-shop had been sent to him. "

"Oh, I knew that much before I had seen you five minutes. The onlyquestion in my mind was whether you had not been made ill mentally by themas one would be physically by the candy. "

"In other words, whether I was a fool or not. "

"Precisely. "

"Well?"

"No need of that rising inflection. If you were a fool I would not behere. "

"I reckon not, as you say in the South. "

"Yet you value your beauty, Miss Ainsley. "

"Indeed I do, very highly. "

"And you know equally well that I admire it greatly, but I value yourpower of companionship more. Why should not a man and woman entertain eachother without compliments, conventionalities and sentimentalities?"

"No reason in the world if they are capable of such companionship. Thetrouble with so many is that they tumble into these things, especially thelast, as if they were blind ditches in their path. "

"That is excellent. Do you regard love as a blind ditch?"

"The deepest and worst of them all, judging from the experiences of verymany. "

"I am inclined to agree with you, " he answered very quietly. 

A few moments later he rose to take his leave. She gave him her handwithout rising, and said, "Good-night. I'm not going to leave this lovelyscene till I am sleepy. Come again when you want companionship. Dropconventionality I would like a friend who would talk to me as men ofbrains talk to men of brains, without circumlocution. "

"Very well, then, I shall begin at once. You have a head that ought toinspire an artist, but I like its furniture. I am going to read up on ourpoint of disagreement. If I actually prove you are wrong you must yieldlike a man. "

"I will. "

The smile on her lips still lingered as she looked out upon the moonlitwaters, and she passed into a delicious revery. At last she murmured, "Yes, he has a chance. I don't know how it will end. I may yield to hisargument, but as to yielding to him, that is another affair. The best partof it all is that he is so slow in yielding to me. Here, in thisout-of-the-way corner of the world, is a cup that I can at least drainslowly. "

Clancy sauntered up Meeting Street, his thoughts preoccupied with theinterview. Then half a block in advance two persons entered thethoroughfare, and he recognized Captain Bodine and Mara. He crossed thestreet so as not to meet them, and they passed in low, earnestconversation. If Miss Ainsley had been in the furthest star, he would nothave cared. Every drop of his Southern blood was fired, and, with clinchedhands, he strode homeward, and passed a sleepless night. 

CHAPTER XIX

A CHIVALROUS IMPULSE

It must be admitted that Clancy had some cause for his perturbation. Captain Bodine was a middle-aged man, who had had deep, if not wideexperiences. He had come to regard himself as saddened and way-worn, halting slowly down the westward slope of life, away from the exaltationsof vanished joys, and the almost despairing grief of former sorrows. 

Memory kept both in sharp outline; nevertheless they were receding, as dohills and mountains which the traveller leaves behind him. The veteran hadbelieved that he had no future besides earning an honest living, andproviding for his beloved child. 

The traveller--to employ again the figure--often journeys forward in whatpromises to be a monotonous road. He is not expecting anything, nor is helooking forward to any material change. Unawares he surmounts a littleeminence, and there opens a vista which kindles his dull eyes with itsbeauty, and stirs his heavy heart with the suggestion that he has notpassed by and beyond all the best things of life. 

Mara's glance of profound and intelligent sympathy had opened such a vistato Bodine's mental vision. It had been enough then; it had been enoughsince, in the main, that she was the daughter of his old and dearestfriend, and that their thoughts, beliefs and sorrows were in such completeaccord. Mara had become his daughter's closest friend, as well asco-laborer, and so he heard of her daily, and saw her very often. All thathe saw and heard confirmed and deepened his first impressions. Acompanionship, wonderfully sweet and cheering, was growing between them. He had not yet begun to analyze this, or to recognize whither it wastending, while not a shadow of suspicion crossed her mind. She only feltthat she had found a friend who diverted her thoughts, solaced all hertrouble, and made the past, to which she believed she belonged, more real, more full of precious memories. The days in the main were passing quietlyand evenly for both, full of work and deeply interesting thoughts, and thedelightful reunions around the chair of the genial invalid, Mrs. Bodine, increased in number. 

The old lady talked and acted as if she had emerged into the warmestsunshine of prosperity, and only Ella could surpass her in blitheness ofspirit and comical speeches. They caricatured each other, every one, everything, yet without a particle of malice. Even poor old Mrs. Huntersometimes had to relax her grim rigidity, and Bodine often laughed withthe hearty ring of his old campaigning days. At times Mara was beguiledinto the belief that she was happy, that her deep wound was healing. Theillusion would last for days together; then something unexpected wouldoccur, and the love of her heart would reveal itself in bitter out-cryagainst its wrong. If she could only see Clancy in some light which herveritable God-bestowed conscience could condemn, she believed that herstruggle would be much easier; but he always confronted her with hisearnest, steady eyes, which said, "I have as true a right to think as Ido, as you have to think differently. Not even for your sake will I befalse. " Thus after days of comparative peace, the tempest would again ragein her soul. 

Buoyant, happy Ella felt now as if she could trip on through lifeindefinitely; but one summer morning she tripped into a little adventurewhich brought unwonted expressions of perplexity into her fair face. Shewas returning along the shady side of the street from her duties, her facelike a blush-rose from the heat, when she observed coming toward her ayoung man who, from his garb and bearing, caught her eyes. Pretty Ellaknew she attracted a great deal of attention from the opposite sex whenshe appeared in the street, and she was not such a demure little saint asto let a fine, manly figure pass without her observation, but herobservance was quick, furtive, like the motion of a bird's eye that looksyou over before you are aware of the bird's presence. No staring fellowever met her blue eyes in the street. On the present occasion the littlemaiden said to herself, "There's a style of a man I haven't seen, and he'sevidently a Northerner, too. Well, he's not bad; indeed he is thebest-looking Vandal, as Mrs. Hunter would say--Oh, merciful Heaven! thatold woman will be run over. "

Her commentary had been interrupted by an express wagon driven recklesslyaround the corner. Picking her way slowly across the street was a plain, respectable looking old woman, with a basket of parcels on her arm, and, at the moment of Ella's cry, she was almost under the horse's feet, paralyzed with terror. Her cry caught the young man's attention. With asingle bound, he was in the street, his right hand and arm forcing thehorse back on its haunches, while with his left he gathered up the oldwoman. Then by a powerful effort he threw the horse's head andforequarters away from him with such force that the shafts cracked. Bearing the woman to the sidewalk, he placed her upon her feet, then wentback, picked up her parcels and placed them in her basket. Without waitingto hear her thanks, he lifted his hat and was turning away as if all hadbeen a trifle, when he was confronted by the enraged expressman pouringforth volleys of vituperation. With a chivalric impulse the girl drewnearer the stranger, who looked the bully steadily in the eyes while hekept his hands in his pockets. The man made a gesture as if to strike. Instantly the young fellow's left arm was up in the most scientificattitude of self-defence. "Don't do that, you fool, " he said. "Are you toodrunk not to see that I'm strong? Clear out, or I'll have you arrested. Ifyou touch me, I'll knock you under the feet of your horse. "

There was something in the athlete's bearing, and the way he put up hisleft arm, which brought the expressman to his senses, and he drew offswearing about the blanked "Northerners, who acted as if they owned thecity. "

George Houghton--for we may as well give his name at once--regarded thefellow contemptuously an instant, and again turned to pursue his wayregardless of the gathering crowd. But his attention was at once arrestedby a pair of blue eyes which were so eloquent with admiration andapproval, that he smiled and again lifted his hat. 

"You are a gentleman, " Ella breathed softly, the words coming withscarcely any volition on her part. 

A frown instantly darkened Houghton's face, and, with a slight, stiffacknowledgment, he strode away. "Why the deuce shouldn't I be agentleman!" he muttered. "The very young girls of this town are taught tolook upon Northerners as boors. One has only to save an old woman frombeing run over, face a blackguard, and the wondering expression is wrungfrom one of the blue-blooded scions, 'You're a gentleman!' And she wasblue-blooded. A fellow with half an eye and in half a minute could seethat. And I suppose she thought that one of my ilk was no more capable ofsuch a deed than Toots or Uriah Heep. Bah!"

Having thus relieved his mind, young Houghton's step soon grew slower andslower. It was evident that a new and different train of thought had begunin his mind. At last, with characteristic force, he communed with himself:

"Thin-skinned fool! why didn't I look at the girl instead of thinking ofmy blasted self and pride! Why, that girl's face will haunt me for many aday, whether I ever see her again or not. I'm as bad as these Bourbonsthemselves in my prejudice. Now I think of it she stood almost alone at myside when others were keeping at a safer distance, fearing a fight. Herlook was one of simple, ingenuous approval--almost the expression of achild, and I acted like a brute. That's the Old Harry with me, I act firstand think afterward. "

A few minutes later he was at the office, and writing rapidly at hisfather's dictation. After a time Mr. Houghton said, "Take these twoletters to Bodine's desk, and tell him to make copies. Then you can go, George. Your vacation is too new for me to take so much of your time. "

"See here, father, " replied the young man, putting his hand on the oldgentleman's shoulder. "You've been here all these years working likethunder to make money, and I've been spending it like thunder. If you'regoing to keep on working, I'm going to work with you; if you'll knock offand go on a lark with me, I'll guarantee that you'll be ten years youngerbefore fall. "

The old man's face softened wonderfully. Indeed one could scarcely imagineit was capable of such an expression. 

"Ah, George! you don't, you can't know, " he said, "yet my heart is not sodead but that I feel and recognize the spirit in which you speak. My placeis here, right here, and I should not be contented anywhere else. But youare just from your studies. You didn't dazzle the faculty by yourperformances. Perhaps they would say you were a little too much given toboating and that sort of thing. But I am satisfied that you have come homea man, and not a blue-spectacled milk-sop. Help me out a little, and thengo off on your lark yourself and recuperate. "

"Recuperate!" and the young fellow made the office ring with his laugh. "Feel of that muscle, old gentleman. All the recuperation I need I can geta few hours before and after sundown. I'll go now, however, for there's aspanking breeze on the bay, and I'd like to make a run around FortSumter. "

"George, George, be prudent. You know that your brother lies at the bottomof that accursed bay. "

"There, father, there, he died doing his duty like a man, and you mustn'tgrieve for him so. Good-by. "

The old man looked wistfully after him a moment, then turned his mind, like a strong motor power, to the complicated machinery that was coiningwealth. 

George went to Bodine, whom he had never seen before, and of whom he knewnothing, and began in his half-boyish way: "Here, mine ancient, fatherwants--Beg your pardon. Didn't know that you had lost a leg. "

"What is it that Mr. Houghton wishes?" said the captain coldly, andturning upon the young man a visage which impressed him instantly. 

"I beg your pardon again, " said George. "My father would like copies madeof these letters;" and he touched his hat as he turned away. 

"Thunder!" he muttered as he left the counting-house. "I was told that Iwas a gentleman for a little trumpery act in the street. That man tellsyou he is one by a single glance from his sad, stern eyes. He is anotherof the blue-bloods, Southerner to the backbone. How is it that he is inthe old gentleman's employ, I wonder? I supposed father hatedex-Confederates as the Devil does holy water. Bodine, Bodine. I must findout who he is, for he evidently has a history. "

He soon forgot all about Bodine in the pleasure of skilfully sailing hisboat close to the wind. 

Ella had pursued her way homeward with bowed head and a confused sense ofshame and resentment. "Suppose I did speak to him, a stranger, " shemurmured, "was he so dull, or so cold and utterly conventional as to makeno allowance for the circumstances? No matter, I've had a lesson that Ishall never forget. Hereafter he and his kind may save all the old womenin Charleston, and fight all the bullies, and I won't even look at them. If he had had the brains and blood of a frog even, he would haveunderstood me. And he did seem to understand at first, for he smiledpleasantly and lifted his hat. Does he consider it an insult to be told heis a gentleman? Perhaps he thought this fact should be too apparent to bementioned, or else he thought it bold and unmaidenly to open my lips atall. A plague on him for not being able to see the simple truth. NoSoutherner would have been so stupid, or ready to think evil. "

Thus she communed with herself till she reached her own room. After alittle thought, she decided not to speak of the adventure. She had anunusual share of common-sense, and knew that the affair would only givepain to her father and cousin, and that its relation would serve noearthly good to any one. 

CHAPTER XX

THE STRANGER EXPLAINS

There are those who touch our life closely, and become essentially a partof it; there are many more who are but casual and passing acquaintances, and yet these very people often unconsciously become the most importantfactors in our destiny. Ella Bodine was soon to prove this truth. It willof course be understood that her life was not so secluded and restrictedthat she practically had no acquaintances beyond the characters of ourstory. Sensible Mrs. Bodine had no intention that her pretty cousin shouldbe hidden behind the prejudices so powerful in those with whom she wasimmediately associated. 

"Cousin Hugh, " she said, one day soon after Ella's encounter withHoughton, "how was it with you when you were a young fellow? how was itwith me when I was a girl? Do you suppose your daughter is made ofdifferent flesh and blood? She is so unselfish in nature and sunny intemperament that you will never learn from her that she has longings forsociety of her own age. We have no right to keep her among our shadows. Webelong to the past; she has a future, and should have the chance which isthe right of every young girl. You must not judge her by Mara, who standsby herself, and is not a representative of any ordinary type. She is asold as you are, and a great deal older than I am. She has grown up amongshadows and loves them. Ella loves the sunshine, and should have all of itthat we can give her. Now, you must let her go out more. I will choose herchaperons, and I reckon I know whom to choose. If I do say it, I wouldlike you to mention any one in Charleston more competent. I know about thefathers and mothers, the grandfathers and grandmothers, and the remoteancestors of every one in Charleston who _is_ any one. "

"Cousin Sophy, I believe you are right. I have permitted Ella to be toodevoted to me, but we have lived such a precarious life of late--indeed ithas been the vital question how we were to live at all. We are now verydifferently situated. Yes, you are right. Ella should see something ofsociety, and enjoy some of its pleasures, and, as you say, should have herchance. " At these final words he sighed deeply. 

"I know what that sigh means, " resumed the old lady. "You would wish tokeep Ella to yourself always--the natural impulse of a father's heart. Yetif you allow this impulse to control you, it will become selfishness ofthe worst kind. I say again that every girl should have her chance to seeand be seen, and to make the most and best of her life according towoman's natural destiny. You may trust me, as I have said, to choose thosewho shall have the care of Ella when she goes out. She has an invitationto a little company at Mrs. Willoughby's, and a most discreet friend hasoffered to chaperon her. We'll fix her out so that she will appear as wellas any one, and you know our claims don't rest on expensiveness of dress. Mrs. Willoughby comes of one of the oldest and best families in the State. I know she is liberal, and affiliates with Northern people more than Icould wish, but they are all said to be of the best class--and I supposethere is a best class among 'em. Good Lor', Hugh! we may feel and think aswe please, and can never change, but we can't keep back the rising tide. If there are a few Northern people present Ella won't be contaminated anymore than you are by working among Northern people. We have our strongprejudices--that's what they are called--but we must not let them make usridiculous. Mrs. Willoughby says she's emancipated, and that she'd havewhom she pleased in her parlors. She has been abroad so much, you know. Well, well, we'll consider it settled. " And so it was. 

When Ella was informed of her cousin's plan in her behalf she was halfwild with delight. "I may consider myself a debutante, " she said. "Oh, Cousin Sophy! how shall I behave?"

"Behave just as a bird flies, " said the wise old lady. "If you put on anyairs, if you are not your own natural self, I'll shake you when you comehome. "

The captain saw his child's pleasure, and felt anew the truth of hiscousin's words. Ella should be immured no longer. Mara had been invitedalso, but declined, preferring to spend the evening with Mrs. Bodine. 

Mrs. Willoughby's company was not large, and had been selected fromvarious motives. We need mention but one that had influenced her. MissAinsley had requested that George Houghton should be invited. Her fatherand Mr. Houghton had large business interests in common, and at Mr. Ainsley's request the young man had called upon his daughter. She waspleased with him, although she felt herself to be immeasurably older thanhe. Mrs. Willoughby had also been favorably impressed by his fineappearance and slightly brusque manner. 

"Yes, " said the astute Miss Ainsley, as they were talking him over afterhis departure, "he's a big, handsome, finely educated boy, who would walkthrough your Southern conventionalities as if they were cobwebs, had he achance. "

"Delightful!" cried Mrs. Willoughby. "If I can keep my drawing-room freefrom insipidity, I am content. As to his walking through ourconventionalities, as you term them, let him try it. If he doesn't butthis head against some rather solid walls, I'm mistaken. You don't halfknow what a bold thing I am doing when I invite old Houghton's son; butthen it is just this kind of social temerity that enchants me, and heshall come. I only hope that some good people won't rise up and shake offthe dust of their feet. "

"Don't worry; you're a privileged character. Mr. Clancy has told me allabout it. He admires you immensely because you are so untrammelled. "

"He admires you a hundred-fold more. What are you going to do with him?"

"I don't know. I couldn't do anything with him yet. That's his charm. If Ididn't know better, I should say he was the coldest--he is not cold atall. The woman who reaches his heart will find a lot of molten lava. I'moften inclined to think it has been reached by some one else, and that hisremarkable poise results from a nature fore-armed, or else chilled by aformer experience. At any rate, there is a fire smouldering in his nature, and when it breaks out it won't be of the smoky, lurid sort that has sooften made me ill. There will be light and heat in plenty. "

"Well, you're an odd girl, Caroline. You experiment with men's hearts likean old alchemist, who puts all sorts of substances into his crucible inthe hope of finding something that will enrich him. "

"And probably, like the old alchemist, I shall never find anything exceptwhat, to me, is dross. "

Under Mrs. Robertson's wing Ella appeared, and met with a very kindlyreception. She had not Miss Ainsley's admirable ease, but she possessedsomething far better. There was a sweet girlish bloom in addition to herinnately refined manner and ingenuous loveliness of face, which made eventhe experienced belle sigh that she had passed by that phase forever. Yetshrewd Ella's eyes were as busy as they were intelligent. She wondered atMiss Ainsley with mingled admiration and distrust, but she had received asufficient number of hints from Mrs. Bodine to understand her hostessquite well. She saw Clancy enter, and Miss Ainsley's welcome, and quicklyobserved that there was a sort of free-masonry between them. Then some oneappeared who almost took away her breath. It was the stranger to whom shehad spoken so unexpectedly, even to herself. She saw that Mr. Clancy, MissAinsley, and Mrs. Willoughby greeted him cordially, but that many othersappeared surprised and displeased. Little time was given to note more, forthe stranger's eyes fell upon her. He instantly turned to his hostess, andevidently asked for an introduction. With a slight sparkle of mischief inher eyes, Mrs. Willoughby complied, and Ella saw the stranger comingtoward her as straight and prompt as if he meant to carry her off bodily. He seemed to ignore every one and everything else in the room, but she wastoo high-spirited to fall into a panic, or even to be confused. Indeed shefound herself growing angry, and was resolving to give him a lesson, whenhis name was mentioned. Then she was startled, and for an instantconfused. This was no other than the son of "that old--Mr. Houghton, " asMrs. Bodine always mentioned him, with a little cough of self-recovery asif she had been on the perilous edge of saying something veryunconventional. His father was her father's employer, and the instinctivedesire to save her father from trouble led to hesitation in her plan ofrebuke and retaliation. Her petty resentment should not lead to anyunpleasant complications, and she therefore merely bowed civilly. 

Houghton repeated her name as if a victim of momentary surprise himself, and then said with his direct gaze, "I wish to ask ten thousand pardons. "

"That is a great many. I shall have to think about granting one. "

"If I were you I wouldn't do it, " was his next rather brusque remark. 

"That is your advice, then?"

"No, indeed. I'm not my own worst enemy. Miss Bodine, circumlocution isnot my forte. I had not walked a block away from you the other day beforeI charged myself with being a fool and a brute. It took just that long forme to get it into my thick head what your manner and words meant, and I'vebeen in a rage with myself ever since. "

"Well, " she asked, looking down demurely, "what did they mean?"

"They meant you were a brave girl--that from a chivalric impulse you haddrawn near when even men stood a little aloof, as if fearing that if theaffair came to blows, they might get a chance one themselves. Your facehad the frank expression of a child--how often in fancy I've seen itsince!--the words came from your lips almost as a child would speak them. Now that I see you again I know how true my second thoughts were of youand of myself. I deserve a whipping instead of your pardon. "

There was a point yet to be cleared up in Ella's mind, and she remarkedcoldly, "I do not see how you could have had any other thoughts than whatyou term your second thoughts. "

"Nor do I, now; and I suppose you can have no mercy on a poor fellow whois often hasty and wrong-headed. I will make a clean breast of it. I wascharmed with your expression when first aware of your presence, but whenyou spoke you touched a sore spot. Miss Bodine, you would not beostracized at the North. You would be treated with the courtesy andcordiality to which every one would see you to be entitled. Practically Iam ostracized here by the class to which you belong. When you spoke Istalked away like a sulky boy, muttering, 'Why shouldn't I be agentleman?' Even the girls in this town are taught to look uponNortherners as boors. I had only to pick up an old woman, and face abully, when, as if in utter surprise that one of my ilk should be sograndly heroic, I heard the words, 'You are a gentleman. ' You see it wasmy wretched egotism that got me into the scrape. When I thought of you, not myself, I saw the truth at once, and felt like going back to theexpressman and meekly asking him to give me a drubbing. "

All was clear to Ella now. Indeed there was a frankness and sincerityabout Houghton which left no suspicion of dark corners and mentalreservations. As his explanation proceeded she began to laugh. "Well, " sheremarked, "I had my first thoughts too. I said to myself, as I pursued myway homeward, with burning cheeks, that you or any one else might save allthe old women in town, and fight all the bullies, and that I would pass onmy way without looking to the right or left. "

"Pardon me, Miss Bodine, you are mistaken. Your generous spirit would getthe better of you again in two seconds. Heaven grant, however, that nexttime you may have a gentleman as your ally. For a few moments I ceased tobe one, and became an egotistical fool. "

"You are too hard upon yourself. Since you interpret me so kindly it wouldill become me to--"

"Ella, my dear, " said her chaperon, "let me present to you Mr. Vandeveer. "

Houghton gave her a bright, grateful glance, rose instantly, and bowedhimself away. 

Mrs. Robertson had been on pins and needles over this prolongedconference. There was something so resolute about Houghton's manner, andhe had placed his chair so adroitly to bar approach to Ella, that the goodlady was in sore straits. Mrs. Willoughby saw her perplexity, and felt nota little mischievous pleasure over it. She disappeared that she might notbe called upon to interfere. At last in desperation Mrs. Robertson laidhold on Mr. Vandeveer, and ended the ominous interview. 

Ella gave rather lame attention to her new companion's commonplaces; thenothers were introduced, and the evening was drifting away in the ordinaryfashion. She soon began to talk well in her own bright way, and had allthe attention a young debutante could desire, but she was always consciousof Houghton's presence, and also aware that he was quietly observant ofher. She saw that he met with very little cordiality, and that from but afew. Womanlike, she began to take his part in her thoughts, and to feelthe injustice shown him. She had an innate sense of fair play, and sheresented the manoeuvring of her chaperon to keep him away from her. Yetshe soon found herself enjoying abundantly the conversation of such youngmen as met with Mrs. Robertson's approval. This truth was apparent to thatlady's satisfaction, but the independent young woman was not long inresolving that if she went into society she would not go as a child inleading-strings, and she determined that she would speak to Houghton againbefore the evening was over, if the opportunity offered. He had at lastdisappeared, but she soon discovered that he was on the balcony withClancy and Miss Ainsley. Strolling past them with her escort, she heardenough of their bright, merry talk to wish that she had a part in it. Itwas her nature, however, to avoid him until she could speak under the eyeof her chaperon, and she again entered the lighted drawing-room. 

Houghton, meanwhile, had been doing some thinking himself. The girl, whoseblue eyes had looked at him so approvingly in the street, was taking astronger hold on his fancy every moment. The relaxation of her cold aspectinto mirthfulness, and an approach to kindness had enchanted him; whileher ardent, honest, fearless nature appealed to him powerfully. "Shestrikes me as a woman who would stand by a fellow through thick and thinas long as he was right, " he thought, "and if my judgment is correct thewhole ex-Confederate army shan't keep me from getting acquainted with her. Ah! how I liked that severe look in her eyes till she knew what my firstthoughts were! She _has_ blue blood of the right sort, and I'm sorelymistaken if it doesn't feed a brain that can think for itself. "

He also returned to the drawing-room, and was vigilant for an opportunity. It soon occurred. Ella and her attendant were chatting with Mrs. Willoughby a little apart from the others. Houghton joined them instantly, and was encouraged when both the ladies greeted him with a smile. Theattendant gentleman soon withdrew, the hostess remained a few momentslonger, and then Houghton and Ella were alone. 

"You may have observed, " he said, "the penalty I pay for being aNortherner. "

"Yes, " she replied, "and I don't think it's fair. "

"Miss Bodine, do you dare _think_ for yourself?"

"I scarcely know how I can help doing so. "

"That is just what I was thinking out on the balcony. "

"I thought you were charmed by that beautiful Miss Ainsley. "

"She has no eyes except for Clancy, and a fine fellow he is too--too goodfor her, I imagine. I can't make her out. "

"Neither can I. "

"Oh, bother her! I don't like feminine riddles. Miss Bodine, there's agentleman in my father's employ bearing your name. Is he a relative?"

"He is my father, " she replied proudly. 

"I should guess as much if your eyes were not so blue. "

"I have my mother's eyes, I am told. "

"Well, on that same day--you know--he told me that he was a gentleman: canyou guess how?"

"I would rather you should tell me. "

"I was sent to him by my father with a message, and I spoke rudely to himat first; not intentionally, but as a harum-scarum young fellow mightspeak to an elderly man under ordinary circumstances, I meaning nothingmore than friendly familiarity. I fear you won't understand, but with youI can't help downright honesty. "

"Yes, I understand. He was one of your father's clerks, and you caredlittle what you said to him. "

"Scarcely right, Miss Bodine. With all my faults--and they are legion--I'mgood-natured, and do not intentionally hurt people's feelings. What a fineproof of that I gave you in my insufferable stupidity!"

"That's been explained and is past. Please don't refer to it any more. "

"Heaven knows I wish to forget it. Well, your father turned to me from hiswriting. One look was enough. I begged his pardon twice on the spot. Thatis the way he told me he was a gentleman. It had been so born and bredinto him that, unless a fellow was an idiot, one glance told the story. "

Her face softened wonderfully as he spoke, and her eyes grew lustrous withfeeling, as she said:

"You are not an idiot, Mr. Houghton. I am glad you so quickly appreciatedmy father. He is more than a gentleman, he is a hero, and I idolize him. "

"I should fancy it was a mutual idolatry, " and his eyes expressed anadmiration of which the dullest girl would have been conscious, and Ellawas not dull at all. "I wish we could become acquainted, " he addedabruptly, and with such hearty emphasis that her color deepened. 

Before she could reply, her chaperon managed to separate them again, andshe saw him no more until, rather early in the evening, she was biddingher hostess goodnight. Then she encountered such an eager, questioning, friendly look, that she smiled involuntarily, and slightly bowed as sheturned away. Mrs. Robertson was so preoccupied at the moment that she didnot witness this brief, subtile exchange of--what? Ella did not know, herself, but her heart was wonderfully light, and there was a delicioussense of exhilaration in all her veins. 

As they were driving home, Mrs. Robertson began sententiously, "Ella, inthe main you behaved admirably. I don't suppose anything better could beexpected of one so unversed in society, especially Charleston society. Youwere natural and refined in your deportment, and bore yourself as becameyour ancestry. You will soon learn to make discriminations. I had no ideathat young Houghton would be present, or I would have told you about himand his father. Mrs. Willoughby is carrying things too far, even if manyof our people have consented to wink at much that we disapprove of. Houghton represents the most detested Northern element among us. Of courseyou, in your inexperience, felt that you must be polite to every manintroduced to you, and he talked with the volubility of which only aYankee is capable. It is scarcely possible that you will meet him anywhereexcept at Mrs. Willoughby's, and if you go there any more you must learnthe art of shaking off an objectionable person speedily. Your meetingHoughton to-night was purely accidental, and I reckon that after you havebeen out a few times you will learn to choose your associates from thoseonly of whom your father and cousin would approve. Perhaps therefore youhad better not say anything about your meeting Houghton, unless you feelthat you ought. No harm has been done, and it would only displease yourfather, and render him adverse to your going out hereafter. "

The good lady was a little worried by the fear that her reputation as achaperon would be damaged, and, sincerely believing that "no harm had beendone, " and that her homily would remove all danger from the future, shecounselled as she thought wisely. Her heart was full of goodwill towardthe girl, and she was desirous that nothing should prevent her fromenjoying society in her interpretation of the word. 

Ella thanked her warmly for her kindness and advice, but she was in deepperplexity, for she had never concealed anything from her father before. Her lightness of heart was already gone, and there were tears in her eyesbefore she slept. 

CHAPTER XXI

UNCLE SHEBA SAT UPON

Old Tobe, keeper of the "rasteran, " may have been right in saying thatUncle Sheba had backslidden as far as he could slide, remembering thelimitations of a life like his, but circumstances had recently occurredwhich brought his church relations to a crisis. Tobe was the opposite polein character to Uncle Sheba. There was an energy about the old catererwhich defied age and summer heat. Even his white wool always seemedbristling aggressively and controversially. His fiery spirit influencedhis commonest acts. When he boiled potatoes his customers were wont to say"he made 'em bile like de debil. "

He carried his energy into his religion, one of his favorite exhortationsin the prayer-meeting being, "Ef you sinners wants to'scape you'se got togit up an' git. " During the preaching service he took a high seat in thesynagogue, and if any one in the range of his vision appeared drowsy hewould turn round and glare till the offender roused into consciousness. The children and young people stood in awe of him, and there was a perfectoasis of good behavior surrounding his pew. Once some irreverent young menthought it would be a joke to pretend to "conviction ob sin, " and to seekreligious counsel of old Tobe, but they came away scared half out of theirwits, one of them declaring that he smelt brimstone a week afterward. TheRev. Mr. Birdsall felt that he had a strong ally in Tobe, but he oftensighed over the old man's want of discretion. 

Uncle Sheba was Tobe's _bete noir_, and he often inwardly raged over "datlazy niggah. " "De time am comin' w'en dat backslider got to be sot on, " hewould mutter, and this seemed his one consolation. He could scarcelypossess his soul in patience in the hope of this day of retribution; "butI kin hole in till it come, fer it's gwine to come shuah, " he occasionallysaid to some congenial spirits. 

Tobe had a very respectable following in the church both as to numbers andcharacter, for many looked upon his zeal as heaven-inspired. At last therecame a hot Sunday afternoon which brought his hour and opportunity. Mr. Birdsall was not only expounding, but also pounding the pulpit cushion inorder to waken some attention in his audience. Old Tobe had been whirlingfrom one side to the other, and glaring hither and thither, till indesperation he got up and began to nudge and pinch the delinquents. Fromone of the back pews, however, there soon arose a sound which so increasedas to drown even Mr. Birdsall's stentorian voice. Tobe tiptoed to thespot, and, in wrath that he deemed righteous, blended with not a littleexultation, looked upon Uncle Sheba. His head had fallen on his bosom, andfrom his nose were proceeding sounds which would put to shame ahigh-pressure engine. Aun' Sheba was shaking him on one side and KernWatson on the other. Audible snickering was general, but this soon gaveway to alarm as Aun' Sheba exclaimed aloud, "He's dun gwine an' got depopoplexy shuah. "

"Carry him out, " said old Tobe, in a whisper which might have been heardin the street. 

Two or three men sprang forward to aid, but Kern sternly motioned themback, and, lifting Uncle Sheba's portly form as if it were a child, carried the unconscious man to the vestibule. Scores were about to follow, but Tobe, with his wool bristling as never seen before, held up his handimpressively, and in the same loud whisper heard by all, remarked, "Itdoan took de hull cong'ration to wait on one po' sinner. Sabe yo'selves, brud'ren an' sisters. Sabe yo'selves, fer de time am a comin' w'en you'seall will be toted out dis yere temple ob de Lawd foot fo'most. "

With this grewsome recollection forced upon their attention the people satdown again, wide awake at last. Tobe beckoned to three or four elderly menwhom he knew he could rely upon, and they gathered around Uncle Sheba. Hiswife was slapping him on the back and chafing his hands, while Kern wassplashing water in his face. The unfortunate man began to sneeze, andmanifest rather convulsive signs of recovery. At last he blurted out, "Darnow, dar now, Aun' Sheba, doan go on so. I'se gwine to bring in de kinlinsright smart"

"Bress de Lawd!" exclaimed Aun' Sheba, "dat soun' nat'rel. No popoplexy indat ar kin' ob talk. "

Tobe and his allies exchanged significant glances. Uncle Sheba was broughtto his senses sufficiently to be supported home by his wife andson-in-law. He soon became aware that he had committed an awfulindiscretion, for Watson looked stern, and there was a portentoussolemnity in Aun' Sheba's expression. He began to enter on excuses. "I wasjis' come ober by de heat, " he said. "'Tween de heat an' de po'ful sarmon, I was jis' dat 'pressed dat de sperit went out ob me. "

"Mr. Buggone, " replied his wife, severely, "it was wat went inter you, an'not wat wen' out ob you, dat made de trouble. You jes' gormidized atdinnah. I'se gwine to cut off you'se 'lowance one-half. "

At this dire threat Uncle Sheba groaned aloud, feeling that his sin hadovertaken him swiftly indeed. His supper was meagre, and to his plaintiveremarks Aun' Sheba made no reply, but maintained an ominous silence untilsleep again brought the relief of oblivion. 

After Uncle Sheba's departure, Tobe and the other pillars of the churchheld a whispered conference in the vestibule, and soon agreed up theircourse. When the services were over, they, with other sympathizers, waitedupon the minister. Mr. Birdsall was hot, tired, and incensed himself, andso was in a mood to listen to their representations. 

"Hit's time dis yere scan'el was r'moved, " said Tobe, solemnly. "Wemus'purge ourselves. Mr. Buggone should be sot on, an' 'spended at deberry leas'; an' ter make de right 'pression on oders dat's gettin' weakin dere speritool jints, I move we sot on Mr. Buggone's case to-morrerebenin'. "

Mr. Birdsall was made to feel that it was his duty to accede, but healready felt sorry for Aun' Sheba and the Watsons, and had misgivings asto the result. 

"Well, " said he at last, "I'll agree to a prelim'nary conf'rence to-morrowevenin' at Mr. Buggone's house. Brud-'ren, we must proceed in de spirit oblub an' charity, an' do our best to pluck a bran' from de burnin'. "

In the morning he went around to prepare Aun' Sheba for the ordeal, butshe and Vilet had gone out upon their mercantile pursuits, and Uncle Shebaalso had disappeared. To Sissy the direful intelligence was communicated. In spite of all Mr. Birdsall's efforts to console, she was left sobbingand rocking back and forth in her chair. When Kern came home, he heard thenews with a rigid face. 

"Well, " he said, "ef it's right, it's right. Ef I'd done wrong I'd stan'up an' face wot come ob it. "

Uncle Sheba knew when his wife would return, and was ready to receive herin the meekest of moods. He had cut an unusual quantity of wood andkindlings, but they failed to propitiate. Sissy soon called her mother tocome over to her cabin to hear of Mr. Birdsall's visit, and all that itportended. Aun' Sheba listened in silence, and sat for a long time in deepthought, while Sissy and Vilet sobbed quietly. At last the old woman saidfirmly, "Sissy, I wants you and Kern ter be on han'. Vilet kin take keerob do chillun. Dis am gwine ter be a solemn 'casion, an' de Lawd on'yknows wot's gwine ter come out ob it. Anyhow dis fam'ly mus' stan' by onenoder. My mind ain't clar jes yit, but'll git clar wen de'mergency comes;I jes' feel it in my bones it'll git clar den. "

There was such an awful solemnity in her aspect when she returned, thatUncle Sheba was actually scared. It seemed to him that her manner couldnot be more depressing if she were making preparations for his funeral. His trepidation was increased when he was told briefly and sternly to puton his "Sunday-go-to-meetin's. "

"Wotfer, Aun' Sheba?"

"You'se know soon 'nuff. De Elder's gwine to call on you dis ebenin'. Efyou'd had de popoplexy in arnest, we'd make great 'lowance fer you, butwen you eat an' drink till you mos' ready to bust, and den'sturb de hullmeetin' by snortin' like a 'potamus, dar's got to be trouble, an' I'se gotto meet it. "

Uncle Sheba did as he was directed, with the feeling that the judgment dayhad come. 

Meanwhile old Tobe had prepared his indictment, and marshalled his forcesfor the occasion. At seven in the evening he led them to the nearestcorner, and waited for Mr. Birdsall, who soon appeared. Led by him, theyentered Aun' Sheba's living-room in solemn procession. Although theevening was warm, there was a fire on the hearth, for she had said, "Dere's gwine ter be notin' wantin' to de 'casion. " All the chairs hadbeen brought in from Watson's cabin, and he and Sissy sat in thebackground. Uncle Sheba had been placed on the further side of the hearth, and was fairly trembling with apprehension. He tried to assume a pious, penitent air, but failed miserably. Aun' Sheba made an imposing spectacle. 

She had arrayed herself in her Sunday gown and had wound a flaming turbanabout her head. Apparently she was the most collected person present, except Kern Watson who sat back in shadow, his face quiet and stern. Asthe minister and committee entered she rose with dignity and said, "Elderan' brud'ren, take cheers. "

Then she sat down again, folded her hands and gazed intently at theceiling. 

If old Tobe was not cool, as indeed he never was, he was undaunted, andonly waited for the minister to prepare the way before he opened on UncleSheba. A few moments of oppressive silence occurred, daring which theculprit shook as if he had an ague, but Aun' Sheba did not even wink. Mr. Birdsall, regarding her portentous aspect with increased misgiving, beganat last in a mournful voice, "Mis Buggone, dis is a very sorrowful'casion. We are here not as you'se enemies but as you'se fren's. Our dutyis painful, 'stremely so, but de brud'ren feel dat de time is come wen Mr. Buggone mus' be made to see de error ob his ways, dat dere mus' be no mo'precrastination. De honah ob de church is japerdized. Neber-de-less he isa free-agent. De lamp still holes out to burn--"

"An' de wilest sinner can return, " interrupted Aun' Sheba, nodding herhead repeatedly. "I unerstan'. You means well, Elder. "

Old Tobe could hold in no longer, and began excitedly, "De question amweder de wile sinner's gwine ter return, or wants ter return, or's got anyreturn in 'im. Elder, I feels fer Mis Buggone an' her family, but dis yereting's gwine on long anuff. We'se been forbearin' an' long-sufferin' tilldere's a scan'el in de church. I'se tried wid all my might 'er keep depeople awake an' listenin', and I'se gettin' dun beat out. Ef we wink atdis awful 'zample you mought as well go to de grabeyard an' preach. It udbe mo' comfable fer you, kase dey'd hear jus' as well, an' dey wouldn't'sturbe de'scorse by snorin' de roof off. Now I ask de sense ob dismeetin'. Wen a member backslide so he do notin' but eat an' sleep, oughtener he be sot on?"

There was audible approval from all of Tobe's followers, and he wasencouraged to go on. 

"Ef Mr. Buggone mus' sleep mos' ob de time let him sleep peac' ble in hisown house, but de Scripter say, 'Wake dem dat sleepest, ' an' we say it'stime Mr. Buggone woke up. Any cullud pusson dat kin snore so po'ful as Mr. Buggone needn't say he weakly an' po'ly. Hafe de poah he put in his snoreud lif' 'im right along in all good works, week days an' Sundays. But I'selos' faith in 'im. He's been 'spostulated an' 'monstrated with, an''zorted so often dat he's hardened an' his conscience zeered wid a hotiron. We'se jes' got to take sich sinners in han', or de paster-lot won'thole de flock no mo'. I move we take steps to s'pend Mr. Buggone. "

"Secon' dat motion, " said one of his followers promptly. 

"Mr. An' Mis Buggone, have you nothin' to say?" asked Mr. Birdsall sadly. 

"Elder, " began Uncle Sheba in his most plaintive tone, "you know de heatyistidy was po'ful--"

"Mr. Buggone, " interrupted his wife severely, "dis ain't no 'casion ferbeatin' round de bush an' creepin troo knotholes. You knows de truf an' Iknows de truf. No, Elder, we'se got not'in ter say at jes' dis time. "

"Den, Elder, you put de motion dat we take steps, " said Tobe, promptly. 

With evident reluctance Mr. Birdsall did so, and the affirmative wasunanimously voted by the committee. 

"I wants ter be s'pended too, " said Aun' Sheba, still gazing at theceiling. 

"Now, Mis Buggone, dere would be no right nor reason in dat, " the ministerprotested. 

"Elder, I doesn't say you-uns ain't all right, an' I does say you meanswell, but I'se de bes' jedge of my inard speritool frame. Hit was neberjes' clar in my mind dat I was 'ligious, an' now I know I ain't 'ligious, an' I wants ter be s'pended. "

"But it is clar in my mind dat you are religious, dat you'se a good woman. Would to de good Lawd dat de church was full ob Christians like you!"

"I'se spoke my min', " persisted Aun' Sheba, doggedly. "Ole Tobe shall habhis way an' de church be purged. "

"Elder, " said Tobe, now quite carried away by zeal and exultation, "p'rapsMis Buggoue am de bes' jedge. Ef she feel she ain't one ob de anintedones--"

"Peace!" commanded Mr. Birdsall, "never with my consent shall any steps betaken to suspend Mis Buggone. You forgits, Tobe, how easy it is to pull upde wheat wid de tares. "

"Den I s'pend myself, " said Aun' Sheba, "an' I _is_ s'pended. Now I gwineter 'fess de truf. I gave Mr. Buggone an extra Sunday dinner yistidy. Iwas puff up wid pride kase business was good, an' I bress de Lawd ferprosperin' me. Den like a fool I 'dulge myself and I 'dulge Mr. Buggone. Ef he's ter be s'pended fer a snorin' sleep, I oughter be s'pended fer adozin' sleep, fer I _was_ a-dozin'; an' I feels it in my bones dat we bofeoughter be s'pended, an' I _is_, no matter wot you does wid Mr. Buggone. Now, Tobe, you hab had you'se say, an' I'se a-gwine to hab mine. You'segot a heap ob zeal. You wouldn't lead de flock; you'd dribe 'em, you'dchase 'em, you'd worry de bery wool off ob dem. Whar you git you speritfum? You ain't willin' ter wait till de jedgment day; you'd hab a jedgmentebery day in de week. You'se like dem 'siples dat was allers wantin' tercall down fiah from Heben. Look out you don't get scorched yo'self. Ican't be 'ligious long o' you, an' if you got 'ligion I habn't. Elder, yousays de Lawd libed yere on dis yarth. I ony wish I'd libed in dem days. I'd a cooked, an' washed, an' ironed, an' baked fer Him an' all de'siples. Den like anuff He'd say: 'Ole Aun' Sheba, you means well. I won'tbe hard on you nor none of you'se folks when de jedgment day comes. ' Butso much happen since dat ar time wen He was yere dat I kinder got mixedup. I reckon I jes' be s'pended, an' let Him put de ole woman whar shebelong wen de time comes. "

There was pathos in her tones; her stoicism had passed away, and tearswere streaming from her eyes, while Sissy was sobbing audibly. Thecommittee at first had been aghast at the result of the meeting, and nowtheir emotional natures were being excited also. Old Tobe wasdisconcerted, and still more so when Aun' Sheba suddenly rallied, and, turning upon him, said with ominous nods, "Wen dat day come, Old Tobe, youwon't be de jedge. "

Thus far Kern Watson had sat silent as a statue, but now his strongfeelings and religious instincts gained the mastery. Lifting up hispowerful mellow voice he sang:

 "The people was a-gatherin' from far and neah; Some come fer fishes an' some ter heah; But He fed dem all, an' He look so kin' Dat dey followed, dey followed, an' none stay behin'

 "But one got loss, an' he wandered far, De night come dark, no moon, no star; De lions roared an' de storm rose high, An' de po' loss one lie down ter die. 

 "Den come a voice, an' de win's went down, An' de lions grovel on de groun', An' de po' loss one am foun' an' sabed, For de Shepherd ebery danger brabed. "

These words, as sung by Kern, routed old Tobe completely; he hung his headand had not a word to say. The committee had beaten time with their feet, and began to clap their hands softly. Then Mr. Birdsall, with kindlyenergy, exhorted Uncle Sheba, who groaned aloud and said "Amen" as if inthe depths of penitence. A long prayer followed which even moved old Tobe, for Aun' Sheba had shaken his self-confidence terribly. The little companybroke up with hand-shaking all around, Tobe saying: "Sister Buggone, Ibears no ill-will. I'se gwine ter look inter my speritool frame, an' ef Icotch de debil playin' hob wid me he's gwine to be put out, hoof an'horns. "

Aun' Sheba wrung her son-in-law's hand, as she said: "You'se singin', Kern, kinder went to de right spot. Neber-de-less I'se s'pended till Ifeels mo' shuah. "

Sissy kissed her mother and father affectionately, and then the old couplewere left alone. Aun' Sheba gazed thoughtfully into the dying fire, butbefore long Uncle Sheba began to hitch uneasily in his chair. Finally hemustered up courage to say: "Aun' Sheba, dis am been bery po'ful 'casion, bery tryin' to my narbes an' feelin's. Yet I feels kinder good an' hopefulin my inards. Ef I wasn't jes' so dun beat out I'd feel mo' good. P'rapsnow, 'siderin' all I'se pass troo, you wouldn't min' gibin' me a bit obdat cole ham an' hoe-cake--"

"Mr. Buggone, " began Aun' Sheba sternly, then she suddenly paused, threwher apron over her head and rocked back and forth. 

"Dar now, Aun' Sheba, dar now, doan go on so. I was ony a sigestin' kase Ifeels po'ly, but I kin stan' it. "

"I'se no better dan old Tobe hisself, " groaned Aun' Sheba. "All on us ishard on some one, while a hopin' fer marcy ourselves. Ef you'se hebin isin de cubud, go in dar an' hep a sef. " And she rose and opened the door ofthe treasure-house. 

"I'se jes' take a leetle bite, Aun' Sheba, jes a leetle comf'tin bite, kase I'se been so sot on dat I feels bery weakly an' gone-like. "

Uncle Sheba was soon comforted and sleeping, but Aun' Sheba still sat bythe hearth until the last glowing embers turned to ashes. "Yes, " shemuttered at last, "I'se s'pended till I feels mo' shuah. "

CHAPTER XXII

YOUNG HOUGHTON IS DISCUSSED

Sleep and buoyancy of temperament enabled Ella to see everything in a verydifferent light the following morning. "The idea of my taking whathappened last night so seriously!" she said aloud while making her toilet. "As Mrs. Robertson said, 'no harm has been done. ' Of course I shall tellpapa and Cousin Sophy that I met and talked to Mr. Houghton. What if Idid? He was introduced to me just as the others were, and what do I carefor him? He was a very agreeable Vandal, and I'm glad to have had a chanceto see what Vandals are like. As with other bugaboos they lose theirterrors under close inspection. "

At breakfast, therefore, she was merrier than usual, and gave a graphicand humorous account of the company, expatiating on the beauty and mysteryof Miss Ainsley, her preference for Clancy, and his apparent devotion toher. 

"By the way, " she said at last, "who do you think was there? You can'tguess, so I will tell you--young Mr. Houghton. "

"What! the son of that old-beg pardon, Cousin Hugh, " and Mrs. Bodinelaughingly added, "It nearly slipped out that time. "

"I hope he was not presented to you, Ella, " said her father gravely. 

"Well, he was, and by Mrs. Willoughby. I didn't talk with him very much, but of course I had to be polite. When I first heard his name I felt thatI should be polite for your sake; and I was rather sorry for him, too, because so many evidently frowned on his presence. "

"You need not be polite to him again for my sake, " said her fatherdecidedly. "I am under no obligations to him or his father, and this is acase into which policy cannot enter. I do not blame you, however, " headded, more kindly, "for you acted from good impulses. Of course, as yousay, you must be polite to every one, but you have a perfect right to becold toward those who are unfriendly to us, and with whom we can neverhave any part or lot. I have been in Mr. Houghton's employ long enough tobe convinced more fully, if possible, that, while he is an honest man, hehas not a particle of sympathy with or for our people. I told him from thestart that there could be no social relations between us. You must learnto avoid and shake off people who are objectionable. "

"Well, " said Ella, laughing, "I won't have to shake off people while underMrs. Robertson's wing. She bore down upon us, as Cousin Sophy would say, like a seventy-four of the line. Dear papa, you know that Mr. Houghton isnothing to me, but it scarcely seems fair that he should be punished forthe sins of his father. "

"You need not punish him, my dear. Simply have nothing to do with him. Heis the last person in the world to be regarded as an object of sympathy, "and her father spoke a little irritably. 

Ella thought it wise to make no further reference to him. "After all, " shethought, "what does it matter? I'm glad he had a chance to explain thatdisagreeable episode in the street, and now I am practically done withhim. I can at least be civil, should we ever meet again, and there it willend. "

"Mrs. Willoughby is going too far, " said Mrs. Bodine, musingly. "If shecontinues to invite such people she may find that other invitations willbe declined without regrets. We haven't much left to us, but we can atleast choose our associates. "

"Don't be alarmed, " said Ella lightly. "I did not invite him to spend thisevening with us, " and kissing her father and cousin good-by, she startedfor Mara's home. 

Her thoughts were busy on the way, and they were chiefly of aself-gratulatory character. The whole episode now amused her greatly, forshe could not help agreeing with her father that the great, strappingfellow was not an object of sympathy. "He probably has a score of flamesat the North, " she thought, "and wouldn't mind adding a little Southerngirl to the number, especially as she is a sort of forbidden fruit to him. Well, he's not a bad fellow, if he is that old blank's son, as CousinSophy always suggests. Nevertheless, I don't think he's treated fairly, and I can't keep up these old bitter feelings. What had he or I to do withthe war, I'd like to know? Well, well, I suppose it's natural for thosewho went through it to feel as they do, but I wish Mara wasn't so bound upin the past. It isn't fair to him, " she broke out again. "He said Iwouldn't be ostracized at the North. Bother! it don't matter what he said. As to our getting acquainted--" And she almost laughed outright at thepreposterous idea. 

She and Mara were soon busy as usual, and as opportunity offered, she toldher fellow-worker of the events of the evening. Mara, with a languidinterest, inquired about those whom she knew, and how they appeared, andshe sometimes laughed aloud at Ella's droll descriptions. She was evenmore emphatic in her disapproval of young Houghton's presence than thecaptain or Mrs. Bodine had been. "I shall never accept any invitation fromMrs. Willoughby after this, " she said firmly. 

"Well now, Mara, " replied Ella, with a little toss of her head, "I can'tshare in that spirit. Mr. Houghton is a gentleman, and I could meet him insociety, chat with him, and let it end there. We can't keep this thing upforever, that is, we of the younger generations. Why should I hate thatbig, good-natured fellow? The very idea seems ridiculous. I could laugh athim, and tease and satirize him a little, but I could no more feel as youdo toward him, than I could cherish an enmity toward a sunflower. Still, since father feels as he does, I shall have to cut him as far as possible, should I ever meet him again, which is not probable. I reckon that Mrs. Willoughby will be so crushed that even she won't invite him any more. "

"I should hope not, truly. "

"Well, she has a Northern girl visiting her, and a very remarkable lookinggirl she is. "

"That is a different affair, although I do not approve of it. Miss Ainsleyis the daughter of a rich man who is doing much for the South, and whofeels kindly toward us, while old Mr. Houghton detests us as heartily aswe do him. He is absorbing our business and taking it away from Southernmen, and he exults over the fact. Miss Ainsley is certainly a verybeautiful girl, for I've seen her. I suppose she received much attention. "Mara purposely turned her back on Ella, and busied herself in the furtherpart of the kitchen. She had heard rumors of Clancy's attention to thefair Northerner, and she both dreaded and hoped to have them verified. "Anything, " she sighed, "oh, anything which will break his hold upon myheart!"

Unconsciously, Ella gave her more information than she could well endure. "I reckon she did receive attention, very concentrated attention, and thatwas all she cared for evidently. She was rather languid until Mr. Clancyappeared, and then she welcomed him with all her brilliant eyes. He lookedas if he understood her perfectly, and they spent most of the evening onthe shadowy balcony together. It is another case of the North conqueringthe South; but if I were a man, I'd think twice before surrendering tothat girl. I had an instinctive distrust of her. "

Mara felt that she was growing pale, and she immediately busied herselfabout the stove until her face flamed with the heat. 

"You don't seem to take much interest in the affair, " Ella remarked, asMara continued silent. 

"I never expect to make Miss Ainsley's acquaintance, " was the quiet reply, "and Mr. Clancy in my view has almost ceased to be a Southerner. "

"Well, I never met him before, and have only heard a little about him fromcousin Sophy, and that not in his favor. He has a strong, intelligent facethough, and a very resolute look in his eyes. "

"Yes, " admitted Mara coldly, "I reckon he's one who would have his own waywithout much regard for others. "

"He may slip up for once. Miss Ainsley struck me as a girl who would haveher way, no matter how many hearts she fractured. "

Aun' Sheba and Vilet now entered, diverting Ella's thoughts. The old womansat down rather wearily, a look of deep dejection on her face. 

"Look here, Aun' Sheba, " said the lively girl, "you're not well, or elsesomething is troubling you. You looked down-hearted yesterday, and youlook funereal now. "

"We'se been sot on, " said Aun' Sheba solemnly. 

"'Sot on!' good gracious! Aun' Sheba, what do you mean?"

"Well, dey sot on my ole man, an' husband an' wife am me. Hit didn't turnout bad as I s'posed it would, bress tat ar son-in-law ob mine, but Ikeeps a tinkin' it all ober, an' I'se 'jected, I is; an' dar's no use obshoutin' glory wen you doan feel glory. " Then she told the whole story, which kept Ella on pins and needles, for, while she felt an honestsympathy for the poor soul, she had an almost uncontrollable desire tolaugh. 

"Yes, Missy Mara, " concluded Aun' Sheba pathetically, "I'se s'pended, Is'pended myself, an' I'se gwine to stay s'pended till I feels mo' shuah. "

"Suspended, Aun' Sheba!" said Mara, starting, suddenly becoming consciousof present surroundings. 

Aun' Sheba looked at her wonderingly, but voluble Ella made it all rightby saying, "No wonder Mara exclaimed. The idea! I wish I was half as goodas you are. "

"Oh, yes, " cried Mara, striving to conceal her deep preoccupation, "that'sthe way with Aun' Sheba; the better she is, the worse she thinks she is. Do you mean to say that your church people have suspended you?"

"No. I'se s'pended myself. Didn't I tole you?"

"There, there, Aunty, I didn't understand. I believe in you and alwayswill. "

"Well, honey, I reckon you'se ole nuss'll alers be do same ter you whedershe'se 'ligious or no. "

Both the girls now stood beside her, with a hand on either shoulder, andElla said heartily, "Now, Aun' Sheba, it is just as you said, you're'jected; you've got the blues, and everything looks blue and out of shapeto you. You can't see the truth any more than if you were cross-eyed. Ican prove to you whether you're 'ligious or not. Vilet, ain't your grandmaa good Christian woman?"

"'Deed an' she is troo an' troo, " said the child, who had been a silent, yet deeply sympathetic listener. "Many's de time she's sent me wid goodtings to po' sick folks. "

"There now, " cried Ella. "Aun' Sheba, you've got to believe the Bible. 'Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings, ' it says. You can't deceive achild. Vilet knows better than you do. "

"Shuah now, does you tink it's dataway?" and Aun' Sheba looked up withhope in her eyes. 

"Of course we think it's that way, " said Ella. "Aun' Sheba, you know aheap, as you say, about many things, but you don't half know how good youare. "

"I know how bad I is anyhow. I tells you I was in a dozin' sleep. "

"Well, I've been in a dozin' sleep many a time, " said Ella, "and I'm notgoing to be suspended by any one, not even myself. "

"Aun' Sheba, " said Mara gently but firmly, "you know I'm in earnest, andhow much I love you for all your goodness ever since I was a helplessbaby. You wouldn't say hard, untrue things against any one else. You haveno more right to be unjust to yourself. As Ella says, I wish I was as gooda Christian as you are. "

"Now, Missy Mara, no mo' ob dat ar talk. I knows my inard feelin's bes' obany one. What Vilet say chirk me up po'fully, kase she see me ebery day. Itell you what I'se gwine ter do; I'se gwine ter put myself on 'bation, andden see wot come ob it. Now, honeys, I'se 'feered long nuff wid business. You'se dun me good, honey lam's, an' de Lawd bress you bofe. I'se tote debasket a heap pearter fer dis yere talk. I feels a monst'us sight betteh. Wish I could see you, honey, lookin' as plump as Missy Ella. Dat do memos' as much good as feelin' 'ligious. "

Mara worried Mrs. Hunter over her pretence of making a dinner, and thengladly sought the solitude of her own room. At last she said with a bittersmile, "He has broken the last shred that bound me. " But as the hourspassed in tumultuous thoughts, her heart told her how vain were suchwords. 

CHAPTER XXIII

THE WARNING

Captain Bodine was halting serenely down into that new vista in his lifeof which we have already spoken. Every day both promise and fulfilmentseemed richer than he had ever imagined any future experience could be. Hewas domiciled in a home exactly to his taste; his cousin's brave, cheerfulspirit was infectious; the worry of financial straits was over, and Ellawas blooming and happy. These favorable changes in themselves would havedone much toward banishing gloom and despondency; but another element hadentered into his existence which was as unexpected as it was sweet. Adeep, subtile exhilaration was growing out of his companionship with Mara. Every long, quiet talk that he enjoyed with her left a longing foranother. She was learning to regard him almost as a father, but he did notthink of her as he did of Ella. He loved Ella as his child, but herbuoyant spirit, her intense enjoyment of the present, and her eager, hopeful eyes, fixed upon the future, separated her from him. He did notwish it otherwise in her case, for he hoped that there was a happy futurefor her, and he rejoiced daily over the gladness in her face. Mara, although so young, seemed of his own generation. He often repeated tohimself his cousin's words, "She is as old as you are. " She appeared tolive in the past as truly as himself. There was scarcely a subject onwhich they were not in sympathy. 

He believed that Mrs. Bodine was right, and that Mara was essentiallydifferent from others of her age. Indeed the impression grew upon him thatthe mysterious principle of heredity had prepared her for thecompanionship which apparently was valued as much by her as by himself. During the many hours in which he was alone, he thought the subject overin all its aspects, as he supposed, and a hope, exquisitely alluring, began to take form in his heart. 

No man is without a certain amount of egotism and self-love, and, althoughthese were not characteristics of Bodine, he could not help dwelling uponthe truth that the remainder of his life would be very different from whathe had expected could Mara be near to him. 

Her eloquent look of sympathy so soon after they met began to take theform of prophecy. At first it led him to believe that she would receive apaternal, loving regard, much the same as he gave to Ella; but, as timepassed, he began to dwell upon the possibility of a closer tie. Sheappeared to have no especial friends among young men, nor indeed to carefor any. Might not a strong, quiet affection grow in each heart until theycould become one in the closest sense, even as they were now one in somany of their thoughts and views?

It was natural that his deepening regard should tinge his manner, yet Maradreamed of nothing beyond the affection which she was glad to receive fromhim. Vigilant eyes, however, were following Captain Bodine, and Clancy, with a lover's jealous intuition, was guessing his rival's thoughts andintentions more clearly every day. He did not adopt any system ofespionage, nor did he ask questions of any one, but merely took occasionto walk on the Battery at an hour when it was most frequented. Here heoften saw Mara and the veteran enjoying the cool sunset hour, andsometimes he observed that Mara saw him. So far from shunning suchobservation, he not infrequently compelled her recognition, which wasalways coldly bestowed upon her part. 

"It would seem that Mr. Clancy is more inclined to be friendly than youare, " Bodine remarked one evening. 

"Before Mr. Clancy valued Northern friends more than Southern ones we werefriendly, " was Mara's quiet reply. She had schooled herself now intooutward self-control, but she chafed at his presence, and thought hehappened to be near her too frequently. Still it was ever will versusheart, for the latter always acknowledged him as master. 

He was satisfied that his impressions in regard to Bodine were correct, and was impelled by his love to make an effort to save her from driftinginto relations which he believed must inevitably destroy her chance forhappiness. His strong, keen mind had analyzed her every word, tone, andvarying expression, and he had become quite sure that her bearing towardhim was not the result of indifference, but was rather due to pride, and aresolute purpose not to yield to him unless he adopted her views. He alsounderstood her sufficiently well to dread lest a morbid sense of loyaltyto her father's memory might lead her to accept his friend and oldcompanion in arms. 

"Her immediate associates would encourage the idea, " he thought, "andthere are none to advise or warn her except myself. She is morbid andunbalanced enough to commit just such a fatal error. Her bringing up, andall the influence of that warped Mrs. Hunter, would lead her to sacrificeherself to the manes of her ancestors. Yet how can I warn her--how can Ireach her except I write? I wish to look into her eyes when I speak. Iwish to plead with her with all the power that I possibly possess. GreatHeaven! if this that I fear should happen, what an awakening she mighthave when it was too late!"

At last he resolved on the simplest and most straightforward course, andwrote--

"MARA--Will you grant me one more interview--the last, unless you freelyconcede others. I have something important to say to you, something thatrelates far more to your happiness than to my own. In excuse for myrequest, I have nothing better to plead than my love which you haverejected, and yet which entitles me to some consideration. I think mymotive is unselfish--as unselfish as can be possible under thecircumstances. You may treat me as you please, but your welfare willalways be dear to me. I shall not seek to change your convictions, norshall I plead for myself, for I know that all this would be useless; but Iwish to see you face to face once more alone in your own home. I must alsorequest that Mrs. Hunter will not interfere with our interview. You arenot a child, and you know that I am a gentleman, and that I am incapableof saying a word at variance with my profound respect for you. OWENCLANCY. "

Mara was deeply agitated by this missive. Her first emotion was that ofanger, as much at herself as at him--a confused resentment that his words, his very handwriting, should so move her, and that he should venture towrite at all. Had she not made it sufficiently plain that he had no rightto take, or, at least, to manifest any such interest in her affairs? Wereall her efforts futile to hide her love? In spite of her habit of reserveand repression she had a passionate heart, and this fact had been forcedupon her by vain and continuous struggles. Had he the penetration to learnthe truth? She could not tell, and this uncertainty touched her pride tothe very quick. After hours of wavering purpose, impulses to ignore himand his request, moments of tenderness in which will, pride, and everyconsideration were almost overwhelmed, she at last arrived at a fixedresolution. "I _will_ see him, " she murmured. "He has virtually told methat he will not give up what he terms his principles for love. I shallnot acknowledge my secret, but if he has discovered it, he shall learnthat I also will not give up my principles for love. "

The next morning she quietly handed Clancy's note to Mrs. Hunter. 

"Shameful!" ejaculated the lady. "Of course you will pay no attention tohim, or else write a curt refusal. I insist on one course or the other. "

Mara looked steadfastly at her aunt until the worthy lady was somewhatdisconcerted, and asked fretfully, "What do you mean by that look, Mara?"

"Aunty, can't you realize that I am no longer a child, as he says?"

"Well, but in a case like this--"

"In a case like this which concerns me so personally, I must act accordingto my own judgment. You can be in the adjoining room. Indeed I have noobjection to your hearing what is said, but I would rather you should not. You have no occasion to fear. Mr. Clancy has alienated me forever. I haveno doubt that before the summer is over he will be engaged to MissAinsley, if he is not already engaged virtually. I have reasons forgranting this final interview which are personal--which my self-respectrequires, and, since they are personal, I need not mention them. Thereshall be no want of respect and affection for you, aunty, but you mustrealize that I have become an independent woman, and I have the entireright to decide certain questions for myself. "

"Well, I wash my hands of it all, " said Mrs. Hunter, coldly, "and since mystrong convictions have no weight with you, and you intend to actindependently of me, of course I shall not permit myself to hear a word ofyour conversation. "

"That will be the more delicate and honorable course, aunty. "

"Well, Mara, I only wish I need not be in the house at the time. "

"Aunty, that is the same as saying that your enmity toward Mr. Clancy isgreater than your love for me. "

"But I don't see the use of this intensely disagreeable interview. This isthe only home I have. "

"And the only home I have also, aunty. "

"Oh, well, if you will, you will, I reckon. "

"Yes, if I will, I _will_, and Mr. Clancy shall learn that I have a will. "

As Aun' Sheba was departing that morning, Mara followed her into thehallway, and, placing a note in her hand, said, "Give that to Mr. Clancyand to no other. Say nothing to him or to any one else. Do you understand, Aun' Sheba?"

"I does, honey. Wen you talk dataway you'se heah an eyster shoutin' 'foreAun' Sheba speak. "

Clancy only said, "Thank you, " as he thrust a half-dollar into the oldwoman's hand. 

Aun' Sheba laid it on the desk, and remarked with great dignity, "I doessome tings widout money. "

He paid no heed to her, but read eagerly, "Mr. Clancy--Come this evening. Mara Wallingford. "

With a long breath he thought, "It will be my last chance. I fear it willbe useless, but at no future day shall she think in bitterness of heart, 'He might have done more to save me. '"

There was no sudden, involuntary illumination of her face on this occasionwhen he entered her little parlor, and she could not help noticing thathis face was pale. She also saw from his expression that his spirit was ashigh as hers; that there was not a trace of the lover, eager to plead hiscause. "He has pleaded successfully elsewhere, " she thought, and, in spiteof all other conflicting feelings, she was curious to know what his motivecould be in seeking the interview. 

"Good-evening, Mr. Clancy. Will you sit down?" she said, coldly. 

"Yes, Mara. Pardon me for calling you Mara. I am beyond any affectation offormality with you, and you know there is no lack of respect on my part. "

She merely bowed and waited in silence. 

"When you learn my motive for making my request, for coming here to-night, you will probably resent it, but you have taught me to expect little elseexcept resentment from you. "

"Mr. Clancy, there is no cause for such language. Certainly I was quietlypursuing the even tenor of my way. "

"Do you understand fully whither that way is leading?"

"Truly, Mr. Clancy, that is a singular question for you to ask. "

"I understand you, Mara. You mean that it is no affair of mine. "

He knew that her silence gave assent to this view, and he answered as ifshe had spoken. 

"Nevertheless you are mistaken. It _is_ an affair of mine. There could beno peace for me in the future if I failed you now, for it seems to me I amthe only true friend you have in the world. "

"Mr. Clancy, " she said hotly, "we have differed so greatly before that Imight have been saved the pain of this interview, but we never differed aswe do at this moment. I cannot listen to you any longer. It would bedisloyalty to those who _are_ true friends--friends that I love andhonor. "

"Do you love Captain Bodine?"

"Certainly I do. He was my father's friend; he is my honored friend. "

"Do you _love_ Captain Bodine?"

"What do you mean?" she asked angrily, flushing to her very brow. 

"Mara, be calm. Listen to me as you value your life, as you value your ownsoul. Do you think I would come here for slight cause at such cost to usboth?"

"I think you are strangely mistaken in coming here, and using languagewhich makes me doubt your sanity. "

"Please do me the justice to note that there is nothing wild in my manner, nor any excitement in my words. "

"Noting this, I find it more difficult to explain your course, or topardon it. "

"It is not necessary at present, that you should do either. Please bepatient a few minutes longer and my mission is ended. I am not pleadingfor myself, but for you. Please listen, or a time may come when in abitterness beyond words you may regret that you did not hear me. ThankHeaven! it is clear that I have not come too late. Captain Bodine is morethan your friend in _his_ feelings; he is your lover, and you are somorbid, unfriended, unguided, that you are capable of sacrificingyourself--"

"Hush! you are wronging a man whom you are unworthy to name. He has neverdreamed of such love as you suggest. "

"I am right. Oh, I have learned too deeply in the school of experience notto know. My warning may be of no avail, but you shall not drift unawaresinto this thing, you shall not enter into it, nor be persuaded into itfrom a false spirit of self-sacrifice--"

"Mr. Clancy, I will not listen a moment longer to such preposterouslanguage. You are passing far beyond the limits of my forbearance. If yourconscience is burdened on my account because I am so 'unfriended, ' Iabsolve you fully. You will and do know how to console yourself. Ourinterview must end here and now. It were disloyalty for me to listen amoment longer. We are strangers from this day forth, Mr. Clancy. " And sherose flushed and trembling. 

He also rose, and with an intent look which held her gaze, said gently:"There is that which will speak although I am banished. "

"What?"

"Your heart. "

"If it broke a thousand times I will not speak to you again, " she criedpassionately. "Even if you were right it would be ignoble to suggest sucha thing. Truly your associations have led you far from the promise of youryouth. "

"I have not said that your heart would plead for me, " he replied sternly. "But it _will_ plead against all that is unnatural, contrary to your younggirlhood, contrary to the true, right instincts which God has created. Youmay seek to stifle its voice, but you cannot. When you are alone it willtell you, like the still small voice of God, that your obdurate will iswrong, that your narrow prejudices and morbid memories are all wrong andvain;--it will tell you that you cannot become the wife of this man, whowould sacrifice you as a solace to his remaining years, without wreckingyour happiness for life. Farewell, Mara Wallingford. There is one thingyou can never forget--that I warned you. "

He bowed low and departed immediately. 

CHAPTER XXIV

"THE IDEA!"

Mara was not the kind of girl that faints or goes into hysterics. Thespirit of her father was aroused to the last degree. She felt that she hadbeen arraigned and condemned by one who had no right to do either; thatall the cherished traditions of her life had been trampled upon; that herfather's loved companion-in-arms, and her dear friend, had been insulted. Even wise, saintly Mrs. Bodine, her genial counsellor, had been ignored. "Was there ever such monstrous assumption!" she cried, as she paced backand forth with clinched hands. 

She soon heard the step of Mrs. Hunter, and became outwardly calm. 

"Well?" said her aunt. 

"He won't come again, nor shall I speak to him again. Let these factscontent you, aunty. "

"That much at least is satisfactory, " said Mrs. Hunter, "but I think itwas a wretched mistake to see him at all. "

"It was not a mistake, for he has revealed the depths into which a man cansink who adopts his course. I have some respect for an out-and-outNortherner, brought up as such; but it does seem that when a man turnstraitor, as it were, he goes to greater lengths than those whose camp hejoins. He suspects those who are too noble for him to understand. "

"Whom does Mr. Clancy suspect?"

"Oh, all of us. He came to advise me as an unprotected, unfriended, unguided girl. "

"Was there ever such impudence on the face of the earth!"

Mara sank exhausted into a chair in the inevitable reaction from herstrong excitement. 

"Aunty, it is all over, and we shall not meet again except as strangers. Never say a word of his coming, of this interview, to any one. It is myaffair, and I wish to forget it as far as possible. "

"You know I'm not a gossip, Mara, about family matters, especiallydisagreeable matters. Well, perhaps it will turn out for the best, sinceyou have broken with him entirely. It always made me angry that he shouldcontinue to speak to you, and even sit down and talk to you at an eveningcompany, when you could not repulse him without arresting the attention ofevery one. "

"Good-night, aunty. All that is over. "

"Mara, you must take an opiate to-night. "

"Yes; give me something to make me sleep, that will bring oblivion for atleast to-night. I must be ready for my work in the morning. It won't takeme long _now_ to attain self-control. "

"Mara, " cried Ella the next day, "you look positively ill. I wish youcould take a rest. Suppose we shut up shop for a while, and hang out asign, 'closed for repairs. '"

"No, Ella. I can stand it, if you can, till August, and then we will takea month's rest. I wasn't very well last night, but I have found a remedywhich is going to help me, and I shall be better. "

Ella took the surface meaning of these words, and, being preoccupied withher own thoughts, remained, as well as Mara, rather silent that morning. Although she assured herself more than once that George Houghton was"nothing to her, " she found herself thinking a great deal about him, andwhat she termed "their droll experiences. " Prone to take a mirthful viewof everything, she often laughed over the whole affair, and it grew ratherthan lost in interest with time. It was the first real adventure of hergirlhood, and he was the first man who had retained more than a transientplace in her thoughts. Feeling that their acquaintance had come aboutthrough no fault of hers, she was disposed to get all the fun possible outof what had occurred. 

The morning was warm, and she was working in charming _dishabille_. Dressed in light summer costume, thrown open at her throat, and withsleeves rolled to her shoulders, she appeared a veritable Hebe. Herbright, golden, fluffy hair was gathered carelessly into a Grecian knot, and her flushed face received more than one flour-mark as she impatientlybrushed away the flies. Seeing her smiling to herself so often, Maraenvied her, but made no comment. At last the girl broke into a ringinglaugh. 

"What is amusing you so greatly?" Mara asked. 

"I can't get over that party at Mrs. Willoughby's. It was all soirresistibly comical. Cousin Sophy thinks she has a genius for choosingchaperons, and so she has, but fate is too strong for men and gods, not tomention saintly and secluded old ladies. I had scarcely more than enteredthe drawing-room, and taken my bearings, as cousin would say, when theworst Vandal of the lot is marched up to me, and I--green littlegirl--thought I must be polite to him and every one else. When I think ofit all, I see that my chaperon was like a distressed hen with a ducklingthat would go into the water. Without any effort of mine, that great Goth, Mr. Houghton, submitted himself to my inspection, and instead of beinghorrified, I have been laughing at him ever since. He struck me as anexceedingly harmless creature, with large capabilities for blundering. Hewould not step on a fly maliciously, yet poor Mrs. Robertson acted as if Iwere near an ogre who might devour me at a mouthful. How she did manoeuvreto keep that big fellow away! and what a homily she gave me on our wayhome! It all seems so absurd. I wish papa would not take such things soseriously, for I can't see any harm in making sport of the Philistines. "

"Making sport _for_ the Philistines--that is what your father and what weall object to. This young Houghton would very gladly amuse himself at yourexpense. "

"I'd like to see him try it, " said Ella defiantly. "I'd turn the tables onhim so quickly as to take away his breath. "

"Oh, Ella! why do you think about such people at all?"

"Because they amuse me. What's the harm in thinking about him in my jollyway? There's nothing bad about him. His worst crimes are, that he iscomical and the son of his father. "

"How do you know there's nothing bad about him?"

"For the same reason that I distrust Miss Ainsley. Each makes animpression which I believe is correct. "

"Well, well, Ella, " said Mara, a little impatiently, "laugh it out andhave done with him. For all our sakes, please have nothing more to do withsuch people. "

"I haven't sought 'such people, '" replied Ella, with a shrug; "but I tellyou, Mara, I'm not going through life with my eyes shut, nor am I going tolook through a pair of blue spectacles. See here, sweetheart, what did Godgive me eyes for? What did he give me a brain for? To see through some oneelse's eyes? to think with the brain of another? No, indeed; that'scontrary to such reason and common-sense as I possess. "

"You certainly will be guided by your father?"

"Yes, yes, indeed, in all that pertains to his welfare and happiness. Icould die for him this minute, and would if it were required. But thereare things which I cannot do for him or any one. I cannot ignore my ownconscience and sense of right. I cannot think his thoughts any more thanhe can think mine. You dear, melancholy little goose, don't you know thatGod never rolls two people into one, even after they are married? Theyare, or should be, one in a vital sense, yet they are different, independent beings, and were made so. I'd like to know of any one in thistown more bent upon having her own way than you. "

Mara was silent, for Ella had a way of putting things which disturbed her. 

"Cousin Sophy, " said Ella in the afternoon, "hasn't the proper time comefor me to make my party call on Mrs. Willoughby? You are my Mentor in allthat relates to etiquette, and that giddy fraction of the world termedsociety. "

"Well, yes, " said the old lady, "I suppose it is time. In the case of Mrs. Willoughby it will be little more than a formality, for she is anacquaintance you will not care to cultivate. You may be lucky enough tofind her out, and then your card will answer all the purposes of a call. "

"Oh, I know that much, cousin, if I am from the wilds of the interior; butif she is in, I suppose I should sit down and talk about the weather alittle while. "

"Go along, you saucy puss. Tell her how shocked you were to see oldHoughton's son in her parlors. "

"Well, I was at first. Bah! cousin, he's a great big boy, and doesn't knowany more than I do about some things. "

"Well added. Tell her, then, we have enough Southern gentlemen remaining, and there is no necessity of inviting big Northern hobble-de-hoys. "

"Oh! I didn't mean that, cousin. Be fair now. He was gentlemanly enough, as much so as the rest of them, but he was young and giddy, like myself, just as you used to be and are now sometimes;" and she stopped the oldlady's mouth with kisses, then ran to dress for the street. 

The kitchen Hebe of the morning was soon metamorphosed into a verycharmingly costumed young woman. 

Even Miss Ainsley was compelled to recognize the lovely and harmoniouseffect, although it did not bear the latest brand of fashion, or representcostly expenditure. 

Both she and Mrs. Willoughby were pleased as Ella stepped lightly into theback parlor, and the young girl congratulated herself that she had come soopportunely, for they were evidently expecting visits like her own. 

One and another dropped in until Mrs. Willoughby was entertaining three orfour in the front parlor. Miss Ainsley remained chatting with Ella, whofelt that the Northern girl's remarks were largely tentative, evincing awish to draw her out. Shrewd Ella soon began to generalize to such adegree that Miss Ainsley thought, "You are no fool, " and had a growingrespect for the "little baker, " as she had termed the young girl. 

Then Clancy appeared, and Ella was forgotten, but she saw the sameunmistakable welcome which from some women would mean all that a lovercould desire. Ella thought that a slight expression of vexation crossedhis brow as he recognized in her Mara's partner and friend, but he spoketo her politely and even cordially. Indeed, no one could do otherwise, forher face would propitiate an ogre. She thought there was a spice ofrecklessness in Clancy's manner, and she heard him remark to Miss Ainsleythat he had come to say good-by for a short time. That young woman led theway to the balcony and began to expostulate; and then Ella's attention wasriveted on a tall young fellow, who was shaking hands with Mrs. Willoughby. 

"Good gracious!" she thought, "what can I do if he sees me? How can I'shake off and avoid' in this back parlor? I can't make a bolt for thefront door or sneak out of the back door; I can't sit here like a gravenimage if he comes--"

"Miss Bodine! Well, I'm lucky for once in my ill-fated life. "

"Oh! I beg your pardon, " remarked Ella, turning from the window, out ofwhich she had apparently been gazing with intense preoccupation. "Good-afternoon, Mr. Houghton. " But he held out his hand with suchimperative cordiality that she had to take it. Then he drew up a chair tothe corner of the sofa on which she sat and placed it in a way that barredapproach or egress. "Oh, shade of Mrs. Hunter!" she groaned inwardly, "what can I do? I'm fairly surrounded--all avenues of retreat cut off. Imust face the enemy and fight. "

"I knew the chance would come for us to get acquainted, " said Houghton, settling himself complacently in the great armchair, "but I had scarcelyhoped for such a happy opportunity as this so soon. "

"I must go in a few minutes, " she remarked demurely. "I have been heresome time. "

"Miss Bodine, you are not capable of such cruelty. You know it is veryearly yet. "

"I thought you came to call on Mrs. Willoughby?"

"So I did, and I have called on her. See her talking ancient history tothose dowagers yonder. What a figure I'd cut in that group. "

She laughed outright, as much from nervous trepidation as at the comicalidea suggested, and was in an inward rage that she did so, for she hadintended to be so dignified and cool as to depress and discourage the"objectionable person" who hedged her in. 

"What a jolly, infectious laugh you have!" he resumed. "To be able tolaugh well is a rare accomplishment. Some snicker, others giggle, chuckle, cackle, make all sorts of disagreeable noises, but a natural, merry, musical laugh-Miss Bodine, I congratulate you, and myself also, that Ihappened in this blessed afternoon to hear it. And that terrible chaperonof yours isn't here either. How she frowned on me the other evening as ifI were a wolf in the fold, " and the young man broke into a clear ringinglaugh at the recollection. 

Ella was laughing with him in spite of herself. Indeed the more she triedto be grave and severe the more impossible it became. 

"Mr. Houghton, " she managed to say at last, "will you do me a favor?"

"Scores of them. "

"Then stop making me laugh. I don't wish to laugh. "

His face instantly assumed such portentous and awful gravity that he sether off again to such a degree that the dowagers in the other room lookedat her rebukingly. It was bad enough, they thought, that she should talkto old Houghton's son at all, but to show such unbecoming levity-well, itwas not what they would "expect of a Bodine. " Ella saw their disapproval, and felt she was losing her self-control. The warnings she had receivedagainst her companion embarrassed her, and banished the power to be hernatural self. 

"Please don't, " she gasped, "or I shall go at once. I asked a favor. "

"Pardon me, Miss Bodine, " he now said in a tone and manner which quietedher nerves at once. "I have blundered again, but I was so happy to thinkthat I had met you here. I am not wholly a rattle-brain. What would youlike to talk about?" and he looked so kindly and eager to please her thatshe cast down her eyes and contracted her brow in deepest perplexity. 

"Truly, Mr. Houghton, I should be on my way homeward, and you have sohedged me in that I cannot escape. "

"Is running away from me escaping?"

"I don't like that phrase 'running away. '"

"Yet that is what you propose to do. "

"Oh, no, I shall take my departure in a very composed and dignifiedmanner. "

His face had the expression of almost boyish distress. "You find onfurther thought that you cannot forgive me?" he asked sadly. 

"Did I not say that was all explained and settled? Southern girls are notfickle or false to their word. " And she managed to assume an aspect ofgreat dignity. "If I do not shake him off in the next few minutes I'mlost, " she thought. 

"I've offended you again, " he said anxiously. 

She took refuge in silence. 

"Miss Bodine, I ask your pardon. You know I can't do more than that, or ifI can, tell me what. I wish to please you very much. "

The girl was at her wit's end, for his ingenuous expression emphasized thetruth of his words. "There is no reason why you should please me, " shebegan coolly, and then knew not how to proceed. 

"Let us be frank with each other, " he resumed earnestly. "We are too youngyet to indulge in society lies. When a man apologizes at the North he isforgiven. I have been told that Southerners are a generous, warm-heartedpeople. In their cool treatment of me they counteract the climate. Areyou, too, going to ostracize me?"

"I fear I shall have to, " she replied faintly. 

"Of your own free will?"

"No, indeed. "

His heart gave a great throb of joy, but he had the sense to conceal hisgladness. He only said quietly, "Well, I'm glad that you at least do notdetest me. "

"Why should I detest you, Mr. Houghton?"

"I'm sure I don't know why any one should. I have never harmed any one inthis town that I know of. "

She knew not how to answer, for she could not reflect upon his father. 

"I don't care about others, but your case. "

"Truly, Mr. Houghton, " she began hastily, "this is a large city. A fewimpoverished Southern people are nothing to you. "

"I was not thinking of Southern people, " he replied gravely. "You said amoment since you saw no reason why I should try to please you. Am I toblame if you have inspired many reasons? I know you better than any girlin the world. You revealed your very self in a moment of danger to me asyou thought. I saw that you were good and brave--that you possess just thequalities that I most respect and admire in a woman. Every moment I amwith you confirms this belief. Why should I not wish to please you, tobecome your friend? I know I should be the better in every respect if youwere my friend. "

She shook her head, but did not venture to look at him. 

"You believe I am sincere, Miss Bodine. You cannot think I am sentimentalor flirtatious. I would no more do you wrong, even in my thoughts, than Iwould think evil of my dead mother. You are mirthful in your nature; so amI, but I do not think that either of us is shallow or silly. If I ampersonally disagreeable, that ends everything, but how can a man securethe esteem and friendly regard of a woman, when he covets these supremely, unless he speaks and reveals his feelings?"

"You are talking wildly, Mr. Houghton, " said Ella, with averted face. "Wehave scarcely more than met. "

"You would lead me to think that you Southern people are tenfold colderand more deliberate than we of the North. You may not have thought of mesince we met, but I have thought of you constantly. I could not help it. "

Ella felt that she must escape now as if for her life, and, summoning allher faculties and resolution, she said, looking him in the eyes, "I've nodoubt, Mr. Houghton, you think you are sincere in your words at thismoment, but you may soon wonder that you spoke such hasty words. "

"In proving you mistaken, time will be my ally. "

"You have asked me to be frank, " she resumed. "In justice to you andmyself I feel that I must be so. I do not share in the prejudices, if youprefer that word, of my father, but I must be governed by his wishes. Itrust that you will not ask me to say more. Won't you please let me gonow? See, the last guests are leaving. "

"Tell me one thing, " he pleaded eagerly as he rose. "I am not personallydisagreeable to you?"

"The idea of my telling you anything of the kind!" and there was a flashof mirthfulness in her face which left him in a most tormenting state ofuncertainty. A moment later she had shaken hands with Mrs. Willoughby, andwas gone. 

He stood looking after her, half-dazed by his conflicting feelings. Turning, Mrs. Willoughby saw and understood him at once. She came to hisside and said kindly, "Sit down, Mr. Houghton, I've not had a chance totalk with you yet. "

With an involuntary sigh he complied. 

CHAPTER XXV

FEMININE FRIENDS

Mrs. Willoughby was a woman of the world, yet in no bad sense. Indeed, beneath the veneer of fashionable life she possessed much kindliness ofnature. She was capable of a good deal of cynicism toward those who shesaid "ought to be able to take care of themselves, " and in this categoryshe placed Clancy and Miss Ainsley. "I shall leave both to paddle theirown canoes, " she had said to herself. 

Looking kindly at Houghton, who seemed to have lost his volubility, andwaited for her to speak again, she thought: "If this young fellow wasinfatuated with Caroline I'd warn him quick enough. " With the astutenessof a matron she merely remarked: "You seem greatly pleased with my littlefriend, Miss Bodine. You must not trifle with her, if she is poor, for shecomes of one of the best families in the State. "

"Trifle with Miss Bodine! What do you take me for, Mrs. Willoughby?" andhe rose indignantly. 

"There, now, sit down, my friend. I only said that so you might reveal howsincere you are, and I won't use any more diplomacy with you. "

"I hope not, " he replied laughing grimly. "You ought to know, what I amfast finding out, that a young fellow, like me, can no more understand awoman, unless she is frank, than he can Choctaw. "

Mrs. Willoughby laughed heartily, and said: "I'll be frank with you, ifyou will be so with me. "

"Then tell me why I am treated by so many in your set as if I had overrunthe South with fire and sword?"

His first question proved that she could not be frank, for in order togive an adequate explanation she would have to reveal to him his father'sanimus and the hostility it evoked. She temporized by saying: "I do not sotreat you, and surely Miss Bodine seemed to enjoy your conversation. "

"I'm not so sure of that. At any rate she said she would have to ostracizeme like the rest. "

"She was kind in telling you that she would have to do so. She certainlybears you no ill-will. "

"She probably does not care enough about me yet to do that. The worst ofit is that I shall have no chance. Her father objects to her havinganything to do with me, and that blocks everything. Even if I were capableof seeking a clandestine acquaintance, she is not. She is a thoroughlygood girl; she doesn't know how to be deceitful. "

"I'm glad you appreciate her so truly. "

"I'd be a donkey if I didn't. "

"Well, don't be unwise in your future action. "

"What action can I take?" and he looked at her almost imploringly. A youngman of his age is usually very ready to make a confidante of a marriedwoman older than himself, yet young enough to sympathize with him inaffairs of the heart. Houghton instinctively felt that the case might notbe utterly hopeless if he could secure an ally in Mrs. Willoughby, for herecognized her tact, and believed that she was friendly. He promptlydetermined therefore to seek and to take her advice. 

She looked at him searchingly as she said: "Perhaps it would be best notto take any action at all. If Miss Bodine has made only a passing andpleasant impression, and you merely desire to secure another agreeableacquaintance you had better stop where you are. It will save you muchannoyance, and, what is of far more consequence, may keep her from realtrouble. As you suggest, you cannot do anything in an underhand way. Ifyou attempted it, you would lose her respect instantly, your own also. Sheidolizes her father, and will not act contrary to his wishes. Why not letthe matter drop where it is?"

"Can't take any such advice as that, " he replied, shaking his headresolutely. 

"Why not?"

"Oh, confound it! Suppose some one, years ago, had advised Mr. Willoughbyin such style. "

"Is it as serious as that?"

He passed his hand in perplexity over his brow. "Mrs. Willoughby, " heburst out, "I'm in deep water. 'I reckon, ' as you say here, you understandme better than I do myself. I only know that I'd face all creation for thesake of that girl, yet what you say about making her trouble, staggers me. I'm in sore perplexity, and don't know what to do. "

"Will you take my advice?"

"Yes, I will, as long as I believe you are my honest friend, as long as Ican. "

"Well, you won't try to see Ella before you have consulted me?"

"I promise that. "

"Don't do anything at present Think the matter over quietly andconscientiously. I'm sorry I must make one other suggestion. I fear yourfather would be as much opposed to all this as Captain Bodine himself. "

"I think not. My father is not so stern as he seems. At least he is notstern to me, and he has let me spend more money than my neck's worth. Ifancy he is well disposed toward Captain Bodine, for he has given himemployment. I asked the old gentleman about it one day, but he changed thesubject. He wouldn't have employed the captain, however, unless he wasinterested in him some way. "

"Why wouldn't he?"

"Oh, well, he naturally prefers to have Northerners about him. "

"Will you permit me to be a little more frank than I have been?"

"I supposed you were going to be altogether frank. "

"For fear of hurting your feelings I have not been. Your father is notfriendly to us, and we reciprocate. This makes it harder for you. "

Houghton thought in silence for a few moments, and then said: "You shouldmake allowance for an old man, half heart-broken by the death of hisoldest son, drowned in the bay there. "

"I do; so would others, if he were not vindictive, if he did not use hisgreat financial strength against us. "

"I don't think he does this, certainly not to my knowledge. He only seeksto make all he can, like other business men. "

"Mr. Houghton, you haven't been very much in Charleston. Even yourvacations have been spent mainly elsewhere, I think, and your mind hasbeen occupied with your studies and athletics. You are more familiar withGreek and Roman history than with ours, and you cannot understand thefeelings of persons like Captain Bodine and his cousin, old Mrs. Bodine, who passed through the agony of the war, and lost nearlyeverything--kindred, property, and what they deem liberty. You cannotunderstand your own father, who lost his son. You think of the present andfuture. "

Houghton again sighed deeply as he said: "I admit the force of all yousay. I certainly cannot feel as they do, nor perhaps understand them. "Then he added: "I wouldn't if I could. Why should I tie the millstone ofthe past about my neck?"

"You should not do so; but you must make allowance for those to whom thatpast is more than the present or future can be. "

"Why can't they forgive and forget, as far as possible, as you do?"

"Because people are differently constituted. Besides, young man, I am notold enough to be your grandmother. I was very young at the time of thewar, and have not suffered as have others. "

"Grandmother, indeed! I should think that Mr. Willoughby would fall inlove with you every day. "

"The grand passion has a rather prominent place in your thoughts just now. Some day you will be like Mr. Willoughby, and cotton, stocks, or theirequivalents, will take a very large share of your thoughts. "

"Well, that day hasn't come yet. Even the wise man said there was a timefor all things. How long must my probation last before I can come back formore advice?"

"A week, at least"

"Phew!"

"You must think it all over, as I said before, calmly and conscientiously. I have tried to enable you to see the subject on all its sides, and I tellyou again that you may find just as much opposition from your father asfrom Captain Bodine. He may have very different plans for you. Ella Bodinehas nothing but her own good heart to give you, supposing you were able topersuade her to give that much. "

"That much would enrich me forever. "

"Your father wouldn't see it in that light. He may call her that designinglittle baker. "

"I hope he won't for God's sake. I never said a hot word to my father. "

"Never do so, then. If you lose your temper, all is lost. But we areanticipating. Sober, second thoughts may lead you to save yourself andothers a world of trouble. "

"Oh! I've had second thoughts before. Good-by. At this hour, one weekhence;" and he shook hands heartily. 

A moment later, he came rushing back from the hall, exclaiming: "There!See, what a blunderbuss I am! I forgot to thank you, which I do, with allmy heart. "

"Ah!" sighed the mature woman, as her guest finally departed, "I'd takeall his pains for the possibilities of his joys. "

Ella had not been mistaken in thinking that she detected a trace ofrecklessness in Clancy's manner. He had been compelled to believe thatMara was in truth lost to him; that her will and pride would provestronger than her heart. Indeed, he went so far as to believe that herheart, as far as he was concerned, was not giving her very much trouble. 

"I fear she has become so morbid and warped by the malign influences thathave surrounded her from infancy, " he had thought, "that she cannot loveas I love. My best hope now is, that when Bodine begins to show his gamemore clearly, she will remember my words. It's horrible to think that shemay develop into a woman like Mrs. Hunter. Until this evening, I havealways believed there was a sweet, womanly soul imprisoned in her bosom, but now I don't know what to think. I'll go off to the mountains on thepretence of a fishing excursion, and get my balance again. "

The following morning had been spent in preparations, and the afternoon, as we have seen, found him at Mrs. Willoughby's. His sore heart and bittermood were solaced by Miss Ainsley's unmistakable welcome. He knew he didnot care for her in any deep and lasting sense, and he much doubtedwhether her interest in him was greater than that which she had bestowedupon others in the past. But she diverted his thoughts, flattered theself-love which Mara had wounded so ruthlessly, and above all fascinatedhim by her peculiar beauty and intellectual brilliancy. 

"Why are you going away?" she asked reproachfully, when they were seatedon the balcony. 

"Oh, I've been working hard. I'm going off to the mountains to fish andrest. "

"I hope you'll catch cold, and come back again soon. "

"What a disinterested friend!"

"You are thinking only of yourself; why shouldn't I do likewise?"

"No, I'm thinking of you. "

"Of course, at this minute. You'd be apt to think of a lamp-post if youwere looking at it. "

"Please don't put out the sunshine with your brilliancy. "

"Ironical, too! What is the matter to-day?"

"What penetration! Reveal your intuitions. Have I failed in business, orbeen crossed in love?"

"The latter, I fancy. "

"Well, then, how can I better recover peace of mind and serenity than bygoing a-fishing? You know what Izaak Walton says--"

"Oh, spare me, please, that ancient worthy! You are as cold-blooded as anyfish that you'll catch. If I find it stupid in Charleston I'll go North. "

"That threat shakes my very soul. I promise to come back in a week or tendays. "

"Or a month or so, " she added, looking hurt. 

"Come, my good friend, " he said, laughing. "We're too good fellows, as youwished we should be, to pretend to any forlornness over a parting of thiskind. You will sleep as sweetly and dreamlessly as if you had never seenOwen Clancy, and I will write you a letter, such as a man would write to aman, telling you of my adventures. If I don't meet any I'll bring someabout--get shot by the moonlighters, save a mountain maid from drowning ina trout pool, or fall into the embrace of a black bear. "

"The mountain maid, you mean. "

"Did I? Well, your penetration passes bounds. "

"You may go, if you will write the letter. There must be no dime-novelstories in it, no drawing on your imagination. It shall be your task tomake interesting just what you see and do. "

"Please add the twelve labors of Hercules. "

"No trifling. I'm in earnest, and put you on your mettle in regard to thatletter. Unless you do your best, your friendship is all a pretence. Andremember what you said about its being a letter to a man. If you begin ina conventional way, as if writing to a lady, I'll burn it withoutreading. "

"Agreed. Good-by, old fellow--beg pardon, Miss Ainsley. "

She laughed and said, "I like that; good-by. " And she gave him a warm, soft hand, in a rather lingering clasp. 

When he was gone she murmured softly, "Yes, he has a chance. "

CHAPTER XXVI

ELLA'S CRUMB OF COMFORT

Ella walked up Meeting Street in a frame of mind differing widely from thecomplacent mood in which she sought Mrs. Willoughby's residence. Theunexpected had again happened, and to her it seemed so strange, so veryremarkable, that she should have met Mr. Houghton once more without theslightest intention, or even expectation, on her part, that she wasperplexed and troubled. What did it mean?

In matters purely personal, and related closely to our own interests, weare prone to give almost a superstitious significance to events which comeabout naturally enough. It was not at all strange that Houghton shouldhave been strongly and agreeably impressed by Ella from the first; andthat he should happen to call at the same hour that she did, would havebeen regarded by her as a very ordinary coincidence, had not the case beenher own. Since it was her own, she was almost awed by the portentousinterview from which she had just escaped. The inexperienced girl foundher cherished ideas in respect to young Houghton completely at fault. Shehad sighed that she could not meet him without restraint or embarrassment, for, as she had assured herself, "It would be such fun. " She had supposedthat she could laugh at him and with him indefinitely--that he would be asource of infinite jest and amusement. He had banished all these illusionsin a few brief moments. How could she make sport of a man who had coupledher name with that of his dead mother? His every glance, word, and toneexpressed sincere respect and admiration, and, she had to admit toherself, something more. She was so sincere herself, so unsullied, solacking in the callousness often resulting from much contact with theworld, that it seemed to her that it would be a profanation henceforth toregard him as the butt of even the innocent ridicule of which she wascapable. Yet in all her perplexity and trouble there was a confusedexhilaration and a glad sense of power. 

"To think that I, little Ella Bodine, a baker by trade, " she thought, "should have inspired that big fellow to talk as he did! He is apologyembodied, and seems far more afraid of me than he was of that great bullyon the street. " And she bent her head to conceal a laugh of exultation. 

Then she remembered her father, and her face grew troubled. "I shall haveto tell him, " she murmured, "and then the old scene will be enacted overagain. A plague on that old shadow of the war! If I were a man I'd fightit out and then shake hands. "

Soon after reaching home she heard her father's crutches on the sidewalk, and ran down to meet him. In accordance with her custom, she took away onecrutch, and supported him to a chair in the parlor. He kissed her fondly, and remarked, "You look a little pale, Ella. "

"I feel pale, papa. I've something to tell you, and you must listenpatiently and sensibly. I've met Mr. Houghton again. "

The veteran's face darkened instantly, but he waited till she explainedfurther. 

"Now see how you begin to look, " she resumed. "You are judging me already. You can't be even fair to your own child. "

"It would rather seem that you are judging me, Ella. "

"Oh, bother it all!" she exclaimed. "I wish I could be simple and naturalin this affair, for I was so embarrassed and constrained that I fear Iacted like a fool. Well, I'll tell you how it happened. After lunch Iasked Cousin Sophy if it was not time for me to make my party call on Mrs. Willoughby, and she said it was. I found that Mrs. Willoughby wasexpecting callers. We chatted a few minutes, and then others came, Mr. Houghton among them. I no more expected to meet him than I expected tomeet you there. After shaking hands with Mrs. Willoughby he came to me inthe back parlor instantly, and drew up a chair so that I could not escapeunless I jumped over him. He began with such funny speeches that I gotlaughing, as much from nervousness as anything else, for I'd been sowarned against him that I couldn't be myself. "

"You shall not go to Mrs. Willoughby's again, " said her father, decidedly. 

"Now please listen till I'm all through. He soon saw that I did not wantto laugh, and stopped his nonsense. He wanted to become acquainted, friendly, you know; and finally I had to tell him that it couldn'tbe--that I must be governed by your wishes. "

"Ah, that was my dear, good, sensible girl!"

"No, papa, I don't feel sensible at all. On the contrary, I have a mean, absurd feeling--just as if I had gone to Mrs. Willoughby's and slapped achild because it was a Northern child. "

He laughed at this remark, for she unconsciously gave the impression thatshe had been more repellant than had actually been true. He soon checkedhimself, however, and said gravely, "Ella, you take these things tooseriously. "

"No, papa, it seems to me that it is you and Cousin and Mara who takethese things too seriously. What harm has that young fellow ever done anyof us?"

"He could do me an immense deal of harm if you gave him your thoughts, andbecame even friendly. I should be exceedingly unhappy. "

"Oh, well! that isn't possible--I mean, that we should become friendly. Icertainly won't permit him to speak to me in the streets, although I spoketo him once in the street. Oh, I'm going to tell you everything now!" andshe related the circumstances of her first meeting with Houghton. 

"All this is very painful to me, " her father said, with clouded brow. "But, as you say, it has come about without intention on your part. I amglad you have told me everything, for now I can better guard you fromfuture mischances. My relations to this young man's father are such thatit would make it very disagreeable, indeed, positively unendurable, if hisson should seek your society. You should also remember that Mr. Houghtonwould be as bitterly hostile to any such course on his son's part as I am. Your pride, apart from my wishes, should lead you to repel the slightestadvance. "

"I reckon your wishes will have the most influence, papa. I have toostrong a sense of justice to punish the son on account of his father. "

"You cannot separate them, Ella. Think of our own relation. What touchesone touches the other. "

"Well, papa, it's all over, and I've told you everything. Since I'm not togo to Mrs. Willoughby's any more, there is little probability that I shallmeet him again, except in the street. If he bows to me, I shall return thecourtesy with quiet dignity, for he has acted like a gentleman toward me, and, for the sake of my own self-respect, I must act like a lady towardhim. If he seeks to talk to me, I shall tell him it is forbidden, and thatwill end it, for he is too honorable to attempt anything clandestine. "

"I'm not sure of that. "

"I am, papa. He wouldn't be such an idiot, for he understands me wellenough to know what would be the result of that kind of thing. But heisn't that kind of a man. "

"How should you know what kind of a man he is?"

"Oh, Heaven has provided us poor women with intuitions!"

"True, to a certain extent, but the rule is proved by an awful lot ofexceptions. "

"Perhaps if they were studied out, inclinations rather than intuitionswere followed. "

"Well, my dear, we won't discuss these vague questions. Your duty is assimple and clear as mine is. Do as you have promised, and all will bewell. I must now dress for dinner. " And kissing her affectionately, hewent up to his room. 

She took his seat, and looked vacantly out of the window, with a vaguedissatisfaction at heart. Unrecognized fully as yet, the great law ofnature, which brings to each a distinct and separate existence, wasbeginning to operate. As she had said to Mara, vital interests werelooming up, new experiences coming, of which she could no more think histhoughts than he hers. 

Her face was a little clouded when she sat down to dinner, and sheobserved Mrs. Bodine looking at her keenly. Instinctively she sought toconceal her deeper feelings, and to become her mirthful self. 

"You have not told me about your call yet, " the old lady remarked. 

"Well, I felt that papa should have the first recital. I met again the sonof that old--ahem!--Mr. Houghton, and I have begun to ostracize him. "

"Ella, " said her father, almost sternly, "do not speak in that way. Ourfeelings are strong, sincere, and well-grounded. "

"There, papa, I did not mean to reflect lightly upon them. Indeed, I wasnot thinking of them, but of Mr. Houghton. "

"Oh, Cousin Hugh! let the child talk in her own natural way. She wouldn'tscratch one of your crutches with a pin, much less hurt you. "

"Forgive me, Ella, " he said, "I misunderstood you. "

"Yes, in the main, papa, but to be frank, I don't enjoy this ostracizingbusiness, and I hope I won't have any more of it to do. "

"There is no reason why you should. Cousin Sophy, there should be peopleenough in Charleston for Ella to visit without the chance of meeting Mr. Houghton, or any of his ilk. "

"So there are. I'll manage that. Well, Ella, how did you set aboutostracizing young Houghton?" And the old lady began to laugh. 

"It's no laughing matter, " said Ella, shaking her head ruefully. "He wasfrank and polite and respectful as any young gentleman would be undersimilar circumstances, and he wanted to become better acquainted, call onme, I suppose, and all that, but I had to tell him virtually that he wasan objectionable person. "

"I would rather this subject should not be discussed any further, " saidher father gravely. 

"So would I, " Ella added. "Papa and I have settled the matter, and Mr. Houghton is to recede below the horizon. "

The old lady thought that when Ella was alone with her she would get allthe details of the interview, but she was mistaken. The girl not only grewmore and more averse to speaking of Houghton, but she also felt that whathe had said so frankly and sincerely to her was not a proper theme forgossip, even with kindly old Mrs. Bodine, and that a certain degree ofloyalty was due to him, as well as to her father and cousin. 

The captain had some writing on hand that night, and Ella read aloud toher cousin till it was time to retire. Apparently the evening passeduneventfully away; yet few recognize the eventful hours of their lives. Asubtle and mysterious change was taking place in the girl's nature whichin time she would recognize. More than once she murmured, "How can I behostile to him? He said he could no more do me wrong, even in histhoughts, than think evil of his dead mother. He said he would be betterif I were his friend, and he is as good-hearted this minute as I am. Yet Imust treat him as if he were not fit to be spoken to. Well, I reckon itwill hurt me as much as it does him. There's some comfort in that. "

CHAPTER XXVII

RECOGNIZED AS LOVER

It was inevitable that Mara should pay the penalty of being at variancewith nature and her own heart. The impulses of youth had been checked andrestrained. Instead of looking forward, like Ella, she was turning everbackward, and drawing her inspiration from the past, and a dead, hopelesspast, at that. It fell upon her like a shadow. All its incentive tendedtoward negation, prompting her to frown on changes, progress, and thehopefulness springing up in many hearts. The old can hug their gloom in asort of complacent misanthropy; the young cannot. If they are unhappy theychafe, and feel in their deepest consciousness that something is wrong. Mara laid the blame chiefly upon Clancy, believing that, if he had takenthe course adopted by Captain Bodine, she could have been happy with himin an attic. His words, at their interview, were not the only causes ofher intense indignation and passion. Although she was incensed to the lastdegree, that he should charge Captain Bodine with such "preposterous"motives and intentions, she was also aware that her fierce struggles withher own heart, at the time, distracted and confused her. She could notmaintain the icy demeanor she had resolved upon. 

Left to herself, the long afternoon and evening of the following day, shehad time for many second thoughts. She was compelled to face in solitudethe hard problems of her life. Anger died out, and its support was lost. She had driven away the only man she loved, or could ever love, and shehad used language which he could never forget, or be expected to forgive. The more she thought of his motive in seeking the interview, the moreperplexed and troubled she became. As now in calmer mood she recalled hiswords and manner, she could not delude herself with the belief that hecame only in his own behalf, or that he was prompted by jealousy. Sheremembered the grim frankness with which he said virtually that he hadnothing to hope from her, not even tolerance. She almost writhed under thefact that he had again compelled her to believe that, however mistaken, hewas sincere and straightforward, that he truly thought that Bodine waslover rather than friend. 

She would not, could not, imagine that this was true, and yet she groanedaloud, "He has destroyed my chief solace. I was almost happy with myfather's friend, and was coming to think of him almost as a second father. Now, when with him I shall have a miserable self-consciousness, and adisposition to interpret his words and manner in a way that will do himhateful wrong. Oh, what is there for me to look forward to? What is theuse of living?"

These final words indicated one of Mara's chief needs. She craved somemotive, some powerful incentive, which could both sustain and inspire. Mere existence, with its ordinary pleasures and interests, did not satisfyher at all. Clancy's former question in regard to her devotion to the pastand the dead, "What goodwill it do?" haunted her like a spectre. He hadagain made the dreary truth more clear, that there was nothing in thefuture to which she could give the strong allegiance of her soul. Shewould work for nothing, suffer for nothing, hope for nothing, except herdaily bread. As she said, the friendship of Bodine was but a solace, greatindeed, but inadequate to the deep requirements of a nature like hers. Sheknew she was leading a dual life--cold, reserved, sternly self-restrainedoutwardly, yet longing with passionate desire for the love she hadrejected, and, since that was impossible, for something else, to which shecould consecrate her life, with the feeling that it was worth thesacrifice. If she had been brought up in the Roman Catholic religion, shemight have been led to the austere life of a nun. But, in her morbidcondition, she was incapable of understanding the wholesome faith, thelarge, sweet liberty of those who remain closely allied to humanity in theworld, yet purifying and saving it, by the sympathetic tenderness of Himwho had "compassion on the multitude. " She had still much to learn in thehard school of experience. 

The next day, Ella was nothing like so voluble as usual. Little frowns andmoments of deep abstraction took the place of the mirthful smiles of theday before. Nevertheless, her strong love for Mara led her to speak quitefreely of her experience during her call at Mrs. Willoughby's. As Mara'sclosest friend, she felt that reticence was a kind of disloyalty. It wasalso true that out of the abundance of her heart she was prone to speak. At the same time, the belief grew stronger hourly that she had a secretwhich she had not revealed, and could not reveal to any one. The more shethought over Houghton's words and manner, the more sure she became thathis interest in her was not merely a passing fancy. Maidenly reserve, however, forbade even a hint of what might seem to others a conceited andindelicate surmise. She therefore gave only the humorous side of hermeeting with Houghton again, and laughed at Mara's vexation. So far frombeing afraid of her friend, she rather enjoyed shocking her. At last shesaid, "There, Mara, don't take it so to heart. Papa says I must ostracizehim, and so Goth and Vandal he becomes--the absurd idea!"

"Your father would not require you to do anything absurd. "

"No, not what was absurd to him; but he does not know Mr. Houghton anymore than you do. It's not only absurd, but it's wrong, from my point ofview. "

"Oh, Ella, I'm sorry you feel so different from the rest of us. "

"Why do you feel different from so many others, Mara? It isn't to pleasethis or that one, or because you have been told to think or to feel thusand so. You have your views and convictions because you are MaraWallingford, and not someone else. Am I made of putty any more than youare, sweetheart?"

Her words were like a stab to Mara, for the thought flashed into her mind, "I have required that Clancy should be putty under my will. " Ella, in hersimple common-sense, often made remarks which disturbed Mara's cherishedbelief that she was right and Clancy all wrong. 

As a very secondary matter of interest to her, Ella at last began to speakof Clancy and Miss Ainsley. "If ever a girl courted a man with her eyesthat feminine riddle courts Mr. Clancy. I don't think I ever could be sofar gone as to look at a man as she does at him, unless I was engaged. "

"How does he look at her?" Mara asked with simulated indifference. 

"Oh, there's some freemasonry between them, probably an engagement or anunderstanding! She expostulated against his going away as if she had theright. I don't think he cares for her as I would wish a man to care forme, for there was a humorous, half-reckless gleam in his eyes. It may beall natural enough though, " she added musingly. "I don't believe MissAinsley could inspire an earnest, reverent love. A man wouldn't associateher in his thoughts with his dead mother. "

"What a strange expression! What put it into your mind?"

"Oh, " replied Ella hastily, and flushing a little, "I've been told thatMr. Clancy's parents are dead! A plague on them both, and all people thatI can't understand--I don't mean the dead Clancys, but these two who arefooling like enough. You should be able to interpret Clancy better than I, for Cousin Sophy says you were once very good friends. "

"I cannot remain the friend of any one who is utterly out of sympathy withall that I believe is right and dignified. "

"Well, Mara, forgive me for saying it, but Mr. Clancy may have hadconvictions also. "

"Undoubtedly, " replied Mara coldly, "but there can be no agreeablecompanionship between clashing minds. "

"No, I suppose not, " said Ella, laughing; "not if each insists that bothshall think exactly alike. It would be like two engines meeting on thesame track. They must both back out, and go different ways. "

"Well, I've back out, " Mara remarked almost sternly. 

"That's like you, Mara dear. Well, well, I hope the war will be over someday. By the way, papa told me to tell you that he was busy last evening, but that he would call this afternoon for a breathing with you on theBattery. "

At the usual hour the veteran appeared. Mara's greeting was outwardly thesame; nevertheless, Clancy's words haunted her, and her old sereneunconsciousness was gone. Now that her faculties were on the alert, shesoon began to recognize subtle, unpremeditated indications of the light inwhich Bodine had begun to regard her, and a sudden fear and repugnancechilled her heart. "Was Clancy right after all?" she began to ask herselfin a sort of dread and presentiment of trouble. Instinctively, and almostinvoluntarily, she grew slightly reserved and distant in manner, ceasingto meet his gaze in her former frank, affectionate way. With quickdiscernment he appreciated the change, and thought, "She is not ready yet, and, indeed, may never be ready. " His manner, too, began to change, as acloud gradually loses something of its warmth of color. Mara was grateful, and in her thoughts paid homage to his tact and delicacy. 

"Mara, " he said, "has Ella told you of her experiences at Mrs. Willoughby's?"

"Yes, quite fully. I should think, however, from her words that you weremore truly her confidant. "

"Yes, she has acted very honorably, just as I should expect she would, andyet I am anxious about her. I wish she sympathized with us more fully inour desire to live apart from those who are inseparable in our thoughtsfrom the memory of 'all our woes, ' as Milton writes. "

"I have often expressed just this regret to Ella; but she loves us all, and especially you, so dearly that I have no anxiety about her action. "

"No, Mara, not her action; I can control that: but I should be sorryindeed if she became interested in this young man. There is often aperversity about the heart not wholly amenable to reason. "

Poor Mara thought she knew the truth of this remark if any one did, norcould she help fancying that her companion had himself in mind when hespoke. 

"Young Houghton, " he resumed, "is beginning to make some rather shy, awkward advances, as if to secure my favor--a very futile endeavor as youcan imagine. My views are changing in respect to remaining in his father'semploy. The grasping old man would monopolize everything. I believe hewould impoverish the entire South if he could, and I don't feel likeremaining a part of his infernal business-machine. "

"I don't wonder you feel so!" exclaimed Mara warmly. "I don't like tothink of your being there at all. "

"That settles it then, " said Bodine quietly. "It would not be wise orhonorable for me to act hastily. I must give Mr. Houghton propernotification, but I shall at once begin to seek other employment. "

Mara was embarrassed and pained by such large deference to her views, andher spirits grew more and more depressed with the conviction that Clancywas right. But she had been given time to think, and soon believed thather best, her only course, was to ignore that phase of the captain'sregard, and to teach him, with a delicacy equal to his own, that it couldnever be accepted. 

"Moreover, " resumed Bodine, "apart from my duty to Mr. Houghton--and Imust be more scrupulous toward him than if he were my best friend--I oweit to Ella and my cousin not to give up the means of support, if I canhonorably help it, until I secure something else. Houghton has held to ouragreement both in spirit and letter, and I cannot complain of him as faras I am concerned. "

"I have confidence in your judgment, Captain, and I know you will alwaysbe guided by the most delicate sense of honor. "

"I hope so, Mara; I shall try to be, but with the best endeavor we oftenmake mistakes. To tell the truth I am more anxious about Ella than myself. This young Houghton is, I fear, a rather hair-brained fellow. I've nodoubt that he is sincere and well-meaning enough as rich and indulgedyoung men of his class go, but he appears to me to be impetuous, andinclined to be reckless in carrying out his own wishes. Ella, in herinexperience, has formed far too good an opinion of him. "

"Well, Captain, I wouldn't worry about it. Ella is honest as the sunshine. They have scarcely more than met, and she will be guided by you. Thisepisode will soon be forgotten. "

"Yes, I hope so; I think so. I shall count on your influence, for sheloves you dearly. "

"I know, " was the rather sad reply, "but Ella does not think and feel as Ido. I wish she could become interested in some genuine Southern man. "

"That will come in time, all too soon for me, I fear, " he said, with asigh, "but I must accept the fact that my little bird is fledged, and maysoon take flight. It will be a lonely life when she is gone. "

"She may not go far, " Mara answered gently, "and she may enrich you with ason, instead of depriving you of a daughter. "

He shook his head despondently, and soon afterward accompanied her to herhome. She knew there was something like an appeal to her in his eyes as hepressed her hand warmly in parting. By simply disturbing the blindconfidence in which she had accepted and loved her father's friend, Clancyhad given her sight. She saw the veteran in a new character, and she wasdistressed and perplexed beyond measure. Scarcely able, yet compelled tobelieve the truth, she asked herself all the long night, "How can I bearthis new trouble?"

CHAPTER XXVIII

"HEAVEN SPEED YOU THEN"

Aun' Sheba and Vilet entered at the usual hour the following day. Thegirls smiled and nodded in an absent sort of way, and then the old womanthought they seemed to forget all about her. She also observed that theywere not so forward with the work as customary, and she watched themwonderingly yet shrewdly. Suddenly she sprang up, exclaiming, "Lor bressyou, Missy Ella, dat de secon' time you put aw-spice in dat ar dough. "

Both the girls started nervously, and Ella began to laugh. 

"Missy Mara, you fergits some cake in de oben from de way it smell, " andAun' Sheba drew out cookies as black as herself instead of a delicatebrown. 

Mara looked at them ruefully, and then said, "I must make some more, that's all. " "Wot's de matter wid you bofe, honeys?" the old woman askedkindly. 

"Politics, " Ella blurted out. 

"Polytics! No won'er you'se bofe off de handle. Dere's been only two timeswen I couldn't stan' Unc. Nohow. De fust an' wust was wen he get polyticson de brain, an' belebed dat ole guv'ner Moses was gwine ter lead de culudpeople to a promis' lan'. I alus tole him dat his Moses 'ud lead him intoa ditch, an' so he did. De secon' time was wen he got sot on, but youknows all 'bout dat. You'se bofe too deep fer me. How you git intopolytics I doan see nohow. "

"There, Aun' Sheba, don't you mind Ella's nonsense. We're no more intopolitics than you are. "

"You'se inter sump'in den. "

"Yes, " said Ella, "we're still carrying on the war. "

"Please don't talk so, Ella. "

"Oh, Mara! I must have my nonsense. You've got the 'storied past'--that'show it's phrased, isn't it?--to sustain you, and I've only my nonsense. "

"Well, puttin' in aw-spice double is nonsense, shuah nuff, " said Aun'Sheba, looking at the girl keenly. "Wot you want spicin' so fer all'tonce, Missy Ella? You peart, an' saucy as eber. I ony wish I could seeMissy Mara lookin' like you. "

"You are getting old and blind, Aun' Sheba. I have a secret sorrow gnawingat my 'inards, ' as you term those organs which keep people awake o'nights, gazing at the moon. "

"Yes, honey, Aun' Sheba gittin' bery ole an' bery blin', but she see datdere's sump'in out ob kilter wid de inards ob you bofe. Well, well, Is'pose it's none ob de ole woman's business. "

"Ann' Sheba, " cried Ella, with an exaggerated sigh, "if you could mendmatters I'd come to you quicker than to any one else, you dear old soul!Well now, to tell you the honest truth, there isn't very much the matterwith me, and there's a certain doctor that's going to cure me just as sureas this batter (holding up a spoonful) is going to be cake in tenminutes. "

"Who dat?"

"Doctor Time--oh, get out!" At this instant an irate bumble-bee darted in, and Ella, in a spasmodic effort of self-defence, threw the spoon at it, and both went flying out of the window. The girl sat down half-crying, half-laughing in her vexation, while Aun' Sheba shook with mirth in allher ample proportions. 

"Dat ar cake's gwine to be dough for eber mo', Missy Ella, " she said. "I'se feerd you'se case am bery serus. Yit I worries mo' 'bout Missy Mara. Heah now, honey, you jes dun beat out. You sit down an' Missy Ella an'me'll finish up in a jiffy. I reckon Missy Ella ony got a leetle tantrumdis mawnin, but you'se been a wuckin' an' tinkin' too hard dis long time. "

"Yes, Aun' Sheba, " cried Ella, "that's the trouble. Let's you and I takethe business out of her hands for a time, and make her a silent partner. "

"She too silent now. Bofe oh you gittin' ter be silent par'ners. In degood ole times I'd heah you chatterin' as I come up de stars, an' to-dayyou was bofe right smart ways off from dis kitchen in you mins. Mum, mum, tinkin' deep, bofe ob you. Eysters ud make a racket long ob you uns dismawnin'. "

"There, Aun' Sheba, " said Mara, kindly, "don't you worry about us. This isJuly, and in August we'll take a rest. You deserve and need it as much aseither of us. I'll get well and strong then, and you know it makes peopleworse to tell them they don't look well and all that. "

Aun' Sheba gave a sort of dissatisfied grunt, but she helped the girlsthrough with their tasks in her own deft way, and departed with Vilet, whowas always very quiet and shy except when at home. 

"Well, " said Ella, giving herself a little shake, when they were alone, "I'm going to get over my nonsense at once. "

"What's troubling you, Ella?"

"Oh, I hardly know myself. What's troubling you? We both seem out ofsorts. Do let us be sensible and jolly. Now if we both had a ragingtoothache we'd have some excuse for melancholy. Good-by, dear, I'll be upwith the lark to-morrow, and we'll make a lark of our work;" and shestarted homeward, with her cherry lips sternly compressed in herresolution to be her old mirthful self. In the energy of her purpose shebegan to walk faster and faster. "There now, Ella Bodine, " she muttered, "since it's your duty to ostracize and bake, _ostracize_ and _bake_, andbe done with your ridiculous fancies. " And she swiftly turned the cornerof a street, as if, under the inspiration of a great purpose, she wasentering upon a new and wiser course. The result was, she nearly ran overGeorge Houghton. Looking up, she saw him standing, hat in hand, with abroad, glad smile on his face. 

"You almost equal that express-wagon, " he said. "Are you going for thedoctor?"

Her mouth twitched nervously, but she managed to say, "Good-morning, Mr. Houghton, I'm in haste, " and on she went. He saw her head go down. Was shelaughing or crying? The latter possibility brought him to her sideinstantly. 

"Are you in trouble?" he asked very kindly. "Isn't there something--oh, Isee you are laughing at me, " and his tones proved that his feelings weredeeply hurt. 

Her mirth ceased at once. "No, Mr. Houghton, " she replied, looking up athim with frank directness, "I was not laughing at _you_, but I could nothelp laughing at what you said. I'm in no trouble, nor shall I beif--if--well, you know what I told you. We must be strangers, you know, "and she went on again as if her feet were winged. 

"I don't know anything of the kind, " he muttered, as he turned on his heeland slowly pursued his way to his father's counting-rooms. Entering hepaused an instant and looked grimly at Bodine, whose head was bent overhis writing. "I'll tackle you next, old gentleman, " was his thought. 

Punctually to a minute he called on Mrs. Willoughby when the week hadexpired. She looked into his resolute face and surmised before he spokethat time and reflection had not inclined him to a prudent withdrawal froma very doubtful suit. Nevertheless she said: "Well, you've had a littletime to think, and you probably see now that your wisest course will be togive up this little affair utterly. "

"Pardon me, Mrs. Willoughby, I've had an age in which to think, and it'snot a little affair to me. I did not quite understand myself when I lastsaw you--it was all so new, strange, and heavenly. But I understand myselfnow. Ella Bodine shall be my wife unless she finally rejects me, unlessshe herself makes me sure that it's of no use to try. What's more, it willtake years to prove this. As long as she does not belong to another I'llnever give up. "

"She belongs to her father. "

"No, not in this sense. She has the right of every American girl to chooseher husband. "

"Do you mean to defy her father?"

"No, I mean to go to him like a gentleman, and ask permission to pay myaddresses to his daughter. I mean to do this before I say one word of loveto her. "

"Since you are so resolved upon your course you do not need any moreadvice from me. "

"I don't mean that at all. Isn't this the right, honorable course?"

"Oh, your royalty wishes me to applaud your decrees and decisions, " shesaid laughing. 

"Now please don't be hard on me, Mrs. Willoughby. I've followed youradvice with all my might for a week. "

"Done nothing with all your might?"

"Yes, and you couldn't have given me a harder task. "

"Are you of age?"

"Yes, I am. I'm twenty-two, however immature I may seem to you. "

"Miss Bodine is not of age. "

"Well, I'll wait till she is. "

"Wouldn't that be better? Wait till she is of age, and more capable ofjudging and acting for herself. Time may soften her father's feelings, andyour father's also, for, believe me, you are going to have as much troubleat home as with Captain Bodine, that is, supposing that Ella would listento your suit. "

"And while I'm idly biting my nails through the creeping years somelevel-headed Southerner will quietly woo and win her. I would deserve tolose her, should I take such a course. "

"You certainly would have to take that risk; but perhaps you will incurgreater risks by too hasty action. "

"Be sincere with me now, Mrs. Willoughby. I don't believe you women liketimid, pusillanimous men. How could I appear otherwise to Miss Bodine if Ishould withdraw, like a growling bear into winter quarters, there tohibernate indefinitely? The period wouldn't be life to me, scarcelytolerable existence. What could she know about my motives and feelings? Itell you my love is as sacred as my faith in God. I'm proud of it, ratherthan ashamed. I wish her to know it, no matter what the result may be, andI don't care if all the world knows it, too. "

"You mean to tell your father then?"

"Certainly, at the proper time. "

"Suppose you find him utterly opposed to it all?"

"I do not think I shall; not when he sees my happiness is at stake. He mayfume over it for a time, but when he comes to know Ella she'll disarm him. Why, it's just as clear to me as that I see you, that she could make theold gentleman happier than he has been for over a quarter of a century. "

"My poor young friend! I wish I could share in your sanguine feelings. "

"Oh, I'm not so very sanguine about her. What she will do worries me farmore than what the old people will do. "

"Well, you are right there. The old people are the outworks, she thecitadel, which you can never capture unless she chooses to surrender. "

"That's true, but I don't believe she ever would surrender to a man whowas afraid to approach even the outworks. "

Mrs. Willoughby laughed softly as she admitted, "Perhaps you are right. "

"If I'm not, my whole manhood is at fault, " he replied earnestly. "Pleasetell me, haven't I decided on the right, honorable course--on what wouldseem honorable to Captain Bodine and to Ella also?"

"Yes, if you _will_ act now you can take no other. "

"Well, won't you please approve of it?"

"Mr. Houghton, I'm not going to be timid and pusillanimous either. Sinceyou are of age, and will take a perfectly honorable course, I will standby you as a friend. I will still counsel you, if you so wish, for I fearthat your troubles have only begun. "

"I thank you from my heart, " he said, seizing her hand and pressing itwarmly. "I do need and wish your counsel, for I have very little tact. Ican sail a boat better than I can manage an affair like this. "

"Will you make me one solemn promise?"

"Yes, if I can. "

"Then pledge me your word that you will not lose your temper with eitherCaptain Bodine or your father. "

"Oh, I think I can easily do that, " he said good-humoredly. 

"You don't know, you can't imagine, how you may be tried. "

"Well, it's a sensible thing you ask, and I've sense enough to know it. Ipledge you my word. If I break it, it will be because I'm pushed beyondmortal endurance. "

"Mr. Houghton, " she said, almost sternly, "you must not break it, nomatter what is said or what happens. You would jeopardize everything ifyou did. You might lose Ella's respect. "

He drew a long breath. "You make me feel as if I were going into a verydoubtful battle, " he said thoughtfully. 

"It is a very doubtful battle. It certainly will be a hard, and probably along one, and you will lose it if you don't keep cool. "

"I can be very firm, I suppose. "

"Yes, as firm and decided as you please, as long as you are quiet andgentlemanly in your words. Let me say one thing more, " she added, verygravely. "If you enter on this affair, and then, in any kind of weaknessor fickleness, give it up, I shall despise you, and so will all in thiscity who know about it. Count the cost. I'm too true a Southerner to lookat you again if you trifle with a Southern girl. Your father will offeryou great inducements to abandon this folly, as he will term it. "

He flushed deeply, but only said, in quiet emphasis, "If I ever give up, except for reasons satisfactory to you, I shall despise myself far morethan you can despise me. "

"And you give me your word that you will keep your temper to the veryend?"

"Yes, Heaven helping me, I will. "

"Heaven speed you then, my friend. "

CHAPTER XXIX

CONSTERNATION

Young Houghton was like a high-mettled steed, from which the curb had beenremoved. His temperament, even more than the impatience of youth, led himto chafe at delay, and Ella appeared so lovely, so exactly to his mind, that he had a nervous dread lest others should equally appreciate her, andforestall his effort to secure her affection. He resolved, therefore, thatnot an hour should be lost, and so went directly back to his father'scounting-rooms. 

Bodine was writing as usual at his desk, and Houghton looked at him withan apprehension thus far unknown in his experience. But he did nothesitate. "Captain Bodine, " he said, with a little nervous tremor in hisvoice, "will you be so kind as to grant me a private interview thisevening?"

The veteran looked at him coldly as he asked, "May I inquire, sir, yourobject in seeking this interview?"

"I will explain fully when we are alone. I cannot here, but will merelysay that my motives are honorable, as you yourself will admit. "

Bodine contracted his brows in painful thought for a moment. "I may aswell have it out with him at once, " was his conclusion. "Very well, sir, Iwill remain after the office is closed, " he said frigidly, then turned tohis writing. 

George went to his desk in his father's private room, and there was a verygrim, set look on his face also. "I understand you, my futurefather-in-law, " he murmured softly. "You think you are going to end thisaffair in half an hour. We'll see. "

The afternoon was very warm, and his father said kindly, "Come, George, knock off for to-day. I'm going home and shall try to get a nap beforedinner. "

"That's right, father; do so by all means. I have an engagement thisevening, so please don't wait dinner for me. " His thought was, "If I'm tokeep my temper I can't tackle more than one the same day; yet I don'tbelieve my father will be obdurate. If I succeed, the time will come whenhe'll thank me with all his heart. "

Mr. Houghton had no disposition to control his son in small matters, andthe young fellow came and went at his own will. Thus far his frankness andgeneral good behavior had inspired confidence. His tastes had alwaysinclined to athletic, manly sports, and these are usually at variance withdissipation of every kind. 

The impatient youth had not long to wait. The clerks soon departed, andthe colored janitor entered on his labors. Bodine remained writing quietlyuntil George came and said, "Will you be so kind as to come to the privateoffice?"

The veteran deliberately put his desk in order, and followed the young manwithout a word. There was still an abundance of light in which to see eachother's faces, and George observed that Bodine's expression boded ill. Hetook a seat in silence, and looked at the flushed face of the youth coldlyand impassively. 

"Captain Bodine, " George began hesitatingly, "you can make this interviewvery hard for me, and I fear you will do so. Yet you are a gentleman, andI wish to act and speak as becomes one also. "

Bodine merely bowed slightly. 

"I will use no circumlocution. You have been a soldier, and so willnaturally prefer directness. I wish your permission to pay my addresses toyour daughter. "

"I cannot grant it. "

"Please do not make so hasty a decision, sir. I fear that you are greatlyprejudiced against me, but--"

"No, sir, " interrupted Bodine, "I am not prejudiced against you at all. Ihave my own personal reasons for taking the ground I do, and it is notnecessary to discuss them. I think our interview may as well end at once. "

"Captain Bodine, you will admit that I have acted honorably in thismatter. Since your daughter told me that you were averse to ouracquaintance, I have made no effort to see her. "

"Certainly, sir, that was right and honorable. Any other course would nothave been so. "

"It is my purpose to maintain a strictly honorable and straightforwardcourse in this suit. "

"Do you mean to say that you will pursue this suit contrary to my wishes?"

"Certainly. There is no law, human or divine, which forbids a man fromloving a good woman, and Miss Bodine is good if any one is. "

"How do you propose to carry on this suit?" the captain asked sternly. 

"I scarcely know yet, but in no underhand way. I must ask you to informMiss Bodine of this interview. "

"Suppose I decline to do this?"

"Then I shall make it known to her myself. "

"In other words, you defy me. "

"Not at all, not in the sense in which you speak. I shall take no actionwhatever without your knowledge. "

"You must remember that my daughter is not of age. "

"I do not dispute your right in the least to control her action till sheis, but I shall not take the risk of losing her by timidity and delay. Others will appreciate her worth as well as myself. I wish her to knowthat I love her, and would make her my wife. "

"You appear to think that this is all that is essential so far as she isconcerned, " said Bodine, in bitter sarcasm. 

"You do me wrong, sir, " Houghton replied, flushing hotly. "Even if youshould give your full consent, I, better than any one, know that my suitwould be doubtful. But it would be hopeless did I not reveal to her myfeelings and purposes. "

"If she herself, then, informs you that it is hopeless, that would end thematter?"

"Certainly, after years of patient effort to induce her to thinkotherwise. "

"I do not think you have shown any patience thus far, sir. You havescarcely more than met her before you enter, recklessly and selfishly, ona 'suit, ' as you term it, which can only bring wretchedness to her and tothose who have the natural right to her allegiance and love. "

"You do me wrong again, Captain Bodine. I am no more reckless or selfishthan any other man who would marry the girl he loves. By reason ofcircumstances over which I had no control I have met Miss Bodine, and shehas inspired a sacred love, such as her mother inspired in you. You canfind no serious fault with me personally, and I am not responsible forothers. I have my own life to make or mar, and never to win Miss Bodinewould mar it wofully. I am an educated man and her equal socially, although she is greatly my superior in other respects. I have the meanswith which to support her in affluence. I mean only good toward her andyou. This is neither selfishness nor recklessness. "

"Have you spoken to Mr. Houghton of your intentions?"

"Not yet, but I shall. "

"You will find him as bitterly opposed to it all as I am. "

"I think not. I shall be sorry beyond measure if you are right, but it canmake no difference. "

"You will defy him also, then?"

"I object to the use of that word, Captain Bodine. In availing myself ofmy inalienable rights I defy no one. "

"Have I no rights in my own child? Your purpose is to rob me as ruthlesslyas our homes were desolated years since. "

"I am not responsible for the past, any more than I am for your prejudicesagainst me. My purpose is simple and honorable, as much so as that of anyother man who may ask you for your daughter's hand. "

"Mr. Houghton, " said Bodine, rising, "there is no use in prolonging thispainful and intensely disagreeable interview. I said to your father inthis office that our relations could be only those of business. Even theseshall soon cease. I now understand you, sir. Of course the past is nothingto you, and you are bent on obtaining what you imagine you wish at thepresent moment, without any regard to others. Let me tell you once for allthere can be no alliance between your house and mine. I would as soon burymy daughter as see her married to you. I do find fault with youpersonally. You are headlong and inconsiderate. You would lay your handson the best you can find in the South just as your armies and politicianshave done. But you proceed further at your peril--do you comprehendme?--at your peril, " and the veteran's eyes gleamed fiercely. 

"Captain Bodine, " said George, also rising, "you cannot make me lose mytemper. I shall give you no just reason for saying that I am headlong. Iwish you could be more calm and fair yourself. Before we part one pointmust be settled. My request must be met in one way or the other. If youwill give me your word that you will repeat the purport of what I havesaid to Miss Bodine, I will make no effort to do so myself. Howeverhostile you may be to me, I know that you are a man of honor, and I willtrust you. I merely wish Miss Bodine to know that I love her and amwilling to wait for her till I am gray. "

"You wish me to tell her that you will wait and pray for my death, andseek to lead her to do likewise, " was the angry reply. 

"It is useless for me to protest against your unjust and bitter words. Thetrust that I offer to repose in you entitles me to better courtesy. "

By a great effort Bodine regained self-control, and balanced himself for afew moments on his crutches in deep thought. At last he said, "I acceptthe trust, and will be as fair to you as it is possible for an outragedfather to be. I forbid that you should have any communication with mydaughter whatever, and I shall forbid her to receive any from you. What ismore, you must take her answer as final. "

"I promise only this, Captain Bodine, that I shall take no action withoutyour knowledge. I shall trust you implicitly in repeating the purport ofthis interview. The moment that I looked into your face I recognized thatyou were a gentleman, and I again apologize for my rude remark before Iknew who you were. Good-evening, sir. "

Bodine bowed stiffly, and departed with many conflicting emotions surgingin his breast, none of them agreeable. He scarcely knew whether he hadacted wisely or not. Indeed, the impression grew upon him that he had beenworsted in the encounter, that George, in making him his messenger toElla, had acted with singular astuteness. This was true, but the youngman's action was not the result of the Yankee shrewdness with which theveteran was disposed to credit him. A simple, straightforward course isusually the wisest one, and George instinctively knew that Ella wouldappreciate such openness on his part. He was left in a very anxious andperturbed condition, it is true, but in his heart he again thanked Mrs. Willoughby for putting him so sacredly on his guard against his hastytemper. 

Absorbed in thought, he sat till the gloom of night gathered in theoffice; then the shuffling feet of the impatient janitor aroused him. 

Solacing the old man with a dollar, he went out hastily, and walked a mileor two to work off his nervous excitement, then sought a restaurant, muttering, "I haven't reached the point of losing my appetite yet. "

By the time Bodine reached home he was much calmer, and disposed to take amuch more hopeful view of the affair. 

He again concluded that after all it was best that he should be the one toinform Ella, and thus keep the matter entirely within his own hands. Believing her to be as yet untouched by anything that Houghton might havesaid to her, he felt quite sure that he could readily induce her to takethe same attitude toward the objectionable suitor which he proposed tomaintain to the end. 

He found her and his cousin very anxious about his late return--an anxietynot allayed by his grim, stern expression. 

"I have been detained by an unpleasant interview, " he said. 

"With that old--"

"No, not with Mr. Houghton. I will explain after dinner. "

With the swiftness of light, Ella surmised the truth, and made but a veryindifferent repast. Her father noted this, and asked himself, "Could shehave known of his purpose?" Then he reproached himself inwardly forentertaining the thought. 

The meal was comparatively a silent one, and soon over; then they all wentto Mrs. Bodine's room. 

"I wish you to be present, Cousin Sophy, " said the captain, "for I have avery disagreeable task to perform, and I can scarcely trust myself to doit fairly. You must prompt me if you think I do not. Ella, my dear andonly child, I trust that you will receive the message, which, in a sense, I have been compelled to bring you, in the right spirit I feel sure thatyou will do so, and that your course now and hereafter will continue togive me that same deep, glad peace at heart which your fidelity to dutyand your devotion to me have always inspired. You have my happiness now inyour hands as never before; but I do not fear that you will fail me. Theson of the man whom we all detest, and whose employ I shall leavepresently, has asked permission to pay you his addresses. "

She turned pale as he spoke so gravely, and trembled visibly. 

"Why do you tell me this, papa?" she faltered. "I would rather not haveknown it. "

"Because he requested me to tell you. Because he said he wished you toknow that he loved you, and that if I did not tell you he would himself;"and he looked at her keenly. 

"Then, " cried Ella, impetuously, "although I may never speak to him again, I say he has acted honorably. I told you that he was incapable of anythingclandestine. "

"I trust that you never will speak to him again, " said her father, almoststernly. "I have forbidden him to have any communication with you, and Icertainly forbid your speaking with him again. "

"Father, " said Ella, gently, with tears in her eyes, "I do not deservethat you should speak to me in that tone. I've always tried to obey you. "

"Forgive me, Ella, but I have been intensely annoyed by the interviewinflicted upon me, and I cannot think of it, or of his preposterouscourse, with patience. Moreover, pardon me for saying it, you have shown afriendly interest in him which it has been very painful to note. "

"I've only tried to be fair to him, papa. "

"Please try merely to forget him, Ella--to think nothing about himwhatever. "

"I shall try to obey you, papa; but you are too old and wise to tell menot to think. As well tell me not to breathe. "

"Ella, " began her father sternly, "can you mean--"

"Now, Hugh, " interrupted his cousin, "be careful you don't do moremischief than young Houghton can possibly accomplish. How men do bungle inthese matters! Hough-ton hasn't bungled, though. His making you hismessenger strikes me as the shrewdest Yankee trick I ever heard of. "

"I had the same impression on my way home, " admitted Bodine, irritably. 

Ella felt that she owed no such deference to Mrs. Bodine as she did to herfather, and, with an ominous flash in her eyes, said decidedly, "You arebungling, Cousin Sophy. George Houghton is incapable of what you term aYankee trick. I will be pliant under all motives of love and duty to myfather, but you must not outrage my sense of justice. You must rememberthat I have a conscience, as truly as you have. "

"There, forgive me, Ella. You've seen the young fellow, and I haven't. Cousin Hugh, remember that Ella has your spirit, and the spirit of herancestors. Show her what is right and best, and she will do it. "

Bodine looked at his daughter in deep perturbation. Could that flushed, beautiful woman be his little Ella? With an indescribable pang he began torecognize that she was becoming a woman, with an independent life of herown. The greatness of the emergency calmed him, as all strong minds arequieted by great and impending danger. "Ella, " he said, gently and sadly, "I do not wish to treat you as a little, foolish girl, but as becomes youryears. I wish your conscience and reason to go with mine. You know thatyour happiness is the chief desire of my life. There could be no happinessfor either of us in such a misalliance. The father of this hasty youthwill be as bitterly opposed to it all as I am. We belong to differentcamps, and can never have anything in common. You know my motive in takingemployment from him. I have thought better of it, and shall now leave hisoffice as soon as I can honorably. I don't wish to outrage your sense ofjustice, Ella, and I will mention one other essential point in theinterview. I told young Houghton that he must accept your answer as final, and that he would proceed further at his peril, and he said he would onlytake a final answer from you after years of patient waiting and wooing. How he proposes to do the latter I do not know, nor does he know himself. He did say, however, that he would take no action without my knowledge. You see that I am trying to be just to him. "

"I would like to ask one question, papa. Did he use any angry, disrespectful language toward you?"

Bodine winced under this question, but said plainly, "No, he did not. Heapologized for the third time for a hasty remark he once made before heknew who I was. He said that he recognized that I was a gentleman then, and that he would trust me as such to deliver his message. "

The girl drew a long breath as if a deep cause for anxiety had beenremoved. 

"Oh, come now, Cousin Hugh, you and Ella are taking this matter too muchto heart. Why, Lor bless you! I had nearly a dozen offers by the time Iwas Ella's age. There is nothing tragic about this young fellow or hisproceedings. Indeed, I think with Ella, that he has done remarkably well, wonderfully well, considering. Nine out of ten of his kind wouldn't be soscrupulous. He has done neither you nor Ella any wrong, only paid you thehighest compliment in his power. Regard it as such, and let the matter endthere. He can't marry Ella out of hand any more than he can me. "

At this the girl, seeing inevitably the comic side of everything, burstinto a laugh. "Cousin Sophy, " she cried, "you surpass Solomon himself. Come, dear papa, let us try to be sensible. Of course Mr. Houghton can'tmarry me without your consent or mine. "

"Then I may tell him that you will never give your consent--that what heterms his suit must end at once and forever?"

She again became very pale, and did not answer immediately. 

"Ella, my only child, the hope and solace of my life, can you hesitate?"

With a rush of tears, she threw herself upon his neck, and sobbed, "Tellhim that I will never do anything without your consent. " Then she fled toher own room. 

The captain and Mrs. Bodine sat looking at each other in consternation. 

CHAPTER XXX

TEMPESTS

On his return home George found his father reading such of the Bostonpapers as most nearly reflected his own views, and in which he had lostnone of his early interest. He had always looked upon himself somewhat inthe light of an exile, and it had been his purpose to return to his nativeState; but as time passed, a dread of its harsh climate had begun toreconcile him to the thought of ending his days in Charleston. All morbidtendencies strengthen, if indulged. The desire, therefore, to remain nearthe watery grave of his eldest son increased. Allied to this motive wasthe pleasure of accumulating money, the excitement of business, andexultation over the fact that he was taking tens of thousands from hisenemies. As far as possible he invested his capital at the North. Thepeople among whom he dwelt knew this, knew that, unlike Mr. Ainsley, hewas doing as little as possible to build up the section from which he wasdrawing his wealth. 

George, as yet, had not been inducted into the spirit or knowledge of hisfather's business methods, for the old man had believed that the time forthis had not come. Moreover, as the merchant became better acquainted withthe maturer character of his son, he became convinced that George wouldnot, indeed could not, carry on the business as he had. There was a large, tolerant good-nature about the youth which would render it impossible forhim to deal with any one in his father's spirit. He had not known hiselder brother, and was merely proud of his record as that of a bravesoldier who had died in the performance of duty. George was like many ofthe combatants, both Union and Confederate, capable of fighting each otherto the death during the war, but ready to shake hands after the battle wasover. 

No one understood this disposition better than Mr. Houghton, and he feltthat the South was no place for George. He wished his son to go back toMassachusetts, where wealth and influence would open the way for abrilliant career; and the old man already saw in imagination his namefamous in the Old Commonwealth. 

He had been thinking over this scheme on the present evening, and his mindwas full of it when George entered. "Glad to see you so early, " he saidgenially. "Had a good dinner? Yes; well, then, sit down a while, for Iwish to talk to you. I've had a good nap, and so won't need to go to bedvery early. Well, my boy, you've reached that age when you should takeyour bearings for your future career. "

"Why, father, I've always expected to go into business with you, andgradually relieve you of its burdens and cares. "

"No, George, that wouldn't be best; that wouldn't suit me at all. You arefitted for something better and larger. You wouldn't carry on the businessas I do, and that would lead to differences between us. I couldn't standthat. The iron entered into my soul before you were born. Your brother hadequal promise with yourself, and, to put it very mildly, I have no lovefor those who destroyed him. I do business with them, but in much the samespirit that Antonio dealt with the Jew on the Rialto. You would not dothis, nor could I expect you to. The accursed crime of rebellion has notsmitten your soul as with lightning, nor broken your heart. The young fallinto the ways of those with whom they live, and I wish you to have aslittle to do with this Southern people as possible. There is no career foryou in this city, but in your native State you can become almost what youplease. If, for instance, with your splendid health you entered upon thestudy of law and mastered it, I have influence and wealth enough toadvance you rapidly, until by your own grip you can climb to the top ofthe ladder. You can then eventually marry into one of the best families inthe State, and thus at the same time secure happiness and double yourchances of success. "

George listened aghast as his father proceeded complacently, and with atouch of enthusiasm rarely indulged. He was sitting by an open window, atsome distance from Mr. Houghton, the darkness concealing his face. He nowbegan to realize the truth of Mrs. Willoughby's belief and Bodine'sconviction, that he might find as much trouble at home as elsewhere. Itquickly became clear to him that he must reveal the truth at once, but howto set about it he scarcely knew, and he hesitated like one on the brinkof icy water. What he considered a bright thought struck him, and he said, "Speaking of marrying, you never told me how you came to marry mother. "

"Oh!" replied the old man dreamily, "I was almost brought up to marry her. She was the daughter of a near neighbor and dear friend of my father's. Your mother and I played together as children. I scarcely think we knewwhen our mutual affection changed into love--it all came about sogradually and naturally--and the union gave the deepest satisfaction toboth families. Ah! George, George, your brother's death shortened the lifeof your mother, and left me very sad and lonely. I can never forgive thispeople for the irreparable injuries they have done to me and mine. I knowyou cannot feel as I do; but love of country and your affection for meshould lead you to stand aloof from those who are still animated by theold, diabolical spirit which caused the death of such brave fellows asyour brother, and broke the hearts of such women as your mother. "

His son's distress was so deep that he buried his face in his hands. 

"I don't wonder that your feelings are touched by my reminiscences, George, " and the old man wiped tears from his own eyes. 

"Oh, father!" cried the son, springing up, and placing his hand on the oldman's shoulder, "I'm going to test your love for me severely. You areright in saying I cannot feel as you do. I did not know that you felt sostrongly. I've given my love to a Southern girl. "

Moments of oppressive silence followed this announcement, and the oldman's face grew stern and rigid. 

"Father, listen patiently, " George began. "She is not to blame for thepast, nor am I. If you only knew how good and noble and lovely she is--"

"Who is she? What is her name?"

"Ella Bodine. "

"What! A relative of that double-dyed rebel in my office?"

"His daughter. "

"George Houghton!" and his father sprang up, and confronted his son with avisage distorted by anger. Never had the youth called forth a look likethat, and he trembled before the passion he had evoked. 

"Father, " he said entreatingly, "sit down. Do not look at me so, do notspeak to me till you are calm. Remember I am your son. "

The old man paced the room for a few moments in strong agitation, for hehad been wounded at his most vulnerable point. The thought that his onlyson would ally himself with those whom he so detested, and whom for yearshe had sought to punish, almost maddened him. As we have seen before, there was a slumbering volcano in this old man's breast when adequatecauses called it into action, and now the deepest and strongest forces ofhis nature were awakened. 

At last he said in a constrained voice: "I hope you also will rememberthat I am your father. It would appear that you had forgotten the fact, when you made love to one whom I never can call daughter. "

"I have not made love to her yet. You--"

"Has she been making love to you then?"

"Father, please don't speak in that way. There never were harsh wordsbetween us before, and there must not be now. "

Again the dreadful silence fell between them, but it was evident that Mr. Houghton was making a great effort for self-control. 

"You are right, George, " he said at last. "I have never spoken to youbefore as I have to-night, and, I hope to God, I may never have cause todo so again. I have not been a harsh father, nor have I inflicted myunhappiness on you. I have given you large liberty, the best educationthat you would take, and ample means with which to enjoy yourself. I hadexpected that in return you would consult my wishes in some vitalmatters--as vital to your happiness as mine. I never dreamed that suchincredible folly as you have mentioned was possible. Your very birthrightprecluded the idea. You said that you would have to test my love severely. I shall not only have to test your love, but also your reason, yourcommon-sense, almost your sanity. What is thought of a man who throws awayeverything for a pretty face?"

"That I shall never do, father. The beauty in Ella Bodine's face is butthe reflex of her character. "

"That's what every enamored fool has said from the beginning of time, "replied Mr. Houghton, in strong irritation. "What chance have you had tolearn her character? I know more about the girl and her connections thanyou do. She works with that Wallingford girl, and that old fire-eater, Mrs. Hunter, in the baking trade. She lives with her cousin old Mrs. Bodine, who thinks of little else than what she is pleased to consider herblue blood, forgetting that it is not good, loyal, American blood. Thislittle patch of a State is more to her than the Union bequeathed to us byour fathers. As to Bodine himself, if the South rose again, he'd marchaway on his crutches with the rebellious army. Can you soberly expect tolive among such a set of people? Can you expect me to fraternize withthem, to stultify all my life, to trample on my most sacred convictions, to be disloyal to the memory of wife and son, who virtually perished bythe action of just such traitors?" and he laughed in harsh, bitterprotest. 

George sat down, again buried his face in his hands, and groaned aloud. 

"You may well groan, young man, when you face the truth which you have sostrangely forgotten. But come, I'm not one to yield weakly to any suchmonstrous absurdity. You are young and strong, and should have a spiritequal to your stature and muscle. You have not made love to this girl, yousay. Never do it. Steer as wide of her as you would of a whirlpool, andall will soon be well. I won't believe that a son of mine can be sowretchedly, miserably, and contemptibly weak as to throw himself away inthis fashion. "

George was silent and overwhelmed. His father's words had opened an abyssat his feet. He loved the old man tenderly and gratefully, and, under hisburning, scathing words, felt at the time that his course was blackingratitude. Even if he could face the awful estrangement which he sawmust ensue, the thought of striking such a blow at his father's hopes, affection and confidence made him shudder in his very soul. It might befatal even to a life already held in the feeble grasp of age. He could notspeak. 

At last Mr. Houghton resumed, very gravely, and yet not unkindly: "You arenot the first one of your age who has been on the verge of an irreparableblunder. Thank God it is not too late for you to retreat! Do not let thisword jar upon you, for it often requires much higher courage and manhoodto retreat than to advance. To do the latter in this case would be asfoolhardy as it would be wrong and disastrous to all concerned. It wouldbe as fatal to me as to you, for I could not long survive if I learnedthat I had been leaning on such a broken reed. It would be fatal to you, for I would not leave my money so you could enrich these people. You wouldhave nothing in the world but the pretty face for which you sold yourbirthright. I will say no more now, George. You will wake in the morning asane man, and my son. Good-night. "

"Good-night, father, " George answered in a broken voice. Then, when alone, he added bitterly: "Wake! When shall I sleep again?"

The eastern horizon was tinged with light before, exhausted by his fiercemental conflict, he sank into a respite of oblivion. For a long time hewavered, love for his father tugging at his heart with a restraining powerfar beyond that of words which virtually were threats. "He could keep hismoney, " the young fellow groaned, "if I could only keep his affection andconfidence, if I could only be sure that I would not harm his life andhealth. I could be happy in working as a day-laborer for her. "

At last he came to a decision. He had given both his love and his word toElla. She only could reject the one, and absolve him from the other. 

He was troubled to find that the forenoon had nearly passed when he awoke. Dressing hastily, he went down to make inquiries for his father. 

"Marse Houghton went to de sto' at de us'l time, " said the colored waiter. "He lef word not to 'sturb you, an' ter hab you'se breakfus' ready. "

George merely swallowed a cup of coffee, and then hastened down town. Meanwhile, events had occurred at the office which require attention. 

A very few moments after Mr. Houghton entered his private room he toucheda bell. To the clerk who entered he said, "Take this letter to Mr. Bodine. "

The veteran's face was as rigid and stern with his purpose as the employerwas grim in his resolves; but when the captain read the curt note handedto him, his face grew dark with passion. It ran as follows:

"MR. BODINE--I have no further need of your services. Inclosed find checkfor your wages to the end of the month. "

The captain sat still a few moments to regain self-control then quietlyput his desk in order. He next halted to the private office, and the twomen looked steadily and un-blenchingly into each other's eyes for amoment. Then the Southerner began sternly, "That hair-brained son of yourshas told you of the interview he forced upon me last night. "

"This is my private office, sir, " replied Mr. Houghton, with equalsternness. "You have no right to enter it, or to use such language. "

"Yes, sir, I have the right. Were it not for the folly and presumption ofyour headlong boy, I would have left your employ quietly in a few days, and had nothing more to do with you or yours. To save my daughterannoyance from his silly sentimentality I was compelled to come into thishated place wherein you concoct your schemes to suck dry our Southernblood. He asked for permission to pay his addresses to my daughter, and Iforbade it. I told him that he could only do so at his peril. "

"You are certainly right, sir. I also have told him that he would do so athis peril. "

"I also told him that I would rather bury my daughter than see her marriedto him. "

"Truly, sir, I never imagined we could agree so perfectly on anyquestion, " was Mr. Houghton's sarcastic reply. "Can we not now part withthis clear understanding? I have much to attend to this morning. "

"I have but one word more, and then trust I am through with hissentimentality and your insolence. Tell the boy that my daughter says shewill have nothing to do with him without my consent. Now if there is eventhe trace of a gentleman in his anatomy he will leave us alone. Good-morning, sir. " And tearing the check in two, he dropped it on thefloor and halted away. 

Mr. Houghton coolly and contemptuously turned to his writing till the doorclosed on Bodine, and then he smiled and rubbed his hands inself-felicitation. "This is better than I had hoped, " he said. "I've oftenlaughed at the idiotic pride of these black-blooded, rather thanblue-blooded, fire-eaters, but I shall bless it hereafter. "

"As you virtually say, you hardened old rebel, if George is worth thepowder to blow him up, he'll drop you all now as if you had the plague. I've only to tell him what you and your doll-daughter have said. "

CHAPTER XXXI

"I ABSOLVE YOU"

When George reached the counting-rooms, he saw that Bodine was not in hisaccustomed place. Surmising the truth at once, he hastened to his father'sroom, and asked almost sternly:

"Where is Captain Bodine?"

"I neither know nor care, " was the cool reply. "He is dismissed from myservice. "

"You have acted unjustly, sir, " his son began hotly, "you have punishedhim for my--"

"George, " interrupted his father gravely, "remember what you said aboutangry words between us. "

The young man paced the office excitedly for a few moments in silence andthen sat down. 

"That's right, " resumed his father quietly. "I am glad you are able toattain self-control, for you now require the full possession of all yourfaculties. Fortunately for both of us, this man, Bodine, has said morethan enough to end this folly forever, " and he began to repeat theconversation which had taken place. 

At a certain point George started, and, looking at his father with ashocked expression, asked, "Did you mean, sir, that you also would rathersee me buried than married to a good woman whom I love?"

"That is your way of putting it, " replied Mr. Houghton, somewhatdisconcerted, for his son's tone and look smote him sorely. "You willunderstand my feelings better when you have heard that rebel's finalwords;" and he repeated them, ending with the sentences, "'Tell the boythat my daughter says she will have nothing to do with him without myconsent. Now if there is even the trace of a gentleman in his anatomy hewill leave us alone. ' In this final remark I certainly do agree with himmost emphatically, " concluded the old man sternly. "Any human being, possessing a particle of self-respect, would prefer death to thehumiliation and dishonor of seeking to force himself on such people. "

"I suppose you are right, sir, but I cannot help having my own thoughts. "

"Well, what are they?"

"That the girl has met in her home the same harsh, terrible oppositionthat I have found in mine. "

"Undoubtedly, thank heaven! Whether she needed it or not she has evidentlyhad the sense to take the wholesome medicine. The probabilities are, however, that she has laughed at the idea of receiving attentions sorepugnant to her father and to me. "

"No doubt, " said George wearily. "Very well, there _is_ a trace of agentleman in my anatomy. I would like to leave town for a while. "

"A very sensible wish, George, " said his father kindly. "Go where youplease, and take all the money you need. When you have come to see thisaffair in its true light come back to me. I will try to arrange mybusiness so that we can make a visit North together in the early autumn. "

"Very well, sir, " and there was apathy in his tones. After a moment headded, "Please give me some work this morning. "

"No, my boy. Go and make your preparations at once. Divert your thoughtsinto new channels. Be a resolute man for a few days, and then your ownmanhood will right you as a boat is righted when keeled over by a suddengust. "

George was not long in forming the same plan which Clancy had adopted. Hewould go to the mountains in the interior, fish, hunt and tramp till thefever in his blood subsided. He told his father of his purpose. 

"All right, George. I only wish I were young and strong enough to go withyou. It will not be long before you will see that I have had at heart onlywhat was best for you. "

"I hope so, father; I truly do, for I have had a new, strange experience. Even yet I can scarcely comprehend that you and Mr. Bodine could speak toyour children, and dictate to them in matters relating to their happinessas you both have done. It savors more of feudal times than of this freeage. "

"In all times, George, the hasty passions and inconsiderate desires of theyoung, when permitted gratification, have led to a lifetime ofwretchedness. But we need not refer to this matter again. Bodine's finalwords have settled it for all time. "

"It would certainly seem so, " said young Houghton. "Well, I will make mypreparations to start to-morrow. "

His first step was to go direct to Mrs. Willoughby, and his dejectedexpression revealed to the lady that her anticipations of strongopposition were correct. 

"I won't annoy you, " she said, as George sat down and looked at her withtroubled eyes, "by that saying of complacently sagacious people, 'I toldyou so. ' You may tell me all if you wish. "

"I do so wish, for I fear my way is blocked. " And he related all that hadoccurred. When he ended with Bodine's final words she said thoughtfully, "Such language as that, combined with Ella's message, does seem to end theaffair. "

"Well, I know this much, " he replied ruefully, "I am a gentleman. Nomatter what it costs me I must continue to be one. "

"Yes, Mr. Houghton, you have acted like a gentleman, and, as you say, youmust continue to do so. Let me congratulate and thank you for keeping yourtemper. "

"I nearly lost it when I learned that my father had discharged Mr. Bodine. "

"I understand how you felt then. You were sorely tried as I feared. Haveyou any reason to think that Ella feels in any such way as you do?"

"None at all. My best hope was, that with time and opportunity I couldawaken like regard. While not at all sanguine, I would have made everyeffort in my power to win her respect and love. But now what can I do? IfI take another step I must forfeit my father's love and confidence, whichis far more to me than his money. I have at least brain and muscle enoughto earn a living for us both. I fear, however, that such a course wouldkill the old gentleman. I could meet this problem by simply waiting ifElla cared for me, but she and her father have made it impossible toapproach her again. She has said she would have nothing to do with mewithout her father's consent, and he has said that he would rather buryher than permit my attentions. "

"Well, my friend, I see how it is, and I absolve you utterly. You can't goforward under the circumstances. "

"No, for she would now probably meet any effort on my part with contempt, and agree with her father that a Northern man couldn't even appreciatewords that were like a kick. "

"Well, then, go to the mountains and forget all about it. If Ella had sether heart upon you as you have on her, and you both could be patientlyconstant, the future might have possibilities; but if I were a man I wouldmake no further effort under the circumstances. "

George went home with a heavy heart, and grimly entered upon the firsthard battle of his life. 

Ella tried to be her old mirthful self when she came down to breakfastthat morning, and succeeded fairly well. In spite of her father's bitterwords and opposition he had told her a truth that was like the sun in thesky. George Houghton loved her, and he had revealed his love in nounderhand way. She was proud of him; she exulted over him, and, in thedelicious pain of her own awakening heart, she forgot nearly everythingexcept the fact that he loved her. 

Bodine was perplexed by her manner and not wholly reassured. When she hadkissed him good-by for the day, he said, "Cousin Sophy, perhaps our fearslast night had little foundation. Ella does not seem cast down thismorning. "

The old lady shook her head and only remarked, "I hope it is not asserious as I feared. "

"Why do you fear so greatly?"

"Suppose Ella does care for him more than we could wish, the fact you toldher last night that this young fellow loves her, or thinks he does, wouldbe very exhilarating. Oh, I know a woman's heart. We're all alike. "

"Curse him!" muttered the captain. 

"No, no, no, pray for your enemies. That's commanded, but not that weshould marry our daughters to them. Dear Cousin Hugh, we must keep ourcomon-sense in this matter. This is probably Ella's first little loveaffair, and girls as well as boys often have two or three before theysettle down. Ella will soon get over it, if we ignore the whole affair asfar as possible. You have much to be thankful for, since neither of theyoung people is sly and underhanded. Never fear. That old Houghton willset his boy down more decidedly than you have Ella, and also send him outof town probably. This cloud will sink below the horizon before we aremany months older. Perhaps Ella will mope a little for a time, but we mustnot notice it, and must make it as cheerful for her as possible. Charleston men are beginning to call on her, and she'll soon discover thatthere are others in the world besides George Houghton. "

But the veteran halted to his work sore-hearted and angry. Strong-willedand decided as Mr. Houghton himself, he could not endure the truth thathis daughter had looked with favor on one so intensely disagreeable tohim. He, too, felt that such an alliance would stultify his life and allhis past, that it would bring him into contempt with those whose respecthe most valued. Young Houghton's coolness and resolute purpose to ignorehis opposition, together with the fact that Ella was not indifferent, troubled him, and led to the determination to take the strongest measureswithin his power to prevent further complications. This resolve accountedfor his visit to Mr. Houghton's office and the words he uttered there. Hisemployer, however, had aroused his anger to the last degree, and hereturned home in a rage. 

Mrs. Bodine listened quietly to his recital of what had occurred, and thensaid, with her irrepressible little laugh, "Well, it was Greek meetingGreek. You both fired regular broadsiders. Cool off, Cousin Hugh. Don'tyou see that all things are working for the best? Your rupture with oldHoughton will only secure you greater favor with our people, and Ella becured all the sooner of any weakness toward that old curmudgeon's son. "

"I should hope so, " said her father most emphatically. 

"Don't you be harsh to Ella. We can laugh her out of this fancy muchbetter than scold or threaten her out of it. "

"I shall not do either, " said Bodine gravely. "I shall tell her the factsand then trust to her love, loyalty and good sense. It has been nolaughing matter to me. "

Ella's cheerfulness and happiness grew apace all the morning. "To thinkthat I should have brought that great Vandal to my feet so soon!" shethought, smiling to herself. "Dear me! Why can't people let bygones bebygones? Now if I could see him, naturally what a chase I could lead him!If he thinks I'll put my two hands together and say, 'Please, sir, don'texert yourself. The weather is too warm for that. Behold thine handmaid, 'he will be so mistaken that he will make some poor dinners. I'd be boundto keep him sighing like a furnace for a time. Well, well, I fear we bothwill have to do a lot of sighing, but time and patience see many changes. As Aun' Sheba says, he's on ''bation, ' and, if he holds out, our sternfathers may eventually see that the best way to be happy themselves is tomake us happy. He thinks I'm a very frigid representative of the Southernpeople. Wouldn't he dance a jig if he knew? Well, speed thee on, oldFather Time, and touch softly obdurate hearts. " Thus with the hopefulnessof youth she looked forward. 

Mara regarded her with misgivings, but asked no questions. She also wassadly preoccupied with her own thoughts. 

"Aun' Sheba, " Ella said, as the old woman entered, "I rather like this''bation' scheme of yours. I think of putting myself on ''bation. '"

"Oh, you go long, honey. Doan you make light ob serus tings. "

"I'm doing nothing of the kind, Aun' Sheba. I've too much respect foryou. "

"Oh, well, honey, sich as you gits 'ligion jes as you did de measles. It'skin ob bawn an' baptize inter yez wen you doan know it. But I'se got tohab a po'ful conwiction ob sin fust, an' dats de trouble wid me. I says tomyself, 'Aun' Sheba, you'se a wile sinner. Why doan you cry an' groan, an'hab a big conwiction? Den you feel mo' shuah;' but de conwiction won' comeno how. Sted ob groanin' I gits sleepy. "

"Well, I think I've got a conviction, Aun' Sheba, and I'm not a bitsleepy. "

"I don't know what you dribin at. Bettah be keerful how you talk, honey. "

"I think so too, Ella. "

"Oh, Mara! you take such 'lugubrious' views, as I heard some one say. There, Aun' Sheba! I'll sober down some day. "

CHAPTER XXXII

FALSE SELF-SACRIFICE

Ella was very much surprised to find her father reading in the parlor whenshe returned home. "Why papa!" she cried, with misgivings of trouble, "areyou not well?"

"I cannot say that I am, Ella, but my pain is mental rather than physical. Mr. Houghton dismissed me with insults from his service this morning. "

Ella flushed scarlet. "Where was young Mr. Houghton?" she askedindignantly. 

"Sent to Coventry, probably. He evidently did not dare put in anappearance. "

She sat down and drew a long breath. 

"Ella, " said her father very gravely, "I shall not treat you as a child. You have compelled me to recognize that you are no longer the little girlthat had grown so gradually and lovingly at my side. "

"Papa, " cried Ella, "I am not less lovingly at your side to-day. "

"I hope so. I shall believe it if, with the spirit which becomes yourbirth, you do take your place at my side in unrelenting hostility to theseHoughtons who have heaped insult upon us, the son by rash, headlong actionwhich he would soon regret, and the father by insufferable insolence. Butyou shall judge for yourself. " And he began, as Mr. Houghton had done, torepeat what had passed between them. 

At the same terrible words which had smitten George, she also cried, "Papa, did you say you would rather bury me?"

"Yes, " said the veteran sternly, "and I would rather be buried myself. Youmust remember that I am at heart a soldier and not a trader. I could notsurvive dishonor to you or myself; and any relation except that of enmityto these Houghtons would humiliate me into the very mire. What's more, Mr. Houghton feels in the same way about his son. I am not one whit moreaverse than he is. He virtually said that he would disinherit and cast outhis son should he continue to offend by seeking your hand. I, in return, told him that if the sentimental boy had even the trace of a gentleman inhis anatomy he would leave us alone. Now you can measure the gravity ofthe situation. The name of our ancestors, the sacred cause for which I andso many that I loved perilled and lost life, forbid that I should take anyother course. Turn from this folly and all will be serene and happy soon. I can obtain a position elsewhere. Surely, Ella, you are too true aSouthern girl to have given your heart unsought, unasked to your knowledgetill last night. Your very pride should rescue you from such a slough asthis. "

The girl had turned pale and red as he spoke. Now she rose and saidfalteringly: "Papa, I'm no hypocrite. As I told you last night, I will donothing whatever without your consent. "

"You will never have my consent even to speak to that fellow. "

"Very well then, " she said quietly, "that ends it. "

So apparently it did. Ella went to her room and for a few moments indulgedin a passion of grief. "Oh, to think, " she moaned, "that fathers can sayto their children that they would rather bury them than give up thebitterness of an old and useless enmity! It is indeed all ended, for hewould never look at me again after papa's words. " In a few moments sheadded, "Mine also, mine also, for I said, 'Tell him I will do nothingwithout papa's consent. ' Well, I only hope he can get over it easier thanI can. "

She soon washed the traces of tears from her eyes and muttered: "I won'tshow the white feather anyhow, even if I haven't Aun's Sheba's comfort ofbeing on ''bation. '" And she marched down to dinner with the feeling of asoldier who has a campaign rather than a single battle before him. 

There was a little stiffness at first; but Mrs. Bodine, with her finetact, soon began to banish this, and the old lady was pleased that Ellaseconded her efforts so readily. Bodine was a man and a straightforwardsoldier, honest in his views and actions, however mistaken they might be. He had not feminine quickness in outward self-recovery, and the waves ofhis strong feeling could only subside gradually. He soon began tocongratulate himself, however, that his strong measures had led to a mostfortunate escape, and he admitted the truth of his cousin's words thatyoung girls were subject to sudden attacks of romantic sentiment beforethey were fairly launched into society. 

As the days passed these impressions were strengthened, for Ella appearedmerrier than ever before. Mrs. Bodine kept pace with her nonsense which attimes even verged on audacity, and the veteran began to laugh as he haddone before the "Houghton episode, " as he now characterized it in hismind. Mrs. Bodine, however, began to observe little things in Ella whichtroubled her. 

On the morning following that of Bodine's dismissal, Mara saw at once fromElla's expression that something unpleasant had occurred. 

"What has happened?" she asked anxiously. 

"Oh, we've had an earthquake at our house, " was the somewhat bitter reply. Fondly as she loved Mara, Ella stood in no awe of her whatever, and herheart was almost bursting from the strong repression into which she knewshe must school herself for the sake of her father. 

"Please, Ella, don't talk riddles. "

"Well, papa and old Houghton have had a regular pitched battle; papa hasbeen discharged, and is now a gentleman of leisure. "

"Shameful! What earthly reason could that old wretch--"

"I'm the earthly reason. "

"Ella, don't tantalize me. "

"Well, that misguided little boy, who must stand six feet in hisstockings, had the preposterous presumption--there's alliteration for you, but nothing else is equal to the case--to ask papa if he might pay hisaddresses to me. Isn't that the conventional phrase? At the bare thoughtboth of our papas went off like heavy columbiads, and we poor littlechildren have been blown into space. "

"Oh, Ella I how can you speak so!" cried Mara indignantly. "The idea ofassociating your father with that man Houghton in your thoughts! It doesindeed seem that no one can have anything to do with such Yankees as cometo this city--"

"There now, Mara, " said Ella a little irritably, "I haven't Aun' Sheba'sgrace of self-depreciation. I haven't been conjured into a monster byNorthern associations, and I haven't lost my common-sense. I don'tassociate papa with old Houghton, as no one should know better than you. No daughter ever loved father more than I love papa. What's more, I'vegiven him a proof of it, which few daughters are called upon to give. ButI'm not a fool. The same faculties which enable me to know that you areMara Wallingford reveal to me with equal clearness that papa and Mr. Houghton have acted in much the same way. "

"Could you imagine for a _moment_ that your father would permit theattentions of that young Houghton?"

"Certainly I could imagine it. If papa had come to me and said, 'Ella, Ihave learned beyond doubt that Mr. Houghton is sly, mean, unscrupulous, ordissipated, ' I should have dropped him as I would a hot poker. Instead ofall this the Vandal goes to papa like a gentleman, tells him the truth, intrusts him with the message of his regard for me, and promises that ifpapa will tell me he will not--also promises that he will not make theslightest effort to win my favor without papa's knowledge. Then he toldhis own father about his designs upon the little baker. Then both of ourloving papas said in chorus of us silly children, 'We'll see 'em buriedfirst. '"

"I don't wonder your father said so, " Mara remarked sternly. 

"Well, _I_ wonder, and I can't understand it, " cried Ella, bursting into apassion of tears. 

"There now, Ella, " Mara began soothingly, "you will see all in the truelight when you have had time to think it over. Remember how old Houghtonis looked upon in this city. Consider his intense hostility to us. "

"I've nothing to say for him, " sobbed Ella. 

"Well, it would be said that your father had permitted you to marry theson of this rich old extortioner for the sake of his money. Your actionwould throw discredit on all your father's life and devotion to a cause--"

"Which is dead as Julius Caesar, " Ella interrupted. 

"But which is as sacred to us, " continued Mara very gravely, "as thememory of our loved and honored dead. "

"I don't believe our loved and honored dead would wish useless unhappinessto continue indefinitely. What earthly good can ever result from thischerished bitterness and enmity? Oh, mamma, mamma! I wish you had lived, for you would have understood the love which forgives and heals the woundsof the past. "

"Ella, can you have given your love to this alien and almost stranger?"

"I have at least given him my respect and admiration, " she replied, risingand wiping her eyes before resuming her work. Suddenly she paused, and ina serio-comic attitude she pointed with the roller as she said, "Mara, suppose you insisted that that kitchen table was a cathedral, would it bea cathedral to me? No more so than that your indiscriminate prejudicesagainst Northern people are grand, heroic, or based on truth. So there, now. I've got to unburden my feelings somewhere; although I expectsympathy from no one, I believe in the angels' song of 'Peace on earth andgood will toward men. '"

"I fear your good will toward one man, " said Mara, very sadly, "is takingyou out of sympathy with those who love you, and who have the best andmost natural right to your love. "

"See how mistaken you are! I shall never be out of sympathy with you, papa, or Cousin Sophy. But how can I sympathize with some of your viewswhen God has given me a nature that revolts at them? If you ever love agood man, God and your own heart will teach you what a sacred thing it is. What if I am poor, and lacking in graces and accomplishments, I know Ihave an honest, loving nature. Think of that old man Houghton condemningand threatening his son, as if he had committed a vile crime in his mosthonorable intentions toward me! Well, well, it's all over. I've given myword to papa that I'll do nothing without his consent, and he'll see meburied before he'll give it. Don't you worry, I'm not going to pine andlive on moonshine. I'll prove that I'm a Bodine in my own way. "

"Yes, Ella, you will, and eventually it will be in the right way. "

"Mara, what I have said is in confidence, and since I've had my say I'drather not talk about it any more. "

Mara was glad enough to drop the subject, for Ella had been saying thingsto which her own heart echoed most uncomfortably. She and Mrs. Hunteraccepted Mrs. Bodine's invitation to dine that evening, and, in hersympathy for Bodine, was kinder to him than ever, thus reviving his hopesand deepening his feelings. 

Time passed, bringing changes scarcely perceptible on the surface, yetindicating to observant eyes concealed and silent forces at work. Andthese were observant eyes; Mrs. Bodine saw that Ella was masking feelingsand memories to which no reference was made. Ella began to observe thather father's demeanor toward Mara was not the same as that by which hemanifested his affection for her. While she was glad for his sake, andhoped that Mara would respond favorably, she had an increased sense ofinjustice that he should seek happiness in a way forbidden to her. Thethought would arise, "I am not so much to him after all. "

One day, near the end of July, Ella, her father, Mrs. Hunter and Mara, were on the Battery, sitting beneath the shade of a live oak. The raisedpromenade, overlooking the water, was not far away, and among thepassers-by Mara saw Clancy and Miss Ainsley approaching. Apparently theywere absorbed in each other, but, when opposite, Clancy turned and lookedher full in the face. She gave no sign of recognition nor did he. Thatmutual and unobserved encounter of their eyes set its seal on their lastinterview. They were strangers. 

"There goes a pair, billing and cooing, " said Ella with a laugh. 

"Mara, don't you feel well?" asked the captain anxiously. "You look verypale. "

"I felt the heat very much to-day, " she replied evasively. "I am longingfor August and rest. "

"Oh, Mara! let us shut up shop at once, " cried Ella. "Papa is at leisurenow and we can make little expeditions down the bay, out to Summervilleand elsewhere. "

"No, " Mara replied, "I would rather do just what we agreed upon. It's onlya few days now. "

"You are as sot as the everlasting hills. "

Mara was silent, and glad indeed that her quiet face gave no hint of thetumult in her heart. 

Mrs. Hunter's eyes were angrily following Clancy and Miss Ainsley. "Well, "she said, with a scornful laugh, "that renegade Southerner has found hisproper match in that Yankee coquette. I doubt whether he gets her though, if a man ever does get a born flirt. When she's through with Charlestonshe'll be through with him, if all I hear of her is true. "

"Oh, you're mistaken, Mrs. Hunter, " Ella answered. "She fairly dotes onhim, and if he don't marry her he's a worse flirt than she is. Think ofMr. Clancy's blue blood. She undoubtedly appreciates that. "

"I'm inclined to think that he was a changeling, and that old ColonelClancy's child was spirited away. "

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Hunter, but I differ with you. While I cannotshare in many of Mr. Clancy's views and affiliations, he has thereputation of being sincere and straightforward. Even his enemies mustadmit that he seeks to make his friendliness to the North conducive toSouthern interests. "

Mara's heart smote her that even Captain Bodine had been fairer to Clancythan she had been. 

Words rose to Ella's lips, but she repressed them, and soon afterward theyreturned to their respective homes. 

Mara early retired to the solitude of her own room, for that cold mutualglance on the Battery had suggested a new thought not yet entertained. Inher mental excitement it promised to banish the dreary stagnation of herlife. She must have a motive, and if it involved the very self-sacrificethat she had been warned against, so much the better. 

"It would teach Owen Clancy how futile were his words, " she said toherself. "It would bring happiness to my father's friend; it would becomea powerful incentive in my own life, and, above all, would compel me tobanish the thought of one to whom I have said I will never speak again. "

The more she dwelt upon this course, the more clear it became in herwarped judgment the one path of escape from an aimless, hopeless existencefast becoming unendurable. She was not by any means wholly selfish inreaching her decision, for thoughts of her own need did not predominate. "If I cannot be happy myself, " she reasoned, "I can make Captain Bodinehappy, for there could not be a more devoted wife than I will become, ifhe puts into words the language of his eyes. Ella has already ceased to bein true sympathy with him in matters that have made so much of the warpand woof of his life. We two are one in these respects. I can and willcast out all else if my motive is strong enough. "

CHAPTER XXXIII

A SURE TEST

Clancy had gone to Nature to be calmed and healed, but he had brought aspirit at variance with her teachings. He soon recognized that he wasneither receptive nor docile. He chafed impatiently and angrily at Mara'sobduracy, which, nevertheless, only increased his love for her. Thedeepest instincts of his nature made him feel that she belonged to him, and he to her. The barrier between them was so intangible that he was in asort of rage that he could not brush it aside. Reflection always broughthim back to the conviction that she did love him. Her passionate words:"If my heart break a thousand times I will never speak to you again, " grewmore and more significant. Odd fancies, half-waking dreams about her, pursued him into the solitude of the forest. She seemed like oneimprisoned; he could see, but could not reach and release her. Again shewas under a strange, malign spell, which some day might suddenly bebroken--broken all too late. 

Then she would dwell in his thoughts as the victim of a species of moralinsanity which might pass away. At times her dual life became so clear tohim that he was almost impelled to hasten back to the city, in the beliefthat he could speak such strong, earnest words as would enable her to castaside her prejudices, and break away from the influences which weredarkening and misshaping her life. Then he would despondently recall allthat he had said and done, and how futile had been his effort. 

He neither fished nor hunted, but passed the time either in long tramps, or in sitting idly tormented by perturbed thoughts. Believing that he hadreached a crisis in his life, it was his nature to come to some decision. He was essentially a man of action, strong-willed and resolute. Hedespised what he termed weakness, forgetting that the impulses of strengthoften lead to error, for the reason that patience and fortitude arelacking. 

In facing the possibilities of the future, he began to yield to thepromptings of ambition, a trait which had no mean place in his character. "If Mara denies her love, and sacrifices herself to Bodine, " he reasoned, "what is there left for me but to make the most of my life by attainingpower and influence? I can only put pleasures and excitements in the placeof happiness. I won't go through life like a winged bird. "

When such thoughts were in the ascendant, Miss Ainsley presented herselfto his fancy, alluring, fascinating, beckoning. She seemed the embodimentof that brilliant career which he regarded as the best solace he couldhope for. Often, however, he would wake in the night, and, from his forestbivouac, look up at the stars. Then a calm, deep voice in his soul wouldtell him unmistakably that, even if he attained every success that hecraved, his heart would not be in it, that he would always hide themelancholy of a lifelong disappointment. All these misgivings andcompunctions usually ended in the thought: "Caroline Amsley and all thatshe represents is the best I can hope for now. She may be playing withme--I'm not sure, if she will marry me, I can probably give her as true aregard as she will bestow upon me. She is not a woman to love devotedlyand unselfishly, not counting the cost. I could not marry such a woman, for I feel it would be base to take what I could not return; but I couldmarry her. I would do her no wrong, for I could give to her all theaffection to which she is entitled, all that she would actually care for. If I am mistaken, I am totally at fault in the impression which she hasmade upon me, and I do not think that I am. I am not in love with her, andtherefore am not blind. She is not in love with me. It has merely sohappened that I have proved agreeable to her, pleased, amused, andinterested her. Possibly I have led her to feel that we are socompanionable that a life journey together would be quite endurable. Myreason, all my instincts, assure me that this beautiful girl hasconsidered this question more than once before--that she is considering itnow, coolly and deliberately. I am being weighed in the balances of hermind, for I do not think she has heart enough to enable that organ to havemuch voice in the matter. Her views and beliefs are intellectual. Nostrong, earnest feelings sway her. When have her sympathies been touchedin behalf of any one or any cause? Oh, my rare beauty! I am not blind. Selfishness is the mainspring of your character; but it is a selfishnessso refined, so rational and amenable to the laws of good taste, that itcan be calculated upon with almost mathematical accuracy. You are nosaint, but a saint might be beguiled into faults which to you areimpossible. You are a fit bride for ambition, and would be its crown andglory. "

Such was often the tenor of his thoughts, and ambition suggested the manydoors to advancement which such an alliance would open. Mr. Ainsley wasnot only a man of wealth, but also of large, liberal ideas. It certainlywould be a pleasure and a constant exhilaration to aid him in carrying outhis great enterprises. 

Thus Clancy, as well as Mara, was led by disappointment in his dearesthope of happiness to seek what next promised best in his estimation toredeem life from a dreary monotony of negations. He also resolved to havemotives and incentives; nor was his ambition purely selfish, for hepurposed to use whatever power, wealth and influence he might obtain forthe benefit of the people among whom he dwelt. Hers, however, was thenobler motive, and the less selfish, for it involved self-sacrifice, eventhough it was mistaken, and could lead only to wrong action. It would costhim nothing to carry out his large, beneficent purposes. Indeed, theywould add to his pleasures and enhance his reputation. She was but awoman, and saw no other path of escape from the conditions of her lotexcept the thorny one of self-abnegation. 

Alternately cast down, and fired by conflicting thoughts and purposes, Clancy soon discovered that the woods was no place for him, and heresolved to return to the city, there to be guided by the circumstances ofthe next few weeks. If it became clear that Mara had not been influencedby his warning, but on the contrary was accepting Bodine's attentions, then he would face the truth that she was lost to him beyond hope. Withoutcompunction he would turn to Miss Ainsley, and, with all the wariness andpenetration which he could exercise, seek to discover how far she would gowith him in his life campaign to achieve eminence. He was glad, however, that he did not regard her as essential to his plans and hopes. Indeed, hehad the odd feeling that even if she rejected him as a husband, he couldshake hands with her and say: "Very well, Ainsley, we can be good comradesjust the same. We amuse and interest each other, we mutually stimulate ourmental faculties. Let it end here. "

In this mood he fulfilled his promise and wrote as follows:

"My DEAR AINSLEY--Permit me to remind you of my existence--if one can besaid to exist in these wilds. An expedition of this kind is a good thingfor a fellow occasionally. It enables him to get acquainted with himself, to indulge in egotism without being a nuisance. I have neither hunted, fished, nor studied the natives. I have not seen a "mountain maid" whoseembrace I would prefer to that of a bear. I have merely tramped aimlesslyabout, meanwhile learning that I am not adapted to communion with nature. At this moment I should prefer smoking a cigar with you on the balcony tolooking at scenery which should inspire artist and poet. I am neither, merely a man of affairs. Humanity interests me more than oaks, howevergigantic. You see I have no soul, no heart, no soaring imagination. I amas matter-of-fact a fellow as you are. That's why we get on so welltogether. We can chaff, spar, and run intellectual tilts as amicably asany two men in town. This proves you to be quite exceptional--delightfullyso. I'm not surprised, however, for, as I have said to you, you are satedwith the other kind of thing. How long will this fancy last? Now that youare so manly you should not be fickle. You have not half comprehended thepenalties of your new _role_, for you may find that it involves adistressing frankness. I think I had better close. Letter-writingpre-supposes literary qualities which I do not possess. Men, unlesssentimentally inclined, or given to hobbies, rarely write long letters toeach other. If unusually congenial they can talk together as long aswomen. I do not know of a man in town who can equal you as good company;and with this fact in mind, I shall atone for a brief letter by putting inan appearance at an early date. If you have had any flirtations in myabsence I shall expect all the details. You know I do not care for suchtrivial amusements. In this material age, making the world move in the wayof business affords ample scope for my limited faculties, while a chatwith you is better than a game of chess in the way of recreation, betterthan moping in the woods. Your friend, CLANCY. "

He had barely time to post the letter before the mail-stage left thelittle hamlet in which it was written. He was soon dissatisfied withhimself and the missive, and regretted having written it. Before an hourhad passed he muttered: "I never wrote such a letter to a woman before, and I won't again. I put myself in the worst light, in fact was unjust tomyself. How differently I would write to Mara! Is it the difference inwomen which inevitably inspires different thought and action? At any rate, there is a touch of coarseness in this masculine _persiflage_ whichgrates. When I return we must become friends as man and woman. I wonder ifshe will feel as I do about it?"

Miss Ainsley was not satisfied with the letter at all, one reason beingthat it revealed too much penetration on Clancy's part. While she welcomedhim with her old cordiality she took him to task at once. 

"This is a spurious letter, " she said, holding it up. "You would neverwrite such an affair to a male friend. You betrayed a consciousness of myfemininity in every line. You preached to me and warned me with the samepenful of ink. You write as if you were a commonplace male cynic, and I awoman who was trying to unsex herself by a lot of ridiculous affectations. I wished a genial, jolly letter such as you might write to an old collegechum. "

"Do you know the reason why I did not, rather could not, write such aletter?"

"No. "

"Because you are not an old college chum. "

"I was not aware that you were so tremendously sincere. "

"I'm not tremendously sincere--not tremendous in any grand sense of theword, but I've learned that I can be tremendously awkward in a falseposition. It is absurd of you to fancy that I can think of you in anyother light than that of a beautiful woman, gifted with more than yourshare of intellect. I prefer that our friendship should rest on thisobvious fact. We are too old 'to make believe, ' as children say. I came tothis conclusion within an hour after I wrote the letter. "

"Oh, you dashed it off hastily, without giving it thought?"

"I've given you two thoughts to your one, " he replied, laughing lightly. 

"And none of them very complimentary, judging from the letter. " And sheimpatiently tore it up. 

"That's right. Put it out of existence. "

"I almost wish I had kept it as documentary evidence against you, " sheremarked. 

"Oh, come! Friends do not wish evidence against, but for each other. Icould remain away scarcely a week. "

"From business, yes. "

"Or from my most delightful recreation; yes. "

"You find me very amusing then. "

"I do indeed, and interesting also. I am quite certain that your societygives me far more pleasure than mine affords you. "

"Since I am relegated to woman's sphere I certainly shall not protestagainst that belief. I am now under no bonds to be distressingly frank. "

"You never would have been any franker than you wished to be. For themanifestation of that trait I shall have to depend on something verydifferent. "

"And what may that be?"

"Why, simply the quality of your friendship. "

"I am satisfied that mine compares very favorably with yours. "

"In both instances neither of us can escape one sure test. "

"Indeed! What test?"

"That of time, " he replied, smiling significantly. "Good-by. I'm quitesure that your regard will survive till to-morrow afternoon when we are totake a sail in the harbor, so Mrs. Willoughby has informed me. "

Miss Ainsley gave a little complacent nod in his direction as hedisappeared, and thought, "Since you are so content and agreeable as afriend merely, I'm half-inclined to keep you as such, and marry some oneelse. "

CHAPTER XXXIV

"BITTERNESS MUST BE CHERISHED"

To all appearance the long hot days of August were passing veryuneventfully to the characters of our story. The cold look which Clancyreceived from Mara on the Battery, together with the fact that Bodineappeared more lover-like than ever, speedily satisfied him that his bestresource was the ambitious career which in his absence he had accepted inthe place of happiness. He therefore gave himself up quite unreservedly toMiss Ainsley's fascinations, and, with all the skill and energy hepossessed, seconded her father's business enterprises. Mr. Ainsley wassometimes in town, and again absent, as his business interests required;for he was one of those indefatigable men who, with soldier-like energyand fearlessness, carry out their plans, regardless of discomfort ordanger. He recognized the fact that Clancy was both capable and useful, and was already inclined to make him one of his chief lieutenants in theSouth. He understood the young man's relations to his daughter perfectly, and was not at all averse to a union between them. At the same time, heknew how problematical Caroline's action would be, and that it would beuseless for him to appear for or against the match. He was aware of hisdaughter's attitude in regard to marriage, and also convinced that shewould take her own course. 

It would seem that she was taking no course whatever at present, butindolently and complacently letting matters drift. She sometimes smilinglythought, "I scarcely know whether Mr. Clancy is friend or lover. I supposeI could lead him to be more pronounced in either character if I chose, butsince he is so agreeable as he is, I would be a fool not to keepeverything _in statu quo_ till I wish a change. Life is too long to giveup a pleasure before you are through with it. "

Clancy quietly studied her mood, and was in no greater hurry than herself. Indeed, both felt that they had arrived at a comparatively clear mutualunderstanding, and so were quite at their ease, she enjoying his societyabundantly, and he hers, as far as his bitter memories would permit. 

Quick of apprehension, Bodine soon perceived a change in Mara's attitudetoward him, but was considerate in availing himself of such slightencouragement as she gave. He had been taught by her manner that her firstfeeling on the discovery of a warmer regard than she had expected was thatof repulsion. He now believed that she had thought the matter over, andwas learning that it might not be impossible to regard him in a new anddifferent light. Long since the ardor of youth had passed, and he wasdisposed to allow her time to become accustomed to the thought ofwifehood. In the meantime he put forth every effort to prove himselfcompanionable, in spite of their disparity in age. It was not his delicateand thoughtful attentions, however, which reconciled her to the futurethat she had accepted, but rather the motives already revealed. Under theinfluence of these, a certain species of mental excitement had beenevoked. She had not ceased to suffer, but she had ceased merely to exist. 

There was something now to look forward to, sacred duties to anticipate, and a future which was not a blank. She believed that in giving help andhappiness to another she would more surely trample on self, and make itthe vantage-ground for a greater devotion than that of most women whoselove is often partly self-love. In regarding her first pure love and allits promptings as the phase of self to be destroyed, she was committingher fatal error; and of this error, not only Clancy's words, but also herown heart, often warned her. But she was not one to turn back, having onceresolved upon a course. 

She had far too much delicacy and maidenly pride to suggest consciously toBodine the nature of her thoughts, but she was willing that he should seethat she no longer shrank outwardly from his occasional manifestations ofa tenderer regard than he bestowed upon Ella. That something in herwoman's nature beyond her control did shrink and plead for escape, sheknew well; but to conquer this instinctive aversion was a part of the taskwhich she had set for herself. 

Not only quick-witted Ella, but also Mrs. Bodine and Mrs. Hunter, saw thedrift of affairs, and gave their unhesitating approval. Mrs. Hunter wasglad, because it would destroy Clancy's prospects forever, and prove asort of triumph over him. Then it was, as she assured Mara one day, "eminently fitting. Your father and mother would both approve. "

"That thought comes to me, too, " calmly rejoined the girl. "I hope theywill--I think they will. But let us not talk further till all is settled. "

Mrs. Bodine believed the marriage would result well on other grounds. "Cousin Hugh, " she said one day when they were alone, "you may shut me upif I am meddling, but you are not thinking of Mara in the same way thatyou did in the spring. "

"I admit it, Cousin Sophy, and you need not shut up. "

"Well, I reckon it will come about. On general principles I don't approveof such marriages, but I suppose there are exceptions to most rules. As Ihave said to you before, Mara is as old in her feelings as you are, and Ithink you will be happier together than you would be apart. I neverunderstood Mara altogether; but of one thing I am certain, she must havesome strong motive, something or some person for whom she can sacrificeherself; and, being a woman, she would have a good deal better timesacrificing herself to a man than to anything else;" and the old ladychirped her little complacent laugh. 

"Rest assured, " said the veteran, "I don't want any self-sacrifice inMara's case. "

"Of course not; nor do I. I wouldn't approve of any actual self-sacrifice, but Mara will try to come as near it as she can. I reckon she'd be moredrawn toward a cripple like you than the handsomest young fellow in town, on general principles; and then she has been interested in you from thefirst, because you, in a peculiar sense, represent to her the past, whichhas been almost her only inheritance. "

"I confess that I have indulged in the same thoughts which you express. God grant that we both are right! She has become strangely dear to me. Once I could never have imagined it at my time of life. "

"Oh, the heart needn't grow old, " was the laughing reply. 

The captain's outlook was rendered more favorable by the reception of anote which contained the offer of a better position than that held in theemploy of the detested Mr. Houghton. When he investigated the matter helearned that the offer came largely through the influence of Clancy, andthis last confirmed the veteran's impression that the young man was usinghis influence and prosperity for the benefit of the South. 

To Mara it was a bitter ordeal to listen to Bodine's complacentexplanation of the affair, and she was glad that she was told in the duskytwilight, which concealed an expression of pain even beyond her control. Words of passionate protest rose to her very lips, but she remembered intime that they would involve revelations which would thwart her purpose tomake him happy at every cost to herself. If he ever learned what Clancyhad been to her, what he was at this agonized moment, her vocation, if notgone, would be impaired beyond remedy. Afterward, in the solitude of herown room, she accepted this bitter experience, as she had resolved toaccept all others, as a part of her lot. 

In her morbidness she became Jesuitical. Her father's old friend should bemade as happy as it was in her power to render him. Whatever interferedwith this purpose should be concealed or trampled upon. Of Clancy she saidbitterly, "If he thinks he has been magnanimous, how little he understandsme. "

Clancy's motives had been somewhat mixed. He was willing that her prideshould be rebuked and wounded, and he also wished her to know that he wasabove the petty resentment of jealousy. 

Poor Ella felt that she was becoming isolated; an impression, however, which she would not have had were it not for her recent experiences. Hadher heart remained as light and untouched as it was when we first met her, her pleasure over her father's prospects would have been unalloyed. Evennow her satisfaction was deep and sincere, but it was not in human natureto forget how summarily she had been denied the happiness so sweet tothose of her age. She felt, however, that all were against her; that evenkind old Mrs. Bodine would not listen patiently to her thoughts. So shekept them to herself, and sought by forced mirthfulness to disguise them. She talked and laughed with the young men who called upon her, and theycame in increasing numbers as inevitably as a flower attracts the bees. She was the life of the "family excursions, " as she characterized in herthoughts those in which Mara and Mrs. Hunter had a part; and she joinedothers of which her father approved, but there was often trouble andsadness in her eyes, and her cheeks and form were losing their roundnessof outline. Mrs. Bodine was not deceived. She noted everything silently, and thought, "She is making a brave fight; she must make a brave fight. There is no other course for her. I reckon she'll win it, as many a girlhas before. "

The old lady was thoughtful, kind, and very attentive. At the same time, with the nicest tact, she infused a firmness and spirit into her demeanorwhich made the girl feel that her cousin had sympathy only with the effortto conquer or forget. And she honestly made such effort, but was oftenaghast at its futility. In her brusque way she said to herself, "What'sthe use of trying? It seems like a disease which must run its course tillold Father Time brings some sort of a cure. "

One day she went to see Aun' Sheba, and found the old woman feelingpoorly. 

"Yes, honey, " she said, "bein' lazy doan 'gree wid me 'tall. I doan seehow Unc. Stan's it all de yeah roun'. "

"I hab de rheumatiz, " Uncle Sheba remarked in the way of explanation. 

"Now, Unc. , dat ar rheumatiz is like de scapegoat in de Bible. You loadsit up with all you sins. We all hope dat wen you got so sot on dat you'dturn ober a new leaf. How you stan' it sittin' roun' all day I doan see, no how. I'se gettin' so heaby an' logy an' oncomf'ble dat I'se gwine tertake in washin' de rest ob de month. "

"I'd be glad to go to work to-morrow, too, " said Ella. "I'd be glad ofanything to make the time pass. "

"Why, honey, wot you want de time to pass quick fer? You oughter be likede hummin'-bird, gederin sweets all de day. "

"I feel more like a croaking raven. "

"You'se quar, Missy Ella. You'se up an' you'se down, an' you doan knowwhy. Ole Hannah dat lib wid you says dat you'se gittin' a lot ob beaux. Why, you eben make a 'pression on dat big, 'ansome Northern chap, oleHoughton's son, wen you doan know it. More'n once he ax me which de cakesyou make, an' wen I tell him, he wanter buy dem all. "

"That's very funny, " Ella said, and there was the old mirthful ring in herlaugh. 

"You know him?" Aun' Sheba asked, quickly. 

"I met him at Mrs. Willoughby's. "

"Shuah now! Dat counts fer it. Well, he'd gobble all you'se cake if I'dlet him, but I had oder cus'mers on my min'; an' he seem ter hab on'y youon his min'. "

"You were very wise, Aun' Sheba. So much cake would have made him ill, "and she still laughed joyously. 

"'Pears to me you'se gittin' betteh, Missy Ella. "

"Oh, you always make me laugh and hearten me up, Aun' Sheba. "

"Well, who'd a tink dat ar civil, nice spoken young man was de son ob datole sinner Houghton. Beckon Missy Mara doan like you'se talkin' wid him atMis Wil'by's. "

"Of course not. He's a Northern Vandal, you know. "

"Dunno notin' 'bout Wandals. I jedge folks by wot dey is deysefs. Hecouldn't help bein' bawn at de Norf. Long as he 'habe himself, wot datagin him?"

"Being born at the North is a crime, some people think. "

"Yes, --I know, but dat ar suttingly fool talk. Dat ain't de trouble somuch in dis case. It's cause he's dat ole 'tankerous Houghton's son. "

"He isn't to blame for that either, " Ella answered, hotly. 

"Lor', Missy Ella! how you stan' up fer 'im. "

"I don't believe in injustice, Aun' Sheba, " said Ella quietly, consciousmeanwhile that her cheeks were getting very red. 

"De heat _am_ po'ful, " Aun' Sheba remarked, sententiously. Then her plumpform began to shake with mirth. "Dar now, Missy Ella, " she added, "deblin' ole woman kin see as fur in de grin-stone as de next one. He'd stan'up fer you agin de hull worl. It shines right out in his 'ansome face. "

"How very blind you are, Aun' Sheba! Why, he's not fit to be spoken to, and I'm not to speak to him again as long as I live. Good-by. Good-by, Uncle Sheba. I've heard that sawing wood was the best cure for rheumatismknown;" and she flitted out of the dusky cabin like a tropical bird. 

Aun' Sheba still laughed to herself, and remarked, "Unc. , s'pose you tryMissy Ella's cure?"

"Wot she know 'bout it?" growled Uncle Sheba, with an injured aspect. "Wotde use ob sawin' wood all day wen de town hot 'nuff now to roas'lobsters?"

"Dat min's me, Unc. Why don' you took ter some sittin' wuck like fishin'in de harbor? You mought catch a lobster, or some oder fish. "

"De fish an' me 'ud bof be briled in dis yere sun 'fore we got home. "

"Bar, Unc. , you wouldn't go to Heben 'less you was toted. "

"Ob cose not. Doan de Bible say de angels gwine ter tote us?"

"Well, I s'pose dey is. --Ef a body ony know'd weder it ud be up or down. "

"Dar now, Aun' Sheba, wot fei you talk so se'rus in Augst? Nex' winterwe'se gwine ter hab a refreshin' from on high. "

"P'raps you won' lib till nex' winter, Unc. "

Uncle Sheba began to hitch uneasily, and remarked, "I doan see no use obsech oncomf'ble talk in de restin' time ob de yeah. "

Aun' Sheba soon forgot him in her unspoken thoughts of Ella and youngHoughton. 

"I begins ter unerstan' dat leetle gal now, an' all her goins on--puttin'aw-spice in de cake twice, an' sayin' quar tings. Well, well, I knowsdey's all agin her, po' chile. Wot foolishness it all am! I once jam myban' in de do'--s'pose I went on jamin' for eber. Der's no use ob derlookin' glum at me, fer dat young man's gwine ter hab all her cakes hewants. I won'er if Missy Mara got de same 'plaint as Missy Ella. She berydeep, an' won' let on, eben ter her ole nuss. Pears ter me de cap'n'sgittin' kiner lopsided toward her, but I don' belibe dat'll wuck. "

Ella was both gladdened and saddened by her visit. Houghton's buying hercake was one of those little homely facts on which love delights to dwell;for the heart instinctively knows that genuine love permeates the wholebeing, prompting to thoughtfullness in small matters which indifferenceoverlooks. She could not but be glad that he had seemed to have "on'y youon his min'"; and then she grieved that all which was coming about sonaturally, like a spring growth, should have been harshly smitten by theblack frost of prejudice and hate. 

After an early dinner that evening her father asked her kindly to go withhim and Mara to the Battery; but she declined, saying she would ratherkeep Mrs. Bodine company. He did not urge her; and he had been sopreoccupied by his thoughts as not to observe that she was pale anddejected, in spite of her efforts to appear as usual. 

When alone Mrs. Bodine said, "You should have gone, Ella. You need thefresh cool air from the water. Why didn't you go?"

"Oh!" said the girl, in assumed lightness of tone, "three is sometimes acrowd. "

"You shouldn't feel that way, Ella. You would never be a crowd. "

"You are forgetting your old experiences, Cousin Sophy. "

"No, I'm not. So you see whither affairs are tending?"

"Oh, cousin! Am I a bat?"

"I hope you are not averse. "

"No, Cousin Sophy, I would do anything, and suffer much, to make papahappy. You know how I love Mara, though we disagree on many points; and ifshe and papa would be happier--Oh! why can't I be happy, too?" and shegave way to a tempest of sobs. 

"We all wish you to be happy, Ella, " said Mrs. Bodine, soothingly. 

"Yes, in your own way, " she replied, brokenly. "What happened before I wasborn must be considered first. If love is sweet to papa at his age thinkwhat it is to me?"

"You must not imagine, Ella dear, that we don't feel with you and for you. I am proud of you as I watch your brave fight in which you will conquer. "

"Why should I conquer when my heart tells me that the one I love is worthyof my love? It hurts me, it wounds my very soul, that he and I should bespoken to as if we had committed a crime. How could my love be so sacredand heavenly if it were wrong? Oh, how I hate, hate! There is nothing sohateful as hate. "

"But, Ella, you don't consider all--"

"There is no need of considering all, Cousin Sophy. There are some thingswhich stand out so clearly that all else is insignificant. Mr. Houghtonhates papa and me. Does papa love him or his son? You know me, faulty, foolish little girl that I am; but think of that man raging at his sonbecause he dared to love me! If George had committed a crime his fatherwould have spent a fortune in defending him. To love me was worse than acrime. He would have been turned into the streets. Oh, it's all so unjust, it's all the spawn of hate!"

Mrs. Bodine was aghast at the intensity of the girl's feelings, but couldonly say, "Well, Ella, dear, since things are as they are you must fightit out. Trust the experience of an old woman. Marriages in the face ofsuch bitter opposition are rarely happy. "

"Yes, the bitterness must be sacredly cherished, whatever else is lost. Oh, I know, Cousin Sophy, I know I must fight it out if it takes mylifetime, and all the while know that God would bless our love if hatehadn't blighted it. "

CHAPTER XXXV

NOBLE REVENGE

George Houghton took to the mountain solitudes a better and purer spiritthan Clancy, who was so ready to be consoled by ambition and thefascinations of a woman incapable of evoking the best in his nature. Theyoung fellow did fish and hunt with tireless energy, and many a humblecabin was stocked with provisions by his exertions. Believing that notonly Bodine, but also that Ella herself, would have nothing to do withhim, his affectionate nature turned to his father. With a large charity hetried to forget the stern words which had sorely wounded him, and only toremember the influences on his father's life which had led to theirutterance. He recalled the abundant proofs of his kindness and liberality;and, now that his young dream was over, he purposed to carry out the oldman's schemes as best he could. 

He tired himself out through the long hot days, and slept at night fromexhaustion. The time thus passed until he felt that he had the strength toreturn to the city, and act as if Ella did not dwell there. He alsothought of his father's need of help, and regretted that he had remainedaway so long. 

The old man looked at him keenly when he returned, seeing that the youngface had grown older by years, and that steadiness of purpose andresolution were in its every bronzed line. 

"It's all right, father, " George replied to the questioning glance. "I'vecome back to carry out your wishes. "

"Ah, my boy! now I know that you are made of the same stuff as yourbrother. Well, you won't be sorry. "

"I wish to leave this town, and I wish you would too. I don't think it'sgood for you to be here. "

"I'll think of it, George. I have thought of it. I shouldn't be mulishsince you are not. "

"I'm glad you feel so about leaving, father. Go back with me to your oldcongenial friends and surroundings. I, for one, don't wish to stay where Iam ostracized. "

"Oh, curse the rebels! I've punished them! I've punished them well!"

"I don't wish to punish them; but, since they will have nothing to do withme, a decent self-respect leads me to go where I can be treated accordingto my behavior. "

"I know you can't feel as I do. All I ask is that you have nothing to dowith them. "

For the next few days, regardless of the heat, George toiled early andlate in his father's office, incited by the hope of soon taking the oldman away on a visit to the more bracing climate of the North. In theevenings he refreshed himself by a long swim in the harbor, and by sailinghis boat over its waters. 

One evening, while enjoying the latter favorite pastime in the earlytwilight, it so happened that he caught sight, in a passing boat, of agroup which made his heart throb quickly. In the stern sat Captain Bodinesteering the vessel toward the city. Ella was near him, and two ladieswhom he did not know. As a hunter his eyes were keen, and he was satisfiedthat he had not been recognized. He could not resist the temptation to geta better view of Ella, and, drawing his hat over his eyes, he began tomanoeuvre his boat so as to accomplish his purpose. 

His little craft skimmed here and there so swiftly, as he tacked, thatElla at last began to watch it with a pleased yet languid interest, remarking, "That boat yonder tacks about and sails as if it were alive. "

"Yah, yah, so 'tis alibe, " said the negro owner of the craft which Bodinehad hired for their excursion. "Young Marse Houghton sail dat boat, an' hebeats any duck dat eber swum. "

Ella's breath came quick, and she turned pale and red in her conflictingfeelings, for it was evident that Houghton was purposely keeping near tothem. She saw the frown on her father's face, and that Mara's expressionwas grave. Mrs. Hunter indignantly said, "He had better go on and mind hisown business. Why should old Houghton's son be hovering around us like ahawk, I'd like to know?"

"The harbor is as free to him as to us, " Ella answered, hotly. 

Mrs. Hunter pursed her lips and looked unutterable things at the girl, butshe regarded neither the matron's sour expression nor her father's sternglance, for her eyes were fascinated and held by the vessel which spedalong the water like a white-winged gull. No one except Ella and thecolored man continued the observance of Houghton. The girl was in aperverse mood, and watched until her father rebukingly spoke her name;then she turned away. 

Meanwhile George gazed wistfully at one whom he believed that he mightnever see again; for he and his father were almost ready for their visitNorth, where the young man was to remain. Then he saw her steady gaze inhis direction. Could she have recognized him? Did she continue to watchhim because of some faint interest? His pulses quickened at the thought. After a few moments he said bitterly: "Yes, she knows me at last, andturns away. Very well, away go I, then. "

At this moment he caught a glimpse of the western sky, and his sailorinstincts were alarmed. There was a single dark cloud rising rapidly, portending not a storm, but sudden, violent gusts. In the gathering gloomall thought of vanishing was abandoned. No matter how Ella regarded him, he would not be far away while there was a shadow of danger to her. Examining his sail carefully he knew he could drop it to the point ofsafety at a moment's notice. 

The wind on which he had been sailing died out. Then came little puffsfrom the west. To catch these the colored skipper of the captain's boattook the helm and tacked, presenting a broad surface of sail to theirforce. Houghton tacked also in the same direction, but with his eye on thewestward water, and his hand on the rope which would bring down his sailwith a run. He speedily had need of this caution. There was a distantroar, the water shoreward darkened, and then, as his sail came down andthe prow of his boat went round to the gust, he was enveloped in a cloudof spray. At the same instant shrill screams of women and the hoarse criesof men came from Bodine's vessel. 

The fury of the first gust passed quickly. When the atmosphere cleared alittle, Houghton saw that the mast of the other craft had broken, and, with the sail, lay over on the leeward side. He instantly knew that theoccupants were in imminent danger. Raising his sail as high as he dared, he tacked toward them with such nice judgment that if he kept on he wouldpass a little abaft of the disabled vessel. 

"Oh, Marse Houghton! come quick, " yelled the negro. "She'm won' floatanoder minit!"

"Bail, you lubber!"

"Don got notin to bail wid!"

"As usual, " growled Houghton. 

All the rest were now silent. In his agonized apprehension for Mara andElla, Bodine felt his heart beat as it had never done in the bloodiestbattle. His careless boatman had not recognized the danger since the cloudwas so comparatively small, and when he sought to lower the sail somethingwas out of gear and it stuck. The gust struck it fairly, and would havecapsized the boat had not the mast broken. As it was, the vessel socareened as to ship a dangerous quantity of water, which was rapidlyincreased by every wave that broke over the sides. 

Mara and Mrs. Hunter were pallid indeed, but calm in woman's patientfortitude, remembering, too, even in that awful moment, that if theyescaped they would owe their lives to one whom they regarded with scornand hostility. Ella's hope buoyed her spirit, although she felt herselfsinking deeper every moment in the cold waters. With love's confidence shebelieved that Houghton would be equal to the emergency, and his swiftlycoming sail was like the white wings of an angel. Then for an instant shewas perplexed and troubled, for he seemed to be steering as if to passthem, near, yet much too far. 

"She'm sinkin', she'm goin' un'er, " the negro yelled. 

"Be ready, every one, to jump the moment I lay alongside, " Houghtonshouted. Then he luffed sharply to the wind, dropped his sail; his lightcraft lost headway, and glided alongside of the sinking boat. 

"Now jump, all, " he cried. 

The women and negro did so and were safe, but the crippled veteran failed, fell backward, and would have dragged Ella, who held his hand, with him, had not Houghton broken her grasp. As quick as light he sprang into thevessel, now down to the water's edge, and fairly flung the captain intohis own boat. As he did so the water-logged craft went down, and he withit. Ella shrieked and called his name imploringly. In the wild anguish ofthe moment she would have jumped overboard after him had she not beenrestrained. 

"Patience, " cried her father, "he will rise in a moment. "

Houghton's little boat, now so heavily freighted, had almost gone under inthe suction. The negro, rendered half wild with terror, was bent only onsaving his own life. He was scarcely in the boat before he had the oars inthe rowlocks, and began to pull for the shore. In their eager scanning ofthe dark water, Bodine and the others did not notice this at first, andwhen they did the negro was deaf to their expostulations and threats. Thecaptain tried to reach him as he heaped maledictions on his head, but atthat instant another squall swooped down, enshrouding them in spray, andnearly swamping their frail vessel. They sat silent and trembling, expecting Houghton's fate, but the gust passed finally, and the lights ofthe city gleamed out. 

"Now put about, you--coward, " thundered Bodine. 

"No, sah, neber, " replied the negro; "de boat swamp in two mi nit if I put'bout in dis sea. "

The veteran began to crawl toward him to compel obedience. The manshouted: "Stop dat ar. Ef you comes nigher I hit you wid'n oar. Bettah onedrown dan we all drown. "

Ella gave a despairing cry, and found oblivion in a deathlike swoon. 

"Truly, Captain Bodine, " said Mrs. Hunter sternly, "you must keep yoursenses. If the man is right, and we have every reason to believe he is, you must not throw away all our lives for the chance of saving one. "

Then she, with Mara, gave all her attention to Ella. 

The captain groaned aloud, "Would to God it had been me instead of him!"Between his harrowing solicitude for Ella, and the awful belief thatHoughton had given his life for him, he passed moments which whitened hishair. 

As they neared the landing the water grew stiller, and their progress morerapid. Assured of safety, the negro began to reason and apologize. "Mus'be reas'n'ble, boss, " he said. "I dun declar ter you dat we'd all be at debottom, feedin' fishes, if I'd dun wot you ax. Been no use nohow. YoungMarse Houghton mus' got cotched in de riggin' or he'd come up an' holler. I couldn't dibe a'ter 'im in de dark, and in dat swashin' sea. "

"Stop your cursed croaking. If you had known how to manage your boat itwouldn't have happened. "

"I dun my bes', boss. S'pose I want ter lose my boat an' my life? I'sejis' busted, an' I kin neber go out on de harbor agin widout fearin' I seeyoung Marse Houghton's spook. I'se wus off dan you is, but I'se he'p youwen we gits asho', if you ain't 'tankerous. "

"Certainly you must help us, " said Mrs. Hunter, decidedly. "You must getmen and a carriage. Captain Bodine has lost his crutches, and his daughteris in a swoon. If you help us I will testify that you did the best youcould under the circumstances. "

"All right, missus. I kin swar dat it ud been death to hab dun any oderting. "

The carriage was brought, and men lifted into it the unconscious girl andthe almost equally helpless veteran. Then one mounted the box with thedriver and another ran for a physician, who was directed to go to Mrs. Bodine's residence. The negro carefully moored Houghton's boat, feelingthat there might be something propitiatory to the dreaded ghost in thisact. He then hastened to his humble cabin, and filled the cars of hisfamily and neighbors with lamentations over the lost boat and lost man, and also with self-gratulations that he was alive to tell the story. 

On the way home, Mara took the stricken veteran's hand and said: "Captain, you must bear up under this. In no respect have you been to blame. "

"Nevertheless, " he replied, and there was almost desperation in his tone:"I feel that it will prove the most terrible misfortune of my life. Ellamay never be herself again, and I have wronged one to whom I can nevermake reparation--a noble, generous boy who has taken a revenge likehimself, but which is scorching my very soul. "

"You are noble yourself, captain, or you wouldn't feel it so keenly, " wasthe gentle reply. 

Mrs. Bodine, without waiting for explanations, peremptorily ordered thatElla should be carried to her room. The veteran, using a second pair ofcrutches which he kept in reserve, went to the adjoining apartment, buriedhis face in his hands, and groaned audibly. He knew not how to perform oneimperative and pressing duty, that of relating to Mr. Houghton what hadhappened. 

Aware of what was on his mind, Mara came to him and said, "I will go andtell his father. "

"God bless you, Mara, for the offer. I would rather face death than thatold man, but it is my duty and I alone must do it. Hard as it is, it isnot so terrible as the thought that the poor boy died for me and mine, andthat I can never make the acknowledgment which his heroic self-sacrificedeserves. It would have been heroic in any man, but in him whom I hadtreated with such bitter scorn and enmity--How can I meet Ella's eyesagain! Oh, I fear, I fear all this will destroy her!"

"Courage, my friend, " said Mara, putting her hand on his shoulder. "Ellawill live to comfort you. "

"Mara, you will not fail me?"

"No, I will not fail you. "

He pressed her hand to his lips, and then she returned to Ella. 

Mrs. Hunter and old Hannah removed the poor girl's wet garments andapplied restoratives. The invalid, whose strength and spirit rose with theemergency, directed their efforts, meantime listening to the fragmentaryexplanations which were possible at such a time. 

"Oh, just God!" she exclaimed, "we are punished, terribly punished for ourthoughts and actions toward that poor boy. Ella, dear child, was rightafter all, and we all wrong. She might well love such a hero. "

At last Ella gave signs of returning consciousness. Mrs. Bodine hastenedto the captain, and said: "Cousin Hugh, Ella is reviving. You must controlyourself. Everything depends on how we tide her over the next few hours. "

The length of the swoon revealed the force of the blow which the lovinggirl had received. Perhaps the long oblivion was nature's kindly effort toward off the crushing weight. Mrs. Bodine hung over her when she openedher eyes with a dazed expression. "There, Ella dear, " she said, "don'tworry. You'll soon be better. Take this, " and she gave the girl a littlebrandy and water. 

The powerful stimulant acted speedily on an unvitiated system, and withreturning strength memory recalled what had befallen the one she loved. From tears she passed to passionate sobs, writhing and moaning, as if theagony of her spirit had communicated itself to every fibre of her body. 

"Oh, Ella, darling, don't, " cried her father. "I cannot endure this. Hehas conquered me utterly; my prejudice is turned into homage. We will alllove and revere his memory. Would to God it had been I instead of him!"

"There, Hugh, thank God, " said Mrs. Bodine, "that Ella can weep. Suchtears keep the heart from breaking. "

The old lady was right. Expression of her anguish brought alleviation, andthere was also consolation in her father's words. The physician came, andhis remedies also had their effect. 

There was nothing morbid or unhealthful in Ella's nature. With returningreason came also the influence of conscience and the sustaining power of abrave, unselfish spirit. Her father had put himself in accord with herfeelings, and her heart began to go out toward him in tenderness andconsideration, and she said brokenly: "Papa, I will rally. I will live foryour sake, since you will let me love his memory. "

"You cannot love it or honor it more than I shall, " he replied, in a voicechoked with emotion. Then he took the physician into the adjoining room, to consult how best they might break the dreadful news to Mr. Houghton. 

At this moment the front door burst open, and hasty, uncertain steps wereheard. 

CHAPTER XXXVI

A FATHER'S FRENZY

Mr. Houghton knew that his son had gone out sailing in the harbor, and, when the gusts swept over the city, became very anxious about him. He wasaware, however, of George's good seamanship, and tried to allay his fearsby thoughts of this nature. As time lapsed, anxiety passed into alarm anddread foreboding. At last he summoned his coachman, and determined to goto the place where his son moored his boat. As he was about to preparehimself for the street, there were two hasty rings of the door-bell. Hesank into a chair, overcome by the awful fear which, for a moment, robbedhim of strength. 

Now it had so happened that one of his younger clerks had been on theBattery when the rescued party reached it, and he had gathered little morefrom the colored boatman than that young Houghton had been drowned insaving Bodine and the ladies with him. His first impulse was to go to tellhis employer, and he started to carry out this purpose. On his way heremembered that, in horror over the event, he had not stopped to askfuller particulars, and he turned back to question the negro more fully. When he reached George's boat he found that the man had gone, and that thesmall crowd which had gathered had dispersed. With a heavy heart he againstarted for Mr. Houghton's residence, regretting sadly that it was hisduty to communicate the terrible news. His feelings increased to a nervousdread by the time he reached Mr. Houghton's door. He feared the stern oldman, and believed that he would always be associated with the tragedy, andso become abhorrent in the eyes of his employer. But, as the thing must bedone, the sooner it was over the better. 

The colored waiter admitted the trembling form, and exclaimed, "O Lawd!what happen?"

"I wish to see Mr. Houghton. "

"Bring him up, " shouted the old man hoarsely. "Well, " he gasped as theclerk entered. 

"Mr. Houghton, I'm very sorry--"

"For God's sake, out with it!"

"Well, sir, I fear Mr. George--"

"Drowned!" shrieked the father. 

The young clerk was silent and appalled. 

"Oh, curse that harbor! Curse that harbor!" the old man groaned. 

"Perhaps, sir, " faltered the clerk, "Mr. Bodine can--"

"Bodine! Bodine! what in hell had he to do with it?"

"I could not learn the particulars beyond that Mr. George was--was--insaving Mr. Bodine, his daughter, and two other ladies--"

"Now may all the infernal powers blast that rebel!" and the old man rusheddown the stairway. 

The frightened clerk and waiter followed hastily, and restrained him as hewas opening the front door. 

"Sir, dear sir, be patient--"

"Now, Marse Houghton, wot you gwine ter do?" cried the negro. 

"I'm going straight to that damned Bodine. "

"Den, Marse Houghton, you mus ride. Sam's puttin' de bosses to de kerrigedis minit. "

Houghton instantly darted through the house and out to the stable. "Haste!" he thundered, "haste, you snail!"

The waiter helped Sam, and in a moment or two the carriage rumbled away, the waiter on the box with the coachman, and the clerk inside with thefrenzied father. 

It was his steps which had startled Bodine and the physician, and theyopened the door facing the landing as the old man came rushing up, cryinghoarsely, "Where's my boy?"

"Where I wish I was, " replied Bodine gravely. 

The doctor was a strong and decided man. A glance showed him that Mr. Houghton was excited almost to the point of insanity. Seizing his hand thedoctor drew the old man into the room, and with gentle force placed him ina chair. Never for a moment, however, did Mr. Houghton take his fiery eyesfrom Bodine, who, now that he was in the stress of the emergency, maintained his sad composure perfectly. Only a soldier whose nerves hadbeen steeled in battle could have looked upon the half-demented man soquietly, for he presented a terrible spectacle. His white hair wasdishevelled, and his eyes had the ferocity of a lioness robbed of heryoung. Foam gathered at his lips as he began again:

"Curse your ill-omened face! Such men as you are worse than a pestilence. As a rebel was there not enough blood on your hands? He saved you, whycouldn't you do something to save him?"

"Mr. Houghton, I did try. I would have perilled even the lives of women. "

"You have virtually murdered him, sir. Did you not say that if he had thetrace of a gentleman in his anatomy he would leave you and yours alone? Hewould rather drown than go ashore with you. "

Ella could not help hearing his loud, harsh words, and her long, wailingcry was their echo. 

At this instant Mrs. Bodine burst into the room, and her slender formseemed to dilate until a consciousness of her presence filled theapartment. Her face was more than stern. It wore the commanding expressionof a high-born woman roused to the full extent of an unusually strongnature. Her dark eyes had an overmastering fire, and her withered cheekswere red with blood direct from her heart. 

"Listen to me, sir, " she said imperiously, "and stop your raving. Do notforget for another instant that you are a man, and that there are women inthis house whom you are wounding by your brutal words. You, yourself, invery truth will commit murder, if you do not become sane. Did you not hearthat cry? fit response to language that is like a bludgeon. How are youworse off than I, who have lost husband, sons, all? Have you not said toyour boy as cruel things as Captain Bodine has said? This son of yours wastoo noble, too generous, too lofty for either you or us to understand inour damnable prejudices and blind hate. Come with me, " and, seizing hishand, she dragged him to where Ella lay, white as death. "There, " sheresumed in the same impetuous yet clear-cut tones, "is as pure and good agirl as ever God created. Was loving her a crime? Go home, and ask God toforgive you, to take you where your son is in His good time. That poorchild is the real victim. Unless you are mad indeed you will ask herforgiveness, and go quietly away. "

The old man trembled like a leaf, swayed to and fro between his fierceconflicting emotions, and then left the house as hastily as he hadentered. As he did so, Ella called after him feebly, but her voice wasunheard. 

The clerk and the colored waiter stood at the open door, and received Mr. Houghton's tottering form. "Home, " he gasped. 

In renewed dread they bore him to his carriage, which Sam drove rapidlyaway. By the time he reached his residence he was in almost a faintingcondition, and was carried to his bed. The waiter, who also acted in thecapacity of valet at times, gave the old man stimulants, as he said to theclerk, "Go for Dr. Devoe: Sam dribe you. Bring 'im wid you quick. "

The old man at last lay still, breathing heavily, and half-consciouslymaking an instinctive struggle for existence. The shock of his passion andthe weight of an immeasurable loss had been almost beyond endurance to aman of his age and of his volcanic nature. His physician was soon at hisside, and, with some degree of success, put forth all his skill to rallyhis exhausted patient. He at last succeeded in producing a certain degreeof lethargy, which, in benumbing the brain, brought respite from mentalagony. 

The impression of Bodine and all the others with him that young Houghtonhad been drowned was natural and almost inevitable. They had seen himdisappear beneath the water, and that was the last that was seen or heard. The boatman's explanation that the young man had become entangled in therigging of the sunken vessel seemed the only way of accounting for thefact that he did not rise again and strike out for his own boat. The wordsof Mr. Houghton, recalling that final sentence of Bodine's, which haddestroyed George's hope and made him feel that he could not approach Ellaagain, had greatly augmented the veteran's distress. The thought, oncelodged, could not be banished that the youth, in his wounded pride, mighthave silently chosen to brave every danger in order to prove that he was a"gentleman, " and that he would "leave them alone, " even at the cost of hislife. This result of his harsh words was crushing to Bodine, and to escapefrom its intolerable weight he tried to entertain the hope that George hadfound some way of attaining safety as yet unknown. 

The young man had not been drowned, although he had had an exceedinglynarrow escape. It was not the rigging which so endangered his life. As herose toward the surface his head struck the pole with which the negro wasaccustomed to push his boat around in the shallow water, and the blow wasso stunning that he did no more than instinctively cling to the objectwhich had injured him. It sustained his weight, but, in the wind-lashedwaves and darkness, he and his support were unseen. The tide was runningout swiftly, and he and the pole had been swept well astern, while Bodinelooked at the spot where they thought he had sunk-a point from which thenegro's frantic oar-strokes were rapidly taking them. 

Gradually George's clouded senses cleared, and at last he recalled allthat had occurred; far too late, however, for his voice to be heard. Heshouted two or three time but soon recognized that his cries were lost inthe dashing waves and howling wind. So far from giving way to panic, heencouraged himself with the hope that his effort to rescue Ella and thosewith her had not been in vain. Pointing the pole toward the city lights, he tried to make progress by striking out with his feet, but was soonconvinced that he was exhausting himself to little purpose, for both windand tide were against him. He therefore let himself float, hoping to bepicked up by some vessel, or, at the worst, to land at Fort Sumter, whichhe deemed to be the nearest point of safety. Before very long he heard thethrobbing of a steamer's engine, and soon her lights pierced the gloom. Toget near enough to make his condition known without being run down was nowhis aim. She seemed to be coming directly toward him, and he thankedHeaven that the wind was dying out so that his voice might be heard. 

As soon as he thought the steamer was within hailing distance he began toshout, "Ship ahoy!" No heed was given until the boat seemed to be almostupon him, and he swam, with his pole, desperately to the left to avoidher. Then inflating his lungs he shouted, "Help, if you are men and notdevils!"

"Hallo there! Man overboard?"

"I should say so, " thundered Houghton. "Slow up, and throw me a rope. "

The wheels were reversed at once. A man near the bow seized a coil of ropeand yelled, "Where are you?"

"Here!" cried Houghton, splashing the water with his hands. 

The rope flew with a boatman's aim; George grasped it, and, withsailor-like dexterity, fastened the end around his body under his arms. Then laying hold of it also with his hands, he cried from the water almostunder the wheel, "Pull. "

In a moment or two he was on deck and besieged with questions. "Boatswamped in the squall, " he replied briefly. "I kept afloat on a pole tillyou picked me up. There was another boat that I am anxious about. I'll goup in the pilot-house and keep a weather-eye open. "

"Well, you're a cool one, " said the captain. 

"I've been in the water long enough to get cool. Would you mind lending mean overcoat or some wrap?" And he escaped from the gathering crowd to thepilot-house. 

The vessel proved to be a little steamer which plied between the islandsdown the harbor and the city. "That was young Houghton, " said one of thepassengers. 

"--him!" said another. "It's a pity he and his old money-griper of a dadare not both at the bottom. "

Wrapped in the captain's greatcoat, George was as comfortable as hisanxieties would permit. No sign of life was upon the dark waters. When theboat made her landing, he slipped out of his coat, leaped ashore, and, walking and running alternately, soon reached his father's house. 

Opening the door with his latch-key, he stumbled on Jube, the waiter, whobacked away from him with something like a yell of fear, believing thathis young master had come back in ghostly guise. 

"Shut up, you fool!" said George sternly. "Don't you know me?"

"O Lawd, Lawd! you ain't a spook, Marse George?"

"I'll box your ears in a way that will convince you--"

At this moment Dr. Devoe came hastily from the sickroom, and met George onthe stairs. "Thank God!" exclaimed the physician, "you have escaped. Caution, now, caution. You must not show yourself to your father till Igive permission. "

"Has he heard? Is he very ill?" George asked, in deep anxiety. 

"Yes, but he'll come through all right, now that you are alive, I've hadto stupefy him partially. He was told that you had been drowned. Go changeyour clothes, and be ready when I want you. How did you escape?"

"Picked up by the steamer 'Firefly. ' Did they escape?--I mean Mr. Bodineand his party. "

"Yes; and, as far as I can make out, left you to drown. "

When the physician returned Mr. Houghton roused a little, and asked, "Whatis the matter? Is George ill?"

"No, he's better. "

The old man closed his eyes, and at last said dreamily, "Yes, he's better, better off in heaven. "

"Mr. Houghton, " said the doctor, kindly, "I've just heard that a man waspicked up by the steamer running between the city and the islands. I don'tgive up hope yet. "

"Hope! hope! Do you mean to say there is hope?"

"I do. If you will be patient we will soon know. I have taken steps tofind out speedily. "

"O God, be merciful! I don't see how I can long survive if he is dead. "

Jube, satisfied that George was in the flesh, followed him to his room, and aided him in exchanging his wet clothes for dry ones, meanwhileanswering the young man's rapid questions. 

Touched to the very soul by the account of his father's frantic grief, George's thoughts centred on him, but he asked, "What happened at Mr. Bodine's?"

"Dunno, Marse George. Marse Houghton run up de stairs, an' dey took 'im ina room. Den I heerd loud talkin', an' soon he come runnin' out all kin obgone like, and he gasp, 'Home. ' We lif him in de kerrige, an Sam dribe asif de debil was arter 'im. Den we gits de doctor sudden. "

Having dressed, George opened his desk and wrote:

"CAPTAIN BODINE, "Sir--It may relieve you of some natural anxiety to learn that I escaped, and that I am well and at home. My father is very ill, and absolute quietof mind and body is essential. GEORGE HOUGHTON. "

Then he addressed a line to the editor of the daily paper:

"Rumors of an accident in the harbor and of my being drowned may reachyou. This note is evidence that I am safe and well. I will esteem it afavor if no mention is made of the affair. "

Despatching Sam with these two missives, he held himself in readiness forthe summons to his father's bedside. 

Dr. Devoe, in his efforts to save his patient from any more nervousshocks, administered another sedative, and then talked quietly of theprobability of George's escape. 

The old man's mind was far from clear, and in his half dreamy state wasinclined to believe what was said to him. Then the physician pretended tohear the return of his messenger, and went out for a few moments. When hecame back he saw Mr. Houghton's eyes dilating with fear and hope. 

"Take courage, my friend, " he said. "Great joys are dangerous as well asgreat sorrows. You must be calm for your son's sake as well as for yourown. He has escaped, as I told you he might, and will see you when youfeel strong enough. "

"Now, now!"

A moment later the father's arms were about his boy. With gentle, soothingwords and endearing terms George calmed the sobs of the aged man, whosestern eyes had been so unaccustomed to tears. At last he slept, holdinghis son's hand. 

The clerk was dismissed with cordial thanks; George and the physicianwatched unweariedly, for the latter said that everything depended on thepatient's condition when he awoke. 

CHAPTER XXXVII

CLOUDS LIFTING

In Mrs. Bodine's humbler home there was another patient who also had foundsuch respite as anodynes can bring. Ella's fair face had become like thepurest marble in its whiteness, but the hot tears had ceased to flow, andthe bosom which had heaved convulsively with anguish was now so still thatthe girl scarcely seemed to breathe at all. Captain Bodine, Mara, and oldHannah were the watchers. Mara now, for the first time, observed how whitethe veteran's iron-gray hair had become. He had grown old in a night, rather in an hour. The strong lines of his face were graven deep; histroubled eyes were sunken, giving a peculiarly haggard expression to hiscountenance. 

Her heart was full of gentleness and sympathy toward him, and of this hewas assured from time to time by her eloquent glances. 

Mrs. Bodine was being cared for by Mrs. Hunter, for she was ill in thereaction from her strong excitement and unwonted exertion. 

But few hours had passed when there was a ring at the door. All exceptElla looked at each other with startled eyes. What did this late summonsportend? Mara rose to go to the door, but with a silent gesture thecaptain restrained her and went down himself. 

"Who is this from?" he asked, as he took the letter from Sam. 

"Fum young Marse Houghton. He ain't drowned no mo'n I be. "

"Thank God!" ejaculated Bodine, with such fervor that he was heard in therooms above. 

"Yes, " said Sam, "I reckon He de one ter t'ank. " Sam had imbibed theimpression that Bodine had left his young master to drown. 

"What is it?" whispered Mara over the banisters. 

"Young Houghton escaped, after all. --Here, my man, is a dollar. Wait a fewminutes, for I may wish to send an answer. "

The gas was burning dimly in the parlor. Turning it up, he read the briefmissive, and recognized from its tone that the young man still had in mindthe veteran's former attitude toward him. He sat down and wrote rapidly:

"MR. GEORGE HOUGHTON, "_Honored Sir_--At this late hour, and with your coachman waiting, I mustbe brief. My term, 'Honored Sir, ' is no empty phrase, for from the depthsof my heart I do honor your heroic, generous risk of life for me and mine;and my sentiments are shared by the ladies whom you rescued. I have beenharsh and unjust to you, and I ask your forgiveness. You have conquered myprejudice utterly. Do not imagine that a Southern man and a Confederatesoldier cannot appreciate such noble magnanimity. 

"Yours in eternal respect and gratitude, "HUGH BODINE. "

As he finished it Mara entered, and was astonished at his appearance. Thehaggard face, seamed with suffering, that she had looked upon but a fewmoments before, was transfigured. Anguish of soul was no longer expressed, but rather gladness, and the impress of those divine impulses which leadmen to acknowledge their wrong and to make reparation. In the strong lighthis white hair was like a halo, and his luminous eyes revealed the goodand the spiritual in the man, as they are manifested only in the best andsupreme moments of life. 

He handed Mara the letter. When she had read it she looked at him withtear-dimmed eyes, and said: "It is what I should have expected from you. "

After dismissing Sam he returned to the parlor, and, taking the girl'shand again, began, "God bless you, Mara! You have stood by me, you havesustained me in the most terrible emergency of my life. There werefeatures in this ordeal which it seemed impossible for me to endure, whichI could not have endured but for your sympathy and the justice you havedone me in your thoughts. Oh, Mara, do not let me err again. You know Ilove you fondly, but your happiness must be first, now and always. In mywish to make you my wife, let me be sure that I am securing your happinesseven more than my own. "

At that moment she was exalted by an enthusiasm felt to be divine. In herdeep sympathy her heart was tender toward him. She had just seen him puthis old proud self under his feet, as he acknowledged heroic action in onewhom she had thought incapable of it. Could she fail this loved andhonored friend, when a wronged Northern boy had counted his life as naughtto save him?

Never had her spirit of self-sacrifice so asserted itself before. Indeed, it no longer seemed to be self-sacrifice, as she gave him her hand, andsaid, "Life offers me nothing better than to become your wife. "

He drew her close to his breast, but at this touch of her sacred person, something deep in her woman's nature shrunk and protested. Even at thatmoment she was compelled to learn that the heart is more potent than themind, even though it be kindled by the strongest and most unselfishenthusiasm. Only the deep and subtle principle of love could have given tothat embrace unalloyed repose. Nevertheless she had said what she believedtrue, "Life had nothing better for her. "

As Ella still slept quietly, Bodine insisted that Mara should retire, saying, "I and old Hannah can do all that is required. "

"But you need rest more than I, " Mara protested. 

"No. Gladness has banished sleep from my eyes, and I must be at Ella'sside when she wakes. "

Mara was glad to obey, for no divine exhilaration had come to her. She wasnot strong, and a reaction approaching exhaustion was setting in. 

In the dawn of the following day Ella began to stir uneasily in her sleep, to moan and sigh. Vaguely the unspent force of her grief was reassertingitself, as the benumbing effects of anodynes passed from her brain. Herfather motioned Hannah to leave the apartment, and then took Ella's hand. At last she opened her eyes, and looked at him in a dazed, troubled way. "Oh!" she moaned, "I've had such dreadful dreams. Have I been ill?"

"Yes, Ella dear, very ill, but you are better now. The worst is wellover. "

"Dear papa, have you been watching all night?"

"That's a very little thing to do, Ella darling. "

She lay silent for a few moments, and then began to sob, "Oh, I rememberall now. He's dead, dead, dead. "

"Ella, " said her father gently, taking her hands from her face, "I do notbelieve he is dead. There is a report that he escaped--that he was pickedup by a steamer. "

She sat up instantly, as if all her strength had returned, and, with herblue eyes dilating through her tears, exclaimed, "Oh, papa, don't keep meon the rack of suspense! Give me life by telling me that he lives. "

"Yes, Ella, he is alive. He has written to me, and I have answered in theway that you would wish. "

She threw her arms about his neck in an embrace that was almostconvulsive, and then sank back exhausted. 

"Now, Ella darling, for all our sakes you must keep quiet and composed;"and he gave her a little of the strong nourishment which the physician hadordered. 

For a long time she lay still with a smile upon her lips. In herfeebleness one happy thought sufficed, "He is not dead!"

At last a faint color stole into her cheeks, and she asked: "What did youwrite, papa?"

He repeated his letter almost verbatim. 

"That was enough, papa, " she said, with a sigh of relief. "It was verynoble in you to write in that way. "

"No, Ella, it was simple justice. "

She gave him a smile which warmed his heart. After a little while sheagain spoke. "Go and rest, papa. I feel that I can sleep again. Oh, thankGod! thank God! His sun is rising on a new heaven and a new earth. "

Kissing her fondly, her father halted away. Old Hannah resumed her watch, but was soon relieved by Mara. 

When George read Captain Bodine's letter the night grew luminous abouthim. He had not expected any such acknowledgment. With characteristicmodesty he had underrated his own action, and he had not given Bodinecredit for the degree of manhood possessed by him. Indeed, he had almostfeared that both father and daughter might be embarrassed and burdened bya sense of obligation, whose only effect would be to make them miserable. Generous himself, he was deeply touched by the proud man's absolutesurrender, and he at once appreciated the fine nature which had beenrevealed by the letter. 

"Now, " he reasoned, "as far as her father is concerned, the way is openfor me to seek Ella's love by patient and devoted attentions. I shall atlast have the chance which was impossible when I could not approach her atall. After this experience I believe that my own dear father will besoftened, and be led to see how much better are happiness and content thanambitious schemes. "

But Mr. Houghton was destined to disappoint his son. He awoke very feeblein body, and not very clear in mind. His one growing desire was to getaway from Charleston. "I don't ever wish to look on that accursed harboragain, " he repeated over and over. 

"We must humor him in every way possible, " Dr. Devoe said to George, "andas soon as he is strong enough you must take him North. "

George's heart sank at these words, and at others which his fatherconstantly reiterated. 

"I wish to get away from this city, George, " he would say feebly. "I willgo anywhere, only to be away from this town and its people. Oh, I've hadsuch a warning! This is no place for you or me. Its people are aliens. They destroyed one of my boys, and they have nearly cost you your life, aswell as your happiness and success in life. Oh, that terrible old woman, with her tongue of fire! She looked and talked like an accusing fiend. Iwant to go away from it all, and forget it all--that such a place andpeople exist. Help me get strong, doctor, and then George and I will go, as Lot fled from Sodom. "

"Yes, Mr. Houghton, " Dr. Devoe would answer, "all your wishes shall becarried out;" and this assurance would pacify the old man for a time. 

When alone with George the physician would add: "You see how it is, myyoung friend. Your father is in such a feeble, wavering state of mind andbody that we must make it all clear sailing for him. Even if he asks forwhat is impossible, we must appear to gratify him. Anything which disturbshis mind will be injurious to his physical health. "

George could not but admit the truth of the doctor's words, and hemanfully faced his duty, hoping that the future still had possibilities. 

After getting some much-needed sleep the day following his escape, hewrote:

"MY DEAR CAPTAIN BODINE--If I had known you better your letter would nothave been such an agreeable surprise. Please do me the favor not toover-estimate my effort for you and those with you--an effort which anyman would have made. That it was successful, is as much a cause forgratitude in my own case as in yours. Please present my compliments to theladies, and express my hope that they suffered no ill effects from theirhasty exchange of boats. I trust that the stupid boatman, who was to blamefor your disaster, will not attempt to navigate anything more complicatedthan a wheelbarrow hereafter. I regret to say that my father is still veryill, and that his physician enjoins the utmost care and quiet until herecovers from his nervous shock. With much respect, I am, Gratefullyyours, "GEORGE HOUGHTON. "

When Ella's physician came the following day, he found his patient so muchbetter that he could not account for it until he had heard the glad news. The healthful, elastic nature of the girl rallied swiftly. George's secondletter was handed her to read, and she kept it. Being clever with herpencil, she made a ludicrous caricature of the colored boatman caught in agale with a wheelbarrow. Her smile was glad now, for hope grew strongerevery moment. Her right to love was now unquestioned, and even her proudfather and cousin had only words of respect and admiration for the loverwho, in a few brief moments, had vindicated the manhood which she hadrecognized in the first moments of their chance encounter. 

She could not believe that Mr. Houghton would remain obdurate when herecovered sufficiently to think the matter over calmly. "Our papas, " shethought, with a little sigh and a smile, "have learned that burying theirchildren is a rather serious matter after all. "

When two or three days passed, however, and no further communication hadbeen received from George, her father thought it wise to say a few wordsof caution. "Ella, " he began, "you are now strong enough to look at thismatter in all its bearings. Young Mr. Houghton probably finds that hisfather is as adverse to his thoughts of you as ever. He has himself alsohad time for many second thoughts, and--"

"Papa, " said the girl, with a reproachful glance, "you have not yetlearned to do George Houghton justice. At the same time I wish neither younor any one else to give him the slightest hint of my feelings, nor to sayanything to him of my illness and what occurred in the boat. He askedpermission to pay his addresses, and he's got to pay them, principal andinterest, if I wait till I am as gray as you are. Dear papa, how you musthave suffered! To think that one's hair should turn white so soon! Haven'tI got a little gray, too?"

She looked at herself in the mirror, but the late afternoon sun turned herlight tresses, which she never could keep smooth, into an aureole of gold. 

Mr. Houghton rallied slowly, but grew calmer and more rational with time. He wished to see his confidential clerk on business, but Dr. Devoe saidgently but firmly, "Not yet. " He began to permit, however, a daily writtenstatement from the office that all was going well. During thisconvalescence George felt that he must take no middle course. He resolvedto have no further communication with Captain Bodine, and not to doanything which, if it came to his father's knowledge, would retard hisrecovery. One thing, however, he was resolved upon. In carrying out hisfather's wishes he would draw the line at an ambitious alliance at theNorth. "Since I have conquered Captain Bodine, " he muttered, with a littleresolute nod of his head: "I will subdue my own paternal ancestor; thenthe way will be open for a siege of the fair citadel, the peerless littlebaker. No wonder her cakes seemed all sugar and spice. " Thus George oftenmused, complacently regardless of the incongruous terms bestowed upon Ellain his thoughts. 

Sometimes these reveries brought smiles to his face, and more than once hestarted and flushed as he observed his father looking at him searchinglyyet wistfully. 

Meanwhile he scarcely left the old man night or day. He slept on a cot byhis side, and at the slightest movement was awake, and ready to anticipatewishes before they could be spoken. On the last day of August his fatherwas well enough to be up and dressed most of the forenoon. 

George began to read the beloved Boston papers, but Mr. Houghton soonsaid: "That will do, I'm in no mood for dog-day politics. Go off and amuseyourself, as long as you don't go near the harbor. "

"I've no wish to go out, father. When the sun is low I'll take a tramp ofa mile or two. "

"In a week or so more I think I'll be able to travel, George. "

"I hope so. "

"I fear you don't wish to leave Charleston. "

"I wish to do what is best for your health. "

Then a long silence followed, each busy with his own thoughts. 

At last Mr. Houghton said: "It's strange we've heard nothing from thoseBodines. They appear to accept their lives from your hand as a matter ofcourse;" and the old man watched the effect of these tentative words. 

George flushed, but said gently: "Dear father, try to be just, even inyour enmities. I have heard from Captain Bodine, and--"

"What! have you been corresponding with them, and all that?" interruptedMr. Houghton irritably. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I merely replied to Mr. Bodine's note the day after the accident. Sincethen I have not heard from any of the rescued party, nor have I made theslightest effort to do so. Dr. Devoe said you required quiet of body andmind, and I have not done anything which would interfere with this. "

"Thank you, my boy, thank you heartily. I shall owe my life more to yourfaithful attendance than to Dr. Devoe. "

"I am glad to hear you say that, whether it is true or not. I wish you tolive many years, and to take the rest to which a long and laborious lifeentitles you. I will show you Captain Bodine's letter if you wish. "

"Well, let me see what the rebel has to say for himself. "

"Humph!" Mr. Houghton ejaculated, finishing the letter. "What did you sayin reply?"

George repeated the substance of his note. 

"And nothing has passed between him, his daughter, or you since?"

"Nothing whatever. "

"I suppose by this time that little gust of passion, inspired by thedaughter's pretty face, has passed?" and he looked at his son keenly. 

"It would have passed, father, if it had been only a gust of passion, andinspired merely by a pretty face. "

"Humph! Do you mean to say that you love her still?"

"I cannot control my heart, only my actions. "

"You will give her up then, since it is my wish?"

"I cannot give up loving her, father. If I had drowned and gone to anotherworld I feel that I would have carried my love with me. "

There was another long silence, and then Mr. Floughton said, "But you willcontrol your action?"

"My action, father, shall be guided by most considerate loyalty to you. "

"But you will not promise never to marry her?"

"It is true, indeed, that I may never marry her, for I have no reasonwhatever to think that she cares for me in any such way as I do for her. As long as her father felt as he did, I could not approach her. As long asyou feel as you do, I cannot seek her, but to give her up deliberatelywould be doing violence to the best in my nature. I know my love is thesame as that which you had for mother, and God would punish a man whotried to put his foot on such a love. I feel that it would keep me fromthe evil of the world. "

"The first thing you know, George, you will be wishing that I am dead. "

"No, father, no!" his son cried impulsively. "You would do me wicked wrongin thinking that. A foolish, guilty passion might probably lead to suchthoughts, but not a pure, honest love, which prompts to duty in everyrelation in life. I can carry out your every plan for me withoutbolstering myself by marrying wealth and position. My self-respect revoltsat the idea. A woman that I loved could aid me far more than thewealthiest and highest born in the land. I believe that in time you willsee these things as I cannot help seeing them. Until then I can bepatient. I certainly will not jeopardize your health by doing what iscontrary to your wishes. Don't you think we had better drop the subjectfor the present?"

"Yes, I think we had, " said Mr. Houghton sadly, but without any appearanceof irritation. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII

"YES, VILET"

With the exception of Aun' Sheba's household, the final days of Augustwere passing quietly and uneventfully to the other characters of ourstory. Little Vilet had received something like a sunstroke, and she neverrallied. Day and night she lay on her cot, usually wakeful and alwayspatient. It would seem that her vital forces were sapped, for she grewsteadily weaker and thinner. Aun' Sheba did little else than wait on andwatch her, except when Kern was home. When off duty at the firedepartment, he would permit no one else to do anything for his child buthimself. The little girl preferred his attendance even to that of hermother, and the strong man would carry her up and down his little yard inthe cool night air by the hour, or rock her to sleep on his breast whenthe sun was high. No touch was so gentle as his, or so soothing. He wouldhush his great, mellow voice into soft, melodious tones as he sung herfavorite hymns, and often her feeble treble would blend with his richbaritone. He yearned over her with inexpressible tenderness, counting theminutes when on duty till the hour came which permitted his return. 

In his agony of apprehension "his flesh jes drap off'n him, " as Aun' Shebaand his wife said. He slept little and ate little, but was always punctualat the engine-house to the minute. 

Mara and Ella visited the child daily, and tried to tempt her failingappetite with delicacies. Sissy, Vilet's mother, hovered about her childmost of the time, when her housekeeping duties and the care of the otherchildren permitted, but after all her chief solicitude centred in herhusband. She and Aun' Sheba often said, "Kern, ef de Lawd wants her we musjes gib her up. De Hebenly Fader hab de fust right. "

"I hab my feelins all de same, " Kern would reply. "Ef de Lawd put sechfeelins in my heart I can't help it. "

On the evening of the 31st of August, Vilet was very feeble. The closenessand heat oppressed her. All, except Uncle Sheba, made a poor pretence ofsupper. Nothing affected his appetite, and, having cleared the table, hewent over to his own doorstep and lighted his pipe. Before it was finishedhe was dozing comfortably against the doorcase. Aun' Sheba, with a greatsigh, lighted her pipe also, and sat down on the Watson steps with herdaughter that they might breathe cooler air. Kern took up his littledaughter, and began to walk in the yard and sing as usual. 

"Well, " ejaculated Aun' Sheba, "Missy Mara's call yis-tidy 'lieve my min'po'ful. I'se couldn't tromp de streets wid a basket now nohow. Missy Marasay she won' begin bakin' till I'm ready. She look too po'ly to tink ob ithersef. Lor! what a narrow graze she an de res ob dem hab! No won'er sheall broken up. Dat awful 'scape keeps runnin ebin in my dreams. Bress degood Lawd dat brung Marse Houghton right dar in time!"

"Missy Ella an' Marse Houghton oughter hab dey own way now, shuah, " Sissyremarked. 

"I reckon dey will, " Aun' Sheba answered. "Missy Ella look kin'erdat-a-way. Dey was all agin her 'fore de ax'dent, but now I reckon dey'sall cabed in, from what she says, eben ef she ain't talkin' much. I 'specsole man Houghton is de mos' sot;" and then their anxious thoughts revertedto the sick child. 

"Daddy, " said Vilet, when her father had finished a hymn, "I wants tertalk wid you. "

"Well, chile, wot you wants ter say?"

"I wants you ter let me go to Hebin, daddy. "

"I doesn't feel dat I kin spar' you, Vilet, " and she felt his tearsdropping on her cheeks. 

"Yes, daddy, you kin, fer a little while. I'se gittin' so-o tired, " andshe sighed wearily, "an' you'se gittin' all worn out too. "

"No, deah chile, I'd ruder tote you all de res' ob my bawn days. Icouldn't stan' comin' home an' not fin' you lookin' fer me nohow. "

Vilet thought a while in silence and then said, "Daddy, I'se keepa-lookin' fer you jes de same. I'se gwine ter ax de good Lawd ter gib me alittle place on de wall near de pearly gate, an' dar I'se watch an' waittill you come, an' moder, an' granny all come. I kin watch bettah up dar, fer I won' be so bery, bery tired. Won' you let me go? 'Pears I couldn'tgo to Hebin widout you says, 'Yes, Vilet. '"

The man's powerful frame trembled like an aspen; convulsive sobs heavedhis breast as he carried the child to the further corner of the yard. Atlast he buried his face in her neck and whispered, "Yes, Vilet. "

"Dat's good an' kin' ob you, daddy. You fin' me waitin' and lookin' feryou, shuah. "

Kern grew calm after his mighty struggle, and, in his simple faith, believed that angels were around him, ready to take his child when heshould lay her down. He began to sing again, and, a little before nineo'clock, repaired to his post of duty. 

As the days passed without any further communication from Houghtonwhatever, Ella's first glow of hope began to pale. She tried to banish allother thoughts except that Mr. Houghton was very ill or as obdurate asever. On the last day of August, however, she heard a rumor that theinvalid was better, and that his son was soon to take him North. Then herfaith began to falter. If George should go away without seeing her, without a word or a line, what must she think? The tears would come atthis possibility. She had noted that her father and cousin had ceased tospeak of him, and that their bearing toward her was very gentle, givingher the impression of that deep yet delicate sympathy which is felt forone destined to pass through a very painful ordeal. 

On the evening of this miserable day she yielded, for the first time, togreat dejection, and was about to retire to her room early when Mrs. Bodine said kindly, "Don't go away, Ella. I feel strangely oppressed, asif I could scarcely breathe. "

"I feel oppressed too, Cousin Sophy. "

"Yes, dear child, I know you are grieving. I wish I could help you. "

"Oh, Cousin Sophy, it would be so much harder to bear now! He looked sogrand as he loomed up in the gloom of that terrible night! His eyes seemedlike living coals; his action was swift and decided, showing that his mindwas as clear as his courage was high. He seemed to take in everything at aglance, and in breaking my hold of papa's hand he almost the same as savedmy life twice. And then his leap into the sinking boat, and the almostgiant strength with which he flung papa into his own!--oh, I see it all sooften, and my heart always seems to go down with him when, in fancy, I seehim sink. It was all so heroic, so in accord with my ideal of a man! Why, Cousin Sophy, he was so sensible about it all! He did just the right thingand the only thing that could be done, except that horrid sinking. I can'thelp feeling that if he had got into the boat with us all would have comeabout right. Oh, that stupid, cowardly negro boatman! Well, well, somehowI fear to-night that I've only been saved to suffer a heartache all mylife. "

"I hope not, Ella dear. I cannot think so. God rarely permits to any lifeeither unalloyed suffering or happiness. "

"There, Cousin Sophy, I'm forgetting that you are suffering now. I'll puton my wrapper, and then fan you till you get asleep. "

The captain meantime was solacing himself with thoughts of Mara--thoughtsnot wholly devoid of anxiety, for she appeared to be growing thin andlosing strength in spite of her assurances to the contrary. 

Mr. Houghton had not been so well in the afternoon and evening, and Georgedid not leave him. As the evening advanced the sultriness increased. Sincehis father seemed quiet, and lay with his eyes closed, he installed Jubein his place with the fan, and went out into the open air. He found, withsurprise, that he obtained scarcely any relief from the extreme closenesswhich had oppressed him indoors. He threw off even the light coat he wore, and walked up and down the gravel roadway in his shirtsleeves with therestlessness which great heat imparts to the full-blooded and strong. Samsat near the barn-door, smoking his pipe. At last he said, "Marse George, 'spose I took out de hosses an let dem stan in de open. "

"What's the matter with them?"

"Dunno, 'less it's de po'ful heat. Dey's bery oneasy. "

"All right. Tie them outside here. "

At this moment the watch-dog gave a long, piteous howl, and crept into hiskennel. 

"That's queer, " George remarked. "What's the matter with the dog?"

"Pears as eberyting's gettin quar dis ebnin, " Sam replied, knocking theashes from his pipe and rising. "You'se pinter dar's been kin ob scruginup agin me, an he neber do dat befo'. Now he's right twixt you'se legs esif he was feerd on someting. "

George caressed the dog, and said: "What's up, old fellow?" and then wasperplexed that, instead of answering him with wonted playfulness, the poorbrute should begin to whine and yelp. The horses came out as if escapingfrom their stalls, but on reaching the door sniffed the air, stopped, andseemed reluctant to go further. 

"Dey's eider gone crazy, or sump'n gwine ter happen, " Sam affirmed, looking up and around uneasily. 

At this moment the pointer broke away from George's caressing hand, andwith a howl such as he had never been heard to utter, slunk away anddisappeared. 

"I declare, Sam, I don't know what to make of it all. The air is gettingso hot and close that I can scarcely breathe. "

The horses now came out hastily, and began to snort and whinny. Then theyput their heads over Sam's shoulder, with that instinct to seek humanprotection often noted in domestic animals. 

"Marse George, dey _is_ sump'n gwine ter happen. See dese bosses yere; seeole Brune dar. He darsn't stay in de ken'l an' he darsn't stay out. Heahhow oder dogs is howlin. Dey is sump'n gwine ter--O good Lawd! what'sdat?"

George's nerves were healthy and strong, but his hair rose on his head andhis knees smote for a second as he heard what seemed a low, ominous roar. Having a confused impression that the sound came from the street he rushedtoward it, but by the time he reached the front of the house the awfulsound had grown into a thunder peal which was in the earth beneath and theair above. Obeying the impulse to reach his father, he sprung up the stepsand dashed through the open door. As he did so the solid mansion rockedlike a skiff at sea; the heavy portico under which he had just passed fellwith a terrific crash; all lights went out; while he, stunned and bleedingfrom the falling plaster, clung desperately to the banisters, stillseeking to reach his father. 

CHAPTER XXXIX

THE EARTHQUAKE

Owen Clancy was also leading a dual life, and when, at times, consciencecompelled introspection, he was ill at ease, for he could not fail torecognize that his sinister side was gaining ascendency. With a feelingbordering on recklessness he banished compunctions, and yielded himselfmore completely to the inspiration of ambition and the fascinations ofMiss Ainsley. It had become evident that Mara was either engaged to Bodineor soon would be, and the thought imbittered and hardened his nature. Hegave the day to business, and in the evening was rarely absent from MissAinsley's side. 

Mrs. Willoughby had invited a small whist party to meet at her house onthe evening of the 3lst, and Clancy of course was among the number. 

Before sitting down to their games there was some desultory conversation, of which young Houghton's exploit was the principal theme. Mrs. Willoughbywas enthusiastic in his praise, and even the most prejudiced yieldedassent to her words. Equally strong in their commendation were MissAinsley and Clancy, and the latter, who had called on Houghton, explainedhow admirably he had managed his boat in effecting the rescue, and relatedthe incidents of his narrow escape. Although there had been no publishedrecord of the affair, the main particulars had become very generallyknown, and the tide of public favor was turning rapidly toward Houghton, for the act was one that would especially commend itself to a bravepeople. Of the secret and inner history, known only to herself, Mrs. Willoughby did not speak, and in all comment a sharp line of division wasdrawn between George and his father. 

Then conversation turned upon the slight earthquake tremor which had beenexperienced in Charleston and Summerville on the previous Friday. Thisphenomenon, scarcely noticed at the time and awakening no especial alarm, had been brought into greater prominence by the very serious disturbancesin Greece on the following day, August 29, and some theories as to thecauses were briefly and languidly discussed. 

Then Clancy remarked lightly, "We had our share of disaster in the lastAugust's cyclone. Lightning doesn't strike twice in the same place. Thejar of Friday was only a little sympathetic symptom in old mother Earth, who, like other mothers and women in general, are said to be subject tonervous attacks. Suppose we settle down to our games. "

"Nervous attacks in mother Earth and mother Eve's daughters are seriousaffairs, I'd have you understand, Mr. Clancy, " laughed Mrs. Willoughby. 

"And very mysterious, " he added. "Who can account for either?"

"There is no reason why they should be accounted for in our case, " MissAinsley remarked. "Woman should always remain a mystery. "

"Yes, I suppose she must so remain in her deepest nature, " he replied, sotto voce, "but is there any need for small secrecies?"

"That question would have to be explained before I could answer it. Willyou deal?"

He was her partner. They played quietly for an hour, and then the wife ofthe gentleman opposed to them rose and said: "The heat is so great I shallhave to be excused"; and, with her husband, she bade Mrs. Willoughbygoodnight. 

Clancy and Miss Ainsley repaired to the balcony, the latter taking herfavorite seat, and leaning her head against the ivy-entwined pillar. Sheknew the advantages of this locality, for while she was hidden from theoccupants of the parlor, the light shone through the open French windowsin sufficient degree to reveal the graceful outlines of her person, whichwas draped as scantily on that hot night as fashion permitted. 

"How stifling the air is!" she remarked. "I'm glad to escape from thelighted room, yet am surprised that we obtain so little relief out here. "

"It is strange, " Clancy replied. "I scarcely remember such a sultryevening. From what I've read I should be inclined to think it was anearthquake atmosphere, or else that it portended a storm. "

"Now don't croak, " she said. "The stars are shining, and there is no signof a storm. You have already proved that an earthquake cannot occur. Youknow the old saying about worry over what never happens. The true way toenjoy life is to take the best you can get out of it each day as it comes. Don't you think so?"

"A very embarrasing question if I should answer it honestly, " he replied, laughing. 

"How so?" Never had the brilliant fire in her eyes been so soft andalluring. She had detected a slight tremor in his voice, and had seen ananswering fire in his eyes. Although conscious of a rising and deliciousexcitement in her own veins, she believed from much experience that in herperfect self-control she could prevent him from saying too much. Even ifhe did overstep the liberal bounds which she was willing to accord, shethought, "I can rally him back into our old relations if I so wish. "

What she did wish, she scarcely knew herself, and the thought passedthrough her mind, "I may accept him after all. "

He shared her mood, with the exception that he had decided long since toobtain her hand if she was disposed to give it. To-night, more than ever, he felt the recklessness which had been growing upon him, and was inclinedto follow her lead to the utmost, even warily to go beyond suchencouragement as he might receive. He therefore replied vaguely, "One maywish the best in life, and not be able to obtain it"

"I see nothing embarrassing in that commonplace remark. "

"There might be in its application. "

"Possibly. Who knows to what one and one make two might lead?--a murder, like enough. "

"Sometimes one and one make one. "

"How odd! Still more so, that you should indulge in abstruse mathematicsthis hot night. "

"That reminds me that a man is said to be merely a vulgar fraction till heis married, when he is redeemed into a whole number. "

"If I were equal to it, I'd get a pencil, and preserve such great nuggetsof abstract truth. "

"When you are so concretely and distractingly enchanting, what otherrefuge is there for a man than the abstract?"

"Is the abstract a refuge?" she asked, looking dreamily out over the darkwaters of the harbor. "Perhaps it is. It certainly suggests coolness whichshould be grateful tonight. " Then turning, and with a mirthful andprovoking gleam in her eyes, he remarked, "I should think this weatherwould be just to your taste. "

"Why so?"

"Oh, you have become enough of a Yankee to guess. "

"Would you say that even this furnace-like air cannot quicken my blood?"

"My friend, I do not believe that anything could quicken your pulse onebeat. "

"I'll demonstrate the contrary, " he said, with a quick flash in his eyes. "Put your finger on my pulse. "

She laughingly did so. By a slight, quick movement he clasped her hand, and it appeared to him that the passion which he knew to be in his facewas reflected in hers. She did not withdraw her hand. For an instant therewas a subtle, swift interchange of thought. She saw he was about to speakplainly, passionately; she felt herself yielding as never before in allher experience. It was as if a wave of emotion was lifting and sweepingher away. He held her eyes; a smile began to part her lips; the thoughtcame to him that words were not essential, that she was giving herself tohim through the agency of the brilliant eyes which at the first hadawakened his wondering surmises. He gently drew her to her feet, and shedid not resist. He bent toward her that he might look deeper into her rosyface, and felt her sweet breath coming quickly against his cheek. Then, ashis lips parted to speak, a low, deep sound far to the southeast caughthis attention. Still clasping hands they faced it. With awful rapidity itapproached, increasing, deepening, pervading the air to the sky, bellowingas if from the centre of the earth, filling their ears with itsunutterable and penetrating power, and appalling their hearts by itssupernatural weirdness. They shrank before it down the balcony and throughthe window into the drawing-room, cowering, trembling, speechless. 

They were scarcely within the apartment before the large, substantialmansion rocked as if it had been a cork, and the waters of the harbor hadpassed under it. The balcony on which they had stood an instant beforewent down, leaving gaping darkness in its place. 

With an agonized shriek Miss Ainsley threw her arms about Clancy. As withuncertain footing he sought to place her on a sofa they were both thrownviolently upon it. He saw the chandeler swaying to and fro, as if athousand lights were dancing before his eyes; saw the other guestsstaggering and falling. Statuettes, bric-a-brac, and articles of furniturecame crashing down; part of the ceiling fell with a thud, raising astifling dust, which, choking the shrieking voices, rendered more distinctthe grinding sound, as walls of solid masonry drew apart, gaped, andclosed under the impulse of immeasurable power. 

Above all rose the mysterious thunder, which was not thunder, because nowit seemed to come from unknown depths. Time is but relative, and theoccupants of the room felt as if they were passing through an eternity ofagony. 

The climax of horror was reached when the gas was extinguished, and allwere left in pitchy darkness. It seemed as if reason itself would go, butas suddenly as the convulsion had begun, it ceased. There was a second ortwo of breathless waiting, and then Clancy shouted, "Come, quick. Theremay be another shock. "

With his right hand he struck a match, and, supporting Miss Ainsley by hisleft arm, led the way. 

"Oh, what is it?" she gasped. 

"An earthquake. Come; courage. We must get away from all buildings. " Halflifting her, he swiftly sought the street, and then the adjacent openground of the Battery. 

"All here?" he asked, panting, and looking around. The others soonappeared, Mr. Willoughby coming last, and carrying his half-fainting wife. The negro servants had preceded, and were already on their knees, groaningand praying. From every side other fugitives were pouring in. 

"Miss Ainsley, you are with friends and as safe here as you can beanywhere, " Clancy said hastily. "There are others in the heart of thecity, " and he dashed away, regardless of her appealing cry to return. 

As Clancy rushed up Meeting Street he felt that any moment might be hislast, and yet he was more appalled at himself than at the awful sightsabout him. The human mind in such crises is endowed with wonderfulcapacity. It seemed to him that his eyes took in all details as he passed, and that his brain comprehended them. People were rushing from theirhomes, or carrying out the feeble and injured. His way was impeded byfugitives, whose faces were seen by the street-lamps to be ghastly paleand horror-stricken. The awful impression of the final day of doom washeightened by the comparative nudity of many, both men and women; andamong the multitudinous images passing through Clancy's mind was a pictureof the Judgment Day by one of the old masters, with its naked, writhinghuman forms. 

The air was resonant with every tone of anguish, hoarse shoutings, shrillscreams, and the plaintive cries of children. Above all other soundsarticulate and inarticulate was heard the word "God, " as the strickenpeople appealed to Him, some on their knees, others as they stood dazedand almost paralyzed, and others still as they rushed toward open placesfor safety. 

"Yes, God, " muttered Clancy. "May He forgive me for having forgotten Him!There are but two thoughts left in this wreck, God and Mara. How unworthywere my recent motives and passion! How unlike the love which leads meinevitably to breathe the name of Mara in my appeal to God!"

CHAPTER XL

"GOD"

Had Mara's heart been hers to keep or to give when she met Bodine, shecould easily have learned to love him for his own sake. Mrs. Bodine'simpression was well founded, that Mara, unlike most girls, was suited tosuch an alliance. The trouble was, that, before Bodine became friend, thenlover, she had given to Clancy what she could not recall, although shestrove to do so with a will singularly resolute, and from the strongestconvictions of hopeless discord between him and herself. With the purposeto make her father's friend happy was also blended the powerful motive toextricate herself. She had felt that she must tear up by the roots theaffection which had been growing for years before she had recognized it, and at times, as we have seen, thought it was yielding to the unrelentinggrasp of her will. Again, discouraged and appalled by its hold upon everyfibre of her being, she would recognize how futile had been her efforts. She could not, like many others, divert her thoughts and preoccupy hermind by various considerations apart from the truth that she had promisedto marry a man whom she did not love. Although so warped, her nature wastoo simple, too concentrated, to permit any weak drifting toward events. She believed that her life had narrowed down to Bodine, and she haddecided to become his devoted wife at every cost to herself, flow greatthat cost would be she was learning sadly, day by day and hour by hour. Aswe know, she had permitted Bodine to learn her purpose at a time ofexcitement and enthusiasm--at a time when his profound distress touchedher deepest sympathies. She had also hoped, that, when the irrevocablewords had been spoken on each side, the calm of fixed purpose andcertainty would fall upon her spirit. 

She had been disappointed. She trembled with a strange dread whenever sherecalled the moment when Bodine drew her to himself, conscious now of atruth, before unknown, that there was something in her nature not amenableto enthusiasm, spiritual exaltation, or her passion forself-sacrifice--something that would not shrink from death for his sakeyet which did shrink from his kisses upon her lips. 

Never had she suffered as during the last few days, for she was beingtaught by the inexorable logic of facts and events. In Ella's crystalnature she saw what her own love should be, and might have been. She hadwitnessed the girl's wild impulse to follow her lover to the depths of theharbor, and her own heart gave swift interpretation. She was alive becausea Northern boy, deemed incapable of anything better than selfish, recklesslove-making, had unhesitatingly risked his life to save one who hadspurned him. Even Mrs. Hunter's prejudice had been compelled to yield, andshe to admit the young fellow's nobility, of which she was a living proof. The wretched thought haunted Mara that Owen Clancy, unblinded, haddiscovered for himself, what had been forced upon her, that there wereNorthern people with whom he could gladly affiliate. The shadow of deathhad not been so dark and baleful as the shadow of the past in which she solong had dwelt, for in the former there had been light enough to revealthe folly and injustice of indiscriminating prejudice and enmity. Worsethan all these thoughts, piercing like shafts of light the darkness whichhad obscured her judgment, was the truth, upon which she could not reason, that she shrunk with an ever-increasing dread from words and acts of loveunprompted by her heart. 

Like a rock, however, amid all this chaos--this breaking up of the oldwhich left nothing stable in its place--remained her purpose to goforward. On this evening which was to witness a wilder chaos than that ofher long-repressed yet passionate heart, she had said sternly, "My wordhas been passed, my honor is involved, and he shall never learn that Ihave trembled and faltered. "

Mrs. Hunter had retired, overcome by the heat, and, believing that shecould endure the sultriness better in the little parlor, Mara had turneddown the gas, and was sitting by an open window. The city seemedsingularly quiet. The street on which she dwelt contained a largepopulation, yet the steps on the pavement were comparatively few. Her ownlanguor was general, and people sought refuge in the seclusion and theundress permitted in their own homes. 

In a vague, half-conscious way she wondered that a large city could be sostill at that hour. "Like myself, " she murmured, "it is half shrouded ingloom and gives but slight hint of much that is hidden, that ever must behidden. --I wonder where he is to-night. Oh, I've no right to think of himat all. Why can't I say, 'Stop, ' and end it?--this miserable stealing awayof my thoughts until will, like a jailer, pursues and drags them back. Whyshould a presentiment of danger to him weigh down my spirit to-night? Whatother peril can he be exposed to except that of marrying a beauty and anheiress? Ah! peril enough, if his heart shrinks like mine. Here, now, _quit_, " and the word came sharply and angrily in her self-condemnation. 

Then in the silence began that distant groan of nature. It was sodistinct, so unlike anything she had ever heard in its horrible suggestionof all physical evil that she shrank from the window overwhelmed by anameless dread. Instinctively she turned up the gas, that she might notface the terror in darkness. As she did so she thought of the rush androar of the last year's cyclone, but in the next breath learned that thiswas something infinitely worse--what, she was too confused and terrifiedto imagine. Then she was thrown to the floor. Raising herself partially ona chair she witnessed an event which paralyzed her with horror. The walltoward the street, with its mirror, pictures, windows, and all pertainingto it fell outward with a crash. 

For a second all was still, as she looked into the darkness which hadswallowed up the front and sheltering side of her home. Then immediatelyabout her began a wail of human anguish which grew in agonized intensity, gathering volume far and near until it became like the death-cry of acity. Unconsciously she was joining in it--that involuntary "oh-h, " thatcrescendo tidal wave of sound sweeping upward from despairing humanity. Then this mighty and bitter cry seemed to become articulate in the word"God. " With an instinct swift, inevitable, and irresistible as the powerthat had shaken the city, the thought of God as the only other power ableto cope with the mysterious destroyer, entered into all hearts and foundexpression. 

Clouds of stifling, whitish-looking dust now came pouring into theunprotected apartment, obscuring the street and rendering dim even thefamiliar objects near the terrified girl. For a few moments the nervousshock was so great that Mara felt as if paralyzed. She remained lying onthe floor, half supporting herself by the chair, waiting in breathlessexpectation for she knew not what. The malign power had been so vast, andits work so swift, that even her fearless spirit was overwhelmed. 

The shrieks, groans, and prayers, the hurrying steps in the dust-cloudedstreet at last forced upon her attention the fact that all were seeking toescape from the buildings. With difficulty she regained her feet andtottered to Mrs. Hunter's room, but found, to her dismay, that she couldnot open the door. She called and even shrieked, but there was no answer. A sense of utter desolation and helplessness overpowered her. Who couldcome to her aid? Bodine could not. At such a time he would be almosthelpless himself, and there were women in his charge. With a bitternessalso akin to the death, which she momentarily expected, she knew that herthoughts had flown to Clancy and to no other human being at that hour. Shewas learning what all others discovered in the stress of the earthquake, that everything not absolutely essential to life and soul was swept awayand almost forgotten. 

To go into the street and get help seemed her only resource, and she madeher way down the stairs to where had been the doorway. In vain sheappealed to the flying forms. Her cries were unheard in the awful din ofshrieks, prayers, groans, and calls of the separated to their friends. Theimpression made was of a wild panic in which the frenzied thought offlight, escape, predominated. 

She was about to return in something like despair, feeling that she couldnot leave her aunt, when she saw a tall form rushing toward her. A secondlater she recognized Owen Clancy leaping over the ruins of her home. Witha cry, she fell into his outstretched arms, faint, trembling, yet with asense of refuge, a thrill of exquisite joy before unknown in all her life. 

"Mara, dear Mara, you are not hurt?" he asked breathlessly. 

"No, oh, thank God, you have come!"

Again there was the same ominous growl, deep in the earth, which onceheard could never be mistaken, never forgotten. Lifting her up Clancycarried her swiftly from beneath the shattered buildings to the middle ofthe street. She clung to him almost convulsively as the earth again swayedand trembled beneath them, and the awful moan of nature swelled, then diedaway in the distance. There was an instant of agonized, breathlesssuspense, then the wail of the stricken city rose again with a deeperaccent of terror, a more passionate appeal to heaven, and the effort toescape to the wider spaces was renewed in a more headlong flight. 

"Mara, " said Clancy, "at this hour, when everything may be swept away in amoment, there is nothing left for me but you and God. Will you trust me, and let me do my very best to save you?"

"Oh, Owen, Owen, God forgive me!" She uttered the words like a despairingcry, then buried her face upon his breast. 

With a dread greater than that inspired by the earthquake he thought: "Isit too late? Can she have married Bodine?" The anguish in her tonecombined with her action had revealed both her love and its hopelessness. He said gently, yet firmly: "We must act now and quickly. Where is Mrs. Hunter?"

Mara had apparently become speechless from grief. Without a word sheturned swiftly, and taking his hand led him toward the ruined building. 

"No, stay here. It will not be safe for you to enter, " and pushing hergently back he ran up the exposed stairway, into the parlor, noticing withdismay the general wreck and the danger Mara had run. 

He found that Mara had followed him. "Oh, why will you come?" he exclaimedin deep anxiety. "Where is she? We must get away from all this. "

The sobbing girl could only point to Mrs. Hunter's door. Clancy tried it, but found it jammed, as were so many others that night, adding to theterror of imprisoned inmates. With strength doubled by excitement he puthis shoulder against the barrier and burst it open. A ghastly spectaclemet their eyes. Mrs. Hunter lay senseless on her bed in her night-robe, which was stained with blood. She had evidently risen to a sitting postureon the first alarm, and then had been stunned and cut by the hurling ofsome heavy object against her head and neck, the shattered mantel clock onthe bed beside her showing how the injury had been done. 

Mara's overwhelming distress ceased its expression at this new horror asshe gasped, "Can she be dead?"

"This is no place to discover, " Clancy replied, rolling the poor woman'sform in a blanket. "Mara, dear, we must get away from this house. It maycome down any moment. Snatch up wraps, clothing, all you can lay yourhands upon, and come. "

Already he was staggering away with Mrs. Hunter in his arms. In a momentMara did his bidding and followed. Slowly and with difficulty he made hisway down the tottering, broken stairway, then across the prostrate wall tothe centre of the street, now almost deserted. He looked anxiously around, calculating that no building, if it fell, could reach them at that point, then laid his heavy burden down, and stood panting and recovering from hisexertion. 

"I think we shall be as safe here as anywhere until we can reach one ofthe squares. Put your hand, Mara, over Mrs. Hunter's heart, and see if itis beating. "

"Yes, faintly. "

"Have you stimulants in the house? Can you tell me where to find them?"

"You shall not go back there: I will go. " And, as if endowed with suddenaccess of strength, she sprang away. Putting his coat under Mrs. Hunter'shead for a pillow he followed instantly. "Now why do you come?" sheprotested. 

"Because I would rather die with you, Mara, than live safely without you. "

"Oh, for God's sake don't speak that way!" she replied with a sob. "Here, I have it. Come away, quick. "

As she hastily sought to cross the ruins in the street she missed herfooting, and would have fallen had not his ready arm encircled her andborne her to Mrs. Hunter's side. 

"Would to God I had heeded your warning, Owen, " she moaned, as she soughtto give her aunt some of the brandy, while he chafed the poor woman'swrists. 

"You are not married to Bodine?" he asked, springing to his feet. 

"No, but I am pledged to him. I cannot break faith and live. You must bemy protector in a double sense, protecting me against myself. As you are aSouthern gentleman, help and shield me. "

"You ask what is next to impossible, Mara. I can only do my best for you. "

"Oh, how I have wronged you!"

"Not so greatly as I have wronged myself. I will tell you all some othertime. "

"No, Owen, no. We must keep apart. We must, we must indeed. Oh, oh, itwould have been better that I had died! You must harden your face andheart against me--that is the only way to help me now. "

"Never shall I harden my heart against you. Whatever comes I shall be yourloyal friend. "

"Oh, the cruelty of my fate--to wrong two such men!"

"Bress de Lawd! I'se fown you;" and Aun' Sheba stood before them, pantingand abounding in grateful ejaculations. 

"Aun' Sheba!" cried Mara, throwing herself into the arms of her old nurse. "To think that you should come to me through all these dangers!"

"Wot else I do, honey lam? You tink you kin be in trouble an' I ain't dar?Marse Clancy, my 'specs. Once I tinks you a far-wedder frien', but I takesit back. Lawd, Lawd! is de ole missus dun gone?"

"No, Aun' Sheba, " said Clancy. "Help us revive her, and then help me carryher to a place of greater safety. You come like an angel of light. "

"I'se rudder hebby an' brack fer'n angel, but, like de angels, we'se allgot ter do a heap ob totin' ter-night. "

CHAPTER XLI

SCENES NEVER TO BE FORGOTTEN

When George Houghton reached his father's room he heard Jube fairlyhowling in the darkness, and the old man groaning heavily. 

"Father, " cried the young man, "you are not hurt?"

"Oh, George, thank God, you have again escaped! This is an earthquake, isn't it?"

"It must be, and I must take you out to some open space at once. Jube, shut up, and keep your senses. If you don't help me I'll break yourbones. "

Groping about he found a match and lighted a candle. 

"Oh, George, you are hurt. Your face is covered with blood!" cried Mr. Houghton. 

"Slight cuts only. Come, father, there may be another shock, and it willnot be safe to dress you here. Let me wrap you in blankets, and then Jubeand I will carry you to Marion Square. I will come back for your clothes. "

This they proceeded to do, Mr. Houghton meanwhile protesting, "No, George, you shall not come back. " Then he asked a moment or two later, "Why do youtake me out at the side door?"

"It will be safer, " George replied, not wishing to explain that thepillared and massive portico was in ruins. 

As they passed the front of the house, however, Jube groaned, "Oh, Lawd!de porch dun smashed!"

"This is awful, my boy!" ejaculated Mr. Houghton. "Oh, this dreadful city!this dreadful city!"

"The worst is over, I think. Brace up, Jube. If you are so anxious to saveyour life, step lively. "

"Jes hear de people holler, " cried Jube, trembling so he could scarcelykeep his hold, and he gave a loud, sympathetic yell himself. 

"Stop that, " said George sternly. "Oh, Dr. Devoe, I am so glad to seeyou, " he added, as the physician came running up. "You are a godsend. "

"I was passing near, " explained the physician, "and, being a bachelor, canthink of my patients first. Jube, if you yell again I'll cuff you. Be aman now and we'll all soon be safe. "

They joined the throngs which were gathering on the square, and Mr. Houghton was tenderly placed upon the grass. "Doctor, you and Jube willstay with him while I get articles for his comfort;" and before his fathercould again interpose George was off at full speed. 

"He will come out all right, " said Dr. Devoe soothingly. "Never fear forGeorge. "

But when the second roll of subterranean thunder was heard, and the criesand lamentations of the people were redoubled, the old man wrung his handsand groaned, "Oh, why did you let him go?" After the quiver passed he satup and strained his eyes in the direction from which he hoped again to seehis son. The house was not far away, and George soon appeared staggeringunder a mattress, with bedding, clothing, and other articles essential tothe comfort and safety of his father. Jube, under the doctor's assurances, was beginning to rally from his terror, and between them they speedilymade the old man comfortable. 

As George was arranging the pillows his father said, "God forgive me forbeing so obdurate, my boy. I know where your thoughts are. Go and help herif you can. "

With heartfelt murmured thanks the young man kissed his father, andbounded away. 

Ella Bodine and her father were truly in sore trouble. A few minutesbefore ten, Mrs. Bodine's delicate and enfeebled organization succumbed tothe heat and closeness of the air, and she suddenly swooned. Ella in alarmsummoned her father and old Hannah, and all were engaged in applyingrestoratives when they too were appalled by the hideous sound which gavesuch brief and terrible warning of the disaster. The veteran, who sat bythe bedside, chafing his cousin's wrists with spirits, barely had time toget on his crutches when he was thrown violently to the floor, while Ella, with a wild cry, fell across the bed. Then, in expectation of instantdeath, they listened with an awe too great for expression to the infernaluproar, the crash of falling objects, the groaning and grinding of theswaying house, and above all to the voice of the deep, subterranean powerwhich appeared to be rending the earth. 

Most fortunately the gas was not extinguished, and when it was stillagain, Ella rushed to her father, and exclaimed as she helped him up, "Oh, papa, what is this?"

"De Jedgmen Day, " said a quivering voice. 

Bodine's face was very white, but his iron nerves did not give way. "Ella, " he said firmly, "you must keep calm and do as I say. It is anearthquake. Since the house stands we may hope to revive Cousin Sophybefore taking her to the street. Come, Hannah, get up and do your best. "

From her sitting posture on the floor, the old woman only answered in alow terrified monotone, "De Jedgmen Day. "

"Oh, papa, she's just crazed, and we must do everything ourselves;" and, Ella, with trembling hands and stifled sobs, began to aid her father. "Oh, hear those awful cries in the street, " she said after a moment. "Don't youthink we should try to take cousin out?"

"If I were not so helpless!" Bodine groaned. "Hannah, wake up and help. "

"De Jedgmen Day, " was the only response. 

"There is no use to look to her, papa. I'm strong. See, I can lift cousin, she is so light. "

"No, Ella, it might injure you for life. If we could only partially reviveher, and she could help you a little--There may not be another shock. "

They worked on, growing more assured as the house remained quiet. Hannahwas evidently crazed for the time being, for, deaf to all expostulations, she would not move, and kept repeating the terrible refrain. 

"O God!" said Bodine in tones of the deepest distress, "to think that Icannot go to Mara!"

"Well, papa, you can't help it. Your duty is here. May God pity and saveus all!"

At last the ominous rumble began again in the distance. Ella gave herfather a startled look, and saw confirmation of her fear in his face. OldHannah started up exclaiming, "De Lawd is comin' now shuah. I'se gwine termeet Him, " and she rushed away. 

With another wild cry Ella lifted the form of her cousin in her arms, and, with a strength created by the emergency, staggered down the stairs to thedoor. Then a man saw and relieved her of her burden. Bodine withdifficulty tried to follow, but could not during the brief shock. When allwas still again he threw the bedding over his shoulder, went down andspeedily checked Ella's wild cries that he should not delay. 

The street was comparatively wide; the houses were not high, and theyfound themselves in the midst of a group of refugees likethemselves--mothers sobbing over their babes, men caring for sick andfainting wives, and children standing by feeble and aged parents. Familyservants crouched on the pavement beside their employers, and continuallygave utterance to ejaculatory prayers which found sympathetic echoes inthe stoutest hearts. Many were coming and going. The place seemed apartial refuge, yet the proximity of houses led one group after another toseek the open squares. In many instances rare fortitude and calmness weredisplayed. Here, as elsewhere throughout the city, frail women, more oftenthan strong men, were patient and resigned in their Christian faith. 

Ella supported Mrs. Bodine's head upon her lap, and others now aided inthe effort to bring back consciousness. Fortunately, however, for the poorlady, she knew not what was passing. 

Suddenly the group parted to make way for a hatless, coatless man, whoseface was terribly disfigured with blood and dust. Nevertheless Ellarecognized him with the glad cry, "Mr. Houghton!"

"Thank Heaven you are safe!" he gasped, panting heavily; and he gave hishand to Mr. Bodine. 

"But you are injured, " said the captain, in deep solicitude. 

"No, nothing worth mentioning; merely cut and bruised. I came as soon as Ihad fixed my father safe in the square. I thought you might need help. "

"Mr. Houghton, you are overwhelming us--"

"Please don't think and talk that way. God knows, a man should give helpwhere it is most needed at such a time. This is Mrs. Bodine?"

"Yes, she fainted before the first shock. We have been unable to reviveher. At the last shock my daughter carried her down. "

"Miss Bodine!" exclaimed George in surprise and admiration. 

She gave him a swift glance through her tears, and then, dropping hereyes, resumed her efforts to revive her cousin. 

"You may well exclaim, " said her father. "How she did it I do not know. Excitement gave strength, I suppose. "

"Everything these kind friends and I can do for her seems useless, " Ellafaltered. 

"Let me get my wind a little, " said George, eagerly, "and I will carry herto the square, where my father is. A good physician is with him. "

At this instant came a third and severer shock than the last, and with itthe new terror which sickened the bravest. "O God, " cried Ella, "willthere be no respite?" Then observing for the first time the pillars oflight and smoke rising at different points, she cried in still deeperfear, "Oh, papa, can those be volcanic fires?"

"No, no, my child. "

"I saw a fire kindling in a deserted house as I came, " George addedexcitedly. "Truly, Captain Bodine, this is no place for your family; or, "turning to the groups near, "for you either, friends. Ah, see! there is ahouse almost opposite beginning to burn. Come;" and without furtherhesitation he lifted Mrs. Bodine and strode away. 

Not only Ella and her father followed, but also the others, those who werethe strongest supporting the feeble and injured. 

They had gone but little way before Bodine said, "Ella, I must go and seeif Mara has escaped. I cannot seek safety myself unless assured that sheis safe. "

"Oh, papa, it will be almost suicide for you to go through these streetsalone. "

"Ella, there are some things so much worse than death. If you and cousinwere alone I would not leave you, but with a strong helper and a physicianin prospect I must go. How could I look Mara in the face again if I madeno effort in her behalf? Explain to Mr. Houghton. "

He dropped behind, then turned up a side street and carefully yet quicklyhalted over and around the impediments strewn in the way. 

Aware of the danger of delay, George went forward with a rapid stride. "Can you keep up?" he asked. 

"Yes, " Ella replied. 

"We must get by and beyond these higher buildings. I have the horribledread that they may fall on you any moment. "

"You never seem to think of yourself, Mr. Houghton. "

"I must now, " he said after a moment or two. "Here is a corner at which wecan rest, for there are no high buildings near;" and he sank on the groundwith Mrs. Bodine still in his arms. 

"Oh, you are killing yourself!" she cried in deep distress. 

"Not at all, only resting. Where is your father?"

Ella explained and revealed her fears. 

"I will go to his aid and Miss Wallingford's as soon as you and Mrs. Bodine are safe. "

"Mr. Houghton, how can I--"

"By giving me the privilege of serving you, and by not making me miserablefrom seeing you burdened with a sense of obligation, " he said quickly. "That is the one thing I have feared--that you would be unhappy because ithas been my good-fortune--oh, well, you understand. "

She did, better than he, for his swift coming to her aid had banished alldoubt of him. 

"Please understand, then, that I gratefully and gladly accept yourchivalrous help. Have I not seen it given to the old and feeble before?Oh, these heart-rending cries! It seems to me that they will haunt meforever. "

"Please support Mrs. Bodine a moment. That is a woman's scream just beyondus. She is evidently injured, and probably held fast in the ruins. "

He ran to the spot, and found that a woman had been prostrated andpartially buried by the bricks of a falling chimney. She had beenunconscious for a time, but now, reviving, her agonized shrieks rose abovethe other cries. George spoke soothingly to her as he threw the bricks toright and left. She was evidently suffering the extremity of pain, for sheagain screamed and moaned in the most heart-rending way, although Georgelifted her as carefully as possible. Laying her down beside Mrs. Bodine hebegan in distressed perplexity, "What shall we do now? We cannot leave herhere. "

At this moment a group of negroes approached. One was carrying a littlegirl whom Ella immediately recognized as Vilet. Then she saw Sissy, themother, carrying her youngest, and weeping hysterically, while the otherchildren clung to her skirts. Uncle Sheba brought up the rear, fairlyhowling in his terror. The man carrying the child was Mr. Birdsall, whohad called with old Tobe just before the first shock. The gray-woollednegro was walking beside his minister, uttering petitions andself-accusations. Old Tobe was comparatively alone in the world, withoutkith or kin. Mr. Birdsall, feeling that he owed almost an equal duty tohis flock, had only stipulated that he should stop at his home for hiswife and children. Happily they were unharmed, and were able to followunaided; and so, like a good shepherd, he still carried the weakest of hislambs. 

Ella called to them, and they paused. George, ever prompt in action, sawthat old Tobe and Uncle Sheba were able to do more than use their lungs, and he sprang forward to press them into his service. Tobe readilyyielded, but Uncle Sheba would do nothing but howl. In his impatienceGeorge struck him a sharp blow across the mouth, exclaiming, "Stop yourinfernal noise. If you are strong enough to yell that way you can dosomething better. Stop, I say, or I'll be worse than two earthquakes;" andhe shook Uncle Sheba's howl into staccato and tremolo notes. 

"Dere am no use foolin' wid dat niggah, " said old Tobe. 

"Howl, then, if you will, but help you shall;" and taking him by hisshoulder, George pushed him beside Tobe, made the two form a chair withtheir hands, and put the woman into it, with her arms about the neck ofeach. 

Taking up Mrs. Bodine he again went forward. The miserable littleprocession followed, Uncle Sheba mechanically doing his part, at the sametime continuing to make night hideous by the full use of a pair of lungsin which was no rheumatic weakness. Motion caused the wretched womanrenewed agony, and her shrieks mingled with his stentorian cries. 

"Oh, this is horrible!" Ella said at George's side. 

"It is indeed, Miss Bodine; yet how glad I am that you Have not beeninjured!"

"Oh, oh, I fear so greatly that my cousin will not live through thisdreadful night; and my father, too, is facing unknown dangers!"

"This is an awful ill wind, Miss Bodine, but the fact that I can help youand yours gives me a deeper satisfaction than you can imagine. "

She could not trust herself to answer, therefore was silent, and histhought was, "I must go slower on that tack, and not so close to thewind. " The forlorn company eventually reached the square, and made theirway to the place where George had left his father. As the old man saw hisson, and comprehended his mission of mercy as well as love, he murmured, "God forgive me that it should require an earthquake to teach how muchbetter is his spirit than mine, " and his heart grew as tender as amother's toward his boy. 

Dr. Devoe, who was attending another patient not far away, came up hastilyand eased the poor creature out of the negroes' hands to the ground. 

He gave her some of the wine George had brought for his father, saying ashe did so, "Try to be calm, now, madam. I am a physician, and will do allI can for you. "

Mr. Houghton promptly sent Jube to the doctor with one of his pillows andpart of his bedding, so the woman was made as comfortable as her conditionpermitted. 

George laid Mrs. Bodine on the grass, and then with the scanty beddingElla had carried, aided in making a resting-place not far from his father. He next lifted Mrs. Bodine's head into the girl's lap, and was about toturn his attention to Uncle Sheba, but was anticipated. Two men had takenhim by the shoulders, one of them saying, "If you don't keep still we'lltie you under the nearest building and leave you there, " and they began tomarch him off. At this dire threat Uncle Sheba collapsed and fell to theground, where he was left. 

Dr. Devoe divided his attention between the fatally injured woman and Mrs. Bodine, who under his remedies and the efforts of George and Ella soonrevived. Mr. Houghton looked with wonder, pity, and some embarrassment atthe small, frail form, and the white, thin face of one whom hadcharacterized as "that terrible old woman. " She seemed scarcely a shadowof what she had been on that former night, more terrible even that thisone to the then stricken father. Now the son whom he had thought dead hadcarried her to his side, and was bending over her. 

"Well, well, " he muttered, "the ways of God are above and beyond me. Igive up, I give up. "

Then his eyes rested on Ella. He saw a face which even the dust of thestreets could not so begrime as to hide its sweetness or its tenderness, as, with deep solicitude, she bent over her cousin. A conflagration ragingnear now began to flame so high that its lights flickered on the girl'sface, etherealizing its beauty, and turning her fluffy hair to gold. Shebecame like a vision to the old man, angelic, yet human in her naturalsympathy. The thought would come, "I have fought like a demon to keep thatface from bending over me in my feebleness and age. Truly God's ways arebest. "

Ella had only glanced at his pale, rugged face with awe and dread, andthen had given all her thoughts to her cousin. 

As the latter began to regain consciousness, she motioned George away, andwith Dr. Devoe, sought to complete the work of restoration. To dazed looksand confused questions she replied merely with soothing words until thedoctor said kindly, but firmly, "Mrs. Bodine, you are now safe, and ascomfortable as we can make you. Do not try to comprehend what hashappened. There are so many worse off who need attention--"

"There, there, doctor, " Mrs. Bodine interrupted, with a flash of her oldspirit, "no matter what's happened, I thank you for your attention. Pleasegive it now to others. "

"Doctor, " said George, "I fear the little colored girl who came in with usis dying. " They went to the spot where Sissy was pillowing Vilet's headagainst her breast. The physician made a brief examination, and heard howa brick had fallen on the child as they were getting her out, then said, "I'm sorry I can do nothing but alleviate her pain a little. "

Turning away promptly he began, "See here, Houghton, I must go to thenearest drug-store and help myself if no one's there. Will you come withme? I shall need a lot of things, more than I can carry. "

"I can't, " George replied, "but here is the man that will, I think;" andhe roused old Tobe who sat quietly near with his head buried in his hands. 

"Sartin. I do wot I kin while de can'el hole out to burn, " Tobe assentedrising. 

"That's right, my man, and you'll help other candles to hold out. "

"Doctor, understand me, " explained George, "I must go and search forCaptain Bodine, who is wandering on crutches about the city, " and hehastened to say a word to his father. 

Ella saw him kneel by the old man, and then rise after a moment or twowith such gladness in his face that even the blood and dust stains couldnot disguise it. Little wonder, for Mr. Houghton had said, "I'm conquered, George. I give all up--all my ambitious dreams about you. What dreams theynow seem! This awful earthquake has shaken away everything except life, and the love which makes life worth anything. I've seen the girl, and Idon't blame you. Go ahead. "

"Oh, thanks, thanks. You'll never be sorry; but, father, please don't sayanything to her about--about--Well, she don't know, and I must woo beforeI can hope to win. "

"You needn't worry about me. I'm old enough to be wary, " and the old mancould not repress a grim smile. Then he added, "George, for mercy's sake, try to get the blood and dust off your face and find a coat. You look asif you had been through a prize-fight. "

George explained the quest he was about to enter upon, and promisedcaution. Then he approached Ella. "Miss Bodine, " he said, "I will nowsearch for your father till I find him. "

Again the girl could not trust herself to speak, but tears came into hereyes as she gave him her hand. He pressed it so hard as to leave adelicious ache, and hastened away. 

"Good Lor! who was that awful-looking man?" Mrs. Bodine asked Ella. 

"George Houghton. He carried you from home here. "

"Lor! Lor! Saved my life as well as yours and Cousin Hugh's?"

"Yes, and now he's going to help papa and Mara. "

"Well, well, we'll have to forgive him for being born North. Is thatold--"

Ella stopped her mouth with a kiss, and whispered: "That is his father. Don't let us look at him. In fact, I'm afraid to--at least while he is soill. "

"Well, " ejaculated Mrs. Bodine, "if this earthquake does not cure him ofhis cussedness, I hope the Lord will take him to heaven. "

"He did not prevent George from coming to me, nor his going to papa's aid. He was kind, too, to that poor woman yonder. Oh, I'm sorry for her, and Iwish I could do something. "

"Perhaps you can. Go and see. "

"I've nothing to put under your head, cousin. "

"I'll put patience under it. That, I reckon, is all I have left now. Go, Ella, dear, I can't bear to hear her moan. I'm in no pain, and that winehas quite heartened me. "

Ella did as she was bidden. That Mr. Houghton was observant was quicklyproved, for he said to Jube, "Take this pillow to that lady yonder. If shedeclines, say you have your orders, and leave it. "

Mrs. Bodine raised herself on her elbow and protested. 

"Madam, " said Mr. Houghton, "do not deny a helpless man the privilege ofdoing a little for the comfort of others at a time like this. "

"But you have none left for yourself, sir, " Mrs. Bodine replied. 

"Madam, you can understand what a satisfaction that will be to me underthe circumstances. "

Mrs. Bodine yielded and admitted to herself that she was much morecomfortable. "I reckon the earthquake is doing him good, " she thought, "and that the Lord better keep him here a while longer. "

"Can't you lift me up a little?" gasped the injured woman to Ella. "Oh, how I suffer, _suffer_!"

Ella sat down beside her, and gently shifted the pillow so that it cameunder the wounded back, while the weary head rested against her bosom. 

"Ah!" said the poor creature, "that's easier. I reckon I won't have tosuffer much longer. "

Ella spoke soothingly and gently. Mr. Houghton, who could only hear thesweet tenderness of her tones, wiped tears from his eyes as he againmurmured, "God forgive me, blind, obstinate old fool that I've been!"

The adjacent flames now lighted up the entire scene, throwing theirbaleful light on such an assemblage as had never before gathered in thisNew World. 

The convulsion which threatened to raze every home in the city hadcertainly brought the people down to the same level. Both white andcolored citizens were mingled together on the square in a swiftly createddemocracy. Character, the noble qualities of the soul, without regard tocolor or previous condition, now only gave distinction. 

CHAPTER XLII

A HOMELESS CITY

The efforts of Clancy and Mara combined with the vigorous and sensibleministrations of Aun' Sheba at last brought consciousness to Mrs. Hunter. Tearing up a linen sheet they stanched and bound up her wounds, and thenClancy said, "We must get her to one of the squares and under aphysician's care as soon as possible. "

"My folks is gwine to Mar'on Squar, an' dar I promise ter come, " said Aun'Sheba. "It's 'bout as nigh as any ob dem. "

Mrs. Hunter looked at Clancy, and shrank from him visibly. He saidquickly, "Surely, Mrs. Hunter, all enmities should be forgotten at thistime, or at least put aside. We should leave this narrow side-street atonce. "

"Aunty, " said Mara, gently, "Mr. Clancy has saved us both fromdestruction. For my sake and Aun' Sheba's as well as your own, you mustlet him do all in his power. "

The earthly, yet unearthly, rumble of another shock put an end to furtherhesitation. It would be long before the terror inspired by this phenomenonwould cease to be overwhelming. 

Aun' Sheba lifted her arms imploringly to heaven, while the vividconsciousness of the direst peril known brought Mara and Clancy togetheragain in an embrace that was the natural expression of the feeling that, if die they must, they would die together. With such black ruin aboutthem, caused by one shock, the fear could not be combated that the nextmight end everything. 

When the convulsion passed, Clancy and Aun' Sheba immediately formed achair with their hands, and Mara helped Mrs. Hunter, now ready enough toescape by any means, to avail herself of it. They made their way withdifficulty over the debris to King Street. Here they were obliged to pauseand rest. No rest, however, did Clancy obtain, for a momentary glancerevealed one of the awful phases of the disaster. Three or four doorsabove them, houses were burning from overturned and exploded lamps. Someof the shop-keepers were frantically endeavoring to save a few of theirgoods, often, in their excitement, carrying out the strangest and mostvalueless articles. Clancy's brief glance gave no heed to such efforts, but before he could turn away, a woman with a child in her arms camerushing from one of the burning houses. Her dress had touched the fire, and was beginning to burn. Clancy caught one of the blankets from Mara, and with it extinguished the flames, while Mara took the infant. Theinstant the babe was out of her arms the mother tried to break away andrush back, shrieking, "There's another! there's another child!"

"Where?" cried Clancy, restraining her. 

"In the front room there. "

"Stay here, then, " and he darted through the doorway, out of which thesmoke was pouring as from a chimney. 

Mara and the mother looked after him in breathless and agonized suspense. The flames had burst suddenly into the apartment, and through the windowsthey could see him enter, snatch up the child, and disappear. But he didnot come out of the street door as soon as they expected. They couldendure waiting no longer. Both dashed into the smoke-clouded passage-way, and stumbled against Clancy Where he had sunk down within a few steps ofsafety. 

The mother seized her child, while Mara, with a strength given by herheart, dragged the strangling man to the open air. By this time Aun' Shebawas at her side, and between them they carried him to the spot where Mrs. Hunter lay. Now that he could breathe he soon recovered; Mara's tender andimploring words being potent indeed in rallying him. His exposure to heatand the smoke had been terrible, but fortunately very brief. He was soonon his feet, exclaiming, "We must go on to Meeting Street, for there weshall have a better chance. "

Thither they made their way with other fugitives, Clancy and Aun' Shebacarrying Mrs. Hunter as before, Mara following with the infant, and closebeside her the grateful mother with the other child. 

Having reached a somewhat open space in the wider thoroughfare, the youngman became satisfied that another mode of transportation must be found. Mrs. Hunter was too heavy for the primitive method adopted in theemergency. Aun' Sheba took the injured woman's head upon her lap while herested and looked about for something like an army stretcher. Among theruins he found one of the long wooden shutters which a jeweller had placedagainst his window hours before. Watches and gems gleamed in the light ofkindling fires, and were within easy reach, but the most unscrupulous ofthieves were honest that night. Clancy carried the shutter to Mrs. Hunter's side, and then watched for some man whom he could persuade intohis service. 

The great thoroughfare was full of fugitives, and soon among them themother recognized a man of her acquaintance, who took charge of her andthe children. The majority, like Clancy, had been delayed by efforts inbehalf of the sick or injured, and already had their hands full. Otherswere so dazed and horror-stricken that they moved about aimlessly, or satupon the pavement, moaning and lamenting in despairing accents. It wouldappear as if the emergency developed the strength and the weakness ofevery mind. Some were evidently crazed. As Mara stood beside Mrs. Hunterto prevent the crowd from trampling upon her, she saw a half-dressed man, breaking his way through the throng. The maniac stopped before her, andfor a moment fixed upon her wild, blood-shot eyes, then placed an infantin her arms, and with a yell bounded away. Mara, horror-stricken, saw thatthe child was dead, and that its neck was evidently broken. Clancy came upimmediately, and taking the infant laid it down out of the central path, for all kept to the middle of the street. 

As he did so, he heard his name called by a voice he knew too well. Thefeeling it inspired compelled him again to recognize how false he had beento himself and also to Miss Ainsley. Her summons now brought the feelingthat he too, like Mara, was bound, and he went instantly to her side. 

"Ah, you deserted me!" she said bitterly. 

He silently pointed to Mrs. Hunter, who presented so sad a spectacle thateven the exacting girl had no further words of reproach, but she glancedkeenly at Mara. 

"We feared a tidal wave, " Mr. Willoughby explained, "and so decided toseek the upper portion of the city. "

"Mrs. Willoughby, if you are able to walk, " said Clancy, "your husbandmust aid me and Aun' Sheba in carrying Mrs. Hunter, who is very badlyinjured. "

"Oh, now that the first terrible shock to my nerves is over, I am as wellable to take care of myself as any of you, " replied the spirited littlewoman. 

"That's like you!" exclaimed Clancy heartily. Then turning, he said withemphasis, "Miss Ainsley, you see that a man's first duty to-night is tothe injured and utterly helpless. "

"Forgive me, " she replied in tones meant for his ear only, "I did not knowyou owed so much to Mrs. Hunter and her niece. "

"I shall owe my services to every injured man and woman until all arerescued, " was his quiet reply. Then he helped Mr. Willoughby place Mrs. Hunter on the improvised support, and between them they bore her onward, the others following. 

Their progress was necessarily slow, for the street was encumbered notonly with fugitives like themselves, but also with tangled telegraph-wiresand all sorts of other impediments. Once they had to cower tremblinglyunder a tall building while a fire-engine thundered by, threatening tobring down upon them the shattered walls. As they resumed their slow andpainful march Bodine met them, his glad, outspoken greeting to Marafilling her heart with new grief and dismay, while it allayed the jealousyand bitterness of Miss Ainsley's wounded pride. 

The Northern girl had heard the report that Mara and the veteran wereengaged, and here was confirmation. Mara inquired eagerly after Mrs. Bodine and Ella, then took her place at the captain's side, while Clancymoved on with set teeth and a desperate rallying of his physical powers, which he knew to be failing. 

Now that Ella was in the square, young Houghton was not so impetuous as toignore the claims of nature or to be regardless of his outward appearance. He again returned to his home, and saw Sam kneeling and praying aloud nearthe barn, with the two horses standing beside him. 

"Sam, go to the square, " he shouted. 

"Can't lebe dese hosses. Dey's bofe lookin' ter me, an' I'se prayin' ferdem an us all. "

"No matter about the horses. The house is too near. " Then he ventured intothe butler's pantry, cleansed his face and the cuts and bruises about hishead, snatched some food, and hastened away. He believed he had a hardnight's work before him, and that he must maintain his strength. He hadnot gone very far down Meeting Street before he met the group accompanyingMrs. Hunter. With a glad cry he welcomed Mrs. Willoughby, and was about totake her hand when Clancy said, "Houghton, for God's sake, quick!"

George caught the end of the litter while Clancy reeled backward and wouldhave fallen had not Mara, with a cry she could not repress, caught him inher arms and sunk with him to the pavement. He gasped a moment or two, then his eyes closed; he became still and looked as if dead. 

Again the supremely dreaded subterranean rumble was heard. Mr. Willoughbyshouted wildly, "Forward, quick! We can't stay here under thesebuildings. " He and Houghton went on with a rush, the rest following withloud cries, Miss Ainsley's piercing scream ringing out above all. She didnot even look back at her prostrate suitor. 

Mara paid no heed to the passing shock, but with eyes full of anguishlooked upon the white face in her lap. 

"Mara, " said the deep voice of Bodine after the awful sound had passed. She started violently and began to tremble. 

"Mara, go with the others. I will stay with Mr. Clancy. "

She shook her head, but was speechless. 

He stood beside her, his face full of deep and perplexed trouble. 

At last she said hoarsely, "You go and bring aid. He saved aunty and me, and I cannot leave him. "

At this moment Aun' Sheba came running back, exclaiming: "Good Lawd forgibme dat I should leab my honey lam'! My narbes all shook out ob jint likede houses, an' my legs run away wid me, dog gone 'em! Dey's brung me backhowsomeber. Now, Missy Mara, gib him ter me;" and taking him under thearms she dragged him by the adjacent tall buildings. "Missy, " she added, sinking down with her burden, "go on ter de squar wid Marse Bodine, an'tell dat ar young Houghton ter come quick, 'fore my legs run away wid meagin. " "Both of you go to the square, " commanded Bodine in the tone hewould have used on the battlefield. "I will stay. There shall be nouseless risk of life. "

Mara lifted her dark eyes to his face. Even at that moment he knew heshould never forget their expression. "My friend, " she said in low, agonized tones, "he may be dying, he may be dead. I cannot, will not leavehim. "

"No, he ain't dead, " said Aun' Sheba, with her hand over Clancy's heart, "but seems purty nigh it. Him jes gone beyon his strengt. Ole missuspo'ful heby ef she ain't fat like me. Tank de Lawd, I hasn't ter be totedter-night. No one but Kern ud tote me. Po' Kern! him heart jes break wenhe know. "

Bodine stood guard silent and grim while Mara mechanically chafed one ofClancy's hands. She was now far beyond tears, far beyond anything exceptthe anguish depicted in her face. In a confused way she felt that theterrible events of the night and her own heart had overpowered her; and, with a half-despairing recklessness, she merely lived from moment tomoment. 

The earthquake had ceased to have personal terrors for Bodine. He hadfaced death too often. Nevertheless a great fear oppressed him as helooked down upon the girl he loved. 

The square was not far away; Houghton and Mr. Willoughby came hasteningback, and Clancy was soon added to the group of sufferers under Dr. Devoe's care. 

To Miss Ainsley's general disgust at a city in which she had been treatedto such a rude and miserable experience, was added a little self-disgustthat she had rushed away and left Clancy to his fate. She tried to satisfyherself by thinking that he had acted in much the same way toward her, butit would not answer. Mrs. Hunter's blood-stained face, rendered tenfoldmore ghastly by the light of the flames, was too strong refutation, andthe fact that Mara had remained with Clancy had its sting. She saw Ellaand many others ministering to the injured and feeble, and felt that shemust redeem her character. When the unconscious man was brought in, therefore, she hastened forward to receive and in a measure claim him. 

Although mentally comparing her conduct with that of Mara, Houghton andMr. Willoughby thought it was all right, put Clancy in her charge, andbegan to follow Dr. Devoe's directions. Mara gave the girl a look whichbrought a blush to her face, and then devoted herself to her aunt. 

Captain Bodine's first act was to speak gently and encouragingly to hisdaughter and cousin, congratulating the latter on her recovery. 

"Yes, Hugh, " said the old lady, "I'm safe, safer than I've been at othertimes in my life. This is but one more storm, and it is only driving menearer the harbor. You look dreadfully; you're worn out. "

"More by anxiety than exertion. It is awful to be so helpless at such atime. "

"Sit down here on the grass beside me. I want to talk. I may not have muchmore chance in this world, but feel sure that I shall do my share in thenext. Oh, Hugh, Hugh, we've all been shaken like naughty children, andsome of us may be the better and the wiser for it. If Ella and thatgallant knight of hers survive, how happy they will be! It makes me happyeven to think of it, though for aught we know the earth may open andswallow us all within the next five minutes. "

"Yes, the dear child! Thank God for her sake!"

"For your own too. There is Mara safe also. Poor Mrs. Hunter! she looksdeath-like to me. You look awfully too. I never saw you so pale andhaggard. "

"Cap'n Bodine, Marse Houghton send you dis, " said Jube at his elbow, proffering a glass of wine. 

The captain turned his startled eyes upon his old employer, who lay justout of earshot of their low tones. 

"Take it, Hugh, " said his cousin earnestly. "Drink to the death of hate. He and I have made up. "

The veteran hesitated, and a spasm, as if from a wrench of pain, passedover his face. Then he took the glass, and said coldly, "I drink to yourrecovery, sir. "

"I thank you, " was Mr. Houghton's response. 

"A very fair beginning, Hugh, for a man, " his cousin resumed. "You mightas well give up at once, though. Everything is going to be shaken downthat shouldn't stand. "

Ominous words to the veteran, for he felt that his dream of happiness wasfalling in ruins. 

By the natural force of circumstances the several characters of our storyhad been brought comparatively near together, yet were separated intolittle groups. Dr. Devoe passed from one to the other as his services wereneeded, nor were they confined to those known to us. He simply made alittle open space beside Mr. Houghton his headquarters, where he left hisremedies under the charge of the invalid, Jube, and old Tobe. Otherphysicians had joined him and were indefatigable in the work of relief. Some of the city clergy were also in the square, speaking words ofChristian faith and hope, which never before had seemed so precious. 

To Clancy Dr. Devoe gave a good deal of attention. Not only was his hairsinged, but his neck and hands were badly burned, and his swoon was soobstinate as to indicate great exhaustion. This could scarcely beotherwise, for he possessed no such physique as young Houghton haddeveloped. Moreover, he had passed through a mental strain and excitementwhich no one could comprehend except Mara, and she but partially. Houghtonhad put his coat under the head of the unconscious man, and was doing hisbest for him. So also was Miss Ainsley now. She had purposely turned herback on Mara, and her face was toward the adjacent conflagration, whichdistinctly lighted up her face and form, transforming her into a vision ofmarvellous beauty. Her long hair had fallen in a golden veil over her bareshoulders and neck; her dark eyes were lustrous with excitement and fullof solicitude. When at last Clancy opened his eyes his first impressionwas that an angel was ministering to him in a light too brilliant to beearthly. He recognized Miss Ainsley's voice, however, and when he hadtaken some of the wine which the doctor pressed to his lips, all that hadhappened came back to him. George now returned in solicitude to hisfather, also designing to take a little much-needed rest, while the doctorgave his attention to other patients. With returning consciousness Clancywas overpowered by a deep sense of gratitude to this beautiful creature, and also by a strong feeling of compunction that he had sought the regardwhich she now seemed to bestow unstintedly. "Like Mara, " he thought, "there is nothing left for me but to fulfil obligations from which Icannot honorably withdraw. "

"You are indeed kind and devoted, " he said feebly. "I fear I have made agood deal of trouble. "

"No, Mr. Clancy, you have gone beyond your strength. In fact, we are alldistracted and half beside ourselves. Won't you let me take your head intomy lap? If I am caring for you I can better endure these awful scenes. "And she made the change. 

"I hope you will forgive me for leaving you so abruptly on the Battery. Mrs. Hunter and Miss Wallingford really had no one to look to. "

"Captain Bodine evidently thinks Miss Wallingford should look to him. "

"In such an emergency he would be even more helpless than she. "

"Oh, well, I hope the worst is now over for us all, and that we can soonget away from this awful town. "

He gave no answer. Miss Ainsley knew that her father was not far distant, and that he would come for her by the first train which could reach thecity. Accustomed all her life to look at everything from the central pointof self, she now, in the greater sense of safety, began to give somethought to the future. Her first conscious decision was to try to be asbrave as possible, and so leave a good impression. The second was to getaway from the city at once, and she hoped she might never see it again. IfClancy would go with her, if he would even eventually join her at theNorth, she believed that she could marry him, so favorable was theimpression that he had made, but she felt that she was making a greatconcession, which he must duly appreciate. At present the one consumingwish was to escape, to get away from scenes which to her were horrible inthe last degree. 

In truth only a brave spirit could witness what was taking place on everyside, or maintain fortitude under the overwhelming impression of personaldanger--an impression which soon banished the partial sense of securityfelt after reaching the square. The extent of the terror inspired by theearthquake can best be measured by the fact that although columns of smokeand fire, consuming homes and threatening to lay the city in ashes, wererising at several points, they were scarcely heeded. The roar of adjacentflames could even be heard by the vast concourse, but ears were strainedto detect that more terrible roar that seemed to come from unknown depthsbeneath the ocean and the land, and to threaten a fate as awful andmysterious as itself. Even many of the white population could not helpsharing in some degree the general belief among the negroes that the endof all things was at hand. The nervous shock sustained by all prepared theway for the wildest fears and conjectures. As in the instance of a bloodybattle, those were the best off who were the most occupied. 

Thousands, however, sat and waited in sickening apprehension, fearing somenew horror with every passing moment. There was a sound of weepingthroughout the square, while above this monotone rose groans, cries, hysterical screams, loud petitions for mercy, and snatches of hymns. Theemotional negroes left no moments of silence. The majority of the whitepeople had become comparatively calm. They talked in low tones, encouraging and soothing one another; the lips of even those who seldomlooked heavenward now often moved in silent prayer; fathers, on whosebrows rested a heavy load of care, tried to cheer their tremblingfamilies; and mothers clasped their sobbing children in their arms, withthe feeling that even death should not part them. 

Over all this array of pallid, haggard faces, shone the flames of thestill unquenched conflagration. 

CHAPTER XLIII

"THE TERROR BY NIGHT"

When Aun' Sheba saw that Mara, Mrs. Hunter, and Clancy were among friends, with a physician in attendance, she sat down by her daughter Sissy, andtook little Vilet in her lap. 

"I kin'er feel, " she said, "dat ef de yearth is gwine ter swaller us, I'selike ter go down wid dis chile. Vilet shuah to go up ag'in, an' p'raps deLawd ud say, 'You kin come too, Aun' Sheba. '"

The sound of her voice so far restored Uncle Sheba to his normal conditionthat he was able to creep on his hands and knees to a position just behindhis wife, where he crouched as if she were a sort of general protection. 

Vilet, roused at her grandmother's voice, looked around, and then asked inher plaintive voice, "Whar's daddy?"

"He's hep'n' put'n' out de fiahs, deah chile. "

"My bref gittin' bery sho't, granny. I can't stay dis side ob de ribermuch longer; I wants ter see daddy 'fore I go. "

"Po' chile and po' Kern, " groaned Aun' Sheba. "We doesn't know whar he be, an' I'se 'feerd he couldn't lebe off puttin' out de fiahs. "

From time to time Vilet wailed, "Daddy, come, come quick. I'se gwine fas, an' I wants to see you onst mo'. "

Captain Bodine heard the cry, and, having rested himself a little, came toAun' Sheba and asked, "Do you know where Kern is?"

"I doan, Marse Cap'n, but he mought be at dis nighest fiah. "

"I'll see, " said the veteran, halting away with the feeling that he mustdo something to divert his torturing thoughts. 

Watson was soon pointed out to him, where with stern and quiet face he wascarrying out his orders. When told that Vilet was near and calling forhim, the veins came out on his forehead, and for a moment he wasirresolute. Then he cried, "No, sah, I can't go. Fo' de Lawd, ef she diean' we all die I won't lebe my duty. "

"You're a man, " said Bodine, clapping him on the shoulder, "I will arrangethis. "

He went direct to Kern's superior officer and briefly told him thecircumstances, then added, "I know these people. Watson deservesconsideration. I will take his place. I can hold the hose as well as he, and will stand as near the fire as he does if you will order him to go tohis dying child for a few minutes. "

"In that case I can comply, " said the officer. "Watson has behavedsplendidly, and he'll come back soon. "

The first thing Kern knew, the hose was taken from his hand, and heordered to go and return within ten minutes. He hesitated. "Obey orders, "was the stern command. Then he rushed away. 

The plaintive cry, "Daddy, daddy, " guided him, and Vilet was in his arms. 

"Chile, deah chile!" was all he could say as he kissed the thin face againand again. 

"Now my min's at res', " said the little girl, with a sigh of ineffablecontent. "You 'member, daddy--you says--'Yes, Vilet. '--I'se a-goin', daddy. De angels--is all ready--to tote me to Heben. I kin jes' heah derewings--rustlin' roun' me. I was jes' waitin'--an' hol'n back--ter see youonst mo'. Good-by, moder--granny. "

Then she feebly wound her little arms about Kern's neck and whispered, "Good-by, daddy, fer jes' a lil while. I'se wait neah de gate fer you_shuah_. "

It would seem that she put all her remaining strength into this effort, for her head fell over on his shoulder; she quivered a moment, then wasstill. Kern could not repress one deep groan. He looked for a moment ofagony into his child's face, kissed it, then placing her in Ann' Sheba'slap, departed as swiftly as he came. Sissy was so overcome as to behelpless. 

"Your time wasn't up, " said the veteran. 

"Her time was up, Cap'n Bodine, " Kern managed to reply, his face rigidwith repressed emotion. "She die in my arms. God bless yo' fer you'sefeelins fer a po' man. "

"Watson, I do feel for you and with you. Our hearts are all breakingto-night. Take care of yourself. You have a wife and children still tolive for. " And Bodine halted back and seated himself by his cousin. 

Alas! for thousands the words of Bodine were only too true. As theycontemplated what had happened and what might occur at any moment, theyfelt that heavy, crushing pain, unlike all others, which gathers at theheart, overwhelming the spirit and threatening physical dissolution at oneand the same time. 

Yet such is the power of human affection and Christian faith, that theywon many triumphs, even during that night of horrors. In Ella and thedying woman, whose head she pillowed on her breast, were examples of both. The girl's heart was indeed pitiful and sympathetic, and the poor creatureknew that it was, for in broken, gasping words she told her brief, pathetic story, so like that of many other women in the South. Once shewas a happy girl at home on a small plantation, but father, brothers, andlover had all perished in the war. Home and mother had since been lost andshe was fighting out life's long, weary battle when this final disasterbrought the end. "Yes, kind lady, I reckon I'm dying: I hope so. Icouldn't take care of myself any longer, and I'd rather join those whohave gone on before me than trust to the charity of this world. I am veryweary, very heavy laden, and I'd rather go to Him who said, 'Come to Me. 'If you can stay with me a little longer--I don't fear, but it's very sweetto have human kindness and company down into the dark valley. "

Her words proved true. She evidently perished from internal injuries, forshe soon ceased to gasp, and her head lay still against the bosom of thesobbing girl. 

Dr. Devoe was present during the last moments, then gently relieved Ellafrom her lifeless burden, and supported her to her father on whoseshoulder she shed those natural tears which soon bring relief to thehearts of the young. George Houghton and Jube carried the body to theplace set apart for the dead. Then George returned to his father's side, but looked wistfully at Ella with an unspeakable longing to comfort her. 

"I don't wonder, my boy, " said Mr. Houghton, interpreting his thoughts. "Go and speak to her. "

George approached timidly, and said, "Miss Bodine. "

She started, raised her head, and began to wipe her eyes. 

"I--I--Well, I don't know what to say to make you understand how my fatherand I have sympathized with your brave--Well, you were so kind and patientwith that poor woman. I wish I could do something for _you_, and I will, "and he hastened away. 

She called, "I don't need anything, Mr. Houghton. Indeed I do not. Itwould only distress me--" But he was out of hearing. "Oh, " she moanedagain on her father's shoulder, "why will he take risks?"

It was evident that Mr. Houghton shared her anxiety, for he divined hisson's purpose, and looked with troubled face for his return. He soon cameback carrying another mattress, pillows and blankets. Sam, compelled toleave the horses, followed with a basket of provisions. Ella was clothedin little besides a light wrapper, and had shivered more than once in thenight air. George tried to induce her and Mrs. Bodine to accept of themattress, but they asked as a favor that it might be placed under Mrs. Hunter. He readily complied, saying he would get another for them. 

At this moment came the ominous groan of the severe shock which occurredat about half-past two o'clock Wednesday morning. To the terrified peopleit was like the growl of some ravening beast rushing upon them, and a longwailing cry blended with the horrible roar as it swept under and overthem, then died away in the northwest. 

"Oh, Mr. Houghton, " sobbed Ella, when her voice could be heard, "pleasedon't go away--please don't go near a building again. "

"George, " added his father, almost sternly, "not with my consent will youleave me again till we learn more definitely what our fate is to be. Ifyou were in the house when this shock occurred, you might have perished. It is no longer a question of more or less comfort. "

"I reckon not, " said Mrs. Bodine. "It's a question of ever seeing the sunrise again. We may as well speak out what is in our minds, and get readyfor a city not made with hands. "

"I wish we were all as ready to go as you are, Cousin Sophy, " Ellawhispered. 

"Well, my dear, I've more property in that city than in this wrecked town, and 'where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. '" Then sheadded, "You'll be spared, dear child. You and your knight will see manyhappy years. God bless you both. "

"Oh, cousin! it is such a comfort, even at this awful time, to see him, toknow he is near, to think he came for--for us!"

"For you, dear little goose. He'd face earthquakes, volcanoes, tornadoes, cyclones, and even his father before this well-deserved shaking convertedhim, for your sake. "

"Cousin, " whispered the girl, "I'm so glad. Is it wrong to be glad at sucha time?"

"Wrong to be glad when God loves you and a good man loves you? I reckonnot. All the quakes that ever shook this crazy old earth are bagatellescompared with such facts. "

"Oh, cousin, you are such a tower of strength and comfort!"

"I'm a leaning tower, " replied the old lady, whose vein of humor ranthrough all her thoughts, "but I'm leaning on what won't fail me. Nestledown by my side, dear child. You are shivering, and this extra blanketwill do us both good. Now be comfortable, and believe with me that nothingin the universe can or will harm you. "

"Poor Mara!" Ella sighed. 

"Yes, I've been watching and grieving over her. I never saw any face moreexpressive of suffering than hers. I don't understand herunless--unless--well, time will show, that is, if there is much more timefor me. "

"Oh, cousin, we never could spare you!"

"That is what I used to think about my husband, but he always went whensailing orders came, and I survived. I feel to-night as if be and the boyswere just waiting off shore, if this tossing and pitching earth can becalled shore, for me to join them. "

Captain Bodine sat through the shock without moving a muscle. His eyesrested wistfully on Mara. With an indescribable pang he saw that in thesupreme moment of general terror her eyes turned not to him but to Clancy, and that she made a half involuntary movement as if to go to him. Theglance, the act, combined with what had gone before, were too significant, and Bodine buried his face in his hands that she might not see histrouble. She knew it all the more surely, yet felt how powerless she wasto console him. 

"Oh, my blind, blind folly!" she groaned inwardly. "If I had been true tomy heart, I might be caring for Owen instead of that woman who left him todie, and my father's friend acting like a father toward us both. I wantedto be so heroic and self-sacrificing, and I've only sacrificed those Ilove most. "

Mrs. Hunter was so fully under the influence of anodynes as not to becognizant of what was taking place, and Bodine, soldier-like, was not longin reaching his decision. Rising, he went aside with Dr. Devoe, and said, "Miss Wallingford is keeping up from the sheer force of will. Nothing butyour command can induce her to yield and take such rest as can be obtainedhere. I do not think you can interpose too soon. I will watch Mrs. Hunter. "

Mara had indeed reached the limit of endurance, and the physician quicklydetected the fact. He took her by the hand and arm, and gently raised herto her feet as he said, "I am autocrat here. Even kings and generals mustobey their doctor. So I shall ask no permission to place you beside Mrs. Bodine. She and rest can do you more good than I can. Captain Bodine and Iwill look after Mrs. Hunter. "

Mara gave the veteran a grateful glance and yielded. Then she buried herface in Mrs. Bodine's neck, and was silent until she slept from physicalexhaustion. 

Miss Ainsley, with multitudes of others, yielded to her terror at thepassing of the midnight earthquake. She shrieked and half rose in her wildimpulse to fly. Then apparently forgetting Clancy she piteously begged Dr. Devoe to give her something that would certainly bring oblivion for a fewhours at least. He good-naturedly complied. When the opiate began to takeeffect she was placed on the mattress beside Mrs. Hunter, and was soon instupor. Clancy had so far recovered that he was able to sit up, and hefelt that he should watch beside the girl who he believed had been sodevoted to him in his unconsciousness. 

Dr. Devoe in excuse for Miss Ainsley said, "We can't make too muchallowance to-night for every one. Many strong men are utterly overcome andnauseated by these, shocks. No wonder women cannot face them. "

"I think Miss Ainsley has borne up wonderfully, " Clancy replied. 

"Oh, yes, as well as the average. It's a question of nerves with themajority. "

Clancy sat down and looked with pity at the beautiful face and dishevelledhair. "Poor girl!" he thought, "she did her best by me. Indeed, I hadscarcely thought her capable of such devotion. By all that's honorable I'mbound to her now. Well, eventually I can give her a truer affection, forshe has ceased to be merely a part of my ambitious scheme. By our own actsMara and I are separated, and, however deep our grief may be, it must behidden from all. "

Thus he and Captain Bodine sat on either side of the pallet, each immersedin painful thought, oblivious of the strange scenes enacted all aroundthem. They did not feel then that they could speak to each other. 

The veteran was perplexed, and his proud spirit also labored under a deepsense of wrong. It was evident that he had been deceived by Mara, and thatall along she had loved the man so near to him, loved him better than herown life. Why had she concealed the fact? Why had she been so cold andharsh toward Clancy himself until the awful events of the night and perilto life had overpowered her reserve and revealed her heart? He could thinkof no other explanation than that afforded by the unconscious girl overwhom Clancy watched. He had heard of the young man's devotion to MissAinsley, and, from what he had seen, believed that they were affianced. Hewas too just and large in his judgment to think Mara's course toward himwas due to pique and wounded pride, and he was not long in arriving at avery fair explanation of her motives and action. Keenly intelligent andmature in years he was beyond the period of passionate and inconsiderateresentment. Moreover his love for the orphan girl was so true, and thememory of her father and mother so dear to him, that he was able to risenobly above mere self, and resolve to become the most loyal of friends, aprotector against her very self. "Now I think of it, " he mused, "she hasnever said she loved me, although she permitted me to think she did. Evenwhen I declared my love she only said, 'Life offers me nothing better thanto be your wife. ' That no doubt was true as she meant it, for she thenthought this man here was lost to her. She did not welcome my love whenshe first recognized it, but soon her spirit of self-sacrifice came in, and she reasoned that since she could not be happy in herself, she wouldmake me happy. From the very first I believed that this spirit could leadher to deception for the sake of others, and I have not been sufficientlyon my guard against it. Yet how could I suspect this Clancy, whom she sorepelled and contemned, and who was devoting himself to another woman?Perhaps she partially deceived herself as well as me. The affectionprobably struck root years since when she and Clancy were friends. Heoutgrew it; she has not, as she has learned to night, if not before. Hewent to her aid because he was friendly in spite of her apparentbitterness toward him, which perhaps he understood better than I. PossiblyMrs. Hunter may have broken their relations, for there is no doubt abouther feelings. Well, time must unravel the snarl. It would now seem that heis devoted to this girl here, and she to him as far as she can be to anyone. What he will think when he learns that she ran shrieking away andleft him, while Mara, reckless of life itself, stood by him to the last, Icannot know. If he loves her he will forgive her, for no man can blame awoman for succumbing to the terror of this night. Possibly at some distantday Mara may still think that life offers her nothing better than to be mywife; but she shall be free, free as air, and know, too, that I know all. "

Thus Bodine communed with himself after a habit learned long ago in thepresence of danger. 

Clancy also was confronted by possible results of his action, the fear ofwhich enabled his cool, resolute nature to rise above all other fear. Heresolved to go at once to Aun' Sheba, and caution her against speaking ofthe scenes in which she, with Mara, and himself had taken part. 

CHAPTER XLIV

HOPE TURNED INTO DREAD

Clancy was guided by the voice of Aun' Sheba, the wailing of Sissy, andthe groans and unearthly sounds to which Uncle Sheba was giving utterance. The adjacent fire was so far subdued that only a red glow in the sky abovemarked the spot. The stars shone in calm, mocking serenity on the widescene of human distress and fear. "Alas, " he thought, "what atoms we are;and what an atom is this earth itself! It would seem that faith is thesimplest, yet mightiest effort of the mind at such a time, " and he pausedtill Aun' Sheba should be more free to listen to him. 

Mr. Birdsall, with his youngest child in his arms, had been exhortingthose of his people near him, but his words had been of little effect inquieting Sissy and Uncle Sheba. The latter had concluded that he would notwait till the coming winter before again "'speriencin 'ligion, " and hisuncouth appeals to Heaven were but the abject expression of animal fear. Aun' Sheba had lost her patience with both him and her daughter, and wasexpostulating vigorously. "I'se asham on you, Sissy, " she said. "Wot goodde 'ligion you 'fess do you, I'd like ter know? Ain't Vilet in Hebin?Ain't you got de bes husban bawn? Ain't de oder chil'n heah? Now ef you'se'ligion any good 'tall, be quiet an tankful dat you bettah off danhun'erds. Unc. , you kin pray all you wants, but ef you specs de Lawd terlisten you'se got ter pray like a man an not like a hog dat wants hisdinnah. You'se 'sturbin everybody wuss dan you did wen you got sot on. Iwon hab it said my folks made a rumpus in dis time ob trouble. You'se gotter min me, Mr. Buggone, or I'se hab you took out de squar. "

Uncle Sheba was never so far gone in his fears but that he shrunk fromfacing anything worse, and so he subsided into low inarticulate groans. Sissy was not so tractable, for her weeping was largely nervous andhysterical. She had an affectionate emotional nature, but was far frombeing gifted with the strength of mind and character possessed by hermother and husband. 

"Aun' Sheba, " said Clancy kindly, "your daughter needs something to quiether nerves. I will bring it to her. " He soon returned with medicine fromthe doctor, and under its influence the bereaved mother became calmer andwept softly by her dead child. 

Clancy drew Aun' Sheba a little apart so that others could not hear, evenif any were disposed to listen at this time of intense preoccupation. "Youhave been a friend indeed to-night, " he said. "I must ask another proof ofyour good-will. The earthquake has brought trouble enough, but I fear thatMara and I have brought greater trouble upon ourselves. Probably you'veseen enough to explain what I mean. "

"I'se seen a heap, Marse Clancy. "

"Well, you are Mara's old nurse. She loves and trusts you. She is engagedto Captain Bodine. "

"She ain't mar'ed to 'im. "

"She feels herself bound, and has said that if I was a true Southerngentleman I would not interfere. This is bad enough, but there's worsestill. I thought she was lost to me--you know about it, I reckon. "

"Yes, I knows now. I was a blin ole fool an tink it was wuckin' so harddat made her po'ly. "

"Oh, we have both made such fatal mistakes! I, like a fool, when Ibelieved she would never speak to me again, entangled myself also. Now, Aun' Sheba, what I wish is that you say nothing to any one of what youhave seen and heard. We've got to do what's honorable at every cost toourselves. "

"Dus wot's hon'ble mean dat Missy Mara got ter mar'y Marse Bodine an youde limpsey-slimpsey one wot say you 'serted her?"

"Nothing else seems to be left for us. "

"'Pears ter me, Marse Clancy, you an Missy Mara gittin orful muxed up inwot's hon'ble. I'se only got wot folks calls hoss-sense, but it's deadagin you bofe. Take you now. Fust you got ter tell de gal lies, den liesto her fader an de minister wot jines you, and de hull worl. Missy Mara udhab ter lie like de debil, too, an you bofe go on lyin 'miscuously. Anyhow, you'se hab ter act out de lies ef you didn't say 'em. 'Ud dat behon'ble wen all de time you'se yearnin fer each oder?"

"Oh, Aun' Sheba, it's hard enough without such words as yours!"

"Ob corse it's hard. It orter be, fer it's agin de Lawd an natur. MarseClancy, took keer wot you do, an wot you let Missy Mara do. My 'sperienceteach me a heap. S'pose I doan' know de dif'ence 'tween Unc. Dar an a manlike Kern? I was young an foolish once, an mar'ed Unc. Kase he was goodlookin den, an mo' kase he ax me. Well, I'se made de bes on it, an I'segwine ter make de bes on it; but if de yearth crack right open heah, aslike 'nuff 'twill 'fo' mawnin, I'd jump right down in de crack 'fo' I'd doit ober ag'in. You'se on de safe side ob de crack yit, so be keerful. Iknows woman folks soon as I claps my eyes on dem. Miss Mara quar in hernotions 'bout de Norf--she was brung up to 'em--but dere's nuff woman inmy honey lam' to make a tousan ob dis yere limpsey-slimpsey one. "

Clancy clinched his hands in mental distress as he listened to the hardsense and unerring judgment of the sagacious old woman. 

"I'm in terrible perplexity, " he said, "for there is so much truth in yourwords. How can I escape the consequences of my own acts? Think how MissAinsley stood by me in my unconsciousness! When I revived--"

"Dar now, Marse Clancy, you'se been fooled. She stood by hersef. De facam, she didn't stan 'tall, but run like a deer, hollerin fer all she'swuth. Wen you swoonded, Missy Mara cotch you in her arms. I eben run away, an lef my honey lam' mysef, but I come back sudden, an dar she was a hol'nyou head in her lap right uner a big bildin dat ud a squashed her. I dragyou pass dat, an den Marse Bodine jes ordered me an Missy to go to desquar. He spoke stern an strong as if we his sogers. An Missy Mara look'im in de eyes an say, you--dat's you, Marse Clancy--may be dead, or youmay be dyin, an dat she can't leab you an she won leab you. She got degrit ob true lub, an dere'll neber be any runin away in her heart. Wot youan Marse Bodine gwine ter do 'bout sich lub as dat? 'Fo' de Lawd my honeylam' die ef you an Marse Bodine 'sist on bein so orful hon'ble. She ain'tone dem kin' dat takes a husban like dey takes a breakfas kase its ready. "

Clancy was so profoundly moved by what he heard that he turned away tohide his emotion. After a moment he said: "You have been true andfaithful, Aun' Sheba. You won't be sorry. Please do as I have asked. " Andhe hastened away. 

"Reckon I put a spoke in dat hon'ble bizness, " Aun' Sheba soliloquized. "Like 'nuff I put another in. Doan cotch me hep'n along any sichfoolishness. I gibs no promise, an I'se gwine ter make my honey lam' happyspite hersef. " Then she took one of her grandchildren, and soothed it tosleep. 

The slow hours dragged wearily on; the majority of the white peoplequieted down to patient, yet fearful waiting; crying children, one afteranother, dropped off to sleep; parents and friends watched over them andone another, conversing in low tones or praying silently for the Divinemercy, never before felt to be so essential. The negroes were moredemonstrative, and their loud prayers and singing of hymns continuedwithout abatement or hindrance. The expressions of some were soextravagant and uncouth as to grate harshly on all natures possessing anyrefinement; but when such men as Mr. Birdsall exhorted or prayed, therewere but few among the whites who did not listen reverently, and in theirhearts acknowledge the substantial truth of the words spoken and theirneed of the petitions offered. 

Clancy went back to his watch. Few men in the city were more troubled andperplexed than he, for he had not the calmness resulting from a definitepurpose as was true of Bodine. 

Unmovedly the two men remained at their posts of duty awaiting the day orwhat might happen before the dawn. George lay down beside his father, andsoon slept from fatigue, while Mr. Houghton, now so softened andchastened, vowed to make him happy. 

Ella watched her father in deep solicitude, feeling vaguely that histrouble was not caused wholly by the general reasons for distress. At lastshe stole to his side, and laid her head upon his shoulder. The actcomforted and sustained him more than she knew at the time, for he was nota demonstrative man. He only kissed her tenderly and bade her return toher cousin, with whom she kept up a whispered and fragmentaryconversation. Mrs. Willoughby sat beside her husband, her head pillowedagainst his breast as they waited for the day. 

A breeze sprang up, and the freshness of the morning was in it. Would thesun ever rise again? Was not Nature so out of joint that nothing familiarcould be looked for any more? The terrors of the long night inspiredmorbid thoughts, which come too readily in darkness. 

At the appointed time, however, there was a glow in the east, whichsteadily deepened in color. Truly, to the weary, haggard, shivering, half-clad watchers, the sun was an angel of light that morning; and neverdid fire-worshippers greet his rise with a deeper feeling of gratitude andgladness. 

There was a general stir in the strange bivouac, an increased murmur ofvoices. The hymns of the negroes gradually ceased; and people, singly orin groups, began to leave the square for their homes, in order to clothethemselves more fully, and to discover what was left to them in thegeneral wreck. 

There had been no shock since the convulsion at half-past two o'clock, thefact inspiring general confidence that the worst was over. Hope grewstronger with the blessed light, and fear vanished with the darkness. 

Mr. Houghton touched his son, who immediately awoke, meditating deeds ofhospitality. "Father, " he said, "our house is near. Cannot I, with the aidof Jube and Sam, get our friends some breakfast?"

"Yes, George, and extend the invitation from me. "

"Oh, father! I'm so grateful that you are giving me this chance to--to--"

"You shall have all the chance you wish. In fact, I'm rather inclined tosee what I can do myself. I may need a good deal of nursing. " And the oldman's face was lighted up with a kindly smile, which made his sonpositively happy. 

Approaching Bodine, he asked, "Do you think it will be safe for theinvalids to leave the square?"

"I scarcely think so, " was the reply. "At least, not until more timepasses without disturbance. From what I've read of earthquakes, our housesmay be unsafe for days to come. "

"Well, the first thing to be done is to see that you all have somebreakfast. Fortunately, our house is not far; and, although ourwomen-servants have fled, I have two men who will stand by me. The factis, my hunting expeditions have made me a fairly good cook myself. Myfather cordially extends the invitation that all my friends here breakfastwith us. "

"I will join in your labors, Houghton, " said Clancy, promptly. "Having nohome, I gratefully accept your father's invitation. "

"We're all shipwrecked on a desert island, " added Mrs. Bodine cheerily toGeorge. "You appear to be one of the friendly natives, and I put myselfunder your protection. "

"Our custom here is, " replied the young fellow in like vein, "that, afterwe have taken salt together, we become fast friends. "

"Bring on the salt, then, " she answered laughing, while Ella's smileseemed to the young fellow more vivifying than the first level rays of thesun. Mara, Mrs. Hunter, and Miss Ainsley were still sleeping, as also wasDr. Devoe. 

"Houghton, " called Mr. Willoughby, "won't you enroll me as one of yourcooks or waiters?"

"No, " replied George, "I must leave you and Captain Bodine in charge ofcamp. "

"Too many cooks spile de brof, " said Aun' Sheba, rising from Mara's sidewhere she had been watching for the last hour. "Marse Houghton, you beryfine cook fer de woods, I spec, but I reckon I kin gib a lil extra tech tode doin's. "

"Ah, Aun' Sheba, if you'll come, you shall be chief cook, and I, for one, promise to obey. Mrs. Willoughby, I'm so very glad that I can now return alittle of your kindness. "

"I take back what I said about absolving you, " she whispered. 

"You'd better. If I don't make the most of my chance now my name is notGeorge Houghton. Of course I shan't say anything while these troubleslast. You understand, I don't wish anything to happen which wouldembarrass her, or make it hard to accept what I can do for her and hers;but when the right time comes, " and he nodded significantly. 

"You are on the right tack as you boatmen say, " she whispered laughing. 

"See here, Houghton, " remarked jolly Mr. Willoughby, "earthquakes andsecret conferences with my wife are more than a fellow can stand at oneand the same time. "

"You shall soon have consolation, " said George, hastening away, followedby Clancy, Aun' Sheba, Jube, and Sam. When the last-named worthy appearednear Mr. Houghton's barn the horses whinnied and the two dogs barkedjoyously. 

"Mr. Clancy, " said George, handing him his pocket-book, "since you havekindly offered to aid, please take Jube and visit the nearest butcher'sshop and bakery. I suggest that you lay in a large supply, for we don'tknow what may happen. Please get eggs, canned delicacies, anything youthink best. Don't spare money. Help yourself, if owners are absent. I willhonor all your I. O. U's. "

"All right, Houghton; but remember that I'm an active partner in thiscatering business. Fortunately I don't need to go to the bank for money. "

Aun' Sheba exclaimed over the evidences of disaster along the street, butwhen she saw what a wreck Mr. Houghton's massive portico had become shelifted her hands in dismay. 

"That don't trouble me, " said George, "since I'm not under it. I passedbeneath a second or two before it fell. "

"De Lawd be praised! 'Pears ter me He know wot He 'bout, an is gwine terbring down pride ez well ez piazzers. "

"It looks that way, Aun' Sheba. Here, Sam, make the kitchen fire beforeyou do anything else. Now we must rummage and see what we can find. "

Aun' Sheba took possession of the kitchen, and with broom, mop, andcloths, soon brought order out of chaos. Sam found that although thechimney had lost its top, it fortunately drew, and the fire in the rangespeedily proved all that could be desired. George ravaged the store-closetuntil Aun' Sheba said, "Nuff heah already ter feed de squar. "

Then he went up and looked about the poor wrecked home, meanwhile settingSam to dusting chairs and carrying them to the square. Then a table, crockery, knives, forks, spoons, napkins, etc. , were despatched. 

Clancy and Jube found that the proprietors of some of the shops wereplucking up courage to enter them and resume trade, and so they eventuallyreturned well laden with provisions. Then Jube was sent with wash-basins, water and towels for ablutions. Meantime George and Clancy took a hastybath and exchanged their ruined clothing for clean apparel. 

"Houghton, you are a godsend to us all, " exclaimed his friend. 

"I suppose the whole affair is a godsend, " was the reply; "anyway, I'mgetting my satisfaction out of it this morning. "

As sprightly Mrs. Willoughby saw the applicances for their comfortfollowing one after another she said to Ella, "We may as well make believethat it is a picnic. "

Ella smiled and replied, "I'm better dressed for breakfast than you are, for I have on a wrapper, and you are in a low-necked evening costume. "

"I feel as if I could eat a breakfast all the same. What creatures thesemortals be! A little while ago I was in the depths of misery, and now I'mhungry and kind of happy. "

"Oh, you are, " said her husband, "when you may have to take in washing fora living, while I shovel brick and mortar. "

"No, indeed, " cried his wife, "I'll join the firm of Wallingford andBodine, and you can help Aun' Sheba peddle cakes. "

"That's right, children, " said Mrs. Bodine, "that's the true braveSouthern spirit. We are all born soldiers, seamen rather, since the landhas been as freakish as the waves. Now mind, I'll send the first one belowwho shows the white feather. "

Mr. Houghton lay apart from this group; and, while he felt his isolation, knew that he was to blame for it. They also felt the awkwardness of theirsituation, not knowing how far he was willing or able to converse withthem. Mr. Willoughby was about to break the ice, but Ella forestalled him. "Mr. Houghton, " she said, timidly approaching, "is there anything we cando for you? We are all so grateful. "

"Yes, Miss Bodine. Forget and forgive. "

"There seems very little now to forgive, and we do not wish to forget yourkindness. "

"Good Lor!" whispered Mrs. Bodine to Mrs. Willoughby, "I couldn't haveturned a neater sentence myself. "

"Well, Miss Bodine, " resumed Mr. Houghton, "I suppose we shall have to letbygones be bygones. Now that sunshine and brightness have come, we shouldnot recall anything painful. I trust that the worst is over, but ourcourage may yet be sorely tried. I will esteem it a very great favor ifyou and your friends will accept without reluctance what my son can do foryour comfort. "

Ella could not repress a little laugh of pleasure as she replied, "It istoo late now to affect any reluctance. We owe him so much that we might aswell owe him more. " Then, ever practical, she arranged a screen to shadehis face from the sun's rays. 

Mr. Willoughby now came up and spoke in a friendly way of the probableeffects of the disaster upon the city, and so the touch of mutual kindnessbegan to make them kin. 

Mrs. Hunter commenced to moan and toss, and this awakened Miss Ainsley, who looked around wonderingly. Mrs. Willoughby in low tones recalled whathad happened, and explained the present aspect of affairs. Mrs. Bodineperformed the same office for Mara, who also had been aroused by thevoices near. The girl's habit of self-control served her in good stead, and she immediately rose, gave her hand to Bodine in greeting, and thenknelt beside her aunt. Seeing Mara so near, Miss Ainsley quickly rosealso, and moved away in instinctive antipathy. 

Mrs. Hunter was feverish and evidently very ill. She was unable tocomprehend what was taking place, but recognized Mara, whose soothingtouch and words alone had the power of quieting her. 

Ella bathed Mrs. Bodine's face and hands, and enabled her to make "theghost of a toilet, " as the old lady said. Then Ella whispered, "I wish Icould do as much for Mr. Houghton. "

"I dare you to do it, " said Mrs. Bodine, with a mirthful gleam in hereyes. 

Ella caught her spirit, and without hesitation, although blushing like arose, went to Mr. Houghton, and asked, "Will you please let me bathe yourhands and face also?"

"Why, Miss Bodine, I should not expect such kindness from you. I can waittill my son returns. "

"He is doing so much that he will be tired. It would give me pleasure ifyou will permit it. In waiting on my cousin I've learned to be not a veryawkward nurse. "

"Well, Miss Bodine, I am learning that even earthquakes can bring pleasantcompensations. You shall have your own way. Yes, you are a good nurse, anda brave and patient one. Your kindness to that poor creature who died inyour arms touched my heart. "

"And mine too, Mr. Houghton. She told me a very pitiful story. "

"You shall tell it to me some time, my dear. "

Her heart thrilled as he gently spoke these words, while George, stridingup with a great platter of steak, almost dropped it as he saw the girlwaiting on his father as if filial relations were already established. Theold man enjoyed his look of pleased wonder, and, when he had a chance, whispered, "I'm getting ahead of you, my boy, I don't want your clumsyhands or Jube's around me any more. " Mrs. Bodine put her head under theblanket and shook with silent laughter. 

Ella was very shy of the young man, however. He could not catch her eye, nor get a chance to speak to her except in the presence of her father, Mrs. Bodine, or some one else. But he possessed his soul in patience, anddid his best to be a genial host. Clancy, Jube, and Sam followed with thecoffee and various comestibles. Miss Ainsley was a little effusive in hergreeting of the man whom she had deserted in the street, and again hadleft to pass the night as he could, while she sought oblivion. Hisresponse was grave, kind, yet not altogether reassuring. He certainlyindulged in no lover-like glances; and he went direct to Mara, andinquired gently after Mrs. Hunter. She replied quietly, without lookingup. It was evident that the sound of his voice distressed the injuredwoman, who was barely conscious enough to have vague memories of the past. 

Weary Dr. Devoe was wakened, while George gave Mrs. Willoughby his arm, and gallantly placed her behind the coffee-urn. Even Captain Bodineassumed a measure of cheerfulness during breakfast. When newsboys camegalloping up with the morning paper, Mr. Willoughby rose and waved hishat, joining in the general hurrah which rose from all parts of thesquare. Every one warmly appreciated the heroism displayed in gatheringnews and printing a journal during the past night. Next to the vivifyinglight and the apparent cessation of the shocks, nothing did more torestore confidence than the appearance of the familiar paper. 

"Old Charleston is alive yet, " cried Mr. Willoughby; "and if the rest ofus have half the pluck shown in that printing-house, we'll soon restoreeverything. "

"Give me a paper, " said Mrs. Bodine. "I'd rather have it than mybreakfast. "

"You shall have both, " replied Ella, bringing a little tray to her side. 

"Ah, Cousin Hugh, you veterans never did anything braver. Own up. "

"I do, most sincerely and heartily. "

Clancy read the journal aloud; and the coffee grew cold as all listenedbreathlessly to a chapter in the city's history never to be forgotten. Mr. Houghton was so absorbed that he suddenly became conscious that Ella wasbeside him with the daintiest of breakfasts. "You are spoiling me for anyother nurse, " he said. 

"It is a relief at such a time to care for those who are ill and feeble, "she replied gently. "If we have to stay here, I hope you will let me waiton you; but I trust that we can all soon go to our homes. "

"I have my doubts. Now give me the pleasure of seeing you make a goodmeal. "

"Mr. Clancy, " cried Mrs. Willoughby, "in the general chaos women mayobtain their just pre-eminence. I shall take the lead by ordering you tolay down that paper, so that you and others may have a hot breakfast. "

Mara could be induced to take nothing beyond a cup of coffee. In spite ofthe sunshine and the general reaction into hopefulness and courage, shefelt that black chaos was coming into her life. Her aunt and naturalprotector was very ill. After the events of the night she shrankinexpressibly from her former relations to Bodine. Indeed, it seemedimpossible to continue them. Yet she asked herself again and again, "Whatelse is there for me?" He was very kind, but the expression of his facewas inscrutable. Moreover, there was Miss Ainsley acting as if Clancy wereher own natural property, and he unable to dispute her claims. It appearedto her that poor stricken Mrs. Hunter was her only refuge, and sheresolved to remain close by the invalid's side. 

With the coming of the day Uncle Sheba's most poignant fears had graduallysubsided. He kept his eyes on his wife, feeling that any good that hemight hope for in this world would come through her. Indeed the impressionwas growing that the greatest immediate good to be obtained from any worldwas a breakfast; and when Aun' Sheba went with George to his home, Unc. Also followed at a discreet distance. The result was that his wife againhad to put him on a "'lowance, " or little would have been left in Mr. Houghton's kitchen. He surreptitiously stuffed a few eatables into hispocket, and then went out to smoke his pipe. 

Breakfast was at last over at the square. Mr. Willoughby rose and said tohis wife, "I will go to the house, and get more suitable costumes for youand Carrie. Houghton will loan you a dressing-room at his house, for thestreets can be scarcely suitable for you to traverse yet. I'll bring acarriage for you, however, as soon as it is possible. Serious danger isnow over, I hope. "

He had scarcely uttered the words when, as if in mockery, far in thesoutheast was heard again the sound which appalled the stoutest hearts. Onit came, as if a lightning express-train were thundering down upon them. They saw the tops of distant trees nod and sway as if agitated by a gale;men, women, and children rushing again, with loud cries, from their homes;then it seemed as if some subterranean monster was tearing its way throughthe earth. 

The moment the paralysis of terror passed, Miss Ainsley threw herselfshrieking upon Clancy, who was compelled to support and soothe her. Maracovered her face with her hands, trembled violently, but uttered no sound. Ella could not repress a cry, as she hid her face upon her father'sbreast, a cry echoed by Mrs. Willoughby as she and her husband clungtogether. George knelt, holding the hand of his father, who looked at hisson with the feeling that, if the end had come, his boy should be the lastobject on which his eyes rested. Mrs. Bodine was as composed as theveteran himself, and simply looked heavenward. There was something soterrific in the immeasurable power of the convulsion, so suggestive ofimmediate and awful death, that few indeed could maintain any degree offortitude. 

There was one, however, a few rods away, who scarcely noticed the shock. Kern Watson, at last released from duty, sat on the ground, with his faceburied in the neck of his dead child. He did not raise his head, andtrembled only as the quivering earth agitated his form. 

CHAPTER XLV

A CITY ENCAMPING

The earthquake which occurred at 8:25 Wednesday morning had a disastrouseffect, although it was not so severe as to injure materially thebuildings already so shattered. It nipped hope and growing confidence inthe bud. Multitudes had left the square for their homes, a largeproportion with the immediate purpose of obtaining more clothing. Manywould have been comparatively naked were it not for enveloping blanketsand the loan of articles of apparel from the more fortunate. With theconfidence which the morning and the continued quiet of the earth inspiredthere had been a general movement from the square. Some hastily dressedthemselves, snatched up bedding and food, and returned to the open spacesimmediately; others breakfasted at home, and some had the heart to beginthe task of putting their houses in order. The shock drove them forthagain with all their fears renewed and increased, for the homes, which inmany cases had been a refuge for generations, were now looked upon asdeathtraps, threatening to mangle and torture as well as destroy. The loveof gain, the instinct to preserve property, was also obliterated. Merchants deserted their shops and warehouses. Banks were unopened, exceptfor the gaps rent by the earthquake. The city was full of food, yet peoplewent hungry, not daring to enter the places where it was stored. After asecond and general flight to the square, the question in all hearts, "Whatnext?" paralyzed with its dread suggestion. 

The fear among the educated had become definite and rational. Not thatthey could explain the earthquake or its causes, but the sad experiencesof other regions were known to them. These experiences, however, hadvaried so greatly in their horrors as to leave a wide margin of terriblepossibilities. A tidal wave might roll in, for the city was scarcely morethan nine feet above the sea. The earth might open in great and ingulfingfissures. The tremendous forces beneath them might seek a volcanic outlet. These were all dire thoughts, and were brought home to the consciousnessthe more vividly because the awful phenomena continued in the serene lightof day. The nightmare aspect of what had occurred in darkness passed away, and the coolest and most learned found themselves confronted by dangerswhich they could not gauge or explain. Nor could the end be foreseen. Ifsuch considerations weighed down the spirits of the most intelligent men, imagine the fears of frail, nervous women, of the children, the wild panicof the superstitious negroes to whom science explained nothing. To theirexcited minds the earthquake was due directly either to the action of amalignant, personal devil, or of an angry God. While many of the poorignorant creatures inevitably indulged in what were justly termed"religious orgies, " the great majority were well behaved and patient, finding in their simple faith unspeakable comfort and support. 

One fact, however, was clear to all: that the place of immediate andgreatest danger was near or beneath anything which might be prostrated bythe recurring shocks. 

Another feature in Wednesday's experience was very depressing. The citywas completely isolated from the rest of the world. All telegraph-wireswere down, all railroads leading into the city had been renderedimpassable. For many hours those without who had friends and relatives inCharleston were kept in dreadful suspense. From adjacent cities reports ofthe catastrophe were flashed continuously, but in regard to Charlestonthere was an ominous lack of information, and the fear was very generalthat the city by the sea had sunk beneath the waves. 

Mr. Ainsley shared in this horrible dread. He telegraphed repeatedly froman inland town, and took the first train despatched toward the city. Hisdaughter was right in believing that he would reach her at the earliestpossible moment. 

She was greatly demoralized by the shock which dissipated her impressionof comparative safety; and when she realized that the city was utterly cutoff from the outside world, that it was impossible to know when her fathercould arrive, she gave way to selfish fear and the deepest dejection. Withembarrassing pertinacity she insisted that Clancy should remain near her. Even to the others it was apparent that fear, rather than affection, ledher to desire his presence so earnestly. He had once wondered what kind ofa woman was masked by her culture and a reserve so perfect that it hadseemed frankness. The veneer now was stripped off. After her own fashion, she was almost as abject in her terror as Uncle Sheba, who had run howlingback to the square, leaving the wife who had fed him to her fate. In herlack of honest sympathy for others, and indisposition to exert herself intheir behalf, Miss Ainsley quite equalled the selfish old negro. Theconventional world in which she had shone to such advantage had passedaway. Her very perfection in form and feature made defects in charactermore glaring, for she was seen to be a fair yet broken promise. 

How sweetly the noble qualities of Ella and Mara were revealed bycomparison! They had been taught in the school of adversity. Fromchildhood they had learned to think of others first rather than ofthemselves. Miss Ainsley would have been resplendent and at ease in aroyal drawing-room; these two girls maintained womanly fortitude and gavethemselves up to unselfish devotion in the presence of a mysterious powerwhich would level an emperor's palace as readily as a negro's cabin. 

Clancy saw the difference--no one more clearly--and his very soul recoiledfrom the woman he had purposed to marry. He patiently bore with her aslong as he could after the shock, and then joined Mr. Willoughby, George, Bodine, and Dr. Devoe, who were consulting at Mr. Houghton's bedside. Inhis shame and distress he did not venture even to glance at Mara. 

As the stress of the emergency increased Mr. Houghton's mind had grownclear and decided; his old resolute, business habits asserted themselves, and from his low couch he practically became the leader in their council. "From what we know of other and like disturbances, " he said, "it isimpossible to foresee when these shocks will end, or how soon a refuge canbe sought in regions exempt from our dangers. Now that I am established inthis square near my home I intend to remain here for the present. Icordially ask you all to share my fortunes. My son will spare no expenseor effort, that can be made in safety, for our general comfort. " Then headded before them all, "Captain Bodine, I have done you much wrong anddiscourtesy. I apologize. You have invalid and injured ladies in yourcharge. Their claims are sacred and imperative. I will esteem it a favorif you will permit my son to do what he can for their comfort andprotection. "

Bodine at once came forward, and giving Mr. Houghton his hand, replied, "You and your son are teaching me that I have done you both much greaterwrong. I think I shall have to surrender as I did once before, but I amglad that it is to kindness rather than to force in this instance. "

"Here's the true remedy for our differences, " cried Mr. Willoughby. "Letthe North and South get acquainted, and all will be well. But come, wemust act, and act promptly. "

"Yes, " replied George, "for the square is filling up again, and we shouldkeep as much space here as possible. I have a small tent which I will putup at once for Mrs. Bodine and Mrs. Hunter. Then I'll rig an awning for myfather, and help the rest of you in whatever you decide upon. "

"George, " said his father, anxiously, "let your visits to the house be asbrief as possible. "

Clancy offered to assist George in meeting the immediate need of shelterfrom the sun, and Dr. Devoe gave the morning to the care of his manypatients. Mr. Willoughby said that he must first go to his home forclothing and to look after matters, but that he would soon return. Bodinewas asked to mount guard and prevent, as far as possible, the fugitivesfrom encroaching on the needed space. This proved no easy task. Old Tobe, after having received some breakfast, maintained his watch over themedical stores, while Aun' Sheba, who had followed her husband as fast asher limited powers of travelling permitted, cleared away the remnants ofthe breakfast for her family, George assuring her that he would soon makeall comfortable provision for her and them. 

With Clancy and the two colored men he repaired to his home, as thewrecked venture to a ship which may break up at any moment, in order tosecure what was absolutely essential. A tent was soon pitched for theinvalids; a shelter of quilts suspended over and around his father, and alarge carpet jerked from the floor formed an awning for the ladies. Partof this awning was partitioned off so as to give them all the privacypossible under the circumstances, and the remainder was inclosed on threesides, but left open toward the east. 

"I'm not going to be sent to the hospital, " said Mrs. Bodine. "I'd rathersit up and direct Ella how to transform this outer habitation into adrawing-room. "

Then George brought her and his father easy-chairs. Rugs were spread onthe grass, and the rude shelter became positively inviting. Ella and Mrs. Willoughby made themselves so useful that at last Miss Ainsley so farrecovered from her panic as to assist. She detested Mara, and Mrs. Hunter's ghastly face and white hair embodied to her mind the terror ofwhich all were in dread. The bright sunshine and homely work weresuggestive of rural pleasures rather than of dire necessity, and helped, for the time, to retire the spectre of danger to the background. Thecoming and going of many acquaintances and friends also helped to rallyher spirits, and incite her to the semblance of courage. Mrs. Willoughby, Mrs. Bodine, and Mara had stanch friends who sought them out the momentcomparative safety had been secured for their nearer dependants. Thedemands of our story require nothing more than the brief statement thatthere was a general disposition on the part of the people to think of andcare for all who had claims upon them. Even in the dreadful hoursimmediately following the first shock, much unselfish heroism wasdisplayed; and during the weary days and nights which followed, men andwomen vied with each other in their attentions to those who most neededcare. 

Mrs. Bodine, Mrs. Willoughby, and the captain had several whisperedconferences with those who felt surprise at associations with Mr. Houghton, and there was a quick, generous response to the old man'skindness. Some who would not have looked at him the day before now wentand spoke to him gratefully and sympathetically, while for George onlycordiality and admiration were manifested. He was not a little uneasy overthe profuse attentions and offers of help which Ella received from severalyoung men. To his jealous eyes she appeared unnecessarily gracious, andmore ready to talk with them than with him; but he could not discover thatshe had an especial favorite among them. Indeed, she managed in their caseas in his that Mrs. Willoughby, Miss Ainsley, or some one else shouldshare in the conversation. 

At last Bodine said to George, "I will now go to Mrs. Hunter's rooms andto Mrs. Bodine's residence, and obtain what is most essential. Can youspare one of your servants to carry what I cannot?"

"Certainly, and I will go with you myself. Clancy and Sam can continueoperations here. "

"George, " said his father, "as soon as the absolute necessity for enteringbuildings is over, I wish you to keep away from them. "

"Yes, father. "

Ella added, "Remember, Mr. Houghton, that is a promise. Please let thewords 'absolute necessity' have their full meaning;" and her face was sofull of solicitude that he said, "I promise you also. "

With a smile and flush she turned to her father whispering the tenderestcautions and emphasizing the truth that but few things were essential, some of which she mentioned. Jube had become like a faithful spaniel, thespirit of his young master reassuring him so as to feel his only safetylay in obedience. 

As George and Bodine went down the street they were saddened by theevidences of disaster on every side. Even Meeting Street was still soobstructed as to be almost impassable for vehicles, and in some places theruins were still being searched for the dead. When they reached Mrs. Hunter's home Bodine groaned inwardly, "How the poor girl must havesuffered!" He added aloud, "The mental distress caused by my helplessnessduring the last few hours, Mr. Houghton, has been much harder to bear thanthe wound which cost me my leg and the suffering which followed. "

"My dear captain, " replied George, "your courage and clear head make youfar less helpless than hundreds who only use their legs to run with. Letme enter this shell of a house alone. "

"That would be a sad commentary on your remark. "

They speedily obtained what they deemed essential, and turned off the gas, which was still burning. It was evident that no one had entered the housesince its occupants had left it. Mrs. Bodine's residence was comparativelyuninjured, and when leaving it the captain was able to lock the outerdoor. 

On their way back to the square George stammered:

"Captain Bodine, it may be very bad taste to speak of such a matter now, but we do not know what an hour will bring forth. I would like to havesome understanding with you. Beyond that there may be no need of anythingfurther being said until all these troubles are over. I--I--well, can Iventure to make my former request? Your daughter has my happiness whollyin her hands. I do not intend to embarrass her by a word until she isagain in her own home, but I wish to know that my hopes and efforts to winher regard have your sanction. "

"How does your father feel about this?" Bodine asked gravely. 

"He has given his full and cordial approval. Now that he has seen MissBodine she has won him completely. "

"Mr. Houghton, I owe to you her life which I value more than my own. Youknow we are lacking in everything except pride and good name. "

"My dear sir, " interrupted George earnestly, "God has endowed yourdaughter as man could not. You know I love and honor her for herself andalways shall. "

"You are right, " said the father proudly, "and you are so truly a man, aswell as a gentleman, that you estimate my penniless daughter at herintrinsic worth. As far as my approval and good wishes are concerned youhave them. "

Ella thought that George's face was wonderfully radiant when he appeared. As soon as she could get a word alone with her father, she asked, "Whathave you been saying to Mr. Houghton?"

"I have only answered his second request that he might pay you hisaddresses. "

"Oh, papa! what a tantalizing answer! What did he say, and what did yousay, word for word? Surely you didn't tell--"

"I only gave my consent, not yours. You are at perfect liberty to rejecthim, " was the smiling reply. 

"That is well as far as it goes, but I wish to know every word. "

Her father's heart was too heavy to permit continuance in a playful vein, and he told her substantially what had been said. "Well, " she concluded, with a complacent little nod, "I think I'll let him pay his addresses awhile longer. The absurd fellow to go and idealize me so! Time will curesuch folly, however. Papa, there's something troubling you besides theearthquake. "

"Yes, Ella, and you must help me--you and Cousin Sophy. " Then he told herhow he thought matters stood between Mara and Clancy, checked her firstindignant words, explained and insisted until she promised that she andMrs. Bodine would shield Mara, and act as if she were as free as she hadever been. "It will all come about yet, papa, " Ella whispered, "for Mr. Clancy has evidently committed himself to Miss Ainsley, although now Ireckon he regrets it. "

"Well, Ella dear, redouble your kindness and gentleness to Mara, and letmatters over which we have no control take their course. "

Clancy had not been idle during the morning, finding in constantoccupation, and even in the incurring of risks, a relief to his perturbedthoughts. He and Sam procured a small cooking-stove, and also set up thecross-sticks of a gypsy camp before the open side of the awning. Aun'Sheba was placed in charge of the provisions, a responsibility in whichUncle Sheba wished to share, but she said severely, "Mr. Buggone, you'sedun git yer lowance wid Sissy an' de chil'n. "

Mr. Willoughby at last returned on an express-wagon, well loaded witharticles which would add much comfort in the enforced picnic. His face wassad and troubled as he greeted his wife. 

"Oh, Jennie, " he said, "our pretty home is such a wreck!"

"No matter, Hal, since you are safe and sound, " was her cheery reply. "Come, girls, we can now dress for dinner. I feel like a fool in thislight silk. "

They all eventually reappeared in costumes more suitable for camping. 

Mrs. Bodine was also enabled to exchange her blanket wrapper for the oneshe was accustomed to wear at home. With almost the zest of a girl sheappreciated the picturesque elements of their experiences; and her highspirits and courage were infectious. With the aid of Sam and Jube, AuntSheba entered vigorously on preparations for dinner; a breeze with passingclouds tempered the sun's hot rays; and hope again began to cheer as timepassed without further disturbance. 

CHAPTER XLVI

"ON JORDAN'S BANKS WE STAND"

Aunt Sheba had succeeded fairly well with the dinner, considering thematerials and the appliances available. Not one, however, was disposed toepicurean fastidiousness. The situation was gravely discussed, and theexperiences of friends related. Dr. Devoe gave cheering assurances thatinjury to life and limb had been far less than might have been expected. "The first shock could scarcely have come at a better time, " he said. "Ifit had happened when the streets were full of people, one shudders tothink of the number that would have been killed or maimed. The fact is, the great majority of casualties appear to have occurred as people wereleaving their houses. "

Mrs. Hunter received much attention from him, and she continued so illthat Mara did not leave her. Bodine became convinced that a chance tospeak with Mara in private might not be obtained very speedily, andtherefore, with kindly consideration for her feelings, resolved to writethat afternoon. He had nothing at hand better than pencil and note-book. He wrote:

"MY DEAR MARA--You have so many sorrows and anxieties now that I cannotwait longer in my effort to relieve you of one of them. You should havebeen more frank with me; yet, so far from reproaching you, I only rememberthat you are the daughter of my dearest friend, and that you need me asprotector and father rather than as lover. I appreciate your motive tosacrifice yourself for my sake. Perhaps you will remember that I havewarned you against this noble impulse of self-sacrifice--a tendency, however, which may be carried much too far. You utterly misjudge me if youthink I would consciously accept any such sacrifice on your part. As faras I am concerned you are free from any obligation whatever, except thatof trusting me, and coming to me as Ella does, as nearly as you can. Youneed a stanch and faithful protector against yourself, and such will beHUGH BODINE. "

Ella carried this missive into the little tent set apart for Mrs. Hunter. When Mara read the note she hid it in her bosom, and buried her face inher hands. Ella tried to soothe her, assuring her that she knew how it hadall come about, and that it would make no difference in her love. 

"Oh, Ella!" Mara sobbed, "my pride needed humbling, and I am overwhelmedin very truth. I thought I was superior to you, and that my course was soheroic. The result is I have wronged and made unhappy your father, the manI honor most in all the world. Oh, I feel now that it would have beenbetter if I had been buried under the ruins. "

"Mara, " said Ella firmly, "this is a time when we must make the best ofeverything--when we should not waste our strength in grieving over whatcannot be helped. Papa has explained everything to me, and you will onlywound him further if you do not comply with his wishes. He is veryresolute; and, in a matter of this kind, you could not move him ahair's-breadth. Please do just what he asks now, and let time make futureduty clearer. "

Bodine was not astray in thinking that his note would relieve Mara's mind. Sad and humiliated as she was, his words had taken her from a falseposition, and would enable her to give him the filial love and homage withwhich her heart overflowed. Even if Clancy escaped from his entanglement, which she much doubted, she felt that both should pay the penalty of theirerrors in long probation. 

As the afternoon wore away Mrs. Willoughby and Mrs. Bodine took somemuch-needed rest. Clancy went down town to look after his own affairs. Mr. Houghton had a consultation with his confidential man of business, atwhich George was present. Then the young fellow busied himself inperfecting the camp appointments and securing more provisions. 

Kern Watson and his family, Aun' Sheba and her husband, with old Tobe anda few friends and neighbors, knelt around the remains of little Vilet asMr. Birdsall offered a prayer. Bodine, Ella, and George, with his twoservants, were also present. Then the minister and a few others helped thestricken father to bury his child. After the brief service the captaintold Ella that she must go and rest till he called her. 

George ventured to walk back with the tearful girl and to say, "MissBodine, you seem to have a hand to help and a heart to feel with everyone. "

"I should be callous indeed, " she replied, "if I did not grieve at thedeath of that little girl. She aided in my effort to earn a livelihood. Isaw her daily, and no one could help becoming fond of her, she was sogood, and gentle, and quiet. Her poor father--how I pity him! The muteanguish in his face was overpowering. He is the most quiet, but he grievesthe most, and will never get over it. "

"I think you are right, Miss Bodine. I don't believe your intuitions wouldoften lead you astray. "

"I am very matter-of-fact, " Ella replied. 

"If I admit that, I must also add that one would have to do his level bestto furnish the kind of facts you would approve of. "

"And I must also add, Mr. Houghton, that you are furnishing them inplenty. I can never try to thank you, for I shouldn't know where to begin, or when to leave off. "

"Please leave off now. Oh, Miss Bodine! I am so grateful for your kindnessto my father, and he is just as pleased as I am. "

"Ah! I've at last caught you in a bit of selfishness, " she said with apiquant smile. "You would keep the privilege of thanking people whiledenying it to me;" and she vanished before he could reply. 

"Oh!" he groaned inwardly, "if any of these Southern fellows carry heroff, I'm done for. "

Miss Ainsley spent a very wretched afternoon. Clancy was away, Mrs. Willoughby worn out, and she was left chiefly to her own resources, whichwere meagre indeed under the circumstances. Instead of forgetting self inbehalf of those less fortunate, she brooded over what she deemed neglect. Mr. Willoughby talked to her for a time after dinner, and then busiedhimself in helping others provide shelter against the coming night;loaning here and there some of the articles which he had brought from hishome. Throughout the day multitudes had been making preparations to spendthe night in the squares, vacant lots, and in spacious yards. Few had beenso forehanded as George Houghton, who had the advantage of abundant means, and good, fearless help in his efforts. By this time, however, the squarewas well covered by almost every variety of hastily improvised shelters, and the rays of the late afternoon sun brought out rainbow hues, strangeand picturesque effects, so diverse were the materials employed and theingenuity in construction which had been exercised. 

Clancy had been almost reckless in his disposition to enter buildings, arisk which few others would incur on that day. He returned after fouro'clock with a large supply of provisions, which he believed might bedifficult to obtain should the shocks continue with greater violence. Sofar from observing that he was pale from exhaustion, Miss Ainsley wasinclined to be reproachful that he had remained away so long. He listenedwearily for a time, then answered, "I did not think that I could beespecially useful here. _Men_, like soldiers, _must_ do what must be done. I have taken pains to learn in your behalf that telegraphic and railroadcommunication will soon be re-established, and I have arranged, as soon asa despatch can be sent, to have one forwarded to your father's lastaddress, assuring him that you are safe. "

"My father is not at the place of his last address. If he is alive, he istrying to reach me, and he will not leave me till he has taken me utterlyaway from all this horror and danger. I hope you are ready to leaveCharleston now. "

"Leave my native city in its present plight! Why, Miss Ainsley, that wouldbe almost like running away and leaving my mother. "

"Are brick and mortar more to you than I am?"

"Bricks and mortar do not make Charleston, but the people with whom I havealways lived. I will certainly take you to a place of safety, if yourfather cannot; but my duty is here. I would not only lose the respect ofevery one, but also my own self-respect, if I did not cast in my lot withthis people until every vestige of ruin has disappeared. "

"I'm sure I never wish to see the place again, " she replied sullenly. 

"It would be unjust for me to expect that you should feel as I do aboutit; but I am a citizen, and you yourself would eventually despise me wereI not faithful to my obligations. "

This method of putting the case silenced her for the time. She knew thathe had ascribed to her a higher conception of duty than she possessed, andshe believed that he was also aware of the fact. Since she had gone so farwith him she now wished him to be a blind, unquestioning lover, whollydevoted and ready to fly with her at the first opportunity. The veryqualities which they had mutually admired were now seen on their seamyside. Her cosmopolitan spirit which led her to sigh, "Anywhere so it benot Charleston, " was now at war with his feeling of almost passionatecommiseration for his stricken birthplace; while she in turn found hisunyielding nature and keen perceptions which had afforded such pleasure inovercoming and meeting were now not at all to her wishes. She had yieldedto him as never before to any one, and was intensely chagrined that he wasnot wholly subservient to her. If he should not become so she could neverthink of him without humiliation. He had seen her undisguised in all herweakness. She had thrown herself into his arms and implored his protectionalmost as unreservedly as Mrs. Willoughby had clung to her husband. Shehad also left him when he was helpless, and again when he was ill andweak. What she required now, therefore, was a blind idolatry; and so manyhad offered this that she felt entitled to it, even though there should beno such devotion on her part. If, in any sense, he should be critic aswell as lover, he could make her exceedingly uncomfortable; and she had agrowing perception that he was comparing her with others, that there was alack of warmth in his words and manner, which even the circumstances couldnot extenuate. She resolved, therefore, to teach him that she wouldtolerate nothing halfway in his conduct. She was sitting on a chair whilehe reclined at her feet, and she determined that he should be at her feetin a sense which had large meanings to her. So she rose and said coldly, "Mr. Clancy, you seem to have so many obligations that I scarcely knowwhere I come in. "

Then she went toward the awning, intending to withdraw herself from hissociety until he should become sufficiently humble. He rose in strongirritation, too weary even to be patient. At this instant the shock whichoccurred at 5. 16 passed over the city. In a second all her purposesvanished; her abject terror returned, and she threw herself on his breast, and sobbing, buried her face on his shoulder. Mrs. Willoughby also fled toher husband. As Mrs. Hunter had seemed quieter Aun' Sheba had beenwatching in the place of Mara, who had sought a little rest beneath theawning. She now came hastily out, but Clancy would not encounter her eyes. Indeed, his false position overwhelmed him with increasing shame andconfusion. He resolved in a sort of desperation to meet Miss Ainsley'srequirements as far as possible until she was safe in her father's hands, and then to become free. If he had known how Mara's position enabled herto interpret his own he would have been more resigned. 

The shock which occurred so late in the day was a sad preparation for thenight, to which all looked forward with unspeakable dread. Such littleconfidence or cheerfulness as had been maintained was dissipated;weariness and deferred relief increased the general dejection; only thebravest could maintain their fortitude. 

Mrs. Bodine's courage was due to a faith and a temperament which did notfail her. The veteran remained quiet and steady, with soldier-likeendurance, but Ella was becoming exhausted. She had had very little sleepfor a long time, and had passed through strong excitement. Indeed, all herpowers had been taxed severely. While she had more physical and moralcourage than most girls of her age possess, she, like the great majority, suffered much from fear at the recurrence of the shocks. As night came onshe yielded to the general depression. 

Aun' Sheba also had almost reached the limits of her powers, a fact shecould not help showing as she set about preparations for supper. Georgeinstantly noted this. He had secured some rest the night before, andpossessed great capabilities of endurance combined with an unusuallyfearless spirit. He also believed that this was his hour and opportunity, and that he could do more to win Ella's favor that night by brave cheerfuleffort than by any amount of love-making afterward. He little dreamed howcompletely won she was already. Her plan of receiving his "address"indefinitely had already lost its charms. She now simply longed to leanher weary head upon his shoulder and be petted and comforted a little. Unaware that the citadel could be had at any time for the asking, Georgebegan his sapping and mining operations with great vigor. He made Aun'Sheba sit down and give directions for supper, which he and his twocolored men carried out. Mrs. Bodine was the only one who would jest withhim, and he had a word of banter with her; and a cheery word for every oneas occasion permitted. 

"Bravo, George!" said Dr. Devoe, as they at last sat down to supper. "Wevote you the Mark Tapley of this occasion. I'm so used up that I've onlyenergy enough to drink a cup of coffee. "

Ella was about to wait on Mr. Haughton as before, but George interceptedher, saying, "You are too tired. "

"I would rather, " she urged with downcast eyes. She bore the tray to theinvalid, who looked at her very kindly, as he said, "You are worn out, mydear. "

"Please don't speak that way, " she faltered. "I'm just that silly andtired that I can't stand anything. "

"You brave, noble girl! What haven't you stood and endured for the lastfew hours and weeks! I have a very guilty conscience, Miss Bodine, and youonly can absolve me. "

"No one must be kind to me to-night, or I shall break down utterly;" anddashing a tear away, she hastily withdrew. 

George heaped her plate; but when he saw that she would touch nothing buther coffee, he looked at her with such deep solicitude in his face thatshe sprang up and fled to the sheltering awning, leaving him perplexed andtroubled indeed. All were too well bred to make any remark upon thislittle side scene. At her post of observation by the fire, and althoughher eyes were full of tears, tributes to little Vilet, Aun' Sheba shookfor a moment with suppressed laughter. Motherly Mrs. Bodine soon followedElla, and taking her in her arms, said soothingly, "There, now, child, have a good cry, and you'll feel better. I wish to the Lord, though, thatall the world had as little to cry about as you, my dear. "

"That's what provokes me so, cousin. It's so silly and weak. "

"Oh, well, Ella, you're done beat out, as Aun' Sheba says; and that's theonly trouble--that and the blindness of yonder great boy, who expects tocourt you for months before venturing to stammer some incoherent nonsense. Now, a Southern man--"

"Cousin Sophy, I won't listen to such words, " said Ella, the hot bloodcoming into her pale face. "He isn't a great boy; he's the bravest man Iever heard of. Now, when every one is giving out, he is only the braverand stronger. If he is absurd enough to be afraid of me--Well, you are thelast one to speak so. "

"There, there, child; this is my way of feeling your pulse and giving alittle tonic, " said Mrs. Bodine, laughing. "You have indications of strongvitality, as the doctor would say. Bless the big Vandal! If I were a girl, I'd set my cap at him myself. "

"Oh, Cousin Sophy! Aren't you ashamed to work me up so? Well, that is thelast glimmer of spunk that I can show to-night. "

"If I could only manage to give him a hint of your weak and defencelesscondition--"

"Cousin Sophy, if you do anything of the kind--" and she almost sprang toher feet. 

The old lady pulled her back, stopped her mouth with kisses, as she said, "I won't tease you any more to-night. " In a few moments she had soothedthe girl to sleep. 

George and Clancy now took full charge of the camp; for the members oftheir party, both white and black, were so exhausted and depressed as tobe unequal to much exertion. Clancy seemed possessed by a sort of feverishrestlessness. If he had been soothed and quieted when he returned in theafternoon, he would have passed the danger point unharmed; but his jadedbody and mind had been stung into renewed action, and now he was fastlosing the power to rest. Outraged Nature was beginning to take herrevenge, but no one except Bodine observed the fact. Again putting selfunder his feet, he took Clancy aside, and said, "Pardon an old soldier, but experience in the field has taught me when a man must stop. Dr. Devoeis exhausted and asleep, or I would send him to you. So take honest advicefrom me. If you don't quiet your nerves and sleep, you'll have trouble. "

Clancy, in grateful surprise, thanked him warmly, and said he would restlater on. His hope was that Miss Ainsley would retire, for in his presentcondition he felt that her voluble expressions of fear and generaldissatisfaction would be intolerable. At this juncture some one came andsaid that a friend of his in another part of the square was ill and wishedto see him. He explained and excused himself to Miss Ainsley, who repliedonly by a cold, reproachful glance. 

The light of day faded; the stars shone calmly above the strange scene, where lamps and candles flickered dim and pale, like the hopes of thosewho had lighted them. The murmur of conversation was lost in the loudsinging of hymns, prayers and exhortations on the part of the negroes. 

Mr. Birdsall had gathered many of his flock about him, and was conductinga religious service in a fairly orderly manner. Both he and his peopleyielded somewhat to the intense excitement of the occasion, but it was hisintention that the religious exercises should cease at a reasonable hour. 

Kern, Sissy, and Aun' Sheba were sitting silently near him, and at lastthe minister said, "Bruder Watson, you an' your wife will feel bettah ifyou express you'se feelin's, an' sing a while. I reckon, if I say you an'you' wife will sing, they will be mo' quiet. "

Kern assented to anything like a call of duty, and Mr. Birdsall resumed, "Fren's, in closin' de meetin' fer dis ebenin', Bruder an' Sista Watsonwill sing a hymn togeder; an' we, respectin' dere berebement, will listen. Dey have been greatly offlicted, for de Lawd has taken from dem de lam' ofdere bosoms. I ask you all now to listen to de expression of dere faith indis night ob sorrow. Den we mus' remembah dat de sick an' weak are in dissquar, and gib dem a chance to res'. "

Kern lifted up his magnificent voice, charged with the pent-up feeling ofhis heart, and his wife joined him with her rich, powerful contralto. 

 "On Jordan's banks we stan', An Jordan's stream roll by; No bridge de watahs span, De flood am risin high. Heah it foam an' roar, de dark flood tide, How shel we cross to de oder side?

 "De riber deep an strong, De wabes am bery cole; We see it rush along, But who can venture bole? Heah it foam an' roar, etc. 

 "A little chile step down; It go in de riber deep. Kin little feet touch groun' Whar mountain billows sweep? Heah dem foam an roar, etc. 

 "Dere comes a flash ob light, Ober de cole dark wabes; Dere come de angels' flight-- See shinin' bans dat sabe, From de watah's foam, de dark flood tide, Fer de Lawd hab seen from de oder side. 

 "Heah music swellin gran'; Yes, songs of welcome ring, White wings de riber span De little chile to bring. Den let ole Jordan roar, de dark flood tide; We'se borne across to de oder side. "

The melodious duet rose and fell in great waves of sound, silencing allother voices. Contrary to Mr. Birdsall's expectations, religious fervorwas only increased, and hoping to control it he asked Kern and Sissy tolead in several familiar hymns. The negroes throughout the square promptlyresponded, while not a few white refugees joined their voices to themighty diapason of sound, which often swelled into grand harmonies. 

Kern soon afterward went on duty for the night; Mr. Birdsall confinedhimself to quiet ministrations to his own people, and the leadership ofthe religious exercises fell into less judicious hands. 

CHAPTER XLVII

LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF A NIGHT

Aun' Sheba, with a devotion which quite equalled that to her ownoffspring, returned to Mara with the intention of watching Mrs. Hunterwhile the girl slept. She found Mrs. Bodine sitting with Mara, but the oldcolored woman was received with a warmth of welcome and sympathy which puther at ease at once. Mrs. Hunter had sunk into a kind of stupor renderingher unconscious of what was passing, and therefore they conversed in lowtones. 

"I reckon we need have no secrets from Aun' Sheba, " said Mrs. Bodine. 

"No, " answered Mara, taking her old mammy's hand. "If ever a motherlessgirl had a true friend I have one in Aun' Sheba. "

"Yes, honey, you'se right dar, an' I hopes you git right on some odertings. I put a spoke in de hon'ble business an' I'se ready to put mo' in. "She then briefly related her interview with Clancy and concluded, "MissyMara, fo' da Lawd, wot kin you do but mar'y Marse Clancy arter wot happenwen he come fer you an' ole missus?"

Mara made no reply, but sat with her face buried in her hands. 

"Aun' Sheba, this matter is all settled and settled honorably, too, as faras it can be. Captain Bodine has released Mara in words of the utmostkindness. "

"Well, now, he am quality!" ejaculated Aun' Sheba in hearty appreciation. 

"But, " sobbed Mara, "it just breaks my heart--"

"No, honey lam', it won' break you heart, nor his nuther. Doin' what'sright an' nat'ral an 'cordin to de Lawd doan break no hearts. It's de oderting wot dus in de long run, an' mar'in' gen'ly means a long run. You'dhab ter begin by lyin' 'miscuously, as I tole Marse Clancy, an no good udcome ob dat. "

"Well, it is all settled as far as Mara is concerned, " said Mrs. Bodine, with a little laugh, "and there need be no 'miscuous lying. How Mr. Clancywill get out of his scrape remains to be seen. "

"Well, I tells you how he git out. I'se keep an eye on datlimpsey-slimpsey runaway as well as on de pots an kittles, an she's gwineter run away agin from dis yere town jes as soon as de way open. Dat'll bede las you see ob her. "

"She's had a hard time of it, poor thing, " said Mrs. Bodine, charitably, "and we can't expect her to feel about Charleston as we do. The questionis, will Mr. Clancy feel obliged to follow her eventually?"

"I tink he's 'bliged not ter. "

"Well, Aun' Sheba, I'm glad you have such strong religious ideas ofmarriage. "

"I'se feerd I ain't bery 'ligious 'bout anyting. I put myself on 'bationwhile ago, but I kin'er forgits 'bout dat 'bation, I hab so much to tinkob. "

Mrs. Bodine began to laugh as she said, "I thought you were a sensiblewoman, Aun' Sheba. "

"Yes, I know. I did tole Marse Clancy dat I hab hoss-sense. "

"Then you were lying 'miscuously. "

"How dat, missus?"

"Why, Aun' Sheba, do you think you have been hiding your light under abushel basket all this time? Old Hannah--poor old Hannah! I wonder whathas become of her--she and Mara have told me how you do for the sick andpoor. Don't you know that the Bible says, 'Inasmuch as ye have done itunto one of the least of these My brethren ye have done it unto Me'?You've sent me nice things more than once. I'm 'one of the least ofthese. ' You don't do these things to be seen of men. "

"No, nor I doesn't do it kase I specs ter git anoder string to my harpbime-by. I does it kase I'se kin'er sorry fer de po' critters. "

"Exactly. That is why He fed the hungry and healed the sick. He was sorryfor them. Come, Aun' Sheba, don't be foolish any more. "

"I feels it kin'er sumptious ter be so shuah. "

"Now, Aun' Sheba, you _are_ doing wrong, " said Mrs. Bodine, gravely andearnestly. "The Lord has been very patient with you--more so than I wouldbe. If I had made you promises and you kept saying, 'I don't feel sureabout them, ' I'd give you a piece of my mind. "

"Lor, missus, how you puts it! Is it dataway?"

"Certainly. "

"Well, den, I jes takes myse'f off 'bation. I'se gwine ter hang onter depromises. Lawd, Lawd, missus, I s'posed I'd hab ter groan so dey heah meall ober de square fo' I could be 'ligious. "

"Oh, dear, hear it now! Such groaning makes every one else groan. Thevoice that God hears is the wish of the heart and not a hullabaloo. Howshall we get through the night if this keeps up? If you'll help me to myquarters I'll try to get what rest I can. "

When Aun' Sheba returned, Mara insisted on her lying down till she wascalled. "I shall do something in this time of trouble except maketrouble, " said the girl resolutely, and she would take no denial. 

Clancy found that his friend needed much attention, which he gave untilwarned by his own symptoms that he must see a physician. He found Georgelying on a blanket by a small fire, and that all the others were eithersleeping or resting. "I declare I hate to waken Dr. Devoe, " he said, "butI feel as if I were going to be ill. "

George felt the hand of his friend, and sprang up, saying, "I'll waken Dr. Devoe with or without your leave. "

After a brief examination the physician said:

"Why did you not come to me before?"

Clancy explained that he had been caring for a sick friend, to which thedoctor replied testily:

"I don't believe he was half so ill as you are. Well, you must obey me nowas long as you are rational, and I fear that won't be very long. " And hepromptly placed Clancy under the open part of the awning, which was thesleeping-room for the men by night, and general living-room by day. Havinggiven his patient a remedy, he returned and said, "Here you are, too, Houghton, up and around. Do you wish to break down also?"

"You forget, doctor, that I had some sleep last night. Feel my pulse. "

"Slightly febrile, but then I know what's the matter with _you_. If I werenot so old and bald-headed I'd cut out a slow coach like you. I'm half amind to try it as it is. "

"Go ahead, doctor. You'll be only one more. How many are there now, do yousuppose?"

"I know how many there should be after what I've seen. But bah! youNorthern young chaps lay siege to a girl at such long range that shesurrenders to some other fellow before you find it out. "

"Would you have me call her now, shake her awake, and propose?" askedGeorge, irritably. 

"No, I'd have you fight shy and give me a chance. There, you are too fargone for a jest. What are you up for?"

"Because I'm not sleepy, for one thing, and I think some one should be onguard. What's more, I don't like the way those negroes are performing. They seem to be going wild. "

"Yes, and they are doing a lot of harm to the sick and feeble. If theydon't stop at midnight I'll find out whether there's any law in this city. I say, Houghton, since you are going to sit up, give Clancy this medicineevery half hour, and call me at twelve. " He then wrapped himself in ablanket and was asleep in a minute. 

If George had been wide awake before, the doctor's raillery so increasedhis impatience and worry that for a time he paced up and down before thefire. Was he faint-hearted in wooing Ella? Suppose some bold Southernershould forestall him? The thought was torture; yet it seemed ungenerousand unkind to seek her openly while she was in a sense his guest anddependent upon him. "Well, " he growled at last, "I won't do it. When shefirst spoke to me she said I was a gentleman, and I'll be hanged if Idon't remain one and take my chances. "

He threw himself down again by the fire with his back to the awning. Before very long he heard a light step. Turning hastily he saw Ella'sstartled face by the light of the fire. 

"Oh, Mr. Houghton! is it you? Pardon me for disturbing you, " and she wasabout to retreat. 

He was on his feet instantly and said, "You will only disturb me by goingaway, that is--I mean if you are not tired and sleepy. "

"There is such a dreadful noise I can't sleep any more, " she replied, hesitating a moment. 

"Suppose--you might help me watch a little while then, " he stammered. 

"I'll watch if you will rest. "

"Certainly;" and he brought her a chair and then reclined near her feet. 

"But I meant that you should sleep. "

"I only promised to rest. "

"But you need sleep if any one does. I've had a good nap and feel muchbetter. How late is it?"

"Nearly eleven, and time for Clancy's medicine. " When he returned he toldher about Clancy. 

"Poor fellow!" she said, sympathetically, "Clancy seems to have trouble on his mind. We all have enough, but he morethan his share. "

"I should think you would be worried out of your senses with so manypeople to think about and care for. No wonder you can't sleep. "

"Thoughts of _people_ do not keep me awake, and I am glad to say myfather's resting quietly. He and your father are born soldiers. "

"Your father's to blame for my making a fool of myself at thesupper-table. He spoke so kindly and sympathetically, and I was so tiredand silly that I couldn't stand anything. Then you looked reproachfully atme because I couldn't eat all you sent--enough to make Uncle Sheba ill. "

"Now, Miss Bodine, I didn't look at you reproachfully. "

"Who's that snoring over there?"

"Dr. Devoe. My facial muscles must have been shaken out of shape to havegiven you so false an impression. Anyhow, I seem to have driven you away, and I've been miserable ever since. "

"Why, Mr. Houghton! The idea of letting a tired girl's weakness disturbyou! You will soon be as ill as Mr. Clancy. "

"I'm only stating a fact. "

"Well, facts are very queer nowadays. I suppose we shouldn't be surprisedat anything. "

"Yet you are a continual surprise to me, Miss Bodine. Do you think I'veforgotten anything since you carried Mrs. Bodine out of her totteringhouse?"

"Oh, Mr. Houghton! my memory goes further back than that. I can see a tallman leap into a sinking boat and--and--oh, why did you sink with it? Myfather's agony over the thought that you had died for him turned his hairwhite. "

"I couldn't help sinking, Miss Bodine. If it hadn't been for that blastedpole--Well, perhaps it saved all our lives, for my boat was overloaded asit was. But don't think about that affair. It might have turned outworse. "

"It might indeed. If you knew how we all felt when we thought you weredrowned!"

"Well, I thank God that I happened to be near. "

"Happened! You seemed to have a presentiment of evil, and kept near. "

"I was facing a certainty of evil then, Miss Bodine. I expected to goNorth in a few days, and feared I might not see you again. There, Ishouldn't speak so now. My memory goes back further than yours. I remembera blue-eyed stranger who drew near to me when I was facing a street bully, as if she meditated becoming my protector. I saw a noble woman's soul inthose clear eyes, and she said 'I was a gentleman. ' I must remember herwords now with might and main. All that I ask is that you won't let anyone else--that you will give me a chance when in your own home. Yourfather has--"

"Mr. Houghton, is it not time for Mr. Clancy's medicine?"

"Yes, and past time, " he replied, ruefully. 

When he returned she said demurely, "I think I can promise what you ask. Now surely, since your mind is at rest, you can sleep. I will watch. "

"I'm too happy to sleep. "

"How absurd!"

"Oh, the shock this morning did not disturb me half so much as to seethose fellows around with their devouring eyes. "

"Mr. Houghton, don't you think that if we asked them, those colored peoplewould be less loud? It must be dreadful for those who are sick, and thereare so many. "

"They will be brutal indeed if they don't yield to you, " and he led theway to the nearest centre of disturbance. 

"Oh, see! Mr. Houghton, there's our old Hannah. "

He saw an old woman swaying back and forth, her lips moving spasmodically, but uttering no sound. The crowd watched her in a sort of breathlesssuspense. Suddenly she burst out with the hymn, "Oh, Raslin' Jacob! let mego, " and the throng joined in the mighty refrain. The women swayed to andfro violently, all going together in a sort of rhythmic motion, meantimeclapping their hands in an ecstasy of emotion. A man dropped to the earth"converted. " He yelled rather than prayed for mercy, then suddenly swoonedand became rigid as a corpse. Others, both men and women, were prostratedalso; and to bring as many as possible into this helpless conditionappeared to be the general object as far as any purpose was manifested. The crowd seemed to regard poor, demented Hannah as inspired, for a spacewas kept clear before her. When she began to sway in her weird fashion, and her face to twitch, she was the priestess and the oracle. The hymn shebegan was taken up first by two self-appointed exhorters, then by all. 

"Oh, Hannah!" cried Ella, when her voice could be heard, "do stop and comeaway. You are harming the sick and the injured. "

The old woman started, and on seeing the girl rushed forward, crying, "Down on you knees. Now you chance. Pray, bruders, pray, sistahs. Dequakes neber stop till a white man or woman converted--converted till dereproud heads in de bery dus'"--and she sought to force Ella on her knees. 

In a moment Ella was surrounded by the worshippers, whose groans, shouts, prayers and ejaculations created Pandemonium. The girl was terrified, butGeorge encircled her with his arm, and thundered, "Give way. I'll brainthe first man who stops us. "

Awed for an instant they yielded to George's vigorous push out and away, and then returned to their former wild indulgence of religious frenzy. 

For several paces after their escape he seemed to forget that his arm wasstill around Ella, nor did she remind him. Suddenly he removed it, saying, "Pardon me, Miss Bodine, I am that enraged with those lunatics that I'dlike to give them something to howl about. "

"Please be calm, Mr. Houghton, " said Ella gently. "I'm not afraid now, andshould not have been afraid at all. I know these people better than youdo. They wouldn't have harmed us, and I fear they don't know any better. It's only their looks, tones, and words that seem blasphemous, that arefrightful. It was I who took you there and I should have known better. "

"Oh, Ella!--beg pardon--Miss Bodine, what a savage a man would be if youcouldn't manage him!"

"Then promise you won't go near those people any more. "

"You are too brave a girl to ask that when you learn that Dr. Devoe isgoing to tackle them with the police if they don't quiet down bymidnight. "

They spoke in low tones as he again held her hand, while they picked theirway among the extemporized shelters and uneasy refugees in the square. Asthey approached their own quarters she faltered, "I'm not very bravetonight, and I have long since learned that you are only too brave. "

He paused, still retaining her hand as he said, "What a strange scene thisis! How wild and unearthly those sounds now seem! How odd it all is--ourhomes yonder deserted and we here under the stars. It's stranger than anydream I ever had, yet if it were a dream I would not wish to wake withyou--"

"Mr. Houghton, what's that, that, _that?_"

Far oft in the southeast there were sounds like faint explosions whichgrew rapidly louder. Instinctively he drew her nearer, and saw her facegrow white even in the faint radiance of the stars. 

"Oh!" she gasped shuddering as the deep roar of the coming earthquakebegan. Then his arm drew her close, and she hid her face on his breast. 

"Ella, " he said solemnly, "I love you, God knows if these words were mylast I would still say I love you. "

The mighty roar gradually deepened, and with it blended the cry ofthousands; the earth quivered and swayed, then the thunder passed on, accompanied by sounds like the distant crash of falling buildings. 

George kissed the bowed head and whispered, "There, it's over and we aresafe. "

"Oh, thank God! you were with me!" she sobbed. 

"May I not be with you always, Ella?"

"God grant it! Oh, George, George, I would have leaped after you into thewater if they had not held me. How could I do without you now?"

"Come, my brave little wife, come with me to my father and reassure him. "

"George, " cried Mr. Houghton. 

"We are here, " he answered, drawing aside the screen. 

"We?"

"Yes, Ella and I. That last shock has rather hastened matters. "

"Ella, my dear child! Truly God is bringing good out of evil;" and he tookthe girl into his arms. Then he added, "You'll forgive me and be my owndear daughter?"

"Yes, Mr. Houghton. You'll find I am rich in love if nothing else. "

"Ah! Ella dear, the world seems going to pieces, and my wealth with it, but love only grows more real and more precious. "

"My father's calling me;" and kissing him a hasty good-by she vanished. 

Miss Ainsley again ran shrieking out, calling upon Clancy, but Dr. Devoemet her and drew her away from his muttering, half-conscious patient. Whenshe became sufficiently quiet he told her that Clancy was dangerously ill, and that nothing must be said or done to excite him. This seemed to heronly another proof of general disaster, and, in almost abject tones, shebegged, "Oh, doctor, make me sleep till--my father will surely cometo-morrow, and then I can get away. "

Her entreaty was so loud that even Mara could not help hearing her. Thephysician rather contemptuously thought that it would be better for all ifshe were quiet, and gave the anodyne. So far from feeling sympathy forClancy she was almost vindictive toward him for having failed her. 

Fear, uncontrolled, becomes one of the most debasing of the emotions. Itcan lead to panic even among soldiers with arms in their hands; sailorswill trample on women and children in their blind rush for the boats; menwill even deny their convictions, their faith, and cringe to brutal power;crimes the most vile are committed from fear, and fear had virtuallyobliterated womanhood in Miss Ainsley's soul. She was in a mood to acceptany conditions for the assurance of safety, and she gave not a thought toany one or anything that offered no help. With the roar of the earthquakestill in her ears, and in the dark midnight she knew there was no help, noway of escape, and so with the impulse of the shipwrecked who break intothe spirit room she besought the opiate which could at least bringoblivion. Her eyes, which could be so beautiful, had the wild, hunted lookof an animal, and her form, usually grace itself, writhed intodistortions. Her demoralization under the long-continued terror wascomplete, and all were glad when she became unconscious and could behidden from sight. As Aun' Sheba made her way to her own household shegrunted, "A lun'tic out ob a 'sylem wouldn' mar'y dat gal if he seed wot Iseed. "

CHAPTER XLVIII

GOOD BROUGHT OUT OF EVIL

There were brave spirits and Heaven-sustained souls in the little campwhich falls under our immediate observation; and outward calm was soonrestored, yet it was long before any one could sleep again. Although shehad trembled like a leaf, Mara had not left her watch by Mrs. Hunter, norhad Aun' Sheba till some moments after the shock. Then Mrs. Bodine joinedthe girl with soothing and reassuring words. She did not tell Mara, however, of Clancy's illness, feeling that no additional burden should beimposed until it was necessary. Mr. And Mrs. Willoughby sat together bythe fire; so also did Ella, with her head upon her father's breast, as shetold of the great joy which robbed the night of so much of its terror. OldTobe, with Sam and Jube, crouched on the opposite side of the low, flickering blaze, which lighted up in odd effect the white wool andwrinkled visage of the aged negro. In some respects he and Mr. Houghtonwere alike. The scenes they were passing through toned down their fierydomineering spirits into resignation and fortitude. 

George was restless, strong and inspired rather than awed by the recentevents. He knew that Ella's eyes followed him as he came and went from hisfather's bedside, waited on Clancy, and made himself useful in other ways. A man would be craven indeed who could not be brave under suchcircumstances. 

Beyond his camp, scenes impossible to describe were taking place. Whiteclergymen were going from group to group, and from shelter to shelter, speaking words of cheer and hope. Physicians were busy among those whoneeded physical aid; husbands soothing wives, and parents their sobbingchildren. 

On the edge of the square near the street the groans and cries of a womanbegan to draw the restless people who always run to any point ofdisturbance. 

"George, " shouted Dr. Devoe. The young man responded promptly. "Keep thiscrowd away--the vulgar wretches!"

A woman of refinement and wealth, who with her husband had clung to theiradjacent home until the last shock occurred, was in the throes ofchildbirth. 

No one could stand a moment before the young man's words and aspect, andin a few moments he secured all the privacy possible. 

Eventually he bore the almost swooning mother to the inner room under theawning, where a bed had been made for her, while Mrs. Bodine and Mrs. Willoughby cared for the child. The husband was so prostrated by anxietyfor his wife as to be almost helpless himself. 

Among a certain class of the negroes, to religious excitement was addedthe wild terror of the earthquake, and they were simply becoming franticin their actions and expressions. George, Dr. Devoe, Mr. Willoughby andsome others went to the large group of which old Hannah and two greatburly exhorters were the inspiration. They commanded and implored them tobe more quiet, but received only insolent replies. 

"We'se savin' de city which de wickedness ob you white folks is'stroyin', " one of the shepherds shouted; "an' we'se gwine to cry loud andmighty till mawnin'. "

At this moment, George espied Uncle Sheba, who certainly appeared, in thegeneral craze, to have a sense of his besetting sin; for he was yelling atthe top of his lungs, "I'se gwine ter wuck in de mawnin'. "

Suddenly there burst through the crowd an apparition before which hequailed; his jaw dropped and his howl degenerated into a groan. Aun' Shebahad heard and recognized his voice, and she went through the throng like apuffing tug through driftwood. "Mister Buggone, " she said, with thesternness of fate, "ef yer doan stop yer noise you'se 'lowance stop heahand now. Yer'll hab ter wuck shuah or starbe, fer if yer doan come wid menow yer neber come agin. "

Uncle Sheba went away with her, meek as a lamb. 

The others were too frenzied even to notice this little scene. George, Mr. Willoughby, and some others were with difficulty restrained by the coolerDr. Devoe. "Go with me to the station-house, " he said. "In behalf of mypatients I will demand that this nuisance be abated. "

The officer on duty returned with them, backed by a resolute body of men. The two exhorters were told to take their choice between silence and thestation-house. There is usually a good deal of selfish method in suchleaders' madness, and they sullenly retired. Poor, demented Hannah wasbundled away, and comparative quiet restored through the square. 

The weary hours dragged on; the uneasy earth caused no further alarms thatnight. At last the dawn was again greeted with thankfulness beyond words. 

There was no paper that morning, for compositors and pressmen could not beinduced to work, and at first there was a feeling of great uncertainty anddepression. 

Mrs. Bodine's spirit was again like a cork on the surface. At breakfastshe remarked, "We had an awful time last night, but here we are stillalive, and able to take some nourishment. I expect the Northern paperswill say that this wicked and rebellious old city is getting its deserts;but we shall soon have help and cheer from our Southern friends. "

"I think you will find yourself mistaken, Mrs. Bodine, about the North, "said George. 

"Oh. You!" cried the old lady, laughing, "you look at the South through apair of blue eyes. I reckon we shall have to send you and Ella North asmissionaries. "

George in his pride and happiness could not keep his secret, and had beencongratulated with honest heartiness. He therefore responded gayly, "WhenI take Ella North even earthquakes won't keep young fellows from cominghere to see if any more like her are left. "

Again Ella remarked, nodding significantly, "Time will cure him, CousinSophy. "

Nevertheless the illness of Mrs. Hunter and Clancy, and the precariouscondition of the young mother, cast a gloom over the little party. Clancy's pulse indicated great exhaustion, and he only recognized peoplewhen he was spoken to. Dr. Devoe prohibited any one from going near himexcept himself and George. Miss Ainsley uttered no protest at this. Shetruly felt that after the events of the night all was over between them. In a sort of sullen shame she said little and longed only for the hourwhich would bring her father and escape. 

Mr. Ainsley arrived during the morning, and George entertained himhospitably. His daughter clung to him, imploring him to take her away atthe first possible moment. He was much distressed at Clancy's condition, and offered to take him North also; but Dr. Devoe said authoritatively, "He is too ill to be moved or even spoken to. " Mrs. Willoughby and herhusband were determined that Miss Ainsley should not give her father afalse impression, and spoke freely of Clancy's great exertions. "Yes, "added Dr. Devoe, "I feel guilty myself. He should have been taken in handyesterday afternoon and compelled to be quiet in mind and body, but I hadso many to look after, and he seemed the embodiment of energy andfearlessness. Well, it's too late now, and we must do the best we can forhim. "

That day Mr. Ainsley and his daughter left the city. She gave vividdescriptions of the catastrophe at the North, but her friends remarkedupon her fine reserve and modesty in speaking of her personal experiences. Her faultless veneer was soon restored, and we suppose she is pursuing hercareer of getting the most and best out of life after a fashion which hastoo many imitators. 

Poor Mara's name was significant of her experience of that day and otherswhich followed. In the morning she learned of Clancy's illness, and it waseventually found that her voice and touch had a soothing effect possessedby no other. 

We have followed our characters through the climax of their experiences, and need only to suggest what further happened. They, with others, realized more fully the conditions of their lot and the extent of thedisaster. 

With an ever-increasing courage and fortitude the people faced thesituation, and resolved to build anew the fortunes of their city. Communication with the outside world permitted messages of sympathy andfar more. In the Sunday morning issue of the "News and Courier" thefollowing significant editorial appeared: "There is no break in the broadline of brotherly love throughout the United States. All hearts in thismighty country throb in unison. In the North as in the South, in the Westas in the East, there is a sincere sorrow at the calamity which hasbefallen Charleston, and there is shining evidence of a beneficent desireto give the suffering people the assistance of both act and word. "

Boston, the former headquarters of the abolitionists, and the veterans ofthe Grand Army vied with Southern cities and ex-Confederates in aspontaneous outpouring of sympathy and help. The hearts of a proud peoplewere at last subdued, but it was by hands stretched out in fraternal loveand not to strike. 

In the city squares and other places of refuge there still continued sadand awful experiences, one of which was graphically described by the cityeditor of the journal already quoted. 

At nearly midnight on Friday there had been a cessation in the shocks forabout twenty-four hours, and the people were resting quietly. Then came aconvulsion second only in severity to the first one which had wrought suchwidespread ruin. "It had scarcely died away, " to quote from the accountreferred to, "before there rose through the still night air in thedirection of the public squares and parks the now familiar but stillterrible cries of thousands of wailing voices, united in one vast chorus, expressive only of the utmost human misery. For a while this sound washeard above all other sounds, suggesting vividly to the mind what has beentold by survivors of the scene that follows the sinking of a great ship atsea, when its living freight is left struggling with the waves; and thisimpression was heightened to the distant auditor by the gradual diminutionin the volume of the cries, as though voice after voice were beingsilenced, as life after life were quenched beneath the tossing waves. "

Dr. Devoe advised Mr. Houghton to leave the city, but he said, "No, Ishall remain with my children; I shall share in the fortunes of the citywhich is henceforth to be my home. "

Mrs. Hunter did not long survive, but she became quiet and rational beforeher end. To Mara's imploring words she replied calmly, "No, my time isnear; and I feel that it is best. I belong to the old order of things, andhave lingered too long already. I may have been mistaken in my feelings, and wrong in my enmities, but I had great provocation. Now I forgive as Ihope to be forgiven. God grant, dear child, that you may have brighterdays. "

A sad little company followed her to the cemetery, and as they laid her torest, they also spread over her memory the mantle of a broad, lovingcharity. 

For a time it seemed as if brighter days could never come to Mara, forClancy's life flickered like the light of an expiring candle. At last thefever broke and he became rational, the pure, open air conducing to hisrecovery. He was very weak and his convalescence was slow, measuring themental and physical strain through which he had passed. Never had a poormortal more faithful watchers, never was life wooed back from the darkshore by more devoted love. "Live, live, " was ever the language of Mara'seyes, and happiness gave him the power to live. 

Captain Bodine carried out both the letter and spirit of his note. Whilehe was very gentle, he was also very firm with Mara, expressing onlypaternal affection and also exerting paternal authority. At proper timeshe told her to go and rest in tones which she obeyed. 

One day when Clancy was able to sit up a little, he took her aside andsaid, "Mara, you and Mr. Clancy are in one sense comparatively alone inthe world, although you have many stanch friends. His health, almost hislife, requires the faithful, watchful care which you can best give, andwhich you are entitled to give. It is his wish and mine, also CousinSophy's, that you should be married at once. "

Again she gave him that luminous look which he so well remembered--anexpression so full of homage, affection and sympathy that for the firsttime tears came into his eyes. "There, my child, " he said, "you haverepaid me, you have compensated me for everything. There is no need ofwords"--and he turned hastily away. 

When the sun was near the horizon Mara was married, not in old St. Michael's, as her mother had been, but in the large tent which of late hadsheltered her lover. Her pastor employed the old sacred words to which hermother had responded; and Captain Bodine, with the impress of calm, victorious manhood on his brow, gave her away in the presence of thelittle group of those who knew her best and loved her most. We may wellbelieve from that time forth her gentleness and happiness would change themeaning of her name. 

At last all ventured back to their homes. Mr. Houghton was so averse toparting with Ella that he equalled George in his impatience for themarriage. Aun' Sheba, who supervised preparations for the weddingbreakfast, declared, "It am jes jolly ter see old Marse Houghton. As ferMissus Bodine, it pears as if she'd go off de han'l. "

Then father and son took the blue-eyed bride to the North on a visit, inwhat George characterized as a "sort of triumphal procession. "

The cabins of Aun' Sheba and Kern Watson were restored to a conditionbetter than their former state, but Uncle Sheba discovered that the goodold times of his wife's easy tolerance were gone. She put the caseplainly, "Mr. Buggone, de Bible says dat dem dat doesn't wuck mus'n't eat, an' I'se gwine ter stick ter de Bible troo tick an' tin. You'se able towuck as I be, an' you'se 'lowance now 'pends on you'se wuck. "

We have already seen that Uncle Sheba was one of those philosophers whoalways submit to the inevitable. 

Late one September night the moonbeams shone under the moss-drapedbranches of a live oak in a cemetery. They brought out in snowy whitenessa small headstone on which were engraved the words, "Yes, Vilet. " Sittingby the grave and leaning his head against the stone was Kern Watson, buthis calm, strong face was turned heavenward where his little girl waitedfor him "shuah. "

THE END